Chapter Text
They find his body at the bottom of the drop. His head was cracked in multiple areas, bones poked through skin, dirt mingled with blood and his ribbon somehow had been ripped off as it was never found.
Nie Mingjue was glad that Lan Xichen wasn’t there to witness the decaying and destroyed body. It was difficult for Mingjue, having known and cared for Wangji. Seeing him utterly broken with no way to repair.
They decided to have a quick but peaceful ceremony. Gusu was restored from the damage that the Wen’s inflicted, but there were still some issues within the Sect that needed fixed. War has a long lasting effect and having one of their strongest cultivators pass and their Sect Leader disappearing into seclusion, they had no time to seem weak. They quickly buried him and paid their proper respects. Adding another body to the long list of cultivators that had died within the short amount of years.
Nie Mingjue tried to meet with Xichen while he was paying his respects and even when he was accompanied with Jin Guangyao, Xichen refused entry. He wouldn’t even verbally deny them. All that was met was silence.
It took months until the letters he often sent received a response. It was short and quick to the point, but it was a letter from Lan Xichen and it allowed a heavy weight to lift off of Nie Mingjue’s shoulders.
He knew everything wouldn’t be back to the way they were. He imagined that Lan Xichen would probably never get over this death, not fully, but he would be there for the man. He had to be because if the rules were reversed and it was him grieving his younger brother, he knows that Lan Xichen would do everything in his power to stay at his side.
So he continues to write. There are months of which he receives nothing from the Lan and other times there will be a short letter with swift details of his mental health.
He often will send gifts. Often being from Huaisang, who silently mourns the death of Wei Wuxian. They both send painted pictures, whimsical fictions, hand-crafted fans, any small trinket they spot from vendors that they think their dear friend would appreciate.
Each time Mingjue goes to Gusu or sometimes if he is in the bordering area, he will stop by and visit. It’s never met with a response. The door remains closed and silence is answered to his words, but that doesn’t stop him. He will spend usually an hour, speaking, updating him of his travels or what raging gossip his brother had heard within the past week. He will drink his tea, gives his best wishes, then leaves.
It is over two years since that horrible day that the doors to the Hanshi open, just enough that Nie Mingjue is able to enter, and as soon as he does they quickly slide shut.
He doesn’t have time to react when arms are holding on tightly to his robes and a wetness soaks near his collar. Lan Xichen’s head lays nestled within the crevice of neck and quiet sniffles turn into roaring sobs.
Nie Mingjue just holds him tightly and allows his dear friend the time he needs to weep and be held.
The first time was for several hours until they were both on the ground and eventually Lan Xichen had exhausted himself from the tears that he had fallen asleep.
The second was better and they sat in a growingly-familiar silence that Nie Mingjue filled, drinking tea.
By the third time, as he was leaving, he finally heard Xichen’s voice and the man said a simple ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’.
Things slowly progressed from there but unfortunately as the years trickled on and as the sixth year of Lan Wangji’s death had come and passed, Nie Mingjue had sadly ended as well.
The news came from his uncle, Lan Qiren. He thinks his uncle expected a reaction because he stayed for many moments until he decided it was not going to see one and left.
When Jin Guangyao came days after the news was received, the doors remained closed.
Just as he had opened them for Nie Mingjue, shortly after he had opened them for Jin Guangyao, though the Jin had visited less as he was constantly busy due to his father.
But with the passing of Nie Mingjue, Jin Guangyao wrote and visited more often and with the death of Jin Guangshan, he visited often still.
Lan Xichen opened the doors when Jin Guangyao alerted he would be visiting with his newborn son. Xichen thought it was a clever ploy of his friend, but remained quiet about it, knowing it was done with the best intentions. How could he force a newborn child to remain outside, especially with the weather getting more colder and winter begun to settle in?
So he opened his doors and for months Jin Guangyao would come with his son in his arms and bag filled with gifts, toys for A-Song, and treats that could be shared amongst the three.
Lan Xichen remained in constant contact with Nie Huaisong and even though it was draining just to think of words to say, he would write letters and poetry to the sudden Nie leader. He had years to deal with the loss of his brother, Nie Huaisong had months. The man wasn’t as adamant with contact as his elder brother had been, but he had tried often and was there for him. Lan Xichen had to return the unfortunate favor.
The years followed with a smooth pattern. A few times a month, Jin Guangyao would visit, often with an aging Jin Rusong. The growing boy was the a blessing as it was one of their visits that the boy was able to cause Xichen to give him a gentle smile. His cheeks had hurt that day from the strain of the worn down muscles, but it was nice.
A few times throughout the year even Nie Huaisong would visit, often with splendors of gifts and tales. Gossip was forbidden but Xichen had to admit it was rather nice to hear what was happening amongst the Sects.
As the thirteenth year had come and passed, Nie Huaisong came by with a grim face. It was during the time Jin Guangyao was due for a visit and before Nie Huaisong even began to speak, Lan Xichen had an idea what had happened.
After a low bow, Nie Huaisong explained the events. Of the resurrection of Wei Wuxian, the truth to the death of Nie Mingjue, the betrayal and schemes of Jin Guangyao.
Lan Xichen remained silent through it all and when Nie Huaisong turned to leave, he thanked him.
That was the last anyone saw or heard from Lan Xichen. Come morning, when his daily food was being delivered, the doors to the Hanshi were wide open and inside was empty.