Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cloud Recesses had always been quiet, but with Wei Wuxian living there, the silence had taken on a new flavor. Not loud, never chaotic—Lan Wangji would not allow it—but it was… warmer now. A soft kind of hum beneath the stillness. Laughter lived here again.

So when the new guest arrived, Wei Wuxian noticed the disruption immediately. Not through any grand gesture or event, but by the way Lan Shizui hesitated when introducing the disciple. By how Lan Jingyi narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. Wei Wuxian watched from the pavilion, sipping tea as the youth bowed respectfully.

“Fei Lin from Lotus Pier,” Lan Shizui introduced. “He’s here for temporary cultivation study.”

Wei Wuxian raised a brow, but smiled easily. “Lotus Pier? That’s a long way.”

Fei Lin looked up at him with eyes just a shade too wide. “Senior Wei,” he said, voice reverent. “It’s an honor. I’ve admired you for years.”

Lan Shizui stiffened beside him, almost imperceptibly. Wei Wuxian noticed, of course.

“Well,” he said, setting his teacup down, “you’re welcome here. I’m sure Shizui and the others will show you around.”

Fei Lin didn’t look away. “I hope I’ll get to learn a lot from you, Senior Wei.”

Lan Jingyi, behind Fei Lin’s shoulder, visibly rolled his eyes.

“Let’s go,” Lan Shizui said, cutting in with the gentle authority of someone who had learned from the best. “We’ll begin with the east courtyard.”

As they walked off, Wei Wuxian hummed to himself, already certain something about the new disciple was off. Admiration wasn’t new to him—it was the way Fei Lin looked at him. Not just awe. Obsession.

——

That evening, Wei Wuxian found Lan Wangji in the Cold Spring, meditating beneath a waterfall of moonlight. He didn’t speak until Lan Wangji opened his eyes and looked at him.

“There’s a new duckling in the pond,” he said, folding his robes neatly and sitting beside him.

“I am aware.”

Wei Wuxian stretched. “He’s odd.”

Lan Wangji looked at him for a long moment. “He watches you.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “…Are you jealous?”

Lan Wangji said nothing, which in itself was an answer.

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Lan Zhan, you know I’m yours. Just because some disciple has a crush—”

“It is not a crush,” Lan Wangji said, voice lower than usual. “He follows you. Takes note of your steps. Avoids the others. And Shizui dislikes him.”

Wei Wuxian blinked again. “Shizui—?”

“Did not want to bring him to you. But thought it would be worse if he hid it.”

Wei Wuxian sat in thoughtful silence.

Lan Wangji, still serene but tightly controlled, added, “I do not trust him.”

“…And you bit me last week when I wore a low collar,” Wei Wuxian teased. “In front of Lan Huan.”

Lan Wangji looked entirely unrepentant.

“You are mine,” he said.

Wei Wuxian flushed, and grumbled, “Yes, yes, possessive dragon husband, I know…”

But he felt warm all the same.

——

The days passed. Fei Lin lingered.

He offered to help Wei Wuxian with scroll restoration, always choosing the seat closest to him. He followed him to the library, shadowed his steps in the garden. Wei Wuxian remained polite, never rude—he didn’t want to give the juniors the wrong idea—but he kept his distance.

Fei Lin, it seemed, didn’t get the message.

Lan Shizui grew quieter.

One afternoon, Wei Wuxian caught him alone on the training field, staring at a flower that had been trampled underfoot.

“Shizui,” Wei Wuxian said softly, “what’s on your mind?”

Shizui hesitated. “Baba… do you ever think someone wants something they don’t understand?”

Wei Wuxian crouched beside him. “Yes. All the time.”

“What do you do?”

“I figure out whether they’re confused… or dangerous.”

Shizui looked up. “And if it’s the second?”

Wei Wuxian smiled faintly. “Then I make sure they never come close to the people I love.”

——

Jin Ling arrived like a thunderclap two days later.

“Where is he?!” he barked the moment he passed the gates, robes flaring, boots sharp against the stones. “I heard some bastard’s sniffing around Uncle Wei!”

Wei Wuxian barely had time to turn before Jin Ling launched into a heated rant about throwing Fei Lin into the moat.

“I can handle it, A-Ling,” Wei Wuxian said, ruffling his hair.

“You shouldn’t have to!” Jin Ling snapped. “Lan Zhan should have bitten him instead of you!”

Lan Wangji appeared silently behind them.

“He would not survive it,” he said calmly.

Jin Ling blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

Wei Wuxian facepalmed.

——

The breaking point came with Lil Apple.

He was a temperamental donkey, sure, but he was Wei Wuxian’s donkey. And when someone snuck into the stables and spooked him badly enough to cut his leg on the wooden railing—well.

There was no longer any doubt.

Wei Wuxian stood at the gate, cradling a cloth soaked in herbs as Lil Apple leaned heavily against him.

Lan Wangji stood beside him, murder simmering beneath the surface.

“It was him,” Wei Wuxian said softly.

“I will handle it.”

“No,” Wei Wuxian said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I will.”

——

The next morning, Fei Lin came to meet Wei Wuxian in the library.

He expected warmth. He expected playfulness. He did not expect Wei Wuxian to be flanked by all four juniors—and Jin Ling, glaring murderously over his shoulder.

“Fei Lin,” Wei Wuxian said brightly. “Do you know what happens when someone touches what belongs to a Lan?”

Fei Lin blinked. “…I—”

Before he could answer, Lan Wangji stepped out from the shadows, wrapped an arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist—

—and sank his teeth into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, right through the collar.

Fei Lin choked on his breath.

Wei Wuxian sighed, leaning into Lan Wangji like he did this every day. “Lan Zhan… now that was dramatic.”

“You are mine,” Lan Wangji said again.

Fei Lin stumbled back.

Shizui stepped forward.

“You hurt Baba’s donkey. You’ve lied. You’ve tried to separate a married couple. Leave. Now.”

Fei Lin stared at him—and for the first time, his mask slipped.

“You don’t understand,” he hissed. “He’s wasted here. He belongs with someone who—who—”

“Who what?” Wei Wuxian asked gently. “Worships me? Puts me on a pedestal?”

Fei Lin nodded desperately.

Wei Wuxian stepped forward. “I don’t need that. I need someone who lets me be who I am. And I already have that.”

Fei Lin tried to speak—but the look in Lan Wangji’s eyes froze him solid.

And that was the last time anyone saw Fei Lin in Cloud Recesses.

——

Later, sitting by the water, Wei Wuxian rested his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“Possessive,” he muttered again.

“Always,” Lan Wangji replied.

Shizui approached quietly, settling beside them.

“Baba?”

“Yes, little radish?”

Shizui leaned against him, head on his arm. “You’re okay?”

Wei Wuxian wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Of course I am. You all took care of me.”

Jin Ling joined them moments later, huffing. “Next time someone flirts with you, I’m cutting off their hands.”

Wei Wuxian laughed. “Now that’s a little dramatic.”

Jingyi piped up from the roof. “I vote we just keep him locked in a tower! Problem solved!”

Lan Wangji looked thoughtful. “This is not unreasonable.”

Wei Wuxian groaned. “Oh no.”

Chapter Text

Cloud Recesses settled again after Fei Lin’s departure, but peace, once cracked, rarely returned whole.

The days were clear. The skies crisp and blue. Lil Apple limped, but only slightly now, and bore his herbs with the kind of resigned dramatics only a donkey owned by Wei Wuxian could possess. Lan Wangji made the stable his second haunt, tending Lil Apple with the same reverence he did guqin strings. He didn’t speak of what had happened—he didn’t need to.

The bite mark on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder had faded to a bruise, but its implications hadn’t.

The juniors watched him with careful eyes.

Lan Shizui most of all.

“Baba,” he said one evening, softly, as Wei Wuxian passed him a bowl of lotus soup. “You’re… sure you’re okay?”

Wei Wuxian smiled, brushing a thumb over Shizui’s cheekbone like he had when the boy was small. “I’m more worried about you, little radish.”

Shizui hesitated, then whispered, “I didn’t know how to protect you.”

“Oh, A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian said, voice cracking slightly. “You did. You told the truth. You stood firm. That’s more protection than any sword.”

Lan Jingyi coughed into his sleeve. “Well, I was ready to throw that guy into the lake.”

“You suggested rolling him downhill in a barrel first,” Lan Sizhui said, deadpan.

“Details.”

“Not helpful ones.”

Jin Ling, from where he was sprawled across the low veranda with Fairy’s head in his lap, muttered, “We should have gone with the barrel.”

Wei Wuxian grinned and leaned back on his hands, feeling the warmth of their voices settle in his bones. He had once believed he would never have this again. Peace. Family. Quiet evenings where all he had to do was listen to the chatter of the next generation.

Lan Wangji stepped into the courtyard just as Wei Wuxian looked toward the horizon. They locked eyes briefly. Lan Wangji tilted his head toward the quiet west garden.

Wei Wuxian stood. “Don’t burn the kitchen down,” he said, ruffling Jingyi’s hair on the way.

“That was one time—!”

——

They walked in silence until they reached the bamboo grove. Wei Wuxian knew why Lan Wangji had brought him here. It was the place he went when his thoughts wouldn’t quiet.

Wei Wuxian leaned against one of the trees, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Lan Zhan,” he said after a moment, “what if Fei Lin wasn’t acting alone?”

Lan Wangji met his gaze. “He wasn’t.”

Wei Wuxian stilled.

“I received a letter from Sect Leader Yao,” Lan Wangji continued. “Apparently, Fei Lin was seen speaking with several men from a fringe sect two months ago. Baifeng Sect. Quiet, minor, loyal to Jiang… but not to you.”

Wei Wuxian’s face hardened.

“You think it was a ploy,” he said slowly, “to remove me from you.”

Lan Wangji nodded. “To divide Gusu and Lotus Pier. Or weaken Cloud Recesses by dividing our strength.”

Wei Wuxian leaned back and exhaled. “It’s politics. It always is.”

“You are not a pawn,” Lan Wangji said, voice steel-wrapped silk. “They forget. You are the board.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, a little bitterly. “And yet I still have to protect my juniors from people like Fei Lin.”

“You are not alone in that.”

Wei Wuxian turned. Lan Wangji’s hand brushed his, warm and grounding.

“We protect them together.”

——

Two days passed before the ripple turned into waves.

It came with another letter. This time, from Jiang Cheng.

Who the hell is this disciple who claims he was acting on my behalf? it read in tight, angry script. I never authorized him to travel. If he hurt Wei Wuxian, I’ll—

Wei Wuxian folded the letter with a weary sigh and tucked it away before Lan Wangji could read the rest.

“We have bigger concerns,” he said, shifting his attention to Lil Apple, who was nibbling grass with the gravitas of a scholar. “This wasn’t Jiang Cheng. He wouldn’t do something so underhanded.”

Lan Wangji inclined his head. “Then someone else is moving.”

Wei Wuxian squinted into the light. “Time to find out who.”

——

The juniors weren’t told the whole truth—but they weren’t stupid. They knew danger still lingered.

Lan Jingyi started sticking closer to Lan Shizui. Not obvious. Not overly concerned. But Wei Wuxian saw how he never let Shizui wander alone.

Jin Ling volunteered to help watch the border gates.

“Just in case,” he said, arms folded. “I am technically sect leader, you know.”

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Technically. But don’t go charging in without backup, okay?”

Jin Ling rolled his eyes. “I learned from the best.”

“Flattery? From you?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Lan Sizhui lingered by Wei Wuxian’s side more often, too, often under the guise of assisting with talisman repairs or paper-cutting work. Wei Wuxian indulged him, letting the silent company speak for itself.

And Lan Wangji?

Lan Wangji hovered.

Not in an overt way. But he always seemed to be there when Wei Wuxian entered a room. His gaze tracked every shift in expression, every twitch of discomfort. And once, when Wei Wuxian had brushed his hair aside to tie it back and unknowingly exposed the faint bite bruise on his neck, Lan Wangji stepped behind him, cupped his chin—

—and kissed it.

In full view of the juniors.

Jingyi dropped his soup spoon.

Sizhui didn’t blink, but Jin Ling covered his eyes with a groan. “Can you two wait until the sun sets, at least?!”

Wei Wuxian just laughed and leaned into the kiss.

——

That evening, when the stars rose over Gusu, Wei Wuxian found himself once again in the courtyard with Shizui, watching the sky.

“Do you think things will ever be easy?” the boy asked.

“No,” Wei Wuxian said, honest as ever. “But they can be good. Even if they’re hard.”

Shizui rested his head against his arm. “I’m glad you’re here, Baba.”

“I’m glad you are.”

Lan Wangji arrived a moment later with a tea tray, and Jin Ling followed close behind with Fairy trotting loyally at his heels.

Soon, the courtyard filled again. Soft voices. Warm tea. Laughter in the night.

There would be danger. Schemes. Unrest.

But for now, they had each other.

And Wei Wuxian would protect them all—no matter what came next.

Chapter Text

The nightmare was an old one.

Wei Wuxian stood in the Burial Mounds, barefoot on scorched soil. The wind howled around him—cold, hungry. Lotus Pier burned in the distance, and Wen Ning knelt at his feet, broken sword trembling in his ruined hands.

Above, a voice whispered.

You left them behind. You always do.

He turned.

Lan Wangji stood beneath the black tree where the spirits tangled in agony. But his eyes were gone—milky white, like a fierce corpse. Blood ran from his mouth. In his arms, he cradled a child, body small and still.

Wei Wuxian screamed, but no sound came.

He ran. Too slow.

Lan Wangji vanished. The child slipped from his arms.

The child wore a Gusu Lan forehead ribbon and called him—

“Baba—!”

Wei Wuxian jerked upright with a cry, drenched in cold sweat.

Hands gripped his wrists. Gentle. Steady.

“Wei Ying,” came the voice. Real. Solid. Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian gasped. “I—I—” His words died in his throat. He blinked, trying to ground himself.

The moonlight filtered through the paper windows of their bedroom in Cloud Recesses. Outside, the air was still. Calm.

Lan Wangji was kneeling beside the bed in only his sleeping robes, both hands firmly holding Wei Wuxian as if he’d disappear.

“You dreamt,” he said softly.

Wei Wuxian nodded, voice hoarse. “A bad one.”

Lan Wangji eased onto the bed beside him, gathering him close. Wei Wuxian sagged against his chest, heartbeat still a wild thing inside him.

“I saw him,” he whispered. “A-Yuan. He was—he was—”

“Shhh,” Lan Wangji murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. “He is safe. He is in the next room. I checked. He sleeps soundly.”

Wei Wuxian let out a shaky breath. “It’s been years. Why do they still come?”

“Because you still love them.”

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and held onto Lan Wangji’s robe.

“Lan Zhan…”

“I’m here.”

They didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

——

The next morning, Lan Shizui approached the table for breakfast with eyes shadowed and his posture stiff.

“Did you sleep?” Wei Wuxian asked gently.

Lan Shizui hesitated, then gave a small shake of the head. “I… I had a nightmare.”

Wei Wuxian’s expression softened. He stood and reached for him without hesitation, pulling Shizui into a one-armed hug.

“You want to talk about it, little radish?”

Shizui hesitated longer. “I dreamt… you were gone. Again. That the war came back and took you. And Uncle Lan stood there, but his ribbon was torn.”

Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Wangji across the table. A silent conversation passed between them.

“Come here,” Wei Wuxian said, tugging him closer. “It was just a dream. But it’s okay to be scared. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

Lan Jingyi appeared, tray in hand, and paused at the doorway. “…Are we hugging?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said. “And you’re next.”

“Oh no—”

Wei Wuxian lunged and successfully got a squawk and a full-body groan from Jingyi, pulling him into a second side hug while Shizui muffled a laugh in his sleeve.

“I’m too old for this,” Jingyi muttered.

“You’re sixteen.”

“Exactly.”

Jin Ling chose that moment to stomp in, throwing the door open with far too much flair. “I heard someone’s been dreaming of disaster again,” he said loudly. “I thought we were over the dramatic nonsense.”

Fairy, trotting at his heels, gave a disdainful snort.

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Wow. You do care.”

Jin Ling blushed and scowled. “Don’t get used to it.” Then, grumbling under his breath, he added, “You looked like death yesterday, okay? And I don’t like hearing my cousin had nightmares either.”

Shizui, finally smiling again, bowed his head gratefully. “Thank you, Jin Ling.”

Jin Ling cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah. Where’s breakfast?”

——

They spent most of the morning at the library pavilion. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian combed through old travel records, searching for mentions of Baifeng Sect. The juniors sat nearby, helping organize scrolls and filtering talismans that might be connected.

“What do we know?” Wei Wuxian muttered, chewing on a brush handle.

Lan Wangji, calm and precise, answered, “Baifeng Sect made offerings to Qinghe Nie until twenty years ago. Then redirected allegiance to Yunmeng Jiang. Recently, they’ve grown quiet.”

“Too quiet,” Wei Wuxian echoed.

Sizhui looked up. “What if they’re being used? Like Fei Lin?”

Jin Ling leaned on the table. “Or what if someone from the outside is propping them up to stir tension between sects?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Wei Wuxian muttered.

They worked until midday, but no solid answers came.

Then, a sudden cry.

“Lil Apple!” Jingyi shouted from the hallway. “What happened?!”

Wei Wuxian bolted outside, sword unsheathed.

The stable doors stood wide open. Lil Apple thrashed, kicking wildly. A small dagger—silver-handled, clearly not Lan Sect design—had embedded in his side.

“Who did this?” Wei Wuxian cried, rushing to the donkey’s side.

Lan Wangji knelt beside him instantly, applying pressure and healing qi.

Lan Shizui ran in, eyes wide with panic.

Wei Wuxian didn’t have to guess.

This wasn’t random.

Someone had targeted Lil Apple.

Someone knew who he belonged to.

——

Later, after the wound was bound and the donkey calmed (bribed with several overripe peaches), Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian sat in silence beneath the trees, the juniors scattered nearby in quiet clusters.

Shizui sat beside Wei Wuxian’s knee, staring into the grass.

“It’s starting again,” he said quietly. “Isn’t it?”

Wei Wuxian brushed his hair back. “We don’t know that. It might just be someone trying to scare us.”

Jin Ling sat against a tree with his sword on his lap. “Then they’re about to be scared back.”

Jingyi muttered, “They hurt a donkey. A donkey. Who does that?”

“They hurt his donkey,” Sizhui said, eyes narrowed.

Lan Wangji looked at the horizon.

Then at Wei Wuxian.

“Tonight,” he said, “we set a ward.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “And tomorrow… we pay Baifeng a visit.”

——

That night, long after everyone had gone to bed, Wei Wuxian lay awake in their room, staring at the ceiling.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered.

A soft hum answered him.

“Are we going to lose this peace?”

Lan Wangji turned to him, the moon casting shadows over his bare shoulder.

“We will keep it.”

Wei Wuxian’s throat tightened.

“I want to protect them,” he said. “All of them. Sizhui. Jingyi. Even that loudmouth Jin Ling.”

“You will.”

Wei Wuxian turned on his side, letting Lan Wangji pull him close.

Outside, the night was silent.

But something dark was stirring. And tomorrow, they would meet it.

Together.

Chapter Text

By the time the sun rose over the Cloud Recesses, the group was already preparing for departure. Lan Wangji stood near the gates in full robes, Bichen at his hip, his expression as unreadable as ever—but his posture was iron-stiff, betraying his unease.

Wei Wuxian was doing his best to balance four things: triple-checking their supplies, making sure Shizui had enough talismans, coaxing Lil Apple into forgiving humanity, and getting Jin Ling to stop threatening to kill anyone who so much as looked at Wei Wuxian wrong.

“I said I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian told him for the fourth time that morning.

“You’re not,” Jin Ling snapped, arms crossed. “That dagger wasn’t random. You know it wasn’t. And no one touches Lil Apple without intentions.”

“Lil Apple is flattered by your outrage,” Wei Wuxian said dryly.

Lil Apple sneezed, flinging hay onto Jin Ling’s boots.

Lan Shizui was quiet, his hand resting on his sword hilt. He hadn’t slept again last night, and though he tried to hide it, Wei Wuxian noticed the darkness beneath his eyes.

“Come here, A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian said gently. “Let me see you.”

Lan Shizui stepped forward, trying not to fidget.

Wei Wuxian fussed over his ribbon and shoulders, then tapped the center of his forehead with a talisman that shimmered and vanished into his skin.

“Protective charm,” he explained. “Just in case. Don’t argue.”

Lan Shizui didn’t. He smiled softly. “Thank you, Baba.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart ached at that word.

He reached up and gently smoothed Shizui’s hair back, just as he used to when the boy was small and slept curled beside him in the Burial Mounds. “No matter what happens, you stay close to me, alright?”

Shizui nodded.

Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji, who’d been watching them with something very close to warmth in his eyes.

“Ready, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji simply said, “Mn.”

——

Baifeng Sect was nestled between a range of jagged hills to the west of Yunmeng—once a thriving trade point, now a quiet, too-secluded outpost with little to show for it but pride and crumbling courtyards.

By the time they arrived, the sun was dipping low, casting golden shadows across the stone paths.

A disciple in silver and white greeted them at the gate, bowing low with perfectly feigned politeness. “Welcome to Baifeng Sect. Our sect leader has been expecting visitors from Gusu. May I ask your names?”

“We’re scholars,” Wei Wuxian said smoothly, his smile bright. “From a minor clan of Yunping. We’ve been traveling for a bit, hoping to study under various sects and share our scrollwork.”

The disciple’s gaze lingered on Wei Wuxian’s face. Too long.

Wei Wuxian kept his smile in place but subtly stepped closer to Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji didn’t blink. He took Wei Wuxian’s hand.

The Baifeng disciple’s face twitched.

Wei Wuxian could practically feel the temperature drop.

“Of course,” the disciple said, a bit stiffer now. “Our sect leader, Baifeng Mo, is currently out on a night patrol. But I’ll show you to your quarters. Please follow me.”

They were led through courtyards that felt too silent, too sterile. No laughter. No sparring sounds. No disciples moving about.

Jingyi muttered under his breath, “Are they all ghosts here?”

“Shh,” Shizui warned.

“Seriously though,” Jin Ling whispered. “Why is it this quiet?”

Wei Wuxian trailed his fingers along one of the walls they passed. His fingertips came away with soot.

Old fire. Not fresh, but not ancient either.

He exchanged a glance with Lan Wangji.

Something was very wrong here.

——

That night, they gathered in the rooms assigned to them—small, cramped quarters side-by-side.

“I’ll sleep in the courtyard,” Wei Wuxian offered. “More room to stretch.”

“No,” Lan Wangji said flatly.

“I’ll keep him company,” Shizui said quickly.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Wei Wuxian said. “You’re already underslept, you little gremlin.”

Shizui gave him a weak grin.

“I’ll keep watch,” Jin Ling said, planting himself by the doorway.

“You can’t keep watch every night, Jin Ling.”

“I’m not sleeping until I know you’re safe.”

Lan Wangji walked over, gently removed Jin Ling’s hand from his sword, and placed a sleeping charm on his shoulder.

Jin Ling slumped down mid-protest.

“Uncle—!”

Thud.

Wei Wuxian stifled a laugh. “You know, sometimes you’re very efficient.”

Lan Wangji turned. “You are mine.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “I know that.”

“No one else touches you,” Lan Wangji said, voice low, edged. “Not even with their eyes.”

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow. “Are we… talking about the Baifeng disciple?”

Lan Wangji didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

Wei Wuxian walked over and curled an arm around his waist. “Don’t worry. You’re my favorite cloud.”

A pause.

“Only cloud.”

Lan Wangji looked down at him, lips twitching.

Then, as if reminded of something, he leaned forward and bit lightly at the juncture of Wei Wuxian’s neck and shoulder. Sharp. Possessive.

Wei Wuxian jolted. “Lan Zhan!”

Shizui stood in the doorway holding two steamed buns. His face turned bright red. “I—I didn’t see anything—!”

Wei Wuxian groaned and buried his face in his hands.

——

Later that night, while the rest slept, Wei Wuxian sat outside in the courtyard, letting the stars settle him.

Lil Apple dozed beside him, tethered but still uneasy.

A soft rustle.

Wei Wuxian turned just as someone stepped from the shadows.

The Baifeng disciple.

The same one from before.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, too casual, standing too close.

Wei Wuxian smiled, polite. “I often don’t.”

The disciple’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “I remember stories of you,” he said. “Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch. They say you played the flute and corpses danced. That you rose from death itself.”

“I’ve heard that one,” Wei Wuxian replied evenly.

“Why come back? Why not take your rightful place?”

Wei Wuxian’s smile faltered.

“I’m happy where I am.”

“But you could be more.”

Wei Wuxian stood. “I think this conversation’s over.”

“I could offer you a place. Away from judgment. Away from those who limit you. Your husband doesn’t understand what you’re capable of. But I do. You deserve reverence.”

Wei Wuxian’s blood ran cold.

“Lil Apple’s wound,” he said softly. “That was you.”

The disciple smiled.

“You’re sick,” Wei Wuxian said, backing away.

The disciple took a step forward.

Before he could take another, a talisman landed at his feet—glowing white-hot.

“Step any closer,” came Lan Wangji’s voice, low and lethal, “and you will not walk again.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t even turn. He reached for Chenqing.

The disciple, sneering, vanished back into shadow.

Lan Wangji stepped to Wei Wuxian’s side. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian said, still trembling. “But… he’s obsessed.”

Lan Wangji’s hand tightened around Wei Wuxian’s. “He will not touch you again.”

Wei Wuxian exhaled. “We need to leave.”

“We need to stop him first.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian woke with his heart hammering in his chest and his hands curled into fists.

The nightmare clung like smoke, thick and wet and choking.

Blood-soaked lotus petals drifted across dark waters. A field of swords stuck haphazard in the mud. A boy with wide eyes, calling out—“Baba!”—before being swallowed by black mist.

Lan Shizui.

In the dream, Wei Wuxian had run until his lungs burned, but the mist always closed in. Until there was nothing left.

The air around him was still cold. Morning hadn’t come yet. Somewhere nearby, a faint howl echoed through the hills.

Lan Wangji stirred beside him, one hand resting over Wei Wuxian’s chest, his breath steady.

Wei Wuxian slowly unclenched his fists and turned toward him, whispering, “Lan Zhan?”

A soft hum. “Nightmare?”

Wei Wuxian nodded.

Lan Wangji opened his eyes and shifted to pull Wei Wuxian closer, wrapping him in the clean folds of his robes and the warmth of his body.

Wei Wuxian buried his face in Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “A-Yuan was in it,” he whispered. “I couldn’t reach him.”

“He is safe.”

“But what if—what if he isn’t?” Wei Wuxian whispered. “What if something happens while I’m looking the other way? I couldn’t protect him then. I’m scared I still can’t.”

Lan Wangji pressed his lips to Wei Wuxian’s hair. “You raised him with love. He is strong because of you. He will not fall.”

Wei Wuxian shook with something unspoken—fear, guilt, grief he had buried long ago.

Lan Wangji didn’t say more. He only held him tighter, until the tremors faded.

——

When the sun rose, Wei Wuxian didn’t mention the dream. But he didn’t smile as easily either. He hovered closer to Shizui all morning, asking if he was hungry, if he’d slept well, if his shoulder still ached from yesterday’s spar.

Shizui didn’t question it.

Instead, when Wei Wuxian wasn’t looking, he carefully replaced one of his talismans with one of his own.

——

The Baifeng Sect’s inner courtyard was even quieter than before. A few robed disciples passed by, but they didn’t meet the guests’ eyes. It was like a play, carefully staged and hollow beneath the surface.

Jingyi leaned over to Sizhui. “I swear the old man sweeping the steps was here yesterday. And the day before. Same clothes. Same spot.”

“Don’t make jokes,” Sizhui muttered. “Something is wrong.”

Jin Ling, who hadn’t left Wei Wuxian’s side since the incident with the disciple, looked ready to start interrogating the rocks.

“I want his name,” Jin Ling growled. “The one who tried to talk to you last night.”

“He didn’t just talk,” Wei Wuxian muttered.

Lan Wangji stood just behind him, posture still but fierce. “His name is Baifeng Ruan.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “You found him?”

Lan Wangji gave a curt nod. “He is the youngest son of the Baifeng Sect Leader. Recently returned from isolation training.”

Jin Ling’s hand flew to his sword. “I knew it. That bastard touched Lil Apple. That alone should be worth a beating.”

Lil Apple, still limping slightly, neighed in approval.

Lan Shizui looked pensive. “Isolation training… or was he learning something else?”

“You think this disciple is cultivating demonic practices?” Jingyi asked, eyes wide.

Wei Wuxian sighed. “I think he’s been cultivating delusion.”

Lan Wangji stepped forward. “Today, we observe. Then we act.”

——

Later that afternoon, Sizhui approached Wei Wuxian by the training grounds where the younger disciples were sparring. The mountain wind tugged at the edges of their robes, and the red talismans Wei Wuxian had hung around the perimeter fluttered quietly.

“Baba,” Shizui said, quiet. “I think I should confront him.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Shizui, no.”

“He’s fixated on you. If he thinks I’m just a junior—if I act like someone who’s… like a real son…”

“You are a real son.”

Shizui looked down. “Then let me protect you.”

Wei Wuxian stilled.

Lan Wangji, watching from a distance, did not interfere.

Finally, Wei Wuxian exhaled. “He’s dangerous, A-Yuan.”

“I know. But I’m Lan Shizui. Son of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. I know how to protect myself.”

Wei Wuxian looked torn. But then nodded. “If anything happens—anything—you call for me.”

Shizui smiled. “Always.”

——

The confrontation happened faster than they expected.

Baifeng Ruan intercepted Shizui outside the scroll hall, smiling coldly. “You’re always near him,” he said. “The child. He speaks of you like you’re his.”

Shizui didn’t flinch. “Because I am.”

Baifeng Ruan’s face twisted. “You don’t deserve him. You don’t understand what he is.”

“He’s my father,” Shizui said. “You don’t need to understand that.”

“You’re in the way,” the disciple hissed.

Before either could draw a sword, Wei Wuxian appeared.

No warning. No flute. No footsteps.

Just a sudden, icy silence.

“Step away from my son,” he said.

And Baifeng Ruan froze.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes were unreadable, his smile gone.

Behind him, Jin Ling appeared, blade unsheathed, with Jingyi flanking him, glare sharp.

Then Lan Wangji stepped forward.

The tension split like lightning in a storm.

Wei Wuxian didn’t speak. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a talisman that glowed red.

“Baifeng Ruan,” he said. “By my name and sect standing, I declare you in violation of guest rite and spiritual conduct. You injured my mount. You threatened my child. You approached my husband without invitation.”

“You’re not even a sect leader!” Baifeng Ruan snapped.

“No,” Wei Wuxian said, smile returning—slow, cruel, deadly. “But I’m Wei Wuxian. And you just made my juniors angry.”

“Juniors?” the disciple sneered.

Jin Ling stepped forward, blade gleaming. “I’m a sect leader. Want to try that again?”

Jingyi pulled out a talisman of his own. “He’s practically our uncle. You’re lucky we’re not drawing straws for who gets to slap you first.”

Baifeng Ruan turned pale.

Lan Shizui was the last to speak. Calm. Measured. “You touched what we protect. Leave.”

Wei Wuxian stepped forward and pressed the talisman to Baifeng Ruan’s chest.

There was a flash of light—and the disciple crumpled, unconscious.

Wei Wuxian exhaled shakily.

Lan Wangji caught him before he could slump. “Nightmare?” he whispered.

Wei Wuxian nodded.

“Then it’s over now,” Lan Wangji said. “You’re awake. And we’re here.”

Chapter Text

The Baifeng Sect Leader arrived not long after Baifeng Ruan’s unconscious form was sealed with Wei Wuxian’s talisman and left under protective warding.

He came quietly, with the rustle of embroidered silk and the scent of camellia oil clinging to his sleeves. His hair was grayer than in his portraits, but his eyes were sharp, calculating—and entirely too calm given the circumstances.

“Sect Leader Wei,” he greeted, his smile brittle. “It seems there has been a… misunderstanding.”

Wei Wuxian stood at the head of his small army—Lan Wangji, Jin Ling, Lan Shizui, Lan Jingyi, and the others flanking him like a wall of silent defense. His hair was unbound, his robes slightly ruffled from the earlier confrontation, and his dark eyes gleamed with the kind of storm that didn’t blow past easily.

“No misunderstanding,” Wei Wuxian said coolly. “Your disciple laid hands on my child. And my mount. And myself. I want answers.”

“I’ve already spoken to my son,” the Sect Leader said. “He claims to have acted under spiritual influence. It is possible that during your visit, a residual aura—”

Jin Ling snorted. “You’re trying to say my uncle spiritually influenced your disciple into attacking him?”

“He wasn’t just attacking,” Jingyi snapped. “He was trying to replace him. With himself. We’re not blind.”

Lan Shizui stayed silent, but the look in his eyes was razor-sharp.

Lan Wangji shifted forward. “There was no external influence. Baifeng Ruan’s mind was intact. But twisted.”

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. “He was performing something. There were marks on the walls of the inner sanctum. Ritualistic. Obsessive.”

“I have nothing to do with that,” the Sect Leader said quickly. “If my son practiced such arts, I was unaware. I offer my apologies.”

Wei Wuxian tilted his head. “You didn’t notice your heir dabbling in possession rites and spiritual binding?”

The Sect Leader flinched, but didn’t answer.

Jin Ling stepped forward. “We’ll be reporting this to the Cultivator’s Alliance. Especially the part where you let an unhinged disciple harm my uncle’s spirit beast.”

Lil Apple, bandaged and snorting with offended pride, stood behind the group like a wounded sentinel.

“Perhaps you should take your guests and go,” the Sect Leader said tightly. “Before more misunderstandings occur.”

Wei Wuxian smiled sweetly. “Oh, don’t worry. We were just leaving.”

——

They rode in tight formation down the misty slope, silent at first. Jingyi kept checking the trees like something might leap out. Jin Ling had his hand tight on his sword. Sizhui rode closest to Wei Wuxian, eyes never leaving his Baba.

Wei Wuxian broke the silence first. “You were all amazing, by the way.”

“Of course we were,” Jin Ling muttered. “Can’t have anyone thinking they can mess with you.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes. “Still… thank you.”

Jingyi squinted at him. “You’re acting like we haven’t stood by you before.”

Wei Wuxian smiled. “You always do.”

——

That night, they returned to the inn they’d passed on the way to Baifeng. Safe. Quiet. Wei Wuxian didn’t speak much after dinner. He lingered with the juniors until they yawned into their tea, and then, one by one, they disappeared to bed.

Only Lan Shizui remained.

He sat across from his Baba, fiddling with the edge of his robe.

Wei Wuxian looked at him. “What is it, A-Yuan?”

Shizui swallowed. “You had another nightmare last night, didn’t you?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flickered. “You knew?”

“You called my name.”

Silence settled thick.

Wei Wuxian let out a slow breath. “I just… I keep thinking something will take you from me. That I’ll fail to protect you again.”

Shizui reached across the table and took his hand.

“I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere, Baba.”

Wei Wuxian gave him a crooked smile. “I know. But the world isn’t always kind.”

“Then we’ll fight it together.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, and his heart clenched. Not because of fear—but because this boy, this bright, loyal boy, had grown into something so strong. Strong enough to protect.

A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.

Lan Wangji entered silently then, and took in the scene with one glance.

Wei Wuxian turned toward him, smiling through the tears. “Lan Zhan… he’s really ours, isn’t he?”

Lan Wangji walked over and placed a hand on both of their shoulders. “Yes,” he said softly. “Forever.”

——

That night, Wei Wuxian dreamed again—but this time, it was different.

The mists came, yes. But as they reached for him, a dozen golden talismans flared around him, forming a circle of light.

Lan Shizui stood in the center, holding a flute.

And in the dream, for the first time, Wei Wuxian smiled—and wasn’t afraid.

Chapter Text

Cloud Recesses was colder than usual when they returned.

Even with the mountain air still crisp from spring, the quiet halls seemed draped in frost—etched not by weather, but by the weight of what had almost happened.

Lan Xichen stood at the entrance of the inner courtyard when they arrived, his expression calm but unreadable. Wei Wuxian didn’t miss the slight crease between his brows, nor the way his gaze immediately found Lan Shizui—assessing, ensuring, then softening with visible relief.

“You’re safe,” Lan Xichen said quietly.

Lan Shizui bowed. “Thanks to Baba. And Hanguang-jun.”

Wei Wuxian exhaled as Lan Xichen turned his attention to him. There was no judgment in the older Lan’s eyes—but there was wariness. And something else. Worry.

“Come inside,” Lan Xichen said. “We have much to discuss.”

——

The room was lined with records and scrolls, sunlight slanting through the paper windows in soft strips. Wei Wuxian sat across from Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji at his side, calm and quiet as always.

“The Baifeng Sect sent a missive,” Lan Xichen said, setting down a pale golden scroll. “They claim Baifeng Ruan acted alone. They’ve expelled him and placed him under house confinement.”

Wei Wuxian’s laugh was bitter. “That’s it?”

Lan Xichen’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on the scroll. “There’s more. This came anonymously. Left at our outer gates.”

He slid a second envelope across the table.

Wei Wuxian hesitated before picking it up. The seal was cracked, the edges of the parchment singed—like it had passed through fire or fevered hands. The writing inside was unsteady. The words were worse.

I only wanted to be him.

You don’t understand what it’s like to watch someone shine and know you’ll never be seen.

But I could’ve made it better. I would have loved you more than he ever could.

I would have let you be what you are—dark, broken, brilliant. I would’ve worshipped it.

You would’ve learned to love me back, eventually.

There was no signature.

Wei Wuxian dropped the letter like it had burned him.

Lan Wangji was already beside him, placing a hand on his back, firm and grounding.

Lan Xichen said, “We’re investigating the origin. But this kind of fixation—”

“It doesn’t go away easily,” Wei Wuxian finished quietly.

——

Later that night, Wei Wuxian walked the paths of the Cloud Recesses alone. Or he tried to.

“Uncle.”

Jin Ling appeared beside him like a summoned spirit, arms crossed, sword at his back, golden robes a sharp contrast to the pale moonlight.

“You’re not actually going alone, are you?”

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow. “You all think I’m made of glass now?”

“No,” Jin Ling said. “We think you’re stupid enough to try to take on the whole world alone again. Which is worse.”

Wei Wuxian snorted and kept walking. Jin Ling fell into step beside him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Wei Wuxian finally said. “I have no interest in anyone else.”

Jin Ling shrugged. “Didn’t say you did. But next time someone looks at you like you’re theirs to take, I’ll run them through myself.”

Wei Wuxian glanced at him, a little touched, a little amused. “You know I’m not helpless.”

“I know,” Jin Ling said. “But you’re ours. That means something.”

——

Wei Wuxian didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

Even with Lan Wangji beside him, warm and steady, dreams pressed at the edge of his consciousness. This time, the mists didn’t come from nowhere—they wore faces. Baifeng Ruan’s twisted devotion. Cultivators turning their backs. Blood. A flute shattering.

He woke in a cold sweat, gasping.

Lan Wangji sat up immediately, brushing his thumb across Wei Wuxian’s brow.

“Another?”

Wei Wuxian nodded, throat tight.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

Lan Wangji pulled him close, wrapping him in arms that didn’t waver.

“No,” he said. “You’re not. But you’re not alone either.”

Wei Wuxian buried his face in Lan Wangji’s shoulder, letting himself tremble for just a moment.

Just a moment.

——

In the morning, Wei Wuxian found Lan Shizui sitting in the library garden, brushing his fingers over the strings of a guqin he wasn’t playing.

He sat beside him.

“Bad dreams?” Shizui asked softly.

“Mm.”

Silence fell, soft and almost comfortable.

Then, Lan Shizui said, “I dreamed once that you walked away and didn’t come back. When I was younger. I didn’t know why, just that I was alone.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart clenched.

“I woke up crying,” Shizui added. “Lan Jingyi got so scared, he tried to give me all of his candy stash to cheer me up.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, even though it came out hoarse. “I’m sorry, A-Yuan.”

“You came back,” Shizui said simply. “So it’s okay.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed hard.

He leaned over and rested his forehead against his son’s.

“I will always come back.”

——

That evening, another letter arrived. Not handwritten. No signature. Just a pressed black flower and a single phrase in red ink:

You looked better in mourning robes anyway.

Lan Wangji burned it before Wei Wuxian could touch it.

His hand lingered in Wei Wuxian’s long after the ashes cooled.

Chapter Text

The night was unusually still.

Cloud Recesses was often quiet—peace was its signature, after all—but this stillness was something else. Something that pulsed under the skin like a held breath. Wei Wuxian could feel it crawling along his spine, even as he passed the boundary stones on his evening walk with Lan Wangji.

He paused.

“Hm?” Lan Wangji looked at him, ever attuned.

Wei Wuxian tilted his head. “Did you feel that?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed slightly. Then—

A crack in the spiritual barrier. Small. Faint. But there.

Lan Wangji unsheathed Bichen in a single breath. Wei Wuxian’s flute materialized in his hand, fingers already skimming the edge of a summoning song.

“Sound the alarm,” Lan Wangji said, voice low and deadly calm. “Something crossed the ward.”

——

They found the first trace of the intruder by the lake—footsteps in the moss, leading to nothing.

The second trace was worse.

A disciple’s robes—neatly folded—were left near the Cold Spring’s edge. Wei Wuxian’s stomach turned. The scent was familiar.

“Baifeng Ruan,” he whispered.

“But he was expelled—” Lan Jingyi said, appearing at a run with Lan Shizui and Jin Ling right behind him.

“He never left Gusu,” Wei Wuxian said. “He’s been hiding.”

“And watching,” Lan Wangji added, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Jin Ling, sword drawn, looked like he was ready to tear through stone with his bare hands. “He’s still after you?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian said. “He’s after what I care about.”

——

They reached the inner courtyard just in time.

Baifeng Ruan was standing in front of the juniors’ quarters. His hand stretched toward Lan Shizui’s door, eyes glassy with obsession, breathing ragged.

“You don’t belong here,” he muttered to himself. “He’s mine. He was always supposed to be mine.”

“Step away from that door,” Wei Wuxian said sharply.

Baifeng Ruan froze.

Then, slowly, he turned.

Wei Wuxian had seen many eyes twisted by grief, by resentment, by madness. But this… this was worship perverted.

“Why are you still with him?” Baifeng Ruan’s voice was quiet. Pleading. “He doesn’t love you like I would. He holds you back. He locks you in rules and silence. I would let you be free.”

“I am free,” Wei Wuxian said coldly. “And I chose Lan Wangji.”

Behind him, Bichen hummed with tension.

Baifeng’s gaze flicked to Lan Wangji—and twisted.

“You don’t deserve him.”

Before Wei Wuxian could respond, Baifeng moved.

The blade came from nowhere—sleek, silver, aimed not at Wei Wuxian, but past him.

Toward Lan Shizui’s door.

“NO—!” Wei Wuxian threw himself forward, a blast from his flute shattering the energy behind the strike. But Baifeng was faster than expected. The spiritual blow hit the door, splintering it open.

A frightened voice cried out: “Baba!”

Wei Wuxian’s heart nearly stopped.

Lan Shizui ran out barefoot, sword raised, but Wei Wuxian intercepted him in an instant, pulling him close and shielding him with his own body.

“You stay behind me, A-Yuan,” he said, breathless. “Don’t move.”

Baifeng was already moving again—but this time, he was intercepted.

Jin Ling’s sword clanged against Baifeng’s with a fury that lit the courtyard.

“You don’t get to breathe near my uncle,” Jin Ling snarled.

Lan Jingyi and Sizhui flanked him, formation sharp despite the chaos. Wei Wuxian was proud, even through the fear. His ducklings—his boys—stood like shields.

Lan Wangji stepped forward, voice cold as ice.

“You tried to touch what’s mine.”

Baifeng turned toward him—and froze.

The fury behind Lan Wangji’s golden eyes was more than rage. It was possession. And power.

“I will not warn you again,” Lan Wangji said, unsheathing Bichen fully.

Baifeng lunged—foolishly, desperately.

Lan Wangji cut through his attack like it was paper. The blow didn’t kill him—but it threw him across the courtyard, unconscious before he hit the ground.

——

Hours later, the elders took Baifeng Ruan into custody. But Wei Wuxian didn’t sleep.

He sat by Lan Shizui’s bed, brushing the boy’s hair back gently as he checked for injuries again—even though there were none.

“You were so brave,” he said softly.

Lan Shizui looked up at him, wide-eyed. “I wasn’t. I was scared.”

Wei Wuxian smiled, a little broken. “Being scared doesn’t mean you weren’t brave.”

Lan Shizui nodded sleepily. “You were hurt.”

“Just a scratch.”

Lan Wangji, sitting beside them both, raised an eyebrow.

“A scratch?” he repeated, voice faintly exasperated. He had already bandaged Wei Wuxian’s shoulder earlier, jaw tight with tension the entire time.

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Okay. A really cool and heroic battle wound.”

Lan Shizui giggled.

Then his expression softened.

“Baba?”

Wei Wuxian brushed his cheek with his thumb. “Mm?”

“You won’t leave again, right?”

Wei Wuxian leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Never,” he whispered. “Not for anything.”

——

That night, Wei Wuxian curled up beside Lan Wangji, finally allowing himself to breathe.

Lan Wangji pulled him close, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“You are mine,” he said softly. “Let them try to take you. They will not survive it.”

Wei Wuxian shivered.

“Promise me,” Lan Wangji whispered, “you’ll be careful. No more charging in alone.”

Wei Wuxian hesitated… then nodded.

“For you,” he said, “I’ll try.”

Lan Wangji didn’t speak again.

Instead, he leaned in and bit Wei Wuxian’s shoulder—sharp, possessive, unmistakable.

Wei Wuxian gasped.

From the hallway outside, a junior’s voice squeaked: “I—I didn’t mean to—Aiyah—I’ll come back later!”

“Jingyi!” Lan Shizui shouted in embarrassment from the next room.

Wei Wuxian laughed so hard he nearly forgot the bruise blooming on his shoulder.

Chapter Text

The early morning air in Cloud Recesses was usually soft with birdsong and rustling bamboo. Today, it was unnervingly quiet. Even the wind seemed to tread carefully.

Wei Wuxian stood by the lotus pond just outside the guest quarters, watching Lil’ Apple nibble nervously at a bunch of lotus stems. The donkey’s ears flicked, and his body was still bruised where Baifeng Ruan had struck him in a fit of violent spite. The stablehands had found him limping just before dawn, and now he limped gently toward Wei Wuxian as if asking whether it was okay to be hurt.

Wei Wuxian crouched low and pressed his forehead to Lil’ Apple’s.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice catching. “You didn’t deserve that.”

The soft clop of footsteps behind him gave no surprise.

“You should be resting,” Lan Wangji said quietly, stopping beside him.

Wei Wuxian straightened with a wince. The bandage on his shoulder tugged slightly. “You say that like I’m capable of staying still.”

“You are not,” Lan Wangji said, deadpan.

That earned a faint laugh.

Wei Wuxian looked up at him, searching. “Did I do the right thing? Bringing Shizui into all of this? Coming here with you and dragging everything I am with me?”

Lan Wangji’s answer was immediate.

“Yes.”

Wei Wuxian blinked.

“You protected him. You protect all of them. They would not be who they are without you.”

Wei Wuxian turned away, lips trembling despite himself. “Sometimes I wonder if they’d be safer without me.”

“Not safer. Just… less whole.”

Wei Wuxian said nothing, but his hand found Lan Wangji’s, and their fingers laced together like habit
——

That morning, the elders summoned him.

Wei Wuxian walked into the quiet meeting hall in his black robes, head high, despite the stiffness in his spine and the dull ache in his bandaged shoulder.

Lan Wangji stood beside him.

The elder sitting in the center—Lan Qiren’s senior by two decades—adjusted his scrolls with a loud tap.

“You violated several protocols by involving yourself in the disciples’ defense,” the elder began. “Furthermore, you were the target of the attack. Should your presence not be reconsidered—”

“Absolutely not,” Lan Jingyi interrupted, storming in with a face like thunder. “Wei-gongzi didn’t endanger us—he saved us!”

“Wei Wuxian is our Baba,” Lan Shizui said, appearing behind him with all the righteous fire of someone raised by two overprotective parents. “If he hadn’t been here, I might’ve—” He swallowed, suddenly less brave. “He kept me safe.”

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, startled. “A-Yuan—”

But Jin Ling followed behind, arms crossed. “What’s the real problem? That my uncle defends the people he loves, or that he does it better than your rules allow?”

The elder opened his mouth to protest—but Lan Wangji’s voice silenced the room.

“Enough.”

Silence rippled like a current.

“I vouched for him,” Lan Wangji said, gaze steely. “And he has done nothing but honor that trust.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him, breath caught.

“He is Lan Shizui’s father. He is my husband. And this sect owes him more than it dares admit.”

No one dared argue further.

——

Later, Lan Shizui sat cross-legged beside Wei Wuxian in the Jingshi, a blanket around his shoulders and a cup of sweet tea in his hands. His hair was a little mussed, and he looked younger than usual—softer, more uncertain.

Wei Wuxian rubbed his back gently. “You okay?”

Shizui nodded. “I think so. I just… I don’t get why someone would hate you so much, Baba.”

Wei Wuxian’s throat closed for a moment. Then he gave a lopsided smile. “Sometimes… people love the idea of someone more than the person. And when they realize they can’t control that person, it turns into something else.”

Shizui frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Wei Wuxian chuckled. “It rarely does.”

Then he sobered.

“Back then… I didn’t think I’d ever have this,” he said, quietly. “A family. A child. Peace.”

“You have us now,” Shizui said firmly. “All of us. I won’t let anyone take you away again.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t cry.

But only because Lan Wangji appeared silently behind them and wrapped them both in a quiet embrace, grounding them in the moment.

——

That night, Wei Wuxian dreamed again.

It was raining in the Burial Mounds. Thick, cold rain that soaked the bones and filled the crevices of collapsed graves.

He was standing over Wen Ning’s shattered body.

Lil’ Apple was missing.

A distant scream echoed—Lan Shizui’s voice.

“No—!” Wei Wuxian ran through the muck and the tombs, but the landscape kept changing—twisting into Lotus Pier, then the Nightless City, then the stone paths of Gusu.

Everywhere he turned, someone was dying.

It’s your fault, a voice whispered. You always bring ruin.

“Stop!” he shouted. “I didn’t mean to—”

He’s going to leave you, too. Just like they all did.

“No—!”

He woke gasping, cold sweat on his back, sheets tangled.

Lan Wangji was already sitting beside him, holding his hand.

Wei Wuxian clung to him without shame.

“He was going to hurt A-Yuan,” he whispered. “And I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t get there in time—”

“You did,” Lan Wangji said, voice firm. “You did.”

Wei Wuxian pressed his face to his chest, breath ragged. “He keeps trying to undo everything I’ve built. Everything we built.”

Lan Wangji pulled him closer.

“Then we won’t let him.”

——

By sunrise, peace had mostly returned.

Jin Ling, Lan Jingyi, and Shizui practiced sparring again. Lil’ Apple was eating cut peaches out of a dish, though his ears still drooped.

Wei Wuxian was sitting on the steps with a blanket over his shoulders, sipping soup.

Lan Wangji sat beside him, silent and warm.

Wei Wuxian leaned into his shoulder and sighed. “I thought I’d be kicked out today.”

“You would have had to be physically dragged,” Lan Wangji said, completely serious.

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Now that’s love.”

But even with the sun out, the warmth returning, and laughter returning to the courtyard… danger still loomed.

Because in the last light of day, as Wei Wuxian swept the training yard, he noticed a sealed letter tucked beneath a stone near the boundary.

There was no signature.

Only a single line, in sharp black ink:

“I wasn’t the only one. And he was never yours.”

Wei Wuxian stared.

And smiled.

Cold.

Chapter Text

The sealed letter weighed heavy in Wei Wuxian’s robes as he returned to the Jingshi.

Lan Wangji sat waiting by the table, pouring tea with calm precision. He glanced up immediately, sensing something wrong before Wei Wuxian even spoke.

Wei Wuxian dropped the letter onto the low table between them.

Lan Wangji picked it up, slit the seal open neatly with a talon of spiritual energy, and scanned the contents.

His grip tightened.

Lan Wangji’s voice was colder than ice. “There is another.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, grim. “And judging by the tone, they’re still here.”

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Finally, Wei Wuxian leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. “Looks like we’re going hunting.”

Lan Wangji set the letter down carefully, as though it were something diseased. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim lamplight.

“I will not let them near you again,” he said, in a tone that promised ruin.

Wei Wuxian smiled tiredly and reached over, brushing his fingers lightly along Lan Wangji’s wrist. “I know.”

——

The next morning, Jin Ling stomped into the Jingshi at first light, his sword clanging against his hip.

“I’m helping,” he declared, standing there like a miniature, grumpy general.

Wei Wuxian blinked at him over his breakfast. “Helping what?”

Jin Ling scowled deeper. “I heard about the letter. You’re being targeted, Uncle. Again. Again! And you’re not leaving me out of this.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth twitched. “I wasn’t planning to, Ah-Ling.”

“Good.”

Lan Wangji gave a slow nod of approval, which made Jin Ling straighten like he’d been knighted.

Across the courtyard, Lan Shizui and Lan Jingyi were already organizing the juniors into rotating patrols, sparring groups, and message relays. Their protective instincts were sharper than any elder’s warnings. This wasn’t just about obedience anymore.

This was about their own.

Wei Wuxian watched them with a slow, blooming warmth under his ribs, even through the lingering ache of the nightmare.

“They’re getting too good at this,” he muttered into his tea.

Lan Wangji, seated beside him, hummed softly. “They learned from you.”

Wei Wuxian coughed, embarrassed. “From both of us, maybe.”

——

By midday, something odd stirred the air.

Lan Shizui had been supervising the new disciples when he noticed it—a strange heaviness clinging to the edge of the practice fields. A few junior disciples complained of headaches and nausea after sparring near the southern clearing.

When he mentioned it to Wei Wuxian during lunch, Wei Wuxian froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

“That’s spiritual contamination,” he said sharply. “Someone’s laid a curse array nearby.”

Lan Wangji was on his feet a second later.

Wei Wuxian rose too, grim. “We need to find it before nightfall. If it’s activated when the boundary weakens at night, it could tear a hole in the wards.”

“And let something worse inside,” Lan Wangji finished.

Jin Ling grabbed his sword. “Then let’s move.”

——

The juniors fanned out carefully across the southern fields, searching for anything unusual.

Wei Wuxian crouched low in the grass, sweeping his spiritual energy in a slow, methodical arc.

There—just a whisper of a hum.

He narrowed his eyes at a patch of disturbed earth near the old peach tree.

Drawing a talisman from his sleeve, he placed it gently on the ground. It flashed once, revealing a complex, pulsing sigil underneath—a spiderweb of resentment.

“Found you,” he murmured.

But just as he reached to break the array, a blur of motion struck him from the side.

Lan Wangji was faster.

He caught Wei Wuxian by the waist, yanking him backward as a blade sang through the air where Wei Wuxian’s throat had been a heartbeat before.

Wei Wuxian hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him—but Lan Wangji was already moving, sword drawn.

A figure in junior robes—one of the new disciples—stood at the edge of the clearing, wild-eyed, holding a dagger laced with dark energy.

Wei Wuxian recognized him immediately: Xue Yi, a newly accepted disciple from a minor cultivation clan near Yunmeng.

“You—” Wei Wuxian started.

But Xue Yi lunged at him again with a shriek.

Before he could reach him, Jin Ling blocked the strike with a crashing blow from Suihua, teeth bared.

“Stay away from my uncle, you bastard!”

Lan Shizui and Lan Jingyi closed ranks immediately, forcing Xue Yi back toward the center of the field.

Wei Wuxian pushed himself upright, heart pounding. His spiritual energy was still sluggish—too drained from the nightmare and the lingering curse—but he gritted his teeth and focused.

The array was still active, pulsing beneath their feet.

“Don’t touch the ground!” he shouted.

The juniors leapt back instinctively.

Lan Wangji’s spiritual sword cleaved through the edge of the array, breaking part of the sigil—and the ground shuddered as resentment screamed into the air.

Wei Wuxian reached for his flute, breathless.

But Xue Yi, seeing the array falter, let out a scream of pure rage—and bolted straight at Wei Wuxian, dagger raised.

In one clean, brutal movement, Lan Wangji moved between them—and drove his sword through Xue Yi’s chest.

The boy froze, eyes wide.

He slid off the blade and crumpled into the grass without another sound.

Wei Wuxian staggered forward instinctively—he hated death, even when it was necessary—but Lan Wangji caught him by the shoulders, steady.

“You are safe,” Lan Wangji said, voice low.

Wei Wuxian trembled once, then nodded.

——

That night, after the elders had been informed, after the juniors had been checked over twice, after the remains of the cursed array had been burned to ash, Wei Wuxian finally sagged into bed.

Lil’ Apple was curled up beside him, a gauze bandage on his haunch.

Lan Shizui sat at the end of the bed, solemn and silent.

“I’m sorry, Baba,” he said, voice small. “I should’ve noticed faster.”

Wei Wuxian hauled him into a hug immediately. “You did perfect, A-Yuan. You were brilliant.”

Lan Shizui hesitated—then wrapped his arms tight around him, hiding his face in Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

Lan Wangji returned from locking down the perimeter and found them like that—Wei Wuxian cradling his duckling close, Lil’ Apple snoring at their feet.

He crossed the room silently and knelt beside them.

“We are here,” Lan Wangji said simply, setting his hand over Wei Wuxian’s.

“We’re home,” Wei Wuxian whispered, voice cracking just slightly.

And for once, the nightmares stayed away.

Chapter Text

The silence in Cloud Recesses the following morning was not peace.

It was watchfulness.

The fog that usually hung gently along the walkways now clung thick around every corner, as if even the mountains themselves were holding their breath.

The juniors were quieter than usual, too. Wei Wuxian had watched them patrol with practiced grace and grim focus, more like guards than disciples.

Jin Ling was stalking the halls like a tiger ready to bite the leg off anyone who looked at his uncle the wrong way.

And Lan Wangji—Lan Wangji had not left Wei Wuxian’s side for longer than a moment.

Not since the array. Not since the dagger. Not since he’d run someone through to keep Wei Wuxian breathing.

Wei Wuxian didn’t say anything. But he noticed.

Especially when Lan Wangji wrapped a scarf around his throat with fingers so gentle, it almost felt like an apology.

——

“You know,” Wei Wuxian said that afternoon, sitting on the steps outside the Jingshi with Lan Shizui leaning against his shoulder, “I used to think I’d never have this. A place. A family.”

Lan Shizui made a soft noise, barely awake.

Wei Wuxian smiled faintly and ran a hand through the boy’s hair. “But then there you were. You, and the rest of my little radishes. And Lan Zhan, of course. My stubborn, quiet, fiercely overprotective Lan Zhan.”

He glanced up at the open path leading into the mountain forests—and froze.

There was someone standing at the edge of the mist.

Tall. Pale. Still.

Then a familiar voice said, “Wei-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian stood so fast, Lan Shizui wobbled slightly.

“Wen Ning!”

The Ghost General blinked at him, hands tucked into his sleeves, head tilted in his usual confused-puppy posture.

“I heard… that someone tried to hurt you.”

Wei Wuxian reached him in three strides and wrapped his arms around him tight. Wen Ning didn’t flinch. He simply let himself be held.

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian mumbled into his shoulder. “Just some disciple with more ambition than sense.”

“You’re not fine,” Wen Ning said with his usual blunt honesty. “You had a nightmare. You’re tired. Lil’ Apple was hurt. You flinched when I stepped close.”

Wei Wuxian made a face. “Don’t tell Lan Zhan.”

“It’s too late,” came Lan Wangji’s voice from behind them.

Wei Wuxian turned to see him standing under the eaves, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

But Wen Ning didn’t seem worried. He gave a nod of deep respect.

“Lan-zongzhu.”

Lan Wangji returned it. “Wen-gongzi.”

“Wen Ning!” Lan Jingyi shouted, barreling down the path with a wave. “You’re here! Do the thing! The ghost leap!”

“No!” Lan Shizui called after him. “Don’t startle him—he just got here!”

Jin Ling stomped out from the Jingshi next, clearly mid-tantrum. “Why didn’t anyone tell me Uncle was bringing a literal ghost general to stay?”

“Because we didn’t think you’d show up screaming like a goose,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully.

“I was not screaming like a goose!”

“You kind of were,” Lan Jingyi added helpfully.

Wen Ning gave a shy smile and held up a basket. “I brought preserved lotus root. And dried sweet osmanthus. I thought maybe… we could all have tea?”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then Jin Ling muttered, “…fine, but I get the biggest piece.”

——

The tea was shared on the back veranda that evening, with Lil’ Apple curled up at Wei Wuxian’s feet and Wen Ning seated like a quiet mountain among the rowdy juniors.

Wei Wuxian finally let himself breathe.

He watched them laugh—Lan Jingyi trying to get Wen Ning to tell war stories, Lan Shizui politely attempting to stop them, Jin Ling scolding them both like a miniature uncle, even as he snuck pieces of osmanthus candy.

The sun dipped low behind the peaks, setting the mist aglow.

And then, quietly, Lan Wangji took Wei Wuxian’s hand in full view of everyone.

He stood.

And pulled Wei Wuxian to his feet with him.

The juniors stopped talking. Wen Ning looked up.

And then—Lan Wangji dropped to one knee.

Wei Wuxian blinked.

“Lan Zhan?” he asked, voice caught between surprise and panic.

“I should have said this sooner,” Lan Wangji said calmly, “but it is time now.”

From his sleeve, he pulled a single strip of white silk. On it, the cloud pattern of Gusu Lan, delicately embroidered.

He offered it with both hands.

“In front of our sect, our family, our son,” Lan Wangji said, “I vow again: my life, my strength, my soul, are yours.”

Wei Wuxian’s throat went tight.

“I know,” Lan Wangji continued, voice steady despite the quiet trembling of his hand, “that you never truly believed you were worthy of peace. Of safety. Of being chosen.”

He looked up, eyes locked on Wei Wuxian’s.

“But you are. And I will remind you every day, for the rest of our lives.”

Lan Shizui wiped his eyes. Jin Ling didn’t even try to look tough. Wen Ning just stared with the softest smile Wei Wuxian had ever seen.

And Wei Wuxian—

Wei Wuxian dropped to his knees and pressed their foreheads together, eyes burning.

“You idiot,” he whispered, “I’ve always been yours.”

——

That night, when Wei Wuxian climbed into bed, he found Lan Wangji waiting, back straight, eyes soft.

He let himself be gathered close, resting his head against Lan Wangji’s chest.

Outside the window, Wen Ning stood like a silent guardian, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

Inside, Lil’ Apple snorted in his sleep. Lan Shizui was tucked into his guest room, still clutching the silk sash Lan Wangji had used in his vow. Jin Ling had passed out face-first on the floor after declaring he would guard the door.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

Wei Wuxian felt safe enough to sleep without fear.

Chapter Text

The mist in Gusu had always been a comfort to Wei Wuxian. It softened the sharp lines of memory, blurred the harsh edges of grief. But now—now it felt too quiet.

Too still.

Too watching.

He could feel it crawling against the back of his neck as he walked through the inner courtyard, Wen Ning pacing quietly at his side. Lan Wangji was just ahead of them, leading the way with lantern light filtering gently through the fog.

The juniors had reported strange fluctuations in the wards again. Not harmful—but wrong, like something was slinking through the barriers without ever really triggering them. Like something was… waiting.

Wei Wuxian had woken that morning from a dream of blood in the water, his hands covered in black mist. No face, no voice—just a feeling. Like being watched through a crack in a wall.

And then he’d gone to check on Lil’ Apple and found the poor donkey shivering. Not hurt—but disturbed, as if he’d seen something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Now, with Wen Ning’s silent steps beside him and the lantern swinging gently in Lan Wangji’s hand, Wei Wuxian tried to ignore the tight coil of unease twisting in his chest.

——

They reached the northern slope where the disturbance had been strongest.

Lan Wangji knelt, brushing his fingers over the dry soil. Wei Wuxian crouched beside him and muttered a soft incantation under his breath.

A light hum sparked to life. A thin thread of spiritual energy lit the ground—and then abruptly fractured, like broken glass.

Lan Wangji’s brows furrowed. “Distorted.”

Wei Wuxian nodded grimly. “It’s almost like… something tore through here and stitched the path back together after.”

Wen Ning knelt beside them. His eyes glowed faintly in the lantern light. “It smells wrong.”

Wei Wuxian looked up sharply. “Like resentful energy?”

Wen Ning shook his head slowly. “No. Like something that used to be human… but isn’t anymore.”

——

They returned to the Jingshi with their findings—and found Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling mid-argument.

“—I told you not to go poking around the guest quarters!”

“I wasn’t poking! I was investigating!”

“Investigating is poking with intent!”

Lan Shizui looked ready to bury himself in the floor from secondhand embarrassment.

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow as he stepped inside. “What happened now?”

Jin Ling shoved a paper toward him. “I found this in the new disciple’s trunk. It was hidden behind a false panel. Tell me this doesn’t scream obsession.”

Wei Wuxian unfolded the paper.

His blood went cold.

There were sketches—dozens of them. All of him. From every angle. Some in ink. Some in charcoal. Some just traced outlines with his name written underneath. Wei Wuxian scrawled in increasingly messy handwriting.

The dates on some of them were from before Xue Yi had arrived.

Lan Wangji stepped behind him and took the paper from his hands. His eyes darkened.

“I will deal with this,” he said, voice like winter steel.

Wei Wuxian reached for his sleeve. “Lan Zhan—”

But Lan Wangji was already turning, already vanishing into the mist like a blade on a mission.

Wen Ning stepped up beside Wei Wuxian and looked down at the sketches.

“I think you need to leave Cloud Recesses,” he said quietly.

Wei Wuxian blinked. “What?”

“Not forever,” Wen Ning amended. “But just for a while. The wards are watching one place too closely. They can’t see the bigger picture. If someone like Xue Yi got in once…”

Wei Wuxian looked toward the mountains.

“…then someone else might, too.”

——

That night, he didn’t sleep.

Not really.

He drifted somewhere between wakefulness and exhaustion, too tired to stay up, too tense to rest. And then—

The sound of dripping.

Dark water, black mist.

A figure at the edge of a lotus pond, turning slowly.

Wei Wuxian stepped closer. His feet made no sound. The mist was warm against his skin, suffocating, familiar.

He reached out a hand.

The figure turned.

It had his face.

But its eyes were hollow. Its smile too wide. Its voice like wind through a grave: “You left me here. You always leave them here.”

Wei Wuxian stumbled back, choking. “No—I didn’t—I tried to save you—!”

The dream-thing lunged forward.

He woke gasping, drenched in sweat, fingers clenched in the bedding like claws.

Lan Wangji was already there, hands gentle, voice low.

“Wei Ying,” he murmured, pulling him close. “It was just a dream. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Wei Wuxian pressed his forehead to Lan Wangji’s shoulder and breathed in the clean scent of sandalwood and moonlight.

“…It had my face.”

Lan Wangji didn’t flinch. “Then we’ll face it together.”

——

Morning came slowly. Wei Wuxian moved through it in a fog.

Lan Shizui noticed.

“Baba?” he asked quietly as Wei Wuxian adjusted his robes. “You had another dream.”

Wei Wuxian smiled faintly. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

“I’m smart enough to know when something’s wrong.”

Wei Wuxian crouched in front of him and smoothed his hair back. “I’ll be fine. But if something happens again—if you ever feel something strange—you tell me. No matter what. Alright?”

Lan Shizui hesitated. Then nodded. “Promise.”

Wei Wuxian kissed his forehead and pulled him into a hug. “Good boy.”

——

By afternoon, the plan was set.

Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Wen Ning, and the juniors would leave at dawn for Xue Yi’s original sect. Jin Ling had already gone ahead to scout out the area under his mother’s name. The rest of them would follow.

But there was still that lingering question.

What was that energy?

What had they really let in?

And why did it wear Wei Wuxian’s face in his dreams?

Chapter Text

The mountain path was narrow, coiling through steep cliffs and overgrown bramble like a long-forgotten thread. Mist clung to their boots and hair, curling through the trees like fingers. Even Lil’ Apple refused to go farther without Wei Wuxian walking beside him, his hooves shuffling nervously as the donkey leaned closer to his master’s side.

Lan Wangji led at the front, guqin on his back, Bichen at his hip, eyes fixed ahead with a cold, unreadable focus. Beside him, Wei Wuxian’s shoulders were tense, his every step steady but weighted. He hadn’t slept since the nightmare.

Behind them, Lan Shizui walked in practiced silence, but his eyes never left Wei Wuxian’s back. Lan Jingyi and Sizhui flanked him protectively—like loyal shadows—while Wen Ning brought up the rear. The fierce corpse had said little since they passed the first broken stone marker bearing the sigil of a sect that should have never risen again.

A splinter sect of the Qianqiu Path—long destroyed after the war.

Jin Ling had gone ahead. Wei Wuxian didn’t like it.

Neither did Lan Wangji.

“I should have insisted he wait,” Wei Wuxian muttered, eyes scanning the cliffs. “He’s brave, not invincible.”

“He is not alone,” Lan Wangji replied. “His men are with him.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. “Still. He’s my nephew.”

Lan Wangji glanced at him. “So is Sizhui.”

Wei Wuxian paused, warmth blooming faintly in his chest despite the cold.

“True,” he said softly. “They both are. All of them.”

——

By mid-afternoon, they reached the outskirts of the ruined sect. A shrine stood at the edge of a dried-up pond—twisted and rotting with time. Half-collapsed, the structure seemed to lean toward them as though listening.

A figure stood in front of it.

Jin Ling.

“About time,” he said without turning around. “This place reeks.”

Wei Wuxian approached warily. “Find anything?”

“Too much.”

Jin Ling turned then, and his face was grim.

“There’s a hidden chamber beneath the shrine,” he said. “Filled with… stuff. Drawings. Carvings. Altars. All of you.”

He looked directly at Wei Wuxian.

“Mostly you.”

——

The hidden chamber was colder than it should’ve been. Not deathly, not icy—but… watching.

Carvings lined the walls. Faces with hollow eyes. Names scratched over and over: Wei Wuxian, Wei-gongzi, Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian.

And at the center—an altar with a burned lotus, dried to ash.

Lan Shizui went still. “This is wrong.”

Wei Wuxian stepped closer, hand trembling just slightly. “This is worship. Twisted.”

Wen Ning’s eyes glowed faintly. “It wasn’t just obsession. It’s imitation.”

“Like a puppet,” Lan Wangji said, stepping beside Wei Wuxian. “Or worse—something trying to wear your face.”

A sound echoed down the chamber.

A low rasp.

Breathing.

Jin Ling’s sword was drawn before Wei Wuxian could blink.

Lan Wangji stepped in front of Wei Wuxian without a word, hand on Bichen’s hilt.

Wen Ning moved toward the sound like a phantom.

They found the source quickly: a single, long-forgotten prisoner still barely alive, hidden behind a false panel. Half-starved. Teeth filed down.

He whispered, “She said you would come. She said you would feed it. The one in the fog…”

Wei Wuxian crouched down. “Who?”

“The mask,” the man wheezed. “It wears your face. But the eyes—they are empty. Don’t trust the fog.”

——

That night, they camped just outside the sect ruins. Lan Wangji didn’t leave Wei Wuxian’s side. Lan Shizui stayed close, eyes flicking from every rustle in the trees to his Baba’s too-quiet expression.

Wen Ning stood watch.

Jin Ling muttered to himself as he cleaned his sword.

And Wei Wuxian sat in silence, watching the flames.

“You think it’s her,” he said finally. “One of the disciples who followed me before. Who lost themselves when I—”

He broke off.

Lan Wangji reached out and laced their fingers together.

“You are not the person they worshipped,” Lan Wangji said. “And this is not your fault.”

“I left behind a name,” Wei Wuxian murmured. “And now something’s wearing it like a mask.”

Lan Wangji leaned closer. “Then we tear the mask away.”

——

Just before dawn, Wen Ning knelt beside Wei Wuxian.

“It’s following us,” he whispered. “I can feel it now. It’s not a ghost. Not a spirit. It’s something… made.”

Wei Wuxian stared into the coals of their fire.

“Then let’s make sure it knows who it’s dealing with.”

Chapter Text

The mist rolled in like a living thing.

At first, it was subtle—threading between trees and wrapping around boots. But before long, it was choking, thick as cotton stuffed in ears, thick enough to blot out shadows. The world beyond the trees disappeared, and the campfire flickered low, its light swallowed whole.

Wen Ning stood, motionless, like a sentinel carved from stone.

Then his head snapped to the side.

“Something’s here.”

Wei Wuxian felt it too. Not cold, not heat—absence. A hole in the world. Something wrong threading between the bones of the forest, dragging behind it a sound like humming that wasn’t quite there. Not a spirit. Not a ghost.

A copy.

Imitation.

Lan Wangji drew Bichen in one swift movement. The blade hummed, vibrating like it recognized the thing in the dark.

“Everyone, to me,” Lan Wangji ordered, voice calm but sharp.

Lan Shizui stepped close to Wei Wuxian immediately, grabbing the edge of his sleeve without even realizing it.

Wei Wuxian put a hand on his head, gently but firmly.

“I need you to stay with Hanguang-jun,” he said, softly. “No matter what.”

“Baba—”

“Please.”

Wei Wuxian turned.

And stepped into the fog.

——

He didn’t go far—he didn’t have to.

The thing was waiting for him.

At first, it looked like nothing more than a blur—a silhouette in the mist. But as it stepped forward, Wei Wuxian saw it clearly.

His face.

His robes.

His smile.

But its eyes—empty. Bottomless.

And on its back, a black flute.

The creature bowed.

“Wei-gongzi,” it said in a rasping echo of his voice. “You came to see me. I knew you would.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t answer. He raised Chenqing instead, breath steady.

“You’re not me,” he said. “And you never were.”

“I am what you should have become,” it said. “You don’t deserve them. The boy. The husband. The love. You gave them up.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers clenched around Chenqing.

“You’re wrong.”

The smile on the creature’s face stretched unnaturally.

“Then prove it.”

And it lunged.

——

The fog split with the force of a crashing talisman.

Wen Ning burst through the mist, eyes glowing silver, hands catching the creature mid-leap and slamming it into a tree so hard the bark exploded.

“Don’t touch him!” Wen Ning roared.

The creature twisted unnaturally, arms snapping backward, mouth unhinging as it let out a wail that made the trees scream.

It knocked Wen Ning back into the dirt with a strike that would have killed anyone else.

Wei Wuxian ran toward him, sliding beside his brother-in-death.

“You okay?”

Wen Ning nodded once. “It’s not human.”

“I know.”

Lan Wangji arrived seconds later, blade already in motion.

The fight was chaos—talisman light, clashing sword strikes, howling fog. Wei Wuxian’s flute split the air with each note, summoning winds to hold the creature back.

But then—

A scream.

“Lil’ Apple!”

Lan Shizui’s voice cut through the trees.

Wei Wuxian’s heart stopped.

“Shizui!”

He turned—but too late. The creature vanished.

And Lan Shizui was gone.

——

They found Lil’ Apple barely breathing, sides torn from a talisman blast.

Wen Ning carried the donkey like he was made of glass.

Jin Ling arrived, blood on his sleeve, his face pale with fury.

“He took him,” Jin Ling growled. “Your son. That thing took him.”

Wei Wuxian fell to his knees.

Not from injury.

Not from fear.

From rage.

He pressed both hands to the dirt and whispered something under his breath.

The wind died.

The forest held its breath.

Lan Wangji crouched beside him, gently cupping the back of his neck.

“We’ll get him back,” he said.

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes—and they glowed with crimson light.

“I know,” he said. “Because I’m going to burn that thing out of existence.”

Chapter Text

The moon hung like a blade overhead—cold and sharp—its silver light casting jagged shadows over the forest floor. Every step was a whisper of leaves crushed underfoot, every breath too loud, too shallow.

Wei Wuxian moved ahead of the others, his pace relentless. Chenqing swung lightly in his hand, the flute’s body already warm with spiritual energy, as if anticipating what was to come. Beside him, Lan Wangji matched his stride perfectly, his silence a shield.

Behind them, the juniors followed—Jin Ling bristling like a drawn sword, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen pale-faced but steady, and Wen Ning carrying Lil’ Apple wrapped gently in a silken shroud.

Only Lan Shizui was missing.

And that absence rang louder than a scream.

——

The trail led them to an abandoned temple deep in the forest—a ruin half-swallowed by roots, its once-grand walls now covered in moss and carved with claw marks.

Wen Ning tilted his head. “This place… it’s old. Haunted.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, eyes narrowing. “Which means it’s perfect.”

Inside, the air was heavy with rot and resentment. The talismans along the walls were warped, their seals long broken, spiritual energy leaking like open wounds.

Lan Wangji held Bichen out before him, its blade glowing faint blue. “He’s here.”

Wei Wuxian walked ahead.

——

Lan Shizui sat in the middle of the chamber, bound by black spirit threads, his hands shaking but his gaze defiant.

Opposite him stood the creature.

Or rather, wearing him.

It had molded itself more perfectly now—hair arranged just so, the curve of Wei Wuxian’s smile mimicked to eerie precision. But there was no life behind the eyes. No warmth.

“You’re early,” it said, voice soft and too sweet. “I was just talking to our son.”

Lan Shizui’s eyes flicked toward Wei Wuxian—widening with recognition, and then relief.

“Baba,” he whispered.

That one word shattered Wei Wuxian’s calm.

He stepped forward.

“You hurt him,” he said, voice like smoke curling around a blade. “You laid your hands on what’s mine.”

The creature tilted its head. “He was resisting. I just wanted to see how far your affection would go.”

“Far enough to tear you apart,” Wei Wuxian said.

The creature smiled, and the room exploded into darkness.

——

Lan Wangji moved like lightning—his sword a streak of silver cutting through shadow. Wen Ning leapt forward, his fists crackling with ghost fire. The juniors formed a protective ring around Lil’ Apple and the wounded disciples, Jin Ling already launching talismans without waiting for command.

But Wei Wuxian didn’t move.

He stood in the center of the chaos, closed his eyes, and lifted Chenqing to his lips.

One note. Two. Three.

The sound was a song of fury, of grief, of love.

The shadows recoiled.

The creature howled, its form warping—Wei Wuxian’s face melting away like wax.

“I am you,” it shrieked. “I am what they fear in you—”

“Then I’ll show you what they love,” Wei Wuxian snapped.

He stepped forward—Chenqing raised in one hand, his other igniting a spiritual flame that roared to life in his palm.

“Lan Wangji!”

“Hm.”

“Catch Shizui.”

“Mn.”

Lan Wangji dove forward as Wei Wuxian slammed the fire into the creature’s chest. It screamed, buckling, thrashing as black mist billowed from its seams.

Lan Wangji caught Shizui mid-fall, cradling him with fierce protectiveness. The boy clung to him, then to Wei Wuxian as he reached them.

“You came,” Shizui sobbed. “Baba—”

Wei Wuxian wrapped his arms around him tightly, pressing his forehead to Shizui’s.

“Always.”

——

The creature dissolved into ash, its form finally undone by the very love it could never imitate.

When the mist cleared, silence followed. But it wasn’t empty. It was full—of breath, of tears, of heartbeat and safety.

Lil’ Apple let out a pained, indignant bray from behind them.

Jin Ling sighed in relief. “Stupid donkey’s fine.”

Wen Ning grinned faintly. “Tougher than most horses.”

Lan Jingyi let out a watery laugh. “Don’t tell him that. He’ll get smug.”

——

That night, they made camp beneath the open sky.

Lan Shizui curled beside Wei Wuxian, his breathing finally even.

“I had a dream,” he murmured. “That you didn’t come.”

“I’ll always come,” Wei Wuxian said quietly. “Even if I have to break heaven to do it.”

Lan Wangji knelt behind him, wrapping his arms around both of them. His chin rested gently on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

“Rest,” Lan Wangji whispered. “We’re safe.”

And for the first time in many nights, Wei Wuxian slept without fear.

Chapter Text

The sky had turned a soft indigo when Wei Wuxian woke.

He wasn’t sure what roused him at first—perhaps the sound of shifting leaves, or the murmured voices of the juniors a few paces away. But when he opened his eyes, it was Lan Wangji’s presence he felt first, warm and solid behind him, an anchor against the tremor still lodged in his chest.

His arms were empty now—Lan Shizui must have been tucked back into a warmer corner of camp—but the ghost of his son’s weight still lingered against his skin, like the remnants of a fading dream.

Wei Wuxian sat up quietly.

Lan Wangji stirred the moment he moved. Always alert. Always attuned to him.

“Did you rest?” Lan Wangji asked, voice low, his golden eyes watching him in the growing light.

Wei Wuxian gave him a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“For a bit,” he said. “It’s quiet now.”

“Too quiet?” Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly.

Wei Wuxian’s smile dropped, and he rubbed at the spot just below his ribs—an old, phantom ache. “I keep expecting to wake up back in that cave. Alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Lan Wangji said firmly.

Wei Wuxian didn’t answer.

——

The juniors had done their best to create a makeshift camp with what they had. Ouyang Zizhen and Lan Jingyi were carefully tending to Lil’ Apple, who stood grumpily on three legs, a bandaged gash along his flank. He’d refused to lie down, despite every effort.

“He keeps trying to limp over to Hanguang-jun’s robes,” Jingyi said with an exasperated puff, hands on his hips. “Even a spirit-donkey knows who to cling to, huh?”

Lil’ Apple let out a dignified huff.

Wen Ning, seated nearby, gave the donkey an affectionate pat. “He’s proud. He’ll be okay.”

Wei Wuxian approached, squatting beside the donkey and brushing a gentle hand over his coarse mane. “Stubborn old thing.”

Lil’ Apple leaned into him, nose nudging his shoulder.

Jin Ling, seated off to the side, arms crossed tightly, finally broke his silence. “He could’ve died. That thing—whatever it was—used him to get your attention.”

Wei Wuxian looked up.

Jin Ling’s face was tight, but his voice cracked slightly. “You almost walked into it alone.”

There it was again—that searing guilt. Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, but a voice beat him to it.

“Uncle did exactly what he always does,” Lan Shizui said, stepping forward from where he’d been watching in silence. “He protected us.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Ah, A-Yuan—”

“Don’t ‘A-Yuan’ me,” Lan Shizui said with surprising steel. “I know what I’m saying.”

The silence that followed was thick, awkward.

Then—Lan Jingyi coughed and mumbled, “Yeah, Baba’s just… he’s always reckless, but he came for us. He always does.”

Ouyang Zizhen nodded fervently. “Even when we make it hard.”

Wei Wuxian laughed softly, a little hoarse. “What did I ever do to deserve such loyal ducklings?”

“Adopt us, apparently,” Jin Ling muttered, looking away.

——

That night, they stayed one more night near the ruined temple, keeping the protective barriers up. Lan Wangji insisted.

“I can set up camp, you know,” Wei Wuxian teased as Lan Wangji tightened the wards around their tent. “I’m very handy.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji replied, unimpressed.

“Fine, fine,” Wei Wuxian grinned. “You win.”

But that night, despite the safety of the camp, the warmth of the fire, and the steady presence of Lan Wangji beside him, sleep did not come easy.

——

The nightmare crept in like water beneath a door.

He was in the Burial Mounds again.

Cold wind.

Rotting earth.

Hands reaching.

And somewhere—far off—a child was screaming.

Wei Wuxian ran toward it, feet sinking into blood-soaked mud, the weight of Chenqing heavy in his hand. The trees whispered names he didn’t want to hear.

A-Yuan.

A-Yuan.

No—no, he’d saved him, he’d saved—

But when he pushed through the final veil of branches, it wasn’t Lan Shizui waiting.

It was a tiny bundle in crimson robes.

And Jiang Cheng was standing above it, face hollow. “You always ruin everything.”

“No—wait—I didn’t mean to—”

Then the figure turned over, and it was not a baby, not a boy, not even a corpse.

It was himself.

Eyes open. Bleeding.

Alone.

——

Wei Wuxian woke gasping.

Lan Wangji was already there, arms steady around him, hand cupping the back of his neck.

“Breathe.”

“I—”

“It’s just a dream,” Lan Wangji murmured, thumb brushing the sweat from Wei Wuxian’s temple. “You’re here. With me.”

Wei Wuxian buried his face in Lan Wangji’s shoulder and clung, his whole body trembling.

“I thought I lost them,” he whispered.

“You didn’t.”

“I thought I lost you.”

“You never will.”

——

The sky began to lighten again.

Lan Wangji pressed a kiss to Wei Wuxian’s forehead. “Rest. I’ll watch over you.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t sleep again, but he didn’t need to.

Wrapped in Lan Wangji’s arms, with the quiet breathing of their juniors nearby, and the steady weight of Lil’ Apple’s tail flicking occasionally against the tent, he let his mind quiet.

For once, the past didn’t win.

Chapter Text

Morning broke quietly.

The air was cool and damp, the ground still carrying the scent of ash and dew. Mist drifted low across the scorched remains of the ruined shrine as if mourning what had been lost—or what had been saved.

Wei Wuxian stepped out from the tent slowly, stretching his arms above his head, eyes squinting against the early light. His robes were wrinkled, and his hair hung a little messily over one shoulder, but there was something grounded in his movements—he was no longer shaking. Lan Wangji’s presence still lingered on his skin like warmth after a fire.

Lan Jingyi glanced up from where he was attempting to coax Lil’ Apple into drinking water, and immediately beamed. “Baba! You’re up!”

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow. “Trying to poison my donkey, are you?”

“He’s just being difficult!”

Lil’ Apple, of course, chose that moment to bare his teeth and snort loudly, splashing Jingyi with water. Wei Wuxian laughed, and the sound made several of the boys look up.

A-Yuan—Lan Shizui—was seated on a flat stone nearby with Ouyang Zizhen and Wen Ning. His smile, though soft, held shadows. He had slept curled beside Wei Wuxian for the remainder of the night, but hadn’t said much since the nightmare.

Wei Wuxian walked over and brushed a hand across his hair gently. “Hey, A-Yuan.”

The boy leaned into the touch like a cat seeking comfort. “You screamed,” he said quietly.

Wei Wuxian’s fingers paused, but he didn’t pull away. “I did.”

“I wanted to help. But Hanguang-jun said to let him handle it.”

“And he was right,” Wei Wuxian said, sitting beside him. “But thank you for worrying about your old Baba.”

A beat passed.

Then, shyly: “It’s not just worry. I—”

Wei Wuxian turned.

Lan Shizui looked away. “I’m scared of losing you again.”

That struck deep. Wei Wuxian sucked in a slow breath and tugged him into a hug, holding him close, one hand cradling the back of his neck.

“You won’t. I’m right here. And I’m staying.”

Wen Ning smiled softly from across them, eyes luminous with quiet understanding.

“We all have shadows that follow us,” Wen Ning said, his voice soft but certain. “But we don’t walk through them alone anymore.”

——

They set out later that morning. Jin Ling insisted on staying with them all the way to Gusu, muttering something about “not trusting that weird disciple not to sneak around again.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t argue.

They traveled slowly, cautious with Lil’ Apple’s injury and the still-uneasy spiritual atmosphere of the region. The boys took turns walking beside the donkey, their voices weaving together like warm threads—stories, laughter, occasional bickering.

Jin Ling trailed near Wei Wuxian for most of the day, his presence a quiet storm of protectiveness. At one point, he shoved a pouch of medicinal powder into Wei Wuxian’s hand.

“What’s this?” Wei Wuxian asked, blinking.

“For nightmares,” Jin Ling muttered. “The dogs hate the smell, but it helps sometimes.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him for a moment. “You—you’re giving me something from your personal stash?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, eyes gleaming. “Aw, you do care.”

Jin Ling turned scarlet and stomped away, but not too far.

——

By late afternoon, the trees thinned, and the sight of Gusu’s mist-covered cliffs greeted them. The wards shimmered gently, welcoming their return.

Lan Wangji walked at Wei Wuxian’s side, calm and steady. He hadn’t said much during the journey, but his hand had brushed Wei Wuxian’s shoulder more than once—just a fleeting touch, just enough.

But as they passed through the outer boundary, Lan Wangji spoke.

“He will come again.”

Wei Wuxian looked up. “The Jin disciple?”

“Mn.”

“I know. He won’t stop unless we make him.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw tightened. “He hurt you.”

“He tried,” Wei Wuxian corrected. “But I’m harder to break than I used to be.”

Lan Wangji stopped walking.

Wei Wuxian did too, turning back in question—until Lan Wangji stepped forward and pressed a kiss just beneath his jaw, right where the old bite mark from before still lingered faintly. A claim. A comfort.

Wei Wuxian went still, eyes wide, heat blooming in his face.

“Lan Zhan—”

“Mine,” Lan Wangji said simply.

The juniors collectively groaned in protest, and Zizhen dramatically threw his hands over Lan Jingyi’s eyes. “Protect the innocence!”

“Too late!” Jingyi yelped. “I’ve already been scarred forever!”

Even Lan Shizui chuckled despite himself, cheeks pink. “We’re right here, Hanguang-jun.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, warm and unrestrained. “If I had known I’d be surrounded by such prudes, I’d have kissed him more.”

“No!” came the chorus.

Jin Ling just shook his head and muttered, “You’re all insane.”

——

Later, as evening fell and the group settled into temporary quarters within Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian paused before the gates of the Cold Springs.

He didn’t expect Lan Wangji to speak, but he did.

“You should rest.”

Wei Wuxian turned to him, expression unreadable.

“There’s something still inside me,” he said quietly. “That dream—it wasn’t just memory. Something woke it. Like someone tried to pull it from me.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a moment. Then, calmly, “The disciple?”

“Maybe. Maybe something else. I don’t know.”

“Then we find out,” Lan Wangji said.

Wei Wuxian nodded, glancing up at the sky.

Stars were beginning to bloom above the mountains, distant and cold. But here, in this place, surrounded by his sons—his ducklings—and the quiet, constant strength of Lan Wangji, he felt something shift inside.

The fear was still there.

But so was the fight.

Chapter Text

The quiet of Cloud Recesses was a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the serene atmosphere of the sect did little to soothe the unease that had settled over Wei Wuxian’s heart. The dreams still clung to him like a second skin, a constant reminder of something lost and buried deep within.

Lan Wangji had given him space, as he always did when Wei Wuxian needed it. But there was no escaping the knowledge that whatever had started with the Jin disciple, whatever lingering force had tried to reach into Wei Wuxian’s mind, was far from over.

Wei Wuxian wandered the halls of Cloud Recesses, the familiar surroundings offering no comfort. The distant sound of water trickling from the Cold Springs echoed in his ears, a soft lullaby that failed to lull him into peace. His footsteps echoed in the empty corridors, the light of lanterns casting long shadows on the stone floors.

He paused when he reached the door to one of the study rooms, his heart racing at the thought of entering. He hadn’t been inside since the incident with the Jin disciple, and the memory of his own desperation still lingered there, tainting the place with fear.

But before he could turn away, a soft voice reached his ears.

“Baba?”

He turned to see Lan Shizui standing at the end of the hall, his small figure bathed in the warm glow of the lantern light. The boy’s eyes were wide, a mixture of concern and something deeper—something he wasn’t yet ready to voice.

Wei Wuxian smiled faintly, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A-Yuan, what are you doing up this late?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Lan Shizui admitted, stepping closer. “I—I heard you were awake.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart softened, and he crouched down to the boy’s level, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “I’m fine, little radish. Just a little restless.”

“I’m worried about you,” Lan Shizui whispered, his voice barely audible. “You’ve been having those dreams again.”

Wei Wuxian froze. He hadn’t expected A-Yuan to notice the shift in his emotions so quickly. For all his maturity beyond his years, the boy’s sensitivity was unparalleled, perhaps even more acute than his own.

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to reassure him, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I’m not scared,” Lan Shizui added quietly. “But I—I don’t want you to feel alone.”

Wei Wuxian’s chest tightened. How could he tell the boy that, despite everything, there were moments when he did feel alone? That no matter how much he had gained—his family, his friends, his love—there were parts of him that still felt hollow, lost in the spaces between dreams and reality.

But he couldn’t say that to A-Yuan.

Instead, he hugged the boy tightly. “I’m not alone,” he whispered into the boy’s hair. “Not with you by my side.”

Lan Shizui’s small hands clutched at his robes, and for a moment, they just stood there in the stillness of the hall, two figures bound by the weight of things unsaid.

——

The next morning, Wei Wuxian felt the weight of his decision pressing down on him. The Jin disciple, who had attempted to manipulate him, hadn’t been seen since their last encounter. But Wei Wuxian could feel it—the presence of something, someone, still lurking in the shadows. He wasn’t just running from his past. He was being hunted.

The problem, however, was that no one knew who exactly they were dealing with.

——

Wei Wuxian sat in the meeting hall that morning, surrounded by his junior disciples, who were all chattering away about the arrival of a new shipment of medicinal herbs and the improvements being made to the training grounds. But his mind was elsewhere, and his eyes kept darting toward the entrance, as though expecting someone—or something— to arrive at any moment.

Lan Wangji noticed immediately.

“Your thoughts are elsewhere,” he said, his voice as soft as ever, but with an edge of concern.

Wei Wuxian smiled thinly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just thinking about some things.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze softened, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he sat beside Wei Wuxian and placed a hand lightly on his arm, a quiet gesture of solidarity.

“Baba, when will we be able to practice again?” Lan Shizui asked suddenly, his voice filled with eagerness as he leaned toward Wei Wuxian from his spot across the room.

“We’ll get to it soon enough,” Wei Wuxian replied, his smile brighter for his son’s sake. “The training grounds are waiting for us, after all.”

A-Yuan grinned, his eyes lighting up with excitement. But then his gaze flickered to the door, and he frowned. Wei Wuxian followed his line of sight and tensed.

It was the Jin disciple.

Wei Wuxian’s heart sank. He had been expecting this, but the sight of the disciple standing in the doorway with that smug, arrogant smile still sent a cold chill through him. Behind him stood a small group of others, their eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled malice.

“Wei Wuxian,” the Jin disciple greeted him, his voice laced with false sweetness. “I see you’ve returned.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t bother to hide his frustration, his expression hardening instantly. “What do you want now?”

“I’ve come to speak with you,” the disciple said, stepping forward with an exaggerated politeness. “It’s about our… little misunderstanding.”

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. “Misunderstanding? You mean your attempt to manipulate me?”

The Jin disciple’s smile faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Ah, no need for such harsh words, Wei Wuxian. I was merely trying to offer a… different perspective. Perhaps you’ve been too blinded by your loyalty to your husband.”

That was enough to set Jin Ling off.

“Enough,” the young man snapped, striding forward. His eyes were blazing with fury, and his hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword. “Don’t you dare speak about my uncle like that!”

But the Jin disciple only smirked, clearly enjoying the tension he’d caused. “Ah, so the little pup has some teeth after all. Tell me, Jin Ling—how does it feel to be so dependent on someone else for your worth?”

“You—” Jin Ling’s voice cracked with anger.

Before the situation could escalate further, Lan Wangji moved quietly to Wei Wuxian’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Wei Wuxian took a steadying breath, calming himself despite the rush of adrenaline.

“We don’t have time for your games,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice steady and filled with finality. “Leave. Now.”

The Jin disciple’s gaze flickered between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, before he gave an exaggerated sigh.

“You’re no fun,” he muttered under his breath, but he stepped back toward the door. “This isn’t over.”

Wei Wuxian stood frozen in place, watching him go, his hand still clenched tightly in a fist at his side.

But the moment the door closed behind him, Jin Ling whirled around, his face flushed with anger.

“Uncle—he—he’s so infuriating!” Jin Ling exclaimed, glaring at the now-empty doorway.

Wei Wuxian turned to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. We’ll handle it.”

Jin Ling’s eyes softened, and he looked up at his uncle. “Just… don’t let him get to you. Don’t let him make you doubt anything.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, squeezing his nephew’s shoulder. “I won’t.”

——

That night, as they gathered around the hearth in the quiet warmth of their temporary quarters, Wei Wuxian found himself drawn to the window. The storm outside had settled into a quiet drizzle, and the faintest sound of thunder rumbled in the distance.

He knew the worst wasn’t over.

But for now, he had his family. His juniors. His home.

And that was enough to keep the shadows at bay—for a little while longer.

Chapter Text

The storm had passed by morning, but its lingering effects could still be felt in the damp air. Wei Wuxian woke to the sound of birds singing outside his window, a soft reminder that life, for all its chaos and uncertainty, still continued. It was early, and the first light of dawn filtered through the trees, casting soft shadows in the room.

He shifted beneath the covers, careful not to disturb Lan Wangji, who lay beside him, his breathing steady and deep. The warmth of his presence was a comfort, something that anchored Wei Wuxian when the weight of the world felt too much to bear.

But despite the quiet, despite the calm of the morning, Wei Wuxian couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming—a storm much worse than the one that had just passed.

——

The day unfolded slowly, as it often did at Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian spent most of the morning in the training hall, overseeing his juniors as they practiced their swordsmanship and spiritual cultivation. Lan Shizui was as eager as ever, his enthusiasm infectious as he sparred with Lan Jingyi, while Jin Ling watched from the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest, a frown marring his face.

It was clear the young man hadn’t forgotten the encounter with the Jin disciple, nor had Wei Wuxian. Jin Ling’s protective nature, which had grown more pronounced in recent months, had flared up the moment the disciple had spoken disrespectfully of his uncle. But what had been even more apparent was the hurt in his eyes—eyes that reflected something deeper than mere anger: concern.

The day was uneventful for the most part, until Wei Wuxian noticed a figure lingering at the edge of the training grounds. The Jin disciple.

His presence was unmistakable, even from a distance. Wei Wuxian’s stomach twisted in irritation, and his mind immediately flashed to the previous day, when the disciple had dared to insinuate that his relationship with Lan Wangji was anything but real. The insinuation had stung more than he cared to admit, but now it was time to confront him.

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian said softly, turning toward his husband, who was sitting just a few feet away. “Stay with the juniors. I’ll be back shortly.”

Lan Wangji didn’t respond verbally, but the subtle tightening of his jaw and the way his gaze followed Wei Wuxian’s movements spoke volumes. Wei Wuxian knew that, despite Lan Wangji’s calm demeanor, his concern was just as fierce.

——

Wei Wuxian walked toward the figure of the Jin disciple, who stood just beyond the training grounds, his arms crossed and his gaze distant. There was a hint of something—disdain? Curiosity?—in his expression, but when he saw Wei Wuxian approach, he straightened, his lips curving into a practiced, condescending smile.

“Wei Wuxian,” he greeted, as though nothing had happened between them. “Back again already? I thought you might want to take a break from all the excitement.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t let the disciple’s words get to him. Instead, he took a deep breath and met the man’s gaze head-on. “What do you want this time?”

“Oh, nothing much,” the Jin disciple replied, his voice a little too smooth, too insincere. “I just thought I’d stop by and see how my dear Wei Wuxian was doing. I heard there’s been some tension in the air recently.”

Wei Wuxian’s fist clenched at his side. He was done playing games. “Don’t come near my family again,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare try to cause any more trouble for them.”

The Jin disciple’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You know, I didn’t mean for things to go that far. I just thought you might be more… open to the idea of a change.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flashed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not interested.”

“Not even a little?” The Jin disciple’s tone was smooth, mocking. “After all, you and Lan Wangji are so perfect together, aren’t you? It must be exhausting, living up to such high expectations.”

That was enough.

Wei Wuxian’s hand moved before he could stop it, and in the blink of an eye, he had closed the distance between them, his fingers curling into the collar of the Jin disciple’s robes. He could feel the disciple stiffen beneath his grip, but Wei Wuxian didn’t release him.

“I won’t let you ruin what I have,” Wei Wuxian growled, his voice low, deadly. “You think you can come in here and destroy everything I’ve built? You’re wrong.”

For a moment, the two of them stood locked in an unspoken battle of wills, the tension so thick it seemed to crackle in the air. But then, the Jin disciple’s expression shifted. He pulled back, a look of mock disappointment on his face.

“Fine. I get it,” he said, his voice still dripping with sarcasm. “But remember, Wei Wuxian. It’s not me you should be worried about.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Wei Wuxian standing there, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to feel victorious, but instead, a dark feeling settled in his gut.

——

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Wei Wuxian found it harder to concentrate, his mind clouded with the disciple’s words. It wasn’t the first time he had faced threats like this, but something about this situation felt different. More dangerous. More personal.

He needed to talk to Lan Wangji, but when he returned to their quarters, he found the man already there, waiting for him. Lan Wangji didn’t speak immediately, his gaze softening when he saw Wei Wuxian’s troubled expression.

“It’s not over,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice barely above a whisper. “He won’t stop until he’s broken us.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes softened, and he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His hand gently cupped Wei Wuxian’s cheek, the touch steady and grounding.

“We will face it together,” Lan Wangji said softly, his voice calm but firm. “No one will come between us.”

Wei Wuxian leaned into his touch, his breath shaky. “I don’t know if I can handle this, Lan Zhan. Not again.”

“You are not alone,” Lan Wangji said, his thumb brushing over Wei Wuxian’s skin. “We will protect our family. Together.”

The words were simple, but they held a promise. A promise that no matter what came their way, they would stand united.

And that was enough to give Wei Wuxian the strength to face whatever came next.

Chapter Text

The following days were filled with tension, but Wei Wuxian didn’t show it. He couldn’t. His juniors were watching, and the threat of the Jin disciple was hanging over them like a storm cloud that could break at any moment. Wei Wuxian found solace in the normalcy of his days—teaching the juniors, watching over Lan Shizui’s training, and getting caught up in Jin Ling’s frequent visits, where the younger man would almost always find a way to criticize his uncle’s “overprotective nature.” Despite the teasing, Wei Wuxian could sense the unspoken worry in Jin Ling’s eyes. The boy was growing up too fast.

Yet, no matter how hard Wei Wuxian tried to distract himself, the face of the Jin disciple lingered in his thoughts. The man’s words had been poison, wrapped in the guise of a friendly smile.

Despite his resolve, Wei Wuxian couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the Jin disciple’s appearance than just a petty flirtation. It was something darker, something that touched the heart of his fears for Lan Wangji, for their family.

——

That evening, as Wei Wuxian made his way back to the main hall for dinner, he found Lan Shizui waiting outside. The young boy, looking far too serious for his usual self, was pacing back and forth.

“Baba,” Lan Shizui called when he saw Wei Wuxian approach, his voice unusually tense. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, instantly putting aside the lingering thoughts of the Jin disciple. “What’s happened, Shizui?”

The boy stopped pacing, his expression serious. “It’s about the disciple… the one who’s been bothering you.”

Wei Wuxian’s stomach tightened, his heart racing in an instant. “What about him?”

Shizui glanced over his shoulder, almost as if making sure no one was eavesdropping, before continuing in a low voice. “I overheard him talking to a few of the other disciples. He said he’s planning something… something that would force you to choose between your husband and… him.”

Wei Wuxian’s hand clenched at his side. He had been right. There was something more to the disciple’s words. He didn’t know what game the Jin disciple was playing, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to let him win.

“We won’t let him succeed,” Wei Wuxian said firmly, placing a hand on Shizui’s shoulder. “But you’ve done well in warning me. I’ll need to talk to Lan Wangji.”

Just as he was about to turn, Lan Wangji appeared from behind the corner, his face unreadable but his eyes sharp, searching. The moment their gazes met, a sense of relief washed over Wei Wuxian. He didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

——

“Shizui, go inside,” Wei Wuxian said gently. “We’ll take care of this.”

The boy nodded and hurried off, and then Wei Wuxian turned back to Lan Wangji. “I need to speak with you.”

Lan Wangji didn’t hesitate, his usual calm demeanor never faltering as he fell into step beside Wei Wuxian. But even so, Wei Wuxian could feel the slight tension in the air around him. Lan Wangji was worried, too.

As they walked together, Wei Wuxian explained the situation, outlining everything Shizui had overheard. By the time he finished, they had reached their private quarters, and Lan Wangji’s expression had darkened, his jaw tight with contained fury.

“The Jin disciple’s actions are unacceptable,” Lan Wangji said, his voice low, but carrying an edge that Wei Wuxian knew all too well. Lan Wangji might seem serene, but underneath, he was always a force to be reckoned with when it came to protecting the people he loved.

Wei Wuxian smiled a little, the weight on his chest lightening at the sight of Lan Wangji’s protective fierceness. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t want to fight him, Lan Zhan. Not like this. He’s not worth it.”

“We will protect what is ours,” Lan Wangji replied quietly, his hand moving to rest lightly on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “If he persists, we will deal with him. Together.”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian simply stood there, letting the quiet comfort of Lan Wangji’s words sink in. They had always faced their battles together, whether in their past lives or the one they were living now. And this time, it would be no different.

——

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the threat of the Jin disciple seemed distant, buried beneath the weight of another concern. Wei Wuxian had learned that Lil’ Apple, his beloved dog, had been injured—cut up by something sharp. It was unclear how, but the idea that the disciple might be involved lingered in the back of his mind.

Lan Shizui had been the first to find the dog, and with the help of Lan Jingyi, they’d managed to stabilize it for the time being. Yet the wound—though not fatal—was a mark of something darker. Someone had done this on purpose.

The sudden realization hit Wei Wuxian hard. The Jin disciple was playing a dangerous game, and his attack on Lil’ Apple was just a warning. He wasn’t just trying to break up a marriage. He was trying to break them, to chip away at everything Wei Wuxian loved.

“You think this is some sort of joke?” Wei Wuxian muttered to himself as he sat by Lil’ Apple, tending to the wound with care. His mind was whirling with thoughts—plans of retaliation, strategies to keep everyone safe. But deep down, Wei Wuxian knew that this wasn’t something that could be solved by a fight alone. This was about protecting his family, his peace, and the fragile bond that held them all together.

——

The next morning, Wei Wuxian was determined to have a conversation with the Jin disciple, face-to-face. But when he arrived at the main hall, he was met with an unexpected visitor.

Jin Ling stood there, arms crossed and brow furrowed in the way he always did when something was bothering him.

“Uncle Wei,” Jin Ling called, his tone serious. “I heard what happened with the dog. And I know you’ve been keeping something from me.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart ached at the concern in his nephew’s voice. Jin Ling, though young, had grown into a strong, protective person.

“There’s no need to worry,” Wei Wuxian said, but his voice softened when he saw the look on Jin Ling’s face. “I’ll take care of it.”

“No, Uncle,” Jin Ling said, his eyes flashing with a rare, unshakable resolve. “I’m not letting this go. If that disciple thinks he can scare you, he’s wrong. I’ll make sure of it.”

Wei Wuxian paused, the weight of his nephew’s words sinking in. This wasn’t just about his own safety. It was about the people he cared about—his family, his ducklings.

“Thank you, Jin Ling,” Wei Wuxian said softly, his heart swelling with affection for the young man. “I won’t let him hurt anyone else.”

——

The storm was still on the horizon, and Wei Wuxian could feel the tension in the air thickening with every passing moment. But he would not let fear consume him. He would protect the ones he loved—just as they had always protected him.

No matter the cost.

Chapter Text

The days following Wei Wuxian’s conversation with Jin Ling were filled with a steady, creeping tension. Every action, every word, seemed to carry an unspoken weight as if the entire world was holding its breath. Even Lan Shizui seemed more quiet than usual, his protective instincts sharpened. Wei Wuxian had caught him several times eyeing the other disciples with suspicion, but it wasn’t just the Jin disciple Shizui was concerned about—he was watching the reactions of everyone around him, gauging their loyalty, their intentions.

Lan Wangji, ever calm, remained steadfast by his side. But Wei Wuxian knew that the silence between them—while comforting—was also thick with unspoken thoughts. They both understood that a reckoning was coming, one that would shake the fragile peace they’d built.

——

It was late in the evening when Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji found themselves in the courtyard, watching the stars. The night air was cool, the faint sounds of insects chirping in the distance, but neither of them spoke. The weight of the situation had pressed down on them both, but no words could change the inevitability of what lay ahead.

Wei Wuxian broke the silence first, his voice low but determined. “Lan Zhan, I have to end this. We can’t keep waiting for him to make the first move.”

Lan Wangji turned toward him, his gaze filled with an intensity that Wei Wuxian knew all too well. “We will not allow him to harm you, Wei Ying. No one will take you from me.”

The sincerity in Lan Wangji’s voice made Wei Wuxian’s heart swell. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and rested a hand gently on Lan Wangji’s chest.

“I know. And I’m not going anywhere,” Wei Wuxian said softly. He gave Lan Wangji a faint, teasing smile. “Besides, I think you’d be rather lost without me.”

Lan Wangji’s lips quirked up at the corner in a small, restrained smile. But the moment was brief, and the seriousness of the situation quickly took over.

——

The next day, Wei Wuxian confronted the Jin disciple directly. He found him in the main hall, speaking to a group of disciples who immediately fell silent at his arrival. The man, whose name was Jin Ruwei, turned with a smirk as Wei Wuxian approached.

“I’ve been expecting you, Wei Wuxian,” Jin Ruwei said, his tone dripping with false politeness. “It’s a shame you didn’t come sooner. I was starting to think you weren’t interested.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t flinch, but the anger that simmered beneath his calm exterior was evident. “I’ve had enough of your games. I’m warning you now, Jin Ruwei—stay away from me, stay away from my family. This ends here.”

Jin Ruwei chuckled, his gaze flicking over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, where Lan Wangji stood, silently looming with a protective air. “Is that so? You think you can intimidate me, Wei Wuxian? I’m not some… puppy you can just shoo away.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice low, barely containing the fury in his chest.

At the words, Jin Ruwei’s expression darkened. He took a step forward, sneering. “You think I care about your threats? If you really loved him, you’d—”

Before he could finish, Lan Wangji stepped forward, his voice colder than ice. “Say another word, and I will not hesitate.”

The threat hung in the air, sharp and final, but Jin Ruwei wasn’t done yet. His eyes flared with a dangerous glint.

“You think I’m scared of you?” he spat, his hands flicking towards his robes.

But before he could make a move, Wei Wuxian spoke again, this time his voice steady and commanding. “I’m not scared of you, either. You’ve lost. If you don’t leave now, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

It was the calm before the storm. The silence stretched long as everyone waited for the next move.

——

The tension snapped when a shadow appeared in the doorway. Wen Ning, who had been keeping a quiet distance, stepped forward. His usual soft demeanor was gone, replaced with a solemn calmness that Wei Wuxian recognized. Behind him, Jin Ling had appeared as well, his eyes glaring at Jin Ruwei with the intensity of someone who had been pushed far too many times.

“You think you can come into our family, harm our people, and walk away unscathed?” Jin Ling’s voice rang out, and the disciples watching flinched at the harshness. His hand was already resting on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw.

“Enough,” Wei Wuxian said, stepping in front of Jin Ling, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. “This ends now. No one else needs to be hurt.”

Jin Ruwei’s lips curled into a snarl, his expression twisted in frustration. “You think you’ve won, Wei Wuxian? You have no idea what’s coming.”

But in that moment, something inside him seemed to snap. With a single swift motion, he turned and walked away, his departure final, leaving the room in stunned silence.

——

The aftermath of that confrontation felt like the calm after a storm. The disciples of the Lotus Pier were unsettled, but the immediate danger had passed. Wei Wuxian stood with Lan Wangji at the center, surrounded by their students—his ducklings—as they tried to process everything that had just happened.

Wei Wuxian looked down at Lan Shizui, who was standing by his side, still looking slightly worried, and then at Wen Ning, who stood slightly behind, as if protecting everyone. Finally, his eyes met Jin Ling’s, who was watching him with a mixture of relief and concern.

“Well,” Wei Wuxian said, breaking the silence with a teasing grin, “That’s one problem solved.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze softened as he looked at Wei Wuxian, his expression the picture of quiet relief. Without saying a word, he reached for Wei Wuxian’s hand and gently squeezed.

“Let’s go home,” Lan Wangji said softly, his eyes filled with something deeper—something unspoken but understood between them.

Wei Wuxian nodded, his heart full. The battle was over, but the war had never truly been about Jin Ruwei. It was about protecting what they had built—this family, this love. And as long as they had each other, Wei Wuxian knew nothing would ever truly tear them apart.

——

As they walked back together, the sound of their footsteps echoed in the quiet halls of the Lotus Pier, and Wei Wuxian allowed himself a brief moment of peace, knowing that, for now, they were safe. The storm had passed, but as they moved forward into their future, he would always stand by the people who had become his true family.

The ones he would protect until the very end.