stay, fury, your wrist wrapped in silk

Lan Wangji bowed as deeply as he could manage with the injuries he’d sustained, the weakness he still felt throughout his body after his and Wei Ying’s experience in the Xuanwu’s cave. In truth, it was a miracle that he didn’t tip forward in the process, but he kept himself steady enough that he could look Jiang Fengmian and Jiang Wanyin in the eye when he rose. “Thank you again, Jiang-zongzhu,” he said, including both of them in his address despite wishing he could ignore Jiang Wanyin’s existence entirely. “If there is ever anything—”

He was about to offer his sect’s hospitality and resources, his own hospitality and resources, when he couldn’t guarantee either.

Jiang Fengmian, living up to his reputation as a courteous, warm-hearted man, merely smiled, placating, sympathetic. Lan Wangji hated it and wished he’d done nothing to instigate the reaction at all. After the way he’d cried in Wei Ying’s presence—how he’d lashed out, incomprehensible now and inappropriate—and the fact that Wei Ying had been uncharacteristically somber afterward, he didn’t want to weather yet another man’s attempts at soothing him, not even a man he’d known almost his whole life, though not well. “I can see you’re determined to return to your sect as quickly as possible, Lan er-gongzi. Can I not send anyone with you as an escort?”

It was meant kindly, but all Lan Wangji heard was: you’re not well enough to travel, young man, mind your elders, I know better.

“I can make my own way back,” he replied, stiff almost to the point of rudeness.

Though Jiang Fengmian was willing to ignore or disregard it, Jiang Wanyin was not. His eyes flashed. “So Wei Wuxian will have risked his life for nothing then?” he said, unimpressed.

“Jiang Cheng!” his father replied, losing a good deal of the cordiality he’d shown Lan Wangji.

“I merely wish to avoid causing trouble for your sect. The Wen Sect will not be pleased that we’ve…” But no, that wasn’t accurate. “Wei Wuxian killed that creature. They will not be pleased by that. However, it’s clear they—they already do not like the Lan Sect. If I remain any longer, you’ll be at even more risk.”

Wei Ying was too free with his loyalty, carried a strange, stalwart heart within his chest, Lan Wangji decided, stubborn and infuriating. If the Wen ever found out the lengths Wei Ying was willing to go for him in that cave and what it meant, it wouldn’t bode well. One moment, the world seemed one way and the next: the Wen were consolidating their power, taking for themselves what had been shared among all the sects. Better to be cautious and sort the rest out later.

Jiang Wanyin sniffed. His mouth curled in a sneer. Lan Wangji allowed it.

“A-Cheng, he has every right to return to his sect in whichever manner he pleases,” Jiang Fengmian said in warning. “Please send word if there’s anything you need. If you require aid, don’t worry about what the Wen Sect will do to us. I consider your family allies and friends.”

Heavens, a lump was lodging itself in his throat anew. “I understand.” He offered another bow and hid his wince behind the fall of his hair over his shoulder, far more bedraggled than he cared for it to be. No amount of combing it had rid it of its tangles and there was no time for him to accomplish more.

He noticed a stain on the hem of his robes, bloody.

There was no time to wash it out either.

Nearby, Wei Ying had been laid out on a litter, a healer tending to him. His face was bruised and pale, lifeless, the vivacity drained from his body. This was not the Wei Ying he knew and it troubled him to leave this way, but he couldn’t—

He wanted to ask them to ensure his safety, to offer his well-wishes to him once he awoke.

The words would not come. The lump in his throat grew larger, built from something other than grief for his home. Wei Ying had been…

He couldn’t think of it or he might never leave.

Limping, he made his way out of the clearing outside of the cave and onto the nearby road. Jiang Wanyin’s long, thunderous stride followed.

“Lan Wangji!” he called, painfully rude and vicious. “I suppose you think we should thank you, huh?” What would his father think of this behavior? Why didn’t he correct him? Didn’t Jiang Fengmian care? Lan Wangji considered asking, but Jiang Wanyin’s tongue was quicker than Lan Wangji’s and more determined. “Just because you hate Wei Wuxian—”

“I—” He was going to say he didn’t, but what business was it of Jiang Wanyin’s who Lan Wangji liked or didn’t like? He’d already spilled his heart to the person who mattered to him as much as his own family did. “—do not want your gratitude.”

The things he wanted were not things Jiang Wanyin could give to him: security, justice, a whole heart and an unharmed body. And allowing himself to be riled would be pointless. Jiang Wanyin was a petty child who couldn’t express himself in a manner that befit his status and what Jiang Wanyin wanted was patently obvious: the fight he’d missed out on in that cave.

He didn’t even stop to consider how lucky he was.

Lan Wangji had more important things to do than waste more of his attention on him.

Pain lashed up Lan Wangji’s leg with every step that he took, but he had to keep going. There was no other option. Now that Wei Ying was safely returned to Jiang Fengmian’s care, Lan Wangji needed to return to Cloud Recesses. With this knowledge, he could do so with ease, if not true comfort. He didn’t like leaving while Wei Ying was still unconscious, of course, but he couldn’t delay any longer, no matter that Jiang Wanyin stared at him like he was scum under his boot.

He would be pleased to know his displeasure remained with Lan Wangji as he walked, a bad aftertaste lingering on his tongue.

It did not require a great deal of emotional acuity to understand what Jiang Wanyin’s problem was: he thought Lan Wangji believed them beneath his notice, that he believed Wei Ying wasn’t worth sticking around for. Jiang Wanyin believed him to be rigid and snobbish. Though he was respectful enough to keep from voicing his contempt outright, he was not yet diplomatic or graceful enough to stop Lan Wangji from reading it within his every word anyway.

He wasn’t certain Jiang Wanyin would ever learn to temper himself. It did not matter to Lan Wangji if he did.

Regardless, he didn’t like the implication that he wouldn’t have stayed if he could have. If it were possible, he would have remained until Wei Ying awoke, to assure himself that Wei Ying suffered no further consequences from their encounter with the Xuanwu. If nothing else, he owed Wei Ying his gratitude. If not for him, Lan Wangji might not have escaped; he might not have had the luxury of returning to Cloud Recesses; he was now one more needed body in a fight against the Wen Sect available. Because of Wei Ying. That sort of debt cannot be discharged easily, certainly not by running away.

He hadn’t been at his best throughout indoctrination and yet Wei Ying hadn’t held it against him despite having every right to do so.

Though no war had been declared, it seemed it would only be a matter of time. He could not see it going any other way. The Wens were willing to burn Cloud Recesses to ash with so little provocation; they would hurt more people. He and Wei Ying had humiliated them on top of it.

Reprisal was certain.

The Lan Sect rules prohibited vengeful action, but in his heart, he wanted to strike them as deeply as they’d struck him and his. He wanted to wrap his hands around Wen Chao’s throat for Wei Ying and slice through Wen Xu’s kneecap for himself, and raze Nightless City to serve as compensation for Cloud Recesses’s destruction.

It was not becoming, but it was the truth. His job was to acknowledge that and let the feelings go, fight injustice, but no more, seek no revenge.

What would Wei Ying say if Lan Wangji told him what filled his thoughts? He was perhaps the only one who might not judge or punish Lan Wangji for his weaknesses. After all, he only bullied Lan Wangji for what he’d always considered his strengths: his quiet nature and upright bearing. Sometimes, he teased Lan Wangji for being the second-most eligible bachelor in the entire cultivation world, a distinction he neither sought nor understood, a strange blip in his life, an embarrassment, when he did not want to be a bachelor at all. But that was it.

As meandering and odd as these thoughts were, winding from love to revenge and back again, they were the ones that occupied him as he trudged down the nearly abandoned dirt road that would eventually lead back to Gusu, a route nobody took and few would know.

Lan Wangji only knew of it because Jiang Fengmian suggested it to him as a viable option, the only thing he allowed himself to take from Jiang Fengmian. In their haste, neither Jiang had thought to bring spare swords.

Each step was agonizing no matter how often he rested, which was less often than he should have, but Wei Ying was not here to meddle and cajole him into taking more breaks, so he did not stop. There would be no mounting a sword until he reached a town where he might find sustenance, a few hours’ respite, medicine with which to treat his wound, and a kind soul who might take pity on a man wearing the Lan Sect ribbon and offer a weapon in exchange for a promise of future compensation.

After hours with nothing to do but walk and sit and walk and sit, he grew complacent, listless and groggy, finding himself startled from ephemeral dreams of a life without pain when screams punctured the natural quiet of this road. Shouting shortly followed, as did the sound of steel drawn from scabbard.

Lan Wangji’s eyes turned in the direction the noise came from.

A distant house could be seen, nearly hidden in the tall grasses. From here, he could confirm nothing.

Though it hurt to crouch, Lan Wangji couldn’t risk being seen and he couldn’t risk doing nothing. Parting the grass with his hands, he crept closer and closer.

Somehow, he was not surprised to see a handful of Wen soldiers and Wen Zhuliu. It was only the presence of Wang Lingjiao which surprised him. She seemed to be menacing a man and a woman, both middle-aged, with her branding iron, swinging it erratically in their direction. In the doorway of the house, two children stood. One was maybe ten and the other, a few years their senior. The older was trying to cover the younger’s eyes with her hand.

The woman, brash and bold, said, “We don’t know anything!”

“Oh, you don’t know anything. You’re only citizens of Yunmeng. You wouldn’t possibly want to protect the scion of the Jiang Sect and his little servant, would you?”

“We don’t pay attention to cultivator business!” She took a step forward and shifted herself in such a way that would maybe put her more directly in front of her children. “This isn’t Lotus Pier. Until you, I haven’t spoken with a cultivator in months. They don’t pass this way. Why would they walk when they can ride swords?” She offered a bow, too unpracticed to be truly respectful, but the attempt was smart and appeared to placate Wang Lingjiao slightly. “I wouldn’t lie so boldly to anyone from the Wen Sect.”

She was prescient enough to attempt flattery and blatant deference, but Lan Wangji could see that it wouldn’t be enough.

Someone must have already alerted Wen Chao to the truth of his and Wei Ying’s escape, though why he would send Wen Zhuliu with Wang Lingjiao was beyond Lan Wangji’s comprehension.

Perhaps Wang Lingjiao was overstepping her position?

Lan Wangji took a deep breath and centered himself. It didn’t matter even if she was; he could not leverage that here.

He could handle the soldiers and Wen Chao if necessary, even without his sword. Just his qin’s strings and his skills with them would be enough. It was Wen Zhuliu about whom Lan Wangji was reluctantly concerned.

But there was nothing to be done except fight. He could not allow this family to suffer a fate which they did not deserve. The political and personal ramifications of his actions in this moment would have to be settled at another time. Adding more fuel to this conflagration would not significantly alter the severity of the Wens’ future actions. They could not hate Lan Wangji more than they already did.

His death today, if he was to die, would not change much in the grand scheme of things with regard to the Lan Sect’s response, except perhaps to allow these four innocents to escape. His brother and uncle would always act in accordance with what was right; their personal feelings would not hinder them. They would grieve for him, but he would not feature in their calculus. That fact relieved him.

He approached slowly from behind the Wen troops, careful to avoid drawing the woman’s attention yet—or more worryingly, the man’s. He seemed far too nervous, likely to give Lan Wangji’s presence away accidentally. The children needed to be secured before it was known he was skulking around.

The grass offered excellent cover, the one bit of luck he’d experienced today, and he was able to reach the house with no one the wiser. His pain, he pushed deep down inside of himself until it was little more than a dull twang. It would not last long, this relief, but he hoped it would carry him through this encounter.

As long as it didn’t snap back to the forefront of his awareness in the midst of the coming fight, he would be safe enough from it.

The children didn’t notice him approaching them from behind, their attention too focused on the fear-inspiring display outside; he put a silencing spell on them so carefully that neither noticed it until he’d grabbed hold of the older one’s wrist and pulled her carefully back. His other hand wrapped around the younger’s shoulder.

They flinched and attempted to fight, but Lan Wangji held strong.

“Please don’t shout. I’ll remove the silencing spell if you nod for me. Do you understand?”

They both nodded, wide-eyed. This close, there was no missing the tears in their eyes, the clean path of tracks down their cheeks where those tears had smudged the dust on their faces.

“My name is Lan Wangji. I’m from the Lan Sect in Gusu. Do you know what that is?”

They nodded again and though he tried to find words that would be a comfort to them—even he could tell how brave they’ve been—he failed. He could only give them the orders that would hopefully save their lives.

“I need you to find a place to hide, somewhere your family will know to look for you. If your parents don’t find you by nightfall—”

He stopped. No, this wouldn’t work, would it? But what other option was there? He couldn’t tell them to come back here. But nightfall wasn’t so far off. Their parents may not have enough time to reunite with them by then.

“Are you able to survive in the wilderness overnight? Have you been to Lotus Pier before?”

The older girl opened her mouth and made a noise, surprised to find that she could speak. “I think so,” she said quietly. “It’s mild this time of year and there aren’t any predators around. We know the way to Lotus Pier, too.” Her arms wrapped around her younger sister’s shoulders.

“If your parents don’t find you by morning, head for Lotus Pier at daybreak and find someone from the Jiang Sect. They’ll be wearing purple or turquoise probably—”

“We know what Jiang Sect disciples wear, Lan-gongzi. They pass through quite often. There’s a nice lake nearby that some of them like to play in. We can find them.”

A smile almost pulled at his mouth. There were few even in the cultivation world who would so boldly lie to a Wen, as that woman had said. Maybe Wei Ying. His respect for these children’s mother increased.

This family was braver than most of the people of Lan Wangji’s acquaintance.

“Find someone and tell them what’s happened here.”

“The Wens want Jiang-zongzhu’s son. We heard that lady talking about it.”

Lan Wangji suspected it was more likely that Wang Lingjiao simply wanted Wei Ying’s head on a platter for stymying her attempt to brutalize Luo Qingyang, but there was a better chance of random people knowing the Jiang name than Wei Ying’s. By this reasoning, asking for Jiang Wanyin and asking for Wei Ying were one and the same as far as Wang Lingjiao was concerned. Possibly. It seemed logical enough anyway.

“You’re—you’ll save our parents, right?”

“Save them,” the younger said, her voice high and clear, parroting her sister.

Lan Wangji swallowed. He could not lie, but he could not tell the truth either, which was that this might not happen. “I’ll do everything I can to ensure their safety.”

The older girl bowed, her braids falling over her shoulders. “Thank you, Lan-gongzi.”

His heart clenched. They made them resilient here in Yunmeng. He couldn’t even give her a few hours’ falsely purchased peace in believing he’d definitely succeed yet still she thanked him. And they would live these next few hours without knowing such peace, because Lan Wangji would not change his words for them. A Lan couldn’t lie.

He wished, for a moment, that he could and wished even more that he could ensure it wouldn’t just be meaningless comfort.

“Gather your things. Make sure you keep yourself hidden by the house as you make your retreat. Once you crest that hill nearby, you should be safe. There shouldn’t be any Wen soldiers coming from the opposite direction, but stay aware.”

The older girl nodded and tugged at her younger sister’s arm. “Come on, A-Ting.”

As they followed his directions, he realized he hadn’t spoken this much in over a week, maybe more. He felt as though he hadn’t ever spoken this much. Usually there were others around to do the speaking for him. It was enough to wring him out and leave him more exhausted than all the walking and pain had.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to fight like this, but fight he would have to.

Maybe Jiang Fengmian was right in asking Lan Wangji to bring support with him; he probably couldn’t win on his own like this.

It was too late now.

He watched the children bustle around, wasted more time than he had to spare in ensuring they did as he told them, but he could hear that the woman was still speaking with Wang Lingjiao, still arguing about where Jiang Wanyin and Wei Ying might be. Lan Wangji would be annoyed by Wang Lingjiao’s tenacity if he wasn’t afraid for this family, afraid even more for Wei Ying, and afraid, just a little bit, for himself.

The children finally rushed out the back, laden with provisions, so he could devote his full attention to the front of the house.

Another idea came to him as he stood there. Alone.

“So you know nothing?” Wang Lingjiao finally conceded. “I’ve had enough of this.”

And there was his cue. He ducked away from the open doorway and peeked through an open window nearby. A few of the soldiers and she approached the woman and her husband. Wen Zhuliu remained where he was, watching keenly.

Lan Wangji took the opportunity to retreat from the back, hoped in the time it took to reposition that Wang Lingjiao wouldn’t have had the chance to make her move, and quickly made his way through the grass, angling in such a way that he would be able to pluck his qin strings and strike only the Wen cultivators in one sweeping gesture.

Finally reaching the optimal position, he freed one qin string from within his sleeve and quickly struck, disorienting the soldiers and Wang Lingjiao.

The woman turned his way, grabbed her husband, and rushed toward him, perhaps recognizing that he was here to help.

Wen Zhuliu was already climbing to his feet, one hand pressed against his forehead, but it bought him enough time to speak with the woman and that was all he needed.

“Your children are safe for the time being. I told them to find a place to hide where you’d be able to find them,” he said, words tripping out of his mouth as quickly as possible, so far from his usual cadence. “If you don’t meet them by daybreak, they will be going to Lotus Pier. Please alert the Jiang Sect of what has happened here. My name is Lan Wangji. Tell them that as well.”

The woman nodded and her husband slumped into her shoulder, gasping in relief.

“We’ll make sure news reaches the sect, Lan-gongzi,” she agreed, “and we won’t forget this.”

Lan Wangji nodded back. “I’ll distract them for as long as possible.”

The woman looked as though she wanted to say more, but her common sense and desire to find her children seemed to override that impulse, because she only grabbed her husband by the hand and pulled him alongside her.

With nothing more to be done for this family, he rushed forward and took the sword from the lax grip of the nearest Wen soldier. Wang Lingjiao remained entirely insensate, though the soldiers were all beginning to rouse. Wen Zhuliu approached slowly, more aware, his sword was already drawn. His features were grim, yet indifferent, too, as though he had no personal issue with Lan Wangji even despite this attack, like Lan Wangji was a gnat to be swatted, nothing worth caring about, a duty to be discharged.

At his best, Lan Wangji would still have struggled against him. He would have won, he hoped, but Wen Zhuliu’s skills were renowned for a reason. Like this, his chances were slim.

But if Lan Wangji was to die today, he would make Wen Zhuliu work for it.

If Wei Wuxian never fought another pseudo-mythic beast in a disgusting Wen territory cave, it would be too soon. In fact, if he never fought such a thing in any of his next lives, that would also be too soon. He was pretty sure every bruise he’d earned in that cave had a bruise. If golden cores could sustain bruises, he was sure that would be bruised, too. He ached everywhere. Even his heart hurt, though that might just have been the feeling of betrayal he experienced every time he thought about how he didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to Lan Zhan.

Cloud Recesses had burned and Lan Xichen couldn’t be located; Wei Wuxian couldn’t do anything about those things, but he could have accompanied Lan Zhan home. He could have spent a few weeks there, helping to rebuild. So what if Lan Qiren tried to kick him out again? They could use every able body they could get. He’d have fought his dismissal and he might even have won, hard work and effort smoothing the way for him.

Only Lan Zhan didn’t give him the chance, did he? No, he’d abandoned Wei Ying instead and for reasons that remained entirely obscure, he’d given Wei Ying all the credit, which managed to impress Uncle Jiang and piss off Jiang Cheng. Just to grind salt in the wound, Wei Ying also learned that Lan Zhan’s father had died while they were stuck in that cave, which was the biggest blow of them all.

Lan Zhan had gotten hurt because of Wei Ying. He’d stayed behind because of Wei Ying. If he’d gone with Jiang Cheng, he might at least have seen his father before he passed. But Wei Ying was selfish and not capable enough and really damned unlucky getting shot in the arm like he did. Lan Zhan probably hated him even more now and why shouldn’t he? All Wei Ying had done while Qingheng-jun was dying was annoy Lan Zhan and force Lan Zhan to coddle him. Though he didn’t remember everything, his hazy memories indicated as much. There was still a bite mark on his forearm and he thought maybe Lan Zhan had cried? Terrifying.

Because he couldn’t train yet or go swimming, he walked around. Likely, Jiang Cheng would find him and yell at him to rest, but that was fine. Too many recriminations cluttered his mind, but how else was he supposed to square all the information he and Uncle Jiang had dumped on him upon waking up today? He couldn’t just sleep his guilty conscience away. It wasn’t his style.

Pebbles dotted the docks and Wei Wuxian made it his mission to kick each and every one of them into the water, treating each of them like they were Lan Zhan’s stupid, stoic face. “Lan Zhan, oh, Lan Zhan. What am I going to do with you?” he murmured, lungs aching from the strain.

More boats than usual vied for space to load and unload supplies. The voices of the workers were too raucous and gregarious even for the people of Yunmeng. Bodies moved far too quickly, dancing nervously around one another. It was edging toward too much even for Wei Wuxian, who might have thought this verve exciting if he didn’t know the source of the anxiety driving all this motion.

A reprisal was coming. You didn’t just kill a sacred monster in Wen territory without facing some form of punishment. Surely, it had gotten around. People heard things and they gossiped. The destruction of the Lan Sect couldn’t have gone unnoticed either.

And Lan Zhan was stuck out there, injured, making his way back to a place which had already been targeted, wearing the funereal white of the Lan Sect along with that conspicuous forehead ribbon of his. Would he even consider removing it to make it a little more difficult for him to be recognized?

No, he wouldn’t. Of course not.

Wei Ying smiled viciously to himself as he pondered the very real possibility that Lan Zhan would get himself caught or killed as he made his way back to Gusu, sacrificing himself for no better reason than because one rule in three-thousand told him he couldn’t remove that ribbon.

“You’re too good, Lan Zhan. Too stubborn, too.”

Though he spoke the words with fondness, he knew this was not necessarily a good thing, Lan Zhan being so rigidly principled. One day, it would get him hurt—hurt again he amended—and on that day, Wei Wuxian would be deeply unhappy. Just like today.

As he continued to meander, he crossed the path of a seller he recognized in passing, who nodded and beckoned him over with the joyous arc of his arm. “Fresh lotus seeds! Wei-gongzi, lotus seeds for you?”

He allowed himself to stop before the man’s table. Only for a moment. They did look very good. And fresh. And though his stomach turned at the thought of food, this was the least offensive option to his palate. Perhaps he should eat something. “Ah, you know me too well. I’ll…”

A nearby shout drew his attention and that of many bystanders.

“Perhaps it’ll have to be later,” he said, distracted, to the seller as he handed payment over anyway. “For next time.”

A woman, two children, and a man gripping each of the aforementioned children around the shoulder were all standing before a pair of baby guest disciples freshly sent from Meishan, disciples who wouldn’t know what to do with people looking to them for help. They were quite busy doing nothing as they stared at the family with wide eyes. One of them finally noticed Wei Wuxian approaching and nearly fainted back in relief. Had he ever been this young? Though he wasn’t that much older than them, he certainly felt ancient in comparison.

Adopting his best ‘I am head disciple, Wei Wuxian, and I know what I’m doing’ expression, he approached. “Ah, juniors, just who I was looking for. And who are these fine people, eh? I don’t recognize you. Is this your—

The woman shook her head vehemently and raised her hands as though in apology. When she spoke, it was brusque and clipped. “There’s a Lan Sect disciple out near the border. He’s in trouble.”

Wei Wuxian’s pounding heart pumped the frozen shards of his blood through him. A sudden rush of adrenaline nearly made him swoon, body still weak. All thoughts were immediately replaced by a hum of fear. Not Lan Zhan. It couldn’t be Lan Zhan…

But it had to be Lan Zhan. Of course it was Lan Zhan. Who else could it be?

“Tell me what happened.” Before she could answer, he turned to the disciples. “Find Jiang Cheng,” he told one. To the other, he said, “Stay with me and then take this family with you back to the manor. Make sure they’re taken care of.” He returned his attention to the woman, offering it to her fully. “We’ll take care of you. Can you tell me where he was? What he was doing?”

“The Wen Sect came looking for—for Jiang-gongzi. They wanted to know where to find the sect leader’s son. There was—it was a woman doing most of the talking, but… I hadn’t seen anyone this time, but they insisted…”

A woman. Wang Lingjiao, no doubt. And Lan Zhan was, of course, there to step in. Why didn’t she simply make her way to Lotus Pier to start with? Where else would they go?

“Did you get his name? This Lan Sect disciple?”

“Lan Wangji.”

It shouldn’t have struck him like it did, when he already knew, but having confirmation…

It was too much.

“Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.” For the first time, her voice cracked. “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you…”

To stay further words, he lifted his hand, easing the burden she’d set upon herself to conjure an answer that would be useful. No point in torturing her further. “I need exact directions to your home.”

Almost before she was finished telling him, he was pulling his sword free from its sheath. To the disciple, he said, “Remember what I told you.” To the woman, he offered a slight bow. “Thank you for bringing us this information. We’ll take it from here. I owe you a debt I’m not sure I’ll be able to repay.”

“There’s no debt. No debt at all,” the woman insisted. “You can’t go alone, can you?”

It was probably a bad idea, especially in his condition, vision swimming a little from hunger and exertion and the emptiness he felt as the earlier burst of adrenaline failed him. None of that would stop him.

He didn’t dare delay longer, not when Lan Zhan’s life was at stake. Jiang Cheng would just have to catch up and save both of them if he failed. “I can. I’ll take care of the Wens, too, if they’re still around.”

It had been years since he’d flown on a sword that wasn’t his own. Unsteady, cold, fearful, he was beginning to regret it. There was no other choice, but even he had his limits and nearly falling off a sword was it.

Honestly, if he was reckless, it was Lan Zhan’s fault. It may have been foolishness that drove him—there was nothing in the world that Lan Zhan couldn’t take on single handed—but Wei Wuxian was willing to take any chances necessary. Just because Lan Zhan was as good a swordsman as he was didn’t mean he mightn’t have run into problems. Just because he was smart and pure and good didn’t mean the Wens couldn’t have luck on their side. And anyway, Lan Zhan was injured, in pain physically and emotionally. That put him at a disadvantage.

The only one of the Wens that Wei Wuxian might have worried about was Wen Zhuliu, but even he was not as good as Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan was bound to prevail. No matter the circumstances he must have defeated them all. Wei Wuxian was overreacting.

In an hour or two, they’d both be laughing over Wei Wuxian’s overwrought concern. Well, Wei Wuxian would be laughing. Lan Zhan would stare at him blankly and maybe acknowledge him with a single syllable. One full word of insult if he was lucky.

Ridiculous. Boring. Shameless. Any one of them would do as long as it was Lan Zhan saying them.

He grinned as he imagined pressing for even more than that, showing Lan Zhan the best of Yunmeng’s borders, maybe the lake near that family’s homestead, before returning with him as an escort to Gusu. That was just a daydream to keep him upright. Of course he wouldn’t actually try to delay Lan Zhan from returning home. Even Wei Wuxian was not so selfish.

But imagine. Lan Zhan might even use two words to excoriate him if he tried. What a veritable feast of language that would be.

Ah, there it was. Just where the woman had directed him: a home just off the small dirt road that led to one of the smaller lakes near the border. A tiny patch of vegetables lined one side of the house. Much of the surrounding land was tall grass.

He dropped down in case there were still Wen around, landed on the dirt with both feet, held the sword at his side.

The thought of one day successfully convincing Lan Zhan to spend time with him buoyed him up as he walked the grounds on unsteady feet. It was almost like playing a game, trying to keep himself from tripping over nothing, exhaustion tugging at him. What could he do to make Lan Zhan be his friend?

“Lan Zhan!” he called, too quiet to be of much use, but the best he could do with a cold-ravaged throat. As animated as he could manage, he didn’t want Lan Zhan to worry about him in return, he kept at it. “Lan Zhan!”

His forced good cheer remained until he found a dark lump of leather-clad Wen subordinate. When he kicked the body over to see that it was Wen Zhuliu himself, that false exuberance turned to genuine ecstasy.

In death, Wen Zhuliu remained stoically indifferent to his fate, like even this couldn’t affect him. “Ah, Lan Zhan! Well done.” If he spoke with more glee than was entirely righteous, at least Lan Zhan wasn’t here to remind him to be better. He’d been right if nothing else. Lan Zhan was the best. He deserved to celebrate. “Good riddance.”

No doubt this was Lan Zhan’s work, though even he had to admit it was crude even by Wei Wuxian’s lax standards—a dead enemy was a dead enemy, after all. Who cared how it looked at the end? But the wicked slash across Wen Zhuliu’s throat was neither elegant nor expertly accomplished. The skin around the wound was torn, brutally flayed open, as though it had been sawed and hacked at in desperation. Brown, flaking blood coated his neck, jaw, and even his palms.

Wei Wuxian crouched down and pressed his fingers to the trampled dirt around Wen Zhuliu’s body. He could not commune with the earth for an answer, but his eyes followed each dusty boot print and overturned rock in the hopes that they might give up the secrets of what happened and where Lan Zhan might have gotten to. Tracking wasn’t his specialty, but he followed the trail of destruction anyway and hoped answers would follow.

It remained subtle for the length of a hundred painful footsteps. Then, a long, thin line suddenly gouged itself in the dirt, like the tip of a sword being dragged.

That didn’t sound like Lan Zhan. He’d never treat a sword that way, even if it belonged to someone else.

The wavering line in the dirt disappeared in the nearby tall grass and it was there that he lost that helpful trail. He continued anyway since he didn’t have any better ideas.

He whipped his sword—not his, of course, he constantly reminded himself; Suibian was still stuck in whatever hole the Wens dropped it into during indoctrination and he felt its absence like an ache in his chest, a piece gouged out of his heart—across the grass in frustration, pushing it aside as he carefully picked his way through. Once he regained his strength fully, he’d climb back up on this thing to get an aerial view.

Perhaps Lan Zhan had managed to escape. It shouldn’t have been this difficult to find him if he’d gotten into trouble. By now, he could be nearly back to Gusu if he wanted to be. It might have been dangerous to mount a sword in his condition, too, but there was a stubborn audacity in Lan Zhan buried under that calm demeanor, a fear before they’d been rescued that might have driven him to it if the circumstances were right.

Then again, wouldn’t he have come back to report on what happened if he was capable of it? He would be desperate to get back to Cloud Recesses, of course, but duty was grafted directly onto his bones. He wouldn’t have charged a woman and her family with the alert if he expected to come out of it okay.

There. A glint in the grass-choked dirt. Maybe a sword? Maybe…

He shoved his way forward as stalks of the resilient grass stung his cheeks. Only a meter or so and—

He gasped, knees buckling beneath him, toe catching on a depression in the ground. Stumbling, he used his hand to keep himself from going sprawling.

It was a sword, unsheathed, so dull compared to Bichen that he almost didn’t recognize that it was Lan Zhan’s gray, ashen hand wrapped loosely around the hilt, barely visible between the rigid stalks.

Pushing himself upright, he hacked and slashed at the grass until he could easily trample the rest and more easily see what was going on.

Lan Zhan. It was Lan Zhan. Not moving. Okay—his back was rising and falling at least, but too slowly. Pain jolted up Wei Wuxian’s knees and thighs as his knees crashed to the ground. There wasn’t a mark on Lan Zhan’s body, no spreading patches of blood on his robes, nothing to show he was injured.

His mind rebelled; he wanted an injury to be the explanation.

“Lan Zhan?”

His hair obscured his face and it was with no small degree of trepidation that he pushed it back, carelessly brushing over the embroidered clouds of his forehead ribbon. His fingers grazed Lan Zhan’s cheek and he was startled by how cold Lan Zhan’s skin was, how pallid and dry his lips were. How long had he been sprawled in the grass like this? He couldn’t have been here all night, could he have? Or longer?

Pressing his fingers to Lan Zhan’s wrist, he directed a thin stream of spiritual energy toward him and earned nothing back, not a twitch of his lips nor even a subconscious reaction to Wei Wuxian’s presence.

What could have happened to leave him his cold and unresponsive?

But he knew. He knew. And he wished he didn’t.

Cold and unresponsive? Spiritual energy doing nothing? Wen Zhuliu, dead nearby, slaughtered desperately? It didn’t take a genius.

“No, no, no. Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, feeling desperate himself as he slapped lightly at Lan Zhan’s cheek and shook his shoulder as gently as he could. This couldn’t have happened. Lan Zhan was too bright a light in this world for this to have happened to him. His golden core was a thing of beauty, his cultivation too high, too diligently practiced, too good to be lost in a field during a pointless skirmish.

Lan Zhan was too young.

The woman had said they were looking for Jiang Cheng, but that just wasn’t true, was it? No doubt they were looking instead for Wei Wuxian. And Lan Zhan had stepped in, wrong place, wrong time.

It was well that a family survived this encounter, but the cost was so high. Too high, he thought, doing himself and Lan Zhan’s sacrifice no honor.

Wei Wuxian blinked and swallowed around the thickness in the back of his throat. Bile coated his tongue in bitter acid anyway. “Lan Zhan,” he said, hoarse, “if you don’t wake up I’m going to put your hair in braids and steal your forehead ribbon. I’ll take off my clothes in front of you again—” This one wasn’t actually a terrible idea and Lan Zhan could puke blood about it later if he wanted to. Wei Wuxian would, in fact, be delighted if he did. Shrugging out of his outer robes, he continued speaking. “I’m going to make you wear my clothes right now. It’ll be so unseemly. It’ll look like…”

What it looked like once Wei Wuxian turned Lan Zhan over and draped his robe across his front and pulled Lan Zhan against him so he could rub warmth into his neck and chest and arms, anywhere he could reach, what it truly looked like was nothing but desolation on Wei Wuxian’s part. Nothing at all worth teasing about. Nobody would see this and think, impropriety.

He’d learned a bit about the destruction of a person’s golden core, of course, but the details eluded him. The only thing that mattered in all that knowledge, though, was the fact that there would be no getting it back, no matter what state it was in. Even if Wei Wuxian wanted to investigate further, confirm the degree of damage, he wouldn’t do so, didn’t dare touch Lan Zhan that way. There was holding a man close to warm him and then there was getting intimate with parts of his body he wouldn’t have wanted Wei Wuxian anywhere near. A cursory touch on the wrist by a trained healer might have accurately confirmed the damage, but Wei Wuxian was not that. Maybe. What did he know, really?

In Lan Zhan’s mind, even the former was probably an unconscionable violation, but he’d have to tough it out until Jiang Cheng arrived with help. Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to let Lan Zhan die freezing on a pleasantly balmy Yunmeng afternoon.

After a few minutes, Lan Zhan stirred in the cradle of Wei Wuxian’s arms, making pained, fussing little noises that smashed Wei Wuxian’s heart into a thousand irreconcilable pieces. Twisting, he pressed his face into Wei Wuxian’s neck, the scratchy edge of the embroidery on his forehead ribbon tickling at the sensitive skin under his jaw.

Did this count as a violation of the Lan Sect’s rules?

The arm not now trapped against Wei Wuxian’s torso snaked around Wei Wuxian’s waist and clutched tightly around his back and opposite hip. Even through the fabric of his undershirt, too thin for this sort of intimacy, Lan Zhan’s fingers were like icicles.

“Warm,” Lan Zhan said, muffled, or maybe it was something else. Though Wei Wuxian strained to hear more, Lan Zhan said nothing else, gave no context for his utterance. Maybe he meant to say Wen. Perhaps he was having a bad dream.

Lan Zhan was going to kill him if he remembered anything about this.

But that was a problem for the future. For now, he’d do whatever he could to ensure Lan Zhan was as comfortable as he could be, even if his heart thudded shamefully against his sternum and his mind was a whirl, certain in the knowledge that Lan Zhan wouldn’t want this from him.

To that end, he slipped a handful of talismans from his belt, avoiding touching Lan Zhan directly, and laid them out beside him before slowly, slowly leaning backward until he was sprawled in the grass, Lan Zhan mostly on top of him. He bit his finger and awkwardly drew the necessary characters, careful to avoid tearing the paper by hiking his one free leg up and using it to write each one. With them, he hoped it wouldn’t take Jiang Cheng as long to find them.

Bent stalks poked into his back, sharp and painful, but he was happy to act as a shield and pillow for Lan Zhan, uncomfortable though he might have been, strange as Wei Wuxian felt about it.

Lan Zhan seemed to weigh nothing as he pressed himself against Wei Wuxian’s chest and tangled their legs together.

Once he was done with the talismans, he kept his arms outstretched, uncertain what to do with them that wouldn’t steal more of Lan Zhan’s dignity from him, until Lan Zhan took even that from them both, nudging closer in a way that almost made him slide off of Wei Wuxian’s chest to curl against his side. It was only when Wei Wuxian wrapped one arm around his back, pressing his fingers into the base of Lan Zhan’s hairline to keep him steady, that he stilled.

He continued to feed spiritual energy into Lan Zhan’s body even if it was useless. It might not be doing much, but it couldn’t be hurting him either.

Occasionally, Lan Zhan spasmed and choked, pain filtering through despite how deeply he slept or… whatever it was he was doing. It didn’t seem restful anyway. Each time, Wei Wuxian murmured into his hair until he quieted again.

Just how long was it going to take until Jiang Cheng got here?

And what the hell were they supposed to do now, he and Lan Zhan?

Not once in the hour it took for Jiang Cheng to organize help did Lan Zhan let go or wake up. The occasional pained sound he made told Wei Wuxian nothing more than what he already knew.

“You really floated a talisman in my face so I could find you?” Jiang Cheng asked, staring down at them with his hands on his hips, a sneer tugging at his mouth. The crumpled paper poked out of his clenched fist. It was a testament to how bad things were that Jiang Cheng didn’t scold Wei Wuxian about the shamelessly compromised position he’d found them in.

“I didn’t stop to pack flares. Besides, we don’t need to announce to the entire countryside that—” Wei Wuxian choked on his words. They were impossible to speak aloud. Instead, his grip on Lan Zhan tightened. That made him feel a little better even if it did mean his hair ornament poked uncomfortably at the underside of his jaw.

Jiang Cheng, uncharacteristically hesitant, said, “I brought a physician and a litter. Will he be able to…?”

Shifting carefully in the hopes of getting Lan Zhan into a position more appropriate for an assessment by the physician, Wei Wuxian did his best not to jostle Lan Zhan as he moved. He hurt everywhere, limbs numb from Lan Zhan’s weight, back on fire from the press of rocks and sharp stalks of grass into it, chest aching from holding in his anguish. Flopping back, he waved his hand distractedly. He couldn’t move Lan Zhan on his own.

For all that Wei Wuxian often had opinions that he wanted to exert, he couldn’t bring himself to take responsibility for Lan Zhan’s care in this way. He was smart, but he never studied medicine beyond the basics. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Lan Zhan more because he was careless, even if his instincts—do something—were fighting against his good sense—let the trained healer do something. This time, his good sense prevailed. “I don’t know. Let them decide.”

In Wei Wuxian’s position, Lan Zhan would have been able to make the right choice easily. In the end, Wei Wuxian could do no less for him.

The physician rushed over, slightly out of breath and clearly out of her element, robes askew from the flight, hair falling from her carelessly pulled back hair. “Jiang-gongzi, what—Wei-gongzi? That’s…”

Her eyes widened, of course. Who could prepare themselves for the sight of one of the Twin Jades curled against Wei Wuxian’s chest like this? Who would have known to think it was Lan Wangji himself who was so grievously injured, even if the news had spread to them? How was such a thing possible? It still seemed like a particularly vivid nightmare rather than the truth and he’d lived with this knowledge the longest.

“Yes, that’s…” he parroted, unfairly mocking in his discomfort. “I’ll need some help getting him back down. He was cold. That’s why… he didn’t—wouldn’t do anything…” Wei Wuxian flushed. This really did look rather untoward now that it came down to it.

“Idiot. As though he’d be interested in you,” Jiang Cheng said with no-nonsense brusqueness, a welcome reprieve, crisp and clear and black-and-white compared to the murk swirling in Wei Wuxian’s heart. Of course he wasn’t; he hated Wei Wuxian. And in turn, Wei Wuxian might have wanted them to be friends one day. That seemed unlikely now.

Choking off a laugh, Wei Wuxian brushed the back of his hand across his eyes and hoped neither of them caught the reason why. “You know just the right thing to say, Jiang Cheng. I’ll give you that.”

“You’ll give me a heart attack if you keep running off on your own like this. What the hell even happened? That guest disciple wasn’t making any sense. We literally just saw Lan Wangji yesterday and now this? In Yunmeng? And you—!”

“Yell at me later, Jiang Cheng. Help now. Or yell and help, heavens know you’re good at that.”

When Wei Wuxian attempted to lay Lan Zhan back onto the grass, Jiang Cheng kneeling beside him, all he did was fuss terribly and tighten his hands in Wei Wuxian’s under robes. “Lan Zhan,” he said, quietly and gently scolding. “You’re not well. The physician needs to have a look at you.”

He had no idea if Lan Zhan actually understood what he was saying, but he did eventually—after a bit more prodding and some slight help from the physician herself—manage to arrange them so that Lan Zhan’s back was braced against his chest, his flanks bracketed by Wei Wuxian’s legs. As long as Wei Wuxian leaned back on his elbows, the healer had a pretty unobstructed opportunity to examine Lan Zhan. Once they pulled Wei Wuxian’s outer robes from his shoulders anyway.

If this meant that Lan Zhan’s head was cradled awkwardly on his shoulder, face turned against Wei Wuxian’s neck, then that was what it meant. At least this way Wei Wuxian knew with intimate certainty that Lan Zhan was still breathing.

It would have been nice if Lan Zhan hadn’t wound his fist into the fabric of his trousers, pulling them tight across his hip, making him seem so young and lost that Wei Wuxian couldn’t stand it. This wasn’t how Lan Zhan would have wanted to comport himself. When he wakes, he’ll be mortified if he remembers. It’ll be a mercy if he doesn’t; Wei Wuxian certainly didn’t intend to bring it up and he’ll bully Jiang Cheng into staying silent, too, if he has to.

“Seriously?” Jiang Cheng asked again. “What the hell?”

“He got into a fight with Wen Zhuliu, Jiang Cheng. What do you think happened?”

The physician drew in a deep breath as she pressed her hand against the inside of Lan Zhan’s wrist, confirming his suspicions.

“Let’s get him back to Lotus Pier,” she said, serious, sad, pitying enough that Wei Wuxian wanted to snap at her for it, “as soon as possible.”

There was nothing, nothing, in Lan Zhan that was pitiable, not even now. If Wei Wuxian had to remind everyone of that, so be it.

Wei Wuxian didn’t typically make the arrangements for guests in Lotus Pier, but it was this or leaving it to someone who didn’t know Lan Zhan at all and that wasn’t—Wei Wuxian couldn’t allow that. It would already be an unfamiliar room for him; it would be as comfortable as Wei Wuxian could make it.

Which was why he was nosing around every centimeter of this set of guest quarters instead of doing anything more useful.

He picked up one of the sticks of incense that had been brought into the room and sniffed, wincing at the pungent aroma, far too floral. “No, no, no. Too cloying. Is there any sandalwood?” The servant who was following him around nodded. “Good. Get that. And make sure the food is as bland as possible.”

She bowed her head slightly and said, smiling indulgently, “We know, Wei-gongzi.”

“I mean, yes, he’s sick. Of course it should be bland, but…”

“We have hosted Lan Sect disciples before.”

Not this one, Wei Wuxian thought, wishing he knew more of Lan Zhan’s preferences, what he would consider a comfort, what might help him. The only person he could think of who would know—Lan Xichen—could not be found and might not have cared in such times as these. He was the most indulgent Lan Wei Wuxian knew, but that meant little when they faced war against the Wen, bolder than any of them were prepared for.

Wei Wuxian supposed he would have to bungle through it himself. Someone had to.

He just felt bad for Lan Zhan that this duty fell to Wei Wuxian; surely he’d prefer anyone else doing this.

“Right. Of course. Sorry. I know you’re—”

“Wei-gongzi, it’s fine. We’ll make all the necessary arrangements before he wakes up. We’ll ensure he’s comfortable. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing himself to slow down and think. When he opened them, he stared down at Lan Zhan, who looked so small and alone in the wide bed that had been made up for him. The teals and purples of Lotus Pier clashed terribly with his pale, wan features. There was no good reason to demand a more muted quilt to replace the one already there, but the command almost fell from his mouth without his consent.

Instead, he said, “I’ll need to write to his uncle.”

If a letter will even reach him.

The servant nodded again. “I’ll bring paper and ink as well.”

He bit his lip as he considered his next request. In Uncle Jiang’s absence—what a time to go to Qishan to negotiate with Wen Ruohan—Jiang Cheng was reporting to his mother what had occurred on the border. They would need to make a plan, and Wei Wuxian felt certain duty required that he assist. And yet, he remained here, equally duty-bound and found he didn’t wholly regret his lack of input in the former. The future of Lotus Pier could be determined without consulting Wei Wuxian, but someone needed to remain at Lan Zhan’s side.

“Will you inform Yu-furen that I intend to remain here for the time being?” She would not be happy with this and he was sorry for the messenger who would face her wrath. He could only hope she’ll eventually decide it was for the best: if he was here, he couldn’t compete with Jiang Cheng. “She can find me here if necessary.”

“Yes, of course.”

As soon as the servant was gone, Wei Wuxian moved closer to the edge of the bed. Lan Zhan hadn’t stirred since he was placed on the litter, perhaps too exhausted by his ordeal, and slept through his examination. None of the healers knew much about golden core destruction other than it was probably irreversible. So. About what Wei Wuxian knew.

Wei Wuxian didn’t want to believe that, but it was too soon to start fighting fate. Once Lan Zhan was better, he’ll scour the cultivation world’s libraries for answers if necessary. Whatever needs to be done to get it back, he’ll do.

After a few more moments spent watching Lan Zhan, he couldn’t help but brush his fingers across Lan Zhan’s forehead, fingers grazing over the embroidery of the ribbon once before he flinched back, recollecting how poorly Lan Zhan had taken it last time. As fun as it was to tease, he did occasionally know where the line was and could stop himself from hopping jauntily across it when he wished.

Somehow despite the fight, his hair remained pulled tightly back, his hair ornament almost perfectly placed, uncomfortable while Lan Zhan lay in repose. Wei Wuxian hoped that hair ornaments held no special significance to Lans—he didn’t recall any rules about them, not even that they couldn’t be unduly ostentatious—because he carefully removed it and then loosened the high ponytail that remained. His hair was smooth and silken, slid through Wei Wuxian’s fingers like water on a moonless night.

Though they were of an age, Lan Wangji often seemed older, but right now, with his hair down, he seemed impossibly, heartbreakingly young.

It should have been him that this happened to if it had to happen to anyone. Were it not for Uncle Jiang, he wouldn’t even have been able to develop a golden core. All of these years he’d been allowed to learn and grow were just good fortune; he hadn’t earned it. Despite who his mother was, he hadn’t been born into this life the way Lan Zhan and the other gentry families were, hadn’t truly grown up with it.

It wasn’t fair that someone like Lan Zhan should suffer this way. People would mourn for his loss. Hell, people would suffer due to this loss. Lan Zhan’s skills and righteous conduct would have benefited so many over the years. If Wei Wuxian lost his core, he wasn’t sure the same could be said. It would likely come as a relief to some if he did, if he just melted back into the world of commoners to become a farmer or something, one face among many living an ordinary life.

There were days, in fact, when becoming a farmer didn’t seem so bad.

But before Wei Wuxian could drag himself too deeply into that particular abyss, the servant returned with everything she’d promised: food, writing materials, the sandalwood incense that nevertheless didn’t smell quite right no matter how similar it looked to the ones Lan Zhan preferred.

It was, he had to admit, easier to be disappointed about that than anything else as he lit one and watched the smoke curl toward the ceiling.

“Wei-gongzi, the physician asked me to give you this,” she said, holding a small pouch out. “It was with Lan er-gongzi when he came in. She forgot to return it before.”

Colorful and delicate, it didn’t look like the sort of thing Lan Zhan would carry, but he took it, not wishing to embarrass her or the physician in order to correct them. He’ll find out later who it belongs to. Except… he recognized this pouch along with the faintly lingering scent that clung to the fabric.

Mianmian’s pouch.

Maybe he had been carrying it. How romantic.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he said, conflicted in his fondness for reasons he didn’t understand and wasn’t particularly interested in examining. Had anyone else gotten the chance to see this sentimental side of Lan Zhan before? It seemed impossible that anyone should so quickly and easily secure Lan Zhan’s affections and devotion. “You do like Mianmian, don’t you?”

Even Wei Ying, who had been flirting with her and thought her very becoming, had lost track of this item, uncaring. Lan Zhan must have tucked it away to remember her by. That was so incredibly sweet. Good for—good for him. Really. “You should tell her next time you meet.”

Of course Lan Zhan didn’t answer.

“You’ll be very pretty together,” he continued, because silences killed him. Silences gave him time to think the most troublesome thoughts.

He wanted to touch Lan Zhan, grab hold of him and never let go, warm his skin with the palms of his hands again, with gentle caresses, just to prove to himself that Lan Zhan was still alive.

If Lan Zhan were to be made aware of these wishes, he would likely draw a sword and chase Wei Wuxian around the room with it, telling him off in the least number of words necessary for being so unrepentantly shameless.

That image brought a smile to his mouth.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, leaning close so that his mouth was near to Lan Zhan’s ear, “when you wake up, it’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it. I owe you that much. Promise.”

He only allowed himself to pat Lan Zhan’s shoulder once and then got up, ensuring that Lan Zhan’s meal, a slurry of rice and broth and mushy vegetables, was within easy reach before he moved to the other side of the room to wait for Lan Zhan to open those pretty gold eyes of his again. If he didn’t wake soon, Wei Wuxian would have to think of a way to ensure Lan Zhan gets the nutrients he needs to recover, but for now… for now he could wait.

By the fifth day of Lan Zhan’s convalescence, Wei Wuxian started making bets with himself over what would come first: Wen Chao’s need for retribution or Lan Zhan’s return to the world of the living. With Uncle Jiang’s departure for Qishan—ill-advised in Wei Wuxian’s opinion, but he’d lost the option to voice an opinion when he’d hared off to find Lan Zhan and staked his claim as Lan Zhan’s caretaker instead of attending fully to his duties to his sect—Wei Wuxian began to lean toward Wen Chao.

A disciple, the disciple who would momentarily settle the bet, tapped nervously at the door and pulled the thin wood aside, eyes averted.

“Dashixiong,” he said, ducking his head slightly as he stared at the end of the bed, not meeting Wei Wuxian’s gaze.

Pushing himself to his feet, Wei Wuxian pretended an ease he did not feel. It wasn’t that he was doing anything inappropriate. All he’d done was drag a chair next to Lan Zhan’s bed. And maybe purloin a dizi from his second shidi to noodle on while he waited on Lan Zhan. This was, perhaps, what the disciple before him had caught him doing, trying to remember that song Lan Zhan had sung to him in the Xuanwu cave. Not that he was succeeding very well. Though he could pretend with the best of them, he wasn’t exactly at his best either. His determination would see him through, though. He’d remember it fully.

“Ah, yes? What’s the matter?” he asked, not yet finding his world tipped on its axis, the question easy to ask. All the disciple had left to do was open his mouth to push it sideways.

“Wen, ah, Wen er-gongzi is…”

The dizi fell from his grip, suddenly slack. It clattered to the floor. Though both himself and the disciple flinched, Lan Zhan was still lost to the world of the seemingly, yet not actually, dead.

With a wild burst of speed, he climbed to his feet and rushed to the door. He was already halfway up the wooden path back to the main hall before he sprinted back. The disciple, moving at a more appropriate pace, had barely left Lan Zhan’s room, intent to follow behind.

Wei Wuxian’s hands dropped to the disciple’s shoulders. “Grab a few of your seniors and watch out here, huh? And make sure the other juniors are safely out of the way. Don’t let anyone get into any confrontations with the Wens. If you see any civilians, send them on their way. They don’t need to be involved in this.”

This was a lot to charge one disciple with, but he didn’t have any other options and he didn’t think Madam Yu would fault him for it. Everyone had to pull their weight. He just wished he could be the one to stay behind, would infinitely prefer to protect Lan Zhan than go anywhere else. There was shirking his responsibilities—something he was keenly aware he’d been doing—and then there was this.

Out of everyone who was still at Lotus Pier who could fight, Wei Wuxian was second only to Madam Yu. Wherever Wen Chao was, he would be needed. To the rest of the disciples, he’d have to trust everything else that mattered to him here. Shijie. The juniors he shot kites with. The others closer in age to him and Jiang Cheng, who splashed around in the lakes and ate contraband watermelon with them. Lan Zhan, of course.

Though Wei Wuxian was ready, determined, eager to have Lan Zhan back—who could know how stressful it was to keep a man alive who didn’t want to participate in his own survival, Wei Wuxian had taken to dripping cool water into his mouth, spooning broth down an unwilling throat, cleaning him with a wet cloth when necessary—he couldn’t even claim it wasn’t a good thing that Lan Zhan wasn’t awake for this. Even without a core, he’d have made a fuss with Wen Chao here.

Swallowing around the thickness in the back of his throat, he still couldn’t help thinking that it should have been Lan Zhan beside him, taking that second place spot with him.

And then he was off again, arriving just in time to hear Wen Chao grandstand from inside the manor. There were, of course, Wen soldiers arrayed around the courtyard outside, a large but not insurmountable number of them, but they didn’t impede Wei Wuxian’s progress. And anyway, the Jiang Sect disciples and guest cultivators standing with them outnumbered the Wens.

Everyone remained courteous and disaffected, pretending this was normal, allowable behavior in order to prevent a fight.

But when the time came, they’d be ready, of that Wei Wuxian had no doubt. If—when—Madam Yu tells them to act, they’ll do what needs to be done.

Wei Wuxian was proud of them and was proud to stand beside them as he mounted the steps. The doors were fully open, allowing everyone outside to see what was going on inside, from the spasming grimace on Jiang Cheng’s face to the whip-sharp heat in Madam Yu’s eyes.

Wen Chao didn’t notice Wei Wuxian’s arrival, too busy making demand after demand. His lackeys were all too far away to stop Wei Wuxian should he decide to shove his sword where the sun could not shine. None of those lackeys, incidentally, made any move to alert Wen Chao either. Had they heard that Wen Chao’s only skilled fighter has already fallen? Did they realize they were outmatched when they walked into Lotus Pier today?

It was a tempting thought, so very tempting as he took a quiet, unimpeded step forward. For what Wen Chao did to Lan Zhan, for what he did to all of them at indoctrination, Wei Wuxian would happily do that and worse. Best of all, Wen Zhuliu was not here to stop them. What could Wen Chao do then, when he wasn’t even among the top five cultivators of their generation?

Pathetic.

Neither Jiang Cheng nor Madam Yu acknowledged his presence, perhaps realizing the opportunity presented to them as well, so he decided to keep quiet for as long as it took Wen Chao to finally get around to noticing him.

“All I am asking for here is compensation for the loss of Wen Zhuliu. He was like a brother to me. It isn’t so very much to give over the man responsible for his demise, is it? And Wei Ying?” He made a clicking sound with his tongue, hair swaying back and forth as he shook his head. “We all know you don’t care about him. What difference does it make if I show him a lesson as well? Surely that’s worth Lotus Pier, isn’t it?”

Jiang Cheng was the first to crack. “Wen—”

Madam Yu held up her hand, silencing him as effectively as Lan Zhan might have shut Wei Wuxian up with the Lans’ famed silencing spell. Though his face went red with the strain, Jiang Cheng cut himself off with vicious ruthlessness.

“You, the second son of Wen Ruohan, wish to humble me in my own home. What and who I care and don’t care for is hardly your concern under any circumstances. Lan Wangji finds himself under my care and supervision. As for Wei Wuxian, he has already met the terms your sect set out for indoctrination. Why exactly do you think I’ll give you what you want when you come so brazenly into Yunmeng territory? Did your father raise you to be so discourteous?”

Yes, Wei Ying thought.

“I want Lan Zhan and Wei Ying,” Wen Chao answered, brisk, brittle, angry enough to shatter if pushed, “at the very least. That is non-negotiable.”

Wei Wuxian very nearly choked to hear Wen Chao speak Lan Zhan’s name so cavalierly. It was one thing when Wei Wuxian did it, but it was another thing entirely when someone like Wen Chao did the same. Who did he think he was?

Madam Yu lip curled in amusement. “Child, even that is asking too much when you’re standing in your enemy’s territory.”

A grin stole over Wei Wuxian’s face at hearing her words. Oh, this was good. This was going to get them in trouble, but it was so good. Definitely worth it. Wei Wuxian was going to fix this in his memory. He only wished he could see it from Jiang Cheng or Madam Yu’s side. Not getting to witness the sour look that no doubt graced Wen Chao’s features was a tragedy.

Getting to hear the choking sound of surprise would just have to do. “Enemy? You wish to make an enemy of my father?”

Madam Yu’s eyes narrowed and she took one single step forward. “I will make an enemy of anyone who wishes to make an enemy of me. You’ve brought soldiers to Lotus Pier. You attempted to kill my child and the children of every other great sect. You want me to make enemies of the Lan Sect specifically by handing one of their scions off to you to be punished or killed after your brother razed their home. I wish that none of these things had happened, but what would you call yourselves from my perspective?”

Wen Chao snorted derisively. “You’re not even Jiang Sect’s leader. What do I care—”

Madam Yu gestured sharply for her handmaidens to approach the door. Everyone who knew better tensed in expectation, but she stopped them as soon as they made it to the door, the very last possible moment. A reprieve for Wen Chao if only he would take it. “Jiang-zongzhu is not in Lotus Pier. I am. And he would not go against my decrees here today even if he were.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t certain that was true and he was fairly certain that Madam Yu didn’t believe it either. No doubt Uncle Jiang’s touch would have been softer, but the truth didn’t matter here. What Wen Chao believed? That mattered.

Wen Chao didn’t answer and so Madam Yu spoke again. “You are free to decide how you wish to handle this. You can leave today without Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Or you can remain. Those are your choices.”

If he left, he would return with more forces. Surely Madam Yu knew that. It might buy them time, maybe, but so would—

But then he realized: there wasn’t a chance in hell that Wen Chao would back down now and Madam Yu would know that, too. He might run from the rest of them in a fight without anyone else around, but she had so deeply insulted him and his father and with so many proper soldiers around. He could not run.

If Wen Ruohan found out, he’d kill Wen Chao himself.

But her ultimatum meant that they would have the sympathy of the other clans, if they didn’t already. Everyone could attest that she’d fairly set out her expectations. It truly was up to Wen Chao.

“I will kill each and every one of you and bring your heads back to my father. My father will torture your husband. He might die if he’s lucky,” Wen Chao answered, slow and deliberate. An attempt was made at menace, but Wei Wuxian had to bite back a laugh as Madam Yu’s eyes caught Wei Wuxian’s and then slipped past him to Yinzhu and Jinzhu.

He needed no further order. Stepping forward, he grabbed Wen Chao by the shoulder and dragged his sword across Wen Chao’s throat, an intimate repeat of the Xuanwu cave. This time, he allowed himself the small indulgence of finally nicking the sensitive skin of Wen Chao’s neck. Only because it was fun, of course.

One of Wen Chao’s useless soldiers, the one closest to the manor’s entrance, finally attempted to draw his sword.

Jinzhu and Yinzhu stopped him. Wei Wuxian spared a single glance back toward the courtyard. The other Wen were equally stymied by the other Jiang Sect disciples.

Wei Wuxian tried not to be a vindictive person, but sometimes…

Sometimes, people threatened to take from him the people he cared about most. Or they sent their mistresses to destroy his loved—his friend’s golden core.

Breathing against Wen Chao’s ear, he said, “Do you remember the last time we embraced like this? Wen Zhuliu isn’t here to protect you now. Shall I throw you to Yu-furen instead?”

Wen Chao shook in Wei Wuxian’s grip. Even though it would change nothing, he wanted to be the one to put an end to the pretense that this wasn’t war. With one stroke across Wen Chao’s cowardly, vulnerable neck, it could be done.

He held his arm a little steadier to ensure he didn’t.

“Let him go,” Madam Yu said, waving her hand dismissively. “Perhaps he will learn some manners from this.”

“You’re lucky,” Wei Wuxian snapped. “It would have been a privilege to kill you.”

Wen Chao stumbled as Wei Wuxian pushed him to the ground, went sprawling to the floor.

“You’ll pay for this!”

“There are five cultivators in this room alone who could defeat you single-handedly. For once in your life, do the smart thing and stay down.”

When Wen Chao made no move to stand, Wei Wuxian bent forward—only a little, only to loom, just a bit—and smirked.

“What a good dog you turned out to be,” Wei Wuxian said, quiet, springing back just as Wen Chao shouted furiously, not even forming words as he launched himself at Wei Wuxian. Oh, Wen Chao. Wen Chao, so easy in the end to push him just a little too far.

Wei Wuxian raised his sword without a second thought, ready to run him through.

Before Wen Chao could die by his hand, Zidian cracked across Wen Chao’s back before he could reach Wei Wuxian. It curled around his wrist, scorching his skin as it hissed and snapped like lightning. Madam Yu wrenched her arm back and yanked Wen Chao back to the floor.

Those useless soldiers each took aborted steps forward. Their shouts were choked off by the twin whips of Madam Yu’s handmaidens.

“How dare you try to strike the head disciple of another sect.”

Wei Wuxian, of course, wasn’t fooled. Madam Yu didn’t give a single damn about whether Wei Wuxian was hurt or not and that was just fine with him. That was how their relationship was. This was entirely politics and pretense. And yet, it still warmed him that appearances counted enough with her that she’d do this instead of throwing him immediately to the Wens for expediency’s sake.

Wei Wuxian held his tongue while Jinzhu and Yinzhu made quick work of disabling the rest of the soldiers within the room.

Thank the heavens Wen Chao wanted both him and Lan Zhan. If he’d settled for Wei Wuxian, this might have gone a different way.

“This is your second chance, Wen Chao,” Madam Yu said.

“Go to hell,” he answered.

She nodded as though expecting this. “Jinzhu. Yinzhu. Please escort Wen Chao to the holding cells. Wei Wuxian: go ensure our accommodations are suitable for this many guests.”

A few of the Wen soldiers squirmed, but ultimately, none of them came to their master’s aid, already stymied twice over.

“Jiang Cheng. Ensure the rest of these soldiers are appropriately housed as well.” She sneered as none of them even attempted to try anything to save themselves. “We’ll need to arrange a meeting with the other sects.”

Wei Wuxian bowed his head in acknowledgment of their orders. They were going to pay for this and dearly, but he couldn’t say it wasn’t going to be worth it. After facing indoctrination, losing his sword, spending days in a cave with a vicious, nearly legendary beast and screaming voices bouncing around in the back of his head, and the loss of Lan Zhan’s golden core—most especially that—he was ready for retribution.

And here Madam Yu was handing him the chance on a silver platter.

He, in turn, would do his best not to disappoint her.

It took less time than Wei Wuxian would have expected to clean up the Wen forces who lingered outside. For that, he was glad, because already his thoughts returned to Lan Zhan. His worry unfurled within him, a bud freshly bloomed, vibrant in its presentation. Soon. They were nearly done.

The holding cells stank of brine and stale, close air. Because they were so rarely used, they were not often cleaned.

He kicked at the legs of the last Wen soldier in his care and then shoved him into the cell as Jiang Cheng finished up with the last of his own. Occasionally, he knew Wei Wuxian far too well, because he said, slipping the bolts and locks into place, “He’s not going to appreciate all this hovering you’re doing,” like he could read Wei Wuxian’s wishes in the impatient way he worked.

Unwilling to say anything in front of Wen Chao and his retinue, Wei Wuxian only threw Jiang Cheng a scathing look that was ignored. It was only once they were safely on one of the winding wooden paths, well away from the pavilion marked out for prisoners, the only building that was build down into the water, the better to keep anyone from escaping, that Wei Wuxian answered properly. “Haven’t I told you already, Jiang Cheng? He can think whatever he wants. I can only do what my conscience demands.”

“And it demands that you pester Lan Wangji while he’s recovering from this? He doesn’t even like you.”

Jiang Cheng’s words shouldn’t have struck him so deeply. They were, after all, the truth. But as they returned to the heart of Lotus Pier and left instructions with every disciple they passed to keep watch, the fierce veracity of the statement ate away at him.

“So what if he doesn’t? That means nothing to me,” Wei Wuxian snapped.

“Are you addled? You’re acting like a love-struck maiden.”

“Last I checked, Lan Zhan’s a man. It’s not love that’s struck me.”

“Since when did that stop anyone? Or have I hallucinated all that pornography of Nie Huaisang’s that so intrigued you before you got kicked out of Cloud Recesses?”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes. “Aiya, it’s okay for other people, but I like women. Lan Zhan’s… Lan Zhan. It’s my fault anyway. If he wasn’t injured in the cave, Wen Zhuliu couldn’t have destroyed his core. He deserves better than what’s happened to him. That’s all.”

“And you’re the one to give it to him?” Jiang Cheng asked, dry.

There was only one response he could give to that: he shoved at Jiang Cheng and changed the subject. “Do you want to be the one to explain to him what happened when he wakes up instead?”

Jiang Cheng, of course, scoffed. “Not a chance in hell.”

“So stop complaining about it.”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth tightened into a severe scowl as he shook his head and made a tsking sound of disapproval. With such a sour expression to contend with, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but push, hanging off of Jiang Cheng’s arm to avoid thinking about what it would be like once he told Lan Zhan. Everything would change. Maybe Lan Zhan would blame him. He should.

“Aww, Jiang Cheng. Are you jealous of what Lan Zhan and I share?”

Jiang Cheng, predictably, shoved him in retaliation, nearly pushing him into the railing. “No! You’re just pathetic. It’s embarrassing to watch you throw yourself at him when all he seems to want is to be left alone. Somehow it’s worse if you don’t want to bed him. At least that would make sense.”

“Shidi, don’t ever say those words to me again. You’re too young to think about such things.”

“Shut up. Go check on your precious Lan Zhan. See if I give a shit.”

Wei Wuxian cackled. “Good idea! Unless you need me desperately, I’m going.” He waggled his eyebrows obnoxiously and trilled at Jiang Cheng. “You know where to find me.”

“Who said you could stay? You’re supposed to be training with the juniors this afternoon.”

Wei Wuxian leveled a glare at him that was worthy of Madam Yu herself if the way Jiang Cheng actually cringed was any indication. “We all but declared war on Qishan Wen today. If you want to rigorously torture the juniors to prove something, you can do so in my stead.” Then his expression brightened into a grin. “I’m willing to risk Yu-furen’s wrath.”

“Wei Wu—” Jiang Cheng let his head drop forward, covering his eyes with his palm before sighing in disgust. “Ugh. Fine. Go visit your boyfriend. See if I care.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t interested in men that way obviously and Jiang Cheng knew it, but he kind of liked the sound of that anyway. Lan Zhan’s boyfriend. He could certainly do worse, even if he never felt anything romantically for Lan Zhan. “Please call him that to his face where I can see it. I want to see him yell at the both of us with the fury of ten generations of stodgy Lan disciples behind him. It’ll be incredible.” He jabbed Jiang Cheng in the ribs. “Hey, he might even spontaneously develop a golden core through his sheer need to destroy us.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Grabbing both of Jiang Cheng’s shoulders from behind, he shook Jiang Cheng and said, right into his ear, “But remember, Jiang Cheng: I’ll always be your idiot first.”

Leaving a stupefied Jiang Cheng behind, Wei Wuxian jogged off toward Lan Zhan’s room. The disciple from earlier, focus entirely on the walkway, all but ran into him as he neared, face pale and drawn and serious, like he’d seen a ghost. He thought nothing of it, not really, because who wasn’t on edge right now? Having Wens knocking down their doors would make anything tense.

“Dashixiong!” the disciple called, breathless, as Wei Wuxian steadied him with one hand on each shoulder.

“How is he? Is everything—?”

Wei Wuxian expected him to say that nothing had changed and prepared himself for the disappointment or worse. Maybe Lan Zhan was—

“He’s awake! I was going to get the physician,” the disciple said, shaky, uncertain what to do now that he’d been stopped. “Dashixiong, he… I didn’t know what to say! I… I ran away.” The disciple raised his hands to bow. Wei Wuxian stopped him with an absent hand to his elbow. His thoughts were already in Lan Zhan’s room. Lan Zhan was awake?

How was Wei Wuxian going to explain this to him? He should have prepared a speech or—

“He just stared at me! I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll handle it. You did your best.” He didn’t want Lan Zhan accosted by unfamiliar doctors until he had a chance to see for himself. If necessary, he’d get the physician himself. Shoving past the disciple, he all but launched himself into the room. One look at Lan Zhan’s face, cold and closed off, told him everything. No speech would be necessary.

Lan Zhan knew already.

Rushing toward the bed, Wei Wuxian only stopped once he was at Lan Zhan’s side, fingers dangerously close to Lan Zhan’s as he perched himself on the end of the mattress. He desperately wanted to take Lan Zhan’s hand in his. It was surely the last thing on this earth that Lan Zhan wanted. “Oh, Lan Zhan.”

“Don’t.” He would not meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “Did he die?”

“Wen Zhuliu? You got him. He can’t do this to anyone else.” There was no one else in the world who knew this technique as far as Wei Wuxian knew. For that alone, Lan Zhan was a hero. For such an accomplishment, the fallout was bitter.

Lan Zhan said none of the things Wei Wuxian would have said if their fortunes were reversed—things like good or I wish I could do it again or I hope he suffered—but his hands did tighten into fists around the quilt spread across his lap.

“Lan Zhan…”

Anger flared in Lan Zhan’s eyes as he whipped his head up, actually focusing on Wei Wuxian for the first time in all of this. The gold of his irises almost pulsated with his fury, so much more potent than Wei Wuxian’s ever seen before. “Don’t.”

In the face of such a response, Wei Wuxian felt helpless. Worse, he felt useless. At least if Lan Zhan let him babble, he might come up with a solution or at least a distraction, but he couldn’t bring himself to disregard Lan Zhan’s desires so fully. So he shut himself up and merely inched a little bit closer to Lan Zhan.

He did not tell Wei Wuxian not to. He did not pull away.

Wei Wuxian’s touch would be unwelcome—he could not disregard the knowledge that it was unwelcome, had always been unwelcome—but he wanted…

He turned his head away and blinked furiously until his eyes stopped watering. Heavens, but this was awful. It was the worst. He wished he could reanimate Wen Zhuliu’s corpse and kill him all over again, pull his body apart and scatter the pieces in every foul bog he could find between here and Qishan. He wanted to shove Wen Chao’s head into the wall of his cell until Wen Chao’s skull shattered under his palm, until Wen Chao’s brains were smeared across the wood. Wherever Wang Lingjiao was, he wanted to end her, too.

“What are you doing?” Lan Zhan asked, waspish.

“Crying my eyes out for you,” Wei Ying snapped before steadying himself with an inhalation and an exhalation. When he turned back, he was pretty sure he looked normal. Time to redirect some of Lan Zhan’s anger onto himself so he’ll know what to do with it. What better way than to act like a brat? “And for me. You’re so cruel, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s ears went red and his mouth twisted into a scowl, but he didn’t shout at Wei Wuxian like he should have. He didn’t insult or berate Wei Wuxian even though it might make him feel better. And Wei Wuxian? For once, Wei Wuxian couldn’t be anything other than earnest. As serious as the occasion called for. Prodding him with another inflammatory remark was impossible. Instead, he blurted, “How are you feeling, Lan Zhan?”

Time dragged itself kicking and screaming through the stretch of silence that followed.

“Why do you care?”

A laugh caught in his throat, slightly hysterical, embarrassing. Did Lan Zhan really think so little of him? Even if it was rather cruel, for all that it left him cracked open, it was a fair question, wasn’t it? What right did Wei Wuxian have to care when all he’d ever done was pester Lan Zhan endlessly and get him into trouble? It wasn’t like Wei Wuxian’s care could fix this.

Why did he care? Because Lan Zhan was Lan Zhan and that mattered to Wei Wuxian. “Because it’s you,” he admitted, “and it wasn’t fair, what happened to you, and—and I want to. You’re Lan Zhan. Of course I want to.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes fell to the quilt again, to where Wei Wuxian’s free hand was still dangerously close to Lan Zhan’s thigh. He seemed almost to collapse inward before Wei Wuxian’s eyes, wilting, shrinking. It made Wei Wuxian want to pull him up until he was tall again. Even if Lan Zhan bit him again, metaphorically or literally, it didn’t matter.

Then Lan Zhan released a breath. His voice, when he spoke, was emotionless, like he was dredging up all of his training to respond in a way that befitted his status as the second son of a sect leader recently dead. His voice, when he spoke, sounded like it hurt to control. “Thank you, Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened and he had to choke back another laugh for fear of what might come out instead. “What could you possibly be thanking me for?”

Lan Zhan struggled for a moment, his lips twisting in a grimace. He blinked rapidly, chest rising and falling in quick succession. “For… caring. Thank you for caring.”

What was Wei Wuxian going to do with this man? He couldn’t throw himself into Lan Zhan’s arms no matter the urge that suddenly came over him, not like he might have done if Lan Zhan was hale and healthy and whole. Of course he cared. This was Lan Zhan they were talking about. And it was a terrible thing that he was suffering. Wei Wuxian would never not care. Probably the only person capable of offering comfort was his brother and he was very much not here and couldn’t be tracked down, but Wei Wuxian could try his best. Maybe if Wei Wuxian was very careful and very good with Lan Zhan—not that he knew how to be so—then he could suffice.

He pulled his hand away from Lan Zhan, giving him more space. Lan Zhan liked space.

“I’ve sent a message to your uncle,” he said, even and brisk, professional, though his hands fidgeted in his lap to keep from reaching out. If he was so very careful, he reminded himself.

Lan Zhan’s voice was cool when he spoke. “Where is Wang Lingjiao? I wasn’t able to capture her before she ran away.”

“We don’t know.” At least he could share some good news about this one thing. “Perhaps we can ask Wen Chao.”

“Wen Chao? He didn’t even come to Yunmeng himself. He is a cowa—” Frustrated, he clenched his fists in his lap. “How would we ask him?”

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. You can call him a coward. Though I don’t know how much that applies to him any longer…” Wei Wuxian leaned close, just not quite close enough to touch and not for long enough that Lan Zhan could do more than inhale crisply. “He arrived in Lotus Pier today and told Yu-furen to her face to hand you and I over.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened by a fraction. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t even have known to look for it if he wasn’t paying so much attention. Lifting his hands, Wei Wuxian wiggled his fingers, as though to act out a scary story. “And then he lunged for me.”

“Wei Ying!” Ah, anger. Wei Wuxian was a good friend to such an emotion. It was good that Lan Zhan was lancing his own on Wei Wuxian’s nonsense.

“And then Yu-furen struck him with Zidian and had him hauled off to the cells! The best part is he brought himself here and got himself and fifteen Wen disciples turned into hostages. All without any work on our parts.”

“He lunged for you?” Lan Zhan looked even more concerned than before. Wei Wuxian could only cackle in the face of his disapproval.

“He didn’t even touch me. Don’t worry though, Lan Zhan, she never would have handed over one of the twin jades to the Wens.”

“What about you?”

He shrugged, brushed his hair over his shoulder. “I’m sure it hurt her that she didn’t have the excuse to turn me into their problem. Honestly, I’m not even sure I would have minded. It would be worth it to hassle Wen Ruohan from the inside, wouldn’t it?”

A thunderous expression crossed Lan Zhan’s face, but his voice remained even, as still as a mountain lake. “Be serious.”

Whining dramatically in the back of his throat, privately glad he’d finally managed to distract Lan Zhan and playing it up, Wei Wuxian looked away. “Just because you don’t appreciate me…”

“Wen Ruohan will want retribution for this.”

Right to the point. Fine. Wei Wuxian could handle that. “And we’ll give it to him. Wen Chao is lucky he’s not dead. At least with him here, Wen Ruohan can’t just run roughshod over Lotus Pier unless he’s willing to risk losing his son, too.”

What Wei Wuxian didn’t give voice to was his belief that it was entirely possible that Wen Ruohan would sacrifice his second son just for a chance at more power, but that was a problem for another day. There was no point worrying Lan Zhan further over it now. He probably already realized.

“You understand what this means?” Lan Zhan asked. Yeah, make that definitely.

Wei Wuxian nodded. “I’m counting on it.”

“Wei Ying, you shouldn’t want this.”

“After everything that’s happened to you, you don’t think they should be forced to pay? The Wens have too much power. Something has to be done about them. It was always going to come down to a fight, ever since Cloud Recesses. I’d rather jump into it now with my eyes open than find all of us scrambling around later.”

Lan Zhan looked lost as Wei Wuxian spoke. His expression crumpled at the mention of his home, before hardening with stony resolve. He pushed at the bedding that covered his legs. “I need to return to Gusu.”

“You need to rest.”

He moved as though to get up, like he intended to leave right at this moment. It was only then that Wei Wuxian touched him, palm brushing across Lan Zhan’s clavicle to settle on his shoulder, still so cold through the thin layer of his robes. It was too daring. Surely Wei Wuxian would lose his arm for it. That didn’t stop him from enjoying the opportunity to feel Lan Zhan’s soft skin under his palm.

Lan Zhan froze beneath his touch and Wei Wuxian froze in response, mind going blank because it worked. Lan Zhan wasn’t moving and he’d never before let Wei Wuxian stop him before. “Why didn’t we give you thicker robes?” he asked, an asinine question if ever there was one. The answer was simple: Wei Wuxian hadn’t thought far enough ahead about it. He never did. One of the sets he wore in winter would have sufficed.

“That is unnecessary. I won’t be staying.”

Wei Wuxian, taking advantage of his superior strength, pushed him back into the bed. “We’re asking for the leaders of all the sects to come here. Your uncle or another elder will be coming, I’m sure. Wouldn’t it be better to return with them?” All he needed right now was to make sure Lan Zhan stayed put and he wasn’t sure how, which combination of words would keep him in this bed. “Please, Lan Zhan. Give yourself a little time to recover. I know you don’t want to be here, not like this, but…”

“There is no recovering from this.” He peeled Wei Wuxian’s hand from his shoulder, pushed it aside. Wei Wuxian refused to feel the sting of it. It wasn’t like it was the first time Lan Zhan had rejected him. In fact, he continued speaking as though nothing at all had happened. “I might as well make myself useful in whatever way I still can.”

“By traipsing across the countryside on foot? What happens if you run into someone else from the Wen Sect?”

Though Lan Zhan scowled, he didn’t shift again, didn’t try to get up, didn’t push Wei Wuxian further away. In short, he did nothing else the way Wei Wuxian would have expected. But despite the sick exhaustion that flickered in his eyes, he did not slump backward against the bed either the way Wei Wuxian may have wanted him to. Instead, he remained fully upright, spine painfully straight. Why won’t you rest, he thought. Please, just… rest.

“Lan Zhan, I will make sure you get back to Gusu as soon as possible. That I will promise you.”

“You shouldn’t make such promises.”

“And yet, I’m going to do it anyway.” He lifted his chin in defiance, waiting for Lan Zhan to argue.

No argument followed. Lan Zhan just stared past him, defeated by a handful of words and a shoddy promise. Though Wei Wuxian had gotten what he wanted, he didn’t feel like he won.

If he couldn’t feel like he’d won, maybe he could at least feel useful. “Lan Zhan, what’s your favorite food?”

Lan Zhan turned his head and stared openly at Wei Wuxian, mouth parting slightly. Wei Wuxian repeated the question in case he hadn’t heard him or wasn’t paying attention; he’d always been very good at filtering Wei Wuxian’s blathering out. “I…” He paused, brow furrowing. “I don’t have one?”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t control his bark of laughter and it was when he looked at Lan Zhan’s now razor-sharp features that he realized how heartless that might have sounded. Stopping himself, he frowned slightly, his heart squeezing uncomfortably for the child Lan Zhan must have been once upon a time, a child for whom nothing at all could come to mind.

Oh, Lan Zhan.

He could work with this though. Maybe Lan Zhan didn’t have a favorite food, but Wei Wuxian did, and unlike most things he enjoyed, it wasn’t spicy. Perhaps that would suffice. It was soft, a little sweet, but not too much, delicately fragrant.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. “Will you be okay here for a little while?”

“Mn.”

“Then I know just the thing.” He clapped his hand on the end of the bed, very close to Lan Zhan’s thigh, just shy of touching. “I’ll be back soon.”

Then he sprang to his feet and headed toward the door, hanging off the frame as he honed his gaze on Lan Zhan’s face again. “You’re really okay? Won’t run off to Gusu while I’m out?”

“I won’t.”

“Good enough for me.” With a final, decisive nod, he ducked out of the room and then poked his head back in at the last second. “I’ll bring back better robes.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t a master of cooking the way shijie was, but after years of peppering her with questions and even sometimes helping, he felt confident enough to piece together an attempt her pork rib and lotus root soup. Well, a variation on it anyway. Though he thought it might do Lan Zhan’s body some good to eat a bit of meat to help him gain his strength back, he wasn’t going to pressure Lan Zhan to eat something he wasn’t accustomed to. The lotus root would be something at least and there was enough tofu to replace the missing pork ribs that Wei Wuxian to feel as though he wasn’t starving Lan Zhan as he sliced fewer pieces of ginger than he preferred, chopped more scallion than usual, and added a few mushrooms and greens that were just sitting in a basket on the long table that occupied much of the middle of the kitchen. The handful of cooks bustling about gave him a wide berth, smiling indulgently from afar.

By the time it was done, the kitchen staff watching, perplexed, a few offering suggestions, he had something that was nothing at all like shijie’s soup, not really. It wouldn’t be anyone’s soup. But it was something.

With a grimace, he dipped a spoon in, fearful of exactly what it would taste like. If he messed it up, he’d have to throw himself at the mercy of one of the cooks and he didn’t want that.

It tasted… decent. Fine. Acceptable even. Needed some chilis at the very least, but what in this world besides shijie’s soup didn’t?

He just hoped Lan Zhan wouldn’t hate it.

If he did, it would be easy enough to have the cooks make something for Lan Zhan that wouldn’t result in Wei Wuxian needing to jump off a cliff in embarrassment. But what if he didn’t like it and Wei Wuxian didn’t realize it? Would it be an imposition to him because he knew Wei Wuxian made it? Would he force himself to eat it?

Wei Wuxian didn’t want him to feel obligated. Maybe he could pretend someone else made it.

It was a bowl of soup, not a marriage proposal. Calm down, Wei Wuxian, he thought, packing a bowl, spoon, and the tureen of soup into the now-empty basket He grabbed a tray and tucked that under his arm. It’s not like he doesn’t live on bitter herbs anyway. How much could he care?

After stopping by his own room to haul his winter clothing from the chest in the corner and very carefully pretended that he didn’t feel as though he was overstepping some boundary here, he returned to find Lan Zhan exactly where he’d left him. Lan Zhan’s skeptical eyes fell on the basket and now Wei Wuxian was duty-bound to tease. All thoughts of pretending someone else made it evaporated.

“Why yes, I did make food for you.” Sliding over, he placed everything on the bed stand before performatively dropping the tray onto Lan Zhan’s covered legs. “It’s all peppers. So red, you will die.”

Feigning a lack of concern, even in light of Lan Zhan’s startled expression, he placed the bowl on the tray and then ladled the mild looking broth into it. Pale and brownish pink, it looked almost like shijie’s. Then, grinning mischievously at Lan Zhan, he handed him the spoon. “Maybe not so red, then, but can you trust me?” Lowering his voice, he asked, “Do you dare?”

Lan Zhan took up the spoon and the challenge with practiced determination and stared down at the assorted vegetables like he wasn’t sure how he wanted to seal his doom.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, Wei Wuxian dusted his hands over his knees, smoothing the fabric of his robes over them. “I have the most practice with lotus roots if that helps.”

Lan Zhan’s throat bobbed and he continued to stare helplessly down at the bowl.

“Come on, Lan Zhan. It can’t be that bad. I didn’t even let a pepper within sniffing distance of it.”

“That’s not it.” And with that vague and unhelpful declaration, he dipped the spoon into the bowl and brought it carefully to his mouth, sipping lightly, quietly. Too perfect and polite. He seemed uncertain for a moment and then the corner of his mouth twitched and there was something, something there on his lips that he’d probably deny was a smile.

It was gone too quickly anyway. Even Wei Wuxian couldn’t be sure.

Whether it was a smile or not, it was breathtaking and Wei Wuxian’s cheeks burned at the sight of it, so he did the smart thing and looked away. When he finally composed himself, the maybe-probably-wasn’t-but-what-if-it-was-smile might as well never have existed.

Still, Lan Zhan seemed to enjoy it well enough, delicately swallowing mouthfuls of it in silence, as he did most everything. The smile didn’t stage a reappearance, but by the time the bowl was empty, he was more relaxed and did actually look a bit better.

When their eyes met this time, his sparkled slightly, some emotion suppressed within them.

“Wei Ying, thank you.”

Wei Wuxian flushed even more deeply at the scrutiny, embarrassed and pleased with it all at once. He didn’t know what to do with the feelings that threatened to burst from beneath his breastbone, couldn’t even say what they were. If this were before, he would have expended this weird energy by draping himself across Lan Zhan in increasingly exaggerated ways. Now… now the thought of expressing any physical intimacy was fraught. He didn’t want to give pain to Lan Zhan.

He was suddenly reminded of Mianmian’s pouch and felt guilty for the desires in his heart.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he said, looking away. “You can’t make a big deal out of it, Lan Zhan. Shijie would kill me if I didn’t show our most illustrious guest Lotus Pier’s finest hospitality.”

Lan Zhan, bless him, leveled a withering stare Wei Wuxian’s way, like he saw through Wei Wuxian and right into the least secure corners of his heart to find his explanation lacking. It left him feeling caught and exposed. “Ridiculous.”

If Lan Zhan was calling him names, then things must be looking up. Truly, Lan Zhan was too good. Which meant that Wei Wuxian had to exhibit a bit of goodness himself. He’d spent half the day bothering Lan Zhan by this point; surely he wanted to be left alone.

Wei Wuxian didn’t want to leave him.

But he didn’t know how to gracefully remain either.

“If shijie was here, she’d tell me to let you rest. You’re probably exhausted. Let’s get you into these thicker under robes.”

“No!” Lan Zhan’s voice was as loud as he’d heard it tonight. He looked as puffed up as an unhappy, hissing cat. Then he slumped back. “No, I’m comfortable.”

Yeah. Right.

“Come on, Lan Zhan. You’re shivering. At least let me—” But Lan Zhan wasn’t reacting and as shameless as he could be, he wasn’t going to force it. “You know what? Fine. I guess I can’t blame you for not wanting me to touch you. At least let me get you more blankets then.”

“No.”

“Okay, okay,” Wei Wuxian said, soft, kinder or trying to be. It was rather difficult when he felt like Lan Zhan was back to rejecting him. “I’ll leave you alone then.”

Lan Zhan stared down at his hands and the floor and the wall, at everything that wasn’t Wei Wuxian, forlorn, before nodding.

Biting his lip, he hesitated.

Then he had it: he kept a few sheets of paper in his robes just to cheer shijie up with. He pulled one piece free and tore it carefully until it was almost person shaped. Maybe it would help Lan Zhan, too?

Pressing his fingers to his forehead and concentration, he plucked a strand of spiritual energy from within himself and directed it into the little form, as easy as breathing. He’d refined the charm a bit since he first created the thing. Now he didn’t even need to be there to keep an eye on it.

“My room’s a little far away and Lan Zhan is much too dignified to wander around Lotus Pier in the dark, right?” He spoke these words to the little paper man, almost whispering them as he held it close to his face. To Lan Zhan, he said, more seriously, “If you need anything, you can send this little guy along. He knows the way home.”

With that, Wei Wuxian nudged it gently to the end of his fingers. It hopped from his fingertips and floated to the bed, crossing Lan Zhan’s covered legs. Jumping a few times in Lan Zhan’s lap, it raised its arms as best it could, never stopping until Lan Zhan allowed it to clamber onto his hand. Then, wriggling, it pointed at Lan Zhan’s face. Lan Zhan seemed to realize what it wanted, because he brought it to eye level. He watched it curiously and then startled when it tapped him on the nose before twirling once.

It didn’t carry any true understanding within it, but it did a very good job of emulating Wei Wuxian’s cheery nature.

“It can obey a few basic commands if you’re bored and want to fight it with your hand.” He demonstrated by poking at it with his finger, right in the abdomen, and in response, it pressed its hands over its stomach and fell over. “Or you can watch it dance around. And you can tell it to find me obviously.”

Lan Zhan brought it back up to his face again, this time scrutinizing it even more closely. “How did you learn this?”

Frowning, Wei Wuxian shrugged. This wasn’t the question he was expecting. In all honesty, he wasn’t expecting any questions at all. It was at least as likely as not that Lan Zhan would crumple it into a ball. “I don’t know. I just… played with some paper? It took some time, of course, but it wasn’t all that hard to do.” He lifted his hands to ward off Lan Zhan’s complaints. “I know, I know. It’s a waste of time. I’ve heard it before, but it’s fun, right? And useful in this case.”

“It’s clever.” Lan Zhan’s mouth fell open, as though he was startled by the vehemence of his own pronouncement. It wasn’t just Lan Zhan who was surprised. “And requires more control than many cultivators our age have.”

Wei Wuxian lost his fight with the blush that bloomed across his cheeks. “Aiyou, Lan Zhan. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me! I’ll get spoiled. Jiang Cheng will have to work twice as hard to bring my inflated ego back down to size and then where will we be? Quick, say something biting to bring me back down to the earth.”

Lan Zhan glared at him again, but that didn’t bother Wei Wuxian, not when Lan Zhan thought something he’d done was clever. If he put his mind to it, he could probably have used that time to cultivate his abilities to an even greater degree or invent something useful, but shijie mattered the most and so that meant silly little paper men were more important than making some huge contribution to the cultivation world at large.

He wanted to do right by people, sure, and the best place to start was with the people closest to him.

Like shijie. Like Lan Zhan.

Inclining his head, he offered Lan Zhan a slight, sincere smile. Because he didn’t want to lose the fight entirely, he draped the robes over the end of the bed. “I’ll leave these here.”

Though Lan Zhan said nothing, there was also nothing cold or distant in that silence and so Wei Wuxian finally gave into the impulse to touch Lan Zhan. Just a little bit. Nothing extravagant.

He squeezed, for one mere moment, just this once, the hand he’d been so close to touching earlier. The other remained occupied with the paper man.

Lan Zhan neither flinched nor tensed up.

“We’ll get this figured out.”

He retrieved the detritus of Lan Zhan’s meal and began his retreat. From the doorway, the last of the evening sun spilling around his shadow to pool on the floor before him, he pointed at the paper man. “Take care of him, okay?”

The paper man nodded and lifted its hand as though to show how seriously it took its duty. Wei Wuxian gave it a three-fingered salute in return, a promise shared between the three of them.

“Rest well, Lan Zhan.”

As soon as Wei Ying was gone, too quickly, he thought, much too quickly, Lan Wangji looked down at the little paper man. It moved across his palm like a particularly lively and persistent butterfly. The flutter of its paper limbs was almost soothing. It should have embarrassed him to look at this thing and not crumple it up, but instead, he just felt warm. Warmer than he’d felt since before—

He could not allow himself to think about before.

But he couldn’t not think about it either. Because before, he would have completely written it off, despite how clever it was, how inventive, would have considered it frivolous and mocking without looking beyond the surface of it. The fine tuning and verisimilitude were second to none. It was almost like Wei Ying was still with him. Even when he poked at it unexpectedly, it was perfectly responsive, playful and teasing in turn.

It was lovely and only Wei Ying would have looked at him, considered the situation, and then decided that even if Lan Wangji needed space, he’d ensure he didn’t get to feel alone, too. And all that after Lan Wangji had been less than courteous in his address to him.

Between that and the soup, soup that tasted nothing like what he would have found back at Cloud Recesses, but reminiscent of home anyway—the home he’d had with his mother, he realized, only once per month amidst the gentians, because home meant something different once she died—he owed Wei Ying an apology, more than that.

Though he breathed out and in and out again, his chest constricted.

The paper man rustled and stamped its feet in Lan Wangji’s palm and lifted its arms until Lan Wangji brought it close to his face again. When it was close enough, it brushed its dry, rasping arm down Lan Wangji’s cheek.

Lan Wangji was surprised to see moisture seeping into the delicate fibers of the paper, creeping up its arm. The paper man paid it no mind, continued patting at his skin.

He was crying. He hadn’t—he brushed at his face, blinked furiously—he hadn’t known. Why would he cry?

Even given his own feelings and the degree to which he’d always paid unwarranted, unwanted attention to Wei Ying, he hadn’t seen Wei Ying as he truly was. Always, he’d viewed Wei Ying as an obnoxious distraction. Every crude, irrational thing he wanted from Wei Ying should be denied because he was not worthy of such attentions. That was his shield, his armor, his reason for self-denial. Wei Ying was foolish, annoying. He cared nothing for Lan Wangji and therefore it was for the best to ignore the twist and bend of his heart and mind in Wei Ying’s presence.

On this single day, Wei Ying had shown him more kindness than he had shown Wei Ying over the course of their entire acquaintance. Lan Wangji would never have guessed such a thing was possible.

The paper man drew its arm down its own cheek as it tilted its head and the rest of it ever so slightly in question. Lan Wangji couldn’t quite stop himself from repeating the gesture, careful to avoid tearing the fragile little thing as he stroked its cheek in recompense.

When it turned a joyful flip in the air above his hand, Lan Wangji huffed in startled amusement.

His tears dried and they did not return through the rest of the long night that followed.

Lan Wangji was not well and did not truly anticipate ever being well again—this was something he would be forced to acknowledge one way or the other, the rules of his sect didn’t allow him to so fully obfuscate his own truths—but he did notice, little by little, that the hurt was lessening. The first night was the worst, but he still made it through to the morning. Even when he woke in the night clawing at his abdomen as fire burned him from the inside out, the nightmares never lasted. Days passed. Every hour he survived, he breathed a little easier in a world which lacked purpose. Were he a more prideful man, it might have destroyed him, but he had always been taught not to hold too tightly to any one thing, not even himself.

It was even easier to ignore that precipice when Wei Ying bounded into his room—and how quickly it turned into his room, rather than a convenient place to convalesce. Already it had gathered a handful of things that spoke to his character: books that were to his taste, an incense burner that Wei Ying thought he might like and did, in fact, appreciate for its utility and aesthetics, sandalwood incense to accompany it. Wei Ying even managed to find a qin and though it wasn’t quite of the quality Lan Wangji was used to, he enjoyed the timbre it produced, the smooth, soft polish of the wood, the immaculate lacquer and handful of engravings along the edges that served as decorative grace notes along the instrument’s body.

He was playing it when Wei Ying stepped through the door, barely stopping to knock as he strode in, arm stretching back to allow his hand to tap against the wood only in retrospect. Lan Wangji found he did not mind the advantage Wei Ying was taking of this space that counted as his for now. His misgivings seemed to have dissolved right alongside his golden core.

“Lan Zhan,” he chirped, “let’s go for a walk! Aren’t you tired of being cooped up here?”

Indeed, that was true. His muscles ached from the lack of physical activity.

The last note he plucked lingered on the air until he stilled the strings and stood. Rising to his feet, comforted to know that though he could no longer fight nor lift a sword properly, he still retained the ability to conduct himself with elegance and refinement, he approached Wei Ying, drank in the pure exuberance of Wei Ying’s expression. He worried that it would sustain him for a lifetime. If he wasn’t careful, he could come to rely too deeply on Wei Ying’s kindness and care.

Surely he would one day soon tire of lifting Lan Wangji’s spirits.

“Where would you like to go?”

Wei Ying began counting off on his fingertips. “There’s the docks. The lake. We could go into town if you’d like. There’s a nice meadow not too far from here with a copse of trees to sit beneath.” He slanted a mischievous look his way, canting his head and hips slightly. “There are rabbits sometimes, though they’re a little scrappy compared to those cute little fluff balls you keep in Gusu.”

Rabbits. Of course. What other option was there under the circumstances? Wei Ying would likely have preferred to visit the docks or go into town, but Lan Wangji was not ready for such lively environs. He didn’t even particularly like them when he was at his best.

“The meadow, then.”

Lotus Pier was every bit as beautiful as Wei Ying had claimed it would be back when they were both at Cloud Recesses and Wei Ying had felt duty bound to complain about all the ways Lotus Pier was superior. Now that he was here, he could at least see why Wei Ying could think this. It was not merely pride in his home that drove his opinion. There was an objective quality to the praise.

He still wasn’t interested in meeting any of the beautiful girls Wei Ying insisted lived here. That was something he was certain he’d never want.

It wasn’t until they were already out on the walkway, halfway to the perimeter of Lotus Pier’s most central training grounds and pavilions, that Lan Wangji noticed Wei Ying was carrying a threadbare sack slung across his shoulder, one that had been carefully patched to within an inch of his life, spacious and full.

“What’s that?”

Wei Ying looked at him, interested, perhaps because it was Lan Wangji showing an interest first. “Lunch and a kite. Maybe a bow and arrows.”

“You carry your bows and arrows in a sack?”

Rolling his eyes, Wei Ying smiled. “Only the toy ones and only for today. If the kiddos saw me with a kite and a bow, they’d be breathing down our necks all morning to train.” His smile softened, as though the thought of doing such a thing didn’t bother him too much. It was as beautiful as Lotus Pier itself.

But kites and arrows wouldn’t suit the water. “You knew I’d pick the meadow?”

“I laid odds on it.” His gaze sharpened slightly, too keen. “I did pack a few sheets of paper so we could fold paper boats just in case. I wouldn’t want you to get bored with me, Lan Zhan. Gotta be prepared for everything.”

Lan Wangji could imagine feeling a lot of things about Wei Ying, but boredom was never going to be one of them.

They continued walking as Lan Wangji mulled this over. His heart fluttered with confusion, hope. It was not uncommon for Wei Ying to evoke strong emotion within him, but it was usually tempered by frustration, by layers of rationalization. Wei Ying could not possibly feel anything for him in return. Wei Ying was a nuisance, lacking in depth and compassion. Wei Ying still could not possibly feel anything for him, but Wei Ying was not a nuisance. He did not lack in depth nor compassion. Every moment they spent together, his regard for Wei Ying bloomed, stretched for the sunlight of Wei Ying’s attentions.

Eventually Lan Wangji would recover enough that he would have to give them up.

“You needn’t worry,” Lan Wangji said finally.

“Hm?”

“That I will be bored. You needn’t worry.”

Wei Ying’s mouth fell open. Instead of demurring, he knocked elbows with Lan Wangji. “We’re almost there.”

They settled in a shady area of the meadow under the promised copse of trees and it was every bit as comfortable as Wei Ying told him it would be. After setting out a thin blanket, Wei Ying rummaged in the bag for the bow. A light, pleasant breeze tickled at Lan Wangji’s exposed face and neck, a perfect counterpoint to the sun that was already rising high in the sky, promising a warm day, though perhaps not an oppressively hot one, as though Wei Ying had conspired with it for Lan Wangji’s comfort.

For a professed toy, the bow was remarkably well cared for, a little small maybe. Perhaps it was only constructed to serve for practice, but it was a finely crafted piece all the same. Wei Ying plucked lightly at the string and ran his fingers over the curved surface of the wood. He caught Lan Wangji looking and held it out to him. “Would you like to play with it? I’m sure it would be honored to shoot for such illustrious hand as belongs to the precious jade of Gusu Lan.”

Lan Wangji shook his head, a little surprised that Wei Ying was so quick to turn over what was obviously a beloved piece of equipment.

Thoughtful, Wei Ying said, “Archery doesn’t rely on spiritual cultivation alone.”

“That is not it,” Lan Wangji answered with a sigh.

Wei Ying accepted this without complaint, though he carried a question in his eyes all the same. If not this, then why?

How did Lan Wangji explain such a thing?

He wasn’t given time regardless, because Wei Ying’s acceptance was not capitulation and suddenly he found himself with his hands full of bow when Wei Ying shoved it into them. He retrieved a few arrows and held those out, too. “Then let’s see what you’ve got.”

Lan Wangji was not entirely certain he was ready to face his diminished skills in this way, but there was no safer place to test the edges of it and no safer person with whom to test them. Once he was home, he would be under such intense scrutiny. His every motion will be a cause for mourning to his juniors and the elders. He will be a specimen and every inevitable failure will reflect on him.

Here, only Wei Ying would see. Before, that might have concerned him. He might have feared that Wei Ying would jeer at him for his imperfections and would have bristled preemptively. He would have—perhaps erroneously—felt like he was being set up in an ugly little game in which only Wei Ying knew the rules.

He stood and squinted as he weighed his options. There were quite a few trees behind them and quite a few on the opposite side of the meadow as well. The latter, he thought, were beyond the skill of a non-cultivator and were, therefore, probably the ones he should shoot at if he wanted to face the truth immediately. And more than that: make Wei Ying face the truth.

Wei Ying was correct that a lot of archery didn’t have to rely on cultivation practices, but some of it did. Strength, eyesight, reaction time, these were all quietly enhanced by the skills and power cultivators developed.

Still, it was familiar. It was… nice to hold a bow again, even if he also had to be grateful for the fact that it was not one of the specially reinforced bows meant to be wielded by a cultivator determined to use his talents to his full ability.

If Wei Ying had given him such a bow, would he even have been able to draw it?

That wasn’t a question that needed to concern him, so he simply lined up the shot he wanted, keeping perfect form all the while. After so many days of inactivity, an ache quickly formed in his arms and back. Sweat gathered at the base of his spine and prickled in his hairline, tickling at his temple and behind his ear.

Three things happened in such quick succession that Lan Wangji couldn’t unbraid each piece until after the fact. First: the twang of the bow, the whistle of the air as the arrow released. Then: Wei Ying’s laughter, bright and incandescent. Last of all, hard on both of the prior’s heels, the startled scream of a young man.

Lan Wangji’s heart climbed his throat. Fear clawed around his empty chest, empty body, filling him in all the places where he no longer felt his golden core. What had he done because he didn’t have his reflexes and control? It overwhelmed him until Wei Ying’s hands fell on his shoulders and he found himself dragged forward, Wei Ying’s voice reaching him as though through water.

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay,” he said urgently to Lan Wangji. Then, louder, “You’re fine, no need to shout.” Back to Lan Wangji, more gentle, “Lan Zhan, you’re fine. It’s fine.”

Though Lan Wangji feared to look, he trusted Wei Ying.

A young, nervously twitching man stood dangerously close to an arrow that struck the very center of the tree that Lan Wangji had aimed for, the one he’d known for a fact he wouldn’t manage to hit.

Wei Ying laughed again and pulled Lan Wangji across the meadow. “Look at you, Lan Zhan. You’re incredible. That was amazing.” In his excitement, he grabbed Lan Wangji’s face and directed his gaze toward the arrow as though he wasn’t already looking at it. “Lan Zhan! You’re great. Nobody else could have gotten that shot. Nobody!”

Maybe it was true that nobody who wasn’t a cultivator could have gotten it, but given he hadn’t even noticed the person approaching, he worried that perhaps that fact was immaterial. Who cared if he could shoot if he could no longer judge the right time to do so? “Perhaps we should find out why this young man has come instead of needlessly praising my performance?”

“Fine.” Wei Ying rolled his eyes, so fond it was terrifying. “Come on then.” Lifting his arm, he waved at him, rushing forward before stopping himself a little distance from them. Lan Wangji figured out why not a minute later. Up close he looked awful, robes grimy and hair barely contained, ornaments put away or lost. “Let’s see who our new friend is, hmm?”

He appeared as though he hadn’t eaten much in at least a few days.

Though he attempted to hide his affiliation beneath dark, nondescript robes, Lan Wangji caught sight of a small decoration on his waist that gave him away as a Wen Sect disciple.

Wei Ying noticed, too, and his demeanor changed in an instant. No longer was he merely a young man pleased to make a new acquaintance; he was on guard now, stepping in front of Lan Zhan and pulling his sword. “This is a dangerous place for Wen at the moment,” he said, coldly threatening. “What exactly do you think you’re doing coming here alone?”

Was he alone? That seemed improbable.

“Wei-gongzi!” The young man cringed back, hands raised. “Sorry. I’m not—you don’t remember me?”

Though the sword remained lifted, Wei Ying’s arm relaxed slightly. His eyes narrowed. “I…” He canted his head. “Wen Ning?”

He nodded. “Yes! Wei-gongzi, it’s me.”

Wei Ying lowered his sword, but his voice remained sharp. “What are you doing here?”

Wen Ning wrung his hands in front of him, head bowed slightly. His cheeks were red and he bowed slightly, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do. “Wei-gong…”

“Out with it,” Wei Ying snapped, “before I force it out of you.”

Wen Ning straightened up, bit his lip, drew in a deep breath and blurted: “Wen-zongzhu is already aware of what’s happened here at Lotus Pier. Though he’d—he had been hosting Jiang-zongzhu cordially before that—”

Wei Ying snorted in disbelief. Lan Wangji privately agreed. The likelihood of anything other than a chilly reception was improbable.

“I… I know. He’s not… Jiang-zongzhu has been taken hostage.” Wen Ning spit these words out in a rush, like he didn’t know how to say them otherwise. There was fear in his eyes as he delivered them. Who wouldn’t be afraid? Wen Ruohan would not treat his even distant family with a modicum of mercy were he to be discovered. “Officially.”

Lan Wangji watched Wei Ying struggle through the news: panic, then anger. No, worse: rage. Wen Ning took a step back. It didn’t matter. That would not save the messenger.

“You Wen Sect dogs think you can just attack the rest of us and think we’ll stand down?” Grabbing Wen Ning by the front of his robes, he slammed him back against the tree with a dull thud, hard enough that a branch higher up broke free and fell to the ground next to them. “Why would you tell me this? What’s the fucking point? Do you think we wouldn’t be able to guess?”

“N-no! I just—I thought you should know!” He raised his hands as though to ward off a blow. “He’ll send a delegation soon enough, but—but this was the only thing I could think of to do to allow you time to prepare. And they… they’re planning on... I’m s-sorry.”

Wei Ying pushed him even more forcefully against the tree, almost putting him on his toes. “Bullshit! Why are you really here?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said quietly, reaching for his arm, finding it wrenched from beneath his touch. Though Lan Wangji ached for retribution, he didn’t enjoy seeing Wei Ying this way and blamed himself for the anger that lit him from the inside out, lightning quick and just as powerful, just as likely to sear.

This was not the Wei Ying he knew, the one who laughed and teased and cajoled gently. It was frightening to see it now, when he’d seen so much in Wei Ying that was amiable and good-natured.

“How can you even look at him, Lan Zhan? After what was done to you?” Wei Ying’s voice rose to a high, pained pitch. Wen Ning struggled against the hold. “This is a trick, right?”

“Wei-gongzi! They’re going to torture him. He’ll be executed. That’s no trick.” Wen Ning’s hands wrapped around Wei Ying’s as his face went redder and redder. “My sister can only do so much to help him.”

“Why? Why would you come here to tell me this? You think I don’t know what’s going to—”

This time, it was Lan Wangji who raised his voice, because this was not who Wei Ying was. This Wen Ning was not powerful; he didn’t stand a chance if Wei Ying didn’t back down. “Wei Ying!”

At that, Wei Ying drew in a deep breath and loosened his grip as Wen Ning gasped. His voice was raspy when he spoke again. “Wei-gongzi…”

“Why?” Wei Ying asked, cold.

“You… you were kind to me at the archery competition. I didn’t forget that.”

Wei Ying’s mouth twisted in scorn. “It’s your sect. Where does kindness come into it?”

Wen Ning drew himself up, glared at Wei Ying in a way that spoke to there being a spine somewhere under all that surface diffidence and meekness. The expression was gone almost as soon as it crossed his face and he slumped again. “My s-sect is… I don’t always agree with what my sect does. I can’t stop Wen-zongzhu from pursuing the paths he chooses, but… but my sister and I, we… we’re not like that, Wei-gongzi. We don’t hurt people.”

“Your sister? The sister much beloved of Wen-zongzhu. She doesn’t hurt people? If that’s the case, she walks a fine line.” Wei Ying’s sneer was a thing to behold and Wen Ning cringed from it. “At best, you’re both complicit.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? T-take the information or leave it, Wei-gongzi.” A branch snapped under his foot as he took a step back.

“And if I demand you return with me to Lotus Pier? You haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know. You’d be worth more if you sang to Yu-furen instead.”

“You’re stronger than me.” His gaze flicked to take in Lan Wangji’s features. “Lan er-gongzi is also stronger than me. I can’t stop you, but I won’t go of my own free will. My sister will be questioned if I stay away. I’ve already wasted too much time.”

Wei Ying’s jaw clenched along with both fists. He spent a long, long moment doing and saying nothing and then he spun away, exhaling harshly. It was strange to be less moved to anger by a Wen than Wei Ying was, but he found he couldn’t blame this quiet, kind looking young man for what happened to him.

As he stormed back toward the blanket, Wen Ning took another step back.

“Don’t move!” Wei Ying barked over his shoulder.

To his credit—or perhaps to his discredit—he heeded the command. Lan Wangji, despite being unable to stop him, remained near. “What is your name?”

“Wen N-ning.”

Lan Wangji shook his head. Yes, that was what Wei Ying called him, but he couldn’t be so familiar with this young man.

“Wen Qionglin,” he answered, hesitant, a beautiful name for a gentler man than the Wen Sect usually produced.

Wei Ying jogged back with the sack in his hand. His features had cleared and he was once again the Wei Ying Lan Wangji knew. He held it up for Wen Qionglin to take. “I’m, uh, I shouldn’t have been so abrupt with you. It’s—I know you’re not like the rest of the Wen. It’s not much, but you look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

That boundless compassion would likely burn him one day and Lan Wangji was not likely to be there to protect him from it, though more and more he realized he would want to be.

Wen Qionglin bowed deeply to Wei Ying and then also to Lan Wangji, eyes cast downward. “We were sorry to hear about what happened to Cloud Recesses, Lan er-gongzi, my sister and I. We’ve heard it’s very beautiful there.”

You weren’t sorry enough to do anything to stop it, he thought, lacking in grace. In one respect, Wei Ying was right. They were complicit. And though he understood—would he abandon his own sect, could he, even if he disagreed with them—it changed nothing. He didn’t blame Wen Qionglin, but he didn’t want to hear about this from him either. “I hope your words are a comfort, Wen Qionglin.”

Wen Qionglin’s hands twisted around one another. “Lan er-gongzi…”

He turned away before Wen Qionglin could speak again. The rudeness was unbearable to him—a good twenty of his own sect’s teachings came immediately to mind, he would have to seek punishment for them—but he could not continue to look at him when wore accessories that befit his ultimate loyalties. He could not face him now when the wounds inflicted upon him and his sect by Wen Qionglin’s were still so fresh. He was not as angry as Wei Ying, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t angry.

He was a little ashamed of that fact, that he couldn’t put those feelings aside despite having asked Wei Ying to do exactly that moments ago. “Be safe, Wen Qionglin.”

This, finally, got him moving and Lan Wangji could breathe again.

Once he disappeared back into the trees toward whatever path would take them back to Qishan, Wei Ying grabbed his wrist, held it in a light, comforting grip.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying said.

Though shaken, Lan Wangji attempted to hide the fact. “Should we not return to Lotus Pier?”

Wei Ying’s eyes were a storm of conflicting emotions, each of them dwarfed by the sheer degree of worry that cast its shadow over the rest. He did nothing at all to hide them. How could one person feel so much so openly? How did Wei Ying stand it?

“Right, right. Yes, we…” But something seemed to be gnawing at him and he in turn gnawed at his lower lip. “Lan Zhan, are you upset that I let him go? Should I have—it sounded like you wanted me to.”

Even while his uncle was in harm’s way, he could find time to concern himself with Lan Zhan’s feelings. Lan Zhan constantly found himself humbled by Wei Ying and this was no exception.

“He has done nothing to wrong me,” he answered.

Wei Ying looked away, unhappy. “He’s just a kid I met once, who was a little better than the rest of his sect.”

“I don’t need an explanation. It’s not him I’m angry at. Please, let us return. Your… Yu-furen will want to know what has transpired.”

Wei Ying pinched the bridge of his nose and made a choking sound. “She’s going to murder me for letting him go.”

Lan Wangji’s first instinct was to deny Wei Ying’s histrionics, but concerning the information he would be relaying, Lan Wangji couldn’t be certain he was as wrong as Lan Wangji wanted him to be. Regardless, he promised himself that he would not allow Wei Ying to come to harm as a result of the compassion he showed, not even when that compassion was for his enemies.

“I will not let her,” he said, ensuring Wei Ying knew it, too.

When they arrived at the main hall, Madam Yu was busy directing some of the disciples, Jiang Wanyin at her side, assisting where he could. They appeared composed and competent as they relayed instructions to those around them. The both of them were serious and somber, if sharp and bitter, as they coordinated. Though Lan Wangji had always respected the other sects as a matter of course, he’d always considered the Jiang Sect to be the flightiest of them, too undisciplined to be worthy of Lan Wangji’s sustained attention. It hardly mattered to him that Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin were considered the fourth and fifth most eligible bachelors in the cultivation world. Though such a distinction did suggest a degree of poise, possibility, and talent between them that spoke well of the Jiang Sect’s skills and training, Lan Wangji was still surprised. Yet again, he’d underestimated Yunmeng and, indirectly, Wei Ying.

Without their sect leader and amidst a recent assault on their home, who could do better? Certainly not his own sect, in ruins.

Madam Yu’s eyes snapped to him and Wei Ying as they arrived. “Wei Wuxian, you took your time getting here. Perhaps you wish to actually perform your duties as Jiang Sect’s head disciple instead of lazing about? Get to work.”

Wei Ying offered a bow with which even shufu could not have taken issue. She paid it no mind, attention turning briefly to Lan Wangji. She offered him a nod before she turned away.

Wei Ying stepped forward, ignoring the obvious dismissal. “Yu-furen, I’ve received some news.”

“What possible news could you have received from the meadows? Or was your third shidi’s report inaccurate when I asked him where you were?” Her waspish gaze fell on Lan Wangji again. “The only news I’m interested in hearing concerns why you’ve decided to impose yourself upon our guest in this way. What would Lan er-gongzi wish to do in the meadows that you saw fit to drop your responsibilities to drag him there?”

Guilt, a sensation he was not used to, crawled up his spine.

Wei Ying bowed for a second time, deeper this time, his spine even straighter once he rose from it. “You’re right, of course, but—”

This was, Lan Wangji knew, a waste of time during a critical moment, but he could not allow her analysis of the situation to stand. “This is inaccurate, Yu-furen. Wei Wuxian’s kindness has not been an imposition to me. I apologize for the disruption my presence has caused to the Jiang Sect, but his attentions have been of assistance to me as I… recover.” He offered his own bow. “If you must scold him, I am equally at fault. I submit myself to any correction you see fit.”

Jiang Wanyin, Madam Yu, and Wei Ying all stared at him with varying degrees of incredulity. It was a disservice to his feelings toward and relationship with Wei Ying that Wei Ying, eyes wide, mouth fallen open, was the one who was most shocked by Lan Wangji’s words.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying answered, strained, in the barest whisper, “you don’t have to lie.”

Abrupt, much sharper than normal, he answered, “It is not a lie.”

A complicated array of emotions crossed Wei Ying’s face, so many of them that Lan Wangji was incapable of reading them all, like Wei Ying was a book written in a script that was familiar, but not quite right. He understood some of what he saw, but could not grasp the full meaning. Regardless, he didn’t like the sparkling gleam in Wei Ying’s eyes that was quickly blinked away. Then his attention returned to Madam Yu as he drew in a deep breath and it was like nothing had happened at all. “I heard from a reliable source that Uncle Jiang has been…” He paused and took another breath, holding it as though that might aid him. “Wen Ruohan has officially taken Uncle Jiang as a hostage in retribution for what has happened here. He will likely be executed. I don’t know how Wen-zongzhu has already discovered the truth.”

Madam Yu’s features hardened into something cold and fearsome, even more imposing than her usual expression. Jiang Wanyin’s face reddened so quickly that Lan Wangji might have feared for him if he didn’t already know how emotional he could get.

“Wei Wuxian!” he shouted.

When Wei Ying spoke, his words were serious, dangerously so, a warning. “It was a friend who told me.”

“What friend do you have who could possibly have this information?”

“His name is Wen Ning. I met him at the discussion conference at Qishan. I trust him.”

That caused Jiang Wanyin to still for a moment and then he was shouting again. “Wen Ning? A boy you’ve met only once years ago? Where is he now?”

Wei Ying entirely ignored Jiang Wanyin. “Yu-furen, Wen Ning is from a smaller branch of the sect. He’s not—”

“You think I don’t know the Wen? His older sister is Wen Qing. She is very proud of her position. From everything I’ve heard of her brother, he is no one of consequence. Why shouldn’t they send him to make us tip our hand or do something reckless?”

“That’s not true!” Wei Ying snapped. “Wen Ning risked his life to tell me this. It’s worth investigating. I’m willing to bear the consequences of doing so alone if needed.”

Somehow, he felt like he shouldn’t have been surprised by Wei Ying’s outburst, his plan, falling from his mouth fully formed. It still stung, a slap in the face. He wouldn’t bear these consequences alone, not if Lan Wangji had any say in it.

“What investigation is needed?” Madam Yu said. “We could already guess Wen Ruohan’s next step.”

“Why did you let him go?” Jiang Wanyin asked, as though this was the important thing and not that Wei Ying already wanted to throw himself into another precarious situation. All Lan Wangji could imagine was Wei Ying already gone off to sacrifice himself yet again. And Jiang Wanyin was only interested in this?

“He’s not our enemy,” Wei Ying said.

“The Wen are our enemy. He’s a Wen. They have my father and you’re defending one of them.”

Before Lan Wangji could stop him, Wei Ying stormed forward, shoved at Jiang Wanyin’s shoulder. “You think I don’t know what the Wen are capable of? I’ve seen it. I’ve been beaten and bloodied and burned for it. La—I know what they can do! Don’t patronize me just because I know the difference between good and bad.”

Though his tone brooked no arguments, Jiang Wanyin seemed set to do so anyway. Madam Yu did nothing to stop him. “Your friend now has intimate knowledge of our home. Did you stop to think about that? Even if he is on our side—or at least not on theirs—what if they decide to lock him up, too? Make him talk? What would he be able to say? What does he know about us?”

“I don’t know, Jiang Cheng! I’m not in charge of security along the edges of Yunmeng Jiang territory and I didn’t tell him anything in return. He already knew about the conference Yu-furen has organized and that Wen Chao has been captured. If information is getting out, it’s not because of me or him.”

It wouldn’t, in Lan Wangji’s opinion, have stayed secret for long anyway, so this argument was pointless. The Wen Sect had eyes and ears everywhere. Anyone could have tipped them off. Jiang Wanyin and Wei Ying might snipe until the end of time and never find the true answer. “Wei Wuxian’s report is accurate and though I do not know Wen Qionglin personally, I believe he was sincere in bringing this information to Wei Wuxian’s attention.”

Both Jiang Wanyin and Madam Yu turned to look at him. It was not, he discovered, so very different from facing shufu on one of those rare occasions when he’d required punishment as a youth. He bore up under the scrutiny well, looked at each of them in turn. Of everything he owed Wei Ying for, this was the least of the ways he could use to pay him back.

Madam Yu flicked her hand in Jiang Wanyin’s direction. “Jiang Cheng, you’re in charge of verifying this information. Should it bear out, you will bring your father back. Return Wen Chao to Wen Ruohan if you must.” Her eyes narrowed. “If he is unwilling to return your father, ensure that Wen Chao cannot be returned to him. Take Yinzhu and Jinzhu with you.”

Jiang Wanyin bowed his head in acknowledgement and then threw a glare Wei Ying’s way. “Well, are you coming with me?” he asked, but Wei Ying remained rooted in place. His attention remained on Madam Yu, brave and utterly heedless of the flare of anger in her gaze that she directed his way, not flinching even when Zidian sparked on her wrist.

“Before you send him back, I would like to speak with Wen Chao about the whereabouts of Wang Lingjiao,” he said, so painfully formal. “After, I’ll do what I can to protect Jiang Cheng with my life at Qishan.”

Lan Wangji’s heart lurched and his stomach flipped. The thought of Wei Ying… it was unfathomable.

Madam Yu’s eyes flashed. “You will do no such thing. You are to escort Lan-gongzi from Yunping, but you will have no active part in this. I will not risk a worse outcome simply because you are impulsive. You have no right to—”

“Xiongzhang?” Lan Wangji asked, going lightheaded for a moment. Wei Ying was there even before he reached out for Wei Ying in turn, bearing him up. “My brother is alive?”

Madam Yu’s features didn’t soften, but she lost the worst edges of her anger. “He has sent word, yes. Given the situation, we thought it would be best to send one of our own to travel back with him. For all of his faults, Wei Wuxian knows the countryside better than anyone. Wei Wuxian might already be there if not for his antics today. Your brother could have been safely on his way to Lotus Pier.”

This felt like an attempt to turn Lan Wangji against Wei Ying and it wasn’t going to work, but the thought that—

His brother was alive and Wei Ying won’t have to go to Qishan. He almost couldn’t breathe for the relief he felt.

Regaining himself, he stood for Wei Ying in what small way he could. “I would trust my brother’s safety to no one more willingly than I would to Wei Wuxian. Thank you, Yu-furen.”

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying stepped close and grasped Lan Wangji’s elbow discreetly. His voice was low enough that only Lan Wangji could hear. Emotion thickened his voice and his eyes were wide with shock when Lan Wangji looked at him. It was shock that should not have been there. If they had even a small degree of privacy, he might have attempted to rectify that.

Alas, they did not.

“If you will do this for me, I would be grateful,” he said to Wei Ying. Perhaps it was manipulative; he did not care.

Wei Ying choked slightly—whether it was in amusement or its opposite, Lan Wangji could not ascertain—and then straightened up, sobering instantly when Madam Yu’s withering glare returned. If he affected a look of innocence, Lan Wangji could not see it, because he dared not look at Wei Ying again.

“Wei Ying, return Lan er-gongzi to his quarters. I’m quite sure he is in need of rest.” Her eyes flashed, as though daring Lan Wangji to say otherwise. “Ready yourself. You’ll leave within the hour. I expect you to return with no delays.”

Lan Wangji did not appreciate being dismissed in this way and, in fact, rarely faced being dismissed like this at all, but he was a little tired. Because he didn’t want to cause further strife between her and Wei Ying, he consciously stopped himself from saying more.

This place confused Lan Wangji so deeply. It held such beauty within it and Wei Ying was so fond of it, but Wei Ying faced rejection from it at every turn.

He wished to speak with Wei Ying about it, but Jiang Wanyin followed closely behind them as they retreated, peppering Wei Ying with questions as though Wei Ying was the one who’d abducted his father rather than Wen Ruohan. At no point did he ask Wei Ying whether he needed assistance, too, or show the slightest hint of concern for Wei Ying’s well being. This, he didn’t understand either. All he knew was Wei Ying esteemed Jiang Wanyin greatly regardless.

Lan Wangji thought someone should go with him. Once Wei Ying reached Yunping, he should be safe as long as his brother was well enough to fight, but before that point, he might face any number of dangers. Alone.

By the time they returned to Lan Wangji’s quarters, he was despondent in his desire to speak with Wei Ying.

It was not to be: Jiang Wanyin was understandably eager to get moving and yet still wanting to confer further with Wei Ying. His hand was wrapped, proprietary, around Wei Ying’s bicep, as though he intended to stop Wei Ying from entering. “We should prepare.”

Wei Ying peered into Lan Wangji’s quarters and the first thing he likely saw was the paper man wiggling around on the bed stand excitedly.

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng,” he said, gaze soft, still focused on the bed stand. “I don’t have anything else to say about it. You know everything I know. And all I have to do is mount a sword and sneak around Yunping. I do that for fun. Neither of us know what to expect in Qishan, so I can’t be of any use. What’s there to prepare?”

Jiang Wanyin’s attention slipped, unpleasant, over to where Lan Wangji still stood. “Oh, so you can bother Lan er-gongzi more? Don’t you think he’s tired of you by now? This is my father we’re talking about.”

Wei Ying’s face reddened. His mouth twisted in an unpleasant frown. “I understand what’s at stake, but—”

“You’re not acting like it!”

Before Wei Ying could open his mouth again, Lan Wangji stepped between them, glaring at Jiang Wanyin. “Jiang Wanyin, all due respect, but you don’t speak for me.” It was true that there were more important things to do here, but Lan Zhan needed to speak with Wei Ying. “I would like a moment to say farewell. Then you may prepare as you see fit.”

“Eh?” Wei Ying asked, mouth falling open. Jiang Wanyin looked equally surprised. “Jiang Cheng, I’ll find you before I go, okay? Just—I guess give us a few minutes?”

Though he grumbled, he apparently wasn’t willing to fight both Wei Ying and Lan Wangji. With a violent flick of his wrist, he tsked and walked off. They stepped into the room, Wei Ying taking the edge of the bed. Lan Wangji sat… a shade closer to him than he might otherwise have done.

“He’s taken all of this much better than I expected,” Wei Ying mused. Sighing, he mussed his hair, almost fully tugging it from its ribbon.

“You’re taking this better than should be expected,” Lan Wangji pointed out.

Wei Ying rolled his shoulder. “What else is there to do? Cry about it? Uncle Jiang is strong and there’s only so much Wen Ruohan can do before he pushes everyone too far. Cloud Recesses was already a step too far. Wen Ning bought us the time to go on the offensive if we want to. Not everyone has been so fortunate. I won’t waste it by rending my robes in despair. Do I wish I could help Jiang Cheng? Yes. Am I glad I get to help you and your brother? Yes.” His features grew somber. “But Lan Zhan, I was serious. I won’t—I’ll bring your brother back safely.”

“Wei Ying, I know.” He swallowed, dry, and stared down at his hands. He was capable of anything except looking at Wei Ying in that moment. “You are an accomplished cultivator already. I have no doubts.”

“Lan Zhan.” And now, that shade too close was suddenly Wei Ying shifting into his space entirely, nudging his arm. Their thighs touched down to the knee and Wei Ying’s skin was so warm even through the layers that separated them. Or perhaps it was just Lan Wangji’s imagination, his desires playing up again. It didn’t seem rational that he should be able to sense such a thing.

It was strange what could change so quickly in Lan Wangji’s mind, when his mind had so rarely been changed before. It was hard enough to want Wei Ying when he meant nothing to Lan Wangji. Now it was unbearable, excruciating.

If someone told him even several weeks ago that he would trust Wei Ying with his brother’s life above all others, he would have set punishments the likes of which were rarely seen in Cloud Recesses.

And now? Now he couldn’t imagine ever not trusting him, not loving him beyond all reason. He understood his father in ways he’d never wanted to understand him. If he could keep Wei Ying safe…

But he couldn’t. Not as he was now. Like this, he could only hope for the best and trust in Wei Ying.

Wei Wuxian knew Yunping like the back of his hand, which was a very good thing because it soon became very obvious that Lan Xichen didn’t know a single thing about choosing a safe place to hide. Even before he reached the city proper he was hearing about the prostitute’s son, do you remember, he went off to announce himself to Jin-zongzhu, I wonder what he’s so busy for, normally he’s underfoot everywhere, trying to ingratiate himself to anyone who’ll look his way.

Because of the letter Lan Xichen had sent, he knew exactly what he was so busy for—though not that it was a prostitute’s son who was helping him, not that it mattered, not that it should matter to the people gossiping—and could only wish, apparently in vain, that they’d managed to be more circumspect. Perhaps the Wens wouldn’t realize. Still, he remained as unobtrusively nosy as he could be while he bought supplies as cover to feel out the area.

It wouldn’t do to lead them away from Yunping without ensuring the Wens weren’t already sniffing around, doing the arithmetic. Though that presumed the Wens could even count.

So far, so good: he’d found no signs of Wen disciples and no gossip suggesting they were around, not as he walked through the center of the city on his way to the rendezvous point, not anywhere. He continued strolling, alert.

It was all well and good until he heard the aggressive stomps of multiple pairs of feet behind him, his name shouted in a way that dripped with venom and hatred. When he turned, he found several individuals in nondescript clothing trailing after him. There were five in total and he recognized one, despite all attempts at hiding his affiliation—better than Wen Ning’s, he noted absently—as Wen Xu himself.

He rolled his eyes, even as he relaxed. Better to deal with them now.

Rather than wait for them to make the first move, he drew his sword and slashed forward, neatly rushing them as he made a running leap toward another shop. Its roof tiles rattled under his boots, but remained in place as he caught his balance on them.

All five followed him, of course, and each landed more gracelessly than the last, showing not a bit of care to the proprietor who’d be forced to repair the damage.

Not impossible odds, nor even improbable ones, but he wasn’t looking forward to being late to his rendezvous with Lan Xichen.

“Wen Xu!” he shouted at the one hanging in the back with the prettiest face—if pretty could even be used to describe a Wen. “I was wondering when we might find ourselves acquainted.” He easily parried a blow from the bravest, stupidest, or most reckless of Wen Xu’s four cronies as he gave chase. It did nothing to dissuade the others, who finally launched their attacks as well. Wen Xu remained motionless on the other side of the roof, content to let his lackeys do the dirty work.

Nobody came to his aid. This wasn’t a shock. The chances of there being another cultivator in the area who’d be capable of and interested in taking Wei Wuxian’s side against the Wen were slim.

It might have been nice if the onlookers didn’t gawk though. Wei Wuxian already had his hands full; he didn’t need to worry about civilians, too.

The second, he cast aside with a kick that sent him scrambling down the tiles; he drew blood on the third in a quick slice across the forehead and then a sweep down the throat, not enough to fell him. As vision ruining blood flowed into his right eye, Wei Wuxian attacked again, quick and mean, striking a neat killing blow between the ribs. He stumbled, lost his footing, fell from the roof. His blood soaked the tiles and Wei Wuxian used the moment that followed to leap to another rooftop, leading Wen Xu and his men deeper into the city center. As much as he hated it, he couldn’t let them get any nearer to the rendezvous point.

Wen Xu, the asshole, only moved slowly, somehow much more trusting that his people would succeed than he ought to have been since the next two were dispatched almost as quickly as the first. He had the audacity to smirk, too, like this was going exactly how he planned. Wei Wuxian considered himself arrogant, but this was staggering. He almost envied that kind of confidence.

The last, admittedly, was a little more challenging. His face carried multiple scars and his demeanor was serious and stoic. His bearing was not elegant, but it was precise and economical. He caught each and every thrust and swipe Wei Wuxian made with his blade. He was not tricked by Wei Wuxian’s antics, nor frightened of his prowess.

He made for a more equitable foe than the others. Years of warfare and training gave him experience that Wei Wuxian just couldn’t match, no matter how brilliant he was. Wei Wuxian was still the better fighter, but considering it had been four to one before and this guy had hung back?

Well. Perhaps Wen Xu was slightly smarter than his younger brother.

The man’s blade caught his knuckles, scratching them only lightly as Wei Wuxian wasn’t quite quick enough to dodge. It was barely a wound, nothing at all. He laughed. It was nothing—

His arm went numb with cold. His sword clattered at his feet and slid down the tiles. In his surprise, the man managed one more stroke across his thigh. His knee buckled as the same numbness spilled down his leg, skin exposed through the tiniest of slits in his robes and trousers. Catching himself on his uninjured arm, he tried to scrabble away and dislodged a tile, losing what little balance he had.

If the choice was falling to the ground and getting skewered on what he had to assume was a poisoned blade, it was no choice at all. He kicked out and dislodged more tiles as he scrambled for his sword. Vision swimming, he lost what little balance he had, and tumbled off. Though he tried to relax, knowing what would happen, he’d never been very good at falling.

One bone-crushing burst of pain lanced from his elbow down to his wrist and radiated back up to shoulder through the cold haze of whatever he’d been dosed with.

The crowd finally cleared.

The sword clattered to the ground nearby.

Body uncooperative in myriad ways, he tried to scoop it up, failed once to grip it properly so it, failed a second time as his foe stalked forward and jumped much more cleanly, landing with a thump.

He didn’t truly feel the pain of it, not the way he ought to have, but the grinding of bone in his arm was enough to tell him he’d be fucked if he didn’t do something. For once, he was glad it wasn’t Suibian he carried, because he wouldn’t have been able to leave it behind, but any random sword? It wasn’t so difficult to scramble to his feet and change course.

So no sword fighting. Wei Wuxian could work with that. He fumbled in his robes.

“If you were going to cheat, you should’ve committed to it,” Wei Wuxian said once the guy was almost close enough to get the killing blow he was so obviously salivating for. He hopped backward, bearing most of his weight on his uninjured leg. “Why not just go for broke on the poison?”

If he was going to say something, it was lost when Wei Wuxian launched every talisman he had at him. He shielded himself from the resulting explosion of light and smoke and all but threw himself toward the nearest alley as he did his best to rid himself of whatever poison had been used. It couldn’t have been anything terribly impressive, quick acting and quick to fade if the slow, almost gentle throbbing in his elbow was any indication. Think. He had to think. He had to think and keep moving. He couldn’t keep fighting this way. Maybe if he circled back around, he could catch Wen Xu unaware? Take his sword and—and what? Fight with a broken elbow? On a leg that wouldn’t keep his balance?

There was only one thing he could do: run, run fast and smart. There was nothing he hated more than running.

I’m going to fucking gut you, he promised, staring up at the sky, only giving himself a second to breathe before he ran—hobbled—ran between buildings, through stalls, across streets, zigzagging where and when he could, using every bit of spiritual energy he had to keep himself upright.

It hurt. It hurt like hell. He must have stepped wrong at some point while his leg was still numb because every time he put weight on that leg, he felt it in his thigh and—

His robes were torn wide enough by now that he could see the cut if he stopped and looked, which he did as he caught his breath in a field near the tree line where he was expected to meet Lan Xichen.

The gash was sizeable and the blood coating his thigh and sticking to the fabric of his trousers was considerable. He really, really needed to find Lan Xichen before he bled out or something worse happened.

He wasn’t far, at least, and he didn’t think Wen Xu had managed to follow him.

Then he laughed again. It was all so very funny, wasn’t it?

“Ah, I never promised that I’d bring myself back safely in all of this, did I?”

Later, he wouldn’t remember the rest of the journey to the rendezvous point.

Because the next thing he knew he was falling into the arms of a smooth-faced youth about his age, though much shorter and scrawnier.

“Wei-gongzi,” a gentle voice was saying, accompanied by a gentle tapping sensation on his cheek. “Wei-gongzi.”

Wei Wuxian, very much at his best, swatted at the disturbance, missed, and on the third try finally wrapped his hand around—

“You’re not the one I’m looking for,” he said, raspy, as he squeezed a wrist between his fingers, a wrist that belonged to a young man who seemed to know entirely too much about smiling in awkward circumstances.

The whole day flooded back to mind immediately, but right now, he’d love to forget how he turned tail and ran away from Wen Xu. Groaning, he slumped back. Something sharp, a pebble maybe, dug into his shoulder. He’d messed up. He should have…

He was here for Lan Xichen. Not—not whoever this was.

Struggling upright, he let go and asked, “Where’s L—?” But he didn’t dare say the name for fear of giving away information to someone who oughtn’t have it. He clamped his mouth shut.

A pair of pale-robed legs knelt before him and when he looked up, he was able to allow relief to flood his body. “Lan-zo—Lan-gongzi.” That should wait. He still had to tell Lan Xichen what happened before he started addressing him as a sect leader. Better not to surprise him if he hadn’t heard already. Slumping back again, he nearly fell over, forgetting it was only air behind him until the other man, the fake smiler, swooped in and held him upright. The prostitute’s son, he must be. “Uh, thanks.”

“No need,” the man replied.

“What happened?” Lan Xichen asked, shifting closer, taking over for the other man until Wei Wuxian was certain he wouldn’t topple, muttering to Lan Xichen that he was okay, it was fine, he didn’t have to coddle him, aiyou. The man stepped away, puttering around a small fire as he gathered a few things from around the camp. Lan Xichen continued, only distracted by the man for a moment before he turned his attention back to Wei Wuxian. “Are you certain you’re well?”

“My considerable pride has been broken,” Wei Wuxian admitted, “and, uh, possibly my elbow. It’s more—”

The man returned, tsked, and crouched down in front of him with a bowl, a cloth, and a longer band of fabric. “There’s a wound on your thigh as well, Wei-gongzi.”

“Yeah, that. Poison and fatigue are a hell of a combination.”

“Poison?”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes. “One of Wen Xu’s lackey nicked my arm. There was something on the blade that, I don’t know, made me go numb and cold. It startled me enough that he managed to get my leg, too, before I had to run away.”

“It sounds like you were lucky.”

A lucky coward. “I made a promise to someone,” he admitted. “It was more important that I keep it than…” Than try to get revenge for your sect or my sect. I don’t even know anymore. Who was he kidding really? It would have been revenge for Lan Zhan’s gratification only. “He didn’t follow me if that’s what you’re wondering, Wen Xu.”

“I wasn’t wondering that, no.” Lan Xichen smiled bitterly. “I’m sure he would have alerted us to his presence if he’d found us.”

“They tried to follow,” Wei Wuxian insisted. “But…”

“I’ve known you for some time now, Wei-gongzi. I’m aware of your skills. It surprises me not in the least to know you managed to outfox Wen Xu while poisoned and injured. Let A-Yao clean you up and then we can be on our way if you feel up to it.”

“A-Yao?”

“Meng Yao. Meng Yao, this is Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian, Meng Yao.”

It was a courtesy at best since Meng Yao already seemed aware of his name and why he was here. In fact, he didn’t seem at all surprised by the invocation of Wen Xu’s name. How much did he know? And how trustworthy was he? Lan Xichen seemed to think it was fine, but…

Wei Wuxian had an obligation to Lotus Pier and to the people there. “Not to cast any aspersions, but…”

“Please, don’t stand on ceremony,” Meng Yao said, while Lan Xichen’s jaw tightened slightly. “I would be concerned as well.”

Pretty words for a pretty face.

“Meng Yao has helped me while I’ve been on the run from the Wens. I was injured, too, for a time. Their patrols have kept me here for longer than I would like and all this time, Meng Yao has helped. I would—have—I have trusted him with my life.”

“Anyone would do so, Lan-gongzi,” Meng Yao answered, so smooth and earnest that Wei Wuxian thought it might actually be true that he was helping Lan Xichen. Only Lan Xichen could truly know. It wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s place to decide it for him.

And anyway, if he remained here, Wei Wuxian could keep an eye on him. That might be for the best.

Shifting, Wei Wuxian hissed as pain shot up his arm. Meng Yao held more tightly to him, not enough to immobilize him, not even under these circumstances.

“I should probably bind that first,” Meng Yao murmured.

“No need,” Wei Wuxian insisted. “I can keep it steady.”

“It’s no trouble,” he answered, the same way he might have said too bad or I’m doing it anyway.

Perhaps it was the better part of valor to simply allow Meng Yao to do as he would. In the meantime, they did need to talk. “There is… Lan-gongzi, there is news,” he began.

“Oh? Allow me to get some more tea.”

“You should allow me,” Meng Yao said.

“It’s nothing to do. Help Wei-gongzi. He needs it.” Lan Xichen’s stubbornness, though kinder, could well match Lan Zhan’s. He smiled, encouraging as he fussed at the fire, returning with a full pot, observing none of the behaviors he might have been expected to engage in while pouring tea. Wei Wuxian could see how wary he looked, but still he kept a brave expression situated. He was so much like his brother in some respects that it threatened to steal Wei Wuxian’s words away. “Please, Wei-gongzi. I know it cannot be good. Feel free to give it quickly and neatly. I think that would be for the best, don’t you?”

Lan Xichen sat next to Meng Yao as Meng Yao worked, so close they were nearly touching. It made Wei Wuxian want to know who such a person could be, that they’d find themselves so intimately acquainted with—

Well, he would be the next sect leader of Gusu Lan, wouldn’t he? He chose an excellent time to become acquainted with Lan Xichen.

“Your… my apologies, Lan-gongzi, but your father is…” Wei Wuxian was supposed to be a man who could speak easily about any topic, mouth as big as a canyon, and here he was, stumbling. “He has succumbed to his injuries.” He stared down into the cup, glistening with the remnants of his tea. “I’m sorry to be the one to relay this news to you.”

A sharp breath and an exhale met this proclamation, a rustling of fabric, and then, most shocking of all, Meng Yao was pressing his hand briefly to Lan Xichen’s shoulder in a short squeeze.

An ache spread within Wei Wuxian’s chest, a longing that he didn’t understand. When he raised his head, he saw Meng Yao was gazing gently at Lan Xichen. More surprisingly, Lan Xichen gazed back, seeming to take strength from Meng Yao’s presence.

Unlike Lan Zhan, he accepted Meng Yao’s care with ease.

“To be honest,” Lan Xichen said, taking a shaky breath, “I am not surprised.”

Wei Wuxian could only imagine how terrible it must have been for him when he fled. Lans weren’t given to tears or large expressions of grief, but he felt—

This was Lan Xichen’s father, wasn’t it? Even Wei Wuxian felt a pang for him. To see warm-hearted Lan Xichen take in this information so coolly was strange, discomfiting.

“What is the other news?” Lan Xichen asked.

“Lan Z—your brother…” The thickness in Wei Wuxian’s throat blocked the words, left him choking on his own grief. This, this was the news that Wei Wuxian found impossible to convey. “Wen Zhuliu and he were caught in a skirmish on the borders of Yunmeng and Qishan while he was trying to return to Cloud Recesses.”

“Wangji is—”

“His golden core was destroyed. He’s recovering at Lotus Pier and—”

At this, Lan Xichen bowed his head forward, turned out of Meng Yao’s touch; his hand fell away, curled into a fist in his lap. Lan Xichen did not notice. “But he’s alive?”

“He’s…” Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure how to answer. Who could talk about this? “He’s doing as well as can be expected. I think he will be better once you are with him.” Nothing he could say would make this moment better, but he wanted to try. “Excuse me if I’ve overstepped my bounds.”

Lan Xichen shook his head and stared at the ground, saying nothing. Meng Yao lifted his hand and pulled it back again, perhaps knowing that he would push Lan Xichen too far if he touched him again. Warmth flickered through Wei Wuxian, pooling in his cheeks. That sort of intimacy, quiet, certain. How could a friendship like that be achieved so quickly? And with a Lan at that? It didn’t seem reasonable.

“What other boundary could you cross?” Lan Xichen’s voice sounded like it belonged to a different man entirely, fully devoid of feeling and emotion. It might better have belonged to Lan Zhan.

He swallowed. “I know your opinion of me… it can’t be good.” Lifting his head, he caught Lan Xichen’s gaze and held it. He’d goofed off when he studied at Cloud Recesses and he’d bullied Lan Zhan terribly. Though Lan Xichen had seemed amused by his antics at the time, in retrospect, perhaps it would not seem so funny. “I’ve done what I can to help him. If there’s anything I can do—”

“What can you do?” Lan Xichen asked, pained. “My father is dead and my younger brother is use—” He’s useless, he didn’t dare say, but Wei Wuxian heard it all the same. Vicious self-loathing coated his words. It wasn’t like Wei Wuxian didn’t understand. He, too, loathed what happened and felt guilty about it, but Lan Zhan—Lan Zhan couldn’t hear such things. It would break him and Wei Wuxian feared he would be unable to pick up the pieces. Even Lan Xichen might not be able to.

“Lan-zongzhu!” It might have been Lan Xichen’s grief talking, but Wei Wuxian snapped anyway. Lan Zhan would not be angry and so Wei Wuxian had to be angry on his behalf, angry and afraid. “You don’t mean that.”

“I…” He scrubbed his hand over his face, breath hitching. “I don’t. Wei-gongzi, I didn’t—of course I don’t.”

And yet, all he could see was Lan Xichen mourning the man Lan Zhan should have been. Wei Wuxian had mourned for Lan Zhan’s bright future, too. Could he be that much of a hypocrite?

How could he remain angry at the man when he’d lost so much? His home was in ruins. His brother was grievously injured. He’d been forced to flee to the woods and relied entirely on the kindness of a stranger to see him through.

“He killed Wen Zhuliu,” Wei Wuxian said, staring up at sky through the thick-thin canopy, mottled light pushing through the leaves. “No one else will go through what he’s gone through. If nothing else… there is that. He can take pride in that. You can take pride in that.” He couldn’t bring himself to mention the way in which he knew it was a struggle for Lan Zhan; he was already sure he would never, ever mention to him what he saw, the desperation and fear in Lan Zhan’s actions at the moment of Wen Zhuliu’s death. The last action he took with a sword… to be so inelegant and gruesome. It wasn’t how he would have wanted it. Wei Wuxian will never tell.

He would, in turn, keep this secret of Lan Xichen’s, that for even one moment, he pitied his brother’s circumstances.

“Very well,” Lan Xichen said finally. His voice resonated with calm, warm authority the way it did back when Wei Wuxian knew him in Cloud Recesses. “We’ll handle it together, Wangji and I. Thank you, Wei-gongzi. I apologize for…”

Wei Wuxian’s hand whipped through the air. “You’ll apologize for nothing, Lan-zongzhu, because nothing happened.” He offered a serious, somber frown. Don’t you ever forget it, he did not have to say. A warning glance was sent Meng Yao’s way, too, and he nodded in acquiescence to it.

Finally, Wei Wuxian allowed Meng Yao to tend to his wounds, plying him with more tea from this strange, little camp while he cleaned the cuts and secured his arm. By the time he was done, Wei Wuxian felt as good as he was capable of feeling.

The return to Lotus Pier was slow and miserable, bogged down by Wei Wuxian’s injuries and Meng Yao’s inability to take to sword; by the time they reached it its outskirts, Wei Wuxian felt such a bone-deep exhaustion that he worried he’d never recover from it.

“You should rest,” Lan Xichen insisted as he did what Wei Wuxian assumed was the Lan equivalent of fluttering around nervously, which consisted mostly of looking at Wei Wuxian a lot and occasionally lifting his hand as though intending to, heavens forfend, touch him. “We should have gotten a horse somewhere.”

Wei Wuxian laughed. Like anyone would happily give up a horse. “We’d have been lucky to find someone willing to part with a donkey, Lan-zongzhu. It’s fine.” Wei Wuxian snapped his fingers at a small gaggle of children fluttering around Lotus Pier’s outskirts, rummaged around in the pouch on his belt to find the last bit of money he still had. He handed it to the oldest and most somber looking, feeling certain that it would be fairly distributed to the younger ones; he knew the type. “Run ahead and tell the first Jiang Sect disciple you see that Wei Wuxian has returned.”

No doubt Lan Xichen would be obvious to anyone who looked, even with robes that were just a shade too dingy—those damned forehead ribbons—but no need to go throwing his name around just yet.

The children scampered away and Wei Wuxian returned his attention to the man in question.

“I can last through a meeting,” Wei Wuxian insisted. With the way his eyes were watering from the pain, he was a little less certain of that than he sounded, but Lan Xichen refrained from doing anything as humiliating as call him on it. Well, Lan Xichen and Meng Yao walked. Wei Wuxian sort of limped? As much as he wanted to gracefully swoop in, the roguish hero victoriously returned, he couldn’t even gracelessly swoop, not when the gash on his thigh still hadn’t healed. At least he could pretend his arm was only a little stiff.

“I don’t doubt it,” Lan Xichen agreed, so much for not humiliating him, only he used kindness instead, “but should you?”

“I’ll have to,” he replied, because Yu-furen won’t allow anything else from me. In truth, he won’t allow it of himself either. “I want to.”

“I—oh.”

At Lan Xichen’s subtle exhalation, Wei Wuxian lifted his head from where he was focusing on the ground to see—“Lan Zhan!”—Lan Zhan surrounded by the gaggle of kids. A youth in Jiang Sect colors followed behind.

And then Lan Zhan was doing something that Wei Wuxian had never seen him do: walk briskly.

It wasn’t very far and not for very long—the distance between them wasn’t great—but he picked up his pace so much that it barely took any time at all for him to reach them. It was still too much time in Wei Wuxian’s mind.

“Wei Ying?!” His eyes were wide as his gaze worked up and down Wei Wuxian’s body, cataloguing his injuries, lingering on his arm and thigh. Especially on his thigh, tightly bandaged beneath the hastily repaired rips in his robes and trousers.

That wasn’t going to stop Wei Wuxian from teasing because he had to do something to ease the anger that was flaring in Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Ah, Lan Zhan. See something you like?” Before Lan Zhan’s eyes could do more than flash, he gestured vaguely at Lan Xichen. “I kept my promise.”

That distracted Lan Zhan at least.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Zhan said immediately, bowing. He was nearly overcome, eyes actually glinting, and Wei Wuxian felt like he was interfering with a moment that didn’t belong to him.

“Come on,” he said quietly to Meng Yao, who nodded in agreement. “Lan Zhan will be able to show him the way.”

But before Wei Wuxian got more than a few steps, Lan Zhan was returning to his side, arm held out for Wei Wuxian to—to what?

“Take it,” Lan Zhan said, grim, face forward. “You’re moments from falling over.”

“I made it all the way back from Yunping like this! Lan-zongzhu, tell your brother—”

“I will not,” Lan Xichen said. “If you insist on attending this meeting, then Wangji will accompany you.”

“But—”

Lan Zhan: “Take it.”

If he stated the obvious, maybe Lan Zhan would understand. “You don’t like to be touched.”

Lan Zhan’s jaw clenched. “Take it.”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan. Did you know your brother and you are the most stubborn people?” Though he did take Lan Zhan’s arm, feeling very much like a delicate maiden and not hating it in particular, he couldn’t help feeling guilty. “Lan Zhan,” he added quietly, “you and your brother deserve a chance to talk privately.”

“We will talk later,” Lan Zhan insisted, unmoved. “Right now, Yu-furen is demanding everyone’s presence in the main hall.” Then, he did stop and, more surprisingly, covered Wei Wuxian’s hand with his own. “Wei Ying, I need to thank you.”

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. It was nothing at all! I promised. You don’t have to thank me!”

“Of course I do.” Lan Zhan’s gaze flicked down Wei Wuxian’s body, judging. “And you were hurt in the process. I owe you twice over.”

“Ahah,” Wei Wuxian said, unimpressed with the thought, very uncomfortable. Wei Wuxian was not a man whom other people thanked. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

Of course you do, Wei Wuxian thought, a little snide, shoving down his discomfort as best he could. If Lan Zhan wanted to be nice to him, that was a very fine thing. At least that was what he told himself. It was much preferable to getting bitten and ignored.

He kept the rest of his thoughts to himself, the ones that said he would have risked an even worse injury for Lan Zhan. He got the feeling Lan Zhan wouldn’t want to hear it.

It was clear as soon as they reached the main hall that they were the last to arrive, even Lan Xichen and Meng Yao had managed to sneak past. Already the room was filled with Jiang, Nie, and Lan Sect disciples, so many of them that they’d entirely foregone the usual seating arrangement in favor of standing around a table in the middle of the room. No attempt at courtesy or hospitality was made, not a single cup of tea or meal in sight or maybe that was already done and over with already. Right there in the center of it all was Madam Yu and, strangely enough, Nie Huaisang, nervously twisting a fan between awkward, twitching hands, the last person Wei Wuxian expected to see at such a thing.

Madam Yu looked tired, bags and bruises marring the usually smooth skin beneath her eyes. She was snapping out an overview of the events as they stood: the attempted sacking of Lotus Pier, the subsequent use of Sect Leader Jiang as a hostage—for an audience, she was apparently willing to trust Wen Ning’s appraisal of the situation—and the risks her only son was taking in an effort to keep this from devolving into out and out war as declared by Wen Ruohan.

She narrowed her eyes unhappily in Wei Wuxian’s direction, jerking her head to indicate that he should step up to the table. Her attention drifted briefly to Lan Zhan and where they were still touching one another, but before Wei Wuxian could decide what she was thinking, she spoke, simple and plain and displeased. “You took your time.”

He inclined his head, feeling Lan Zhan’s gaze, hot and prickling, on the back of his neck. Hands already conveniently behind his back, he waved in the hopes that it would stop Lan Zhan from speaking out of turn. Again. Who knew Lan Zhan could be so vocal in his unhappiness with anyone except Wei Wuxian?

Madam Yu noticed nothing amiss. Hopefully Lan Zhan’s face was remaining neutral and she would continue to notice nothing. “You will relay what you’ve seen. Lan-zongzhu has already explained his portion of the events of the last two days.”

He dutifully recited his run-in with Wen Xu, sticking as closely to the facts of the matter as he was able to.

With everyone’s attention turned his way, he was incredibly cognizant of the fact that it was his own swordsmanship that had failed him. He, who’d one stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Lan Zhan in terms of prowess. It shamed him.

The Nie delegation, all of them save Nie Huaisang, listened with special care, particularly the one with the dual swords strapped to his back.

At his side, Lan Zhan tensed; when Wei Wuxian looked over, he could see his features had shuttered during his recitation. By the time he was done, Lan Zhan looked as cold as a statue. His focus was almost entirely on the floor in front of Wei Wuxian’s feet. Lan Xichen guiltily stared at the floor as well, unable to look in Wei Wuxian’s direction.

“Is there anything else you wish to convey?” Madam Yu asked.

Wei Wuxian shook his head. Madam Yu gestured, indicating that they should move on.

“Thanks to Nie Huaisang’s intelligence, we can corroborate that my husband is being held captive and I have been named a provocateur by Wen Ruohan. Further actions have been threatened.”

“What about Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian blurted.

“No news,” Nie Huaisang said. A frown flickered at the corner of his mouth. Wei Wuxian didn’t think he’d ever seen him look so forlorn.

Madam Yu spoke sharply. “This is clearly provocation. Wen Ruohan wants a war.”

“That does not mean we need give it to him,” Lan Xichen pointed out.

“You would deny your sect the chance to get justice for what has taken place? Have the Wen not taken enough from Gusu yet, Lan-zongzhu?”

“I don’t wish for there to be more bloodshed than necessary. We should take a measured approach. It pains me to say it more than anything, but this is very serious. A war between the gentry families would be catastrophic, not only for our sects, but any common people who might get caught up in any skirmishes.”

“Only if we lose.” Madam Yu turned her attention to Lan Zhan, chilling and calculating. Curious, Wei Wuxian glanced his way again. He looked as though he was going to shatter, hand tightened into a fist at his side. Wei Wuxian wanted nothing more than to smooth it out, perhaps clasp it with his own. “As for the common people, they would be equally imperiled if Wen Ruohan took control. Perhaps Lan er-gongzi has an opinion on the matter. He has most recently seen what the Wen are willing to do to the common people, has he not?”

Wei Wuxian, unbidden, took a step forward. She had no right to drag Lan Zhan into this. And yet, what could he say? He was not Lan Zhan’s savior. His thoughts were barely keeping up with the conversation as it was, pain and exhaustion tugging at him. He did not have it in him to fight a battle of words over politics.

“I share my brother’s concerns, Yu-furen,” he answered, brittle.

“How dutiful you are to your sect leader.” She returned her attention to Lan Xichen. “The corroboration of Wei Wuxian’s story from his encounter with that Wen boy settles this for Jiang Sect. The Wens destroyed Cloud Recesses and took your brother’s golden core. Nie Huaisang, your brother alone cannot keep skirmishing with the Wen forever, isn’t that so?”

Nie Huaisang looked toward the man next to him, not much older than they were. He nodded at Nie Huaisang, encouraging in a stoic sort of way, while Nie Huaisang cleared his throat before saying, anxious, “Da-ge has already pledged his assistance. He wants this handled. He, uh, is quite eager to see them pay for their arrogance.” Nie Huaisang flicked his fan open and ducked his face. “His words.”

Madam Yu nodded curtly. “And you, Lan-zongzhu?”

Lan Xichen turned a troubled glance to his brother, who remained impassive at Wei Wuxian’s side. It said, without saying, that Lan Zhan was not the authority here, that he would support whatever decision Lan Xichen made.

For your brother, he thought, aiming an expression Lan Xichen’s way that was quite probably bordered on disrespectful.

Lan Xichen’s gaze drifted over to Meng Yao, who returned the look with grace and a clear, calm smile, like he trusted Lan Xichen’s decision would be the correct one. Wei Wuxian wasn’t certain why that would be the case when he couldn’t take decisive action in light of what had happened already. Perhaps Meng Yao was just like that or maybe he had a reason for it. To Wei Wuxian, it seemed harmlessly disingenuous, a little annoying.

The whole room held its breath. An alliance with the Lan Sect would legitimize their actions in ways that no other alliance could. Wei Wuxian wanted to shake him. Even if Lan Xichen didn’t care about exacting revenge, lives were at stake here.

His attention flicked briefly to Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian didn’t know him anywhere near as well as he knew Lan Zhan, but the emotion that flashed across his face was easy enough to read. Maybe a little bit of that retributive spirit did exist in him as he looked again at his brother, his brother who’d been so deeply hurt by the Wens. Who wouldn’t want to get back at the people who destroyed your brother’s life? If that had happened to Jiang Cheng, what would Wei Wuxian have done?

It probably wouldn’t have been pretty. Far less pretty than what had already happened to them.

Lan Xichen bowed his head somberly, shoulders slumping by a fine, small increment. “Gusu Lan will stand with you.”

Those pent-up breaths were released across the room, replaced with a nervous energy that brewed beneath everything. Madam Yu’s gaze skimmed across everyone in the room, demanding without words that each of them commit to the cause.

Lan Xichen remained uncertain of his decision for only one second longer, only until Lan Zhan nodded at him almost imperceptibly. It was only then that he relaxed.

“Shall we begin truly formulating a plan then?”

“What about Lanling?” Lan Xichen asked after Meng Yao whispered in his ear.

“Jin-zongzhu has declined to take sides in this conflict at this time,” Madam Yu answered, lips thin in annoyance, “as is his right.” If Jiang Cheng were here, Wei Wuxian might have said something snide, but Jiang Cheng was not and so Wei Wuxian kept it to himself.

He didn’t think Lan Zhan would appreciate it nearly as much.

The last bits of red-tinged sunlight slipped toward the horizon as Wei Wuxian stepped out of the main hall. After spending the vast majority of the ensuing discussion being superfluous—the only one who was more so was probably Nie Huaisang, who conceded to his associate whenever he was consulted—Wei Wuxian just wanted to bathe and sleep and possibly not even in that order. His elbow and thigh throbbed so badly that he could barely keep his legs under him. His muscles trembled with the effort. He dragged his arm across his forehead, robes mopping the light sheen of sweat that had settled there.

Wei Wuxian should have stayed since the Lan and Nie contingent were still in the midst of conversation with Madam Yu, but the meeting had been dismissed. Technically, he hadn’t been needed any longer. And so he’d slipped out while everyone looked the other way.

As long as he rested, he’d be fine. Ready.

They really were going to war against Wen Ruohan.

It didn’t seem real.

A hand wrapped itself around his uninjured arm. That hand belonged to a body belonged to a man who was used to having more strength than he did, because though Wei Wuxian barely flinched out of the touch, it was almost as though he’d ripped his arm away for how Lan Zhan reacted, eyes wide with surprise, like he hadn’t expected Wei Wuxian to be able to break it. He grabbed for Wei Wuxian a second time. Even though he could have, Wei Wuxian didn’t want to pull away. Who was Wei Wuxian to stop Lan Zhan from propping him up?

He frowned and wouldn’t meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes.

It should have been funny or cute, how put out and shy Lan Zhan seemed, but it only made Wei Wuxian sadder, exhausting him more than standing around in that meeting had. “Lan Zhan, hey.”

“You’re hurt,” he insisted.

“Pfft. What’s a broken elbow when the end of the world’s come? I’ll be fine.” He’d deal with it in the morning. Maybe.

“Come with me,” was all Lan Zhan said.

Who was Wei Wuxian to say no?

He allowed himself to be hauled onto the wooden pathway outside the main hall. He was too tired to fight more and he’d missed Lan Zhan so much. If this was the only way he’d get to spend more time with him, then so be it. “Just where is Lan er-gongzi thinking of taking me on such a romantic evening, hmm?”

“The physician,” Lan Zhan said, determined.

“That’s so boring, Lan Zhan!”

“You’re hurt.” Again, again. He was hurt. As though that was the important detail. So what if he was hurt? It happened. You’re hurt. He said it like it mattered, like there weren’t bigger problems floating around right now. Even Lan Zhan had suffered worse than Wei Wuxian was and yet here he was trying to drag Wei Wuxian off to see the doctor. Ridiculous.

“I know how my body reacts to bone fractures. In a few days, I won’t even feel it. The doctor can wait until later.”

“You’re exhausted,” Lan Zhan replied, recalcitrant.

“Aren’t we all?” This time, Wei Wuxian played a little dirty and pulled with more force, stopping Lan Zhan’s forward momentum. “Lan Zhan, I know you mean well, but there’s too much to do. You heard Yu-furen.” He clenched his jaw, stubborn. “I have to do my part.”

“If you’re meant to protect your sect, you’ll need to be in the best condition possible.” This insistence of Lan Zhan’s, Wei Wuxian knew he’d have a hard time combating it, might never have a good shield against it, but seeing it in action was awful. He hated going to the physician, but Lan Zhan’s plaintiveness made Wei Wuxian want to give in.

There were some moments that he sort of missed the way Lan Zhan tried to shout him out of his life. That was easier. And at least then he wouldn’t have to deal with this, this gruff care of Lan Zhan’s.

“Can we do literally anything else instead? Tell me how you’ve been. Tell me how happy you are that your brother’s here. Tell me you missed me.”

Without missing a beat, Lan Zhan said, “I missed you.” While Wei Wuxian was still reeling from that assertion, he added, “And we’re going to see the physician.”

He laughed because he couldn’t let himself think about how earnest Lan Zhan sounded. It was nicer than Wei Wuxian deserved and couldn’t be taken seriously. It would mean too much if it was serious, be too important. “Lan Zhan, when did you learn how to tease?”

Lan Zhan’s posture stiffened almost impossibly and he said nothing for a long time. “Xiongzhang and I are returning to Cloud Recesses in the morning. You left the hall before he mentioned it,” he said finally, so quiet that Wei Wuxian might not have heard it if it was earlier in the day, busier along the walkways that wormed through the various buildings and pavilions. “Please go with me to see the physician.”

“Tomorrow? That soon?” Without anyone asking Wei Wuxian’s opinion? When he’d had to waste almost two days away from him? He couldn’t leave now. What if something happened and Wei Wuxian wasn’t there to protect him?

Then again, his brother was here, the best of their generation by far, even Wei Wuxian definitely couldn’t beat him. Lan Zhan didn’t need Wei Wuxian anymore. He tried to be happy for Lan Zhan, oh, how he tried. Lan Zhan couldn’t be allowed to realize how much it hurt him to know Lan Zhan was leaving. His smile felt like it was made of crumbling clay or freshly shattered porcelain. “I wasn’t aware that Lans could blackmail.”

“I merely wish to ensure you’re well before I go.”

It was too selfish to tell him that staying was the best way to ensure Wei Wuxian’s well being, but he wanted to. Worse maybe, he wanted Lan Zhan to be selfish in the same way and ask him to come with him. He was not quite so shameless as to demand to leave Lotus Pier of his own volition, but if it was a request from Lan Zhan or Lan Xichen…

He could do it. And more than that, Madam Yu might actually have said yes. And then he could do his duty to his sect and stay with Lan Zhan. Surely Lan Xichen would need a liaison who could travel between Lotus Pier and Cloud Recesses freely.

But Lan Zhan wouldn’t do that; he would only stare openly at Wei Ying, expectant. He would go and Wei Wuxian would have to stay.

If his last hours with Lan Zhan had to be spent in the physician’s pavilion, then so be it. He didn’t have the heart to argue more. “If you insist, Lan Zhan.”

When they reached it, Wei Wuxian almost backed out again. It was one thing to go to see the doctor. It was another when it was Jiang Xiuying on duty. She was relentless in her pursuit of the impossible, which included forcing Wei Wuxian to take his medicines when they were prescribed.

She was lucky that Wei Ying liked her so much. He was unlucky because she wouldn’t cut any slack for him.

“Wei Wuxian,” she said, a fierce note in her voice as she turned to look at him. Only for Lan Zhan did she smile. “And Lan er-gongzi. I see you’ve been a good influence.”

Snorting, Wei Wuxian resigned himself.

“So impertinent,” she replied as she pointed at one of the tables. The worst part, though, was now that there was an audience, Lan Zhan went quiet, might as well have been a part of the decoration for how much of an impact his presence had. Lan Zhan wasn’t even gone and Wei Wuxian was already lonely. Of course coming here was a waste. “Disrobe, please, first. It wouldn’t make sense to properly splint this when you’ll only need to remove it all when you go to bed. Where did you learn how to do this? Not from me certainly.”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes and attempted as best he could to comply, starting with removing the splint Meng Yao had rigged up for him. It was difficult going and after a few agonizing moments, Lan Zhan walked over and began pulling and tugging at the various pieces of his robes, the ties around his belt, his bell and pouch, his vambraces, before peeling his outer robes from his body, fingers slipping easily beneath the fabric, gentle and…

If he noticed the sudden flush on Wei Wuxian’s face, he was too polite to say anything about it, head bowed as he focused solely on removing the cloth with as little pain to Wei Wuxian as possible.

It was nice to be cared for. That was all. He just wasn’t used to kind treatment. Nobody touched him this way, not even the physician.

“Can you hold your arm up? Don’t move otherwise.”

Wei Wuxian did as requested and could only watch as Lan Zhan’s fingers crept with inexorable slowness down his bicep. He steadied Wei Wuxian’s wrist with his free hand, hardly jostling Wei Wuxian at all as he worked.

Straightening his arm and yanking his outer robes off might have been less torturous than this. But then it was done and Wei Wuxian was left with his disappointment when Lan Zhan stepped away again, holding Wei Wuxian’s clothing as though they were important or precious.

With more professionalism than he’d ever seen personally from her, Jiang Xiuying said, “Thank you, Lan er-gongzi.”

She poked and prodded at his injury and muttered to herself as she named a variety of herbs meant to stave off this, that, and the other malady. It was annoying because while she muttered, he couldn’t speak freely to Lan Zhan, couldn’t ask him any of the questions he wished to ask. “You might have mentioned the poison,” she said, dry. “We’ll have to work on that, too.”

When she was finally done examining him, she splinted his elbow quickly and then handed him about a million pouches of herbs, quickly relaying when and how he should prepare them. Lan Zhan was staring fiercely at her as she spoke and his hand twitched, as though he wished to write this all down, like he thought Wei Wuxian wouldn’t remember.

The most important thing was to rest, of course. Always rest. He didn’t bother telling her that he’d tried to rest, only the somber reprobate in white accompanying him wouldn’t allow it, not without coming here first. Somehow, he thought it wouldn’t go over well.

“Don’t get into any more trouble, Wei Wuxian,” she warned, sweeping away to complete her never-ending work elsewhere.

Wei Wuxian’s heart swelled as he looked again at Lan Zhan, realizing they were alone again, hands full of herbs and he was wearing nothing but his red under robes, which he couldn’t even put back on properly from where they’d been opened. A chill wracked his body and Lan Zhan must have noticed the shiver because he put Wei Wuxian’s robes down and shrugged out of the long cloak he’d taken to wearing.

“What are you—?” Wei Wuxian tried to duck away, but it was difficult with the splint and Lan Zhan’s intractability. He refused to answer and it was clear soon enough when he placed it over Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and adjusted it carefully, fingers brushing against Wei Wuxian’s exposed clavicle.

“Lan Zhan, you’ll freeze.”

This was Lotus Pier. There was no actual danger of that, but Lan Zhan was still recovering from losing his golden core. He had to be cold or else why would he have been wearing it even here? Wei Wuxian went around without his clothes all the time.

When he tried to push himself out from beneath it, Lan Zhan pulled it more firmly around him and even tied it shut. “You’re indecent.”

This man was impossible. Wei Wuxian liked him a lot. “If you think that’s ever stopped me from wandering around Lotus Pier, you’re in for a grave disappointment.”

“I doubt that.”

Wei Wuxian turned his face into the fabric instead of disappointing Lan Zhan with the truth, which was: he’d absolutely wandered around Lotus Pier in greater disarray. Heavens, it even smelled like Lan Zhan and that just wasn’t fair at all; he might never give it back now. The worst part was he couldn’t hide his smile except by pulling the cloak more fully around his face and inhaling. Warmth welled inside of him and he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the cloak at all. “You could have given me back my own clothes.”

Lan Zhan merely clung more tightly to Wei Wuxian’s filthy, rumpled robes that Lan Zhan had nevertheless attempted to fold nicely. “They wouldn’t have fit over the splint.”

“Aiya, you have an answer for everything. Give me those!”

He wrenched his robes from Lan Zhan’s hands, balled them up under his uninjured arm, and dusted off Lan Zhan’s chest to make sure none of the filth from the day dared to cling to Lan Zhan’s pristine robes.

He asked, fond and unable and unwilling to hide it, “What am I going to do with you?”

The answer came unbidden to his mind: nothing, of course. There was nothing he could do with Lan Zhan because Lan Zhan was leaving in the morning. While Wei Wuxian wrestled with a scowl, Lan Zhan led him back onto Lotus Pier’s walkways like an expert.

When they neared Wei Wuxian’s room, he dared to ask, “Have a drink with me before you go?”

“I don’t drink,” Lan Zhan said, eyeing the bag of herbs balanced against Wei Wuxian’s chest. “You shouldn’t either.”

“I know you don’t drink. I know it so well at this point. But fine. I’ll drink these stupid herbs and you can have tea. I’ll pretend we’re sharing good, Gusu-made wine instead, okay? What do you say?”

It wouldn’t be long with Lan Zhan’s self-imposed curfew to contend with. There was so little time. Please, Lan Zhan. Say yes.

Wei Wuxian was going to suffocate under the weight of all this stupid affection he was feeling. How had he ever thought Lan Zhan was a stodgy stick-in-the-mud? He was clearly the best, the most reasonable and gentlemanly of creatures. He was Wei Wuxian’s best friend.

As soon as he could, he was going to come back to Gusu to visit. He might even try to abide by the rules just so he wouldn’t get kicked out again until he left on his own, ready to pull his hair out. It would be nice, perhaps, to be good and diligent if he got to be near Lan Zhan again. It would make up for how much of a hellion he’d been before. He could prove himself worthy of Lan Zhan’s friendship, maybe become as integral to Lan Zhan there as Lan Zhan had become to him here.

Though Lan Zhan hadn’t been here long, he already felt like an important thread in the fabric of Wei Wuxian’s life in Yunmeng. As surprising as it was, he fit perfectly well among Lotus Pier’s various waterways, soaking in the warm sunlight like he was born to it. They all rather liked him here, too: in fact, he’d overheard quite a few young maidens say how handsome and personable—personable!—that Lan er-gongzi was, but none of them liked him as much as Wei Wuxian liked him.

He liked him and he didn’t want him to go, but because he had to, he would make the most of what little time remained, cling to every moment Lan Zhan gave to him.

“This is acceptable,” Lan Zhan said after a moment’s contemplation, nodding to seal the deal. “I would like to.”

As soon as they reached his room, Wei Wuxian shoved the detritus of his latest experiment from the table and into a somewhat scattered pile on the floor next to it before grabbing a pair of flat, black pillows to throw at Lan Zhan’s and his own feet. He draped his dirty robes over the stand he never actually used properly and mentally declared the space as tidy as it would get. Humming, he puttered around, grabbing his tea pot and the pitcher of water that had been set by his bed at some point earlier in the day. Carrying both was a little precarious, but it wasn’t so bad as long as he held his splinted arm out at a slight angle and balanced the pitcher between his forearm and his chest, the teapot secure in his uninjured hand.

“I should do that,” Lan Zhan said, as though waking from a daze. He walked across the room—Wei Wuxian’s room, Lan Zhan was here, a never to be repeated experience—and took the pitcher.

“Do I really look so pitiful?”

“You should rest,” he answered, which wasn’t an answer at all. “I can do this much.”

“That’s not a no,” he said, whining for effect. “Lan Zhan, you really know how to bring a man to his knees.” Slumping sadly over the table, he draped himself across it, ignoring the pull of the wound in his thigh, and allowed Lan Zhan free range of his space, pointing out the various accoutrements he’d need, cups and cakes of tea, the little pot he used to heat water. His eyes remained on Lan Zhan as he diligently worked, keen, seeking their fill while they could still have it. He grinned when Lan Zhan leveled a glare so scathing it could have peeled the lacquer from a fine table.

“There is nothing pitiful about you.” His gaze lowered to the patch of floor on which Wei Wuxian kneeled. “And it appears to me you’ve done a perfectly adequate job of putting yourself on your knees.”

He returned to the table and lowered himself before it, doing the very hard work of ensuring the water boiled after Wei Ying lazily threw a talisman at it. He took the pouch of herbs and dropped a couple of pinches of them into the bottom of Wei Wuxian’s cup. Wei Wuxian couldn’t be anything other than delighted even though he would shortly have to drink it. “Lan Zhan, was that a joke? Did you just tell a joke?”

Though he accepted his cup as soon as Lan Zhan handed it over, he grimaced—delight could only carry him so far—and waited a handful of moments for it to cool so he could just swallow it all in one go.

He wasn’t generally given to bouts of melancholia, but the last few days had been excruciating and now he was facing the prospects of Lan Zhan leaving much sooner than he wanted and he couldn’t even properly toast to Lan Zhan, not with this swill he was supposed to drink.

Playing with the cup, he asked, “How are you really, Lan Zhan?”

“I am well,” Lan Zhan answered, toneless.

Though Wei Wuxian watched him closely, he couldn’t sense a lie in his bearing or demeanor. Even now, he was far and away the best there was, even if he could no longer cultivate. In Wei Wuxian’s heart, he always would be. Anyone else would be a sobbing mess on the floor to have lost so much so quickly, but not Lan Zhan. It was impressive. Wei Wuxian was proud of and awed by Lan Zhan for his strength.

He just wished Lan Zhan didn’t feel it was necessary to keep it up here in the privacy of Wei Wuxian’s room.

He could say nothing of this as he fiddled with his cup, contemplating whether he could finally drink it or, more ideally, dump it onto a plant outside. “I hope your time here hasn’t been wholly unpleasant even given the circumstances.”

Lan Zhan visibly gathered his words, wrestling with them in a way that hurt Wei Wuxian to see.

“Lotus Pier is beautiful and your people are kind. You all have been generous, warm and unfazed despite my reputation and my… circumstances. I have not lacked while I’ve been here. Unpleasant isn’t how I would describe it.”

Wei Wuxian laughed and decided to swallow down the medicine while he was filled with this bubbling happiness. Now that he’d heard something so sweet to his ears, it was easy.

Suppressing a shudder at the taste—so maybe it wasn’t easy—he said, “And here you were so against it before.”

“I was wrong.”

With a wink, Wei Wuxian leaned forward, careful to avoid putting any weight on his injured arm. “It’s the pretty girls, isn’t it? They could convince anyone.” He thought briefly of Mianmian’s pouch, how he’d found it on Lan Zhan, and clamped down on his unhappiness at the thought of a pretty girl convincing Lan Zhan of anything. Only Wei Wuxian should be allowed to do that.

Lan Zhan’s gaze was set to burn a hole through Wei Wuxian’s soul, not so very different from the way he’d looked at Wei Wuxian when he’d seen that erotic book Wei Wuxian brought to him.

“Oh, Lan Zhan,” he said, relieved, “don’t ever change. I know you’re not interested.”

A different expression crossed Lan Zhan’s face then, one wholly unfamiliar, but it was gone before Wei Wuxian could figure it out.

So of course Wei Wuxian had to push.

He cackled and this time stretched back, hand gripping the edge of the table so he wouldn’t accidentally fall backwards when he had to stretch further to avoid getting beat for being a brat. Lan Zhan’s sleeves could still reach him. “Obviously it’s the pretty boys instead.”

When Wei Wuxian looked up at him through lowered lashes, he watched Lan Zhan’s whole body freeze. The look of anger he’d been on the receiving end of when he brought that pornography for Lan Zhan to look at was replaced with something even more furious. Oh, it was precious. As though Wei Wuxian cared about such things. If Lan Zhan was interested in men—and Wei Wuxian highly, highly doubted that, too—it was just fine with Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan said, low, through gritted teeth.

Wei Wuxian waved his hands in surrender. “Eh, eh, eh. Settle down, Lan Zhan. I’m just teasing you. Like who you like or don’t like anyone at all. It’s all fine with me. So prickly. I know you Lans are all secret romantics. I don’t know why you’re so uptight about it. It’s not like your sect bans sex. You could get married and have all sorts of little Lan babies toddling around and nobody would scold you. And who would raise a complaint if you played around in a re—”

“Wei Ying.”

But now Wei Wuxian was imagining Lan Zhan with a row of baby Lans following behind him, ribbons trailing in their wake. It was too cute to stand. That was somehow even more disarming than imagining Lan Zhan fucking a man. Maybe because it seemed more plausible.

“Lan Zhan, when you have children, you have to let me see, okay?”

Lan Zhan took a prim sip of his tea. “Impossible.”

“Remember, you’re in Yunmeng now. Nothing is impossible here.”

“That’s not your sect’s motto and it is impossible.”

Wei Wuxian waved imperiously. “Details. You absolutely are going to end up with kids. They might not be yours physically, but I can already see it. You’re going to train a bunch of children to become little Lan-gongzi. They’ll toddle around and emulate you down to the cute little frown you get when you’re around me. It’s going to be adorable and I want to be there when it happens.”

He was reminded all over again that Lan Zhan was leaving and how sad that was. If he ever got to see such a thing, it wouldn’t be for a long time yet.

He reached for the pot of tea, throat suddenly dry from all this inane chatter, but Lan Zhan shook his head and pulled it out of reach. “There’s still medicine in your cup. It’ll ruin the flavor.” Glancing around, Lan Zhan got that unhappy slant to his mouth again. His search was in vain; he would not find a third cup here. He was lucky there was a second one. With a small, disdainful twitch of his mouth, he poured more into his own empty cup and offered it over. “If you don’t mind.”

It was like every conceivable occasion where one person could receive gifts all wrapped into one little piece of clay. Wei Wuxian didn’t mind in the slightest. “No!” He reached for the cup before Lan Zhan could take the offer back. “I don’t.”

He then turned it around until he was fairly certain he’d found the same part where Lan Zhan’s lips had touched and brought it to his own mouth, pleased with the intimacy of the gesture, the closeness he felt to Lan Zhan just by doing something like this.

It was a little like jumping into a lake from a high cliff, exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Lan Zhan stared at him, eyes wide, and Wei Wuxian just couldn’t bring himself to do more than shrug in response. Let Lan Zhan berate him. This was the best tasting tea he’d ever had. “It’s good.”

Resigned, Lan Zhan sighed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yes, I am! “He swirled the little bit of liquid that remained in the bottom of the cup that would always, he thought, now be Lan Zhan’s in his mind. This was Lan Zhan’s cup. His mood dimmed. Lan Zhan wouldn’t be here to drink from it. “Lan Zhan, I really will miss you. You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes.” He smoothed his hand lightly over the wood of the table, considering. “I will be fine.”

What else could Wei Wuxian do but take Lan Zhan at his word? “Make sure you take care of yourself.”

They sat together, silent for a while, as the tricky waters of their time together slipped from between Wei Wuxian’s fingers. No matter how tightly he cupped his palms together, he could not make it pool there forever, stagnating in his hands if he tried.

Lan Zhan’s eyes began to droop, as cruel and punctual as the fall of darkness every night. The Lan curfew was so very cruel.

A moment from offering his own bed to Lan Zhan just so they’d have more time together, Wei Wuxian said instead, “Let’s get you back to your room, huh?”

“You should stay off your leg.”

“It already feels better from the medicine.” He gritted his teeth. It was a lie, but he would do this at least. “Let me accompany you back.”

Lan Zhan, showing a great deal of kindness, conceded this much to Wei Wuxian at least, but even if he didn’t, Wei Wuxian would have done this.

Wei Wuxian was just barely sitting down at the table back in his own room, a stack of talismans and cinnabar ink gripped tight in his fist, when there was a knock at the door and one of the servants saying, “Wei-gongzi, Lan-zongzhu was hoping to speak with you if you’re feeling well enough.”

He bit back a groan, one that wasn’t only pained. It really did kind of hurt to sit this way without Lan Zhan across from him to distract from it, but he was done with the urge for company. Now he just wanted to be left alone.

Unlike Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu, Wei Wuxian didn’t like to stand on ceremony, but since he wasn’t sure he could stand without toppling anyway, he didn’t bother trying, so he called out, “I’m well. You may let him in.” He grimaced at the presence of the tea things on the table along with the large, perhaps too large, stack of blank talisman papers before him. As soon as Lan Xichen ducked inside, he said, “Please excuse me, Lan-zongzhu, for not greeting you properly.”

“No need,” Lan Xichen answered. “I don’t wish to take too much of your time regardless.” He gestured toward the pillow that remained on the ground. Lan Zhan’s pillow, to go along with Lan Zhan’s cup. “May I sit?”

“Of course.” He huffed a laugh. The Lans really did only ever get to see him at his worst. “I apologize about the mess as well. I would have cleared it up, but…”

“You were spending time with Wangji?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian answered, uncomfortable. “He graciously made tea for himself while he watched me drink medicine. I haven’t had time to rinse the bowls or I would offer you something. I could call for the servant if you wish.” They would probably look at him very oddly for doing so, but he rarely asked for anything. It would only be a minor imposition. “They might be convinced to help.”

“There is no need,” Lan Xichen replied, kind. “I appreciate the cares you’ve taken with my brother in this, especially today, when you should be resting.” He folded his hands in his lap and took in the scattered mess around him. “What are you doing?”

“Ah,” he answered, fighting a flush. “I was… I’m pretty good with talismans? I know everyone thinks they’re useless tricks, but I thought… Lan Zhan will likely manage one day to… I think he’ll regain some use of spiritual power, but it will never be—he’ll never be what he was. He’ll still need to be protected.” As he spoke, his words grew more impassioned. “I’d like to offer him some methods to protect himself. I don’t know how he’ll take it, but… I want him to have something if he needs it. The Wens are… well, you know what the Wens are.”

“Ah. He told you we intend to leave in the morning then?”

Wei Wuxian lowered his gaze. He was perfectly aware of that fact, yes, for all that he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He merely nodded in response.

“Wei-gongzi, as much as I appreciate your concern for Wangji, you ought to take care of your own health, too. He wouldn’t feel right knowing you’d worked yourself sick for him. Can you even write?”

“As long as I don’t move my elbow much.”

“Hmm.”

He would do far, far more than stay up late and use his injured arm to create talismans if he had to, but Lan Xichen didn’t need to know that and probably wouldn’t approve anyway. It was such a deep knowledge, too, as fundamental to him as his feelings regarding his shijie and Jiang Cheng. Lan Zhan slid so easily into the same crevices and cracks they filled within him. For Lan Zhan, he would do anything, suffer any discomfort. This, he knew and it did not shame him for all that he kept the knowledge hidden away. “It’s not so much,” he said instead. “I won’t be able to sleep until much later anyway.” As soon as he said this, a yawn threatened to break through the lie. “I can either occupy myself with this or with something else. At least this might be useful.”

Lan Xichen offered a candid smile and ducked his head. “You’re very generous. I shouldn’t take advantage of that by taking up too much of your time. I merely wished to thank you for your assistance. When you told me about Wangji, I know I wasn’t at my best and I wish you hadn’t seen that. I worry deeply for him, but I can see that you’ve helped him a great deal while he’s been unwell.” His gaze turned a little sly, incongruous on a face so like Lan Zhan’s. “I don’t believe we shall leave until late morning if you should like to say goodbye.”

Wei Wuxian, excited, nearly jammed his elbow against the table. “Ah, so I have a chance to see—” He shouldn’t have been so excited about the chance to see Lan Zhan. “So I can give these to him myself?”

“Should you wish,” Lan Xichen said, climbing smoothly to his feet. “Thank you again, Wei-gongzi. My family will not forget what you’ve done.”

“Who needs to praise me for doing the right thing? No one. Please forget it.”

Lan Xichen made as though to disagree, but Wei Wuxian waved him off. There was no need for gratitude in this. It had never been one of his motivations before and it wouldn’t start to be one now.

Lan Xichen departed quietly, leaving Wei Wuxian to his thoughts and actions, the only things he could have in this world, it seemed.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian shouted, uninjured arm lifted in a wave as he approached the little caravan of Lan Sect disciples currently preparing for departure just outside Lotus Pier. Even with the grace Lan Xichen afforded him by delaying, he was running late and knew it. Already he was out of breath, leg screaming at him as he sprinted; it wasn’t purposeful this time—that was to say, he didn’t mean to be late and wasn’t purposefully disregarding common sense—it was just… he really did need Lan Zhan to be safe and he needed to see him off. He hadn’t expected Madam Yu to keep him so long this morning. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan turned, finally hearing him. His eyebrows lifted and his mouth formed a moue of concern and then he was forced to reach out when Wei Wuxian stepped wrong—

—and collided with Lan Zhan. “Oof.”

If Lan Zhan still had his golden core, he might have managed to avoid jostling Wei Wuxian’s injured elbow. As it was, Wei Wuxian was probably lucky that he didn’t send them both sprawling. Muffling a hiss, Wei Wuxian grinned and righted himself, patting Lan Zhan on the chest. “Sorry, Lan Zhan,” he said, because that was a lot nicer than gasping in pain. “Little too happy to see you, I guess.”

Nearby, Lan Xichen muffled a laugh in his sleeve and gestured the other disciples a little further away where a few more of their supplies were waiting to be loaded into a small cart which a single horse would be hauling back to Cloud Recesses.

Another stood, saddled, ready to be mounted.

Wei Wuxian wondered idly if it was meant for Lan Zhan if and when he tired.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked, eyes settling on his mouth, then his eyes before dipping a little lower for a moment and then back up. Straightening his spine, he added, “You didn’t have to see me off.”

“I did! I really did!”

Lan Zhan continued to look at him curiously.

“I wish I could take you back myself,” Wei Wuxian said, too tired to be anything other than bold. As he’d splashed water on his face this morning, he’d caught his reflection in the small, reflective bronze mirror he kept, noticed the skin around his eyes was bruised, his cheeks drawn with exhaustion. It was worth it, even though his heart thrummed with more than tiredness as he held out a thin, rectangular box to Lan Zhan, retrieved from a pouch on his belt. “I hope this will suffice in my absence.”

“What is it?” Lan Zhan asked, hesitating, palm resting atop the lotus engraved in the wood.

“Open it!”

The box held a stack of talismans so large it embarrassed him now to see it opening beneath Lan Zhan’s hand. They were carefully separated, wrapped in various colors of ribbon to keep them organized. He explained their various functions, some defensive, some offensive, and offered Lan Zhan an insouciant tip of his head, once he was done. It felt right to take this moment seriously, but Wei Wuxian could not bring himself to do so; he was still himself and he feared he might cry if he allowed himself to treat this as the somber occasion it was.

“Lan Wangji,” he said, mock stern, “you’d better take care of yourself.”

“I will be fine.” Lan Zhan returned the gesture, more formal than Wei Wuxian could ever be. “I would not undermine the care you’ve shown to me.” He looked away, then looked down at the talismans, looked finally again at Wei Wuxian, eyes brimming with something indescribable. In a flash, it was gone. “Be well, Wei Ying, and get some rest. You look terrible.”

The brutal honesty of Lan Zhan’s words drew a laugh from within him. Only Lan Zhan. “Then we’re a matched pair, aren’t we?”

Perhaps Lan Zhan nodded, perhaps it was merely a trick of the dappled shadows falling across his face from the trees. It made Wei Wuxian feel less alone regardless.

Wei Wuxian remained at the gates long after Lan Zhan was no longer visible. It was only when Jiang Cheng came to find him that he allowed himself to be pulled back to his duties.

With every step that Lan Wangji took away from Lotus Pier, he felt more ill at ease and unhappy, wrong in a way that was different and worse than how he’d felt since waking up for the first time after his encounter with Wen Zhuliu. It was as though the moment he stepped outside of the comfortable confines of that estate, the reality of his situation reasserted itself, and he was reminded of what he now was, all that he lacked, the loss that he was so reluctant to acknowledge. Without Yunmeng’s balmy weather to warm him, chills racked his frame. Without the lakes, different from those which could be found in the mountains around Cloud Recesses, he no longer found calm easily. Without Wei Ying to lighten his spirits, he felt as though the ground would rise up and swallow him.

It was unfair to burden another person with so much responsibility, but in this, he was weak. Only within his thoughts, he allowed himself to be that selfish and he tried to tell himself that was to his credit. No one would know. Then again, the fact that it could remain hidden away didn’t make it any less true. His reliance on Wei Ying shamed him. And perhaps he was merely lying to himself about this, too. After all, his brother kept sending worried glances his way, opening his mouth and closing it again, thinking better of speaking several times by now.

His concerns finally defeated him. “Wangji…”

His brother was so careful with him, had taken great pains with him since he returned. Not even a day had he been back and it already grated. This, though, was too much. Hesitating even in speech? Lan Wangji did not require that. It took every ounce of his self-control to keep from snapping at his brother. He wasn’t a fragile toy despite the fact that he couldn’t even mount another person’s sword for fear he would fall or face exposure.

“You should fly ahead, brother. Cloud Recesses needs you. I don’t require an escort.”

“Perhaps not, but do you truly not need me?”

What I need is irrelevant, Lan Wangji thought, waspish. Unbidden, dangerous: What I need is back in Lotus Pier. “I would not have my condition hold you back. Should I face difficulties, the rest of the disciples you’ve ordered to accompany me will suffice. They are well-trained. There is a horse for my use as well. I have not forgotten how to ride.” Among the equipment Madam Yu sent, there were bows. He could maybe protect himself with one of those if it came down to it.

He and his brother walked in silence for a short time, until his brother saw fit to speak again. “Wei-gongzi seemed especially troubled by your departure.”

Lan Wangji turned to look at him, searching his face for signs of… something. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. When he didn’t find it, he tried not to be disappointed. A part of him wanted there to be some specific impact. The feelings Lan Wangji harbored, they were monumental. It was right that they should be noticed. And yet, he couldn’t admit to them either. They were too big. But if his brother noticed anything about Wei Ying…

It was nice to think he would be so missed by Wei Ying that even his brother would notice.

“He has been very kind to me. I believe he is merely concerned for my wellbeing.”

It was awkward to say such a thing about another person, especially to a third party, but this was his brother and he’d rather avoid concerning him where and when he could. Picking and choosing his battles was going to be a requirement going forward and he didn’t want to dismiss him over trivialities or certain truths, one of which was that Wei Ying mattered to him. How could he deny such a fundamental truth when he would have to obscure the full extent of it?

He would be under so much scrutiny now. Lying about this was pointless.

His brother’s eyes crinkled at the corner and a soft smile crossed his lips at Lan Wangji’s answer. Apparently he was pleased with it, though Lan Wangji couldn’t say why when Wei Ying had only ever caused trouble during his time in Cloud Recesses. The only thing Lan Xichen knew of him came from those days. He hadn’t had time in Lotus Pier to see the true extent of him. “It seems he remains a good young man. Is he as enthusiastic as I remember him being?”

Lan Wangji almost, almost smiled fondly. “He is very good.”

His brother, more given to teasing than Lan Wangji ever would be, asked, “Rowdy?”

“Perhaps so.” That wasn’t quite the truth of it, but Lan Wangji didn’t have the right language to convey the differences he’d noticed between the Wei Ying of before and the Wei Ying he now knew. At Cloud Recesses, he only got to see the worst of Wei Ying’s mischief, but out from under the constraints of his own sect’s rules, Wei Ying bloomed into the best of what he could be. There was still mischief, but it was tempered by his warmth and dedication. He was not only a rowdy young man, but he was quick and deft and mercurial, genuine and affable, everything a young gentleman from a good family should be.

And he did his best by Lan Wangji in every moment of their time together.

One day, he would be loved unstoppably by someone, but it could not be Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying did not belong in a place as cold and strict as Cloud Recesses, did not belong with someone like Lan Wangji. There was nothing that a Lan could share with him that wouldn’t diminish that precious whole of him.

This was something he did not wish to consider too closely, but it explained why they failed to understand one another well from the start.

A very small piece of him wished he didn’t know Wei Ying the way he did now. It was a cruelty to be parted from him for one thing and, for another, it hurt to realize how truly unneeded Lan Wangji was.

“He was quite something when we met in Yunping,” Lan Xichen mused. “Despite his injuries, he was so determined.”

That was Wei Ying. And Lan Wangji could not think of it any longer lest his brother learn more about his feelings than he cared to share.

“What does shufu think of your decision?” he asked, certain that a message had been transmitted last night, no doubt answered immediately. Lan Xichen had always been good at anticipating their uncle’s feelings, which was why he suspected Lan Xichen had made the decision he’d made in going back so quickly. Whatever he’d heard in reply necessitated this swift return.

His brother frowned and didn’t answer for a long while. “He agreed that something must be done about the Wens, but he didn’t find my justifications appropriate.”

That surprised Lan Wangji. His brother was always appropriate. “Which are?”

For a time, his brother could only look at him, unable to fully extinguish the dim hint of horror in them. Lan Wangji willed himself to calm despite the sudden speeding beat of his heart. This was his life now. This was how people would look at him. And then the distant sympathy… there it was. “What they did to you was beyond unconscionable to me, Wangji. It does not feel like enough that the one responsible has already paid.”

Lan Wangji swallowed and stared at the ground beneath his feet. “The Wens are in no position to repeat this act on anyone else.” He was not usually in a position to scold his own brother, who often knew his heart to a better degree than Lan Wangji himself did. “You needn’t have made this decision on my account.”

His reminder was a gentle one, smoothing over the worst of his memories of the moment. It all ran in a blur of agony anyway, agony and the sheer struggle to lift his sword, dragging it back and forth because he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that shoving his sword through Wen Zhuliu’s gut wouldn’t be enough and he wouldn’t have the strength to try again if he failed. He dragged the dull blade across tenacious flesh again and again and again until, until Wen Zhuliu was finally forced to let go of him and—

“Hence shufu’s concerns. He asked that I complete extra sessions of meditation to reflect upon my state of mind.”

Lan Wangji couldn’t in good conscience encourage his brother in this, but he couldn’t deny he was moved by his brother’s reaction all the same. Sick as it made him, he felt gratification.

“It is right to stand against injustice,” Lan Wangji said, hesitant. “The Wens will do worse if we do not defend ourselves now. That would be true regardless of my circumstances.”

His brother answered, ruefully amused, “That may be why shufu didn’t suggest I have myself struck for my thoughts.”

It was impossible to imagine Lan Xichen suffering under such discipline. “Xiongzhang.” Because he wasn’t sure what to say, he decided to say nothing.

His brother smiled at him a little sadly, but allowed the conversation to drift naturally to an end, maintaining a much more companionable silence than Lan Wangji was capable of.

He did not fly on ahead as Lan Wangji suggested, but Lan Wangji did not truly expect that he would.

On the other hand, he did leave Lan Wangji to his thoughts eventually, choosing to discourse with Meng Yao instead. The smile on his face as they spoke was far less melancholy than the one he’d given to Lan Wangji. He would have to get used to it, he thought, the fact that others would look at him and see nothing more than a tragedy. The expressions directed his way would always be so pitying.

When they arrived, it wasn’t one of the disciples who greeted them, but his uncle, which only made the entire ordeal worse in some ways. The trip up had been arduous, required so many stops that Lan Wangji finally conceded to riding the spare horse just to keep from delaying and inconveniencing the others further.

His uncle’s taciturn, unflinching gaze fell upon him as he dismounted. There would be no making himself presentable with the dust from the road clinging to him. The slight, sad softening of that look once he was close enough to bow proved interminable. He daren’t return the glance and kept his eyes firmly on the clean hem of his uncle’s robes.

What bad news waited for them here, he wondered. What else could go wrong?

And then he remembered. How easy it had been to forget.

Their sect lost its leader; their uncle lost his brother; he and his brother lost their father. Of course their uncle would want to meet the only family that remained to him as soon as possible. And one member of that family was injured.

He expected the same grief that consumed him in the Xuanwu cave to strike a second time and tensed in anticipation, preparing to pretend it didn’t hurt the way nothing that had happened could be allowed to hurt for him any longer. If he let one thing hurt, it would all hurt. If his father’s death pained him, then his own loss would send him to his knees, too.

He thought of Wei Ying and the war that waited for them in Qishan and he couldn’t—

He couldn’t, too, grieve a father he didn’t know, not beyond the tears he’d already shed for him in company that shouldn’t have felt safe because nothing, nothing at all about Wei Ying was safe, not when his entire way of life found itself threatened in Wei Ying’s presence.

“Wangji,” his uncle said, tentative. His voice remained gruff as it always was, but there was concern for him carried within it, too much for Lan Wangji’s heart. Every tenderness, even hidden behind a stern expression, struck a blow. “The physician is expecting you.”

“There is no need,” he answered. “I am well.”

“The physician is expecting you,” he repeated, more severe, more in line with what Lan Wangji could accept. “You both need to be at your best. Xichen, there is much to discuss.” His gaze fell to Meng Yao, who stood nearby, conspicuous in robes that were not quite fine enough for Cloud Recesses. “Who is this?”

His brother stepped forward and bowed his head. His pain was much easier to see and so Lan Wangji couldn’t look, didn’t want to hear the way he struggled with the reminder of their loss. Still, he said, even, “My guest, Meng Yao. He protected and assisted me while I was… away.”

His uncle nodded, abrupt, as his brother gestured Meng Yao forward. “Very well. Arrangements will be made for him.”

Meng Yao bowed deeply. “Lan-xiansheng, that isn’t neces—”

His uncle was already turning away. “There is no time for your courteous refusals.”

And that was that. Lan Wangji exchanged a glance with his brother, nodded, breathed deeply as they stepped within Cloud Recesses’s borders yet again. It was not the Cloud Recesses he’d left, just like how he would never be the same again either. It could no longer be the home he’d always known.

It would be odd to feel nothing about returning, but the disappointment stirring within him caught him by surprise.

As was expected of him, he allowed himself to be examined by the physician, who told him nothing he didn’t already know and offered no useful solutions that Lan Wangji could see. He prescribed music and rest and meditation, offered his word that he would search the library for answers and mused that perhaps his golden core can be reformed. If anyone was capable of such a thing, it was Lan Wangji. That was the soft mistruth the physician told him.

Lan Wangji accepted his prescriptions and suggestions with a quiet resolution to discard them at the very first opportunity. There were no herbs, plants, flowers, or grains, no music or meditation technique in the world that could fix him. The only person who knew what was done to him precisely was Wen Zhuliu and even if he could be consulted—Lan Wangji tried to imagine his uncle or brother performing Inquiry for him—he would not offer a solution.

It was better to internalize the knowledge that he could not be saved from what was done to him.

Instead, he returned to the jingshi and surveyed the rooms that had made up his home for many years. Nothing was out of place as far as he could tell—the damage done by Wen Xu’s rampage apparently didn’t extend this far—but he searched the room anyway, acclimating himself anew to the way things were here.

It was only once he finished, exhausted as he lowered himself onto the edge of his bed, that he realized what it was that bothered him: the sandalwood incense smelled different here. The calming atmosphere tipped its own balance into cold austerity. The scent displeased him. Everything here displeased him.

He wondered what might happen if he purchased a more brightly colored quilt from a merchant in Caiyi, whether it would help, and he was immediately ashamed of the thought. How utterly vain and shallow it was. Why should the jingshi be changed when it had always been this way and had sufficed before? Why should he be allowed to alter it in any particular way when the rest of Cloud Recesses bore the scars of war?

As he considered these questions, he found he did not wish to be in the jingshi any longer. Shivering, already unused to the crispness of the air here, he took his heavy winter robes from the drawer out of which they shouldn’t have come for another few months. Taking only the outer layer and leaving the rest, he felt himself become a strange amalgam of Yunmeng and Gusu as he put it on. The white stood out starkly against the pale purple of the inner robes he’d brought with him from the Jiang Sect. His own were in tatters back in Lotus Pier. Perhaps even now they were being put to use as rags.

At least it was now late enough that few would be wandering the paths that led to the back mountain.

Without consciously trying, he found himself in the meadow where Wei Ying’s rabbits had staked their claim, never to be budged, not that Lan Wangji had tried very hard to make them leave. As a formality, he’d attempted to shoo them away when it became clear they did not want to go, so that it wouldn’t be a complete fabrication if Uncle were to ask him about them, but after that, he let them be.

The last time he’d seen them, there were only the two, but their presence must have encouraged others to come—or perhaps the attack by the Wen had sent them seeking shelter—and there were at least a dozen there now. Most weren’t bright white like the ones Wei Ying had brought him, but they were all precious, timid. They huddled in the grass and nearby underbrush and refused to come out.

He found the thickest patch of grass and sat, a calm presence amidst them, until Wei Ying’s rabbits approached some minutes later. They still weren’t entirely used to him, and after what had happened, perhaps they couldn’t even really recognize him; they darted toward and away from him, sniffed at the air, tilted their heads curiously in his direction. The more daring one, the one that reminded him of Wei Ying, nudged at his flank.

His fur was sleek and soft as Lan Wangji slipped his fingers across his back and behind his ears. He was allowed to touch him for so long that he began to shake with excitement, but when Lan Wangji stopped in order to give him a break, he hopped onto Lan Wangji’s leg and nudged at his hand, flopping over into his lap. Careful and slow, he ran one finger down his side, light, gentle, but that wasn’t enough. He kept kicking at Lan Wangji until his other hand cupped his head.

It only became a problem when the other got brave, too, nosing at Lan Wangji’s outstretched legs. He didn’t have enough hands for both of them and the one on Lan Wangji’s lap was not pleased to find Lan Wangji’s attention suddenly split between him and the other. His back feet kicked again, ineffective, at Lan Wangji’s hand when he strayed for even a moment.

More approached, but the first rabbit continued to make his displeasure known every time another vied for Lan Wangji’s touch.

It was painfully cute and Lan Wangji was reluctant to part with him especially when he could no longer justify remaining. When Lan Wangji picked him up, he squirmed unhappily in Lan Wangji’s secure grip, and when he was deposited on the grass, he tried to jump into Lan Wangji’s lap again.

His resolution to leave lasted until he crossed the meadow. It nearly crumbled when he found the rabbit following behind.

He knelt and held his hand out, intending to find its warren and return him to it. The rabbit hopped into his palm and nudged his way under the cloak, settling against the inside of his forearm.

He wouldn’t be able to leave him here now, not when he’d tried so hard to reach Lan Wangji.

“You must behave,” he told him firmly.

The rabbit’s nose twitched from under the thickly lined hem. When Lan Wangji lifted the sleeve of his robes, he scrabbled further inside, obedient and hidden, as though aware that naughtiness required discretion. If he passed anyone on the way back to the jingshi, even if they looked very closely at him, they wouldn’t notice anything amiss beyond the fact of his wearing his winter clothing out of season.

“You’ll have to remain in the meadow during the day,” he insisted, equally firm.

It shook beneath the fabric, a lump shivering in what he hoped was agreement, only calming once Lan Wangji petted him a few times. Convinced finally that he had this well in hand, he moved to stand…

…and found himself confronted with another a tiny white blur shooting toward him to bite at the hem of his robe. The one inside his sleeve poked its head back out and moved as though to jump, but then hesitated, like he couldn’t decide what he should do.

Lan Wangji knew what was right and he knew what the rabbit should do. There was no possible way he’d be able to hide two rabbits in the jingshi. One was already pushing it.

They could not come with him and he could not stay here.

And yet he would do for these rabbits what he could not do for himself: he chose to do what they wanted anyway.

Sighing heavily, he reached for this rabbit, too, scooping it into his hands. Securing them both, he returned, no one yet the wiser to his transgression. They were all too diligently following the rules set out by their sect.

Once back inside the jingshi, a place he no longer wanted to be, he finally could not stop himself from mourning everything that he’d lost. Without Lotus Pier, without Wei Ying to guide him through the morass of his thoughts, he could not find his own way out. He’d staved it off too long.

He did not know the shape of this grief, nor how deep it ran, and did not anticipate he would ever truly know. It wasn’t the ancient pain of his childhood, so well-worn now that its blunted edges were more comfort than agony. If not for the pair of rabbits rolling around one another on his lap as he sat on his bed, sightlessly staring at the floor, he might have lost his grip on his anguish entirely and then drowned inside of it.

He’d told the first lie of his life to Wei Ying without even knowing it.

He was not well.

And he did not believe he would be fine.

Wei Wuxian crept toward the cluster of tents, lined up in orderly fashion in the small clearing before him. Crouching low in the underbrush, he wouldn’t be noticed until it was too late—or so he hoped. This action hinged on the intelligence he’d received from Nie Huaisang promising ideal circumstances and a certainty that he would finally find what he was looking for. Skirmishes were so frequent these days that Sect Leader Nie couldn’t properly lead his sect without getting called away and so he simply didn’t a lot of the time. While he chose to fight, he gave over some of the day-to-day responsibilities of running the sect to Nie Huaisang. Somehow that had resulted in a loose network of informants who ran letters to Wei Wuxian, who sometimes forwarded the information on to relevant parties without any reference to Nie Huaisang—his brother would not have been pleased was all Nie Huaisang would say on the matter—or sometimes used them to his own advantage. Like now.

Of all the sects, the Nie Sect was still the one that had the most experience with the Wen. Maybe that was why Nie Huaisang was so good at what he was doing. Maybe Wei Wuxian didn’t really want to know.

If someone were to have asked even a month ago if he’d one day rely on Nie Huaisang’s cunning to decide a course of martial action, he would have laughed in their face. And yet here he was. Standing on contested territory no less, territory that had been turned over between Yunmeng and Qishan so often that Wei Wuxian wasn’t certain who technically controlled it. Not that it mattered to the Wen. They went where they wished and proclaimed it theirs. It was unfortunate that they were often capable of backing up that greed with blood and iron.

Too bad Nie Huaisang wouldn’t send any Nie Sect disciples along with those letters. It would make this so much easier if he had a few of them and their sabers. Instead, he had a stack of talismans and enough hope to see him through.

He wasn’t too late. This wouldn’t end badly.

He could take on an entire Wen encampment all on his own. It wouldn’t even be the fifth time.

He just needed to be patient and careful. It wasn’t even a large encampment and, for once, they were trying to remain inconspicuous. They’d even switched into nondescript robes. Anyone stumbling upon them might think they’re mere travelers except for the sour expressions that crossed every mouth he saw.

As quickly and quietly as he could, he climbed one of the sturdier trees. These Wen disciples were arrogant and lazy. None of them were patrolling, though a few seated around a stump they’d found somewhere and moved into the clearing. Laughing, they tossed back cups of wine. The information from Nie Huaisang didn’t say which Wen Sect heir he was dealing with, but Wei Wuxian was surprised that he’d let this happen in one of his own camps.

This was the sixth camp he will have infiltrated in the last month, having heard that Wen Ruohan was no longer keeping hostages in Nightless City. The five from before offered nothing of use except for the opportunity to gather a few scrapes and bruises.

Once he’d made the decision to do this, he’d had to hit them quick and clean so they wouldn’t be able to alert Wen Ruohan before Wei Wuxian found what he was looking for:

Jiang Cheng. Or maybe Uncle Jiang. If he was very, very lucky it would be both of them he found here today.

Because after Jiang Cheng went off to make his deal with Wen Ruohan, there’d been no further word from him or anyone regarding what happened. There’d been no public executions, not even a suggestion of such. Nothing. Nobody could figure out why Wen Ruohan was exercising restraint, but everyone knew nothing good could come of this silence. By now, a whole month after leaving Yunmeng, there should have been some word one way or the other. He’d thought, until Nie Huaisang started whispering in his ear, that they’d been taken prisoner and were being held until they could be used against Yunmeng more efficiently later. Now, he wasn’t sure.

Where are you, Jiang Cheng, he thought.

Patience had never been his strong suit. The fact that he’d had to exercise so much of it over the last few weeks didn’t make him any better at dealing with it. Even occupying himself with strategizing only got him so far.

What strategy was needed when it came to the Wen? They were vicious, but otherwise useless. Wei Wuxian had no problem dealing with them even on his own, even with his elbow still twinging a little whenever he used it wrong.

The handful of Wen drinking stood up, separated, strolling in a way that said they were doing the bare minimum to patrol the camp. He noted their patterns and remained hidden, letting them go through another round of it before he made his move.

It was simple enough to deal with them one by one, thin them out slowly. It required little more than shimmying back down the tree and waiting.

He wondered what Lan Zhan would think if he saw him now, so quiet and willing to wait for the right moment instead of jumping into the fray directly. Would he be proud? Or would he wonder at the trail of bodies Wei Wuxian was leaving behind every step along the way?

One of the Wens tripped over his boots nearby, cursing under his breath as he caught his feet, but too late, Wei Wuxian was already flinging a talisman at his exposed back. It sent him stumbling and because luck was on Wei Wuxian’s side, he listed in Wei Wuxian’s direction. Wei Wuxian barely had to leave cover to yank him into the wooded area around the clearing. Paralyzed by the talisman, the man couldn’t even speak unless Wei Wuxian allowed it.

He could not breathe either, not unless Wei Wuxian allowed that.

He did not.

Shoving the man against a tree, he bit his fingertip and drew another talisman, adjusted just enough to allow the man to move his head and breathe. His chest remained severely constricted. He might manage a whisper if he tried.

Though he couldn’t move, Wei Wuxian saw the fear in his eyes. Wei Wuxian remained crouched before him a few more seconds before giving him the out he so desperately wanted.

“I’ll let you live,” he said, waving a piece of blank talisman paper in the man’s face, “if you answer my questions. Fair, right?”

The man’s eyes said everything. There was no loyalty in the Wen Sect here. That would, Wei Wuxian hoped, be their downfall one day. He would tell Wei Wuxian everything, but there was only one thing Wei Wuxian really wanted to know.

He slapped the talisman to the startled man’s forehead and snapped his fingers, burning the other away. The man gasped, drew as much air in as he could. It would not be enough to allow him to speak or shout or otherwise alert anyone, but he wouldn’t die.

He might be a little dizzy though. The hazards of getting caught, Wei Wuxian supposed. None of this was really necessary beyond the flash of it all, meant to keep his soon-to-be informant off-footed. Just tricks. But they were scarier, he’d found, than doing what was expected of him.

“Is Jiang Wanyin somewhere in the camp?” A branch snapped nearby and the Wen disciple was getting it in his head to do something stupid. That was obvious in his eyes, too. Wei Wuxian clamped his hand over his mouth and pinched his nose, leaned in close. Intimate, he whispered, “I thought you wanted to live. Don’t make any stupid decisions here. I thought we understood one another. I’ll ask one more time. Is Jiang Wanyin here?”

He let go of the man’s nose, but kept his hand over the man’s mouth.

The air was heavy with the sound of his inhalations and exhalations.

And finally—

A nod, small.

Wei Wuxian almost collapsed in relief. “And Jiang-zongzhu?”

A slow shake of his head this time. Wei Wuxian should have been more disappointed, but he couldn’t help that his spirits were lifted by the news that at least Jiang Cheng was here and could still be saved.

“Thank you,” he said. “I mean that sincerely.”

And then, before the man could fully parse what was happening, he stood, whipped his sword free, and drew it across the man’s throat. It was so quick that he didn’t have time to react. Wei Wuxian told himself it was a mercy compared to what could happen to him. Guilt at his duplicity unfurled within him, guilt and anger, because what did he have to feel guilty about? The Wen started this. They’d made it so Wei Wuxian would have to end it. He quashed the guilt, gave himself over to the anger instead. It was easier.

Impatient, he returned to his watch. Nobody had yet noticed this man’s absence, but it was only a matter of time. He had to act now.

Drawing a few more of these paralyzing talismans, he waited as long as he could bear to. Now that he knew the stakes, it was simple to see what was going on. The tent these men had all been seated before was the largest. Wei Wuxian had thought it belonged to the commander, possibly Wen Xu or Wen Chao, possibly someone else, but it made an equal amount of sense that it would be where any prisoners were being kept.

He did wonder at the lack of security. It was almost too easy to incapacitate a few more before he had to commit to a distraction that would draw all of them out for him to deal with. These, he handled quickly, disposing of them in the underbrush.

Freeing another talisman from his robes, he flung it at the nearest tent. Only when he’d reached the other side of the clearing did he activate it. Flames burst from the paper, catching on the fabric of the tent. It went up quickly, drawing a fair number of Wen disciples from within. They all shouted and tried to put it out. More and more Wen poured from within other tents as Wei Wuxian sprinted in the shadows of the trees surrounding the clearing. He did the same to a second and third tent over here, as well as a pile of supplies. When Wei Wuxian was certain that enough were preoccupied with all these fires springing up, he took the risk he’d come here to take. Approaching the tent he was sure contained Jiang Cheng, he drew his sword, dragged it down the fabric, parting it like so much flesh, easy and quick. The ripping sound was obscured by the shouting, but the three occupants inside seemed… calm.

A small woman dressed in fine Wen Sect robes was standing by the tent, flap open as she surveyed the chaos outside. Another Wen Sect disciple stood behind her, hovering at her shoulder.

More importantly was the sight of the back of Jiang Cheng’s head, leaned against a large piece of wood, maybe half as wide around as he was that had been shoved into the ground. He’d been tied to it with rope. Visible from above his robes were three needles shoved into his neck. A cloth was wrapped around his mouth and the back of his head.

That explained why he was still and silent. Quickly, while the pair were still occupied, he turned Jiang Cheng’s head and raised one finger to his own lip before plucking the needles from his neck. Though Jiang Cheng didn’t make any noise, he fought his bonds as soon as the needles fell away.

Wei Wuxian cut through them and reached for Jiang Cheng’s arm, hoping to get him safely into the woods before either of these two Wen Sect disciples turn to look.

It wasn’t to be, of course, because Jiang Cheng was launching himself at them.

“Jiang Cheng!” he shouted in surprise. Both Wen Sect disciples turned. He recognized one of them. “Wen Ning?!”

“Wei-gongzi!”

Wei Wuxian lunged for Jiang Cheng, catching him around the waist at the last moment. At the same time, the woman who was with Wen Ning pushed him behind her. If looks could kill, hers would have annihilated Jiang Cheng on the spot. She drew her sword before Wei Wuxian could draw his and held them both at its point.

“This is the thanks we get, Jiang-gongzi?” she asked, sharp. Her eyes narrowed as they settled on Wei Wuxian. “And you must be Wei Wuxian?”

“We mean no harm,” Wei Wuxian said, dragging Jiang Cheng backward, even though he’d already done a lot of harm today.

“My camp is burning,” she snapped. “You’ll forgive me if I disagree.”

“They’re…” Wei Wuxian scrambled to find the right words and failed. “Wen Ning…”

“Jie, they aren’t…”

Ah, she was Wen Qing. Though he didn’t relax, Wei Wuxian allowed hope to bloom within him.

“I know what they are and what they aren’t.” She put her sword away. “You took your time, Wei Wuxian,” she said, imperious. “It’s bad enough that you’ve made such a fool of his sons that Wen-zongzhu sent me out instead, but I was beginning to think I would have to sack Yunmeng before you’d see fit to retrieve Jiang-gongzi.”

“My apologies for the delay,” Wei Wuxian said. “You haven’t made it easy to find you.”

Jiang Cheng struggled against him. Wei Wuxian should have waited to untie him. “Wei Wuxian. She’s—”

“Your savior by the looks of it,” Wei Wuxian hissed. He didn’t understand what this was, but as long as it got Jiang Cheng out of the Wens’ grasp, he’d take it and deal with the consequences later. “Shut up.”

“Leave,” she said, “and consider us even. I don’t ever want to see either of you again. I’ve done what I’ve could for you.” She looked at Wen Ning, expression softening slightly. “You will not ask me to interfere again, do you understand?”

Wen Ning nodded. “Yes, jie.”

“Once you leave this tent, you are on your own. You won’t have much time to escape before I send my people after you. It was hard enough convincing them to relax their duty rotations.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed, flashing deadly anger. When he opened his mouth, Wei Wuxian slapped his hand over it and considered using one of the paralyzing talismans on him. “Don’t you dare,” he said to Jiang Cheng. To Wen Qing: “We’ll be going.”

Wen Qing nodded and turned away, flicking aside the tent’s flap. She shouted orders and stomped out to take command of the situation. Wen Ning bowed shallowly a few times. “I’m glad you’re both safe,” he said. “I’m sorry it’s…”

There was no time for platitudes, but Wei Wuxian gave them anyway, heart full, and then guilt sunk him again. “Were these people all…?”

“Were they what?”

“Wen-guniang said these were her people.”

“Her troops,” Wen Ning said. “Not our family. Wen-zongzhu assigned them to her.”

Wei Wuxian relaxed fractionally. This was war; he could not feel for an enemy that wished to hunt him down and slaughter his own, but he could feel bad for Wen Ning getting caught up in the machinery of this conflict. Wen Qing, too, seemed good. Probably just by the odds, he had to assume there were good Wen out there. He couldn’t afford to think like that.

Wei Wuxian let go of Jiang Cheng once he was sure he’d settled down enough.

To Wen Ning, he offered the deepest, most respectful bow he could. “Thank you, Wen Ning,” he said. “I won’t forget what you and your sister have done for us.”

“Wei Wu—”

“Shut up, Jiang Cheng.” He bowed again. Tears prickled in his eyes, but by the time he rose, they were hidden away. “If you ever need me for anything, I’m yours. The same goes for Wen-guniang.”

Jiang Cheng’s face reddened. “They let—”

Wei Wuxian said, sharp, “I don’t care.”

Wen Ning’s eyes flashed. “My sister could save you because Wen-zongzhu wanted you to see your home destroyed. She could not free your father from the Fire Palace, too,” he said to Jiang Cheng, more cold than Wei Wuxian had heard him be. His tone softened. “I suggest you go, Jiang-gongzi, and be safe.”

Wei Wuxian grabbed him by the collar and dragged him forcibly from the tent.

They were gone long before Wen Qing put the fires out.

He brought Jiang Cheng home, stayed long enough for Jiang Cheng to give a full account of what happened, and was sent immediately back out to the field, dispatched by Madam Yu herself. Jiang Cheng, she sent in the opposite direction to command another division of Jiang Sect cultivators further from Qishan.

There was no talk of attempting to liberate Uncle Jiang from Nightless City. The Fire Palace could not be breached.

Even Wei Wuxian couldn’t argue in its favor. Their best hope of saving him was winning. Fast.

Wei Wuxian never felt further from those he cared about than when he was running border patrols, an increasingly common occurrence now that breaks between battles could be measured in days rather than weeks. It wasn’t—he insisted to himself frequently—that it was because he was just that much further from Gusu while on said patrols, no, because the difference between one kilometer and a hundred and a thousand wasn’t much except in the back of Wei Wuxian’s mind. In the many months he’d been doing this, he’d learned that the mind was where the worst battles were fought. Especially late at night or after a particularly bad skirmish—those days when the sounds of pain drifted from the medical tent to every corner of his camp, no matter how far from it he wandered, a reminder that he’d failed as a commander—his brain was the worst battlefield imaginable.

At first, the bad days were rare; these days, they outnumbered the good days, the days where victory spread through the camp like joyous wildfire.

Tonight was another one of those increasingly common bad nights. This time, there wasn’t even a reason for it. They’d fought no skirmishes today, nobody had died. The medical tents were quiet.

Even so, Wei Wuxian couldn’t sleep. His mind refused to slow enough for rest. If only he could think. There had to be a way to win. If he was clever enough, he’d find the key. That was what stopped him from resting. If he was smarter, he could have saved everyone. If he was stronger, he wouldn’t be going home in the morning with nothing to show for it.

It was unfathomable that Wen Ruohan should have so many forces at his disposal and that he threw them with gleeful abandon at Wei Wuxian’s best and brightest. It felt as though he kept an endless supply of bodies hidden away at Nightless City, ready to be deployed. Some of his soldiers whispered about it in the dark, spoke of dark magic like it was the culprit and not just that Wen Ruohan was willing to subjugate every minor clan in Qishan’s vicinity, sucking them dry while the rest of the cultivation world continued to behave as honorably as possible.

Most of it anyway.

Lanling was still waiting on the sidelines, offering the bare minimum that could be expected in aid and only then when it couldn’t be traced back to his people.

No doubt Jin Guangshan believed he was righteous to hold back, would become the hero who sweeps in at the end when everyone else had spent themselves already, reinvigorating a rundown campaign while proving his sect the savior of the cultivation world. With the way Wen Ruohan was able to fight and keep fighting, Wei Wuxian wasn’t so sure Jin Guangshan’s plan would work. He wasn’t even sure it was a plan so much as greed and cowardice, but he didn’t dare speak this truth into the world.

If nothing changed, there would be little left but dust on the battlefield and Wen Ruohan would rule a kingdom built of nothing. He and Jin Guangshan can fight over a ruin. It was what they deserved.

So maybe his thoughts were particularly bad tonight.

Kicking at the grass outside his tent, battered by the feet of dozens of soldiers and aides, he thought, one more day.

One more day until his replacement came and gave him the briefest of reprieves, a chance to go back to Lotus Pier for a few days to rest and brief Madam Yu personally before returning to Jiangling. If such a thing could be called a reprieve. A full accounting of his various successes and failures was never particularly restful. They all boiled down to the same thing anyway: people died.

He sometimes thought about sending a message to Lan Zhan when his moods darkened so deeply and he had nothing with which to fill the hours until morning, but it seemed like such a foolish use of his time and scant resources. His shidi and shimei, even some of the elders who could still fight, were out here dying to protect their sect. How could he consider only himself in those circumstances? The cost of procuring a courier might give someone a better meal for the night, just enough of a morale boost to keep them going, or could cover the cost of repairs to a broken weapon.

He couldn’t do it when he thought about it in those terms. And every time he returned to Lotus Pier, he was too busy to sit down long enough to write anyway, and then he would have had to consider whether it was worth letting anyone put themselves at risk for the journey. So far, Gusu and Lanling remained peaceful; most of the fighting occurred between the twin shields of Yunmeng and Qinghe, but who knew who or what might slip through the cracks? Even Wen Ning had managed it once upon a time.

It was too selfish for all that it was the only thing Wei Wuxian wanted. Well, one of the two things. The other was actually seeing Lan Zhan in person and that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon.

He tried not to dwell on this, focusing instead on each step he took through the camp, each path as familiar to him now as the walkways and bridges of Lotus Pier.

His leg began to ache during his quiet wanderings, a reminder of the injury he’d taken to the thigh all those many months ago now. By it, he determined he’d wandered too long. He returned to his tent, limping by the time he arrived.

It wasn’t so very cold out, so he didn’t bother reigniting the coals within the brazier set in the middle of the cramped space. He didn’t strip down or regret that Jiang Cheng wasn’t here to fight with him, side by side, as the twin prides of Yunmeng were meant to. He didn’t ache to sneak into shijie’s room when she was hiding from Madam Yu and one of the now numerous rounds of arguments about sending her to Meishan again.

When he lowered himself onto his little cot, though he closed his eyes, he couldn’t sleep and instead counted the bruises and cuts and constant aches he’d accumulated so far, the skin beginning to scar. The pain in his heart didn’t ease no matter how much he rubbed his chest and muttered to himself that he was imagining the worst of it.

The freshly risen sun was only just starting to warm his tent when he finally gave up his aspiration to rest. As always, he grumbled as he rolled off his cot onto his feet, stretching tense muscles as his joints popped. He smiled a bit to himself, bitter. To think it only took a war for Wei Wuxian to have adopted the Lan Sect’s most infamous lifestyle choice. Even so, Lan Zhan probably wouldn’t have been terribly impressed, since no matter that he woke at the correct time, he still didn’t get to bed until well after the Lans’ prescribed curfew or, like last night, never slept at all.

Just inside his tent’s opening was a tray. The clay cup on it was still warm and filled with tea. One of the aides must have brought it, too quiet to be noticed. He downed it quickly and dressed, exiting his tent. Mist rolled across the clearing, soon to be burnt off by the sun, and dew clung to the grass and splashed across his boots as he walked across the grounds. He didn’t bother eating.

When he arrived at his destination, the most experienced of his people were already gathered, making final preparations for the day. As soon as Wei Wuxian entered, they bowed to him. Murmured greetings rose around him before it grew quiet again. Time for Wei Wuxian to step in as their commander. Oh, how he hated this part. He’d spent his youth learning how to be the right hand to a commander. This role suited him ill.

“Don’t stop on my account, please. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

“We only just arrived ourselves,” Cao Lin, the closest thing he had to a right hand, said. Hailing from one of the minor sects, he was courteous and kind and sharp as a knife when required. “There was little minutiae to handle today. We can go over everything if that’s your wish. It’s patrol schedules mostly. I would have asked Liu Min to wake you sooner if it was necessary, but we thought we could make it easier for you while you were gone by doing all of this before your relief arrives.”

Holding back a laugh and feeling so much affection for these people, he asked, “Ah, am I already so pitiful in your eyes?”

Cao Lin showed no sign of fear at Wei Wuxian’s words, apparently saw no reason to assuage Wei Wuxian’s pride. He already knew all of Wei Wuxian’s tricks and teases. His eyes merely glinted mercilessly in response. Perhaps the way Wei Wuxian did things here wouldn’t be approved of back home, but he preferred it this way. He wanted his people as comfortable and happy as they could possibly be while maintaining the discipline he required. Early on, a few had balked at his style of leadership, but nobody could complain about the results, not when he threw himself into the same frays they risked themselves in day after day, not when many of them survived because of Wei Wuxian’s control of the battlefield, his skills, his unique approach.

“Your skin does appear as fragile as porcelain, Wei-gongzi, and you’ve lost weight, like you could float away as a wisp at any moment.”

“Ah, ah, ah. This disrespect. I’ll have you know my robes barely fit anymore—”

“—because you hardly eat—”

Wei Wuxian struck Cao Lin on the arm, light, exactly like he might have done with Jiang Cheng if he were here. “—because the muscles in my arms are bulging from all the practice I’ve gotten fighting Wen forces.” He struck a pose to the amusement of all. “Soon I’ll be writing missives upside down like they do in Gusu because my physique is so excellent.”

A laugh went up around the room. Soon after, they finished their work, efficient and ebullient. Wei Wuxian spent the meeting harboring keen pleasure at having improved the mood so much, listening to these people discuss logistics like they were born to it. They hardly needed him at all. Once they were done, he himself arranged for tea and sat with them for a few moments as he reviewed and approved their various plans for the day, rotations, training schedules, ration distribution.

Everything was in order. Even Madam Yu couldn’t fault him for the organization of his camp. Now all he had to do was wait for the handoff.

A short time later, his relief arrived.

In case of capture, nobody on the front was alerted, so it was with some degree of surprise that a stiff-backed young woman from Qinghe and a much taller individual from the Lan Sect—

Lan Sect.

Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet. Everyone quit laughing around him and did the same, scrambling to their feet, as serious as he’d ever seen them.

Lan Zhan!?

And then the image resolved and he found himself staring at Lan Xichen, only a degree more probable than Lan Zhan. Still, Wei Wuxian’s stomach churned. He’d forgotten how alike they looked. It really was only in the eyes that any difference could be noted. The hair, too, a bit. He bowed, heart in his throat, stomach seizing. He’d missed Lan Zhan so painfully in that moment when he recognized Lan Xichen instead. “Zewu-jun! We weren’t—” But of course they weren’t expecting him. He was a sect leader. He should have been back at Cloud Recesses. “Welcome, welcome. Would you like tea? Have you eaten?”

Lan Xichen smiled benevolently and gestured for them all to sit back down.

“It’s good to see everyone in such high spirits.” His gaze sharpened on Wei Wuxian, considering. “It’s the sign of an excellent leader and an excellent group of disciples.”

“Uh… thank you, of course! Are you…” Lan Xichen wouldn’t be sent as his relief, would he? Even though his people were good—the best, in his opinion—leaving Lan Xichen here to deal with whatever the Wen decided to throw their way was too risky.

He didn’t want Lan Zhan to lose even more in this fight. It would be awful to leave, knowing he wouldn’t be here to shield Lan Xichen from harm. Lan Zhan would be devastated if he lost his brother to this fight.

“I am,” Lan Xichen answered, still smiling. “Is that so odd?”

“No, it’s just…”

As much as Wei Wuxian might have wanted to, he could not be everywhere or do everything. Lan Xichen was the most accomplished cultivator of this generation. He could take care of himself. Someone made the decision to allow him to serve on the front lines. He had to trust that they knew what they were talking about.

And Madam Yu required an up-to-date report on what was happening here even though it could be boiled down to: not a whole lot and we’re not losing ground… yet.

In his heart, Wei Wuxian wanted to stretch himself across this whole war and end it in a single stroke. It was an impossible, compelling dream, but it was just a dream. He’d learned, in these last few months, that some things were truly impossible and that attempting them anyway was folly. A war with the Wen Sect was beyond Wei Wuxian’s ability to control.

“Would you—” He’d planned on handing over the duties of familiarizing their relief with the camp to Cao Lin, but it being Lan Xichen changed the complexion of it a bit. He had questions and he didn’t want to ask them here. Killing two birds with one stone was ideal. “Shall I show you around?”

“That would be welcome.” Turning his attention to Wei Wuxian’s lieutenants, he inclined his head. “It’s my honor to assist here in every way I possibly can. I will do my best to ensure the work you’ve done doesn’t go to waste.”

His lieutenants bowed, assuring Lan Xichen that his presence was welcome and appreciated. They had no doubts about his capabilities, none at all.

Wei Wuxian led him back out onto the field and tried very, very hard to relay the important information first, but it wasn’t long until his curiosity got the better of him and he couldn’t help but open his mouth. “Zewu-jun, my apologies. I have to ask. How is—” Heavens, he couldn’t even say Lan Zhan’s name without threatening to choke up.

Lan Xichen was enigmatic at the best of times, but right now he was utterly inscrutable, for all that it seemed very much as though he knew exactly what Wei Wuxian was talking about. He proved it not a moment later. “Wangji is well.”

Wei Wuxian’s body all but went boneless as he blew out a breath of relief. He didn’t believe well described it, but Lan Xichen would appear more troubled if something was very wrong. “I’ve wanted to write to him, but…”

“I understand. If you would like, I could relay a message to him for you when I return to Cloud Recesses. I’m sure he’d be overjoyed to receive word from you.”

“Overjoyed?” He laughed, delighted, at the thought of Lan Zhan being overjoyed about anything. “I think you overestimate his feelings about our relationship to one another. I’m sure he’ll find me a nuisance as always.”

“Or perhaps you underestimate them.”

That was a nice thought, the sort of thought that could get him through a cold, lonely night, but it was also the sort of thought Wei Wuxian couldn’t allow himself to look at too closely for fear of what he might find within himself as a result.

“What does overjoyed even look like on Lan Zhan? I want to see it. Paint a picture for me, Zewu-jun. You’re an accomplished artist after all.”

Lan Xichen’s brow furrowed. His mouth parted slightly and one corner of it pulled up. A smile, one that offered the barest trace of amusement.

Then it dissolved into one of Lan Xichen’s more robust smiles. Wei Wuxian was certain that his heart would be squeezed into dust from the weight of the affection that threatened to consume him. It was a gift Lan Xichen was giving to him, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure if he even realized it. He’d seen it before, he thought, but he couldn’t quite place when or why. “Do it again?”

Lan Xichen obliged as Wei Wuxian fought his own recollections. Then he remembered: the soup. That was when he’d seen that expression. Bouncing around and pointing at Lan Xichen, he walked backward. “Zewu-jun, I do believe you’re teasing me.”

Raising his hands, Lan Xichen portrayed himself as the perfect picture of innocence. “I swear I’m not.”

Overjoyed. That was really what Lan Zhan looked like when he experienced such a strong emotion?

Oh, Lan Zhan. What was Wei Wuxian to do with him? He was too adorable. There was no way he could leave without writing to Lan Zhan now, not when Lan Xichen made such an irresistible offer. He couldn’t bear another second of his life without telling Lan Zhan how much he liked him and missed him and wanted to see him again.

He was Wei Wuxian’s best friend, the one he felt closest to in the world besides shijie and Jiang Cheng.

Too excited to think of anything else, Wei Wuxian said, “Zewu-jun, I hope you’ll forgive me if I turn the rest of the handoff over to Cao Lin. I have something I need to do.”

Mouth twitching, Lan Xichen said, “Of course. I’ll accompany you back.” He paused, considering. “It’s… nice to be reminded that not everything in the world is a horror, isn’t it?” Though things were peaceful in Gusu now, they’d paid dearly for that calm. Wei Wuxian wondered at the difficulties they still faced.

“You have no idea.” Then, thinking it through: “No, I’m sure you do. Thank you, Zewu-jun.”

He rushed back to his tent, grateful to find that Liu Min had already packed all of his things.

By the time he was ready to go, maybe an hour past his proposed departure time thanks to the mad dash he made for paper, brush, and ink, he had a letter prepared and handed it off to Lan Xichen, who took it with far more reverence than it probably deserved. It was thinner than the number of words Wei Wuxian truly wanted to give to Lan Zhan, but he feared saying too much and somehow compromising himself with his thoughtlessness. He trusted Lan Xichen to keep it safe, of course, but he needed to be careful, if not for himself then for everyone else.

“I wish I could have told Wangji where I was going or that you’d be here when I arrived. I’m sure he would have liked to send word to you as well.”

Wei Wuxian fought the flush of pleasure that threatened to steal over his features. It was too much to believe, but Wei Wuxian wanted to. “This is more than I expected. Thank you, Zewu-jun.”

Lan Xichen searched his face. For what, Wei Wuxian couldn’t say. “You’ve changed since your time in the Cloud Recesses, I think.”

Aha. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard such a thing, but it was the first time he felt the urge to preen. He thought back to his behavior at Cloud Recesses sometimes and felt shame for it. There’d been no reason for him to be that mischievous, that cruel. He’d always been too joyously carefree, couldn’t help the urges that stole over him to make light of everything, but Cloud Recesses truly brought out the worst in him and Lan Zhan had suffered for it.

Regardless, he hoped, when he and Lan Zhan met again, that Lan Zhan would recognize what he saw. Sometimes, Wei Wuxian didn’t and it scared him.

“For the better, I’ve been told. Even Yu-furen is scolding me less often than she used to! Though that might just be due to the fact that I’m not back at Lotus Pier very often anymore.”

Shaking his head, Lan Xichen withheld a smile. It was hard not to see the shine of one in his eyes though.

“What I saw you do for your people when I came in was remarkable compared to what I’ve seen elsewhere. There is good to be found in being remaining cheerful even with what we’re facing. Maybe don’t change too much, hmm?”

Wei Wuxian was absolutely not going to choke up, but Lan Xichen’s earnest praise was enough to do a number on Wei Wuxian’s heart. His spirit was lifted by Lan Xichen’s words. His bearing, his warm, unflappably calm presence, promised a good end to this fight. He really lived up to his title.

If he was this kind to Wei Wuxian’s people, it would be for the good.

“Be safe out here, Zewu-jun.”

“You as well.”

Wei Wuxian was stepping away when Lan Xichen spoke again.

“You would be welcomed back to Cloud Recesses anytime, Wei-gongzi.”

“I’m sure your uncle would take issue with that.”

“He is not the sect leader.” He reached into his sleeve, retrieving a coveted jade token from within. “I am.”

Taking the token with careful hands, Wei Wuxian looked down at it with wonder. Its pale, cool surface was lovely and a remarkable contrast against his sun-darkened, fight-roughened hands. “Aiya, you really carried this around? What if you’d been captured?”

“You yourself proved that the tokens are meaningless as far as security measures go.”

“Still…”

“Accept the gesture.” He gave another one of his mysterious little smiles. “And perhaps don’t get captured by Wen soldiers. We can at least make it that little bit more difficult for them to infiltrate Cloud Recesses again.”

Momentarily shocked by Lan Xichen’s words, he then started laughing. “Zewu-jun! Was that… whoever heard such dark humor from a Lan before? Does anyone else know about this or am I just lucky?”

Lan Xichen looked at him, expectant, and somewhat as though he was tempted to say something else. Instead, he resurrected the stoically warm, somber bearing one might have expected from the sect leader of Gusu Lan. This was the Zewu-jun others knew. It was a privilege to see behind the façade.

“I will do my best to ensure nobody infiltrates the Cloud Recesses.” Flicking the jade token in the air, he then carefully placed it in the pouch on his belt. “Except for me now. Where was this when I was sneaking around buying Emperor’s Smile, huh?”

“I think half the joy for you was winding Wangji up. For that, the token would only burden you.”

“It’s generous that you think the percentage is so low.” As much as he might have enjoyed continuing to speak with Lan Xichen, the only connection to Lan Zhan he had left when he was so far from home and Gusu both, the day was already burning away. It wouldn’t do to waste even more time. And yet, he did. Just a little bit. For a good cause. An idea took root in his mind. Perhaps it was merely a result of nostalgia, but it grabbed hold of him. “If you happen to stop at Lotus Pier before returning to Cloud Recesses, could I trouble you to find my shijie?”

“Has she returned from Meishan?”

Wei Wuxian nodded. Though she’d remained there for some time in the immediate aftermath of the Wens’ attempted attack on Lotus Pier, eventually she’d balked at remaining longer. Nobody could stop her from returning home. “I’d like her to give you something to take to Lan Zhan,” he explained, “but I’m afraid I’ll forget to tell you when I come back.”

“I’m sure Wangji will be grateful.”

As nice as it was to discuss something that wasn’t the war, duty called, and he couldn’t remain any longer, but this reprieve, short as it had been, was welcome. He could never repay that sort of kindness, but he’d do his best. He felt a little better equipped to face what was to come in any case.

“Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen said, “there is one last thing. I don’t believe you’ll be coming back here. Yu-furen will discuss it with you further once you return, but there’s been a request for you to take over command at the Hejian front. I see nothing here that suggests to me the transfer shouldn’t occur. Be prepared.”

Hejian front. That meant Nie territory. That meant being even further from everyone he cared about. “Who will replace me?”

As much as he wanted to say no, he couldn’t.

“The decision has been left at my discretion. I’m to decide within the next few days.”

“Yu-furen will want it to be someone from the Jiang Sect, but I would suggest Cao Lin.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was so much that Wei Wuxian still had to say. Instead, he bowed one last time to Lan Xichen, hoping the action hid the way his shoulders slumped. “Thank you for the warning.”

One of the juniors stood before Lan Wangji as he waited for Lan Wangji to finish writing. The twitchy energy he carried, visible in Lan Wangji’s peripheral vision, grated horribly. The one time he looked up at the youth to ask him to wait a moment, he’d seen trepidation in his eyes, and so didn’t look up again. If he took more time to complete each character, that was his business alone. It was important to be diligent in one’s work. Pettiness could not be abided by and would have earned him a punishment if anyone knew his thoughts, but that fact did not stop him. He would meditate on this behavior.

It wasn’t this youth’s fault, he knew. Many who approached him were terrified of doing so for one reason or another. He’d thought himself used to it by now, but apparently even he had limits and each of them had been reached today. Having a student wring his hands in Lan Wangji’s line of sight now only irritated him further. The desire to send him for discipline was strong, but Lan Wangji repressed it. The punishment did not fit.

“What is it?” he asked, sharp. The brush’s wooden length clicked against the inkstone as he set it down.

The youth startled and bowed quickly, his hold on his sword tightening. Despite everything, it made him long to carry Bichen again, even knowing how deeply it would drain him, how piteous the looks would be that he’d receive for doing so. It had been his constant companion for so long and he still really couldn’t believe it was gone. The Wens were so vindictive that they’d probably locked it and every other sword they’d confiscated during indoctrination in a vault to be forgotten about. Even if they hadn’t, how would he get his back? There was no reason for him to want something he could no longer have.

The youth, drawing him back from his thoughts, asked, “Lan-laoshi, I was hoping you might clarify something for me?”

Lan Wangji’s jaw clenched so hard that he was afraid he might crack a tooth, but the youth stood his ground even as Lan Wangji glowered and rose to his feet. His height, far superior to the boy’s, didn’t successfully intimate him further. He merely waited, eyes filled with fear and embarrassment, and still fidgeting ever so slightly.

As though purposefully timed, his uncle appeared in the entryway, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. This did nothing to improve Lan Wangji’s mood, but it did offer him an out that he wasn’t above taking.

“Submit your question in writing. I’ll address it at the next lesson.” He did not try to soften his words.

Annoyance replaced the youth’s trepidation as he scowled, but he didn’t argue. He bowed as was expected of him and hurried out the door, barely slowing to greet Lan Wangji’s uncle, just shy of insubordinate. Though he could have berated and educated the youth, he did not. Instead, he reserved his displeasure for Lan Wangji. The youth’s behavior reflected on Lan Wangji, proved that he was ill-suited to this role he’d been given. Resuming his old role would have been preferable, except that it was not safe for him to patrol any longer and he could not in good conscience mete out punishments when he could no longer accept them.

“Shufu, what can I do for you?”

Lan Qiren’s disapproval cast a wide net, capturing the entire room within it. Though Lan Wangji had said nothing incorrect, his address as refined as it ought to be, it was less diffident than his uncle was used to. Today, Lan Wangji was too weary to care. He exhausted himself too easily, chilled too quickly in the fresh mountain air, slept deeply, but never well. It endlessly frayed his temper, this weakness, and made for a constant struggle to keep it from splitting entirely.

“You’ve missed evening meals twice this week, Wangji. It’s disturbing the juniors who have attempted to bring your share to you.”

That was too bad because Lan Wangji intended to avoid it again tonight and even Lan Qiren’s scolding wouldn’t make him change his mind. The juniors would face many disappointments in their lives. Confronting one of such little import in the grand scheme of things in their own home was a good learning experience. Besides, they ought to learn not to meddle, assuming they were the ones meddling. Meng Yao kept a keen eye across Cloud Recesses, seemed to know everything that occurred within its boundaries. He might have said something. It wasn’t impossible that his brother had asked Meng Yao to watch out for him. Given that he’d finally ingratiated himself with Lan Wangji’s uncle by proving himself a capable administrator and courier between Cloud Recesses and the front he held for Gusu, it was, in fact, probable.

He would not blame the juniors. He wouldn’t even blame Meng Yao. It was his own fault, his own doing. That wouldn’t stop him.

“Wangji, this isn’t like you.”

Lan Wangji said nothing. Living without a golden core wasn’t like him either and that was a state of affairs that couldn’t be changed.

“You cannot simply retreat because of what happened to you. You are still expected to comport yourself as a Lan heir ought to. Perhaps you cannot cultivate at the same level as before any longer, but you are able to teach and you’re able to abide by the Lan Sect’s rules.”

Left unsaid was the rule about taking appropriate care of one’s body, which included proper meals at the proper time. It was such a trifling rule to break compared to the ones he’s already risked breaking or, in the case of the rabbits, has broken already. Nobody had even noticed the other infractions. If only this one could have been the same. He would be more careful in the future on those days when he couldn’t abide the thought of food.

“I understand.”

“You will have to spend time in meditation.”

As though he didn’t do that already. A small price to pay to avoid the eyes of those who would pity him. In a way, his uncle was doing him a kindness.

“In the cold pond,” Lan Qiren added.

In Lan Wangji’s current state, meditation in the cold pond would be a true punishment, nearly untenable and well outside of what should have been ordered for the discussed transgression. It wasn’t only the evening meal for which he wished to punish Lan Wangji. So be it. His attitude has been poor. He would submit.

Even so, his stomach twisted with nausea at the thought of entering the cold pond. But even though it was harsh, Lan Wangji wouldn’t change his mind and do what his uncle wants. His uncle could correct him in any way he saw fit; it would still not happen.

Tipping his chin up, he asked, “For how long?”

“Twenty minutes in the water and then another two hours outside of it.”

As a cultivator, he wouldn’t even have blinked at it, but without his golden core, without his training to protect him…

Lan Qiren was very displeased with him indeed.

He bowed. “I will complete my punishment now. Thank you, shufu, for your care in correcting my behavior.”

Even Lan Qiren could not admonish him for wishing to do so. It might have been smarter to save it for the day time when the air temperature would be greater, the water a little bit warmer, but it was a convenient enough excuse. Two hours and twenty minutes was a small price to pay to be free of the other disciples’ hollow sorrows for one more night.

By the time he was finished, his muscles were numb and he no longer felt any pain. His body had stopped shivering with the cold at some point and he felt a clarity he hadn’t expected to find. On the walk back, he was as calm as he’d been since leaving Lotus Pier, and when he fell onto his bed, yanking the blankets around him, breathing until his temperature began to regulate itself better, he didn’t dream.

Perhaps his uncle was on to something.

If it was meant to be punishment, it served another purpose for him entirely, one that he could perhaps be grateful for.

He hadn’t had such a reprieve from his thoughts in months.

His bedding clung to his sticky skin when he awoke. A pressure behind his eyes threatened to split his head in two. Between one moment and the next, he wavered between overheated and freezing. Chills racked his body and he couldn’t draw in a breath without coughing. It had been years since he’d been sick and he’d never been laid out as badly by it as he was right now. His robes felt heavy and wet, restrictive.

He hadn’t even removed his boots before falling asleep. Even they were uncomfortable, too stifling in a body that ached too deeply.

As he groaned, he realized that he’d left his rabbits in the meadow, the first time he’d forgotten them since arriving in Cloud Recesses. Usually they’d have woken up along with him, each balanced calmly on his chest or curled against his neck.

It was probably for the best. Today, he’d woken on his side and might have harmed them in his sleep. He hoped they were safe.

After fighting with the blankets, he stumbled out of bed and walked toward the low table on the other side of the room. His vision swam and his head throbbed again, as though its complaint hadn’t already registered, but the more he moved around, the more cognizant he became and the better—for a given value of better—he felt.

He hadn’t thought to bring medicine with him, though he probably should have because this was to be his life now, far more fragile than before, but tea helped ease the scratching ache in his throat, woke him up a little more. Shuddering in the cool, morning air, he wished he’d thought to bring his quilt along with him, but he was too weak to go back for it.

There was not a lot of thinking happening now.

He spent a long time staring into his empty cup, losing track of the time until there was a knock at the door and the quiet slide of the wood across the floor.

“Wangji?” His brother. How could that be? Wasn’t he off fighting? He wasn’t due back yet, was he?

Lan Wangji blinked a few times, certain he’d heard wrong, but when he looked over, bleary, he saw that it really was his brother standing in the doorway. He blew out a relieved breath. There was no one else he’d want to see him this way.

At first glance, his brother looked perfectly fine at least. Things must have gone well at whichever front he’d found himself traveling to this time.

“Xiongzhang.” His voice rasped, unrecognizable. It hurt to speak. In truth, it hurt even to breathe.

“You’re flushed. A-Yao told me what happened as soon as I arrived this morning. I didn’t believe it would be this bad.” Lan Xichen made a sound that Lan Wangji couldn’t quite parse and then Lan Xichen was at his side, pressing his hand against Lan Wangji’s forehead.

Flinching away, Lan Wangji said, petulant, “It’s cold.”

With a sigh, Lan Xichen brushed his fingers through Lan Wangji’s lank, uncombed hair. The tension in his head eased as Lan Xichen removed the ornament—he’d forgotten about that, too, apparently—from around the high bun he usually wore. He put aside the heavy decoration and pulled Lan Wangji’s hair into a simpler style, before fixing his forehead ribbon. “I know it is. Will you be alright for a little while? I have something for you.”

Lan Wangji nodded. He was fine before his brother showed up. Of course he could manage without him.

Lan Xichen’s hand left his forehead. In a blur of blue-gray robes, he poured another cup of tea. “Drink this.”

He muttered something else, but Lan Wangji had stopped listening to him and didn’t hear it. Instead, his eyes fell on a basket Lan Xichen had placed on the ground by the desk. On top of it sat an envelope addressed to him. He recognized the handwriting, had seen it every day for a whole month in better times than this. The style of each stroke and the hand that made them was burned into his memory.

“Wei Ying?” He reached for the thick, folded paper. Lan Xichen urged him to pick up his cup again instead.

“Drink. Relax. I’ll tell you everything. Just let me retrieve something first.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

Lan Wangji didn’t want to wait, but he had no good reason not to, so he nodded again and sighed. Life in Cloud Recesses demanded restraint and waiting was one of its purest forms.

True to his word though, Lan Xichen returned quickly. A small cooking vessel filled his hands and held a pot of steaming… something. Onto the desk Lan Xichen placed both of these things, removing a tray from beneath the vessel before going over to the censer on the other side of the room.

He carried it back with him, placing it closer to Lan Wangji.

Lan Xichen made a tsking sound and shoved the charcoal ash around. He hadn’t thought to ensure it was lit last night. “What made shufu do this?”

It was easy to talk to his brother, almost as easy as talking to Wei Ying. “I haven’t been allowing anyone to bring my evening meals to me. It’s ‘disturbing the juniors.’”

“Why haven’t you?”

“They watch me. I don’t like it.”

“Oh, Wangji.”

He waited for his brother to say more, to insist that the rest of the sect was merely worried about him, but he refrained and for that, Lan Wangji was grateful. He felt too bad to argue about it now, to say that he didn’t want their worry. He didn’t want to explain that the line between worry and pity was so thin as to be nonexistent. Instead, his brother took the basket and set aside the lid, pulling a ceramic tureen from inside.

“What is this?”

“In addition to being incredibly kind, Wei-gongzi is apparently also prescient.”

The letter. Of course. But what did that have to do with… this? “Wei Ying?”

“We crossed paths when I served as relief at his camp. He asked me to find his sister if I happened to stop at Lotus Pier before returning home.”

Lan Wangji’s heart hurt to think that his brother had gotten to return to the one place Lan Wangji wanted to be, that he’d spoken with Wei Ying when Lan Wangji could not. “Did you see him there?”

Pouring a cup of medicine for Lan Wangji, he handed it over and said nothing for a short moment. “No. I only spoke with him briefly during the initial handover. He was already… there’s always a front in need of a commander and he’s proven himself especially adept at leading. Everyone is clamoring for him to serve in their camps. He gave his sister the recipe for the soup he made for you and asked her to make it for you in his stead.” His brows furrowed and his voice was gentle in its admonishment. “I didn’t know Wei-gongzi cooked for you.”

Lan Wangji’s heart, already pained, squeezed anew. Even in the midst of a war effort Lan Wangji should have been contributing to, Wei Ying still found time to think of him. He swallowed the medicine dutifully, to distract himself. Now, he felt he owed it to Wei Ying to do his best when he still found ways to show his care. It was not so much of a burden to try for him.

“I also offered to relay a letter to you for him. I wish I had thought of it sooner, but…”

Lan Wangji’s face heated, but this time it was not due to fever. “I understand. Thank you for this. It’s…”

“A-Zhan, it’s the least I could do under the circumstances. It did no harm and didn’t even delay me.” He went back to fussing over the bubbling soup. A fragrant steam rose from the pot. “I’m especially glad now. Have you eaten at all since yesterday?”

How long had it been since his brother had called him A-Zhan? They had been such small children then. Lan Wangji blinked a few times until he was comfortable again. How awful must he have looked if his brother was using such an endearment?

“I will accept the punishments that are set for me as they are set for me. I completed it during and after the conclusion of evening meal.” Which meant: no, he hadn’t. It wouldn’t be punishment if he snuck into the kitchens, would it?

“Shufu is too…”

Too what? Their uncle was only being what he’d always been. It was Lan Wangji who had changed. “I made this decision. I will accept the consequences.”

Lan Xichen’s lips thinned and he shook his head. “I wish you would both keep in mind that you’ve been through an incredible ordeal.” To belie his stern words, he smiled slightly. “If you’re so keen to accept the consequences of your actions, you’ll gladly and obediently remain here for the day as your sect leader is now requiring it.”

“Xio—”

“Ah, Wangji. You wouldn’t argue with me, would you?”

Lan Wangji wanted to, but he was tired and his brother had outmaneuvered him. It was a relief to be backed into a corner like this. If he remained here, he didn’t have to pretend for an audience that he was fine. “Very well.”

His brother pushed himself to his feet and delicately brushed at his robes. “Good. Then I will leave you to your meal and your letter. I’ll come by later to collect the dishes.”

He waited until Lan Xichen was gone before snatching up the letter. With careful, shaking fingers, he opened it.

Lan Zhan!

I hope this letter finds you well and that my characters meet your exacting standards. I hate to see that my handwriting is still better than it ever was before sitting with you for a whole month copying lines. How will I ever recover my reputation now that I can write like a proper gentleman?

I wish I could tell you what I’ve been doing and where I’ve been, make this an actual letter to you rather than something I’ve dashed off before heading somewhere else like you deserve, but we take what we’re given to us, right? I don’t think you’ll hold it against me. I hope you won’t anyway. I know I try your patience. This time, it isn’t purposeful at least.

I hope you’re well.

Please be well, Lan Zhan. Imagining what you’ve been through is all but impossible, though my dreams have provided me with a few visceral trials on that score, so perhaps it’s unfair of me to ask that of you, but I’m going to ask it anyway. You can confirm with Jiang Cheng that I can be selfish. This is me being selfish: please be well. I can’t bear the thought of you shrinking away in the back mountains of Cloud Recesses where I can’t at least try to pull you back. I don’t want to come back and find out you’ve been neglected or neglected yourself in my absence.

Is it arrogant to think I could improve anything for you were I there? It probably is. Jiang Cheng would say so. I’d want to try anyway. That’s worth something, isn’t it?

Eventually this war will be over with and we’ll be able to go back to the way things were. Or if we’re lucky, it might even be a little better than before. Some days, the only thing that gets me through is that belief and knowing that as long as I’m out here doing this, I’m protecting the people I care about most. That includes you, Lan Zhan, though I’d bet anything that fills you with a sense of foreboding, haha! The world can be a cruel place, but I don’t think it will be so cruel as to keep me from seeing you frown stoically at me at least one more time. I hope you’re frowning stoically now as you’re reading this. Are you?

I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. If it’s uncomfortable, feel free to ignore me, and give my thanks again to Zewu-jun for offering to bring this letter to you. I’m going to try as soon as I finish this, but I’m not sure if I’ll manage to convey how much getting to send this along to you means to me. It’s always been easier to talk to you. I think you’ll know how to tell him.

I’ll see you soon, Lan Zhan. I promise.

He read Wei Ying’s words again and again, hoping to glean more of the truth of Wei Ying’s well-being from it. It was both more and less exuberant than he might have expected and directed itself inward in a way he didn’t recognize. Wei Ying didn’t pontificate. He did what he intended and saw no reason to think it to death. And, too, the letter lacked focus, flitting from half-formed thought to half-formed thought. It made him want to shake the page for the rest of Wei Ying’s presence, too big to be contained within such a small boundary.

At first, he didn’t realize that his hands were clenching around the paper, wrinkling it. Once he did, he let out a gasp and then quickly placed the page onto the table, smoothing it out, pained to see the crinkle he’d put in it with his carelessness. It didn’t matter that Wei Ying himself had folded it slightly off-center, so it was already, in a way, imperfect. It was neither good nor right that Lan Wangji should also be so cavalier with this expression of Wei Ying’s heart. Taking it into palms to further damage it? Unfathomable.

Wei Ying deserved better.

And he would not be pleased to learn what has happened here in Cloud Recesses since Lan Wangji’s been back. He wouldn’t like to know that Lan Wangji caught a cold, had read his letter while fever wracked his body and left him shivering and bereft. He would not like to know that his soup had gone uneaten because Lan Wangji didn’t have an appetite.

Lan Wangji could do nothing more for the cold and the fever, but he could do this. As he ladled the soup into the bowl his brother had provided, he told himself he’d eat every bit of it that he could swallow. He was careful, diligent. Though he oughtn’t have, he read the letter again while he ate. The soup lacked flavor, though whether that was Jiang Yanli’s fault—this, he doubted—or his own body’s, he couldn’t rightly say.

For Wei Ying’s sake, he chose to believe it was the cold impeding his ability to taste.

When he was done, he felt a little better and completed meditation, played the qin, read for a while, took brush to paper when the inspiration struck, and when he was tired, much earlier in the day than normal, he returned to bed. Not a single person, not even his uncle, troubled him in all that time.

He ate again when Lan Xichen brought food to him and drank medicine without complaint and when he awoke the next morning, symptoms much improved, it didn’t seem like such a great tragedy to teach the students who came to him to be instructed. Their concern—he chose deliberately to frame it that way—was easier to weather. It didn’t feel like a slap in the face to be asked about cultivation techniques, even when the juniors spoke awkwardly, as though Wen Zhuliu had melted the brain in his head along with his core and so left him unable to discuss the theory they would need to know in addition the practicals Lan Wangji could not demonstrate.

When evening mealtime arrived, he sat with his uncle and brother and remained cordial to the disciple who brought it to them; his uncle nodded to him in apparent pleasure to see Lan Wangji behaving.

After uncle dismissed them, Lan Wangji turned to his brother, slowly gathering the detritus of the meal before he left his brother’s quarters to rest in his own. It had been a nice enough evening.

“Is there any chance you’ll see Wei Ying again?”

“It’s possible. I can’t say for certain, of course.”

“But you’ll return to Lotus Pier, will you not?”

The look his brother gave him was indulgent to an embarrassing degree. “That’s quite a bit more likely. Why?”

He retrieved an envelope from within his robes and held it out. “Will you take this? For Wei Ying?”

His brother’s hands were gentle as he took the envelope and tucked it reverently in his own robes. “Of course. It would be my honor.”

It did nothing to materially improve his circumstances—he was still stuck here, still lacked his golden core, still felt exposed, and still missed Wei Ying—but he felt better regardless: no small feat. “Thank you, xiongzhang.”

After they parted, he retrieved the rabbits from the meadow and played with them until they flopped on the floor next to one another, tired from the exercise. In Wei Ying’s absence, he told them a little about his day and how he felt now that he’d reached the end of it. His burden, once spoken even just to creatures who couldn’t talk back, felt lighter.

If Wei Wuxian had thought the borders between Yunmeng and Qishan were fiercely contested, he hadn’t realized how much worse it could be near Qinghe. As it turned out, other sects must have been asked to contribute cultivators, too, because it wasn’t just the Nie Sect fighting at Hejian. When he arrived, he saw at least a dozen other sects’ colors and symbols and more than a few Jiang Sect disciples who must have been called from other camps, too, just to fill out the numbers.

A taciturn Nie Sect elder—a strange sight, when everyone knew Nie Sect disciples rarely reached such advanced ages—who hadn’t bothered giving Wei Wuxian his name and hadn’t asked for Wei Wuxian’s in return led him to the command tent. He gave Wei Wuxian no updates on the war effort at Hejian as they walked and offered no insights into the camp itself. From Madam Yu’s report, he’d come expecting chaos, fear, morale issues. Instead, he saw a lot of incredibly disciplined disciples training across every bit of the camp that wasn’t taken up with the tents. Still terrifying in its way, but an odd dichotomy. They were clearly getting slaughtered here, but they kept fighting like it didn’t matter.

He was not certain what his brand of leadership would lend to a place such as this.

Once they reached the command tent, the elder stopped him. He was told he was only in charge of tactics—fine by him—and that he was under no circumstances to argue with Sect Leader Nie about anything.

“Wait,” he said. “I’m serving under Nie-zongzhu himself?”

“Yeah,” he was told. “Good luck.”

“Has anyone mentioned to Nie-zongzhu that I’m really bad at not arguing?”

The elder eyed him, unimpressed, seeing no reason to answer as he pulled aside the tent flap.

At first, he’d feared he wouldn’t get along here. Discipline and Wei Wuxian didn’t have a particularly good relationship as evidenced by every minute he spent in Cloud Recesses before he got booted, but the discipline required here was different. Martial. Acceptable. He didn’t have to be quiet or composed and some of the training they did was more akin to playing tricks on one another than fighting. The Wen, he’d been told on more than one occasion when Sect Leader Nie wasn’t around to complain about underhanded tactics, were not above them, so why should we be?

It was strenuous and went from dawn to dusk without break and that was fine with him.

Frankly, it was sometimes fun even if the Nie disciples were kind of scary. Not that Wei Wuxian didn’t appreciate them. He sure as hell did. Those saber-wielding bastards were incredible and Sect Leader Nie wasn’t stingy with them. Wei Wuxian had been shocked, for example, when his request for reinforcements was ceded to without a single complaint for a skirmish he wished to conduct on a Wen Sect supply caravan Nie Huaisang had tipped him off to. It barely took a day to assemble and organize them once Wei Wuxian gave his petition and reasoned it out with Sect Leader Nie. In fact, he’d approved more than requested and threw in additional supplies, thus securing him as Wei Wuxian’s favorite sect leader. It continued like that until there just weren’t enough people to move around the board of Hejian at Wei Wuxian’s whims.

For that show of trust, Wei Wuxian had brought back a victory and fresh food, wine, weapons, and medicine. To sweeten the win, he’d brought back a bit of intelligence that he’d worked out of the taciturn man in charge of the caravan’s security. It had taken a while and when he broke, he broke fast, in tears before the end as he gave up a nearby camp planning an attack.

He’d been toasted so many times at the celebratory meal that followed that he’d needed help getting back to his tent.

“Ah, you cut through the Wen Sect lines like no one else, Wei-gongzi,” he was told again and again. With each fight his people survived, he was afforded even greater esteem among the Nie Sect disciples he worked with. “Our own Blood-Bladed Plough.”

He still didn’t know who’d called him that first, only that it stuck and ever after, he was looked to for advice whenever strategy sessions were held. Even Sect Leader Nie’s closest advisors tended to advocate for his ideas whenever they sprang to mind. It was nice to feel like he was accomplishing something real.

No matter how tired he got, how much he wanted to go home, how much he wanted to travel as freely as his heart wished to, he would see this through. Here or Yunmeng or even fucking Lanling whenever the inevitable occurred and they finally participated in this fight, too. Until the bitter end, he would do what was necessary.

It was good, sometimes. And it was grueling often. To know he was protecting people made it all worth it.

It was worth it.

Even six months later, not a moment spent away from the front the entire time, it was definitely worth it.

A flare went up, silver-bright like the moon, light spilling across the dark grass visible through the open flap of his tent. His bones ached and his muscles burned already after a day spent fighting and now—

A meal had been brought in and left on the small dining desk that had been afforded to him. It was already cold and congealing. Wei Wuxian was ravenous for it anyway.

One selfish thought filled his head: I could pretend I didn’t see it. It was really no different than any other night he’d spent here. Someone was always trying to sneak into the camps. That was what they’d all been reduced to. The one downside of all of Wei Wuxian’s successes was the Wens were getting increasingly desperate. That meant they pulled stupid shit while everyone should be resting and recuperating. I could eat this meal and wait for someone to summon me.

A raised alarm, terrifying in its intensity, broke the quiet of the camp, set everyone who didn’t see the flare to running.

Shame filled him as he grabbed the sword that would never be Suibian and rushed across the packed dirt field. Others rushed as well, though none as quickly as he did, as though sprinting could help him outrun the guilt of his thoughts.

Wen forces surrounded the patrol who’d called for aid. There were enough of them that the fight would be difficult, but not so many that Wei Wuxian worried about their odds. This kept happening, leaving Wei Wuxian wondering whether Wen Ruohan even cared who and what and when he threw people at his enemies. There was no strategy Wei Wuxian could think of that could win against someone willing to fight a war of attrition who had the forces to keep doing it. Wei Wuxian could win every battle and still lose the war. He didn’t like to think about it.

They fought so brutally, these Wen, as though more than their lives were at stake. Wei Wuxian had noticed this, too, how desperately they attacked, how viciously.

A man wearing unfamiliar robes threw himself at Wei Wuxian, abandoning common sense just for a shot at him. Wei Wuxian parried easily as he always did. A few clashes of their swords and it was done. The man fell. His robes could barely be considered decent, worn and frayed as they were. It was a good disguise. Nobody could be expected to believe this man was anything other than a weary traveler.

Another rage-filled cultivator threw himself at Wei Wuxian. This one looked equally innocent, equally determined. Kill or be killed.

Wei Wuxian would not be killed here today.

The man went down even easier than the first. More and more flooded the camp until all Wei Wuxian saw and smelled and felt was death. His boots slipped on the blood saturating the ground. His heart beat so frantically as he ducked and dodged and jumped out of the way of attacking Wen that he grew lightheaded with it. No matter how deeply he reached for calm, he could no longer find it. He still wanted to eat his evening meal.

By the time it was done, Wei Wuxian very nearly stabbed the Nie disciple who approached him, one of the few who were still alive. “Search the bodies,” Wei Wuxian said, wiping his sword down just well enough that he could put it back in its scabbard. He did not look forward to cleaning his sword tonight or his robes or himself. “Bring back the weapons and any correspondence.”

One of the Nie Sect disciples shouted. “Wei-gongzi!” In his hand was a leather-wrapped roll, spilling open, a sheet of paper inside. “Wei-gongzi!”

Wei Wuxian sprinted over, dodging bodies and living cultivators alike. “What happened?”

“Your… Jiang-zongzhu.” He handed over the page. The protective leather fell to the bloodied dirt when the disciple dropped it. “He’s been executed for treason.”

Wei Wuxian found himself numbed to the news. So many people had died and many were people Wei Wuxian considered as close as family. What was one more?

“Send word to Lotus Pier,” he said, tired. “I’ll report this to Nie-zongzhu.” Sect Leader Nie was currently at another camp, having left Wei Wuxian in charge here. It would be a long flight by sword, but this sort of news needed to be relayed immediately. Wen Ruohan was growing too brazen. “Do we have the numbers on the casualties yet?”

The disciple shook his head. Wei Wuxian did a quick headcount. Maybe fifteen were left of the sixty who’d come with him to secure this parcel of land for Qinghe, a buffer against attack closer to the Unclean Realm.

Wei Wuxian waited only long enough for a scout to return with assurances that there were no more Wen waiting to attack.

Was it worth it? Wei Wuxian couldn’t say anymore.

Nothing changed; the same shit just got worse and worse. Month after month after month of it. Months that stacked up into an entire year.

They fought and died. Every skirmish thinned their numbers. Every tactic Wei Wuxian came up with found itself undone by the sheer number of bodies Wen Ruohan threw at them. Wei Wuxian led every fight he planned and came back tired and heart sore, hands bloodier with every encounter. He reported the casualties to Sect Leader Nie, sometimes still covered in the viscera of friend and enemy alike.

He was Qinghe’s Blood-Bladed Plough, but for every Wen Sect disciple he cut through, two more replaced them. It was no longer a victorious name for a victorious warrior, but a hope, a prayer. Those around him wished he could save them and then they saw that he brought home fewer and fewer survivors. At what point would they begin blaming him?

In the night, he woke to the sounds of other disciples crying out in terror and sometimes woke others in turn when he dreamed he was drowning in iron, molten, red as rust. No one came to his aid, just as he did not go to theirs. What could anyone do about nightmares? If there was no flesh and blood enemy, what good was he?

Sometimes, he vomited into the dirt by his bed, tears wetting his cheeks, snot dripping from his nose as he gasped for breath, lungs uncontrollably tight.

His hands shook when he donned his armor and picked up his sword in the morning.

He no longer tried to improve the morale of those around him.

When Sect Leader Nie nodded at him, approving of his latest action on the field, he felt no achievement in it, only the loss of bodies that would make the next one that much harder to accomplish.

He sometimes wrote notes to himself when he couldn’t sleep, idle fantasies of devices that would end this war with a snap of his fingers, spells that would enact endless torture on his enemies, talismans that could overthrow Wen Ruohan himself. They were always shuffled away when he was done, tucked shamefully into leather rolls. What would Lan Zhan think of him if he saw such things?

Lan Zhan would be disgusted, of course. Lan Zhan would know how far he’d fallen. Even if they worked, they were vile creations.

Lan Zhan would hate him and he would be right to do so, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but think it would be worth it if only this would end.

“You’ll be no good to me dead,” Sect Leader Nie said, words spoken through the fog of Wei Wuxian’s recitation of his latest list of casualties. His second-in-command, Nie Qilong, had been among them. They didn’t know one another well—Wei Wuxian found himself less and less willing to get to know the people he fought with—but Wei Wuxian still felt the failure, the waste, as Nie Qilong studied him.

“Nie-zongzhu?”

“Compile a report and take it to Cloud Recesses for Xichen’s perusal,” he said, sharp. “He’s been agitating for an accounting of what’s been going on, but I’ve not allowed him to come here and I don’t have the time to go there.”

“I should remain—”

“You will go where I order you to go and return when I order you to return. If I see you before sundown three days from now, I’ll send you back to Lotus Pier to sit out the rest of this campaign.”

“And if Lan-zongzhu isn’t there?”

“Will the paper rot before he sees it?” Sect Leader Nie asked, sarcastic. “He can look at it whenever he returns.” He turned away, even more dismissive.

Wei Wuxian did not heed the implicit order to go, unable yet to reconcile himself to the fact that he was being ordered to Cloud Recesses. He’d never thought to see it again.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to see it now.

Still, he bowed to Sect Leader Nie’s back. “Understood.”

The air in Cloud Recesses tasted sweeter somehow, cooler, cleansing. He hadn’t realized it the last time he was here. Back then, he only considered how stifling it was to be there at all. Was it because Lan Zhan was here? Or was it simply that he’d grown used to battlefields choked by death? Anything that didn’t coat the air with the spilled iron scent of blood would seem better in comparison.

He glanced down at his nondescript robes and wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to adopt the more usual robes of Yunmeng Jiang before arriving. He looked a little too much like a scoundrel dressed like this. The fact that it was late in the day probably didn’t help.

There were a few more Lan Sect disciples standing around than he remembered there being and each of them looked tense as he approached.

Who wouldn’t, after what they’d been through?

Wei Wuxian lifted his hand in a friendly wave. “Ah, hello!”

They straightened up even more and wrapped their hands around their swords.

A disciple he didn’t recognize spoke. “Who are you?”

“Wei Wuxian of Yunmeng Jiang.” Slowly, he reached into his belt, well clear of the sword in his hand. “I have news from Hejian that I’m meant to relay to Zewu-jun.” He held the token out for them to inspect. “I’m a friend of his. This was given to me by him. Chifeng-zun sent me.”

A few of them relaxed at seeing it, but the one who looked the most like the leader, the oldest, the one willing to talk, remained suspicious.

Good for him. Always better to be safe. He gestured for the youngest to go back behind the barrier, also good, putting the weakest out of immediate danger. They were training their people smart these days.

“Shidi, go report to the sect leader.” Turning toward Wei Wuxian, he offered a bow. “I hope you’ll forgive my lack of hospitality, Wei-gongzi.”

Wei Wuxian waved him off. If he was put off by a lack of hospitality, his time on the front lines would have been terrible. “If I got offended every time someone distrusted me, I would not have made it very far in life. Don’t worry. I approve of your caution. It puts my mind at ease.”

The Lan disciple finally relaxed slightly, preening a bit under the praise. He liked that about him, glad that the Lan precepts hadn’t fully beaten the audacity out of him. If they all made it out of this in one piece, maybe Wei Wuxian would find this kid and teach him how to get under Lan Qiren’s skin.

Not five minutes later, barely enough time to enter Cloud Recesses properly, the Lan disciple’s dear, little shidi was returning, but it wasn’t Lan Xichen with him.

Breathing out, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but speak the name he hadn’t allowed himself to say more than a handful of times aloud in over a year. “Lan Zhan!”

Before he could even think it through all the way, he was throwing himself at Lan Zhan. A bunch of well-trained Lan juniors with swords pointed his way wasn’t enough to stop him. They could put up a fight if they wanted to. He’d only have to teach them a small lesson.

“Lan er-gongzi!” they all called, shocked at the sudden display.

Before any of them could move to assist their sect’s second precious jade, Lan Zhan put his hand up. That stopped them, but it didn’t stop Wei Wuxian from wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s elegantly stoic neck and pressing his nose under Lan Zhan’s jaw to inhale the sandalwood scent that clung to him.

The right sandalwood, not like the sandalwood he’d scrounged up in Lotus Pier.

Lan Zhan’s raised hand froze where it was. His entire body tensed, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t done with him yet. He tightened his arms further, squeezed Lan Zhan as tight as he dared. Lan Zhan didn’t stop him.

And then he relaxed into it, collapsing around Wei Wuxian, allowing him to take his weight as he returned the gesture, one hand on Wei Wuxian’s waist, the other high between his shoulder blades. Though road dirt and the heavy odor of travel clung to Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan showed no reluctance in embracing him.

“Wei Ying?” he asked, voice soft, wondering. His breath brushed Wei Wuxian’s ear, warm and intimate, as Wei Wuxian shivered.

Wei Wuxian laughed lightly and squeezed once before grabbing Lan Zhan by the shoulders. He could tell instantly how Lan Zhan had changed. His cheeks cut a little more prominently and his jaw seemed etched out of the jade of his nickname. His neck was a study in efficient, sleek musculature. But he was diminished from what he was in ways that couldn’t be explained by his physical appearance, as though he’d done what Wei Wuxian had always feared and closed himself off entirely.

Oh, Lan Zhan.

But Lan Zhan was staring at him, expectant, and there was work to be done and as much as he wanted to focus only on Lan Zhan, he couldn’t.

“There’s news.”

Lan Zhan’s melancholic look hardened slightly and he nodded once. He gestured toward the gate with the bare minimum of motions.

“Shidi said you had a—”

Wei Wuxian held up the token, which Lan Zhan took and scrutinized.

Feeling a little awkward, Wei Wuxian chose to focus on Lan Zhan’s fingers as they skimmed over the token’s surface. “Zewu-jun gave it to me.”

“Good. You should be welcome here.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart warmed at that, it really did.

“As long as you don’t sneak alcohol in after dark,” Lan Zhan added, because he really was the best.

“But in the daytime it’s okay?”

“No.”

Nudging Lan Zhan’s shoulder lightly, he said, “I’ll just have to tease you more to make up for the lack. That’s almost as good as drinking anyway,” and hoped Lan Zhan would see the cheerful boy he used to know. Wei Wuxian wanted to be recognized by Lan Zhan even if he sometimes didn’t recognize himself.

“I’m sure I’m honored.”

Awkwardness washed over Wei Wuxian at seeing Lan Zhan again, walking stiffly, both hands locked behind his back. Though that had been his only desire and fear for so long, his body couldn’t adjust to the reality. The closeness they’d built together was still there, but it felt tempered by their time apart. Or perhaps it was the changed setting. With Lan Zhan back here, he was under closer scrutiny—and Wei Wuxian tried to pretend he didn’t notice the pitying looks thrown Lan Zhan’s way as they walked the distantly familiar paths of Cloud Recesses. Perhaps that altered and clarified things for him. Wei Wuxian just hoped it didn’t change things too much, that Lan Zhan wouldn’t go back to thinking Wei Wuxian was a pest and nothing more.

“How have you been?” Lan Zhan finally asked.

How should Wei Wuxian answer that? He couldn’t give Lan Zhan the full details, not out here, where he might worry the younger disciples. And even then, he couldn’t burden Lan Zhan with the full weight of the despair in his heart. The fight tore at him again and again. He has not been well.

It wasn’t until it was alleviated even slightly here and now that he realized how deep and dark it went. In the midst of it, it was bearable. Now, he didn’t know how he’d go back. Three days away from it and he might desert for good. “You know me, Lan Zhan.”

Cutting a glance sideways, Lan Zhan answered, “I know you look as though you haven’t eaten much.”

Wei Wuxian absolutely laughed this off. Not eating enough was the least of his problems. “Field rations would put anyone off eating”

“You advised me to take better care of myself and sent soup from your sister. Should you not be as reasonable with your own health?”

“That’s shijie’s soup. I would take the best care of myself for a meal from her.” Then spinning around and bouncing on his heels as he rounded on Lan Zhan, he grinned. “But Zewu-jun was able to bring it to you? Ah, you Lans are too much. I thought for sure he was humoring me. Not about the letter, but I didn’t think he’d truly haul a tureen of soup back with him. How was it?”

“Excellent.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes watered with pride for her. She was the strongest person he knew. No matter how upsetting her own circumstances were, she always had room to care for others. His affection for Lan Zhan swelled, too, spread like a bright-lit lantern within him to hear him praise her. Ah, he wished he’d been here to bring it himself.

“Better even than mine, eh?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze settled on him as he stopped. “Hers was objectively excellent, but I preferred yours.”

And just like that, the tension between them broke. Their time apart hadn’t changed his regard for Lan Zhan in the slightest and Wei Wuxian was going to die of embarrassment. How did Lan Zhan wind up being good at saying nice things? He couldn’t just surprise Wei Wuxian this way. How long ago it seemed now, back when Lan Zhan could only call him boring and shameless, tell him he was a nuisance and unwanted, or ignore him entirely. “You shouldn’t be so nice to the boys you bring home, Lan Zhan,” he admonished.

Lan Zhan did not answer, merely arching one eyebrow. He didn’t admonish Wei Wuxian though, even if Wei Wuxian expected it, was betting on it.

Instead, Lan Zhan led him across paths he’d never followed during his months studying here. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of a structure he’d never seen either, elegant and understated.

It was beautiful.

“What is this?”

“The jingshi.” He gestured Wei Wuxian forward. “Come. I’ll arrange tea and a meal.”

“Lan Zhan! You don’t have to—” Though he very much doubted he wanted whatever meal Lan Zhan would arrange, he appreciated the thought and didn’t want to part so soon, but others would wonder at Lan Zhan showing this courtesy to him of all people. His primary goal in life was no longer to cause Lan Zhan trouble. “It’s getting close to curfew and—”

“Curfew is not a concern. Come. I would welcome your company. Xiongzhang is currently in a meeting or I would bring you to him directly. Does it not make sense to rest in the meantime?”

Wei Wuxian released a breath. Seriously, who was this Lan Zhan who so deeply disregarded the rules? Lan Zhan offered him no chance to ask, because he was already leaving. There was no arguing with someone who wasn’t there.

He tapped nervously at the sleek lacquered wood of the low table inside, cataloguing the room and counting down the moments until Lan Zhan returned. It was quicker than expected. The meal, while simple—just some noodles, a bit of broth, vegetables sliced thin on top—carried the hot scent of spice and a distinctly colorful tint that he didn’t remember from the last time he was here.

As soon as it was deposited before him, Lan Zhan fussed in the corner of his room, bringing back a tray and two cups before sitting across from Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan’s attention was entirely focused on pouring the tea, effortlessly elegant in every respect.

His exposed wrist turned so beautifully as he held back his sleeve when he presented a cup to Wei Wuxian. His skin was so delicate, nearly translucent, that Wei Wuxian could see the blue of his veins along the inside of it.

Wei Wuxian took the cup, held it between his palms to warm him. Nervous, he finally downed the tea and placed the cup on the table.

Wei Wuxian picked at his fingernail to keep from gouging the pretty wood of the table and then grabbed the chopsticks when his nerves finally settled. Lan Zhan went through all this trouble for him. He had to try.

With careful, deliberate motions, Lan Zhan filled his cup again. “You’re not usually so quiet. Please speak. I would like to hear how you’ve been.”

“And you’re not usually one to disregard curfew. I suppose we’re both behaving out of character.” A blur of white in the far corner of the room startled him from his own chatter. Any sudden motion did. Another white blur followed it. It wasn’t a threat, he didn’t think. Not here. Wei Wuxian was so surprised that he practically threw himself around the table to investigate, scurrying forward on his knees.

“Lan Zhan!” He crouched low to see under the bed and then looked over his shoulder at Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan, what are they?”

Lan Zhan’s ears flushed pink and he drank primly, not answering.

Wei Wuxian tapped lightly at the wood floor, but only succeeded in making them crowd further under the bed. If he thought about it, he already knew what he’d seen. He just didn’t believe it. Blinking and rubbing his eyes, he looked again. The huddled forms were still white, still fluffy, still had short, little ears that poked up, as pink on the inside as Lan Zhan’s were around the shell. A quick scan of the room exposed what might have been an immaculately constructed crate leaning by the bed, but he couldn’t be sure, because it was collapsed down flat. He’d never seen anything like it, but it would make sense if Lan Zhan was trying to be circumspect about it.

Wei Wuxian spoke in a hush, afraid to break the spell. “Rabbits, Lan Zhan! You’re hiding rabbits in Cloud Recesses. You’re a scoundrel! A true rogue! No wonder you disregard curfew! Oh, where has my proper, rule-abiding Lan Zhan gone?”

He wiped a fake, mournful tear from his eye and forgot entirely about the pain waiting for him back at Hejian. This was too delightful to spoil with thoughts of the future.

He couldn’t help it: he pushed himself upright, wandered back, and threw his arm around Lan Zhan to give him an awkward, stilted, one-armed side hug. Patting Lan Zhan on the arm, he let go and stepped back to give Lan Zhan space. “Next you’re going to tell me you have Emperor’s Smile stowed under the floorboards.”

“Only in your imagination. There is no alcohol in Cloud Recesses.”

“How unfortunate.”

He sat back down, hoping against hope that he hadn’t scared the rabbits too badly and that, if given time, they’d come out on their own. He wanted to see them out in the open. And more importantly, he wanted to see Lan Zhan’s reaction to them where Wei Wuxian could do everything possible to fix the image in his memory. It was probably really cute.

“Wei Ying, what could be so bad that you continue to stall?”

Pouting, Wei Wuxian slammed his elbow against the table and placed his fist on his cheek. The action twanged up his bicep and down his forearm to tingle across the back of his hand, a quick, startling jolt. He always forgot about it, his elbow. It remained a reminder that even a brilliant cultivator had his limits. “It’s nothing, just…”

“Just?”

There were things he’d never told anyone else, not any of the people he fought with, not Jiang Cheng, not shijie, things he could never admit to anyone. And Lan Zhan didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of the answer to the question he was asking, but…

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked again, concerned.

The next breath he took rattled in his chest. He shouldn’t burden Lan Zhan this way.

The words spilled from his mouth anyway, betraying him utterly. The dam in his heart cracked and with that one crack, failed.

“I’m… afraid, Lan Zhan. We held our own for so long and even started winning that I started to believe it would be easy, that it was only a matter of time before we’d defeat them. Now…”

It was only Lan Zhan’s placid expression that kept Wei Wuxian from bolting. He was kind when he said, “Now,” as though he knew Wei Wuxian needed to be carried through the admission.

“Now I don’t see how we can. Not like this. Wen Ruohan treats people like they’re disposable. No matter how many of his people we strike down, he just brings another sect under his protection and throws them at us. When you don’t care who lives or dies or how much it costs, how can you lose?” He smiled bitterly.

It was easier to say the words with a smile on his face, like he could laugh off his own fears if Lan Zhan took them the wrong way, but Lan Zhan merely considered them carefully, as though they were delicate, fragile things.

“How do you see yourself winning?”

In Wei Wuxian’s mind, the answer was self-evident. He’d pored, night after night, over it. It sat on a few sheets of paper in the qiankun bag on his belt. The solution gave him nightmares. Not seeing it through gave him even worse dreams. Lan Qiren might be glad now. Wei Wuxian truly understood his disgust at his flippant words all those years ago. “We need something more powerful than him.”

“What can be more powerful than what each sect already wields?”

And here it was. It was all theoretical at this point, but everything Wei Wuxian had ever come up with started life as a theory; that never stopped him from seeing it through to completion, to getting whatever idea filled his head out into the world as a tangible object or talisman. “I’m not sure, but… I think there could be something.”

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes. He hadn’t come here to expose this. This was a secret he’d harbored for months, ugly and loathsome. To speak of it in Cloud Recesses was a desecration. “Do you remember the sword I pulled from the Xuanwu?”

Lan Zhan nodded.

“I kept it. While we were there, did you ever touch it?”

Lan Zhan shook his head.

“It’s… the most powerful source of resentful energy I’ve ever felt. You can’t touch it without sensing it. It’s awful.”

“What are you saying?” He didn’t sound angry with Wei Wuxian, just confused, maybe curious. There was a time that this sort of conversation would have infuriated him. It should have infuriated him.

It was only now that Wei Wuxian realized why he wanted to tell Lan Zhan.

Stop me.

“I’m saying I can make something with it.”

“A spiritual tool.”

“You were always smart, Lan Zhan.”

“You think you can control and manipulate resentful energy using it, I presume?” Lan Zhan nodded, thoughtful. Of course he remembered Wei Ying’s musings from when he’d attended Cloud Recesses’s lectures. “And how do you propose to do this?”

You’re supposed to reject me outright, he thought. Tell me I’m wrong.

With Lan Zhan’s question hanging between them, he could only answer. He owed Lan Zhan that much.

“I’m not going to massacre anybody if that’s what you’re thinking, no more than I—” He tried so very hard to make light of it, but he tasted blood in his mouth constantly, felt it sticky on his hands already. Why was he speaking now like this was a done deal? “—but there are places in the world where enough blood has been spilled already—”

Unimpressed finally, Lan Zhan cut him off. “You mean the Burial Mounds.”

Snapping his fingers, Wei Wuxian pointed at him. It didn’t matter that Lan Zhan was unhappy with it, that he himself hated it. The fact that he was already on the same page as Wei Wuxian was exhilarating. “Take that history of resentful energy and specifically focus it toward this goal and… and beat Wen Ruohan. Easy.”

Lan Zhan was already shaking his head, features grim. “Wei Ying, this path is foolhardy at best.”

Wei Wuxian leaned across the table. “Do you have any better suggestions?” Give me an answer. “Because let me tell you, I’ve thrown myself in the path of enough Wen soldiers to know that cultivating a righteous path won’t be enough. He’s conscripted too many and forces too many more. Lanling can’t be convinced to help and… and we’re dying out there. Some of the Nie Sect disciples have even been sharing their sect’s techniques with the rest of us. Even that hasn’t been enough.” If he was being honest, he’d used some of that information to refine his own notes. The line between what he wanted to do and what some of them did? It was very thin.

Lan Zhan pursed his lips, as close as he’d ever get to actually looking frustrated. Good, good. Stop me, Lan Zhan. Make me see reason. Help me hope. “You cannot sacrifice your own well-being for this.”

As though that signified. What did his well-being matter?

This wasn’t what he wanted from Lan Zhan, an appeal to his own health. Lan Zhan knew him better than that.

“My well-being is gone, Lan Zhan. I don’t—I have nothing left. No matter how many Wen soldiers I cut down, it’s never enough. I can’t see any other end.” His mind and his tongue were no longer one. He spoke words he never intended to say, birthed the deepest fears in his heart; he truly was a burden. “I will die out there and Wen Ruohan will walk across my corpse and take what he wants.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.” Wei Wuxian reached across the table, grabbed Lan Zhan’s hands and pulled them toward him. His skin went pale beneath Wei Wuxian’s touch. “I will die out there. The other cultivators I’ve come to see as family will die. Lotus Pier will fall. Cloud Recesses will fall. You’ll die, too, because I couldn’t protect anyone.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You aren’t there day after day. I have to do something. I’m the only one who can do anything.”

Lan Zhan yanked him hands from Wei Wuxian’s touch, clasped both of Wei Wuxian’s between them instead. “No.”

“Yes. I have the sword and the willingness to see this through. If I can do this, then who cares about the costs? The war will be over and then I’ll never have to do it again.”

Wei Wuxian did know what Lan Zhan looked like when he was furious from way back now and it had nothing on how Lan Zhan looked now. “I care.” His voice was so precise, so deliberate. “It has to do with me.”

Oh.

Wei Wuxian’s heart thumped loudly against his sternum. It was so loud, he was sure Lan Zhan could hear it, too. For the first time in months, he was frightened of something other than Wen Ruohan’s eventual success, this damned war of attrition. He was afraid of the vicious heat in Lan Zhan’s eyes. Choking up, he shook his head. “Lan Zhan, I’m in a position to do something. Who else can say that?”

“You’re not the only person in this fight. It’s arrogant to believe you can single-handedly solve it by walking a crooked path.”

Lan Zhan cared; Lan Zhan kept him honest; Lan Zhan was the only one who could stop him from straying too far. Still, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the slight hint of bitterness that seeped into his heart. Laughing, unhappy, he said, “So your sect really does teach that it’s better to do nothing than risk your own righteous center. I knew your uncle believed that, but you, Lan Zhan?”

Make me give in to you.

“This path would be a slippery one. Some things are not worth the costs.” He held Wei Wuxian’s gaze. “This is one of them.”

Furiously righteous energy pulsed inside of Wei Wuxian, sending him jumping to his feet to pace the space on his side of the table. “I can’t believe that. I don’t believe that my, my soul or—or whatever is worth more than the people who are being slaughtered out there right now. Cultivators, non-cultivators. Everyone is dying and everyone will die if we don’t do something. What good is a clean heart when everything you care about has been reduced to ashes, Lan Zhan? Think it through.”

Lan Zhan leveled a glare at him that was so scathing that Wei Wuxian almost sat down again. It said, without saying it, that Lan Zhan knew all about witnessing the things he cared about being reduced to bone dust and gristle. After only a moment, that glare collapsed into itself, leaving behind only desolation. “Wei Ying, please. Don’t do this. You’re telling me for a reason. You want to be talked out of this. You can’t believe I’d agree to this.” Right before his eyes, he was losing Lan Zhan. “We will find a way. I won’t let what’s been done stop me from helping you.”

Wei Wuxian searched Lan Zhan’s features, hating that he was doubting Lan Zhan, hating that Lan Zhan hadn’t agreed with him immediately, hating that he wanted to give Lan Zhan what he asked for, heedless of his own argument and moral compass, hating that the voice in his head begging for Lan Zhan to stop him had quieted, cowering now that it got what it wanted. Lan Zhan should never again look the way he’d looked when Wei Wuxian spoke the truth to him. Wei Wuxian never wanted to be the cause of it. Finally, Wei Wuxian knelt again, settled. His anger ebbed. He shouldn’t have brought it up.

Maybe Lan Zhan was right. There were risks and perhaps Wei Wuxian wasn’t ready. There was still time before the end; they could still fight. That would be a cold comfort to the people who died in the meantime.

But he couldn’t do this without Lan Zhan. He couldn’t let Lan Zhan lose anything else, not even Wei Wuxian for whatever he was worth. He knew that much.

He wasn’t capitulating. He wasn’t compromising. It wasn’t cowardice—except that he knew it was—to take the cautious route for Lan Zhan. He couldn’t say it out loud though; it felt too much like giving up.

Lan Zhan stubbornly set his jaw, like he didn’t yet realize he’d won. “We’ll find a third path.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to believe Lan Zhan.

He wanted, moreover, for it to be true.

Before he could assure Lan Zhan or himself, shouts from outside drew his attention away. Quicker than Lan Zhan, he reached the door and spilled into the cool evening, sky darkened nearly to black. From the porch, he saw his night spreading before him. Death and more death, even here in Gusu.

A flare near the borders. Brilliant white, a call for aid.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, stomach dropping, “I have to go. I have to help.” He yanked his qiankun bag off of his belt and hesitated only a moment before shoving it into Lan Zhan’s hands. “If… well, if something happens, you’ll know what to do.”

Get rid of it for me. Don’t tell anyone else. Don’t let it fall into Wen Ruohan’s hands.

One of the rabbits poked its head out from under the bed, but when Wei Wuxian raced toward the door, it skittered away again. Wei Wuxian didn’t even notice it as he went.

The remnants of a dream clung to him, images flickering before his eyes and an uneasy pleasure pulsing in his gut. Tense hours had passed with no word before he’d finally succumb to sleep, the fight dragging on so long that it was more morning than the dark of night when he could no longer ignore the heaviness behind his eyes. A fear-filled burst of adrenaline scattered the dream, presaging the discordant sound of running and shouting outside the jingshi. There was no time to ponder the red-drenched shades of it because his brother burst through the door, wide-eyed and pale.

“Wangji,” he said, as fearful as Lan Wangji had ever heard him.

Caught still in his robes and slumped over his table, he ought to have been embarrassed, but right now all he could think of—

“Wei Ying?”

His brother nodded shakily and turned away, a flush high on his bloodied cheek. How did it get there? His brother didn’t patrol the borders. It was their uncle who led the disciples there and so far no harm had come to them, not with Yunmeng and Qinghe to protect them from the worst of it. The fighting certainly hadn’t reached Gusu before. “Come—come with me.”

“Are Cloud Recesses—”

“We’re safe enough here.”

“Are you hurt?” Lan Wangji didn’t bother to fix the state of his robes, wrinkled, the sleeve stained where it had apparently landed in the detritus of his meal with Wei Ying. He only grabbed his overcoat and pulled it on. How many other people in this world had seen Lan Wangji so frantic? At least it was only his brother. “Xiongzhang, are you hurt? There’s—”

“No.”

“Wei Ying is hurt?”

A pause. His brother not wanting to speak the truth, yet not wanting to lie either. Lan Wangji knew the answer. His brother finally gave it anyway. “Yes.”

He rushed. It was not allowed in Cloud Recesses and yet even his brother was impatient, barely remaining still in the doorway as he waited for Lan Wangji. He could do no less.

Outside, the air was cold and wet and the sky was strangely lit, like it was deep winter and snow would soon fall. Lan Zhan shivered. Without his golden core, any change in temperature struck him like a blow. His brother didn’t seem to notice, expecting only for him to keep up. It was easy for him, for everyone, to forget that Lan Wangji would never be their equal again, that things like the weather could stop him in his tracks.

His brother led him in the direction of the medical pavilion and the closer they got to it, the more harried the disciples appeared as they brought the wounded back or searched for more supplies. “What happened?”

“Wen Sect soldiers attacked unexpectedly. Shufu and the disciples were overwhelmed.”

Lan Wangji swallowed. “And Wei Ying?”

“He’s an excellent cultivator and second-to-none with a blade,” his brother said, high praise from him, “but he is one man.”

So many casualties were laid out on the various wooden tables arrayed around the room, but there was no sound from the one body which occupied the only table that mattered to Lan Wangji in that moment. The boots, the flashing red of Wei Ying’s robes splayed open, they caught the eye immediately. Lan Wangji got two steps closer to him, stomach pulsing with rage and fear and nausea, when his uncle called out to him sharply.

Lan Wangji turned. One of the younger disciples training in medicine was tending to wounds on his temple and forearms. His robes were torn and dirtied with blood and mud alike.

Truly, it must have been a massacre if his uncle was letting himself be seen this way.

The handful of physicians that had so far been summoned were helping various casualties through the worst of the various treatments for their wounds. It was all battlefield medicine, sharp and brutal. Nothing humane could be found in the resetting of bones and the callous stanching of blood flow with hands pressed hard against wounds. No one, he noticed, was helping Wei Ying. He could only hope he’d already received aid, but there were times when it wasn’t deemed necessary. If one was to die…

It made sense to treat those who stood a chance of living.

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji replied, stepping toward his uncle though his body and soul, what remained of it, clamored for Wei Ying. His brother was speaking with one of the elders, too busy to go check on Wei Ying in his stead. “Are you well?”

“I am unharmed,” he answered, gruff. “Why are you here?”

“Xiongzhang brought me. I would like to check on Wei Y—Wuxian.”

“Why is he here? He is meant to be serving with Nie-zongzhu. Cloud Recesses is quite far from Qinghe.”

Lan Wangji did not like the implication that Wei Ying might be here for anything other than the most serious of reasons; he bit back the worst of his disappointment that his uncle might think so. “He was meant to report to xiongzhang at Nie-zongzhu’s orders.”

“Then why did he not do so and return? What business did he have interfering? Do you think Nie-zongzhu will be pleased to discover his most effective weapon is injured and indisposed?”

Wei Ying is not a weapon.

“I delayed him.” It hadn’t been a lie to say that his brother was in a meeting, but surely it could have been interrupted. And even if not, it wouldn’t have gone as long as Lan Wangji had kept him. If they hadn’t argued… if he hadn’t wanted to see Wei Ying so badly…

“Wangji. You will explain.”

“I cannot. There is no explanation or excuse.” He would face punishment for this, likely worse than he’d faced before if the stress on his uncle’s face was any metric by which to judge, but he could not speak of that which Wei Ying had given into his care, not even when he was seeing his uncle’s fear writ across his expression for the first time in his life. “My apologies.”

Heedless of everything except the need to see Wei Ying’s face, to know how bad the damage was, to acknowledge the truth about which Wei Ying had been trying to warn him, and apologize for how arrogant he’d been to tell Wei Ying that they should find another way when he hadn’t been there to experience this, he turned away from his uncle without securing permission to abandon him.

What did a clean heart matter, indeed, when it wasn’t his own body that bore the brunt of Lan Wangji’s insistence that they be better than their enemies.

Three-thousand righteous rules hadn’t protected the members of his sect and they wouldn’t be what saved Wei Ying.

“Wangji!”

Lan Wangji, for the first time in his life, utterly disregarded his uncle. Close to Wei Ying, there was another casualty and a physician trying to work on him. These two, he moved past.

“Young man, stay put,” the physician said, an aggravated, gruff note in his voice. It was unusual to hear anyone in the sect show such emotion, but they were all under strain.

For a moment, Lan Wangji thought the physician meant him and halted immediately, turning to look at him as he fussed over the junior in his care.

“It’s very good to know Lan er-gongzi is as quick as ever to listen to his elders, but I didn’t mean you.” The physician didn’t lift his gaze and his hands didn’t so much as still as he inspected the disciple’s arm. That was that, apparently, because his next words were for the disciple as well. “You’ll be no good in a fight with your shoulder broken. Stop moving.”

The disciple froze halfway through standing.

“Sit.”

“Treating Wei-gongzi is more important.” That, frankly, Lan Wangji agreed with. Wei Ying was clearly the more injured party here. If he was still, something was very wrong.

Raising his eyebrow at Lan Wangji as though daring Lan Wangji to make the same argument, the physician said, “I’ve done what I can for Wei Wuxian.” His gaze carried over to the disciple as he gestured again at the table. “Sit.”

The physician did not delay him further and the disciple did not argue further in Wei Ying’s favor.

He stepped closer, both needing to see and not wanting to, until he finally had an entirely unobstructed view of Wei Ying’s prone form. His robes had been half pulled off his body, the fabric hanging awkwardly over the ends of the table, sashes and belt lost entirely. Bruises seemed to mar every inch of his exposed chest and his ribs were—some of his ribs protruded in ways they should not have, turning Lan Wangji’s stomach. Wei Ying’s abdomen and neck had also collected a variety of cuts, some deep, some shallow. Though Lan Wangji wanted to cover him up—surely it was cold—he didn’t want to accidentally rub away any of the medications smeared across his collections of wounds.

He was pale and gray and Lan Wangji’s knees almost gave out as he took in Wei Ying’s features at last. This didn’t seem real. This wasn’t Wei Ying. The skin above his eye and along his cheek had been parted by a blade. It was already cleaned and sewn back up, glistening with a layer of medicinal lotion, but—

He didn’t realize he’d made a sound until the physician spoke from the next table over. “Please don’t be sick on my floors, Lan er-gongzi.”

He did his best to calm himself, but sweat prickled in his hairline and he felt flush all over as he stared down at Wei Ying’s battered body.

“Lan er-gongzi,” the disciple called, fussing despite protests from the physician. “Lan er-gongzi. He… it was a rout. Some of us were trapped and Lan-xiansheng and the others couldn’t reach us. He arrived and stayed behind to give us time to get back. They were—Wen Ruohan’s people were… I’ve never seen anything like it.” His voice was shaky in the recitation. “I owe him my life. A lot of us do.”

How many more battles like this would there be? And how much worse would they be?

Lan Wangji didn’t have the answer, but he was certain that Wei Ying would were he in a position to give it.

“I think the only reason it worked was because they knew his reputation. They—they said that the Nie disciples he fights with call him the Blood-Bladed Plough. They thought it would be funny to gang up on him. They wanted to test the claim.”

Lan Wangji could not look at the disciple as he spoke, making a poor witness to Wei Ying’s suffering after the fact. Wei Ying’s body spoke eloquently enough all on its own.

Dried tear tracks broke up the dirt and grime and dried blood that still streaked his face. The physician hadn’t had time to clear it all away in his haste to care for the worst of Wei Ying’s wounds. He understood why, especially when there were so many others to care for, but it troubled him to see this evidence of Wei Ying’s pain. Wei Ying would be discomfited to discover it if anyone else saw it, too.

“Doctor, may I…”

The physician didn’t turn. “Do whatever you want as long as you don’t touch his wounds or move him.”

There was a basin of clean water nearby and a folded stack of small, square cloths which were, as far as Lan Wangji was concerned, too rough for what he wished to do. Given that they were the only ones available, he accepted them anyway. Dipping one of the cloths into the water, he took another dry one and came back to Wei Ying’s side.

It was not ideal, but as he swiped at Wei Ying’s uninjured cheek and across his chin and jaw and down his neck, careful to avoid pulling at the stitches, he felt a little bit better. Doing something had apparently become infinitely better than doing nothing. Even if that something was small and pointless.

He felt his uncle’s gaze on the back of his neck even from across the room and refused to flinch.

He was so deeply focused on performing each individual act, lightly scrubbing, then gently swiping, then carefully drying Wei Ying’s skin, that he didn’t notice at first when Wei Ying’s eyelashes began fluttering. It was only when his breathing hitched and his mouth parted, lips pale and cracked that Lan Zhan realized he was awakening.

Coughing, Wei Ying tried to struggle upright. It was easy to hold him in place, though; he was that weak. “Lan Zhan, what a nice dream this is.”

Lan Wangji’s hand tightened around the wet cloth. Cool, dirty liquid soaked into his sleeve. Worse, some of it dripped onto Wei Ying’s exposed collarbone. Wei Ying didn’t seem to notice. Lan Wangji wiped it away. This, Wei Ying didn’t seem to notice either. “It’s not a dream.”

Wei Ying slumped backward, almost boneless, as Lan Wangji retreated. There was no reason for him to touch Wei Ying so intimately. “So the pain is real, good to know.”

“Do not joke. Should I get the physician?”

“No, no. I’ll… You’re right.” Wincing, he laughed, a rattling little thin. “It would be ungracious of me to joke. Don’t bother the physicians.” Wei Ying turned his head, slow, taking in the controlled chaos of the rest of the room. “Others need the help more than me.”

“Wei Ying…”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying answered. His voice, though shaking and drained of every sign of life, remained solid, not to be argued with. If Lan Wangji tried to do so, Wei Ying would probably have wasted what little energy he had. Lan Wangji did not want that. “Sit down with me, huh?”

Grabbing a stool from nearby, he drew it close. It felt good to do one thing according to Wei Ying’s wishes.

Wei Ying did look a little better in motion, less like he’d died. Lan Wangji’s heart wasn’t going to squeeze itself to pulped meat as long as Wei Ying moved and breathed and spoke. Still, he didn’t have to shift every five seconds, even if unconsciously, tensing up and hissing under his breath as he tested his capabilities.

“Wei Ying, don’t move,” Lan Wangji said, because he couldn’t bring himself to do the right thing and call the physician over to assist, not when Wei Ying asked him not to.

Breathing a little heavily, he nodded. “Fine, fine. Good idea.”

Wei Ying smiled at him, rueful. With a smile like that to look at, Lan Wangji almost believed everything could be alright.

But of course that was impossible, a childish dream, no matter that it gave Lan Wangji the courage to brush the lank, sweaty bangs away from where they’d plastered themselves to Wei Ying’s temple.

The smile slid from Wei Ying’s mouth and his gaze grew as serious and somber as Lan Wangji had ever seen it. “How bad did it end up being?”

He struggled upright again and, before Lan Wangji could stop him, got a better glimpse of the room than his first, loud and bustling. Cries rent the air. Blood streaked every set of robes in the room. Lan Wangji had never seen so much misery in Cloud Recesses before and hoped never to see it again. He wanted to shield Wei Ying from it.

It couldn’t have been worse than Wen Xu’s attack, but Lan Wangji wasn’t here for that. Just like he hadn’t been able to fight this time.

“Wei Ying…”

“I won’t make you say it, Lan Zhan.” He blinked and stared up at the ceiling, collapsing backward with Lan Wangji’s palm splayed between his shoulder blades, his own quick thinking and knowledge of Wei Ying’s behaviors being the only thing that gave him the ability to guide him back down gently. “I really hate Wen Ruohan.”

What could Lan Wangji say to that?

Wei Ying choked back another laugh when he received nothing in return from Lan Wangji. Fresh tears slipped down his cheeks. He yelped when one followed the curve of the stitches in his cheek. When he lifted his hand to investigate, Lan Wangji lunged halfway across the table to grab Wei Ying’s wrist. If nothing else, the act startled Wei Ying out of crying. The track began to dry as he blinked, eyes wide with fear, at Lan Zhan.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” he said, refusing to be embarrassed by the contact.

Wei Ying’s mouth twitched and pulled as he formed it into a wide, fake smile, testing. The smile tugged at the stitches, unnatural and strange. “Tell me, are all of my charms and good looks gone? Have I been mangled beyond repair?”

“Did you not once say a man should have scars?”

“Not the face though.” Despite Lan Wangji’s grip on his wrist, he poked at his cheek, hissing again, going, “Ow,” like he didn’t know what would happen.

“You will look fine regardless,” Lan Wangji insisted. He would always look fine. A scar couldn’t mar Wei Ying’s beauty, not to Lan Wangji.

“Fine’s not going to keep me at fourth position on the most eligible bachelor list. What if Jiang Cheng beats me? What if I never beat Jin Zixuan?”

“Do you wish to remain on it?” Lan Wangji asked, knowing full well that he was just encouraging Wei Ying’s antics. Better to do that than watch helplessly as Wei Ying cried.

Wei Ying batted his eyelashes, but it was a half-hearted attempt at best and he kept trying to prod at the wound. “Not if you’ll still think I’m handsome.”

Lan Wangji was never someone who rolled his eyes before Wei Ying and he wished he could claim to be above it now, but he was not. He absolutely rolled his eyes and he said nothing aloud, but he did promise, only in his own heart, that he would think Wei Ying handsome enough for the whole world if it would only make him smile genuinely. “I will.”

This appeased Wei Ying for a time, but it wasn’t long before the dark cloud of his mood returned. His eyes turned to the rest of the room for a third time, cataloguing everything he saw even more closely. So much grief permeated it that even Lan Wangji’s fellow disciples were having a hard time controlling themselves. Lan Wangji did not want Wei Ying to see it, wished they would find the well of restraint in which Lan Wangji himself was drowning.

“There’s so much blood on my hands, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, quiet, thoughtful, “but it hasn’t made a damned bit of difference, has it?”

Lan Wangji had done nothing to earn the right to speak on this, but that wasn’t going to stop him. “It has. There are people here right now who wouldn’t be if not for you.”

Wei Ying quieted again for a time. “That’s enough, isn’t it? That we’re all here now?”

Lan Wangji brought the stool closer, covering Wei Ying’s wrist with one hand and uncurling the tight fist he was making with the other. He was not naturally comforting, but he tried to be for Wei Ying’s sake. Though he didn’t have the words or Wei Ying’s warmth, he could do this much even around the lump in his throat. “Yes.”

“I can believe it as long as you’re the one saying it, Lan Zhan.”

You shouldn’t. I can’t guarantee that it’s enough. I can’t guarantee anything.

Except, of course, he could.

He held Wei Ying’s hand until Wei Ying fell into a fitful rest, until his uncle’s glare from across the room hardened into something colder before he turned away to confer with his brother, until, with no one to see him, he made his decision.

Wei Ying would not spend even one more day than necessary spilling his own blood for this, not when Lan Wangji could do something about it.

Lan Wangji only slipped away once he was certain Wei Ying wouldn’t be waking any time soon, guilt trailing after him as he left the medical pavilion.

Back in the jingshi, Wei Ying’s qiankun pouch remained on the table. It had been pushed nearly to the edge when Lan Wangji had used the table as a pillow, the plates and bowls and tray all shoved aside, too. It appeared innocuous from the outside, plain and unimportant, but looks often deceived.

There was a rule against paying too much attention to another person’s belongings, against snooping, against everything Lan Wangji intended to do here, but he’d already broken rules and the worst that ever came of it was a cold. As abhorrent as he found it to open the pouch, he did it anyway.

Wei Ying would have to forgive him later if he was capable of it.

Within, he found the sword, sheathed now in a scabbard on which Wei Ying had plastered several talismans. Without his golden core or any true spiritual awareness, he couldn’t sense the same danger Wei Ying must have felt, but he trusted that this was a necessary measure. It, he left in place, retrieving instead a locked wooden box, small and thin.

When Lan Wangji brushed his thumb over the lock’s surface, it fell apart and clattered to the table before him in a sparkle. Wei Ying had protected it with a barrier, one that Lan Wangji didn’t even need to break to get through. He trusted Lan Wangji with this that much.

Disappointment and shame filled Lan Wangji as he pushed the lid open. A sheaf of rolled papers sat nestled inside, held together by a frayed purple ribbon.

Heart pounding furiously, Lan Wangji carefully tugged the ribbon free. The pages spilled open before him. Most were tweaks to familiar talismans, a few new spells mixed in that Lan Wangji didn’t take the time to analyze. He despaired of finding what he was looking for until, not quite at the bottom of the stack, schematics: complete schematics, for what could only be Wei Ying’s device, his noxious spiritual tool.

It bore no name that Lan Wangji could see, though Wei Ying’s words filled the page. The pages that followed also discussed his theory, the way it would work, how exactly resentful energy could be harnessed. In one section of his notes, he discussed how music might be a reliable medium for such work. Lan Wangji’s eyes fell on his qin and then flickered back to the notes.

He was even further along than Lan Wangji might have guessed, his theory sound, if abhorrent in nature. The thoughts that drove him to this must have been fierce and unsettling. Who could imagine such a thing? Who would want to? Lan Wangji brushed his fingers, feather light, over the surface of the paper, as though touching it might transfer some of Wei Ying’s anguish to him, protect Wei Ying from the worst of his own ideas.

Too late. Wei Ying had already agonized over this where Lan Wangji could not reach him; he’d reached this conclusion on his own.

“Wei Ying,” he said, because he could, though no one was around to hear it.

He could not support Wei Ying’s endeavor in the manner Wei Ying intended, but he could support it in other ways.

He would take this burden from Wei Ying’s hands; Wei Ying’s sacrifices, all of the deaths he’d witnessed and perpetuated, would be made worth it.

It was the least of what he owed Wei Ying.

With as much care as he could muster, he freed only the pages related to the device from the stack and returned the rest to the box. They were useful inventions, creative and a little strange. Should anyone find them, they would not damn Wei Ying. He, too, took the sword. This device could not be made without it after all.

Though he longed to leave a message for Wei Ying, he feared what might happen if his brother or uncle or another disciple discovered it.

The guilt that pulsed within him would become a well-worn companion soon enough, but as this was their first meeting, he greeted it respectfully enough.

Wei Ying’s rabbits huddled next to one another on his bed. He scooped them into his arms and delayed only long enough to return them to their kindred in the meadow, bidding them farewell.

When he would see them again, he couldn’t rightly say.

Six Months Later

Though an entire field of disciples from various sects—Nie, Yu, Jiang, so many minor sects that even Wei Wuxian didn’t recognize them all, a sea of Lan white—stood between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, that didn’t stop Wei Wuxian from searching for him amidst the cultivators amassed here, nor did it stop Jiang Cheng from doing the same. Their eyes met from opposite sides of the flat, rocky expanse of land outside of Nightless City.

Sect Leader Nie caught his eye, jerked his head toward the stretch of the field where Jiang Cheng could be found. “Will he help you?”

“He’s had my back for years,” Wei Wuxian answered. “It’ll be the same today.”

Sect Leader Nie nodded. “Then go.”

Racing and weaving through the crowd, he returned to the only brother he’d ever known. It had been so long that he almost didn’t recognize him.

Wei Wuxian had learned a degree of self-restraint from spending so much time at the Hejian front, but the pull of the familiar was too much for his heart to take. If he threw his arms around Jiang Cheng’s neck and squeezed the life out of him, that was his business.

“Jiang Cheng,” he whispered.

Pulling back, holding Wei Wuxian at arm’s length, Jiang Cheng studied the jagged scar across his face. This wasn’t new. Most people noticed it first and never noticed anything else about him. But though his eyes narrowed, he didn’t display the same pity or concern that others had. Instead, he nodded, conveying a sense of pride: pride in Wei Wuxian for surviving, pride that he continued to fight. Pride. Wei Wuxian didn’t even know that that was anymore.

Somewhere in the midst of the fighting, Jiang Cheng had matured. He stood with upright purpose, more settled than Wei Wuxian had ever seen him, solid in ways he hadn’t been before. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have wished their experiences on anyone, but Jiang Cheng did cut an impressive figure. Away from Wei Wuxian, he’d grown into himself. And Wei Wuxian… it was only Wei Wuxian who felt diminished, cut to the quick, a man made only of exposed bone and frayed nerves. The last of his arrogance had been sliced away with his face and his hope had spirited itself away with Lan Zhan. In these long months since then, Wei Wuxian fell into an existence as rote as the fights they were no longer winning. He killed those who tried to kill him as duty demanded and his only purpose in staying alive was to ensure those who fought with him had a shield to protect them from harm. He succeeded in his duty to a far greater degree than he ever fulfilled his purpose.

In this, Wei Wuxian was the one who’d been left behind. The pride had been burned out of him, the sense of honor. There was no grandeur in his bearing, not like what Jiang Cheng carried within him. What remained was a mere simulacrum, a play performance of the bright arrogance he’d come into this fight with. For Jiang Cheng, he could pretend one last time. If he was lucky, this was the last time he’d be expected to do so.

And then he punched Wei Wuxian in the arm. Hard. And Jiang Cheng was just Jiang Cheng again and the tightness in his chest unlocked itself. “Wei Wuxian!” Scrutinizing Wei Wuxian with a sour frown on his mouth, he said, incredulously soft and bland, “I can’t believe you’re somehow still considered the fourth most eligible bachelor.”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian said nothing, shocked that he was—that someone, anyone was joking with him.

Laughing, because it was so good to see someone he loved after so many months alone—the Nies were great, don’t get him wrong, but it wasn’t quite the same, not since Lan Zhan left, making him feel the loss of everyone else all the more keenly—he said, “That’s because everyone sees my pure, beautiful heart and not just a chiseled jaw.”

He reached forward and cuffed Jiang Cheng under the chin. Jiang Cheng dodged and took a swipe at him in turn. Anyone might have thought they were on their way to a playdate instead of waiting for a massive battle to commence.

The massive battle. The only battle.

Somehow, Wei Wuxian couldn’t believe it had taken so long for this day to come, finally pushed to the point where they’d have to make an all-or-nothing attempt or fall apart entirely. Months and months he’d dreamed about this moment, pushed for it in every strategy meeting he’d been allowed to be a part of, and now it was finally happening. Now that he was standing here, he realized that he didn’t think they’d win. It didn’t seem possible. They would all die today and Wei Wuxian…

Wei Wuxian’s belief in Lan Zhan could only carry him so far. It appeared Nightless City was where it shriveled and died.

In the end, Lan Zhan had lied to him, whether purposefully or accidentally. He’d said he’d find another path for Wei Wuxian to follow and Wei Wuxian? He’d listened. Hadn’t even opened his qiankun pouch in the months since he’d departed from Cloud Recesses once he was well enough to go: his promise to Lan Zhan made manifest.

Though Wei Wuxian feared for Lan Zhan’s safety, often wondered what had happened, why he’d gone, and where he went, he was glad that Lan Zhan wasn’t here for this. Wherever he was—and he refused to believe that Lan Zhan fell off the face of the planet and died, he must have gone for a reason, and he must be safe—this conflict didn’t have to touch him. Around the third month, Wei Wuxian stopped writing to Cloud Recesses for news. He never had any to share.

It was a comfort, as much as he missed him.

But he couldn’t focus on Lan Zhan right now.

Instead Wei Wuxian tugged at Jiang Cheng’s arm and pulled him out of the midst of the other cultivators preparing for the fight, conversing with one another over last minute strategies or releasing stress as best they could through raucous conversation and too-loud laughter. He needn’t fear Madam Yu yelling at them to form back up; she was leading the charge with Sect Leader Nie and had her own business to attend to.

Once they were far enough away, Wi Wuxian leaned close.

Wei Wuxian still spoke quietly. “Chifeng-zun has a plan.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes slightly. “I think everyone here has a plan: not dying is a good place to start.”

Slapping Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, Wei Wuxian sniffed. “You know what I mean. Just—we’re all going to throw everything we’ve got at this. He and I discussed… well… Wen Ruohan’s troops don’t matter.”

Jiang Cheng frowned and crossed his arms. “Oh, you’re close with Nie-zongzhu now, huh? What’s this plan you have? I don’t know what they do in Qinghe, but those troops matter when they’re cutting down my people. Throw everything at the palace. Get inside. Kill Wen Ruohan. It’s a good plan.”

Wei Wuxian shook his head. It was a terrible plan. It barely counted as a prayer. “We need to be smart. And what I need to do is make a big, big distraction.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed.

Wei Wuxian lifted his palms. “I need your help.”

Jiang Cheng’s expression shifted slightly, warming up just a hint. He still shoved at Wei Wuxian’s arm. “Of course you do, you’re hopeless. What do you even need?”

He’d missed this, the casually mean teasing, and loved it all the more for not hearing any insecurity underlying it. Jiang Cheng was giving him a hard time for the sake of it, not because he wanted or needed it to be true.

“Help me get across a sea of Wen soldiers and the bridge leading to the Palace of the Sun and Flames with my life and limbs intact. That’s all.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Don’t forget the archers who’ll be flanking the far side of the bridge.”

“Who could forget them when the Wen Sect used to constantly remind us of their prowess?”

“What’s the target?”

“The palace.” At Jiang Cheng’s expression, Wei Wuxian grinned. “Easy, huh?” He pulled a spare sword from his belt and tossed it at Jiang Cheng. “You’ll need this if you want to protect me.”

Jiang Cheng shook his head, but a small smile curled at the corner of his mouth and he bounced on his heels once, very slyly, nothing anybody would have been to call him on. He was excited.

Adrenaline overrode the terror he should have been feeling, enough to make Wei Wuxian feel momentarily invincible, too.

Even though it was just his desperation talking—how could it not be, when he’d spent the entirety of last night far from camp vomiting his guts out, knowing with a deep, dreadful certainty that they were all going to die today no matter what he did to stop it—he would take it.

It might be foolish, this desperation, this wild hope carried entirely in Jiang Cheng’s vindictive grin, but he would cling to it with ragged fingernails.

“What do you actually need me to do?”

“Cover my back. There’s no one I trust more with it.”

Jiang Cheng preened beautifully under Wei Wuxian’s praises. A small, dumb smile graced his lips at this sign that Jiang Cheng hadn’t entirely changed after all, tugging at the scar the way it always did when he smiled. If this ended up being it for them, he could live with that. Or die with it, he supposed.

There would be regrets, but there were always regrets in life.

He just hoped Lan Zhan wouldn’t be too upset about it if the worst happened and that he would stay safe no matter what happened. He hoped, too, that Lan Zhan knew just how much he always cared about him, how highly he was regarded. Though he’d gotten some of the words out in writing, he should have done more.

He should have sent more while he had the chance, should have showered Lan Zhan in letters, should have said what lived in his heart out loud while he’d had the chance.

Slipping into a partnership with Jiang Cheng was a lot like going home, easy and warm and welcome. Even under the circumstances, it felt good to fight with him again. It made things feel deceptively simple as they jumped across the field, slicing through the portion of it populated by what were clearly not the strongest of Wen Ruohan’s disciples. It still didn’t make getting through the gate that protected the city easy. That was all they needed to do.

It wasn’t upstanding or honorable, thinking so ill of the people who died under his sword, but Wei Wuxian was well past the point of caring about either of those things. Anyone who fought for Wen Ruohan was his enemy and would be treated as such, no less than they’d treat him or the people he cared about.

Wei Wuxian broke into a sprint, taking advantage of the hole he’d opened up, and Jiang Cheng launched himself after him, determined to beat him through. “I’m going to kill you!”

As soon as they broke through, Jiang Cheng threw himself onto his sword. Wei Wuxian followed suit. Twisting once, Wei Wuxian saw the snap of Zidian on the far side of the battlefield along with the somber shine of Baxia. Just as Sect Leader Nie had hoped, most of the fighting was centered around them.

“Watch it!” Jiang Cheng called as his sword dipped and swerved beneath him. An arrow flew past Wei Wuxian’s head, close enough that the fletching brushed his face. The arrow tottered on its trajectory and fell away. The archers were Wen Ruohan’s true defense. The frantic flutter of fear from the night before was back behind his breastbone and despair struck him in the chest, so fierce and real that it almost knocked him from his sword. Jiang Cheng caught his flinch and scoffed, racing off toward the palace. As more arrows rained down on them, Wei Wuxian could only be glad that, even if he and Jiang Cheng failed, they’d forced the archers to waste their weapons on a pair of gnats.

They dodged everything that was shot at them, diving and sweeping left and right and climbing again, Jiang Cheng holding tight to the spare sword the whole time. They only stopped once they were centered above the palace’s entrance. As he pulled a stack of talismans from his belt, he put his trust in Jiang Cheng’s abilities and tossed a few at Jiang Cheng. He was Wei Wuxian’s only shield against those arrows. Hovering steadily, sword drawn, ready to activate the talismans, a short-lived barrier spell Wei Wuxian had come up with, he got to work. The first volleys were cut into pieces on the sword, fell harmlessly before the heavily-barred door to the palace.

When normal arrows didn’t work, the archers started shooting flame-tipped arrows at them.

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said, grabbing one of the arrows as it tumbled from the sky. This one, he flung at the ground, scattering a few of the cultivators standing there as they shouted back at the archers. For whatever reason—Wei Wuxian didn’t want to look gift horses in the mouth too closely—nobody below wanted to mount their swords to take on Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng directly. Maybe they couldn’t. “We don’t have all day.”

He activated and flung each talisman still in his hand at a different section of the roof. “I know, I know, I know.”

“Shit. Shit, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng shouted, hard to hear over the rush of the wind and the blood pounding in his ears.

Twisting on the sword, Wei Wuxian soon saw exactly what Jiang Cheng was talking about.

Neither Madam Yu and Sect Leader Nie were unable to break through the way Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng had. The Wen Sect cultivators were still too focused on them specifically.

With so many cultivators attacking them and nobody on their side able to gain aerial advantage, it seemed like only a matter of time before they would be overwhelmed.

“There’s no way,” Jiang Cheng said, shaking his head. “We have to help.”

“We have a job to do.” Wei Wuxian turned, bit his lip. “I have a job to do. You… you go and help then. I should be able to manage from here.” Only a few more talismans to go. Each moment passed as slowly as an hour would have, vivid and treacly. Wei Wuxian saw and heard everything. If he didn’t know better, he would think himself caught forever in this miniscule stretch of time.

“Go back!” he called. He could dodge a few arrows on his own.

“Like hell,” Jiang Cheng yelled. The clatter of Jiang Cheng’s sword against the shafts of the arrows sounded a bit like rain pattering, growing more furious as the archers grew more desperate. It could have been soothing in different circumstances or at least a fun training exercise.

He jumped from his sword and landed on the roof, slapping the last one down and activating it before flinging himself back into the air. They would only have a few seconds. “Okay, that’s it,” he yelled, unable to tell if Jiang Cheng heard him. There wasn’t time to wait and see.

“That was—but!” Jiang Cheng barely had time to swing around before Wei Wuxian was sweeping across the field again, racing toward Madam Yu and Nie Mingjue as quickly as possible.

“No time! Come on!”

Jiang Cheng was just not moving quickly enough, not understanding what it was that Wei Wuxian had done. He weaved over and grabbed the collar of Jiang Cheng’s robes to get him moving just as heat flared across his back. It was followed by a loud crack as though the sky itself was splitting in two.

Jiang Cheng said something, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t hear it over the sound of his ears ringing.

He could only hope Jiang Cheng was smart enough to follow. A column of flame billowed up behind them, moving faster and faster. It coruscated, red and white and blue, and churned with black smoke. Its heat seared its way across the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck. Jiang Cheng cursed him as creatively as Wei Wuxian had ever heard before.

The fighting stopped.

The palace’s roof crumbled, crushing those guarding the door beneath it. Dust obscured the archers’ eyes, losing Wen Ruohan his finest advantage.

For five glorious seconds, nobody moved, nobody even breathed. Nobody knew it was going to happen except—

Except Madam Yu and Sect Leader Nie. They, at least, were ready for it. And that was the entire point of this exercise. They finally cut through the lines still keeping them from their quarry and Madam Yu launched herself into the air, poised on her sword. Zidian snapped through the wide swath of the Wen trying to stop her.

It felt like Wen Ruohan’s entire army swarmed Sect Leader Nie, even more ferociously than before.

Only Wei Wuxian could help. He’d faced worse odds. “Jiang Cheng, go help Yu-furen. I’m going back for Chifeng-zun!”

Jiang Cheng nodded, veered off to meet his mother. With his own family on the line, it was easy to convince him. A few of the Wen around the edges, ones who apparently cared to fly on swords, took to the air, intent on intercepting Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian did not have the time to bother with them, but he couldn’t ignore them.

Other Nie Sect cultivators were trying to fight their way to Sect Leader Nie, seeing what Wei Wuxian saw. Without Madam Yu and Zidian, he couldn’t clear space for himself. Even Baxia couldn’t give him an opening. Sect Leader Nie was tiring, his attacks less precise than they should have been. He struck one of the Wen down, but too slow.

Another Wen, already fallen and forgotten, struck Sect Leader Nie in the thigh, sword cutting through his robes. He roared loud enough that Wei Wuxian swore he could hear it over the rest of the battle.

That was all the other Wen soldiers ahead of him needed to strike their own blows. Two swords pierced Sect Leader Nie’s chest and a third swept across the side of his neck. Blood spurted from the wound in an elegant arc, a perfect contrast to the fearsome grin on his mouth as he spun, slicing through each of his murderers with the last of his strength.

Too late, too late. He was too late.

Sect Leader Nie was dead and yet a battle raged. Wei Wuxian needed to help Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu. He needed to avenge the man who’d led him for nearly two years. He needed…

A piercing, shrieking, mournful wail rang out across the battlefield, a note so high-pitched and tortured that it cut through Wei Wuxian’s muffled senses, which were still narrowed down to the reality that Sect Leader Nie was—that he’d…

Wei Wuxian nearly blacked out from the onslaught of sound and the Wen pursuing him wavered and fell, tumbling to the dirt, their swords following them. Cultivators on both sides collapsed, screaming in agony.

He landed, knees giving out as he stumbled. Solid ground did not feel so solid as the very earth itself rumbled.

His mouth watered and his stomach roiled and still the noise didn’t stop. Others retched or cried or clawed at their faces. Some did all three. That didn’t stop the noise either.

Tripping over himself as he continued toward Sect Leader Nie’s body, he lowered his sword to the ground to aid him in walking.

His vision swam as he choked and spit out bile. It took every ounce of strength in him to raise his head and search the battlefield for the source of each punishing, discordant note.

Was it a trick? Some kind of weapon?

When he raised his eyes to the ruined roof over the Palace of the Sun and Flames, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It seemed impossible, a vision in pure white from the heavens. He couldn’t be the source of such a vile noise, but there was no denying the qin held aloft before him, obscured by swirling plumes of dark smoke, sounded like it could have emitted it.

Though it made no sense, Wei Wuxian would recognize the upright bearing of those shoulders anywhere, the careful brush of fingers across qin strings, always, even in such impossible circumstances as these.

“Lan Zhan?!” he called, though he knew he could not be heard, if the words had even been spoken aloud.

The playing ceased and Lan Zhan’s eyes found his unerringly, even from across the chasm that separated them. Only flight or a run across the bridge would bring them back together.

The worst of the spell lifted and Wei Wuxian dared not delay while he had full control of himself. Others stirred as Wei Wuxian mounted his sword, but hope and determination carried him: he needed to reach Lan Zhan before he started doing whatever he was doing again. No, he just needed to reach Lan Zhan. If winning required his use of the qin, then so be it. Wei Wuxian would die by its sound if only it destroyed the Wen, too. If that had to be while he pursued Lan Zhan, so be it.

He treated this inferior sword he’d been saddled with as though it was Suibian, forcing it to reach speeds that even Suibian would have struggled with. It was that important that Wei Wuxian reach Lan Zhan. Right. Now.

Nothing could stop him, not even the remaining archers he’d needed Jiang Cheng’s help earlier to dodge. Many of them were down, having been caught by Zidian’s bite or still struggling with the dust and smoke, but enough remained that they could hurt Wei Wuxian if he wasn’t careful.

The fighting resumed, even more frantic than before.

Up close, Lan Zhan looked tired, haggard, haunted. His pristine skin was smudged with bruises of exhaustion, like someone had taken ink and wiped it under his eyes. Though his Lan Sect ribbon remained firmly in place, he’d lost the elegant ornaments he favored somewhere along the way and kept his hair pulled back in a simpler piece, silver and unadorned.

He was beautiful. He was perfect. As Wei Wuxian jumped down from his sword to take his place at Lan Zhan’s side, balanced on the rough, not yet collapsed section of the wall, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t kiss him in exuberant greeting. From this vantage, he could see Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu fighting Wen Ruohan inside what was left of the palace’s massive entryway. A fresh burst of adrenaline overwhelmed him, carrying true hope within it, the first bit of hope he’d felt in months, before that even.

And he was staring at Wei Wuxian like he was the one seeing a ghost and not the other way around.

Grinning, Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop himself from laughing wetly, eyes watering in surprise. The past could be left there now that Lan Zhan had returned to him. It was already like a dream, might not have happened at all. “Lan Zhan, has anyone ever told you what wonderful timing you have?”

Lan Zhan woke from his daze and looked away, perhaps to survey the battle below. Without Lan Zhan to play both sides into submission, the fighting had renewed itself as both sides fought to reach the palace first. “I…”

Wei Wuxian bounced on the balls of his feet. Now that Lan Zhan was here, they were sure to win. Wei Wuxian refused to lose in front of Lan Zhan. He would not let Lan Zhan die here. “What do you need me to do? What did you do?” Before Lan Zhan could answer, Wei Wuxian was already hard at work, thinking. “That had to have taken a lot out of you, what you just did. How can I help? What do you need?” He was babbling. It didn’t matter.

“I need to get closer. Can you keep these archers back?”

Wei Wuxian bowed slightly and pressed the handle of his sword against his temple, saluting jauntily. “It would be my pleasure, Lan Zhan.”

Hopping down from the wall, he waited for Lan Zhan to follow him, a little slower, a little less coordinated, but for a man without a golden core, he was still remarkably agile, elegantly graceful.

And then he was fighting again, each movement a sheer delight given the purpose, but unlike before, it wasn’t nearly as hard.

Wei Wuxian worried that the next time Lan Zhan’s qin rang out, it would incapacitate the entire field again. As the first note filled the air, Wei Wuxian realized it was different this time. It still grated on the nerves, the music settling unhappily under the skin and curling around bone and nerves alike, awakening sensations that were uncomfortable at best and actively frightening at worst, but.

This time, this time it was bearable.

Nothing happened, not at first, but it didn’t matter, because the people he fought weren’t as strong as him, succumbing to the noise where their side did not. It was the same across the chasm where most of the cultivators were still stuck. They’d brought their best to the fight, but Wen Ruohan only had numbers. With Lan Zhan to tip the balance, it wasn’t so difficult to take the advantage.

The music shifted ever so slightly and suddenly…

The fallen body next to him twitched. Then another and another. Further away, still more twitched. A scream rent the air.

So it was like this.

Suddenly, Wei Wuxian knew exactly what Lan Zhan had done, where he’d been these last months, how his cultivation worked. Of course. It made sense. Absent a golden core…

Wei Wuxian hadn’t even really considered the fact that capturing and using resentful energy wouldn’t require the cultivator to have a golden core. Anyone could use it.

His heart shattered at the thought of what Lan Zhan would have had to do for this power. Wei Wuxian had thought so long and hard about it that the cost had stopped registering, but knowing Lan Zhan had gone through the horror of it…

He’d speculated it would take something like six months total if a person was desperate enough: a few to learn, trial by fire, and at least four to properly cultivate a spiritual tool worthy of the sacrifice.

Lan Zhan seemed to have figured out a way to use his qin to this purpose, something Wei Wuxian hadn’t considered before. His focus had been on the seal, on turning the Xuanwu sword into a truly ferocious instrument.

He would not have wished this on Lan Zhan. It should have been him.

Fallen cultivators from both sides rose on shambling, shaking legs, only steadying after a moment and at the behest of even more inhuman plucks of Lan Zhan’s qin. Those with weapons attacked the closest Wen to them. Those without… they still attacked, turning their own bodies into weapons.

Those fighting against the Wen, those still living, retreated once they realized what was happening.

Lan Zhan’s corpses mercilessly hunted down their comrades, utterly unstoppable. No matter how many times they struck back, they did not fall. This was the sort of army Wen Ruohan would have coveted.

Wei Wuxian returned to Lan Zhan’s side, confident now that Lan Zhan had control of the field. For the first time in years, he didn’t have to be the one who fought. He was shamed by how grateful he was.

Lan Zhan played until his fingertips bled and his body shook with the effort he exerted, sweat dotting his brow. Resentful energy curled around him and even grew to encompass Wei Wuxian’s body, too, a protective shield of sorts. Wei Wuxian longed to disperse it, clean it, take it into himself where it belonged. It was his own creation after all. This unnatural path—and Wei Wuxian knew it now to be so, heard Lan Qiren in the back of his head reminding him that it was a perversion, an inversion of nature—it suited Lan Zhan poorly.

His skin, already wan, grew paler by the second. A note slipped, painful, between his fingers, a false note, a mistake. His army jolted and jerked before righting themselves. The sound intensified and that army swarmed, consumed every living Wen soldier they could reach. Though Wei Wuxian was far from the center of the massacre, he could tell…

“Lan Zhan,” he said, grasping for calm.

They turned, seeming almost to act as one. A string snapped beneath Lan Zhan’s touch and struck his neck, viper quick, drawing blood. He might have been a statue for how little he reacted to the wound.

“Lan Zhan!”

Another string snapped, but this time, Wei Wuxian was ready. He sprang across the scant distance that separated them and caught it before it could injure Lan Zhan. It whipped across his palm, gouged his skin, but he slammed his hand down onto the qin, pressed until Lan Zhan stopped, the notes stifled.

Wei Wuxian did not recognize the creature behind Lan Zhan’s bright, golden eyes.

Behind him, hundreds, thousands of bodies struck dirt with a wet thud. Wei Wuxian didn’t dare turn, but he didn’t dare not.

Each one that he could see bore a broken neck, their heads twisted at odd angles.

A roar went up on the opposite side of the battlefield, one of approval, of power, of excitement, of hysterical fear most of all. Over Lan Zhan’s shoulders, he saw what everyone else saw: Jiang Cheng emerging from the Palace of the Sun and Flames, Madam Yu at his side.

In his hand, he carried the head of a man, long hair shorn so short Jiang Cheng almost couldn’t hold it by the length of it.

Wen Ruohan.

As simple as that, it was done.

Lan Zhan’s head bowed over his broken qin. Resentful energy continued to coil around him, pulsing, but Wei Wuxian cared nothing for it, waded through it a second time. His hands cupped Lan Zhan’s face. When he lifted his eyes this time, Wei Wuxian recognized the terror flickering in his gaze.

“Lan Zhan,” he said. “My Lan Zhan.” How much of his grief-driven work did Lan Zhan take from him? What would he find in the qiankun pouch if he looked now? And what wouldn’t he? “I’m sorry. Come back to me.” I’m so sorry. I should never have burdened you with this.

And even though he mourned what Lan Zhan had given up, he was a coward, too. Relief flowed over him like a cool wave lapping gently at the shore. He didn’t have to fight anymore. He wasn’t dead. There was time.

They had time now.

And Lan Zhan was here. These were the makings of his greatest hopes and dreams and they were real. They weren’t just imaginings sent to torture and taunt him the night before a battle he knew he wouldn’t return from.

What could he do with these hopes and dreams after what he’d let Lan Zhan become?

He crouched down and crossed his arms over his knees, tossing his sword aside as he tried to wrap his mind around it all. Wen Ruohan was dead. The war was over. He could go home. He could—

It was too big. Too much.

He owed it all to Lan Zhan. He owed… he owed everything to Lan Zhan. This was a debt he would never succeed in repaying. And yet, he’ll spend the rest of his life trying. He knew this. He could not articulate it to Lan Zhan, not yet, but he knew it in his heart. “Lan Zhan, thank—”

As he said this, Lan Zhan was saying, “—I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Laughing, shaky, he hugged his own legs tighter, looking up at Lan Zhan, chin perched on his knees. He had to pull himself together again. His body just wouldn’t cooperate. “What do you have to be sorry about? I’m the one who should be sorry, Lan Zhan.”

Sorry for making you feel like you had to be the one to take this path, sorry that you had to walk it alone. So many apologies were needed.

Lan Zhan held one hand out to him, as though to entice a skittish animal closer. When Wei Wuxian didn’t bite, Lan Zhan crouched, too, qin balanced precariously on his thighs.

“How did you manage it?” Wei Wuxian asked as Lan Zhan knelt next to him. He shivered even under Lan Zhan’s touch. Though he wanted to lean into it, he didn’t dare. It might lead him to tears and that… he wouldn’t cry in front of Lan Zhan, not for this, not with the entire world watching.

Though Lan Zhan hesitated, he retrieved a large chunk of metal from his sleeve. Of course Wei Ying recognized it. It looked exactly like his schematic.

“You really did it.” The yin tiger seal. Every curve of its form was one that Wei Wuxian had burned into his memory as he’d theorized his way through the mental construction of it. When he reached out to take hold of it, though, Lan Zhan pulled it away and shoved it back into his sleeve.

“You don’t want to touch it now.”

“I didn’t want to touch it when it was a sword,” Wei Wuxian admitted, “but I did.”

“It’s worse now. I won’t subject you to it.”

Bile crawled, ugly and creeping, up his throat. He’d done this to Lan Zhan, drove him to this. If he’d been stronger… if he hadn’t gone to Cloud Recesses… “You went into the Burial Mounds, too, I take it?”

“I did what needed to be done. Your theory was flawless.”

“But—“

“Wei Ying, it’s done. You cannot touch it. I will not talk about it. I don’t intend to do this again.”

“Then what—” What will you do, Lan Zhan? What do you intend to do?

Of course he understood Wei Wuxian. Nobody else did. “I will return to Cloud Recesses if you’ll allow it.”

Those tears Wei Wuxian told himself wouldn’t fall gathered at the corner of his eyes. He did not let them fall. Cloud Recesses. His uncle would lock him away. “If I’ll allow it. Lan Zhan, what about—”

“Wei Ying.” His voice was steady and cold. It was unfair that he could remain so stoic and distant at such a moment as this.

“Lan Zhan, will you ever forgive me for this?”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer right away, long enough that Wei Wuxian lifted his head to see if Lan Zhan was even listening. “There is nothing to forgive,” he said, only once he’d taken stock of the group of cultivators pushing their way toward them, pushing through the bottleneck on the bridge.

The shouts and jeers, a mingling of happiness and fear, finally fully punctured their bubble of privacy. How would these cultivators reconcile how they were saved? All they could possibly know was how evil the qin sounded, how powerful it was. One man should not have turned the tide of battle that quickly or at all. He should not have turned the dead against the living.

Lan Zhan rose and carefully packed the qin away. His bearing was as upstanding as it ever was, even if he carried himself a little more tensely than before, waiting for the worst to befall him.

Their allies turned questioning glances, vicious and awed, their way. Wei Wuxian found his feet, stole some of Lan Zhan’s stoicism from him.

When Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Zhan again, he saw a man who believed himself on the verge of execution, perhaps even welcomed it if the peaceful aura he affected was any indication.

Wei Wuxian took a step forward, adjusted his stance so he was just the slightest bit ahead of Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan was quiet when he spoke, words reserved for Wei Wuxian alone. They were words Wei Wuxian absolutely didn’t want to hear ever again. “I will submit to whatever punishment you wish to enact.”

“What?”

“I took your property. That requires punishment.”

Incredulous, Wei Wuxian whispered back, “Lan Zhan, if you think I’m going to ask for your head because you filched my notes and took a sword I didn’t even like, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“I will submit.”

“Yeah, that’s great to hear, but maybe stop saying that. Nobody wants to punish you.”

And if they did, they’d have to get through Wei Wuxian first. Lan Zhan had done nothing wrong, nothing worthy of punishment. They’d all be dead right now if not for him. Wei Wuxian would lose his life before he ever let the world forget it.

The crowd, still gawking at Lan Zhan, parted for Lan Xichen, who looked at them with such naked horror on his face that Wei Wuxian was tempted to slap him just to get him to pull himself together. They could stop acting like they weren’t all just trying to face down Wen Ruohan, a man far more frightening than Lan Zhan could ever be. Wei Wuxian stared back, unrepentant, hoping that Lan Xichen was remembering the last time Lan Xichen had misjudged his brother.

The last of the resentful energy that clung to Lan Zhan faded and he was left clutching his qin to his chest, hidden away now in its protective traveling case. He looked so young, like a child who knew he’d done something so wrong he’d never recover properly.

“Wangji…” Lan Xichen said, mournful.

Bowing his head, Lan Zhan replied, “Xiongzhang.”

A cultivator that Wei Wuxian didn’t recognize, wearing the robes of one of the minor sects, one Wei Wuxian didn’t recognize despite the similarity to the Lan Sect’s robes, shouted, “Is this what the Lan Sect considers righteous behavior?!”

Lan Xichen did not answer. Wei Wuxian might have known.

Though it should be his own brother speaking on his behalf or at least his sect leader, the job fell to Wei Wuxian. “Who are you to talk like this? Your sorry life was saved just now and you’re already this ungrateful?”

Murmurs of hesitant agreement worked their way through the crowd. If they were smart, perhaps he wouldn’t actually have to fight anyone else today. If they weren’t, he was prepared.

“If anything,” he added, pressing his dubious advantage, “you should feel more appeased that it was a proper Lan who saved you!”

Another cultivator, this one from the Nie Sect, murmured a bit desperately to one of the disciples next to him, “Maybe it’s some secret technique of the Lan Sect?”

Lan Xichen’s features froze as he overheard that suggestion, too, which also worked its way quickly through the crowd, sounding so logical and acceptable to them that they were already deciding it was the truth. Wei Wuxian could tell that Lan Xichen wanted to correct them, but that impulse was clearly at war with his desire to protect his brother from the crowd’s ire. He wound up saying nothing despite the frown marring his normally easy, charming features. Good.

“Wangji,” he said, forceful, ignoring that which he did not wish to deal with, “we need to return to the Cloud Recesses. Now.”

Both Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu stepped forward. They peered curiously at Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan, expressions almost identically skeptical and waspish. Blood and grime coated their faces and robes, but they appeared otherwise fine.

“Did you do this?” Madam Yu asked, sharp. Her gaze honed in on the qin and then lifted to Lan Zhan’s face.

“I can assure—” Lan Xichen was already saying, stepping forward. Wei Wuxian, too, stepped closer, staring at him. He willed Lan Zhan not to speak.

But of course he did. He had to.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan answered. “I did.”

Madam Yu leveled a considering glance at him, her fisted hands relaxing. Though Zidian glinted on her finger, it remained quiescent. She was not displeased. Returning her attention to Lan Xichen, she asked, “How do you wish to assure me, Zewu-jun?”

“Yu-furen, this is—”

“Because it looks to me as though Lan er-gongzi has spared the majority of our combined forces a devastating and complete loss here today.” More quietly, so that only a select few could hear, she added, “Have you considered saving your misgivings for a better time and place? Or do you want your brother ripped to shreds in Nightless City by people who don’t understand what’s happened here?”

Lan Xichen, a man who’d never shown anything except a perfect veneer of kindness and calm cordiality, flushed a riotous shade of red, reminding them all that he wasn’t actually that much older than his brother. Wei Wuxian noticed his hands clenching at his sides and hoped that was a sign that he would listen to Madam Yu. Before, he might never have expected to feel something approaching affection for the woman, but right now, he could have been the most filial son she never wanted. He would have done anything for her.

“Yu-furen is, of course, entirely correct and right in this. My apologies. Wangji?” He spoke so stiffly that Wei Wuxian feared he and his voice would shatter, too brittle to continue.

Lan Zhan nodded only once, briskly, before carefully slinging his qin case across his back. He didn’t spare a single look for Wei Wuxian as he joined his brother, said nothing at all to him.

They’d been separated for months with no word, no sign, no suggestion that Lan Zhan ever intended to return. Wei Wuxian had never in all that time allowed himself to consider what their reunion might look like, but this was nothing like what he would have imagined. This coldness, the distance, it was unbearable. That it was his fault made it all the worse.

Mind lost, heart agonized by the thought of losing Lan Zhan again already, he threw himself at Lan Zhan’s back and hugged him tightly. This meant his arms were mostly full of Lan Zhan’s instrument rather than Lan Zhan, but he didn’t care. His hands still caught in the fabric of Lan Zhan’s robes. They bore faded stains and were stitched carefully where he’d had to fix the tears in them. It was only from a distance that they’d looked pristine. “Lan Zhan!”

He pressed his mouth to Lan Zhan’s exposed neck, deathly cold to the touch, and spoke words into Lan Zhan’s skin that only he’d be able to hear. “Don’t believe them. Lan Zhan, please don’t believe them. Believe me. Okay? Believe me instead. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re so good, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan rolled his shoulder, dislodging Wei Wuxian without a word or any other sound. Standing in the midst of so many friends, family, and comrades, Wei Wuxian still couldn’t manage to feel anything other than bereft, unmoored from the reality of what was happening.

Lan Zhan didn’t deserve this and none of them deserved the sacrifice Lan Zhan had made for them. Every person on this battlefield should sing his praises, hold him up as the highest among them. He’d sacrificed so much. If only they knew how much.

But only Wei Wuxian knew and he wasn’t stupid. When he looked at the cultivators arrayed around them, he saw the fear and distrust just barely hidden beneath the dubious comfort they took in the thought that this was righteous cultivation at work. Any wrong word might tip their opinion out of Lan Zhan’s precarious favor. Disbelief, uncertainty, disgust. Their relief and joy was already being forgotten as they assessed their new target: Lan Zhan.

For the first time in his life, he kept his mouth shut.

Wei Wuxian was free of this war, had survived along with most of the people who were the most important to him, and right now he wasn’t sure if the cost was worthwhile, not when he had to watch Lan Zhan walk away from him yet again, stared at with horror as Lan Xichen led him away. The pity he would have gotten used to might have been better.

He vowed to himself that if anyone dared touch Lan Zhan, they’d have to go through him first, and if they slandered him, Wei Wuxian would force them to face the consequences of their words.

Wei Wuxian had far fewer scruples than Lan Zhan did; it would be a pleasure to do this for him. He worried, though, that Lan Zhan wouldn’t let him do even that much.

It was apparent to Lan Wangji almost immediately upon stepping out onto the wooden pathway outside of the main hall that this would not be a typical punishment.

Then again, Lan Wangji’s crimes weren’t typical.

Only Lan Qiren waited for him this time, the discipline whip held tight in his fist. His knuckles were white from the pressure he exerted and his features were as emotionless as Lan Wangji had ever seen. He was apparently so furious that he couldn’t even express it any longer.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?”

Lan Wangji knelt and did not speak without considering the question deeply. The disciple who’d escorted him bowed and hurried away. Not even his brother was here to witness this. Did his absence show support for this punishment or was it a condemnation of it? He would never know, because he didn’t intend to ask. He refused to make this any harder for his brother than it already was. In a short time, it might not matter. “I do.”

“And do you submit?”

“I do.”

“Do you renounce your actions at Nightless City?”

Lan Wangji lifted his eyes. In this, he was clear of mind if not of heart. Though his uncle paced behind him, he did not turn, and instead focused on the distant sound of waterfalls, on the birdcall overhead, on the chill of the air, and on the relief he’d seen in Wei Ying’s face when Wei Ying had realized this fight was through for him.

There was regret for each and every one of the steps that had led to that point, enough of it that he could not sleep easily or well. A constant pressure pressed against his skin: his guilt, his hope. They warred with one another over what was left of him. Three-thousand reaching, grasping pairs of hands clawed at him every time he closed his eyes. Some days, that sensation was the only thing that kept his regret within the fragile frame of his body. Before today, he’d feared what might free itself from within him if they ever stopped pulling and prying at his body.

He considered his uncle’s question, but his thoughts circled around his memories of Wei Ying, a seabird caught above choppy seas. Wei Ying did not have to die on grounds that were foreign to him and hated. Wei Ying had clung to him. His lips had pressed, fierce and gentle all at once, against his neck. He had asked Lan Wangji to believe only in him. Every curl of resentment and fear and pain that lived in his heart fled; his regret died in his chest. He realized he did not need guilt or hope any longer. He was beyond such things.

His duty was discharged. These searching hands could have him, but they would not find what they were looking for.

He knew the words that would save him, that would lead him to a life of seclusion, if not of happiness, and he knew the words that would damn him. A discipline whip would not be the last of what he faced down that path if he didn’t recant now.

But he had done enough lying. To himself. To others. It would be a relief to speak his first truth since leaving Wei Ying here all those months ago. It was a truth that had lived in his heart far longer than that.

He was clear of mind and now he could allow himself to be clear of heart, whatever the cost.

For Wei Ying, there was nothing he could not do except believe.

“I do not.”

The discipline whip fell, unexpected, from his uncle’s hand. A noise caught itself in his uncle’s throat. Lan Wangji might have named it grief. “I will consult further with the elders,” he said.

Lan Wangji did not thank him for the reprieve.

Madam Yu stared openly at Wei Wuxian as he approached the throne. Unimpressed, she waited, as always, until he’d fully crossed the wood-paneled floors before acknowledging him with a flick of her hand. The few other disciples in the main hall, busy with various tasks, stopped and watched. There was no reason for it; he would do nothing today that he hadn’t done many times in the past weeks.

Folding his hands together and bowing, Suibian in hand, Bichen shoved into his belt, he said, “I would like permission to go to Gusu,” the same as he always did. At this point, it was a little like a game.

Jiang Cheng, standing at his mother’s side, threw a pitying glance his way.

Madam Yu arched one eyebrow and leaned forward. “How many times have you asked now?”

Wei Wuxian clenched his jaw. She wasn’t torturing him on purpose—he knew he’d been obnoxiously demanding about this—and he understood why she kept denying his request, but he was reaching the end of his endurance on this point. It no longer mattered to him how much she didn’t want their names publicly associated with Lan Zhan. Even if it could materially damage the sect to have an open association with them, he would still ask. It was stubbornness at work as well as selfishness. He wanted her to acknowledge his request and, by acknowledging it, show the support he knew she was capable of.

Privately, he knew she was impressed, but how they looked to the rest of the cultivation world mattered right now, and nobody wanted to be the first to suggest they stood by Lan Zhan’s actions. Nobody except for Wei Wuxian. If he could convince Madam Yu, at least some of the worst of what he was hearing would die down. Eventually, everyone would see Lan Zhan wasn’t a monster or a threat.

“There’s been no word out of Gusu since Nightless City. It’s like they’re entirely locked down. I can’t—”

“How many times?”

“Thirteen.”

One for every week they’ve been back so far. One for every week he hadn’t seen Lan Zhan or received a letter. One for every week that he’d feared for Lan Zhan’s safety and well-being. His every message was returned, the messenger very apologetic as they pressed the letter back into his palm, undisturbed except for the normal wear of travel, the edges softened and a bit bent by time and handling.

The only reminders of Lan Zhan that remained to him was Bichen and the letter that had been given to him upon his return to Lotus Pier. It had been over a year old by the time Wei Wuxian received it and might have been even older still. He hadn’t been able to stomach opening it after everything that had happened, too fearful of what he’d find inside, fearful of what he’d do as a result of this small taste of Lan Zhan. He carried it with him anyway.

He was not ready to admit defeat, not until he had proof Lan Zhan hadn’t been locked away somewhere to rot miserably. Only then will he allow himself to open that letter.

An attendant came in, loudly disrupting Wei Wuxian’s thought processes, his arguments scattering to the wind, to announce the arrival of a Nie Sect envoy and Meng Yao. The latter wore robes the same white of the Lan Sect’s, clouds embroidered into the body and he would not meet Wei Wuxian’s eye when Wei Wuxian stared brazenly at him. The envoy from the Nie Sect wore her signs of mourning on her robes, pale, undyed fabrics worked around her waist.

In the vacuum left behind by the Wen Sect, it was left to the other great sects to decide what to do.

“Where is Jin Zixuan?” Madam Yu asked.

“Delayed,” Meng Yao answered, bowing, before the attendant could. “I’m afraid I was unable to discern what might have happened while we were traveling from Gusu.” He bowed again, more deeply this time. “Lan-zongzhu sends his apologies that he couldn’t come himself. The situation in Cloud Recesses is rather delicate at the moment.”

“Delicate?” Wei Wuxian said.

Madam Yu narrowed her eyes. “Wei Wuxian. Now is not the time—”

Meng Yao offered a smile that looked more like a grimace. “I can answer that for you, Wei-gongzi. Yu-furen, it will soon be known regardless. I’m certain it will be relevant once Jin-gongzi arrives.”

Though she frowned in displeasure, she waved her hand in acquiescence and shot a venomous look Wei Wuxian’s way. It was quite an improvement over what she could have done to him instead. If nothing else had changed because of the war, at least her ire was mostly in check now. His brashness still annoyed her—that couldn’t be helped—but she no longer seemed to see him as the threat to her son she’d always thought him to be.

Though Wei Wuxian had been forced to learn patience during the war, that skill failed him now. “What will be known?”

“Messengers will be arriving soon with the official documentation, but Lan er-gongzi will face discipline for—”

“What discipline?”

“Multiple strikes of the discipline whip,” Meng Yao said. “Despite prior threats of punishments, he has not admitted culpability.”

No need to ask what he was to admit culpability to. “How many times?”

Meng Yao stared openly at him. “As many as will be required for him to submit.”

The words didn’t even register at first; they were that incomprehensible. Once he processed them, he tightened his hands into fists in his robes to keep them from shaking too obviously. “You mean they intend to execute him.” For saving their all of their lives.

For taking Wei Wuxian’s nightmares onto his own shoulders and doing what had to be done.

The universe truly was unjust.

“Killing is forbidden within Cloud Recesses,” Meng Yao said, as though he needed the reminder. “The discipline whip is not a tool of execution.”

“Oh, that is a fine distinction they’re drawing. He has no power. Even one strike could end his life.” And even if it didn’t, Lan Zhan wouldn’t give in. If he hadn’t renounced his own actions by now, he wouldn’t.

“He might not.”

A void opened in his chest, filled with fear until he threatened to choke on it. He’d already been struck? “He will. If they’re not careful…”

“Demonic cultivation is demonic cultivation. Who wants another Wen Ruohan so soon after the first was dealt with? Everyone saw what he did in Nightless City. Nobody could stand against him and nobody knows how he did what he did.”

And you never will, Wei Wuxian thought. He’ll never tell.

“Jin-zongzhu has tried to insist that Lan er-gongzi be sent to Lanling to be kept prisoner there. He has implied the Lan Sect cannot see things clearly enough.” Meng Yao leveled a placid expression in his direction, like he somehow knew what Wei Wuxian wanted to say.

And still, Wei Wuxian had to argue. “Wen Ruohan was dealt with because of Lan Zhan. Who in their right mind would think the one has anything to do with the other? This is—”

Jiang Cheng finally spoke up, uncertain, yet sharp. “Wei Wuxian!” Lip pulling in a sneer, he said, “I don’t think Meng-gongzi has much say in what does or doesn’t happen to Lan Wangji.”

It was all well and good for the rest of them to forget Lan Zhan’s contribution to this fight, but Wei Wuxian refused to. He wouldn’t be quiet, couldn’t, not when Lan Zhan’s life hung in the balance. His silence would not damn Lan Zhan to death if he could help it. “Jiang Wanyin! Yu-furen, my apologies, but your permission is no longer required. I’m going to Gusu.”

Jiang Cheng called out again. “Wei Wuxian!”

“Jiang Wanyin!”

Meng Yao’s smile froze in place. His eyes carried the sort of vacant expression Wei Wuxian should have despised. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t bring himself to do so, not when he was the only one willing to speak the truth. It was too bad for him to be the bearer of this sort of news. Hopefully Madam Yu wouldn’t blame him for Wei Wuxian’s impetuousness.

Silence fell as he strode toward the door. No one stopped him as he left, though Jiang Cheng yelled for him. Even knowing what it meant, Wei Wuxian ignored the shouts. His thoughts were in chaos, his focus narrowed down to Lan Zhan alone, facing execution by his own family for doing what nobody else dared to do, what nobody else could do, what Wei Wuxian would have done instead.

Should have done.

He fully expected to be detained by Jinzhu or Yinzhu as he reached the threshold. If he had to, he would fight them and would probably get trounced for it, but it mattered that he would try. They remained stationed on either side of the door, waiting for an order from Madam Yu that never came. That mattered, too.

Wei Wuxian almost stumbled as he stepped over the entrance; his relief was so palpable that the ragged breath he released was almost followed by a prickling in his eyes as they watered. She wasn’t going to stop him. Jiang Cheng wasn’t going to stop him.

“Neither Yunmeng Jiang nor Meishan Yu forgot those to whom they are indebted,” Madam Yu called, sharp, “but Wei Wuxian, don’t you expect to be welcomed back here after this.”

It was as close to approval as he was likely to get and it was enough.

Lan Zhan’s life was worth more than the duty he owed to Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang. Even if no one else understood, he had to follow his heart. Should it become necessary, he would bear the consequences. His years at Lotus Pier were like a dream anyway; the honor belonged to someone else.

The Cloud Recesses were changed. It was noticeable even before he reached its steps. Even just from the barrier, Wei Wuxian could see that they’d retreated into themselves, growing fiercer in their solitude. His token would not break the magic sealing Cloud Recesses from the rest of the world and there was no one here to verify its provenance and allow him through.

The thing was useless.

Out of respect for Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan, he didn’t immediately toss it aside.

No disciples stood watch either, ready to be cajoled into letting Wei Wuxian in.

No matter. Despite his attempt to enter lawfully, Wei Wuxian had no compunctions about breaking the barrier. Wei Wuxian would have done worse to get through.

Lan Xichen must have taken Wei Wuxian’s past misbehaviors to heart. It was a great deal harder to break through this barrier than it had been to sneak past patrolling disciples during lectures. By the time he’d begun to dispel the magic, a harried group of them were finally approaching.

The oldest rushed forward, shouting in a most un-Lan-like fashion. “Stop what you’re doing!”

Wei Wuxian drew blood from yet another finger and filled blank talisman paper with it. The spell broke against the barrier, splintering into brightly colored shards that dissipated into nothing. Even if Lan Xichen himself had to rebuild it once he was done, he wouldn’t feel bad. “Or what?”

“Or you’ll be detained.”

“Good! Detain me! Throw me before Zewu-jun himself. That’s exactly what I want.”

He continued scrawling barrier-breaking talismans, throwing them at the gate, a fireworks display in miniature.

The disciple shushed the others, who were beginning to get agitated. He puffed himself up as though that would intimidate Wei Wuxian. “Who are you?”

“Wei Wuxian, formerly head disciple of Jiang Sect. Unless you want this barrier utterly demolished, you’ll bring me to Zewu-jun. Or Lan Qiren. At this point, I don’t care.”

“This is highly unorthodox,” the disciple said, despairing.

“You Lan disciples and your orthodoxy. If you’re so concerned about outsiders coming in, bring Zewu-jun to me. I can assure you, nobody is going to fault you for not managing to stop me here and now.”

The poor kid’s face reddened. “What is this even regarding?” he asked, flustered.

“Apologies if I don’t wish to relay my concerns to a junior from another sect. Every moment of my time you waste is time I’ll return in the form of a complaint to Yu-furen regarding your treatment of allied sect disciples.” It was a complete and utter fabrication; he would do no such thing. Even if he hadn’t effectively left the sect, Madam Yu would whip him if he tried to tattle over so minor a thing, but these too-young Lan disciples didn’t know that.

If there was time, he’d clear it up with Lan Xichen. If there wasn’t, Madam Yu finding out he’d bullied children with his now non-existent role in the Jiang Sect would be the least of his problems.

It struck him afresh: he was no longer of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect.

The child did not stand down. “How will you be favored in this exchange? You’re the one threatening our sanctuary, not the other way around. No fault can be found with us.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, sick to his stomach. If Lan Zhan died, they were all responsible. Every single person would be culpable in Wei Wuxian’s heart and Wei Wuxian would hold them as accountable as he held himself. If he was even the least bit hurt, they would get their share of the blame. “What does anyone in your sect know about being faultless?”

He flung another talisman, no longer interested in playing this game.

Just as the barrier finally dissolved, he saw Lan Xichen walking calmly down the path. Wei Wuxian sprinted past the group of disciples to reach him. Though each of them raised their swords, he easily blocked them with Suibian, not even bothering to unsheathe it.

Bichen was a heavy weight against his spine, one with which he wanted to beat each and every Lan disciple he saw.

The disciples raced after him, walking quickly the way Lan Zhan used to do when he really wanted to run, but knew he wasn’t allowed to.

It seemed a little late to worry about the sanctity of the Lan Sect’s rules. Run in Cloud Recesses for all that it mattered now. They were about to coat their pristine mountain retreat in Lan Zhan’s blood. They ought to run.

“You son of a bitch!”

Lan Xichen only nodded placidly and jerked his head to indicate that Wei Wuxian should come with him. “I’m glad A-Yao reached you in time. Follow me, Wei-gongzi.” To his juniors, he said, “Thank you for your care, but you are free to return to your other duties.”

The most forthright one said, “The barrier…”

“Later,” Lan Xichen said, serene. “I will handle it. You’re all safe for the time being.”

Of course they were. Lan Zhan had ensured it.

Lan Wangji was deep in meditation when a disturbance sounded from the entrance of hanshi, where he’d been forced to stay with his brother since returning. He attempted to ignore it. Ever since the formalized announcement of his punishment, it had been nothing but endless disruptions. Strings of elders entered and exited at all hours of the day and night, worrying themselves nearly to death over what they intended to do as they consulted with his uncle. They talked about every possible repercussion and when they weren’t, they discussed how they intended to assure the other sects that this would not happen again. Lanling, or so Lan Wangji had overheard, was especially concerned.

To have an end to the dreams that haunted him would be a mercy. To know he would pay for his misdeeds, that he would not stain his own sect with his actions, was even more of one.

From his position behind a screen on the far side of the room, he could not tell who it was who’d arrived, only that they were disturbing Lan Wangji’s meditation. The Burial Mounds clung to him and the device Wei Ying had invented weighed heavily on his heart. If he didn’t meditate, he feared what might happen, but he could not ignore the noise.

It didn’t take long to find out that it was not one of the elders. His heart reshaped itself into lead to keep him from calling out.

“I would apologize for the manner of my entrance, but I’m not sorry. Were you everything your sect is purported to be, you might have shown my messengers some of that fine Gusu Lan hospitality I’ve heard so much about.” There was a stomping sound as he approached the desk at which Lan Wangji’s uncle typically sat, provided to him by Lan Wangji’s brother now that the bulk of sect business was conducted here. This, the problem of Lan Wangji, was the only thing that mattered of late. “You didn’t want me to know what was happening, did you? That’s why you sent all my letters back.”

It pained him almost more than anything else to know that Wei Ying had attempted to reach him all these long months. Even after what he’d seen Lan Wangji do, even after Lan Wangji had treated him coldly, he didn’t abandon him.

There was a thudding sound, twinned, as though Ying had fallen to his knees.

“I wish to petition for Lan Wangji’s life.”

It was his uncle who responded, though there was the sound of a third set of boots moving around the room. “Denied.”

“I haven’t even—”

“I was not aware that I was required to hear anything you have to say. This was debated already. The decision has been made. You cannot change it now.”

“Like hell!” And then there was the sound of fabric shifting, followed by pacing of a far more energetic sort than any Lan elder would have generated. So much for petitioning on his knees. “He did what was necessary for all of us.”

His voice reverberated off the warm wood walls, a shock even though Lan Wangji had grown very used to the voices of others. Lan Wangji flinched; nobody had spoken on his behalf with such vehement disregard for the person he was speaking to. Nobody had spoken on his behalf at all, at least not that he could hear. “In case you haven’t noticed, the Wen clan was stronger than all of us. Without him, we’d have lost. Do you understand that? We. Would. Have. Lost. Zewu-jun, are you hearing this? He’s your brother. How can you be silent now?”

If his brother said anything, it was too low for Lan Wangji to catch.

His uncle, on the other hand, spoke with perfect clarity. “He is an abomination.”

“He’s your nephew. Are you seriously—?” Though the sound that issued from Wei Ying’s throat was ostensibly a laugh, there was no joy to be found in it. “Everything he’s done has been to protect you. What else can he do under the circumstances? That you won’t stand by your own family is abhorrent. It’s disgusting! You actually disgust me, Lan Qiren.”

Wood struck wood in a thunderous clap that rang through the room. “You will show the respect your position demands.”

“I have shown you every bit of respect you deserve. How is it my fault that you dislike the weight of it? At one time, I could have considered you a teacher, but there’s nothing more of value to be learned here, is there, except that you are faithless and cowardly. Why should I want to learn that? Lan Zhan is good. His method of cultivation has always been and will always be precise and careful. That you think him dangerous is your own blindness and prejudice at work. I don’t want to learn that either!”

Wei Ying’s words, though irrational and overly emotional, stirred something in Lan Wangji’s chest that he hadn’t felt in months. If he let himself feel it, he would be lost and so he burned the desire out of him.

His uncle was not moved. “He murdered three-thousand cultivators with a few plucks of his qin. Is that what I taught him? What about the consequences to those he raised? Is that good and righteous cultivation? Jin-zongzhu has asked for him to be turned over. Do you think he would experience more leniency in Lanling?”

“Jin Guangshan is a power-hungry cretin,” Wei Ying shouted. “He doesn’t care about righteous cultivation. You’d allow him to make decisions for your sect? He cares about—”

“What does he care about, Wei Ying?” Lan Qiren said, voice raised, too. “Why don’t you tell me since you know everything?”

Nobody knew about the seal except for the two of them. If Jin Guangshan found out about it, there would be no peace in this world until he owned it.

He hadn’t revealed the full extent of his knowledge. Neither did Wei Ying.

Instead, he hissed in frustration and paced again. “Jin Guangshan doesn’t matter.”

“Shufu,” his brother said, pained. “Wei-gongzi, perhaps…”

“He ended a war and took the full consequences of it only his own shoulders with no further loss of life to the sects allied against Wen Ruohan.”

His brother: “How can you know that?”

“I helped organize the funeral rites for the Jiang Sect and the Nie Sect,” Wei Ying said. “I got pretty good at that at the Hejian front. The people he killed were the enemy and only the enemy.”

There was a scuffling sound as someone—his brother, maybe—moved.

Laughter filled the air, twisted with Wei Ying’s disbelief. “You’re really going to make me do this?”

“Wei-gongzi…”

The metallic shink of Suibian, distinctive to Lan Wangji’s ears, cut through the air. He’d heard it so often once upon a time that there was no mistaking that sound. Lan Wangji ought to have interceded; he was the only one who would be capable of stopping Wei Ying from doing whatever he was going to do.

But just this once, though, he allowed himself to be weak. Wei Ying would not attack his family. Anything less didn’t require Lan Wangji to step in. He had changed too much to be the Lan Sect’s enforcer any longer. What did broken rules matter to him?

Once, Lan Wangji had considered Wei Ying reckless, quick to action, violent and flip and generally a menace to anyone he met. Now that he was getting to witness—if it could be called witnessing, when he cowered behind a screen—Wei Ying behaving in exactly that way, he could not condemn him.

“Please keep in mind, Lan Qiren, that every trick Lan Zhan knows, I know, too. If you are to punish him for this, then you would do well to demand my death as well.”

“This is our sect’s concern. Not yours. Nie-zongzhu might have let you do what you wanted, but you can make no demands here.”

“I’m not making demands. He will not die alone in Cloud Recesses.” His voice, already cold, grew colder. Lan Wangji felt the slightest stirrings of fear in his breast at hearing it. He’d thought his ability to fear anything beyond himself had been burned out of him in the Burial Mounds, but Wei Ying had found the one thing left to him of which he could be afraid. “Do you understand?”

“Your threat is an empty one. You are even more arrogant and—”

Lan Wangji no longer considered himself a righteous man, but as he stood smoothly, he allowed himself to do this one thing, protect this one person. He stepped out from behind that screen, quiet, but not quiet enough to keep Wei Ying from noticing him immediately.

Suibian gleamed against Wei Ying’s forearm, held there by Wei Ying himself, a threat of some sort.

It clattered to the floor, Wei Ying’s grip failing.

“Lan Zhan?!”

Lan Wangji rushed forward, kicked Suibian out of the way. “Wei Ying!”

Once he recovered from his surprise, Wei Ying smiled sadly. His skin was pale except for the bruising beneath his eyes. “There you are.” Those eyes glinted as he blinked. “I didn’t—”

Guilt, cold and barbed, slithered through Lan Wangji to have been the cause of this. “Wei Ying, you shouldn’t—”

Wei Ying raised his hand. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

Seeing his uncle’s red, splotchy face did not cut as deeply as expected. The flash of his disgust, poorly schooled away, did not hurt him either. His brother’s uncertain frown managed to strike a blow though. “I will remain here and face punishment,” he said, proud that his voice remained even despite the turmoil inside of him. “You should go home. Forget about what’s happened.” Be happy and safe.

“Yeah, like I said.” His hand wrapped around Lan Wangji’s wrist. “How many lashes from the discipline whip do you think it will take to bring us both down?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened and his heart threw itself against his ribs. “What?”

Wei Ying’s grin was grim and purposeful, maliciously eager. “You heard everything I said. I won’t force you to go, but did you hear me say anything about leaving you here?” To Lan Wangji’s uncle, he said, “You will have to strike me until I’m dead, too.”

“You have no control over what I do or do not do here,” his uncle replied.

“You’re telling me the great Lan-xiansheng doesn’t want to punish me, too?” Wei Ying scoffed. Though Lan Wangji willed him to shut his mouth, he didn’t succeed. “That’ll be a first.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, low. His blood turned to shards of ice in his veins. The pain of realization threatened to shred him up from the inside. “Wei Ying, you can’t…”

“Oh, yes, I can.” Wei Ying pulled him back behind the screen, not at all private, but giving them the illusion of it. Where before was bloody determination, there was now regret. “Lan Zhan, I know I’m not playing fair here, that I should let you make this decision without stacking the deck in my favor and without pulling any dirty tricks on you. I know you might hate me and resent me for it and that’s—” He swallowed. “—that’s okay. But I can’t let you suffer through this alone. You don’t deserve it and you’ve done nothing wrong. The charges your uncle wants to lay at your feet should equally fall before mine. So. We can leave here together or we can remain here together. I’ll take my share for what we’ve done. Even you must see the rightness and fairness in that.”

“I do not.”

“You couldn’t have done any of this without me. You wouldn’t have thought of it. I’m responsible.”

“The discipline whip…” He couldn’t even fathom how many strokes it would take to kill Wei Ying. It would be torture, lash after lash until finally his golden core, the most vibrant that Lan Wangi had ever seen, could not keep up with the damage. At least Lan Wangji was too frail to withstand much.

His features hardened at the thought of Wei Ying dying for such a pointless reason. As much as his guilt weighed on him for what he’s already done, he would find no respite were Wei Ying to die for him, too.

What Wei Ying was asking of him? It was unfair. By rights, he should be allowed to accept the punishment his uncle set for him. For what he’d done, he deserved death.

And yet, he did not want to die like this. He could not express the regret and willingness to repent that would be required of him to live, but he still did not want to die.

“Lan Zhan, please.”

“If you truly will not back down,” Lan Wangji said, unable to meet Wei Ying’s eyes. Where else would he belong if he sacrificed Cloud Recesses? Then again: what else could he be if he sacrificed Wei Ying? “Then I cannot but follow where you go.”

Wei Ying blew out an exaggerated breath and smiled. In years past, he might have thought Wei Ying insouciant and disrespectful for it, but he knew the truth for what it was now, though he suspected Wei Ying might rather he didn’t realize. For that reason, he didn’t scold him, not even when he spoke irreverent words that did not fit the occasion.

“Shall I break the good news then?” Wei Ying offered, feigning a sickly cheer. Lan Wangji could not quite tell for whom he tried.

Lan Zhan nodded solemnly and watched the false happiness drain from Wei Ying’s face, replaced with something far more somber. “It’ll be okay, Lan Zhan. I promise.”

“You can’t,” Lan Wangji answered, a little childish, churlish. As much as he wanted to believe Wei Ying’s words, he couldn’t. This wasn’t a promise he could make or keep. But still, Lan Wangji would follow.

“I can, Lan Zhan!” He lifted his hand and declared an oath so serious that it couldn’t be real. “I, Wei Wuxian, do so promise you, Lan Wangji, that everything will be alright so long as I have breath in my lungs.” Smiling, he touched Lan Wangji’s wrist and squeezed once. “See, the heavens have not struck me down yet.”

Before Lan Wangji could respond, Wei Ying spun rather elegantly on his heels, stepped out from behind the screen, and sketched an impressively disrespectful bow to his uncle, hands cupped only loosely together, arms drooping. “It was a great honor to see you again, Lan-xiansheng. Zewu-jun. Should we be prepared for a messy exit?”

“Shufu,” his brother said before their uncle could intervene yet again. “I do not wish to do this.”

“To the rest of the cultivation world, he needs to be punished. By our own rules, he should be.”

His brother closed his eyes, sighed deeply. “I cannot allow him to die for this. You don’t want him to die either. I know it. We’ve let this go too far.”

Wei Ying stepped forward. “Zewu-jun.” Toward him, he showed more respect. “I understand the other sects will be displeased. Tell them I forced your hand.”

“Nobody will believe you.”

“Trust me,” Wei Ying said. “At least some of them will. The Nie Sect disciples I worked with would believe anything about me and Nie Huai… Nie-zongzhu and I are friends. He knows what I would do when pressed. Yu-furen would believe any indecent thing about me.”

“And Jin-zongzhu?” his brother asked.

“Is Qinghe and Yunmeng not enough to solidify the story as truth?”

His uncle’s face reddened.

“All you need is a bogeyman,” Wei Wuxian said. “Let it be me. Even your own disciples saw how I was behaving today. If you were to tell them, they’d corroborate it. Let us go. You won’t ever see us again.”

It was better than death, this fate, Lan Wangji told himself, but hearing it like this, he wasn’t sure he believed it. He would be forced to leave behind the only home he ever knew. The rabbits would be left alone. There would be no one to tend the gentians when his brother was too busy with sect business.

“We will be forced to search for you,” his uncle said finally.

“You won’t find us,” Wei Ying said. “I promise. You won’t be forced to kill your nephew. We won’t cause any trouble for you or the other sects after this.”

Surely this wouldn’t be enough. An age passed between one moment and the next.

“Go.” His uncle’s voice shook as he said the words. “Neither of you are welcome to come back, but I won’t stop you. If you ever cause harm to another person, the Lan Sect will seek to right that wrong. If we find you, you will not be freed again.”

When Wei Ying bowed his time, it was with reverence. His uncle showed no inclination to acknowledge it.

His brother bowed back, eyed Wei Ying closely. “Keep him safe.”

“I intend to,” Wei Ying said, serious.

And like that, it was done.

Wei Ying grabbed him and ran, putting on as much of a show as he was capable of doing. Anyone would think Wei Ying had stepped into the Cloud Recesses with the express purpose to steal Lan Wangji away.

Wei Ying didn’t let go of Lan Wangji until they reached Caiyi. Even then, they did not slow until they were well outside of the town itself and only a few people were traveling toward it carrying baskets or pulling carts.

There was only one thing Lan Wangji could think to do now.

He took hold of the ribbon wrapped around his forehead and yanked until the knot gave. The ends fluttered as he wrapped his hand tightly around the middle of it. A few passersby gawked and quickly turned away, aware and not aware of what was happening. Wei Ying gaped, too. He still didn’t know what it meant and now, Lan Wangji thought, he would never have to, but he’d shown respect to it after the Xuanwu cave, so he must have guessed enough of how much it meant—and could no longer mean—to Lan Wangji. Coiling it in his palm, he tried not to feel like he’d pulled a piece of himself free.

In and of itself, it was just a strip of fabric, without life or point beyond the shattered meaning of it. He’d already lost what was most important to him. He looked down on it, bereft, and then held it out to Wei Ying. “Get rid of this for me, please?”

Wei Ying’s jaw snapped closed. Though he hesitated, his fingers closed gently around it. What Wei Ying did with it was no longer his concern. He did not wish to know how Wei Ying would dispose of it anyway.

“Where will we go?” Lan Wangji asked. What he meant was: do you have a plan.

What he meant was: I don’t know what to do.

Lan Wangji’s eyes shifted to the sword tucked against Wei Ying’s back. Bichen. Carried as though it didn’t trouble him at all.

It was the only thing of Lan Wangji’s in his possession and it was useless. They ought to get rid of it, too. He could not bear to say as much.

“Where do you want to go, Lan Zhan?”

I don’t know, I don’t know. Don’t ask me. “I suppose I’ll need a new qin,” he said, forcing a steadiness into his voice that he did not feel, “wherever we are to go.”

Lantern light spilled across the ground, giving the entire street a burnished glow. It gilded nothing with more care than Wei Ying himself as he traipsed through the market they were perusing. After a few weeks spent night hunting in the area, Wei Ying had finally caved to the desire to spend time in the only town large enough to host such a thing, asking if they could come like Lan Wangji might say no. Delighted, he observed every stall and small storefront they found, but didn’t stop at any of them, not even the wine shop with prominently displayed jars and a bright, waving flag to announce itself. He was forever darting forward, but always turned to ensure that Lan Wangji was following. The months spent traveling with Wei Ying had been a dream that Lan Wangji never wanted to wake from.

He had done horrible things in the name of returning peace to the cultivation world, peace, in truth, to Wei Ying and he’d been rewarded for it with night hunts in far-off villages, isolated from the centers of power that had turned their purpose to war instead of bettering themselves. His his days and nights were spent only with Wei Ying, doing good work for good people, feet carrying them in whichever direction they chose to go.

Wei Ying sped back and wrapped his hand in Lan Wangji’s sleeves, tugging at the thick, dark fabric with no small degree of exasperation and said, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were hoping to lose me in the crowd. Come on, Lan Zhan.”

He couldn’t speak the truth in turn, which was that he enjoyed watching Wei Ying from a distance, able to pretend at such moments that his actions couldn’t reflect on Wei Ying as long as they were far enough apart. Not, of course, so far that Lan Wangji couldn’t see him, that would not have done at all. He was selfish. He wanted Wei Ying with him as much as he wanted Wei Ying safe from him.

Wei Ying had not been meant for such a humble life. For all that he seemed to accept it, guilt still tangled in Lan Wangji’s heart for him and for how he’d been dragged so far down out of loyalty to Lan Wangji. He belonged at competitions, showing off his skills and prowess. He ought to be making his name as the future right hand of Jiang Wanyin. He should have the chance to eat his shijie’s soup as often as he wanted it. And if he wanted, he could slot himself back into the society they’d been born into. Instead, he was here, smiling at Lan Wangji through the thick, still healing scar that cut diagonally across his handsome face. Beneath his robes, a smattering of wounds still sat on his skin, catching the moonlight when they waded into a river to clean themselves because they couldn’t afford to stay in an inn or were too far from one to order a proper bath.

He wasn’t stuck here, not the way Lan Wangji was, but he’d tied his own fate so securely to Lan Wangji’s that Lan Wangji could no longer pick them apart.

Then again, maybe Lan Wangji had taken the choice away from him on the same night he’d taken the sword Wei Ying had only asked him to protect.

“Do you have a specific destination in mind, Wei Ying?” He looked around. They’d reached the far end of the thoroughfare. Only a few stalls remained.

Wei Ying stopped, turned. His mouth formed a thoughtful moue. “I…” He laughed, scrubbing his hand across back of his neck. His fingers pulled a long tendril of his uncontrollable hair free from its ponytail. Lan Wangji wanted nothing more than to tuck it back into the lazily tied ribbon high on the back of Wei Ying’s head. If not for his worry that the whole of it would tumble free if he tried—and what would Lan Wangji do with so much cascading hair on display in the midst of so many strangers—he might have done so. Besides, Wei Ying was too quick. With a haphazard flick of his fingers, it was somewhat safely back within the confines of the ribbon. “You know, that’s a very good question, Lan Zhan.” His attention settled on a small shop that specialized in bows. His face scrunched in thought, but he didn’t insist they go in.

“If you are looking for something in particular…”

“No, I… I guess I’m just used to rushing around!” He laughed again. A smile brightened his features until he outshone the warm, flickering light around them. The moon hung, fat and heavy and close to the earth as it rose and Wei Ying was still brighter. “This is nice, right?” Shifting, he wrapped his arm securely around Lan Wangji’s, no longer bothering to flit about, allowing Lan Wangji to set their pace as they wandered back. “I think it’s nice.”

In the time they’d traveled together so far, he’d learned that Wei Ying liked it when he spoke and Lan Wangji was finding that he enjoyed speaking more than he thought. Some things, however, could not be said aloud. He barely scraped together a nod and a humming, quiet, “Mn,” to encompass just how much he enjoyed this closeness. It was not what Wei Ying was talking about, but that hardly mattered.

Wei Ying beamed like this small concession was enough for him. It was so much less than he deserved.

Wei Ying went quiet after that, apparently happy to stroll along aimlessly and greet anyone who looked their way, eyes drawn to their swords—Wei Ying’s swords, as Bichen now crowded his back permanently, it strained Lan Wangji’s strength too much—and their bearing. Though Lan Wangji always expected disdain or cruelty or fear, it was merely curiosity or excitement that was returned to him when he accidentally caught their eyes. They’d strayed too far to be recognizable. Rumors just couldn’t touch them here. The gossip was much improved, too, focused more on the fact that a pair of cultivators had exorcised a ghost out past Old Zhou’s which had plagued him for years or cleared a nearby lake of water ghouls so now the children could splash and play again.

They solved simple problems for people who expressed far too much gratitude for the exertion, pushing food and coin into their hands they could ill afford to offer, but food and coin that neither of them were in any position to decline. They solved problems that barely stirred the resentment in Lan Wangji’s soul, things even the least-trained cultivators could have done in half a day at most.

It was more fulfilling than most of the work Lan Wangji had ever done in Gusu on behalf of his own sect.

“What are you thinking about?” Wei Ying’s question punctured the bubble of Lan Wangji’s musings.

He’d already kept too much from Wei Ying tonight. This wasn’t an answer Lan Wangji could deny him. “Righteousness.”

Wei Ying’s arm tightened and he rested his cheek against Lan Wangji’s shoulder, quite the feat when they were of nearly the same height. “Ah, Lan Zhan, have you finally figured it out?”

Lan Wangji stopped walking, blocking the way for a harried woman and her gaggle of children, who made her annoyance known with a grumble and a waspish look as she stepped around them. Lan Wangji paid it little mind. He had more important things to worry about, like whether his heart would break through the shield of his sternum and spill to the ground in a sick, wet thud. “What?”

Letting go of Lan Wangji’s arm, Wei Ying came around in front of him and squeezed his shoulders. Wei Ying’s thumbs brushed his neck. “You always look so sad and lost, so I didn’t think you’d believe me if I told you, but I was hoping you’d see the truth eventually.”

“The truth?”

“That you’re still capable of doing good.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying answered in the exact same tone, capturing Lan Wangji’s delivery perfectly. “You can argue with me all you want, but it won’t make me wrong. The rest of the world can think what it wants. Cultivation is a tool. Regardless of the technique, it can be used for good or ill, and you’ve only ever used yours for good. Therefore, you are good. I’ve never met anyone as principled as you. You are as righteous as you’ve always been.”

Lan Wangji’s ears heated. He hoped the night could hide the pink that was sure to bloom there.

“Wei Ying. Is this the right place for this conversation?” He looked around them. Nobody was paying attention to their conversation. They had already lost a lot of their novelty tonight and Wei Ying was keeping his voice down.

“Maybe not, but this is the first time you’ve talked to me about it and I have to take my chance.”

“You’re the one talking.”

Wei Ying huffed in amusement and shook his head. “Fair, but Lan Zhan, really. You know what I mean.”

He did, but that didn’t mean he believed it. He wished he could still see himself the way Wei Ying saw him, eyes shining with his deep and abiding trust in Lan Wangji’s principles, but Lan Wangji knew his own thoughts and feelings. If, at Nightless City, Wei Ying had come to harm, he might have destroyed anyone in his path, friend or foe. If his uncle had not backed down during his last encounter with Wei Ying, it was his uncle who might not have survived it.

Unorthodox cultivation harmed the body and the mind. There were no exceptions. Not even for Lan Wangji. Not even because Wei Ying fought to make that exception real. Wei Ying could not shield him from the things he might have done and could still do.

This kind of thinking, this knowledge of what he would do for Wei Ying, it was not good. It was not moral. He didn’t even think Wei Ying would disagree with him on this point. He was too much of a coward to tell Wei Ying the full extent of it.

Just because the last few months had been comparatively calm and easy didn’t mean Lan Wangji could ignore what he was and what he could do and what he might become. Their life together was precariously balanced. Wei Ying might accompany him into his declining years and never face another hint of strife more strenuous than a particularly belligerent yao. Or they might turn down another path tomorrow in which Lan Wangji found himself corrupted beyond repair.

He had no way of knowing and it was Wei Ying who would be hurt by this lack of understanding.

Wei Ying sighed and smiled ruefully. “Just remember that there is no one way of being good, hmm? For me if not for yourself?”

“I… will try.”

Wei Ying’s smile grew brilliant again. It was so easily accomplished, making Wei Ying happy. “Wonderful! Now, I do believe I saw a tea house as we’ve been walking. Why don’t I treat you?”

They weren’t precisely destitute, not when they were able to scrape enough money together from completing various tasks for others to get by, sometimes even just the sort of work anyone might do—mending fences or tilling a field, something Wei Ying took to with surprising alacrity and stamina, never allowing Lan Wangji to step in and assist, insisting Lan Wangji should play the battered qin they’d found for him—rather than the work cultivators usually did, but Wei Ying was not usually the one to suggest they purchase any provisions they could not prepare for themselves.

In this, it was Lan Wangji who’d had to adjust. It made him wonder just why Wei Ying, who might have had anything he desired while backed by the Jiang Sect, would know to be so prudent.

Or mostly prudent. He drew the line, Lan Wangji noticed, at radishes despite that vegetable being both spicy and consistently cheap no matter where they went.

“We don’t have to go,” Lan Wangji said. “I’m happy to prepare tea for us.”

“Lan Zhan, so obliging. I know we don’t have to, but maybe I want to.”

“Then I’ll buy you one of those jars of wine you were ogling.”

“Ogling! I’ve never in my life ogled anything.” He crossed his arms and pouted. His gaze raked over Lan Wangji’s body. “But I guess I wouldn’t say no if you’re going to go around driving such hard bargains.”

The spring in Wei Ying’s step returned and he was back to dragging Lan Wangji along in his wake; this time at least, Lan Wangji knew exactly where they were going.

Wei Ying’s ribbon finally lost its battle, falling away and catching on the wind, but not quickly enough, because Lan Wangji was watching Wei Ying so closely that it was easy to capture it between his fingers before it strayed too far.

“Oh, you caught it,” Wei Ying said, turning. His hair spilled midnight dark around his shoulders, just as devastating as Lan Wangji had known it would be. “Lan Zhan, put it back for me. I bet you’ll tie it better than I can.”

He then presented his back to Lan Wangji and didn’t even do Lan Wangji the service of gathering it for him, no. No, he made Lan Wangji comb his own fingers through the silken strands to arrange them again into something approaching respectability. His hair was even softer than Lan Wangji might have guessed and cool from the slight evening breeze. It smelled of the sandalwood incense Lan Wangji still preferred when they had access to it.

Though there was no reason for him to delay, he wanted to keep touching Wei Ying this way. Even with others around to see. If he could, he would always do this for Wei Ying.

When he was done, heart thumping wildly against his chest and fingers tingling from the contact, Wei Ying turned again and patted the ponytail to assure himself it was correct. His eyes closed in pleasure.

“You’re so good at that, Lan Zhan! I should make you brush my hair out for me every night. My hair would look so nice it could distract everyone from my face.”

“I would,” Lan Wangji said, ready with an answer far too quickly.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. You don’t have to…”

“I will.”

Laughter bubbling within him and a teasingly muttered, “What if I hold you to that,” on his tongue, he grabbed Lan Wangji’s wrist and pulled him off-balance, sprinting down the packed-dirt thoroughfare with Lan Wangji in tow. “Race you to the tea house!”

It wasn’t much of a race when Wei Ying kept their fingers laced together.

After sitting and ordering, Wei Ying did what he usually did when they were at loose ends, unable to help himself: he perched his chin on his hand, cocked his head slightly, and eavesdropped on every chattering person in his vicinity. There were many conversations happening tonight and Lan Wangji had learned not to take it personally. He wasn’t doing it because he was bored of Lan Wangji’s company. It was just habit, long engrained. Wei Ying liked to search out trouble.

He’d discovered, much to his chagrin, that eavesdropping was the easiest way to find it. To some degree, they’d garnered enough respect to not draw too much suspicion to themselves, but people were still sometimes hesitant to discuss village business with outsiders. In the larger towns where cultivators were more common sights, they were much less recalcitrant, but the further they strayed from places used to the presence of cultivators, the harder it was regardless.

Wei Ying’s favorite means of lowering other people’s guards involved draping himself half across the table as he toyed with Lan Wangji’s sleeve or poured tea for him or made eyes in his direction, which Lan Wangji was slightly less pleased with, but only because he couldn’t offer anything to Wei Ying in return, too aware of their surroundings to allow himself such a simple pleasure as clasping Wei Ying’s hand no matter how closely it rested to his own or insisting Wei Ying sit by him so he could better push food into his bowl. It was one thing to touch Wei Ying under the cover of night, only sporadic lantern lights to expose them. It was another in here, under much brighter lights.

Wei Ying liked to tease that this was the only way to get the locals to pry open their mouths in front of strangers. The worst part was it worked. Looking so wrapped up in their own world, they were dismissed immediately even by the most skeptical, suspicious people. Though they didn’t always hear anything useful—failed crops or runaway cattle, things that didn’t immediately point to problems that cultivators were uniquely capable of solving—they sometimes did.

As Wei Ying doted his way through the small meal he’d ordered for them both, a nearby pair of men were busy draining cup after cup of wine. These were the individuals Wei Ying focused on, attention directed their way as he drank his tea. He made a slightly silly face at Lan Wangji and stopped himself mid-drink when he heard what he’d been waiting all evening to hear.

“My younger brother was out by the forest last night,” the one closest to them said. “He said he heard the screaming, too.”

Wei Ying’s eyebrow arched and he mouthed at Lan Wangji: too?

The other man scoffed. “Your brother’s got a head full of fluff. There’s nothing out there.”

The first chuckled and shook his head. “That might be true. He said it was really bad though. Lots of people have been hearing it. You think they’re all full of it?”

“Until someone comes back dead, I don’t really care.”

“It’s probably something though.”

“Could be an animal. Not like we’ve never dealt with those before.” The man was clever, maybe cleverer than the first one’s younger brother. His gaze caught on Lan Wangji’s face and lingered there, though not long enough to draw his friend’s attention. Lan Wangji wasn’t terribly good at reading people, but the man’s intention was clear. He saw them and perhaps felt that they were the right ones to stick their necks out on this. Who cared about nosy outsiders? If you’re going to eavesdrop, his brief, ironic glance seemed to say, you might as well do something useful with the information.

“He said it sounded human only…”

“Only not,” the man agreed, pointed. “I know. I’ve heard it from some of the others, too, you know.”

Wei Ying grinned and nodded slightly, proving once again that his way of doing things could be profitable, as though Lan Wangji might still argue with him at this late date. He leaned back, allowed Lan Wangji the space he no longer required after so many months accustoming himself to Wei Ying’s presence, and swallowed the rest of his drink, waiting patiently for Lan Wangji to finish his, too. Excitement lit his eyes a bright, captivating gray.

He’d expected they’d get going immediately, but Wei Ying’s whims weren’t quite satisfied. As soon as they were back outside, Wei Ying grabbed him again. “Lan Zhan, one last stop before we go.”

At first, Lan Wangji was confused as he was dragged yet again all the way down the street, but it became clear soon enough.

“Stay here,” Wei Ying said.

Lan Wangji stayed, attention falling to the ground to keep himself from staring at Wei Ying as he wandered the bowyer’s shop. He took an unfathomably long time. When he finally returned, he was grinning and there was yet another item slung across his back. Jostling for space from Bichen, the quiver looked ridiculous. At least the bow remained in his hand. “What—”

He held the bow out for Lan Wangji. “For you.”

Lan Wangji took it, reverent. It was a beautiful weapon, made of fine, polished wood. It was smooth under his hand and had been strung perfectly. It had to have cost Wei Ying a good deal of money. “Why?”

“No reason,” Wei Ying answered. “Now come on. We really do have to go find out what these screams are about. Aren’t you just dying to know?”

“Don’t joke,” Lan Wangji replied, but that didn’t stop Wei Ying from laughing as they wandered off into the dark.

There was work to be done after all.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said. In the quiet, dark pitch of night, even a whisper reverberated. His sword clattered lightly on his belt as they walked through the underbrush. The device in his hand clicked and twisted as he scrutinized it. Through the canopy, a few streaks of moonlight graced Wei Ying’s face and caught on the its wildly swinging arrow. He looked a bit like a madman skulking about. The gleam in his eye as he walked was mischievous, matching the glint of Bichen against his back. “Lan Zhan, I think we’re close.”

Lan Wangji’s hand tightened around the bow Wei Ying had given him.

This was the fourth time Wei Ying had insisted as such.

“So you’ve said.” Lan Wangji’s shoulder ached where the strap of his qin’s carrying case dug into his shoulders. Despite Wei Ying’s many attempts to pad it, the additional comfort only carried him so far. The extra weight from the quiver of arrows didn’t help, but he refused to say as much. He pretended that Wei Ying’s attentions improved his discomfort, but it was only true in his heart, where he was warmed perpetually by the many and varied expressions of Wei Ying’s concern.

“This compass has never been wrong four times consecutively,” Wei Ying replied. “I’m sure.”

Lan Wangji wasn’t often given to flights of fancy, but he was cold and tired and miserable and the reflected glow of Wei Ying’s joy and vigor was sometimes the only thing that kept him going. If he used his knowledge of Wei Ying’s character to rile him up, that was Lan Wangji’s business alone. One day, Wei Ying would figure it out. “Would you care to make a wager?”

Wei Ying gasped theatrically and clutched his chest, as expected. “You’d bet against me, Lan Zhan?! Too cruel and unjust!” He practically flung himself at Lan Wangji and draped himself awkwardly across his back, jostling the instrument and the arrows, until he shifted so he was better pressed against Lan Wangji’s side. Though a too-human pain ached within him at the force of Wei Ying’s enthusiasm, Lan Wangji was happy.

His face heated. The cold couldn’t touch him while Wei Ying was near.

He was glad sometimes that he played the qin despite how inconvenient it was to carry this way long-term. Night hunts would be much more difficult if it didn’t stand between him and the long length of Wei Ying’s body pressed against his back.

“All inventions go through a period of trial and error,” Wei Ying continued, pouting, going so far as to flick Lan Wangji’s ear. His breath puffed, comforting, against the shell. “You should be grateful that you’re getting to witness my genius firsthand.”

“I’m sure I am.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! What have I done to deserve this poor treatment?”

Lan Wangji opened his mouth to ask in which ways Wei Ying has been ill-used when he heard the sudden snap of twigs nearby. With Wei Ying still clinging as he was, it couldn’t have been him.

“Ha! I win! Fourth time’s the charm.”

“We didn’t set terms,” Lan Wangji said, distracted. The cadence of the steps didn’t match any creature, ghoul, or fierce corpse Lan Wangji had ever come across. In fact, it didn’t sound inhuman at all.

“Sheesh. You’re the one who—”

“Quiet.”

“La—”

Lan Wangji slapped his palm over Wei Ying’s mouth and could almost feel the shape of Wei Ying’s lips against his palm, a brand against his skin, open in surprise. His tongue, wet, stroked over his skin once. An accident, Lan Wangji thought. If he meant it, he would have put more effort into it. He pulled his hand back as though he’d been burned anyway, likely Wei Ying’s desired outcome.

“Quiet,” he said again, with as much dignity as he could muster. He canted his head slightly, straining to hear the subtle sound of the person they were now tracking. Somewhere ahead, they’d stopped and now they were waiting, probably watching them in turn, having the advantage because Wei Ying was loud and fearless, tromping brazenly through the woods and Lan Wangji had encouraged it.

Nodding, Wei Ying pocketed the compass and stepped lightly forward, crouching in the exact spot where that first noise issued from. His face instantly turned in the direction of the last crackling sound they both heard, much more quiet. Lan Wangji wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint it so accurately.

Before, he could have. He didn’t allow himself to think on that too deeply.

“You can come out,” Wei Ying said, “we’re not hunting you. At least I don’t think we are.” Hummed thoughtfully, he laid on as much charm as he dared. “Unless you’re one of the fierce corpses the townsfolk promised us would be here, but you wouldn’t be so nimble on your feet, I don’t think.”

Lan Wangji didn’t point out that the townsfolk didn’t promise them anything of the sort or that fresh bodies made for nimble enough quarries.

“We’re only humble cultivators,” Wei Ying said. The lack of a true introduction, though, was telling. He settled, finally, on, “No sect affiliation.” So he distrusted this, too.

He looked back at Lan Wangji and mouthed, exaggerated and slow to account for the dark, townsfolk wrong, with a questioning shrug.

Maybe, Lan Wangji mouthed back.

Bandits?

Lan Wangji shook his head. He didn’t know and didn’t dare hazard a guess. What could bandits find here that they couldn’t obtain more easily in a larger settlement?

“You don’t have to come out,” Wei Ying continued, “but I would suggest clearing out of this forest and finding somewhere safer to stay.”

There was another snap of twigs and an inhaled breath, as a hunched figure stepping forward. Perhaps it was the kindness in Wei Ying’s voice that did it. Lan Wangji could definitely sympathize with them if that was the case.

“I don’t recognize your robes,” a voice said, scraped so raw that Lan Wangji couldn’t identify whether it belonged to a man or a woman, a youth or an elder. The ragged tatters of their clothing, the tangled length of their hair, gave no clues.

Wei Ying stood smoothly and lifted his hands. “We belong to no sect. They signify nothing. As I said.”

“I didn’t know cultivators came out this far.” The person scoffed, disdainful, before spitting at the ground. Disgust tinged the word cultivator, turning it into something twisted and unpleasant. That displeasure rang warning bells in his head. “Sect or no sect.”

“And here I didn’t know strange people in the woods cared about sects.” Wei Ying took one step closer and all Lan Wangji could think of was how much he wanted to pull Wei Ying back into the circle of his arms. What cultivator would approach someone who loathed them so much? “Are you alright? I should have asked that first thing. Is there anything we can do to help?”

“No,” they replied. “I’m not. And no, there’s nothing you can do. I would suggest you leave these woods. It’s not a fierce corpse you need to worry about.”

Lan Wangji frowned. “Then what is it?”

The person finally lifted their face, exposing skin half-ruined by fire and blade all the way down to their exposed neck. “Consequences.”

Wei Ying breathed out. “Who did that to you?”

Their voice shook with barely concealed rage as they answered. “Jin Guangshan and his little pet.”

Wei Wuxian frowned at the man’s admission, the vehemence with which he said Sect Leader Jin’s name. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree that the man was a snake and a bastard, but most people didn’t let their feelings be known in such an obvious manner. He took another step closer and narrowed his eyes, scanning the man’s body for signs of trauma beyond the very visible, very visceral wound that had destroyed half of his face.

He and Lan Zhan didn’t talk much about the physical consequences of Lan Zhan’s lost golden core, but he sometimes noticed that Lan Zhan didn’t seem to see quite as well as he used to. In the dark like this, he hoped Lan Zhan couldn’t tell the full scope and extent of the injury. It was enough all on its own to turn Wei Wuxian’s stomach. That an established sect and the leader of a gentry family could do this…

“He did this to you? Who are you?”

The man lifted his chin and glared fiercely. “Does it matter?”

“You didn’t deserve this regardless of your name,” Wei Wuxian said, certain that nobody deserved such treatment at all. If someone was so evil that they should suffer such a fate, then they were better off put to death. This torture was excessive. “But we know something of Jin Guangshan.” Hopefully this tidbit of information would not come back to hurt them. “I just want to understand.”

“Gu Yahui,” he finally said after a moment, lifting his eyes in blatant challenge. This chip on his shoulder would wear him down one day if his bitterness didn’t succeed first.

Gu… Gu… The name was familiar, but…

There was a family by the name of Gu who formed a minor sect near Qishan. They were a small group, isolated, but known for producing stellar fighters for all that they didn’t generally skirmish with outsiders.

Not until recently anyway.

Wei Wuxian fought the wave of anger threatening to crash over him that told him that anyone who sided with Wen Ruohan deserved this and worse, his own prior opinion be damned.

He spoke as neutrally as he knew how. “You sided with the Wens.” Even months later, he couldn’t think of the war without losing the ability to breath, catching himself imagining that he was back at Hejian and they hadn’t won yet and might never win at all.

The man shook and his voice, when he spoke, rattled with anger. The steps he took toward Wei Wuxian were weak and uncoordinated, like he’d suffered an injury to his leg, too. If he did, it was hidden by his robes. “What would you know about it, sectless cultivator?”

Lan Zhan stepped close, told hold of his wrist and squeezed in warning.

“I know enough,” Wei Wuxian answered, shaky, grateful to Lan Zhan for the steadiness he offered in that moment. They were trying to shed their pasts, not cling to them. What good would it do to drag their names into this? “The war affected everyone.”

Snorting, the man said, “Some more than others. You clearly think yourself superior.”

“I think I watched people I care about die because of Wen Ruohan. My apologies if I’m not appropriately sympathetic to your plight.” He hardened his own heart to the cruelty of his words. Who was he to speak on right and wrong when he would have done worse to any Wen he came across during the fight? Jin Guangshan might have been taking advantage of the aftermath, but Wei Wuxian didn’t have any tears to cry. “We’ve issued our warning. You’re disrupting the villagers here. We won’t trouble you any more than that. If you don’t leave and they decide to come after you, that’s their business.”

“I neither want nor need your condescending warning, cultivator. You sound as arrogant as anything that might have come out of one of the gentry families.”

“I am not—” Lan Zhan’s hold tightened. That didn’t stop Wei Wuxian from breaking it.

“I’ll move on in my own time and that will be soon enough for them. You can tell the villagers as much.”

“The villagers might not agree.”

“The villagers can hang. What do they know of this? Do you want to know the truth, cultivator? We were forced by Wen Ruohan to serve as fodder for his war with the entire cultivation world. There was no siding with him. There was doing as you were told or dying pointlessly at his hands. At least if we fought, we stood a chance of seeing our sect through the conflict.”

Wei Wuxian frowned, half in agony. He’d fought people from this man’s sect; they were as vicious and bloodthirsty as any Wen. Skirmish after skirmish, battle after battle, he’d fought soldiers like this man.

Never once did he consider why they might have attacked as desperately as they did.

It wouldn’t—couldn’t have mattered. What could he have done differently? Allowed them to live so they might come back and hurt one of his comrades? It was impossible.

Whatever the case, Gu Yahui had suffered for it, paid greater penance for whatever sins he’d committed in Wen Ruohan’s name than Wei Wuxian could deliver. Wei Wuxian no longer sought blood and death. If he could not release the desire to seek vengeance from this man now, he never would.

Wei Wuxian did not have to blame this man for the deaths of the people he couldn’t save and so he simply decided not to. It was not easy. “How does Jin Guangshan play into this?” he asked instead. That seemed like the more salient point here.

Gu Yahui laughed and it was a croaking, pained thing to hear. “Are you so out of touch that you do not know? You truly must be stellar cultivators to have missed so much.”

Wei Wuxian threw Lan Zhan a look, but if it was true that Wei Wuxian had not seen or heard anything, then it was equally true of Lan Zhan. “Explain, please,” Lan Zhan asked, far more courteous than Wei Wuxian could be.

“In the name of justice, Jin Guangshan has taken it upon himself to hunt down anyone who is remotely connected to the Wens during the war. It doesn’t matter if they participated in it or not.” He gestured at himself. “This is nothing compared to what he’s been doing to others, people who are less guilty than me. At least I actually fought and killed people for Wen Ruohan. Most of who’s left… it’s children and the elderly, the infirm. Blameless people. They were already on the run because they’d disagreed with what Wen Ruohan was doing and Jin Guangshan is hunting them down anyway. He says we can’t be trusted.”

This didn’t concern him, he knew, and no one could blame him for turning a blind eye. Sect business was no longer his business. He’d made that clear when he chose Lan Zhan over remaining in Yunmeng.

This didn’t concern him, he knew, and he could not help but ask anyway. “If you’re as blameless as you say, why hasn’t anyone done anything about it?”

Gu Yahui stared at him in open, disgusted disbelief.

With a sigh, he waved the question off. It didn’t need to be answered. Jin Guangshan could do whatever he wanted now. In the power vacuum that had followed the war, he’d become the most powerful sect leader still standing. None of his resources had been dumped into arming and training new cultivators to fight. None of his people died protecting others. He, as a sect leader, did not die saving the rest of them from harm. The remaining sects were too busy licking their own wounds to care what another did. Gu Yahui didn’t need to tell him that.

Nothing they’d done during the war felt virtuous. Why should anyone in the aftermath be virtuous either?

Gu Yahui trembled, mouth twitching. “Tell the villagers that we don’t want any trouble. As long as they don’t keep sending cultivators to deal with it, we’ll leave as soon as we’re able to.”

“‘We?’” Wei Wuxian asked. “You’re not alone out here?”

“Did you hear nothing I’ve said? I’m not the only one—” With a jerking, dismissive flick of his hand, Gu Yahui turned away. “Just tell them to leave the forest be. We’ll move on when we can. I have plans.”

“We would like to confirm that for ourselves,” Lan Zhan said, stern. “We do have a responsibility to the villagers who’ve hired us.”

“And then you’ll leave?”

“If we deem your words to be truthful.”

“I have no reason to fear then,” he answered with a hint of disdainful sarcasm. “Follow me. Be careful with any sudden movements you make in the dark. We’re a twitchy bunch.”

The thought of Gu Yahui—or anyone else here—proving to be a true threat to Wei Wuxian or Lan Zhan’s safety was laughable, but he didn’t make Gu Yahui aware of that fact. He wasn’t here to scare anyone. As always, he only ever wanted to do his job, which tonight included investigating reports of screeching, inhuman wails heard throughout the forest and dealing with it appropriately. Easier to focus on that than the uneasiness stirring in his heart.

If it truly was just a broken band of people trying to escape Jin Guangshan’s greed, Wei Wuxian was perfectly willing to leave well enough alone. If something else filled the hole in his heart where that uneasiness had bore through, something akin to rebellion and restlessness and a need to teach Jin Guangshan a lesson, he did not let it take root.

He heard more than saw Lan Zhan catch his boot on a fallen branch as they walked. His hand wrapped immediately around Lan Zhan’s wrist and held tight, his thumb pressing against the soft skin at the base of his palm. His pulse jumped against Wei Wuxian’s fingers—perhaps he’d startled himself when he’d nearly tripped—and Wei Wuxian squeezed lightly to reassure him.

Lan Zhan wouldn’t fall if Wei Wuxian could help it.

Though a million more questions crowded Wei Wuxian’s throat, he gave voice to none of them. Forcing Gu Yahui to rehash his own experiences would be pointlessly cruel and might not even help in the long run. What could Gu Yahui tell him of Jin Guangshan that he didn’t already know? Wei Wuxian already knew what he was capable of.

After a few minutes, Gu Yahui stopped and held out his arm to bar them from moving forward. Up ahead was a clearing, small and crowded with bodies barely visible in the low, flickering light of weakly kept fires. Wei Wuxian’s eyes and mouth watered at the overwhelming stench of death and misery. Quiet moaning and other excruciating noises of grief filled the air.

At his side, Lan Zhan drew in a deep, gasping breath, lifting his hand to rub his chest. Wei Wuxian reached out for him, squeezing his shoulder, biting back the instinctive urge to address Lan Zhan by name.

Lan Zhan coughed and shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Wei Wuxian made a hissing sound of disbelief. He, too, could sense the resentful energy that wound through the clearing and surrounding tree line. It was enough to choke a person. He couldn’t imagine how any of these people could stand it.

For Lan Zhan, how much worse must it be?

“What is this?” Wei Wuxian demanded. “How many of you are there?”

“Thirty here,” he answered, placid in the way that only the most coldly angry kind of person could be. “Elsewhere? I don’t know. There were a hundred imprisoned where I was kept. Most of them are probably still there if they haven’t already died. They dumped us a little too early.”

Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth. “Where? Why?” This much pain, it was unbearable to witness. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

“There’s an abandoned village just past Lanling’s border toward the northwest. Near Loushan. It’s impossible to miss if you know what you’re looking for.”

“That close to Qinghe?”

“Who do you think is going to care, master cultivator?” That sarcasm again.

I care.

“Has anyone died here?” Lan Zhan asked, brisk and professional, before Wei Wuxian could open his mouth to defend himself.

“Not yet,” Gu Yahui replied. The it’s only a matter of time remained unstated and did not need to be vocalized.

“There will be problems—”

“Those of us who have the requisite skills have been suppressing—”

“Not well enough,” Lan Zhan said, cold.

Lan Zhan wasn’t wrong. The energy here was so deeply poisoned. When one of them dies…

The chances of the rumors becoming real would invariably increase when one of them dies.

“I will help,” Lan Zhan said, pulling his qin from his back before unceremoniously dropping to a crossed-leg seated position right there in the dirt. Upon seeing the qin, Gu Yahui’s eyes widened.

“La—” Again, Lan Zhan’s name in his mouth. It always wanted to spill off his tongue. “Er-ge.”

Lan Zhan startled at the address, but did not come to heel, didn’t even falter. Wei Wuxian’s hand tightened around Suibian. Bichen was a heavy, comforting weight against his spine. If Lan Zhan was determined, Wei Wuxian would ensure he could do as he willed.

“What is he—” Gu Yahui said, voice shaky with nerves and fear and damning recognition. When he made to rush at Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian grabbed his arm and wrenched him back. Gu Yahui might have been a warrior—Wei Wuxian could feel the years of training even in his wasted muscles—but he was not a match for Wei Wuxian. Though Gu Yahui struggled, he couldn’t break Wei Wuxian’s hold.

Wei Wuxian struggled, too, though only Lan Zhan might recognize it. He found remorse somewhere in the recesses of his heart, faded by the nearly carefree months he’d spent with Lan Zhan. Almost as soon as they began traveling together, the nightmares he experienced dissipated as soon as he woke up, forgotten within moments until he didn’t have nightmares at all. Lan Zhan, too, seemed to settle into the new routine of their lives, though it had taken him a little longer to get there. Now he was right back in the middle of the worst of what he’d felt back then. It was an old friend to him, this feeling.

The shivery, striking grief Gu Yahui was experiencing now? Wei Wuxian recognized it. It was the same grief he’d felt after every skirmish during the war, the grief he’d begun to feel in anticipation of battles not yet begun.

“Shh. Let him work. It’s just the qin.” The lie was worth a shot. All Lan Zhan needed was a few minutes.

“Do you know what a qin can do?” Before Wei Wuxian could assure or distract him, he was already thrashing in Wei Wuxian’s ever tightening grip.

“A lot of people play the qin.”

In the dark, he could only see so much, but as he slumped in defeat, Wei Wuxian knew he recognized something, whether it was the instrument itself or the keening, unnatural twang of each note. “He’s—that’s… they said he disappeared! I was there when—!”

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he cried out pitifully in Wei Wuxian’s arms. Lan Zhan was, of course, hearing all of it, but his concentration never broke, not once even as Gu Yahui wailed, louder even than the music. It had to hurt, having reduced this man to this undignified, unreasonable fear, but Lan Zhan did not stop.

“Quiet. You’re going to scare the rest of your people.” The moans did subside somewhat and Wei Wuxian was glad even if Gu Yahui was only resigning himself to the terrible fate he believed would shortly befall them all. “Listen.” He spun both himself and Gu Yahui around to face the people he thought he was failing by not managing to protect them from Lan Zhan. “Watch.”

Though the music Lan Zhan produced sounded ominous—gone were the days of the tranquil Gusu compositions he used to play—it soon became obvious that there was nothing inhumane in it, nothing to fear. Though the group of people might have no idea what was happening, they could tell that the somber atmosphere was lifting around them. The resentful energy began to dissipate.

It might not hold forever and may not even keep for long, but it was a small reprieve. And with the worst of it cleared, even modest skills should be able to keep anyone from facing an even worse death than they were already risking.

“What is he…?” Gu Yahui sounded wondrous, swiping his hand over his scarred, blistered face. His people all noticed, too, their bodies straightening as the weight of their pain lessened just enough for them to pay attention to their surroundings.

“He’s not what you think. What happened was…”

“It was war,” Gu Yahui said, unable to draw on his well of bitterness for this. Of all the people who might have had a true right to blame Lan Zhan, Gu Yahui could not. “Not like what’s happening now.”

“It was war.”

A lump lodged itself in Wei Wuxian’s throat, one he struggled to breathe and speak through it. His people, so many that he cared about, fought to put an end to evil in the world and Jin Guangshan just happily stepped into the void left behind, intent to rid the world of people like Gu Yahui, who showed more compassion toward Lan Zhan, his worst enemy, than the world he’d been raised in.

“We care, Gu Yahui.” And though he really shouldn’t have spoken for Lan Zhan, he felt capable of doing so anyway. “We’re going to do something about this.”

“What can you do to Jin Guangshan?”

Wei Wuxian loosened his hold, squeezed Gu Yahui’s shoulders in a way that he hoped was comforting. These words, he didn’t want Lan Zhan to overhear, because Lan Zhan would misconstrue his meaning and intention, but perhaps they would give Gu Yahui and the others here hope. Sometimes hope was a nasty business. Lan Zhan wouldn’t understand that playing the role of a monster wasn’t the same as being a monster, but Wei Wuxian knew better. He was willing and able to do both when something this vile was taking place and he could do something about it.

If there was no one in the world who cared to stop it, then Wei Wuxian would care enough for everyone and Lan Zhan would be there every step of the way, protected from the worst of it, but able to ensure Wei Wuxian could do what needed to be done.

So he felt no compunctions about whispering into Gu Yahui’s mangled ear. The threat of future retribution gave weight to his voice. Nobody would become Wen Ruohan if he could help it. Lan Zhan didn’t give up everything to end the war for that to happen. Sect Leader Nie did not die for this. “My name is Wei Wuxian and, as you’ve correctly guessed, his is Lan Wangji. What can’t we do between the two of us?”

As they made their way back to the village, Wei Ying stayed close to Lan Wangji, fretting every so often about whether Lan Wangji was alright after performing for so long. Wei Ying was probably more correct in his belief that Lan Wangji needed assistance than Lan Wangji cared for him to be, but that didn’t stop him from disallowing Wei Ying to coddle him too much. Instead, he allowed Wei Ying to lead the way across the uneven ground and didn’t answer his concerned questions.

Lan Wangji would always follow even if he didn’t always want to speak.

It was obvious enough that Wei Ying had taken what he saw in the forest and Lan Wangji’s subsequence stubbornness to heart. He finally fell silent, too silent, except to check on Lan Wangji, that, if not for the heat of his body next to Lan Wangji’s, he might not even have been there. Every time Lan Wangji looked over at him, he was staring at the ground or chewing his lower lip or twisting his hands behind his back, his nails clicking lightly down the body of the dizi he’d carved, yet rarely used.

In truth, it was excruciating to witness the pain back there, to feel it in his marrow. The resentful energy pulsed across every surface of the clearing they’d found, choking, infecting, infesting. He’d never seen such a severe amount of anguish among the living, the almost dying. He hoped what he’d done helped, even though the residue clung to him, spoke harsh whispers in his ears, clawing and demanding…

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying squinted at him in concern. “What’s wrong?”

He felt cold, distant, disconnected from his body. “It’s nothing.” The words were difficult to get out and didn’t even sound like they belonged to him. He hadn’t said or done anything to earn Wei Ying’s notice, but he’d somehow drawn it anyway. “I’m fine.”

“You’re pale.” Without even the slightest hesitation, Wei Ying pressed forward and dragged the back of his hand across Lan Wangji’s forehead. He flinched back instinctively before he remembered that he no longer wore his ribbon and then flinched again at how warm Wei Ying’s hand was. “I don’t feel any fever. Is it because of what you did back there?”

“I just need to meditate,” he answered. Wei Ying hadn’t had a chance to see much of the aftereffects of Lan Wangji’s cultivation practices yet. Since that day at Nightless City, he’d never had to exert himself like he did tonight.

The months he’d spent under supervision in Cloud Recesses were all spent in nearly secluded meditation. His brother played the xiao for him as though he was keeping a demon at bay.

Wei Ying’s eyes flickered in the scant light, a little brighter now that they were back on the road leading into the village, no longer hidden under a thick canopy of leaves. He could see the calculations going on behind Wei Ying’s eyes in what little moonlight threaded through the clouds. “Maybe a talisman would… but no… huh.” He tapped his lips with his finger. “Gusu Lan is known for music that can cleanse resentful energy.”

Lan Wangji’s heart thrummed painfully. “I can no longer perform cleansing music.”

“No, no, I know that. Of course not. But perhaps you can teach me? I wouldn’t be able to play the qin, but I know my way around the dizi okay. Then, maybe…” He shook his head. “It’s too late tonight anyway, but think about it anyway, huh? Let’s get back to the inn. I’ll do what I can to help in the meantime.”

There was nothing that Wei Ying could do and Lan Wangji said as much.

“You look like a determined breeze could knock you over, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said in reply, dismissive. “I’ll do what I can, even if it’s just helping you change out of your robes. You didn’t have to—what you did for them was very kind.” His features took on a stormy cast. “You put yourself at risk for them.”

“It was the only thing I could do. They would have suffered and so would the villagers. I wish more could be done.” He stared down at his hands, hands which could no longer do the things he’d grown to believe were correct and just.

“You’re the only one who could do what you did. What about me? What good is Suibian in this case?”

“If I were still…”

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe if some perfect, pristine Lan Sect cultivator wandered along, they could have strummed a calming melody on their qin and saved these people’s spirits for them, but they weren’t here, were they? And they’ll never come to a place like this. And even if they did, they wouldn’t have been as effective as you, even like this. You are here. You did come to this place and you played your qin for them. You did, not this theoretical Lan Sect cultivator that you think is better than you.”

It was only once he said his piece that his features seemed to clear of the gloom.

“Wei Ying.”

“It’s true! You’re incredible and they’re not here. That means something.”

It wasn’t and he wasn’t and Lan Wangji would never understand why Wei Ying wouldn’t allow himself to see through his own biases to the truth.

Silence grew between them, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Lan Wangji didn’t dare break it for fear of Wei Ying feeling he needed to prop Lan Wangji up emotionally again. It was bad enough that he had to prop Lan Wangji up physically.

Then, eventually, finally, Wei Ying said, “We have to go back.”

Denying it would only delay the inevitable. “Mn.”

“I… don’t want to.”

This was the first time Wei Ying had said anything so directly about the circumstances they found themselves in, the stain he’d brought on himself by choosing to stand by Lan Wangji. It was spoken so hesitantly and without Wei Ying’s usual good cheer that Lan Wangji could not help but believe it was the truth and not just words that Wei Ying was saying only to make Lan Wangji feel better about their circumstances.

Even measured against the circumstances that preceded them, these had been the most joyous three months of his life.

“Wei Ying?”

Sighing, Wei Ying stretched his arms above his head and loped forward a few steps before twisting back around. “That’s selfish of me, isn’t it? You don’t have to tell me.”

“Wei Ying, it isn’t selfish to want this. We’ve done good for these places we’ve visited.”

“I know! It feels like we’re actually making a difference! But it turns out this whole time…” He scuffed at the path so violently that it gouged a clod of dirt free. “With the seal, we could have made Jin Guangshan stand down, don’t you think?”

“There is no way to say for certain.” In truth, he thought it was very possible they could have kept anyone and everyone they wished in line… right up until another siege took place and they’d have to make a decision Lan Wangji didn’t want to make about who they fought.

Wei Ying was apparently not in the mood to be consoled. “I think we could have.” Swearing, he kicked up more dust, petulant and unhappy. “Damn that man. Damn that whole sect. Damn every cultivator who’s stood by and let this happen.” Then he laughed at himself. “Why don’t I curse the whole world while I’m at it? And us, too.” He stopped laughing. “Especially us.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, equally hesitant to return to the world that would spurn and fear him. “It is right to help where we can.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

Lan Wangji didn’t feel he was right, but as Wei Ying fell silent next to him yet again, he didn’t see any point in saying otherwise. Wei Ying probably didn’t feel he was right either.

It wasn’t until they returned to their room for the night that Lan Wangji gave what little comfort he could to Wei Ying, choosing to be decisive for Wei Ying. As long as Lan Wangji said he wanted to go, even though he didn’t, then Wei Ying would go happily. “Nobody else will investigate this,” he said as they readied for bed. He watched Wei Ying comb his hair, wishing he could do it instead. Wei Ying always attacked the tangles too viciously. “It should be us.”

Orange-red light spilled across the western horizon and cut across the sheared peak of Loushan, an ominous counterpoint to the village nestled at its base. The village itself was so unremarkable, an orderly array of huts and fields, that Wei Wuxian almost doubted his eyes and the marker that picked its name out in cold, hard granite. So far, it was exactly as Gu Yahui described, but he couldn’t imagine anything taking place here, let alone the things Gu Yahui suggested had happened. It seemed abandoned, nothing more nefarious than that.

Wei Wuxian scraped his hand across the back of his neck. Dust clumped in the sweat that dotted his hairline. “Were we led on a chase?”

“It was only recently abandoned, I think,” Lan Zhan answered, pointing at the nearest building, “for a second time.”

Old rot climbed the wood of some of the structures, but at the same time it was also true that there was less overgrowth than might have been expected for such dilapidated buildings, like someone had cleared it away as best they could. There were even signs that repairs had taken place at some point, patched roofs and doors that seemed newer than the homes themselves. They were heavy, secure things that didn’t match: too new.

But the horrors Wei Wuxian had imagined the whole time they were traveling, they just weren’t in evidence.

You won’t be able to miss it, Gu Yahui said. Wei Wuxian supposed that was technically correct. This place wasn’t hidden.

“Wei Ying?”

He didn’t realize he was hesitating until Lan Zhan beckoned to him from up ahead, hand outstretched toward him. Wei Ying hadn’t even noticed he’d moved ahead of him, already prepared to do the job they’d set for themselves.

Jogging over, he grabbed Lan Zhan’s hand and laced their fingers together. The blank despair in his heart dissipated at the simple touch. “You’re too kind, letting me cling to you like this.”

“I don’t mind,” Lan Zhan answered, ears pink from more than sun exposure, “and it’s not kindness.” Wei Wuxian noticed it a lot lately, how pink Lan Zhan got, how often he took touches from Wei Wuxian, touches Wei Wuxian was happy to give. Whatever Wei Wuxian could provide, he would give, even as the wish for more gnawed at him. What he had was enough. He couldn’t demand more.

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes and fondness threatened to entirely smother the foul mood he’d been working himself into. Lan Zhan was the best, but instead of embarrassing him further, Wei Wuxian merely said, “Lead the way, Lan Zhan.”

It was nice not feeling like he had to burst forth entirely on his own, that Lan Zhan was right here with him, holding his hand for no greater reason than because he knew Wei Wuxian would feel better as a result. He didn’t know how Lan Zhan knew or why Lan Zhan indulged it. He hadn’t even noticed it himself, not for a few days at least, just how much Gu Yahui’s information bothered him and how much easier that burden was to bear with Lan Zhan’s palm pressed to his.

He followed Lan Zhan as they diligently inspected each house, finding nothing to suggest malfeasance of any sort. The whole time, Lan Zhan never let go.

The stillness, the not-quite-rightness of the place was, admittedly, eerie. Every brush of wind, every creaking sound of their steps, every shifting shadow turned Wei Wuxian’s stomach. He felt like he’d been told there was a trap in his vicinity, waiting to be sprung. Worse than that, nothing would spring it.

Lan Zhan carried on as usual, showing no sign of concern or upset.

Once they finished with the last house, Lan Zhan said, “Jin Guangshan covered his tracks well.”

“By completely obliterating them. And assuming Gu Yahui was telling the truth,” Wei Wuxian answered, forcing himself to sound jauntier than he felt. “Shall we try the fields next?”

“Mn.”

Like many villages, there was plenty of land surrounding it, some grassy and unused, some still showing signs of tillage—a lot of it showing signs of tillage to be honest during a time of year when such a thing would be unnecessary. Perhaps it was just the waning light or Wei Wuxian’s desire to spring this hellish trap, but it looked suspicious.

It wasn’t that Wei Wuxian was an expert in farming, but after a few months of hard labor interspersed between night hunts, he got a feel for these things.

The dirt was churned up in the exact same way all the way across a large swath, not a single stray bit of vegetation growing from it.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed. “Lan Zhan, the fields.”

Lan Zhan made a questioning sound, followed quickly by a noise of understanding. Wei Ying’s heart plummeted to have his own thoughts confirmed.

What would they find in such a large patch of land? Could they even find it?

Wei Wuxian’s thoughts twisted around the possibilities, settling almost immediately on: how much space would they need to bury the evidence?

Another spike of hate drove itself through Wei Wuxian’s heart, piercing the muscle so deeply that he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to be pried free. Why should he have to ask himself such a question at all?

“Wei Ying, the sooner we…”

“I know, I know.” Wrenching his hand free from Lan Zhan’s grip, he sprinted toward the furthest edge, stepping onto the dirt, uncertain what exactly he should be doing here. It wasn’t like he could dig up the entire site. They’d be at it for days, weeks.

His stomach churned just thinking about it, but Lan Zhan was already a step ahead of him yet again. As he freed his qin from its case and sat on the grass, guilt kicked up within Wei Wuxian, so much silt muddying the clear waters of his forced, unnatural calm. What a smart, terrible idea Lan Zhan had had.

“Lan Zhan…”

“I will do it.” Lan Zhan’s eyes lifted. His gaze, cool and distant, hid so much. He did a good job of pretending, but until he could entirely eradicate his feelings, Wei Wuxian felt certain he would always know the truth. “And it will be fine.”

It was not fine and Lan Zhan shouldn’t have had to do this. If he could, he really would have dug into the dirt with his own hands, even until they bled. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have time. He sat close to Lan Zhan, back to back with him, and pulled the carefully whittled dizi from his belt which Lan Zhan had made for him on the long journey to this horrid place. He hadn’t liked Wei Wuxian’s rather more lackluster, impatient efforts. “Would it help if I…?”

He spun the dizi between his fingers; he’d heard the mournful songs Lan Zhan played now often enough that he could replicate them himself. It would not have the same effect, but it might ease Lan Zhan’s burden.

“Do not. Just remain as you are.” He could feel the vibrations of Lan Zhan’s words against his spine.

He noticed belated that Lan Zhan had positioned himself so he wouldn’t have to see the results of Lan Zhan’s work. “No, let’s exchange spots first.”

“Wei Ying.” If there was a plaintive note in Lan Zhan’s voice, he would no doubt deny it to the grave if Wei Wuxian pointed it out.

“No, it’s fair. Come on, Lan Zhan. Swap.”

Instead of waiting for agreement, Wei Wuxian pushed into his place, forcing Lan Zhan to stand down or waste time scuffling with him like a child. This way, the field filled his vision while Lan Zhan got the comparatively neutral view of the village.

Lan Zhan took his weight, let the back of his head rest against Lan Zhan’s neck. Through eyes slitted to shield against the dying light, he kept watch, waiting for the first sign of—

Notes twanged through the air as Lan Zhan began. The tune was as unsettling as always, but Wei Wuxian was used to it. By now, he could find the aching beauty in the pieces. If Lan Zhan ever learned how to hide his emotions as they swirled in his eyes, he might never be able to hide them here.

Nothing happened for long enough that Wei Wuxian breathed a sigh of relief, thinking perhaps they’d been wrong all along. It wouldn’t have explained why Gu Yahui lied to them, but they could find out.

But, of course, Wei Wuxian’s luck was not truly that good.

Dirt suddenly flew into the air.

“Don’t look, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet and rushed over, bounding and slipping his way across the soft-turned soil. Lan Zhan continued playing.

He waited, expecting a hand to pop up from the ground, but there was merely another muffled boom as the dirt shifted again and settled. Boom. Boom. Another, like something or someone—multiple someones, maybe—battered against… wood, wood cracking, loud as thunder as something pounded again and again against it. Wood that had been buried. Wood under which something had died.

Drawing Suibian, Wei Wuxian waited, but nothing else happened except the periodic thumping. Finally, his curiosity got the better of his sense and he got to his knees, pushing at the dirt above the worst of the disturbance. There was nothing as he dug, quick and deep; swallowing bile, he wished he’d thought to bring a shovel. He’d seen a few while they walked through the village.

He didn’t notice that Lan Zhan had stopped playing until Lan Zhan was at his side. As though he could read Wei Ying’s thoughts, he held out a shovel and began digging with one of his own. Between the two of them, it wasn’t long before the dented metal head of his shovel hit something with a light thunk.

They continued digging for a while longer, until the hole was wide enough to show a thick wooden plank with a hinge on one side of it.

“Lan Zhan?”

“I’ve suppressed whatever is in there. It should be safe.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed and put away his sword. “Okay, let’s… let’s finish this, then?”

They worked late into the night, long past all reason should have allowed for. Though it was obvious that Lan Zhan’s energy was flagging—he kept turning his head away to politely yawn into his sleeve and his shoulders slumped with every sweep of the shovel—neither of them stopped.

“Lan Zhan, I can do this. You don’t have to—”

“I will help.”

Stubborn, stubborn man, Wei Wuxian thought, pained.

Pointing toward the village and swiping his hand across his forehead, he said, “Maybe you can find us some water, eh? I think I saw a well back that way.” His smile was cheerful and entirely false. “Hopefully it hasn’t been poisoned!”

Who knew what Jin Guangshan might have ordered done here. Wei Wuxian felt certain now that Gu Yahui hadn’t been mistaken, hadn’t lied to his enemy for reasons unknown.

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned, but it was a reasonable request even if they both knew why Wei Wuxian made it. It would, at least, be a momentary reprieve from this particular form of hard labor. And oh, how Lan Zhan hated it, heat in his gaze as he glared at the mounds of dirt building up around them.

He wanted to help and he wanted to be strong. He could have neither, not in this way, not without slowing Wei Wuxian down. It was so clear and yet Wei Wuxian didn’t know how to comfort him.

Lan Zhan climbed out on arms that shook noticeably and trudged slowly back toward the village.

Wei Wuxian worked as quickly as he dared while Lan Zhan was out of sight.

The first hinge, once exposed, made way for a few more and he finally found two of the edges; he was working to get the last two when Lan Zhan returned and insisted he take a break, too, water at the ready for him. He bit his lip and stared at the hole growing larger in front of them, before pushing himself up and sprawling on the ground. Lan Zhan followed suit, though he sat with more decorum than Wei Wuxian did.

“It looks like a cellar door.”

“Mn.”

“Why bother with building a structure like this? They could have just dumped—” He swallowed, hating how callous it sounded. “They didn’t need to go through this much trouble.”

“I do not know.”

“Lan Zhan, this is sick.”

Lan Zhan stared down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap. “I agree.”

After a few more minutes, Wei Wuxian’s guilt got the better of him. He owed it to these people to learn the truth of what happened to them and the answer was in there, waiting to be uncovered.

He took another swallow of the tepid water. It felt like a morbid counterpoint to what they were doing here, sitting around and drinking, and pushed himself to his feet. When Lan Zhan went to follow, Wei Wuxian pressed him back down. “Please, just. Let me do this, okay? I should be almost done anyway.”

Wei Wuxian did not know what his own expression showed, but whatever was there must have convinced Lan Zhan, because he nodded and settled back down and managed to appear only half as upset as Wei Wuxian was certain he truly felt.

It was edging toward daybreak when the hole was finally large enough that Wei Wuxian could confirm that it was a door and open it without an obstruction from the dirt. It was deep enough in the ground that Wei Wuxian was knee deep even when he stood fully upright.

A smudged, bloody array was painted across the wood. The earth had already broken it, like it had been buried before it was dry. Nothing of its power remained, nor did its provenance. Though Wei Wuxian tried to study it, he couldn’t tell what it was supposed to do. It was too smudged now.

If they had more time, he might have sat down and tried to figure it out anyway.

“Lan Zhan, be ready.”

Nodding, Lan Zhan again settled his qin across his lap. Wei Wuxian wedged himself onto the small bit of the wooden platform that wasn’t part of the door itself and pried it open.

Wei Wuxian expected the scent of rot, brutal and all-encompassing, and covered his mouth and nose with one hand, wishing for a moment that he wore robes with voluminous sleeves the way Lan Zhan used to. He much preferred to keep his hands entirely free from encumbrances though and—in most cases—found his vambraces much preferable. Even this small step couldn’t save him from the wretchedness of what followed. His eyes watered, making it even more difficult to see into the cavernous space below, even bigger than the door had suggested.

He lit a talisman to get a better view of what was inside. Choking back a gasp, he lifted his gaze and found himself staring at the door again. It was clawed and gouged deeply by desperate hands. A few broken fingernails protruded from the wood and somehow, somehow Wei Wuxian knew this wasn’t all a result of Lan Zhan’s earlier meddling.

Fighting back nausea, he began to climb out of the hole. “We’ll be here a while, Lan Zhan,” he said weakly.

There was a sound, low and subtle, a mournful note. If he had moved just a little bit differently or talked at the wrong time, he might not have heard it over his scrabbling retreat. For a moment, Wei Wuxian thought it was a note from Lan Zhan’s qin, but…

Lan Zhan wasn’t playing. Wei Wuxian stilled, knees pressed against the edge of the wood.

That sound again: an inhalation. An inhalation from somewhere inside that—that box, that coffin, that massive, pointless death trap.

He lit another talisman and scrambled down, heedless of the dead. He would apologize later, prostrate himself, beg forgiveness that couldn’t be given or taken, but he needed to find whomever had made that sound and pull them out. He had to—if they’d come this far and he’d failed entirely…

These bodies were only just beginning to decompose, a matter of a few days at most. If they’d been any faster…

“Wei Ying!”

Wei Wuxian ignored him, ears straining to hear. “Hello! Is anyone…!”

There was another gasping sound as Wei Wuxian pushed his way further into the chamber. It was larger than he expected. It would have taken forever to clear enough dirt to expose the whole width and breadth of it.

Lan Zhan called down to him again.

“I’m okay, Lan Zhan. I just—”

Another breath, a cough, and Wei Wuxian saw movement, movement in the midst of such a hell as this. Movement. Life. Somehow, someone was still alive.

Wei Wuxian stumbled over an unmoving, stiff leg and caught his hand on cold, hard packed dirt. Scrambling over, he caught sight of white robes so stained with muck that they looked brown.

He gently turned the slight figure’s face, talisman raised, and startled back when the shadows resolved into something recognizable. Bruised and lacerated and emaciated though that face was, he knew it. He’d only seen it once, but once was enough. “Wen Qing?!”

No recognition from her, barely an acknowledgment that anyone was with her at all.

Throughout the war, he sometimes thought about Wen Ning, how he fared, what he was doing. When he could spare the empathy, he hoped Wen Ning was well taken care of by his sister somewhere far from the fighting. The fact that Wen Qing had made it through only to end up here… the world was cruel to everyone, it seemed, even good people. If she was here, Wen Ning couldn’t be far behind.

He didn’t dare presume Wen Ning was dead. He couldn’t think of it. “Wen-guniang!”

He offered every bit of spiritual power he had to Wen Qing, poured it into her until finally she coughed and gasped, violently startling upright. Catching hold of her arm and sliding it beneath her back to keep her upright, he continued to give over his spiritual power to her.

As soon as she realized someone was touching her, she tried to flinch away.

“Wen-guniang, please. My name is Wei Wuxian. Do you remember? It’s going to be f—”

Wen Qing said nothing. Shards of his own grief and guilt threatened to slice him to ribbons. Who, when presented with such a thing as this, could be fine? Who could say such a thing? Tipping his head back, he blinked at the door overhead and the handful of wooden support beams that lined the packed-dirt walls. Along the walls, he noted strings of talisman paper onto which shoddy talismans were drawn.

He continued to pass spiritual energy to her, unable to look at her. Instead, he tried to figure out what these talismans were for and murmured childish nonsense, the sort of mumbled words you gave to a frightened child.

At first, she didn’t seem to hear him or register anything he said, but he continued on anyway. He’d stay here until he got her back. Slowly, she relaxed against him, clutching weakly at his robes. “W-wei Wuxian?”

Her hands were trembling when he wrapped his own around them. “I’m here. Where’s Wen Ning?” He scanned the bodies piled on top of one another on the other side of the room. They were all approximately Wen Ning’s age or, in a few painful cases, too, too young. Not a single one that he saw was of an age where they might have been useful in a fight. None of them matched Wen Ning’s appearance. Of course, he might well have been crushed and buried under the others trying to claw over one another to get out. “Is Wen Ning here?”

If he was here…

“I think… I think he’s not here.” Her body curled around itself and she gasped, pained. “A-Ning.”

She struggled upright and listed against Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“Maybe you should…”

She snapped, “I’ll do what I have to, Wei Wuxian.”

He didn’t dare contradict her a second time, helping her get to her feet, hand on her elbow to keep her steady. She looked so painfully wan and fragile and her robes hung awkwardly from her frame. Her step faltered. She was not well.

He couldn’t make her step out of this hellhole on the backs of these people who died surrounding her. He wasn’t even sure she’d manage to climb in her weakened state.

As he drew Suibian, the metallic sound of it caused Wen Qing to cry out. “Sorry. I thought…”

She stared at it, wild-eyed, for far too long.

He held it out for her to take and continued to hold onto her arm to ensure she was steady. Lan Zhan was also holding out his hand from outside, his pale fingers outstretched. As weak as she was, she managed to keep her balance as Wei Wuxian guided Suibian up with her on it.

Though tired, Wei Wuxian was able to awkwardly jump up and grab the edge of one of the planks, swinging himself up without further disturbing the dead.

Only at the last moment did he remember the talismans he’d seen. Because he could be more careful this time, he lowered himself in and swung again, landing away from the bodies. He quickly snatched one, shoving it into his belt, and returned. Lan Zhan had climbed into the hole, standing on the same wooden outcropping Wei Ying had when he had opened the door.

Wen Qing hunched inward near the edge of the hole, arms wrapped around her knees. Though she shook and her eyes filled with tears, she did not cry or make any other sound.

“Lan Zhan…” he said quietly, though he didn’t truly know what to say or how to feel or what even to do about the bodies inside, the people who’d tried to claw and scratch their way out of that cursed box, asphyxiating slowly over the course of hours? Days? How long did it take for something like this to happen?

He hated that Wen Qing intimately knew the answer to that question.

“Is there anyone else?” Lan Zhan asked.

“There’s no one. Not down there anyway.” Her voice was hollow and her gaze went somewhere Wei Wuxian never wanted to follow. It startled Wei Wuxian, the emptiness of her, like she wasn’t there at all.

“And Wen Ning?” he asked. Lan Zhan looked at him, startled, and realized who this must be.

She shook her head. “Some of them were taken away. A-Ning was…”

The tight fist of ice squeezing around his heart eased. At least there was hope now. If Wen Ning wasn’t here, then he might still be alive.

Maybe Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be too late again.

“Do you know where?”

“I… one of the Jin cultivators said…” She furrowed her brow. “I don’t know if…” She made a frustrated sound. When she spoke again, her voice was even more wretchedly ragged. “I don’t even know if he was with the Jin Sect.”

“Who—”

“He wore Jin Sect robes, but he didn’t act like a cultivator. He…”

“Where?” I’ll find him, he thought. I promise. And in that promise, he could not be certain if he meant Wen Ning or the person who did this.

“Qiongqi Path,” she managed, words wet with grief. She buried her face against her drawn-up knees. This was what finally broke her, this place. The sounds she made her inhuman in their grief, wails so heart-rending that Wei Wuxian almost couldn’t stand up to their onslaught.

Even Lan Zhan appeared rattled.

That settled that. Wei Wuxian picked up his sword from the ground near Wen Qing and gripped it so tightly that his palm ached as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Wei Ying?” There was a note in Lan Zhan’s voice that rang false, rang scared. Wei Wuxian had never heard it before and hated that he’d put it there. Then again, he hated a lot of things. This wasn’t new, this feeling.

“I have to go.”

With bone-cracking determination, Lan Zhan’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “You can’t go alone. She’s—”

“This can’t wait. Lan Zhan, I have to.”

“She’s unwell.”

“Then you have to stay,” he answered, cold, colder than he wanted to be. But this argument had to end now. Every second he remained was a second wasted.

There was that fear again, only now it didn’t just infect his voice. It took over his expression, too. Only for a moment, but even one moment was too long. There was nothing Wei Ying could do; though he didn’t want to frighten Lan Zhan further, he could not stay. “Wei Ying…”

“Lan Zhan, I can’t wait,” he said, hating himself for the words he was about to say. “I can’t wait for you.”

Lan Zhan’s face flushed so violently that he looked like he’d been slapped across the cheek. His hold on Wei Wuxian’s wrist broke.

When he tried to take Lan Zhan’s hand, Lan Zhan pulled back. “Lan Zhan, she’s in no condition to move. She needs someone here with her. Traveling by sword is the fastest way, but it’s not the easiest for you.” He tried to touch Lan Zhan’s face, but even that he turned from, rearing back. “I’ll be fine.”

They would both hold Wei Wuxian back. He was hale and healthy, could fly as long and as fast as he needed to even though exhaustion tugged at him. With Suibian, he could be there so quickly compared to if they had to walk or if he had to worry about Wen Qing’s health. Lan Zhan had to understand. “Lan Zhan…”

Lan Zhan, fragile and stiff, so painfully dignified, said, “You need to rest first. And Wen-guniang has to agree to you going without her.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t have it in him to remind them both that they couldn’t stop him if he was determined and he was very determined.

Wen Qing said nothing, telling in its way, until finally she looked down at her dirt-encrusted palms. “You should rest,” she said, begrudging, “before you go. You’ll be no good to A-Ning if you get killed before you even find him.”

He could tell that she also didn’t want to delay, but the most important point was she agreed with him. She might have hated herself—he could see that much in her eyes—but she knew, too, that Wei Wuxian, alone, stood a better chance than Wei Wuxian with them.

I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan. I don’t mean it like this. I don’t mean it. But he had to be strong in words and deeds. There were too many lives at stake and one debt in particular that needed to be paid. A blow to Lan Zhan’s ego was a price worth paying even if it left Wei Wuxian reeling, knowing he could do this to Lan Zhan, strike at him in this way. A blade between the ribs might have been more honorable.

Nobody in the world believed in Lan Zhan the way Wei Wuxian did and here he’d taken a bludgeon to that trust in the name of expediency.

“Lan Zhan…”

“I understand.”

But though he said the words, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he did, and so he threw himself at Lan Zhan, desperately pressing his fingers against Lan Zhan’s jaw and neck, forcing Lan Zhan to look at him.

“Lan Zhan, you’re incredible. It’s just—” Speed was needed more than strength.

This time, he did not turn away. “I know.”

Wei Wuxian could not relax despite this concession.

Lan Zhan wrapped his cool, soft fingers around Wei Wuxian’s wrists and pried them free, held them carefully as he clasped them to his chest. He wished that he didn’t have to wear his vambrace so he could feel Lan Zhan’s touch directly.

His guilt pulsed against the inside of his wrist, dug uncomfortably into his skin.

“Do you?” he asked, hoarse.

“Wei Ying, I know you.” His lip quirked in a bitter, stinging smile. “I can see it in your eyes. It is not a prudent course, but perhaps it is the best for the people at risk. Just be careful. That’s all I can ask.”

Wei Wuxian sagged forward, pressing his forehead against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, undeserving of such absolution.

It wasn’t so different from how he felt when was ordered around Hejian, never free to go where he wanted to go or do what he wanted to do. It always left him with the same question. Why did he always have to leave Lan Zhan behind even when he didn’t want to?

Why did they have to leave one another behind at all?

Pressing one of his hands lightly against the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck, Lan Zhan said, quiet, “Come back to me.”

This was a promise that Wei Wuxian shouldn’t make, but he couldn’t deny Lan Zhan this one assurance. He would come back one way or the other. If for some reason he didn’t, then Lan Zhan could hate him as much as he wanted because he’d be too dead to feel bad about it. “I will.”

Wen Qing looked up at Wei Wuxian for a long moment. Her tears had dried and determination had replaced each and every one she’d shed. She rose and told them that she wanted to find supplies. Her gait was steady and she seemed mostly uninjured now that she was out of that airless box.

Wei Wuxian ignored the part of his brain that wondered what exactly had been done to these people before they’d been thrown in there. For someone like Wen Qing, he imagined being forced to watch other people endure pain would be worse than experiencing it herself.

“Come on, Lan Zhan.”

They left the field, fingers entwined—Wei Wuxian couldn’t stand being here any longer, wanted as far away from it as he could get—and found a bench outside of one of the huts. Wei Wuxian, for good reason, he felt, did not wish to sleep inside one of them.

“Lan Zhan, I’m going to lie down out here.”

“Very well.” Before Wei Wuxian could situate himself, Lan Zhan sat down, rigidly upright and patted his thigh. His expression was resolute, stubbornly set.

“Lan Zhan, I can’t use you as a pillow. You need to rest, too.” He probably needed it more than Wei Wuxian did.

“I’ll rest once you’ve gone. Please.” He patted his thigh again. “Allow me this.”

“Ah?” Allow him? Why would Lan Zhan want to be allowed to do this? “Lan Zhan, you’re ridiculous.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Don’t come running to me if you start getting a cramp or something.” Wei Wuxian’s heart clenched up, as he straddled the bench and leaned back, careful. “Of all the things.” Though it was easy enough to close his eyes, he also wanted to keep looking at Lan Zhan, who began absently running his fingers through Wei Wuxian’s hair, loosening it from its ponytail. Before he knew it, his eyes were slipping shut and his exhaustion was dragging him down into slumber. It didn’t stop Wei Wuxian from opening his mouth one last time. “That feels nice.”

Lan Zhan startled. His hand stilled. “I’m disturbing you.”

“No, it’s good. Restful. I like it. Keep doing it.” He’d tried before to give Lan Zhan excuses to touch it, but his attempts so rarely worked. This was the first time Lan Zhan had done it of his own accord.

Lan Zhan continued as requested, but he was more hesitant, self-conscious maybe. Wei Wuxian wished he hadn’t said anything, except he wanted Lan Zhan to know how he felt, even if it was over something as silly as how nice it was for Lan Zhan to play with his hair.

The best path forward, Wei Wuxian decided, was to push his luck. “Maybe Lan er-gege would sing for me, too?”

Lan Zhan’s hand flexed, accidentally pulling his hair. Though it stung, it was a pleasant hurt, worth it for how good Lan Zhan’s name sounded with er-gege tagged onto it. He’d have to call him that again sometime.

Stiff and oh, so charmingly uncomfortable, Lan Zhan asked, “What would you like to hear?”

Wei Wuxian stretched and sighed, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “Maybe… that song from the cave? It was nice, but I don’t remember the melody enough. My brain was so addled. I want to fix it in my memory.”

Lan Zhan went still again, palm pressed lightly against the top of his head. “Why?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s our song, isn’t it?”

If Wei Wuxian thought Lan Zhan was still before, he’d been mistaken, because now he was a statue. “Wei Ying?”

“Or do you sing it to anybody who comes along with a fever?”

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes and smiled up at Lan Zhan, fluttering his eyelashes as a matter of course. Oh, Lan Zhan was so disgruntled, a frown forming on his mouth. It was very cute.

After a moment, he relaxed a little. “There is no one else.”

He began humming and it was every bit as perfect as Wei Wuxian remembered, even in his state of insensibility. For a moment, he’d worried that it was his feverish imagination building it into something more than it was, but no, it was still lovely, still so good and warm. Wei Wuxian wanted to ask if he would play it on his qin, but he wasn’t sure Lan Zhan would want to. He hadn’t played anything on it that wasn’t related to their work on night hunts yet, took no pleasure in it as an instrument any longer, and Wei Wuxian wasn’t so callous as to ask him why not.

But how beautiful would it sound with Lan Zhan fingers plucking his qin? Very beautiful, he determined.

Within moments, he was asleep; he only woke again when the sun was low in the sky and the temperature had cooled.

Lan Zhan was still humming, just as perfectly as when he’d first started.

Groaning lightly and stretching, Wei Wuxian turned his head until his forehead brushed Lan Zhan’s abdomen. “Lan Zhaaaaan.”

He felt better than he had in so long, slept better than he ever remembered sleeping.

“You should eat,” Lan Zhan said. “Then…”

Then it was time to go. Already. “Then I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised, no longer caring whether it was a promise he could keep or not. No matter the cost, he would.

Lan Zhan didn’t even pretend he didn’t intend to make Wei Wuxian honor such an absurd promise. “You will.” It was not a wish or a suggestion or a hope.

Wei Wuxian would simply come back. There was no other option for either of them.

Several hours northwest of Loushan by sword, he found Qiongqi Path. By the time he arrived, it was nearly dark, only a little bit twilight left to illuminate the area. The carved reliefs Qiongqi Path was known for seemed flat without shadow and light to pick them out of the rock walls that lined it, but even so, Wei Wuxian knew where he was. There could be no missing it.

If he had any doubts, he could rely on the Jin Sect disciples laughing through their patrol of the area to prove this was where he wanted to be.

From his spot behind one of the large rocky outcroppings above the camp, Wei Wuxian waited; he watched. The Jin Sect disciples poked, prodded, gloated, threatened, shoved, beat—beat again and again, beat until shrill cries rent the air, beat until the screams died, beat until the old and infirm crawled pitifully across the sharp, rock-strewn dirt—their prisoners as they worked to pull the Wen Sect’s history from the rock face. It was useless work, demeaning, meant to punish.

It would be fitting for an enemy, he would concede that. It was less sadistic than what he’d found at Loushan. Was the purpose of the camp at Qiongqi different? Or had the Jin just not needed reason to hide their work yet?

The people here weren’t fighters, at least. Not a single one that he saw would have been capable of carrying a sword even at their best, let alone putting one to use or killing anyone with one. And anyway: the Wen were not the Jin Sect’s enemy. Jin Guangshan’s sect didn’t suffer when Wen Ruohan attacked. He didn’t have the right to do this.

Wei Wuxian watched more. He waited even longer. Each moment built a more comprehensive image of this camp in his mind, damned these cultivators more thoroughly, pushed Wei Wuxian just that much closer to action. With each stroke of the whip across a frail, innocent body and every laugh that accompanied it, Wei Wuxian made promises.

There was neither rhyme nor reason to the patrols, sloppy and careless. Shiny-robed Jin Sect disciples wandered this way and that, not even taking this seriously, knowing they could bully whomever they wished whenever they wished. These were not the sort of people who should run such a place as this if they didn’t want it to be infiltrated. That was good for Wei Wuxian. Not so good for them. Jin Guangshan was lazy and arrogant and that failure of character would be taken out on them. It didn’t hurt Wei Wuxian any to be the one to deliver judgment.

There was one large structure they wove into and out of, where the Wen were led into and removed from. They would draw swords or wrap hands around the handles of whips or riding crops as they crossed the threshold. They went in with clean skin and came out with scuffed and raw knuckles. Blood splattered across the pristine peach, creams, and gold of their clothing. A few were decked out in robes of different colors, but it was harder to differentiate those. They weren’t from any of the minor sects Wei Wuxian could recognize on sight.

They paid almost no attention to the handful of other structures that dotted the camp. One in particular, they purposefully avoided. Small, further out of the way, it was left alone.

By the time lanterns began flickering in the dark, Wei Wuxian was ready with a plan and enough of an idea of the layout to do what he’d come here to do.

He did not fear these cultivators, not when he’d faced down ten times worse during the war. Not even their numbers—which seemed excessive to keep children and the elderly, the weak and infirm, locked up—troubled him, not beyond the fury their very existence stoked in his heart anyway. They were skilled enough to do that much to Wei Wuxian, but none of them were at Nightless City during that last, fateful battle. They did not know the kind of distractions Wei Wuxian was capable of producing.

He might not have enough talismans on him to destroy a palace, but he would not need to.

Earlier, he’d spied a portion of the rock wall past which there seemed to be no patrols. Now that he was ready to act, he ran as quickly and quietly as possible, feet barely touching the ground as he raced from shadow to shadow. From there, he climbed down, springing from whatever natural handholds he could find until he reached the bottom.

From here, he could sneak into the camp easily enough.

Pulling free the stack of blank talisman paper he kept with him at all times, he bit his fingertip and scribbled on a handful of them. Applying of a large burst of spiritual energy, he dropped them and broke into a run. He would only have a few seconds before—

With a hiss and a quiet snap, it began, heat blooming across his back as a large, fiery form sprang from the circle of talismans. It was little more than an impressive parlor trick, something he’d invented while bored one night, but it looked intimidating and already there were Jin Sect disciples shouting and running toward it, intent to take care of it without really knowing what it was.

He and Lan Zhan used them to guide one another to their locations during night hunts. Very handy. And cheaper than flares.

It leaped through the air, escaping in the opposite direction of the camp. Who needed a flare when they could have something like this?

While they ran around, Wei Wuxian slipped into the main structure, refused to acknowledge the pain and suffering he saw, so similar to what he’d found at Loushan because if he allowed himself to do so, he wouldn’t have been able to keep standing. It might have been cruel to behave so callously, but if he stopped even for a moment, there wouldn’t be time to get everyone out.

Scanning the group for the most robust, least injured, most capable of leading, he finally made a decision. “You, you, and you, gather everyone and travel down the path to the southwest. I’ll find you there. Is Wen Ning here?”

A small child cried out as the people he pointed out began moving. The old woman holding him muffled his voice behind her hand and shushed him with a low, melodic voice.

None of his words were spoken kindly. There was no time for kindness. He needed them to move, all of them, leave this miserable, stinking place. Frustrated, he said, “Wen Ning. Is he still—”

The old woman trying to placate the child was the one who spoke. Her eyes carried a hint of suspicion. “Wen Ning?”

“Please, is he here? I found Wen Qing and—”

The woman’s eyes widened in her grimy face, tears sparkling in them. “Wen Qing?!”

“Grandma, there’s no time for this. You have to go. I’m going to take care of this.” He gestured at the pandemonium outside the door. Who knew how much longer the distraction would hold. “But I need to know where Wen Ning is.”

If he was not here, this wasn’t a wasted trip, but Wei Wuxian felt responsible for Wen Ning especially. He just owed Wen Ning even more than he owed Wen Qing and couldn’t return without him.

The invocation of Wen Qing’s name must have instilled some trust in her. “A-Ning is here. He’s…”

One of the middle-aged men Wei Wuxian had pointed out to lead spoke grimly. “Keep them out of that small building near the edge of camp. I’ll make sure we get out. Wen Ning especially.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t allow his relief to break him. “Remember, I’ll find you.”

While they worked quickly to free one another and escape, Wei Wuxian snuck back out, approaching the terrified, bemused Jin Sect disciples who continued to fight Wei Wuxian’s smoke and mirrors. He looked back only once and couldn’t avoid the twisting of his heart as they shambled away in the dark. The one who’d promised to retrieve Wen Ning made for the building Wei Wuxian had noted the Jin were avoiding.

Wei Wuxian sprang into action. Throwing out paralyzing talismans at some of the Jin, he drew thin strands of spiritual energy around others in order to bind them. That might have been enough—for Wei Wuxian, they were an easy enough group to defeat—but he remembered what Wen Qing had gone through and what Wen Ning was still going through and Wei Wuxian found he could show them no mercy, not after this.

In this place, there could be no kindness, no compassion. His conscience required an accurate accounting. The scales required balance. Blood begat blood. Wen Ruohan’s war taught him that.

These Jin disciples, spoiled, lucky children that they were, weren’t there to learn that lesson. Wei Wuxian could instruct them in the art of redressing such imbalances.

The next few minutes passed very quickly. Later, he would not recollect them. It hardly mattered, not when he suddenly found himself with twenty or more disciples wrangled before him, cowering. They were tasting their own medicine for the first time in their lives. If the fear that shook their bodies was any indication, they didn’t like it.

Good. Good. Nobody liked it.

But across over two dozen frightened faces, Wei Wuxian found not a single expression of remorse.

“Do you even understand what’s happening here?” he asked, cold.

They shivered and blubbered. Fat, ugly tears streamed down their faces. Did they cry for the people they hurt? He suspected not. Regardless, not a single one answered him. His foot, entirely independent of the rest of him, gouged into the ground and sprayed dirt at those closest to him.

“You care so much about your own lives. What about the lives of the people you’ve trapped here? Do you mourn them?”

One of them tipped her chin up, spat dust. Though her voice quavered, she spoke. “They—they’re Wens. They fought against us during the war. They’re the enemy.”

“That’s funny. I don’t remember grandmas and aunties and chubby-cheeked little brothers fighting me during the war. I was there, right in the thick of it. Where were you? How would you know who fought whom? Lanling saw no action. You get no say.”

The disciple only grew more bold as she grew angrier. “They’re Wens… they don’t—they’re all evil and work wicked magic. They don’t cultivate righteously. Everyone knows this.”

The most honorable man I know doesn’t cultivate righteously. How is that a good metric?

Wei Wuxian crouched before this one, the bravest among them. The others all looked her way, hoping that she could convince Wei Wuxian. She would not. An army of Jin Sect disciples couldn’t have succeeded in changing his mind.

Wrapping his hand around the hilt of Suibian, Wei Wuxian tsked at her. “And you only cultivate righteously, is that so?”

“Of course.”

“Your behavior here? That has been righteous, too?”

“Lanling is safer because of what we’re doing here. As long as everyone knows that this sort of cultivation will be snuffed out, then no one else will—the whole world will be safer. That is righteous.”

Wei Wuxian laughed and patted this woman’s cheek. She flinched back, as well she should. She ought to be afraid.

“I suppose there’s no point in arguing this.” This wasn’t the plan, but sometimes plans were no longer needed.

He stood and drew his sword. Cries pried themselves free of his victims’ mouths, filled the air with shrill misery and promises of wealth, status, assurances that they’d never stand against Wei Wuxian again. It was not as sweet as he would have hoped. His rage could not fully consume him, but if Lanling wanted the world to know that crafty tricks and evil magic would not be tolerated, then Wei Wuxian was happy to convey his own message of intolerance.

Somewhere along the way he lost count of the many ways the Jin disciples felt the sting of his blade, but by the time he was done, not a single one was left alive to cry out their justifications.

Not a single one had attempted to apologize for what they did in the midst of the pleading they did for their lives.

He would remember that about them.

Now that there was time enough to do so, the Wen safely away, he searched the camp, quick and efficient. There was nothing much of note in any of the structures. Saved for last was the small one near the edge of the camp. He owed it to Wen Ning to give witness to what had happened to him here.

Recently spilled blood covered the floor and the table in the center of the room. It was sticky under his boots. Before the war, he would have thought this was too much blood for one person to spill and survive.

More of the talismans like he’d seen in Loushan were stuck to the walls.

As he crossed the room to retrieve them, unable to avoid the blood entirely, his boot caught on something metallic, sent it clattering toward the wall. When he was close enough, he crouched down. It looked like a nail of some sort, coated in gleaming blood.

This, he wrapped in a scrap of fabric torn from the hem of his robe and tucked into his belt. Another of the talismans, he ripped from the wall.

He found the Wen and scared them nearly as much as the Jin had. Robes covered in blood, face hardly any better, he must have looked like a demon to them.

The child cried, of course, and this time, the old woman didn’t quiet him. Luckily, she didn’t have to. There was no one else to hunt them here.

Wen Ning, hoisted high on the back of the man who’d retrieved him, groaned and opened his eyes. In the dark, his features were pale, but his smile was sweet and warm. “Wei-gongzi,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” He drew in a rattling breath. “I’m glad.”

Over the ten days that followed, Lan Wangji experienced a constant, frantic fluttering in his heart as he waited, waited and hoped, waited and hoped and feared he was waiting for nothing. Nausea dogged his every step and no remedy he knew would give him a reprieve. It was nothing that anyone else would notice, not that there was anyone else to notice. Wen Qing kept to the hut she’d chosen for herself, only showing herself early in the morning, wan and skittish, as she made her way to the stream nearby. Though aware of her reputation as a healer, Lan Wangji refused to ask for a remedy or advice from her. He would not burden her that way. Except to assure himself she had enough food and tea, he refrained from bothering her and she, in turn, hardly acknowledged him at all. Wei Ying was the one who could pry people from their shells and it was Wei Ying who shared a bond with her and her brother.

Besides, Lan Wangji’s symptoms would certainly resolve once Wei Ying returned.

Unlike her, he chose to remain out of doors until the cold of night drove him inside for what little rest and respite could be found.

He calculated how many days it would be before he should expect Wei Ying to return. Even in the best of circumstances, it would take time. It might only have taken him half a day to reach Qiongqi by sword, but assuming he succeeded, he would have to guide ill and elderly people, possibly children, back over rough terrain. He could not use his sword to fly.

It had been years now since Lan Wangji was well-equipped to living a life without Wei Ying at his side, but he’d never been this alone before. Before, he’d had his brother and his uncle, to a certain degree, the rest of his sect. It was especially difficult to weather in this unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar grief.

It was easier to work until his body threatened to collapse, gathering and preparing herbs and berries and edible roots for as many people as possible, things which could be preserved for some days, kept orderly by oldest picked to most recent. It was soothing, in its way, to do this. There was little rice left behind and no flour or other staples, but they could make do. It aggrieved him that the only tea he had was what stores he carried for himself and Wei Ying and would likely not last even one night when distributed to everyone who returned.

Today was exactly the same as yesterday which was the same as the day before that except that it was getting close to the time Lan Wangji had anticipated Wei Ying would arrive. He prepared food for Wen Qing and attempted to eat a bit of it himself. He failed in the latter. Having failed, he could move on with his day, the next thing on his mental checklist.

He hooked a bag over his head and shouldered his quiver of arrows, fingers tightening around his bow. He approached the wooded areas around the village with trepidation. His hand shook as he gathered the netting he used to hunt pheasant and other small creatures that scurried through the underbrush whenever he went out to forage. His bow, he’d used more than once to hunt larger game when he’d come across it. Though he didn’t look forward to using it again, he was capable.

The rule at Cloud Recesses did not technically forbid the killing of animals, but Wei Ying usually did the hunting and he graciously dressed the resulting game. Lan Wangji had, in turn, refused to allow him to wash up alone, always cleaning Wei Ying’s robes for him and sometimes, sometimes even scrubbing his skin of the blood and viscera when he wasn’t quite as steady at it as he pretended. I used to bring these things back to the butcher, he’d admitted with a laugh the first time he did a hackneyed job of it. I’ll learn, Lan Zhan. Promise.

Without Wei Ying, the balance was upset. He hesitated too much with the bow even though he’d long given up a strict vegetarian diet, the cost of a life where he couldn’t always pick and choose what he ate. Even now, he kept to it when he could. Wei Ying had had to show him how to dress and prepare the bodies of dead creatures. His abilities were even more limited than Wei Ying’s, but he made due.

That knowledge was put to good use now. Everything he found went into the underground cold storage facility he found, an array still active within it to keep the temperature down, easier than having ice hauled in. He hated walking into it. It reminded him too much of the structure inside of which they’d found Wen Qing. Maybe that was where the Wens’ captors had gotten their inspiration.

There was little he could do to improve the huts and other buildings. No extra cloth, no blankets or suitable materials which might allow people comforts that even Wei Ying and he could afford. He cleaned the animal hides he gathered, but wound up discarding them. Even Wei Ying preferred not to treat them and usually found the nearest tanner to sell to rather than bother.

It would not be comfortable for those returning from Qiongqi Path.

He hated that even in this he was capable of doing so little.

The day ended without Wei Ying’s return. He would have another day to prepare. Another and another and another still.

Fifteen days of silence, of life without Wei Ying, no life at all, five days past Lan Wangji’s conservative estimate, so many days after Wei Ying left, the sound of dizi music caught on the wind in a reasonable approximation of the song—his, no their song—and the flutter of a red ribbon drew Lan Wangji’s eye. Black, dusty robes followed and then an arm lifted and a smile flashed in the sunlight. A body was rushed toward him.

Wei Ying.

He dropped the bucket he was carrying. Water seeped into his boots and across the skirts of his robes. Then his arms were full of something infinitely more precious than water.

“Wei Ying. You’re—where are…?”

He laughed brightly against Lan Wangji’s ear. “They’re coming. I was able to find them. They’re all safe. Well, as safe as they can be. We’ve done our best. Wen Qing will be so happy. Wen Ning is okay, too, or will be. I…”

He hesitated awkwardly as his words dried up and let go of Lan Wangji, to Lan Wangji’s disappointment. Though he wanted to pull Wei Ying back into his embrace, he did not want to force the proximity if Wei Ying didn't want it. “Are you okay? Were you injured?”

Wei Ying’s mouth screwed up in distaste. “No, no. I’m fine. Not even a scratch on me.”

“And the Jin cultivators? They were there?” He could not imagine they didn’t put up a fight. How was it possible that Wei Ying wasn’t harmed in any way? But his robes looked fine, if dirty and wrinkled, and his skin, what skin was exposed, was unmarked except by the sun, which had burnished it.

Wei Ying’s gaze darted left and right and most especially down, settling somewhere near the hem of Lan Wangji’s robes, everywhere but at Lan Wangji’s face. “Lan Zhan, can we talk about this later? There’s so much to do and I’d like to see Wen Qing. She needs to be prepared for Wen Ning’s arrival. How’s she been holding up?”

“Not well, I don’t think. She hasn’t spoken with me about any of it. I barely see her, though I’ve brought food to her every day. She doesn’t eat much.”

Wei Ying took this with more aplomb than Lan Wangji expected. “Okay. That’s okay,” he said. “I know how to cheer her up.” Then he scrutinized Lan Wangji’s body. “It looks like she’s not the only one not eating. We’ll have to talk about that. Where is she?”

Wei Ying ducked into the hut Lan Wangji pointed out for him, quick as lightning, gone just as quickly and leaving no trace behind him.

Lan Wangji picked up the bucket, held it tightly. He did not truly wish to eavesdrop, but there was no helping it, because Lan Wangji could not bring himself to move. Wen Qing couldn't hold back a fearful noise of despair, as though Wei Ying showing himself was a sign of his failure. It was only when Wei Ying cried out in turn, “No, no. It’s not like that. Wen-guniang, he’s safe. It’s fine. It’s okay,” that she stopped. Her crying grew muffled and Wei Ying made soothing sounds, preparing Wen Qing for the truth. “He needs your help, but he’ll be fine.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and Lan Wangji could hear no more.

After a few agonizing minutes, they both stepped out. Wen Qing was clearer-eyed than Lan Wangji had seen her since they found her, still fragile, but stronger. Wei Ying, too, seemed to have taken strength from the conversation.

“I’ll need to gather…” She stopped herself as she considered all the many things that her vocation and circumstances would require of her to care for those who would be arriving shortly.

Lan Wangji inclined his head and gestured toward one of the storage areas he’d found. “I have already sought out medicinal plant cuttings for you, Wen-guniang. If you wish, you may survey the materials I’ve collected. If there’s anything missing, I will gather it for you.”

“I couldn’t possibly…”

Wei Ying reached for Lan Wangji’s hand and squeezed, looking briefly at him with a degree of gratitude in his eyes that Lan Wangji didn’t deserve. “Lan Zhan and I have gotten pretty good at it. You can leave everything to us.”

“I…” She looked at Lan Wangji as though only seeing him for the first time; her eyes narrowed as she inspected him. Though cool toward him, she bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Lan er-gongzi. I apologize for how useless I’ve been over the last few days.”

“It’s only right that you should focus on healing at a time like this.”

Wen Qing scoffed. “Lan er-gongzi, you are far too kind if that’s what you think I was doing.”

Slightly embarrassed, Lan Wangji said, “I’m—”

Squeezing Lan Wangji’s hand again, Wei Ying said lightly, “Lan Zhan is quite adept at overlooking the worst of other people’s foibles these days. The price of spending so much time with me, I think. He gets a lot of practice.”

Lan Wangji was dead set on disabusing Wei Ying of this foolish notion, but then he saw Wen Qing smile and realized maybe Wei Ying knew what he was doing by saying such a thing. He didn’t like the deprecatory quality of it, but Wen Qing’s spirits needed to be lifted for what was to come.

“Wei Ying has taught me many things, including how to be less inflexible in my understanding of myself and others. Wei Ying is good, as I believe you are, but we cannot always be our most perfect selves.”

Wen Qing blinked the glinting moisture from her eyes. “Thank you both. I think I’ll—I’m going to check on those supplies and then go meet them on the road in.”

“You won’t miss them. Let me know if you need anything.”

Wen Qing nodded distractedly and strode toward the hut Lan Wangji had pointed out. Wei Ying rocked into Lan Wangji’s side, forehead brushing close to Lan Wangji’s jaw as he rested his chin on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. When he spoke, it dug pleasantly into the muscles. “Lan Zhan, you’re really very good.”

“Let me show you to your room. I’m sure you need rest.”

“You’re going to ignore me, Lan Zhan? Is that how you’re going to win arguments?” Despite the challenge he made of his words, Wei Ying trailed after him easily enough. It seemed like everything would be fine with the arrangement except that he frowned as he sat on the edge of the thin, threadbare mattress, lifting and lowering his weight onto it. He looked around the room, devoid of decoration or anything of interest. It was clean, but unremarkable. Lan Wangji had removed as many signs of prior occupancy as humanly possible. “This is all mine?”

“That was my intention. I would have prepared it with your sleeping kit, but you took that with you.”

Wei Ying smirked slightly. “It’s not mine any longer.”

Of course. No doubt he’d handed it off to one of the Wens who so desperately needed it. All the more reason he should be allotted a room.

Pushing himself up to his feet, Wei Ying said, cheerful, “I’m happy camping outside, Lan Zhan. There will be so many arriving soon. They should have the best shelter we can give them. I’m not very tired anyway. I’ll find a spot later.”

A lonely ache stirred in his breast at the thought of Wei Ying huddling outside, surrounded by people yet alone at the same time.

“Very well,” he said, following Wei Ying back outside. He could let Wei Ying think he’d won for now. It would make it easier to take his victory from him later.

“Tell me what you’ve been up to, Lan Zhan. How are you?”

There was a desolation in the question that Lan Wangji couldn’t fully untangle, so he merely did as requested, offering up the minutiae of his days. He did not tell Wei Ying about his worries for Wei Ying’s safety or the trouble he had when he tried to sleep without Wei Ying by his side. He would not say how he searched for Wei Ying throughout the day despite knowing he would not be there. He could not speak to Wei Ying of the despair hidden in the deepest, jagged corners of his heart. He could fill a village with game and foraged plants to prove he was self-sufficient, but it was all a lie. This truth, that he needed Wei Ying desperately, was not one he’d burden Wei Ying with. “I’ve kept busy.”

It was the most neutral thing he could think to say, still too much like he was opening his chest to Wei Ying’s scrutiny.

Wei Ying’s eyes took in everything. Of course Wei Ying would see more into Lan Wangji’s words than Lan Wangji wanted. “Busy?”

“Hunting. Gathering herbs. I… offered rites to the dead for whatever good that does them.” I waited for you. It was lonely and he’d felt every moment that Wei Ying was away as an eternity.

Wei Ying stopped. He studied Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan, I missed you.”

“Mn.” It was as close to admitting the same as Lan Wangji was able to get. He feared what might fall from his lips if he said anything more. Was it fair to Wei Ying that he did not speak the whole truth? Perhaps not, but…

Wei Ying leaned close, inspecting him. “I’m sorry you had to do all that by yourself. It must have been hard.”

“Everything I did needed to be done. What was necessary couldn’t be a hardship.” He drew in a deep breath. “I’m glad you’ve returned.”

It was such a small admission and worth it for the smile Wei Ying favored him with, as though he was the only person in the world who could make Wei Ying this happy. Lan Wangji had little experience with such a feeling. There was nobody in the world except Wei Ying who might react in such a way to him. Even his brother was not made happy by Lan Wangji’s presence, not like this. Maybe he’d made his mother happy sometimes. She’d smiled like Wei Ying did.

They remained with one another as the Wen arrived in small clumps, Wei Ying watching on with proprietary keenness. Wen Qing took control, showing them all to the spaces set aside for them. It took all afternoon, getting everyone situated, and Wen Qing guided it all, growing more animated as more people arrived. In the evening, they celebrated in what small ways they could and Wei Ying retreated even further from the settlement. “Do you not want to join them?” Lan Wangji asked.

“No,” was all Wei Ying said in response. Finally, Wei Ying peered up at the moon, squinting. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night.”

He went off to begin making camp, a little ways away from the village proper. Lan Wangji ached to follow, but he needed to gather his own things, unwilling to leave Wei Ying sooner to retrieve them, lest they fight about it when Wei Ying figured out what Lan Wangji intended to do.

As he made his way to the space he’d claimed as his own, he found Wen Qing walking back toward where most of the Wen were congregating together. There was a smile on her face, small and guarded; she seemed awed to have so many people—living, breathing people—around her so suddenly. Her gaze couldn’t settle on any one person.

He stopped her before she could reach them and was sorry to delay her. “I will be staying with Wei Ying. The room I took while we were… it is free for any of you to use..”

Wen Qing nodded and thanked him and returned her attention to where it belonged. He went on his way, too, and gathered his meager belongings in quick, haphazard fashion, barely stopping to put them into any useful order.

Wei Ying was crouched over a small pit he’d dug in the dirt when he returned, poking at kindling with a stick as he stoked a fire. He frowned up at Lan Wangji, mouth barely visible in the light. “Lan Zhan? Go back inside to sleep. It’s foolish for both of us to be out here when there’s another option.”

“Did you not say it was better for the others to have proper shelter?”

“That includes you, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji sat on the other side of the fire. “It does not. Where you are is where I belong. It is not so different from many other nights we’ve shared while traveling.”

The flames burst into a merrily crackling fire, properly warm. “I don’t want to disturb you.”

“You will not.”

Wei Ying sighed and muttered about his stubborn mule of a companion, but he made no further move to deny Lan Wangji this. Though he wanted to place his things closer to where Wei Ying was sitting, Lan Wangji kept to this side for the time being.

“How will you sleep?”

Wei Ying’s eyebrow climbed his forehead. “How do you think? I’ll lie down and close my eyes.”

“On the dirt?”

“I was planning on rolling up my spare robes to make it a little fancier, Lan Zhan. Do you take me for a completely uncivilized rogue?”

Though he spoke with lighthearted verve, no mirth glittered in his eyes. He truly intended to sleep on the dirt, his robes serving as his only pillow.

“You will not.”

“Is that the only thing you know how to say anymore? What will I do instead?”

Pointedly, he shook out his bedroll. “You’ll share with me.”

It was small, but it was better than nothing and Lan Wangji did not intend to take no for an answer. Wei Ying’s mouth formed a downward slanting line.

“I won’t. I haven’t bathed properly in more days than I care to count for one thing. And for another, it’s not fair to you.”

“I would not care even if you hadn’t bathed in twice as long. Fairness doesn’t come into it.”

“Lan Zhan…”

“Wei Ying.”

“Let me go wash up better than I have. Or change into my moderately cleaner robes.”

“It’s past dark. One night will not kill either of us.”

With a disgusted sigh, Wei Ying capitulated, hand flapping through the air. “Then I won’t take the blame if I elbow you in the face with my disgusting arm in the night.”

“Very well.” Smug, Lan Wangji sat as near to Wei Ying as he felt he could get away with while he huffed in annoyance, mumbling about how much of a bully Lan Wangji was. He tried to sense any of what Wei Ying feared, but he smelled a little of road dust perhaps, a little sharp, hardly anything to concern himself with. They’d passed far more fragrant nights in their time together.

They’d never shared a bedroll in the process, but that hardly signified.

Wei Ying quieted. His shoulders slumped. He stared frequently down at his hands, turning and inspecting them, scraping under his fingers and picking at his nailbed over and over again, habitual. Though Lan Wangji wanted to ask, he knew better than to push his luck too far.

They remained seated around the fire until it reduced itself to embers and Wei Ying yawned broadly into his arm. Lan Wangji did not yet feel tired, mind still too full of Wei Ying’s return, Wei Ying’s incandescent presence at his side, but old habits died a long-drawn death. If Wei Ying was ready to retire—far earlier than his usual—then Lan Wangji could, too.

Shifting over to where he’d unfurled the cloth and padding, he gestured for Wei Ying to do the same. “Come to bed.”

It was an awkward shuffle to make it work, an uncomfortable push and pull until they were settled on their sides. Lan Wangji forced Wei Ying to take the side closest to the fire by not engaging Wei Ying at all when he complained that Lan Wangji would get too cold this way. Facing away from one another, their spines touched. It was rather chilly, but Lan Wangji would never, ever say as much.

Then Wei Ying groaned in frustration, pushed himself upright, dragged Lan Wangji up by the arm. Fury had burned away Wei Ying’s exhaustion, shining from his eyes against the low flicker of firelight. “Why did you take that side? You should be closer to the fire, Lan Zhan. You’re always cold.”

Lan Wangji flushed at the reminder of the delicacy of his state. It was true, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t manage for one night. Besides, Wei Ying radiated heat. It would not be so bad.

That wasn’t enough for Wei Ying, though, and he complained afresh. “And how can you sleep on your side anyway? You’ve never done so before. No, this isn’t going to work. I’ll just—”

Wei Ying moved to stand. Though Lan Wangji was keenly aware that Wei Ying was stronger than him, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. Shifting so that he was on his back, in, yes, his preferred sleeping position, he pulled Wei Ying down so that he was half lying on top of him, the rest tucked against Lan Wangji’s side. Already this was better.

“I will not have to fear freezing to death like this.”

“Lan Zhan, I can’t just…”

“How is this different from any of the other times you’ve rested against me?”

He did not say: the last time we saw one another, you used my thigh as a pillow. He did not say: I liked it. I would let you use the rest of me as you will. He did not say: please.

Wei Ying remained stiff in Lan Wangji’s hold. “It’s not, I guess.”

“Then sleep.”

Tsking, Wei Ying tried to squirm away again. “What would Mianmian think of this? Shameless, Lan Zhan. Sleeping with another—”

“Mian…” Lan Wangji’s victory curdled. “I did not realize you cared what Luo Qingyang thought about your sleeping arrangements.”

“Is that her name?” Though he kept wriggling, body brushing endlessly against Lan Wangji’s as he tried to find a comfortable position, he didn’t leave. “Huh.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, teeth gritted. “Stop moving.”

Sighing, Wei Ying flopped against him, cheek pressed against Lan Wangji’s chest. “I’ve had nightmares lately. I don’t want to hurt you accidentally or wake you up or—”

The jealousy he felt at hearing Luo Qingyang’s name was forgotten. His heart instead thrummed with the desire to ask him what had happened. He dared not. If Wei Ying left in a fit of pique, he wouldn’t get him back tonight. “It will be what it is. I do not mind.”

“And what if I mind, Lan Zhan? What if I don’t want you to have to put up with it? What if I’m tired of—”

When he tried again to haul himself upright, Lan Wangji grabbed his wrist and held tight.

Lan Wangji’s voice snapped whiplike in the dark, unintentionally sharp. “Wei Ying!”

Wei Ying took a shuddering, rasping breath and slumped against Lan Wangji, burying his face in Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Each exhalation gusted warm and humid against Lan Wangji’s skin. His spine rose and fell in quick succession against Lan Wangji’s hand, pressed between his shoulder blades.

After a time, Wei Ying’s breathing evened out and Lan Wangji believed that he was sleeping and allowed his own eyes to fall closed, too.

Then, a whisper. “Lan Zhan, we have to protect them.”

Lan Wangji was immediately alert again. “I know.”

“I don’t know how. I don’t even know where we’d go that they won’t be hunted. We can’t hide here forever with fifty-odd people like this and we can’t travel like we did before.”

“I know.”

This was something else that he’d considered while Wei Ying was gone. He’d hoped to discard the thought entirely.

“Jin Guangshan wants something from them. They’re… I think one of his people is experimenting with them. Trying to recreate what I made. Using the Wen is just convenient because nobody will care if they die.” He paused. “Lan Zhan, I did this.”

Lan Wangji drew in a deep breath, certain that Wei Ying could hear the sound of Lan Wangji’s heart pounding against his chest. “You are not responsible for this.” Then: “There is one place no cultivator would dare go if they had any other choice.”

Wei Ying tensed against Lan Wangji. By now, the fire had died almost entirely, throwing only the smallest degree of warmth. It was still not dark enough to avoid seeing the regret in Wei Ying’s eyes when he lifted his head and perched his chin on Lan Wangji’s chest.

“No, absolutely not. Lan Zhan, I’m not making you go back there. How would they even—”

Lan Wangji heard what Wei Ying didn’t say. How would they survive? But Lan Wangji did and that meant others could, too. It wouldn’t be pleasant. Fear trickled through him, the last water to freeze in a river in deep winter. Ice bloomed behind his breastbone at the mere thought of returning. It permeated his bones and marrow until the only parts of him that remained warm were the bits of skin to skin contact he kept with Wei Ying, a hand against Lan Wangji’s neck, one ankle curled around Lan Wangji’s calf, rucking up the leg of Lan Wangji’s trousers. Those touches reminded him of what he had gained despite all the losses. For this closeness, he could survive anything. With Wei Ying, it might not be so bad.

“Lan Zhan, it’s too much. We’ll manage somehow. I didn’t mean to—”

“I’ve already thought it through. There is no better way.”

He would do nothing less than remake the entire Burial Mounds into a haven for Wei Ying if that was what it took.

A bright, beautiful afternoon greeted them as they reached Yiling, but Wei Wuxian’s heart couldn't have been heavier. Lan Zhan led them cautiously past the outskirts of the city, group by small group to avoid arousing too much suspicion. As Wei Wuxian and a few of the others split off from the final one to purchase provisions with the last of the money Wei Wuxian carried, he kept careful watch. A few curious eyes glanced their way, but on the whole, the people of Yiling lacked curiosity, only commenting, if they commented at all, on the unusual number of people passing through. They returned to the group quickly, unwilling to overstay their limited welcome. In nondescript robes, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan could still pass anonymously in some places, it seemed. They’d have to enjoy it while it lasted, because soon it would be very obvious just who they and these people with them were.

Only the two of them would come to a place like this.

Wei Wuxian was not generally given to deep analyses of the threshold moments of his life, but as he nodded at Lan Zhan, he realized this one was giving him pause and he couldn’t even truly say why.

Wen Yuan, who normally stuck close to Wen Qing or Wen Ning, waddled as quickly as his toddler’s legs would carry him to Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan. “Xian-gege! Zhan-gege!”

His arms stretched up just as Wei Wuxian bent to scoop down and pull him into his embrace. He was so small for his age, but he’d bounced back so well over the last few weeks, even with the stress of traveling, already less shy with both him and Lan Zhan than when he’d started.

“Eh, A-Yuan is so handsome today!” Wei Wuxian caught Wen Qing’s eye from over Wen Yuan’s shoulder. She was protective of her people and Wei Wuxian refused to take that for granted. He waited for a nod of approval from her before he allowed himself to seat Wen Yuan more comfortably on his hip. “How did he get to be so handsome? Lan Zhan, do you think he would tell me his secret so I can be handsome, too?”

Wen Yuan giggled and ducked his head against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. His fingers fisted tightly in his robes, stretching the fabric until it cut into his neck, uncomfortable. Regardless, Wei Wuxian would not dislodge him for all the world.

“You’re already handsome,” Lan Zhan answered, dry.

“A-Yuan, did you hear that? Your Zhan-gege is telling fibs.” He watched Lan Zhan out of the corner of his eye and was pleased at the slightest of hitches in Lan Zhan’s step when he said his name. These days, Wei Wuxian couldn’t imagine a time when Lan Zhan wasn’t always there to play with. What did he do before he could pester Lan Zhan all day? Bother Jiang Cheng, he supposed. The pang he felt was dull compared to what he might have expected. He’d given up so much, but he’d gained so much back. “Don’t listen to him. He’s clearly a bad influence. Only listen to your Xian-gege!”

“Nooooo,” Wen Yuan clamored across Wei Wuxian’s body, reaching toward Lan Zhan. “Zhan-gege is good. He doesn’t lie.”

Lan Zhan stopped walking, looking down at Wen Yuan, very serious. At first, it had scared Wen Yuan, Lan Zhan’s expressions, but he’d adapted quickly, learning in days about Lan Zhan what it had taken Wei Wuxian months to figure out. Then, Lan Zhan smoothly plucked Wen Yuan from Wei Wuxian’s arms and resumed his previous pace, sedate yet steady.

Wei Wuxian scrubbed at his arms and blew out a loud, shuddering breath. “It’s so cold without A-Yuan to keep me warm. What will I do?”

Wen Yuan and Lan Zhan cut twin, skeptical looks his way, almost perfectly matching one another in their disbelief. They almost looked as though they could be related and it twigged something in Wei Wuxian’s heart, that resemblance. So great was his affection for both of them that it threatened to cleave him in two. Clasping his hands over his chest, he swooned toward the pair and fluttered his eyelashes. “Seriously! What am I going to do now that you’ve taught A-Yuan to bully me, too, Lan Zhan? He even looks like you!”

Lan Zhan’s huff of disdain was immediately mirrored by Wen Yuan, adorable cheeks puffing out in the process, doing nothing to disabuse Wei Wuxian of his belief.

The further they strayed from Yiling, the more desolate he found his surroundings, but a new-found cheer buoyed him through the rest of the walk to the Burial Mounds. The change was subtle—forested areas shading toward grasslands shading again toward nothing—until they reached the scrubby, rocky land that Wei Wuxian would have associated with the Burial Mounds even if he knew nothing about it. This was the place he’d heard such dreadful stories about.

This was the place where Lan Zhan had tortured himself nearly to death.

Wei Wuxian swallowed around bile, good mood beginning to evaporate. Still, he made a silly face for Wen Yuan and felt accomplished when Wen Yuan giggled and rubbed his face against Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

Lan Zhan led them around the outskirts until an overgrown path was revealed along with a weather-worn gate. Wei Wuxian was not certain he would have been able to retrace their steps back even though he’d paid careful attention to their progress. He didn’t know if that was a feature of the place or if Lan Zhan had made it so or if he was just imagining things.

Wind ripped and howled from inside the confines of the Burial Mound. From this side of that broken gate, it sounded strange and unnaturally muffled.

Wei Wuxian wondered what it would sound like once they crossed the threshold.

Despite the unease writhing and burrowing within him, it was only when Lan Zhan returned Wen Yuan to Wen Qing’s waiting arms that Wei Wuxian’s mood fully soured again. His fears and concerns spilled over the dam from behind which he’d locked them for Wen Yuan’s sake. Before Lan Zhan could reach for his qin, Wei Wuxian wrapped his hand around Lan Zhan’s wrist. He spared one glance for Wen Qing, who nodded back. They’d decided earlier that Wen Yuan, as the youngest among them, shouldn’t be awake for this. Just in case. Even Lan Zhan, who hadn’t seemed certain what they would find this time, had agreed that it was better to be careful. Her needles sank into the soft, fragile skin of Wen Yuan’s shoulder. His body slumped, unnaturally lax, against hers.

Wei Wuxian swallowed around the lump in his throat and locked away his hatred of Jin Guangshan. It fought this containment and Wei Wuxian already knew it would not hold long. How could anyone contain something that was infinite?

“Lan Zhan, can I help?”

Lan Zhan patted Wei Wuxian’s hand, polite, regretful, painfully distant, and brushed his touch aside. “Not this time.”

Wei Wuxian backed up a few steps, heart in his throat, hating the reminder that Lan Zhan had taken a path he wouldn’t allow Wei Wuxian to follow. Without a single hesitation, Wei Wuxian would shoulder this burden with him.

Wei Wuxian glanced back at the Wens huddled nearby. Unlike Gu Yahui, who’d been there to see the consequences that could follow Lan Zhan’s use of the qin, they didn’t understand quite what it was that Lan Zhan could do, but they did know the frightening, bloody history of their destination and seemed nervous based only on that. He offered a smile, small, more genuine than his usual and hoped it would be a comfort to them, knowing that comfort would not last beyond the next handful of moments. Any bit of serenity that could be spared, he would fight to give to them. As soon as they crossed his threshold, their lives would change.

Lan Zhan would not steer them wrong or deliberately lead them into danger. This, Wei Wuxian knew. This, Wei Wuxian could not force them to believe. They would have to learn for themselves. There was no doubt in Wei Wuxian’s mind that they’d one day trust Lan Zhan fully because they wanted to and not just because they had no other choice.

For them, for now, it was enough that Wei Wuxian believed, because each of their faces grew a little braver. They straightened their spines and looked, clear-eyed, at what was happening around them. He nodded back at them, so proud that he could have choked on the feeling blooming in his chest. Already he’d bound himself to these people. He would fight and die for them when the time came and he would be glad to do so.

The first note of Lan Zhan’s composition sliced Wei Wuxian to the core, haunting and terrible. The older children, what few there were, shivered and clung to their parents and aunties and uncles, their grandmas and grandpas and cousins, anyone who was within reach. The Burial Mounds seemed to flex and curl for Lan Zhan’s music, welcoming in its strange way, like a cat greeting an old friend and feigning disinterest. The howling of wind did not calm exactly, but it bent itself to Lan Zhan’s will, twisting away from the path ahead and turning back toward the top of the mountain.

Lan Zhan returned his qin to its protective case and took a step forward. Wei Wuxian followed. Instead of walking into the wind, they were guided almost pleasantly up the path. It was cold, but Wei Wuxian found himself comforted, as though even the air itself was now on their side in this fight. The cultivation world might not stand with them, but perhaps something even more powerful could.

That, he knew, was a strange thing to feel about the Burial Mounds and so he did not give voice to the thought.

Wei Wuxian turned once, gazed past the last of their too-small group. Down at the bottom of the path, the wind was already whipping up again, stirring the bare-branched trees. Like a door, it closed against all outsiders. Good. Let those who would come face whipping winds that threatened to cut their skin into ribbons. Let worse befall them.

They deserved it.

“Lan Zhan, what about a barrier?” He nestled close to Lan Zhan’s side. It was, after all, a little chilly and Lan Zhan had to be feeling it even more. “Like in…”

He could not bring himself to say the name, but they both knew what he meant.

“Mn.” He sounded as though it didn’t hurt him any longer. Wei Wuxian wanted to believe that was a good thing. He feared it was not. “It can be done.”

It would, he assumed, require a righteous cultivator to work the spell. By a mere technicality—Wei Wuxian would not consider himself righteous, for all that he was blessed with a golden core—they had one of those. “Will you teach me?”

“Mn.”

The only thing left for them to do was making it livable. This, too, was something that Wei Wuxian had spent some time considering, especially when he couldn’t sleep and didn’t wish to frighten Wen Yuan and the others by making an attempt. It soothed him, even at night, to daydream about turning this place into something comfortable and warm. He hadn’t asked Lan Zhan about any of it—peppering him with annoying questions about the soil seemed a little morbid and unnecessary—but it was always in his thoughts.

As he looked around, trying to guess for himself just how much he’d need to adjust his plans, he realized it wasn’t so terrible here, certainly less so than he feared it would be.

It was lonely and would have been frightening to anyone who was there by themselves, but…

“Lan Zhan, how is it like this?”

“Hm?”

“It’s… better than I was expecting.” He wouldn’t have gone so far as to say he expected bloody, rotting corpses roving across the landscape, but the resentful energy wasn’t as claustrophobic or suffocating as his imaginings had made them out to be. It was like tiny shoots sprouting from the ground, curls of it pulling at Wei Wuxian’s boots, nothing that couldn’t be ignored. This was what cultivator after cultivator had claimed couldn’t be contained? Though he would have loved to claim Wen Ruohan’s people were incompetent, he had first-hand knowledge just how brutal they could be. If this place could be defeated, they would have done it. “What did you do?”

Lan Zhan’s jaw tightened. “I learned to suppress.” His eyes were already on Wei Wuxian when Wei Wuxian was moved to look at him. “I would not have allowed you to come if it was like before.” He stepped with a bit more ferocity over a tangle of exposed roots. “I will make it suitable.”

Wei Wuxian laughed lightly and shoved him on the shoulder. “Lan Zhan, this is already a marvel.”

“It is not.”

“It really is.” He spun around once. “Lan Zhan, I…”

“Wei Ying, you’re talking too much.”

“Lan Zhan, let me just…” He reached again for Lan Zhan’s hand, squeezed it tight. Lan Zhan deserved to know! “I wish I’d been here with you.”

Lan Zhan yanked his hand free and deftly stepped across a small ditch in the path that even Wei Ying hadn’t noticed. “You do not.”

He jogged a few steps to catch up and captured Lan Zhan’s hand again. “I do. It must have been difficult.” He pointed up the path, toward the clearing ahead. The sun was half-hidden now behind clouds, but it still poured light behind them, casting a soft glow. The grass, though varying shades of yellow and beige, sickly and bleached, grew tall and was supple to the touch. It was not beautiful precisely, but it was what Lan Zhan had made it into and that had value. “Look at what you did and for how long it stuck.”

Lan Zhan hummed, noncommittal.

“Lan Zhan!” He was pouting now, a bit, he knew that, but that didn’t stop him from doing it anyway and it didn’t stop him from taking that hand he was holding and yanking Lan Zhan off balance with it. Though Lan Zhan made a noise of surprise, Wei Wuxian righted him quickly. Before he or anyone could stop him, press a kiss to his cheek.

Lan Zhan’s ears flushed a deep red and he made a strangled noise that was deeply undignified, but he didn’t say anything else against himself. Pride again swelled within Wei Wuxian. This might have been the first time he actually managed to win an argument against Lan Zhan that wasn’t just Lan Zhan disengaging entirely, stubborn mule of a man.

“But,” he said, eager as they reached that first clearing, and conciliatory, “let’s finish this together.”

“Again,” Lan Zhan said, frowning as Wei Wuxian again failed to perform the song to Lan Zhan’s specifications. It wasn’t the song itself that was the problem. He’d already mastered the fingerings, the timing of each note. Lan Zhan had already said he was fine in that respect, but the manipulation of his own spiritual energy while playing was a struggle.

They’d worked for weeks at this and Wei Wuxian only felt more stymied as each day passed. Everyone else was doing useful things to better this place. Wei Wuxian just sucked at playing an instrument he’d been familiar with for years. “Lan Zhan, what’s even the point?”

Stretching, he frowned as a slash of pain climbed his spine from sitting for so long on this rocky little outcropping he’d declared his favorite. It stood just outside of Lan Zhan’s cave and let him peek in at opportune times, like when Lan Zhan was playing the qin and needed to not be distracted, but Wei Wuxian still wanted to get a good look at him. Occasionally, he’d considered moving his belongings inside and telling Lan Zhan he would have to suffer with a guest for a while. It was lonely to bunk elsewhere now that he was so used to Lan Zhan, but it wasn’t fair to make Lan Zhan suffer through his insomnia, too. Besides, Lan Zhan hadn’t brought it up yet. If he wanted Wei Wuxian near, he would have said. The privacy and solitude was probably a relief to him.

Now, he’d probably be lucky if Lan Zhan ever talked to him again. This was aggravating. He wasn’t used to not being good at something; he couldn’t claim he was taking it well.

“The point is you’re almost there,” he answered. “Lan Sect disciples train their whole lives to be able to perform this music. It would be arrogant to assume you’d perform it perfectly within such a short time. Again.”

“Grueling,” Wei Wuxian whined. “Unfeeling.” Despite his words and demeanor, he raised his dizi to his lips and began again.

“Slower,” Lan Zhan said. “Focus on yourself, not the music.”

Wei Wuxian hit a false note; he couldn’t say at this point if it was because he was purposefully being a brat or because he genuinely had reached his own limit. With a sigh, he tried again, just as slow as Lan Zhan wanted him to. The last thing he wanted to do was focus on himself.

He felt like he was juggling mice, throwing and trying to catch a squirming, living thing, focus splitting along two lines. He was used to doing sword forms, not sitting still.

By the time he reached the end, lowering the dizi, he was panting, his chest tight and aching.

“This is too hard,” he said. These were serious works meant for devoted, dedicated Lan Sect disciples to master. They were not meant for just anyone to play.

When his self-pity got to be too much, he found his attention drifting to the Wens who were doing actual, useful work. Compared to the physical toil they were engaging in, sitting here was nothing. He had to remember this was for them and Lan Zhan and that, no matter what, it needed to be done. Every tool he had at his disposal—though this rightfully belonged to Lan Zhan—was a tool which could protect these people.

“Lan Zhan.” He rested his flute against his thighs and dragged blessed air into his lungs. “Lan Zhan, I take back everything I’ve ever said about the Lan Sect.”

“Oh?”

“This is harder than when I was learning sword forms for the first time.” Back then, small for his age, his core was barely formed and every exertion wore him out. He’d been lucky, though he didn’t remember it even then: Uncle Jiang had told him that his mother and father must have begun teaching him early, because he took to it so quickly. This was a different variety of difficult, more mental than physical. Perhaps if he’d bothered to learn more of the Lan Sect meditation practices while he had the chance, this would more smoothly. Even with Lan Zhan’s excellent tutelage and the thorough work he did transcribing the songs Wei Wuxian needed to know, it brought Wei Wuxian to the limit of his skills. No wonder Lan Zhan was his match in everything if this had been the spine of his cultivation practice.

Lan Zhan snorted. “Again.”

“Lan Zhan, I really am tired.” It was frivolous to tease, but he did need a break. Lan Zhan was as harsh a taskmaster now as before even if he was nicer about it. That didn’t mean he had to actually admit seriously to requiring rest. “Lend me your lap.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze cut his way as he brazenly assessed Wei Wuxian. For a full five seconds, Wei Wuxian thought he might agree. “If you succeed.”

“Aiyou. So cruel.” He raised his dizi to his lips, smothered the smile that threatened to sour the notes that trilled from its body. This time, he managed to play it through correctly. It was still difficult for him to correctly apply his spiritual powers as well, but even that was improved. With the right motivation, anything was apparently possible. With large, pleading eyes, he leaned into Lan Zhan’s space and Lan Zhan, wonder of all the wonders in the world, allowed it, seemed to welcome it as he leaned in, too.

“Better,” Lan Zhan admitted, breath ghosting across Wei Wuxian’s forehead. His gaze flicked downward. Wei Wuxian’s body tingled under the scrutiny. His throat, already dry, dried further.

“Grea—”

“Not good enough. Again.” And then he leaned back, smug, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help himself, he had to beat this man with his dizi for fear of doing something else instead.

“Lan Zhan!” He poked and prodded at Lan Zhan’s chest with the end of the instrument. “Must you be so mean to me? What have I ever done except be kind and wonderful and exceedingly handsome in your vicinity?”

“What indeed? Again, please.”

This time, determined, Wei Wuxian played diligently, carefully. It wasn’t until he was done that he realized he’d been swept up into it entirely, determined this time to win his prize and win it well.

He opened his eyes when he was done, hadn’t until that moment realized they were closed. The Wens, those who were close enough to hear it, all stopped to listen. Wen Yuan, plopped in a pile of dirt with Wen Ning sitting next to him, still too pale, but healing, dropped his toy.

Lan Zhan’s eyes shone and his ears were red, but his expression was steady. “Wei Ying.” He patted his knee once, keeping his promise even amongst an audience. “Rest.”

Their days proceeded in this way, each growing easier than the last in ways Wei Wuxian didn’t expect.

This wasn’t, in general, how Wei Wuxian’s life went. In fact, the more time that passed, the harder it tended to get. Carefree days were reserved for his childhood back in Lotus Pier. They didn’t belong in a place like the Burial Mounds after the sort of tragedy that had befallen the people around him. Compared to them, of course, his life was indeed fortuitous: he’d survived the fallout of a war almost entirely unscathed and the only price he’d paid in all this concerned his reputation. His reputation meant so little to him that he might as well have paid nothing at all. Even his scar was forgotten nine days out of ten.

But before they’d come here, he’d expected it to grow more painful to remain the longer they were here, not less. He did not expect the resilience he saw in those around him as he and Lan Zhan studied and cultivated with one another. The Wen smiled and laughed as they cleared the patches of dirt that would soon provide sustenance. Wen Yuan, fearful throughout their first weeks there, raced around and charmed everyone he approached.

Even Lan Zhan smiled occasionally, mostly at Wen Yuan’s antics, but sometimes even at Wei Wuxian when he least expected it and couldn’t prepare for it.

In some ways, the fact that it was easy made it hard. It gave Wei Wuxian too much time to think about the future.

It felt at times like Wei Wuxian was the only one out of step here. Even after Lan Zhan, finally too tired to continue, retired in the evenings, Wei Wuxian walked the perimeters, strengthening the barriers he’d learned to erect, placing more and more talismans, setting traps that he later told the others about so they wouldn’t get caught in them. He worked, sometimes late into the night, on constructing a maze array outside the entrance. Though Lan Zhan insisted he eat, it all tasted like so much dust. When he drank, it tasted foul. He missed, inexplicably, Lan Zhan’s rabbits back in Cloud Recesses. When Wei Wuxian slept, it was in brief snatches throughout the day, carefully timed to avoid being caught, when the sun was bright and warm even for the Burial Mounds and there was so much happening that no one would miss Wei Wuxian.

The rest of the time, he worked. And the work he did that couldn’t be shown to others, he did in the dark, well away from the settlement, hiding sheaves of paper in that old, old box he’d used during the war. Nothing he came up with would ever be like the seal—he couldn’t do that again—but he planned out contingencies and he sometimes studied the talismans he’d found, wondering what sort of person would make them and whether he’d ever know for sure.

No matter how long he studied them, he couldn’t imagine anyone but himself coming up with such a thing.

Wei Wuxian spread his books and scrolls, his paper and brush on that favorite rocky outcropping of his, fiddling with talismans while Lan Zhan played his qin inside the cave. A little sliver of his arm and the dark grays of his robes were visible to Wei Wuxian’s prying, concerned eyes. If he also got to see Wen Yuan tug at Wen Qing’s clothing as he begged to help her clear a patch of ground, it was all for the better. Nothing lifted his mood like watching Wen Yuan get his way with everyone who stepped into his path.

After a time, Lan Zhan would come out and help dig neat rows into the dirt, heedless of the grime that would dirty his hands and the stains that would ruin the knees of his robes. That will be nice, too.

Except… today was not like most days. Today, Wen Yuan really seemed to be bothering Wen Qing. She ignored him a little too pointedly and tears gleamed in his eyes as she repeatedly told him to find Granny Wen if he was going to be so naughty. Wen Qing’s mood sometimes shifted now that they were settled, her bearing fragile, demeanor fraught. Happiness and relief could only carry a person so far. Her endurance had been stretched to its limits before. It was no wonder that she couldn’t quite settle. Perhaps this was not one of her better days.

As he climbed to his feet, determined to see Wen Yuan safely entertained, fourth uncle approached from where he’d been doing some cleaning nearby, ducking his head slightly. “Wei-gongzi.”

“Enough of that.” Gesturing for him to take Wei Wuxian’s vacated spot, Wei Wuxian gathered up his supplies and shoved them into a somewhat neat pile. Sitting next to fourth uncle, he pulled his legs up and crossed them, leaning forward on his elbows. “Uncle, what can I do for you?”

Fourth uncle did take the offered seat, bracing his chin against the end of the broom he was using. Before sitting, he’d seemed relaxed, but now that he was here, his body tensed and his hands tightened around the broom handle. It took him a long time to speak. “A few of the others…” He looked away again, distant, aggrieved. Like he did not want to ask what he was going to ask. “They’ve mentioned that they were separated from their families.”

Wei Wuxian did not know that he liked where this was going. He could not stop it from going there regardless. “Yes?”

“Do you think there might be other camps out there? Some of them have been talking about it. Camps besides Loushan and Qiongqi Path? None of them want to…”

“What don’t they want to do?”

“You and Lan-gongzi have done so much for us already…”

“But?”

“What do you think,” fourth uncle asked, “regarding other camps? Is it possible there are more?”

Wei Wuxian swallowed. He didn’t have to think on it because he’d already figured it was probably the case. He’d avoided bringing it up because they were not yet established here and didn’t have the resources to search properly. They could barely sustain the numbers they had. Adding more—if there were any more to add—would be akin to a struggle none of them were prepared to meet. Though it was cowardly, he’d hoped to put this off a little while longer, until they were better established.

“Do you know anything? Anything at all?” Fourth uncle’s voice was keen, desperate. He needed hope. Maybe he was one of those who had another loved one out there somewhere. As settled as they were here, they could not be whole, could they, until their families were found and vengeance enacted upon those who’d hurt them?

Once again, they’d let themselves hide away instead of confronting the problem. He might have told himself it was because he wanted to ensure they could survive here, but that was an excuse.

It had been selfish of him to keep this information to himself while the Wen speculated and dreamed and prayed that their loved ones yet lived.

“I do know of one other group that escaped.” Wei Wuxian lanced the admission from the wound of his silence. “I don’t know—I don’t know if there are any familial connections for anyone here, but we met a man named Gu Yahui on our travels. He alerted us to Loushan’s existence.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. The pure joy of fourth uncle’s smile struck so deep into Wei Wuxian’s heart and flooded his chest with guilt, enough that he feared he would drown in it if he didn’t look away. Fourth uncle knew someone from that sect. Or knew someone who knew someone. Wei Wuxian would have bet his life on it.

Though Qiongqi Path whispered in his mind, he pushed thoughts of it aside. The Gu Sect remnant had freed themselves and didn’t want to have anything to do with them but he wouldn’t have to face anyone from Lanling. He wouldn’t have to do what he did there again. It was just a matter of returning to that village and hoping they were still there and somehow convincing Gu Yahui to return with him. If there were other camps, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. “Thank you for not bringing this to Lan Zhan. There’s no need to trouble him with it.”

As though summoned, the sound of Lan Zhan’s qin faded and he appeared in the cave’s wide mouth. His features were pale and drawn the way they always were after he completed these sessions and Wei Wuxian wanted nothing more than to stroll over and prod him until weary amusement painted over the grimness of his mouth. He caught Lan Zhan’s eye and waved and got at least a tiny smile in return before his attention drifted to Wen Yuan, still busy fraying Wen Qing’s nerves.

Like Wei Wuxian, his first instinct upon seeing Wen Yuan’s petulant antics was to approach. Sweeping forth to take Wen Yuan’s hand, he guided Wen Yuan to a patch of dirt near Wen Qing’s, close enough that she could still keep a wary eye out for him, but far enough that her shoulders relaxed and she resumed working in earnest.

Fourth uncle looked at Lan Zhan, who was now speaking to Wen Yuan in a low tone. They both looked so serious, Wen Yuan and Lan Zhan, twin frowns of concentration on their faces as Lan Zhan was pointing earnestly at the dirt. Fourth uncle’s expression grew complicated, fond and worried and protective all at once, and perhaps not just for Wen Yuan. It made Wei Wuxian love fourth uncle just that little bit more, love all of them just that little bit more. The affection shown by these people to Lan Zhan moved him. His gratitude to them was endless for that reason alone. Lan Zhan didn’t have enough people in his life who loved him. His brother and Wei Wuxian was it for him, not much at all, not a large family to replace the other disciples and elders he’d left behind in Cloud Recesses, the connections broken for hardline rules and politics.

Lan Zhan had distilled those rules to their most important precepts and refused to let politics stand in the way of doing what was right. That was all that mattered. Wei Wuxian hoped one day the world would see it; he feared that they would not.

“Lan-gongzi is very stubborn, but I’m not sure he is very resilient,” fourth uncle said eventually.

“Eh?” He tilted his head, really looking at Lan Zhan, trying to see what fourth uncle was seeing, but all he saw was the strongest, best man he knew, who was now dusting off Wen Yuan’s clothing. He did catch a glimpse of something in Lan Zhan’s eyes, something lost and small. It disappeared as soon as he lifted his gaze and saw Wei Wuxian watching him.

It was at this point that he straightened a little, looked a little more himself. The way he ought to look.

For the span of a moment, he forgot all about what fourth uncle was saying, too busy staring. Fourth uncle interrupted his thoughts with patience and kindness and terrible, awful words. “Wei-gongzi, he carries himself as though he’s moments away from shattering. I don’t want to be the one who does that to him.”

Pain lanced up Wei Wuxian’s arm as he caught himself on the edge of the rock, just barely keeping himself from falling off. “Eh?”

“I believe he would feel burdened if he knew what the others were discussing. Nobody blames you or him, but I don’t think that would matter to him. I bring it to you because I know you would want to know and I believe you’ll know what to do. As you said, there’s no reason to trouble him with it.”

“I understand.” He did not, not the part about Lan Zhan anyway, but the rest: he got it. “I’ll do what I can.”

“We will be comforted by that fact, Wei-gongzi.”

Before Wei Wuxian could say more, Lan Zhan was approaching and fourth uncle shot to his feet with more spring in his step than a man half his age.

Wei Wuxian smiled up at him. “For a man who thinks he’s hiding the fact that he’s started fermenting fruit wines in the hills, you sure do leave me with a lot to think about.”

Fourth uncle offered a slight bow, perhaps gently sarcastic, perhaps not. Wei Wuxian laughed anyway and then patted the rock for Lan Zhan to join him, pleased with the slight look of confusion on Lan Zhan’s face. “What has fourth uncle made you think of?”

Tugging at Lan Zhan’s hand to guide him down next to him, he said, “How devastatingly wonderful you are, Lan Zhan. You should have seen yourself with A-Yuan, it was enough to melt my heart. How am I supposed to live when it’s is just sweet syrup in my stomach? You have to fix it.”

Though Lan Zhan’s jaw was clamped tight, there was something in his demeanor that radiated smug happiness. Wei Wuxian searched and searched for the fragility fourth uncle insisted was there, but he couldn’t find it. “Don’t be absurd.”

Wei Wuxian smiled and leaned his weight against Lan Zhan, who made no move to dislodge him. “So absurd.”

It was easy to put his concerns aside when Lan Zhan was this present, content to sit with Wei Wuxian even though there was still plenty for both of them to do. It was one thing for Wei Wuxian to put his tasks off, it was another—and infinitely more precious—when Lan Zhan did the same.

He didn’t want to leave, not ever. And yet, he’d have to in order to do as fourth uncle asked.

Wei Wuxian didn’t do nervous, not really, except for when he did, his body vibrating with anxiety as he considered how to broach this conversation with Lan Zhan. If he was to keep his promise to fourth uncle and the others, he would have to make Lan Zhan unhappy.

It wasn’t the worst trip he could make right now, nor the most dangerous, but leaving Lan Zhan didn’t sit right with him when Lan Zhan couldn’t leave, not when the Burial Mounds still required so much of the attention only Lan Zhan could give it. It didn’t seem fair. Perhaps Lan Zhan would have enjoyed a chance to be free of this place even for a short time. Until they’d arrived here, he hadn’t thought it through to its logical ends: this was a prison, as safe a prison as Lan Zhan could hope to have, but a prison all the same. He could not travel with Wei Wuxian as they used to, as made them happiest. “Lan Zhan…”

He wringed his hands, guilt-ridden. Lan Zhan was smart, he saw it and looked down at his own hands. Wen Qing and Wen Yuan wandered away while they sat there. It was the perfect time to give bad news.

Lan Zhan looked up from his lap to turn his gaze to Wei Ying. “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan, I have to go for a little while.” He drew in a deep breath and sighed. This wasn’t like last time, not at all, but it felt that way for how shuttered Lan Zhan’s gaze got, how tense he grew, how he shifted away from Wei Wuxian just enough to hurt. This was not Qiongqi Path, no matter how history repeated itself in this conversation. Swallowing, Wei Ying found the will to continue explaining. “It’ll be a few days at most.”

With Suibian, he could reach that far-off village in a flash, barely more than an eye’s blink.

“Where will you go?”

“To find Gu Yahui,” Wei Wuxian said. It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. “We’re more established here, I’d like to offer them refuge. I don’t want to risk the others or…” Or you, not that he could say that out loud. “I just thought I’d—I’d like to try to find them at least. I don’t expect I will, not right away, but I’d like to start searching.”

“Wei Ying, I understand.”

Gritting his teeth, Wei Ying curled his hands into fists in his lap. At least he hadn’t insulted Lan Zhan this time. “You understand, you understand. You’re always so understanding, Lan Zhan.” He would choke on this bile, his guilt. “You can be mad at me or disappointed or…”

But all Lan Zhan did was uncurl each one of Wei Wuxian’s fingers. “I could not and I am not. It will only be a few days.” He stopped speaking and swallowed, squinted up at the overclouded sky. “You should go. It’s only right. I can’t bind you here and I would not even if it was possible.”

“Lan Zhan! I don’t—I’m not trying to leave you behind this time, but…”

“But it must be done and I cannot go. Again: I understand.”

“Lan Zhan!” He crossed his arms and frowned, but couldn’t say anything else in reply. Lan Zhan took them so well, Wei Wuxian’s whims-that-weren’t-whims. Did he really want Lan Zhan to be mad at him? No, of course not. He was just worried that he was missing something vital, something that fourth uncle saw and he could not. Or, worse, what if Lan Zhan was keeping something from him purposefully and Wei Wuxian was just too ignorant to see it. “You’d tell me if there’s anything I should worry about, right? With you?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze was keen, penetrating, probably seeing into Wei Wuxian things that even Wei Wuxian couldn’t see. Anger flared in his golden eyes, glinted sharply. It was smothered before Wei Wuxian could fully catalogue it. “Such as?”

It was enough to embarrass Wei Wuxian, that he had to ask. “I don’t know! Anything. I like to think I know what’s going on inside that head of yours, but how can I really be sure?”

Lan Zhan looked at him strangely, but said nothing.

“Did I grow a second head while I wasn’t looking?” Wei Wuxian replied, leaning against Lan Zhan for a moment. “I’m serious. I’m worried about you. You’re so… you’ve always held yourself apart, but not with me.” It was not a fair trade, Lan Zhan’s core for Lan Zhan’s confidences. “I don’t trust it when you give in like this.”

Lan Zhan’s expression cleared a little. “You’re worried?”

“Lan Zhan, I am allowed to worry about you!”

“You worry so much that you don’t tell me the whole truth,” Lan Zhan murmured, striking out at Wei Wuxian without even moving. He didn’t even sound angry, just disappointed. “The others think there might be other camps. They didn’t want me to know. I’m not oblivious.”

In light of that, he couldn’t keep lying, even if it hurt. “How did you…?”

But Lan Zhan was stubborn and stared into the distance. “I’ve also worried that there are others out there, but we haven’t been strong enough to ask ourselves that question. I’m not sure we’re strong enough now to care for more people.” He looked down at his hands, eyes following the lines of his palms. “Regardless, I would not ask you to ignore it.” He looked at Wei Wuxian. “It makes sense to start with the one group we know exists already. I will continue to work here.”

“Lan Zhan…”

“I have one request.”

The way Lan Zhan spoke, Wei Wuxian knew it was not a request. “What is it?” Wei Wuxian asked, resigned to hearing words he didn’t want to hear.

“If you do find more places like Loushan or Qiongqi, you will return and I will go with you.”

“Lan Zhan!”

“I will not negotiate this.”

“But—”

Lan Zhan didn’t even have to speak then to convey the full weight of his thoughts. Up until this point, he’d let Wei Wuxian have his way, more of it than he usually did. Of course he’d want to exact payment.

Wei Wuxian slumped, well aware that there were some things he just couldn’t win. “And what if I need you to fight?”

“I will fight.”

“Using your qin? Using these things you can do?”

“If I must.”

If he must. When he hated it more than anything. Wei Wuxian scoffed. Lan Zhan felt comfortable being cavalier these days, huh? Well, Wei Wuxian would just have to do better to protect him.

“Are you going tonight?” Lan Zhan asked.

Wei Wuxian saw the trap Lan Zhan was waiting to spring. He shook his head. It wasn’t worth the argument that would ensue. “No. It can wait until morning.”

“Will you stay up here with me?”

Wei Wuxian avoided one trap only to fall into another.

His mind these days was a terrible wasteland of worries and fears, full of all the things he’d done and would likely do again. To subject Lan Zhan to that was unfair, but to deprive him of Wei Wuxian’s presence when he actually asked for it was equally abhorrent. “Do you want me to?”

“I would not have asked the question if it was otherwise.”

“You won’t sleep well,” he warned.

“I do not mind.”

Something warm unfurled in Wei Wuxian’s chest, something a little pleased and happy despite his fears. “Ah, Lan Zhan, I can think of more interesting ways to keep you up at night.”

Daring warmed the coldness in his eyes. Something like bitter amusement sat at the corner of his mouth where his lip curled. “Prove it.”

Wei Wuxian’s balance overtipped as he stood. Only quick reflexes stopped him from ending up sprawled in the dirt. “Ah?”

There was something wild, a little scathing, in Lan Zhan’s features. “How would you keep me up at night?”

Wei Wuxian burned with embarrassment. “S-such a brazen question, Lan Zhan.” Mianmian, Mianmian, he likes Mianmian, remember? He’s not frivolous enough to tumble you, too.

“I think you’re not brazen enough,” Lan Zhan said, mysterious. “Where are your things?”

Wei Wuxian threw himself on the mercy of this question, putting a very firm lock on ever saying anything as saucy as that again. He didn’t like Lan Zhan’s intensity. It wasn’t teasing, but Wei Wuxian didn’t know what else it might be. Lan Zhan wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t taunt Wei Wuxian. If he realized how Wei Wuxian felt, he wouldn’t push.

He also probably wouldn’t ask Wei Wuxian to remain with him.

“Nowhere important. I’ll be back shortly.”

By the time he returned, Lan Zhan had settled inside the cave and was putting away his qin, attention entirely focused on it instead of on Wei Wuxian. Or… Wei Wuxian thought his attention was entirely on the qin. Then he started speaking and Wei Wuxian realized he didn’t know anything. “I know you still have bad dreams. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Wei Wuxian’s skin flushed and he waved Lan Zhan off with a flap of his hand. “Stop, Lan Zhan. It’s nothing. You don’t have to worry—”

But Lan Zhan wasn’t listening to him. “I have left you alone because it felt wrong to pressure you, but you’re not as isolated as you believe yourself to be. That is all I wish to convey. You don’t have to sequester yourself elsewhere. There’s nothing you need to keep from me.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart pulled itself apart in his chest, a lot less fun than the heartwarming goo Lan Zhan had turned him into earlier. He turned away and carefully pulled his vambraces from his wrists and tucked them away inside his outer robes as he divested himself of them.

He flopped down on the hard, barely better than straw, mattress that Lan Zhan had pulled together from nothing in order to pad the stone that served as his bed. It was not the most uncomfortable place Wei Wuxian had ever slept, but it wasn’t the least either. At least it was generously sized.

He shifted over to the side of the bed that Lan Zhan didn’t prefer—and he did have preferences, even if he would swear up and down that he did not—and sprawled on his side. His fist kept his head propped, fingers grazing his temple, as he waited for Lan Zhan to prepare for bed, going through all the fussy steps he always took when they had time enough for him to indulge. It was relaxing to watch, as always, and a part of him wished they could always share a bed like this.

It had always been a little nicer, not being alone.

If he asked, he was certain Lan Zhan would agree to it whether he wanted it or not, which was why Wei Wuxian could not bring himself to ask.

Lan Zhan finally climbed into bed, adopting the rigid position he always took at first, muscle memory refusing to die even now. He relaxed in centimeters and it was only then that Wei Wuxian shifted over and allowed himself to half drape across Lan Zhan’s chest, his ear pressed against Lan Zhan’s sternum. The steady beat of Lan Zhan’s heart soothed him into a warm, easy lull.

Ah, Lan Zhan really was the best. Maybe he wouldn't have bad dreams tonight.

It was even better once Wei Wuxian laced their fingers together and the clip of Lan Zhan’s pulse quickened slightly, as though in surprise. He didn’t dislodge Wei Wuxian, didn’t suggest he was uncomfortable or unhappy with it, but all the same, his heartbeat picked up speed.

Like that, Wei Wuxian fell asleep.

And like that, he awoke, precisely at nine, because while Lan Zhan might have given up his own stringent sleep schedule, Wei Wuxian had never been able to shake when he woke, no matter how late he was up the night prior.

His jaw cracked when he yawned and Lan Zhan looked down at him with fondness in his eyes and Wei Wuxian couldn’t stand it any longer, not when this was the best sleep he’d had in a long time and Lan Zhan was so pleasant to wake up to. He pulled himself upright and said, “Lan Zhan, when I come back, let’s stay together.”

So much for waiting and hoping Lan Zhan would ask. He should be ashamed of himself for pushing.

“Mn.”

“Do you want to?”

“I want to.” Though Lan Zhan hadn’t made the overture himself, as Wei Wuxian studied his features, he found he believed that Lan Zhan wanted him here.

Scrambling upright, Wei Wuxian said, “Good. Okay. I should get ready…”

“I will help you.”

“No, no.” A trill of nervousness worked through him as he pressed Lan Zhan back into the bed. “You should rest. It won’t take me long to get my things together.”

“I want to help you.”

Wei Wuxian leaned in, noses almost brushing. His hair spilled, loose, over his shoulder and pooled next to Lan Zhan’s head. “It’ll only be a few days.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes roved over Wei Wuxian’s face, as though to capture all of him in one glance. His fingers gathered strands of Wei Wuxian’s hair and tugged lightly. “Be careful.”

“I will! You won’t be getting rid of me any time soon.” Clamoring off the bed, he got his things together and readied himself for the day, finishing with his vambraces while Lan Zhan’s back was turned, patting one fondly once he was done. He gave Lan Zhan one last smile before leaving the cave.

He didn’t yet consider himself a liar, but it was only a matter of time until he would.

“I want Xian-gege!” Wen Yuan cried from outside the cave, shrieking so loudly that it echoed off the rock, sound distorted by grief and rage. Though Lan Wangji controlled his emotions better than a four year old could, he couldn’t disagree with the sentiment. Someone hushed Wen Yuan, probably Wen Qionglin, who was always quiet, quieter even than Lan Wangji and the only one who could console Wen Yuan when he was like this. “Gege, no! NO!”

Though not today it seemed: a small body rushed into the cave and stumbled and Wen Yuan only sobbed harder.

Lan Wangji continued to play for a few more moments—if he stopped, he feared he would have to start again from the beginning and he did not have the strength to do so, exhaustion already tugging at him—and raised his eyes, seeing Wen Qionglin hesitating in the entrance. With a jerk of his head, he welcomed Wen Qionglin in and sighed nearly silently in relief when Wen Qionglin shuffled forward and gathered Wen Yuan into his arms. “A-Yuan,” he cooed gently. “Wei-gongzi will come back soon.”

“He won’t!” Hiccupping, he drew in a deep breath. “Baba and mama went and didn’t come back. Xian-gege’s like them.”

Lan Wangji’s throat closed up. Never before had he seen someone express their grief the way Wen Yuan did, not even among the other small children back in Cloud Recesses. He was so good natured so much of the time and then suddenly—suddenly he was inconsolable or flew into a rage. It had been better before, relegated only to sleepless nights and terror-filled dreams that woke him up too harshly. Since Wei Ying had gone, he might have an outburst at any time of the day and for reasons only he could understand. One moment he would be laughing and the next he was driven to this, tearing himself from Wen Qionglin’s still weak grasp—though he tried to hide the wince of pain at being so jostled, he failed, Lan Wangji saw it well—and throwing himself at Lan Wangji. “Zhan-gege, get him back!” He yanked on Lan Wangji’s robes.

Lan Wangji’s hands trembled, too shaky to continue on. His hand pressed lightly to Wen Yuan’s soft, baby-fine hair, barely contained in the ribbon he insisted on wearing, red, cut directly from Wei Ying’s so they could match. “He will return.”

“He’s not coming back,” Wen Yuan wailed. His tiny fists beat against Lan Wangji’s arm. When Wen Qionglin tried to step forward, Lan Wangji shook his head. It would not do for one of his considerable injuries to open up because Wen Yuan didn’t realize better.

“Wen Yuan,” Lan Wangji said, taking Wen Yuan’s fists into his hands. He spoke somberly. “He will come back.”

Sniffling, Wen Yuan scrubbed his grimy face on Lan Wangji’s robe. Lan Wangji very carefully did not make a face. “When?” Wen Yuan asked, voice thin and weak.

That was, Lan Wangji thought, the problem: he didn’t know.

Oh, he knew what Wei Ying had said, but a few days had already stretched to a week and Lan Wangji was beginning to suspect it would be some time yet before Wei Ying returned at all.

Wen Yuan cried more and more often until even that lapsed and he quieted again, sadder than before. He didn’t charm anyone and his eyes filled with tears every time one of the aunts or uncles handed him off until finally Wen Qionglin was forced to remain with him at all times just to prove at least one person wouldn’t leave him.

Wei Ying remained gone long enough that Wen Yuan stopped thinking to ask. He was not there to hear Wen Yuan’s first giggle as he bounced back from his perceived loss. He didn’t forget Wei Ying, Lan Wangji didn’t think, but he stopped thinking about him throughout the day. He remained moodier than normal, but that was understandable.

Lan Wangji did not cry as Wen Yuan had, but he didn’t move forward with anywhere near as much grace as him either, not easily, not well; he was barely able to pretend that things were fine while Wei Ying was gone.

Fourth uncle waited for him outside the cave entrance, his presence a sliver in Lan Wangji’s already split attention. It made completing his work difficult. Each moment spent wrangling the Burial Mounds into submission dragged. The resentful energy he manipulated did not wish to concede. If Lan Wangji didn’t know better, he’d compare it to Wen Yuan, stubbornly unhappy in light of Wei Ying’s absence.

That was, he knew, applying far too much humanity to it and it was probably less a reflection of its own behaviors than Lan Wangji’s emotions, but that didn’t stop it from feeling as though he was wrestling with himself when he played to subdue the Burial Mounds. Unlike it, though, he could not be calmed by the music he performed. His qin no longer soothed him.

When he was done, he rose and attempted to correct his frayed patience. Sick of these dark, sharp-edged walls, he stepped outside and squinted under the abrasive light of day and shielded his eyes from the onslaught. He kept his expression neutral. “My apologies for making you wait,” he said, carefully diffident.

Fourth uncle waved him off as he always did when others were too polite with him. “This has arrived for you.” In his hand was a small leather roll. Even before touching it, he recognized the spellwork that kept it sealed. The knotted throng that kept it closed fell to pieces in his hand. The leather unfurled for him.

Inside was a carelessly penned message, the characters composed in a rush.

There’s no time.
I’m sorry, Lan Zhan.
I’ll return as soon as I can.

Lan Wangji’s hand squeezed around the leather, rumpling the precious, hated page within it.

“News?” fourth uncle asked, hopeful.

“Not much,” Lan Wangji answered.

“Will Wei-gongzi be returning soon?”

“I don’t know,” he could only say, because Wei Ying told him nothing and took every choice out of his hands. “We must wait and prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

“I do not know,” he could only say, because Wei Ying left him only so many lines to read between. Presumably, he’d found more victims of Jin Guangshan’s greed and believed that quick action mattered more than being careful. Presumably, it was dangerous. Presumably, he disliked making a liar of himself as much as Lan Wangji hated being the recipient of a lie. Presumably, he would return, because Wei Ying was intractable and Lan Wangji would not countenance anything less than his safe return.

Where might he have been that it took two weeks for a message to arrive, he wondered, and how long ago did he send it?

A great cry rose from the settlement down the path from the cave, which was how Lan Wangji found himself racing down into the village proper, arriving well after a crowd of Wen had already gathered. No, not Wen.

Or not only Wen.

Four times the number of people Lan Wangji knew lived here filled every square centimeter of space in the courtyard that served as the center of the Wen’s little—too little—village. Laughing, shouting, sobbing, silence as a result of shock and awe. The reactions ran the gamut. There were so many people that Lan Wangji could not see Wei Ying through the celebratory tangle of bodies.

Stunned, he did not know the best way forward, and so could not choose a path at all. He could only wait, heart in his throat, hands clenched at his side. Someone would come to him. Someone would explain.

Someone would—

Lan Wangji’s eyes caught reflexively on a flash of red. After blinking away the tears he hadn’t realized were forming, the red resolved into a ribbon wrapped around a thick, wild ponytail belonging to a head that turned, exposing Wei Ying’s profile. Lan Wangji’s knees nearly failed him as Wei Ying slipped through the crowd, a fish working against the current. He was stopped at every moment, touched endlessly by others even as he squirmed away from their grasping hands and pressing fingers. Though a smile sat on his mouth, it was a tired sort of smile, one given because it was expected of him and not because he was truly happy.

It was only when he reached the edge of the group, spit out from the crush of people, that he lifted his head and found Lan Wangji. Dirt from the road clung to robes that were dusty up to his knees. Exhaustion bruised his face and his eyes… his eyes, when Lan Wangji finally caught them, carried no victory, no relief, none of the light that Lan Wangji should have recognized in Wei Ying at his success. Like this, Lan Wangji didn’t recognize him. And now Lan Wangji wondered if Wei Ying had successfully lied to him from the start, if this was always the plan as he’d shaped it in his mind. He could have an answer if only he would ask.

He did not want to ask.

By the time Wei Ying reached him, Lan Wangji had had enough time to catalogue all the ways Wei Ying had worn himself thin while he was gone. Too late to do anything about it, he swallowed back his indignation. Wei Ying would explain himself only if and when he wanted to. Even if Lan Wangji pestered him, it would get him nowhere.

Wei Ying eyed him warily, but wasn’t fearful enough of Lan Wangji’s wrath to not knock elbows with him once he was close enough. Together, they stood at the very edge of their encampment, an encampment that grew more and more livable by the day, beautiful in its way, and watched as the Wen remnant reunited with their kin and others who’d suffered similarly, as good as kin. One of the older women threw her arms around a young, sickly looking boy and squeezed, crying and laughing. An aged man greeted another as though they were old friends. Even people who didn’t seem to know one another chattered away, touching and exclaiming endlessly.

When Lan Wangji looked at Wei Ying’s face, he saw nothing of that joy reflected back on him. Lan Wangji was not unmoved by such a display, yet Wei Ying might as well have been made of stone.

Tendrils of worry choked his relief. Weak as it had been, it died quickly, but not painlessly. “Wei Ying?”

His voice was heavy, rough, when he spoke. “Yeah, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji’s anger drained from him, replaced entirely with fear. Wei Ying had come back. That was what mattered. He would not add to Wei Ying’s burden by taking out his unhappiness on him. “This is a good day, is it not?”

Scoffing, Wei Ying crossed his arms, hunched his shoulders. “We shouldn’t have had to do this.” His words were cold to match the ice in his tone. “Sometimes I wish that I could kill them again, each and every Jin disciple I came across who let this happen. How does that desire make this a good day?”

“Did you,” Lan Wangji asked, “have to kill anyone?”

“Of course I did and it won’t take long for Jin Guangshan to—” In his tirade, he seemed not to hear Wen Yuan calling for him, racing over on chubby legs, startling Wei Ying when he wrapped his arms around Wei Ying’s knees. If not for Lan Wangji standing so close to him, able to reach out and steady Wei Ying, he might have fallen over. “A-Yuan!” he shouted, flinching violently away.

His grip on Suibian relaxed only belatedly and he quickly shoved it back into his belt where it had been not a moment before.

Tears welled in Wen Yuan’s eyes. Half in shock and half in fear, he stood there silently as they dripped down his cheeks. In their entire acquaintance, Lan Wangji had never heard a single angry word out of Wei Ying’s mouth that was directed toward Wen Yuan. In truth, Wen Yuan hadn’t heard a single sharp word out of anybody, universally cherished and adored, treated gently because the world had not. Though his neediness occasionally frayed Wen Qing’s temper, she always kept quiet about it. Even when he got into trouble, the scoldings he received were tempered.

For the first time since Wei Ying returned, he saw something other than blank, cold anger grace his features, but since it was ragged, exaggerated guilt, he didn’t think it was much better.

“A-Yuan, hey. Hey, I’m sorry.” Wei Ying reached down and swept Wen Yuan into his arms, his own eyes filling with tears, even more grief-stricken than Wen Yuan’s. Rising, he bounced Wen Yuan against his hip, rocking him back and forth like he was even younger than his true age. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I just got a little scared, huh? It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

He brushed his knuckles delicately across Wen Yuan’s cheeks and threw a despairing look Lan Wangji’s way. It conveyed so much self-loathing that Lan Wangji himself was nearly staggered by it, his heart tearing in two at the sight of it. He needed to do something, prove to Wei Ying that this wasn’t—he wasn’t…

Whatever Wei Ying thought of himself, it wasn’t true.

“Wei Ying?”

But Wei Ying merely shook his head and pressed a kiss to Wen Yuan’s grimy forehead, inhaling deeply. Turning both himself and Wen Yuan to get a better view of the impromptu celebration taking place, Wei Ying said, “Hey, A-Yuan. I think there are a lot of people who’d like to meet you. Look at all those nice aunties and uncles, eh?”

Though Wen Yuan remained shy, he’d grown much more daring in his time here, flourishing under so much care despite the painful circumstances surrounding him.

Wei Ying said, gently cajoling, “Do you want to say hi to them?”

Wen Yuan sniffled once, but nodded. The tears were already drying and he was beginning to duck his head in a way that was less unhappy than before.

Wei Ying plopped Wen Yuan on the ground, keeping a steady hold until Wen Yuan found his feet, and crouched down to be at level with him and tweak his nose once. “A-Yuan is so cute.”

“No, Xian-gege is.”

Finally, Wei Ying’s eyes sparkled with something other than grief. “No, remember A-Yuan.” He winked at Lan Wangji from over Wen Yuan’s head; he might love him a little bit for the brave façades he put up, the effort he put into ensuring other people were happy. Lan Wangji just wanted him to be as happy in return. Selfishly, he wanted to be the one who made him happy. “Zhan-ge, maybe.”

Lan Wangji’s ears burned and he had to look away to keep from doing something incredibly stupid right here when anyone could see, something that had been building in him since the first time he saw Wei Ying sneaking into Cloud Recesses under the moonlight, Emperor’s Smile in hand.

The space between his shoulder blades itched with the need that filled his heart and mind and the stretch of his skin that needed to touch and hold and—and…

Wei Ying, pushing Wen Yuan lightly toward the crowd, said, “Run along,” and then they were alone, twin sentinels stood on the outskirts of a people that wasn’t theirs.

Gu Yahui’s eyes did travel over the crowd once, found Lan Wangji’s; he offered a stoic nod of recognition. He did not know for what he was receiving acknowledgment and so he ignored it. He’d done nothing here worth recognizing. It was entirely Wei Ying’s work.

Lan Wangji held out his hand and pulled Wei Ying to his feet. Wei Ying’s palm slid, warm, over his. Regardless of how exhausted he might have been, he was still beautiful. For a second or maybe it was an eternity, he looked his fill. To his greedy heart, even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.

“You’re staring at me.” Wei Ying blushed, kicking at the dirt.

“I am.” And then, because it was true and he didn’t know what else to say and it needed to be addressed, excised: “You came back late.”

“I—” Whatever else he might have said was lost as his shoulders slumped. He strode off toward the cave. Lan Wangji gave him a few feet of distance and followed behind, catching up only when Wei Ying slumped against the rough rock wall just inside the opening. At least he was living up to this promise: he had said he would stay in the cave once he returned.

With everyone further down the mountain, it was quiet. They were truly alone for the first time in more months than Lan Wangji cared to count.

“Lan Zhan, I’m—”

There were moments in Lan Wangji’s life that he could point to in which his life changed irrevocably, circumstances that so thoroughly shifted the trajectory of his life that nothing could bring it back to true. This didn’t have to be one of those moments, but as Lan Wangji watched Wei Ying struggle to speak to him, he wanted to make it into one of them, pull himself and Wei Ying so far off course that nothing could return them to the status quo.

It was a dangerous thought and even recognizing that didn’t stop Lan Wangji from acting on it, wrapping Wei Ying’s words in a kiss. One arm curved under Wei Ying’s and swept up his spine to cradle Wei Ying’s head, protecting his body from the jagged rock that Lan Wangji pressed him into. The prickling sting of it kept Lan Wangji focused. He was happy to guard Wei Ying from whatever small harms he could.

Wei Ying made no move at first, long enough that Lan Wangji worried he might have made a mistake.

But then Wei Ying made a sound, almost inhuman in its intensity, broken and needy, and his clever, clever hands were climbing the back of Lan Wangji’s neck, nails scraping his hairline, and it was—

It was—

Perfect. Wei Ying was perfect.

Wei Ying’s mouth opened under Lan Wangji’s and his body went slack and loose as Lan Wangji’s touch roved over him, goalless, as Lan Wangji learned his taste. Just this once, Lan Wangji felt like a pillar against which Wei Ying might truly lean. If he was strong enough and steady, he could be that for Wei Ying. Even if he could save Wei Ying only from the smallest harms of his life, he would do it.

It was all he wanted, all he ever could want.

Pulling away, lips bruised red from the crush of Lan Wangji’s lips against his, Wei Ying’s eyes were soft and heated at the same time, startled and hopeful. They carried multitudes and, at least for now, not a single one of those multitudes was grief or regret. “Lan Zhan…?”

His voice, hoarse and full of wonder, shook Lan Wangji to his core. Lan Wangji’s hands, normally steady, trembled as he brought them up to brush over the precious curve of Wei Ying’s cheekbones. “Wei Ying, you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”

The words felt florid in his mouth, poorly composed and untrue simply because they couldn’t convey the truth depths of Lan Wangji’s regard and were therefore useless. Especially when Wei Ying’s eyes widened in surprise, like he didn’t know, like it wouldn’t even cross his mind that Lan Wangji might—

“I’m not. Lan Zhan…”

“You are. I don’t know how to tell you in words that are worthy of you, but… I would be a lesser person without you by my side.”

Wei Ying’s lower lip wobbled and that just wouldn’t do, so Lan Wangji caressed the soft, warm skin with his thumb, glorying when Wei Ying’s head turned into the touch like he needed to chase after it. “I’ve done nothing to deserve your presence in my life, but I’m grate—”

Wei Ying drew in deep, hitching breaths until he choked on them, until they became a sob, until Wei Ying was clutching at his robes and burying his face against Lan Wangji’s neck and his back was rising and falling in wracking heaves. Warm, trickling wetness tickled at his skin. He did not cry aloud precisely, but Lan Wangji wouldn’t know what else to call it either.

Lan Wangji’s hands curled against his shoulder, his neck. Wei Ying allowed it. He didn’t know what else to do; he’d never seen Wei Ying behave like this. As he stroked Wei Ying’s back, he did his best to comfort Wei Ying.

Wei Ying’s words, barely a whisper, were thick with pain. “This is a mess. This whole thing is—you can’t say that, Lan Zhan.”

“It’s true. I will always be grateful.”

Wei Ying gasped again and clutched even tighter to Lan Wangji’s robes until the fabric bit uncomfortably at his throat. He should have known what Wei Ying needed from him, should have seen this somewhere in the months they’d been together, but he was caught off-guard, swept up in Wei Ying’s agony. He could not speak, could barely move, held as tightly to Wei Ying as Wei Ying did to him, blinking back tears of his own.

“Don’t be grateful to me,” Wei Ying chanted into his neck. “I did this to you. Don’t be grateful.”

Lan Wangji murmured nonsense sounds into Wei Ying’s hair, perched his chin on the top of his head, spoke only when he was certain his voice would remain steady. “I cannot help what I feel.”

“You should hate me.” His lips were warm against Lan Wangji’s neck. It was an agonizing certainty that Wei Ying could feel the thrashing pulse of Lan Wangji’s heartbeat against his mouth.

“Ask for anything else,” Lan Wangji said. “I can’t give you hatred. Anything else and I’ll—”

Wei Ying pulled away one more time, searching Lan Wangji’s face. “It was never Mianmian, was it?”

As though they were not already close enough, Wei Ying hooked his ankle around the back of his, Wei Ying’s flank sliding against Lan Wangji’s inner thigh, too many layers still between them. He shook his head, wondered where Wei Ying might have gotten such a notion, discarded it now as irrelevant. “Of course not.”

Wei Ying huffed, muttered something under his breath that Lan Wangji couldn’t hear. “Kiss me again, Lan Zhan.”

That… that, Lan Wangji could do. It was perhaps the only thing left to him that he was capable of doing at all.

Lan Wangji was setting barriers and perimeter alarms with Wei Ying when fourth uncle arrived, breathless, and said, “Someone has arrived.”

A leaf had caught in his hair as he’d pushed through the underbrush to find them. This, Wei Ying plucked away with a tired smile. “Who this time?”

Fourth uncle lowered his eyes, sadness pulling the corners of his mouth down. He was sensitive to every person who haunted the Burial Mounds’ borders, people with hopes too strong to lose against their fears of this place. Some were willing to take a chance on them despite the rumors Lanling would no doubt have spread about them. “A mother with her newborn. She’s asking us to take the child.”

“We can’t—” Lan Wangji began before cutting himself off. It wasn’t like Wei Ying and fourth uncle didn’t already know: their stores of food and other necessities were already stretched to the limit. If what they’d planted did not grow, more than one child would starve. If any of the healthiest here couldn’t forage and hunt for what scant edible plants and game could be found, they could starve. It was irresponsible to offer sanctuary when they could not guarantee it. That did not stop Wei Ying nor fourth uncle from adopting twin looks of determination.

“She says she’s heard stories,” fourth uncle continued and then proceeded to recite them, stories proclaiming that Lan Wangji and the heroic Wei Wuxian would help any who came to them in good faith as long as they were not of the gentry. She’d heard tales of green growth in the Burial Mounds where nothing flourished, he told them, and even that these two most studious—Wei Ying laughed when he’d discovered he’d been classed as studious, Lan Zhan, what would Lan-xia… well, never mind—of cultivators shared every piece of their craft that they could spare to anyone who wished to learn, even those who didn’t grow up in cultivation circles and wouldn’t be more than mediocre practitioners.

And the children, the children they taught most of all, children who could form golden cores of great strength and ferocity. They might form the next generation of cultivators, well outside of the mainstream and it didn’t matter to Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian where they came from.

“Um,” Wei Ying said, both delighted and perplexed. “Who’s been saying this? Those are fine stories even for us, aren’t they?”

Lan Wangji was not fooled however. He saw the gleam in Wei Ying’s eye, the pleasure these rumors brought to him. As foolish as it was to consider bringing more people in, Lan Wangji could see a discussion in their future. It would only be a matter of figuring out which of them was going to bring it up first. Lan Wangji never wanted to stifle Wei Ying, especially not when he’d just shown more joy than Lan Wangji had seen from him since before he’d returned, but they were in no position to take in every supplicant who approached the flimsy gate at the bottom of the mountain and dared to step across the threshold, risking all manner of traps and barriers and arrays.

It would not be long, he thought, until Wei Ying dreamed of building a sect and Lan Wangji wanted to give that to him. It would do him good to have some purpose other than ensuring they could safely cower in the dark.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said softly.

“Wei Ying.” He did not wish to turn a desperate woman away any more than Wei Ying did. It was only prudence that drove him to think of such cold words as can’t and no, it’s not possible.

“What do we tell her?” fourth uncle asked.

Wei Ying closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath. An ironic smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Let her and the child in. A little inedia never hurt anyone.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying parroted back. “We can feed one more woman and her newborn.” He tapped his temple. “I know our stores, too.”

“What about the next one to come?” he asked. And the next and the ones after that. As long as they kept accepting people in… well, there was no end of misery in the world, wasn’t there? Wei Ying would guard against the whole of humanity’s ills if he could. He seemed to see it as his duty, guided by something greater than what had dragged him here in the first place.

There was a physical limit to what could be accomplished even when Wei Ying refused to acknowledge it. Lan Wangji was not strong enough to stand against him for long. He assented with a quick bow of his head.

Wei Ying grinned and even that couldn’t save Lan Wangji from the worst of his trepidation. “Let’s go talk to this woman,” he said, wrapping his arm around fourth uncle’s shoulder. “Make sure she’s not a spy or something.”

Though he laughed as he trundled off with fourth uncle in tow, Lan Wangji didn’t see what was so funny about the possibility. Reprisal would come to them if they rose too high. Wei Ying had to know this, too. Jin Guangshan would make a move sooner or later. The fact that he hadn’t yet didn’t mean they were out of danger. What they were doing could not stand. They couldn’t just slap the faces of the most powerful people in the world without consequences.

Lan Wangji resumed his work on the barriers, extending them even further into the thickest part of the forest surrounding the Burial Mounds. Nobody in their right minds would attempt to gain entry through these parts, but it made Lan Wangji feel safer knowing that even here, nobody could push through.

The favorite part of Lan Wangji’s day was the end of it, when he and Wei Ying could finally put aside the work they’d done for the day and have time for themselves. When they returned home together and ate together and bathed in one another’s presence, anticipation filled the empty spaces inside the cave with warmth.

Though it had been weeks now since their kiss and though Wei Ying’s verve had begun slowly to return to him, they hadn’t yet talked about that day or what it meant. Lan Wangji saw no reason to rush the conversation, not when the shadows of Wei Ying’s long absence lifting. Even without words, he felt confident in what they meant to one another. Surely a kiss like that—more than one kiss, in truth, countless kisses that melted into one another in Lan Wangji’s memory—couldn’t be misconstrued. Wei Ying didn’t look at him every night and see a mistake they’d made and wanted to avoid making again.

Still, they hadn’t kissed one another again, though there was nothing in the world Lan Wangji wanted to do more than gather Wei Ying close and steal the air from his lungs. At first, he’d been confused, both by his own hesitance and Wei Ying’s. After a time, he’d realized the truth: it wasn’t hesitation at all, but anticipation, a desire to prolong the fluttering, joyful giddiness of having shared such an intimacy at all.

Of all the things they didn’t have, time was the most precious of them, but Lan Wangji liked that they treated, by mutual silent agreement, this one thing carefully. It felt indulgent in a place and under circumstances where no indulgences could be had. The savoring of it was important, desired.

Lan Wangji did not fear that his feelings were not reciprocated. That night, the night they’d kissed, had torn through the shroud that had kept their emotions veiled by the gauzy fabric of their mutual disbelief that the other could care for them in this way. In retrospect, it had been flimsy from the start, but only hindsight could offer the clarity they should have had from the start.

There were not many things Lan Wangji wouldn’t change about their circumstances, but this wasn’t one of them.

Wei Ying’s hair tumbled down his back as he freed it from its ribbon. It didn’t shine the way it used to and it was drier than Wei Ying would have liked. Lan Wangji didn’t care one way or the other. Wei Ying was Wei Ying and he was desired no matter the state of his hair, but sometimes, Wei Ying bemoaned the state of it, taking it between his fingers as he tsked at it. Tonight Wei Ying didn’t seem to have the patience to begrudge the lack of amenities in the Burial Mounds, ignoring his hair as he yanked off his robes until he was down to almost nothing. The ribbon fell to the floor. Lan Wangji walked over and crouched to retrieve it.

His eyes caught Lan Wangji’s from across the room as he adjusted the privacy screen until all Lan Wangji could see was his outline as he untied his inner shirt and then bent to remove his trousers, replacing both with fresh sleepwear. Lan Wangji returned to the bed. Between one moment and the next, he was pushing aside the screen again and rushing over to slip onto the mat with Lan Wangji.

“It’s cold,” Wei Ying insisted as Wei Ying slotted himself against Lan Wangji’s side like he was always meant to fit there. His fingers danced boldly over every bit of Lan Wangji’s chest and torso and neck, his favorite nightly ritual. Lan Wangji’s blood ran hot and he filled, body alight with the simplicity of this pleasure. He clutched tight to every moment of this sweet agony and sighed when Wei Ying relaxed into sleep.

He allowed himself a single press of his palm against the hard bulge of his erection before he forced himself to relax.

Tomorrow, he thought. Maybe tomorrow would be the day he’d crack and shower every centimeter of Wei Ying’s body with touches of his own.

More days passed and a tension wove itself through the air, a tension that none sensed with more acuity than Lan Wangji himself. Wei Ying came closest, as always, and it dampened his spirits again, putting him back on the edge from which Lan Wangji had been relieved to see him step back.

He accompanied Lan Wangji every day on his morning walks, the both of them reviving Lan Wangji’s old habits, rising at five, before everyone but the most strident of the farmhands were up and about. They watched with quiet, nervous eyes as he and Wei Ying walked past. Though Wei Ying offered calm platitudes and playful gestures, his good cheer rang false to Lan Wangji, who knew him best. As long as the others were mollified, it didn’t truly matter that it wasn’t real except to Lan Wangji. Wei Ying certainly didn’t care.

This morning, Wei Ying twirled his dizi between his fingers, lounging against a tree as Lan Wangji worked. Wei Ying mostly played while they were walking between the points which Lan Wangji had long ago determined were the most productive for his own methods. Between the two of them, their music and charms and talismans, array upon array upon array, they were constructing a fortress, a private island in the middle of the land. Still, this was not enough to settle Wei Ying today.

“Did you hear the rumor about how you’re tricking people into coming here so you can build an army to destroy the cultivation world in its entirety?” Wei Ying asked idly, but Lan Wangji heard the truth beneath the frivolity of his tone: it was no idle question.

“Weren’t we heroes a few weeks ago? Why do I need the elderly and children to build an army?” They were, after all, standing on a mountain of potential soldiers, thousands of them, maybe more. He could be here alone and protect himself fully.

Wei Ying shrugged and toed at the dirt, digging a divot with his boot. “What about the one where you’re my chained attack demonic cultivator? I’m trying to take Lanling for myself. That’s why I broke with the Jiangs and why I’ve been spotted liberating Jin camps from—”

The qin twanged unpleasantly as Lan Wangji’s fingernail caught on a string. “You were seen?”

Wei Ying blinked innocently. “Ah?”

“You were seen? Jin Guangshan knows what you’ve been doing?”

“No.” Wei Ying raised his hands, palms facing outward. “I was careful.”

“But they’re still talking about you?”

Wei Ying, already fairly still, went even stiller. “Better than talking about you.”

“I would be talked about regardless.”

“Well, there is the rumor that you’ve got me under a compulsion to remain…”

Again, Lan Wangji struck a false note. The ground shivered in sympathy. “I don’t want to hear about this.” The thought that Wei Ying might be here only because Lan Wangji wanted him here was untenable. There were few things he feared more than that. “Wei Ying, they really think you’re the one…?” At the very least, Lan Wangji’s reputation should have flagged him as the most likely reason these camps were getting destroyed. The thought that Wei Ying was being blamed, even if only in rumors, was unpleasant to consider.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pointed out, scuffing his boot through the dirt, “I am the one doing it. You can’t guess how many of Jin Guangshan’s people I’ve—”

“I can guess,” Lan Wangji replied, sharp. When Wei Ying slept, his dreams were still occasionally plagued by shouts and cries, worsening as his mood did. When he didn’t sleep, he paced around the cave or disappeared. Lan Wangji could only pretend he didn’t notice; he didn’t know how else to help Wei Ying, worrying he’d further retreat if Lan Wangji pushed him too far.

“Lan Zhan.”

“There’s no point in discussing this unless you intend to address these rumors,” Lan Wangji said. “I don’t know why you brought it up at all.”

“Just conversation.”

“A reminder.” For a long moment, Lan Wangji played and played perfectly and at the end of it, he was a little bit calmer. “Your thoughts are dark today, Wei Ying.”

A grim smile pulled at Wei Ying’s mouth. “I don’t like feeling as though we’re waiting for them to come to us.”

“They can come. There is not a more secure location in the entire world.”

“We’ll still have to fight. The two of us.”

“How is that different from before?”

Wei Ying’s smile softened and there was that glint of mischief in it as his teeth flashed, the thin, healed line of his scar pulling. It was the one that made him look young and carefree again, this smile. It pierced Lan Wangji’s heart with the true aim of a well-thrown spear and left him in as much pain as any weapon could. Would that Lan Wangji could keep that expression on his face always.

But Lan Wangji was not skilled in the art of making others happy. It was only Wei Ying who did it as easily as breathing.

“You’re right, Lan Zhan. It’s always us, isn’t it? It could certainly be worse.”

“Wei Ying…” There were so many things he should have said, things he didn’t know how to say and things he did, but couldn’t get out there.

Too bad it was also only Wei Ying who spoke as easily as breathing.

“Lan Zhan, promise me if… if it should come to it…” He wrapped his hand around his vambrace and laughed lightly. His voice was breezy, casual. For the demand he was about to make, it should have been more displeased. Then again, Wei Ying often treated his own well-being as a joke. “No matter how skilled I might be, it’s not going to be me who saves the people here.”

Lan Wangji was practiced in the art of reading between the lines of Wei Ying’s sometimes circular conversation points. Was this why he’d brought up rumors and hearsay? To justify this?

“You’re not asking me this,” Lan Wangji said. He wouldn’t dare. After everything, Wei Ying wouldn’t do that to him.

“I haven’t even said—”

“You’re asking me to choose.” In all his life, he didn’t think he’d ever been so immediately angry about anything as he was right now. If it should come to it… Lan Wangji knew Wei Ying as he knew himself. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what drove this conversation.

“Lan Zhan.”

No. Wei Ying would not dare to say such a thing to Lan Wangji. Not now. Not ever. If he knew… but he had to know. It was obvious how precariously balanced this all was, how much of it hinged on Wei Ying. Whose failure was it if he didn’t realize? Lan Wangji’s hands shook as he focused his attention down to his qin, playing so viciously that a string snapped. It struck Lan Wangji across the temple. He barely noticed. As it whipped away, twanging, he said. “Wei Yi—”

But Wei Ying was already rushing forward, a formless cry on his lips. His thumb brushed across Lan Wangji’s forehead and came away smeared with blood. The wound throbbed beneath Wei Ying’s careful touch. Lan Wangji put aside the qin.

“Lan Zhan! Are you—”

Lan Wangji shoved at his shoulder, pushing him back, making him stumble slightly, wide-eyed with shock. “You will not say these words to me.”

“Lan Zhan!”

“This does not exist without you. You will not say these words.”

Lan Wangji’s cheek stung where Wei Ying’s hand struck it. There was betrayal in his eyes and sickness, loathing, disgust. Of Lan Wangji? Fine. If that was how he felt, that was fine.

Wei Ying seized Lan Wangji’s robes in his fists. “You listen to me! You cannot abandon these people for me. Ever. If I… I’m not invincible, Lan Zhan. You have to know that.”

“I will not. You will be protected.” Hate me if you must, he said without saying it. That was a sacrifice he could make.

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“Yet you’ll ask me to guarantee their safety. I cannot do that.” Not without you.

Wei Ying turned away, scrubbed his bloodied hand down his robe, breathing heavily as his head tilted back so he could look at the sky. “I’m being serious here and you’re playing word games with me.” Spinning back around, he grabbed Lan Wangji by the shoulders and shook him. Desperation caught, wet, in his eyelashes. “Don’t be blind. Don’t lose sight of what’s important.”

“I have not.”

“Lan Zhan, I’m one person. There are hundreds of people back there who need you. A-Yuan needs you. What would he do without his Zhan-gege?”

Wei Ying had this all wrong. It was not Lan Wangji that any of them needed. “A-Yuan needs you. These people need you.”

Wei Ying was not moved by Lan Wangji’s argument. “Lan Wangji, promise me you’ll protect them.”

He refused to acknowledge what his request would really mean: let Wei Ying die if the fates decreed it, sacrifice Wei Ying to the Jin Sect’s need for blood if it came to it, secure his own safety at Wei Ying’s expense.

“Lan Zhan, I’ll never forgive you if you don’t.”

Equally cold, Lan Wangji asked, “If you’re dead, what will that matter?” It was better to be cold than ask, what about me? What would I do? He did not dare expose this weakness to Wei Ying.

“If I’m dead, I will have done my duty. Do yours. You’re the only one who can.”

“The seal will yield to any master. I’m superfluous.”

“You think I’m talking about the seal? Lan Zhan, I mean this place. I can’t do what you did to the Burial Mounds. If you’re not here to control it…”

Lan Wangji was not a man who laughed, not ever, not when he was happy, which had been so often since Wei Ying came into his life. Lan Wangji was not a man who laughed, but he laughed now, he laughed long and bitter and hard. Until tears filled his eyes, he laughed. Already this place was a prison, but Wei Ying wanted to fasten another yoke around his neck?

Wei Ying’s lips pursed in a hard, unmoved frown. “I’m telling you because you deserve to know. At the first sign of a reckoning from Jin Guangshan, I will fight my hardest for you and for everyone here. If I live, hey, I’ll be the happiest man in the Burial Mounds, but—”

“Then you will not be fighting for me. I don’t want it.”

“Lan Zhan, I will be fighting for you. It doesn’t matter how stubborn you want to be about it.”

“I don’t want it.”

Eyes wide with surprise and disappointment, Wei Ying asked, “When did you get this selfish anyway?” Though the words were harsh, he spoke them quietly, gentling himself. His hand cupped the cheek he’d struck.

If this was a moment for truths, then Lan Wangji could give one to him.

Since you insisted on saving me back at Cloud Recesses, sooner than that, right from the beginning. “If I deserve to know that you intend to die for me, then you deserve to know I will not accept it.”

“That’s not what I said!”

Lan Wangji’s fingers, cool, wrapped around Wei Ying’s wrist. He pressed a kiss to the heel of his palm. “That is exactly what you said. I reject it.”

Wei Ying took a step back and let out a sound of frustration. When Lan Wangji attempted to reach for him, he pulled even further away, striding in a wide arc around. “I can’t do this if you’re going to—”

“Now who is it being selfish?”

Wei Ying waved him off, scoffing. “I’ve always been selfish. You’re the one who’s supposed to be better than me.”

That was so ridiculous that Lan Wangji almost laughed again. Instead, he brushed the lingering tears from his eyes and brought his attention back to his qin, wrapped gently in resentful energy while he wasn’t looking. His fingers skimmed over the qin’s remaining strings, not raising any sounds, just to touch them, comforting. The silence broke through Wei Ying’s stubbornness as well. Sighing, Wei Ying reached into his qiankun pouch and retrieved a coiled replacement, something he’d taken to carrying after their first night hunt when Lan Wangji’s string snapped then, too.

Bringing it over, he offered Lan Wangji a thin smile, a meager peace offering, the last thing on this earth that Lan Wangji wanted from him. Instead of taking it, he placed his qin on the ground and pulled Wei Ying into a brutal, biting kiss, hands bracketing Wei Ying’s face. Taking advantage of his momentum and the surprise of the moment, he spun them, pressing Wei Ying against the tree. The string fell from Wei Ying’s grasp. Where it wound up, Lan Wangji didn’t care.

This kiss—what number was it in total, their fourth? Their second? How would Wei Ying count it?—was nothing at all like Lan Wangji would have imagined it to be. It should have been their hundredth or their thousandth. It should have been given tenderly out of love or ferociously out of passion. The last thing he wanted was to give a kiss that reeked of desperation.

He chased the taste of blood around Wei Ying’s mouth. In turn, Wei Ying did the same. He surged against Lan Wangji, yanked Lan Wangji’s bow and quiver from his back and put them aside. Wei Ying took hold of his wrist, hooked his ankle around Lan Wangji’s, and twisted them both, caging Lan Wangji against the tree, grinding their bodies together. The friction sparked pleasure up Lan Wangji’s spine. Though it was so different from the touches they’d shared before, Lan Wangji was eager. He chose to think of nothing else but this since the alternative was so unpleasant.

Lan Wangji gasped into Wei Ying’s mouth as Wei Ying tugged at his robes, pulling his belt free before sinking to his knees, his hands braced against Lan Wangji’s thighs, fingers trailing down the back of his knees before he reached up and pawed at Lan Wangji’s trousers.

“Lan Zhan, you’re perfect and really fucking infuriating, did you know that? Only you would—”

He was too impatient to finish the thought, already swallowing him down as Wei Ying exposed him. There was no warning and no finesse. His inexpert tongue laved over Lan Wangji’s rapidly hardening dick.

This wasn’t how he imagined this happening; he didn’t know how to ask Wei Ying to stop, go back, return them to their careful equilibrium. He didn’t know how to suggest they should return to the cave, that Lan Wangji would make love to him properly. They could forget all about this conversation. Lan Wangji would gladly pretend Wei Ying hadn’t said what he’d said.

There was almost no sound except for the rasping, ragged gasps as Lan Wangji’s world whited out around him. He reached blindly for Wei Ying’s shoulders, the back of his head, gentle because he couldn’t bring himself to be cruel now, not when his words had hurt and Wei Ying’s had done the same in turn.

There was a muffled sound of protest from Wei Ying, like he wanted Lan Wangji to give him pain, but Lan Wangji had already disappointed Wei Ying today. He could do no less now.

He did not stop Wei Ying from his brutal ministrations, though, protesting neither the scrape of Wei Ying’s teeth along his length, nor the painful suction as Wei Ying worked him with fierce, single-minded determination. It felt so good anyway that Lan Wangji could not complain.

He would not last and perhaps that was the point. Anyone might wander along. With the bark digging into his spine even through his robes, it was uncomfortable.

Lan Wangji’s fingers curled beneath Wei Ying’s jaw to still him as he bobbed his head, no doubt hurting himself as he choked, as Lan Wangji’s length nudged the roof of his mouth or the inside of his cheek. His eyes were screwed shut in concentration. “Wei Ying, I—”

And then Wei Ying took him so deeply, fingers digging into his flanks, that Lan Wangji’s words were cut off. Wei Ying swallowed around him, gagging, and Lan Wangji felt it through every centimeter of his body.

Wei Ying’s saliva pooled in his palm, warm.

It was like he didn’t want to hear what Lan Wangji had to say to him, the words that were so important to him, the ones he’d hoarded for so long. Through the haze of guilty pleasure he felt at Wei Ying’s actions, he forced out different words entirely, ones he never thought he’d want to say.

“Wei Ying, stop.”

But Wei Ying did not; he dug his thumbs into Lan Wangji’s muscles, the ache of it so deep that he would be bruised for days. The bloom of purple across his skin might not show immediately, but he savored the dull throb of pain regardless. Wei Ying made a broken noise and redoubled his efforts, as though he could outrace Lan Wangji’s half-hearted command. Deep down, Lan Wangji did not truly want him to quit, not when he was this close, his release coiled within him, wild and desperate. It was only good form that allowed him to make the request at all.

He was not strong enough to ask again.

He would make it up to Wei Ying later. Later, they would do it right. He wouldn’t let Wei Ying punish himself with this again.

He spilled unexpectedly across Wei Ying’s tongue, not even able to give Wei Ying a warning as he surged forward. Wei Ying swallowed around Lan Wangji anyway, took it until Lan Wangji spent himself entirely in Wei Ying’s mouth, didn’t let him go until he softened and even then he was not ready to lose the closeness of the moment—at least that was Lan Wangji’s hope—pressing his forehead against Lan Wangji’s hip instead. His breath rasped against Lan Wangji’s exposed skin.

Lan Wangji wiped Wei Ying’s saliva off on his robes and pulled the ribbon in Wei Ying’s hair free, winding it around his knuckles before carding his hand through the thick, nearly untamable strands.

“Wei Ying…”

“Lan Zhan, please don’t say anything else. I don’t want to fight. Not right now. Just—that was good, wasn’t it? It felt good?”

In truth, he didn’t want to fight with Wei Ying either.

Maybe if he proved with words how important Wei Ying was, he’d give up this foolish demand. If it would change Wei Ying’s mind, he’d drown them both in the words Lan Wangji rarely said. Leaning his head back against the tree, staring up at the sky through the thin canopy overhead, he said, “You were incredible.”

“Lan Zhan! Don’t say that.”

Though Lan Wangji’s heart was still pounding furiously in his chest, he drew in a deep, calming breath. Wei Ying peppered Lan Wangji ten times a day with the words to describe every speck of fondness he ever felt, but Lan Wangji did not reciprocate. It was Lan Wangji’s failure that Wei Ying felt he could get away so easily with his own life away.

What had built up in Wei Ying all this time that Lan Wangji could not break through?

Wei Ying began righting him, pulling his trousers up and tying them around his waist. He smoothed the fabric of his robes down around him again until he was presentable, but when he moved to stand, Lan Wangji sunk down to his knees next to him and wrapped one arm around his neck, snaking the second down to Wei Ying’s lap. Though he was warm through his trousers, he was quiescent.

“Lan Zhan, you don’t have to…” His weak protest was accompanied by a swatting gesture.

This new complexion to their relationship was fragile, tender. Lan Wangji hadn’t pushed. But he’d thought they were together in it, that Wei Ying felt the same desires for Lan Wangji that Lan Wangji felt for him. Sick to his stomach at the thought that it might be otherwise for Wei Ying, he said, “Did you not like it?”

“I like it.” A whisper. “Lan Zhan, that’s not it. I…” He swallowed and licked his lips. “Take pity on this nervous man.”

Before Lan Wangji could ask him what that meant, one of the talismans Lan Wangji always carried began burning within his robe, a warning. One of the arrays they’d set outside the perimeter, only able to trip in the presence of a cultivator, had been crossed.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered. “What I said about doing what I have to do? You understand, right?”

“No,” Lan Wangji replied, bringing them right back to where they’d started. “I will never understand.” He rose to his feet, wrenched Wei Ying to his, and hoped they wouldn’t be testing Wei Ying’s assertion today. Every time this had happened before, it was a supplicant, someone wanting to join them for protection or in the hopes they could be taught. Wei Ying was not gifted in prophecy. He did not have any special insight into the future. Therefore, Lan Wangji did not have to remember anything of what he’d said.

He could discard it as the waste it was.

Gathering his things, he trailed after Wei Ying. Already, he’d sprinted far ahead of Lan Wangji.

Usually, Wei Wuxian kept his eyes a little wider when it came to Lan Zhan, read the pages of his heart well enough to get by. Lan Zhan locked so much of it away that he sometimes missed things. Somehow, he’d missed this; he’d taken it for granted that duty still trumped all else for him. That was Wei Wuxian’s mistake. He wouldn’t blame Lan Zhan for it and could only hope Lan Zhan won’t blame him in turn.

It fell to Wei Wuxian to correct that, do the duty that Lan Zhan refused to do. This, too, he would protect Lan Zhan from if he could.

He should have known Lan Zhan wouldn’t stay behind, even with a broken qin.

In the end, it was easy: a talisman of his own, a body-binding spell pre-written upon it, a betrayal. A quick spin, catching Lan Zhan off guard as he caught up. As he fished it from within his belt, he kissed Lan Zhan for everything he was worth and pressed his palm to Lan Zhan’s chest. It was only when Wei Wuxian took a step back and Lan Zhan couldn’t follow that he realized what Wei Wuxian had done.

He pried the bow from Lan Zhan’s hand and snapped the string, a match now to the qin that would be ineffective until it was restrung, too. When Lan Zhan broke the spell—and it was certainly only a matter of when—he didn’t want him to be able to step in.

Lan Zhan couldn’t speak, but his eyes said everything for him.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Lan Zhan.” He didn’t believe it was. In his heart… they’d gotten away with this for too long. Every day he feared reprisals. His nerves were shot. Surely, this was finally it. “Be back soon. I’m sorry.”

Oh, the anger. It might have burned him if his intuition hadn’t told him this was different, that this was not any other day. It turned the gold of his irises molten, brighter than the brightest sunlight, harsh and blinding. It would have turned Wei Wuxian to ash if it could. But there was no time. No more time. He turned. To keep Lan Zhan safe a little while longer, he could outrun that light.

He sprinted across the barrier that separated their settlement from the path that led out to Yiling, pulled another talisman free that would let him track the disturbance. Within minutes, Lan Zhan would break the talisman’s control, but a few minutes was all Wei Wuxian needed.

A handful of Jin Sect disciples scoured the path ahead, heedless of Wei Wuxian’s presence among the trees. He held Suibian in a tight fist, the hilt’s ridges digging into his palm. They stomped about the dirt like it was theirs to do with as they wished. One slashed at a tree just because he could, cutting a deep gouge into the trunk. What had the tree done to him? What had the Burial Mounds done to him? Did it exist just to be abused?

Arrogant. Foolish. Disgusting. One of them wore a cinnabar dot and a pompous expression. Wei Wuxian didn’t know him, but from the subtle twitch of his snobbish nose, he already didn’t like him.

Not a single one of them seemed to realize they’d tripped an alarm. Good for them truly. Stellar cultivators of this generation, they were.

He relaxed his hold on his sword, drew in a breath, exhaled. He should try to solve this peaceably. For all he knew, these buffoons weren’t here on Jin Guangshan’s orders. In fact, it was perfectly likely they were not. When Jin Guangshan was ready to make his move, there would be no doubts as to what it was. If this was a sign of what their future held, Wei Wuxian would rather deal with a siege.

Slipping behind them, he stepped onto the path and cleared his throat. “We weren’t expecting cultivators today,” he said, pleasant, half-pretending ignorance as he felt them out. The sour-faced Jin who was leading bared his teeth. Wei Wuxian paid the unpleasantness no mind. “Who are you? Lanling is so far from here.”

Part of him wished he had the musical control over resentful energy that Lan Zhan carried. A haunting melody on his dizi would make quite an entrance.

He was studied and dismissed within seconds. “We have no business with you.”

“If you want to take another step up this path, I’m afraid you do.” He opened his hands and adopted a pathetic expression. “Those are the rules here. You want something, you deal with me.”

The man snorted and flicked his hand dismissively. “You’re not Lan Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian grinned. So it was like that. “What do you want with Lan Wangji?”

The man looked at him, challenging. At first, Wei Wuxian thought he would have to pry the answer from the man’s tongue himself. It wouldn’t be the first time. And then he said, offhand, “To strike a bargain.”

Wei Wuxian’s stance shifted. No bargains would be struck today. Lan Zhan wouldn’t hear about any such thing. “What bargain?”

“If he comes with us today, we’ll leave the Wen alone. They can live on this mountain of corpses for all zongzhu cares.”

Wei Wuxian laughed long and hard. Did this man think Wei Wuxian was naïve? He needed more information. Despite his guilt for having trapped Lan Zhan further up the path, he was glad he wasn’t here to listen to this. Wei Wuxian feared he’d agree out of misguided hope or optimism. At least this way, he’d never have to hear about it and Wei Wuxian would hopefully get to avoid adding yet another bit of kindling to the stack of fuel his mind lit on fire when he tried to sleep. “Is this an official request? Jin Guangshan sent you to make this petition?”

“Let’s just say,” the man said, grinning unpleasantly, “that zongzhu will be pleased with the gift.”

So, no. He didn’t. Even if he struck a deal, there was no way he could force his own sect leader to abide by it. How stupid did he think Lan Zhan was? He could take Lan Zhan to Lanling and Jin Guangshan could still come here and destroy the Wen.

“And if I say no?”

“If you say no, you must have a death wish.” The man shrugged and adopted a sympathetic frown. “And you must not care very much for the people up that mountain. After all that work that Lan Wangji put into retrieving them. Shouldn’t you want to respect his efforts?”

Wei Wuxian almost choked. They thought it was Lan Zhan cutting down their numbers?

“I hate to disappoint you,” Wei Wuxian said, “but those ‘efforts’ are mine to disrespect.”

“Does Jin Guangshan know you’re here?” he asked, no doubt a confusing question to them, but an important one to him. It’ll determine what he does next. The hesitant expression on the cultivators’ face told him everything he needed to know. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

Again, that hesitation, that twitch of fear. How much angrier could he make Jin Guangshan anyway? Cutting down scores of his disciples hadn’t pushed him to do anything against his own wishes. Four more… it was nothing.

That made it easy.

It was truly kind of them to make it so easy because he was no longer used to doing this, this indiscriminate slaughter. He’d gotten too soft in the weeks since he’d come back..

Two of the three men with the sour-faced man fell immediately. In the seconds that followed, the third lost a hand and then his head before he’d fully drawn his sword.

There was no reason to take it easy, no point dragging this out. The others weren’t remotely capable and he didn’t expect the leader to be much better, but he needed to be taught a lesson first. His sword struck with a snake’s quick grace, slashing him across the cheek. Blood poured from the wound, a vicious tear track. The edge of his blade caught under the man’s chin and tipped it up. “I hope you can see you’ve made a terrible mistake coming here today. Should I show you mercy and send you home with a message?”

Wei Wuxian could give the man this much credit: he was arrogant enough that he managed to be brave in the face of Wei Wuxian’s threat. From the way his lips screwed up, Wei Wuxian expected to be spit at. He was a little surprised when he wasn’t. “If you send me back, I’ll bring the entire Jin army with me to destroy the lot of you.”

He was honest, too, when it came down to it. There was that, he supposed. All the more reason Wei Wuxian didn’t need to feel bad about what was to come. They were fucked regardless. Getting rid of this man might buy them some time.

Before he could make good on his promise to himself, hooves clattered against packed dirt, loud as thunder.

A voice shouted, “Wei Wuxian!”

A familiar voice, a voice he’d hated well before this whole thing started, a voice that didn’t belong here. Allowing himself one moment of distraction, he raised his head. The horse that approached was showier than any Wei Wuxian had ever ridden. A horse like that could earn a lot of coin at market, but was useful for little else. It perfectly befitted a hapless Jin. He rolled his eyes.

“Go back,” he shouted. The last thing he wanted to deal with today was Jin Zixuan on top of this. “Don’t make this your business, too.”

But of course Jin Zixuan didn’t listen. He so rarely listened.

“Zixun, what are you—?!” Jin Zixuan threw himself off the back of the horse, barely stopped to gentle it with a hand before rushing toward them. He tried to push his way between Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixun and failed. Wei Wuxian would not be moved, nor would he let this puffed-up would-be princeling get between him and the man who would hurt the people here. Wei Wuxian kept his sword more still than he might otherwise have done, the extent of the mercy he was willing to extend to Jin Zixuan.

“This isn’t your fight, Jin Zixuan,” Wei Wuxian said, quiet, deadly. The Jin at the end of his sword was bad enough, but having Jin Zixuan here, daring to trystopping this? Wei Wuxian will curse him and then kill him. Shijie would find a better man to whom she could be engaged. “But I’m happy to bring you into it. You and your whole family is diseased.”

“Wei Wuxian, you don’t understand!”

“Don’t I? I understand your father is a vile, greedy, virtueless man. He’d smile and make himself appear upright for the other sect leaders, but he’s just as bad as Wen Ruohan. He’s a tyrant.” Jin Zixun tried to move and Wei Wuxian struck him again, this time slashing a line down his throat, not enough to kill, not yet, but… soon. “What else is there to understand?”

“My father intends to—”

If he would have guessed, he would have assumed something like this moment would bring him endless anger, endless fury, but all he felt was a cold emptiness within him, dug out of him by a fear so deep that it etched itself in his bones. Jin Zixun wanted to take Lan Zhan from him and destroy the people in the Burial Mounds and Jin Zixuan wasn’t here to protect them from it, that was for sure. He had a duty to the man who fathered him and so his purpose could not be righteous. Better to end this. “I don’t care what he intends. This ends now.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jin Zixuan said again, shooting a venomous glance at Jin Zixun. “Do you think A-Li would want this?”

A… A-Li? “Excuse me?”

“Jiang-guniang,” he corrected. “Do you think your shijie would want this for you?”

“Do not speak about her to me! You’re lucky she’ll even still look at you after what you and your family has done.”

“I haven’t done anything! I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know. You don’t know. It’s very easy not to know out there in the wider world, isn’t it?” Finally, a flicker of heat stoked itself within him. Even Jin Guangshan’s son had turned a blind eye. The whole world wanted to ignore this, it seemed. “Did you not know?” he asked, poking at Jin Zixun again. “Have you all let yourselves be blinded to the truth?”

Jin Zixun’s blank expression answered his question: he didn’t care to know either. He was just a pawn seeing an aggressor perched on a mountain. No doubt Jin Guangshan styled himself an upstanding sect leader, telling the people in Lanling that he was killing those responsible for the war, not engaging in acts of torture against the innocent.

“If you cared anything about these criminals, you’d turn Lan Wangji over to us. He’s the one we—”

“Criminals? They’re elders and children. The only crime they committed was the misfortune of their association to Wen Ruohan.” Wei Ying laughed, broken and angry. Pawns truly should be sacrificed. What good were they? “You coddled, selfish, awful excuse for a—”

Jin Zixun, for all his faults, was reasonably quick with a sword, bringing it up to block Wei Wuxian’s strike.

“Did I not tell you it was me you wanted?”

Before Jin Zixuan could interfere, Wei Wuxian shoved him aside. The force of the push sent him sprawling. Jin Zixuan’s attempt at valor wouldn’t save either of them. And that was for the best really. Put the whole sect out of its misery for all he cared. Except for the people caught in each of Jin Guangshan’s camps, who knew better than Wei Wuxian what had been done? Wei Wuxian had steeped himself in every human misery while he scoured the entirety of the cultivation world for victims. It was time to do something with that pain. It was time, apparently, to show Jin Guangshan the cost of the debts he’d incurred by doing this.

Jin Zixuan was never going to be on Wei Wuxian’s level with a sword, but that didn’t mean he was a slouch. In fact, his reaction time wasn’t terrible as he scrambled up and managed to both dodge Wei Wuxian’s strike and block the blade with his own, faster than Jin Zixun. “Wei Wuxian, please!”

While he thought Wei Wuxian was distracted, Jin Zixun tried to back away, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t have that. Flinging a talisman at his cowardly, retreating back, he spun again toward Jin Zixuan. Jin Zixun fell with a loud thud. The curse in his mouth caught on his breath as he lost it in the fall.

Good.

Good.

Agony threatened to shred Lan Wangji to pieces as he battered Wei Ying’s talisman with every bit of resentful energy at his disposal. It wasn’t—it wouldn’t be enough, he feared. He’d be stuck here, listening to Wei Ying, so close that the shouts, the fighting, was unintelligible, but audible.

Of the two of them, Wei Ying had always been more adept with talismans. This one, it wasn’t meant to be broken. Not unlike the Lan silencing spell, it would end when it ended or when the user decided to lift it or cause damage to the afflicted in lifting it. Only the strongest or the most determined could break it. Lan Wangji wasn’t strong, but he was determined.

Again, he thought as he pushed himself. Like this, he could barely whistle the clear notes he needed in order to do what was needed. The tendril of resentful energy that he’d coaxed into manifesting kept pulling at the paper, unable to lift it. Again, again, again. Again, until he got it, finally. Until it tore free and he fell to his knees. Fresh pain climbed his arms as a rock sliced into his palm.

It didn’t matter. Even as he scrambled upright and sprinted to follow, it didn’t matter. As he scooped up his qin and the now useless bow, it didn’t matter.

By the time he reached the tripped array, it was clear that Wei Ying could see nothing beyond…

Jin Zixuan.

Oh.

Jin Zixuan threw a look at the other Jin as he parried a strike. “Don’t look at him. Look at me!”

Wei Ying struck out at Jin Zixuan again and Jin Zixuan parried it as best he could. Sweat rolled down his face and his breathing was ragged. Wei Ying was wearing him down, playing with him.

As much as Lan Wangji wanted Wei Ying to take what little vengeance he could find, it couldn’t be like this. They’d see no end of grief if Jin Zixuan was killed. Lotus Pier would not look well upon it either. Were Wei Ying not caught up in grief, he would agree.

Jin Zixuan’s weapon clattered into the dirt, useless. Blood trickled from a thin wound over the back of his knuckles. “Jin Zixuan! Do you know what your father is capable of? You want to know what I’m doing?!” He held his sword up, but didn’t move any closer. “I’m trying to protect people from him. From him and you and every Jin offspring and disciple who thinks they can just torture whomever they want in the name of protecting others.

“Who are you protecting by hurting children? The elderly? The ill?”

Jin Zixuan’s cheeks flushed and he wouldn’t meet Wei Ying’s gaze. Lan Wangji could not truly tell if it was shame or anger that drove the color to his skin. Was he protected by his father or complicit? Lan Wangji didn’t know him well enough to say, but he felt enough doubt, doubt that Wei Ying didn’t share.

As far as he was concerned, Jin Zixuan was guilty, too.

Lan Wangji couldn’t allow this to continue. “Wei Ying.”

But Wei Ying’s attention could not be pulled away, not with Jin Zixuan and all their history with one another in his sights, like he was the proof Wei Ying needed that the worst of the Jin Sect’s behaviors were all true.

Jin Zixuan scrambled backward, stooped and grabbed the sword nearest to him, not his own. Quick and uncoordinated, he brought it up.

Wei Ying lashed out again, but there was still no killing intent behind it, just blind frustration. Just strike after strike. Lan Wangji stayed back, waiting, hoping Wei Ying would find the truth for himself. “Tell me you didn’t know,” Wei Ying said, desperate.

Jin Zixuan parried sloppily. “I didn’t know. Wei Wuxian, I’d been at Lotus Pier. I only just returned to Jinlintai a few weeks ago. After the war, my mother insisted I go. I didn’t know.”

“That’s no excuse!” Wei Ying shouted. “Tell me why I should spare you. Give me a reason.”

Jin Zixuan’s mouth twisted in frustration. This time, it was he who lashed out, angry now, attacking first. Wei Ying more than held his own, no matter that Jin Zixuan was fighting with everything he had, desperate to beat Wei Ying.. Despite the way Jin Zixuan pushed him around the field, he didn’t flag. If not for the disgust that flashed in his eyes, the very real anger, it might have looked like childish taunting on Wei Ying’s part.

Every practiced footstep and sweep of arm was treacle-slow, searing itself into Lan Wangi’s memory. In different circumstances, it would have been a beautiful display of martial prowess.

It went on for a terrifyingly long time.

Jin Zixuan’s form grew sloppy. His face drained of everything except exhaustion. The shift was such that Lan Wangji feared Wei Ying didn’t notice the change or worse: that he did and would use it to end this.

His next move was strangely uncoordinated, surprising enough to Wei Ying that when he lifted to block it, it ended up slicing across his vambrace instead. The leather peeled and slipped from his wrist and the light caught on something shining, perhaps one of the metal fasteners. That only seemed to anger Wei Ying further.

The only thing Lan Wangji knew for certain was that Jin Zixuan couldn’t die here today. They would be doomed if he fell. Jin Guangshan would raze this entire mountain to the ground if his heir was killed.

Because Wei Ying couldn’t stay his own hand, Lan Wangji would do it for him. He’d asked Lan Wangji to protect this place, wasn’t that so? He hadn’t demanded how it would be done.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji called in warning.

Too late. Not enough.

Before Lan Wangji could step in, Jin Zixun—Lan Wangji had forgotten him entirely—jumped to his feet, hand wrapped around the hilt of Jin Zixuan’s sword, moving too quickly to be intercepted. Still, Lan Wangji threw himself forward, sprinting as fast as he could.

Of course he wasn’t fast enough. Resentful energy curled around Jin Zixun’s body, but it barely slowed him down. With the scant distance left between him and his destination, it could do little.

Lan Wangji was not strong enough, not fast enough. Never enough at all.

“Wei Ying,” he yelled again, agonized, so sharp it cut through everything else. He couldn’t help it. Wei Ying’s name was torn from his throat by a higher power than him.

Wei Ying’s head snapped around, attention drawn from the fight to Lan Wangji, drawn from where it should have been. Wei Ying’s eyes widened and his mouth rounded in shock.

Blood dripped down the length of Jin Zixuan’s blade, dark and horrible and steel protruded from Wei Ying’s abdomen, canted at a nauseating upward angle. His hands fluttered around his midsection, grabbed mindlessly around the blade, slipping as more blood soaked Wei Ying’s robes. No honorable person would stab a man through the back.

No Jin was honorable.

“Jin Zixun,” Jin Zixuan yelled.

Wei Ying stumbled forward with the force of the sword’s exit through his back.

An arm, Jin Zixun’s, raised to strike another blow. Jin Zixuan intercepted him.

Before Lan Wangji was aware of it, he’d summoned his qin. With its missing string, it fought him, but when he plucked first one note, then another, then another, the Burial Mounds shivered around him in response. Corpses clawed from the ground, not quite an army, not yet. Shoving the instrument aside, he threw himself down the path and slipped his arms around Wei Ying’s waist. Only thick curls of resentful energy protected it from being damaged in a way Lan Wangji couldn’t protect Wei Ying.

Blood pulsed warm across his chest as it spilled from the wound in Wei Ying’s back.

Wei Ying coughed, mouth stained red. Though Lan Wangji’s hand shook, he lifted his thumb to brush it away. One thumb wouldn’t be enough to scrub it off.

Jin Zixuan finally succeeded in wrestling the sword from Jin Zixun’s hands, held Jin Zixun at its point. His gaze flicked nervously between Jin Zixun and Wei Ying. “Is Wei Wu—”

Anger and worse, curling inside of Lan Wangji, at Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun and every Jin who’d ever had the temerity to be born. Could they bring anything into the world except misery? Lan Wangji was not certain anymore that any were worth sparing. His control splintered. All he saw was destruction. Behind his eyes, he killed Jin Guangshan a hundred times, a thousand. “Do not—”

Wei Ying wrapped his hand around Lan Wangji’s hand where it still cupped Wei Ying’s face.

“Lan er-gongzi—” Jin Zixuan tried again.

His voice was a wreck, a whisper. “Lan Zhan, come back to me.”

Lan Wangji pressed his hand to Wei Ying’s clammy cheek. If he still had his golden core, he would have poured every bit of spiritual energy in him to keep Wei Ying alive, would have exhausted himself to death if it kept Wei Ying here just a little bit longer.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, weak, grasping for Lan Wangji’s hand, his robes, everything he could reach.

“You—!” Jin Zixun called.

“Shut your mouth,” Jin Zixuan said. “I’ll deal with you—”

“Leave,” Lan Wangji said, cold, to Jin Zixuan. At the tone of Lan Wangji’s voice, even Jin Zixun moved to obey, perhaps sensing that there would be a reckoning if he remained. It was unfortunate that Jin Zixun was so stupid. He didn’t even look like he was fearful of what was to come for him. “You misunderstand.” Every moment spent dealing with this instead of Wei Ying… “Jin Zixun, you will remain. Jin Zixuan, you will inform your father that I expect the unconditional surrender of every Jin disciple who participated in the atrocities that followed the war. He, too, will surrender to me.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying spit, unhappy, fist clenching around Lan Wangji’s forearm as he bit back a pained moan. Wei Ying had asked him to protect the Wen. Lan Wangji will do so in his way.

Two of the corpses captured Jin Zixun. In their grasp, he shouted for Jin Zixuan to do something, struggling against their unmoving hands. He could scream himself hoarse if he liked. No help would come for him.

Jin Zixuan, eyes wide: “Lan—”

“He will surrender or his sect will fall.”

A third corpse crowded Jin Zixuan. If he did not go of his own accord, he would be made to go.

Another he sent back up the mountain for Wen Qing.

It physically hurt him to allow Jin Zixuan to leave without flaying him open and forcing him to pay for what happened here. As for Jin Zixun…

“Take him. Don’t let him escape,” he told the corpses. “I will retrieve him later.”

Though Jin Zixun was dragged into the trees, his frightened squeals never quite faded.

He felt no better in the absence of these Jin. Blame could be spread around, all the way back to Lan Wangji himself. He wanted—he wanted time with Wei Ying, time alone, time to think. This couldn’t end this way, not like this, without Wei Ying, there could be no—

“Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, it shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean for it… not like this.” His voice was so thready. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

The promise he’d made. It was a joke. It was laughable to think he could continue on without Wei Ying. They had done everything they could to protect themselves and none of it mattered. None of it mattered. He should have dealt with Jinlintai the way he’d handled Nightless City. Surely that would have secured their safety. No one would dare trouble what was Lan Wangji’s if he’d done what was necessary sooner.

“Wei Ying, please. Conserve your strength.” It was monstrous how steady his voice could be at a moment like this. That he could refrain from pulling Wei Ying closer felt equally unfathomable.

“But Lan Zhan—”

“Wei Ying, stop.”

When Lan Wangji was finally able to look down, his gaze met eyes that were hazy with pain.

Though he cried piteously as he struggled up, Wei Ying reached for him, brushing his thumb across Lan Wangji’s cheek. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. “Lan Zhan, no. Don’t—this was my fault. Don’t cry like this. I told you this could—”

“You warned me.” He felt nothing. He was a void, empty even of fear. “You knew all along.”

“No. No, I didn’t. I didn’t want this. Lan Zhan, I wouldn’t. This was a mistake. I was wrong.”

The light gleamed on Wei Ying’s bare wrist again and this time, Lan Wangji could see exactly what it was.

His ribbon, as pristinely maintained as when he wore it around his forehead. The silvery thread that formed the clouds still caught the light perfectly. Wei Ying must have tucked it away when he removed them for the night. He would have noticed otherwise: that beloved wrist was always bare when their hands were entwined in the dark, finally alone with one another.

He wrapped his fingers around Wei Ying’s too cold hand and turned it so he could see the whole thing, pale blue against paler skin, so delicate.

“I’ve sent for Wen Qing.” He choked out a shrill little sound of grief so profound that it shattered his own heart into pieces, never to be healed, not as long as this injustice stood. Even muffling it in Wei Ying’s palm didn’t soothe the noise. “Wei Ying…”

Wei Ying’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “Lan Zhan… I hope you don’t mind that I kept it.”

Lan Wangji gathered him close despite the painful sound of protest Wei Ying gave, hooked his chin atop the crown of Wei Ying’s head.

Wei Ying knew exactly what this ribbon meant and what Lan Wangji had intended when he’d given it away, what it meant to him. Lan Wangji had always believed the best of himself was symbolized by the long, silken thread of this ribbon. Long warmed by Wei Ying’s skin, kept safe against his pulse, Wei Ying had believed for him.

He’d said it with words and actions, standing by Lan Wangji’s side, always supporting him, touching him and claiming Lan Wangji as his own, never once flinching away from what Lan Wangji did and could do.

Tears, loathsome, continued to wet Lan Wangji’s cheeks, but Wei Ying didn’t have the strength left to wipe them away. “Wei Ying.” He pressed a kiss against Wei Ying’s forehead and tipped Wei Ying’s chin up to press another to Wei Ying’s lips, swallowed the soft exhale Wei Ying gave to him. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying did not inhale again.

Lan Wangji choked on all the words he should have said all along. What was the point in saying them aloud now?

He could not let it end this way.

Wei Ying had taught him a few tricks, the sort of things that could be done by Lan Wangji despite his lack of a golden core. This included innovative mediums for sketching talismans in the air. Who else but Wei Ying would dirty their robes with blood? Lan Wangji drew character after character on the dark fabric, mindless, not even sure what he was doing, just knowing he had to do something. He was not as quick as Wei Ying, nor as versed in taking practical chances on theoretical frameworks on a whim, but as he pressed his hand against Wei Ying’s motionless chest, a bright talisman blossoming in blood red light to illuminate Wei Ying’s face, he hoped.

Nothing changed outwardly with his act of defiance against fate, against heaven, against the gods themselves.

“Stay.”

END OF PART THREE

The moon hung, high and bright and the night was as clear as it was dark. A half-constructed wall gleamed under the light, pale stone dragged from an abandoned quarry nearby, disused for hundreds of years because people were too afraid of the Burial Mounds to go there. Lan Wangji knew there was nothing left to fear here that he could not outmatch. Others still had limits to what they would do even when they had to. Lan Wangji had none.

It was beautiful in its way, this wall. At least it was when there weren’t corpses shambling around laying stone and mortar.

Though Lan Wangji wished it could be any other way, it couldn’t. The people who lived here could not take time out of their days to do this kind of work. And even if enough people had the time, they didn’t have the strength to spare for such hard labor. As far as desecrations went, he’d done worse for worse reasons.

It would be magnificent once done, circling the entire Burial Mounds. There were even a few tunnels being dug, escape routes to and from the Burial Mounds, unknown to any except himself, Wen Qing, and Wen Qionglin in case the worst should occur. Once he was forced to make good on his ultimatum—and he knew he would have to, Lanling had been too silent and Jin Guangshan would not make this easy—he expected a siege; he would not give anyone the option of hemming him and his people into this place.

Not that Lan Wangji intended to allow a siege. The Burial Mounds was his now; he would not be driven away. Nothing more would be taken from him. He could and would destroy any army of cultivators that came for them. These people will be protected for as long as it was necessary, even if it required Lan Wangji’s lifetime to accomplish.

As he supervised, fighting the exhaustion that dogged him despite plenty of experience with lack of sleep, footsteps approached, boots cracking fallen branches and sending pebbles skittering.

“Wen-guniang,” he said, knowing well that only she would approach him at a time like this. “You’re meant to remain with Wei Ying.”

“Wei Wuxian isn’t going anywhere,” Wen Qing replied. “You, on the other hand, haven’t slept in two days.”

Two days? Was that all? It seemed like longer since the last time Wen Qing had badgered him to return to the cave to waste a sleepless night in Wei Ying’s company. “Preparations must be made.”

“Yes, yes. Meter-thick walls as soon as possible.” She stepped up beside him, didn’t flinch at the morbid display despite her vehement arguments against disturbing the dead in this way. “What happens if you collapse? Will these… will they keep working?”

“I will not collapse.” Sleep would not cure the fatigue that had turned his bones to lead anyway. “Do you think Jin Guangshan will wait for me to rest before he retaliates?” It is his one fear, Jin Guangshan letting his greed defeat his desire to survive.

“You let his son go. I can’t see him risking immediate retaliation for anything less than the death of his own child.”

“Jin Zixun’s death will be seen as a provocation. It will be the excuse Jin Guangshan will use to attack us. I don’t believe barriers will be enough now.” The word death hid many of Lan Wangji’s sins with regard to what happened to Jin Zixun. Wen Qing didn’t ask for details. “If I am fast enough, we won’t need to worry.” Thrashing, useless anger coursed through him all over again at the waste of Wei Ying’s life, his belief that he was not vital. To die so stupidly… it was agony to Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji could rip apart an army with the shiver of his qin’s strings, but he could not save the man he loved. “We need to be prepared regardless.”

“Lan Wangji,” she said, unmoved. “You need to rest. I will force the issue if you will not.”

His gaze caught hers. On her belt, she carried her pouch of needles.

“I will return at daybreak,” he offered, “and not return for two days. I will rest then.”

“See that you do.”

If he worked harder tonight than he might otherwise have done, he didn’t have to let Wen Qing know.

As soon as he returned to the cave, his eye immediately traced Wei Ying’s still form, pale and bloodless, ever unmoving. His gaze lingered this morning, followed the lines and planes of his face and body, which remained strong in appearance, fit, perfect and beautifully maintained, a wall and a fortress of its own, keeping Wei Ying protected until…

He poured water into the clay bowl he kept on his bed stand, crude, little more than a few planks of wood held together by strategic cuts and notches in them. He scrubbed his hands free of dirt with a flake of soap, harsh and astringent, and splashed water across his face and sighed, bracing against the bed stand as he drew in deep breaths.

Wei Ying did not move in the peripheral vision, but that did not stop him from imagining it to be so. A trick of the light, one that had tormented him so many times in the weeks since he made his declaration to Jin Zixuan. He knew better than to heed to that hope now, to look, and yet he couldn’t stop himself.

No motion, not even a twitch.

Exactly what he expected and still a disappointment.

Finishing his ablutions, he changed into a fresh robe and hung the old one up, inspecting it for stains, an excuse to avoid trying to sleep. He was still at it, the quality of the action meditative, when Wen Qionglin approached and cleared his throat.

“Ah, Lan-gongzi…”

Lan Wangji looked up and rose to his feet, dusting himself off. He did not speak. He rarely did these days, even less than before. Wen Qionglin would say what needed to be said whether Lan Wangji prompted him or not. There was no point in wasting his breath.

Wen Qionglin fidgeted. “There’s… That is to say… Yu-furen is…”

Lan Wangji’s patience shredded itself to pieces. He was tired of his days spent thinking about the leaders of other sects. If Lotus Pier became an issue, too… “What about Yu-furen?”

“Yu-furen… she’s h-here.”

Lan Wangji’s stomach dropped. “Why?”

Before Wen Qionglin could explain, Madam Yu stepped into the cave. A deep scowl soured her otherwise coldly beautiful face.

“Yu-furen,” she said, icily dry, unrepentantly scolding, “has come seeking an audience with the much esteemed Yiling Laozu. Keeping himself locked away in his fine accommodations, he is so very unreachable by the gentry class. Anyone would think you despised the cultivation world.”

I do, he thought. “Yiling Laozu?”

“Do you not like it?” Madam Yu sniffed, flicked the sleeves of her robes. “Perhaps you wish to be called ungrateful instead?” Though she spoke mildly—mildly for her—her eyes flash with anger and distaste.

Her gaze snapped to Wei Ying’s body, exposing Lan Wangji for what he truly was. His ears heated with shame at being caught out, but what else could he do? He would not hide Wei Ying away while he and Wen Qing sought a solution. Her expression flickered the longer she looked and finally fell, grew unreadable and uncertain.

“I’m certain you’re a very busy man lording over a hill of corpses, but this has gone on long enough. I don’t care what you do here. Build a wall to hold the world at bay. It doesn’t even matter that you have all but declared war on my future son-in-law’s family. This cannot stand any longer.”

Lan Wangji gestured for her to come to the table. When Wen Qionglin attempted to go for the tea set, Lan Wangji stopped him with a hand. He would be the one to do this. He gestured toward the entrance. Wen Qionglin did not need to be told that they were not to be disturbed.

As soon as he was gone, Lan Wangji spoke.

“Please take a seat.”

Madam Yu scoffed, but did as requested. She looked so out of place here in her purple and turquoise robes, shining and sumptuous, the famed Zidian glinting on her finger in perfectly wrought gold.

“Yiling Laozu remains very cordial even in his lair. How funny it will be to relay the truth to everyone who speaks of you in hushed tones outside your half-built walls. He retains the courtesies of his youth, I can tell them. I’m so glad. Your uncle will be proud.”

As he made tea for her, he didn’t allow himself to react. It was what she wanted and he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Besides, she’d allowed him to recover in Lotus Pier and she’d helped raise Wei Ying; he owed her these courtesies for multiple reasons. “What do you wish to discuss?”

This was not his primary concern or question. Already he knew the answer to that which she wished to focus on. What really troubled him, she wouldn’t answer. Why did you come yourself? Do you understand the risks you run? Can I convince you that I’m right? Will you be my ally or an enemy or, at the very least, neither?

“I think you know.”

He handed over a small ceramic cup once he was as satisfied with it as he would get. “I’m afraid you will have to tell me regardless.”

“Then I will speak plainly.”

Despite her words, she did not. Instead, she took a sip of the tea and inclined her head. No matter the destitution around him, he insisted they retain access to tea. Not the quality he was still used to, but decent enough and enough for everyone. Wen Qing often fought with him about it, but since he didn’t question her insistence that they procure only rational staples otherwise, she didn’t push.

Finally, she voiced her request.

“My children deserve to mourn for their brother properly and he deserves a measure of the respect in death that he refused to take in life.”

She did not say that it was due to Lan Wangji’s influence, but it was understood between them all the same.

“You may do as you like. I will not stop you.” He is not dead, he couldn’t say. To the rest of the world, he looked it, save for the way his body remained uncorrupted by rot. Only a few knew the truth explicitly, insofar as the truth could be known when Lan Wangji didn’t know it himself. Madam Yu was now one who could make guesses about what he’d done. What rumors would come out of this, he wondered.

“We would also wish to perform the rites in accordance with Yunmeng Jiang Sect’s practices.”

Now, it was his turn to sip his tea before speaking. “So I’ve gathered on my own, thank you.”

“Must you be so cold that you make me ask for his body directly? Is this what he treasured so deeply? Shall I kowtow before you or will I have to whip you to get a reaction?”

His ability to engage in polite conversation had grown rusty. “My apologies, of course, but you may not have his body.”

“He isn’t yours to keep.”

This petition has reached its natural conclusion. There could be no further discussion. “He is mine in all the ways that matter.”

A disgusted frown twisted her mouth. Her face grew red with that disgust and the deep-seated anger that followed. This, he recognized. His uncle had occasionally expressed such anger at Wei Ying during Wei Ying’s stay in Cloud Recesses. It was strange, perhaps appropriate, that Lan Wangji might frustrate Madam Yu in a similar fashion. What he had chosen to do, it also went against the natural order of things.

Would Wei Ying have been amused by this turn of events?

He waited for Zidian to activate, waited to be struck for his crimes. It was the least of what he deserved. He would welcome it as his due for what he’d done.

Madam Yu stood. Instead of activating Zidian, she sunk to her knees before him, mouth pulling into a snarl. She raised her arms, so painfully respectful and so very painfully wrong. She shouldn’t be doing this. It was a humiliation, a debasement. Madam Yu would not do such a thing. Except that she very clearly was. He could not look at this display.

“He would not want to remain like this. I am asking you as—I was not a very good mother figure to him, nor do I wish to have been, but I’m the only one he has left. For his siblings and for the man who treated him like a son, return him to me. He loved Lotus Pier. Let him go home. Don’t hold him to this place.”

A lump formed in Lan Wangji’s throat as he blinked back tears. Let Wei Ying go home, be merciful to him, don’t do whatever it is you’re doing. That all sounded very nice. He wished he could let Wei Ying go home, give him this grace, stop himself from doing what he was doing. He wished he had been given that choice.

He wished that Wei Ying was alive to go home. Occasionally, he wished Wei Ying was irrevocably, unequivocally gone without hope.

One day, he will go home one way or the other. That was a promise he would make to Wei Ying here and now.

But Lan Wangji had to remain firm in the meantime. “He cannot.”

“He wouldn’t forgive you for this. He wouldn’t be happy. He won’t rest.”

“That is his business and mine.”

Madam Yu climbed to her feet. For the first time in his acquaintance with her, she showed something like fear of him.

“What is your plan, Lan Wangji? To hide in here forever? Do you think Jin Guangshan is so easily cowed? Do you believe he’s not so greedy for power that he will not make another attempt on your cursed seal? You are a fool if you think you’re safe. He has publicly proclaimed you the enemy of the cultivation world and mocked your ultimatum. He calls you a coward to everyone who enters Jinlintai.”

“I am aware of the precariousness of our position, but for now we are safe. That I have given him time to consider his position is not a weakness. He is fortunate that I gave him the option at all.” That he delayed because he wished to ensure the Burial Mounds could survive a siege or worse was relevant only to him.

“Jin Guangshan has not finished with you.”

“That is unfortunate for him.”

Madam Yu laughed bitterly. “You are too removed from the world.”

Castoffs. They were all of them castoffs here in the Burial Mounds, all except Wei Ying, who’d chosen it.

He studied Madam Yu’s features, searched for signs of the truth, of further information. Nothing was forthcoming. Perhaps her way of punishing him for not giving her what she wanted. He couldn’t blame her for it.

“Do you intend to explain what you mean?”

“I wasn’t sure one so far removed as yourself would be interested in knowing. What does it matter to you here? When your…” Her eyes flicked again to Wei Ying’s body. Visceral disgust again crossed her features. “…focus is so fine-grained? I will be frank with you as you are not a child. There is talk that Jin-zongzhu has been seeking out those who proclaim to know something of alternative cultivation practices. Everything you and he threw away has been for nothing. The sort of people you decided to protect are still suffering.”

Lan Wangji’s heart ached, throbbed. He did not have room within it for more pain and yet a sliver forced its way in regardless. The possibility that they hadn’t even succeeded in their original goal… “We saved these people at least. What have you done?”

“What can I do in Lotus Pier? My people have been decimated and my daughter is tenuously engaged to the next sect leader. She is fighting me every step of the way.” Her eyes narrowed. “My senior disciple, one of the brightest cultivators of his generation and my son’s right hand, traipsed off to farm a mountain of corpses and died for the privilege. The man he followed would rather wallow with his body than do something about it.”

“What about my—the Lan Sect?”

“How can they stand alone against the riches of Lanling when it’s easier not to sully themselves?”

Lan Wangji clenched his jaw. “And the Nies?”

Madam Yu sniffed. “Nie-zongzhu does what he can, which is not much. He’s too subtle compared to the late sect leader. Besides, they faced the most casualties in the war against Wen Ruohan. You might have his support for ending the war and because he still esteems Wei Wuxian for the time he spent on the Hejian front, but what good will it do you?”

What could Lan Wangji say? There was nothing.

“You issued a threat to Jin Guangshan that you haven’t followed through on. What do you think happens next?”

“It isn’t a threat.”

“I don’t see you taking Jin Guangshan’s head, little laozu.”

“You’re to be Jin Zixuan’s mother-in-law.”

“Yes.”

“Why would you wish Jin Guangshan’s head to be taken?”

“He stood by during the war. My people died for that fight and he couldn’t be bothered. And now he wants what you have. I am willing to tolerate you because of what you did at Nightless City and because you’re not very imaginative. If you wish to walk into Lanling to find out the truth for yourself, that is your business. I don’t expect you’d need to worry about your safety the rest of us might. Is that not so?”

If she was attempting to goad him, she was doing a very good job of it.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“If Wei Wuxian had to die for you and for this, it shouldn’t have been in vain.”

He is not dead. “Your candor has given me much to think about.” He rose to his feet and gestured for her to rise to her feet as well. “I’m sorry you’ve taken such a strenuous journey for nothing.”

“I’m certain you are.” Before she left, she stopped in the cave’s entrance, backlit by the bright morning light. “Watch your step.”

“For what reason?”

“Because there’s nothing that will stop me from taking Wei Wuxian’s body back to Lotus Pier if you fail to do what you say you will do. If you value Wei Wuxian’s sacrifice, see this through to the end. If you don’t, Jin Guangshan will come for you before you see the completion of this silly wall of yours.” She hesitated for one more moment. “I will spare you what people I can to complete the task.”

“If what you say is true, that won’t be necessary.” And then: “Will you promise that you won’t turn on my people here?”

“I don’t attack farmers and the elderly.” She sniffed, said snidely, “Yiling Laozu.”

Lan Wangji sat on the edge of the bed where Wei Ying remained, still and silent and cold to the touch, trapped outside of time, and pressed his hand against Wei Ying’s chest, slipped his fingers beneath the crossed stretches of fabric to open his robe. Wei Ying’s skin was pale, ever pale, as jade would be, luminous, save for the slowly closing wound along his side. The bandages he and Wen Qing applied no longer soaked through with blood when he checked them. His fingers itched to pull the bandage back, verifying for himself that Wei Ying wasn’t worsening. That was always his fear: that if he looked away, Wei Ying would be lost to him, that what he saw with his eyes wasn’t a reflection of the truth, that only more investigation could prove the veracity of his desires. He stayed this impulse and reminded himself that, combined with the herbs Wen Qing pushed into the injury regularly, he truly looked like he was healing, albeit slowly, too slowly for a man with a golden core as strong as Wei Ying’s. He wasn’t dead, he’d made her insist, because she wasn’t capable of healing a dead person; he refused to countenance the possibility they were working so hard only for a shell.

Wen Qing would be along later to check the progress as she always did, but these moments were for Lan Wangji alone.

Come back to me, he thought. Come back to me soon.

He carefully closed the robes again.

His hand brushed over Wei Ying’s jaw; his fingers danced lightly over Wei Ying’s lips. If he pushed, they would part. His body remained supple despite its coolness. After all, he was not dead.

“If you were here, you would have walked into Lanling already, wouldn’t you have? You’d stand against the entire world if you believed Madam Yu might even be remotely right. You would not have only threatened Jin Guangshan.” It hadn’t, and wasn’t, a threat he didn’t intend to see through. He’d just found a convenient excuse to put it off. Wei Ying… Wei Ying wouldn’t have. And he would have been right not to.

Wei Ying did not answer, though Lan Wangji heard within his mind the righteous vehemence that had had propelled Wei Ying toward his… not death. There, Wei Ying was saying, Lan Zhan, you waited too long. Jin Guangshan can’t be allowed to do this.

He made his decision. There was no point in delaying further. It was only fair: Jin Zixuan had delivered his message and no Jins had presented themselves at the Burial Mounds for judgment. He had given them their fair chance.

“Your sacrifice will not be in vain.”

Wei Ying did not answer this either.

He bent over and pressed a kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead. It was as cool and smooth as porcelain.

“When you come back, the world will be safer than when you left it.” He wouldn’t have to be what you became, no. This time, he’d get to be happy and carefree.

When he descended the path out of the Burial Mounds, he was followed closely by Wen Qing and Wen Qionglin both. Wen Yuan cried and fussed in Wen Qionglin’s arms, asking for Zhan-gege to please not go, please. Xian-gege went, too, and now he’s gone.

Again with this. When would Wen Yuan learn that the people who cared for him would come back?

Spitting out the words, Lan Wangji said, “Who’s told him that?”

Wen Qionglin shushed Wen Yuan, murmured assurances into his ear that Lan-gongzi would be back. It will be fine. Lan Wangji did not dare look at Wen Yuan for fear of what he would see, what he might not be able to do if he peered too deeply into his eyes. He noticed and hated that Wen Qionglin didn’t assuage Wen Yuan about Wei Ying specifically.

He could look at Wen Qing, though. She was the only one who stared at him with anything approaching disdain, which was probably what he deserved. In recompense, he felt nothing but disdain for himself. Perhaps this could be said to be fair.

“Is this a good idea, leaving like this?” she asked. “What about the rest of us? What if—”

“It must be done. You are protected by every barrier possible. It will hold against anything. I won’t be gone long.” He pressed his hand against his chest where one of Wei Ying’s talismans rested against his breastbone. “And I will know if anything happens.”

“Yu-furen could have told you what she told you in the hopes that you would do this. She could come back and—”

“I don’t believe she will. I would not risk your lives for no reason. This must be done. I will come back.” His attention drifted up the path, thoughts returning to Wei Ying as they always did. “I would not leave Wei Ying lightly.”

Wen Qing’s expression softened. She might not have been happy with him, but she understood him. “Be careful. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t—”

Jin Guangshan could gather every last cultivator he had and he would not be able to do anything to stop Lan Wangji. He was beyond the need to take care. “Take care of Wei Ying for me.”

“What else could I possibly want to do with my time?”

Wen Qionglin frowned as Wen Yuan struggled in his arms again, whimpering Wei Ying’s name. “A-jie,” he said in remonstrance.

“A-Ning. I’m serious. Wei Wuxian made a stupid mistake and now we’re all paying for it. If he hadn’t been so cavalier, would he have died?”

Lan Wangji inhaled sharply at her outburst. Wen Yuan shrieked.

Her features were set, stubborn. Displeasure and embarrassment shimmered in her eyes. “Don’t you even—” She pointed at Lan Wangji. “Don’t you look at me like that. You can’t say he’s alive when he’s like this. I didn’t mean—”

More forceful than usual, Wen Qionglin said, “This isn’t the time. Lan-gongzi, be—be careful.”

It was easier to depart than remain and argue the point with Wen Qing. Whatever the state of Wei Ying’s body, he didn’t have to listen to her. As long as he improved, she could call his current circumstances whatever she liked. In this world, what was living? What was dying? With the powers at his disposal, even he couldn’t answer the question. Any fault that could be found in Wei Ying, he didn’t have to concede it. For his flaws and obsessions, he’d paid more than enough. It wasn’t a stupid mistake he’d made. Wen Qing just didn’t understand the depths of Wei Ying’s grief. That was all.

Wei Ying used to tease him that he was so beautiful he would be known anywhere, but that was not true and walking through the market streets of Lanling proved it. The cultivation world somehow still expected Lan Wangji, the precious jade of Gusu and now the notorious Yiling Laozu, to wear his mourning white, ribbon tied around his forehead. They saw only a traveler when they looked at Lan Wangji now, and perhaps one who had seen trials. Though his robes were clean, they were not new, fashionable, or elegant. They were composed of fabrics in shades of brown and grey because those wore well in rough terrain, the weft and warp uneven, the thread homespun, thick in some places and thin in others, because there was little enough time to ensure perfect quality.

His qin was eyed closely, but he was not bothered, and he was even allowed to walk up to the gates outside of Jinlintai without anyone stopping him.

A guard ignored him for long, ignoble minutes before blowing out a frustrated breath when Lan Wangji did not leave. He wore the same golds and creams that marked the rest of his sect. They would not last in the Burial Mounds. “If you intend to petition zongzhu, you’ll need to—”

“I will not petition Jin Guangshan.”

Other sects showed more generosity and hospitality to guests, even unwanted or unexpected ones. Of course Jin Guangshan wouldn’t offer even the most basic courtesies to one deemed unworthy.

“Then I suggest you be on your way.” His gaze flicked to the qin slung across Lan Wangji’s back. “Zongzhu has no need for wandering musicians at this—or any other—time.”

“And yet I’m very certain he would wish to see me.”

The guard laughed, arrogant in his delight at Lan Wangji’s expense. To think, there was once a time when Lan Wangji would have been openly welcomed and respected, feared despite no one needing fear him yet. Now, when these people’s lives hung on a string that Lan Wangji might cut, when they ought to fear him, they laughed.

“Yeah? And just who are you, then?”

Keeping an utterly indifferent look on his face, a bland tone in his voice, he said, “Lan Zhan.” He bowed, taking into himself a little of Wei Ying’s flare for the dramatic. “Courtesy name Wangji.”

He needn’t say anything else. Even if his features, his clothes, his qin remained obscure and anonymous, the guard knew his name and blanched at the sound of it. This time, he gave Lan Wangji’s qin more than the cursory glance. He gave Lan Wangji a onceover as well, as though he couldn’t believe it was possible that he should be here now, looking as he did, being what he was. What did they expect instead, he wondered. A ghoul, a ghost, a fierce corpse in rotting robes?

“No harm will come to you as long as you inform Jin Guangshan of my presence here.” He stared at both of them in turn, growing even more superficially calm while they fidgeted and stammered. It no longer bothered him so much to lie. “I will wait as long as is necessary to see this done.”

He did not anticipate the wait would be very long. In fact, he could almost see Jin Guangshan’s arrogant reaction to the summons already. He would believe himself capable of taking the seal from Lan Wangji or would think he could capture him and then do with him what he would. Likely, a great many of his most ferocious warriors would come for him, thinking they would capture him.

That will not happen today or any day.

For a long, awkward moment the guard did nothing. Then, he scrambled up the steps. Lan Wangji waited in expectation that another guard would take this one’s place, but no one came.

He might have waltzed into Jinlintai, but he was here for one purpose only: to discover the truth and take from Jin Guangshan that which was most precious to him. A few more moments could do no harm.

His wait was only mostly in vain: myriad Jin disciples spilled down the steps finally, a countless number of them. Each one held themselves with arrogant certainty until Lan Wangji stared at them. One by one, they cowed, heads ducked, shaking hands wrapped tight around their swords.

As he studied them, he realized some looked so green that Lan Wangji felt like Jin Guangshan had plucked them from their parents just to shove them into Jin Sect creams and golds, offering them swords and sending them off to die by the Yiling Laozu’s hand.

So Lan Wangji was wrong in this, too. Jin Guangshan was even more despicable than he could have known. He sent children instead of valued fighters for this. Did he even truly want to defeat Lan Wangji? Or was it a trap?

We’ll just have to spring the trap, he heard in Wei Ying’s voice. That’ll be fun, right?

Perhaps it was merely that Jin Guangshan thought he wouldn’t force his way past the youths scattered along the steps. That was the best of the reasons Lan Wangji could imagine for why he would do such a thing. The others were less complimentary.

He waited calmly for the guard who’d gone to return, finally standing before him, still shaking, still fearful, as well he should be.

“And so?”

The guard wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Jin Guangshan will only see you if you hand over the seal.”

“Hm.”

Well, that made it easier in some ways and harder in others. It was unfortunate, of course, but he had to do what he had to do. Resentful energy coursed over his skin, twining around his arms and swirling around his legs. When he freed his qin from its case, the assemblage of disciples stumbled backward.

Had he his golden core, he would have had more options, might have preferred a less… disturbing method, but Jin Guangshan had taken all of his options from him, one by one, until all that remained was this.

The first note struck true, sending all of them to their knees, the keening wail of it terrifying to everyone who heard it. It even sent a thrill of fear through Lan Wangji, though he was the one who controlled it. He suspected it always would or maybe he just hoped that was the case. He didn’t want to become the sort of person who wasn’t afraid of such a thing.

In the back of his mind, a voice—many voices—whispered to him that this was right, it was good, these people deserved this. Don’t you want to save Wei Ying? He knew better than to heed these voices, but that didn’t make it easy to ignore them. Doesn’t it feel good?

He passed the guards and disciples on the steps. Each was on their knees. Inside, too, others had fallen, in no position to stand against him.

No one dared speak, but each threw uncertain glances as the main hall, terror in their eyes. He stopped before the next cowering individual he saw.

“Has Jin Guangshan invited any guest disciples to stay here?”

The man shook and didn’t say anything at first. Though he was already on his knees, he looked as though he was going to sink even lower. Lan Wangji did not have time or patience for this. Lan Wangji struck one high-pitched note on the qin, shattering the man’s resolve.

He cringed and cried out wordlessly. “There—there is.”

“Show me.”

“Yi—Yiling Laozu, please… please, don’t.”

Did Jin Guangshan take mercy into consideration when the Wen begged in the same way? When those shattered remnants of minor sects that had been dragged into a conflict not their own begged? Lan Wangji thought not.

Lan Wangji dragged his finger across a string.

The man scrambled upward and led Lan Wangji across the large courtyard that separated many of the buildings then down a side path blooming with beautiful flowers, not the peonies for which the Jin were so famed, but lovely all the same. Entirely out of place in such an evil environment as this. They hid too much of Jinlintai’s ugliness.

At least the Burial Mounds, barren and harsh and unforgiving as it was, showed its true nature to the world. It did not hide what it was.

The man brought him to a stone entryway and another set of stairs which descended down. Two guards stood at the entry, far more belligerent than anyone else Lan Wangji had seen so far.

The first said, “Who is this?”

“Jin Zixiang!”

Jin Zixiang sniffed disdainfully. “Who are you?” he asked of Lan Wangji.

He raised his sword and the man bowed forward even more, whimpering. “This is—it’s Lan Wangji! The Yi—“

Jin Zixiang blanched and the cowering man stopped speaking with a harsh exhalation, his job now done. “He can’t—” Jin Zixiang said. “Why did you bring him here?” Jin Zixiang shoved at the other guard, trying to force him to do something, but he was useless, too, frozen. He had even less fortitude than the man who’d brought him here: he bolted, leaving Jin Zixiang and the cowering man to their fates.

“Perhaps you would prefer to warn Jin Guangshan of what is transpiring here,” Lan Wangji offered, generous.

Jin Zixiang’s hand twitched toward his sword. “I—”

“Is it worth your life, what is down there?”

When they were humbled, the Jin of his acquaintance lashed out. He was ready if that should be the case here and now.

“Leave,” he said, one last offer of mercy.

That was all it took for both Jin Zixiang and the other man to disappear, no doubt to report this to Jin Guangshan. When he came back up the stairs, he fully expected he’d be facing another wall of Jin Sect disciples, fodder in a war that should never have started, but would be ended today. He did not mourn for himself and these things he never wanted to do. They just had to be done.

The air was cooler and a little damp as he carefully across the entryway’s threshold.

The subtle, humming sound of someone singing—and badly at that—rose to meet him as he descended the dank, dark, dripping steps. Singing, as another person moaned, low and pained, that obscured the sound, but not enough even for Lan Wangji to be unaware. He had too much experience with the noises of human miseries at work to not know.

Lan Wangji tensed up, quieted his step even further. He held his qin close, protective, to ensure no accidents would alert the singer to his presence.

At the bottom of the stairs was a hall. Fire blazed in a handful of stone structures that dotted each side, lighting the way forward. The singing became more distinct, less singing now than speaking in a rising and lowering pitch, too lively for a place like this.

A voice cooed and tutted. It belonged to the singer, no doubt. “Oh, no, this won’t do at all. No, it won’t. Hey, you don’t have to cry quite so loudly, huh? Isn’t this all in the service of something greater than yourself?”

There were more protesting moans and the clatter of steel, long and drawn out, like the sound of a chain falling to the ground.

The voice grew an angry edge. “Oops. Now that’s not nice, is it? Look at this mess.”

The hallway opened into a wider space. As Lan Wangji approached, he took greater care. There were more braziers lit here, filling the place with a warm, orange glow. His shadow stretched ahead of him. If they were in the middle of the room, they would be able to see Lan Wangji was coming. The slick, heavy taste of iron coated the back of his throat and the same lingering scent of despair and sickness and death Lan Wangji remembered from when Wei Ying and he first stumbled on this nightmare in that forest. It felt like so long ago now.

He’d thought it had ended when Wei Ying had brought back the last of the groups he’d found out there, but he’d never brought up the possibility that there would be more in Lanling.

Lan Wangji’s gorge rose. This was what Wei Ying had been working against the entire time; it was even worse than Lan Wangji might have imagined.

Being seen? It was a chance Lan Wangji had to take. Reaching the end of the hallway, he pressed himself to the wall and looked around the corner.

There were multiple rooms arrayed around the wider room, all of them closed and barred except for one, which was slightly ajar. It was plastered in talismans.

A giggle erupted out of nowhere, startling Lan Wangji from his survey. A scream, hoarse, followed, cut short by a guttural groan and the splat of something hitting the floor. It was too late to stop whatever had happened to the victim to effectively silence him, but it was not too late to put an end to this entirely.

“Much better.” The man started humming again. “Isn’t that much better? No point in trying to scream now. Makes it easier to just let it happen. I’m sure you’d thank me if you could.”

Lan Wangji knew that he needed to be careful in this, should approach with caution, but he couldn’t let this happen any longer. And so he strummed the qin, waking every resentful spirit in the place.

There were… many.

A laugh rose above the sudden din and then the door flew open and a… a boy stood in the doorway, covered in blood and manically wide-eyed. The red stood out viciously against the gold of his robes. He did not seem at all frightened by the red and black smoke curling across the ground, coalescing into forms long forgotten by their owners, limbs working only reluctantly, twitching as they relearned themselves, walking toward the boy.

“Oh, what do we have here? Is it the Yiling Laozu coming to call? I was wondering when you would show up. I’ve waited oh so very long for you.” He bowed in a way that was insouciant and offensive to Lan Wangji’s sensibilities. When he rose from it, he smiled, sharp as knives. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m such an admirer. Thanks for waiting long enough for me to deal with some unfinished business. I’m Xue Yang.”

Lan Wangji said nothing. He did not care about Xue Yang’s business, finished or unfinished. The ground, merely compacted dirt—not at all secure, and cradling the corpses of more long-buried secrets, shook—cracked beneath their feet.

There were shouts of terror further off. More people down here with this crazed child.

“Would you like to know what we’re doing here? What you’ve wrought? Your pet did make it so very hard for Jin-zongzhu to do his work. Jin-zongzhu was forced to bring it home with him. I can tell you he didn’t like that at all.” His eyes gleamed even more demonically in the light, the grayish shade tinged red by the flickering flames. “It really is a marvel. Jin Guangshan is so, so, so eager to make a seal of his own. I think I’ve just about got it figured out. I’m not quite as smart as you, maybe, but I’ve had a lot of time to consider the problem and… practice.”

Though Lan Wangji was certain that his features betrayed nothing, his insides turned to ice. The sword Wei Ying had found, the metal that created it… it couldn’t possibly be replicated with human hands, could it? Not in such a short time.

Xue Yang stepped forward and one of the spirits shot forward, pressed her arm across his throat. “Don’t move,” Lan Wangji said.

“I’m not the Yiling Laozu’s enemy here,” Xue Yang said to the spirit. “You don’t have to get so handsy. We understand one another, don’t we? Jin Guangshan’s just a means to a very important end.”

Lan Wangji couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching slightly at the nerve of this young man. How dare he suggest they were anything alike? Lan Wangji was nothing like this and neither was Wei Ying. He didn’t torture innocent people. There was no glee for him in what he’d become.

Even Jin Guangshan wasn’t as immediately, viscerally repellant to him as Xue Yang at this moment.

The ghost’s grip on Xue Yang tightened. More of them wrapped themselves around Xue Yang as well. Though he squirmed, he still didn’t seem particularly concerned, even seemed almost to enjoy the attention, grinning and pouting flirtatiously at them in turn.

Xue Yang then looked at him with something approaching disappointment in his eyes. “You disapprove of me, don’t you? That’s so unfortunate. The way you just—ah, I wish I’d been there. It must have been magnificent to tear those arrogant Wen Sect fools to shreds. I’ve done a little sect massacring myself, you know? It’s hard work. I can’t imagine doing that to three-thousand people.” He leaned toward Lan Wangji, unhindered by the ghosts curled against him. Avarice filled his eyes and hunger sat on his tongue as it poked out and wetted his lower lip. “I want to though. What was it like for you?

Awful. Exhilarating. The first and last thing he wanted to do. The best and worst thing he ever did, because it stopped the Wens from hurting Wei Ying further, but it also led to this.

He might have consoled himself that Wen Ruohan retaining power would have been worse, except for how he couldn’t actually imagine worse than what he was finding here in Lanling. Maybe that was just naïveté; he’d never had to see the worst of what Wen Ruohan could do. Perhaps he could be allowed to believe they were equally bad, that he hadn’t done what he did for nothing.

“Ah, you don’t have to tell me. I can see it in your eyes.” He clicked his tongue and pressed his fingers to his lips. “Why don’t we work together? You wouldn’t have to worry about anyone hurting your precious leftovers any longer. We could go after other people. There’s a whole sect of them right here even. I can help you defeat Jin Guangshan. He’s useless to me now anyway.” Xue Yang snapped his fingers then. “Don’t you think they deserve what’s coming to them? Look at what they let me do.

“And it was all of them! They brought me everyone I wanted. I don’t think there’s a single innocent person here. You could take the entire world from them if you wanted to.”

Lan Wangji did not want the world, only the small corner of it that Wei Ying had carved out for him, but Xue Yang was right enough about the rest. Punishments needed to be served.

“What have you been doing here?”

“Experimenting. I’ve been tasked with ensuring Jin Guangshan can stand against you, right? Well, that’s what he thinks anyway. It depends on you how this continues.”

“Experimenting.”

“Yes! Anyone can raise fierce corpses if they really want to, but you’ll just swoop in and take control of them. My job is to build something better than the seal. If he can’t control you or your army, then what good are you, right? He’ll just make his own. Better to just get rid of you and yours. That’s what Jin Guangshan thinks anyway. He lacks vision, I’m afraid. I’ve tried to tell him that you’ve probably got even more tricks up your sleeve than we know, but he won’t listen.”

“How long?”

“I thought you’d guessed already. Didn’t your people squeal as soon as you liberated them? Did Wei Wuxian not tell you?”

No. In fact, none of them wanted to talk to Lan Wangji about what had happened and he refused to pressure them for details. Wei Ying had told him nothing. Something of his ignorance must have shown on his face because Xue Yang grinned.

“Huh,” Xue Yang said. “I’m surprised. Wei Wuxian almost caught me a couple of times. I thought he was following me on your orders. Wow. Well.” He tugged at the neck of his robes, as though proud. “Loushan was my first.”

Wei Ying had never mentioned Xue Yang to Lan Wangji, nor his concerns about what Xue Yang was doing. “You weren’t just torturing them?”

“What do you take me for? A monster? Of course I was experimenting. Who would waste the opportunity?”

Was this why Wei Ying had been so cold in the days after coming back from finding Gu Yahui and the other groups? Why he’d been so certain he would one day die (he would not die) in this fight against the Jin Sect? Had he held onto this secret so tightly just to keep Lan Wangji from finding out?

Wei Ying, why, he thought. Why had Wei Ying kept this from him? Did he think Lan Wangji wasn’t strong enough to bear this truth?

It no longer mattered. He’d make good on his promise to Wei Ying. He wouldn’t have to lie to protect Lan Wangji any longer. The world will be better for him.

Starting with Xue Yang’s removal from it.

Xue Yang cackled, his voice twisted as resentful energy curled around his throat. “Oh, you truly are magnificent, aren’t you?” He peered closely at the ghost closest to his face, the one whose features twisted into the most hateful glare. “You sit on your superior fucking mountain and do nothing. Do you really think I’ll believe that you’re going to murder an entire sect here today? That is what you’ll have to do if you touch me.”

Xue Yang was looking his own death in the face and he was not scared.

He should be. He deserved to be.

Strumming his fingers over his qin, he did everything he could to ensure it. It made for difficult work. Xue Yang was not easy to terrify, but Lan Wangji was determined. Somewhere in the midst of it, Lan Wangji noticed his pinkie, how he flinched when one of the spirits holding him curled its hand around his. After that, it was easy enough to bring him, frightened, to death’s door, each bone in both hands shattered beyond repair.

As he freed what prisoners remained, too few of them, terrified and small and hunched by their pain, hidden away behind the doors he hadn’t yet investigated, he hoped they took some comfort in the screams they heard.

Though they cowered from him, he didn’t mind. It was understandable even to him.

Lan Wangji unlocked the room where the last few were being held. “If you’re able to, remain here for a short time longer. It will be safe to leave soon.”

Though he could see the longing to run in their eyes, they nodded and remained put, shivering.

“If you would like, I will come back for you. There will be a safe haven should you wish it.” He wasn’t certain they would accept him after what he’d done, but that was okay, too. He was not here to be accepted.

Jin Guangshan’s forces were waiting for him at the top of the stairs, just as he expected.

It took little effort to eradicate them.

Jin Guangshan was nothing, nothing if not arrogant, and remained perched upon his throne, acting as though he was still in charge of this situation, laughing as Lan Wangji approached. The rest of his family—all the people he supposedly cared about—stood or sat at tables arranged on either side of the room. None of them moved. They all realized what was happening here even if he didn’t. They feared him even though Jin Guangshan pretended he did not.

Jin Guangshan asked, “Have you finished playing games and parading around here? Will you see reason and turn yourself over to me?”

“There is one last thing that I must do. I beg your indulgence.”

Jin Guangshan smiled indulgently. He must have truly believed that Xue Yang was on his side, that Xue Yang had done something to stop Lan Wangji from doing what needed to be done.

What did he think he had that Lan Wangji could not bend to his own will?

“If you turn yourself and the seal over to me, the Wen and everyone else you’ve cloistered away will be safe. If you don’t…” Jin Guangshan shrugged. “I can’t guarantee anything, I’m afraid. Not even the safety of your uncle and brother.” Such a threat was laughably empty. Still, it angered Lan Wangji. This was the man who’d so altered the course of his and Wei Ying’s life.

This should never have reached this point. Wei Ying truly had been prescient.

Lan Wangji’s mouth tipped up in a slight acknowledgment of Jin Guangshan’s words. Before, he hadn’t been certain what he would want from Jin Guangshan in this moment. Would he demand apologies, force him to grovel, make him acknowledge the pain he’d caused in this world, the useless way he tried to control everything and everyone.

It turned out there was nothing Lan Wangji needed beyond Jin Guangshan’s death, his death and a warning to the rest of the world that he would not allow this sort of behavior to continue.

“After today, your son will be forced to rebuild,” he said, “along with whomever I let go. Are you proud of what you’ve wrought, Jin-zongzhu?”

It was rude, perhaps, to give Jin Guangshan no time to answer his question. In all honesty, he did not expect to hear anything of value even as he took Jin Guangshan’s tongue first. The rest of him followed only once he truly understood what was happening to him and those around him.

It was a pity that so few survived his judgment.

By the time he was done, not even Jinlintai remained standing, its very foundations pulled apart by the resentful, rotting hands of the dead made willing by Lan Wangji’s qin.

Five Years Later

Lan Wangji lifted his head as Wen Qing entered the cave, a hesitant smile on her mouth as she carried a tray in with a tea pot and the single cup that Lan Wangji preferred to use. Wen Yuan trailed after her, his hair in disarray and skin flushed. Though Lan Wangji continued to play the qin, he watched them cross the room. He’d told her on more than one occasion she didn’t have to bring tea when she came, but she always scoffed, saying that if she didn’t, then Wen Ning would, and that was just a waste of time, wasn’t it, when she had to come here anyway? In the past, he might not have given up the argument so easily, but this was not the past. Many things were no longer worth fighting.

“Have you studied well today, Wen Yuan?” he asked by rote.

“Yes!” he said, bright and excitable. It was only after a beat that he seemed to remember himself and added, more calmly, “Lan-laoshi, Qing-jie says I’m doing very well.”

Lan Wangji peered up at Wen Qing, who was now smiling more brightly, a strange expression for her even these days. After she placed the tray on the table, she scrubbed her hand across Wen Yuan’s forehead and attempted to salvage his hair. His bangs especially threatened to curl if anyone so much as looked at them, unwilling to remain carefully pulled back for any length of time. He did his best and Wen Qing did her best, but it still required diligence to remain as smooth as Wen Yuan seemed to prefer.

He reminded Lan Wangji so much of Wei Ying sometimes, untamable hair trailing down his back. The boy was so full of energy and life that it hurt to look at him for too long. What caused even greater pain was seeing the way he’d started tempering his exuberance in Lan Wangji’s presence. Lan-laoshi, he called Lan Wangji when Lan Wangji barely taught him anything.

He hadn’t been Zhan-gege in at least three years, not since he’d figured out what deference was and, unable to put a name to it, decided he should comport himself more seriously around Lan Wangji than he did with others. Sometimes, he missed it. Sometimes, he preferred this distance.

Wen Qing doted on no one save her own brother and Wen Yuan. For them, she always had sweet words and praises and so it was no surprise when she said, “He’ll be the top swordsman of the next generation at this rate.”

“Lan-laoshi says we shouldn’t be too arrogant and should always strive for better skills.” He looked down at his feet. “Besides, there are a lot of people in the world.”

Wen Qing’s mouth twitched. “I suppose that’s true.”

Wen Yuan frowned, an uncharacteristic expression for him. “It’s not like we go outside anyway. How would any of us know?”

Lan Wangji’s fingers caught on the note he was currently playing, souring the entire song. Within a few moments, it regained its fluid quality, his equilibrium returning to him. The Burial Mounds was more forgiving these days, subdued as it had been by years of diligence and care from everyone who made this place their home, but his heart still pounded at the mistake his fingers quickly corrected.

After Jinlintai, few made mention of the world outside these walls. Wen Yuan especially had never made mention of it, not even in childish curiosity the way some of the others his age, old enough to vaguely remember there was life outside the walls of the Burial Mounds, sometimes expressed.

Until they were strong enough to stand one-to-one with the other sects, they could not be safe and Lan Wangji would remain perched here on the top of the Burial Mounds: the shield against which the other sects could break themselves if they wanted to try.

In the early days, once he’d realized exactly what he’d done, horrified and resolute in turn, he’d expected reprisals. No one came. No one was brave enough to come. He’d proved he could win, but that was not the stable strength this place needed. The rest of the world, seeing Jinlintai’s destruction and the narrow window of forgiveness Lan Wangji would open to anyone who violated the space Wei Ying had carved for them, left them in coldly desolate peace. Self-reliant, they could be called. Alone, they could also be called.

Lan Wangji, in turn, saw no reason to interfere with those who didn’t bother them first. The instinct for self-preservation had done what appeals for mercy would never have succeeded in accomplishing. And so time passed. This cage grew smaller.

At Wen Yuan’s words, Lan Wangji realized that it was entirely possible that nobody here expected to be free to leave again ever. That was never the goal. Not Wei Ying’s goal anyway. No, Wei Ying’s goal—whether Wei Ying had realized it or not—was to turn this place into one that could serve as a balance against the rest of the cultivation sects. That required participation in the world. He would hate this prison.

But just the thought froze him with terror. What good had the world done for any of these people?

“When you’re old enough,” Lan Wangji said, forcing the words out around his fear, “you will be able to make the decision to go.”

The more adept of the cultivators now living within the Burial Mounds—rogue cultivators who chose to make this their home after years of wandering listlessly, disillusioned former sect cultivators, a few of the luckier survivors of Jin Guangshan’s actions, occasionally even Wen Qing—did sometimes venture out into Yiling to go on night hunts for the local populace, but beyond that, they caused no ripples outside their walls. They did only what they could within their means.

This place wasn’t meant to be a corral. If they wished it, anyone might take a reasonable share of supplies and strike out on their own. So far, nobody had availed themselves of the opportunity.

“A-Yuan, you came with me today for a reason, yes?” Wen Qing asked, bringing focus back to Wen Yuan’s visit.

Wen Yuan’s eyes gleamed at the reminder, stoking what little remained of Lan Wangji’s curiosity. Despite his irrepressibly high spirits, Wen Yuan had grown into a cheerfully obedient child who rarely asked for anything except to sometimes sit with Wei Ying as Lan Wangji played the qin or studied the various books that were brought back before sending them off into general circulation among those wishing to cultivate. Though their resources were scanty in this arena—so many of their early years were devoted to feeding, clothing, and sheltering their people; only recently had they expanded to include educational materials among that which was deemed essential—Lan Wangji refused to allow inferior information to be shared with the people here.

When there was enough time, paper, and ink to spare, when he couldn’t bear to think of Wei Ying for even one more moment, he worked on his own manuals.

This was a locked chamber with him at the center of it, but it was as close to home as he would ever get again.

Lan Wangji knew how he could come across to others: cold, distant. Considering his reputation, that was the best that could be hoped for. He was lucky that the entire group didn’t shun him entirely. Though they needed him, that didn’t mean they had to like him or want to spend time with him. And yet, he was accepted. No one here was afraid of him. Wen Qing and Wen Qionglin ensured he wasn’t allowed to completely forget about the world around him, but it was Wen Yuan who truly reminded him that he was more than a conduit through which Wei Ying might one day be returned to him, that he was not merely the only force in the world that could keep the Burial Mounds from reverting. He was more than his fears that the rest of the world would take this place by force if he relaxed his vigilance.

Wen Yuan pointed out when his hands seemed particularly red or prone to splitting, close to bleeding, and asked to be allowed to care for them. He peppered Lan Wangji with questions about music and cultivation, life and philosophy, questions that were much, much older than he was and had been argued back through the ages, simply phrased though they were. More than that, he asked about Wei Ying, wanting to hear story after story about him. As he grew older and his own memories of those times faded, Wen Yuan only grew more avaricious for them. He regretted that it was too painful to give such stories to Wen Yuan when he knew Wei Ying would have been delighted for them to be shared.

There were few people to whom Lan Wangji was kind, but Wen Yuan… Wen Yuan could be one of them. Was one of them.

“What is it, Wen Yuan?” he asked, serious, gentle, when Wen Yuan hesitated.

Wen Yuan glanced down at his feet again. “I was hoping to learn… I would like to help…” His gaze swept over Wei Ying’s body and then back to Lan Wangji again, leaving him feeling exposed. “So that you can spend more time working to bring Xian-ge back… I wanted to help learn how to suppress the Burial Mounds.”

Lan Wangji blinked, studied Wen Qing’s face for signs of disapproval.

“You’re fine with this?” He had been even younger when he started learning the qin. It would be a long time before Wen Yuan could do anything that would begin to help with a project as big as cleansing the Burial Mounds, but…

But he hadn’t actually considered the possibility that he could teach anyone except Wei Ying these particular skills, the skills he’d twisted to his own purposes again the first time he walked into the Burial Mounds, but there was nothing stopping him. He could even…

He would have liked to spend more time with Wei Ying and search for ways to help him heal more quickly so Wen Qing would finally allow him to reverse the spell he’d cast and wake him up. Neither of them could explain why her medicines worked so slowly and she didn’t have much time in her day to ruminate on the problem either. They took care of the wound, kept him comfortable, and hoped. That was not enough.

It would not help in the short-term, teaching Wen Yuan, but in the long term…?

He didn’t allow himself to think about how different it might have been if Lan Wangji hadn’t been the only one who could suppress the Burial Mounds. Wei Ying would have lost that reason to argue himself into a place where he considered himself uniquely capable of sacrificing himself. Wei Ying might not have felt the need to protect him so viciously.

Besides, at some point in the future, he would be unable to protect the Burial Mounds, grown too old to care for it any longer. One day, his knowledge will have to be passed on. Why not teach Wen Yuan what he knew? His legacy could be more than Jinlintai if he was willing.

Tears stung in his eyes, quickly smothered, and heat warmed his cheeks. Wen Yuan was a good child, as selfless as Wei Ying used to be and as composed as Lan Wangji. He was as stubborn as Wen Qing and as gentle as Wen Qionglin, the best of all of them under circumstances that were far from ideal.

“Then I would be honored to teach you, Wen Yuan.”

Wen Yuan beamed, his entire body transforming with joy and excitement. Already Lan Wangji’s mind filled itself with thoughts of how he’d teach Wen Yuan, lessons he hadn’t considered in years. It had been so long since he’d taught anyone personally. Something within him clamored for it, clamored for anything different from the endless days he spent playing the qin and the endless, terrible nights that followed.

While he could not bring Wei Ying back, he could at the very least honor what he wanted to do, the thing he might not have even known that he wanted, but Lan Wangji had figured out.

Climbing to his feet, he then stood in front of Wen Yuan and crouched down until they were at eye level. Wen Yuan’s composure asserted itself, a charming juxtaposition to the dirt streaked lightly across one cheek. There were no rules against a little dirt here. Lan Wangji did not feel moved to scrub it away.

Pressing his hand against Wen Yuan’s fragile, bird-like shoulder, he said, “We will begin tomorrow.”

Wen Yuan threw his arms around Lan Wangji’s shoulders, buried his face against Lan Wangji’s neck. “Zhan-gege!”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat at being addressed this way, he lightly touched Wen Yuan’s back. It was only ever Wei Ying and Wen Yuan who’d called him anything other than Lan Wangji or, worse, Lan-gongzi. For the flash of a second or two, he saw Wei Ying as he used to be, teasingly calling out as he and Wen Yuan played in the dirt. Wei Ying would get that troublesome, mischievous look in his eye, and Lan Wangji would know it was only a matter of time before Wei Ying called him gege, too, instigating varying degrees of embarrassment within Lan Wangji as a result.

He would take on any degree of embarrassment if only he could hear Wei Ying call his name again.

One day, he promised.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat at being addressed this way, he lightly touched Wen Yuan’s back as Wen Yuan disentangled himself. He thanked Lan Wangji, and bowed, hair sweeping over his shoulder.

As Wen Qing ushered Wen Yuan out, he chattered happily away at her, his excitement palpable. “I’ll come back to check on Wei Wuxian,” she promised.

He would have to find suitable bamboo today, small enough to be shaped to fit a child’s hands. They would be unable to find or purchase a suitable qin, but a functional flute would be easy enough to make for him.

Rather than do so immediately, he sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped his hand around Wei Ying’s still wrist. Though he had long grown used to feeling no pulse beneath his fingers, he still searched for one, fingers traversing the cool stretch of skin on display. “Wei Ying, I think you would be very proud of Wen Yuan if you were here.” He paused, uncertain of what else to say. He didn’t often speak to Wei Ying these days. There was so little left to say. “I’m going to work harder to bring you back. He should play the dizi. I think you would like that.”

Five Months Later

Wen Yuan took to the flute the way he took to everything else: with surprising grace and quickness. He was even faster at picking it up than he’d been with the more martial aspects of his training—sword forms with Gu Yahui and archery with Wen Qionglin—and even the medical instruction he received from Wen Qing. Though he was bright and determined in all aspects of his studies, he seemed to be made for music-based cultivation practices. Were he a disciple of the Lan Sect, he would have one day become formidable. As it was, he had Lan Wangji for a teacher, a poor substitute for the training he would have received from the true masters of the Lan Sect, perhaps even from Lan Wangji’s brother if he was especially adept. No matter how many scores he’d memorized himself, there were hundreds more he’d never had the chance to study.

In this life, Lan Wangji was selfishly glad Wen Yuan could flourish here, too, despite the disadvantages he weathered. Lan Wangji was not his brother, better at teaching music than anyone Lan Wangji knew, but he might be a good teacher for him as well.

Thinking of his brother in this way was too painful. There was no coming back from what he’d done in Lanling. Even his brother could not forgive such a thing.

So many parts of his life were filled with memories that stung, poison-tipped. Just once he would like to keep something of his past that didn’t cut him when he touched it.

Wen Yuan lowered the flute. “What is it, Lan-laoshi?”

“Nothing,” he said, and then because he could, because he felt hemmed in by this pain, pressing in on all sides, because if he didn’t remind himself of the good times, he would fall apart: “I taught Wei Ying how to play this music.”

Wen Yuan tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he tried to remember. “Tell me about it?”

As he spoke, Wen Yuan grew more animated, laughing as Lan Wangji recounted how Wei Ying often whined about practicing despite being a skilled player, quick, much like Wen Yuan. Wen Yuan ducked his head, shy, pleased with the comparison.

He’d thought it would hurt to talk about Wei Ying like this, but it didn’t, not at all. It warmed him to share this with Wen Yuan.

He could practically hear Wei Ying scolding him in the back of his mind. Lan Zhan, don’t you miss me? He’d never liked being ignored. “Play it one more time,” Lan Wangji said, an excuse intended to distract Wen Yuan more than anything else.

Wen Yuan did so, diligent and careful, still a little uncertain and uncoordinated, but accurate. Once his golden core was properly formed, he would be as effective as any Lan.

The last lingering notes faded away as Wen Yuan pulled his dizi from his lips, waiting for a response from Lan Wangji. He didn’t speak, letting Lan Wangji return to himself in his own time.

“Good. You’ve done well,” Lan Wangji said. He wondered if a part of Wei Ying could hear, if there was any awareness within him of what was happening around him.

Wen Yuan bowed his head.

“Continue to practice,” Lan Wangji said.

Wen Yuan nodded and looked up, gaze sweeping over to where Wei Ying lay. He knew a dismissal when he heard one and made for the entrance. A little unusual for him, he lingered there. “Will you tell me more stories about Xian-gege sometime?”

There were so many stories and Lan Wangji had collected them all. In his memory, they were fixed, brightly polished with how often he turned them over in his mind. “I suppose I shall.”

He was warmed by the smile Wen Yuan gave to him, composed and sweet, the sort of smile that belonged to an older, wiser being. “Thank you, Lan-laoshi.”

He was so changed from the fragile, broken toddler he’d once been.

Wei Ying would have been pleased to see it.

Four Months Later

As Wen Yuan honed his skill with the dizi, growing stronger and more confident by the day, Lan Wangji turned over more bits of time to Wei Ying, gave himself the chance to breathe and study and learn. What few texts he could get his hands on, he studied. Every day, he checked the slow-moving progress of Wei Ying’s wound, documented what he could in the hopes that Wen Qing would see the proof of his improvement and finally admit it was time to try. The Burial Mounds didn’t reduce itself to rubble because Lan Wangji divided his attention and it accepted Wen Yuan’s playing with rather more willingness than it ever did Lan Wangji’s. For all that Wen Yuan’s execution was imperfect, Lan Wangji’s intuition told him it didn’t care. He could not say how he knew such a thing, only that he did.

Were their positions reversed, Wei Ying probably would have solved the problem of slow healing. He would very likely not have had to deal with this problem at all, coming up with a better spell to begin with than Lan Wangji’s horrifically slapdash effort. Their minds just didn’t work the same way. Lan Wangji was not the sort of theoretician or experimentalist Wei Ying was. He could synthesize information well and from that information glean fresh understanding, but he couldn’t make it up whole cloth. He couldn’t invent.

All he could do was read and wait, wait and read, while Wen Qing again and again told him no. It used to hurt her more to shake her head and say, “Not yet,” but this no longer seemed to trouble her. Again and again she did this. Eventually, he stopped bringing it up. She would make her determination or she wouldn’t. Once he was more certain of his own position, he could push for more.

Though Lan Wangji tried not to hold it against her, he couldn’t deny the truth: it angered him, her ease. Why did she get to inure herself to what they were doing? Lan Wangji spent nearly every hour of the day with Wei Ying and still found himself startled when Wei Ying didn’t move, fearful that he’d died in his sleep, forgetting entirely that Wei Ying was not merely asleep. It wasn’t fair that she could accept that and move on with her life.

Three Months Later

Lan Wangji eyed Wen Qing warily as she stepped inside the cave, not too long after Wen Yuan had gone off to help in the fields. Barely sparing her any attention, he plucked the strings of his qin, shoring up the work Wen Yuan had done. Out of the corner of his eye, Wen Qing bent over the bed, pulled aside the thin shirt Wei Ying wore.

“Hm,” she said.

Lan Wangji paid her no mind. Occasionally, he’d learned over the years, she spoke to herself as she worked. It did not mean anything. She rarely addressed him these days, as though by refusing to acknowledge him she’ll somehow avoid the conversation they will one day have to have.

“Lan Wangji?”

A twisted noise of protest issued from his qin as his finger slipped. When he was younger, he would have been embarrassed by such a false note.

“Do you want to try reversing the spell?” By the bed, she stared at him fiercely, as though daring him to question her. Her gaze flicked to the bed stand where he kept the book he’d bound of his notes, his arguments. Her frown deepened as she looked at it.

Oh. She wanted to—

Now that the moment was here… had he misheard her? Surely Wei Ying wasn’t…

A cold sweat broke out across Lan Wangji’s body. “He’s not ready.”

Her expression barely softened, but it did soften.

“He’s as ready as I can make him. The wound as it is now is survivable, I think. I don’t like keeping him like this.”

“You’re giving up.”

“I’ve never liked this,” she said, sharp. “I know you think I was being conservative, but I don’t know—what you did was unprecedented. Maybe there’s a record of someone else doing something similar, but in case you haven’t noticed, we’re stuck here. If I had my books, I might have made a better recommendation sooner. I’ve given up nothing. Wake him up. We’ll deal with what comes next.”

A nightmare, five years old, ended with a few words. He was not as prepared as he thought he would be.

Lan Wangji rose, put aside his qin. He kept a chest by the bed that carried a few important documents and writings, bits and pieces of something, of Lan Wangji, some aspect of him relayed in words. Here, he kept the talismans he’d crafted for this moment meant to reverse what he thought he’d done in the dirt outside the Burial Mounds that day. He’d spent months considering them, going over and over in his mind exactly what he’d wrought. The other side effects—nonexistent pulse, no aging, slow healing—he could not explain. If one wouldn’t unravel the spell, one of the others would. Surely, Wei Ying would be fine.

The only problem, as he pressed first one talisman then another and another and another to Wei Ying’s chest, was that none of them worked.

Two Months Later

Nothing they did worked.

One Month Later

He woke in the middle of the night with an ache in his chest and a sob in his throat, his body pressing itself into the bed, thrusting as pleasure snapped up his spine. The image of Wei Ying beneath him lingered behind his eyes. He hated these conjurations the most. They were the most vivid, the most excruciating to endure. They showed him everything he wanted and nothing he could have, not until he fixed this.

He pressed his face into his forearm, mouth dry with the taste of his robes, teeth unable to break skin through the fabric, as he ground down against the mat, punishing, until he nearly reached completion.

He sobbed, eyes tightly closed, images bursting behind his eyes, of Wei Ying, alive and beautiful and moving above him and inside of him, whispering pretty words in his ears, kissing the nobs of his spine. Only half awake, he could have pretended it was real, but even in this state, aching with guilt-tinged need, he knew it was a dream that guided his body and heart.

For the next day or so, he’d taste Wei Ying in his mouth: insensible, given he didn’t know what Wei Ying tasted like. He’d feel Wei Ying inside of him, feel himself inside of Wei Ying, another thing he didn’t know, phantom touch building on phantom touch. He’d have to look at Wen Qing or Wen Yuan or Wen Qionglin and pretend he wouldn’t trade it all away if only he could bring Wei Ying back.

This thought never lasted long, banished by his knowledge that Wei Ying would be disappointed with and disgusted by these thoughts, but even one moment spent considering it felt like a betrayal.

Flipping himself over to keep from soiling the mat, he yanked open his trousers and grabbed hold of himself with cold, vicious efficiency. Too, he groped for Wei Ying’s hand in the dark and tried not to feel nausea at Wei Ying’s equally cold and unresponsive touch. This loathing would linger even once the sense memories dissolved. It would cling to him. The thought would occur to him again and again before he finished. It didn’t matter; he couldn’t do this alone.

His orgasm ripped through him, ruthless, his release, perfunctory. Once his breathing evened back out and his erection wilted and he’d cleaned the evidence from his palm, he still ached, still needed, still desired Wei Ying, still felt that he would give up everything for him just to come back.

Though it was many hours yet until morning, he climbed out of bed and did not allow himself to press a kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead the way he normally did when he woke up, penance for the selfishness of his thoughts in the darkest hours of the night, the bargains he made in his head for Wei Ying’s health.

Instead, he lit several candles and took to studying the talismans that had so thoroughly failed him.

This would not, he couldn’t help but think, have happened if Wei Ying was in his position.

“Lan Wangji? What are you doing?” Wen Qing asked.

He lifted his head, squinted up at her. The weak light of morning broke over her shoulders, limning her silhouette. The candles had, at some point, though he couldn’t say when, guttered out. Wax spilled across the table that served as his desk, already hard and grown opaque. He obviously hadn’t noticed.

He rose, legs aching from the awkward angle at which he’d been sitting. Paper scattered, fluttering to the floor around him. He approached the bed, heedless of the mess.

“I did something wrong,” he said, unable to equivocate when his exhaustion pressed in on him from all sides. His eyes burned as he blinked and his hands shook. He gestured at the damning evidence behind him, each talisman that had been ripped to shreds in the night, the ink stains on his fingertips. It all spoke to his failure. “I can’t reverse it.”

Wen Qing swallowed and nodded, no-nonsense. We’ll fix it, she seemed to say without saying it outright. She finally asked the one question he’d spent years expecting to hear before realizing she didn’t want to know, like avoiding it would make it better. Because he didn’t want to talk about it either, because the both of them believed he could fix it, that it was only a matter of ensuring Wei Ying’s body was fit for it, it was easy to let it slide. “What do you think you did?”

“I…” He handed over a recreation of the original talisman. “I trapped his spirit.”

“Lan Wangji…”

He shrugged, the kind of lazy action that conveyed no useful information. It was beneath him to waste an opportunity for clarity, but he really didn’t know what to say. Yes, of course that had been his intention. Why would he wish to capture less than the entirety of Wei Ying’s spirit in that moment and keep it where it could be protected?

With unusual caution, she approached. In her hands were her usual medicines held on a tray. They seemed pointless, these healing herbs and powders and crushed up pills, now that they’d crossed this threshold. She placed the tray on the table and came over, pressed her fingers to his wrist. Her brows furrowed as she closed her eyes. Though she’d done this before, it had always been more of a cursory examination. Her concerns were more for the bodily wound he suffered.

When she was done, she refused to look at him. “It’s not there. It never has been.”

“What?”

“I thought you managed to—” She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “That you put his body into some kind of…” She gestured vaguely, as though she didn’t have the words. “I thought you’d stopped his body at the point of death. I didn’t think—” Gathering his notes from the ground, she studied them, eyes falling again and again across the pages. “We’re going about it the wrong way. These all presuppose…” She shook her head, raised her eyes to meet Lan Wangji’s. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, seeing something on Lan Wangji’s face maybe. “What we’d done until this point wouldn’t have changed.” That was only a small comfort. “Now we just need to figure out where it went and how to get it back.”

“All these years,” he murmured, numb, mind a complete wash of blankness. All these years, Wei Ying had been a shell of himself. If he were still a Lan Sect disciple, he might have played Inquiry for the answer years ago. But there was no one here who could do such a thing and Lan Wangji couldn’t face anyone at Cloud Recesses for this. “Wei Ying could have done it.”

Wei Ying.

Wei Ying, especially in those last weeks, had disappeared often and for hours at a time. He must have been doing something with all that time. And if he knew Wei Ying, that thing was work.

Maybe he was hiding something else, something that might help Lan Wangji. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Whenever Wei Ying used to disappear, did you ever see where he went?” he asked.

“I don’t—he went all over. We were always keeping an eye on him, but nobody followed him.”

“Anywhere more than the others?”

She turned away from him and Wei Ying both, gathering up her medicines and bringing them to Wei Ying to administer. “I suppose. I don’t—what are you getting at?”

“Did you ever go there? Where he used to disappear to?”

“It wasn’t our business. We owe Wei Wuxian so much. Breaching his privacy would make for a fine repayment of that debt, don’t you think? What secrets he carried, we should never know. They belonged to him.” Her voice grew testy, strained. “Explain what you’re after.”

“I once saw a box which contained Wei Ying’s notes for various projects and theories. I can’t imagine he didn’t add to it in the time since we came here, but I never saw it.”

“Then that was for a reason,” Wen Qing said, adamant. “Not everything can be for you.”

“Wei Ying is lifeless because of me. If there is anything in those notes that might help me…” He shook his head. “I will turn the Burial Mounds upside down if I have to.” Though he spoke emotionlessly, his heart was in turmoil. “But I do not have to. You know where he used to go.”

“What are you asking?”

“If you don’t want to tell me, then, search the areas where he spent the most time. If you discover nothing, I will leave the issue and find another way.” When she did not appear swayed, he added, “When he is back with us, he can keep any secret he likes and punish me for the breach in whatever way he wishes, but until that time, I’ll do what I must.”

Wei Ying carried the important things close to him, sometimes too close. Lan Wangji knew that better than anyone. He could easily imagine Wei Ying squirreling away his pain, so that Lan Wangji didn’t have to see it. Lan Wangji understood the violation well. It was just irrelevant, one more sin to add to the pile inside of which Lan Wangji had already buried himself.

“If you’re right, are you prepared for what you’ll discover?” Wen Qing asked, dubious.

Of course not. He could never prepare himself for Wei Ying’s grief. It was too big and Lan Wangji was terrible at viewing it in a rational manner. “That hardly matters.”

Wen Qing fussed incessantly with Wei Ying’s robes, checked his wound again. Her features fell, like she was hoping she would find an excuse to delay the inevitable even longer.

It bothered him when she touched him sometimes, though her touch was gentle and Wei Ying deserved gentleness. It was perhaps because she had to perch herself on the edge of the bed in a parody of intimacy, in the same spot where Lan Wangji sat, where he reached out to touch Wei Ying, where he chose to sleep every night because he could not bear to be anywhere else.

“I’m not making any progress on my own. Meanwhile, we might have our own library of unusual cultivation techniques rotting somewhere in the Burial Mounds. Does it make sense to leave that resource to decay?”

Finally: she nodded. “I’ll show you.”

As much as Lan Wangji wanted this piece of Wei Ying, too, he didn’t dare take it. “I think he wouldn’t want me there,” Lan Wangji said. “I will respect his wishes as much as I can.” I’ve already disrespected so much.

“You just want me to,” she replied, angry.

“He would not begrudge you.”

She stood and dusted her palms against her trousers, lips pulling in a slight sneer, there and gone again. “I’ll let you know if I find something.” She rushed out so quickly that she forgot the tray she’d brought with her. Lan Wangji didn’t call her back for it.

Though Wen Qing was serious most of the time, Lan Wangji found himself surprised by just how somber she looked today. Wen Yuan’s lesson was just finishing and she waited until he rushed out to help with the endless chores—“See you, Qing-jie,” he called—before she stepped inside. She was hesitant, too, another unusual thing for her to be.

Lan Wangji rose from his seated position, greeted her soberly, and hoped he didn’t appear too eager for or fearful of what news she carried. “Wen Qing.”

She wouldn’t show her hands, keeping them tucked behind her back.

Her gaze drifted to Wei Ying’s body and a flash of anger lashed across her face before settling back into her original expression of distant distaste.

Lan Wangji was not used to being the one who had to press for someone to speak. He noted that her body trembled, perhaps with barely concealed rage. “Wen Qing?”

It was only then that she broke from her trance and looked back at Lan Wangji, unhappy.

When Wen Qing spoke, her voice was stormy. For all that her temper was short, it could rarely sustain her anger beyond a sharp word or two. This was unusual. “I think I found what you were looking for.”

Lan Wangji drew in a sharp, shallow breath and stepped forward. “Where is—”

She pressed a stack of papers into his hands, not so very different from the stack of pages he’d found among Wei Ying’s things when they’d met again in Cloud Recesses so long ago. They hadn’t been as carefully preserved, these pages, the edges worn and yellowing with age. Even from a cursory skim, they were scattered. The handwriting was frenzied.

That concerned him more than anything else. Wei Ying could be scattered and disorganized in his bearing and behavior, but his writings were usually where he put all of those thoughts and considerations into a more elegant form. If nothing else, they could still be followed. Following these trails of thoughts was like trying to follow the vagaries of a madman.

Lan Wangji read pain into each carelessly composed character, every ragged thought. Each page carried despair, despair Wei Ying had hidden from the rest of them.

From Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying hadn’t been mad, he’d been scared and hopeless and he’d dumped it all into paper and ink instead of the people who loved him. No wonder she was upset.

And then he began reading the notes in earnest and it didn’t truly matter that they were scattered and messy. The content itself spoke to the dark twist of Wei Ying’s thoughts.

As he rifled through them, he realized what he was seeing and what was probably specifically angering Wen Qing as well. Pages and pages were devoted to it. From what Lan Wangji could see, it was a body sacrificing spell of some sort and he’d gotten disastrously far on it. There were already sketches of complete arrays and some accessory talismans, explanations and the theoretical frameworks he was working from. Sources were even noted in some places, books even Lan Wangji hadn’t heard of, things he must have researched while in Qinghe since he couldn’t imagine Wei Wuxian as a boy poring over such things in Yunmeng when he could instead skinny dip in the lakes or chase his shidi and shimei around Lotus Pier and eat endless, fresh lotus seeds.

“This is meant to call a soul back to earth at the cost of one’s body,” he said. Confused, he rifled the pages, as though that would free an explanation from within them. “Why would he—”

You cannot abandon these people for me, Wei Ying had said. You have to protect this place. To Wei Ying, it had been imperative that he do this. At every and any cost, he had to. That was what Wei Ying had tried to coerce him into doing.

Of course Wei Ying would come up with a means to ensure he could do as he wished. With this, Lan Wangji couldn’t even give his life for Wei Ying without Wei Ying having the means to haul him back to life. Lan Wangji had never had a chance; Wei Ying hadn’t given one to him. All that talk before he’d died and he’d had this in the back of his mind. What was the point?

It was cruel.

His fist tightened around the pages. It took every bit of his composure to keep from holding them over the lit candle, depriving the world—and Wei Ying—of this work.

No wonder Wen Qing was furious.

Lan Wangji couldn’t accurately gauge his own feelings on the matter. There was fury, of course, and disappointment, and a deep well of resentment. That Wei Ying should have thought of this without ever asking Lan Wangji what he wanted, that he intended, perhaps, to do this when Lan Wangji could think of no hell greater, it was a betrayal.

It was not such a great stretch to figure out Wei Ying’s thinking. Lan Wangji’s body was fragile. Before his actions at Jinlintai, he had been a threat the world might have to deal with, making him a villain in name and deed. At the time, it had been possible to think someone would try to kill him one day. After Jinlintai, he could not imagine anyone would try. As long as they minded their own business, they anticipated that no one would come. So far, that thinking had held up.

Wei Ying should have told him the truth: I won’t let you die. It would have been more honest.

Wen Qing, mouth pinched and eyes glinting, said, “He’s a fool.”

Wei Ying was a genius. That was his problem.

On the other hand, this was a spell tailor-made to bring souls back and tie them to a body. Any body. They had one of those.

“Is there any possibility we can use this? His body is intact. We wouldn’t need to sacrifice anyone.”

“We don’t know the state of his soul.”

“This doesn’t specify that the soul must be intact.” If I were to die, it would likely be brutal. He would have considered every contingency.

“That doesn’t mean it can be in any state you want it to be just because,” Wen Qing points out, blunt if not actively cruel. She was never cruel. “A bodily sacrifice might be an important key.”

“Regardless, this seems designed to pull an entire soul into a body. If it is in pieces…” If he was that incompetent, he’ll never forgive himself. “This is intended to bring it back whole. I can tell that much. If it’s whole, then it should be even less of an issue.”

“Give it to me,” she said, tearing the pages from his hand, the pages crinkling ominously. She studied them fiercely, her expression darkening. “We can try.”

There weren’t many things to be done in the Burial Mounds that would stretch the intellect of a truly excellent physician. Other than looking at Wei Ying on occasion, there was little for her to do beyond tending to bumps, scrapes, and the occasional broken bone, something anyone with field expertise could accomplish. With the rest of her time, she trained others and occasionally complained about the lack of decent medical texts.

But this, this could be something that occupied her attention fully. He wondered if she even realized there was a small, very small, gleam in her eyes, perhaps in challenge.

“How would he even think of something like this?” she asked.

Lan Wangji knew the answer, knew that it was just how Wei Ying’s mind worked. He could make these odd leaps, come up with the most heinous ideas. Nobody but Lan Wangji was aware that it was Wei Ying who came up with the seal and Lan Wangji intended to keep it that way. Should anyone else attempt to take Wen Ruohan or Jin Guangshan’s place, he did not want Wei Ying to be made a target, a resource to be exploited for the sort of ideas that could turn the world on its head.

Heavens, what would someone like that do with Wei Ying if they knew what he dreamt up.

It was unfathomable.

Lan Wangji said nothing, treating it like the rhetorical question it was.

“I wish I had my old library. It would have been useful in a situation like this.”

“Your library was extensive, was it not?” he asked. Though he was aware she mourned these texts, she’d never said as much to him.

She rolled her eyes. “We will make do as we always have.” Looking away, she crossed her arms. “I’ve been writing some of my own. Just so those who are interested have something to study.” If Wei Ying were here, he’d have said something charming and supportive, something like in that case, you’ll have an even more superior library here in no time. Wei Ying was, as they’d established, not here and Lan Wangji was in no mood to see the bright side of things, not even in telling her that he found her resilience admirable. There was too much yet to do.

More and more of Lan Wangji’s time was taken up by Wen Qing, the pair of them scouring Wei Ying’s notes and sketching out alternatives and tweaks. In the hours they spent together, he learned the sort of intimate details about her life that, previous to this, he’d only known about Wei Ying, things like when she would begin flagging, in need of tea they didn’t have—Wen Qionglin had a canny ability to arrive at around those times, fresh water and whatever snacks he could find sat on a tray—and when her anger at Wei Ying would get the better of her—Wen Qionglin, again, knew somehow and would bring with him invented reasons for her to take a break.

It was strange to have his cave so often filled with sound again, the noise of Wen Qionglin bustling around, boots shuffling across the dirt, the dry shuffle of Wei Ying’s papers and the crackle of candles being endlessly lit, the small, thoughtful noises Wen Qing made when she was pondering something, her voice inevitably lifting with a, “Lan Wangji, what do you think about…?”

He did not know if he liked it when it made the rest of the time seem so much more silent in comparison, but it was what it was. He could not change it.

Wen Yuan, too, walked around the cave playing while Lan Wangji and Wen Qing consulted with one another. Like a little Wei Ying, he performed, and it made a lump rise in his throat every time he lifted his head to offer more a suggestion or correction as needed. It was not so very hard to imagine Wei Ying teaching Wen Yuan a jaunty melody to pass the hours.

Wen Yuan’s form was otherwise perfect. Lan Wangji did not dare scold him for wandering around like this, particularly when each note remained clear, if not yet fully crisp and pure.

It would get there.

When he’d wrung himself out performing for the Burial Mounds, he switched to more soothing songs, the graceful notes fading into the background. Once or twice, Wen Qionglin sat with him and taught him how to play tunes he knew, whistling the notes while Wen Yuan repeated them back. It should have been distracting. It was not.

Sometimes Wen Qing watched as well, the only break she allowed herself when Wen Qionglin hadn’t yet come to force one upon her.

“He can play for a lot longer than when he started,” she said once, looking at Lan Wangji in approval. “He’s very good.”

“He’s learning quickly. It has been good to teach him.”

“I’m glad. I was worried that he was… he’s so small, but he sees so much and he wants to help. When he asked me about it, I wasn’t sure if you’d agree. I wasn’t sure I wanted you to agree, though I tried to hide it.” She glanced down at the book in her hands, keeping her voice low. “We all know what Wei Wuxian is to you, but thank you for letting A-Yuan do what he can. He misses him, too, though I don’t think he knows how to articulate it.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been as attentive to him as I could be.” He stopped. “Or to the rest of you.”

“Though it’s hard for him, he’s young and resilient.” She smiled slightly. “The other adults understand. They’re able to contribute more. He’s just glad to do something, I think.”

“I’m glad for the help,” he said. It wasn’t so very much a lie to admit to it these days.

With Wei Ying’s intellectual spirit in their hands, he couldn’t help but feel he knew Wei Ying better and in ways he couldn’t have otherwise understood him, like he was speaking directly to him through the work he’d done. There was no artifice in these pages. Wei Ying hadn’t felt the need to equivocate or put up a brave front here. Though it was agonizing to analyze Wei Ying’s despair in this way, he was more determined than ever to ensure Wei Ying never felt this distraught again. This time, he would do things right For Wei Ying, he would be only a source of comfort, the way Wei Ying had always been one for him. They’d made so many mistakes with one another. For both of them, he would make fewer.

Though nothing yet had changed, Lan Wangji felt closer to him than he had in years, since the last time he’d held Wei Ying in his arms, every vulnerability on display as his last moments slipped through their fingers.

Wen Qing straightened her spine first, dropped her brush as she pushed herself up. As her vertebrae cracked, she winced. “I think this is it.” After weeks of work, they finally had a new array. He was glad Wen Qionglin and Wen Yuan weren’t here to see it. The pressure was already intense. If they were wrong, he didn’t want it to be for an audience. “Do you think we should test it first?”

“I don’t know how helpful it will be,” he said, “but it would be prudent, I suppose.” Wen Qing sometimes tested new remedies on what small game could be captured throughout the Burial Mounds. More and more animals made this place their home as time wore on, like they, too, felt the place was growing more habitable as time went on.

Wei Ying would have thrown himself into this with abandon, foregoing testing because he could trust his skills and instincts. Lan Wangji could not make the same gamble.

Wen Qing nodded and bit her lip, uncharacteristically hesitant. He understood; he’d felt the same way when she first told him that she wanted to wake him up. “What if we’re wrong?”

“What else can we do?” Lan Wangji would wait an eternity for Wei Ying if he thought Wei Ying would revive on his own, but he didn’t believe that was possible now. If they ever wanted him back—and Lan Wangji did, with a desperation that terrified him—they would have to take a chance at some point. They would have to do something.

“Let me test it tomorrow. If I don’t sense anything wrong with it, we can do it the day after.”

Only two days and Wei Ying might be returned to him. It was unfathomable. And yet it felt like he couldn’t wait another minute, that his body would be torn apart by the waiting. Seven years suddenly stretched like an eternity behind him. The two days Wen Qing had insisted on seemed even more impossible to weather.

Wen Qing gathered up their notes, lip bitten raw, and slipped from within the cave into the bright, midmorning sunlight. He wanted to stop her from taking them, hold them close to himself rather than let them out of his sight. It was a foolish and sentimental notion and he stifled it the way he’d stifled so much of himself in this life. From childhood on, he’d learned how to do that. It was harder to do now than it had ever been; he did not want to be stifled.

For lack of anything better to do, he resumed his place at his qin. This act was less familiar to him now that he’d had weeks with which to hand over a hint of the burden to Wen Yuan, weeks spent doing something else. So much of his attention had shifted to Wei Ying that this return to normalcy fit ill upon his shoulders. Until that burden had been lifted even for a few moments, he hadn’t realized how heavy it must have been the whole time.

Soon, it would not matter if it was a burden or not. As long as Wei Ying was returned to him, he would do whatever he needed to do to see this place safe. If the chains had to fall back into place like this, so be it. His role here was to subdue the Burial Mounds, to remind the world that there was one person who could and would protect these people against the rest of them. One day, the Burial Mounds might be fully cleansed of the resentment that clung to it, but he didn’t know if the same could be said of the rest of the cultivation world. That was fine. This was a price he could afford to pay.

Triumph stretched across Wen Qing’s mouth when she returned late the next day. Fresh hope, hope he hadn’t seen since before she’d revived Wei Ying’s body, sparkled in her eyes. She hadn’t ever, as far as Lan Wangji knew, looked this young or carefree, wild with elation. Latent hope sprang to life within Lan Wangji, a dangerous proposition at the best of times, now made even worse because it was for Wei Ying.

He could not bear too much hope when it came to him.

“It worked. Well, I think it worked. I was able to trap a—well, the creature’s spirit anyway. And I created the array and it came back.” Before Lan Wangji could question her further, she was already speaking again, as though in anticipation of his question. “I couldn’t tell if there were any changes in its behavior. I let it go and it seemed fine. I’m not an expert, but I think this is as good as we’re going to get. Lan Wangji, we might actually manage…”

She shook her head, huffing impatiently. A streak of dirt marred her cheek. It was the first time he’d seen any such thing from her, even when she’d spent all day helping tilling or planting the fields. Her appearance was always meticulous.

“I don’t want to wait,” she said. “Do you?”

A spike of fear drove itself through him, but only one, and only for a moment. No, no, not at all. There could be no more waiting for Wei Ying.

“Let’s do this now.”

The preparations, he felt, should have taken longer once they were done. The array was complicated, of course, but drawing it across the floor took almost no time at all for something as big as this, as world altering. Wen Qing led the way, more practiced than Lan Wangji. How many times had she drawn it since yesterday?

Lan Wangji experienced one more moment’s hesitation when he worked his arm under Wei Ying’s knees and around his shoulders. His body was every bit as muscled, as solid, as it had been when he’d… when this had happened. What would they tell him when he awoke? How would he explain himself? Was such a thing even possible?

These questions were selfish and he chided himself fiercely as he picked Wei Ying up and brought him over, careful to avoid destroying any of the array’s lines.

He knelt and so very gently laid Wei Ying on his side, legs tucked up. When he was satisfied with Wei Ying’s placement, he drew his thumb once down Wei Ying’s temple, brushed his cheek with the barest caress, and retreated.

Wen Qing watched, wringing her hands in an anxious way that he’d never seen before, her earlier elation lost to the reality that this was it. If Wei Ying did not recover by this method, he didn’t know what they’d do next.

“It will be fine,” he said, feigning certainty, “or we will find another solution.” He stood and stepped back, nodded at her. They were as ready as they were ever going to be. “Show me what to do.”

“I should be the one to do it.”

“What if it goes wrong?”

“As you said, we’ll find another solution. I will do it. It’s my responsibility.”

He did not want to turn this, too, over to Wen Qing, but it was beyond selfish to take it from her. She was the one who’d practiced the spell. She was the one who remained a proper cultivator.

She crouched at the edge of the array. Her fingers pressed only lightly to the edges of it to ensure it wasn’t broken by her touch. The entire time, she was somber as she spilled energy into the array.

She did not often use her spiritual powers so openly, so it was a little bit strange seeing the pale glow as she activated the array. Lan Wangji watched on eagerly, waiting for any sign of life from Wei Ying. Every flicker of light against his skin seemed like the twitch of a muscle and Lan Wangji couldn’t help but react to it as such. Wind stirred the talismans they’d meticulously hung overhead. This, too, seemed like augury.

Wei Ying looked so small, curled within the wide circle of the array.

The array was fully lit within one beat of his heart and a next and still nothing happened, nothing more than tricks of made of shadow and wishes. Another beat passed and a fourth. Beat after beat passed. Nothing. Nothing and Lan Wangji’s hope began to shrivel in his chest. Nothing, and it curled itself away before it could cause him too much harm. Nothing, and it felt a little bit like he was dying, like he couldn’t catch his breath, like he’d never be truly alive again, and then—

And then: a gasp, a twitch, an upward jerk, a twist, inhuman and knifelike. Bodies shouldn’t move like that.

Lan Wangji’s heart pounded against his sternum, hard, fast, threatening to punch through his chest.

From Wei Ying’s disused throat: a horrifying, unnatural scream.

His body flipped, preternaturally uncoordinated as his fingers, clawing at the dirt until his nails began to tear away. Bloody streaks scored the ground around him. If he was aware, it was the awareness of a mindless animal caught in a trap.

And always that scream, gasping, choking, vile, only stopping long enough for him to draw in a breath before it started again.

There was so much pain in it that it left Lan Wangji’s blood cold as ice. He didn’t notice he’d stepped forward until Wen Qing was getting in his way, eyes liquid bright. “Don’t—”

Tears streamed down Wei Ying’s face, squeezed out through closed eyes below a deeply furrowed brow. Wen Qing appeared as horrified as Lan Wangji felt, but still she held fast to him, and it was only her sharply shouted response that stopped him from crossing the border of the array. Wei Ying had already made a complete mess of it. Lan Wangji couldn’t harm it further. He needed to be there, needed to do something to stop Wei Ying from hurting himself even more. He could not bear to see Wei Ying crying out like this.

Until this moment, he did not know there could be anything worse than Wei Ying’s stillness.

Blood spilled from his mouth and his cries grew muffled, swollen and wet, as though he’d bitten the inside of his mouth somewhere, cheek, tongue, lip. Lan Wangji couldn’t tell through the red smearing across his face, the red running down his chin and neck.

“Wen Qing!”

“It wasn’t like this.” Even at her most fearful, he’d never heard such panic as filled her voice now. But her connection to the array remained strong. Her powers didn’t waver in the slightest. “I would have known. Lan Wangji, it wasn’t, I promise.”

Wei Ying had finally screamed himself hoarse, reduced only to ugly whimpers. A few of the children had begun rushing toward the cave entrance, no doubt drawn by the noise, only to be grabbed by someone older, held behind legs or against chests as they, too, froze at the display. Lan Wangji moved to block their view of Wei Ying.

“Go! Leave now! Make sure Wen Yuan—”

They obeyed immediately, shaken from their trances by the sharp fall of Lan Wangji’s voice. Lan Wangji didn’t have the time or gratitude to be happy that they moved so quickly.

The whimpers faded away to nothing until Wei Ying was only gasping harshly, his forehead pressed against the ground, knees tucked beneath him, spine curved sharply. His back rose and fell in great heaves.

He couldn’t wait any longer. The boundary of the array was broken already anyway. Whatever good it might have done to not cross its boundaries was pointless now.

Falling to his knees before Wei Ying, he pressed his hand lightly against his shoulder, started to pull him into his lap. “Wei Ying! Wei Ying, please…”

Wei Ying struggled weakly beneath Lan Wangji’s touch, body shaking so violently that Lan Wangji worried he would break something. Bestial choking noises fell from his mouth. Every stroke of Lan Wangji’s hand seemed to land like a blow until Lan Wangji stopped. Only then did Wei Ying settle, if it could even be called settling.

Lan Wangji wouldn’t let Wei Ying suffer this way. “Wen Qing, did you bring your acupuncture needles?”

Wen Qing finally put an end to her attempt to hold the array together. The flickering lights of it failed until the only illumination in the cave was the sunlight filtering in, brutally bright. Wei Ying slumped forward against Lan Wangji’s thighs, stopped making noise at all, an entirely new and terrifying aspect of this whole thing. His fingers dug into the meat of Lan Wangji’s flank, deep enough to leave bruises.

She tugged a leather pouch free from her belt. With unsteady hands, she retrieved a few of the needles.

Voice hoarse, eyes stinging, Lan Wangji said, “Wen Qing, please.”

It took her three attempts to finally knock him out entirely. The first two times, he bucked as the needles sunk into his shoulder. The third required Lan Wangji holding him down, brutally pinning him to the dirt. When he was finally unconscious, his hold on Lan Wangji relaxing, Lan Wangji turned him over and brushed his thumb across Wei Ying’s dirt-stained face, eyes swollen from crying, lips so chewed and bitten that they still bled sluggishly.

But he was breathing, harsh though it was, and his pulse jumped when Lan Wangji pressed his fingers to his wrist, erratic though it was, and his skin was warm and flush, feverish though it was.

Wen Qing’s hands pressed against various points on his body, thin streams of spiritual energy twining around her fingertips. Without Wei Ying’s agonized wails to distract her, Wen Qing finally composed herself, studied him carefully while Lan Wangji, still stunned, held onto him. “His golden core seems to be adjusting.”

“Is that why…?”

Wen Qing shrugged. “I don’t know. I honestly… I wasn’t expecting any of that. Pain, sure, but…”

But there was pain and there was what Wei Ying was experiencing; the two things were completely different.

Lan Wangji took the opportunity to hold Wei Ying close, not clinging tightly to him as he so wished to, but close enough that he could press his nose into the crown of Wei Ying’s head, kiss at the soft, silken strands of his hair. Pungent, fear-soaked sweat clung to his scalp, but Lan Wangji paid it no mind. Lan Wangji will wash his hair later. “I’m going to get him more comfortable.”

Wen Qing nodded distantly, as though uncertain what her next step should be. “I’ll clean this up. I’ll come up with something for his throat. And for the pain when he wakes up.”

She moved efficiently and Lan Wangji was infinitely grateful to her for that. With her taking on these responsibilities, Lan Wangji was able to place Wei Ying back into bed, forget for a moment every duty of his except to Wei Ying. From years of practice, it wasn’t so difficult to strip Wei Ying down, wash his skin with a cloth and some water, dress him again in a fresh, loose-fitting old robe, the softest thing he owned. Because of the fever, he left the bowl of water and a few cloths on the bed stand just in case. After, he felt compelled to climb into the bed himself, pulling Wei Ying close so that he could feel the rise and fall of Wei Ying’s back pressed against his chest. Distantly, Wen Qing said she’d return with something for his throat and the pain. He barely acknowledged her.

He hoped that wherever Wei Ying has gone as a result of Wen Qing’s needles, he couldn’t feel whatever drove him to such agony in the first place. All he wanted was for Wei Ying to rest easily.

His hope was not meant to be.

Wei Ying began fussing only an hour later. His hands clenched and scratched at Lan Wangji’s body. What started as pained whimpers became groans, as close to screams as he could manage with his ravaged throat. With the greatest reluctance, Lan Wangji let go and didn’t touch him further. That only seemed to make it worse, the touching.

He allowed Wei Ying to rip and shred and tear at his clothing, his chest, his neck, the bedding beneath them both, let him do whatever he wanted until—

“Lan Wangji!” Wen Qing nearly shouted. At the sudden noise, Wei Ying flinched, but didn’t still. Porcelain shattered against the floor, a pot of Wen Qing’s medication, precious, going to waste as it soaked into the dirt at her feet.

She rushed to the bed, needles already between her fingers. This time, she was prepared for the resistance Wei Ying showed. He slid more easily into unconsciousness this time, a small mercy.

“How quickly did he…?” she asked.

He answered all of her questions and carefully extricated himself from beneath Wei Ying’s slumped form. As much as he wanted to stay, would have suffered any wound to remain, he didn’t think it was for the best that he do so. Without Lan Wangji to cling to, Wei Ying crumpled into the thin mat, unmoving except for those small, panicked breaths.

Wen Qing took in the state of him with no small degree of trepidation and anger, focusing especially on his neck. It was only when he looked down that he realized a few of Wei Ying’s scratches had broken skin. “Why didn’t you call for me sooner?”

He affected a placid dignity he could not truly feel, not when guilt and fear flooded his body in a torrent. “I did not wish to leave his embrace.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “I believe I’ve hurt him.”

She moved closer to the bed and peered down at him, handing the tray of medicines to Lan Wangji. Her fingers touched Wei Ying lightly. When she peeled aside his robe, she shook her head. The wound in his side oozed blood.

This time, he twitched, the needles barely working to anesthetize him into rest. “I wish I had my library,” she said, absently, brushing at the wild tangle of Wei Ying’s hair. “I don’t know how to make this easier for you.”

Wen Qing was not speaking to him, but he approached anyway. “What happened?”

“How in heaven’s name can I know?” she snapped. Then, sighing, “I… I really can’t guess. I suppose the reintegration of his spirit with his body after being separated so long could explain it.” She spoke in a droning, balanced tone, as though that would save her from the fear she couldn’t quite smother in her eyes. “Does it matter? This is what we have to deal with. I can’t go out there and ask one of the physicians from the other great sects, can I? My only goal right now is to keep him comfortable. The rest will work itself out.” Her voice grew so sharp that Lan Wangji had no doubt she intended to ensure it would work out.

“What about Lotus Pier? Might one of their healers be able to assist?” He could petition Madam Yu for help. She might even give it to him. She would probably demand he be brought back and he didn’t know if he could allow that, but if it was for the sake of Wei Ying’s care…

“Do you really think Wei Ying would want to embroil Yunmeng in this? We’re barely tolerated as is. If we go to them and they accept our request for aid… it would show them and the rest of the world that we’re too weak to take care of our own. We’ve spent seven years doing the opposite to ensure nobody ever has cause to trouble us.”

“Wei Ying is beloved in both Yunmeng and Qinghe. Jin-zongzhu would be obligated by marriage to tolerate him. It might not be the risk it would be for the rest of us.” For me.

“And what would the Lan Sect do?”

Nothing, he hoped. His brother wouldn’t strike out at them. The Lan Sect wasn’t one to land the first blow in any conflict. This, he truly believed, but he remembered, too, the lengths to which his uncle had been willing to go to, the way his brother wouldn’t intercede on his behalf. And that was before the massacre at Lanling. Who knew, when it came down to it, what they would do?

Lan Wangji conceded with a tilt of his head. They had no allies in this world. That was fine. “I will remain with him. Whatever needs to be done, I will do it.” As though this hadn’t been the case all along and gotten them nowhere.

“We’ll acclimate him slowly,” Wen Qing said after a moment’s consideration, “and keep him sedated until he shows fewer signs of pain. Perhaps he just needs time to adjust.”

It made sense; Lan Wangji hated it anyway, hated the thought of Wen Qing being forced to anesthetize him over and over and over again.

Once she finished, she insisted on cleaning the wounds he’d left on Lan Wangji’s neck. They didn’t speak again to one another. There wasn’t much left to say.

“I’ll return with more medicine,” she said when she was done.

When he looked over at Wei Ying again, he was startled by the rise and fall of his chest. He’d already forgotten that they’d managed to bring him back.

When he could put it off no longer—he much preferred sitting near Wei Ying, watching each inhalation of his chest, hand hovering just above his sternum, not touching, not touching—he retreated to the part of the cave where his qin sat, waiting. Today, he didn’t want to play, but it was required.

He played for several minutes before realizing it didn’t sound quite right. He stopped, raised his head. It was a whimpering sound that accompanied him and it was coming from Wei Ying. Thanks to Wen Qing’s intervention, he couldn’t move and wouldn’t wake up, but a tear slipped down his cheek. After a few moments of silence, he settled again. The tear’s track dried.

So even sound caused him pain.

As quietly as possible, he moved his qin outside. The bright sunlight burned down on him, making him squint against it. Before today, he might have been proud of what he saw as he scanned the landscape before him. After so much time spent manipulating and putting to rest the resentful energies that had choked the life out of this place, it was truly transformed. Crops grew more easily now and there were fewer instances of disturbances requiring his interference. The dry, dead trees had begun to fill with new life, verdant. It was not yet what it could be, but eventually… eventually it might be beautiful.

It was becoming a place that might one day be as restful as Cloud Recesses. Not in the same way, no, but just as healing. Lan Wangji would like to live in a place that was restful, healing. He thought Wei Ying would perhaps like that, too.

For the first time in seven years, he could truly see a path forward that might be allowed to have such a thing. There were worse outcomes than being trapped behind the tall, white walls that kept the rest of the world at bay.

More than that, he wanted to live in a place where he could share what remained of his life with Wei Ying. That, he thought, was the damning thing he should have told Wei Ying so long ago. It was not enough that Lan Wangji could not do this without him. That wasn’t a good inducement when Wei Ying had probably known he’d muddle through regardless. In fact, they both had proof now that Lan Wangji could go on without him. But living well? Without Wei Ying? That was impossible. That was the truly humble wish that had lived in his heart this whole time. It was not enough that they merely survived from day to day, harboring secrets, large and small, that drove them apart. There was nothing now, he didn’t think, that they would need to keep from one another. That part of their life together could be done.

His chest constricted as he played and his eyes stung, hot and full of tears he would not shed. This was… this was a good day, though it didn’t seem like it. Today. A step forward. Wei Ying breathed. His heart beat. That was more than could be said of yesterday and the thousands of days that were now behind them.

And so, when Wei Ying was well, he would make a selfish request of Wei Ying: live well with me. Not just because Lan Wangji could not do this without him, no, but because it was the dearest wish of his heart just to see Wei Ying happy with him. He’d successfully given his life to this cause, he would argue if he had to. There was no need for such things any longer. Live well with me.

What could Wei Ying say against such a humble, truthful wish as that?

Lan Wangji wrapped his hand carefully around Wei Ying’s shoulders and slid in behind him. With practice, he’d learned this was the easiest way to administer the medicines Wen Qing brought. As long as he did this while Wei Ying at his most deeply sedated, he didn’t even flinch while Lan Wangji tipped his head back, pouring concoction after concoction down his throat, day after day after day. For all the good it did, he fed Wei Ying various nutritious broths at the same time. Where before, he never appeared to deteriorate, now he seemed to wither the moment Lan Wangji looked away from him, weaker with every shuddering inhalation and exhalation he took.

Blood pulsed through his veins. His skin was warm to the touch. He was alive by any metric that mattered and still he withered, diminished from what he had been, growing thin and sallow. Today, he looked particularly wan, eyes bruised and cheeks prominent.

“Wei Ying,” he said quietly, hesitant to slip out from beneath Wei Ying, but not wishing to cause him further discomfort either. “Come back to me.” No matter his desires, he removed himself, cradled the back of Wei Ying’s head as he returned him to a supine position, pillow tucked under his neck. Though the weather was cool enough to warrant blankets, he didn’t cover Wei Ying’s body with one. Whenever he tried, they wound up twisted in Wei Ying’s hands, the fabric ripped as awareness returned to him. It was an especially good thing today: when the anesthetizing effects of Wen Qing’s sedatives and needles faded, he cringed and cried in his sleep, as though his body was a torture chamber and not the natural vessel in which his spirit, his soul, his intellect should be housed. It would not have wanted the touch of fabric against it.

Caring for Wei Ying like this was habitual, inevitable, brought to the surface other old tenets from the life he lived before. He woke at five to check on Wei Ying, unwilling to wait any longer when Wei Ying might be suffering and the medicines were no more efficacious throughout the night than they were the rest of the time. He performed his duties to the Burial Mounds while Wei Ying was still at his least cognizant. If Lan Wangji timed it correctly, he never heard or reacted. Sometimes, he slipped into old, healing songs, songs from home, songs that were useless without the flow of spiritual energy to guide them, but songs that comforted him and—hopefully—provided comfort to Wei Ying in turn, somewhere within him. Sometimes, on the days when he felt most defeated, he didn’t, choosing to carry his qin outside instead so he could prove to himself that he could do one thing that was for Wei Ying and not himself.

Though it was lonelier that way, he felt righteous for doing it. As defeated as he was on those days, he felt the most like himself then, too, like the sort of person he wanted to be, someone who wouldn’t do this to the love of his life.

More months passed and even his days in Cloud Recesses weren’t as structured as they were becoming. With every dose of medicine, every blandly nutritious meal, every hour that passed in which Wei Ying did not wake up unburdened by pain. When Lan Wangji wasn’t vigilant, his fears gained footholds in his heart. If he was not careful, they would turn into the sort of resentments that would haunt him. The target varied from day to day: himself, for allowing Wei Ying to choose him, Wen Qing, for not fixing this sooner, Wen Qionglin sometimes because his presence was always gentler than Lan Wangji’s, Jin Zixun, for not suffering enough before he died, Jin Zixuan, for interfering where no interference could be allowed, the entirety of the Wen remnant for forcing Wei Ying into the shackles of this place, Gu Yahui for alerting them to begin with. Sometimes his brother and uncle and the elders of the Lan Sect became targets, cowards that they’d been, for dithering so long in deciding to punish him so long ago. If they had, none of this could have happened. Even toward Wei Ying he harbored grievances. If he hadn’t treated Lan Wangji with so much care, if he had let Lan Wangji die in that field so long ago, Wei Ying could still happily be the head disciple of the Jiang Sect, as he should have been.

Before, he hadn’t known how many such grievances he could carry within him. Now, he knew they were infinite.

For Wei Ying, he became the rigid ascetic again. It was not so very different from what came before. Wen Yuan’s lessons slowed, the one bright part of his day, and then stopped. There was not time enough to teach and suppress the resentful energies that lingered and tend to Wei Ying.

Enough time passed that he forgot he ever took joy from his days, that he experienced all the highs and lows that were rewarded to all people simply by dint of being born, that his life wasn’t endless fear and guilt and worry for Wei Ying.

These days, the time they’d spent traveling together was like an impossible dream. His youth, even longer ago, freer and encumbered only by childish dramas, was something he no longer recognized. In those days, he would have never believed there was a stricter place in the world than Cloud Recesses.

He hated that he could now fully understand the severity of his father’s actions and hated even more that his father would be more likely than anyone else in his family to understand his actions.

A rustling sound came from the bed and Lan Wangji almost ignored it. It was not, after all, so very different from the noises Wei Ying sometimes made from the drugged, stuporous depths of sleep. He’d learned long ago not to get his hopes up and tried to ignore it the way he’d ignored Wei Ying’s stillness. But guilt got the better of him, so he lifted his head from where he was examining his qin at the low table in the center of the room. It would need to be restrung soon, the wood conditioned properly. Wen Qionglin sometimes went into Yiling. Out of everyone who took the risk of stepping outside the Burial Mounds’s walls, he left behind only the sort of impressions any blandly polite young man might leave. Perhaps Lan Wangji might presume upon…

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying was staring back at him, eyes wide with panic and pain, his breathing harsh. They hadn’t—it was too early for Wen Qing to come back; he shouldn’t have woken yet. Or at all. Even on those few occasions when they’d cut it too close, Wen Qing forced to deal with an emergency elsewhere in their settlement, he’d never awakened so fully before. And despite the wide wildness of his gaze, there was cognizance, too.

Twisted onto his side facing Lan Wangji, his arms wrapped around himself, he was aware.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji nearly pushed his qin off the table in his haste to rise to his feet. “Wei Ying, don’t try to speak.”

Wen Qing had never said his throat was permanently damaged, but throughout this ordeal he yelled reflexively, tormented in ways Lan Wangji couldn’t begin to fathom. He hadn’t been able to give it time to heal properly. If he could finally control himself, Lan Wangji would prefer he do so.

Wei Ying trembled, but did as Lan Wangji asked. Maybe he simply couldn’t do otherwise. He flinched at the sound of Lan Wangji’s voice, too loud in this silent space, and the abruptness of Lan Wangji’s approach.

“Are you in pain now?” he asked, a stupid question and the chances of Wei Ying answering honestly were slim, but he needed to start somewhere.

Except Wei Ying didn’t answer at all. He seemed frozen as tears dripped into the pillow, traced delicately over the bridge of his nose and down his cheek.

“I need to get Wen Qing.” His mind only worked sluggishly, thoughts too occupied with the shock of seeing Wei Ying awake.

More tears spilled from his eyes, clumping his eyelashes together with their bitter wetness.

“It will only be a moment,” he insisted, guilt lashing him again and again as Wei Ying made a tiny noise of protest. His head jerked in what could, if one was being generous, have been called a nod. Lan Wangji knew it wasn’t; he couldn’t not retrieve her, not in these circumstances.

By the time he returned, Wen Qing in tow, Wei Ying was already preternaturally still again and for a moment… for a moment he feared—

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing called, more gentle with him than she’d ever been. Her thumb skimmed his cheek and he flinched awake. “I’m going to do something that will help with the pain.”

Wei Ying turned his face into the pillow, whimpering, but he wouldn’t have been able to stop Wen Qing even if he wanted to. Going still, he waited, shaking nearly apart as Wen Qing selected the needle she was looking for. Lan Wangji wished there was some comfort he could offer, but everything he was able to give, the touch of his hand nor the steadying sound of his qin, seemed to make it worse.

“He’s sensitive to noise and touch,” he said, mostly to himself.

As Wen Qing’s chosen needle sank into the back of Wei Ying’s neck, he slumped against the bed, let out a low groan.

She pressed her hand to his wrist, eyes closed as she examined him. When she was done, she said, “I’m going to adjust the medications we give to him. I think… I think he’s getting better.”

“He doesn’t seem improved.”

“He’s aware and not shouting himself hoarse, isn’t he? That’s better than any of the other times he’s woken up. I’m calling it an improvement.” She took his wrist beneath her fingers and furrowed her brow.

Perhaps she was right. The way he’d been, that wasn’t the sort of awake he ever wanted to see Wei Ying be again, a trap-caught, inhuman kind of awake. This was different, even if not different enough for Lan Wangji’s taste.

“He’s improving,” Wen Qing insisted.

Lan Wangji didn’t have the right to argue with her. He could only stand back and watch and hope even though he didn’t know how to believe Wei Ying was getting better.

Lan Wangji awoke to the gentle press of fingers around his wrist, hand caught under a trembling touch. Awareness returned to him through the shadowed haze of his dream. The details were already fading, leaving room for the realization that—

He startled, flinched. In the dark, from the other side of the bed, there came a sharp gasp. The brush of fingers fell away with a thud against the thin quilt with which Lan Wangji had covered them both.

Heart slamming against his ribcage, Lan Wangji blinked and shifted away, eyes adjusting. Only a small amount of moonlight filtered in through the mouth of the cave, but just from that, Lan Wangji could see the glint of pain in Wei Ying’s eyes, a glint he had caused.

Would he ever see anything else? That was the question Lan Wangji always asked himself when Wei Ying awoke. Guilt and fear battled within him, for having caused this, for feeling like he didn’t have a choice, for not knowing what to do.

“Night…mare?” Wei Ying asked, the first word he’d spoken in over seven years, a useless, awful word. Had Lan Wangji been having a nightmare? It was entirely possible. It wasn’t anything Wei Ying needed to worry about in his current condition.

“Don’t speak,” Lan Wangji snapped, embarrassed as he tried to climb to his feet. He would need to alert Wen Qing. He needed to find medicine. He needed—

“No.” Barely a rasp, but as assertive as Wei Ying could be, as stubborn. It stilled him, half raised from the bed, with more power than anything else could have. “Stay.”

“You need help.” He wanted to stay.

Wei Ying only sighed in disgust, as much an answer as words would have been. He remained, because he didn’t know what else to do, couldn’t pull Wei Ying close as he wanted to, couldn’t fix this, couldn’t even convince himself to do the better thing for Wei Ying when he asked for the opposite. Though Wei Ying tried to muffle himself, each agonized noise made itself known as he shifted close and then closer, until he was pressed against Lan Wangji’s chest and side. Even their ankles tangled by the time he stilled. Though Wei Ying bit down on his sobs of pain and his body shook, he remained resolutely there. “Stay.”

Lan Wangji should have said no. He could not. He feared to speak, knowing that sound disturbed Wei Ying. That was justification enough to avoid denying Wei Ying.

Though it was hours yet until morning, Lan Wangji was certain neither of them slept. Morning arrived anyway, as morning was wont to do.

At some point, he must have drifted, because Wei Ying was no longer pressed against him and instead had curled in the other direction, away from Lan Wangji. Perhaps last night had merely been his own imaginings at play and Wei Ying hadn’t spoken at all, hadn’t scooted close by infinitely painful degrees.

“Wei Ying,” he whispered, curving close without daring to touch. He didn’t want to wake him if he was asleep, but he couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning him after last night either. Though Wei Ying tried to hide it, he could not fully mask the high-pitched groan of pain as he shuddered and turned his head, almost nose to nose with Lan Wangji as he twisted to look up. He didn’t blink the tears from his eyes quickly enough to keep one from sliding down his cheek, and he was too slow to brush it away, though he tried. Though he’d thought he’d grown used to seeing Wei Ying’s frustration expressed in this way, they still startled him. The Wei Ying he knew didn’t cry over things like this. He barely cried at all.

“Wei Ying, I…” How could he apologize enough for this? For everything that had happened? He barely suppressed a shiver. Through it all, he still craved the feel of Wei Ying’s skin, warm, against his own.

Maybe because it was still difficult for him to speak, he groped instead for Lan Wangji’s hand, squeezing. Lan Wangji, fearful, worked it free, and held Wei Ying’s more gently instead, lacing their fingers together carefully before letting go entirely.

“Wei Ying,” he said, urgent. “You need to rest.” Letting me hold you isn’t restful. I feel your pain the whole time. You can’t give this to me. Don’t let me take it.

Wei Ying opened his mouth, but no sound came out. When he reached again for Lan Wangji’s hand, Lan Wangji didn’t stop him. With shaking fingers, he drew the character for please into Lan Wangji’s palm. Lan Wangji didn’t answer right away and Wei Ying tapped two of his fingers against Lan Wangji’s skin, a plea.

“It hurts you,” Lan Wangji said, not to be cruel, but to explain.

Wei Ying shook his head, earnest, lying even without words. Incredible. It almost convinced Lan Wangji anyway. Which was even more incredible. Or perhaps unforgiveable.

“There are things I must do,” he replied. “Please rest. Once I’m done, I’ll…” But what would he do? Give in?

Yes.

“Allow me to retrieve Wen Qing so she can examine you. Then I will…”

Wei Ying’s expression shuttered, blanked out entirely. Though he wouldn’t meet Lan Wangji’s eyes, he nodded. Because Lan Wangji was a coward, he retreated before he had to look at Wei Ying again and crumble.

Wen Qing came. As Lan Wangji stroked the back of his hand, he quietly capitulated, taking the medications that made him fall into a drugged sleep without complaint. Once he was unconscious, Lan Wangji dared ask, “Should I…” How was he to say this? “Should I give him what he wants?”

Wen Qing’s eyebrow arched. Her fingers twitched in a go on gesture. “What does he want?”

Why was it so hard to admit to? It wasn’t as though it was a secret, what they were to one another. It wasn’t even salacious, what Wei Ying kept asking for. “For me to touch him. Even though it causes him pain.”

Wen Qing’s gaze never softened. Tugging at the edge of the blanket, she pulled it higher up Wei Ying’s chest. “He’s aware enough now to ask for things. Why not encourage that?”

“But—”

“Everything hurts him right now. If one of those hurts is something he actually wants… I don’t see the harm. He needs to acclimate himself to the world anyway. There are worse ways.”

Lan Wangji saw plenty of harm, but having something like permission made it easier. Completing his duties as quickly as possible, he returned to Wei Ying’s side before he woke again. He slipped into the bed and pulled Wei Ying close, nudging Wei Ying onto his uninjured side so he could wrap his arm around the back of Wei Ying’s neck and bring his head to rest against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Like this he waited, knowing that Wei Ying would likely rouse soon anyway.

No matter how much Lan Wangji willed his heartbeat to calm, it wouldn’t stop pounding hard and fast against his sternum.

A shudder and a gusting gasp were the only warnings Lan Wangji received before Wei Ying’s eyes flew open again. His hand tightened into a fist that caught in Lan Wangji’s robes. Unending minutes later, he relaxed all at once. Thank you, he drew against Lan Wangji’s chest. Stay.

Just doing that much seemed to take all of his energy, hand splaying loosely once the last stroke was accomplished.

“I won’t go,” Lan Wangji promised, “but please rest.”

Wei Ying could only sigh in response, slumping heavily against Lan Wangji. He traced a few more characters into Lan Wangji’s skin, torturously slow: don’t want.

This went on for days, a week, then two: Wei Ying too weak to do more than make the most concise of requests, most of which involved imploring Lan Wangji to remain with him, such a simple desire at the root of it that Lan Wangji couldn’t help but bend and bend again until his qualms snapped and Wei Ying no longer had to ask. He learned to complete his tasks in the rare hours that Wei Ying remained unconscious, slipping away only once Wei Ying had taken the medications Wen Qing brought, falling into deep slumbers that didn’t appear to be truly restful, but were the best he could get. His mind seemed to rebel against it, like it didn’t want to be put into the depths of sleep ever again and was willing to fight his better interests for that right.

Lan Wangji woke to find Wei Ying staring down at him. Though his pain seemed to age him—skin sallow and dry, eyes bloodshot, lines around his mouth deeper than before—his gaze was clearer than it had been since before… since before.

Lan Wangji already knew the steps to this particular conversation. Don’t go, Wei Ying didn’t have to struggle to communicate any longer. It was obvious. And yet, there was something different about today—whatever part of the day it was. Time lost its meaning here. It was before dawn, light not yet spilling across the Burial Mounds, making it more difficult to read the particulars of Wei Ying’s expression. That was all Lan Wangji could say.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” he asked. In the silence of the cave, his voice sounded too loud to his ears.

Though Wei Ying winced, he shook his head and tugged on Lan Wangji’s hand. His body trembled as it always did when he hadn’t had his medication in a while. Even so, Wei Ying pulled himself toward Lan Wangji and pressed himself against Lan Wangji’s side.

“I’m going to move to make us more comfortable. I’m sorry if I hurt you,” Lan Wangji said, maneuvering to better accommodate Wei Ying.

When I hurt you, he should have said. Every time he touched Wei Ying, it hurt him.

But Wei Ying took the jostling in stride, biting his lip to keep from making any noise as Lan Wangji repositioned them. Though regret sprouted in his heart, took root throughout his lungs and squeezed, he still gloried in the weight of Wei Ying against him. Shivers wracked Wei Ying’s body for the trouble, his breath coming out in great, panting sighs that only evened out when Lan Wangji was done. If he was a stronger person, he would have told Wei Ying no.

He was not. Ever since he lost his core, Wei Ying had been his strength and losing him had torn all his illusions away. Who and what he was had shaped itself entirely around Wei Ying’s absence. Of course he could now cause Wei Ying pain. He always had before.

“Wei Ying, I…”

He owed Wei Ying so many explanations.

“I’m sorry.”

They were useless words to go along with how useless Lan Wangji felt. Wei Ying made a sound. Perhaps it was meant to be consoling. His hand tightened around Lan Wangji’s in a squeeze that had no power behind it.

They would have to work on getting Wei Ying’s strength back up. Then… then he could confess everything, every vile thought and thing he’d done.

“You’re probably wondering how long it’s been?”

A slight shake of Wei Ying’s head, little more than a brush of his cheek against Lan Wangji’s chest. He’d grown used to this somewhere along the way. It pierced him as deeply, the way Wei Ying’s world had collapsed down to this bed, their bodies pressed. Already they were scarring over, these puncture wounds. They didn’t hurt so much anymore. It was just the way things were.

This wasn’t the Wei Ying he knew, this clinging creature, but still Wen Qing insisted.

He owed Wei Ying the whole truth, especially since he’d opened the conversation up in this way. One step at a time, one admission at a time.

“Seven years,” Lan Wangji said, as though it was an easy admission. “More than that now.”

Wei Ying hesitated, shaking his head again slightly before nodding. His fingers traced the shape of the characters for no matter, etched them into Lan Wangji’s heart. In the weeks since he’d begun to communicate in this manner, Lan Wangji had begun to learn how to read between each character for the truth. No matter could mean so many things. Devoid of context, Lan Wangji could apply any one of them to it. Absolution could be found if he wanted to read it there.

“What does that mean?”

Wei Ying huffed, made a choking sound. “I know,” he rasped. His throat, like the rest of him, was healing slowly—if, Lan Wangji worried, it was healing at all.

Lan Wangji’s heart hammered. “You know?” Then, horrified, “You were aware?”

He drew more characters. Complicated. A second time, no matter.

“Do you remember waking up?”

More hesitation, the truth in the absence of a swift answer. Startled, Lan Wangji exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry.”

Wei Ying tapped Lan Wangji’s chest, as though to underline that it didn’t matter.

Wei Ying scraped out a question against Lan Wangji’s chest, each character taking more and more out of him. It took all of Lan Wangji’s attention to follow each stroke.

Are you alright?

Lan Wangji choked on the reflexive answer. Yes, of course he was alright. Wei Ying was here, so he had to be alright. But the words wouldn’t form. How could he be alright under these circumstances?

He was too fearful to ask Wei Ying’s thoughts, not when communicating was so difficult, not when the wound of Wei Ying’s return was so fresh, not when he didn’t want to know at all.

Seven years and Wei Ying had known. Wherever he’d been, he’d been aware of the long passage of time.

“I am fine, Wei Ying.” As long as he kept his voice steady, Wei Ying wouldn’t be able to hear the lie for what it was.

He wanted to tell Wei Ying of his relief to be holding him again, how anything and everything was worth that and so of course he was fine. But though his selfishness was too big to be contained within his body, he couldn’t speak this truth. It caught and tangled itself in the back of his throat, choking him. What right had he had to do this when the cost had been so high? One step at a time, he thought again, one admission at a time. He’d already said more than he thought himself capable of once today. Next time, he’ll do better.

Wei Ying didn’t move for a long time, long enough that Lan Wangji hoped and prayed that Wei Ying was resting. His heart pulsed with this wish and each throb of his blood renewed it.

Of course it could not be simple. “Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying’s voice was hoarse, painfully rasping. Lan Wangji strained to hear, because he did not dare ask Wei Ying to repeat himself. Somehow it carried absolution and reproachment both.

“Shh. Just rest now.”

Wei Ying hummed in what might have been disdainful agreement.

More time passed. Wei Ying improved a bit—he remained awake for longer stretches, unable to do much of anything except stare at the ceiling in a pained daze—and backslid. He improved yet again. Slowly, slowly, slowly the constant need for medications and needles lessened.

Lan Wangji didn’t notice at first, the change too incremental to see from close up. But when their legs tangled in the night, Wei Ying no longer struggled as much against the brush of Lan Wangji’s skin against his. There were fewer shocked hisses. The half-aborted jerks of Wei Ying’s muscles waned as he acclimated to the feel of a body next to his.

These things counted as progress, he supposed.

Wen Qing came as she always did, medication and needles at the ready. The former, she placed on the small bed stand. The latter, she pressed against Wei Ying’s shoulders and back with careful precision as soon as Lan Wangji finished helping to pull Wei Ying’s robes down his arms.

When Wei Ying struggled to hold himself up, Lan Wangji grasped his bicep. When he tried to open his mouth, she whipped forward and wagged her finger in Wei Ying’s face.

“Wei Wuxian,” she said, “keep resting your voice. I know you want to talk.” After tucking her needles into her robes, she reached for the cup on the bed stand and held it out for him. “Take this.”

When she was satisfied that he could hold it without dropping it, she let go. The liquid inside only sloshed a little bit.

“Drink. All of it. Lick the inside of it clean after you’re done or I’ll make you regret it.”

Lan Wangji would have stepped in, except that Wei Ying grinned in delight and pressed two jaunty fingers to his forehead, and Lan Wangji couldn’t bear to stop her from scolding him, especially not when he saw the tears now standing in her eyes, a bitter counterpoint to the muted mischief in Wei Ying’s. This was a good day, it seemed, and Lan Wangji was hesitant to call it such.

He wasn’t sure why today brought this emotion out in her, but he blinked rather sympathetically as Wei Ying drained the cup in its entirety and placed it in Lan Wangji’s waiting hand.

Wei Ying then grabbed Lan Wangji’s arm, pushing his robe up so he could draw his finger across Lan Wangji’s forearm.

The characters for Yuan and Ning.

He nodded. “Will you bring Wen Qionglin and Wen Yuan?”

Wen Qing narrowed her eyes like she intended to say no, but the shining hope on Wei Ying’s face stopped her. “You will rest. And I’m bringing more medicine and tea. Maybe they’ll be with me when I return.”

Wei Ying nodded vigorously.

“They can’t stay long.”

Wei Ying lifted his fingers in a salutatory promise, showing as much verve as Lan Wangji had seen from him until this point.

“And I’m not going to let A-Yuan throw himself at you.”

At saying his name, she glanced at Lan Wangji. She didn’t have to ask for him to know the question in her heart. Of all of them, Wen Yuan will after all be the most unfamiliar. He nodded back. It would be a shock, but Wei Ying was prepared. Or mostly prepared. Lan Wangji supposed hearing that seven years had passed and seeing it were entirely different matters. This truth at least, Lan Wangji hadn’t kept from him.

Still, neither of them had the heart to say that Wei Ying couldn’t see Wen Yuan, not when he was looking at them like this, not when he had enough energy to ask about him. So Wen Qing merely nodded and sighed again, waving her hand in despair as she did so, knowing Wei Ying had won and would likely continue to win insofar as he could push them.

“Wen Qing,” he said, as Wen Qing tilted her head slightly, always the doctor, straining to hear the wreck of his voice. “Thank you.”

Wen Qing retreated, promising she’d bring him and her brother soon.

Lan Wangji expected him to express his delight in getting such a concession out of Wen Qing and himself, but he merely slumped back against Lan Wangji as though he was too relieved to be happy. He turned his head in such a way that the top of his head brushed Lan Wangji’s jaw. At that, Lan Wangji couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss into his crown, his body tensed in anticipation of the contact.

“I should…” Wei Ying pushed himself up again, still so painfully weak. It had been easy to forget in the span of the last few minutes. The rasp in his voice was a little improved from the medication, better than the other handful of times he had tried to talk at least. “Lan Zhan, should I wait?”

Lan Wangji considered the question instead of answering immediately. His knee-jerk reaction was to say no, but Wei Ying’s concern deserved to be considered carefully. Wen Yuan was already so thoughtful, would grow into an incredible young man. He was quiet and diligent and careful. He would not hurt Wei Ying.

“It will be hard, perhaps, but he asks about you often. It’s your decision. If you’re ready, then I see no reason to wait.”

“Lan Zhan, why would he? He was so young when I…”

The answer was simple: he’d never been given the opportunity to forget. None of them had. It was the only thing Lan Zhan could do under the circumstances. He never, in all those years, pretended there wasn’t a void left behind with Wei Ying’s absence. But when he tried to say as much, he realized how ridiculous it sounded. He hadn’t hidden Wei Ying away because the very thought of it never crossed his mind in the first place. He never considered that Wei Ying might not wish to be exactly where he was. It was just a fact of life that Wei Ying was… not here right now, though his body remained. Why would they forget someone who would return? It was like forgetting a family member who was only gone on a trip.

Wen Yuan knew that. They all knew that. Lan Wangji made sure of it.

“I wasn’t going to hide you away like…”

Wei Ying squeezed Lan Wangji’s hand. It barely registered. “Lan Zhan, it’s okay. Who can criticize you?”

Anybody, and especially Wei Ying, was the answer.

“It must—” A pause as Wei Ying swallowed, as he coughed, filling the silence Lan Wangji left behind. “—have been difficult.”

Lan Wangji’s breath rattled out of him. He stretched to retrieve a cup of water from the bed stand and handed it to Wei Ying. He was not ready yet to admit anything further. “Wei Ying, there is no need to discuss what doesn’t matter any longer.”

Wei Ying squeezed his hand again and fell silent, one of those new things about him: he fought back less fervently, was more easily stymied. Lan Wangji was not relieved. If Wei Ying had been in better health, he would have argued more.

Wei Wuxian’s body hurt. It hurt in ways he couldn’t have imagined if he wasn’t experiencing them and more than a few that he remembered intimately from past injuries. He hurt the most when Lan Zhan touched him, despite how careful Lan Zhan was. In Lan Zhan’s hands, he was a shard of broken porcelain and Lan Zhan was determined to avoid any risk of shattering him further. As unused as he was to asking for what he needed, it would have bothered him more if not for the fact that Lan Zhan was a matched piece: every time Wei Wuxian looked at him, he thought Lan Zhan was the one who might shatter irreparably instead.

Even in his current state, he was not so far gone not to recognize what he saw. He just couldn’t do anything about it, because if Lan Zhan didn’t give in…

Amidst the myriad hurts that littered his body and heart and mind, he still found room to ache for Lan Zhan, for Wen Qing, for everyone who’d had to continue on in his absence.

Absent. That was a word for it. Not the right one, but. A word. One that was as good as any other. He closed his aching eyes, groped his way toward the cold side of the bed where Lan Zhan usually slept.

Without Lan Zhan here, he felt himself slipping back into it, that senseless place from which he controlled nothing. If he allowed them to remain closed, he felt, he wouldn’t come back. Don’t give in, he thought, fighting against a body that fought him, rejected him, wanted him gone. Like a splinter lodged into skin, he was an irritant meant to be dispelled.

It was easier to forget the pain and strange sensations when Lan Zhan was with him, even though the brush of their bodies sent licks of fire up his spine. As long as Lan Zhan stayed, Wei Wuxian felt correct, grounded. Better. If he closed his eyes and Lan Zhan was there, he didn’t have to fear the dark. The steady pulse of Lan Zhan’s heart against his ear was the only sound that didn’t pierce his eardrums, precise as an awl. It was strong enough to lead him back.

But Lan Zhan was not here.

A voice. A hand. “Wei Ying.” Wei Wuxian rose, molasses slow, to consciousness. Lan Zhan was staring down at him, mouth open, his hair spilling beautifully over his shoulder.

Whatever Lan Zhan might have said was swallowed up by the sound of thunderous, little feet—though not as little as they used to be, as Wei Wuxian remembered them to be. Seven years. It knocked him sideways to consider how much he’d missed. In this room, it was easy to forget. Lan Zhan didn’t look so very aged after all, just infinitely sadder.

Wei Wuxian turned in time to see Wen Yuan scamper to a stop about a meter from the bed. Beside him, Lan Zhan slid into place behind him, allowing Wei Wuxian to brace against him. “A-Yuan! Look at you.” If his voice frightened Wen Yuan, Wen Yuan didn’t show it. Wei Wuxian swallowed his grief at seeing him. Nothing could have prepared him for it. There was no more pointed reminder of what he’d missed than Wen Yuan, who’d shot, weed-like, toward the sky, all gangly limbs and awkward, lanky thinness. But unlike before, he didn’t look malnourished at all. Rather, he appeared healthy and happy. Maybe he was between growth spurts.

Tears brimmed in Wen Yuan’s eyes. Too many of them. Wei Wuxian was tired of people crying over him. “Xian-gege!”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to cry, too. He wasn’t. Someone had to remain dry-eyed in this. “A-Yuan, you come over here right now.” He patted the bed and made a noise of impatient displeasure when Wen Yuan shook his head, mumbled about how Qing-jie told him to be careful. Like Wei Wuxian wanted that. Being treated so carefully that he couldn’t touch the people who cared about him? What was the point of that? “Don’t listen to her. I want to see you.”

Still he waited, looked to Wen Qing for confirmation, because he was a good boy who’d been raised by Lan Zhan, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and all the others. There was nothing of Wei Wuxian in his behavior that he could see. He truly was lucky that Wen Yuan hadn’t forgotten him.

He’d missed so many things, important things and unimportant things alike. He didn’t feel it quite so deeply until he looked at Wen Yuan.

“Aiyou, little radish, I’m too stubborn to break. A-Yuan, get over here.” His eyes briefly skated past Wen Yuan to look at Wen Ning, who hovered behind all of them in the mouth of the cave, hands folded politely before him. “And don’t think I don’t see you back there, Wen Ning. You’re in trouble, too!”

“You can go, A-Yuan,” Wen Qing said. Though he had permission, he remained careful, doggedly so, and diligent as he approached. It didn’t matter. Even the feather-light touch of his hands made Wei Wuxian’s nerves scream out in protest, but he’d survived so much, he could survive something as miraculously simple as a young boy’s arms wrapped around his neck, too.

This was worth any pain. Worth it to smell the scent of fresh-turned dirt in his hair, worth it to touch his baby-soft skin, worth it for the way Wen Yuan sniffled against his chest and fisted his hands in the cloth of his robes. He never should have—by rights, he oughtn’t be here to do this. Catching Lan Zhan’s eye over the top of Wen Yuan’s tucked head, he knew he would endure any hardship just for the softening of Lan Zhan’s expression into something other than the regret he failed to hide on a daily basis.

Drawing in a rasping breath, he pressed his cheek to the top of Wen Yuan’s head and willed the yawning ache within him to recede so he could hold onto Wen Yuan forever, be held by Lan Zhan for the same amount of time. By rights, he might have deserved only seven years of touch and talk and togetherness in recompense, but he was greedy. He wanted more than that.

But Lan Zhan paid too much attention to him. Of course he sensed Wei Wuxian’s growing discomfort. “A-Yuan,” he said, gentle. Between them passed an unspoken request and then Wen Yuan was trying to retreat from the tangle of Wei Wuxian’s arms. Though the pressure relented, it wasn’t what he wanted at all.

“Xian-gege, I’m sorry.”

Wei Wuxian gathered as much strength as he could before speaking. “I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m fine. See, A-Yuan.” He ducked his head to grin at Wen Yuan, blinked the water from his eyes. “It’s fine. Get back up here. How am I supposed to bully you from so far away?”

At that, Wen Yuan giggled and Wei Wuxian’s heart soared.

“Wen Ning, come on!” he called, shamelessly pretending his voice wasn’t cracking. “Wen Ning, let’s have a look at you, too!”

Wei Wuxian awoke with a start, shouting hoarsely as he clawed at the quilt, clamoring for a body that wasn’t there, his own body feeling so—so much. It was morning probably. It usually was when this happened. He could never recall the sensations that led to these moments, but it happened nearly every day, except for those rare occasions when he beat Lan Zhan to consciousness, soothed by his presence beneath Wei Wuxian’s cheek, whether because Wei Wuxian was pillowed on his chest or because he had plastered himself to Lan Zhan’s back.

Struggling upright, he blinked the fuzziness from his sight and scrubbed his hand across his face. His usual medicines were waiting for him on the bed stand, still warm. He tired of taking them when they barely worked and feared not taking them at the same time. He considered not taking them, leaving behind the careful schedule she’d set for him, but Lan Zhan would know and would turn bereft, desolate eyes on him if he came back and discovered Wei Wuxian testing what he could and could not handle.

Come on, come on, come on, he told himself. It was just a nightmare. Get up. Take Wen Qing’s medicines like a good little patient. You’ll go back to sleep and when you wake up, Lan Zhan will be there.

He would wake up if he took them, he insisted, just like every other time. Lan Zhan wouldn’t let him fall unconscious and never rise from the dark again.

Lan Zhan. It was only his touch that pulled Wei Wuxian from the worst of what came with the pain. When Lan Zhan caught him like this, he often looked at Wei Wuxian as though Wei Wuxian would float away. In truth, that didn’t feel very far off from it. Lan Zhan anchored him through the feeling of detachment. If not for sometimes shaky touch of Lan Zhan’s hands to steady him, he feared he would disappear from his own body.

“Shit,” he said, gasping, as he twisted onto his stomach and pushed himself up on weak arms. His hair spilled over his shoulder, obscured his vision. Even his abdomen, which usually was the last thing to bother him, throbbed in protest. “Shit, stop this.” Screwing his eyes shut, he willed the nausea to settle.

“He’ll be back soon,” Wei Wuxian told himself. “He’ll be back and…”

And it wasn’t fair to rely on Lan Zhan so heavily, not when it hurt him, too.

Eventually he was going to have to stand on his own, do something for himself.

“Lan Zhan?” he called experimentally, peering over his shoulder.

No response. Lan Zhan was probably outside, trying to complete his duties for the day before Wei Wuxian woke up. Because he still had duties despite his insistence that he remain with Wei Wuxian the rest of the time. There were probably even things he would have liked to do that he couldn’t because he was forced to remain so often with Wei Wuxian.

Drawing upon spiritual energy he shouldn’t have had to expend, he crawled to the edge of the bed, undignified, and managed to get his legs under him.

Knives stabbed at his instep as he got his feet underneath him, cold against the ground. The serrated edge of each blade ripped up the back of his legs, stinging all the way to his thighs with every step. No matter how many times his body failed him, it was always a surprise, always a disappointment.

Bent forward, elbows braced on his knees, he breathed, breathed again. Sweat prickled in his hairline. This, he breathed through, too. In one swift, inelegant motion, he pushed himself to his feet, held out his hand toward the bed stand for balance. His vision swam as he breathed yet again. All he could do was breathe, blood pulsing in his ears, until he was prepared. Though with the way his lungs were seizing, maybe that would become impossible, too.

He could do this. He’d already done the hardest part.

Looking about the cave, he spied Suibian standing in the corner, little better right now than a dust-attracting decoration.

Perhaps that would do.

Holding onto the bed stand, he moved to the uneven rock wall of the cave, holding it as he shuffled toward the sword. He was careful, more careful than he wanted to be, but if he was going to take this chance, he was going to work carefully for it. He wasn’t going to unduly risk himself. Lan Zhan would never forgive him if he sent himself sprawling to the floor. He would probably never be allowed to do anything ever again and in his current state, how would he get out?

Every step was agonizing. The rock wall felt like it was tearing his palm to ribbons. It was, of course, a trick. If he were to look at his palm, his skin would be smooth and unmarked except by the scars he’d accumulated fairly throughout his first life.

By the time he reached Suibian, he was lightheaded and his stomach threatened to rebel and he wanted to flop across the nearest horizontal surface to get his bearings again. If he let himself sit—his only option being the ground, of course, because the cushions were a million meters away in the center of the room, impossible to reach—he would not be getting back up any time soon. Standing as still as he could, he calmed himself with meditation as he leaned against the rocks. Of all the parts of him that no longer worked right, at least his golden core was intact and working hard to heal him. His body might a sieve through which his recovery passed, catching and holding onto so little of it, but what he could keep, he felt, was entirely due to the strength of his golden core.

His hand shook as he grabbed Suibian and leaned against it. Surely Lan Zhan would be aghast that Wei Wuxian might use it in this way, but it helped him walk, one hand still pressed against the wall as he made his torturous progress through the cave.

As he closed in on the entrance, he finally heard Lan Zhan’s qin. Familiar notes caught on the breeze to reach his ear. They no longer sounded as frightening as they used to be. There was beauty in what Lan Zhan could do.

Sadly, the sound was also enough to bring about a slicing headache, but Wei Wuxian could endure that. To be near the person he held most dear, to keep the void at bay, he’d do anything.

Reaching the mouth of the cave, he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright morning sunlight. This, too, did nothing to relieve the headache; too sluggishly, he processed what he was seeing, not quite able to believe it. Surely it was a side effect of his body’s many and varied betrayals and he could now add hallucinations to the list of complaints he’d never, ever speak aloud.

Green everywhere where before it had been gray, hardy grasses and bare, windswept trees. Tilled plots of land were carved into the distant hills. Grazing areas dotted the grounds for livestock that roamed almost freely across it, tended by brightly clothed herders, too small from this vantage to identify. There was an orchard, too, and a village, a proper village, homes that looked warm and inviting nestled into the valley.

In strange counterpoint, white stone cut a militant line between the Burial Mounds and the area surrounding it. It snaked its way across the entire space and, though the cave blocked the view from behind, Wei Wuxian rather suspected that it encircled the back hills, too. Outside of it, the land was still uncultivated, more like the Burial Mounds Wei Wuxian remembered, though not to quite the same degree as before, like even it benefitted from Lan Zhan’s careful work.

Was it to pen them in, that wall? Or to keep others out?

What had happened that this was necessary? Would Lan Zhan tell him? Could he bring himself to ask? Did he even have the right to feel grief for them over such a severe undertaking?

There would be time to ask later, he supposed. For now, he just wanted Lan Zhan.

He couldn’t afford to investigate further, his energy draining fast, and instead carefully shambled in the direction of the music, leaning far too much on Suibian. He’d have to scrub the dirt from its sheath later.

A small price to pay.

“Lan Zhan?”

He picked his way carefully down the path, using all of his strength to keep his feet beneath him. The music grew closer, pressing against him, and though he didn’t dare pursue any more quickly than he already was, he still wanted to rush toward Lan Zhan, throw himself into Lan Zhan’s embrace, feel anything other than the riptides of agony that wrecked his body, reminders that he could be pulled back into the depths at any time, as inexorable as the vicious pull of the tide.

No, that wasn’t right.

Strength would come. Healing would come, too, if he was patient and allowed it to. The fact that he was here to walk anywhere at all was a miracle. That he could hear Lan Zhan’s qin was a gift that he should never have expected or hoped to have again. Catastrophizing wouldn’t help.

Finally, finally he was able to see Lan Zhan sitting in a small copse of trees. From the back, he looked calm and composed. As he played, he was heedless of the world around him. His head was tilted slightly. Wei Wuxian easily imagined that his eyes were closed as he listened intently to the music or maybe sought the Burial Mounds’s response to it; he didn’t even realize Wei Wuxian was coming.

Oh, if only he could throw himself at Lan Zhan’s back and scare the daylights out of him. Even if he was well, he would not have done it. Qins were not easy to replace in the wilderness. He would feel incredibly bad if something were to happen to it because of a prank. But, oh, how he wanted to prank and tease. He wanted one moment of uncomplicated joy with Lan Zhan at the center of it.

Wei Wuxian called, instead, from a healthy distance away. Hoarse, his voice was barely loud enough to carry. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan heard him anyway.

Lan Zhan stilled the instrument’s strings and snapped his head around. His eyes were wide, worried. “Wei Ying! You shouldn’t—” His eyes narrowed at the sword once he noticed it and he heaved a sigh. “You’re impossible. Why did you come out here?”

“Lan Zhan, you weren’t there when I woke up. That was very cruel of you.” Before Lan Zhan could apologize or explain, Wei Wuxian waved him off. Even if it was… even if he did maybe need Lan Zhan to be there, he’d never… never actually want to force him or beg, not when he could stop himself. He knew sometimes he couldn’t. Lan Zhan deserved a respite, too. “When I heard that lovely qin of yours, how could I help myself?”

Lan Zhan despaired in the most beautiful way, dragging his hand across his face. “Wei Ying. You could—why didn’t you send a talisman? I would have come back for you.”

“Lan Zhan, since when did you condone such laziness?” As long as Wei Wuxian treated it like a joke, it was fine. But there was another truth at work here. One even Lan Zhan couldn’t argue with. “I have to start pushing myself eventually, Lan Zhan. I’ll never get better otherwise.”

“You haven’t even been back two weeks.” Or maybe he would. Of course Lan Zhan could find a way to argue about anything if he wished. They raised them too smart in Cloud Recesses.

Wei Wuxian worked his way over, encumbered by his slow movement and unsteadiness. “That’s two weeks of me contributing nothing. I want to move around, Lan Zhan. I don’t want to hurt anymore. If hurting more now will help me later, then… look, I’ve been behaving myself, haven’t I? Can’t I want to see what’s happened out here? I’m sick of looking at rocky walls when you’re not there.”

In truth, he was sick of looking at rocky walls even when Lan Zhan was there, but Lan Zhan made up for a lot. He was sick of not being able to touch Lan Zhan or be touched by Lan Zhan without flinching. He wanted to look at Lan Zhan without feeling his eyes burn because the light was too bright.

He wanted so many things that he wouldn’t get if he didn’t work for them.

He just—wanted. Wanted everything. Perhaps he himself was the void that would draw everything else into it.

Surely Lan Zhan could understand that, when he’d gone through so much effort to get Wei Wuxian back. He wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t wanted desperately, too, right? He wouldn’t have put up with what Wei Wuxian had done for so long if he didn’t want so badly.

He had to understand.

“Lan Zhan?”

“You’re in pain,” he said, but he patted the ground beside him, defeated. “Come. I’ll help you.”

“O—”

Before Wei Wuxian could walk the little shred of distance remaining between them, Lan Zhan was sweeping up, careful hands cupping his elbow, settling gently on his waist. “But you must let me help you.”

He could have argued, but sometimes battles had to be picked and chosen. “Okay, okay. Treat your invalid well, Lan Zhan. I’m in your hands.”

Lan Zhan very patiently guided him toward the qin, helped him retain his balance while he lowered himself to the ground. Though Wei Wuxian could tell that the grass was soft and the dirt beneath it even softer, it still hurt to sit, each blade a sharp, ragged point against Wei Wuxian’s palms as he steadied himself, Lan Zhan holding onto him. That hurt, too, but there was no way around it.

He didn’t relish the thought of getting back up again, but he’ll worry about that later.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, it’s really beautiful, isn’t it?”

Lan Zhan sat next to him, sat close to him, as close as he dared with the qin balanced before him. It wasn’t enough for Wei Wuxian’s comfort and he found himself scooting a little bit closer, biting back the tiny sounds that threatened to consume his voice if he let them. Perhaps he should have taken Wen Qing’s medicines before he attempted to come out here. Probably he could have fought the effects long enough to make it this far.

Ah, well. It was good to know that he could function regardless. Even though it hurt, he could handle it. And it was worth it, to sit here with Lan Zhan, as clearheaded as he ever got. “You can play.”

“Will you be alright?”

Wei Wuxian allowed his cheek to rest against Lan Zhan’s bicep. “I’ll be alright. Do what you have to do. I made the decision to come out here.”

Lan Zhan sniffed dismissively, but he began plucking the strings, doing his best to control the sound. Wei Wuxian didn’t dwell on it, knowing it would hurt if he allowed himself to hear too much of it. Instead, he focused on the dance of energy around them, far fainter than he remembered. It required more focus than he cared to exert to even trace it. Soon, he tired of the effort and simply drifted.

Though this was Lan Zhan’s prison, he’d turned it into a paradise, one that Wei Wuxian was certain he himself would love to settle in forever. Already, his mind clamored for the opportunity to help in those great, grassy fields in the valley below or herd the cattle. Where and how did they get cattle? What kind of cattle was it? How much fun would it be to herd them. Though he’d done a lot of work as a farmhand, he’d never gotten to do anything like that while he and Lan Zhan traveled. He’d gladly tend to orchard, too. He wasn’t picky.

The music stopped. Lan Zhan drew in a breath, exhaled. “What are you thinking about?”

“Farming,” he said. “Do you think they’d let me help?” He’d always been fine with taking the unexpected path in life. If that meant cultivating vegetables instead of his own spiritual powers, so be it.

“Mn,” he agreed. “I’m sure they would.”

“Would you like that, Lan Zhan? Having a farmer for a husband?” A smile stretched across his mouth, muscles aching from the strain. The word husband fell so easily from his mouth that it was a sudden wonder that they weren’t really married already. It made him so irrepressibly happy to imagine that he didn’t, for three or four blissful moments, feel anything wrong with his body at all.

“I would like anything that made you happy.”

“And what would make you happy?”

“Being a farmer’s wife,” he answered, quick and with deadpan ease.

Wei Wuxian, surprised, pleased, laughed. And wonder of wonders, that didn’t hurt much either.

As he readied for bed, even earlier than Lan Zhan, tired from the excitement of his day, he peeled his inner robes from his body, grimacing at the unexpected bloom of red that had seeped through the bandages wrapped around his torso. His body ached fiercely and his skin felt warm to the touch. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed himself so hard earlier today.

“Lan Zhan,” he called. “Can I have another cup of water?” Throwing a gamely innocent smile over his shoulder, he kept his body twisted away, hurriedly tying his robe shut as Lan Zhan stared at him. He willed Lan Zhan to remain unsuspicious.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, rising from the edge of the bed where he’d been sitting and meditating. “I will return shortly.”

Wei Wuxian laughed awkwardly. “Take your time!”

In the scant moments allotted to him as Lan Zhan left the cave to draw more water, he was able to study the wound and replace the bandage. Just a small tear where one of the stitches pulled, entirely normal and fine. There wasn’t time to clean the blood from the sullied one, so he shoved it into the pile of his robes and determined he’d figure it out later. Lan Zhan returned just as he wrapped himself in a fresh undershirt. Smiling a sick, sad, loathing little smile, he watched Lan Zhan prepare carefully prepare a cup for him, warming the water until it was not so cold, like he was making tea instead. His Lan Zhan was too doting, too diligent. Wei Wuxian didn’t deserve this consideration.

When Lan Zhan handed it to him, he was not thirsty, but he drank it down anyway. In another life, it might have tasted like the finest drink in the world. In this one, all he tasted was the iron-coated tang of guilt in the back of his throat.

Wei Wuxian startled awake, thrashed as the remnant of a nightmare clung to his consciousness. When he opened his eyes—it was so easy to forget his frailties—he moaned and screwed them shut again. The sun was too bright, too hot as it spilled down upon them. The air brushed, punishing, over his skin. Slumping in relief—anything, everything, even this—was better than the alternative.

He was outside. They were outside. When he managed to wake up in time, rare though it was, he accompanied Lan Zhan as he played, a new habit he’d begun indulging ever since he discovered he could withstand the discomfort. Outside was good. Outside was full of light and life, the opposite of wherever he’d been. In that world, he could taste, smell, feel, hear, see nothing. He could not speak, could not move, could not control himself or anything around him. If he was awake and alive and aware, his senses couldn’t shrivel to nothing; he could not be imprisoned again.

Lan Zhan’s hand was agonizingly cool, too soft as it brushed across his forehead and pushed his sweaty bangs out of his face. When had he ended up with his head in Lan Zhan’s lap? Just a moment ago, he’d been leaning against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, hadn’t he?.

Shaking the nothingness from his mind took more resolve than he liked, but worrying Lan Zhan was the last thing he wanted to do. From the expression on Lan Zhan’s face, he’d probably already failed.

Agony ripped through his muscles as he pushed himself up, a natural consequence of the stillness of sleep, like his body was choosing to fight his desire to move again. His jaw cracked as he yawned. He was less tired than before at least. Sleeping by or against Lan Zhan always helped.

“How long have you been done?”

Lan Zhan’s hands hovered, one low near Wei Wuxian’s spine, the other by his knee, protective, the perfect position should Wei Wuxian topple. “Not long.”

“Lan Zhan, you can touch me.” Upon seeing the flash of guilt in Lan Zhan’s eyes, he had to tamp down on a vicious twist of anger, directionless and useless. “I want you to.” It wasn’t Lan Zhan’s fault he felt he needed to be so careful with Wei Wuxian. “Do we need to go back?”

“Only if you want to. Wen Yuan will be along shortly. We usually complete our lessons before you wake up.”

The thought of seeing Wen Yuan delighted him despite how strange it still was to see him so grown. “Wen Yuan? What’s he doing?”

“He spends part of the morning practicing music with me up here. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Ach, Wei Wuxian had missed so much. “Lan Zhan! He plays now, too? What does he play? What are you teaching him?”

“The dizi. We were forced to stop for a time after you woke up. We have resumed now that you are getting better.” He patted the edge of his qin, thoughtful. “He is being taught cleansing music as well as the songs you and I played to suppress resentful energy.”

“The di—why did you pick that, Lan Zhan?”

“Carving a flute is easier than building a qin and easier for smaller hands. And it is what you play. That pleased him. He’s already very good. I think he’d like you to hear him.” Lan Zhan’s brows furrowed in worry. “Will it be too difficult?”

Oh, it was going to hurt like hell. High-pitched noise especially battered his senses, but who cared about that if he got to hear Wen Yuan play?

“Lan Zhan.” In his excitement, he let himself again lean against Lan Zhan. “That means he’s developing his golden core. If he’s able to help, that means…”

“Mn.” The tips of Lan Zhan’s ears flushed. “He is quite proficient at musical cultivation already.”

“Are you… have you… Lan Zhan, did you found a sect while I wasn’t looking? You’re teaching Wen Yuan now. You’re building something for the future.”

He was maybe clinging a little too tightly to Lan Zhan’s robes, but it didn’t matter. Lan Zhan let him, didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Wen Qing, Wen Ning and I have been teaching in your absence. More than a few rogue cultivators have joined as well. They teach also. Families with nowhere to go have sought us out to teach their children. Sometimes, they remain, too. Anyone who wishes to learn is taught.

“Once you’re better, I would like us both to teach. I don’t know that it’s a sect, but it is something.”

Wei Wuxian blinked and tried to compose himself through the width, breadth, and depth of the feeling he was experiencing. The scales tipped one way and then the other, delight on one side, despair on the other, what Lan Zhan had done against the feeling he shouldn’t have been here to see it to fruition. Once he was better? He sometimes felt as though he was falling apart in slow motion. And other times, like now, it felt inevitable that he’d be fine.

“That sounds good, Lan Zhan.” Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Wei Wuxian pressed himself closer to Lan Zhan’s body. “It sounds like a sect.”

“Then it’s yours,” Lan Zhan insisted. “I don’t think we would have done it if not for you.”

Laughing, Wei Wuxian hid his face in the rough fabric of Lan Zhan’s robe. Each harsh fiber cut, knifelike, against his cheek. “Yiling Wei, huh? What would the gentry families think of that?”

Lan Zhan’s arm came up around his back to gently cup his shoulder. “If I could not have you by my side, I wanted to honor your hopes to the best of my ability. I don’t care what they think.”

Wei Wuxian blinked away the tears that threatened to form and dragged in a happily unsteady breath. Though he was unable to speak, this once, Lan Zhan had all the necessary words to fill the void.

“I haven’t been able to be there for them as much as I would have liked to, but maybe… maybe things will be different now.”

Wei Wuxian’s hand trailed over Lan Zhan’s legs, found his hand. He laced their fingers together and squeezed. His body might have felt like it was betraying him with every breath he took, but that wasn’t going to stop him from doing this. “Lan Zhan, you’ve done so much already. We’ll do the rest together.”

A tiny smile pulled at Lan Zhan’s mouth, a smile of relief maybe, and he ducked his head. “Is that a promise?”

It was. It shouldn’t have been. Wei Wuxian couldn’t know what the future held. He nodded anyway and said, “Yes,” reckless.

“That sounds ideal.”

Wei Wuxian would have said more—there was so much left to say, so many plans to make, a sect, a sect that wasn’t beholden to Lanling, that might truly stand on its own—but just as Lan Zhan had promised, Wen Yuan was making his way up the path, hands wrapped tight around a pretty dizi, one that had been well-cared for, though it was beginning to show some wear as everything eventually did in the Burial Mounds.

Perhaps Lan Zhan had carved it for him. He used to do that for Wei Wuxian during their travels if he managed to put a crack in his somewhere, taking all evening to either repair it or carve a new one while Wei Wuxian whined about how cruelly done he was, not having anything to do while Lan Zhan ignored him for a large stick…

Wei Wuxian bit back a grin, wondered what Lan Zhan would do if he reminded him of those days. Would his ears turn red? Wei Wuxian hoped so. After Loushan, he was always so angry, constantly angry. He no longer cared about the important things, like teasing Lan Zhan. By the time they made it to the Burial Mounds, little else mattered beyond protecting it and getting revenge for its people. Those things were important, but so was Lan Zhan. He missed seeing Lan Zhan’s ears turn red, missed making Lan Zhan’s ears turn red. He could do all sorts of things to Lan Zhan to make him flush and—

Not the time. Definitely not the time, not least of all because it only made his body hurt all the more as it tried valiantly to react. Better to focus on Wen Yuan, who was looking at him with such happiness that something akin to embarrassment squirmed in Wei Wuxian’s stomach. To think that anyone cared so deeply for him… it was too humbling.

“A-Yuan! I hear you’re an accomplished dizi player. Tell me, did Lan Zhan here teach you how to play—”

Lan Zhan cut a forbidding glance his way. They both knew what he was thinking, those bawdy songs he’d picked up from the various wine shops they stopped at as Wei Wuxian made friends with every local he came across, or the songs he’d learned while working with the Nies. They were not the sort of graceful songs that Lan Zhan preferred, but even he couldn’t deny that learning them would improve Wen Yuan’s playing. It took a lot of nimble finger movements to produce some of those songs!

Wen Yuan, so polite, bowed slightly to Lan Zhan and then again to Wei Wuxian.

“Lan-laoshi has taught me a great deal.” He favored Wei Wuxian with a smile. “But I’m equally certain that Wei-laoshi has much to teach as well if he wishes to do so.”

“Who taught you to be such a nice boy, A-Yuan? We’re going to have to get you into some mischief. You can’t always behave well for Lan Zhan and Qing-jie, right? They’ll get spoiled. You’ll get into some trouble with me, too, yeah?”

Wen Yuan ducked his head, shy as he looked at Lan Zhan. His mouth twitched, but Wei Wuxian suspected that Wen Yuan didn’t yet understand what it meant just yet to see Lan Zhan’s lips quirk in that particular way. Wei Wuxian would ensure Wen Yuan came to recognize what it was like when Lan Zhan smiled. In all this time, Lan Zhan had probably neglected his own mischievous streak. Even Wen Qing, who could sometimes be brought down to Wei Wuxian’s level with the help of Wen Ning, probably hadn’t had much to be cheerful about. They’d have to work on her, too.

“If Wen Yuan wishes to get into trouble with Wei Ying, who am I to stop him?” Lan Zhan said, as Wei Wuxian expected he would, soft touch that he was.

Wen Yuan’s mouth fell open in surprise and he looked at Wei Wuxian again as though he’d worked some kind of magic, but no, that was just Lan Zhan being Lan Zhan, all sweetness in the most surprising ways. Some things didn’t change, not even when grief attempted to transform them.

“We’ll be good, Zhan-ge. Promise!”

Wei Wuxian laughed at the earnestness of Wen Yuan’s expression. “Aiyou, you can’t just tell him that. Where’s the fun in it? We’ve got to make him worry about our plans!”

“I’ll be appropriately anxious when the time comes,” Lan Zhan said, consoling. “Now, perhaps you’d like to show Wei Ying what you’ve learned?”

Wen Yuan nodded enthusiastically, donning a serious expression as he lifted his dizi to his mouth. He was already so much more disciplined about it than Wei Wuxian ever was, even going so far as to keep his posture straight, the perfect stance for a dedicated student specializing in musical cultivation.

Wei Wuxian’s lips remained sealed throughout Wen Yuan’s playing, though he wanted to burst out with commentary from the start.

“Ah, he has definitely been taught by the great Lan Wangji. Look at him, he’s beautiful,” Wei Wuxian whispered as he leaned into Lan Zhan’s side, forcing Lan Zhan to sway with him, which he did, like he wanted to go along with any and all of Wei Wuxian’s nonsense. “You did so good, Lan Zhan.”

He snaked his arm around Lan Zhan’s and twined their fingers together again, squeezing lightly. Though Lan Zhan’s brow furrowed, he couldn’t hide the slight hint of pride in the curve of his lip.

“Lan Zhan, you’re the best,” Wei Wuxian said, quiet.

“No.” To Wei Wuxian’s delight, he squeezed Wei Wuxian’s hand back, even if too carefully for Wei Wuxian’s tastes.

Wen Yuan continued to play, eyes closed as he concentrated. The notes he played were crisp and clear, nearly perfect already despite how young he still was. There were even hints of spiritual power behind it as he performed a cleansing song, one that sounded similar to Gusu’s, but more specialized maybe. It was one Lan Zhan must have written. Wei Wuxian would have to try it for himself one day. Wei Wuxian couldn’t wait until he had his own strength back so he could train him, too. He’ll know the best of what Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan can teach him and he’ll be formidable.

If they were an honorable sect that the rest of the world recognized as one of them and if Wen Yuan wasn’t the sad, orphaned offspring of a family caught up in a war of another’s making, Wen Yuan would surely become the most sought after bachelor of his generation, occupying the same position Lan Xichen politely ignored. Oh, how Wen Yuan deserved to be teased about something like that. Already, Wei Wuxian could see how shy and humble he’d be about it. Instead, if he ever left, he would be shunned by the people who made and encouraged such lists. Wen Yuan would not find a world out there that respected him and what he could do. Wei Wuxian mourned that loss of opportunity until the last notes of his dizi faded away on the breeze and Wen Yuan lifted his head, smiling as he waited for Wei Wuxian’s assessment.

“Here,” Wei Wuxian said, “let me show you a trick I learned from a—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, so very proper.

“—a very lovely young man from—where was he from, Lan Zhan—who could, I am not lying, play for an hour nonstop.”

“That is not accurate,” Lan Zhan replied, “and I do not care to remember.”

“Ah, well,” Wei Wuxian said, sure his eyes were twinkling. They bickered through the rest of Wen Yuan’s lesson, probably accomplishing less than Lan Zhan would have liked, but neither of them stopped him from insinuating himself into it.

To hell with the rest of the world, Wei Wuxian thought. Who needed it? They wouldn’t be the first group of cultivators in the world to turn their back on it. Even if they remained behind these walls indefinitely, it was the rest of the world’s loss, not theirs. They had everything they needed right here.

Eventually, the pain faded to the background, or his awareness of it did, turning it into a low level hum that accompanied him everywhere he went. Some days were better than others, some worse and no way to tell which was which until they happened to him. As more time passed, he began to suspect it would always be so or would be so long-term instead that it might as well be treated as something he would just have to live with. Which meant, no matter that Lan Zhan continued to feel he should treat himself with too much care, that he needed to return to some semblance of a normal route. His palm curved over the wound in his abdomen, nearly healed again now that he knew better how to keep from pulling at the slow-forming scar tissue. Do you hear that, he thought, a normal routine.

“Lan Zhan,” he called as Lan Zhan was returning from teaching Wen Yuan. Rising from the stretch he’d settled into, he kept the wince carefully wiped off his face. The ache of his muscles, warm and loose and ready for action that was more exciting than reaching for his toes or lunging with no intention of doing anything further, was a good one. He wanted to take advantage. “Lan Zhan, spar with me.”

The look of venomous disdain he received for that suggestion was almost impressive.

The thing was, he had a theory, and it was that over seven years and however many months he’d been idle, his golden core wasn’t up to the task of taking care of him any longer. Continuing to skulk around this cave while doing nothing would only exacerbate the problem. Hence: normal routine. Hence: sparring. Hence, ugh: meditation practice, which he also was beginning to do more frequently, but when Lan Zhan wasn’t around to play with instead.

The pain had kept him distracted before, agony piled upon agony as he relearned how to exist in his body. Though it still hurt to move and breathe and live, it was a familiar pain by now, familiar enough that he felt ready to push himself. “Lan Zhan, come on. I’m wasting away in here.” He held out his arm and pushed up his sleeve. “This skin is too pale. I need to do something.” Preferably something where there was sunlight, sunlight and Lan Zhan’s presence at his side. That was more than enough for him. “Spar with me. It’ll be like we’re little kids again. That should be fun!”

“No,” Lan Zhan answered, but it was the sort of no he gave when he was willing to be convinced. Wei Wuxian just had to keep trying. Now that he’d planted the seed, he could wait a little longer to try again. Just the possibility that he’d get to do something physical with this half-broken body of his was enough to motivate him to be good in other ways.

Hiding a grimace, he threw—or, well, kind of shuffled toward and then plastered—himself against Lan Zhan’s side, fingers winding in the sash around his waist. “Then meditate with me.”

This, Wei Wuxian thought, was accompanied by far more incredulity than the occasion called for, but Lan Zhan nodded. He also very kindly didn’t point it out when Wei Ying was falling asleep against his shoulder not fifteen minutes into the practice. It wasn’t his fault when Lan Zhan was right there, his posture perfect, and his arm was so very welcoming to him as he listed.

As he drifted off, he told himself fifteen minutes was better than nothing, even if it wasn’t sparring with Lan Zhan.

“Lan Zhan, spar with me, I’m bored.”

Lan Zhan tossed an incredulous look his way as he worked in the middle of the cave, conditioning his qin. “No,” he said simply.

“Only for a little while,” he wheedled, kicking his feet against the rocky floor. One day, they’d have to do something about that, put down a mat of some sort, something pretty or at least interesting to look at.

“No.”

“Lan Zhan, I need to get back into fighting form. What if someone tries to attack us? I’ll be useless.” As much as his golden core seemed to enjoy all the meditation he was doing, that had never been him. Surely, he’d get more out of it if he did both.

Lan Zhan went still, fingers poised over the qin’s strings. “That won’t happen.”

“Lan Zhan, I’m withering away like this. It’s too annoying. I’m going to turn into one of those cultivators who can only sit around and meditate. I’ll forget all my sword forms. Who’s going to teach Wen Yuan—” Wei Wuxian lit up, mood improving. “Ah, what if I spar with Wen Yuan? He’ll go easy on me and it’ll be good for him, too.” Surely Lan Zhan couldn’t see any danger in Wei Wuxian facing off against an eleven year old.

Lan Zhan eyed him, one eyebrow arched. “He has been trained by Gu Yahui.”

Wei Wuxian’s shoulders slumped. In Wei Wuxian’s current state, that probably meant that Wen Yuan would be an insurmountable foe on the training grounds. He still had to start somewhere, right? “Like I said, he’ll go easy on me. He’s a good kid.”

“I’m not questioning Wen Yuan’s ability to hold back,” Lan Zhan said pointedly.

“Only mine, right?” Sighing, Wei Wuxian sucked his teeth, a sound so annoying that even Lan Zhan grimaced. “Ah, Lan Zhan. I know my limits now.”

“You know your limits only so you can push past them,” Lan Zhan pointed out, which wasn’t a lie, but also wasn’t fair. Rather, it was fair, a perfectly good assessment of him, but it wasn’t his motivation this time. It wasn’t spite that drove him, just a desperate need to move, to do something that he recognized as part of the life he’d led before. And yes, maybe he was tired of sitting around in a cave all day, but that was only a tertiary concern.

“Lan Zhan, I can’t change who I am entirely. Be reasonable.”

“I am as reasonable as I can be.” Despite Lan Zhan’s recalcitrance, he saw the moment Lan Zhan broke even before Lan Zhan seemed to realize he was breaking. “Why did you ask if you were so set on this path? I wouldn’t—I won’t force you to do what you don’t want to do.”

“Because I care about your opinion,” Wei Wuxian answered. “Obviously. I just…”

“Want to spar?”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian said weakly, “that.” This conversation was going in none of the directions he might have anticipated.

“I cannot tell you what to do,” Lan Zhan said. “I can only say that there is no reason to rush and that I wish you would be careful.” He hesitated. Somehow, this admission was worse than every no he’d already given. “If you want to train, I will not stop you.”

Wen Yuan was still small for his age and probably always would be given his early deprivation, but he was quick. His stick clattered again and again against Wei Wuxian’s as Wei Wuxian struggled to keep up. Sweat poured off of him, but the pain of motion was bearable rather than truly excruciating. He’d tire too soon and then it would be over, but it still felt so good to do something that he couldn’t bring himself to rein it in. Sorry, Lan Zhan, he thought, feeling his own preferences and desires as a betrayal of Lan Zhan’s care for him.

It helped, he thought, and not just out of a desperate need to prove this was the right thing to do. The quality of the pain was different, offering a temporary respite from the usual variety that plagued him. It was a more normal pain, one he recognized, one that didn’t carry teeth and a gaping maw. This pain didn’t want to drag him down into hell again.

He and Wen Yuan traded a few more blows, their sticks clacking together. Wei Wuxian would have to call the match soon. His reflexes were growing sluggish.

Too sluggish too quickly as it turned out. Wen Yuan’s stick struck his arm. Fire lanced up his shoulder. Reflexively, he dropped his stick and so did Wen Yuan, who cried out in dismay and ran forward, probably to help the decrepit old man who couldn’t handle being hit with a stick.

“Aiyou,” Wei Wuxian said, fighting a flush of embarrassment. This was expected. He would get back into fighting shape eventually. It said nothing about him that he lost, never mind that he’d so rarely lost before, could only really lose, probably, to Lan Zhan at his height. “It’s fine. Don’t hover! Looks like you won.”

But even though Wen Yuan’s eyes were wide, scared, he was flushed with exertion, too. He had a right to enjoy his victory. It should be pride, not guilt, that swelled within him.

“Eh, at least you worked up a sweat, too!” Though it still hurt, he laughed and punched Wen Yuan’s small, too small, shoulders. Of course Wen Yuan didn’t even blink. Even if he put the full force of his abilities behind it, Wen Yuan would barely feel it, but of course he didn’t: it was only a playful tap. “One day, I’ll beat you.”

Wen Yuan, apparently satisfied that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t collapse, turned away and jogged to the pile of their things on the corner of the makeshift practice grounds. He dug around over there for a short time, came back up with a few of the bamboo containers of water he’d brought along. His attention briefly turned to something he saw down the path that led here. From his current vantage on the other side, Wei Wuxian couldn’t see what it was.

He shortly had his answer.

No matter where Lan Zhan might be or what he wore, his bearing would always remain that of an elegant young master of Gusu Lan. That remained the case as he approached Wen Yuan. They spoke momentarily and then Lan Zhan accompanied Wen Yuan to where Wei Wuxian continued to catch his breath.

Wen Yuan separated out their belongings and then held one of the containers out for Wei Wuxian. Water sloshed inside as he tipped it back and forth. “Wei-laoshi is very wise. Of course he’ll beat me.”

Wei Wuxian swiped the container, downed nearly the entire contents. Though it was tepid, it still refreshed him. When he was done, he wiped his face with his forearm. “Where did you learn such cheek? It wasn’t from me! Lan Zhan, I think you’ve corrupted this boy. He teases like you do. How is this fair to me?”

Lan Zhan had no sympathy in his heart for Wei Wuxian’s plight. “How is it unfair when you like it?”

Wei Wuxian wailed theatrically, because he knew both Lan Zhan and Wen Yuan enjoyed it and he did so hate to disappoint them.

Having delivered Wei Wuxian into Lan Zhan’s care, Wen Yuan made his farewells. “Lan-laoshi says Qing-jie is looking for me,” he explained. “Thank you for the lesson, Wei-laoshi.”

“So formal! And for such a lesson as I can give? A-Yuan is such a humble boy.”

Wen Yuan’s face turned bright, beautiful red. It was so easy to bully the young. They were so easily embarrassed about everything. “Whatever you say, Wei-laoshi,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry to have troubled Lan-laoshi to come all this way to pass along Qing-jie’s message.”

“It’s okay, A-Yuan. Lan Zhan would’ve come along anyway before long anyway because he likes to make sure I don’t get myself into trouble. It would make sense to pass along the message. Isn’t that right, Lan Zhan?”

“Wei Ying often wishes to get into trouble,” Lan Zhan said, “but I wouldn’t have minded regardless.”

Wen Yuan laughed, shy, as he hauled his little bag onto his shoulder, waved at the both of them as he made his way down the path. “Bye, Xian-ge! Zhan-ge!”

“Guess we should head back, too.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes were always sharp; he caught the wincing step Wei Wuxian took, lips firming in vague displeasure. A gentleman at every opportunity, he held out his arm for Wei Wuxian to take. Because Wei Wuxian was pathetic—Lan Zhan rarely instigated touch of his own volition, it was always Wei Wuxian asking—he didn’t dare waste the chance to be close to him. There were so many things he wanted to do and still didn’t have the strength to do, but this—this he could still have: Lan Zhan’s arm with his own wrapped around it, Lan Zhan bearing his weight as they walked. Or: Lan Zhan walked. Wei Wuxian kind of hobbled. Wei Wuxian’s stomach fluttered like it belonged to a shy maiden happening upon her lover. Ah, if only he could have more than this chaste contact. But if Lan Zhan wouldn’t spar with him, he definitely wouldn’t let Wei Wuxian do anything else with him either.

The pain in his arm flared, deepened. His torso throbbed. He’d have to find an opportunity to change the bandage still wrapped around his waist. Wen Qing would surely want to check on it at some point, but until now her concerns centered mostly on the fact that his body continued to misbehave in such interesting ways. When they saw one another, she mostly focused on gauging how poorly his body reacted to stimulus and adjusted her prescriptions accordingly.

“Ah, Zhan-gege,” he said, gently teasing. “They grow so quickly.”

Lan Zhan’s ears flushed, as they always did when he called him that.

For a time, they followed the same path Wen Yuan had wandered down moments ago. Instead of following it, Lan Zhan attempted to turn them onto the trail that led back to the cave.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t ready to go back, was, in fact, enjoying this perfectly lovely day. Though he was tired, he wasn’t too tired, and wanted to carry this feeling as far as it would take him, even if he paid for it later.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked, when Wei Wuxian stopped them at the juncture where the paths split.

“I’d like to go down and see the rest of the Burial Mounds.”

Lan Zhan paused and frowned, growing more quiet than usual. He clearly disagreed with Wei Wuxian’s wish, but unlike in the past, even the recent past, when he might have complained or insisted that Wei Wuxian needed to rest, he only nodded his assent, wary, but willing. “Where would you like to go?”

There would be no profit in not pushing for the most he could get. Who knew how long it would be before he felt this okay again? “The perimeter. I’m curious about what it’s like now.”

“If it will please you.” He studied Wei Wuxian closely. “You’ll tell me if you get tired?”

“You’ll be the first to know, of course!” These days, he wouldn’t be able to stop Lan Zhan from finding out. It was difficult to hide the pain, the fatigue, even when he felt good. When he reached the end of his endurance, always far too soon, it was impossible to mask and Lan Zhan was always quick to pick up on it, searching for signs of it in everything he did.

When he got his strength back, they’d all be in trouble, most especially Lan Zhan, to whom Wei Wuxian wished to give a whole lot of… well. Physical exertions.

He cleared his throat and fought the flush that threatened to climb his own neck. It would go nowhere productive to feel this way. Usually his body wasn’t quite this frisky. Apparently it had a lot of excess energy today. Even if he started something, he would not be able to finish it. And that was presuming Lan Zhan wouldn’t turn him down.

Poor Lan Zhan was probably forced to wander off into the woods to relieve whatever arousal he felt whenever he felt it. Or maybe he meditated the sensation away. In truth, he couldn’t recall what Lan Zhan might have done to take care of those needs. By the time they’d reached that point, well… Wei Wuxian had gone and screwed it up, hadn’t he? And his recollections of those moments, the weight of Lan Zhan on his tongue, the taste of him, they were twisted and vague, tainted by what followed. He didn’t remember enough and suddenly it haunted him that he was so cut off from this part of Lan Zhan’s life again.

The time when he’d be allowed to touch Lan Zhan in that way again was probably a long way off. A very, very long way off. So far off that Wei Wuxian felt a bolt of grief within him. Now that he was fixating on it, any length of time would be too long. At the very least, he wanted to see Lan Zhan take something other than regret from his life.

What Wei Wuxian wouldn’t give to see Lan Zhan touch himself. Could he convince Lan Zhan to let him have that much?

And now Wei Wuxian was imagining it and—

There weren’t enough paths through the woods to keep Wei Wuxian’s mind from wandering down that particular track. “Lan Zhan, distract me.”

Lan Zhan eyed him, wary. “From what?”

They walked at such a sedate pace that Wei Wuxian was sure he would implode. Perhaps if they just… tried it, it would all work out. Wei Wuxian could play it all off as strength or stamina building exercises. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“From you, of course! You’re too lovely, Lan Zhan. It’s just not fair.”

Sniffing indelicately, Lan Zhan said, “You’re ridiculous,” but a delicate flush gave him away. The moment turned fraught with anticipation, like he could read the truth in Wei Wuxian’s words. “You wanted to see the perimeter. We are almost there.”

“It’s big,” Wei Wuxian said, craning his neck up to take in the full grandeur of the wall. It was imposing enough from far away, but up close, it was a glittering marvel, strangely beautiful with those elegant and imposing stones. It was so seamless that Wei Wuxian couldn’t feel where one block ended and another began. “And tall.”

“Mn.”

From here, it bore Lan Zhan’s obvious stamp. Only he would come up with something so aesthetically austere and foreboding all at once.

“Lan Zhan, why?”

“I was anticipating a reprisal. Our numbers were too few and nobody was in a position to fight. At the time, I thought we might better survive a siege than an outright attack.”

“And were you?”

“Were we what?”

“Sieged.”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer for a moment. “There was no opportunity,” he offered, an answer, though a vague one. “Nobody has sought retribution.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Wei Wuxian said carefully, “but I find that unbelievable. With Jin Guangshan in charge…”

Lan Zhan pulled him close and laced their fingers together. He looked down at their joined hands and brushed his thumb across Wei Wuxian’s knuckles. Wei Wuxian shivered at the contact, thrilled that it didn’t bring pure agony along with it. Twice in one day, Lan Zhan had reached for him first. It was worth recognizing.

Lan Zhan stared at the wall, tracing its lines, eyes gone cold. “There are several traps and mazes outside the wall. Perhaps that has dissuaded them.” He didn’t sound convinced and neither was Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian shivered again, this time for another reason entirely. “Does nobody come in?”

“Only those who wish to join,” Lan Zhan said. “Some come from Yiling with petitions on occasion, but they know better than to attempt to reach us without Wen Qionglin’s assistance through the traps. Those who wish to leave are free to go as and when they wish.”

As they meandered, Wei Wuxian’s attention caught on every field they passed. Each one was occupied with someone tending to crops or constructing a home or feeding some animal or other. Children played and sang, darting around the legs of the adults around them, laughing. They were all healthy and hale, happy compared to what they’d started with. They’d managed to help these people when no one else would. That had to count for something.

When they stopped to rest halfway to the cave, Lan Zhan admitted, “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough, what has been done here.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart broke in his chest, threatened to spill vital blood from his mouth. It was not fair that Lan Zhan should be this burdened even now, that Wei Wuxian hadn’t been here to help build this miraculous, imperfect thing.

Turning Lan Zhan so he got the best view of the village below, Wei Wuxian pinched Lan Zhan’s chin between his fingers, forced him to look upon what he’d built with the remnants of Wen Ruohan and Jin Guangshan’s war. Even with the unrelenting wall occupying his peripheral vision, it couldn’t be considered bad.

“Lan Zhan, look at all of this. You’ve done enough.”

It was more than enough and it wasn’t Wei Wuxian who’d done any of it.

Lan Wangji woke Wei Ying with the gentle brush of his hand across Wei Ying’s cheek. As ever, Wei Ying flinched at the contact, but when he opened his eyes, they brimmed with happiness, bright with pleasure. Though Lan Wangji was not yet used to it, he was learning to recognize when there was room in him now for something other than pain. It was not easy to relax his vigilance when he feared so desperately for Wei Ying’s well being, but he tried.

It startled him how difficult it was to acknowledge that Wei Ying was truly recovering despite the evidence before him. Though Lan Wangji couldn’t deny it, he tried to find cracks in his good fortune. Nothing he’d experienced in this life came without a price. Surely Wei Ying’s recovery would demand something more from him. “Wei Ying,” he said, quiet, leaning close even as Wei Ying yawned. “Do you need more rest today?”

“Time is it?” Wei Ying asked.

“Early enough.”

Groaning, Wei Ying stretched, joints popping loud enough for Lan Wangji to hear. He angled himself so he could look over Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “Lan Zhan, it’s so late! If you’re too indulgent, I’ll get lazy! I’m awake.” He lifted his arms, a blatant ploy, and one Lan Wangji welcomed fully. Whether Wei Ying needed assistance or not, Lan Wangji would gladly use it as an excuse to scoop Wei Ying into his arms. “Help me up?”

It wasn’t so very difficult to maneuver him toward their little table and deposit him on a small cushion where he immediately slumped forward, yawning again as he waited for Lan Wangji to return. “You let me sleep in.” He pouted as he looked toward the mouth of the cave again, late morning light spilling inside. “You really are too indulgent.”

“You should rest,” Lan Wangji said as he reheated Wei Ying’s breakfast.

“I should pull my weight.”

Lan Wangji returned to his side with a tray that contained a bowl of thin broth and noodles, rice, a few vegetables.

Wei Ying poked at the vegetables morosely, swirled his spoon through the broth, sighing. “I won’t die because the food is spicy, Lan Zhan. Let a man live a little, huh? This is plain cruelty.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth twitched. He purposefully declined to acknowledge Wei Ying’s bad joke. Both bad jokes. “If you wish to tell Grandmother Wen her cooking is not to your taste, you are more than welcome to do so.”

“Argh, Lan Zhan. I can’t just say that to her! But you could just sneak back some seasonings. Even just one pepper. Instead you do this to me. The food in Qishan isn’t so bad, so I know she’s only doing this out of worry for me. Come on.”

Lan Wangji sat across from Wei Ying. “Have some tea,” he said instead, pouring a cup before Wei Ying could complain about this, too. If Wei Ying chattering away about all the food he missed—every spicy dish under the sun apparently, even the ones Lan Wangji knew Wei Ying didn’t like—and how poorly done in he was by Lan Wangji in particular? That told him more than any number of Wei Ying’s various invocations of, “I’m fine, Lan Zhan, really,” ever could.

Tamping down on his instinctive annoyance at Wei Ying’s never satiated desire to push his recovery, he sipped from his own cup of nearly tasteless tea.

He wouldn’t be moved today, but perhaps soon he would ask Wen Qionglin if he might pick something up from Yiling that was to Wei Ying’s taste.

“Lan Wangji, you’re a devious man. I see that look on your face. You know exactly what you’re doing. So dishonorable,” Wei Ying said. “You’re withholding good food from me on purpose! I know what it looks like when you think my complaints have merit.”

Lan Wangji focused entirely on his tea, as was proper. Merit was not the word he would have used. “You’re imagining things.”

Though he grumbled, Wei Ying finished eating quickly, humming thoughtfully through the last of it. When he was done, he asked, “Lan Zhan, play for me? Or are you too tired?”

“I’m not too tired.”

They made their way outside, his qin slung awkwardly over his shoulder as Wei Ying clung to him. As he always did, Wei Ying tilted his face to the sky and breathed deeply, smiling as he walked side by side with Lan Wangji to what was becoming their spot.

Lan Wangji helped Wei Ying sit and arranged his qin.

Wei Ying settled himself against Lan Wangji’s side, inhaling sharply, as he settled against Lan Wangji’s side. For a time, he played, and though he was pleased, he couldn’t help but continually look over, catching glimpses of Wei Ying as often as he could. Just to be sure.

He’d thought today would be a good day, but every time he looked, Wei Ying listed more and more, the cheer of the morning drain away.

Wei Ying tried so hard to be what he once was. Much of the time, he succeeded at performing the gentle good humor Lan Wangji remembered from their days at Lotus Pier or the more rambunctious mischief of his time studying at Cloud Recesses. Gone entirely seemed to be the rage that had fueled him through the war and its aftermath. But sometimes, when Wei Ying thought he wasn’t being watched, he went still and blank-faced, lost and childlike, and Lan Wangji felt certain in those moments that Wei Ying would float away entirely, lost in a void of his own—and Lan Wangji’s—making. It wasn’t the same as the drain he experienced when he pushed himself too far. That expressed itself differently, though his muscles would stiffen and go blankly stoic then, too. Lan Wangji could rouse Wei Ying from those moments; Lan Wangji didn’t truly know how to bring him back from these ones.

Wei Ying always did it for himself, too slowly this time for Lan Wangji’s taste.

He shook his head before Lan Wangji had to make a decision. “Lan Zhan, we should play a duet some time. Like we used to.” Wistfulness curled itself around his words, settling deep into them. It was like nothing strange had occurred in the moments before he spoke.

Lan Wangji plucked the strings of his qin, gently transitioning into the only duet they both knew that really mattered. Wei Ying slumped even further into him, sighing contentedly. He could play this song for Wei Ying in his sleep. When he died, his spirit would probably continue to play it from the afterlife.

“If I would have known you were going to be so charitable, I’d have brought my flute.” He made a thoughtful noise. “I don’t know where it is. Do you?”

“I know. We’ll bring it next time. I am no more charitable than I want to be. You should rest.”

“You always say that.” He bit back a yawn. His carefully concealed wince wasn’t concealed enough. “I’m going to do what you ask, Lan Zhan, mark the fact.”

“Mn.” Troubled by Wei Ying’s easy capitulation yet relieved that Wei Ying was taking care, he resumed playing, doing everything he could to avoid jostling Wei Ying as he moved his arms.

It didn’t matter; Wei Ying was asleep within minutes.

“Lan Zhan, I’m bored,” Wei Ying said. His gait told Lan Wangji it was a good day, his step spry and easy, his spine straight. “I’m tired of this cave.”

“What would you like to do instead?”

“Go down into the village,” he answered immediately. “I still haven’t gone down to check on it. I want—”

It was fine. Wei Ying could come and go as he pleased. The distance would be enough to wear him out, but it was his right to do that to himself if he wished. “You don’t have to ask my permission.”

Wei Ying’s shoulders stiffened. “I wasn’t asking permission.” His voice carried a careful neutrality in it. “I was trying to invite you.”

Lan Wangji, shamed by his own apprehensions and assumptions, opened his mouth to accept. Without thought, he would follow Wei Ying anywhere, but something in Wei Ying’s gaze stopped him. It wasn’t that the offer wasn’t sincerely given, but the skepticism Lan Wangji saw troubled him, like he expected Lan Wangji to try to talk him out of it again or say no. The fact that he wanted to do both of those things was inescapable.

He accompanied Wei Ying everywhere, was always underfoot. They were ever in one another’s orbit, even more so than when they first traveled together. There were few moments during which Wei Ying got to be alone of his own volition. Lan Wangji had more privacy and freedom, often spent the morning in his own company while Wei Ying slept. Wei Ying, on the other hand, never had the option. He sometimes woke up alone, yes, but he never made the decision to do so.

As though struck by a lightning bolt, Lan Wangji realized that if he never tried to let go, he’d always hover, and eventually Wei Ying’s exuberant welcome would turn to resentment or worse.

“That’s…” The words would not come easily to him. “I believe I would like to remain. I have not meditated as diligently of late as I would like.”

Wei Ying stared back, nose wrinkling and eyebrows drawing down. “Alright,” Wei Ying said, dubious. “I’ll be back soon.”

Having declined, he refused to be nervous, but the minute Wei Ying left his sight, walking stick in hand, diligently carved by Wei Ying himself one afternoon not long ago—I need to get my dexterity up, Lan Zhan!—Lan Wangji already felt a column of ants climb his spine. The last time he let Wei Ying out of his sight, it didn’t end well.

He lasted an hour—spent playing for the Burial Mounds, because he didn’t know what else to do with time to himself and certainly wasn’t able to meditate under the circumstances—before he made the journey down as well, keeping his attention honed in case anything bad had happened to Wei Ying was walking. Nothing of the sort confronted him, no signs of distress in the careful, even spacing of the indent left behind by the stick. Lan Wangji made it into the village to find nothing more amiss than the shrill, charged laughter of happily screeching children roaming around one of the patches of ground set aside for training.

Ma Lifeng, one of the rogue cultivators who’d joined several years back, was supervising from the edge of the field as Wei Ying got himself caught up in the middle of a bunch of five and six year olds, children he’d never had the chance to meet before. He treated them like old friends already. “Oh, look at all of you, getting so big and strong! How soon before you’ll be holding real swords. Ah, ah, ah, A-Ping, higher, higher, there you go. That’s right. Hey, back in formation, you! We’re doing very serious cultivation work here.”

The movements Wei Ying was taking them through bore similarities to Yunmeng Jiang’s style of swordplay. Though Wei Ying had stripped these forms of their complexity to accommodate all these little bodies and his own, Lan Wangji saw the roots that spread all the way back to Lotus Pier.

When Lan Wangji reached Ma Lifeng’s side, he said, “The Blood-Bladed Plough isn’t quite what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” Lan Wangji asked, awkward. He was not used to small talk from anyone, but especially not Ma Lifeng and not about Wei Ying.

“I didn’t think he’d be so good with the children.” Ma Lifeng gestured at the people who’d begun to gather around, even the villagers who steered clear of any of the trappings of the cultivation world, some of whom went far enough to say none of the children should be trained and remained away whenever they saw it. “I’m not sure they knew either.”

“At one time, Wen Yuan was the only child close to this age in the settlement. We weren’t in any position to train children then. They had no chance to know.” If he’d had such a thing to focus on, would it have changed anything? From seeing him like this, Lan Wangji thought it might have. A few of the more grudging villagers smiled as Wei Ying’s antics won them over. “He’s a good man.”

“With a name like the one he’s been saddled with, he’d have to be more than a good man.”

“He is a good man. The rest is meaningless.”

Ma Lifeng was a gentle, cordial man, but he could be brutal when he wished to be. “Are you saying that because you mean it or because you would like to escape your reputation, too?”

Nobody in all their years here had questioned Lan Wangji before. It was an uncomfortable thing to be asked such a personal question. “We have all done what has needed to be done. Even you. Reputations are flimsy things.” He eyed Ma Lifeng closely, wondering what existed in his past that he would like to forget. People didn’t come to the Burial Mounds if they felt they had another choice. “This is the reputation Wei Ying deserves,” he said, adamant. He was a teacher and a protector. At one time, he would have been one of the most powerful people in the cultivation world as Jiang Wanyin’s second-in-command. He still would have taught like this. He would have made people laugh there as he was making them laugh here. He would have guided his students in Yunmeng with the same amused patience and bemusement he showed in the Burial Mounds.

Wei Ying lifted his eyes, finding Lan Wangji’s unerringly, like he always did. “Lan Zhan! Come and play with us!”

Lan Wangji ducked his head, intending to decline, but why should he, when Wei Ying was here and alive and smiling and making the children giggle and showing them how to grow their potential?

Why not?

“Very well,” he said.

Clutching his chest, Wei Ying said, “Lan Zhan, put that smile away or someone will take you from me and what would I do then?”

Sweeping forward, Lan Wangji brushed the wild tangle of Wei Ying’s hair over his shoulder, hiding his face for a moment, nose pressed to Wei Ying’s cheek. “I didn’t know I was smiling.” He breathed in Wei Ying’s scent, the mingling of the hair oil he used and the sharp, astringent odor of exertion performed under the sun. “Nobody will take me from you.”

He gasped against Lan Wangji’s neck as Lan Wangji’s hand skimmed down his healing side, light, and clutched hard at his back; he breathed in deeply. When Lan Wangji lifted his head, the vast majority of the villagers were returning to their work.

“Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji. Lan er-gege. You fiend.”

“Wei Ying, you’ll teach these children bad habits,” he said quietly, directly into Wei Ying’s ear, not because it was true, but because it made Wei Ying huff in amusement.

Wei Ying squeezed Lan Wangji more tightly. “I think you’ll be the one teaching them bad habits.”

Before Lan Wangji was ready and long after what was truly appropriate, Wei Ying let go and stepped back. “Perhaps if we all ask very nicely, Lan-laoshi will help teach you, huh?”

The kids looked up with curiosity in their eyes, curiosity and a bit of concern—Lan Wangji did not often come down from his place at the top of the Burial Mounds—but maybe because of Wei Ying’s enthusiasm, they settled and decided to be excited, too.

“Perhaps he’ll even show me something.”

“Wei Ying does not need to be taught by me.”

Wei Ying’s cheeks flushed and his eyes narrowed as he smiled with cheery earnestness at Lan Wangji.

“Lan-laoshi is really too charming. He’ll give me an overlarge head if he’s not more careful.”

Though it was clear that Wei Ying expected Lan Wangji to play into it and deflate his ego, Lan Wangji decided he didn’t want to, instead allowing Wei Ying to be as gregariously over the top as he wished to be. In the past, Wei Ying might have expressed disappointment in Lan Wangji’s recalcitrance, but when the smile softened, he thought perhaps Wei Ying understood why he didn’t immediately cut Wei Ying down.

“Oh, Lan Zhan.” He clapped Lan Wangji on the shoulder and stepped away, leaving Lan Wangji amidst the children. There was exhaustion in his eyes, a bone-deep tiredness he didn’t want to expose to the others, but was willing to let Lan Wangji see. That must have been why he’d called Lan Wangji up.

Though he hadn’t taught anyone except Wen Yuan since coming here, maybe…

Wei Ying folded himself down onto the ground near the edge of the packed dirt field, well out of the way of the kids and Lan Wangji and held his chin on his fists, a big, dumb smile on his mouth as he watched, keen.

Lan Wangji had a hard time looking away and the only thing that allowed him to do so was the many pairs of eyes staring up at him, awed by him, not so different from the juniors in Cloud Recesses when he was younger, though at that time he wasn’t that much older than they were, not like a lot of these kids, who were barely tall enough to reach Lan Wangji’s hip.

One of the more forthright children spoke up. “Lan-laoshi, are you going to teach us now?”

Lan Wangji nodded. And then his mind entirely blanked of anything he might teach them. His only real experience was in teaching musical techniques. There wasn’t time to carve flutes for everyone. Maybe in the future, but…

But he could perhaps share some of his wisdom, what little of it he could claim, regarding the meditation techniques of his own childhood. It would serve them well regardless of their future paths, whether they became cultivators or chose to pursue other vocations.

So he sat with them and he shared.

The children remained rapt the whole while, eyes wide. Before long, they were practicing among themselves, quiet and serious.

At least, they were quiet and serious until the first one yawned, startling from a light doze. From there, chaos unleashed itself. A thousand questions burst forth and a few swore on their short lives that they felt something unfurling within them. Before Lan Wangji could answer any of the myriad questions thrown his way, Ma Lifeng came forward to urge order, though not before insisting they thank Lan Wangji and Wei Ying for their tutelage.

After a moment, a hand wrapped itself gently around his shoulder. “Ma Lifeng was kind to let me interrupt his lesson. I couldn’t help myself.” Wei Ying, quiet and intimate. “Lan Zhan, let's go home, huh?”

Lan Wangji drew in a rattling breath and, though he perhaps knew better, took the hand that Wei Ying offered to him. Wei Ying couldn’t quite hide the wince as he pulled Lan Wangji to his feet, but he smiled brightly once Lan Wangji was upright and didn’t waste a single minute dusting Lan Wangji off, lingering with particular interest over the lower part of his back.

“Wei Ying,” he said in warning though Ma Lifeng and the children were already tromping off to another part of the field. Nobody was left to pay them any attention.

“Lan Zhan.” He planted his hands on his hips and pouted. “I can’t let you walk around with dirt on your robes, can I? How unsophisticated.”

“Perhaps I should be the one responsible for ensuring my robes are in order?”

“But where’s the fun in that, Lan Zhan?” With a wink, he traipsed ahead, turning on his heels to walk backward as they left the field. “You’re too good with children. Maybe I should let you walk around here in disarray. Anyone might try to run away with you otherwise. You should have seen the way everyone was looking at you when you were just standing there. If they knew you were this perfect—”

“Wei Ying.”

“What? You’re so good, Lan Zhan. Who wouldn’t want to carry you off? I can barely fight off Wen Yuan with a stick. What good would I be against—”

“Wei Ying, stop.”

Lan Wangji was not, under normal circumstances, terribly given to public displays of anything, especially not affection, but hearing Wei Ying say these things, even in jest, struck at something inside of Lan Wangji. Wei Ying couldn’t truly believe what he was saying, but Lan Wangji wouldn’t let it stand regardless. As carefully as he could, he took hold of Wei Ying’s arm, too aware of the way Wei Ying tensed up reflexively, always expecting pain, always on edge when Lan Wangji touched him. There was nothing that Lan Wangji could do about that, not a single thing, but he hoped that Wei Ying wouldn’t come to hold it against him.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, he flicked Lan Wangji’s chest. “Lan Wangji, so forward…”

Lan Wangji caught and held Wei Ying’s chin between his fingertips. “There can be no one else for me but you. Nobody will run off with me.”

Wei Ying’s features brightened, a sun peeking out from behind thick cloud cover. It would suffice as long as he remained so happy.

“Aiyou.” He said this shyly, secretly pleased maybe, as he tilted his head back and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck. “You don’t have to take me seriously, Lan Zhan, saying such romantic things. So shameless.”

“I do take you seriously. You deserve to hear—” He cupped Wei Ying’s hands in his own. “I know you’re teasing me. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t tell you how I feel.”

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying regarded him with wide, somber eyes, heavy with something Lan Wangji couldn’t identify. Between the span of one breath and the next, he ducked toward Lan Wangji and wrapped his arms around Lan Wangji’s waist, squeezing tight, probably tighter than he ought to have. He selfishly relished the crushing press of Wei Ying against him.

Wei Ying’s hand crept down Lan Wangji’s lower back as he hooked his chin over Lan Wangji’s shoulder. His breath gusted against the back of Lan Wangji’s neck, his ear. He was laughing. “Does this mean I can touch these beautiful buttocks of yours in public, huh, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji’s cheeks burned. His ears heated especially. “If that is what you wish to do.”

Wei Ying crowed in his ear, as he might have expected, and then quickly patted Lan Wangji down as he originally intended to, only lingering long enough to dust his robes, not taking advantage in the slightest. It didn’t look anywhere near as untoward as Wei Ying made it sound like it could have been.

Lan Wangji was not disappointed by this. He was far too dignified for such a thing.

“Ah, Lan Zhan.” He sneaked himself under Lan Wangji’s arm, turning them so they were side by side, attached at the hip practically. His hand lingered at Lan Wangji’s lower back, somehow incredibly warm even through the layers of Lan Wangji’s robe. “You’re too transparent.”

Then, his hand was sneaking over the curve of Lan Wangji’s flank, fingers dancing over the muscles, nails dragging lightly over the juncture where they met the back of his thighs. Lan Wangji’s body flooded with arousal and he realized in his hubris he hadn’t accounted for his own reaction to such intimate contact.

Lan Wangji was a foolish, foolish man. At least Wei Ying had waited until they were alone to… to—

They touched one another often. This shouldn’t have been significantly different than any of those other times, except there was a charge behind it, an intent maybe, that Lan Wangji wasn’t fully prepared to handle. It had been years after all since they’d… and it was sometimes the only thing Lan Wangji could think about except when he reminded himself that Wei Ying was still hurting, still healing, and didn’t need to be burdened with Lan Wangji’s desires, too.

Lan Wangji, reaching back to remove Wei Ying’s hand and put it somewhere a little less actively stimulating, said, “Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying allowed his hand to be guided to his hip instead, a slightly less fraught area, though not by much. Lan Wangji still had to breathe in and out deliberately to keep himself from pushing for things he didn’t want to push for.

“Lan Zhan.” His hand abandoned his body entirely—a relief, a disappointment—and came up to press against his cheek, his chin. “Do you believe you’re so inscrutable? That I don’t have eyes and can’t see how you feel?”

Among an entire village entirely focused on doing their own work, they were alone and unremarkable. Lan Wangji still felt exposed by these questions.

“But—”

“What if I want to feel you, Lan Zhan? Would that make a difference? If I want it first, can you want it at all?”

Lan Wangji shuddered, body and mind caught in a battle. Wei Ying had a right to assert his wishes, should be the one to determine his own limits, but Wei Ying often did things counter to his own best interests. For something as frivolous as this, he didn’t want Wei Ying to put himself out.

His needs and wants hardly mattered. They could wait until Wei Ying was healed.

“Wei Ying, please.”

“Please, what? Please, yes, or please, no?”

Lan Wangji wanted to say no. He did. Truly. But he missed Wei Ying so much. Even when he was standing right here, he sometimes missed him. He was not strong enough to say what he should have.

“Yes.”

Wei Ying led him up the path back to the cave, back to their home, a place Lan Wangji would have never considered as such if not for Wei Ying’s presence there. If Wei Ying was experiencing discomfort, he did not show it, occasionally grinning back at Lan Wangji, as though worried he might bolt at any time.

Before Lan Wangji was entirely ready, they were back in the true privacy of their own space and Wei Ying was turning toward him, soft and not all at soft at the same time. Want coursed through him, overwhelmed him, pure desire for Wei Ying, the touch and taste he’s mostly denied himself this whole time, their whole lives in a way, because before… before they never had the chance. Lan Wangji had never taken one and by the time Wei Ying did, it was almost too late.

Wei Ying’s hands tugged unerringly at the belt around his waist, yanking it free and tossing it aside. His fingers, cool and diligent, slipped beneath the layers of his robes to touch his bare skin, skin that hadn’t been touched with intent in this way.

From only this, Lan Wangji was already breathless. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian’s hands roamed wide, pushed his robe off his shoulders. He’d never had the chance to take his time like this, never been so gentle. “Let me, please.”

Despite his misgivings, his fears, he relaxed into Wei Ying’s touch. Despite knowing he shouldn’t, he hardened. After everything he’d watched Wei Ying go through, he could still do this, feel this, want this heedless of Wei Ying’s comfort or discomfort.

Wei Ying offered him a sweet, crooked smile.

“Let’s get you out of that head of yours, huh? Er-gege has been so good to me.”

And then he pushed Lan Wangji toward the bed, exerting more power than he usually did. Even that was arousing and Lan Wangji fell backward with a huff of breath before Wei Ying’s hands pulled the robes all the way open.

“Boots.”

Lan Wangji complied immediately, lifting his hips and pushing down his trousers at the same time, shameless as his erection sprang free, as he kicked out of his clothing. He stilled. Wei Ying stilled. Time ceased to matter as Lan Wangji looked up at Wei Ying and the entirety of their life in the Burial Mounds faded away.

The tension snapped as Wei Ying climbed onto the bed next to him. “Ah, Lan Zhan, so beautiful.”

When Lan Wangji tugged lightly at the collar of Wei Ying’s robe, Wei Ying shied away.

“Wei Ying?”

“Ah ha, Lan Zhan. Let me do this, eh?”

Lan Wangji’s brow furrowed. “But—”

Wei Ying flushed red down to his neck as he righted his robes, tightened the sash around his waist. “Lan Zhan, I don’t think I can. The mind is so very willing.” He gestured somewhat crudely at the lower half of his body. “But the rest of me is…” He blinked a few times, looking away. “I want to do this. Please, just.” He pushed the skirts of Lan Wangji’s robes up, skimmed his fingers over Lan Wangji’s abdomen. His muscles jumped against the touch of Wei Ying’s clever fingers. “Let me do this?”

Taking hold of Wei Ying’s wrist, Lan Wangji nearly succeeded in pulling his hand free. But nearly was not enough to move him. It remained there, resting against Lan Wangji’s stomach as it formed a fist, nails scraping lightly. “Lan Zhan. Don’t. Don’t say no, please. If you don’t want it, then fine, say no. But if you do, don’t. Not on my account. I want you. I want you like this. I want you right now. This is perfect just the way it is. Let it be perfect.”

The hitch in Wei Ying’s voice, the slight edge of desperation was the thing that finally did Lan Wangji in. He could deny Wei Ying nothing, not even when his sense of reciprocity was violated. Shaky, Lan Wangji nodded, pushed off balance by Wei Ying’s earnest words.

With that, he went where Wei Ying bid him to go, gasped when Wei Ying’s clothed body straddled his lap, the fabric dragging roughly over his cock. He surged upward and only at the last moment caught himself as he took Wei Ying’s face between his hands.

He had to be gentle, careful with Wei Ying, even if Wei Ying didn’t wish him to be. He needed to do at least that much.

“Lan Zhan, you’re…”

Whatever he believed Lan Wangji to be was swallowed up by the kiss Lan Wangji gave you him, soft and warm. In contrast to the storm lashing just beneath the surface of his skin—a storm’s need for release, relief, as soon as possible, right now—this kiss was tender.

Wei Ying moaned against him, bore down on Lan Wangji while Lan Wangji barely refrained from pushing himself into the perfect juncture between Wei Ying’s thighs, only the thin linen of his trousers separating their bodies.

Wei Ying brought his hand down between them, wrapping his palm around Lan Wangji’s length. His touch remained dry only until he gathered enough leaking fluid to coat his fingers—not long at all with Lan Wangji’s body this eager—when it became the perfect slide of skin against skin. He leaned close, swallowed Lan Wangji’s hoarse shout with another kiss, taking his breath as though he was the one drowning for it.

He only tore his mouth away when he needed to break for air, and pressed his lips to Wei Ying’s feverish neck, grazed the delicate skin with his teeth. Wei Ying’s hand tightened around him, sped up, brought him right up to the edge of this precipice.

“Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan. Lan er-gege. Do you know how good you feel? I wish I could show you. I wish… Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Let go for me, please. I want to see.”

With more coordination than Lan Wangji would have been capable of, Wei Ying brought his free hand up to tilt Lan Wangji’s head back. Though Lan Wangji feared what he would see, how much pain this will have caused Wei Ying, he allowed it to happen, met his gaze. There was eagerness in his eyes, if not lust, and greed-riddled passion, if not arousal. “That’s it.”

Lan Wangji bucked upward into Wei Ying’s hand, careless. Though Wei Ying hissed in response, he leaned into it, ground down against Lan Wangji, forced more from him instead of shying away.

“Come on, come on, Lan Zhan. You’re so beautiful. You know that, don’t you, how beautiful you are?”

Closing his eyes, turning his head away, denying Wei Ying in this, Lan Wangji shook his head. “Wei Ying, I don’t—”

I don’t deserve this.

“Yes, you do. You can. Come for me, Lan Zhan. Open your eyes for me. I need to know.” Panting and writhing against the bed, Lan Wangji did. He could. He would show Wei Ying whatever he wanted to see. His entire body lit up from the inside, his orgasm pulled from him by Wei Ying’s clever, clever hands. Wei Ying pinned him to the bed with the intensity of his scrutiny. What he saw on Wei Ying’s face in return wasn’t the agony he expected. Or not the agony he was used to seeing anyway. A sob maybe or a laugh, something Lan Wangji wanted to soothe and didn’t know how to, caught in Wei Ying’s throat.

Wei Ying pressed himself against Lan Wangji, head pillowed against his chest, ear right over his heart, hearing everything and not just seeing it. He kept his hand curled closed around Lan Wangji’s release. Its scent mingled with the lingering scent of sandalwood that always clung to the caves, too intimate somehow, flaying Lan Wangji open. It made Lan Wangji want to run, hide himself away where he couldn’t be seen or found.

They’d never made love before, Wei Ying resting against him afterward. The one time they’d done this, it was neither gentle nor kind.

Lan Wangji swallowed around the painful squeeze he felt in his throat, tight with a tangled lump of emotion. Every time he looked at Wei Ying, he saw a man who deserved better than what he was given.

Lan Wangji raised his arm, ready to curl it around Wei Ying’s shoulders, and hesitated. Wei Ying must have caught the motion and realized what he intended to do, because his breath hitched and he himself tightened his hold, heedless of everything except his own need for closeness.

“Lan Zhan, you can touch me. You always could. I’ll always want you to.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“When have you ever been able to do that? Lan Zhan, I’ll only break if you don’t. Please, touch me.”

Even with permission, he could not force himself to commit to such an act with as much ferocity as he would have wished. He wanted to claw his way beneath Wei Ying’s skin, take up residence inside of him. Touch him? Lan Wangji wanted to consume him, be consumed by him in turn.

Still, Lan Wangji carefully pressed his hand against Wei Ying’s collarbone beneath his robes, wishing they weren’t in the way. He slipped his fingers beneath the back of the collar, but even that wasn’t enough. Though Wei Ying trembled with each stroke of Lan Wangji’s fingers over his skin, he nodded, told Lan Wangji how good he was with every murmured bit of praise.

Carefully, he reached for the sash at Wei Ying’s waist and found his hand caught in a vice. This far and no more, it said without Wei Ying having to say anything. Lan Wangji’s gut ached with shame for all the things he kept asking for, too much for Wei Ying. He removed his hand, returned it to Wei Ying’s neck, curved carefully around his throat. Wei Ying relaxed into this touch.

Wei Ying wriggled around until he was plastered more thoroughly against Lan Wangji. “Isn’t that better, Lan Zhan?”

Beneath his palm, he felt each inhalation Wei Ying took through his fingertips, and found it was finally enough.

Wei Wuxian grimaced as he studied his side in the small, highly polished bit of metal he’d found to serve as a mirror. In the low, flickering light of a candle, he couldn’t see much, not unless he was willing to fully remove his robes. The wound remained painful to the touch. It wasn’t bleeding actively at the moment and he wanted to believe it meant something that it was scabbing over, but in his heart he knew it didn’t. It didn’t bleed a lot of the time, but it wasn’t improving much either, vacillating between healing and not, much like the rest of him.

He still didn’t know precisely what Lan Zhan had done to him and he hesitated to ask, feeling ungrateful and vile about the possibility of shoving his finger into Lan Zhan’s hurts by asking questions. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been—it wasn’t something Lan Zhan would have done except under the most excruciating of circumstances. He wouldn’t have made Wei Wuxian suffer purposefully.

Of the few things he could admit to Lan Zhan, already so difficult to do, he didn’t know how to tell Lan Zhan he’d caused even one bit more. Compared to everything else, this was nothing, just inconvenient and unsettling. It preoccupied his attention in ways the rest didn’t. It made sense to him that he would need time to acclimate. What didn’t make sense was the fact his golden core wasn’t handling this, when it should have been the easiest thing to deal with.

If he’d known what he was condemning Wei Wuxian to, he wouldn’t have done this, not if he knew. No matter how badly he wanted Wei Wuxian back.

It was for that reason alone that Wei Wuxian had to fix this. He couldn’t function like this long-term and he couldn’t burden Lan Zhan with it, not until he secured an answer.

He would need to go to Wen Qing if he couldn’t figure it out on his own and that… that was where he stalled. He didn’t want to rub any of this in her face either. She’d taken his absence hard, too. Telling her she’d missed something didn’t sit right with him.

The scuffling sound of boots in the mouth of the cave told Wei Wuxian that he’d run out of time for today. Dropping the shard of metal, he smoothly closed his robes and tied the sash, grimaced at the brush of the open wound against the inside of the rough fabric. Quickly, he tucked away the clean rectangle of fabric that he normally wound around his torso into the sash.

Pasting on a smile, he turned. “Lan Zhan,” he chirped, high spirited, “hi.”

Drinking in Lan Zhan’s expression, so settled and happy just to see Wei Wuxian, he let his fears slide away. Maybe he was worrying for nothing.

“I’ve brought breakfast,” Lan Zhan explained, as though the tray didn’t tell Wei Wuxian enough. “I’m sorry I can’t stay, but…”

But there was always something to do and Wei Wuxian wasn’t well enough to pull his weight for long. “I understand, Lan Zhan.”

“Ma Lifeng isn’t feeling well today,” he continued. “He asked if I would help with the children.” Lan Zhan’s gaze was searching. “I’m sure they would enjoy your company as well.”

On a normal day, there was nothing he would have wanted more. On this day, relief spilled through him to know he’d have at least an hour or two of uninterrupted time alone. “I should meditate,” he said, which was true enough. He felt better when he did so, stronger, but today it was just an excuse. Again, Lan Zhan looked at him and probably saw too much. There was nothing Wei Wuxian could do about that.

Lan Zhan remained long enough to watch him eat food that wasn’t terribly appetizing while he fought the nausea growing unchecked within him. This was going to be a bad day, he quickly realized; he’ll need to make the most of the time he’ll be able to remain upright to search.

Once Lan Zhan was gone, he poked and prodded the cave, finding nothing of any use to him there. He’d climbed these walls on more than one occasion and never, ever found anything that might help him figure out what happened. That wasn’t going to change just because he had a new reason for looking.

Just go ask, the rational part of him insisted. Just ask and get it over with. But he could always ask later. Even tomorrow wasn’t so far away. It would hold. He was falling apart, but it wasn’t immediate. Once he asked, though, he couldn’t take it back.

The fearful part of him, the part that didn’t really want to know, won out. Instead of answers, he could seek distractions with whatever energy he would be granted today.

A breeze picked up and teased at his hair. He knew what to do with a bit of wind.

Stomping out onto the path outside, breathing the cool, fresh air, he planted his hands on his hips and strode down the path toward the village. “Wen Ning,” he said to himself. “Wen Ning will help me.”

The inhabitants, by now acclimated or reacclimated to Wei Wuxian’s mad presence around the Burial Mounds, merely smiled or tried to point Wei Wuxian in the direction of his every-moving quarry. He didn’t find Wen Ning, but he did find Lan Zhan surrounded by his gaggle of children. The way Lan Zhan’s features brightened nearly lost him the ability to breathe. “Do we have any bows and arrows? Kites?” Lan Zhan nodded and went off in search. He returned a couple of minutes later with an armful of bows and arrows. “I did not find kites.”

That wasn’t enough to dampen his enthusiasm, especially not when the children were watching on curiously. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this before. Now that the idea was in his head, he was eager. This was something he hadn’t yet shown to the kids. They’d love it. The children back in Yunmeng loved it, too, and Wei Wuxian was always the best at teaching them this particular training exercise. There was no way Wei Wuxian would be able to shoot with them, not when he was barely suppressing his pain as it was, but he could bully Wen Ning into assisting Lan Zhan.

“Halfway there then,” Wei Wuxian said. “Lan Zhan, do you know where Wen Ning is?”

Lan Zhan’s expression shifted, growing complicated and a little strange. “I expect he’s clearing the tall grass by the wall.”

Just as Lan Zhan had said, Wen Ning was near the entrance. For one man alone, he was doing a fairly good job, but managed to look like he was losing a battle with his scythe all the same. Though Wei Wuxian might have liked to help, he knew he’d be of little assistance, too quick to wear out.

Still, he could do a little, and found a tool sitting nearby that helped him loosen the soil where Wen Ning had already cleared out the grass. Careful to avoid pulling at his wound, he did what he could with the patch Wen Ning had already worked over.

“Wen Ning, how busy are you? Is this immediately important?”

Wen Ning glanced down at the scraps of land around him. It stretched for quite a ways, all this grass. Straightening up, he dusted himself off and wrapped one hand around the scythe’s grip, chine and heel pressed into the ground, safely pointed away. “Not very busy, Wei-gongzi. What do you need?”

“I don’t need anything, Wen Ning, I’m perfectly content as I am, but…”

Wen Ning, curious, a little shy, prodded, “But…?”

“But I want to teach the children how to shoot kites.”

Wen Ning furrowed his brows. “Shoot kites?”

Wei Wuxian waved his hand through the air in uncoordinated explanation. “Theoretically, it’s to teach hand-eye coordination and stamina. In truth… in truth it’s just a lot of fun.”

“I see. And you want me to help?”

“I do! You’re an excellent archer. If there’s anyone more qualified—”

“Wouldn’t Lan er-gongzi be better? He—he can also shoot. And he’s already with the children today…”

“It’s better when there are two who can shoot and I’m…” Like this. “If you’d rather not, that’s fine. It can wait for another time, but if you think it would be fun, I’d like it to be you.”

The smile Wen Ning gave to him was soft and sweet. He ducked his head, exactly what Wei Wuxian was hoping for. He was saying yes, even though he hadn’t said yes yet.

“I think we may have the materials to construct kites,” Wen Ning said, as good as agreement.

The children, not surprisingly, enjoyed making the kites almost more than anything else Wei Wuxian had ever seen them enjoy. Wei Wuxian directed and guided them, but mostly let them do what they wanted as long as it would prove aerodynamic enough for them to work. Within an hour, they had enough kites for all of the children. Some of the adults helped, too, eager to see what would happen, wanting to test themselves as well. They exchanged stories about their own childhood adventures in making kites, though many hadn’t gone the extra step of shooting them down. They were all excited and Wei Wuxian was happy to have caused this much of an uproar over something so joyful. It beat all the other times in his life when he’d done the same for unhappier reasons.

This was how he found himself with everybody in the entire Burial Mounds gathered around toward the top of the mountain path, where the wind was the greatest. Though Lan Zhan was now free to do as he wished, so many people clamoring to assist, he chose to remain, though at a distance, watching from the periphery.

Wen Ning was busy showing the smallest among them what to do while the rest waited patiently, so Wei Wuxian took the chance to go back to bother Lan Zhan. He might respect Lan Zhan’s decision to extricate himself from kite-flying duty, but he didn’t have to respect his space. He suspected Lan Zhan wouldn’t mind.

Wen Qing, too, had come up to see what all the fuss was. As Wei Wuxian passed, she nodded to him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Guilt threatened to crush his momentum. Though he wanted to give her more acknowledgment, all he could do was nod back and scurry past her like a coward. He feared she would know something was wrong and then do something about it.

He firmed his resolve. He would handle this so he didn’t have to hurt her, too.

When Wei Wuxian was near enough to his quarry, he leaned in until his lips just barely touched Lan Zhan’s neck. “Lan Zhan, what do you think?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes slid from the adorable display before them to settle on Wei Wuxian’s face, gaze softening. “Wen Qionglin seems to be enjoying himself.”

“And you?”

“I’m pleased the children seem so happy.”

Wei Wuxian’s attention flicked over to Wen Yuan, composed, as he assisted Wen Ning with sober care. Lan Zhan’s influence was clear as day and infinitely precious to behold as he watched Wen Yuan, keen to see the smile stretching across his mouth. He must have wandered up with Wen Qing and snuck through the large crowd. “Especially Wen Yuan?”

“It’s good that they’re all happy.”

Wei Wuxian grinned. “But…?”

“It’s better to see Wen Yuan smiling.”

Wei Wuxian snaked his arm around Lan Zhan’s and held tightly to it, leaning his head against Lan Zhan’s shoulder because it was there and they were all so happy and even Lan Zhan was close to smiling, as close as he ever got these days, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t contain how thoroughly pleased he was with the situation. There could be nothing better in the world and he’d conjured it out of thin air with nothing but a desire to find Wen Ning and make him play around a bit.

“It’s good that you’re here to make these things happen.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart pounded against his chest, heavy with the knowledge that he was not healing well. “Ah, Lan Zhan. You’re too nice. You can’t be so nice to me.”

“They’re eager and engaged with the project. They’ll learn much from this. I have not seen Wen Qionglin so involved either. It was your idea that precipitated this.”

The heat of embarrassment bloomed in Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. This much praise… ah, he didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t masterminded some great scheme here. He had only wanted a distraction from a body that was falling apart around him. It was selfishness that drove him more than anything. There was no deeper meaning, even if Lan Zhan was determined to find some. “I was just bored, Lan Zhan. You don’t have to blow smoke.”

“Do you not also want to…?”

Wei Wuxian hadn’t been anyone’s mischievous shixiong in a long time. He didn’t think it was his place to start again now. “They can have this. I’m happy to watch from here, with you.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, somber, somehow sensing the bend of Wei Wuxian’s thoughts. “You haven’t mentioned Lotus Pier. Do you miss it? You were head disciple. You…”

“That’s not why I did this,” he said, wishing he was the sort of person who could be fully honest. “I made my choice when I left Lotus Pier. It’s better to leave them in the past.” Jiang Cheng and his shijie would be disappointed, but there were some things even he couldn’t think about. “I don’t want Yunmeng to suffer any consequences for our actions here. The only way I can ensure that is by leaving them alone.”

“They would have you back, I think. If you wanted to go.” Lan Zhan swallowed. “Situations change. I think Jiang Wanyin would not be impressed with your reasons for staying away.”

Situations could change, sure, but Wei Wuxian’s failures couldn’t be wiped away. Not even in this world where Wei Wuxian could cling to Lan Zhan while watching children race one another around a small meadow on a small peak outside of Yiling. Whether he would be welcomed or not was irrelevant.

Lan Zhan didn’t seem impressed with Wei Wuxian either.

There were things, he was sure, that Lan Zhan and the others hadn’t seen fit to tell him about the state of the world outside their walls. He hadn’t yet pushed for answers he didn’t feel ready or able to confront. This skirted the edge of that restraint. “Maybe someday I’ll visit,” he said, as Lan Zhan watched him closely. He was unsure what exactly Lan Zhan wanted here. Surely he didn’t wish for Wei Wuxian to return to Yunmeng and stay there. If he did, it was a wish Wei Wuxian would never be able to fulfill. “The situation is still too precarious. I don’t want to—”

Before Wei Wuxian could finish his thought, a shout caught on the wind and pushed itself up the path. A young man stumbled up the hill toward them. He was wearing the dark robes that seemed to mark the disciples out from the villagers who showed no interest in cultivating. There were no sect-specific devices or ornaments they were expected to wear, but they’d all made the decision to dress in similar fashion.

At least, Wei Wuxian thought, they were dressed in ways that were appropriate to getting their hands dirty helping people when needed. They weren’t all shiny and above reproach. Wei Wuxian preferred it this way, even if he sometimes missed seeing Lan Zhan in those pristine white robes of his.

Everyone turned to look at the newcomer.

“Wei-laoshi! Lan-laoshi! There’s—”

The calm, soothing, pleasant tenor of the day was lost so quickly that it took Wei Wuxian a moment to respond to the change. He gestured to Wen Ning and bless him, but he understood immediately what Wei Wuxian wanted him to do: distract the children, keep them from worrying, maybe keep everyone else from worrying, too, if that was at all possible. All Wei Wuxian could think of was proximity alarms and the world turning itself upside down to the sound of someone’s shouted voice. “These kites won’t fly themselves, eh? Keep at it. We’ll return shortly.”

Wen Qing took a discreet step toward them. Wei Wuxian nodded for her to come along as well. Just in case. The rest went back to enjoying themselves. Or trying to. Despite lingering attempts at brevity for the children’s sake, Wei Wuxian felt the stretched, sudden tension as they stepped away. Everything here, even a nice afternoon, could be lost in a second. It all still needed to be protected so closely.

Fear threatened to choke him, the reality of the world crashing down on him. He should have prepared himself better instead of focusing so much on how idyllic this little bubble of theirs was. He should have prepared everyone else better. What good was flying kites? “What happened?” he asked, imagining every awful scenario in bright, certain flashes.

So busy berating himself, he didn’t realize at first that the disciple—could he be called a disciple, had they really reached that point—had started speaking, voice trembling. “A few of us went on a night hunt. They were… they were attacked.”

Wen Qing spoke first, tone serious and clipped. “How severely? Where are they?”

“I was able to bring them back to Yiling, but… but I feared bringing them all the way back. They’re… I don’t know what happened. There were reports of fierce corpses nearby, but we were separated. I didn’t think it would be an issue, so I continued as I was. We didn’t even make it all the way down the mountain, I promise. The creatures are never very strong here. Then when I came back to camp and couldn’t find them…”

“How were they injured? What precisely happened?”

The disciple paced ahead of them, hands wringing themselves over and over again. “They were attacked! They’re just… I’ll show you. Let me bring you to Yiling—” He didn’t bother addressing this to anyone other than Wen Qing now. Under his breath, he said, “I didn’t know fierce corpses could do that.”

She peered back at Wei Wuxian, eyes narrowed, before settling her attention on Lan Zhan. “I’ll go,” she said.

Though Wen Qing was fully capable of taking care of herself, Wei Wuxian didn’t like the thought of sending her alone into Yiling. There was no way to determine how safe it truly was and she was their only fully trained physician. Care had to be taken.

That spurred Wei Wuxian into action. “You can’t go by yourselves. That’s—” Of the disciple, he asked, “How many of you were hurt?”

“I was with three others,” he said.

Something that could hurt three green cultivators might be nothing worth worrying about, but Wei Wuxian didn’t want to take the chance. He’d taken too many chances in his life.

When he looked at Lan Zhan, he expected an argument. He did not expect how pale he would get, how fearfully wide his eyes were. Every bit of it showed on his face. He hoped the disciple at least didn’t realize. Wen Qing probably saw it for what it was.

“I’ll go with you,” Wei Wuxian said to Wen Qing, determined to ignore Lan Zhan’s fears. They did nobody credit, least of all himself.

Lan Zhan’s hand tightened around Wei Wuxian’s forearm, slid down to circle his wrist and squeeze until Wei Wuxian’s bones ground together. “Wei Ying.”

“It’s only a fierce corpse, Lan Zhan,” he said. “We’ll be careful.”

“You don’t believe we would be given the luxury of dealing only with a fierce corpse,” Lan Zhan said. He might as well have called Wei Wuxian a liar. It was true: Wei Wuxian didn’t believe it was as simple as that. It was never as simple as that.

It was an unfortunate fact of life that one could only tell the world to go to hell if the world was willing to leave you alone in return. So, yes. Wei Wuxian did believe it was possible something worse had happened to them. “That’s not going to stop me.”

“Wei Ying—”

“Someone has to find out. I’m going with Wen Qing.”

“You’re not well enough to—”

The frustration that had been pooling within him all this time, frustration that hadn’t yet boiled ever, finally pushed its way through all of his resistance to it. “Have you considered the possibility that this is as well as I’ll ever get?” he asked, angry. And scared suddenly, too. The same fear that infected Lan Zhan threatened to consume him. What if this was as good as it would ever get? “Or do you intend to point this out every time I try to do something? It’s not like I don’t know. I’m the one who has to live with it.”

Lan Zhan’s expression froze.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the frustration seized, curdling as it became guilt, became remorse, became embarrassment. He was, very suddenly, so very tired in new and not so very interesting ways.

“Wei Ying, that won’t—”

It was pointless. This whole argument was pointless. It wasn’t even an argument, was it, just Wei Wuxian throwing a fit? Could he really in good conscience tell Lan Zhan to stop giving a damn about him? It wouldn’t happen. He didn’t even really want Lan Zhan to stop fussing. He was just…

He hated the reminders of the limits that had been placed on him. It was worse when people under his protection were being hurt. If it was as simple as an attack by a fierce corpse, that could be dealt with. If it was more, these people deserved the best efforts Wei Wuxian could give them. If this were truly a sect, if he was meant to lead it in any respect, he had to be there for the people who were a part of it.

“I will go, too,” Lan Zhan said, stubborn and gentle at the same time. His fear had turned itself to steel within him.

“Lan Zhan?”

“We will investigate together.”

They readied to depart with no further argument, though Wen Qing glared at both of them as they prepared. Lan Zhan retrieved his qin, slung it across his back as he always did, forever encumbered by its weight. When Wei Wuxian got a hold of him, confused by this sudden turn of events still, how suddenly things were changing, he settled it more evenly across his shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, quiet, grateful for Lan Zhan’s willingness to allow this.

Within the hour, they were standing before the Burial Mounds’ single accessible entrance and Wei Wuxian had no idea what he would find outside these walls.

Whispers and stares followed them as they made their way into town. Many eyes traced the length of Wei Wuxian’s scar and came up with the proper identification. When Wei Wuxian made eye contact, they shied from the attention, averting their gazes too quickly. Towns and their inhabitants had long memories. They remembered who he was and once they remembered, they looked to Lan Zhan, too.

Wei Wuxian’s grip tightened around Suibian. In his peripheral vision, Lan Zhan’s face gave nothing away, too inscrutable.

They were led to an inn at the edge of town, where they faced yet more scrutiny, this time from locals who were just trying to enjoy a meal or a drink and maybe had done a little too much of the latter. Wei Wuxian kept his head down, face averted to avoid further gossip. Most of the voices didn’t carry beyond blurry, unintelligible murmurs, but at least one showed enough drunken belligerence to be overheard amidst the din around it. “Yiling’s going to regret letting a sect encroach.

At his side, Lan Zhan froze.

The voice’s companion took his cup and refilled it. “They’ve never bothered us. It’s cultivator business, what they get up to.”

“Cultivator business always becomes our business. They can’t help it. You’ll see.”

Wei Wuxian’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what that meant. The usual complaints as he remembered them pertained to cultivators not giving a damn about the goings on of normal people. Lan Zhan’s hand gripped Wei Wuxian’s to a painful degree.

“What happens,” the drunk man said, slurring, “when they decide leveling other sects isn’t enough? I have family in—”

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan tugged him forward, vicious. “It’s nothing.” To the disciple who’d brought them, he asked, “Where is the room?” After the disciple pointed to it, he pulled Wei Wuxian past the dining area and just outside of it. “It’s nothing,” he repeated.

Lan Zhan tried to let go of him, but Wei Wuxian made a grab for him, taking hold of his wrist before he could follow the disciple into the room as he slipped past them.

“What was that, Lan Zhan?” Though the complaint was new, it was nothing he hadn’t heard before. The relationship of the sects with the common people could be fraught. It was better in Lotus Pier, but elsewhere… elsewhere, sects didn’t care as much about the non-cultivators who might have lived around them.

Wen Qing, coming close enough to hear as she poured water kept in a pitcher by the door, glanced at Lan Zhan before turning her gaze on Wei Wuxian. “This isn’t the time, Wei Wuxian.”

Worry bubbled within him. Now was the only time. If he let this slide, Lan Zhan would try to pretend later that nothing had happened.

Wei Wuxian jostled Lan Zhan with his elbow. “Lan Zhan?”

No response. Lan Zhan was determined to deny him.

“Lan Zhan!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan snapped back, whispering harshly. “Are you really so concerned about me that you’d ignore your own disciples’ injuries.”

Wei Wuxian felt each chiding word like a slap.

Very well.

The bubble inside of which he’d been living, perfectly encapsulated by the wall Lan Zhan had built to protect them all, burst. It had been naïve to think the outside world didn’t have anything to do with them. Clearly Lan Zhan was deeply, deeply entangled with concerns beyond the Burial Mounds’ borders. If that was the case, then Wei Wuxian would of course stand at his side. He would put these disciples first—and, oh, he had to bury his anger at the suggestion he didn’t care, not least of all because it was such a clumsy ploy, the words of a man caught, not anything Lan Zhan really believed—and then he would get to the bottom of this.

Tearing his hand out of Lan Zhan’s, he stepped into the room. “Wen Qing, how can I help?” he asked, feeling Lan Zhan’s attention on the back of his neck like a brand.

It was the work of a few hours to get all three of them stabilized and a few more to get them back to Wen Qing’s small clinic, a beautifully worked pavilion that was open and light and filled to the brim with every book, scroll, and medicinal herb they could get their hands on. It was rather more than Wei Wuxian expected, though less than he would have liked for so many people. If something truly terrible happened, there wouldn’t be enough supplies to care for everyone. Still, Wen Qing and her students, bustling through the room with total mastery of the place, impressed him.

“It’s actually a miracle I’ve never had to come here before,” he said, quietly, to Lan Zhan, who’d only grown more somber as the day wore on. None of Wei Wuxian’s attempts to get through to him had succeeded and even this crass attempt netted little more than a heatless glare.

Without Lan Zhan to distract or be distracted by, his attention fell on the nearest of the victims. His face was bruised and his skin was pale. When Wei Wuxian checked his vital signs, he discovered his cultivation wasn’t bad, nothing outstanding, but passable for night hunts in what Wei Wuxian had understood were the increasingly safe woods surrounding the Burial Mounds. What had brought this man here, Wei Wuxian wondered. He’d probably had training elsewhere. Did he come hoping for better placement or because he felt maligned by more powerful people?

There were no signs of corpse poisoning on this one, but Wen Qing was explaining how to treat it to the students surrounding her on the other side of the room, so someone had it.

“I thought the fierce corpses outside the Burial Mounds were low level,” Wei Wuxian said, more to himself than to someone else. “They shouldn’t have had trouble with it.” The uninjured disciple fidgeted in the corner of the room. “Isn’t that so?”

“W-what?” the disciple said.

“Four of you should have been able to handle low-level fierce corpses. Even one of you could have. You’re not entirely powerless.”

The disciple shook his head and stared at the floor. “N-no.”

“Was there anything strange about your encounter?”

The disciple shook his head. “They protected me. I didn’t see everything that happened. I don’t know if—”

Lan Zhan’s voice cracked out of nowhere, startling Wei Wuxian from his musings. “Wei Ying.”

“Ah?” He turned his attention to Lan Zhan, startled afresh by what he saw on his face: a look of despair to match the sound of it in his voice. “Lan Zhan, what is it?”

“There is…” But Lan Wangji’s hands tightened at his side and he could not look Wei Wuxian in the eye. He drew in a shuddering breath. “There is something we should discuss.”

“Lan Zhan, don’t worry about it right now.” Taking one of those clenched fists in his hand, he uncurled Lan Zhan’s fingers one by one, lacing his own between them. “I don’t think a fierce corpse did this,” he said, hoping to draw him out of this despair by the mystery before them. Who cared what drunkards thought of him? Nothing they said could apply to Lan Zhan. “Not without help anyway.”

Wei Wuxian felt the pieces of the truth sliding into place and he shouldn’t have kept this from them all. “I think someone has a grudge.” They’d had the right to know all along. He was protecting no one by keeping it to himself. “There’s something I never told you before,” he said, keeping his voice down. He didn’t want to upset Wen Qing while she was tending to the injured. “About why Jin Guangshan was collecting and holding every Wen or Wen associate he could find.” Someone, maybe the person he’d never had a chance to track down before, did this.

“If the fierce corpses are behaving strangely compared to what you’re used to,” he said, “it’s possible they’re being controlled.” Seven years was a long time. The individual could have perfected their technique by now. Using Wei Wuxian’s work as a basis, they might have come up with anything. Wei Wuxian’s stomach turned at the possibility.

Lan Zhan, always the first to engage with his ideas, wouldn’t say anything or look at him.

“No,” Lan Zhan said with brutally cold finality. “They are not being controlled.”

“Lan Zhan, we proved harnessing resentful energy is a powerful tool. Anyone with motivation might try to work out how to do it.”

Though he loathed being the one to say it, it was the thing that finally made Lan Zhan look at him again. It might have been a sharp look, precise as an awl, but it was Lan Zhan’s attention all the same.

“That is not the problem,” Lan Zhan replied. “Jin Guangshan cannot have done this.”

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to complain. How could Jin Guangshan not be the problem? He was, as far as Wei Wuxian was concerned, the source of every problem except for the problem of Wen Ruohan. Jin Guangshan, seeing how close Wen Ruohan had come to ultimate power, wanted the same. If anyone would go around and harm people from another sect, a new sect, a barely established sect, not even a sect at all yet, it was him. He was the only one who’d be brazen enough to do so and took no issue with hurting people to get what he wanted. Of course it was Jin Guangshan. That monster he’d kept on a leash all those years ago, the one Wei Wuxian had followed across half the cultivation world? It could only be him.

When Wei Wuxian tried to speak again, Lan Zhan’s grip on him turned ferociously tight. Pain burned a white hot line up his arm.

“It is not him,” was all Lan Zhan said. His voice cracked, a sound Wei Wuxian had never heard before. “Please, stop.”

Wei Wuxian’s first reaction always was to fight for his own opinions and he opened his mouth to do so, deflating only when he looked at Lan Zhan again, saw how tired and upset this conversation was making him. What good, he thought, was it to know Jin Guangshan was the culprit? They couldn’t exactly waltz into Jinlintai to punish him, could they? Even the thought of gaining retribution from him drained what little energy Wei Wuxian had.

Needing a bit of space and time to think, Wei Wuxian let go of Lan Zhan’s hand, wandered over to where the still stunned disciple stood in the corner, watching everything that happened. Neither Lan Zhan’s eyes nor the rest of him followed. In a voice quiet enough to be ignored, he asked, “You didn’t run into any other cultivators on this night hunt, did you?”

The disciple shook his head vigorously, was equally quiet. “Of course not.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. On the other side of the room, Wen Qing concluded her examination. She called over one of her trainees and gave instructions. Once done with that, she gestured for Wei Wuxian to join her with Lan Zhan. “Sometimes,” Wen Qing said, brittle, “tragic accidents happen. Their injuries are severe and extensive, but nothing they won’t recover from. Wei Wuxian, stop inventing trouble.”

Pointedly ignoring her suggestion, he asked, “Have there been other instances of high-level fierce corpses in the area?” Before, Wei Wuxian had spent a great deal of time cataloguing the creatures that tended to become problems in the area surrounding the Burial Mounds and Yiling, an effort to build a repository of knowledge since they were starting from scratch. Unlike the other sects, they didn’t have vast libraries or friendly relations to rely upon, just their own accounts and those of the people they met and helped. He wondered if anyone had thought to keep up those records.

Lan Zhan said, “No,” with a finality that brooked no argument. No, no, no. That was the only thing Lan Zhan knew how to say anymore. No, it wasn’t Jin Guangshan and no, there were no high-level fierce corpses. No, Wei Wuxian couldn’t do this. No was not a word Wei Wuxian liked to hear.

Though it was probably useless, he turned his attention to the disciple again and asked, “Will you show me where you found them? I’d like to take a look.”

Before the disciple could do more than open his mouth, Lan Zhan said, “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan. What harm could there be in looking? Besides, it needs to be dealt with, doesn’t it? If there’s a high-level fierce corpse out there, it’s bound to attack someone else.”

“This was your first time outside the Burial Mounds. Are you not tired?”

Wei Wuxian fought the urge to clench his jaw. In truth, he was, but Lan Zhan didn’t have to say it. They still had work to do, even if it was inconvenient to Wei Wuxian’s body. “I can manage a little while longer.” He kept his voice even and clear, refraining from giving further voice to his frustrations. It wasn’t Lan Zhan’s fault that he was worried. After what had happened, Lan Zhan had the right. If their fortunes were reversed somehow, Wei Wuxian would fuss even worse. Hell, he had fussed worse, once upon a time. “We owe it to them, don’t we? We’ve gotten as many answers here as we’re likely to get. They deserve the best we can give them.”

It was perhaps a little underhanded to play on Lan Zhan’s sense of duty this way, but it resulted in a nod of resignation, so Wei Wuxian only felt modestly bad about it. “Alright,” Wei Wuxian said, grim. Though he had won, it was not a victory. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

The disciple was quick to lead them into the forested area that separated the Burial Mounds from the rest of Yiling. He didn’t say anything while they walked, which was perfectly fine with Wei Wuxian. The brisk pace winded him and hiding that fact kept him even more occupied than a conversation would have. He wasn’t about to admit to Lan Zhan that he was suffering to any degree, not when Lan Zhan would try to put a stop to it if he knew, would use this to keep Wei Wuxian safely tucked away behind the white walls of the Burial Mounds.

Though he believed Lan Zhan when he said he didn’t want to cage him, he also didn’t want to press his luck.

The disciple led them quickly to a spot that didn’t look terribly different from its surrounding environs. “This is it.”

Though he really shouldn’t have expected to find easy clues to prove his belief that someone was controlling a fierce corpse, he was disappointed all the same. Thanking the young man, he sent him on his way. Under the guise of searching their immediate surroundings, Wei Wuxian took a few minutes to calm his too-fast beating heart.

Toeing at the usual detritus that littered forest floors, he said, “Well, this is useful.”

“You wished to come.”

Here, he saw signs of a struggle, heavy scrapes that might have been the shambling remnants of a step the fierce corpse had taken before it had been vanquished, crumpling to the ground. There, the lighter footfalls of the disciples. Cracked branches were scattered around. Nothing about the fierce corpse’s body stood out. From only the clothes he wore and accessories slung around his waist, rotting and water damaged, Wei Wuxian could even guess at the cause of the man’s death. If they went into Yiling and asked about recent disappearances near water, they’d probably have their answer: a recent drowning.

Lan Zhan tilted his head. “Did you expect it to be?”

Wei Wuxian squinted. “Be what?”

“Useful.”

“Not really,” Wei Wuxian said. “I never succeeded at catching Jin Guangshan’s little demonic cultivator the first time either. Of course it wouldn’t be easy.”

Lan Zhan’s jaw clenched. His lips thinned. Unhappiness splashed itself across his face. Oh, the things he wasn’t saying: Wei Wuxian could see them all, but it was in a language Wei Wuxian didn’t speak. Too many years separated them now.

After a few more minutes spent searching fruitlessly for clues, he asked, “Lan Zhan, what do you think is happening here?”

Lan Zhan stared at the ground as though it had all the answers. “A lack of skill and unlucky timing. We’ve gotten lazy believing the area surrounding the Burial Mounds has calmed, too. It is as much a wilderness as anywhere else.”

Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Zhan, really looked at him, took in every twitch of muscle. He was, Wei Wuxian thought, attempting to direct Wei Wuxian’s attention away from something and not doing a very good job of it. “Lan Zhan, are you certain?”

“Wei Ying,” he answered, voice so poorly contained that Wei Wuxian could hear the struggle in it. “You believe there has been some malfeasance on the part of the Jin Sect, but it is improbable.”

This again. What was it that made Lan Zhan put aside his suspicions so thoroughly? “Why?”

Lan Zhan wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Lan Zhan, why?” For the span of three or four deep breaths, he expected Lan Zhan wouldn’t answer, that he would have to find the answer himself or pry it from Lan Zhan.

He still wouldn’t look at Wei Wuxian. When he spoke, there was a strange note that Wei Wuxian couldn’t parse. That was fine, because he couldn’t really understand the words that Lan Zhan subsequently offered either. They were so improbable. He seemed to realize it, too, because he turned away from Wei Wuxian. “I ensured they would not forget what happened to those who crossed the Yiling Laozu.”

“Lan Zhan?”

“There is no one left in Lanling who is capable of this. The Jin Sect will not touch us. The other sects will not touch us.” Finally, Lan Zhan looked back at him and for the first time ever, Wei Wuxian was afraid, afraid of the cold emptiness in Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Jin Guangshan is dead. The boy you were chasing is dead.”

This was Lan Zhan, no matter what he said or how cold his eyes were and so despite his fear, he stepped close, close enough that Lan Zhan flinched. As suddenly as it had come on, the coldness within him thawed, ice shearing away. The armor of his inhumanity failed him. In the aftermath of its destruction, Wei Wuxian saw nothing but an animal with its leg caught in a trap, preparing to gnaw its way out of its predicament no matter the consequences.

Wei Wuxian grabbed his wrist, held tight, did not let him go. He would be the vice that held Lan Zhan until they exorcised this pain, because no matter what animalistic grief he saw now, he knew he could find Lan Zhan beneath it. No matter how afraid he was to hear Lan Zhan speak this way, to imagine what he must have done, he mastered that fear. “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan struggled pointlessly. “For you, I would have taken any degree of retribution necessary.”

“Lan Zhan…”

“Only those responsible bore the consequences.” His eyes closed briefly. “There were too many who were responsible.”

The man Wei Wuxian had been before would have felt nothing but satisfaction at these words. The man he’d become saw nothing but the pain such an act demanded of the man he loved. “How many?”

The world spun on while Wei Wuxian waited for an answer.

“Almost everyone. I don’t know the exact number.”

That many. Wei Wuxian couldn’t imagine. An entire sect wiped out again by Lan Zhan’s hands, all because of Wei Wuxian. Again. How many times would Lan Zhan carry this burden because Wei Wuxian couldn’t?

“The Wen are safe and the world is safe from Jin Guangshan’s attempts to recreate your work,” Lan Zhan said. “But though I could pretend those are the reasons why I did it…”

What Lan Zhan did was necessary, cruel though it was, selfish though he might have believed his motivations to be. Or, if not necessary, then inevitable. Wei Wuxian did not see many ways in which this would end. If, in the final calculus, it was the Burial Mounds or Jinlintai, Wei Wuxian would have chosen the Burial Mounds, too. Pressing his hands to Lan Zhan’s cheeks, he said, “Lan Zhan, your intentions don’t matter. What was done is done and you can see the results for yourself. Only you can decide if the cost was worth it.”

“Do you think it was?”

I think you shouldn’t have done this for me, he dared not say. “What I see is a place you’ve been able to protect alone for seven years. I can’t judge the method.”

“You should,” Lan Zhan said fiercely. “You are the only one who can.”

“Lan Zhan, I’d make a poor conscience for anyone. It’s easier to move on, yeah?”

“No.” Lan Zhan pulled Wei Wuxian’s hands away, pressed a kiss to one palm before dropping them. “It’s impossible to move on.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart throbbed. “Oh, Lan Zhan. You—” Whether because he’d pushed himself too hard or because his body was deciding to betray him specifically, he felt lightheaded. His knees threatened to buckle.

The weight of his exhaustion and grief finally caught up with him, the worst possible time for such a thing. He didn’t tumble to the ground, because Lan Zhan was there, holding him up by his arm, settling him so his weight was entirely borne up by Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian gripped him tight and let himself be guided to the nearest tree so he could lean against it. Even then, Lan Zhan pressed himself close, kept Wei Wuxian upright with his body, a shield against the world.

He leaned his head back against the bark and took a steadying breath. His side throbbed in protest.

“Wei Ying? Are you—”

“I’m fine.” His heart was surely going to break, but he would survive it. He’d survived everything else the world had thrown at him after all. Perhaps that was to be his punishment in this life: his survival.

“I kept this from you.” Lan Zhan bowed his head, nose brushing Wei Wuxian’s cheek. His hands fluttered as though they weren’t sure where to settle.

Huffing in dark amusement, Wei Wuxian—having no trouble at all deciding where to touch—carded his fingers through Lan Zhan’s hair. “I’ve kept a lot of things from you, too.” I’m still keeping things from you, he thought, aching. “I know how hard it must be to feel like you’re—”

“Like I’m what?”

“Like you’re a monster.” He squeezed the back of Lan Zhan’s neck. “But you’re not. Do you hear me?”

Lan Zhan’s arm found its way around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and tightened. Wei Wuxian hid his wince in Lan Zhan’s neck. “You don’t resent me for…”

“I’ll never resent you, not for any reason.” Those moments when he hurt the most, they didn’t count. That resentment wasn’t real. It wasn’t a lie to say this, not when he meant it so ferociously.

Lan Zhan’s voice was so small, lost. “How can you know that?”

Wei Wuxian shifted slightly, placed his hands on Lan Zhan’s body, his face, as softly as he knew how to. “I know you’re burdened. I know it can’t have been easy. Nothing—nothing you’ve ever been capable of doing has changed my mind about you.”

“You don’t understand.” Tears welled in Lan Zhan’s eyes. The ones that managed to escape were brushed away by Wei Wuxian’s thumb as Wei Wuxian cupped his chin.

“I don’t need to.”

His vision swam, body going prickly and warm all over. Even in Lan Zhan’s arms, he didn’t feel entirely secure any longer.

Wei Wuxian’s legs finally gave out; Lan Zhan very kindly helped him into a sitting position. Wei Wuxian drew his legs up and pressed his forehead to his knees, willed the ache to pass. He never wanted Lan Zhan to look at him the way he had looked at him and he never wanted any of what happened with the Wens to have happened.

If he could take it all back… if he could carry it in Lan Zhan’s stead…

He’d lived his life wrapped in cotton these last few months. He couldn’t remain swaddled from the truth of Lan Zhan’s many sacrifices, couldn’t keep hiding behind the pain and fatigue and the coddling Lan Zhan liked to do. He would become the sort of sect leader they needed to flourish.

Lan Zhan would not bear the burden of protecting the Burial Mounds alone. He would find strength enough for all of them.

“Lan Zhan,” he said finally, struggling to stand, knowing he wasn’t ready to walk and needing to do it anyway, “help me home?”

Wei Ying was quieter than usual as Lan Wangji guided him back to the Burial Mounds, features grim as he dug his fingers into Lan Wangji’s arm. His body trembled and Lan Wangji could not tell if it was with repressed emotion or due to the day’s exertion. Maybe it was a combination of both.

Wen Qing and her students were still busily tending to the youths, carefully cleaning and stitching wounds, applying medicines, whatever was necessary. Before Lan Wangji could ask him to stop, Wei Ying shook off Lan Wangji’s touch and stepped inside. She didn’t seem to have the heart to scold him as he pestered her with questions. What were her students doing? How soon until the youths would be better? “Wen Qing, what can I do?” he asked, a desperate edge in his voice. When she said there was nothing, Wei Ying scoffed, grabbing a stool from the corner of the room and placing it decisively before one of the youths’ beds.

“Oh, no, you don’t! Wei Wuxian, like you have any spiritual energy to spare. Don’t you dare—” She took the stool and tried to return it.

But Wei Ying wasn’t listening. He took it back and plopped it down next to the youths. Pale and still, she rested on one of the wooden tables in the room.

“The day I can’t spare a little of my spiritual energy is the day I should just keel over and die for good. Wen Qing, let me help.”

“Wei Wuxian!”

Lan Wangji considered adding his voice to this chorus and knew it would do no good. Instead, he came up behind Wei Ying, curled his hands around Wei Ying’s shoulders. “Go easy on yourself, please.”

Wei Ying now knew the worst thing he’d ever done and he hadn’t shied away. In the absence of the need for secrecy, it was easier to ask this of Wei Ying.

And in return, Wei Ying pressed his hand to Lan Wangji’s. When Wei Ying said, “I will,” it wasn’t just Wei Ying brushing him off. Help me home, Wei Ying had told him. Finally, Lan Wangji believed that was possible.

“You and your students should focus on the most injured.”

“Wei Wuxian…”

“Wen Qing, please. I know my limits. I can spare a little. Besides, I have Lan Zhan here to keep me in line, right?”

She looked to Lan Wangji for confirmation, quite probably annoying Wei Ying in the process, but Lan Wangji could only nod his agreement. If this was what Wei Ying wanted to do, he would do it, and Lan Wangji would back him up. If he truly did overexert himself, he was in the best place he could possibly be to receive treatment.

Though Wei Wuxian frowned at Wen Qing, he did favor Lan Wangji with a slight nod. After that, he settled down and closed his eyes, reaching for the young woman’s wrist.

Wen Qing brought over a second stool and gave it to Lan Wangji, pinning Lan Wangji with a glare. Years of acquaintance helped him read it perfectly. Watch over Wei Ying or else.

As though he would do anything else.

For a time, the stream of spiritual energy didn’t waver. Even though Wei Ying was still weak, still tired easily, his control of his powers was absolute.

At least, it was absolute right up until the moment it wasn’t, his features crumpling as he tipped forward, catching himself on the edge of the bed, knuckles white as he gripped the wood.

“Wei Ying!”

The muscles of his back tensed beneath Lan Wangji’s hands and his breathing was raspy. When he reached again for the youth’s wrist, nothing happened. He made a small sound of confused disappointment and tried a third time before slumping back against Lan Wangji, eyes closed, brows furrowed in an anger Lan Wangji recognized to be self-directed.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said finally. “Ugh. I really hate this sometimes.”

Lan Wangji didn’t know what to say and so he said nothing.

The woman on the table stirred, groaning, and Wei Ying was suddenly leaning forward, nearly toppling off the stool again. Lan Wangji held onto his arm just in case. Right now, he didn’t know how to stop touching Wei Ying.

“Hey, it’s alright. How are you feeling?”

She, disoriented, blinking with glassy, glazed eyes, said, “Wei-laoshi…”

“Are you well?”

“I’m fine. Did you—how are…?” She coughed and struggled upright. Wei Ying pressed her back into the wooden table, adjusted the stiff pillow beneath her neck. “How are the others?”

“They’ll be okay. Wen Qing and her gaggle of students are taking care of them. You’re just the first to wake up.”

The disciple slumped backward, the tension draining from her face. A short time later, she fell into a quick, restless slumber.

Wei Ying rose to his feet slowly, hands braced on his thighs, pulling himself to his full height as though caught on a hook. When Lan Wangji took hold of his arm, Wei Ying went a step further, wrapping himself around it, tucking himself against Lan Zhan’s side.

Wen Qing eyed Wei Ying suspiciously from the opposite side of the room, but said nothing.

At the door, one of Wen Qing’s trainees stopped Wei Ying.

“That was a nice thing you did.”

“It was something I could do,” Wei Ying said, sharp with exhaustion. “It’s not a matter of nice or not nice.”

The student nodded in consideration, a true apprentice to Wen Qing if she wasn’t fazed by Wei Ying. “Still,” she said, plainspoken, “I believe we can appreciate it all the same.”

Wei Ying blushed, slumping against Lan Wangji. He’d never done well with compliments. It was almost amusing how bad he was at accepting them graciously. “My head will get away from me if you say these things. It’ll be too big for Lan Zhan to deflate and then where will we all be?”

The trainee smiled. “I’m sure we’d survive. Rest well, Wei-laoshi. Lan-laoshi. If there’s anything I can do, let me know?”

Wei Ying remained quiet as they hiked up the path to their home and Lan Wangji didn’t think it was entirely because he was exhausted, though that was true enough, since he was allowing Lan Wangji to carry more of his weight than normal. No, he was experiencing the same fatigue that Lan Wangji experienced almost every day—though less often now that Wei Ying was back, now that Wei Ying gave him back his purpose, his clarity. This sort of fatigue wasn’t only physical. It was the fatigue of scraping and clawing and fighting the very soil to gather ribbons of time that were not truly theirs. Lan Wangji had bought with slaughter the time to grow this place, but he could not do that forever, could not slaughter and slaughter until there was nothing left of the outside world, until he truly was the evil the rest of the sects sought to eradicate.

But he could see no other way forward.

And now, Wei Ying will have seen it, too.

They’d never really talked about their expectations for the Burial Mounds, not beyond a few vague discussions and Wei Ying’s occasional off-hand comments from before Lanling, back when anything was possible still. They’d never discussed the reality of it. They couldn’t, not when Lan Wangji had been so unwilling to speak the truth to Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan?”

“I’m fine.”

They were near enough to the cave, no one else around, that Lan Wangji didn’t flinch when Wei Ying slipped his hands beneath his sleeves and gripped at his forearms.

“I don’t think I am and I don’t think you are.” His hand squeezed gently, fingers cool against Lan Wangji’s skin. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

At these words, at the pain in Wei Ying’s voice that could not be soothed with medications or rest, Lan Wangji did flinch.

“Wei Ying. I…”

“I’ll fix this.” Wei Ying sighed, unhappy. “I’ll fix it. I promise. Just.” He looked up at Lan Wangji. “Take me to bed, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s hand tightened further, until his fingernails dug into Lan Wangji’s arm, hard enough to bruise. “Please. I don’t want to—I want to feel you. I want you to feel me. Take me to bed.”

How could he say yes? And how could he say no?

Nodding shakily, he led Wei Ying inside, guided him toward the bed, pulled reverently at Wei Ying’s clothing. Putting aside Wei Ying’s vambraces, his outer robe, his inner robe, peeling back each layer of the armor he clad himself in until he was down to nothing but his trousers and undershirt, Lan Wangji cared for him methodically.

When Lan Wangji reached for the latter, Wei Ying batted his hands aside, pulled roughly at Lan Wangji’s robes in turn. Once he was also down to his trousers, Wei Ying dragged him over to the bed, sat, pulled Lan Wangji down on top of him, and unpicked the ties around Lan Wangji’s waist before shoving the fabric down his hips. He awkwardly yanked at his own, hissing sharply.

He hadn’t seen Wei Ying this undressed in… so, so long.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying fingers slid unerringly beneath the collar of Lan Wangji’s undershirt. This, too, fell away, cast aside.

Unlike Wei Ying, he was already hardening. Warmth radiated from his abdomen, spreading all the way to his fingertips, his toes, the top of his head. He was warm all over. Every touch of Wei Ying’s hand against him sent a lick of fire up his spine. Wei Ying’s fingers crept down his abdomen to tease at the thatch of hair between his legs, to wrap lightly around his length, working him until he was fully hard against Wei Ying’s palm.

Wei Ying looked at him, serious. He wasn’t teasing any longer. “I want you inside of me. Will you do it?”

Lan Wangji wanted to be the kind of person who could say no, because he was certain Wei Ying wasn’t recovered enough for this, that he was projecting something onto this encounter, needing something from it that had nothing at all to do with the love Lan Wangji felt for him, the way he wanted nothing more than to make Wei Ying feel good while knowing he couldn’t, not yet, not when there was wetness clumping the dark fan of his eyelashes and so much vulnerability in his eyes.

That vulnerability was followed by a sudden shuttering of his emotions when Lan Wangji wasn’t quick enough to reply. Shaking, he began to pull away. When all Lan Wangji wanted was his touch and all Wei Ying seemed to want in return was the same, Lan Wangji still hesitated. They didn’t have to do this for Lan Wangji to touch him.

Was it fair, really, to decide for Wei Ying that he wasn’t ready?

Lightly, he reached for Wei Ying’s wrist, pulled it toward his mouth, kissed the work-roughened skin of his palm. “Will you tell me if it’s too much?”

Wei Ying ducked his head and then nodded. Today, Lan Wangji could believe him.

Lan Wangji’s hands shook as he positioned Wei Ying on the bed. His touch, as it roved over Wei Ying’s body, was gentler than normal. As he pressed into Wei Ying’s clothed chest and arms with thumbs and fingers, he was careful, exerted almost no pressure at all. When his hands skimmed too close to Wei Ying’s injured side, Wei Ying tensed. “It still hurts?”

Slowly, Wei Ying nodded. Looking to the side, he said, “A little.”

His fingers worked at the tie that kept Wei Ying’s shirt closed. “May I?”

“I’d rather not.”

Lan Wangji searched Wei Ying’s face, accepting finally that there were some things he shouldn’t push for. Instead of asking for more, he bent close, pressing one light kiss to the spot before moving on. He discovered rather quickly that Wei Ying enjoyed it when Lan Wangji kissed and sucked marks into the skin just below his hip, that he would encourage Lan Wangji to press bruises into his flank when he knelt between Wei Ying’s legs. The pained note in his voice was different when he did, intriguing. When Lan Wangji lifted his head, Wei Ying met his gaze and nodded. There was nothing of regret in his eyes. It gave Lan Wangji courage.

Wei Ying arched up against him when he bit at the meat of Wei Ying’s inner thigh, moaning breathily, each panting gasp putting more and more distance between them and the world they lived in.

“Lan Zhan, please.”

He wrapped his hand around Wei Ying, stroked lightly, determined. No matter how long it took, he’d make Wei Ying feel good.

Wei Ying’s neck flushed under Lan Wangji’s ministrations, that redness climbing his throat until it filled his cheeks, until his hairline was damp with sweat, too, his skin warm whenever Lan Wangji touched him. His lower lip grew pink as he was chewed it. When Lan Wangji crawled up his body to look down at him, he turned his face away, screwed his eyes shut, gasping into Lan Wangji’s mouth as he claimed it for himself, too. Though they were sharp, his gasps, Lan Wangji heard the arousal in them, too, the need—and not just for a distraction.

Lan Wangji choked back his own gasp of relief, fell forward on his hands, one on either side of Wei Ying’s head, and kissed him deeply, forcefully, biting at those lips that Wei Ying had already bitten, curling his tongue behind Wei Ying’s teeth, swallowing each exhalation Wei Ying made. Instead of his hand, he gave Wei Ying his thigh and groaned as Wei Ying rocked against him.

Wei Ying settled his hands against Lan Wangji’s hips, dug his fingers in deep against the bone. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, ah. You’re too—please. I need you.”

Lan Wangji bit back a moan and nodded, pulling away even though it was impossible to do, cruel even, when Wei Ying was here, warm and aroused and willing.

Lan Wangji clamored off the bed, inelegant. “Turn over.”

Wei Ying grumbled theatrically, but did as asked, pillowing his head on his arms as he watched Lan Wangji cross the room. It felt indulgent to be seen this way and he was certain his ears would burn and turn to ash from how hot they were. He wondered what Wei Ying was thinking as he watched Lan Wangji rummage in his chest for a vial of massage oil he kept, that Wen Qing allowed him to take from her supplies, uninterested in questioning him about why it should be that he occasionally asked.

Then Lan Wangji turned back, vial in hand, and Wei Ying was staring at him with such open and soft adoration that Lan Wangji couldn’t breathe or even think, almost dropping the vial, which would have been just his luck at this point, to have oil spread across the floor instead of where it ought to be. “Don’t look at me like that.”

His request startled a delighted laugh out of Wei Ying, wiping away, for one blessed moment, every bit of strife they’d faced together and separately.

“I don’t know what you mean. I can’t look at you? How am I looking at you?”

Lan Wangji could say nothing in response to that and Wei Ying just laughed again and hummed, wriggling and then grinding his hips against the bed.

He whined, voice treacly and wanton. It was, perhaps, excessive, but if they were to pretend that everything was fine, if they were going to take that luxury for themselves, they might as well pretend fully. “Lan er-gege. You’re taking such a long time.”

Lan Wangji sat on the edge of the bed and stroked over the curve of Wei Ying’s buttock, up the muscled planes of his side beneath his undershirt. When Wei Ying squirmed and hissed, he retracted his hand. “My apologies.”

“It’s good, er-gege.”

Lan Wangji scoffed lightly, eased his touch, but he did not pull away entirely, not the way he thought he should have.

Wei Ying let out a groan of frustration. “It hurts, Lan Zhan, but it’s a good hurt.” He smiled against the pillow of his forearms. Only the curl at the corner of his mouth was visible. “I like it when it’s this like this.”

It wasn’t enough suddenly to just hear that he liked it, to see that small, curving smile. He needed something more, more words than Wei Ying probably wanted to give. Neither of them were very good at speaking.

Wei Ying twisted onto his uninjured side, looked back at Lan Wangji. He sighed. “You really want to know, don’t you?”

“Wei Ying, please.”

He was quiet for a time, thoughtful, even with the hum of arousal pulsing between them. “It feels like being stuck in the middle of a never-ending battle. There’s so much fighting and it’s enough that you think there can’t be anything else. You think, ‘Oh, this is as bad as it can get,’ and you keep going because otherwise you’ll die. And maybe it doesn’t get worse at first, because you’re holding your own. But then you take a false step or make a wrong move and the whole thing collapses and even taking a step hurts because you’re overwhelmed. Breathing hurts. Looking at the sky hurts because it’s too bright, because everything else is too much.”

Lan Wangji pulled his hand away, but Wei Ying was too quick and squirmed upright, latching onto his wrist.

Wei Ying’s fingers ground against the bones and ligaments until Lan Wangji thought his blunt nails would break skin. “But it’s a lie, the never-ending battle. Even if it’s only for five minutes, it ends. There are times when it’s better and there are times when you just want to forget about it for five minutes and feel something else, hmm?”

And then he let go, tapped his fingers between Lan Wangji’s forehead, took the strands of Lan Wangji’s hair between his fingers and tugged, gentle.

“Sometimes, you want your lover to fuck you as hard as he’s willing.”

“Wei Ying—”

“Don’t Wei Ying me. If I’m going to hurt, I want it to be on my terms for my reasons. I am asking you. I will beg if I have to. How long do you want me to wait? Even before this happened, I wasn’t always free of pain. I’m tired of fearing that I’ll break from the pain. I… I won’t. I haven’t. It won’t happen. I want this.”

Wei Ying’s finger curled beneath his chin, tipping it up.

“Lan Zhan, you were doing so good before. I don’t know how many other ways there are to tell you that I want you. I want you as fast or as slow as you’re willing to be. I want you to touch me. I will flinch and I might make a noise that sounds pained and it will be. I can’t help that, but I can decide what I want and what I want is you.”

Lan Wangji closed his eyes, breathing deeply. What could he say to that?

Wei Ying’s hand cupped his cheek, turned his head so Lan Wangji was forced to look at him. “Say yes or no, but don’t play with me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji couldn’t, couldn’t bring himself to disappoint Wei Ying again, not like this, even if it hurt him to hurt Wei Ying.

He patted Wei Ying’s hand and smiled slightly.

“I will only play with you as much as you want me to, Wei Ying. Get back on your stomach.”

Wei Ying sighed, relieved, and did as Lan Wangji asked. He was beautiful despite how wan his skin looked, nearly translucent in the weak candlelight of the cave, leeched of all healthy color.

Lan Wangji kept his touch light at first as Wei Ying shivered beneath him. His moans, breathy, were more than encouraging and before long, Lan Wangji had forgotten everything that didn’t have to do with the soft expanses of Wei Ying’s skin, the way he moved as Lan Wangji touched him, the taste of him as Lan Wangji nosed under his shirt to nip at his spine.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying’s hands fisted in the quilt, knuckles going pale from the pressure. “Lan Zhan, please.”

The medicinal scent of the oil filled the air and Wei Ying whimpered as Lan Wangji pressed his thumb to his entrance, exerting almost no pressure at all.

Lan Wangji kept a close eye on him as he coated his fingers. He had seen Wei Ying in every shade of misery before, but he was not confident he’d know when or if it got to be too much for him. He had to trust Wei Ying. He did trust Wei Ying.

Wei Ying’s voice shook, a shade of its usually confident timbre, and pushed himself into Lan Wangji’s touch. “Lan Zhan, more.”

His nail scraped lightly over Wei Ying as he pushed slightly, slightly in, earning a gasp as Wei Ying scrabbled harder against the bedding.

Carefully, so very carefully, he spread the oil over the hot, sensitive skin there, pressing in only a millimeter at a time. Wei Ying was so tight, like his body knew its limits better than Wei Ying’s desires did and didn’t want Lan Wangji to do this, but Lan Wangji was only as strong as Wei Ying allowed him to be. He could not be the one to take this from Wei Ying, not when he was already dragging in hiccuping, sobbing breaths, each one punctuated by a plea for Lan Wangji to continue. Whatever Wei Ying wanted, Lan Wangji would give to him.

And Lan Wangji did, unable to deny Wei Ying anything, except that he wouldn’t fully do this until he was certain Wei Ying wouldn’t be hurt, that his skin would not risk tearing, that his body was as prepared as it could be, one finger becoming two, becoming three and even four, until even Wei Ying’s thighs shined with the oil, dripping down his legs to pool on the quilt, staining it irrevocably.

With the oil that remained, he rubbed his own length, biting back a gasp because he hadn’t let himself feel what he was doing to Wei Ying for fear of growing impatient, but now each and every moment of it struck him at once, almost doubled him over because Wei Ying was here when everything had been stacked against them both and his body was…

When Lan Wangji reached out to touch him, he was half hard already, and his body bucked as Lan Wangji stroked him, his mouth releasing the filthiest curses either of them knew.

Holding onto Wei Ying’s hip with sticky fingers, body trembling, he guided himself to Wei Ying’s entrance, pushing in slowly, slower than he thought was physically possible. Wei Ying was slick and stretched, easy to enter and even so, Wei Ying gasped sharply. His erection wilted in Lan Wangji’s hand, but he moved quick, quicker even than Lan Wangji, shoving himself back until he was fully seated on Lan Wangji’s lap.

He shuddered and gasped again. He wrapped his hand around Lan Wangji’s and stroked brutally, as though his roughness would ensure he grew erect. “Don’t even think—”

Surrounded by Wei Ying, enveloped inside of him, Lan Wangji followed his demand, couldn’t think of anything at all except touching and tasting and feeling Wei Ying around him. Lan Wangji wasn’t thinking when he wrapped his oil-coated hand around Wei Ying’s arm and hauled him up and back, until Wei Ying was pressed against him from neck to knee, speared on Lan Wangji, all of him visible to Lan Wangji as he hooked his chin over Wei Ying’s shoulder, a veritable feast, a vision.

His mouth latched onto to the base of Wei Ying’s throat, sucked a line across his shoulders, looked down, down Wei Ying’s heaving chest to where his hand gripped Wei Ying, bringing Wei Ying back to full harness as his hips shifted minutely, pressing himself deeper into Wei Ying’s body as he gasped and wriggled and pleaded, chanting Lan Wangji’s name.

It was hell not to push into Wei Ying as quick and as hard as Wei Ying wanted him to, hell not to press him back into the bed and rut into his body until they were both spent and aching. He’d wanted this for so long, wanted everything with Wei Ying for so long, wanted most of all to make Wei Ying come, and he could do all that, even slow, even while Wei Ying called him every name he knew in a shattered, hoarse voice.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, fuck. How are you—”

Fresh sweat trickled down Wei Ying’s face, his cheeks red with exertion, his eyes screwed shut. Lan Wangji’s lips brushed over Wei Ying’s temple. He nipped at Wei Ying’s earlobe. “Wei Ying…”

“Lan Zhan, you can’t say that. You can’t—fuck, Lan Zhan.”

His hand wrapped even more tightly around the hand Lan Wangji had wrapped around him. He laced their fingers together, pumping himself—forcing Lan Wangji to pump him—furiously. He tried to bow forward, but Lan Wangji caught him around his chest and pulled him back, pushed himself up into Wei Ying with as much power as he could muster. From this angle, it wasn’t much, and that was the point, but it felt so good anyway that even Lan Wangji shouted out his pleasure, muffling it in the back of Wei Ying’s neck as he breathed in the scent of Wei Ying’s hair.

Hoarse, quiet, Lan Wangji said, “Wei Ying, you’re…”

His orgasm curled low in his stomach, smoldering, flaring into a conflagration in his belly and along his back. He tried to stave it off, wait until Wei Ying came first, but—

“Wei Ying.”

He shuddered and spilled hot inside of Wei Ying, gasping heavily against his back. Their joined hands continued working Wei Ying’s cock, but it was too much, so much. Lan Wangji’s skin felt too small for his body, like he would burst from within, but when he tried to pull away, Wei Ying shook his head, whined.

“Not yet, Lan Zhan. I still want you in me. Stay. Stay.”

Lan Wangji groaned, but stayed put. His every muscle twitched, oversensitive, as Wei Ying rocked against him.

Wei Ying turned his head, twisting his upper body, changing the angle of Lan Wangji inside of him. Though he’d come already, could feel himself going soft inside of Wei Ying, a fresh wave of pleasured pain lifted inside of him. When Wei Ying bit hungrily at his lower lip, Lan Wangji could only moan against his mouth, helpless against Wei Ying’s wishes.

“Lan Zhan, I’m…”

And then Wei Ying let out a moan and he was spilling hot into Lan Wangji’s palm. When he craned his neck to look up at Lan Wangji, there was stunned wonder in his eyes.

His chest heaved and sweat pearled on his skin, wetting his gaping shirt around the collar.

He was beautiful like this, with his hair plastered to his face and neck, radiating happiness and contentment.

Wei Ying brought his hand up and back to curl around the back of Lan Wangji’s head, bringing their foreheads together. “Thank you, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji was the one who felt like he needed to show his gratitude, but too much of it filled his heart. There was nowhere else for it to go, too big to be set free. Kissing the side of Wei Ying’s head, he held Wei Ying close, held him carefully.

Exhaling softly, in satisfaction, Wei Ying relaxed against him.

END OF PART FOUR

Wen Qing’s students bustled about within the clinic when Wei Wuxian stepped up to the threshold. Not only were they caring for the still healing disciples, but a few of the villagers were there for one treatment or other. Someone seemed in need of medication for a fever. Another, a child, tearfully cried out as one of them assessed a dislocated shoulder. From the halting explanation given by his mother, he’d climbed a tree while playing. Fretting, she hovered while the young man treating him explained to his tiny patient what he was doing.

Wei Wuxian hesitated as he took it all in, a little intimidated if he wanted to admit it. Wringing his hands behind his back to keep anyone inside from seeing him fretting, he bit his lip. He shouldn’t have been come and he didn’t want to be here. Others needed care more than he did. And yet, there was only so much self-deception he could practice before even he couldn’t deceive himself any longer. Even he could tell when he was just using excuses to justify avoiding this place.

If he was going to protect these people appropriately, he needed to be in peak physical condition. There was, he thought, nothing that could be done about some of what ailed him, nothing that time or conditioning wouldn’t solve. There was proof enough of that simply in the fact that he was not still curled in his and Lan Zhan’s dark, cold cave, unable to move or speak, but the wound in his side seemed to leech away all his remaining energy. Surely dealing with that would alleviate some of his struggle.

And so despite all of the instincts that told him to go back to the cave, where he wouldn’t have to confront this, here he stood, unnoticed. Minutes passed while he hesitated, mind conjuring every rationale for him to go: it was busy, Wen Qing would be angry, Lan Zhan would wonder where he’d gone.

Before he could flee, he knocked on the door frame, announcing himself as unobtrusively as possible. Wen Qing, instructing someone in the art of mercilessly tending wounds with various instruments of torture, turned toward the sound, eyebrows climbing her forehead. Though she didn’t stop speaking, she gestured him in.

When she was done, she joined him in the unobtrusive corner he’d chosen. “They’re doing fine,” she said, gesturing toward the disciples. “They’re still resting, but I’ll be releasing them to their quarters later today. If you’d like to talk to them, I’d suggest coming back later.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed. That was good to know. But. “That’s not why I’m here.”

She assessed him with keen eyes. “You must be dying if you showed up here for any other reason,” she joked, dry.

I think I am, he thinks, not quite so joking. It wasn’t really that bad. Again: but. “Can we talk?” With her attention trained on him this way, it was impossible to discreetly discharge the jittery energy that plagued him. He didn’t want to have this conversation, not with Wen Qing, not at all. The only way it could be worse was if he had to have it with Lan Zhan—and he would, he knew, have to have it, but he wanted to present him with a solution first, a neat conclusion to go along with the bad news. Lan Zhan, my body isn’t healing right and I’ve been lying to you about that, but good news, Wen Qing and I found an answer. I’ll be better in no time.

“Sure.” When Wei Wuxian didn’t speak, she said, “Well?”

“Can we talk somewhere else?” The last thing he wanted was for gossip to spread around. Already, he was taking a chance. If anyone here said the wrong thing to the wrong person…

Losing the sardonic expression, she faltered, studying Wei Wuxian’s body, as though she’d guess what was wrong with him through sheer force of will. “Fine,” she said. “Have you eaten yet?”

He had, Lan Zhan wouldn’t have let him out of his sight if he hadn’t, but she was looking a little gaunt, like maybe she’d skipped a few meals of late. “I’m a little hungry,” he lied.

“Alright, then. I think there’s leftover soup from this morning. A-Ning made it. It’s good.” Lips thinning, she added, “We won’t be interrupted.”

“So,” Wen Qing said as she placed a bowl before Wei Wuxian at the small table in the cottage set aside for Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and Wen Yuan. He easily imagined the three of them sitting around it, chattering into the night as they talked about their day. He imagined Wen Qing teasing Wen Yuan about how quickly he grew and how studiously he practiced the dizi. Just as easily, he saw Wen Ning praising them both.

When he looked out the window, there was a lovely view of the valley around them. Though it was nearing afternoon, a few curls of mist clung further up the slopes of the Burial Mounds, turning the verdant green a cooler, bluish shade. It brought a smile to his face to think of the three of them here, seeing the same view day after day.

“So,” he answered, dipping the chipped ceramic spoon into the bowl. Wen Ning or Wen Yuan must have gone fishing recently. The broth was practically overflowing with tender, flaking fish meat. There was no reason to delay further and so he didn’t, plowing right through the polite conversation they should have had instead. It had been a while since he and Wen Qing had talked. “I need to know what you and Lan Zhan did to me.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. Within a few seconds, her gaze fell away. “Wei Wuxian…”

“I know, I know. You did what you had to. I get it.” He swirled the spoon through the soup, sipped at the broth, both flavorful and hearty. Who could have imagined anything like this coming from the Burial Mounds? “But I need to know.”

“Why?”

“Eat,” he said, placing his bowl back on the table and gesturing at hers, “and perhaps I’ll tell you.”

She scowled. In all the time they’d known one another, she had been the one in charge, the one giving orders. Rest, Wei Wuxian. Drink this medicine, Wei Wuxian. Don’t you dare carry Wen Yuan around on that strained shoulder, Wei Wuxian. He understood. In rather similar fashion, he wasn’t comfortable being the one issuing demands. He rather preferred going with the flow.

Miraculously, she listened to him, eying him suspiciously the whole time. They conducted the rest of the meal in silence. Every moment that passed tightened the tension between them.

Once her bowl was clean, tipped toward him so he could verify it, she said, “Well? What have you been hiding from me?”

The tension snapped. There could be no turning back now. Despite the way his hands shook, he yanked aside his sash, pulling outer and inner robe open with the practiced ease of someone who often did this. The cloth wrapped around his midsection damned him most of all. Today, fluid, viscous, pinkish, strange and inexorable, seeped into it. This was the second strip he’d gone through this morning alone and it was what had finally driven Wei Wuxian to come here. Perhaps he should have been more careful with Lan Zhan, but he refused, categorically refused, to hold back with him, not anymore than he already was.

“Wei—” She pushed herself to her feet, knee knocking against the edge of the table. “Wei Wuxian?!” Fumbling for his robes, she wrenched them further apart, pushed them down his shoulders. By now, he was used to her no-nonsense methods, but she was still undressing him. A flush climbed his cheeks at how indecorous it was. Only Lan Zhan disrobed him. She grabbed at his wrist when this method yielded no answers and gasped as she felt his pulse. “You idiot.”

Shrugging out of his robes, leaving them to pool around his waist, he unwound the bandage, forcing her to let go of his hand.

She stared at the wound, grabbed him by the elbow and spun him around, fingers grazing his back just above the wound’s twin. He had no idea what it looked like, only that it didn’t trouble him as much. “It hasn’t…?”

He shook his head.

Instinctively, she reached for him and recoiled only at the last moment. “It’s gotten worse.”

He was aware. He was very much aware. “What did you two do?”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I don’t think it’s going to heal by conventional means,” Wei Wuxian said. “It seemed pointless to waste your stores of medicine on it.”

“Wei Wuxian! That is not for you to—”

“Wen Qing, this isn’t purely a medical issue. What did you do? I’m going to fix this, but I need a place to start.”

She hesitated, though Wei Wuxian couldn’t imagine why. What could possibly have been so bad? They’d given him the time to fix his past mistakes. He wasn’t angry or upset. He just needed to understand.

“Lan Wangji gave me his notes to go along with mine,” she said, voice empty. “He brought you back to the settlement covered in a talisman. It was—it wasn’t dissimilar from a spirit-trapping spell or so I thought. He invented one that kept you from…” Wen Qing wasn’t normally squeamish. Wei Wuxian could guess. Nobody wanted a keep around a corpse that was decaying. “When he brought you back… you’d only just stopped breathing when he applied the talisman, I think.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed around the nausea churning within him. He shouldn’t have eaten the soup. As he sunk to a sitting position, he swallowed the saliva flooding the back of his mouth.

“How did you bring me back?”

In the corner of the room, a wooden chest stood. He didn’t notice it until she went to it, dropping to her knees. When she returned, she carried a sheaf of his notes, brittle with age. Before him, she placed—

Oh.

The body sacrifice spell. He’d forgotten. “Wen Qing…”

“We modified it,” she spit out, furious, “but we could tell that it was meant to restore even the most shattered spirit to a body, find it no matter where it might have gone. We could guess the state of it, but weren’t sure where it was. There was nothing wrong with you theoretically and your wound was healing, albeit slowly. That was why I let Lan Wangji wake you up. I thought it better that you heal the rest of the way naturally.”

Wei Wuxian mulled this over, looked down at his own notes. These were thoughts he’d had during the worst days of his life, his fears writ as feverish inventions. He didn’t think he could do something like this today, knowing what he knew, having seen what had happened when he’d let despair overwhelm him.

It shamed him that Wen Qing had seen this, that Lan Zhan had seen it.

“Wei Wuxian…”

“No, it’s… it’s fine.” His hands crinkled the pages. “I’m sorry that you…”

“You didn’t think we’d make it through, did you?”

He said nothing, which was an answer all on its own.

She squeezed his arm lightly, knelt next to him. “When I was at Loushan…” She swallowed, wouldn’t met his eyes much in the same way Wei Wuxian wouldn’t meet hers. “If my mind worked the way yours does, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have felt something similar would be necessary.”

Dragging in a harsh, rasping breath, Wei Wuxian covered his eyes with his hands, counted numbers until his thoughts settled. If they’d used the body-sacrificing spell, it should have worked. He read through his own notes and then theirs. He saw nothing incorrect in their modifications. It shamed him, too, that he never once thought to make a version of this spell that worked in this manner. Why had he thought he would have to sacrifice himself if Lan Zhan was dead? Though it was ridiculous to think he could solve this in minutes, the truth of the matter was he’d thought it would be easy, that the hardest part would be admitting his weakness to Wen Qing. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, voice quivering. “Wen Qing, I don’t want to die.”

“Then it’s a good thing you have me, isn’t it?”

“Wen Qing?”

“We’re not going to let you die.”

“But—”

“It won’t happen, not like this. You’ll be old and gray and dying after a well-lived life in which you didn’t cultivate enough if you’re dying at all.” She flicked him between the eyebrows, not hard enough to hurt, not more than he was already hurting. “Do you understand?”

Swatting her hand away, he said, “Aiyou, why didn’t I cultivate enough in this scenario of yours?”

She blinked and tilted her head slightly, brows furrowing. Her mouth pressed together in a strange little slant. “I guess I just assumed…”

“Assumed what?”

“Lan Wangji…”

He didn’t understand. He kept not understanding until brutal understanding snapped into place for him. Lan Zhan wouldn’t be cultivating to immortality. He probably wouldn’t even be able to cultivate a particularly long life. Demonic cultivation was good for many things, but Wei Wuxian didn’t think… even if he could with the means that were available to him, he wouldn’t want to. It would exact too high a price.

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian said, laughing to cover his embarrassment, the sudden well of grief within him. It wasn’t like he didn’t know, he’d just never let himself think about it. “Right.”

She was shaking his shoulder again, pulling him from the mire of his thoughts. “Wei Wuxian?”

“I’ll fix it,” he insisted, buried under all the broken things piling up around him. “All of it. We’ll both be troubling you hundreds of years from now. Don’t you worry.”

Wen Qing snorted. “What makes you think I want to cultivate to immortality? I’m already tired of you. Death will be a reprieve.”

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Because the world’s greatest doctor would want to pass along her knowledge for as long as possible, right? Imagine how much you could learn. Besides, I’ll just annoy whomever you reincarnate as if you don’t. You can’t escape me now.”

Wen Qing rolled her eyes, but rose to her feet, gathering the empty bowls. Then, she took the papers from him, neatening them up before handing them back. He set them aside. They couldn’t come back to the cave with him. He’d have to study them here.

“I wish I had access to my books,” Wen Qing said after a few more minutes spent tidying before sitting again, this time next to him. In her hand, she held a bottle and a fresh cloth.

“Where are they?”

She shook her head, shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say in the Jin Sect vaults, but I truly don’t know.”

“There’s still a Jin Sect? Lan Zhan said—”

“Not as you know it,” Wen Qing offered, “but yes.”

“That’s good then, right? I can see shijie and—”

“Wei Wuxian, you don’t want to go to Lanling.”

“But—”

“Wei Wuxian, you can’t just—”

Wei Wuxian bristled. “What can’t I do?”

“Perhaps you should go to Lotus Pier first,” she said, “if you’re so determined to discover what the world is like now.”

“What? I can’t go there.” I can’t let them see me like this. “If you need resources and I can get them…”

“There’s nothing for us in Lanling.” She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Who can even say my books will help? We’ll have to find our own way.”

“But shijie will…”

“Your shijie is in no position to fix this,” Wen Qing said. “I’ll do what I can with what I have. You just need to take it easy and give me time.”

Time. How much of that did he have? Enough, he decided, to give some of it to Wen Qing.

“What if we need to stop hiding?” he asked. “What if I should go to Lanling and… treat with Jin… it would be Jin Zixuan, wouldn’t it?” Grimacing, he put that thought aside. How impossible must that man be as a sect leader?

“There is nothing out there that will keep us safer than our own walls,” she replied, curt. “You think the sects are just going to welcome you? That they’ll concede our legitimacy? Be reasonable.”

“If we make it so they can’t ignore us,” he said, “they’ll have to. Who’s even left that hates us enough to want to fight? If Lan Zhan really did…”

“He did.”

“Then the seal is working as a deterrent, just like it was meant to. It’s not some wall they’re afraid of out there. That buys us leverage.” And if they had leverage, then they should be able to establish themselves as a true cultivation sect in the eyes of the other gentry families. They might never be among the grandest or greatest of them, but they could at least exist among them at the levels of the other minor sects, worthy of respect, as safe from reprisals as anyone.

“They won’t have to do anything,” she snapped, “if you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed. We should focus on one thing at a time, Wei Wuxian.”

“I trust you too much to die from this,” he said, cavalier, counter to what he felt in his heart. To it, it seemed very possible that he’d die from this. He knocked shoulders with her. “Besides, someone has to get your books back.”

“I don’t need—”

“Even if they won’t help my situation, you can’t tell me they wouldn’t help. They’re yours. You must want them back.”

She sighed, broken in her frustration. “There are volumes in there I’ll never in ten lifetimes get a hold of anywhere else. Of course I want them.”

“Alright,” Wei Wuxian said. “Then we’ll meet with Jin-zongzhu and get them back.”

Wen Qing laughed at him, callous, until she realized Wei Wuxian was serious. “Wei Wuxian…”

“I’m going to do it,” he promised her. Even if it didn’t help him, it would help others and that would be worth something to anyone who wanted to call themselves a proper sect leader.

“What, you’re just going to waltz into Jinlintai and demand them back?”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Lan Wangji wouldn’t let you go alone,” she pointed out, “and he won’t be welcome there.”

“Lan Zhan won’t have much choice once I’ve decided what to do,” he pointed out. Lan Zhan wasn’t the sort who’d stop him anyway. No matter how much he hated something, he wouldn’t stand in Wei Wuxian’s way.

“Wei Wuxian…”

Wei Wuxian climbed to his feet, careful to avoid jostling his wound too badly. Wen Qing joined him, rising more elegantly and then, not quite so elegantly, swatted his hand aside when he tried to wrap it again himself. “Hold the bandage underneath,” she ordered, pushing the clean cloth into Wei Wuxian’s hand, before tapping a bit of the powder within onto the wound. Putting it aside, she wrapped the wound for him. Until now, he hadn’t even realized how much of the pain he felt came from it. Before this moment, he’d assumed it was a remnant of the same pain he’d felt upon waking up.

Wei Wuxian’s head spun with relief.

“It won’t solve the underlying problem.” Patting him on the arm, she smiled. Then, gently, she fussed with his robes, pulling them up so he could shove his arms through, “But it’ll help you conserve some strength and maybe sleep better.”

“I… yeah,” he said, still a little woozy. “Thank you.” Blinking away tears, he took a shuddering breath. Why were his eyes watering this way? This was a good thing.

“This is what happens when you come to me and actually let me help you.”

“I guess so.” Laughter bubbled up within him. When he’d composed himself, he said, “I… I’ll hold off on going to Lanling if you think it’s a bad idea.”

Wen Qing stared at him, suspicious. “I do.”

He swallowed, distrustful of his own voice. He suddenly felt as though anything was possible. He couldn’t let himself believe in such things. This was a reprieve. Remembering that was paramount. Who knew what he might do otherwise. She seemed to understand because, nodding, she shooed him out of her quarters. That laughter he couldn’t hold in before followed him home. He didn’t try to stifle it, not when it made him feel like a changed person.

When he returned to the cave, Lan Zhan was there, already back from completing his duties for the day. He was working diligently with his qin. Not a single twanging note troubled Wei Wuxian’s hearing. That, too, was cause for laughter. When Lan Zhan tried to stand, Wei Wuxian waved him off. “No need to get up.”

Quirking an eyebrow at him, he said, “Wei Ying?”

“I’m good,” he said, coming over to plant a kiss on his forehead. “I’m really good. Keep playing.”

“Did something happen?”

He didn’t want to get Lan Zhan’s hopes up, not until he and Wen Qing had figured this out, but he couldn’t out and out lie either. He didn’t want to. “Nothing bad.”

Though Lan Zhan’s mouth pinched in a bemused frown, he accepted this easily enough. “I have finished. There’s no reason to keep playing. It’s good to see you laughing.” Carefully, he placed his hands on Wei Wuxian’s hips and pulled him down into his lap. Though the edge of the table dug into his back, it didn’t trouble him. He liked the feeling of being pinned here between it and the warm wall of Lan Zhan’s body. “Perhaps…”

“Perhaps…?”

“Perhaps we might do something else,” Lan Zhan said, careful, experimenting with this combination of words.

Kissing and biting at the spot just behind Lan Zhan’s ear, he whispered, “Don’t be so gentle with me today, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan pulled back, searched his face and Wei Wuxian was sure he’d argue, sure he’d say no, sure he’d find some reason to deny them both what they wanted.

“Alright,” he said finally. Too impatient, he reached under Wei Wuxian’s robes to peel his trousers down and untied his own with equal disdain. They joined twice while the afternoon light still spilled through the cave’s entrance, once right here on the ground, and again on the bed, half-dressed and mad with it.

Wei Wuxian thought he knew every flavor of pain that could haunt a body, but he’d never experienced an ache as sweet as the one that took hold of him now, his and Lan Zhan’s body twined around one another in the aftermath.

The thing about Wen Qing’s suggestion to visit Lotus Pier, the thing that was, perhaps, dangerous about it, was how much he wanted it. Without pain to hone his fears to a point held like a sword to his heart, he thought…

Maybe.

No. He thought: yes.

And the more he thought, yes, the fewer excuses he could conjure from which to tell himself no.

“You want to do what?” Lan Wangji asked. He was in the middle of conditioning the strings of his qin and he couldn’t be entirely certain Wei Ying hadn’t spoken while he was concentrating for a reason, hoping perhaps his words would slip past Lan Wangji’s notice. However, when he lifted his gaze finally, he saw nervousness in the hunch of Wei Ying’s shoulders, in the darting quality of his gaze. He’d been acting strange for a few days now. No, not strange. Better. Lan Wangji had refrained from asking about it, concerned that drawing attention to it would ruin it. He’d moved more freely, these last few days. His mood was less brittle.

“I’d like to visit Lotus Pier,” Wei Ying said again, hands twisting in front of him as he paced. Seated as he was, Wei Ying’s nervousness seemed large, hopefully larger than it truly was. Wei Ying towered over him and everything about him was exaggerated. “It doesn’t seem fair to not tell them that I’m… here.”

“I would not wish to stop you,” Lan Wangji said. His brows furrowed of their own accord. Though he had concerns—many of them related to whether Wei Ying was healthy enough for travel—he couldn’t in good conscience try to talk him out of going home. If Lan Wangji could, he might have considered doing the same. “Do you feel well enough?”

Wei Ying’s shoulders relaxed. “As good as I’ve felt in a long time, Lan Zhan. I promise.”

“Did you think I would try to discourage you?” Lan Wangji asked. No response. After a polite stretch of moments, he cleared his throat. He should not press for an answer, but fear fluttered through him. He didn’t wish to stifle Wei Ying. That had never been his goal, though it might appear otherwise. “Wei Ying?”

“Lan Zhan, of course not. I just—”

Lan Zhan raised one eyebrow.

“I know you worry about my safety.”

Lan Wangji clenched his teeth, stared down at his qin. “I do not want to keep you from your home.”

“Lan Zhan? It’s not my—” Wei Ying dropped to his knees next to Lan Wangji. Though he hissed slightly and pressed his hand to his side, little of the pain Lan Wangji had come to expect to see on Wei Ying’s face manifested itself there. His hand cupped Lan Wangji’s face, turning it toward him. “My home isn’t there anymore. I would like to see them and I owe them an explanation for what happened. It would be good to show my respects in the ancestral hall if Yu-furen will let me.” He bit his lower lip. “It was my home, but this is home now. You know this.”

Lan Wangji’s heart battered his sternum, a raging creature beating against its cage. When he could not bring himself to meet Wei Ying’s eyes again, Wei Ying lifted his chin.

“I’m not going to abandon you and the others here.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Whether Wei Ying gave it a nicer name or not was irrelevant.

Wei Ying pulled him into a kiss before he could turn his face away. His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Lan Wangji’s neck and his tongue pried Lan Wangji’s mouth open, forceful.

By the time Wei Ying let him go, he was lightheaded. His ears burned. His poor heart still slammed itself to bits within the confines of his chest. It was shameless perhaps to hold so tightly to what Wei Ying freely gave, but he did it all the same. “May I come with you?”

Wei Ying stilled. “Would you want to?”

Some of the happiest times he ever had were in Lotus Pier and he knew going back would not allow him to relive them. In fact, he would likely be unwelcome, but he wanted to be with Wei Ying wherever he went even if it caused trouble. He’d grown selfish since Wei Ying came back. Or maybe he’d always been so. “If you will allow it.”

Silence fell between them. Wei Ying stared at him, baffled. Then Wei Ying squeezed his forearm and smiled. “Of course you can. If you think the Burial Mounds can spare you for that long. It’ll be like old times.” His smile widened as he said it. “That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“It would be a good opportunity to see how the Burial Mounds fares,” Lan Wangji said, a hedge. He did not want Wei Ying to see how much he wanted to be spared, how much he wanted to travel again with Wei Ying.

It couldn’t be exactly the same, of course. They left contingencies and plans in place and instructions if something should happen. They left an itinerary with Wen Qing, something they never used to do as there was no one who’d care to know where they were from day to day. In this life, there was no room to be so carefree.

There was a time when traveling to Yunmeng would have taken hours, but between the two of them, Lan Wangji coreless and Wei Ying restricted by his still healing body’s stamina, it took much longer. They were forced to stop frequently and unlike in the past, they couldn’t take their time night hunting or performing manual labor in exchange for lodging, not when they both knew they were leaving the Burial Mounds more vulnerable than it had ever been. It was quicker to set up camps near enough to the villages they passed to be found if needed.

Sleeping under the open sky was a little easier than in the past at least.

“Come on, you little demon. Get going, eh?” Wei Ying said as he poked at the fire he was starting, sparks floating upward every time he adjusted the kindling. It was a cool night and seemed dark as winter, cloudless and pristine. The stars shone so brightly that Wei Ying’s smile could be seen from across the clearing as Lan Wangji returned with a pheasant. He lifted his gaze. “Lan Zhan, this is fun, huh? Just you and me?”

“Mn,” he agreed, making quick work of dressing the game for their meal. Though he hadn’t done this in years, his muscles remembered. It was easier now to fall into the soothing rhythm of it.

“I heard the sounds of a creek nearby,” Wei Ying said once Lan Wangji was done. “Let me go get some water for you to wash up with?”

“I can go,” Lan Wangji replied, though he hadn’t heard anything at all. A pang of regret struck itself in his chest, resonating throughout his body. It was sometimes strange, the ways he could be reminded of what he no longer was. Weeks could now pass without him noticing the absence of his golden core. He could witness feats of prowess that only cultivators could pull off and feel no envy, but it was still the fact that Wei Ying’s hearing was more acute that caught within him and pulled on that old injury.

Pushing himself to his feet, Wei Ying said, “Let this invalid do something.”

Lan Wangji could only nod in response. Wei Ying squeezed his shoulder as he passed, leaning a little heavier against Lan Wangji than Lan Wangji would have expected as he bent to kiss his forehead. He then hooked his fingers around the water bottles that were resting among Lan Wangji’s things near his feet.

When he returned, Wei Ying sat next to him, body curving, warm, against his side. This, he was awarded every night and it made their sleeping arrangements all the more palatable. His fingers wrapped around Lan Wangji’s wrist, pulling Lan Wangji’s arm into his lap. He took a spare bit of cloth and poured water over it, scrubbing lightly at Lan Wangji’s skin until it was clean and repeated the act with the other hand. And then, because Lan Wangji wasn’t already alight enough with warm affection, Wei Ying kissed the knuckles of each.

“Lan Zhan, in the future, we should do this all the time. Travel together. When everything is settled, we should see and do everything.”

Lan Wangji ducked his head to hide his smile. “I would like that.” It was a good dream, a wonderful dream. He could visualize it perfectly. They’d night hunt together and flirt over their evening meals—Wei Ying would flirt and Lan Wangji would sit there, face heating with pleasure and embarrassment as he poured more wine or tea for Wei Ying—and sleep in one another’s embrace. The chill of the night air would find no space between them. When the Burial Mounds was strong enough to stand on its own, they’d help the people the rest of the world has forgotten about. They’d see incredible sights that Lan Wangji would have only read about in the diaries of his ancestors, those who were given freer rein to wander. When they grew tired of traveling, they could return and help with the planting or the harvesting or the teaching. If needed, Lan Wangji could play like he used to. In that future, these times they were living in now would be the old ones, washed soft with nostalgia. Even among the bad, there was so much good to be found in what they’d done.

It truly was a beautiful wish.

Wei Ying’s cheeks rose into perfect, pinchable curves as a smile stretched broadly across his mouth. Lan Wangji, freer than he’d been in years, couldn’t stop himself from taking one between his thumb and forefinger as he pulled Wei Ying into a kiss.

“We will,” he said, when they finally parted for air. Though it wasn’t a promise he should have made, it was a promise he was willing to keep.

From the outside, Lotus Pier, when they arrived, was much as Lan Wangji remembered. There was something comforting in that. Children scampered through and around the entrance, shrieking and laughing. Vendors peppered the air with their shouts. Wei Ying turned his head this way and that as he took it all in, slowing their progress. Lan Wangji could not tell if he was purposefully delaying their arrival or if he was merely this homesick, longing to savor it rather than rush through to their destination.

It felt selfish to expect he would not. How could one person fill the hole left by the loss of an entire place and the people within? How could a place marked by death replace such a precious location?

“Ah, Lan Zhan, it even smells the same!” Wei Ying cried as he twisted adroitly to avoid colliding with a toddling child, barely old enough to walk. Their parent or perhaps an older sibling scolded them, rushing in to scoop them up, “Sorry, sorry, respected cultivators,” she said, though there was a smile in her eyes, one that matched Wei Ying’s. “Watch where you’re going, huh,” she told the child.

Wei Ying coughed into his fist. “It’s fine. It’s fine.” He reached into the pouch he kept on his belt and flushed when his hand found nothing of value inside. There could be no sharing coins with anyone who crossed their path, not now, not like he was able to do in the past. “No harm done.”

“Thank you,” she said, before turning away.

“Shall we announce our own presence then?” Wei Ying asked.

“I believe a letter would have been preferable.”

“That’s so boring, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying flapped his hand around. “We’re already here anyway. If we delay any longer, Jiang Cheng will know and he’ll be even madder at me. It’ll be your job to protect me. I’ll hide behind your robes and—”

“Wei Ying.”

“Ah, don’t Wei Ying me. I’m right. He won’t beat you up, but he’ll have a go at me. It’ll make dinner really awkward and—”

“Wei Ying, I understand. You can take your time,” he answered. “Or you can rush forward as is your wont. I will be there either way. I will shield you.”

Wei Ying pressed his hand to his forehead and swooned dramatically, leaning heavily against Lan Wangji’s side. Lan Wangji’s arm, almost of its own accord, came up to brace him. “Ugh, don’t be nice, Lan Zhan. Tell me I’m being stupid. It won’t even be that bad. It’s not like…” His hand fell to Lan Wangji’s chest, caught itself in the collar of his robes and fisted in the fabric. “It’s not…”

“I know.” It wasn’t like it would be if they returned to Cloud Recesses. Wei Ying would not be able to protect him and his family would not unbend the way Wei Ying’s will once they get over their initial reaction.

“You’re right, Lan Zhan. This is stupid.” Resolute, he strode inside, intent on only one destination.

Lan Wangji could only follow. “That’s not what I said.”

If Lan Wangji were to consider the changes that seven or so years would have wrought, he might have expected less. After all, the cultivation world moved slowly. Things changed rarely. But this might as well have been Lan Wangji’s first visit to Lotus Pier for how much the same it was at least on the surface. A few disciples served minor punishments in the main hall as they scrubbed at the ornate decorations that dotted the room.

This was not Jiang Fengmian’s sect any longer. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone serve punishment during his convalescence. This was very clearly his son’s.

A flutter of purple fabric erupted from the back of the room.

Jiang Yanli rushed over from where she’d been sitting near the throne. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “A-Xian? What are you—”

The sizzle of ozone accosted them as someone else approached from behind. One of the sect’s disciples was standing behind him, pale-faced, like he was seeing a ghost. On his hand, Zidian flickered. Jiang Wanyin, as he stormed in, shouted, “Wei Wuxian!”

The other disciples stood if they had been crouching, turned if they were standing. Wei Ying’s laugh trilled, echoing through the hall as he awkwardly waved at everyone. Jiang Yanli moved forward, arms open as though ready for an embrace, but Jiang Wanyin got their first, punching him in the sternum. “Just what do you—”

Even Lan Wangji, who did not like or approve of Jiang Wanyin, could see it was meant to be the sort of roughhousing some brothers did with one another, not meant to harm. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have hurt Wei Ying at all. These were, of course, not normal circumstances, and Jiang Wanyin had no way of knowing that. That did not stop a fissure of anger from opening within Lan Wangji’s chest. There was no reason he had to do that, no reason at all beyond the fact he was a brute, that he could not meet Wei Ying with anything other than anger in his heart.

Wei Ying went rigid, grimacing. His face drained of color as he stifled a gasp, arm curling protectively around his midsection. Jiang Yanli stepped closer to him, but he shied away. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Under his breath, he dragged in a deep breath and swore. “Sorry, shijie.”

“Jiang Wanyin,” he said, stepping between him and Wei Ying before he could touch him again.

“Jiang-zongzhu.” But though he was snappish, petty, his eyes were wide with fear. He looked past Lan Wangji to Wei Ying. Lan Wangji wished he wouldn’t do that. “What the hell—”

Lan Wangji did not care to play this game of polite titles and due respects. Jiang Wanyin was lucky that all of his attention was devoted to ensuring Wei Ying was not harmed. “Wei Ying?”

“Your old shixiong is fragile.” Wei Ying laughed again, tremulous. He waved Jiang Yanli off, though couldn’t help but offer a lingering look at her, fond and soft and a little confused. “They train you too strong here in Yunmeng.”

Jiang Wanyin sniffed, chin lifting. His cheeks reddened. “Since when do I have a shixiong?”

Wei Ying’s hands cupped over his heart. “I will always be your shixiong. I’m a whole six days older than you, you know!”

“Shut up,” he answered, not terribly like a sect leader at all. “You were dead. Who wants a dead shixiong anyway?”

Wei Ying’s mouth twisted and he made a clicking sound. Maybe it was agreement. Maybe it wasn’t. “Aiyou, is it Chengcheng who’s three years old now? What is this?” Wei Ying leaned toward Jiang Yanli, said quietly, “Perhaps you might let your shidi and shimei off their punishments a little early?”

“It’s not your job to decide that!” Jiang Wanyin said.

“I’d like to explain,” Wei Ying said, “without becoming a source of gossip for the entire sect.”

“You’re a constant source of gossip. It’s already going around that you’re here. It’s too late to avoid attention.”

In a voice that was barely above a whisper, Wei Ying said, “Fine. You’re right. So maybe I want to apologize properly without having to grovel before an audience, eh? It’ll be bad enough having to present myself for Yu-furen’s inspection.”

“Our mother is visiting family in Meishan,” Jiang Yanli said, unable to hide the worry in her voice or the concern in her eye. Lan Wangji hadn’t had a chance to meet her the last time he was here, when it had been Jiang Yanli who’d been sent to Meishan in the hopes it would be safer for her. He found he liked her and liked better the news she bore.

Wei Ying grinned. The brightness of it only highlighted how pale he remained. “Ah? How lucky for me.”

Though Jiang Wanyin might have argued, he did gesture everyone out of the room. They were suspiciously quick to abandon their work.

“What brings you here anyway?” Jiang Wanyin said, suspicious. Annoyance crackled through his words. Lan Wangji had not missed this at all, but he kept his own anger firmly locked in his heart. Unless Jiang Wanyin touched Wei Ying carelessly again, he would keep the peace for Wei Ying’s sake.

“I wanted to see you,” Wei Ying said. “Both of you.”

“You think you’re in a position to ask for anything?” Jiang Wanyin snapped. “You’ve been—” He sighed, shook his head, threw a venomous look at Lan Wangji. “You’re going to explain just what in the hell happened. Eight years!” His gaze again fell, thunderous, on Lan Wangji. “And you! Our mother cursed you so violently that I thought you’d hear it all the way in the Burial Mounds and find yourself struck down. You’re lucky she’s not here. She might have whipped you in the courtyard for everyone to see.”

“What? What did Lan Zhan do?”

“I’m not sure this is appropriate conversation,” Jiang Yanli said. “A-Cheng, the past is the past.”

“The past is where Lan er-gongzi—” A derisive expression slid across his mouth and settled there with disdain. “—kept Wei Wuxian’s corpse in a cave with him like some kind of trophy instead of allowing us to conduct the proper rites. Our mother wouldn’t even let us go see him because she was so disgusted.”

Though Wei Ying winced, he stepped closer to Lan Wangji. “I wasn’t dead,” he said. “I’m sorry about what happened. I know how it must seem to you, but...” Jiang Wanyin was not wrong was the thing. By all measures outside of himself and Wei Ying, what he’d done was abhorrent and unnatural. It deserved Jiang Wanyin’s contempt and more.

“Wei Ying.” He was not certain how he managed to speak so calmly. “Jiang-zongzhu is right to scorn me for this.”

“Lan Zhan saved me,” Wei Ying insisted, fierce. “Right or wrong—and I do not think he was wrong—I’m here because of him. Would you rather have to truly mourn me, Jiang Cheng?”

“You think I didn’t? You were gone! And now you’re here trying to justify why I was stupid to do so!” He scoffed and crossed his arms, unwilling to look at Wei Ying any longer. Lan Wangji found himself hoping he comported himself with more dignity during meetings with other sect leaders.

“We should let A-Xian and Lan er-gongzi rest,” Jiang Yanli said. “I’m sure their journey was tiring. I’ll make the arrangements for accommodations. Later, I’ll make dinner. How does that sound?”

“I’ve already sent someone to make up a room for them.” That, in and of itself, was probably more welcome than Lan Wangji should have expected from him. If only to himself, he acknowledged that fact. Jiang Wanyin, pettier than most people Lan Wangji had ever met, could just as easily have turned him away.

“Then I’ll take them to get settled in,” she said, pleased. When she squeezed Jiang Wanyin’s hand, he looked away again. A muscle in his jaw jumped. She merely smiled fondly and patted his hand. “None of that, A-Cheng.”

Before they could reach the entrance, Jiang Wanyin was stomping over, calling out. “Wei Wuxian,” he said, before pulling him into a careful hug. Wei Ying didn’t even wince this time for how gently Jiang Wanyin wrapped his arms around Wei Ying’s shoulders. “If you’re going to keep dying like that, you should at least come back less ugly, huh?”

“Lan Zhan just wants to make sure the rest of the world stands a chance against my rugged beauty. You’re lucky I got saddled with this scar back in the day. Otherwise, I would have had all the girls swooning at my feet. Some of the men, too. They’d—”

“They’d be scared off by your guard dog.”

“Lan Zhan’s better than any dog!” Wei Wuxian held Jiang Wanyin at arm’s length, expression growing somber, filling with regret. “I should have come back sooner. The Burial Mounds are…” He looked over at Lan Wangji and shrugged. “They keep our hands full. That’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

“You could have sent a message,” Jiang Wanyin said, because he couldn’t accept anything gracefully, not even an unnecessary apology.

“I know,” was all Wei Ying said in response. This, at least, Jiang Wanyin finally accepted, if not artfully.

Gruff, he said, “You’d better not be late for dinner.”

Wei Ying lifted three fingers in a salute, offering a childish promise. “I wouldn’t miss shijie’s cooking for anything.”

“Shijie,” Wei Ying said, adopting a wheedling tone that Lan Wangji hadn’t heard in years. “Shijie, you’ll forgive me, won’t you, for…?”

Jiang Yanli smiled indulgently, so kindly. It reminded Lan Wangji of his brother from the days before everything went wrong between them. “Are you truly worried I won’t?”

Though Wei Ying pouted, he merely shook his head, one corner of his mouth pulling in a frown.

“Perhaps,” she said, thoughtful as she guided them down one of the walkways that Lan Wangji knew led to the medical pavilion, “if you’d like to make it up to me you’ll allow me to take you to the physician.”

Wei Ying had apparently not noticed this fact yet. “Ah? What? Shijie, that’s…”

Her smile turned sweet, small and mischievous. “I saw the way you reacted to A-Cheng’s touch. You’ve been injured recently. Surely you wouldn’t want your shijie to worry?”

Lan Wangji found himself curious to know how Wei Ying would wriggle out of going. Then, he actually looked at Wei Ying, saw the guilt there, and realized Wei Ying was already prepared to concede. At her request, Wei Ying didn’t grow cold and intractable. It stung in its way, though Lan Wangji knew it was an unreasonable reaction, to think that Jiang Yanli could do something Lan Wangji could not.

Though he whined about the cruelty of visiting the physician the whole way, he allowed himself to be guided to their pavilion. “Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, hold this weak man.”

“Wei Ying?”

“I’m feeble,” he said, sidling close as Jiang Yanli watched, rolling her eyes. He wound his arm around Lan Wangji’s, leaning his weight against him. “Remember the last time we were here? You manhandled me around in a bid to keep me upright.”

Lan Wangji bit his tongue. It was true. He couldn’t deny it. He didn’t have to admit it.

“And now you too cruelly won’t even touch me even as my dear shijie has turned on me.”

What are you doing, Lan Wangji thought, as he offered Wei Ying his arm. This was a performance for Jiang Yanli, but why. “I have treated you terribly,” he said, mild, as Wei Ying laughed and curled closer. Even if it was a ploy, it was a nice one. It put them back on solid ground. If, Lan Wangji thought, he was willing to see the physician without any real complaint, he was probably fine.

The walk was a pleasant one from thereon out and soon enough, they reached the medical pavilion.

They stood awkwardly around the entrance as a handful of people shuffled in and out, carrying a variety of minor injuries with them. Wei Ying nervously stepped forward, then stopped again. “Shijie, are you sure…?”

“I am,” she said, pleasant. “Please, A-Xian. If you’d rather have some privacy, perhaps Lan er-gongzi will accompany me to your room to ensure it’s ready. You can meet us when you’re done.”

Lan Wangji wanted to complain about this arrangement, but from the way Wei Ying’s shoulders slumped in unexpected relief, Lan Wangji couldn’t bring himself to do so. He could let Wei Ying do this alone if he wanted to. If Wei Ying wanted privacy, Lan Wangji would not take it from him. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, as much encouragement as Wei Ying needed to step forward.

“Come,” Jiang Yanli said. “I’m sure A-Cheng advised that A-Xian’s old room should be prepared, but we should make sure, hmm?”

The thought of going into Wei Ying’s childhood room for the first time without him was daunting somehow, but Lan Wangji could only nod agreeably and follow.

He turned only once as they reached the end of the walkway, preparing to turn onto another path, just to look his fill, just because he could. Wei Ying was still standing where they’d left him. He was staring down at his hands. Though Lan Wangji wanted to call to him, Jiang Yanli started asking him about his dietary requirements, questions he hadn’t had the luxury to think about in years. Before he could interrupt, voice raised so Wei Ying could hear him, Wei Ying stepped inside. He felt Wei Ying’s absence as a loss, temporary though it was.

“I have no preferences,” he told her, putting an end to the conversation as they, too, lost sight of the medical pavilion.

Wei Wuxian drew in a deep breath, released it, didn’t dare curse his dearest shijie even while he cursed the fact that he’d been so thoroughly outmaneuvered by her. It had happened so quickly that he still didn’t have a good excuse to avoid going in. And yet, he hesitated: it wasn’t like he didn’t already know what had happened..

In truth, Jiang Cheng had hurt him. Unintentionally! It was an accident. As soon as he’d punched at Wei Wuxian—playful, playful the way they’d always played, and too rough for his current state—Wei Wuxian had known. Hot fluid that might have been blood was still seeping into his bandage. Fire-bright agony continued to sweep through his body, leaving ash in its wake. He might have managed it if he could have retreated to a place of privacy, licked his wounds in peace. His vision might have swum a bit when he first took hold of Lan Zhan’s arm, but he was clearer-headed now.

Shijie, though. He could deny her nothing and so he crossed the threshold.

He consoled himself that he could probably get through this un—

“Wei Wuxian!”

He grimaced: Jiang Xiuying.

—scathed.

He stood just inside the doorway and wasn’t sure how he’d been discovered so quickly when her voice lifted itself from the back of the room. An entire row of carefully labeled drawers full of all sorts of herbs and plants and already made pills, ready to be deployed on unsuspecting heroes who’ve darkened her doorstep, stood between them. He didn’t even see her until she popped her graying head around the end. The rest of her followed as she rounded it.

“Aiya,” he said weakly, too low for her to hear. “Shouldn’t you keep your voice down for your poor patients?” But he stepped inside anyway, unwilling to make his shijie unhappy, and smiled clearly. At least there would be few witnesses. “Jiang-zongzhu is too cruel in his treatment of visitors. He sent me all the way to the physician’s pavilion with the strength he wields. It’s too much for this poor cultivat—ow!”

Jiang Xiuying grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward one of the tables. Before he could complain or otherwise deflect, she’d yanked off one of his wrist guards and placed her own fingers there. Her expression darkened, grew thunderous. At raising a fuss, not even thunder could defeat her. An earful was in the offing.

“Remove your robes,” she ordered. Though her words were clipped, she held his arm as he dropped to his feet again.

“You just want to see my well-muscled chest,” he groused, but there would be no getting out of here until she saw what she wanted to see. Probably her checking his pulse had already given too much of it away. He told himself it was for the best since he’ll be able to get the wound redressed without having to go sneaking around behind Lan Zhan’s back. She’ll do that much for him even though he’d always been a pain in the ass.

“I want to see the giant energy drain in your abdomen,” she replied, caustic. “I suppose this is what happens when men miraculously return from the dead.”

He winced. Okay, so yeah. She already knew. There really were few physicians as good as Jiang Xiuying in the world. “How does everyone know? If you’re going to gossip, at least get it right.”

“It got around,” she said, dry. “That young man of yours infuriated Yu-furen to such a degree I’m surprised he was let in. If she were here, she might have whipped him for the insubordination.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian said, awkward. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

“Men don’t come back from the dead, not even you.” Unimpressed, Jiang Xiuying studied him. “What happened?”

“I wasn’t even dead.”

“What would you call it?”

He was tired, he realized, tired of holding it all in, tired of worrying that he’d make someone feel guilty for what happened to him, something that was entirely his own fault. Nobody here had any part in trying to clean it up. Here, he could discuss everything if he wanted to and didn’t have to risk hurting anyone’s feelings. “How beholden would you be to answer to Jiang-zongzhu if I told you?”

“Not very.”

Good enough for him.

He removed his belt and stripped his robes to the waist, each layer hanging awkwardly around his thighs. When he looked down at the bandage, it really wasn’t so bad. Only the smallest bloom of red against the only-a-little-bit-grimy-from-road-travel white of the wrap.

“Sit,” she said, gesturing him toward one of her tables. Deftly, she unwound the bandage. “You’re determined to give me white hair, aren’t you? I don’t have to worry about you in almost ten years and within hours of your arrival, my blood is boiling in my veins.”

“I don’t think I’ve been here even that long.” He smiled. “Ah, did you miss me?”

“I definitely did not.” She tossed aside the bandage after wiping up the blood and fluid leaking from it. “At least it’s not infected. I suppose that’s something.”

“I’ve been careful…” But in truth, he hadn’t been, not careful enough. He’s proved himself that time and time again in recent months. Still, that was the one thing that hadn’t gone wrong. It was something, he supposed. Again, he told himself he would do better, be better.

“Is this…? This is what killed you?”

“I didn’t die.”

She arched her eyebrow. “This would have hit organs. You would have died. What was done to you?”

“I don’t know precisely,” he said. As she scoffed, he raised his hands. “I mean it. I was… I wasn’t dead, but I wasn’t there either. I’m trying to figure it out.”

“What do you know?”

He explained everything he knew about what Wen Qing and Lan Zhan had done, smoothing it around so it didn’t sound quite so unnatural. It was only when he’d come back that things went awry. He made that very clear: it was something about him that was the problem here, not what they were doing. As he spoke, Jiang Xiuying’s expression darkened.

“Don’t be upset with them,” he said, finishing his explanation insofar as he understood it. “It was… I came up with it. And Lan Zhan was…”

“He was what?”

“We were all spread so thin,” Wei Wuxian admitted. “It wasn’t a good time for any of us. I don’t blame him.”

“So that means I can’t?”

“As far as I’m concerned?” He kept his voice as respectful as possible. This was the woman who’d guarded his body for him when he was too young and reckless to care what it meant to be healthy and whole and hale. That didn’t mean he’d let her judge what she didn’t experience herself. “That’s exactly what it means.”

She wandered to the back of the room again, began opening and closing the little drawers full of her hellishly nasty concoctions. “And what about you? You’re out there inventing nightmare spells. May I judge you?”

“If you must,” he said, lighthearted. Being blamed was easy. He didn’t mind at all. “You know me. I’m always getting myself into messes.”

“Wei Wuxian…” When she returned, she was carrying only a handful of packets. Her eyes gleamed, sadder than he’d ever seen. “I don’t think I’ve ever known you to get into this kind of mess.”

“We all have to grow up sometime, don’t we?”

“This isn’t funny.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed and looked away. Her words tipped the balance from fine to not fine. This assertion of hers, earnest and angry both, found the crack in his armor and pried it open. His face heated and tears he would not allow to fall brimmed in his eyes. He wasn’t just tired. This went so far beyond that. He was exhausted, ground down to nothing. His hope and his arrogance couldn’t keep up. What if he couldn’t fix this? What if he failed Lan Zhan yet again? “I know.”

“Your golden core is too strong to have not healed that wound already. Even now it’s trying to heal it. It’s why you’re so tired and pained all the time. It’s picking and picking at the injury instead leaving it alone. If it was only a question of physical healing, you’d be fine now. Maybe you’d have another scar to match the pretty one on your face.”

Wei Wuxian’s hand flutters up to touch lightly at the thin scar that crosses most of his forehead and cheek. Most days, he forgot it existed since Lan Zhan never looked at him any differently and nobody else in the Burial Mounds commented on it either. “Aiyou, some of us are sensitive.”

“Wei Wuxian.”

“So what? You do think it’s my fault somehow?”

“I think a soul-sacrificing spell is possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. I can’t even imagine why you thought it was a good idea to create such a thing. What’s the price of a spell like that?”

Wei Wuxian’s stomach twisted. Had he not paid enough already? “I wasn’t at my best either.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

They quieted after that, Jiang Xiuying having said her piece and Wei Wuxian, his. What else was there to say? Jiang Xiuying carefully applied a paste to the wound, a foul-smelling concoction, of course, and carefully wound a new bandage around his midsection. “You’ll want to take medicines that will boost your spiritual powers until you solve this. You’re letting yourself get too drained.”

“Wen Qing is helping me.” He didn’t mention that they didn’t have the resources to procure such precious medications. The best he could hope for was what she’d already done for him.

“Good. Let her keep doing that. I can send a few recipes back with you for a few pills that should help.” With the way she was looking at him now, he suspected she saw everything he didn’t say. “And the supplies to make them.”

“That’s not…” An uncharacteristic melancholy settled thick in the back of his throat. It was difficult to swallow or speak around. “You don’t have to do that.”

“What I do and don’t have to do is my business. Just accept it. If not for me, then for that man you’ve been mooning after since you were a silly child. He’s clearly gone through a lot for you. Or for Jiang-zongzhu. No one took your absence harder than he did.”

There was no argument against her words that he could make. “You don’t have to tell me.”

When she was finally done with him, he pushed his arms through his inner, then outer, robes, rebuilt the defensive layer around his heart piece by piece. He wouldn’t let Lan Zhan see him red-eyed and demoralized. Once he’d set himself right, she held out a small box to him. “Take this,” she said, opening the lid: a pill, large, unassuming, sat inside. “I’ll have a few more made while you’re here.”

There was no fight left in him to decline it, but when he shoved it into the pouch hanging from his belt, she rolled her eyes. “Take it now. You don’t have to save it for a special occasion.”

He said he would, but he knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t so poorly off that he needed it yet. It would be a waste. So he lied. Just a little bit.

“If you need anything,” she called to him as he was stepping toward the entrance, “let me know? Wen Qing is a renowned physician, but she doesn’t know everything. Sometimes experience counts, too, huh?”

Having the backing of an established sect counted, too, he didn’t say. It wasn’t Jiang Xiuying’s fault that the Burial Mounds couldn’t always care well for its own.

As Wei Wuxian stepped onto the walkway outside the medical pavilion, he thought about Jiang Xiuying’s words, her suggested treatments.

What was the cost of such a spell as the one he made?

From memory, he recreated Lan Zhan and Wen Qing’s notes, reviewed what Wen Qing had told him. Poor though his ability to recollect things could be, he was pretty good at remembering stuff like this. In his mind’s eye, he saw every alteration they’d made to the spell. It was fine. It had worked. Only the most reckless, desperate person would be able to use the spell as Wei Wuxian wrote it. That was by design. Lan Zhan and Wen Qing had tempered it. No souls were harmed in the retrieval of his own from the locked box into which Lan Zhan’s talisman had placed it. They’d circumvented the need to sacrifice a soul and they’d…

They’d…

The answer was right there. Right there. If only he could see it.

There.

He stumbled as the answer snapped into place.

No. No.

With Wei Wuxian’s spell, sacrificing one’s body and soul wasn’t enough. There was a third necessary piece: a wish, a wish to be granted by the soul that would soon occupy its new body. He’d meant for it to ensure Lan Zhan didn’t do anything rash once he came back. In retrospect, he recognized it as a cruelty, but at the time, he’d felt it necessary. Until Lan Zhan and Wen Qing, a soul couldn’t be forced on an unwilling body. They’d solved those pieces of it, turned them to their own purposes, but what about the third?

A body always knew its most fervent desires.

And what had Wei Wuxian’s body wanted?

In those last moments before he almost died, definitely didn’t die—what did he want more than anything?

Jin Zixun’s death.

The death of every Jin Sect disciple who’d been responsible while the Wen Remnant huddled on a mountain of corpses.

What did his body want more than anything as Lan Zhan had held him so desperately while he bled in the dirt? Who could it still blame? Whose sword pierced it?

Jin Zixuan. If his sword hadn’t fallen to the dirt near Jin Zixun’s vile hands, Jin Zixun would never have bested him.

The truth of it seared him. This wasn’t a physical wound. It wasn’t a wound at all. The moment Lan Zhan called him back, it became something else: a promise, a focus, an anchor by which Wei Wuxian could be compelled to stay and be forced to do as he himself wished.

A curse.

This was what this body of his wanted: Jin Zixuan’s death.

The spell, even altered, even gentled as it was, still carried that heart within it: a wish in exchange for a body with which to house a soul.

His legs were heavy as lead as he lumbered the handful of steps to the walkway’s railing. As he leaned over it, he saw his reflection in the water lapping gently at the wood pilings spaced evenly down the length of it. His chest tightened and his mind buzzed with the victory of having solved it.

Right or wrong, his thoughts had been poison at the end, and they were exacting payment into the present day, long past when it last mattered to him. This was just punishment, poetic in its way.

He wouldn’t have died—nearly, only nearly—then if not for his bloodthirsty desire for revenge. Why should he not suffer for it?

The world, he knew now, would always be an unfair place. There would be injustices and calamities and every sort of strife. Holding grudges in his heart would only ever lead to more pain. He should have held those he loved within it instead. What if he’d worked half as hard at making the Burial Mounds livable as he had spent stomping around wanting to make Jin Guangshan pay? What might he have invented back then if he hadn’t been so focused on things like the soul-sacrificing spell?

Without Wei Wuxian around, Lan Zhan and the others had made it into a paradise or very near it. What could have happened if he’d actively worked toward that, too?

Not this, he was sure.

There was nothing he could do but laugh, laugh until tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. They tickled his cheeks, his jaw. He didn’t have the strength to brush them away.

He couldn’t die, not like this, not because of this. This mistake of his couldn’t keep haunting him. In an unjust world, this was especially cruel. He was trying to do right finally. He was trying and it didn’t matter because he couldn’t satisfy the retributive spirit of this curse.

He wouldn’t kill Jin Zixun.

He wouldn’t hunt down whomever, if anyone, remained in this world who was responsible for the atrocities he’d witnessed again and again.

He could not run Jin Zixuan through with a sword the way he’d been run through with Jin Zixuan’s.

The railing cracked and splintered beneath his hands. Shattered bits of wood lodged under his skin. Blood burst beneath his fingernails. Still he clung to the broken railing.

He remained so long that the sun dipped below the horizon and a chill filled the air.

It wasn’t until he heard a frantic, “Wei Ying,” coming from behind him that he roused himself from the razor sharp maze of his thoughts. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan rushing over and turning him around. His hands were cool as they bracketed his cheeks. When his gaze skimmed down, he reached instead for Wei Wuxian’s hands, cupping them in his palms as he inspected the damage. Compared to what Wei Wuxian had already done to himself, this was nothing, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t stop Lan Zhan from looking his fill.

He could not die, he thought, numbed to it.

But he couldn’t live either, not if this was the price, not even for Lan Zhan. Not even when he would have forced the same on Lan Zhan once.

He could not claim himself to be a good man.

“Lan Zhan.” He covered Lan Zhan’s hands with his own. Now that he knew, he could be calm, steady. In the absence of the need to fight, he could be placid. What was done was done. It was more important to assuage Lan Zhan’s fear, the fear that drained his face of color, that burned away everything else in those gorgeous golden eyes of his. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“You didn’t,” Lan Zhan tried to answer. It was so obviously a lie that Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but laugh again. Why did Lan Zhan always try to make him feel better? Wasn’t it Wei Wuxian’s job to lighten everyone else’s spirits? Wasn’t he the one who’d slipped through war and worse with little more than an ugly little scar as a memento? He hadn’t lost his core nor almost everyone he knew. At every turn, he’d had choices no one else were given.

Funny, then, that he found himself in this bind now.

“What did the physician say?” Lan Zhan asked. Before he could answer, Lan Zhan spoke again. “What happened?”

“Jiang Cheng was just a little rough,” Wei Wuxian said. That was true. “Caught me by surprise, but it’s no matter.”

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan’s brows furrowed and his mouth thinned. “If you are planning to lie to me,” he said, practiced, “I wish you would do a better job of hiding it.”

“Lan Zhan…”

“Come,” Lan Zhan said, crisp, before Wei Wuxian could answer fully. “Jiang-guniang has brought dinner to your room for you.”

“But—”

“She thought it might be better to allow you to rest. Please come.”

He didn’t have it in his heart to argue against it even though his stomach turned at the thought of eating. “Okay, Lan Zhan,” he said, allowing Lan Zhan to grab his wrist and drag him to his old room.

It looked exactly the same as when he’d lived here, protected from the passage of time by Jiang Cheng’s penchant for stubbornness. So much for mourning. He’d clearly never moved on A lump formed in his throat at the sight of his old belongings, things he hadn’t thought about in years, things he hadn’t even missed until this moment, the incense burner he’d once used, the childish image he’d carved into his bed frame. Even the tea set he used was here, the pot filled with steaming, fragrant water, and the cups that he and Lan Zhan once shared.

“I was given some medications to take,” he said, bright, words struggling through the thick tangle of his emotions. “Do you know the only time such things ever went down sweet was when I sat with you?”

Lan Zhan sat and began the work of portioning out the soup, vegetables, and fish from the generous spread before them. Again, Wei Wuxian didn’t know how he was going to eat any of it, but for Lan Zhan, he’d do his best. Kneeling across from him, he smiled gamely. When Lan Zhan was satisfied with how much food he’d piled into Wei Wuxian’s bowl, Wei Wuxian waved the packets of herbs in his face.

“Will you help with these, too, er-gege?”

His fingers grasped the packets precisely. “Eat first,” he said, “and have some tea. I’ll make this after.”

He was as good as his word, of course.

The medicine somehow did taste sweeter, especially when he said, “Lan Zhan, share your cup with me,” and was awarded with it immediately. He could almost taste Lan Zhan’s lips along the rim.

He was not going to lie to Lan Zhan again, he decided. He just needed time, time and hope.

The Jiang Sect library wasn’t known for its texts on spiritual maladies, but Wei Wuxian, after a morning spent pretending he was well in front of Jiang Cheng and shijie—he could not fool Lan Zhan and didn’t want to—was determined to find something to give to Lan Zhan. A curse was a curse, though, and he knew how to break it. That was the beginning and end of it.

Even Wen Qing’s books, surely much heavier on esoteric curses and other similar subjects, wouldn’t help.

As he studied each cubby, shelf, and desk in the library, he found countless books, scrolls, and treatises on every topic from proper sword fighting techniques to how to live a fulfilled, happy life. He did not find many texts relating to breaking curses. Those he did find gave him the same instructions he’d heard his whole life: find out what the curse’s originator wanted and give it to them.

The shushing sweep of cloth across the floor pulled him from his musings, as did the sound of familiar footfalls across the wood.

“What are you looking for?”

The book Wei Wuxian held fell closed in his hand, one of the few books in the library that seemed to have information on relevant curses. Lan Zhan gave it a cursory glance before pointedly looking him in the eye.

He put the book away, knowing a lost cause when he saw it, and said, “Did you know I used to have to catalogue the library as punishment sometimes? It was only set for me when I wasn’t very naughty,” he said, “and Yu-furen thought she was being lenient. But I would swear to you that it was worse than any whipping I could have suffered for worse infractions.”

Lan Zhan finally scrutinized the book’s cover, fingers light over the title. He did not uncouthly call Wei Wuxian on his bullshit.

“Jiang-zongzhu was looking for you,” Lan Zhan said, displeased. “He wants to spar.”

There was nothing in the world Wei Wuxian wanted to do more and there was nothing in the world that Wei Wuxian was less capable of doing. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t go easy on him and then he and everyone would know just how badly off he was. “Did you…?”

“I told him I would ask,” Lan Zhan said, “but that I would urge you to be cautious.”

“Hm, yeah.” Cautious. Wei Wuxian did have to be that now. “That’s… yeah. For the best.”

“Wei Ying?”

“I’d rather not undo the physician’s hard work, Lan Zhan. I think I’m going to pass on the sparring.” At Lan Zhan’s alarmed expression, little more than an upward quirk of one eyebrow and slightly parted lips, he raised his hands. “Just being prudent. I’m not…”

“You’re not…?”

“I’m not more hurt than I was yesterday,” he said, though that felt wrong. Now that he had a clue what happened, it did feel worse. “I just want to be responsible.”

“You are responsible,” Lan Zhan assured him. That was sweet of him to do. Wei Wuxian wrapped his arms around one of Lan Zhan’s and leaned against his side, embracing that sweetness.

“Why don’t we go to the lake and sit for a while?”

“If that’s what you wish.” Lan Zhan, still perfectly aware of Lotus Pier’s layout, guided him easily out of the library and toward the docks.

He nodded. “Mm. I wish,” he said. “And then maybe we should see shijie.”

“I’m sure Jiang-guniang would like that,” Lan Zhan said, agreeable.

“Lan Zhan, why do you always call her that?”

“Is that not what she is to be called?”

Wei Wuxian’s mind barely processed the question. The answer was so very obvious. “Lan Zhan, shijie was betrothed to Jin Zixuan before I…” They’d long passed the point of mourning for her father. “She’d have been married by now.”

Lan Zhan stopped walking, his body still and rigid.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Yu-furen and Jiang-zongzhu broke the engagement. She didn’t marry Jin Zixuan.”

For a moment, he was caught so off-guard that he didn’t even breathe. This answer, too, was obvious. “But she loves him.” He, of course, didn’t doubt that this was still and always would be the case. His shijie’s heart was so determined. “Of course she married him.”

Lan Zhan’s lips pulled in a sneer before his expression smoothed out to a chilling nothingness. “Wei Ying.”

That sweetness which surrounded Lan Zhan dissipated. Wei Wuxian unwound his arms from around Lan Zhan’s and stepped away. His heart squeezed hard in his chest; he needed space, distance. “Lan Zhan, just tell me what happened.”

Plain, each word more painful than the last: “She could not marry him.”

“She told you this?”

“We spoke, but there would have been word even in Yiling if Jin Zixuan were to marry. He is responsible for what happened to you. What else could she do?”

“I’m responsible, Lan Zhan!” Again, his heart squeezed and this time, even when he gasped for air, he couldn’t draw in enough to keep his head from spinning. “I was the one who wouldn’t stand down.” She’d wasted her shot at happiness with her loved one and for what? For Wei Wuxian? Why? Why would she do that? He tried to imagine giving Lan Zhan up under any circumstances and couldn’t. His family could destroy Lotus Pier and Wei Wuxian would still cling to Lan Zhan’s robes. For Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian could be the least filial person on the planet.

He’d proved that when he left Yunmeng to be with him.

Shijie deserved to be with the one who made her happy.

He’d even ruined this. All because he’d—

What did Wei Wuxian’s disputes with Jin Zixuan matter in the face of that sort of love?

What did any of what Wei Wuxian did and could do matter when he caused this much pain?

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan tried to say. His hands settled on Wei Wuxian’s shoulders. Though he searched Wei Wuxian’s face, he wouldn’t find anything there that he would want to see. No matter how much Wei Wuxian tried, he couldn’t wipe the pain from it, couldn’t smooth his expression into something more palatable. “Wei Ying, tell me what’s wrong?”

As he tore himself from Lan Zhan’s grasp, pulling the wound in his side. That fucking wound. If only it had succeeded in killing him back then. At least this wouldn’t all be such a mess now. Everyone could have moved on with their lives. “Everything is wrong, Lan Zhan!” This pain wasn’t even physical and it was still unbearable. “Look around you! What about any of this is right?”

While Lan Zhan was too startled to answer, Wei Wuxian took the opportunity to turn and walk away.

Lan Zhan didn’t—maybe he couldn’t—follow. Good. That was good.

Because like this Wei Wuxian didn’t know how to be followed.

Lan Wangji remained rooted to this spot on the walkway for far longer than was reasonable, pinned by the ferocity of Wei Ying’s words, the pained twist of his anger as he’d yelled at Lan Wangji. Though Wei Ying never raised his voice, it didn’t hurt Lan Wangji to hear him lash out in this way. No, what bothered him was the despair he’d seen on Wei Ying’s face and how much it emulated the expressions he wore when he was preparing to do something Lan Wangji would deplore.

Though he longed to follow Wei Ying, push and push until he got an answer that satisfied him, push until he was certain Wei Ying wouldn’t do something rash, he couldn’t. He trusted Wei Ying. Giving Wei Ying time and space wouldn’t hurt them. They were sharing a room anyway. Eventually, they’d reunite there.

If you’re preparing to lie to me, he thought, dark, hating that he’d said those words. There had been no lie in the fear Wei Ying had exposed to him.

What he could do was return to the library, perhaps prepare himself for what was to come. It wasn’t much to go on, but he would still recognize the book Wei Ying had been looking at. He’d thought, at the time, that Wei Ying was merely perusing the library’s contents and reminiscing about the past. Maybe there would be a clue there to explain what was troubling Wei Ying.

It felt duplicitous, but Wei Ying had not tried to hide what he was doing from Lan Wangji. That meant something.

He pulled the book from its space on the cubby. It was a slim volume, far smaller than the many, many accounts that could be found in the library at Cloud Recesses. Even after Wen Xu burned it, their salvaged collection carried more books and scrolls about curses than any other sect.

Lan Wangji frowned, flipped through the pages, skimming them quickly. Wei Ying had been studying the words of this book closely. There might be something here that would explain Wei Ying’s behavior, but all he found were various accounts of attempts to break curses of unknown origins. Many of the stories ended in failure.

Why would he look at something like this? Nobody had been afflicted with any curses that Lan Wangji knew. Putting it back, he searched the rest of the library for any other hints, but there was nothing.

Lan Wangji returned to the room of Wei Ying’s youth, expecting it to be empty. Instead, he found Wei Ying sitting carefully on his knees in front of the table, poking lightly at a meal Jiang Yanli must have arranged for him. Though he took a few small bites as Lan Wangji watched, quiet, from the door, he mostly rearranged the items in his bowl. Anything that appeared especially hot, he avoided, instead nibbling on the milder sides.

“Wei Ying,” he said, quiet, as he stepped into the room.

Wei Ying fumbled his chopsticks and twisted too quickly. Pain lashed itself across his face, as obvious as day. The damage Jiang Wanyin caused must have been greater than he’d stated.

An inexorable stretch of moments passed silently between them. As Wei Ying grew more guarded with each one they met, Lan Wangji’s hold on his fears fell apart. Before he knew it, he was crashing to his knees, untethered, as he pulled at Wei Ying’s robes. Wei Ying watched him, unmoving as Lan Wangji tore the fabric away. If Wei Ying disallowed him this, he didn’t know what he would do.

Wei Ying did nothing to stop him, conceding to the inevitable.

His fingers knew the way better than he did. Instead of looking at Wei Ying’s waist as he untied Wei Ying’s belt and freed each layer that separated Lan Wangji from the truth, he looked at Wei Ying’s face, caught guilt and pain mingling there. That was the only thing that stopped him, the guilt, the pain. He didn’t have this right.

Slowly, Wei Ying pulled one arm out of his clothing and then the other, never breaking eye contact.

Only when Wei Ying’s robes pooled on the floor around his legs did Lan Wangji look down.

The wide cloth wrapped multiple times around his midsection was clean. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as Lan Wangji thought. His skin was so pale though, almost translucent, and his muscles trembled as Lan Wangji’s gaze followed every curve of jutting bone. His muscles, long atrophied, barely showed any definition. Through layers of fabric and when they were making love, it was easy to miss just how diminished he was.

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan, I didn’t—”

“What is this?”

He unwound the bandage himself, drawing breath after shuddering breath.

What he saw didn’t look so very bad in isolation, the same wound Lan Wangji had long memorized. It did not appear infected, but it was no better than the day Wei Ying had woken up. It had been months. It should have healed. Wei Ying was a cultivator. It should have been nothing more than a memory.

“I…”

“Wei Ying!” He didn’t intend to be so abrupt with Wei Ying, certainly not sharp enough that Wei Ying flinched, but his intentions didn’t stop it from happening anyway. His resignation—because that was what it was: resignation—turned to anger. Here, he was baring himself for Lan Wangji’s inspection and Lan Wangji could only shake with fear at what he was seeing.

“The spell you used on me requires payment,” Wei Ying spat back. “Only a desperate person would trade away their body, you know.”

“I know. That’s not—”

“Lan Zhan, it was meant for you!” Wei Ying snapped. “It was only ever meant for you. If you… if something happened to you. I would have given anything to get you back, okay? The person giving up their body is supposed to set the terms. You—you changed it when you used it to bring me back in my own body, but it still requires its terms to be fulfilled. My terms. Lan Zhan, I died wanting the Jin Sect obliterated.”

“They are already gone.”

“No.”

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji searched Wei Ying’s face for answers. “They are gone. The Jin Sect as you knew them was destroyed.”

“Jin Zixuan is still alive. I don’t know if Jin Zixu—”

“Jin Zixun is dead. Jin Zixuan is nothing. Your terms are fulfilled.”

“Practically, yes, but a curse is a curse for a reason, Lan Zhan. They don’t care about the truth.”

Lan Wangji swallowed. He had allowed Jin Zixuan to live. Perhaps he should not have. “You think killing him will break this… curse?”

At this question, Wei Ying shrunk into himself. “I didn’t want you to know like this. I wanted to…” He shook his head and tugged at the long, curling strands of his hair. “It doesn’t matter if it will or not. I’m not going to ignite another war with the Jin for this. Too many people have died. You’ve created something incredible in the Burial Mounds. I’ll find another way.”

Lan Wangji thought back to that book of curses and how none within its pages had successfully broken theirs. “Wei Ying…”

“I’ll find another way,” he said.

What he didn’t say was that he’d die if he didn’t, though it was writ plainly on his face when Lan Wangji tipped his chin up, forced him to look Lan Wangji in the eye.

“I’ll find another way, Lan Zhan, I promise.”

“We will.” Lan Wangji did not for a minute let himself believe otherwise, because he did not want to imagine a world in which they didn’t. Gathering Wei Ying close, he whispered into his hair. “Thank you for telling me.”

Wei Ying sniffed wetly and blinked, head tilted back, nodding quick and sharp.

They didn’t speak again for a long time.

They remained in Lotus Pier only a few days longer and though Wei Ying tried to enjoy it—and ran Lan Wangji all over Yunmeng to see everything he used to love, things they hadn’t had time to share—it was clear the whole time that his heart was not in it. He avoided his siblings, finding every excuse under the sun to stay away, telling Lan Zhan that he couldn’t face Jiang Yanli like this. The three of them parted with vague promises for the future, Wei Ying promising another reunion soon while Jiang Wanyin stood across from him, furious and standoffish, Jiang Yanli, resigned.

Their return trip to the Burial Mounds was subdued, even slower than their arrival. Lan Wangji stopped them earlier in the evening and Wei Ying, exhausted or sick at heart or both, always conceded. He sent more than one message ahead letting Wen Qing know they’d be delayed.

Even once they were within an hour’s walk from the Burial Mounds, Wei Ying allowed himself to be cajoled into bedding down for the night instead of returning. It was pure selfishness on Lan Wangji’s part that drove him to suggest it.

When they returned, they would have to resume their normal duties. Here, Lan Wangji could stoke a fire for them both as the sun set and then wrap his arms around Wei Ying as they reclined against their bedroll, giving no thought to the things they would have to do. Out of guilt or desire, he allowed it, curled against Lan Wangji’s side in the silent, still night. Only the sound of owls, toads, persistent nocturnal insects awakening in the night disturbed the quiet. His palm rested against Wei Ying’s side and Wei Ying allowed this, too.

“Do transfers of energy help?” Lan Wangji asked. This was something he couldn’t do and yet he wanted the answer anyway, morbidly curious.

“A little, I would imagine,” Wei Ying admitted. “Temporary relief, but I was given some medicines at Lotus Pier that should help.”

“Hm.”

“Lan Zhan…” He shifted slightly, turned his head until his nose, cold from the evening air, could nudge against Lan Wangji’s neck. “Lan Zhan, think of this as extra time, okay? You brought me back. Who else can say they’ve done such a thing? I was the stubborn bastard who got myself killed and now I get to be here with you under these very pretty stars. I’ve seen that the Burial Mounds and the Wen Remnant will be fine in your hands. These are things I shouldn’t have gotten.”

“Wei Ying…”

“Lan Zhan, I was stupid. I’ve been stupid, but I don’t want to die. I will do everything I can to ensure I don’t.” His breath was warm, comforting, against Lan Wangji’s throat for all that his words were not. “But if this is my fate, it’s not the worst one I could endure.”

Lan Wangji pressed his lips to Wei Ying’s hair, swallowed back the grief that threatened to choke him. But he couldn’t stay quiet. “What if it’s mine?”

“Ah?”

“I won’t be able to do it again.” The words stuck in his throat. They were thick, sticky; he could barely pry them out. “You can’t tell me I have to protect them to keep me from…” From whatever would come if Wei Ying died. Even he could not imagine it. “I can’t do it again. I won’t let you ask me to.”

He lost his golden core, his sect, Wei Ying once already. What he had gained was immense, but he would trade it all away to keep this one thing. Just this one. That didn’t feel too selfish to him.

“I can’t promise…”

“This is not me asking you to make a promise,” Lan Wangji said. Wei Ying had made many promises and he’d tried to keep them. That wasn’t a burden he’d put on Wei Ying again, not now. “This is me making a promise.”

He expected Wei Ying to fight with him, to make lofty demands that Lan Wangji be above his love for Wei Ying, that he remember there are people and things out there which are more important than both of them. His body tensed as he waited for the blow.

It didn’t come.

Instead, Wei Ying relaxed further into him, gave more of his weight over to Lan Wangji, a weight which Lan Wangji was only too happy to bear. His hand tightened in the front of Lan Wangji’s robe. Surely he could feel the quick-tripping beat of Lan Wangji’s heart beneath it. “Alright, Lan Zhan.”

It was good that the night was so dark, that Wei Ying was pressed to his chest, so he couldn’t see the way his words affected Lan Wangji.

They arrived to find a gaggle of cultivators, cultivators-in-training, and villagers waiting for them. Each one was agitated in some manner or other, but in different enough ways that Lan Wangji could not tell if what had happened before their arrival was bad or good or, as was often the case, something in between the two.

From what Lan Wangji gathered as they made their way back to the cave, trailing curious onlookers behind them, a sect leader had decided to pay a visit to the Burial Mounds.

Though Wei Ying hid it well from the others, he was exhausted from their trip to Lotus Pier. Lan Wangji thought it was less physical than emotional, less a sign of deterioration than depression. With a clear understanding of what he was up against, the strain seemed to weigh heavier than before he had his answer. The nervous tittering from the people following them didn’t help, though Lan Wangji understood their fears. This was the first time any sect had seen fit to make even an informal visit. These people were not used to such things and most of them only knew cultivators by the way they ran roughshod over common people’s lives in the name of gathering more power to themselves. That was to say nothing of the rogue cultivators wandering around, who, for one reason or another, often showed disdain for the more established sects.

“Please return to your other duties or be at leisure,” Lan Wangji said once he wearied of the commentary. “There is no reason to gossip. I will return with a full accounting of what’s happened.”

Lan Wangji was known to speak only the truth. He would not hide it from them. It was enough, at least temporarily, to disperse even the most worried among them.

“All this excitement,” Wei Ying said, once they were alone, only a few minutes’ walk away from the entrance now. “I bet it’s Yao-zongzhu.”

Lan Wangji did not have the patience for such a thing. “We shall have to hope otherwise.”

Wei Ying huffed a tired laugh. “You can blame me if you want to take it slower. A sect leader coming here? Imagine it.”

“We should get it over with,” Lan Wangji said. And send them on their way as quickly as possible. “We’ll have to arrange for a meal and accommodations for them.” They’d delayed returning long enough that it was early evening before they made it to the Burial Mounds settlement.

“If you’d rather do that,” Wei Ying said, “I can handle our guest.”

“No,” Lan Wangji said, “I will remain.”

Before Wei Ying could dig his heels in about it, they arrived at the entrance, and Lan Wangji winced at how it must look to anyone visiting. It was one of those things they hadn’t gotten around to yet: making this place fit for official company. Before, there’d been time. No sect leader in their right mind would want to come.

Apparently that luck had run out.

Wen Qing was standing in the mouth of the cave, arms crossed, her expression severe. Wen Qionglin fretted at her side. “You might have sent word today that you’d be so late,” she said once they were close enough. There was something off about her, though Lan Wangji couldn’t guess what was making her nervous. “I thought we were going to have to keep him here tonight. There’s nowhere else suitable—”

Wei Ying waved her off before she could get going. “It’s fine, Wen Qing. I’ll handle it.”

She eyed Wei Ying suspiciously. Before, he wouldn’t have known what it meant for her attention to drift to his abdomen the way it did. Now, he knew all too well what that brief downward flick of her gaze meant. “Oh, you can handle it, huh? Then I’ll refrain from ensuring you and your visitor are shown what hospitality we can spare. I do have better things to do.”

“Aiyou, Wen Qing! That’s not what I meant.”

Though she continued to frown, she relented. “Don’t cause an incident.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He flapped his hand and disentangled his other arm from Lan Wangji’s. Dusting off his robes and kicking his boots into the stone outside the cave’s entrance, he donned a smile. “If I’m fit enough for Jiang Cheng, I should pass muster with anyone else, right?”

Though Lan Wangji tried to retain a neutral expression, Wei Ying could read him too well and grinned, knocking his elbow into Lan Wangji’s.

“Yeah, thought so. Anyway. Better to get it over with like you said.”

He drew in a breath and stepped into the cave. Lan Wangji followed closely behind. The candlelight flickered as a fan was opened, obscuring their guest’s mouth.

Before Lan Wangji could stop him, Wei Ying darted forward. “Nie-xiong!” Then he bowed deeply, exaggerated, playful maybe. “Nie-zongzhu.”

“Wei-xiong,” he replied. Though Nie Huaisang kept his voice teasing, Lan Wangji saw the subdued disappointment in his eyes and wondered if Wei Ying could recognize it for what it was. The next words out of Nie Huaisang’s mouth didn’t surprise him. “You might have told your closest friend that you were…” The fan snapped shut between clever fingers. Though Nie Huaisang was trying his best to don an unaffected air, Lan Wangji saw the way his face drained of color, like he was seeing a ghost. “…no longer dead.”

Wei Ying laughed, straightening up as he scrubbed at the back of his head. “Ah, Nie-xiong, Nie-xiong. It’s been a strange few months. More than a few months.” Rounding their cramped, nicked little table, he sat next to Nie Huaisang, leaned close. “Look at you though.” He plucked the sleeve of Nie Huaisang’s robes, poked at the ornament adorning his hair. “And you carry your saber now? Wow.” When he reached out to touch it, sitting obviously on the table, he rapped Wei Ying’s knuckles lightly. Wei Ying yelped, but it was gentle enough that Lan Wangji could tell it was feigned.

He looked like a proper sect leader, decked out in the colors of his sect. Somewhere along the way, he’d grown into himself and his beauty. He was every inch a gentleman from the romances Lan Wangji would proclaim until death he’d never read as a younger man, but gone was the child he’d been. In that child’s place was a man who’d been tempered into something new. No wonder Wen Qing, who’d never known Nie Huaisang as a youth, was so concerned.

She would only ever have known a Nie as an enemy.

“Lan er-gongzi,” Nie Huaisang said. “You needn’t look so concerned. I merely heard a friendly little tale about a special visitor to Yunmeng and I wanted to see for myself.”

“Where is your entourage?” Lan Wangji asked, but Nie Huaisang heard what he meant. Where is your protection? What could possibly bring you here alone?

“I left them to their own devices in Yiling,” Nie Huaisang said. “I know your sect isn’t one to invite outsiders.”

“Sect?”

“Is that not what this is?” Nie Huaisang’s head swiveled on his neck. “You mean to tell me I’ve been ill-informed?”

Though Wei Ying laughed awkwardly, Lan Wangji merely stared. In the past, it would have caused Nie Huaisang to give up whatever game he was playing, but it had been a long time since they were youths in Cloud Recesses. Even though Lan Wangji was in an even better position to terrify Nie Huaisang now than he could have back then—who didn’t fear the Yiling laozu—Nie Huaisang didn’t seem to notice or care. He just stared blandly back while Wei Ying fluttered between the two of them.

“So what if it is a sect?” Wei Ying finally said. It was the first time he was admitting to anyone outside of himself that this was a sect. It was a commitment. “If that’s what we need to do to protect these people…”

Nie Huaisang’s gaze cut away from Lan Wangji and settled again on Wei Ying’s face. “If it were a sect, then I would say the sect leader should allow me to host him at Unclean Realms. I might propose an alliance, one that would afford the Burial Mounds a degree of security and standing with the other sects, while you establish yourselves here.”

“Nie-xiong…” Wei Ying said.

“Why?” Lan Wangji asked sharply.

“Qinghe owes much to its Blood-Bladed Plough,” Nie Huaisang said simply. “Wei-xiong has always been beloved of my disciples. When word reached us—”

“Already?”

“Oh, Lan er-gongzi.” Nie Huaisang laughed. “The people of Yiling might be tight-lipped about their cultivators, but Lotus Pier is full of gossips.” Here, Nie Huaisang’s features took on a worried cast. “Are you well, Wei-xiong?”

Lan Wangji gritted his teeth against the concern Nie Huaisang was showing. It appeared genuine enough. Wei Ying had been friends with Nie Huaisang before. It was as much his right to care as anyone else’s.

“Aiyou, Nie-xiong, I’m fine,” Wei Ying said. “What’s a little resurrection to stand between me and doing what I want to do? Whatever you heard—”

Nie Huaisang bit his lip, studied Wei Ying closely. Could he see through Wei Ying’s deception, better even than Lan Wangji did, who only saw it when Wei Ying allowed him to? “Well,” he said, dubious, “anything you might need is at your disposal. If it can be found in Qinghe or anywhere else, please feel free to ask for it.”

Wei Ying searched Nie Huaisang’s features. He looked as though he was going to say something when Wen Qing returned with tea. Trailing behind her, Wen Qionglin carried a small spread of food on a second tray. Wen Qing eyed Nie Huaisang warily, but maintained her decorum as she handed the tea over to Wei Ying. Wen Qionglin placed his tray on the table and retreated.

“Thank you,” Nie Huaisang said politely to both of them, though there was a small degree of trepidation on his face as they left. “I wonder what da-ge would have thought of all this. If he’d lived…”

Lan Wangji did not know Chifeng-zun well, but he did know that Chifeng-zun had a long-standing hatred of the Wen clan. However, he had also cared far more for justice than many other sect leaders. He wouldn’t have been afraid to stand up for an unpopular cause.

It didn’t matter anyway. Chifeng-zun was dead and Nie Huaisang was sect leader. He would have to make up his own mind.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying said. “I wish I’d been able to help him at Nightless City.”

“He wouldn’t have done anything differently,” Nie Huaisang said. “There’s no need to be sorry. He can rest easy knowing Wen Ruohan is dead.”

“And what about the rest of the Wen?” Wei Ying asked.

“I think da-ge didn’t trust Jin Guangshan. He would have come around if he’d been here to see what was happening.” Nie Huaisang lowered his eyes to the table, took up the cup Wei Ying offered to him. “Then again, we allowed ourselves to remain ignorant of what was happening. Who can truly say?”

Wei Ying looked helplessly at Lan Wangji. Tucked away in Qinghe, Nie Huaisang grew up. Lan Wangji didn’t know what to do with that either.

“Every sect has its own problems to deal with,” Wei Ying said, awkward, “and Qinghe was hit worse than most in those days. You were young. We all were. I might have reached out or…” He fiddled with his own cup. “I don’t know. What’s done is done, right? We can only go forward.”

Though Nie Huaisang nodded, he continued to stare steadily at Wei Ying as though to ask, how do we do that.

“Is that why you came, Nie-xiong?”

Nie Huaisang poked Wei Ying in the shoulder, so light that Wei Ying didn’t even flinch. “I don’t want to be the only one bored at every discussion conference that gets held.”

“I…” Wei Ying frowned and stared down at his hands. “That’s…”

“Was the goal not to one day join everyone at the big table? Or would you be content to find yourself caught under the umbrella of Jiang-zongzhu’s protection? Have you considered that Lan-zongzhu might also try to wrangle you into Gusu’s control?”

Lan Wangji jolted at the mention of his own brother. He covered the action as best he could by swiftly picking up his cup. By now the tea was tepid, unpleasant on his tongue. His grimace, too, he covered. Though he’d caught Wei Ying’s eye with the unsubtle action, he thought perhaps Nie Huaisang didn’t notice.

“That’s very generous,” Wei Ying hazarded. “What does Qinghe get out of an alliance?”

“The chance to settle our debts with you, of course.”

“There are no debts.” Wei Ying waved that concern off with a careless hand. “It was a war. We were all doing what we had to do.” He looked over at Lan Wangji. Such casual talk of that time… it wasn’t something he was used to. Wei Ying never discussed it with him. “And in the end, it was Lan Zhan who saved us all. I think it’s hardly worth mentioning my part.”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. I tried, the gesture seemed to say. “Then consider it a sign of our friendship and the debt we owe to Lan er-gongzi. I truly have missed you, Wei-xiong. As have half of the disciples under my care.”

Wei Ying rose smoothly to his feet—or appeared to, Lan Wangji could see the strain in him—and offered a slight bow to Nie Huaisang, who stood and followed suit. “Nie-zongzhu, I’m honored that you came all the way here to see me. I would gladly visit Qinghe as a sign of friendship, but we should gain respect from the other sects on our own merits or not at all. We’re not ready for anything else.”

“Wei-xiong?”

Wei Ying smiled crookedly. “I don’t think I’m ready to participate in sect politics,” he says by way of further explanation, straightening up, “but we would welcome you or anyone from Qinghe and offer every hospitality we can spare for them.”

It was a very polite dismissal, all things considered, and Nie Huaisang took it in that spirit. “The offer will remain open. Qinghe doesn’t forget those who have bled for us.” He studied Wei Ying, far too observant for his own good. “I’m glad you’re well, Wei-xiong. I’m sure I can find my own way out.”

With that, Nie Huaisang swept out of the cave. A cave, for a visit from another sect leader. Wei Ying was right to dismiss the thought of alliance. Without Nie Huaisang here to reframe the space, it really was just a cave and not a particularly neat one at that. Some of Wei Ying’s notes were scattered across the floor in one corner—he’d been working on something before… all of this happened, before Wei Ying told him the truth of what he’d been going through, before Lan Wangji was forced to contemplate a world without him again—and their bed was in full view of anyone who wandered past.

It was inappropriate.

“Well, that was more than a little embarrassing,” Wei Ying said. “Imagine Nie Huaisang being grateful to me. That’s…”

He’d spent so many years thinking of them as entirely isolated, entirely without friends, but having Wei Ying back changed that. Wei Ying’s connections spread across half the cultivation world, delicately woven threads of silk. He was not friendless. Any sect he headed need not be friendless either. Lan Wangji could shield them, cast them in amber, hide them behind walls, never to be moved again, but he could not guide them into a respectable position in the greater world, a greater world that could and would come to them.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked.

“Sit,” Lan Wangji urged. “Have more tea.”

“Eh?”

He needed time to think. He needed Wei Ying to be well, to take advantage of that good will he could bring with him. For the rest of the Burial Mounds if not for himself, though he desperately needed Wei Ying well for himself, too. “Have more tea,” he insisted. “And rest. We’ll…”

Wei Ying sat. He took the cup that Lan Wangji refilled for him. “We’ll…?”

He thought again about his brother, about curses, about the knowledge needed to break them. Wei Ying had knowledge and no alternatives. There was no library in the world more likely to hold the answer to Wei Ying’s problem than Cloud Recesses’.

Already, a plan was forming in his mind. Wei Ying would not like it, but that could not signify. Lan Wangji hadn’t liked a lot of what Wei Ying had done over the years.

“All will be well,” Lan Wangji said finally. That was that.

Lan Wangji’s body sang with nervous energy as he and Wei Ying readied for bed. In his hand, he held a comb, but he stared at it and then at the floor and then at nothing at all more than he used it to untangle his hair, windswept still from this final day of their return journey to the Burial Mounds. As Wei Ying darted periodic looks his way, he felt utterly transparent and opaque all at once. Finally, Wei Ying sat next to him on the edge of their bed. Prying the comb from Lan Wangji’s hand, he asked, “Let me?”

Without argument, Lan Wangji closed his eyes and nodded. Wei Ying first worked his fingers through Lan Wangji’s hair for no reason that Lan Wangji could see other than because he could and maybe wanted to. He quelled the urge to cringe away from the intimacy of it. Though he should long ago have had his tendency toward vanity removed from him, he couldn’t help but miss the way it used to shine and how much softer it was once upon a time. Back when they first began traveling together—back, Lan Wangji thought, when Wei Ying abandoned all reason to remain with him—Wei Ying played with his hair all the time. Even before they became partners in every way that could possibly matter, he touched it, commenting on how pretty it was and how Lan Wangji lived up to his reputation as a beauty even when they were stuck overnight in the woods, sleeping on rocks. It had been years since that was true, he realized. Despite everything, he wanted it to still be true.

When he’d done what he could from Lan Wangji’s side, Wei Ying climbed onto the bed, knees braced on either side of Lan Wangji’s hips. Against Lan Wangji’s back, his chest was warm. His fingers scraped lightly over Lan Wangji’s scalp until shivers of pleasure worked down his spine. Only after long, lingering moments passed did he finally drag the comb through his hair. “Next time I go into Yiling, I’ll buy you some hair oil, hmm?” Wei Ying said, a ridiculous little dream for a man who barely had money at all, who never left the Burial Mounds either. Any money brought into the Burial Mounds went back to the Burial Mounds. Wei Ying would never do anything so frivolous when even a little bit of money could help secure more food or clothes or other supplies for the people who called this place home. “Or maybe I can figure out how to make some for you, huh?”

He tried to imagine Wei Ying doing something so ridiculous.

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said. “You do enough.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan. It would be a joy—”

Lan Wangji twisted around, hiked his knee up onto the bed so he could better face Wei Ying. His hand fitted itself over Wei Ying’s cheek. If he could touch Wei Ying like this forever, he would. “You’ve done enough.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widened as he took hold of Lan Wangji’s wrist, keeping him there even while he tried to pull back. His head turned into the cup of Lan Wangji’s palm as he presses a kiss to the base, just under the sensitive skin of his wrist. His pulse throbbed under Wei Ying’s thumb with the desire to take more, pull every thread of cloth from his body and kiss every centimeter of it until Wei Ying writhed and cried out. Wei Ying’s lips parted as he sighed, quiet, but not too quiet to hear. “Where you’re concerned, I don’t think there can be enough. You’ve always deserved more than this.”

Shouldn’t it be Lan Wangji telling him these things? How much more he deserved?

Lan Wangji’s hand slipped down Wei Ying’s jaw, caressed the slim, elegant length of his throat. “This is what I want,” he said, pressing a kiss to Wei Ying’s chapped lips. “What we have right now is all I need.”

Wei Ying nodded and tossed the comb to the other side of the bed. His hands were sure as he yanked his robes open. More carefully, he began undoing Lan Wangji’s, too, until they were both down to their trousers.

Lan Wangji avoided touching the wide, hated band of fabric wrapped around Wei Ying’s torso, but he found reason to mouth at every other stretch of skin on display until Wei Ying panting and tossing every imprecation around, writhing in just the way Lan Wangji wanted. He was careful, so careful, watched Wei Ying for signs of discomfort and found none, that was how careful he was. With infinite patience, he coaxed Wei Ying to hardness with tongue and hand. It was still a difficulty all these months later. Now that he knew why, it made too much sense.

He wished Wei Ying had told him; he wished he hadn’t needed to be told.

The heady, heavy weight of Wei Ying on his tongue was all Lan Wangji needed to fully harden in his trousers. From between his legs, he rocked against his palm and the bed both, grinding down until it hurt.

Wei Ying cried his name again and again, trembling as he clutched at the scant bedding beneath him. One hand wound itself in the just-combed strands of his hair and pulled, sharp and stinging. Caught by surprise, Lan Wangji moaned his encouragement.

When Wei Ying spilled over his tongue, he savored the bitter taste. After, Wei Ying went lax against the bedding, chest rising and falling with every harsh gasp of air he took. “Come here,” he said, patting at the bed. “Lan Zhan, come—”

He did as Wei Ying bid, of course, settling against Wei Ying’s side. Wei Ying slid his hand over Lan Wangji’s hip, but Lan Wangji caught it before reached between his legs to discover the wet, clinging mess of fabric. In a few minutes, he’d clean the both of them up, but just for now… just for now, he wanted to hold Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan?”

“There is no need,” he said, plain, and willed Wei Ying to understand.

Wei Ying’s eyes twinkled and he again reached for Lan Wangji. This time, Lan Wangji didn’t try to stop him as he slipped his hand inside Lan Wangji’s trousers. His fingers skimmed lightly over Lan Wangji’s soft, oversensitive dick. He bit back a hiss, drank in the expression on Wei Ying’s face, aroused and impressed at the same time. “I’ve been too cruel to you, Lan Zhan, if this is all it takes.”

“No,” he said. When Lan Wangji pulled Wei Ying’s hand away, it was covered in Lan Wangji’s come. He intended to get up and find a cloth to scrub his release away, but Wei Ying was too quick.

“Let’s put this where it belongs,” he said, proudly dragging his hand over his clavicles, leaving a streak of Lan Wangji’s come behind. The rest he licked away, smirking. The scent of it would dissipate quickly, but for this moment, as Lan Wangji leaned in and kissed the dirty smile from Wei Ying’s mouth, all he could smell was himself on Wei Ying’s body.

He truly did wish to clean them up, but every time Lan Wangji tried to pull away, Wei Ying demanded another kiss or twined their fingers together or complained that he was too cold. Lan Wangji couldn’t leave him.

He abandoned the thought of doing so, instead took this time to remain with Wei Ying.

Though he couldn’t possibly know what Lan Wangji intended to do, he clung to Lan Wangji like he knew something was wrong and wanted to ensure Lan Wangji couldn’t get up, never quite falling into rest though Lan Wangji did everything in his power to help him fall asleep. He stroked his hair lightly, hummed for him, spoke quietly about nothing at all as Wei Ying yawned and hummed back, fingers playing against Lan Wangji’s chest, walking themselves endlessly across his ribs.

By the time Wei Ying drifted off, Lan Wangji was exhausted, too, and very nearly fell asleep himself, Wei Ying a pleasant, comforting weight against his shoulder.

Lan Wangji roused himself, prayed that Wei Ying wouldn’t wake up from being jostled, and readied his things. He kept an ear out to ensure Wei Ying didn’t wake up. By the time he was done, guilt was tugging at the hems of his only clean set of robes as he changed into them. It told him he shouldn’t do this, that it would change something irrevocably if he did. And of course it would, but he couldn’t think of what else to do, how else he could help Wei Ying.

Before he left, he wanted to press one more kiss to Wei Ying’s skin, but he didn’t dare, not when he was so close to successfully leaving. If he kissed Wei Ying now, he didn’t think he’d have the strength to go.

This late, nobody was still awake to see him steal toward the Burial Mounds’ perimeter.

They wouldn’t have seen him anyway. Lan Wangji’s relationship with it was special; he knew it better than he knew himself. It wouldn’t let him be seen if he didn’t want to be.

It was even easy, outside their walls, to make his way into the forested areas that surrounded Yiling.

Though he hadn’t traveled it in years, the road that led to Gusu remained familiar to him. For Wei Ying, it was a reasonably easy one to walk.

He had forgotten how cold it could get this high in the mountains, how arduous the trek up the steep path to Cloud Recesses could be. So little had changed about it that he felt he remembered the placement of every rock and tree root that dug into the packed dirt. Everywhere was the sound of cascading waterfalls, eternal, a sound he would never forget in this life, a sound he’d not realized he’d yearned for so steadily until he was back. There were no waterfalls in the Burial Mounds.

He had not thought to pack his winter cloak, the one given to him by Wei Ying that he kept locked away, safe, since he so rarely used it in the Burial Mounds. It was too fine and too painful a reminder of his time in Lotus Pier so long ago. If Wei Ying had come with him, he would have teasingly scolded Lan Wangji for his lack of foresight. He might even have packed it himself. Ever since he’d woken up in Lotus Pier without his golden core, Wei Ying had always been conscientious, solicitous. Anything he could do for Lan Wangji’s comfort was done.

The pair of disciples who greeted him at the gate were young.

“Can we help you?” the older of the two asked, squinting at him in a way that seemed dubious, distrustful, and skeptical all at once. Still, there was enough respect in his words and tone that Lan Wangji couldn’t fault him. Not that he would have been allowed to do so anyway. It wasn’t his place to correct Lan sect disciples any longer.

“Will one of you retrieve Lan-zongzhu or my uncle?” he asked, mild. “It matters little as to which you bring back.”

“Who… who is your uncle?”

He might prefer to see his brother first, but that was only due to his desire to delay the inevitable. “Lan Qiren.”

All things considered, they took it well, merely blanching as they realized with whom they were in company. “Go,” the older one said, gesturing the other off. “Do as he says.” He put up a brave front. Though it was for no reason, Lan Wangji could say that for him.

Once they were alone, he tried to present an unobtrusive, unthreatening visage for the child. It wasn’t his intention to scare a boy by coming here. “What’s your name?”

“So you can put a spell on me?” the youth cried, incredulous, before clapping his hand over his mouth.

If Wei Ying were here, he would have laughed so brightly at this child’s spirited disobedience. All Lan Wangji could think to do was back down. “Never mind.”

The boy scowled, refusing to look at him, face reddening. It was strange to think there might be a youth running around Cloud Recesses with this much attitude to spare for strangers.

“So are you?” the boy finally said.

“Am I what?”

“Going to put a spell on me.”

“No,” Lan Wangji answered. By now, the child who’d gone had probably reached the lanshi, explaining with as much control as he could muster about the Yiling laozu, now standing at the gates with only a sharp-tongued disciple to keep him from entering. The entire Cloud Recesses would soon be filled with news of his arrival and then it would make it outside Gusu’s borders to the other sects. It would eventually make it back to Yiling, too, and to Wei Ying.

He’d been careful as he traveled to avoid making it easy for Wei Ying to search for him. His head start had been small, but enough to allow him to arrive here first. His hope was that Wei Ying discarded the thought of Lan Wangji coming here entirely, thus giving him enough time to see this through before he arrived to stop him.

The boy huffed. “I’m Lan Jingyi,” he said, aggrieved, as though Lan Wangji had genuinely pulled the answer from his unwilling lips.

“Well met, Lan Jingyi.”

“Is it?” the youth asked, bemused. Under his breath, he said something that was probably uncomplimentary. Lan Wangji chose not to hear it.

It was not long before his brother was rushing down the steps toward him. His heart twisted to see it. There should be no running in the Cloud Recesses. At least his uncle did not come with him and been forced to witness this, too.

Tears gathered in his eyes. He’d missed his brother. Despite everything, he truly had.

His strength failed him and he collapsed to the ground, bowed until his forehead was pressed to the dirt. Lan Jingyi gasped. His brother, disturbed, called out his name and rushed forward. “Wangji!”

He would have one chance here for Wei Ying. He would not fail.

“Xiongzhang,” he said, unable to stop the flow of tears as they dripped off his chin into the dirt. Somewhere within the Lan Sect’s library was the answer and Lan Wangji would bear any consequence to see it found. He did not know if he would survive what was to come, but he had to believe that he could, that this wouldn’t all be in vain, that he wouldn’t leave Wei Ying this way. “Lan-zongzhu.”

His brother made a distressed noise at the address.

“Wangji…” His brother fell to his knees, took Lan Wangji’s arms in his hands and lifted him. Frightened grief transformed his features, made him unrecognizable. “Wangji, what is it?”

“I will bear any punishment that is necessary.”

His brother wiped at his face, shuffled to better shield Lan Wangji from Lan Jingyi’s curious, repulsed. “Leave,” he said, sounding calmer than Lan Wangji thought possible, but Lan Jingyi could not see the way his lips trembled around the word. Lan Wangji was glad for that much at least. His brother should not be seen this way. “You may return to your duties once I’ve called you back.”

Only the sect leader’s words could so strongly motivate a disciple like Lan Jingyi. Though he retreated only reluctantly, brazen to the last, he did retreat. Even a brazen boy couldn’t defeat the Yiling laozu, no matter how far he’d fallen, and he seemed to recognize that.

“Wangji, why would you… what could possibly bring you back here? You know what has been waiting for you…” He pulled again at Lan Wangji’s body, willed him to stand, but he would not. He would remain here until he got what he wanted. If his brother required anything else, he’d have to tear it from him or tear him from it. “Please. You must go.”

“No.”

“Wangji!” His brother’s voice was a ragged horror as he spoke Lan Wangji’s name. He lowered it further. “Wangji, why didn’t you… I would have tried to help without this. Why would you come?”

“I will bear any punishment that is necessary,” Lan Wangji repeated. If he said it enough times, maybe his heart wouldn’t stir with fear.

His brother grabbed him by the arm, dragging him up from the dirt. “You’ll die.”

Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’m strong enough. “If I do,” Lan Wangji said, “I trust you to help Wei Ying.”

His brother made a hissing, impatient sound, breath whistling from between his teeth, disdainful. “Of course I would,” he said. “I would have done it anyway.”

“Please,” Lan Wangji said. “I have… I have done wrong. I would see it paid for.”

“Wangji, I cannot believe…” He lowered his voice as they passed the gates. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“But I have come,” he said, voice small. “Uncle will know by now. Please let me do this.”

Once they were through the gates, his brother called out to Lan Jingyi, who was waiting a barely polite distance from them. He scurried past, unrepentant, as he stared at Lan Wangji.

The peaceful silence inside Cloud Recesses was all encompassing. Lan Wangji could have drowned in it. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend everything was exactly as he remembered before.

His brother only spoke when they reached the top of the path. “Do you regret it?”

His answer remained the same now as it was then. “I did what was necessary.”

With a sigh, his brother led him to the hanshi. “Then what is the point of this?”

“I have explained already.” Every step they took toward the heart of Cloud Recesses sent another twinge through him. It all looked so familiar and yet it was entirely alien, too. The Burial Mounds was chaos incarnate, warm and thriving and real. Cloud Recesses seemed like a place trapped in ice, cold, never changing, beautiful and soothing. It was no longer a place that could hold him. He feared it would always be a place he longed for all the same.

“Wei-gongzi is an excellent cultivator,” his brother said. “How can you be sure he won’t find a way himself?”

He’d seen the fear in Wei Ying’s eyes when the truth willed out. It matched the expression he’d worn when he was dying by Jin Zixuan’s hand. Then, Lan Wangji couldn’t do anything except take the most drastic steps necessary. This time, he could do no less.

At least this time, Wei Ying wouldn’t have to suffer for it.

“I know.”

The elders argued for hours after his brother presented his petition. All the while, Lan Wangji remained on his knees, awaiting their decision as Lan Xichen fretted. Occasionally sect business disrupted him, but Lan Wangji paid it no mind as he walked away for a few minutes and returned just as quickly.

After what felt like an eternity, his uncle came back to the hanshi, face ashen, expression furious. “You will face the same number of strikes as the elders originally agreed on,” his uncle said. “That is all I could do for you.” He did not appear pleased with this, but nor did he allow himself to appear aggrieved. This was simply in line with what was right by the nature of justice. It was more merciful than Lan Wangji expected.

“And what of Wangji’s request?” his brother asked.

His uncle’s mouth twitched. “As he and the rest of your… sect—” His eyes searched Lan Wangji’s face, perhaps to find an answer as to what exactly the Burial Mounds was. “—have not engaged in any treachery that has reached our ears, the elders and I see no reason not to assist. We would do the same for any other sect that faced such a difficulty. Wei…” His uncle’s mouth twitched again and he looked toward Lan Wangji as though to confirm. “Wei-zongzhu is welcome to our libraries. He may come or send one of his disciples to search for an answer to any concerns he might have.”

Sect Leader Wei. It was the first time in Lan Wangji’s hearing that anyone called Wei Ying thus. That his uncle would choose to call him that…

They had truly become a sect in the eyes of the cultivation world.

“No. I will find the answer.” Wei Ying should not come here. None of the others should come here either. This was not a place for them.

His uncle said, snappish, “As soon as this conversation concludes, your punishment will be completed. Do you intend to search for answers with your back flayed open?”

Lan Wangji couldn’t answer, struck with surprise. He looked over at his brother. His jaw was clenched and his hands, carefully concealed behind his back, fisted in the fabric of his robes. There was no answer, no help to be found there. He returned his gaze, steady, to his uncle’s face. “If I must.”

Tsking with disgust, his uncle turned away. “Wangji, you’ve become too intractable.” His voice carried genuine anger, cold and vicious. “This is not how you were taught to be.” When he turned back, his features were blank, though his eyes were bright with emotion. There, he could not hide his turmoil. Lan Wangji refrained from looking at him further. He did not want to see the pain he was causing his family.

“What if I were to search?” his brother asked. “I will find what you’re looking for and bring copies of any relevant materials to the Burial Mounds. Is that acceptable?”

They would not even allow him into the library then and Lan Wangji, now that the moment had arrived, did not expect to…

He did not expect to learn the outcome of his own desperation.

He pressed his palms to the floor, bowed forward until his forehead touched the cold wood. It wasn’t acceptable. What if his brother missed something vital? But what else could he do?

“Get up,” his uncle said, impatient. His voice was less steady now, enough to cause more guilt to twinge in Lan Wangji’s chest. Though his uncle was strict, he would never have wanted this for Lan Wangji, would not want to mete out this punishment. “Do you understand why this is happening?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said. He remained kneeling, stared at the wall behind his uncle to keep from lowering his gaze further.

“And are you remorseful?”

“I have regrets.” He should have protected Wei Ying better. He should perhaps have worked harder during the war. Maybe he and Wei Ying should never have come back, remaining nameless roaming cultivators with no reputation to speak of until the end of their lives.

People would have died, of course, innocent people, and so though he had his regrets, he was not sorry.

“You can’t even find it in your heart to show contrition for what you’ve done,” his uncle said.

“No,” Lan Wangji agreed, because the war had needed to end. Jin Guangshan and everyone who felt they could step into the void left by Wen Ruohan needed to face justice. Everyone in the cultivation world had to think twice, knowing that they couldn’t do as they would simply because they had more power than anyone else.

This was a lesson even Lan Wangji needed to learn.

It was right that he should face this, even if he was only facing it for the wrong reasons.

“Wangji!”

“It would be a lie,” he said, finding calm. If this was his fate, he would have to meet it well. He would not be apologetic for that which he was not sorry. He would rather beg for the things that truly mattered. “Would you rather I spoke mistruths?”

“I would rather you not die foolishly under the discipline whip I will have to wield against you,” his uncle said, viciously quiet. Fear coiled around every word, too audible even to Lan Wangji’s ears. “Wangji, if you were the least bit sorry, I could…”

Lan Wangji lifted his eyes. What he saw on his uncle’s face was terrible. He looked away. “You could what, shufu? Keep me locked away until I die of old age instead?”

“Is that not preferable?”

It would undermine any of the power the Burial Mounds had gathered over the last eight years. If he denounced his own people, Wei Ying would not stand a chance. If he agreed, Wei Ying would never quit fighting against Cloud Recesses to get Lan Wangji back. Though he could not do what Lan Wangji was capable of—not now anyway, though there was no saying he wouldn’t try to develop these skills—he could bring harm to the people here. It was possible he would not, but Lan Wangji did not know this for certain. A lifetime of seclusion could not pay for his crimes.

“I might not die,” he said instead. His uncle would be fair. His strikes would be measured appropriately, given according to Lan Sect traditions. It was possible he would survive. It was likely he would not.

One flicker of emotion—pain, it was pain, pain and fear—crossed his uncle’s features before he tamped it down. “It’s time,” he said, “since there will be no talking you out of this.” When his brother moved to follow them, he shook his head. “You cannot be present.”

When they reached the pavilion where most punishments were meted out, nobody was there and Lan Wangji could not begin to guess how or why his uncle had made sure nobody came to witness it. He breathed out in relief.

Only one of the physicians stood by, feigning complete indifference to the proceedings.

He arranged himself on his knees and removed his robes until only the thinnest layer covered his back. The chilled air cut, sharp as knives, against his skin, but it was nothing compared to the discipline whip as it lashed across his spine for the first time.

It burned hot, that pain, seared white across his skin and penetrated deeper, right into his heart, infecting the whole of him. If he weren’t already half-crazed with it, he might have given his uncle what he wanted, might have recanted anything, would have begged for mercy for every crime anyone in the world had committed, let alone his own.

He bit through his tongue to keep his pleas in his mouth.

Mind incapable of grasping exactly what his body was being put through, he felt little of the next strike and the next and the next.

Then.

He felt nothing.

Lan Wangji woke to a spill of warmth across his back, a gentle caress down his spine. It threatened to undo him, this tenderness. His pain was muted, but he sensed its fury in the periphery of his awareness, like it would maul him in time, that whatever was protecting him from it would fail and leave him to be ravaged by it. He wanted to be rid of these twin sensations: this tenderness, this torture.

In a distant corner of his awareness, limited though it was, pulled down to the point of a pin by the ocean’s deep wash of agony waiting for him, he heard the humming. The tune was so familiar that it lived in his bones, flowed through his marrow. The voice producing the sound cracked on many of the notes, ended and restarted their recitation almost at random. They did not stop even once in the minutes Lan Wangji listened.

Even here, like this he knew who it was and what it meant. Who else could it be but the one person he couldn’t face?

He could not do this, not so soon. It was cowardice that kept him from opening his eyes for Wei Ying. Had he really managed to find Lan Wangji so quickly? The details were hazy now. The conversation he’d shared with his uncle and brother before was a mere blur in his memory.

“If you think I don’t know what you’re like when you’re awake,” Wei Ying said, voice devoid of the brightness Lan Wangji always associated with it. “Lan Zhan, you’re avoiding me here, too?”

Though he might have tried to turn, he couldn’t. His body was little more than ground meat, useless to him, formless. It barely belonged to him and he barely existed within it.

“Wei…” His voice didn’t sound human, throat dry and scraping, his tongue heavy and clumsy, thick in his mouth. It was too much effort to say more. He gave up halfway through. I’m sorry, he imagined himself saying, though he could not and was not.

“Lan Zhan, I—” A rattling breath. “Lan Zhan, you can’t do this. You can’t do this to me.”

He considered asking what exactly he was doing now except lying here, but there was another noise, shuffling steps maybe, and the warmth in his back became stinging, searing cold. The pain receded, but his mind whited out. He lost the struggle toward consciousness. It wasn’t a fight he wanted to win anyway.

“Do you think I give a damn about your library?” Wei Ying was saying, loud enough to break through the thick mist surrounding Lan Wangji’s mind.

“He’s dying for it,” another said, his brother maybe. It was hard to make out when his voice was so quiet. “You will concern yourself with seeing through what he has thrown his life away for.”

“He won’t die,” Wei Ying said, “and I won’t leave.”

“Passing spiritual energy to him is nearly useless. You said that yourself. You would be better served by conserving your strength.”

“Lan-zongzhu, I wouldn’t care even if it was entirely useless.”

“You’re pale and haven’t eaten in hours. You’re not strong enough to keep doing this.”

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving him.”

His brother sighed in disgust. Lan Wangji had never heard him sound so fed up with anyone. “Then I will go to the library. When I come back, you’ll sit there and read while I pass energy to him. And you’ll eat.”

“Lan-zongzhu—”

“This is not an argument.”

“Lan-zongzhu, your elders have—”

“I am the sect leader here. I can do whatever I wish. You were allowed to remain because I permitted it, but you will do as I tell you. None of this would have happened if not for you, is that not so? Behaving is the least of what you owe him.”

Wei Ying sighed, said nothing. Lan Wangji could not rouse himself to speak in his place. Even if he could, he didn’t know what to say.

He woke in bits and pieces, scraps of reality intruding on the blunt-edged unreality of his pain-soaked dreams. Each breath he drew seared him from the inside out. The brush of air across his skin might as well have been a knife cutting through to muscle. The agony remade him anew every single time, left behind less of him each time, replacing him with something else. He feared, by the time he was healed, if he was to be healed at all, that there would be nothing of himself left, just a mangled body and a broken mind.

The outside world filtered through the haze, but Lan Wangji did not open his eyes.

Somewhere in the room, someone was sobbing, muffled, like they were pressing their hand across their own mouth to stifle it. The air heaved with the noise, animalistic in its ferocity.

He shifted. A surprised choking sound cut off the cries, leaving nothing behind in the void of quiet that followed.

Lan Wangji thought perhaps he’d imagined it except for the ragged, sniffling breaths that followed. The light tap of boots crossing the room and the quiet swish of robes brushing the floor replaced the sound entirely. His chest threatened to burst with his own grief, crazed in its intensity, clamoring in sympathy with theirs.

If he did not move, if they did nothing to identify themselves, he could pretend it wasn’t Wei Ying or his brother he’d caught in such a vulnerable moment.

They inhaled sharply. Lan Wangji tensed.

Then they exhaled.

They retreated from the room.

Lan Wangji bit his lip bloody, mouth hot and bruised by the effort, but he managed—barely—to avoid crying out in their absence. For them or for himself, he didn’t know.

When Lan Wangji opened his eyes, his vision blurred and nausea surged within him. In his peripheral vision, a dark blob paced around. After blinking several times, it resolved itself into the shape of Wei Ying. Of course, Wei Ying. Always Wei Ying.

He was so tired. It was a struggle to even keep his eyes open.

Swallowing, he tasted blood and was uncertain where it came from.

The pacing stopped.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying spoke so delicately that tears prickled in Lan Wangji’s eyes. Wei Ying approached. From this angle, Lan Wangji couldn’t see much of him, but he couldn’t turn over either or sit up or do any of the things he might have liked to do. There were twin thumps as Wei Ying fell to his knees at Lan Wangji’s bedside. This way, he was easier to see. This way, too, it was much harder to look at him.

Wei Ying looked awful, hair barely controlled, cheeks sharp, skin pale. His lips were chapped and his eyes were unrecognizable, the gray of them so dull that they might have belonged to a corpse.

“Lan Zhan, let me get you some water. Or—”

“How long?” Lan Wangji asked, not even sure quite what he was asking. How long had he been insensate? How long did Wei Ying have left? Because his appearance surely wasn’t entirely down to grief for Lan Wangji. Surely this was the curse.

“Eight months, give or take.”

Lan Wangji shuddered, blew out a breath, and inhaled an even shakier one. Six months. That much of his life had been wasted here. “I don’t remember.”

Wei Ying choked out a bitter, pained laugh. “And thank the heavens for that.” He reached out and then pulled his hand back as though burned. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live.”

“Oh, you get to decide that, huh?” Though there was a sour note in his voice, he smiled.

This time when Lan Wangji tried to move, he realized it wasn’t because of his wound. He’d been immobilized somehow. “I can’t move.”

“Ah, hm.” Wei Ying rose to his feet slowly. “I’ll get Lan-zongzhu. You were thrashing in your sleep. He thought it best to… well, I had no idea the Lan Sect had body locking spells, too. You’ve been holding out on me, Lan Zhan.”

“It’s…” Strangely, he didn’t mind. “It’s fine. Stay, please.” He feared the thought of Wei Ying leaving his sight. He could remain like this awhile longer. It would fade on its own.

“Lan Zhan…”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying sighed and crouched by the bed again. Lan Wangji studied him. Eight months of this had ravaged him. How much more until his body wouldn’t hold out any longer? How lonely had he been in this time? Cloud Recesses was no place for someone as spirited as Wei Ying.

“I’m sorry.”

Anger gave back some of Wei Ying’s vibrancy to him, but even that faded quickly. “Don’t—don’t apologize to me.”

“Wei Y—”

“Don’t apologize for something you can’t undo. Don’t apologize for something you’re not sorry about. I know you. You think I’d believe for a second that you wouldn’t do everything you could to make sure I’m safe and be stubbornly unrepentant for it?” His eyes shone, but the tears welling in his eyes didn’t fall. “I should have had this time with you! We should have been—I don’t even know what. We could have gone night hunting together. Found a cottage in the middle of nowhere and fucked one another senseless until I died happy in bed—”

“Wei Ying…”

“I know it’s unfair to you to make you live through that again. Trust me, I know and I wish it wasn’t like this. If I could take it all back, I would. All this time, I’ve hoped I could find some answer that would make what you did here worth it. But I haven’t and I hate it and—” This time, the tears fell. This time, he made a mortified sound, ugly with grief, muffling it too late behind his fist. It was agonizing to watch him pull the pieces of himself back together. “You gave me time I shouldn’t have had. Of course I have to pay for it somehow.”

“You’ve given up.”

“There was never any hope to begin with. We just pretended otherwise. The curse is the curse. The curse’s parameters are the curse’s parameters. There’s no cheating it.”

That still looked like giving up to Lan Wangji, no matter how much Wei Ying packaged it as reality, but he didn’t have the energy to argue now. This didn’t sound like him. The Wei Ying from before, the one who’d stood against an entire sect, who’d fought for Lan Wangji every single day, he never would have believed something like this. “What about Wen Qing?”

“What about her?”

“You thought she could help.”

“That was before. She’s good at many things. Curse breaking isn’t her specialty.”

“What about her books?” So maybe he did have the energy to argue. What else could he do when Wei Ying looked so hopeless?

“Lan Zhan, a book isn’t going to fix this for me. Nobody’s done what we did and I can’t—I’ve tested my own solutions. None of them have had any effect. If I had a lifetime to study it, maybe I’d figure something out.” He didn’t have to explain further. Wei Ying did not have a lifetime’s worth of days to spend on this. “I spend eight hours a day meditating just to keep from deteriorating faster. There’s not… there’s nothing I can do.”

Jin Zixuan could die, he didn’t let himself think. If he’d done anything to warrant it, Lan Wangji might have given voice to the thought.

Lan Wangji couldn’t let it end this way, but he was yet again in no position to do anything about it.

“Oh, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s fingers brushed across his cheek. “Lan Zhan, don’t—don’t do that. Don’t cry. It’s not… it’s not the end of the world.”

“It would be the end of mine,” he admitted, selfish. He knew because he’d already experienced it. Nothing on this earth mattered if Wei Ying was removed from it. He’d barely scraped himself up day after day when Wei Ying was right there with him, when he had hope of a recovery. In the absence of hope…

“Lan Zhan.”

“Don’t give up.”

“I don’t know what to do. Even before you altered the spell, it wasn’t meant to be toyed with.”

He almost gagged at the thought of it, of finding himself woken up in Wei Ying’s body, Wei Ying’s soul dispersed for eternity, an oath forced upon him by Wei Ying’s whims.

Rage, useless, coursed uselessly through him, building and building within his heart and burning through the rest of him. It was always going to come to this. Wei Ying, dying. Lan Wangji, left behind to protect people who no longer needed it.

“Yeah, Lan Zhan. I want you to live more than I care about my life and I’m willing to play dirty. This shouldn’t be news.”

“Wei Ying—”

“I know it’s stupid. It was a stupid thing to create.” He wouldn’t meet Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Please keep in mind I never expected… I never really expected any of us to make it for long. I couldn’t have made such a thing now, I don’t think.” He picked at his nails. “I wish I hadn’t made it then.”

Wei Ying remained silent for a long stretch of minutes. The amount of time only made Lan Wangji more aware of how little of it they had left together. If Wei Ying gave up… if he gave up, there was nothing Lan Wangji could do. He would not heal quickly enough to save Wei Ying from himself.

“I wish I hadn’t spared him,” Lan Wangji said, “when you…”

“Ah? Lan Zhan, what good is that thinking? Jin Zixuan doesn’t deserve it.”

“One more person’s blood on my hands would be nothing,” Lan Wangji insisted. “You could have returned free of your burden.”

“I can’t begrudge him his life,” Wei Ying continued. “He was well within his rights to come after us for his father and sect’s sake, but he hasn’t. He’s surely faced backlash for that. The fact that he’s managed to rebuild his sect at all speaks well of him, I think.”

There was a knock at the door. His brother said, shadow stretching across the floor, the only part of him that was visible to Lan Wangji, “You take a rosy view of Jin Zixuan’s ascension to sect leader.”

Wei Ying turned toward him. From the angle of Wei Ying’s face, Lan Wangji could only see the smallest sign of a frown on the corner of his lips.

He could not parse the meaning beneath the meaning he might have gleaned from the hesitant timbre of his brother’s voice. They no longer knew one another well enough.

Once he was close enough, Lan Wangji saw that there was in his hand was a book, held reverently.

“I believe I might have found something,” was all he offered, humble, as though those words alone weren’t enough to tip Lan Wangji’s world on its axis.

“Lan-zongzhu?” Wei Ying asked, voice shaky.

He held up the book. “I’ve discovered records of unusual curse-breaking techniques, accounts where the expected means of ending a curse couldn’t be used for one reason or another.” His mouth pulled in what might have been a smile. “More esoteric than the records we’ve already perused.”

Though still caught by the effects of the body-locking spell, Lan Wangji suddenly felt such a surge of hope that he thought he could break it if he had half a mind to do so. Instead, he forced himself to remain still, waited for the axe of reality to fall. Nothing had been easy in all this. It couldn’t be easy now.

“You’ve told me that the curse requires Jin Zixuan’s death. I don’t think either of you fully comprehend how broken his experience in the Burial Mounds left him. His sect will never recover from the fate that befell it. He leads in name only.”

“But—”

“The other gentry families have chosen to maintain a polite fiction about the Jin Sect. It’s rather taken for granted these days.” His brother opened the book to a particular page. “I think at first it was because some of them feared what would happen to them if they crossed the Yiling laozu and wished to be treated gently in turn, at least until they recovered their strength, but I don’t believe Jin Zixuan or Lanling ever will. Jin Zixuan won’t even marry and doesn’t seem at all interested in producing an heir to continue his line.”

“That’s…” Wei Ying said. It seemed hard for him to believe. Jin Zixuan had an obligation to his family. He wouldn’t have… “What about Jin-furen? Even if she didn’t push for him to marry shijie…”

“She passed a few years ago. After, he gave up any pretense of improving his sect.” He handed the book over to Wei Ying and tapped a spot halfway down the page. “This is a kind of death, is it not?”

Wei Ying bit his lip. “I don’t know if that’s enough.”

“Wei-zongzhu, I’ve never known you to be especially vindictive. Read this account. I think it’s more worthwhile than you do to consider this.”

Wei Ying shook his head. “You didn’t know me by the end. I might have cursed him to a worse end than this if I wasn’t too infuriated to do anything other than attack him.”

“What he has been left with might be worse than death,” Lan Xichen pointed out. “Should that not be considered?”

Letting out a sigh, Wei Ying looked up, held his place in the book with a finger before closing it. “That isn’t the point. The way the spell was structured? It was meant to fill very specific terms.”

Before Lan Wangji could speak, his brother was already there, asking the question Lan Wangji wanted answered. “Is it not worth a try?”

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting I try.”

“Go and see what is left of Jin Zixuan.”

“I can’t leave Lan Zhan here,” he said, adamant. “I don’t know if I have time to—we’ve been over this, Lan-zongzhu. I’m not—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. As much as he didn’t want to part with Wei Ying either, if there was even a sliver of a hope that he could be saved this way, it was a worthwhile endeavor. “There is time.”

“But—”

His brother subtly lifted the body-locking spell, but even so, Lan Wangji could barely move without pain debilitating him. Still, Lan Wangji reached out and took Wei Ying’s wrist in his hand, slow though the motion had to be. “I do not believe I will never see you again.”

“Lan—”

“You wanted to ask for Wen Qing’s books back anyway, didn’t you?” Lan Wangji pushed. He knew—knew somehow, forced himself to know—that if these accounts were true, then they could be true for Wei Ying, too. If these curses could be broken, so could Wei Ying’s. “You could do that, too.”

Wei Ying tucked the book under his arm, rubbed his hands together and bit his lip, carrying his uncertainty in his slumping shoulders. “Lan Zhan… I don’t want to go.”

“Wei Ying, it will be fine.”

“But what if—”

“All will be well. Lanling isn’t far.”

“I…”

Lan Wangji remembered a time when Wei Ying had been honest with him about his feelings, about how afraid he was to die. “Please. For me.”

“You’re asking me to…” To gamble his own life, but Lan Wangji was gambling, too. “You’re sure about this?” His fear, easy to spot, carried itself in his shaking hands. Once he noticed, he tucked them under his arms.

Wei Ying’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

His brother, apparently having learned something of Wei Ying’s characters in these months, saw their victory for what it was. “I’ll make arrangements. We’ll get you there as quickly as possible.”

Lan Wangji wished he could rise, envelope Wei Ying in the embrace he was so desperate to give, take this burden from him.

Of course he couldn’t.

This was his punishment, too.

The Jin Sect of today was not the Jin Sect Wei Wuxian remembered. Though he’d rarely had reason to visit, he had, in fact, gone once or twice for various events when Madam Yu could not find enough a good enough reason to keep him. Jinlintai had been a superficial wonder then, beautiful and lush and richly appointed. The hospitality had been second to none if one ignored Jin Guangshan’s barely veiled predilections, but he’d always felt out of place, like he would be scolded for dirtying the corridors with his presence. Of course, back then he couldn’t have cared less; he only corralled himself enough that he wouldn’t bring down Madam Yu’s wrath upon him. That snide disdain made him want to flaunt himself even further.

There was no concern for such today.

The old carriage road leading to the Jin Sect’s famed residence was cracked, crumbling. Without carriages going back and forth, it looked abandoned. The walls on either side that used to boast about the achievements of Jin Sect leaders of years past were gone.

The stairs that led to Jinlintai, distant yet or should have been, were gone. Jinlintai, too, was gone.

As far as the eye could see, the land was disconcertingly flat. A few buildings dotted the space ahead of him, but they no longer rose above their surroundings. If Wei Wuxian hadn’t known already that this was where he was meant to go, he would have passed this lane by, never even wondering what could be found at the end of the path. It wearied him to think he would have to walk it. Perhaps he shouldn’t have insisted the disciple who’d accompanied him stay behind in Lanling proper. Their assistance might have been helpful.

To Lan Zhan, he might have undersold how bad it was, but every day the fatigue he felt was endless. As soon as he thought he’d hit the very end of what he was capable of enduring, he found an even deeper cavern of weakness to explore. Even meditation practice had grown difficult to accomplish, his mind unable to empty, nor even focus on the development of his qi. His body truly was a sieve through which energy leeched itself.

There was no pill in the known world that could help him now. Even Wen Qing’s most powerful concoctions didn’t put a dent in it. She sent letter after letter, three-way correspondences with the Lan Sect’s physicians and Jiang Xiuying to no avail. He’d burned through every medicine they thought to create, save one final pill that sat in a pouch on his belt. His hand shook as he reached inside for it and stared for a long moment. He’d intended to save it for as long as possible, but perhaps that was a cruelty. Or maybe it was cowardice. If he took it now, he wouldn’t have to take it for Lan Zhan. wouldn’t be able to give him yet more misplaced hope.

Still, having been bullied into coming here, he would see it through. He would live long enough to make it to Jinlintai proper—did it even go by that name any longer, he didn’t know—and then return to Cloud Recesses with nothing to show for it. Maybe when he returned, Lan Zhan would be well enough that Wei Wuxian could take a corner of his bed, rest next to him until even that couldn’t sustain him. That was a nice thought. It kept him going, one trudging step after the other.

He stumbled a few times, feet refusing to pick themselves up enough for him not to trip over them, but his reaction time wasn’t terrible; he caught himself each time. He still had that going for him.

Nearing one of the buildings, he finally stumbled, crashing to his knees. Shock kept him there as his lungs seized, windless. It still caught him by surprise when his body betrayed him. As he gathered his determination around him, refusing to give in to despair, an arm hooked itself under his.

“Gongzi,” the youth who’d grabbed him said. He looked to be about seventeen, maybe eighteen, and was dressed in a strange approximation of the Jin Sect robes Wei Wuxian remembered. The fabric was undyed, only a little less rough than what one might have worn during mourning. Picked out on the front in humble embroidery was the peony the Jin were known for. When he tried to conjure the anger that had long served as a companion to him, he couldn’t find even a shade of it within him. The boy was sharp-featured and his dark hair shone. The worry on his face made him seem kind. He was handsome, too, as handsome as Wei Wuxian used to be. “Are you all right?”

His eyes, as most people’s did when they first met him, traced the length of the scar on his face. He’d been around people who already knew him for so long that the surge of embarrassment in his chest felt entirely new and overwhelming.

“I’m fine,” he answered, breathing heavily to give lie to his words. “A little tired from traveling, but…”

The boy’s grip tightened on him. “I’ll call for someone.”

“No, no. If you don’t mind helping me…” Oh, how he hated to say as much. “I can make it.”

“You intended to come here?”

“Is that so strange? People used to do it all the time.”

The boy tipped his head, a concession, but not much of one. “Times change.”

Wei Wuxian studied him more closely. He didn’t carry a vermilion mark on his forehead, but his features were too much like Jin Zixuan’s for him to be anything other than family. “What should I call you?”

“Ah?”

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. He’d always been bad with names and faces, but even though the boy would have been a child the last time Wei Wuxian was here, he saw nothing recognizable in him. “Is it Jin-gongzi or…?”

The boy snorted. “My dead father would strike me down from heaven if he heard you call me that.”

“Oh?”

“Mo Xuanyu.”

“Mo-gongzi, then.”

“Oh, no. That isn’t… Mo Xuanyu is fine.” His smile was bright and sweet, dramatically self-deprecating. “It isn’t really like that here any longer.” Before Wei Wuxian could ask for further clarification, Mo Xuanyu asked, “And what should I call you?”

“Ah, Wei Wuxian.”

Mo Xuanyu stilled and his grip tightened hard enough to leave a bruise on his forearm. Though it hurt, Wei Wuxian kept a neutral expression on his mouth. Mo Xuanyu relaxed his hold on his own. His expression tightened and a splash of unhappiness soured his expression. “Wei-gongzi. I didn’t imagine we’d ever… you should come with me. Jin-zongzhu wouldn’t forgive me if—why didn’t you send formal notification that you were… but—”

“Mo Xuanyu,” he said, awkward, “it’s fine. You don’t need to worry. I’m not here to cause problems.”

“And yet,” Mo Xuanyu said, grim, but determined to see this through, he squared his shoulders. His manner shifted so quickly. Wei Wuxian couldn’t keep up. “Zongzhu always said you’d come one day.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows furrowed.

Mo Xuanyu continued talking and continued to not make much sense. “He said you’d spare us. Try to be merciful to him.”

Wei Wuxian was still perplexed as he was led to the manor that seemed to serve as the main hall. Unlike the original Jinlintai, it held none of the flourishes or excesses of its predecessor. As humble as the robes of the Jin Sect’s disciples, it was the sort of space Wei Wuxian might have happily and easily spent a great deal of time in, not so different from the inns and restaurants he and Lan Zhan used to choose when they were traveling.

There was a warmth here that he didn’t think he’d seen anywhere except in the Burial Mounds, maybe Lotus Pier once upon a time.

Visible through the open windows that lined the long hallway Mo Xuanyu led him through, the disciples continued to train. A delicate breeze carried the scent of peonies, but still Wei Wuxian saw no grand gardens.

“Come,” Mo Xuanyu said, taking him inside, drawing him toward a corridor in the back before he could get a good look around. Several sliding doors were closed, hiding the contents of the rooms. Wei Wuxian wasn’t terribly curious to see what was inside.

“Does Jin-zongzhu not oversee his disciples’ training?”

“Not directly.”

Jin Zixuan had always loved working on his sword forms. It was one of the few things that made him tolerable. Before one of the nondescript doorframes, Mo Xuanyu stopped and knocked.

“Zongzhu,” Mo Xuanyu said, quiet. Softer, “Zixuan-ge, I have a guest here to see you.”

There was no answer at first, long enough that Mo Xuanyu opened his mouth to speak again.

“Come,” Jin Zixuan said, voice nearly unrecognizable. “Who is it?”

“Wei-gongzi,” Mo Xuanyu said, sliding the door aside. Jin Zixuan’s back was to it, but it opened quickly enough that Wei Wuxian caught the way Jin Zixuan’s back tensed.

Confusion twinged in his heart at the sight that greeted him. This was not the haughty Jin Zixuan that Wei Wuxian remembered from their youths. His hair was pulled back into a simple tail, half-up, only secured with a strip of leather. His elaborate hair ornament was gone. His robes were of the same quality as Mo Xuanyu’s.

Except for Jin Zixuan himself, this room held nothing, and though it wasn’t large, this room, he still looked small as he kneeled within it.

Jin Zixuan’s head bowed forward and he drew in a breath. “Gossip still makes it here to Lanling. I knew you would come.” His voice remained tepid as he spoke, though there was an element of struggle there, too. “Xuanyu, you’re free to leave.”

“But—”

“Whatever happens will happen as it ought to. There’s no reason for you to be defensive on my behalf.”

Mo Xuanyu’s eyebrow raised and he inspected Wei Wuxian closely for signs of danger. Wei Wuxian lifted his hands. Nothing to worry about here, he thought, hoping Mo Xuanyu would understand, that he wouldn’t face an ambush as soon as he left the room. The last thing he wanted was another Jin Sect reprisal. He did not intend to leave here today with another grudge in place.

“Yes, zongzhu.” With a bow, Mo Xuanyu retreated, keeping his eyes on Wei Wuxian the whole time.

Once he was gone…

“Get it over with,” Jin Zixuan said, abrupt, more like the man Wei Wuxian knew from before. He made no move to stand or turn.

Still confused, Wei Wuxian approached. There was nothing, he believed, that he needed to fear here and yet he grew more nervous with each step he took toward Jin Zixuan. The old anger tried to rouse itself, but even his disdain, far older than the anger, couldn’t find a hold within him. If he was free of nothing else, he was free of this. Truly free of it. There was relief to be found in that.

The things Lan Zhan had done… they’d deserved to be done and Wei Wuxian believed with all his heart that Lan Zhan only targeted those who deserved it, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t have been consequences for everyone else. Lan Zhan could have made an enemy of Jin Zixuan, one who would wait and wait and wait, building his sect’s strength back up until he might one day strike out. If Jin Zixuan was determined, he could do it.

Wei Wuxian saw no such intention. This, too, was a relief and one he hadn’t expected to find here. The Burial Mounds and Jinlintai weren’t heading toward an endless feud. In yet one more way, the Burial Mounds was safe.

“Get what over with?” Wei Wuxian asked, unsure whether to sit or stand, wanting to do neither. Instead, he awkwardly weighed his options, ignored the way his body wanted to collapse under the weight of the curse. Within reach was the means to his salvation and still he wasn’t tempted.

“You know what.”

Finally, Wei Wuxian rounded on Jin Zixuan. The ever-present vermilion mark was not there on his forehead. He looked old for all that they were nearly of an age, Jin Zixuan only a few years older. This close, Wei Wuxian saw the gray shot through his hair. Suihua sat at his side, but he did not draw it.

“I really don’t,” Wei Wuxian said, crouching. He ignored the pain and the wave of dizziness that followed. How easy it would be to save his beloved from heartbreak. Jin Zixuan wouldn’t even put up a fight. I could be happy, he thought, if not for you. But even that acknowledgment only left him with a feeling of exhaustion. Lan Xichen was right. Jin Zixuan had suffered for what he’d done, what he’d allowed his father to do. He hadn’t participated himself, maybe didn’t even know. It didn’t absolve him of the responsibility that had fallen into his lap, but it was something. He’d learned something from this. The world needed people who learned to strive for better.

“So you haven’t come to kill me?” There was another shade of the man Wei Wuxian used to know in the dry incredulity of the question.

“No.”

Jin Zixuan’s hand wrapped around Suihua, pulling it into his lap. Though Wei Wuxian didn’t feel threatened, he gripped Suibian tighter, ready. “Why not?”

“What kind of question is that?”

Jin Zixuan looked up at him, tilting his head curiously. “It’s what you wanted to do to me the last time we met.”

“The last time we met was the last time we met. This time, I…” Were he in better condition, he might have sprawled obnoxiously on the floor, done something to make it seem like this didn’t matter as much as it did. But at this point, he could barely stand without falling over. If he expected a miracle upon seeing Jin Zixuan, he was immediately disappointed.

“You?”

“This time is different. I’m tired of the fighting. I want to put the past behind me if I can.” Wei Wuxian gestured to indicate the whole room. “I think you should, too.”

“Funny.” Jin Zixuan’s lip curled into a sneer so powerful it reminded Wei Wuxian of Jin Zixun, a name he wished he could forget. It raised Wei Wuxian’s hackles accordingly. “I’ve been told I’ve put too much of the past behind me.”

“What other people say you shouldn’t care about. People will judge what they don’t understand—”

“I’ve been called a coward and an ungrateful son. It would have been better if I’d died and let Jinlintai die with me if I’m going to dishonor it so badly.”

“Lan-zongzhu said—”

“Lan-zongzhu and the other great sects have good reason to pity us here at Lanling. The minor sects are not quite so polite.”

Why are you telling me this, Wei Wuxian thought, growing annoyed. He was too tired to run his mouth, though. “I didn’t come here to instigate anything…” But even just coming here was a provocation, he realized.

Jin Zixuan rose to his feet. Determination cast itself across his face. Suihua was unsheathed, its point aimed at his heart. Wei Wuxian was in no position to fight with a sword, wouldn’t last more than a moment in his current condition. In a small room such as this, he couldn’t even run, not that he’d manage that when he could barely walk. As he tried to edge toward the door, Jin Zixuan cut him off.

“Do you think I haven’t thought about what happened and how badly it went wrong?” Jin Zixuan asked. “That I haven’t wished every day for you to—” He cut himself off with a snarl.

“For me to what?” Wei Wuxian asked, eyeing the blade. It gleamed so brightly, taunting. Grief did strange things to people, turned them into beings they wouldn’t recognize. If Wei Wuxian were to die by Jin Zixuan’s sword…

“Jin Zixuan,” Wei Wuxian said, backing himself into the nearest wall. “You have to know your sect will… if you try to fight me, you have to know what will happen.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “What should have happened years ago. Your Yiling laozu will finally put an end to us like he ought to have all those years ago.”

Laughing awkwardly, Wei Wuxian said, purposefully keeping his voice light, “You can’t want that. These people are innocent. It’s not the same…” In truth, Wei Wuxian was furious. Lan Zhan wasn’t some anger-ridden creature who could be brought out to murder anyone another person might want to kill. Lan Zhan didn’t deserve to be manipulated that way. He probably would do something very stupid if something happened to Wei Wuxian here, but he didn’t deserve to coat his hands in this blood, this blood that would never wash. “Can’t we settle this another way?”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian barely brought Suibian up in time to block Jin Zixuan’s first strike. Crude and inelegant, it was nothing like how he used to fight. The force of it staggered Wei Wuxian, was felt all the way up to his shoulder as he stumbled back the last step or two before he hit the wall. Suihua clattered against Suibian’s scabbard a second time.

Already, his arm burned from holding his sword up.

He slipped away from the wall, using a quick burst of speed to duck under Suihua. If he could reach the door…

Jin Zixuan cut him off again, again attacked. It was a taunt, a demand. Fight me, he said without saying anything at all. Fight me.

But Wei Wuxian couldn’t. “I didn’t come here for this,” Wei Wuxian said, blocking another strike. “I can’t give you what you want.”

Jin Zixuan didn’t care.

If he were to call for help, would anyone come? Wei Wuxian rather doubted it. This was Jin Sect territory and the disciples would take their sect leader’s side over his, especially if they knew who Wei Wuxian was. He would even understand why they might.

“Jin Zixuan!” he tried again, dodging out of the way, summoning what little power he could find within himself, he broke away from the wall and skittered to the other side. “This isn’t—this can’t be what you want.”

“What I want is for you to fight!” Jin Zixuan shouted, showing more spirit than Wei Wuxian had seen so far.

“I can’t,” Wei Wuxian yelled back. He drew his sword, swept it across Jin Zixuan’s face to get him to back up. A thin line of blood trickled down his cheek. He tried to keep Suibian raised, but his strength failed him, his arm no longer obeying his command. It clattered to the floor. “I can’t give you what you want!”

“Don’t be stupid.”

With only the scabbard to protect himself, Wei Wuxian did feel rather stupid. “I’m dying,” he said finally. “I’ve earned the right.”

That stopped Jin Zixuan or gave Wei Wuxian a momentary reprieve anyway. Under the circumstances, he wasn’t sure what it was. Jin Zixuan might do anything. If he attacked again, Wei Wuxian would need to be ready, so he didn’t let his guard down. “You’re what?”

Rolling his eyes, he said, “Are you going to stand down?”

Confusion clouded Jin Zixuan’s vision, but he didn’t press forward, answer enough.

“Mind putting Suihua away? I don’t want to get skewered unexpectedly.”Again, he thought, peevish. What was once only a tragedy in his mind transformed into a farce. It was almost funny if he thought about it.

Jin Zixuan lowered Suihua. That was probably as good as Wei Wuxian was going to get, so he didn’t ask for more.

As sure as he was ever going to be that Jin Zixuan wouldn’t wound him unexpectedly, he untied his belt, yanked open his robe, and pulled aside his under layers until the bandage around his midsection was exposed. It was stained red with fresh blood. The pain, now that he acknowledged it, was a constant buzz under his skin. It throbbed, burned red hot. Just as quickly, he tied his robes closed again. “I have bigger problems to deal with. Stabbing you stopped being my lifelong dream a long time ago.”

Jin Zixuan took a lumbering step toward him, awed, horrified. “A curse?” Wei Wuxian could only nod in confirmation, bleakly impressed that Jin Zixuan pinned the cause so quickly. Perhaps he was too used to feeling cursed himself. Jin Zixuan’s hand trembled as he lifted it to his mouth. Even his eyelashes trembled as he closed his eyes. “I never wanted this,” he said. His voice was clear, competent, more level compared to before. “I never had… I didn’t like you and I know you didn’t like me, but I never—I never agreed with what my father was doing. I fought with him so often about the war. When I found out what happened after… I’ve regretted it ever since.”

Yes, yes. They all had regrets. “It looks like you’ve done a…” Well, Wei Wuxian couldn’t say it was a reasonable job Jin Zixuan was doing, but Mo Xuanyu seemed smart enough. “You’ve kept your sect going after…”

Jin Zixuan grimaced and Wei Wuxian grimaced in sympathy. Though some things changed, it seemed Wei Wuxian would never be able to speak sincerely to Jin Zixuan. “I think we did what we could,” Wei Wuxian rallied, “after the war. What happened was insanity. It wasn’t your fault either. The fight between us was a mistake. I see things more clearly now. I don’t blame you. That’s… that’s the only reason why I’m here. To say that.”

Jin Zixuan’s laugh was coated in acid. “Because of a curse.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Wei Wuxian said. “There’s enough bad blood in the world.”

“You’ve changed.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to say to that. Returning the sentiment, under the circumstances, seemed a bit insulting. “Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “Lan Zhan won’t… you needn’t worry about reprisal when I…”

“When you…?”

“Die.” Acid threatened to corrode him from the inside out. He should have been used to it by now, knowing what would happen to him. It didn’t make it easier. “He won’t come here again.”

“Even though it’s my wound that will have killed you?”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “It’s not your fault. It’s the reason, but… I did this. He won’t blame you.”

Color rose on Jin Zixuan’s cheeks, hectic. “How am I supposed to believe that?”

“You don’t have to believe it,” Wei Wuxian said. “It’s what will come to pass anyway. You’re as safe from Lan Zhan as you’ve ever been whether you believe it or not.”

“And you’re just going to, what? Let yourself die?” Jin Zixuan asked, haughtier than he’d been so far.

Wei Wuxian was remembering why he hated Jin Zixuan. There were shades of that Jin Zixuan still in this one. Perhaps the world wasn’t so strange after all. “I’m not letting anything happen to me. I’ve done everything I can to stop it.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Nothing I’ve seen here sounds like you and yet here we are. People change. Circumstances change. Your sect is safe. If you really feel bad about it,” he said, “you’ll give the Wen library your father stole back to Wen Qing.”

“That’ll make us even?”

How could there be such a thing in this world? He’d grown beyond the need to pay back what was dealt to him. Balance couldn’t be found between people. “Yes, yeah. Fine.”

Jin Zixuan only nodded absently, collecting Suibian and returning it to him. “I’ll have Mo Xuanyu make the arrangements.”

Wei Wuxian might not have gotten what he needed by coming here, but at least the Burial Mounds would have what rightly belonged to it. That was a victory even if it was a cold comfort.

Though Jin Zixuan tried to offer many things—a meal, accommodations, a driver to return him to Cloud Recesses—Wei Wuxian declined them all. He no longer believed in debts, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take anything from Jin Zixuan if he could help it. He might pity the man, might no longer wish him ill, but he didn’t what charity Jin Zixuan could spare. He should save it for his own people. Besides, there was no point in delaying further, knowing he would find nothing of what Lan Zhan wanted here.

“Speaking of Mo Xuanyu, maybe stop letting your little brother run your sect for you,” he couldn’t help saying as he reached the door. This was still Jin Zixuan he was talking to. “It’s embarrassing.”

Jin Zixuan choked on what might have been a laugh.

The day was still bright, still warm when he stepped into the sunlight of Lanling. Reaching again into the pouch hanging from his belt, he took the pill. There was no point in saving it for a future that wouldn’t arrive.

Lan Wangji awoke to the feeling of hair tickling his nose and a warm, comfortable weight settled along his left side. It carefully avoided touching more than his arm, that weight. One leg had worked its way beneath his, scheming for more. Though he slept through so much these days, he didn’t know how he’d slept through Wei Ying’s arrival.

When Lan Wangji reached out, the wounds on his back protesting, Wei Ying’s skin was cool to the touch except for where their bodies touched. He usually moved in his sleep and was utterly still here, still as—

“Wei Ying,” he said, gripping Wei Ying’s shoulder and shaking it. “Wei Ying.” He slumped against the bed when Wei Ying exhaled audibly, an annoyed puff of air.

Wei Ying’s brows furrowed and he made a complaining sound in the back of his throat, pitiful. “Lan Zhan,” he said, voice rough. “…the matter?”

“When did you—what happened?” Lan Wangji’s heart rabbit kicked against his chest again and again. In the dim, too-early light filtering through the covered windows of the jingshi, Lan Wangji couldn’t see much. “Wei Ying…”

Wei Ying sighed, exasperated. “Lan Zhan, it’s too early to worry about this. Go back to sleep. It’ll hold until breakfast, at least.”

Every possible bad outcome raced through his mind. If it had gone well, Wei Ying wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him. He might even have woken Lan Wangji up. Instead, he’d slipped in quietly. What, in truth, was there to tell?

“Lan Zhan, just lie with me, please. Just—who wants to talk about it, really? Isn’t this nicer?”

Many, many things were nicer than what needed to be discussed. That didn’t stop it from needing to be done. “Wei Ying.”

“Aiyou, always my name. Do you know you could probably hold an entire conversation using only it and I’d still understand what you’re saying perfectly?”

The news was bad. It had to be bad. Wei Ying would have woken him from his sleep if it was good. He wouldn’t be avoiding Lan Wangji’s eyes if he was pleased. “Xiongzhang was wrong, wasn’t he?”

Wei Ying sighed, too weary to truly register as disgusted. “Lan Zhan, you don’t need me to tell you.”

A lump grew in Lan Wangji’s throat. He had, in fact, held out hope and hadn’t even realized how deeply he believed until now. The small noise he made was inhuman, embarrassing, and he pulled Wei Ying close to muffle it against Wei Ying’s neck. One of his wounds pulled free of its stitches, blood trickling down his back. Though he tried to breathe through it, he couldn’t. Each inhalation caught in his chest and each exhalation tangled itself in his grief. They couldn’t escape the tight confines of his rib cage. His lungs calcified around the anguish of it.

“This again?” Wei Ying patted the back of his head. “Lan Zhan, you can’t…” But he sounded weak, too, watery. “It’s not worth it.”

It didn’t matter if it was worth it when this was all he could feel.

“I’ll keep trying, alright? Until the—” Here, he choked, too, even uglier than Lan Wangji. “Until I can’t.”

He didn’t believe it was possible and still he’d try for Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji forced himself to breathe through it. He wanted Wei Ying to keep fighting, wanted him never to give up, wanted him to struggle as hard as Lan Wangji struggled, but it was selfish, too, to force Wei Ying. “What do you want to do?”

This time, it was Wei Ying who inhaled sharply. “You already know what I want.”

“Tell me.”

“I want to enjoy whatever time I have left with you. I’m tired.” He squeezed the parts of Lan Wangji he could reach that wouldn’t cause him too much pain: his neck, his bicep, his ear even. “I can’t keep hoping for something that’s not going to happen. I’d rather face reality.”

How was he supposed to let Wei Ying go again? How was he supposed to force Wei Ying to stay?

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying said. “I know that’s not—I know you don’t want that for me and I won’t give up, but…”

His tears wet the thin fabric of Wei Ying’s robes. They would be wet again before the end, he was sure, but he wouldn’t cage Wei Ying this way. Wei Ying’s days didn’t deserve to be a fruitless struggle only for Lan Wangji’s sake. It was not fair to hold him to a place against his will when all hope was lost. “Wei Ying, rest,” he said, mind screaming at him, no, no, don’t give him this, don’t let him leave. “You’ve done enough.”

Wei Ying tipped Lan Zhan’s chin up. The angle was awkward with how Lan Wangji was forced to sprawl on his stomach and Wei Ying both, but their eyes found one another’s anyway. “Lan Zhan?”

He’d always believed that doing the right thing would feel right, too, but nothing about this felt right.

“I won’t ask you to keep fighting. You’ve fought too much in this life.” He could not smile, but he managed to blink away the worst of the tears. “I will enjoy what time we have left if that’s what you want.”

For a long time, Wei Ying said nothing, but then he whispered, “Thank you,” into Lan Wangji’s skin and he knew it was the right decision even while it sliced his heart into pieces.

Though it was more comfortable to be on his stomach, completely flat against the bed, he continued to sprawl across Wei Ying’s chest. “Go back to sleep,” he said as Wei Ying sniffled beneath him, boneless with his relief.

“You, too, Lan Zhan,” he said, but Lan Wangji was incapable. He could only count each breath Wei Ying took, cherishing these moments now that they were so terribly finite.

If Wei Ying deteriorated further, Lan Wangji couldn’t see it in the way he bustled about, bringing medicines from the physicians and news from the Burial Mounds. He knew better now than to hope it meant something, but his heart fluttered with it anyway. When he smoothed healing balms into Lan Wangji’s skin, when he chattered about Wen Qing having received her books and what that would mean, he seemed cheerful, as though a burden had been lifted. “She thinks she might have found a prescription that will help with your back, Lan Zhan,” he said, or, “Lan Zhan, the Burial Mounds are doing well even though you’ve been gone so long. Isn’t that nice?”

Though he still took the medications Wen Qing and Jiang Xiuying sent, there was no expectation for them to work, no stress in Wei Ying over their lack of efficacy that Lan Wangji could see. He stopped visiting the physicians here, using the time to sit with Lan Wangji instead as he slept and woke in strange cycles. He didn’t, Lan Wangji noticed, look at, touch, or allow Lan Wangji the same when he replaced the bandage around his midsection. When he washed up, cursory, body turned away from Lan Wangji’s, he was careful to avoid touching it. At this point, he was practiced enough in winding and unwinding the cloth that it barely required his attention, head tipped back as he stared at the ceiling instead.

Wei Ying rose in the morning, joyful, and he spent every hour with Lan Wangji. He fed Lan Wangji in the smallest portions, slow and deliberate, until something like strength returned to him. The physicians, when they came, brought better news with every visit. Though perplexed, they offered their best wishes. In the background, Wei Ying would say, maybe passing you spiritual energy did help, Lan Zhan. Wei Ying read to him and played the dizi, filling the jingshi endlessly with sound. It wasn’t so bad as long as Lan Wangji didn’t think about it too hard or too often. He gathered each memory close and bit back childish words imploring Wei Ying to stay. Though he didn’t say much otherwise, Wei Ying wasn’t stymied.

“In our next lives,” Wei Ying said sometimes, wistful, “I know we’ll meet again. We’ll get it right. You won’t be rid of me so easily.”

I’d rather not be rid of you so easily this time, he thought, not daring to say it aloud.

Wei Ying was nervous as he slid into bed. Lan Wangji, now an expert in the small variances in Wei Ying’s moods, tensed, heart pounding hard against his sternum. Every frown, every wince, every awkward twist of Wei Ying’s body was analyzed for signs that this was it, the point of no return, the moment Lan Wangji would look back upon and know: these are my last moments with him.

There was something Wei Ying wasn’t telling him, something he hadn’t been telling him about all day. He’d woken and quickly scurried out, claiming he needed to get their breakfast, and when he’d come back, his cheeks had been pink. He wouldn’t meet Lan Wangji’s eyes then. He was curled on his side, back to Lan Wangji now. If he turned, Lan Wangji knew he wouldn’t meet his eyes again, so he didn’t try to make him turn.

“How are you feeling?” Lan Wangji asked, a verboten question between them. Though he took his wrist in hand, he could sense nothing beyond the riotous pulse of his still-beating heart. His rudimentary knowledge of medicine offered no insights and without a golden core, he wouldn’t have a clear idea of what was happening anyway.

“Fine,” Wei Ying answered, fussing as he shifted around. “Tired.”

“Then you should rest.” Oh, if he could get the strain out of his voice, he would. It was audible even to Wei Ying, who gasped and flipped over so suddenly that Lan Wangji twitched in surprise, eyes wide with regret.

“Oh, Lan Zhan, no. It’s not—I am just tired. Not… not a bad tired. I…” A blush spread across the bridge of Wei Ying’s nose. “No, that’s not true.”

“Wei Ying, please,” he said, tight.

“No, it’s stupid. It’s nothing.” The number of times he’d seen Wei Ying shy away like this could be counted on one hand.

“It’s not,” Lan Wangji said. “Whatever it is, it’s not.” What could it possibly be that Wei Ying wanted that he was suddenly so apprehensive about?

Wei Ying wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Wei Ying?”

“Lan Zhan, it’s fine. It’s…”

The burning ache of his back was worth it as he pressed Wei Ying into the bed. Through his clothing, he could see little, but it was almost no work at all to tear away his belt and sash and pull aside his robes. All the while, Wei Ying stared up at him, mouth parted, still as Lan Wangji had ever seen him.

Beneath the thin, soft fabric of his trousers, he filled out, hardening before Lan Wangji’s eyes. At this point, Wei Ying tried to squirm away, but Lan Wangji had some small bit of strength left to him: he did not let Wei Ying go. When he brushed his hand lightly over Wei Ying’s thigh, Wei Ying made a small, high sound in the back of his throat, needy. It had been so long since he’d heard anything of the sort from Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji’s mind raced. Wei Ying wanted…

He wanted and Lan Wangji couldn’t remember a time when he’d known Wei Ying’s body to react this way. “Wei Ying, I…”

“I told you it was stupid.” When he tried to squirm away, Lan Wangji held him as tightly as he could, knowing Wei Ying wouldn’t risk hurting him trying to break free. “I don’t know why I’m… I guess Lan Zhan is too beautiful,” he murmured, self-deprecating. “I was stunned by his visage.”

Lan Wangji’s ears heated. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Who’s ridiculous?”

By now, Wei Ying was more than half-hard as Lan Wangji pulled his trousers down. Precome gathered in a pearly gleam at the tip, begging to be swiped up and tasted.

“Lan Zhan, you don’t have to. You’ll hurt your back. You should be—” He covered his reddening face with one hand. “Lan Zhan, come on. It’s nothing.”

Wei Ying didn’t understand. He definitely had to and it was not nothing. He didn’t throw Wei Ying’s words back in his face about dying happy in bed, but it was a near thing.

“Come on, Lan Zhan. This can’t be comfortable for you. I’ll just… go somewhere and, uh, take care of it…”

“No.” He stroked down Wei Ying’s shaft. “This is mine.”

“But—”

“I can bear this discomfort.” The dry friction couldn’t be pleasurable, not yet, but they didn’t have any lubrication here and he feared—he feared Wei Ying would disappear if he left the bed now to retrieve some from somewhere else, that he’d take this chance from Lan Wangji because of misguided embarrassment. If he remained on his stomach, half held up by Wei Ying’s body, he could do this. “Please.”

Panting harshly, Wei Ying nodded, squirming. “Fuck, fine. Fine. I’m sorry. I—”

Lan Wangji would not hear apologies for this. Though reluctant to let go, he did, knowing in the absence of better lubrication, he’d need something else. He cupped his hand near Wei Ying’s mouth. “Spit,” he said, feeling a flare of arousal himself. It petered out quickly, but it was nice enough while it lasted.

“Ah?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” Lan Wangji said. “Spit.”

“Lan Zhan, that’s so dirty,” Wei Ying said, but he rose and leaned forward, did as Lan Wangji asked. It would still be uncomfortable for a short time, but Lan Wangji hoped he could make it good regardless.

In a better life, they would have gotten to travel with one another, wandering around and helping the people the cultivation sects of the world didn’t care to assist. They would have made love to one another every night and if they were injured, it was because they were protecting others and not because they’d done something deserving of punishment.

It was a naïve dream. He knew this now. But it had been his dream, small though it was. A simple life when the lives they should have led were barred to them indefinitely. It seemed like a fair trade, happiness in exchange for status and power.

As long as he was with Wei Ying, it didn’t matter as much what sort of life he had, but even that, he couldn’t keep.

“Lan Zhan, please,” Wei Ying said, drawing him from the deep wellspring of his memories. Wei Ying’s muscles were trembling and he was burning up, warm everywhere he was pressed against Lan Wangji. He’d fully hardened even just in anticipation of Lan Wangji’s touch. What else could he do but give this to Wei Ying?

Beneath Lan Wangji’s palm, he gasped and shuddered. The saliva was barely enough to make the slide of their skin bearable, but it didn’t stop Wei Ying from jerking and trembling under his careful touch. More precome leaked down his length and that helped a little more. Lan Wangji watched, fascinated, as his hand worked Wei Ying up and down, relearning Wei Ying’s favored rhythms and preferences. Was it really so much to ask for in this life, to share this with Wei Ying for as long as possible? What was so wrong about it that they should be punished again and again for the crime of wanting to do right and be together?

Lan Wangji worked him slowly, dragging this out as long as possible, fighting against time itself for the right to keep touching Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan…”

“Wei Ying, shh,” he said, turning his face into Wei Ying’s hair and pressing a kiss behind his ear.

The only sounds in the room was the harsh rasp of Wei Ying’s breathing, the choked-off noises he made as Lan Wangji brought him slowly to climax. “Lan Zhan, ah!”

“Let me,” Lan Wangji said, like he was the one unmoored. “Let me, please.” They might never—he might never get to touch Wei Ying this way again. Squeezing his eyes shut, he exhaled. The knot of grief in his chest wouldn’t loosen no matter how deeply he breathed.

Wei Ying’s body drew itself tight. Covered as it was by Lan Wangji’s, he couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t stretch. They remained small together, as though that might protect them from fate.

Lan Wangji found Wei Ying’s shoulder, nudged aside his hair, pressed his mouth against Wei Ying’s throat. He took skin and muscle and the strong, corded tendons between his teeth and bit down, hard, as Wei Ying cried out, releasing into Lan Wangji’s hand in hot, ropy spurts. He softened in Lan Wangji’s hand, but still Lan Wangji didn’t want to let him go. If he could, he would have stayed in this moment forever.

Tears, tears he didn’t want to fall, spilled down his cheeks and trickled onto Wei Ying’s skin as he wrapped his free arm around Wei Ying’s waist, holding him gently. He buried his face against Wei Ying’s neck, hoped he wouldn’t—hoped he didn’t notice as he inhaled to steady himself. For tonight, Wei Ying was still here. He’d gotten to touch Wei Ying like this. Wei Ying wasn’t going anywhere.

Wei Ying squirmed, making punched out little sounds as he shifted. “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji shook his head, still pressed against Wei Ying’s throat. He didn’t want to let go. Beneath his lips, he felt Wei Ying’s strong, bounding pulse. How could Wei Ying be dying when Lan Wangji felt so much of his old vitality now?

Wei Ying settled then, relaxing into the awkwardness of the position, until they breathed almost as one, quiet and together. An hour could have passed or minutes, Lan Wangji didn’t know. He just didn’t want to let go.

But of course it had to. Reality always intruded on these moments. Finally Wei Ying protested, slipping out from beneath him to go retrieve water and a cloth. He brought both back with him, using one corner of the cloth to wipe at Lan Wangji’s face and then the other to scrub Lan Wangji’s hand clean. When that was done, he put on his inner robes again and climbed back into bed, tangling their legs together. “Hold onto me, Lan Zhan,” he said, as though he knew that was exactly what Lan Wangji needed.

There was something different, Wei Wuxian thought, about coming home to the Burial Mounds this time. After so long spent away, he could appreciate the warm, welcoming atmosphere all the more. Cloud Recesses might have been beautiful and calm, a private, quiet sanctuary—in a better life, it might, he even determined, have been Lan Zhan’s rightful place, fitting and comfortable for one such as him—but for Wei Wuxian nothing could be better than coming back here, Lan Zhan finally well enough to travel, much to the surprise of the Lan Sect physicians who treated him.

As he lowered the barrier outside the Burial Mounds’s one entrance, he marveled. Even from above the intimidating height of the wall that separated it from the rest of the world, it was easy to tell the place had yet again transformed.

He hurried forward, dragging Lan Zhan by the hand.

“Wen Qing wasn’t lying in her letters, I guess.” He’d worried, he had to admit, that the Burial Mounds might suffer for Lan Zhan’s long absence. It seemed he was less necessary than expected. “It looks like Wen Yuan got by just fine.”

“So it seems.”

Wei Wuxian waved at the villagers milling around and laughed as a gaggle of children came racing over upon seeing them. A few were primed to crash into Lan Zhan’s legs and Wei Wuxian quickly intercepted them, crouching down to catch them in his arms first. A blunt pain bloomed in his side as one of them wrapped their arms around him, but it was bearable, worth it for the way she screeched happily in his ear. “Wei-gege! Lan-laoshi.”

“Be very careful with your Lan-laoshi, all right?” Wei Wuxian said as he awkwardly shuffled out of the way so they could greet Lan Zhan without the risk of harming him.

They heeded Wei Wuxian without asking too many questions he and Lan Zhan weren’t ready to answer, each taking their turns to say hello and bow to him. Wei Wuxian’s heart threatened to burst as he watched Lan Zhan poorly accept the attention. His ears were going pink and his eyes seemed a little misty. When they met Wei Wuxian’s, he seemed a little lost among the carefully exuberant displays of affection directed his way.

Chin perched on his fist, one arm wrapped around the enthusiastic little girl who’d thrown herself into his arms first, he shrugged. Finally, she greeted Lan Zhan, too, and then darted away along with the others, trailing giggles in their wakes.

He sprang to his feet and took Lan Zhan’s hand again, leading them up the path. Not only was it greener, but more buildings had been constructed in their absence, crowding the space, making it even more lively than it had been before.

Off one of the paths, a few were practicing sword forms, as disciplined as anyone Wei Wuxian might have found back in Lotus Pier, if not quite as skilled. Soon, he was sure, they would be. Down another, he saw people doing the planting in a patch of earth that Wei Wuxian was certain had been too grassy and overrun to be of use the last time he was here.

He was glad, then, that this would be Lan Zhan’s home when he couldn’t stay in his own. The people here would keep him from being too lonely. There would be plenty to do once he was fully healed. They would take care of him and he would take care of them in turn.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, wrapping his arm around Lan Zhan’s. “Lan Zhan, I’m so tired. Help an old man walk up this steep mountain path?”

Lan Zhan studied him and nodded. Worry, always worry, clouded his gaze. Wei Wuxian wished it wasn’t so. “I had not thought you so tired.”

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to argue and then realized it was true. His jaw snapped shut as he thought it over. He said, eventually, “Ah, Lan Zhan. Always catching me out in my lies.” In truth, he did feel pretty good today. Coming home had invigorated him somewhat. Having the worst done with also helped: he’d done everything he could to save himself. There was no struggle left to have. Without options, he was free. Squeezing Lan Zhan’s arm a little tighter, he admitted, “Maybe I just want to cling to you shamelessly.”

“You needn’t make up an excuse to do that.”

“But it’s fun!”

For a moment, Lan Zhan only smiled, but whatever he was thinking about twisted his expression, turning it somber. “In the past, I might have been able to carry you.”

“Lan Zh—”

A woman’s voice cut through the low, gentle din of the villagers working and living their lives. “Lan Wangji! I hope you don’t intend to scuttle past the infirmary. I expect it of Wei Wuxian, but you, too?”

Lan Zhan grimaced. They both turned to see Wen Qing stomping up the path toward them, pointing an accusatory finger in their direction.

“Ah ha, Wen Qing,” Wei Wuxian said, making sure to put himself between the brunt of her ire and Lan Zhan. “We only just got back. You were next on our list to visit…”

“You and you,” she said, using that finger to advantage. “Infirmary.”

“But—”

“Now.”

She stomped away before either of them could offer even a token argument.

When they arrived, only a few minutes after Wen Qing, unwilling to face her wrath, Wei Wuxian was surprised by what he found. He shouldn’t have been. Of all the things he’d expected of Jin Zixuan, he’d never known him to be a liar. Of course he’d send… a lot of books. Many, many books. Was Wen Qing’s collection really this big?

At least five of Wen Qing’s disciples were currently busy sorting through books and scrolls in every available space in the infirmary, documenting the contents on sheets of paper. “Did you like my present, Wen Qing?”

Her expression was venomous. “Lan Wangji, strip.”

“Eh?” Wei Wuxian called. “That’s my line, isn’t it?”

“Wei Wuxian!”

Wen Qing spun, retreated to her stores of dried herbs and medicinal plants, and gathered the items she would need. Her disciples barely lifted their heads at the disruption.

Wei Wuxian turned, took Lan Zhan’s belt in hand. Lan Zhan’s features were as serene as they ever got these days, which was to say they were blank and accepting of his circumstances. Nodding, he briefly covered Wei Wuxian’s hands with one of his own. Wei Wuxian took this as permission and carefully began to disrobe him for no other reason than because he could and it was easier than forcing Lan Zhan to shrug out of the fabric himself. Taking the belt and the outer layer of Lan Zhan’s robe, he helped pull down the inner robes until his back could be exposed.

Wei Wuxian was surprised to see how healed it truly was. He was still so used to the bloody ruin he’d seen upon arriving in Cloud Recesses that even the raised, twisted scars were an improvement. When he thought about Lan Zhan’s back, that was what he saw. Not this.

Lan Zhan sat obediently on one of the chairs in the room rather than on one of the tables and waited for her to return. Though there was no need for it, he pressed his hand to Lan Zhan’s travel-warm skin, massaging his neck, fingers digging in lightly as Lan Zhan’s breath hitched.

His shoulders curved forward, his posture not as good as it could be.

“Ah, Lan Zhan?” he asked, gently caressing Lan Zhan’s lower back. He immediately straightened up, but it worried him to see that Lan Zhan had allowed it for even a moment. “Are you in pain?”

“Not at the moment,” Lan Zhan answered, sounding sincere.

“Then is everything…?”

“I’m fine,” he said, but his body trembled, giving lie to the words.

“Lan Zhan?”

“It’s nothing.”

Wen Qing returned, a small clay bottle in hand. “It’s not nothing,” she snapped, gesturing for Wei Wuxian to move out of the way. She made a small, disapproving sound as she took Wei Wuxian’s place, examining the remnants of his healing wounds. “I thought Lan Sect physicians were supposed to be adept at healing. What is this?”

“Punishment,” Lan Zhan said, quiet, as Wei Wuxian rounded on him. Lan Zhan wouldn’t meet his eyes as he spoke.

Wen Qing let out a breath in disagreement. She poured a small bit of oil from the clay bottle into her palm and smoothed it over his back. Lan Zhan gritted his teeth through it and Wei Wuxian watched, trying not to feel as though he should step in and do it instead. “Wei Wuxian, you’ll want to apply this to his back twice a day. Once in the morning and once at night. When you’re close to running out, let me know.”

“For how long?”

She blinked. “Forever. These aren’t going to get better, but that doesn’t mean we can’t help him be more comfortable.”

Wei Wuxian blanched, guilty. Now he was the one unable to meet Lan Zhan’s—or anyone’s—eyes.

“What?” Wen Qing asked.

Contrary to her status as a healer, her words opened up a fresh wound in Wei Wuxian’s chest. When Lan Zhan’s shoulders slumped this time, he knew it wasn’t because of his posture.

“Wen Qing,” Wei Wuxian said, a little scolding. He made a face at her over the top of Lan Zhan’s head and mouthed, You know I can’t.

She narrowed her eyes in response and shook her head, but this wasn’t an argument he wanted to have right here in front of Lan Zhan and five other people, so he said nothing further. He would come back later and tell her the news.

Once she was finished treating Lan Zhan’s back, Wei Wuxian helped him dress again, teased him when he grimaced at the way his inner robes stuck to his gleaming skin. He took Lan Zhan up the path to their home and curled against him on the hard, raised bed even though it was the middle of the day and they were both still covered in the dust from their travels. Lan Zhan didn’t argue against it, resting his head against Wei Wuxian’s chest as Wei Wuxian played with his hair.

Only when Lan Zhan was asleep did Wei Wuxian slip out from beneath him to return to Wen Qing’s infirmary.

This time, she cleared out her disciples. Only when they were gone did she speak. “You want to explain earlier?”

“What’s there to explain? I failed. I’m going to—”

Wen Qing’s hand shot out with snake-like accuracy and took hold of his wrist. Her brows furrowed and her fingers dug hard into his skin. He felt pinned here beneath her touch and it took every ounce of self-discipline within him to keep from pulling himself out from under it. Finally, she threw aside his hand.

“Wei Wuxian, you’re—” She studied his face, paled at what she saw. Her anger drained away and she shuffled him toward one of the chairs and pushed him to sit. “You’re sure you failed?”

“Jin-zongzhu is still alive. I checked the wound when I was going back to Cloud Recesses. It was still there then,” Wei Wuxian said, devoid of emotion. It was easier these days to say such things. His own life being forfeit didn’t hurt him the way it used to. “Lan-zongzhu found accounts of otherwise unbreakable curses that were broken without fulfilling their terms. He thought maybe seeing Jin-zongzhu as he was now would somehow break the curse, but I don’t—it didn’t change anything.”

Wen Qing’s mouth pulled in a reflexive scowl at the reference to Jin Zixuan, but she said none of what deserved to be spoken about him.

“You don’t feel any different?” Wen Qing asked, intense. “Not at all?”

He squirmed. There was no way in hell he was going to admit to what he was feeling. What happened between him and Lan Zhan didn’t concern her. “I don’t know. I’ve felt okay,” he admitted. “I try not to make a habit of paying attention to how I’m feeling. It never leads anywhere good.”

“And you haven’t looked at yourself since?”

“Uh…”

“Even when you wash up? Wei Wuxian—”

“I don’t need to look at it to wash up! I don’t want to see it! What’s the point of looking?”

She rolled her eyes and flapped her hand at his chest. “I want to see it.”

“All you had to do was—”

“Wei Wuxian.”

Aggrieved, Wei Wuxian sighed and undid his belt before peeling his arms out of his robes. The fabric fell around his waist, the arms skimming toward the floor. Before he could remove the cloth, Wen Qing was already reaching for him. “Ai, what are you so impatient for?”

Wen Qing refused to dignify this with a response, taking a page from Lan Zhan’s book. He just didn’t answer when he didn’t want to either. Infuriating. Her hands were quick as she worked the cloth loose. It fell from her hands as the wound revealed itself. He stared at the ceiling and waited for her assessment.

“Wei Wuxian,” she said, brushing her thumb over his abdomen.

“Yeah, it’s still there. I don’t know why you’re surprised. It’s—”

“Don’t be stupid. Look at yourself.”

But what was the point in looking, really? All he’d see was the same old wound he always saw. Big deal. It was just there to make him feel bad at this point.

“Wei Wuxian!”

“Ugh, fine.” Because he was a child, he made a big production of it, dragging it out as Wen Qing tried to stare him into submission. It couldn’t work, mostly because Wei Wuxian just really hated thinking about it and had to talk himself into even looking at it again. Quickly glancing down, he lifted his eyes again. “It’s a wound from a sword. Same as always.”

Scoffing, Wen Qing went to her desk, retrieved a small bronze mirror. “Look better. Or do I need to check your eyes, too?”

“I don’t see the point of—” Wen Qing shoved the mirror into his hand. “Fine.” To put an end to his misery, he angled it so he could see the wound in full, acknowledge it one last time before he never, ever thought about it again.

Except the mirror was showing him something impossible. He pushed at the skin around it. Though it still hurt, side throbbing as he prodded it, nothing happened. No blood, no other fluids, nothing. “Wen Qing?”

He didn’t dare… he couldn’t allow himself to be the first to say the words. The bubble of hope in his chest was too fragile. His heart wouldn’t be able to bear hearing Wen Qing tell him he was wrong, that what he was seeing didn’t mean what it felt like it meant.

“It’s healing,” she confirmed. “Whatever you did, it’s…” She took up his wrist again, studying his pulse so fiercely. He waited, silent, scared, sure she was wrong, that she’d realize she misconstrued what it meant. As he watched her face, he feared the truth. Her eyes watered as she stared at the wall behind him and her lips trembled as one corner pulled in a smile. “It might take a while to restore your spiritual energy from before, but you’re fine.”

He didn’t know what to say. He’d spent so long like this that he didn’t truly believe…

“Wei Wuxian, did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” he said, wooden, unable to move. He was fine. He wasn’t going to… His lungs tightened as he held his breath, unable to let out even a whimper for fear of what else might fall from his mouth. He managed a strangled, “I… I’m just going to, ah,” and scrambled back into his clothes before rushing outside.

He didn’t cry as he slipped up the path back to their cave, avoided looking too stupid and sensitive as he was stopped again and again to be welcomed home. It was agony, how slow his progress up that slope was. He needed to see Lan Zhan, not… not all these other people whom he loved very much, but weren’t Lan Zhan.

It was only once he was back at the cave and saw Lan Zhan sleeping peacefully that the constricting band around his chest shattered. Gasping wetly, he leaned against the inside wall, weak-legged and exhausted. His robes caught on the rock as he sank down. It didn’t matter. Even if they snagged and tore and Wen Qing yelled at him for not treating his things with better care, it was—

He was…

Again, he ripped open his robes, pressed his hand to the wound he hadn’t bothered rewrapping, a wound that didn’t need it.

Slapping his hand over his mouth, he bit at his palm to stifle the noises that threatened to spill from his mouth. Like this, he didn’t want to wake Lan Zhan. It could wait.

He had time now. All the time in the world.

He hadn’t wanted to die. He didn’t want to die and he hadn’t been at all gracious throughout the process of it. He’d been dragged to the end kicking and screaming and had made it so Lan Zhan had to witness it, be party to the worst of his behaviors.

Never again.

He would do better for Lan Zhan and for this sect and for everyone in the world whose fates were held hostage by people more powerful than them, suffering for the whims of powerful cultivators who didn’t give a damn about anything except their own egos. He would remind them that nothing was ever as clear-cut as they liked to pretend it was.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, hunched against the wall, but it was long enough that Lan Zhan roused from his rest. The bedding rustled as his body moved slowly under the covers. When he’d twisted enough, he peered out from under them, golden eyes finding Wei Wuxian’s unerringly. “Wei Ying?”

Though Wei Wuxian waved him off, he rushed to get up, throwing aside all good sense or concerns for his own injuries to kneel at Wei Wuxian’s side. Wei Wuxian tried to suppress the sounds, but with each one he fought down, another bubbled up to replace it. So many tears obscured his vision that he couldn’t even see Lan Zhan’s face anymore.

Through it, Lan Zhan held him. Even though he was no doubt fearing the worst, he bore the brunt of it silently. And when Wei Wuxian had calmed enough to speak, he listened.

“How?” Lan Zhan asked, guarded, and Wei Wuxian didn’t have an answer, not really. Only a supposition that was building itself in the back of his mind, Lan Zhan’s talisman in conflict with Wei Wuxian’s soul-sacrificing spell, two sides of a single coin that never should have met.

“You willed me to stay,” he said, mind in search of the solution. He felt around for the pieces scattered across his thoughts, determined to make them fit.

Lan Zhan’s hand felt at Wei Wuxian’s side, needing endlessly to know that this was over. “Wen Qing healed you.”

“She painted over a crack. The crack was still there.” And he’d brushed up against that jagged edge every day since he’d been back. No wonder it hurt so much. “But you never could reverse your talisman.”

“Wei Ying, I—”

“You layered the soul-sacrificing spell over it, another repair. A good solution.”

“I don’t—”

“My body, once I was freed, wanted to heal itself. Your talisman wanted me to remain as I was when you activated it.” And there, he felt it: the truth, so much simpler than a curse he refused to break. “And then you let me go.” Wei Wuxian brightened. Gripping Lan Zhan’s face, he pulled it close, kissed Lan Zhan’s forehead, his nose, his lips finally. There was nothing in the world quite like shining light onto problems. Bewildered, Lan Zhan allowed himself to be kissed again and again. In his enthusiasm, he even kissed Lan Zhan’s chin and then the corner of his mouth, unable to help himself. If he had to guess, that was what finally undid the talisman’s influence.

It wasn’t his own wretched ingenuity that had saved and then damned him in turn. It couldn’t have been, because even if he was wrong about the particulars, it felt right that, though Lan Zhan’s determination that may have damned him, it was his generosity, his bravery, his selflessness, in the end, that had saved him. They would always have saved him, no matter the outcome. “You let me go, Lan Zhan.”

There was only one thing Wei Wuxian could think to give in exchange: a pledge to stay, always, at Lan Zhan’s side.

Six Months Later

“There are petitions,” Wen Qing was saying as she walked the last few steps leading up to the cave entrance, “asking for the assistance of Wei-zongzhu and his fearsome disciples.” When Lan Wangji lifted his head in acknowledgment of her arrival, she waved the sheaf of pages in her hand in illustration, leaning against the newly constructed entryway, the first step toward converting the cave into a hall for visitors, for meetings, for all the usual business conducted by sects in such places. Already, he and Wei Ying were constructing a small cottage for themselves nearer the village proper, a project for which Wei Ying had showed endless enthusiasm.

Wei Ying’s mouth pulled in a frown, but he sighed and pushed himself to his feet, waiting to hold out his hand until Lan Wangji had put aside his qin. Though he was perfectly capable of standing without assistance these days, Lan Wangji took it, rising smoothly to his feet. And despite the fact the rocky floor had been entirely covered in soft mats and couldn’t leave behind even a speck of dust on his robes, Wei Ying insisted on brushing them down with his hands.

“Fearsome? What’s so fearsome about them? Except for Lan Zhan when he thinks I’ve stayed up too late working on something, they’re all perfectly polite.”

She rolled her eyes and glared at him. “Does Lan Wangji consider himself your disciple? Isn’t that a little arrogant?”

Wei Ying flushed at the question and grew even pinker when Lan Wangji looked over at him. “The Yiling laozu is the Yiling laozu. I wouldn’t dare consider myself capable of leading him anywhere. He is no disciple of mine, I swear it. I think you’re the arrogant one for even saying something like that.” A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Wen Qing, really.”

“As funny as you are,” she replied, deadpan, “there is a question here that needs to be asked.”

“Which is?”

“Do you ever intend to let your disciples out of the Burial Mounds? Some of them are fully trained—”

“Anyone is free to do as they wish.”

“Wei Wuxian, they take their cues from you, even the fully trained ones.”

Lan Wangji could see the argument brewing behind Wei Ying’s eyes. They weren’t ready, Wei Ying thought. It was obvious to anyone who might look that he felt this way. And there was good reason to think they weren’t. Many were still young, still weak, and might always be. As far as this sect was concerned, that was fine. Even those disciples with promise were still too unpracticed. The ones who were capable were too valuable as instructors.

But there were just as many reasons to think Wei Ying was being more cautious than necessary, more cautious than he would ever be with himself. He was, Lan Wangji thought, sometimes more careful with the people here than he was with Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying drew in a deep breath, looked helplessly at Lan Wangji, his excuses crumbling to dust before Lan Wangji’s eyes. He saw what Lan Wangji knew and what Wen Qing was alluding to: the people of Yiling and other surrounding villages would begin to wonder at the their unwillingness to help and then resent them. Another sect would encroach and slowly, slowly Yiling Wei would lose the ground it was gaining. That wasn’t what Wei Ying wanted, Lan Wangji didn’t think, but he could see where this was headed if Wei Ying remained too wary.

Lan Wangji had let the disciples go too early; he feared Wei Ying would let them go too late.

“Where did all these even come from?” Wei Ying asked.

“They’ve been gathering dust while you were both at Cloud Recesses,” Wen Qing said. “Wen Ning and I did what we could with the worst of them, but…” But there were many, many more than they’d received in the months and years prior. She shrugged. “That’s when they started arriving anyway.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said.

“Aiyou, I know, I know.” He gestured for Wen Qing to hand over the petitions. “Let me work out how dangerous it is and then we’ll see. In the meantime, I’m perfectly capable of conducting a night hunt or two.” Before Lan Wangji could open his mouth to complain, Wei Ying added, “Lan Zhan, what do you say?”

What was there to say except yes? He nodded sharply, abandoning an argument he apparently wouldn’t have to make on his own behalf.

Wei Ying studied each petition in depth, cross-referenced them against what few reports they’d built up from the past, and separated them into piles while Lan Wangji watched him from across their table, having tried and failed multiple times to convince him to take a break. On a torn scrap of paper, Wei Ying had drawn out a rudimentary map of the area. Every so often, he marked it with a symbol. Lan Wangji didn’t know what they meant, these symbols, but they seemed to be keeping Wei Ying focused.

“What are you doing?” he asked finally.

“Ah? Nothing, nothing. Just deciding which to pursue first.” He absently handed a stack of pages over to Lan Wangji. “Do you want to help?”

“I want you to drink this tea,” he answered, sliding a cup out from beneath the wealth of papers Wei Ying was trying to give to him. “And then I will help.”

To Wei Ying’s credit, he did drink the tea once Lan Wangji placed it into his hand, though his eyes never once left the page he was reading. By the time they were done sorting the various requests, Wei Ying had three that he wanted to conduct himself, a further six he wanted to lead a few others on, and a smattering that he felt comfortable—pending his own experiences in the field—with handing off to others.

“You’re very good at this,” Lan Wangji said.

“I used to help arrange night hunts for the juniors at Lotus Pier. I guess this is kind of like that?” As though this was nothing of note, nothing worth learning more about, he plucked up one of the petitions and held it out. “Lan Zhan.” The candle next to him guttered in the sudden brush of air against its flame as Wei Ying flicked it back and forth, a dangle for Lan Wangji to pick up. “Let’s start with this one. It’s the oldest and furthest away. We can work our way back through the others.”

“Mm?” In a shaky hand, it outlined what appeared to be an entirely run of the mill request for aid against a resentful spirit. “Very well.”

“I’ll reply to let them know we’ll be sending a few disciples,” he said, perching his hand on his fist as he tipped his head to better look back at Lan Wangji, “and then we can go ourselves. It’ll be like old times.”

“It will be. I missed this,” he admitted.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. You might have said.”

There had been no reason before. His back was still healing, slower than he would like, but far faster than he had any right to expect. Going on a night hunt seemed frivolous while everything was calm. Since it was no longer as calm as before, it was okay to admit to this desire. “I have done so.”

Wei Ying scoffed, mouth tipped up in amusement, and said, “You know what I mean. You could’ve said something sooner.”

Lan Wangji grasped Wei Ying by the elbow and pulled him to his feet. “It’s enough that I’ve said it now,” he insisted. “Come to bed, Wei Ying.”

They went through the usual steps to conducting a night hunt: going to the afflicted village, asking questions, narrowing down the possible source. Their investigation led them to a forest outside the village in question. It did not look so very different from the forest that surrounded the Burial Mounds, though it was some distance away, near the edge of what was becoming their territory of responsibility.

“Lan Zhan, do you think I’ve been too cautious?” Wei Ying asked, stepping adroitly over a fallen tree trunk.

“No.”

“But—”

“The past is the past. It’s not wrong to take care.”

Wei Ying wandered ahead, not bothering to argue further. Instead, he held out a newer version of the compass he used to fiddle with when they night hunted together.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji called, when he got too far away for comfort, robes barely visible through the thick stand of trees ahead.

Wei Ying came back, laced their fingers together, and squeezed.

They found the body, leg broken, limbs contorted as though its owner was still trying to crawl to safety. An accident. Just an accident. It would have been a terrifying death, Lan Wangji thought, to be too injured to make the way back, alone with nobody to care that you were gone. Nobody had even searched for him when he didn’t arrive back promptly; he’d lived there for thirty years, the villagers had said, but nobody really knew him. They didn’t know where he might go or what he did most of the time. He, they said, kept to himself.

Nearly as soon as the body was found, the resentment holding him here began to disperse on its own. Though there was little need to play the qin for him, he did so anyway, hoping it could be a comfort, wishing that he might have performed Inquiry and learned something about the man, something more than a village full of people who did not know him could tell them.

“What’s wrong, Lan Zhan?”

“Nothing.” Then: “I wish we knew who it was.”

“We’ll let someone back in the village know,” Wei Ying said. “Lan Zhan, come on. There’s no reason to linger here.”

They made their way back slowly, following Wei Ying’s map and, at Wei Ying’s insistence, stopping in every village for tales of local hauntings. Most had nothing to say, at which point he poked around the area with a newer version of the compass he used to carry just to make sure. A few had similar, easy to handle concerns. These, they dealt with in hours, barely going out of their way to solve them. With each easy hunt, Wei Ying’s vigilance relaxed while Lan Wangji’s endurance strained itself. He was not used to so much travel in so short a time.

They passed a small settlement, barely more than a hamlet, that likely had no lodging for travelers. Still Wei Ying turned down the path that would have led them to it rather than keep going. “Wei Ying, let’s go home.”

“We can at least…?” But Wei Ying softened, looked first at the smattering of buildings, the handful of locals milling about. Things seemed peaceful here and Lan Wangji was growing weary.

“Wei Ying, I think your disciples were unlucky. We will prepare them better. They will be capable. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

Wei Ying opened his mouth to argue, then sighed. “My disciples. You’re right. Let’s go home.”

Though they were done night hunting, Wei Ying continued to fiddle with the compass as they made their way up the slopes outside the Burial Mounds. He’d toyed with it as they walked, musing aloud about how he might improve it. Occasionally, Lan Wangji looked over at him and at it, watched the arm spin listlessly.

“See how much better it works, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, amused. “Now it spins all on its own.”

“Further from the Burial Mounds it’s more useful.”

“I suppose it’s not my worst invention. Nobody would start a war over the compass of evil.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said in rebuke. They were long past the days when Wei Ying should feel guilty about such things even in jest. He had paid for his crimes, if they could even be called that, with his life and everything that came after.

If anyone should still owe a debt, it was Lan Wangji himself. The things he’d done were unforgiveable. The fall of a discipline whip across his back couldn’t make up the difference.

“So disapproving, Lan Zhan. Is it the name?”

Of course it wasn’t the name, but he very kindly didn’t scold Wei Ying further.

“Woah,” Wei Ying said, fumbling the device as it shook. The arm swung even more wildly before stopping, jittering as it pointed in a single direction. He slapped the side of it once, rattling it. “I think I spoke too soon, Lan Zhan.” With a great deal more drama than necessary, he sighed. “It’s malfunctioning again, I guess.”

They continued walking the path toward the Burial Mounds. Occasionally, Wei Ying consulted the compass. It remained stubbornly pointed in the same direction. Wei Ying frowned and bit his lip.

“What do you think it is?”

Humming, Wei Ying studied it again. “Going by this? Strong fierce corpse at a guess? It’s probably wrong.”

“I remember when it could barely point out the smallest soul-eating beast.”

Wei Ying smiled fondly. “Such different times, eh? Should we, ah, check it out just in case?”

Lan Wangji shook his head and freed the qin from its case and sat, settling it across his knees. “Allow me.” Over the years, he’d learned so much music, things no one should have known or could know, half-invented songs that he couldn’t truly determine the origin of. He played one of them, the same piece he’d played—well. Everybody who was still alive who’d participated in the war against Wen Ruohan knew exactly which piece.

This time, he was careful with it. He resurrected no dead as he reached out to locate the fierce corpse they might be dealing with. Wei Ying crouched next to him, head tilted curiously as he listened. Though it was his first time hearing it since then, he didn’t seem fearful or particularly concerned. “So lazy, Lan Zhan, making them come to you,” he murmured.

“Shh.”

“It sounded pretty like this,” was all he said when Lan Wangji was done. “How long do we wait?”

“I don’t know. How far away is it?”

Wei Ying shrugged. When he looked at the compass again, it was behaving as it had been, spinning around and around. Still, his attention was turned in the direction where it had been pointing moments ago. “Maybe we should check it out,” he said. “Just in case?”

“Very well.”

They walked together for a short time, Wei Ying pointing out roots and dips in the forest floor he feared Lan Wangji might not see. It was charming in its way just how diligent Wei Ying was.

Lan Wangji caught a flash of white ahead and so, it seemed, did Wei Ying, who sprinted off toward it, hand wrapped tight around Lan Wangji’s wrist, forcing him to sprint, too.

When they reached the source of the flash, Lan Wangji nearly stumbled in surprise.

“Well,” Wei Ying was saying. “I suppose this is why my trusty compass wasn’t working.” He turned toward Lan Wangji. “And why you couldn’t call them over.”

On the forest floor were four fierce corpses, laid out neatly, and Lan Wangji’s brother amidst them, ensuring they were properly laid to rest. Though he lifted his head in acknowledgment of them, he continued his work. Wei Ying, agitated, couldn’t help but crouch down, studying the corpses. They seemed fresh, dangerous. Not the sort of thing that was found often here. “Lan-zongzhu, this is quite the surprise.”

The way he spoke, it didn’t seem like a surprise to him at all.

“Is it?” his brother asked mildly. A small smile lifted his lips, one that immediately fell again. “I would have thought you were sharper than that.”

“Sharp enough to realize there’s a reason the Burial Mounds isn’t plagued with high-level fierce corpses and it’s not just that we’ve been lucky?”

“Wangji has done an excellent job over the years.” His brother looked up at him, but Lan Wangji was incapable of holding his gaze. Shame filled his chest. That he should see his brother like this… it wasn’t how he wanted to meet.

In truth, he hadn’t expected they would meet again.

“But?” Wei Ying asked.

“But there is only so much attention one man can give to a place such as this. Of course he would need to prioritize the inside of your compound.” Again, he looked at Lan Wangji. “Wangji, they are weaker than before, but…” But these were the slopes of the Burial Mounds. Weaker didn’t mean safe.

“There were never any reports,” Lan Wangji said. Though Lan Wangji hadn’t paid as much attention to the surrounding areas as he should have, too occupied in protecting the people behind his walls and Wei Ying both, he would have found out if anything truly monstrous was outside their gates.

A few fallen branches snapped. “As intended,” another voice said. Meng Yao. When Lan Wangji turned to look at him, he was wiping his hands on a small cloth square. Though the Lan Sect ribbon wasn’t wrapped around his forehead, he wore the pale blues and white robes that had long been associated with the sect.

“Lan-zongzhu has been looking out for us all this time?” Wei Ying asked, though it wasn’t truly a question.

“It was the least of what I should have done,” his brother said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t always be here. I was often unable to do more without arousing the elders’ suspicions.”

“It was more than the least,” Wei Ying said, simply and elegantly implying he could have done still more. His tone carried neither anger nor expectation. “But we’re grateful. There have been so few accidents over the years with our disciples. You wouldn’t believe how much this bothered me, not knowing why.” He rose to his feet and bowed deeply. “You’ve eased my mind greatly.”

For a time, Wei Ying helped his brother clean up while Lan Wangji could only stare. Wei Ying peppered him with questions about the various night hunts he’d conducted and his brother promised he’d have copies of the reports sent over. When they were done, Lan Wangji was not yet ready to lose his brother.

He did not want him to return to Cloud Recesses like this.

“Would you like to see the Burial Mounds?” Lan Wangji blurted when it seemed likely he would go.

“I would,” he said.

“Your uncle…” Meng Yao said.

“Our uncle cannot express approval or disapproval,” his brother answered, tense. “Will he hear about the visit from you?”

“Of course not.”

His brother’s shoulders relaxed. “Wangji, I should like to see your home, but we are expected back today. If I send word soon, would you allow me to come then?”

Though his fears told him he should rescind the offer, he did not.

“Whenever you would like to come,” he said. “We can meet you in Yiling and bring you back.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying called, waving an envelope in his hand as he entered the cave. “Your brother, I think—”

Lan Wangji took the envelope, carefully opened the letter. His brother, indeed, asking if Lan Wangji would be free to meet the following week. So soon, he thought. His brother had barely returned to Cloud Recesses. How had he had time to make such an arrangement? Lan Wangji wasn’t prepared. When he lifted his eyes from the page, Wei Ying was looking at him with such a strange mix of nervous gentleness that he didn’t quite know what he was supposed to do.

Get it over with, he supposed.

As they readied for bed later, Wei Ying fidgeted and shuffled around the room, never quite settling as he fussed with his piles of notes or brushed at their robes, carefully draped over a pair of stands they kept for that purpose.

He’d learned there were many ways in which he might turn Wei Ying’s attention from his nervousness, but there was only one method that was certain to calm him down. While Wei Ying moved on to tugging the corner of the bedding, pulling the fabric until it was smooth and even, Lan Wangji retrieved his comb from the bed stand and placed it in Wei Ying’s hand. “Wei Ying, is everything alright?”

When Lan Wangji sat on the edge of the bed, Wei Ying got onto his knees behind him, settling comfortably. Wei Ying’s body was warm and solid against his back, a back that was no longer pained so deeply by such touch. As Wei Ying drew the comb through the strands, careful enough that even when it caught on a tangle, it didn’t hurt. All the while, he hummed absently, strained. “I’m fine.”

Within moments, Lan Wangji felt the stirrings of Wei Ying’s arousal against his spine. Just what he was hoping for. It never failed, this. Any excuse that brought Wei Ying close eventually led here, but Wei Ying seemed especially fond of this method. Smiling slightly, he pressed his hand to Wei Ying’s flank and squeezed gently, encouraging. Wei Ying relaxed immediately. He tried again, “Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying continued, stubbornly, to comb Lan Wangji’s hair. “Lan Zhan, it’s fine.”

“You can tell me anything,” Lan Wangji said, reaching back and taking hold of Wei Ying’s wrist. He considered the fact that he often used to know what Wei Ying wanted without Wei Ying having to ask. After so much time spent together, he felt like it should have been easier. They would get there again one day, he hoped. Something to strive for. “Please.”

Wei Ying’s fingers were gentle as they ran through his hair. For a moment, Lan Wangji thought him satisfied with his work, Lan Wangji’s hair smooth and soft beneath his palm, except that he resumed combing almost immediately. Lan Wangji certainly wasn’t interested in stopping him if he wanted to keep at it. They needn’t rush toward anything.

It had been a difficult adjustment to make, no longer having to believe time was so precious.

Wei Ying continued to touch him, extravagant almost as he took one moment to squeeze his shoulder, another to brush his fingers over his neck, sometimes even his ear or his cheek. It sent Lan Wangji into a gentle lull and he yawned, too slow to stifle it before Wei Ying saw. Retreating, Wei Ying placed the comb on the small table beside their bed and laughed. “You’re too indulgent of this greedy one, er-gege.”

That, he did not dignify with a response.

Rather than answer, he climbed into bed, arranging himself on his side as he always did these days and waited for Wei Ying to wriggle in beside him. But when Wei Ying returned, he didn’t slip under the bedding right away. Instead, his gaze slid down Lan Wangi’s body and snapped back up. Lan Wangji’s throat dried. Good. Good, he should look at Lan Wangji that way. Only he then looked away, brow furrowing.

“Wei Ying?”

“You’re too handsome, too, Lan Zhan.”

Then why are you not here, making good use of your desire for me? “I should think that would be a good inducement for you to come to bed.”

“There’s so much to do,” Wei Ying said, fingers dancing lightly over his thighs, “to make things ready for your brother. I should—”

At Wei Ying’s words, a flutter of nervousness bursts within him. He was not ready either, but it would be better to get it over with. He, too, felt like there was much to do, but it would hold. “Wei Ying, come to bed.”

Lan Wangji rose onto his elbow and reached out, pulling Wei Ying in by the sash wrapped tightly around his waist. After tracing the line of Wei Ying’s jaw and caressing the scar from his eyebrow down to his cheek, he pulled Wei Ying in for a kiss.

Wei Ying finally clambered into bed, climbing over Lan Wangji’s body to settle on his side of it. For one perfect moment, Wei Ying curled close to him. Then he twisted around until his back was pressed to Lan Wangji’s chest. This was nothing out of the ordinary for them. In fact, it was so ordinary that Lan Wangji questioned it, especially when Wei Ying went so immediately still. Normally, he shifted until he was comfortable, hooking his ankle around Lan Wangji’s. Wei Ying especially liked it when Lan Wangji slid his leg between his.

This time, Wei Ying gasped and tried to squirm away when he did so. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji understood why he gasped. He did not understand why Wei Ying wanted to wriggle away.

Against Lan Zhan’s thigh, he felt the heat of Wei Ying’s body through the thin trousers he wore to bed. When his hand drifted down to cover Wei Ying’s lap, he was still half hard from earlier. Though he bit his lip, he let out a small moan.

Rolling them just enough that Wei Ying was half-pinned beneath his weight, Lan Wangji kissed the stretch of skin behind Wei Ying’s ear. Wei Ying pushed his shoulder back against him, said, “Lan Zhan, you don’t have to. I know you’re tired.”

“Not so tired.” In fact, he was growing less tired by the minute. Stroking his thumb slowly along the underside of the erection now curving up toward Wei Ying’s abdomen, he said, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” He turned his face into the bed, hair obscuring his eyes and his mouth as he inhaled, sharp.

“Wei Ying.”

“I know I’m constantly pestering you when we’re together like this. It’s always me pushing for something. I don’t want…”

Lan Wangji’s heart lurched. With his hand currently occupied, he couldn’t get a good hold on Wei Ying’s hip to make him stay, but he could lock his leg around Wei Ying’s. If he still wanted to get out from beneath Lan Wangji, he could. “Is that what you think?”

He ceased struggling, but said, “That’s how it is! I don’t want you to—”

He continued to touch Wei Ying like this, slow enough to be aggravating, as he searched his memory. There were fewer to choose from than he liked. This whole time, he’d considered himself entirely transparent and obvious, but he could recall… Wei Ying did often initiate touch between them. There was more to it, he thought, or hoped; he did not want to think Wei Ying felt truly neglected. If he did, it was Lan Wangji’s fault. He still sometimes expected Wei Ying to flinch from his touch and acted accordingly. That didn’t mean…

As Wei Ying rocked into his hand, he formed a loose circle with his fist that Wei Ying fucked into, haphazard and wild, dry through the cloth separating them. “What don’t you want?”

“I don’t… I don’t, ah, want you to feel obligated to me.”

Sighing, Lan Wangji squeezed his eyes closed, pressed his forehead to the back of Wei Ying’s neck and inhaled the faint scent of soap and sweat caught in his hairline. “What is this really about?” he asked, because though he could have been more proactive before, he couldn’t truly fault himself for wanting to be careful with Wei Ying’s body.

Wei Ying huffed. “Lan Zhan, please.”

He raked his teeth down the nobs of Wei Ying’s vertebrae until Wei Ying shivered and cried out beneath him. “I’ll give you what you need,” he replied in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “Just tell me.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated,” Wei Ying said, shuddering. A wet patch was spreading across his trousers. “That’s all.”

“Obligated in this?” That didn’t seem likely. Lan Wangji sped up. The rough rasp of his trousers couldn’t have been comfortable, but as he panted, he didn’t seem to mind the extra friction.

Frustrated, Wei Ying shook his head. “Obligated about anything! I don’t want you to feel obligated about anything. Lan Zhan, come on, I—I was just saying words. You don’t have to take me so seriously. I—fuck.”

No, the problem with Wei Ying was that he needed to be taken seriously especially in those moments when he pretended he was talking nonsense.

Lan Wangji went still, Wei Ying’s hips stuttering up into his hand. “Lan Zhan!”

He waited until he was certain Wei Ying was paying attention to him and not just the fact that his hand was no longer moving. “Wei Ying, you have never been an obligation to me. Do you understand?”

“Ah, fine. Yes! I’m not. Nothing is an obligation. That’s great, Lan Zhan—will you move?” He groaned in frustration, but Lan Wangji remained steady. “Please, just…”

“Do you?”

“Yes! I get it. It was a stupid thing to think. I know.”

“Do you feel obligated?”

“No.”

“But you think I would feel—”

“Lan Zhan! I don’t think anything.” He bit back a sob, rolled his hips.

He did though. He had to. Lan Zhan just didn’t understand why. And he feared he wouldn’t get the answer now, not with Wei Ying breathing so heavily, back heaving against Lan Wangji’s chest. By now, his trousers were a complete mess, sticky, clinging to Lan Wangji’s palm.

Wei Ying gasped. “Forget about it, please.”

He wouldn’t, but he couldn’t be cruel any longer either. One twist of his wrist was all it took for Wei Ying to climax, muffling the sound of his release in his bicep. Lan Wangji wished he wouldn’t, wished instead that he would shout and cry and cajole for more. As he slumped against the bed, getting his breath back, Lan Wangji retrieved a cloth and fresh trousers for him.

Though they normally slept chest to back, Wei Ying chose instead to tangle their legs together, pressing his chest to Lan Wangji’s as his hands skimmed lightly up his back. “How are the scars tonight?”

“Fine,” Lan Wangji answered. His back still ached often and sometimes the scars pulled uncomfortably, the knots of healed tissue straining.

“Can I do anything for you?”

He thought about Wei Ying feeling as though Lan Wangji never asked anything of him, that all he did was take without having the opportunity to give anything back. His understanding was flawed, but Lan Wangji empathized with the sensation. “Perhaps I’ll have you massage it for me when we return from Yiling.”

Huffing in tired amusement, Wei Ying nodded, head tucked against Lan Wangji’s neck. “Yiling, that’s right. Are you looking forward to seeing your brother?”

There were no words to describe how he felt about seeing his brother again. He felt he was safe with Wei Ying to speak the truth. “I don’t know.”

Wei Ying was fidgeting as they sat at the table in the restaurant they’d chosen, already prepared for three people. Lan Wangji’s brother was a punctual person, but he and Lan Wangji had arrived early. There was plenty of time to overthink this. For both of them apparently. “Wei Ying, you needn’t worry.”

Wei Ying startled, abashed. “Ah ha, Lan Zhan. Of course I do.”

Lan Wangji gazed at him until he crumbled under the weight of it.

“It’s your brother and he’s a sect leader and…”

“And?”

“And I would very much like it if this meant you might be welcomed back into your family one day.”

Lan Wangji paused in the middle of taking a sip from his cup of tea. His stomach turned. Nausea throbbed through him, turned thickly within the cage of his abdomen. “Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying lifted his eyes from the table. His fingers stopped tapping the sleek wooden surface of it. “What?”

“You have been my family,” Lan Wangji said. “Even if I could be welcomed back…” That was not what this meeting was about. “Have you thought this was a reconciliation the whole time?”

“Isn’t it?”

Lan Wangji shook his head. He of course couldn’t say what it was, but it wasn’t that. A step toward diplomatic ties, maybe, or just a chance to talk once again as brothers. “What we’ve built in the Burial Mounds is my home. I would not abandon it for a chance to return to Cloud Recesses.”

“But you’ve served your punishment. The Burial Mounds are fine. You could go back to stay if you wanted to.” From the paleness of Wei Ying’s features, it was clear this was the last thing he wanted. Of course that didn’t stop him from encouraging Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan, you’re not beholden to—there are others who can manipulate the resentful energy in the Burial Mounds now. It doesn’t have to be your cage.”

“I would find myself forced into seclusion,” Lan Wangji said. “Do you really see this entirely hypothetical return happening any other way?”

“Do you truly believe your brother would force that upon you? After everything he did for you?” Wei Ying sighed and pressed his fingertips to his forehead for a moment, massaging the space between his eyebrows. “I know what I was like back then, Lan Zhan, and I know you would do anything for me. Of course it was a cage. And worse, it was one that I made for you.”

No wonder Wei Ying was worried about Lan Wangji’s obligations if this was the kind of thing he had been thinking about.

“Our choices have been made,” Lan Wangji said. “This is mine. Would you go back to Lotus Pier if you could?”

Though Wei Ying chewed on his lip, he shook his head decisively. “I can’t, Lan Zhan. I owe the Wen for my brother’s life and someone has to be here to remind the rest of the cultivation world they can’t just run roughshod over everyone no matter how powerful they are.”

“But do you want to?”

“No.”

“But you think I do.”

“You keep throwing my words back at me.” Growing frustrated, Wei Ying sighed. “No! I’m saying it wrong. If he offers you a way back, I just want you to think it through. I want you to make a decision for you, not for me, not for the Burial Mound, not for anyone or anything else. That’s all.”

“I have thought it through,” Lan Wangji answered. He could be more stubborn than Wei Ying when the situation called for it and this one did. “Regardless, I do not believe he will. This is just a conversation that will upset us both over nothing.”

Wei Ying was kind not to mention that Lan Wangji was the one who made such an upsetting conversation possible.

“Aish, fine. Fine. Have it your way.”

“Gladly.”

Having lost to Lan Wangji, Wei Ying’s desire to speak fell away.

Though the silence between them was awkward, his hand settled on Lan Wangji’s knee, squeezing it lightly. A smile crossed his mouth, one that promised strength and trust and hope. It eased the pain in Lan Wangji’s heart. Their argument, such that it was, was forgotten in an instant.

Just in time.

His brother was suddenly standing in the entrance of the restaurant, as elegant as ever, dressed in dark, foreboding blues. Though he looked unreachable, there was relief in his gaze. He walked quickly to their table and lowered himself onto the mat across from Lan Wangji.

“I wasn’t really certain you would allow this,” his brother said. “Wangji, you’re looking well all things considered.” His attention drifted to Wei Ying. “And you? You look healthier.”

“I’m feeling healthier.”

Lan Xichen smiled broadly. “That’s good news.”

In the handful of weeks since they’d last seen one another outside the Burial Mounds’ gates, almost nothing about him had changed. His face remained as youthful as before despite all the stresses that would have pressed on him in Lan Wangji’s absence—because of his absence and his temporary return and every decision he’d made since abandoning Cloud Recesses to begin with. But his eyes, his eyes had changed immensely. There was such infinite sadness in them that Lan Wangji threatened to drown in it, as he sometimes felt he would drown in his own. Not even his relief at seeing Lan Wangji, perhaps seeing that he had not truly transformed into a monster, for all that he’d done monstrous things, seeing that he was improved, too, was quite enough to dent it.

Lan Wangji gripped Wei Ying’s hand in a fierce squeeze under the table, bones scraping together as Lan Wangji tensed.

He no longer recognized the relationship between himself and his brother even now that they were sitting across from one another. Their lives had travelled down such different paths. How could there be reconciliation? He’d done too much for it to be washed clean with words and a meeting in Yiling. This was folly. It was…

“Wangji, will you look at me at least?” The sound of his brother’s voice was so intimate, so quietly needful. It felt wrong that anybody, even him, should hear his brother sound so vulnerable.

Though Wei Ying remained quiet out of courtesy to Lan Wangji, Lan Wangji wished he would speak to fill the silence that fell between them. He could do nothing but lift his head again, give his brother what he wanted. He looked despite the shame that sat in his chest for how this had all played out.

Wei Ying rose to his feet, murmured that he’d be back with more tea.

Without him here, it was not easier to be near his brother.

“How are you?” his brother asked. “Have you healed?”

Lan Wangji nodded. “How did uncle take your decision to come here today?”

“He is unaware. A-Yao is running interference for me.” A rueful smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, slightly bitter. Even sect leaders were not all powerful. “Wangji, what exactly…”

Wei Ying returned, carrying a bowl of snacks, with the proprietor and a pot of tea in tow.

“How exactly do you see this ending? Will you all remain hidden in the Burial Mounds indefinitely?”

“It works for Baoshan Sanren and her disciples,” Wei Ying cut in, jovial. If it concerned the Burial Mounds, it was Wei Ying’s business, too. Lan Wangji was relieved to have Wei Ying take the lead. “Why not us?”

They all of them knew it could not truly be the same. Baoshan Sanren did not make a habit of destroying sects.

Lan Xichen offered his thanks for the tea and sipped thoughtfully.

“We just want to be left alone,” Wei Ying said, resuming his seat at Lan Wangji’s side. “We would like to help where we can and perhaps serve as a reminder. We don’t intend to harm anyone else.”

“I was not under the impression you intended to harm anyone,” Lan Xichen said. “These things sometimes happen regardless of our desires.”

Wei Ying’s gaze was heavy, considering. “They do,” he said. “Don’t they?”

“There are those who would still see the settlers in the Burial Mounds punished for their actions in the past,” his brother said. “Minor sects, mostly, ones that have been garnering more power in the years since the war. There are rumors of a device…”

Wei Ying’s hand covered Lan Wangji’s knee again, patting lightly. “My memory isn’t what it once was, but I feel sure we addressed this with you already.”

Lan Xichen shook his head. “With me, yes, but no one else. I’m only asking you both to consider what you will need to do to be seen as legitimate in the eyes of the cultivation world. There are those who want you to pay and those who think you harbor greater powers than you truly do.”

Wei Ying squeezed his knee even harder. This isn’t your lie to tell, he didn’t have to say. Let me tell it. “That’s presupposing we want to be seen as legitimate.”

“You want to be safe, is that not so? Legitimacy and stability will help.”

“You should see the Burial Mounds first and then you can decide whether we need those things.”

Lan Wangji didn’t know why Wei Ying was being so difficult, pleasantly glossed though that difficulty was, but he kept quiet.

“Wei-zongzhu, I appreciate that you feel this way, but the other cultivation sects still largely fear what you are capable of. There are consequences to that, consequences Wangji will have to bear and must take into consideration.”

Wei Ying’s jaw clenched. The pleasant gloss fell away. “What consequences has he not already borne? How is that not punishment enough? You tell me how he has done wrong and I will show you where wrongs were done first.”

“At Lanl—”

Wei Ying’s fist clenched. It didn’t relax even when Lan Wangji covered it with his. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying did not want to hear him. “Don’t speak to me of Lanling. Do any of you even truly realize what was done there? To elders and children and infirm adults who weren’t a threat to anyone? What Lan Zhan did was no worse than that.”

“You weren’t there either,” Lan Xichen pointed out. “In fact, you were—”

“No. You can’t believe he would have done that just because—he is a good man. You’ve fought to protect him this whole time. Don’t go back on that. Jin Guangshan was—I know what he was.”

“I’ve protected him because he’s my brother.”

“And that is the right thing to do.”

“The cultivation world—”

“The cultivation world can continue as it has been for all I care. As long as we have the means to protect innocent people, we’ll do what we have to. In this, you can’t question Lan Zhan’s heart.”

“His heart—”

“His heart is good. What he can do is terrifying, yes, but so is what you can do, what all of us can do! He is more principled than anyone else even so. Jin Guangshan cultivated a righteous path. He never once helped in the fight against Wen Ruohan. He lied and had people tortured out of greed. That is the truth. If others won’t see it, that’s not Lan Zhan’s fault.”

“Xiongzhang, he was searching for a way to recreate Wei Ying’s discoveries. They were not righteous, the things he did in that pursuit. You know this.”

“And the other members of that sect that you slaughtered?”

“They were all complicit,” Wei Ying interjected. “He left everyone else alone. If you’re so against Lan Zhan now, why did you help him when he came back to Cloud Recesses? Why did you let him go again? Lan-zongzhu, I find this all incredibly—”

His brother’s eyes flashed, but Lan Wangji did not think Wei Ying understood the significance. “Because when the rest of the world starts questioning why I’m standing beside him as sect leader, I need to know exactly how to respond,” he said sharply. “Saying he is my brother will not be enough.”

His brother’s words stopped Wei Ying’s momentum immediately. The fight drained out of him, leaving behind confusion. “We’ve done fine so far,” Wei Ying said, uncertain, wary. “We don’t need you to stoop to—”

“It is not stooping.” To Lan Wangji, he said, “I should like to see the Burial Mounds if you’re ready to show them to me.” In his eyes, Lan Wangji saw a plea, a request for forgiveness that was never Lan Wangji’s to give.

His brother hadn’t done anything wrong.

He wouldn’t have done anything wrong by staying away either, yet he was here all the same, offering the support of his sect, risking everyone in Cloud Recesses he held dear to say he condoned their actions. It was more than reconciliation; it was so large, he couldn’t rightly say what it was or what it meant to him.

Lan Wangji nodded anyway, just once. It didn’t need to be said that Lan Wangji didn’t blame him, but his shoulders relaxed from their defensive hunch anyway. They understood one another.

Lan Wangji no longer feared to show him what they’d wrought here.

If Lan Xichen was nervous about coming to the Burial Mounds, he did not show it as he was led through the gate. Though he eyed it as they passed—too smooth outsiders might think, too large, terrifying to the eye, unnatural almost. Intimidating. Too perfect in its construction—he didn’t seem curious about it. It made Wei Wuxian wonder how close to the Burial Mounds he’d come when he’d done sweeps of the areas outside of it. Probably, he thought, too close. If anyone could avoid tripping their various alarms, it was Lan Xichen. Did he ever consider trying to see Lan Zhan only to turn away at the last moment, coming this far, but going no further?

This was a question he didn’t intend to ask. What Lan Xichen did or did not do in the past was none of Wei Wuxian’s concern.

Though he’d had time to reconcile himself to this reunion, Wei Wuxian was still surprised, still hopeful, still worried that something would go wrong. He didn’t distrust Lan Xichen, but he couldn’t quite embrace Lan Xichen’s sudden willingness to accept them either. He feared it would hurt Lan Zhan somehow. He feared fruitlessly that he would have to say goodbye to Lan Zhan at this gate, expecting never to see him again, that somehow his need to face judgment would again get the better of him. Lan Zhan’s hand found his. His fingers, cool, calloused, wrapped themselves gently around Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

It was only once they were inside that Lan Xichen’s perfect polish slipped into something more expected: a hint of bewilderment crossing his face. No more gossip. No more rumors. Just the truth of the Burial Mounds firsthand.

It was a cloudy day, neither particularly beautiful nor awful, and most of the villagers were busy with completing as much work as they could while the sun was hidden away, the air brisk and easy as a crisp wind pushed down the slopes.

“Not what you expected, Lan-zongzhu?” Wei Wuxian asked, probing, a question he felt qualified to ask. At Wei Wuxian’s side, Lan Zhan tensed.

“The last account I heard was Yu-furen’s after…”

“Xiongzhang.”

“I’m not here to dredge up history.” Lan Xichen lowered his eyes.

Wei Wuxian was willing to follow Lan Zhan’s lead here: the less said about those times, the better. “Lan Zhan’s worked tirelessly for so many years.”

“You’re able…” He gestured at the fruits of Lan Zhan’s labors. “…with your new skills?”

“It’s not all resurrecting the dead,” Wei Wuxian said.

“So I see.” Though clearly moved by what he was seeing, he said nothing else, gave no credit to Lan Zhan for his efforts. Perhaps he couldn’t, not yet. This was too new to him.

Lan Zhan’s features fell. He said nothing. It made Wei Wuxian want to fill the silence with every story he knew of Lan Zhan’s skills, his sacrifices. There were so many of them, but so many were not his to tell.

“Shall we show you the rest of it?” Wei Wuxian said.

“There’s more?”

“Come.”

Though Wei Wuxian kept hoping Lan Zhan would speak, he didn’t and so it was left to Wei Wuxian to point out items of interest.

They stopped at one of the training grounds to watch as one of the older cultivators taking the youths around her through various sword forms. For all that the woman was laughing and kind, the children were disciplined and hardworking. When she noticed them, Wei Wuxian waved, but indicated she should continue.

“There has been talk of you recruiting other demonic cultivators,” Lan Xichen said, musing. “We’d wondered how you would train your disciples.”

Wei Wuxian grimaced. “How many demonic cultivators do you think there are, Lan-zongzhu?”

“Jin Guangshan wasn’t the only one seeking to harness your power.”

“How far did they get?”

“Not very far, I don’t think. Most people assumed they came here.”

“Nobody has come for that reason. If you have any leads… we clean up our messes.”

Lan Xichen tipped his head in acknowledgment.

“We teach those who come how to harness resentful energy if they wish to learn,” he admitted, “but there are skills we have no intention of passing along either. The children are cultivating golden cores by similar means as those from other sects.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Perhaps you’d like to meet Wen Yuan,” Wei Wuxian said. “Where is he today, Lan Zhan?”

“There was a patch of resentful energy found along the southern wall where some of the villagers are clearing space for another field. I believe he’s taking care of it.”

“Shall we?”

“I would be interested to see,” Lan Xichen admitted.

The clever strains of dizi music reached their ears first. Crisply and cleanly executed, it was enough even to make Wei Wuxian proud though he hadn’t been the one to teach him. The air here was thicker than elsewhere, oppressive, but each note cut through it, clear and refreshing.

Wei Wuxian’s palms itched with the desire to help, his dizi sitting on his belt just waiting for the opportunity, but the point was to show how others were trained.

As they approached, Wen Yuan turned, never once faltering in his playing. He acknowledged them with a slight dip of his head and returned to subduing a fierce corpse that had pulled itself from the ground, probably roused by the recent work being done in this area. Every time he looked Wen Yuan, it was harder to see the chubby cheeked baby who toddled across the Burial Mounds on unsteady little legs and favored his Zhan-gege most of all.

Lan Xichen’s hand fell to his sword, wrapping around the scabbard as though he expected something to go wrong here. It wouldn’t, of course. Wen Yuan was already so skilled. One fierce corpse—and an old one at that—wouldn’t cause him any trouble.

Within moments he was done, clearing the worst of the resentful energy that curled and clung to the earth.

“Wei-zongzhu,” Wen Yuan bowed and, oh, how Wei Wuxian hated it, to be referred to as such by Wen Yuan. “Lan-laoshi.” Wen Yuan’s gaze flicked to Lan Xichen’s forehead ribbon and then down at his sword. He tilted his head for a moment and then recognition flashed. To Lan Xichen, he offered an even more respectful bow. “Lan-zongzhu. My apologies. I didn’t know to expect a guest.”

He was so proper. Lan Zhan’s influence assuredly. If Wei Wuxian had been around for the whole duration of his childhood, would he have grown up any differently?

“You did well, Wen Yuan,” Lan Zhan said.

Wen Yuan bowed again. “Thank you, laoshi. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“How old are you?” Lan Xichen asked.

“Thirteen.” He spoke this humbly, as though he wasn’t perfectly aware of how incredible his skills truly were. “Lan-laoshi is an excellent teacher. As is Wei-zongzhu.”

Lan Xichen smiled. “Will you tell me a bit more about your training?”

The tips of Lan Zhan’s ears went a delicate shade of pink. Wen Yuan didn’t seem to notice any of this as he praised Lan Zhan to Lan Xichen, explaining with the exuberance only fearless children could have, about the things he’d been learning.

“May I?” Lan Xichen asked, gesturing at Wen Yuan’s wrist.

Lan Xichen hummed and released him, apparently satisfied.

“How did this happen?” Lan Xichen asked. “All of this?”

It was funny, Wei Wuxian thought, that one of the cultivation world’s most valued leaders was only now asking such a question. Shaking his head slightly, he turned toward Wen Yuan and squeezed his shoulder. “Head back and rest. We’ll take a look around to ensure there’s nothing else out here, alright?”

Wen Yuan nodded, bowed yet again, and gave his farewells to Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan. Without Wen Yuan here, Wei Wuxian felt more comfortable speaking. “Wen Qing and Wen Ning got caught up in Jin Guangshan’s attempts to build the device you’ve heard so many rumors about. It wasn’t pretty. He was experimenting with… I don’t even know.” He gestured toward the edge of the path the villagers had been working to build into this part of the forest. Past it, the way was wilder, but they could leave behind indications of the best way forward. “Shall we?”

“He was purposefully cultivating resentment in people,” Lan Zhan said, cold, as they began walking. “Before having them killed.”

“Wangji…”

“I saw it myself,” he said. “I met the boy he tasked with finding the answer.”

He did not need to say more to explain what happened to the boy. It was obvious enough. That, too, was ancient history.

“They needed fierce corpses to test different means of controlling them,” Wei Wuxian offered.

“There are plenty enough to—” Lan Xichen said.

“Apparently not enough. I owe Wen Qing and Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian continued before Lan Xichen could question Lan Zhan further. “They protected Jiang Cheng during the war. I was and remain determined to pay my debt. Lan Zhan… got caught up in it.”

Though Lan Xichen’s expression grew troubled, he nodded. They continued walking. Wei Wuxian continued to leave pulsing marks along the trees for the villagers to follow.

“I don’t expect anyone else to understand. Not now. I used to think… well, it doesn’t matter. I know what the world is like now. I can only protect what is mine and do what right in the world I can. That’s all I want. As long as the rest of the world leaves us alone, I don’t care if we remain small and ignored, a place where people with nowhere else to go end up. I think that would be a very good life.” Wei Wuxian looked back at Lan Zhan and winked. “I might not be one of the world’s eligible bachelors anymore,” he added, “but I’ve found something much better.”

“Wangji?”

“Wei Ying and I are of a mind in this.”

“Even the part about eligible bachelors?” Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but interject.

“Though I have not considered myself a bachelor in quite some time,” he answered as Wei Wuxian nearly tripped over an exposed root, “it is true that I have also found something better.”

“L-lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian straightened up and drew in a breath, laughing awkward. “So shameless.”

He did not seem cowed at all. Instead, he held out his hand for Wei Wuxian to take. Wei Wuxian grasped it tightly as Lan Xichen studied Lan Zhan’s face.

“I will report what I’ve seen here to the other sects. I don’t know that you will be welcomed by them and I can’t guarantee others won’t come to investigate, but there is to be a discussion conference a year from now and I intend to invite Yiling Wei to attend. I expect you both to come.”

An invitation to a Lan Sect discussion conference. Nie Huaisang will be pleased.

“What about your uncle? Will he…?” In all this, Lan Zhan still deserved a chance to be close with his family. If he would not go back for good, he would get everything Wei Wuxian could wheedle out of them for him.

“I don’t know,” Lan Xichen admitted, “but I’ll do my best.”

Lan Zhan squeezed Wei Wuxian’s hand in protest. “Xiongzhang, you needn’t.”

“That’s the problem in this world, I think.” His mouth lifted in a wistful smile. “A lot of people think such a phrase absolves them of their culpability. It is very well of you to think I need do nothing, but it isn’t the truth.” His gaze directed itself to the sky, still heavy with thick cloud cover. “May I be allowed to return?”

Startled, Lan Zhan said, “You would be welcome.”

One Year Later

“Is this truly necessary?” Wei Wuxian asked as Lan Zhan fussed with his robes, robes that were heavy and hot and far too ornate for him, sumptuous reds that was so dark it almost looked black under certain kinds of light. As much as he enjoyed having Lan Zhan’s hands on him, it was too much. He’d grown too used to the simple garb he wore throughout his days in the Burial Mounds. This pageantry was not something he missed. “These robes could feed Wen Yuan for months. Where did we even get them?”

Lan Zhan looked good at least, wearing robes of almost the same cut and color. If Lan Zhan wasn’t so good at slapping Wei Wuxian’s hands away, he’d have another go at trying to open them up. “Wen Yuan is well-fed,” Lan Zhan said placidly, taking Wei Wuxian’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, “and we have not had to worry about how anyone else would be fed in years either, before you start in with that.”

“But—”

“It is one discussion conference,” Lan Zhan replied, “and you don’t want Jiang-zongzhu to complain that you’re not taking this seriously.”

“That was the argument you used on me to get me here,” Wei Wuxian agreed, “but I recant. This is—”

“Ridiculous. I am aware.”

“I was going to say a waste of time.”

“It isn’t that.”

Wei Wuxian’s shoulders drooped. His fingers brushed at Lan Zhan’s temples, attention catching on the hairs already beginning to gray. Wei Wuxian’s likely would not follow for many years, but it did not matter. Wei Wuxian did not intend to leave Lan Zhan for long when the time came.

He had grown preoccupied with time of late, because it seemed to be slipping through his fingers as Wei Wuxian was expected more and more to be Sect Leader Wei for the greater cultivation world. He couldn’t just while away the hours with Lan Zhan. He was expected to keep up correspondence with the other sects and meet with people and—

Lan Zhan captured his hand. “Don’t,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss into Wei Wuxian’s knuckles.

“But Lan Zhan—”

“You needn’t worry.” Lan Zhan turned his wrist, pulled at the hem of the fabric clinging to his forearm until his skin was exposed. “I intended to tell you after the conference was over. You’ve been busy preparing.”

“Tell me…?”

“After you brought back Wen Qing’s medical texts from Lanling, she found references to treatments related to injuries to a person’s golden core written by past Wen physicians who’d encountered incidences similar to mine,” he said. “Not only had Jin-zongzhu sent her personal collection, he sent along everything Jin Guangshan had discovered and taken, too. This wider collection included a book which contained the technique Wen Zhuliu learned to destroy them. Apparently Wen Ruohan was very interested in discovering the extent of Wen Zhuliu’s powers. It was enough for Wen Qing to…”

Something stirred in his heart that he hadn’t experienced in years, something he’d forgotten the shape and texture of. “Lan Zhan…”

“She felt moved to ask me about it when she discovered this text. It was my decision to wait to tell you,” he continued, unwilling to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “I am sorry for the deception. I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t work.”

“Lan Zhan, just say it, please.”

“Because I was fighting Wen Zhuliu at the time of the incident,” he said, “because he was dying, too… my golden core was destroyed. Mostly. Wen Qing said my meridians had been burned through. Mostly.”

Wei Wuxian blinked to clear the gleam in his eyes.

“But it was not destroyed completely. I was entirely cut off from that method of cultivation, but because enough of the channels throughout my body remained intact, Wen Qing has been able to repair some of the damage. You can feel for yourself what progress I’ve made if you wish.”

“Lan Zhan, be reasonable.”

“I don’t think I should have survived the discipline whip if there was nothing in me that could be recovered,” Lan Zhan was saying. Wei Wuxian could barely hear his words over the wild beating of his own heart. “Wen Qing believes you insisting on sharing your spiritual energy kept me alive long enough for me to begin to heal on my own. I see no reason to disagree.”

“That’s not—I was being stubborn. I couldn’t have—”

“I would not have survived any of this if not for you, going back far longer than that. You did save me. In every possible way, you saved me.”

Fingers shaking, unable to believe, but unable to disbelieve, too, because Lan Zhan wouldn’t lie to him about this, he pressed his hand to the inside of Lan Zhan’s wrist. He passed a bit of spiritual energy to Lan Zhan, probing, and earned a flare of recognition in return. “Lan Zhan, this is…”

“I still have a long way to go. I don’t know if I’ll ever match you again—”

“You don’t have to.” The possibility that he could have even this much again was enough for Wei Wuxian. “You’re perfect like this.”

“I’m greedy,” Lan Zhan said. “I want to spend as many years by your side as I am capable of earning for myself. I will work hard to do so.” Lan Zhan smiled at him, gentle, and cupped Wei Wuxian’s cheek while swiping his thumb under Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “I expect you to ensure I do. I never want you to go easy on me.”

Wei Wuxian laughed and settled his hand over Lan Zhan’s. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“As soon as this conference is over, I will ask you to do much more than that.”

As soon as it was over, Wei Wuxian mourned. It would feel like ages until that happened.

It was with some surprise that Wei Wuxian saw Jin Zixuan as he entered the main hall with Lan Zhan. He was currently engrossed in a conversation with Meng Yao and Mo Xuanyu, eyes darting briefly to the Jiang contingent, already seated on the opposite side of the room.

Wei Wuxian noted, with no small degree of pain, the way his shijie stared at the table in front of her. He’d have to do something about that.

There was one thing that could be said about Lan Sect discussion conferences: nobody wanted them done as quickly as Lan Xichen did.

“Did you miss the food, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian whispered as Lan Sect disciples brought dish after mild dish to each of the desks in the room. As befitted a feast in Cloud Recesses, it was conducted quietly, which meant Jiang Cheng was able to hear him from the next desk over and offered a waspish shh that Wei Wuxian immediately ignored. Just like old times.

Only when it was polite to do so did Lan Zhan taste it. Wei Wuxian was watching him eagerly, looking forward to the delight he expected to see, and found himself shocked when Lan Zhan’s nose wrinkled. If he hadn’t been so focused on him at that exact moment, he never would have seen it. “I don’t think I did,” Lan Zhan said, as mild as the plates of vegetables sat before him. Though Wei Wuxian pushed one of his own plates toward Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan shook his head and pushed it back. “It would be inconsiderate to turn down my brother’s hospitality, Wei Ying.”

“For the love of—” Jiang Cheng said. “Just eat the—”

“Shh, Jiang Cheng, don’t be rude.”

“I didn’t miss you,” Jiang Cheng said, lofty as he pointedly swallowed a bite of his own meal. All without swallowing, Wei Wuxian noticed, like he was trying to avoid tasting it, too.

“Don’t worry, Jiang Cheng. I’ll miss you enough for both of us.” Soon. He prodded mournfully at the dish before him. A fan flicked open in his peripheral vision. Behind the arc of it, Nie Huaisang’s eyes gleamed, his desk too far for Wei Wuxian to call out to him. Wei Wuxian looked away before he embarrassed them all. Soon it would be over.

Only after the feast did he find time to talk to shijie.

“Shijie,” he called as he swept into the rooms set aside for Jiang Cheng, her, and—

Wei Wuxian bowed so deeply he nearly snapped something in his back, reflexive. All of a sudden he was fifteen again and about to be scolded for stealing watermelons. “Yu-furen.”

“Now that you’re a sect leader you know how to show respect at least,” she said, mouth curling in what might have been amusement. “It only took you, what, five days to come?”

“I—”

“Mother,” his dearest shijie said. “I’m sure A-Xian was very busy.”

Madam Yu sniffed. As far as excuses went, it wasn’t one of shijie’s best, but he appreciated it all the same.

“My apologies, Yu-furen. I’ve owed you my time for much longer than this discussion conference. I’ve been told what you tried to do for me.” Though she, like everyone, didn’t understand the nature of what he underwent, he still… a lump still developed in the back of his throat. “Thank you for…” But theirs wasn’t a relationship in which they honestly spoke their feelings. It would only embarrass her to acknowledge this as what Wei Wuxian understood it to be: an act of caring, something he never would have expected from her. “Thank you.”

A mortifying moment of true emotion past between them, quickly put away, forgotten as soon as they broke eye contact. They would never have to acknowledge it again. It was enough that they’d shared this. She swept from the room before Wei Wuxian could embarrass her further.

Jiang Cheng, equally allergic to feeling, retreated as well. That was for the best. He had something he wished to tell shijie, something that would hopefully keep her from staring so sadly at her lap again, something that was private adn only belonged to them.

“Shijie, you still care for Jin-zongzhu, don’t you?” he blurted before Jiang Cheng could decide to come back.

“I—” Her eyes widened in surprise and her cheeks grew red. “No, I couldn’t—not after…”

“Shijie, I’m not this stupid,” he answered, taking hold of her hands. “I saw you. It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “A-Xian, what he did…”

What he did was getting caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. “He tried to save me. I was going to leave it alone because he didn’t seem well the last time I saw him, but he was here. He was looking at you, too. One of my biggest regrets in all this has been that you got caught in the middle of what went on between us and you chose me, but it’s not necessary. I promise it’s not. It was an accident. He’s a good man for you, I think. He’d be… you deserve to be happy. If you want to find it with him, then I fully expect to be invited to your wedding. I’ll be the most obnoxious about celebrating your happiness.”

She searched his face for signs of a lie she would never find. “A-Xian, of course I would choose you. I—”

And then she threw herself into his arms and crushed him in her embrace.

It didn’t hurt at all to be held so tightly. “You don’t have to. Not this time.”

He found Lan Zhan in the jingshi later, half hunched as he knelt on the floor. In truth, he was not surprised to see it. He’d weathered their time here well so far, but he knew it was a strain, that Lan Zhan might crumble under it at any time.

“Lan Zhan?” he asked, when Lan Zhan didn’t lift his head or acknowledge him. Kneeling next to him, he braced his hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Lan Zhan?”

His hand was wrapped in a tight fist around a long, thin ribbon, too small to be for a fully grown member of the Lan Sect. It trailed from his grip and pooled on the floor. Gently, Wei Wuxian picked up the ends, holding them carefully until Lan Zhan was able to take them back. The fabric was spotted with wetness to match the tears still dripping down Lan Zhan’s chin.

“Shufu…” he began.

If Lan Qiren did anything to Lan Zhan…

“Shufu brought this to me,” he managed, a struggle, “while you were gone. It was mine when I was younger.”

“Lan Zhan…”

“He told me I should take it.” He paused as he dragged in a rasping breath. “He said he thinks I can honor where I came from.”

“What do you want to do?” Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he’d be able to get rid of this ribbon either if Lan Zhan decided to discard it, but he would try. If that was what he wanted. There was no need to hold the past so tightly.

Lan Zhan’s fist tightened further and then his hand relaxed entirely. He stared down at it in wonder, ribbon slithering again from his grasp. “Do you think I can keep it?”

This time, it was Wei Wuxian pulling someone into a soul-crushing hug. If he had known there would be so many going around today, he might have prepared himself better. Lan Zhan returned the embrace just as solidly. “Lan Zhan, it was always yours.”

Fifteen Years Later

“How do you feel, A-Yuan?” Wei Wuxian asked, brushing at the shoulders of Wen Yuan’s new robes. “Like a sect leader yet? New robes and a fancy new hall with which to host boring conferences. Fun, right?”

Wen Yuan arched his eyebrow. He, like Lan Zhan, was taller than him—only by a little, but still—and got to look down his handsome nose at Wei Wuxian. It was devastating how handsome he was. He was definitely worthy of being on the most eligible bachelors’ list. Wei Wuxian always knew it would happen. “Is that all it takes?”

Wei Wuxian laughed. “Oh, no. You’ll never feel like a sect leader, Wen-zongzhu. You’ll just have to pretend and trust that everyone else believes it.”

Wen Yuan was not a man who pouted, but he came very, very near to it. “Jingyi is going to make fun of me.”

“Lan Jingyi is the head disciple of Gusu Lan, personally tutored by both Lan-xiansheng and Lan-zongzhu. He’ll only laugh behind his hand when he can pretend you’re not looking. It’ll be fine. Just bully him back. He might fall in love with you then.”

Wen Yuan flushed such a violent shade of red that Wei Wuxian worried he’d have to try forcing Wen Qing to take the position of sect leader from him because Wen Yuan died of embarrassment. If only she hadn’t declined, saying she preferred treating patients to giving preferential treatment to whining sect leaders. “Xi—Wei-zongzhu, are you sure about this?”

“What did you say? I heard the start of my name, but then I think you referred to someone else. There’s no Wei-zongzhu here.” Wei Wuxian brought his hand up behind his ear. “Would you repeat?”

“…Xian-ge.”

Wei Wuxian grinned.

“Are you sure about this, Xian-ge? I don’t think—I’m not ready for this. Why do you want to go so soon?”

Grabbing Wen Yuan by the shoulders, Wei Wuxian shook him slightly and then patted his cheek. “I made a promise to my husband once upon a time. I’d like to see it through. We’ll be back soon enough.”

“But—”

“But you were trained by me and Lan Zhan and Wen Qing. I know you know what to do and you’ll be even better than I was. You have her and Wen Ning and everyone else here to back you up.” He tweaked Wen Yuan’s nose and enjoyed the bashful smile that bloomed on Wen Yuan’s mouth. “We’re all so proud of you, you know?”

“Xian-ge…”

“Now,” he said, “it’s really time for me to go. Lan Zhan’s waiting.”

“If you changed your mind,” Wei Wuxian said, wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan from behind as he looked at their cottage, closed up for the time being. His qin was packed and standing next to him, not yet slung over his shoulders. “I’m sure Wen Yuan would be pleased.”

“I was merely reminiscing,” Lan Zhan said. “I’m ready.”

“What should we do first?”

“I don’t know.” Lan Zhan turned, nose brushing against Wei Wuxian’s. “What would you like to do?”

Wei Wuxian bit his lip, a long, long lifetime of possibilities opening up to him with the question. They had a world full of options in their hands. They’d discussed, from time to time, what to do with the seal. The more established the Burial Mounds became, the clearer it was that, instead of being a fair advantage in a world that was against them, it could one day become an unfair advantage, a device that could be used for ill. For a long time, he’d feared what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands. He’d feared what would happen after he and Lan Zhan were gone.

These things, he didn’t have to fear any longer.

He and Lan Zhan could remain in this world, they could protect what was theirs, trusting themselves and their own judgment, knowing from the mistakes they’d made what would be too far.

“Let’s get rid of the seal,” Wei Wuxian said. “Take it far away and figure out how to destroy it.”

“That could take years.”

“Or it could take minutes. We’ve never tried, have we? But, Lan Zhan, does it matter?”

“No.” Lan Zhan smiled, as Wei Wuxian had hoped he would.

His mistakes, his burdens, his successes, his joy, he could give them all to Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan would, he knew now, always be strong enough to carry them. He could take all of Lan Zhan’s without hoarding them, thinking they were precious, that one day, there would be nothing left of Lan Zhan to take. No, Lan Zhan was here and always would be. Just like Wei Wuxian.

His heart, he would give as he always has. With or without regret, it had always belonged to Lan Zhan.

But there would, he knew, be so many fewer regrets going forward.

END