Chapter Text
Only a few weeks after the thirteenth anniversary of Wei Wuxian’s death, a call for help came from Mo village, and Wangji returned a few days later to Gusu, rather reluctantly accompanied by the strange Mo Xuanyu, whom Lan Xichen had only known through A-Yao before.
At first, he didn’t quite know what to make of this man, but very quickly he realized the difference his presence made for Wangji.
Lan Xichen’s first thought hadn’t been “Yiling Patriarch is back”. For a time, he had thought that Wangji might have, eventually, found a way to move on from thirteen years of mourning. A reason to do so.
But at Koi Tower, he hadn’t been too surprised to learn that Mo Xuanyu indeed was the reincarnated Wei Wuxian. Maybe he had suspected it already. Wasn’t he still, after all these years, the one who knew Wangji best? Didn’t he know how unwavering Wangji’s heart was, once it had decided on someone? Wasn’t stubborn the term he’d most frequently use to describe his little brother, back when they were still children?
As he was rushing back to Cloud Recesses from Koi Tower, conflicting emotions kept on warring inside his chest. He wanted to be happy for Wangji, from the bottom of his heart, but he feared for him. He had every reason doing so, that had been clear from the moment Wei Wuxian was exposed at Koi Tower. Wangji would never stand down again. He would never comply and submit to rules when that meant leaving Wei Wuxian unprotected and vulnerable. The last time he had done so, Wei Wuxian had been ripped apart at Burial Mounds shortly after.
Wangji saw this as a personal failure, and Lan Xichen well remembered the rare instances he had made a mistake in his studies as a child – and how mercilessly he had punished himself for them by rewriting hundreds of times.>
He wanted Wangji to be happy, but he feared that Wei Wuxian’s return would eventually lead to the opposite, creating more tragedy and loss. The truth was that Lan Xichen did not trust Wei Wuxian.
Yet when he finally found Lan Wangji and the unconscious Wei Wuxian in the back hills of Cloud Recesses, he didn’t even consider raising the alarm.
Wangji had tucked Wei Wuxian under an overhanging rock. When he heard Lan Xichen approach, he whirled around, sword drawn.
“Wangji, relax. It’s me.”
Hesitantly, Wangji lowered Bichen and bent his head. “Brother. I …”
“You do not have to explain. Bring him into the Hanshi. No one will suspect you there, but they will keep an eye on your rooms.” Lan Xichen nodded towards Wei Wuxian.
Wangji’s eyes remained doubtful. He looked ragged, his robes red from Wei Wuxian’s blood, especially on his back where must have carried him, hair disheveled. His forehead-ribbon was missing.
Taking a closer look, Lan Xichen realized that it was used to keep the make-shift bandages on Wei Wuxian’s wound in place.
Slowly, Wangji nodded and very gently took up Wei Wuxian in his arms, making sure his head was resting comfortably at his shoulder. He followed Lan Xichen, who took care that no one was around to see. It was late, almost past curfew, so most disciples had already retreated.
“I will get bandages and medicine,” he told Wangji after they entered the Hanshi.
When he returned shortly after, Wangji had removed the bandages and was examining the wound that was still bleeding, though not as much as in the beginning judging from the amount of blood on both of their clothes.
Wei Wuxian’s face was pale, his breathing shallow.
While not being specifically trained in the field of medicine, both Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen knew how to treat a wound like this and that it was not to be underestimated. Lacerations of the stomach could lead to fatal infection, even if the initial blood loss was stopped in time.
“Wei Ying,” Wangji whispered, his voice dark from worry. “Hold on. We are safe now.”
It was obvious that it was only thanks to his self-control that his hands weren’t shaking as he folded back Wei Wuxian’s robes.
Lan Xichen froze. “Wangji …”
His brother followed his gaze. On Wei Wuxian’s chest, right underneath his collarbone, was a burn scar, showing a sun, the symbol of the Wen clan. Lan Xichen knew this mark. He had once treated a wound exactly like this, in the same place, on another person, though he had never seen the scar it had left.
Wangji lifted his head to meet Lan Xichen’s eyes. Lan Xichen had never found it particularly hard to read Wangji this way, not needing many words. Now you know, these eyes seemed to say. Obviously, there was no need for any explanation.
“How can scars from a former life appear on the body of the one who performed the Sacrificial Ritual?” he asked instead.
“I do not know. I have not seen this scar since he returned. It is likely there are many things about the ritual that are unknown. Other scars did not reappear.”
“A matter of the scar’s meaning then?”
Wangji’s brows twitched. “Perhaps.” His tone made it clear that he didn’t wish to expand on the topic further, and indeed the fresh wound needed urgent care.
They worked in silence, cleaning the wound, stopping the bleeding and applying ointments to prevent infection.
“He is going to be fine,” Lan Xichen said softly after they had finished, cleaning his hands on a towel and resting one on Wangji’s arm. “As long as he does not move around and tears the wound open again, and you keep it clean to prevent infection.”
Wangji nodded, letting out a deep breath. He looked down at his forehead ribbon that had fallen to the floor, entangled and bloody. He picked it up and placed it on the table next to the bed. “Thank you, brother. I am sorry.”
Lan Xichen curled his lips and shook his head. “There’s no need for apologies. Rest first, and then we’ll talk. Do you wish me to bring you water?”
It seemed that Wangji only now realized how dirty he was. He nodded, obviously exhausted, but his gaze quickly returned to Wei Wuxian, who was still unconscious. Very carefully, he lifted his head to rest it on his lap. “Wei Ying,” he whispered, taking up the medicinal herbs Lan Xichen had brought. “Please try to swallow these. They will help you sleep and ease the pain.” He put the herbs in Wei Wuxian’s mouth, gently urging him to swallow.
Wei Wuxian didn’t really wake up, only furrowing his brows and moaning reluctantly, until he had swallowed everything, eyes fluttering, a strange mixture of pain and content on his face, as if he had barely any objections about his current situation.
Lan Xichen quietly left the room, taking the bloody bandages away. He brought hot water, soap and fresh robes back to the Hanshi, where Wei Wuxian had settled down again, sleeping quietly, with Wangji holding his hand and passing him spiritual energy. The latter barely did so much as glance at Lan Xichen.
Clearly he was not needed here anymore tonight, and he left them alone, relieved and worried at the same time.
Of course, Lan Wangji was aware that Lan Xichen had known about his feelings for at least thirteen years, so he did not have to hide around him, but the sheer intensity of those feelings was still shocking.
The next morning, when Lan Xichen went to see after them, he found Lan Wangji sitting at Wei Wuxian’s bedside. He had bathed and switched into clean robes, forehead ribbon cleaned and put back on again. Beyond this first impression, it was obvious that he had not slept at all during the night and was exhausted.
“How is he?”
Wangji looked up at Lan Xichen standing at the door. “No fever, no more bleeding. Resting quietly.”
“I am glad to hear it. You should get some sleep as well. I will see to get something to eat for you.”
Wangji gave a noncommittal nod. Knowing his brother, Lan Xichen shook his head and left the two again. Until Wei Wuxian had recovered, it was likely that Wangji wouldn’t wish to speak about anything that had happened at Koi Tower at all.
Lan Xichen’s thoughts returned to the burn scar he’d seen. He didn’t know about the circumstances Wei Wuxian had received his in, but Wangji likely knew, maybe he had even been present. So had it happened when they had been held hostages by the Wen clan? As punishment? For what? It was not hard to imagine that Wei Wuxian could have riled up a member of the Wen sect enough to do such a thing.
He’d likely never know. What he did know was that these two shared more than a scar, though Lan Xichen wasn’t yet sure about the eventual extent of said bond. No matter the outcome, he could only hope for the best, for Wangji’s sake.
Now he knew. And despite the time it had taken them to truly find each other, it seemed as if the best indeed had happened.
Lan Xichen only wished he could enjoy it as well. He wished he could remember the scenes he had witnessed at Guanyin Temple with the relief, amusement and slight embarrassment he had felt there until … everything had turned into bitterness. A bitterness that would forever tarnish memories he wanted to cherish for his brother’s sake.
Maybe that was what it was truly about. Seeing these two together kept reminding him of that night, and while wallowing in grief was what he did most of the time these days, he also desperately wanted to forget the look of betrayal in A-Yao’s eyes as Lan Xichen’s sword pierced his chest, the sound of ripping flesh, dripping blood, feeling the failing rhythm of his sworn brothers heart vibrating through the sword.
He turned away from the window. Wangji and Wei Wuxian had disappeared from view, and all that was left was the empty pathways of Cloud Recesses, with the first snowflakes of the season slowly drifting by in a gentle breeze.