Chapter Text
Lan Wangji knows that Jiang Wanyin despises demonic cultivators for multiple reasons, yet he believes he knows the largest one–because it is one of Lan Wangji's, too.
That is, seeing Wei Ying's work is both a painful reminder and incredibly distasteful, as none of these practitioners have the grace or genius Wei Ying did. The clean lines of arrays, the elegant grace of his talismans are forgotten in favor of bastardized, jagged strokes of ink and frenzied, manic writings. They use the blood of the living and unwilling, something Wei Ying never did.
None of the cultivators hold Wei Ying's sense of justice, either, and it is that which Lan Wangji hates the most.
There is no justice in summoning the unrestful dead and using their power to possess others' bodies, simply for petty personal revenge. The targets of the demonic cultivator's wrath are not even the ones being possessed– instead, she has been targeting passing cultivators, hoping to use their baseline level of skill along with the power of the possessing spirit.
Lan Wangji is not a passing cultivator, unknowing of her scheme, but he has been caught nonetheless, pushed into the array by sheer number of possessed enemies. This would be easier if said enemies were fierce corpses, but they are both living and Jiang-associated, and therefore need to be contained instead of killed.
Jiang Wanyin is busy with the cultivator herself and has not appeared to notice how Lan Wangji stumbled into the trap. At least the possessed individuals halt their attacks on Lan Wangji, lingering at the edges of the array.
At first, he wonders if it has taken any effect at all, as the only thing that is different is a cool breeze and the whisper of a voice in his ear.
You're a powerful one, aren't you?
Lan Wangji pulls on his golden core, fortifying himself against the spectral tendrils that reach inside his body towards his core, towards his soul, seeking to stifle his control and pull his mind away.
I think you'll do nicely. I wasn't going to take a vessel myself, but…
This is unprecedented. This level of consciousness implies that the demonic cultivator was not simply attaching ambient souls to people, but that there was organization. Jiang Wanyin will be able to break the connection, of course; the man is as much of an expert in demonic cultivation as one can be, now, with how often he deals with cultivators and confiscates their notes. The problem comes from the interim, and if Jiang Wanyin will be given an opportunity before he is stopped.
Lan Wangji feels a jolt in his chest, as though someone has lodged a fishhook into one of his ribs and yanked. His body goes stumbling after the pull, pausing at the edge of the circle.
The more you fight, the more this hurts, you know.
Lan Wangji is not one to give up, especially not on the word of a malevolent spirit. He has suffered pain before.
He gathers his energy, his willpower, and attempts to jerk himself out of the array, even if it means falling to the ground.
"Lan Wangji," Jiang Wanyin's voice calls, the man himself hurrying over. When Lan Wangji (with much effort) drags his gaze behind the man, he can see the demonic cultivator limp on the ground, bound with Zidian. Jiang Wanyin does not directly approach him–he pauses often, slapping a talisman against the forehead of each possessed cultivator that jerks towards him. They fall, unfortunate puppets with their strings cut, to be caught by the sect leader and set on the ground before being summarily bound. "What are you–"
Stopping not far away, he hesitates, one brow raised, before glancing down. Lan Wangji watches an array of emotions flash across his face–surprise, annoyance, worry, anger–before it settles into resignation. "Why is it always you?" he asks, sounding exhausted.
Lan Wangji opens his mouth to say something, to tell Jiang Wanyin about the more powerful spirit, but as soon as he does the darkness coalesces. Thick, dark fog begins pouring into his mouth, down towards his lungs.
Well. At least Jiang Wanyin will know something is different about this spirit, now.
"Shit." A brief moment of hesitance; Jiang Wanyin seems to be in conflict with himself, eyes flicking between Lan Wangji, the other cultivators, and the array. Then he seems to decide, lifting a finger to point at Lan Wangji. "Don't go anywhere while I restrain the others."
The spirit laughs in Lan Wangji's ear.
A foolish choice. We will destroy him easily.
There is no we. Lan Wangji will not let there be. He will defend himself (and therefore, Jiang Wanyin) from the spirit.
Jiang Wanyin works quickly, rendering each person unconscious and restrained in a matter of minutes. He returns briefly to the demonic cultivator, slapping two more talismans onto her before retrieving Zidian, which crackles quietly on his wrist.
When he approaches Lan Wangji again, it is with caution. "It's better to let this finish before kicking the thing out of you," he says lowly, glancing down at the array and up again. "From what I can tell. Otherwise it'll hurt like a bitch and possibly injure your core."
Lan Wangji feels his grip tighten on Bichen. He does not want to be possessed. So far, it is deeply uncomfortable, as his mind fogs like a window in rain and his limbs grow fuzzy, as the ever-present darkness seeps through his joints and into his bones.
It feels irreversible. It feels like the end.
Wonderful. We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other.
Jiang Wanyin stares intently at him. "It's in your fucking head, isn't it?" Lan Wangji doesn't know if his expression shifts, but Jiang Wanyin rolls his eyes. "Okay, yes, obviously. You know what I mean." He steps forwards, just within striking distance. "Unless this spirit is a Lan, I doubt they know how to use a guqin," he starts, brusque as always.
Lan Wangji wants to nod, but his connection to his body feels like it's fraying.
Let go, something tells him. Let go, and it will be so easy to rest.
He will not. He refuses to. Jiang Wanyin– well. Jiang Wanyin might not need Lan Wangji, but he's getting him nonetheless.
"Good." He stops his movement, standing directly on the other side of the line of the array, and holds a hand out. "Give me your sword."
Lan Wangji hesitates.
Well. His body does. It feels like forcing a blade through bone–impossible with too little force–and Lan Wangji does not have much strength left, not with everything turning vaguely white and gray, his limbs growing lighter and losing sensation.
"Listen to me," Jiang Wanyin snaps, strong yet without being harsh. "Wangji. Give me your sword."
It's a monumental struggle, but Lan Wangji extends his arm, sword gripped tight in his hand.
The spirit laughs.
Not all gone yet, are we? Oh, well. Soon enough.
He makes eye contact with Jiang Wanyin, using the trust that comes from seeing the man reaching out to help. Staring at his sect leader and pulling on the emotions it brings, forcing them into his muscles as fuel.
His grip starts to loosen, his hand turning slightly so the edge of Bichen is over the line of the array.
Jiang Wanyin doesn't hesitate, grabbing the naked blade and yanking it back. Lan Wangji expects to see blood, possibly even lost digits, but there's only a shallow slice when Jiang Wanyin shifts Bichen to his other hand.
"I know how to grab a blade," he says wryly, tucking her into his belt. His voice sounds far away, his expression almost muddled. "Don't worry. I'm no Wei Wuxian, but I can kick that spirit out of you. Trust me, Hanguang Jun."
Lan Wangji does. He was not wishing for Wei Wuxian.
He will have to tell Jiang Wanyin that when he can speak again.
His vision blurs, then ripples like a pond with a rock dropped in. It does not clear.
He trusts Jiang Wanyin, and so he lets go.
When Lan Wangji comes back to himself, he's leaning against a tree, facing a merrily crackling fire. His body aches, sore and tired, and his head pounds violently. When he shifts, a mess of fabric falls on his shoulders, apparently having been bundled behind his head.
"Wangji," comes Jiang Wanyin's familiar voice. The man is sitting nearby, Bichen laid across his thighs, cloth in hand as he runs it along the blade. "Good. Any lingering effects?"
Lan Wangji is sure that if he opens his mouth the only thing that will come out is a cough, which will make his headache worse. He points to his head, not needing to make a face because he is sure Jiang Wanyin will be able to tell.
"Right." Carefully sheathing Bichen, Jiang Wanyin sets her to the side before moving closer to Lan Wangji. "Here." He reaches out to the fire and retrieves a cup of tea. "This should help."
Lan Wangji takes it gratefully, not risking a nod of thanks. He drinks carefully and can feel the liquid soothe his throat. After a few seconds, he clears it, then says, "Headache."
"Understandable," Jiang Wanyin says. "That should help with it, too." He nods to the tea. "It's still some time until morning. I've kept the rest of the cultivators unconscious; I'd rather have them examined by Xu Yinuo, since they were possessed for longer. If you're feeling better by sunrise, we should be able to go into town and get a cart to transport them with."
"Mn." Lan Wangji agrees. "I will be able to help." Although he feels significantly impacted, it's not horrible, and his golden core will likely burn through it within the next shichen.
Lan Wangji isn't sure what, exactly, happened while he was unaware of his surroundings, but he trusts Jiang Wanyin to tell him later. Once his headache lessens, once they're back at Lotus Pier, once it's safe and comfortable for him to do so.
They'll talk about it.