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Chapter Text

The sword pulls cleanly away from its sheath, revealing the shining silver-white of its blade. Reflected in that shining weapon is a pair of deep blue eyes, color like the deepest parts of Yunmeng’s lakes.

He doesn’t pull the sword entirely free; he doesn’t need to. That he can pull it out at all is proof enough. He can feel the spiritual energy running through the blade, channeling itself towards him at the hilt. It calls for him, begs to be used.

Jiang Cheng is Suibian’s master.

His scowl is reflected back at him as he slams the blade back into the hilt, resisting the urge to toss the blade across the room.

It’s a thin, elegant weapon, suited to a graceful and almost flippant style of swordplay. As Jiang Cheng looks down at the black scabbard, the gold embellishments, the red tassel, he sees a blur of long, dark hair, hears the lilt of a laugh, feels the curve and strike of the sword.

By all rights, Suibian should not belong to him. His own weapon, the weapon he forged for himself, sits heavy against his hip. Sandu is the sword he named, the sword he was named for. With its weightier grip and hilt, it can cut a swath through a hoard of oncoming enemies. Jiang Cheng can move lightly on his feet, can maneuver around and through a crowd of attackers. But he can also stand his ground, use Sandu as a weapon and a guard and a distraction.

He doesn’t need another sword. He never asked for one. And yet Suibian has been left in his care, proof of all that person had given to him without being asked, without getting consent. Proof that he’s always known better than Jiang Cheng what should be done, that Jiang Cheng’s strength has always been based on that person propping him up, catching him, pushing him forward.

Everything he’s built, since his parents were killed, since his home burned to the ground, was built on a lie. Maybe even before that, the same was true. His life is split into eras, all defined by that person.

“Fuck you, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng whispers harshly into the darkness of the room.

He needs to let go. He needs to move on. And he can’t do that with Suibian sitting amongst his things, taunting him.

Jiang Cheng fastens Suibian to his belt, just behind Sandu. The extra weight doesn’t throw off his balance, but instead imprints in his mind with muscle memory. How many months did he carry these two swords side-by-side? How often did he run his hands along Suibian’s sheath, praying that Wei Wuxian was still alive?

If he’d tried to draw Suibian then, would he have been able to? After all, that was after he’d lost his own golden core, after Wei Wuxian had—

He shudders, forces the thoughts from his mind. What does it matter? He’s never going to use this sword. The only thing it can be to him is a shackle, keeping him trapped in the past. He grits his teeth, lifts his hands forcibly away from Suibian to run them over his face.

Why does he need another reminder of the past? He’s already surrounded in them, living in a home that’s a monument to his dead parents, his formerly-destroyed clan. Everything weighs him down, keeps him looking backwards. Everything, that is, except—

“Jiujiu, what are you doing?” Jin Ling groans, stepping into the room with none of the dignity befitting his station. “Are you ready, yet? We’re going to be the last ones there!”

Jiang Cheng turns to regard his nephew. He’s grown, over the past year, though his cheeks are still rounder than Jiang Cheng’s, than his father’s were. His eyes have a softer look, too, framed by dark lashes. His features aren’t the sharp, carved beauty that most of Jin Guangshan’s descendants share. No, instead he has a fresher, more approachable look, less like stone and more like a flower—

He bites the inside of his cheek, like he always has to when he thinks of his sister. For all that Jing Ling has become the head of his father’s sect, for all that he wears the Sparks Amidst Snow on his chest, he will always be Jiang Yanli’s son.

What would she say, if she saw Jiang Cheng carrying Suibian at his side? For those months when he’d first had it, her eyes had often drifted to the blade. But she’d been thinking about Wei Wuxian, wondering, like Jiang Cheng, if he was even still alive. She had never told him to put the sword down, to give up hope that Wei Wuxian might return to them.

If she knew the state they were in now, she’d probably be disappointed. But the very reason she isn’t there to scold them is the very reason the very reason Jiang Cheng can think of Wei Wuxian with nothing but poison in his thoughts, hatred in his blood.

“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling says, a hand resting on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, “Come on.”

Before, Jin Ling would tug at his sleeves, grab at the dangling ribbons that held his hair in its knot. Now, instead of a child stumbling along to keep up, Jin Ling is nearly a man grown.

Maybe Jiang Cheng is the only one who’s stuck in the past, frozen in time and place.

He shakes his head, brushes off Jin Ling’s hand and strides to the door. “I heard you the first time,” he says coldly. “There’s no rush. They’ll wait.”

Tonight, he can return Suibian to its rightful owner. And when he does, he can let go of everything else the sword makes him carry with it. He can forget about the sword’s foolish master, its true master. And then, he can finally move on, and be free of Wei Wuxian’s looming shadow.

—

By the time he and Jin Ling dismount their swords and make their way to the meeting point, the others have already gathered. Jiang Cheng expects a crowd of white in the small clearing, but instead there are only two figures standing there.

The first is Lan Sizhui, whose name Jiang Cheng remembers in spite of himself. The Lan disciple is a smaller version of the Two Jades, his expression as even and pleasant as Zewu-Jun’s usually is. He stands with his hands folded into his sleeves, head tilted up as he listens intently to his companion.

Wei Wuxian might blend into the shadows, if he had any sense for subtlety. Instead, even dressed in his customary black, he stands out against the dark bark of the tree he’s leaning against. Arms casually behind his head, one foot crossed over the other, he’s the picture of ease.

Well, why shouldn’t he be? Jiang Cheng scoffs. He has all the freedom of a rogue cultivator, all the security of a prized member of a great sect. As far as Jiang Cheng knows, Wei Wuxian doesn’t have any duties, other than hanging off of Hanguang-Jun’s arms and annoying everyone he comes into contact with.

Jiang Cheng has none of that. If his strength were to fail, he’d have no one to lean against. If he fell, no one would be there to catch him. And as the leader of Yunmeng Jiang Sect, every step he makes, every word he speaks, carries with it an untold cascade of consequences.

“Ah!” Wei Wuxian looks up, turning away from Lan Sizhui with a wave of apology. “It’s Jin Ling, and Sect Leader Jiang!”

The title is strange, coming out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. He’d never even referred to Jiang Cheng’s father as Sect Leader, unless formality absolutely called for it.

Jin Ling mumbles out his greetings as Lan Sizhui clasps his hands and makes the appropriate bow. Jiang Cheng nods as the Lan disciple, but pointedly turns away from Wei Wuxian.

The bright spark in Wei Wuxian’s eyes dims a bit, and Jiang Cheng catches his falling expression out of the corner of his eye. What right does he have to look disappointed? Was he expecting any better acknowledgment?

“Where’s Lan Jingyi,” Jin Ling mutters, looking around. It’s obvious that no one else from Gusu has made the trip.

“Punishment,” Lan Sizhui explains, with a sigh.

Jin Ling smacks a hand against his forehead. “That idiot—”

“Hanguang-Jun was called away on sect business,” Wei Wuxian explains, turning to Jiang Cheng. “He’s still spreading himself thin, covering for Zewu-Jun. I’ve told him he should take it easier. I thought tonight would be a good break, hunting some lower level ghosts, but he wouldn’t listen—”

“Why,” Jiang Cheng says, through clenched teeth, “Do you keep talking?”

Wei Wuxian leans forward so that he’s in Jiang Cheng’s line of sight, his head cocked to one side. His lower lip juts out just slightly.

It’s jarring. This isn’t— this isn’t Wei Wuxian’s face, but it’s his same expression. Mo Xuanyu resembles his father, his half-brothers, in uncanny ways. His skin is milkier than Wei Wuxian’s had been— at least, before he’d come out of the Burial Mounds looking ashen and drawn. His features are more delicate— the long Jin nose coming to a sharp peak, the narrower eyes. Even dressed in black and wearing Wei Wuxian’s expressions, there is no doubting where Mo Xuanyu came from.

Back then, Wei Wuxian hadn’t looked like anyone but himself. Jiang Cheng, of course, had never seen Wei Wuxian’s parents, but he’d been somehow sure that Wei Wuxian was a unique entity, not tied down by anyone else’s blood or expectations the way that Jiang Cheng was.

“You agreed to come on this night hunt, didn’t you, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says, voice carefully neutral. “You knew I’d be here, too.”

Is it his fault that Jin Ling has some stupid attachment to the Lan boy? And that he, as Jin Ling’s foolishly indulgent guardian, wants to support what may be the first genuine friendship his nephew has ever had?

Jin Ling could have come alone. There’s no great threat, here, and he and Lan Sizhui are nearly grown. They’ve certainly come into their strength in their respective ways.

But he’d mentioned it so offhand, that he was going to partner with a small delegation from Gusu to clear a mountain between them from a persistent haunting. He’d said that Lan Sizhui had invited Wei Wuxian along, because who else was as expert in taming and dispelling large numbers of malevolent ghosts?

“With him along, we won’t need any other help,” Jin Ling had said flippantly, toying with the ends of his long hair. “Don’t you think so, Jiujiu?”

The next morning, when Jiang Cheng insisted that he’d come along, too, Jin Ling hadn’t fought him on it. In fact, his nephew had looked strangely pleased.

“What,” Jiang Cheng snaps, eyes narrowed at Wei Wuxian. “Am I supposed to be scared of your shadow, now? Chased off whenever anyone mentions you?”

Wei Wuxian frowns. “No.” He lets out a short, laugh, barely more than an exhale. “Why should you? And why should anyone think you’d be glad, or just neutral, about doing something you’d agreed to?”

“Why would I be glad to see you?” Jiang Cheng demands. Did Wei Wuxian reclaim his soul at the cost of his mind? The last time they’d seen each other had been weeks ago, in Yunmeng, when they’d been trapped together. Why would Wei Wuxian think that Jiang Cheng would ever want to see him again, after that? Hadn’t he gotten the message, that if Jiang Cheng could dig into his own chest, and pry out the pieces of himself that tied him to Wei Wuxian, he would?

Wei Wuxian folds his hand behind his back, balances first on one foot then the other. “You wouldn’t,” he agrees lightly. “But then, maybe I should give you a real reason to be unhappy?”

Jiang Cheng’s lip twitches. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Wei Wuxian says lightly, but he doesn’t try to hide the sharp grin that cuts across his face. “Just, shall we make tonight’s hunt interesting, Sect Leader Jiang?”

The title is a mockery, a poke at the distance that should be between them but isn’t. There’s no parallel name that Jiang Cheng can give Wei Wuxian. He isn’t the Yiling Patriarch anymore, not in any way that matters. He’s some strange and undefined thing, floating apart from the structure and hierarchy of the great sects.

“Are you challenging me?” he wonders. “Do you want to lose?”

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you in action. Who knows? Maybe in thirteen years, you’ve managed to catch up to me.”

It’s bait, he knows it’s bait, and yet— “What terms?”

“Keep count of how many spirits you dispel,” Wei Wuxian says lightly. “At the end of the night, whoever has more points is the victor.”

“And the boys?” Jiang Cheng jerks a head towards where Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui have their heads bowed together, gossiping.

“Sizhui with me, Jin Ling with you,” Wei Wuxian decides. “We helped teach them, so they can be our teammates. Oh, and Jiang Cheng?”

“What,” he snaps, nerves sparking in a long-forgotten way at the thought of going head-to-head with Wei Wuxian.

“No rich man’s tricks, this time.” Wei Wuxian wags a finger at him. “No fields of spirit-binding nets, or anything of that sort. Just you, your partner, and your cultivation.”

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng says roughly.

“Fine!” Wei Wuxian calls with a triumphant smile.

—

It’s the sort of haunting usually caused by a natural disaster— a series of rock slides, or a flood, or an earthquake. The souls of the dead, pulled away from their bodies and lives without warning or reason, linger without purpose. Their malevolence lacks focus; if they are angry that they died, they have no human target for that anger. And so, they settle in layers into the landscape, hoping to trip or trick passersby into meeting futile and unexpected ends just as they did.

In short— they’re annoying, but not dangerous, to a properly competent cultivator.

The two teams, Yunmeng and Gusu— and yes, Jiang Cheng does flinch when he thinks of Wei Wuxian as being from Gusu— set off in opposite directions. They’ll each take one of the winding paths up the mountain, clearly as many ghosts as they can along the way. Even if they don’t track down every spirit, dispelling the bulk of them should unmoor the rest, cause them to either drift on by themselves or rob them of whatever danger they posed to civilians.

A petty, childish part of Jiang Cheng crows at how easy it will be to win this contest. Wei Wuxian hasn’t let go of demonic cultivation, but he also doesn’t have the strength he once did. Perhaps the Yiling Patriarch could’ve summoned every malevolent corpse and spirit from this mountain in one fell swoop and banish them, but Jiang Cheng very much doubts Wei Wuxian is capable of that in his current state. Has he even started to rebuild his golden core, now that he has one again?

He shakes his head, dispersing that line of thought. Wei Wuxian has no qualms about using his advantages, unfair though they may be. Jiang Cheng remembers that last competition, up in the mountains, when his sister had been so distressed by Jin Zixuan and Wei Wuxian had been so adamant, so arrogant.

Thinking back on it, it seems obvious that Wei Wuxian wasn’t just being cocky— he was being defensive. Jiang Cheng can remember his face clearly, framed by his long dark hair, his irises rimmed with eerie red light. His expressions had been strained, even as he’d smirked at the Jin cultivators and tied that strip of black cloth around his eyes.

At the time, Jiang Cheng had been relieved when he’d done so, because that uncanny look in his eyes had been hidden, at least for the time being. Now, he wants to grab his younger self by the collar and throttle him. How could he not have seen how much of Wei Wuxian’s spirit was being eroded away? How could he have relied so much on his strength, without seeing its costs?

Stupid, powerless Jiang Cheng. Always unable to protect the things that matter most.

“Jiujiu—”

Jiang Cheng looks up, sees the golden glint of an arrow charged with spiritual power, and side-steps just in time to avoid being skewered. The arrow whistles by him, embedding itself square in the skull of a corpse and knocking it back to hit the ground with a thud.

Jin Ling rushes by him, Suihua flashing in the moonlight as his nephew deftly cuts the corpse down. He turns back to Jiang Cheng, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Don’t get distracted, Jiujiu,” he complains, bow in one hand and Suihua in the other.

“Don’t think you’ve gotten so high, now, that you can scold your uncle,” Jiang Cheng responds coolly. He really has lost all face with this boy now, hasn’t he? He’s convinced he can take any liberties he wants.

Jiang Cheng scowls, brushes past his nephew and bends over the corpse to examine it. “That’s one,” he says. “Not enough to beat Wei Wuxian and that Lan disciple.”

Jin Ling grins broadly at him. “Let’s destroy them, Jiujiu.”

—

As they make their way up the mountain, Jiang Cheng’s frown deepens. For the most part, he and his nephew make a good team. Jin Ling flits from tree to tree, using arrows to heard corpses together. Jiang Cheng waits in the shadows until a large number of them are gathered, then strikes out with a broad sweep of Zidian. The corpses fall over, and Jin Ling jumps down from the trees, counting off the corpses with childish delight.

They are improving the situation on the mountain. There’s no reason not to have some fun with it.

But the more corpses Jiang Cheng sees, the more his initial rationalization of this haunting starts to fall apart. The corpses aren’t the sort you’d find after a natural disaster. They’re spread out around the mountain, even accounting for their ability to move, fueled by resentful energy. None of them have been crushed by rocks or fallen trees, as Jiang Cheng would expect from rock slide or earthquake victims.

“Something… tore it apart,” Jin Ling says, nose wrinkling in distaste. He looks down at the body of a young man, one of his arms and both his legs missing. Something had ripped pieces of flesh off his face, his stomach. Even so, he’d attempted to crawl using his one remaining limb, chasing after Jin Ling until Jiang Cheng had sliced him down with Zidian.

Jiang Cheng hums in response, circling the mangled corpse and prodding it over with the toe of his boot. These were wounds inflicted when the man was alive; the bloodstains are enough to prove that. Something had eaten into its flesh.

“Set another marker,” Jiang Cheng instructs. After the mountain is cleared, they’ll send in disciples from Yunmeng to gather the corpses and dispose of them properly. There’s no real hope for returning them to their families, but at least they can be interned or burned.

The next corpse they come across is in a similar state— limbs mangled, flesh bitten off in pieces. And then another, but this is the body of a child, and it’s marred almost beyond recognition.

“It’s like something started eating it, then gave up halfway,” Jin Ling says, taking a step back from the grizzly scene.

“Or several somethings were fighting to get to it,” Jiang Cheng mutters. He thinks of throwing scraps of meat to a pack of dogs, watching them tear the pieces apart and run off with their small trophies.

“I thought we only sensed low-level resentful energy,” Jin Ling protests, crossing his arms over his chest. “What could’ve done this? Their spirits aren’t even strong enough to put up much of a fight.”

Jiang Cheng startles. He extends a hand, curving his fingers inwards. Purple energy like lightning sparks from his palm, extending out to the corpses and hovering over them, probing.

“Jiujiu?”

Jiang Cheng shushes him. The energy returns slowly, bringing with it the milky, shredded remains of the corpses’ spirits. Jiang Cheng blanches.

“They’re not low-level because they died of a natural disaster,” he murmurs, prodding at the destroyed spirits with his own energy.

“Then what—”

“Whatever killed them, it also tore their spirits apart.”

“That can happen?” Jin Ling leans in, his own golden spiritual energy extending as he examines the spirits. His eyes go round, his face paling.

Jiang Cheng drops the spell, lets the shreds of both spirits drift off. “Come on. We’re getting to the bottom of this.”

—

The next batch of corpses is fresh. Blood fills the air, splattered across the ground and the trunks of nearby trees. The shredded remains of limbs are scattered, bit into by sharp, unforgiving teeth.

“If it’s a beast, why wouldn’t they eat the bodies?” Jin Ling says, stepping gingerly through the carnage. For all that he’s called a princess, Jin Ling doesn’t flinch away from such scenes. Instead, he squares his shoulders and wades right into the mess, determined to find a solution.

“If we knew that, we wouldn’t be wondering what did this,” Jiang Cheng replies through gritted teeth. The scent of blood is nothing unfamiliar, but it still brings to mind so many memories he’d rather not contend with at the moment. The mangled bodies, the shredded spirits, they all remind him too much of the last moment he’d seen Wei Wuxian— in his real body— before he’d been torn apart and scattered.

He leans down amongst the bodies, sees evidence of a travelers’ caravan set upon with no mercy. The spirits linger, though they’re so ill-defined Jiang Cheng doubts he could even call on one to answer his questions.

“The bodies weren’t what the creatures wanted,” Jiang Cheng murmurs slowly.

Jin Ling tilts his head in question. “Then what?”

“The spirits are what was truly devoured,” Jiang Cheng explains, really doing no more than thinking aloud. “Biting into the bodies was a way to the spirit, but after they had there was no reason to continue with the flesh. But the spirits— they’re picked clean. What’s left is just scraps, like the bones left over from a dog’s meal.”

“A dog?” Jin Ling frowns. “What, there’s some pack of demonic dogs on the mountain, feasting on spirits?”

It’s not outside the realm of possibility. It makes too much sense. And the instant Jin Ling says it aloud, Jiang Cheng realizes something else.

“Shit. We have to move.”

“Uncle, what—”

“We have to find Wei Wuxian.”

—

Jiang Cheng rarely wishes to be wrong. And yet, as he and Jin Ling race to the opposite side of the mountain, fluttering low in the air on their swords, all he thinks is that he must be wrong.

Unfortunately, the universe has always found a way to express its cruel humor at his expense. It’s Jin Ling who sees the flash of white in the trees before Jiang Cheng does, points out the spot as they both descend toward it.

In the darkness, it’s hard to see clearly. What reaches him first is the noise, and the stench.

It’s putrid, like rotting flesh, but more potent the way a dog’s smell is more potent than a man’s. Jiang Cheng has always been fond of dogs, and yet when he finally sees the creatures he rears back in horror.

Half skeletal, half held together with black and purple rotting muscle, the dogs stand in a menacing semi-circle around Lan Sizhui. Their teeth extend unevenly from their crooked maws, their eyes dark like blood and hazed over with madness. There’s five of them, each twice as big as the largest dog that Jiang Cheng has ever seen. Even calling them dogs seems inaccurate— they are about as similar to Jin Ling’s Fairy as a many-limbed goddess statute is to an actual human.

“Lan Sizhui!” Jin Ling cries out, hitting the ground and immediately spinning Suihua up off the ground and back to his grip. “Are you alright?”

The Lan disciple has his hands cradled around a guqin, strumming the strings in a complex pattern. Blue spiritual energy radiates out from him, creating a barrier between him and the demon dogs. The dogs whine and growl and paw at the barrier, thick saliva falling from their mouths.

No wonder they’re salivating, Jiang Cheng thinks. Having fed only from civilians, the souls of two cultivators would seem like a feast!

Sweat beads down Lan Sizhui’s brow as he maintains the barrier with his own strength. He turns his head to see Jin ling running towards him, and his strained expression clears back to his usual kind distance.

“Jin Ling!” he calls, fingers never lifting from the guqin, focus never straying from maintaining the barrier. “Stay back, it’s a shield!”

Jin Ling stops short, extending a hand only to find the barrier has extended fully around Lan Sizhui in a circle. Blue energy sparks between Jin Ling and the barrier, warning him off trying to push through it.

Jiang Cheng comes up behind his nephew, barks at Lan Sizhui, “Where’s Wei Wuxian?”

It’s only then, close enough to overcome the darkness, that he sees.

Wei Wuxian is sitting in the grass, hands braced behind him like he’d fallen backwards and failed to get back up again. His hands are clenched painfully in the dirt, one braced over Chenqing, as if the flute had fallen from his hands at the same moment he’d lost his footing. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated down to nothing, his mouth hanging open in horror.

“Senior Wei is here,” Lan Sizhui says, voice strained. “I can’t snap him out of it.”

“Where’s Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says in a shaky voice. The high pitch isn’t his usual put-on dramatics; he’s terrified right down to his bones. “You said Lan Zhan was coming. Where is he?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Jin Ling asks, and it’s not an entirely unreasonable question. He’s seen Wei Wuxian yelp and run in fear of one dog, of a dog as sweet-looking and well-trained as Fairy.

But this is a Wei Wuxian facing down a pack of dogs out for blood, dogs so big they’re probably the same proportion to him that the wild ones had been to his body when he was a young child. These aren’t dogs he fears only as an impulse, a memory of a time when he was smaller and weaker. These dogs might very well kill him.

“You said he was coming,” Wei Wuxian says again, voice breaking. “He wouldn’t leave me so long— where is he— Lan Zhan!”

Jiang Cheng’s hands clench in irritation. Some threat the Yiling Patriarch has turned out to be, still done in at the mere sight of a few monstrous, soul-devouring demon dogs. Pathetic.

And how dare he cry out for Hanguang-Jun, when Jiang Cheng had been the one rushing here to save him?

“Ungrateful,” Jiang Cheng snaps. He steps around the barrier, despite Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui’s protests. Zidian sparks to life from where it rests around his finger, and by the time Jiang Cheng is facing the dogs, the powerful whip is coiled in his hand, ready to strike.

The whip sparks with energy like electricity, lets out a crack like thunder when Jiang Cheng strikes out at the dogs. He hits one across the face, the spiritual energy cutting into the dog’s flesh and stinging with spiritual energy.

The dog throws back its head and howls.

Behind him, Wei Wuxian screams.

“Jin Ling!” Jiang Cheng snaps. “Arrows! And you,” he turns briefly to look Lan Sizhui in the eye, “Maintain that shield. He’s only a liability like that, keep him safe.”

Both the boys nod, and Jiang Cheng gives them a grim, almost-smile of approval. At least he doesn’t have to worry about the two of them losing their heads.

“Like before,” he says to Jin Ling. “Heard them together— don’t get close.”

If one of the dogs manages to get a good bite in, there would probably be only a few moments before their victim’s spirit was pulled free and they descended upon it. Jiang Cheng thinks he might be able to get between the demon dog and his nephew in that time, but he’s not going to chance it. Not when it comes to Jin Ling.

Jing Ling jumps into the trees, high and out of reach of the dogs. He fires three arrows in quick succession, creating a triangle around the dogs and forcing them inwards, where they snarl and bump into each other.

Jiang Cheng can hear the low notes of Lan Sizhui’s guqin, maintaining his shield. His spiritual power can’t contend with a sect leader’s, but the boy is stronger than Jiang Cheng would’ve guessed. Good.

When the dogs are pawing over each other, snapping their jaws and growling like they’re crunching down gravel, Jiang Cheng strikes out with Zidian. The whip creates a beautiful arc against the dark night sky, cracking through the air and slicing into two dogs’ stomachs. The dogs howl in pain, and from their stomach thin wisps of smoke-like energy rise up.

The souls they’ve devoured, Jiang Cheng thinks dimly. Zidian is freeing them, like it would a body possessed by a malicious spirit.

Zidian can dispatch the weakest malevolent corpses and spirits with a single strike. These dogs are stronger than that, and Jiang Cheng realizes he’ll have to step in closer. Reminding Jin Ling to keep his distance, Jiang Cheng draws Sandu and using Zidian to strike at the dogs again, knocking them senseless before slicing into them with his namesake sword.

He gets the head off of one, its flesh the purple-gray color of spoiled meat. It lunges out, teeth snapping, even as Sandu severs its head from its body. The head goes flying in arc over Jiang Cheng, dropping boiling, putrid blood over him like rain.

He clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “Disgusting.”

“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling calls, another arrow slicing through the air and pulling another dog from the pack, “Do these count for more than one point?”

Jiang Cheng snorts, even as he stays focused on the second dog. Really, it’s an unfair advantage. Wei Wuxian never would have stood a chance against these creatures.

That doesn’t mean, however, that Jiang Cheng isn’t taking a certain amount of pride in being the one to deal with them. He slices the legs off of the second dog, then stabs Sandu straight through its chest before dodging backwards when a third dog lunges for him.

He’s so wrapped up in fending off the third dog, he doesn’t notice when the last two return their attention to Lan Sizhui’s barrier. He hears it, however, when the barrier breaks with the sound of shattering glass, the guqin letting out a high, strained note as Lan Sizhui scrambles to right himself.

He can’t turn around. The dog is still in front of him, waiting for a chance to rip into him and pull his own spirit from his flesh. Even if he can hear Jin Ling’s shocked gasp, Lan Sizhui’s ragged breathing as he tries to calm down and re-center his spiritual energy.

Focus on what’s in front of you, he hisses at himself. Then go take care of the others!

And that is fully what he intends to do, except that just as his sword slices across the third dog’s legs, he hears Wei Wuxian’s voice.

“A-Yuan!”

His voice is so frantic, so pained, that Jiang Cheng cannot help but turn towards it.

The scene laid before him is a mess. The black guqin lies to one side, strings broken. Lan Sizhui has drawn his sword, but fallen to his knees, sweat beading down his brow and soaking his forehead ribbon.

The remaining two dogs circle him, until a shadow in black gets between them. Wei Wuxian has his arms spread, Chenqing clenched in his hands but not raised to his lips. His eyes glow a faint red, but he isn’t gathering either spiritual or resentful energy towards him.

Idiot! Had he just run forward on instinct, without being in a state of mind to actually do anything?

A line of four sharp claws scours across his back, and Jiang Cheng falls to his knees with a hiss. That stupid third dog—! He flips over, even when the ground hits his back and he has to bite down on his tongue to stop from screaming in pain. He lifts his sword, and while the dog is clawing at him, snapping its teeth, he forces Sandu up and through the beast’s belly.

When the dog stops moving, he thrusts its empty body away from him. He scrambles around, lunging forward and practically crawling towards the others.

A glimmer of gold stands in front of Wei Wuxian and Lan Sizhui, Suihua crossed like a shield in front of him. Jin Ling’s spiritual energy shines out bright and pure, and he swings out with his sword in alternating directions, keeping both the remaining dogs at bay.

Jiang Cheng’s heart surges with pride even as it drops in horror. Coughing, he scrambles to his feet, pulling Sandu out of the dead dog’s body as he races over.

“Jin Ling!” he calls out, “Get back!”

His nephew has the good sense to get out of Jiang Cheng’s way, and he strikes out with Zidian, attempting to hit both dogs away from Jin Ling and the others. The dogs, even with wisps of spirits escaping them, don’t budge.

Lan Sizhui is still struggling to get to his feet— has he been injured? Wei Wuxian is hovering over him, his face pale and drawn, his hands shaking around Chenqing.

“Move, you useless idiot!” Jiang Cheng screams, just as one of the dogs lunges for Wei Wuxian’s back.

Wei Wuxian half-turns, his eyes going wide, his muscles locking. Whatever energy had surged through him when he’d tried to defend Lan Sizhui leaves him now. He’s rooted to the ground like a tree, and yet shaking like a leaf.

“—Jiang Cheng!” he yells. “Dog!”

As if he doesn’t fucking see that, Jiang Cheng thinks darkly. And then the tenor of the words reaches him, and he sees Wei Wuxian years ago, in a different body altogether. Wei Wuxian, as a child, dressed in purple, his hair messy around his face. Wei Wuxian, crying as a dog runs at him, frozen in place and calling out for Jiang Cheng to save him.

He’s too far to reach the dog with a strike from Sandu, and using Zidian, he’ll probably end up hitting Wei Wuxian or Lan Sizhui. Jiang Cheng does the only thing he can think of— he propels himself forward by kicking up off the ground, knocking into the dog from behind and wrapping his arms around it, bringing them both crashing down to the earth.

“Jin Ling!” he screams, even as the dog twists in his grasp, “Stab the last one! Kill it!”

He rolls with the dog, gravel and rocks cutting into his injured back. He tries to get his knees under him, tries to shift Sandu in his hands to manage a strike. But as the two of them fight each other, they keep rolling further and further, away from the rest of the fight.

Jiang Cheng is dizzy, his nostrils filled with the scent of blood, when he finally lands on his back with a heavy thud and manages to kick the dog away from him. He gets shakily to his feet, gripping Sandu in one hand and readying Zidian to strike.

The dog rounds on him, taller at the shoulder than the others, with an uglier, meaner face.

Jiang Cheng spits blood to the ground in front of him. This creature thought it could defeat him? Thought it could hurt Wei Wuxian, when he was there to stop it?

He flinches at the thought, so foreign. He tells himself it’s because he has been focused on hurting Wei Wuxian for so long, driven forward only by the thought of finding him if he ever resurfaced and making him pay.

And yet, it isn’t revenge that has him stepping forward, brandishing Zidian.

—

His struggles with the dog have left them at the edge of the forest, where the trees give way to a rocky cliffside. They’re practically at the mountain’s peak, the drop off from the cliff just an endless abyss of darkness.

Jiang Cheng’s lips curl into a slow, sadistic smile.

He raises his arm above his head, Zidian glowing brighter as he infuses it with his spiritual energy. He circles the whip over his head once, twice, and then brings it crashing back down to earth to strike the space between him and the dog.

The earth cracks, a fissure opening up and spreading across the ground. Before the dog has a chance to lunge at Jiang Cheng, the ground beneath it begins to crumble. As the world falls out from under it, it lets out a pitiful whine, almost like a normal dog would make.

It falls straight down into the blackness as the cliffside breaks apart.

The earth is still moving as Jiang Cheng braces his hands against his knees and tries to catch his breath. His robes are bloody and torn, his back aching, his head light. But he killed four of the beasts, and surely—

“Jiang Cheng!” a hoarse voice calls out to him. “Are you alright? Jin Ling got the—”

Jiang Cheng turns and sees Wei Wuxian running towards him frantically, only to stop short. He still looks sallow, like his soul hasn’t quite returned after it fled at the sight of the dogs. But the fear in his eyes isn’t for his own sake.

“Jiang Cheng,” he says, “Step closer to me.”

His first reaction to such an order is to scoff. Hadn’t Wei Wuxian said it himself, those weeks ago when they’d been trapped together? Everyone knows that Jiang Wanyin hates the Yiling Patriarch more than anything else, than anyone else. Why would he ever step closer to him?

But he realizes the reason for Wei Wuxian’s request a moment too late. The earth, still shifting from the force of Zidian’s strike, has been crumbling outwards in two directions. And so, before Jiang Cheng can react, the ground beneath his feet also begins to give way.

“Jiang Cheng—!” Wei Wuxian lunges forward, fingertips just grazing the fabric of Jiang Cheng’s robes.

He’s falling backwards, no time to reach out and grab anything, nowhere for him to find purchase. Jiang Cheng looks up, eyes wide, and then suddenly there is someone grabbing his hands and pulling him forward.
“You idiot,” he hisses, trying to pull away. “Now we’re both falling!”

Wei Wuxian is right beside him, holding onto his hands like he’ll never let him go.

But never might come very soon, because the blackness is rising rapidly towards them, swallowing them whole.

—

Somehow, even as they plummet, Wei Wuxian has the presence of mind to tug Jiang Cheng closer, to hold him against his chest and maneuver them so that when they hit the ground, Wei Wuxian’s back takes the brunt of the impact.

Jiang Cheng is squirming all the while, trying to pull away from Wei Wuxian’s hold, but when he hears the dull thump his own back, slashed open by the demon dog’s claws, smarts in sympathy. He would’ve screamed, he’s sure, if he’d hit the ground first.

“Idiot,” he declares, nonetheless. He pushes himself out of Wei Wuxian’s arms, struggles to get to his feet. “Why would you do that? I have a sword, I could’ve flown back up, what good is there in you falling, too?”

Wei Wuxian looks dazed, winded, as he looks up at Jiang Cheng. He winces. “My head hurts. Stop talking so loud.”

Great, Jiang Cheng thinks. Now whatever was left of his brain has been knocked out of his head.

Wei Wuxian pushes himself up on his elbows, looking around them. Then, he screams.

“Oh, shut up,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, even as he steps between Wei Wuxian and the demon dog. He kicks it with the toe of his boot, turning it over easily. “See? It’s dead. It can’t hurt you.”

Wei Wuxian sucks in a shuddering breath, pulls his knees against his chest as he steadies himself. He hangs his head, letting out a breathless laugh. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it isn’t clear whether he’s addressing Jiang Cheng or someone else. “I really was useless back there, wasn’t I?”

Jiang Cheng’s teeth grind together painfully. “We already knew that,” he snaps. “Some grand heretic Patriarch you are, undone by a dog.”

Wei Wuxian smiles faintly. “It was five dogs. And resentful energy didn’t have much effect.”

Jiang Cheng takes that to mean that Wei Wuxian had at least tried to defend himself, before fear had overtaken him. Was that for his own sake, or because he’d had Lan Sizhui to protect?

“You were saying— about A-Ling— before,” Jiang Cheng says stiltedly, at the reminder.

A brief, proud smiles ghosts over Wei Wuxian’s face. “That nephew did just as you told him to. He took Suihua and took off the last dog’s head.”

Jiang Cheng nods grimly, his mind still working even as the same pride sparks in him. “Then at least we don’t have to worry about those two, before we get back up there.” He reaches absently at his waist, searching for Sandu. But the sword is not in its sheath— because of course it wouldn’t be. It had been in his hand, just before they’d fallen. Zidian had automatically returned to ring form, but he’d been clutch Sandu when the ground fell out from under him. “Shit.”

He looks around, scanning the dark ground for a hint of the sleek blade. His hands clench at his sides. The ground is splattered with the demon dog’s blood, its body squashed and mangled in the fall. The forest’s trees have given way here to smaller plants— shrubs, underbrush, night-blooming flowers. But there is no Sandu.

Heartbeat quickening, Jiang Cheng extends a hand, calls forth his spiritual energy. It flares around him with purple light, radiating outwards in search of the sword that is tied to his soul. But though he senses a faint response to his call, the blade does not appear.

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asks, back on his feet. His voice is soft, considerate. It makes Jiang Cheng want to slap him.

“Sandu,” he says. “I must have dropped it, in the fall. We can’t get back up there without it.” He lifts his nose, looks down on Wei Wuxian coldly. “That is, unless you have a sword.”

Wei Wuxian smiles self-deprecatingly, spreads his hands. Chenqing is back at his waist, but there is no other weapon on him. “Sect Leader Jiang should know, my spiritual power is still very low. Even if I carried a sword, I wouldn’t be able to do much with it.”

“Then we’re going to have to find my sword, so I can drag your useless body back to Jin Ling,” Jiang Cheng snaps. He doesn’t know why he’s so angry. But he steps ahead, his spiritual energy searching further than his eyes can see.

After a moment, he hears Wei Wuxian’s footsteps behind him, feels his presence as he falls instep.

Neither of them mention Suibian, hanging at Jiang Cheng’s waist.

—

The sweet scent itches at his nose, not quite noticeable at first. It’s when Jiang Cheng, guided by the faint presence of Sandu, steps into water up to his ankles that he looks up and takes in the change of scene.

It’s a pond— or a lake, it’s impossible to see the edges of the water— filled with lily pads and brightly-colored flowers. A soft fog blurs the edges of the scene, color somewhere between gray and lavender under the moonlight.

And the scent. Why is the scent pulling at him so much?

“Wei Wuxian,” he says, “What do you make of—”

He startles, glancing around. Wei Wuxian had just been right beside him. They hadn’t been speaking, after Wei Wuxian’s few abortive attempts at making conversation. Because Jiang Cheng hadn’t wanted to speak to him. He never wants to speak to him, ever again, because walking alongside Wei Wuxian, being on a night hunt with him— it’s too much. Even if he no longer wants Wei Wuxian dead, how can participate in these farces? How can he get so close to the thing he wants, only to remember he’ll never have it? He can’t let Wei Wuxian make casual conversation. He can’t allow him to weasel his way back into Jiang Cheng’s good graces, his heart. Because Jiang Cheng won’t survive it. He knows this very well.

“Wei Wuxian!” He calls out, scanning the edges of the lake. “Where did you go?”

There’s no answer, just the echo of his own voice rippling along the water. Why would Wei Wuxian just wander off? Or did he sneak away, waiting for a moment when Jiang Cheng wasn’t paying attention? He wouldn’t just leave him, would he? Surely, not after—

His heart seizes. Gripped by a sudden panic, Jiang Cheng looks wildly around for his lost companion. And there, finally— a smudge of black and red out of the corner of his eye. Without thinking, he races towards it.

“Wei Wuxian!”

The dark smudge lingers are the corners of his vision, so that when he turns towards it, it is suddenly gone. Jiang Cheng stomps around the pond, until the water is lapping at his knees. The fog is rising, blurring his vision at the edges.

“Answer me!” he screams. “No one told you to jump off the fucking cliff with me, did they? So why would you do that and then disappear?”

It’s something he’s never understood about Wei Wuxian. During their childhood, their lost youth, he’d always been sure that Wei Wuxian would do anything to help another. And that especially applied to Jiang Cheng himself, no matter how much resentful competitiveness he felt towards Wei Wuxian. True to himself, Wei Wuxian was always there to ease the way, to keep him safe. But then, like a candle blowing out and leaving only smoke behind, he was gone. All his promises meant nothing, because Jiang Cheng was left alone.

Why bother helping in the first place, if he wasn’t going to see it through? It’s one thing he’s always wanted to know, but has never wanted to ask.

“Get back here!” Jiang Cheng screeches, turning about in useless circles. The water is up to his waist. The thick floral scent is growing stronger, itching his eyes and giving him a headache. “Wei Wuxian!”

He stumbles forward, his feet catching on a vine or root beneath the surface of the water. Unable to catch himself, he crashes forward into the water, landing on his hands and knees.

His back aches. His head throbs. His vision blurs.

Why does he feel like crying?

“Tch.” A sharp voice sounds from somewhere above him, cracking like a whip. “I thought I taught you better than this, A-Cheng.”

For the second time in the span of a few minutes, his heart stops. He struggles to brush the moisture from his eyes, to let his vision clear and focus on the person in front of him.

Even before his eyes see her, he knows who she is. Even after over a decade without her, he’d know her voice anywhere.

“Get up, A-Cheng.”

A flurry of purple silk descends on him, brushing over him.

He looks up, throat closing.

“Mom?”

—

Yu Ziyuan sneers down at him, looking every bit as beautiful and defiant as she did the last time he ever saw her. Then, her face softens. She kneels down, her long sleeves floating in the water. Grabbing him by his shoulders, she pulls him to his feet.

“What are you doing down in the dirt?” she asks coolly. “Surely that’s no place for the leader of Yunmeng Jiang.”

He nods slowly, because she’s right. Of course, she’s always right. “I was looking for—” he starts to say, eager to explain himself.

She shakes her head at him. “We’re all here. It’s just you we’re waiting for.”

He stands taller than her, now, but she still keeps a grip on his arm and steers him forwards. As she moves, the wind blows through her long sleeves and glossy dark hair. The scent of her perfume hits him, takes him back not fifteen years but almost thirty.

His mother used to wear lotus-scented perfume, when he was very little. He remembers presses his face into her neck and breathing it in, reaching for the small crystalline bottle that sat amongst her things. But at some point she’d stopped wearing it, and he’d never seen the bottle again. Was that after Wei Wuxian had come to live with them?

“Wei Wuxian,” he says, stumbling. “Where is he? I have to—”

“I told you,” his mother says sternly, sharp nails digging in where she grips his shoulder. “We’re all waiting for you, over here.”

“All?” Jiang Cheng echoes, before he sees.

A few feet away, lit up by the faint lights coming from the flowers drifting along the water, is his family.

A stabbing pain goes through him, and he would fall back to his knees if his mother wasn’t holding him upright.

The first person to step forward from the small crowd is his father. Tall, broad-shouldered, but with a painfully gentle smile, he inclines his head towards his wife. Jiang Cheng’s mother smiles in return, and her expression isn’t barbed or forced.

“Come see your son,” she says.

Madame Yu steps away from him, and Jiang Fengmian takes her place. Before he can look up and into his father’s eyes, Jiang Cheng flinches. After so long, what will his father see in him? What has he done that has broken past the boundary of “impossible”?

A soft, gentle hand rests against the crown of his head. “Sect Leader Jiang,” Jiang Fengmian says, and there’s a kind laughter in his words as he honors the title that was once his and is now Jiang Cheng’s. He pats Jiang Cheng’s head as if he were still a child, then brushes back his bangs and lets his fingers linger on the braids that Jiang Cheng wears in honor of his father.

Jiang Cheng’s face flushes a furious crimson.

“We left you to carry so much,” his father murmurs, regretful. “But you’ve done so well. My son.”

His heart feels so heavy he’s sure it’s going to crumple, folding it on itself without the strength to stay in one piece. Had his father ever called him as such, so warmly and with such pride? His eyes are stinging, but he pulls his shoulders back, determined to stand up straight in front of his parents.

“I wanted to make you proud,” he says, voice thick. It would be unbecoming, he thinks, to press himself against his father in search of an embrace. He hasn’t been held by anyone— well. Since the night they both died. No, that’s not right. Because his sister had been there to hold him, and she’d been the only one he allowed to get so close.

Jiang Yanli. How is he ever going to explain to his parents what he let happen to her?

“A-Cheng,” a soft, melodious voice calls out to him. “Why are you standing so far away? Come here, let me look at you.”

He glances up, stumbles forward, and has to choke down a sob. There is his sister, standing in her purple robes, her hair done back with a golden ornament. Next to her, his hand at Jiang Yanli’s waist, is Jin Zixuan.

“A-jie,” Jiang Cheng cries out, and now he runs to her, brushes Jin Zixuan aside and presses into his sister’s embrace.

Jiang Yanli brushes down his hair, presses a soft kiss to his brow. “What’s the matter, A-Cheng? Why are you crying?”

He pulls back just enough to brush the tears away with the backs of his hand. “I’m not crying.”

But here is Jiang Yanli, standing in front of him. And Jin Zixuan, hovering awkwardly at her side, giving Jiang Cheng a firm pat on the shoulder in a show of support. He’s so stiff, so distant, but he’s trying. Maybe they really can become brothers, of a sort. And after all, without him, they never would have Jin Ling—

“Jin Ling,” Jiang Cheng calls out, and his head throbs. “Where is he— he has to see you— A-jie, he looks just like you—”

Jiang Yanli cocks her head to one side, brow furrowed slightly. “What are you talking about? It’s late, A-Ling is asleep. Look, his cradle is just over there.”

He follows the direction she indicates, sees the smudge of a tiny golden cradle on the horizon.

Jiang Cheng shakes his head, a throbbing pain building behind his eyes. No, that’s not right— A-Ling is a teenager, now, and Sect Leader. He yells back at Jiang Cheng, defies him, but he also had tried his best to protect him from Jin Guangyao. His nephew is grown, had grown up an orphan, with only Jiang Cheng to support him. And Jiang Cheng wasn’t enough, could never have been enough, because how could he ever take the place of Jiang Yanli, who would have been the perfect mother?

“No, A-Ling is,” Jiang Cheng starts, but his words come thick and slow. “He’s up the mountain, with—” He breaks off, one hand against his head.

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli says softly, “We’re all here. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

“Unless you want A-Ling to grow up an orphan?” Jin Zixuan asks from above him. His voice isn’t unkind, just questioning. Like it really is a choice in Jiang Cheng’s hands.

“Of course not,” Jiang Cheng snaps, brushing them both away. He takes a step back, but then his parents are joining them, and he feels boxed in. “No— of course I want you all to be here— Jin Ling deserves to know his parents—”

“We’re all here,” his father says. “Isn’t this what you want? To be with all of us?”

Jiang Cheng nods. Why is he crying, again? This is what he wants, what he’s always longed for. He can see even more shadows coming up around him— his grandmother, the disciples from Yunmeng who’d been slaughtered by the Wens, even the dogs that were taken away when he was a child.

The dogs that were taken away because Wei Wuxian had come.

He looks up, head turning wildly as he searches for black and red in the midst of a sea of purple. “Where is he? Why isn’t he here?”

“Who?” his mother asks, her eyebrows arching.

Who? What a strange question. The moment she asks, Jiang Cheng’s mind goes fuzzy, and he can’t focus. He’d just been thinking about something, hadn’t he?

“I don’t understand,” he says.

His mother lets out a little huff. “Jiang Wanyin,” she says, and though her tone is scolding, it’s also fond. Her fingers graze his cheek, and then she grips his chin and forces him to look upwards. “You’re the sect leader of Yunmeng Jiang. The last of our legacy in this world. Why are you wasting time thinking about someone else?”

But that doesn’t make sense either. If he’s the last of their legacy, then how are they still here?

His father’s hand presses down on his head, again. It should be a kind gesture, but now it’s stifling, too much weight bearing down on him.

“A-Cheng,” he says lightly. “Didn’t I always tell you to follow our sect’s motto?”

Dumbly, choking back tears, Jiang Cheng nods under the weight of his father’s hand.

“And so, if this impossible has happened, shouldn’t you just accept it?”

Is that his problem? That he’s always been scared of the impossible, has not dared attempt it?

“What more could you want, A-Cheng?” Jiang Yanli asks gently. “We’re all here with you.”

He sniffs, because this is all he wants. To be with his parents, to have them be proud of him, to have his sister alive and by his side. For Jin Ling to have the chance to know his parents. For Jiang Cheng to lead Yunmeng Jiang as he was meant to, to inherit a thriving sect when his father stepped down, not to become air to smoke and ashes and carnage.

But this isn’t the way he always imagined it, the way he dreamed of it.

Where is his shadow, his support, his twin hero? Where is the person who promised to stay by his side and support him? Where is the person who always lifted him up, even as his very existence highlighted every one of Jiang Cheng’s flaws and inadequacies?

“Where’s Wei Wuxian?” His voice cracks.

Jiang Yanli presses close, puts a hand on his arm. “A-Cheng,” she says, sounding so soft and so sad, “If you had to choose—”

“Forget him,” Jin Zixuan recommends. “Is it worth his life, that Jin Ling will grow up alone?”

That’s right— it’s Wei Wuxian’s fault that Jin Ling is an orphan—

“He’s responsible for more than that, isn’t he,” his mother says. “Without him, your father will look at you. He’ll see you for who you are.”

Jiang Fengmian is smiling, utterly unperturbed by Wei Wuxian’s absence. “I didn’t give you enough time,” he says apologetically. “I want to fix that, now.”

“We’re a family,” Jiang Yanli says. “Don’t you want to stay with your family, A-Cheng?”

“I do,” he says. He’s sobbing openly now, and they’re all reaching out to touch him, grab him, hold him down. “I do want to stay with you. But why— isn’t he part of our family, too?”

It was never really said in such clear terms. When Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian travelled together, others would often comment that Wei Wuxian didn’t act like a servant. He was never treated as one, either. Whatever Wei Changze’s role in the Jiang sect had been, his son was brought into Jiang Fengmian’s household completely. Jiang Fengmian never called him a son, Jiang Cheng never called him a brother. But they were family.

“Is he?” Jiang Yanli’s voice is a ghostly whisper, colder than she’d ever been. “Isn’t it us you longed for, A-Cheng? Us who you wanted to bring back?”

When she says it, Jiang Cheng realizes something horrible. In those months after the Yiling Patriarch’s defeat, with a crying Jin Ling cradled against his chest on long nights, he had wished for his family back. He had cursed Wei Wuxian down to his bones, though they’d disappeared into dust, blown away on the wind.

And then, staring at Chenqing, the only piece of Wei Wuxian he had left, he’d spat, “I know you’re coming back. What good is demonic cultivation if we’d be rid of you so easily?”

It wasn’t a hope; it was a certainty. Wei Wuxian, dead though he was, would be back. Jiang Cheng had lost every other member of his family, save for the baby Jin Ling. But Wei Wuxian— Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to be undone by the rebound of his own power. He wasn’t going to be defeated by Jiang Cheng, of all people, who he’d always been superior to. It was only a matter of time.

Sometimes, Jiang Cheng thought that the certainty of seeing Wei Wuxian again was the only thing keeping him alive. That, and his responsibilities to Yunmeng and Jin Ling.

“Let him go,” Jiang Fengmian says. “Let him go, and all the rest of us will stay with you.”

“He belongs somewhere else, now,” Jiang Yanli says. “You belong with us.”

“Isn’t it an easy decision?” Jin Zixuan wonders aloud.

“You’d choose him, over your family?” Yu Ziyuan scoffs.

“He is my family,” Jiang Cheng chokes. Water has risen to his chest, climbing upwards to his neck. Underneath the surface, vines wrap around him, pulling him down. “He’s all the family I have. I— I finally got him back.”

“What do you have?” Yu Ziyuan snaps at him. “He won’t even look at you.”

“He doesn’t belong to Yunmeng, anymore,” Jiang Fengmian says sadly.

“He’s moved on,” Jiang Yanli reminds him. “He’s got Hanguang-Jun. He doesn’t need you.”

“But I—” It’s hard to breath. Water is covering him, filling his lungs. He fights to keep his head about the water. “But I need him.”

His mother’s face twists in front of him— or is it sister’s? His father, or Jin Zixuan? His grandmother, the disciples—

“Why won’t you stay with us?”

“I don’t know!” Jiang Cheng screams. He forces himself upwards, kicking aside the roots weighing him down, swinging his arms and trying to push the others away from him. He needs to think. “I don’t know! I want to stay! I don’t want to leave you! But I can’t! Not if he won’t be here, too! Not if I have to trade his life for yours!”

“Foolish boy.”

“Little idiot.”

“Disappointment.”

“I don’t care!” Jiang Cheng bares his teeth. Spiritual energy flares around him. “Wei Wuxian, where are you? Wei Wuxian!”

Zidian, responding to his energy, flares into a whip and circles him. Purple lightning dispels all foreign souls, all resentful energy. For just a moment, Jiang Cheng sees through the glamour. It isn’t his family surrounding him, but overgrown flowers and vines, latching onto him and trying to pull him beneath the water.

“I’ll kill you,” he declares viciously. “I’ll destroy you. But I won’t leave him!”

Chapter Text

His vision is doubled, two scenes fighting each other in front of his eyes. The first is his family, crowding around him, grabbing at him, their smiles gentle but their grips firm and sure. The second is the misty lake, the water coming up to his neck, the vines of plants curling around him and pulling him under. As if seeing one version of reality out of each of his eyes, Jiang Cheng’s head pounds, threatens to split itself in two. He opens his mouth, a hoarse scream escaping him.

His mother shushes him in the gentle way she used to, when he was just a child. Her hand strokes over his face. “It’s alright,” she says. “Just relax.”

At the same time, a vine curls around his neck, choking him. His scream cuts off.

He struggles nonetheless, trying to push them away. But then his father is holding him by both shoulders, looking straight into his eyes with a kindly stare.

“You never were what I wanted you to be,” he says plainly. “But now you can be. Just stay still. Don’t fight it.”

Another vine loops around his chest and shoulders, making it increasingly hard to breath. Jiang Cheng chokes for air, his eyes stinging with tears.

Jiang Yanli takes both of his hands in hers, her touch gentle but sure. “As long as we’re together, it’s alright, isn’t it?”

Thorny plants bind his wrists, cutting into his skin. Amidst the cool lotus scent, the tang of iron cuts through the air.

They’re pulling him down, and he can’t breathe, and either he’s going to suffocate or drown. But they aren’t lying to him, either. If he just gives in, if he lets himself go, he’ll die. And when he does, he won’t be alone anymore. Most everyone he’s ever loved has died. What right does he have to be alive, when the rest of them are gone? What desire does he have, to live on in this world without them?

“That’s right,” a cool voice says, and it could be any of them, or all of them. “Just forget everything else. Let go. Be free, here, with us. Forever.”

But hadn’t he just promised not to forget something—someone— important?

Blackness dots his vision, like ink dripping into water. He remembers, with sudden clarity, another time when he felt that it would be easier to let his soul drift off from his body, when he felt that there was nothing left to him in this world.

But someone had pulled him away from the burning wreckage of Lotus Pier. Someone had held him, forced him to eat. Someone had taken his rage and his pain, and given nothing back but kindness and resolve. Someone had caught him when he fell. Someone had saved him, when all was lost.

“I said,” Jiang Cheng grits out, even though speaking feels like forcing a knife up through his throat, “That I wouldn’t leave him!”

His own power, which had gone dormant and complacent as he slid into the comforting fold of his family, flares again now. He can feel the Qi gathered there, burning at the center of his being— his golden core. Wei Wuxian’s golden core.

Zidian springs to life again, extending out from his hands and slicing through the vines holding his wrists in place. They’re bleeding and raw, but he still manages to shift so that he can cut through the plants binding his chest and shoulders. He reaches up, rips away the vine curled around his neck.

“What are you doing?” his family cries out, alarmed. “Why are you doing this?”

This isn’t real, he tells himself. This can’t be real. They’re all long gone.

“A-Cheng—”

He snaps his eyes closed, swings Zidian out in front of him. But he still sees when the whip, at its full power, cuts through his father’s chest and shatters his image.

“Stop it, why—”

He swings the whip again, taking his mother’s head off her shoulders. He gulps back the urge to dry heave, gripping his hands so tightly that his nails dig into his palms. The pain reminds him of what he’s actually doing.

“You don’t want to do this,” Jin Zixuan says.

Jiang Cheng grits his teeth. “Don’t I?”

He cleaves Jin Zixuan clean in half. He whirls around, sending Zidian streaking like lightning in a circle around him, cutting through all the ghosts and illusions that thought to trick him, thought to uncover these wounds he’s tried so hard to bury.

“Please,” a soft voice says.

Jiang Cheng looks up, sees his sister standing before him. She’s clutching a bundle of blankets in her arms, embroidered in purple and gold. A small hand reaches out of the bundle, playing with Jiang Yanli’s hair.

Fury scorches through him. He is the one who held A-Ling as a baby. A-Ling pulled at his hair. A-Ling spat up on his robes. A-Ling cried against his shoulder. He is the one who made sure A-Ling was clothed, and fed, and sheltered. He is the one who ensured A-Ling wasn’t hurt. He is the one who taught A-Ling, who trained him, who loved him.

Not this specter. Not this trick. Not this spirit that dares to wear his sister’s image, her face, her smile.

A-Ling is now nearly a man grown, with the weight of an entire sect on his shoulders. No matter how much Jiang Cheng wishes otherwise, his nephew grew up an orphan. There is no denying that, no changing it. No amount of wishful thinking will bring back Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan, or anyone else that Jiang Cheng has lost.

Except that one person, who has already returned, and who Jiang Cheng continues to turn his back on.

“Enough!” Jiang Cheng brandishes Zidian, even as the image of Jiang Yanli looks at him in horror, reaches for him.

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he chokes out, even as he wishes he could choose otherwise. The whip flashes through the air, catches Jiang Yanli around the neck. Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, so he doesn’t have to see what comes next.

—

He comes back to himself in the shallows of the lake, kneeling in the water. The destroyed remains of the plants float back towards him, ripped to shreds and leaking purple-black fluid into the water. Petals and leaves stick to his robes, his hands, his neck.

Jiang Cheng never cries, hasn’t cried in so long. And yet now the tears fall freely, all the emotion he’s locked up inside of himself for years. He used to hold Jin Ling close to him, cry into his soft baby hair, and promise that he’d never weep when his nephew was old enough to understand, to see him. He didn’t want Jin Ling raised under clouds of sorrow, no matter what the circumstances.

But what had he given Jin Ling instead? A life shadowed by anger, instead of grief?

He clenches his hand, Zidian’s ring digging into his skin. What other choice did he have? He’s not Lan Xichen, who can hide everything behind a gentle smile, or Jin Guangyao, who can give a vulpine grin when plotting something dastardly. All he had was his anger, and he didn’t know how to mask it. Underneath it, there was grief, but how could he let that consume him, with everything else he had to contend with?

The other sect masters, they all had their supporters. Lan Xichen had his brother, his uncle, his sworn comrades. Jin Guangyao would have had the same, and certainly had those followers who obeyed his commands and carried out his plots. Even Nie Huisang had inherited a clan that wasn’t massacred, even if he’d lost his brother.

What did Jiang Cheng have? What more could he have lost?

Wasn’t Wei Wuxian supposed to be the one beside him? Wasn’t he supposed to have help, holding up the weight of the world?

He knows he has only himself to blame. He turned against Wei Wuxian, forced him to the brink and didn’t step in when the rebound of the restful energy ripped him apart. But what was he supposed to do differently? How could he have done anything differently?

He slaps his hands against the ground, the lake water coming up to splash him in the face.

“Fuck,” he groans out, throat sore and eyes stinging. “Wei Wuxian…”

Slowly, he drags himself to his feet. When he’d gotten caught up here, he’d been looking for someone. He has yet to find him.

He drags himself away from the water, cupping his hands around his mouth as he calls out Wei Wuxian’s name. This time, he’s more observant, extending his spiritual energy to make sure he won’t fall into any other traps. Between the dogs and the lake, it’s becoming clear that this mountain is out to take as many lives as it can. He needs to find Wei Wuxian and get back to the younger two as quickly as possible.

What if Wei Wuxian had fallen into the same trap that he did? What would Wei Wuxian see? The Jiang family, all together? Jiang Cheng brushes aside that thought. Why would Wei Wuxian ever want to be surrounded by people he killed, and Jiang Cheng, who he turned his back on? Maybe he sees his own parents, though he always claims not to remember much about them. Jiang Cheng’s own parents never spoke much about Wei Changze or Cangse Sanren. The rumors filled in the gaps of Jiang Cheng’s knowledge, but when he thinks about them, all he can imagine are too people as good-natured and talented, as magnetic and enticing, as Wei Wuxian is himself.

His muscles are tight, pain radiating out from his wounds, as he stomps his way across the wet grass. He’s searching for Wei Wuxian, but then he begins to sense the other thing he’d been looking for—Sandu.

Had Wei Wuxian continued his search for the sword?

He breaks into a run, following the pull of Sandu’s spiritual energy. The sword’s been by his side for decades, and he’d know its energy anywhere. The pull between them is strong; the sword is a part of his very soul.

At the thought, something sparks from where it’s hanging at his hip. Unconsciously, Jiang Cheng reaches down, his fingers grazing over Suibian’s hilt.

“It’s not my soul you’re looking for,” he grits out, very much aware that he’s talking to a sword.

As he continues to race through the grass, ducking around tree branches and staying close to the edge of the lake, he grimaces. Inside his chest, it feels like a heavy stone is weighing him down.

—

The air is too still, and then all at once a furious wind rolls through. The eerie silence of the night is broken by the melody of a flute. Chenqing’s song is low and melodious, so clear that Jiang Cheng can practically see the notes drifting along on the wind.

From there, it isn’t hard to find Wei Wuxian.

He wades back into the lake, Zidian gripped in his hands, prepared to strike out at any other illusions or resentful spirits. But none come towards him. Instead, all the energy in this side of the lake is being pulled in one direction.

The water itself is pulled forward, into a swirling whirlpool. And in the center of the maelstrom, eyes glinting red against the black night, is Wei Wuxian.

He doesn’t see Jiang Cheng, or if he does he doesn’t react to him. His eyes, though flashing with gathered power, are glassy and far-seeing. His dark hair whips around his face in the wind, Chenqing at his lips. His song draws in the resentful spirits, pulling them into a tumultuous spiral they can’t escape from.

Wei Wuxian pulls the flute from his lips, only to let out a dark laugh.

“You thought you could fool me?” His voice has the distant echo of power, of surety. It’s the same way he sounded when he reappeared that night Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji had finally tracked down Wen Chao.

Jiang Cheng has never wanted to admit it, but this side of Wei Wuxian scares him. Even the sound of his voice sends a tense anxiety rippling up Jiang Cheng’s spine.

Wei Wuxian continues, addressing the spirits that are shrieking in agony, the flowers and vines and branches all being pulled down, down into the water. “What could you possibly have to offer me? You thought I wouldn’t know him? Wouldn’t know it was untrue?”

Jiang Cheng freezes. Who is he talking about? What had the spirits shown him?

Wei Wuxian bares his teeth, uses Chenqing to slice through the air like a sword. The red glow of his power glows like embers, pulling the spirits into a dense cloud at the center of the spiral, forcing them into a smaller and smaller shape.

“I have my happiness,” Wei Wuxian declares. “I don’t need your illusions.”

He brings Chenqing back to his lips, plays three quick notes. The spirits shriek as they roil together, and then the dense ball they’ve been forced into bursts. The pressure breaks, and the spirits dissipate in clouds of purple-gray smoke. The wind stills, the water goes calm. And Wei Wuxian falls backwards, laying in the shallow pool left behind like he’s simply relaxing on the shores of Yunmeng.

He laughs, his hair fanning out behind him.

To Jiang Cheng, it’s a blade straight through his heart. Of course, Wei Wuxian did not need saving. Of course, Wei Wuxian would never be so foolish as to fall for the resentful spirits’ tricks. Of course, Wei Wuxian would see through the trap and overcome it.

It’s only Jiang Cheng who was completely undone, who had to slash through pieces of his own heart to escape.

Still, he can’t just leave Wei Wuxian behind now. He stomps his way through the water, until he comes up behind Wei Wuxian. He’s still lying there in the shallows, Chenqing clenched in one hand. But there’s something else, lying beside him— a glint of purple and silver. Sandu.

“You found it,” Jiang Cheng says, taken aback.

Wei Wuxian immediately pulls himself to a seated position, flashes a grin. “Of course. We were looking for it, weren’t we?”

As Jiang Cheng kneels down to reclaim his blade, he sees Wei Wuxian rubbing at his eyes with the back of one hand. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear that Wei Wuxian was wiping away tears.

Shakily, he replaces Sandu in its sheath, right next to Suibian. The energy leaves him all at once, whatever adrenaline he’d had gone as well. He slumps to his knees behind Wei Wuxian.

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says, grabbing his shoulder. “Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t have the strength to push him away, to insist that Wei Wuxian not get so close. “What.”

“You look…” Wei Wuxian starts, then grimaces. “Well. You won’t thank me for saying so, but you look awful. What happened?”

Jiang Cheng glowers, grabs a lock of Wei Wuxian’s wet hair and yanks on it in retaliation. “What do you think? I got caught up with those resentful spirits.”

Wei Wuxian yelps in protest, pulls away from Jiang Cheng’s hold. His hand stays a comforting, sold pressure on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “And fought your way out, eh? Even without a sword?”

“You don’t use a sword,” Jiang Cheng bites back.

Wei Wuxian spreads his hands. “I don’t have one.”

Now, Jiang Cheng thinks. Now, he should grab Suibian, thrust it back into Wei Wuxian’s hands, and finish the whole thing. He should get back to Jin Ling, and then turn his back on Wei Wuxian for good. He should end this now.

But he can’t. His hands are shaking, and he makes no effort to reach for Suibian. Instead, he looks up into Wei Wuxian’s eyes and demands, “What did you see?”

Wei Wuxian leans back, pressing his lips together. He’s thinking. “The resentful spirits were trying to get us to die willingly,” he says, like he’s recording all this in his mind for later study. “Showing us something we couldn’t walk away from, hoping we’d die quietly. But…”

“But what?” Jiang Cheng snaps. Wei Wuxian has artfully side-stepped his question.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “I’ve already died once, you know? And my life isn’t in my own hands, anymore. No matter what they offered me, I couldn’t accept it. I can’t leave Lan Zhan behind. Or Lan Sizhui, either.”

Jiang Cheng pulls away from Wei Wuxian fully, turns away as he covers his face with one hand. Still, the dark, hollow laughter escapes him.

“What?” Wei Wuxian leans closer to him. “Jiang Cheng?”

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng says, his shoulders shaking. Is he laughing now, or crying? “Of course.”

“What, of course?”

Jiang Cheng sucks in a breath, his voice watery as he says, “Of course, you could get out of it. If that’s what it was doing, it doesn’t stand a chance against people who are happy.”

Wei Wuxian rears back, as if Jiang Cheng has slapped him. “Jiang Cheng—”

“Am I wrong?” Jiang Cheng demands. “That’s it, isn’t it? You have Second Master Lan, this whole life you’ve built for yourself! You can walk away from everything else! So why would you ever even be tempted? Is there anything left that you want?”

A shadow crosses over Wei Wuxian’s face, his expression shuttering. “You’re right,” he says quietly. “I don’t have the right to want—”

“It’s not fair,” Jiang Cheng says, voice cracking. “Everything you’ve done, and you get to be happy?”

Wei Wuxian looks up, stricken.

The pain in his expression only stokes Jiang Cheng’s anger more, because how dare he? How dare he look so aggrieved, so sad, at this moment? What doesn’t he have? He’s always been talented, a near-genius, the founder of an entire branch of heretic cultivation! He has so much power, so much surety in himself, that he gave his golden core away! Because Jiang Cheng was that pitiful, that weak, compared to him.

And now, even after his own death, even after he took so much of Jiang Cheng’s family, he gets to live a full life! He gets to run away to the Cloud Recesses, and act so shamelessly with the second ranked Young Master of their generation! How dare he! How dare he get love, and security, and peace, after everything?

How dare Jiang Cheng still want him, still want his companionship and friendship and support, knowing how utterly unnecessary he is to Wei Wuxian’s life? Hasn’t he been humiliated enough? Hadn’t his father always preferred Wei Wuxian? Hadn’t his mother always reminded him that he was coming in second place? Hadn’t he been unable to reclaim his parents’ remains without Wei Wuxian’s help? Hadn’t it been Wei Wuxian who had gotten revenge and killed Wen Chao? Hadn’t it been the Yiling Patriarch’s power and reputation that had kept the other clans from trying to cannibalize Yunmeng Jiang?

If he can’t win, if he can’t have what he wants, why can’t he at least have some peace?

“Jiang Cheng.” Wei Wuxian takes him by the shoulders, shaking him roughly.

He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to shake Wei Wuxian off. His expression twists into something horrible, even as his lips pull upwards in a smile.

“You’re going to haunt me for the rest of my life, aren’t you?”

Wei Wuxian drops his hands, pulls back. “I’ve done my best to leave you be. But before, when you said, I thought—”

“You’ve been taunting me,” Jiang Cheng accuses. “You’re always around, always throwing your happiness in my face!”

“I’m not!” Wei Wuxian looks up, affronted. “I’ve kept away from you!”

“Why did you come on this night hunt, then?”

“I was already coming, and then Jin Ling told me you invited yourself—”

“Don’t turn this on me, this is your—”

“Listen to me, Jiang Cheng! I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be, but—”

“Stop it! Stop being so understanding! Stop acting like you understand me!”

“I’m trying to understand!” Wei Wuxian snaps, his hands coming down against the ground, sending droplets of water flying at them both. “I cannot change the past! But I won’t keep apologizing, either! If you want me to stay away from you, I will! But you have to be clear with me— what do you want?”

For so long, his wants have been far-off, impossible things. He wants his parents back. He wants his sister to be alive. He wants Lotus Pier never to have burned. He wants the Wens to have never existed. He wants to have never turned on Wei Wuxian—

He stops, gulping for air like the life is once again being choked out of him. He looks up, and there is Wei Wuxian, looking down at him with another man’s face. But his eyes, dark gray and filled with intelligence, and kindness, and curiosity, and concern— oh. Those eyes are the same.

“I want—” He knows what he wants, doesn’t he? If he didn’t, he never would have left the deadly embrace of those resentful spirits, the illusory happiness of having his family back. He’d made a choice, and there’s no denying it.

“I want—” He starts again, the words caught in his throat.

“Yes?” Wei Wuxian says, and his voice is gentle, but there’s that familiar gleam of challenge in his eyes.

Jiang Cheng knows that gleam. He’d have it before he’d challenge Jiang Cheng to a race, or to spar, or to see who could shoot an arrow the farthest. He’d had it that day they’d raced up the grand white stairs cut into the mountain, to arrive at Lotus Pier. He’d had it when they’d stood back-to-back during the Sunshot Campaign.

He’d had it just hours ago, when they’d begun this night hunt with that stupid competition.

Jiang Cheng hadn’t even realized he’d missed it, hadn’t even given himself the time to enjoy having it back.

“I want…”

He’s going to say it, now. Even if Wei Wuxian can’t give him what he wants, at least he’ll speak his wish into existence. Then he won’t be able to deny it to himself, and maybe then he can finally move forward.

“I want—”

His last words are swallowed as a furious howl cuts through the night. The blood drains from Wei Wuxian’s face, and the ground shakes as something takes heavy steps behind him.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says in a hushed, strained whisper. He points to somewhere behind Jiang Cheng’s back. “Dog.”

—

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t give himself a moment to think. Jiang Cheng immediately pushes himself to his feet, reaches out and grabs the collar of Wei Wuxian’s robes with one hand as he calls forth Sandu with the other.

“We need to move,” he says. “Now.”

He’s still carrying Wei Wuxian by his collar, his mind barely registering how light, how small, the other man is. Mounted on Sandu, he flies low across the surface of the lake. His reserves of spiritual energy aren’t at their best, but he’s the leader of Yunmeng Jiang. He can push his own limits.

“Jiang Cheng, it’s—” Wei Wuxian lets out an abortive yelp, covering his face with his hands.

Somewhere in his bones, Jiang Cheng already knows. The amount of energy— spiritual, resentful, he can barely tell— building behind them is immense. The roar of the creature behind them cuts through the air again, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. An overwhelming pressure is building behind them, and Jiang Cheng’s only thought is that they have to outrun it.

He’s only ever felt like this once before, and that was—

“It’s like the Xuanwu of Slaughter,” Wei Wuxian says, eyes wide and glassy. “But it’s— but it’s—”

The creature roars again, and with that roar comes a physical impact, like the sound has been given another form. Waves roll out from behind them, hitting Jiang Cheng across the back. He grits his teeth, tries to keep his focus, but then another blast comes and he’s knocked off his feet. Sandu slides out from underneath him, and he hits the ground, he and Wei Wuxian rolling until they come to a stop in a crumpled heap.

Wei Wuxian pushes himself up first, looking around wildly. “A flare,” he says, “Jiang Cheng, do you have a flare? We need—”

“I respond to distress signals,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “I don’t send them out.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “What good is that to us, right now?”

“What about you?” Jiang Cheng spits. “Go on, call for Gusu Lan. Call for your Second Master Lan.”

Wei Wuxian clenches his hands, but that doesn’t hide how they’re shaking. “I’m not a member of Gusu Lan Sect! I don’t carry their flares!”

Stupid, so stupid. He doesn’t even have a way to call for Jin Ling, not that he’d ever invite his nephew into this danger. If that boy knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep far away from here.

“Get up,” Jiang Cheng orders, even though he’s barely gotten up to his knees, “We have to get out of here—”

“We can’t just leave it,” Wei Wuxian starts to say, “No one else knows there’s a creature like this—”

“You’re going to be useless!” Jiang Cheng hisses. The ground shakes, the monster getting closer. Jiang Cheng lifts his head, and gets his first good look at it as its shadow covers the horizon.

Wei Wuxian had called it a dog. He wasn’t wrong, exactly, but he hadn’t given the entire picture, either.

The creature that comes lumbering towards them is as big as the Xuanwu of Slaughter had been. It walks along on four feet, is covered in thick fur that’s striped like a tiger’s. If Jiang Cheng had to describe it, he’d call it a lion dog, a shi. It has the form and maw of a dog, but a lion’s mane and tail. Its feet end in deadly claws, its mouth opens to reveal teeth as sharp as mountain peaks against the horizon. Its eyes are black and unseeing, deep and endless.

“...Bai Hu of Slaughter,” Wei Wuxian says.

Every muscle in Jiang Cheng’s body goes taught, his head ringing as though filled with a thousand bells. How unlucky can the same person be, over and over? How is it that they’ve encountered another creature, full of resentful and spiritual energy, just short of rising to godhood?

“I thought it’d look more like a tiger,” Wei Wuxian says, mumbling to himself. “But it’s, but it’s…”

“It’s a dog,” Jiang Cheng finishes for him. It’s a dog, and they both know very well what that means. The tension and fear that fill Jiang Cheng at this moment are nothing compared to the terror that’s grabbed Wei Wuxian. Worse than the dog demons, far worse than any normal dog— here is his nightmares made flesh, a creature so malicious and powerful and terrible taking the form of his childhood terror.

With that realization, Jiang Cheng knows what has to be done.

He grabs Sandu back up off the ground, grabs Wei Wuxian’s wrist and tugs him forward. Wei Wuxian snaps forward with the tug, like his body has no resistance, no energy of its own.

“Take this,” Jiang Cheng says, forcing Sandu into Wei Wuxian’s hands. “Take it, fly back to Jin Ling, and go get help.”

“What—” Wei Wuxian starts to say.

“I’ll lead it in the other direction,” Jiang Cheng says. Wherever they’ve fallen on this mountain, it’s clearly a place that people rarely end up. Otherwise, how would the Bai Hu have gone so long without being discovered? Now that they know it’s here, they have to deal with it. “I’ll lead it away, and you go.”

“Jiang Cheng, I can’t—”

“I don’t care about your stupid, compulsive need to be a hero!” Jiang Cheng hisses. The Bai Hu is getting closer, and they don’t have much time. “You’re going to be useless and get in my way if you stay, so go!”

“No, it’s not that— I can’t, Jiang Cheng. I can’t fly on a sword. My core is— it’s not strong enough.”

That stops Jiang Cheng in his tracks. He’d never thought about it, how Wei Wuxian hadn’t flown when he’d come back to them as the Yiling Patriarch. He’d thrown Suibian around, had never carried it, despite how much Jiang Cheng had protected it and worked to get it back to its rightful owner. Jiang Cheng hadn’t realized why until just a few months ago, when the truth of his own golden core was forced on him.

He’d just assumed, that now that Wei Wuxian is back, everything else is also normal. That he’d taken Mo Xuanyu’s body, but retained his own power and strength.

“What have you been doing?” Jiang Cheng screeches. “Just— no, I don’t want to think about what you and Second Master Lan have been doing. But how could you be so stupid, so careless? How are you going to get away, now?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs helplessly, his lips quirking upwards in an apologetic smile. “I can’t,” he repeats.

There’s a second option, here. If Wei Wuxian can’t fly away for help, then Jiang Cheng can. Nothing is holding him back from doing so.

He does not consider that option for even a moment.

“Don’t get in my way,” he grits out. He yanks Sandu back, lets Zidian resume its true form. Mounting his sword, he races forward to meet the Bai Hu head-on, before it can harm Wei Wuxian.

—

He doesn’t— can’t— expect any help from Wei Wuxian. The fact that Wei Wuxian could speak in somewhat complete sentences after seeing the Bai Hu is an accomplishment in and of itself; he can’t imagine Wei Wuxian leashing his fear long enough to actually attack the Bai Hu. And so, the task falls to him alone.

When they’d been trapped with the Xuanwu of Slaughter, Jiang Cheng had never even had to think about it facing it head-on. They were trapped without swords, without any cultivation tools, and getting out was their best option. But this creature, the Xuanwu’s mammalian cousin, isn’t contained in a cave. It’s out in the opening, stomping around this side of the mountain, and if they leave it behind who knows how much destruction it will wreak before they come back with a larger, more prepared team of cultivators?

If he turns around, and grabs Wei Wuxian and runs, who will get back to take on the Bai Hu first? Will Wei Wuxian summon Second Master Lan, and will the two of them have yet another legendary victory between them?

Fuck that. So what if Jiang Cheng has never measured up to Wei Wuxian? So what if Lan Wangji has always been ranked second, and Jiang Cheng fifth? So what? Isn’t he a cultivator just like the rest? Hasn’t he spent his whole life honing his own skills? Where is it written that only Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are heroes?

Those thoughts run through him as he races towards the Bai Hu. The beast is big enough to swallow him whole, to crush him without thought underneath its massive paws. Jiang Cheng doesn’t intend to give it the chance to do either.

Zidian flares around him. Coming up on one side of the Bai Hu, Jiang Cheng snaps the whip, sending it to slice like a knife across the back of the Bai Hu’s skull.

The impact of the strike reverberates back to him, making his hands shake as he focuses on maintaining his footing on Sandu. From the cut, resentful energy leaks out of the Bai Hu like blood.

Jiang Cheng raises his arm, prepared to strike again.

The Bai Hu turns its head slowly. It regards Jiang Cheng with two massive yellow eyes, blinking at him.

The amount of resentful energy built up in this creature is— it’s too much to even contemplate. Jiang Cheng doesn’t hear or feel anything, his world narrowing down to the Bai Hu’s eyes, the ancient and powerful stare that fixes him and won’t let him go.

Cut its head off, he thinks desperately. Get done with this as quickly as you can. Otherwise, you won’t survive.

The Bai Hu opens its mouth, breathes out. Its breath is putrid, blowing hot drool in massive droplets towards Jiang Cheng. He flinches away just as the Bai Hu’s tongue lolls out of its mouth.

It really is like a dog, he thinks. He directs Sandu back a few feet, then lifts Zidian again. No more distractions. He has to finish this.

He strikes out again, the whip of purple lightning cutting the Bai Hu right between the eyes. Again, the creature’s skin splits, ghostly dark smoke rising from the wound. The Bai Hu itself blinks again, shakes its head in confusion like it’s never felt pain before.

The Bai Hu roars, the sound emanating out from it like waves crashing against the shoreline. Its roar pounds in Jiang Cheng’s ears, but he doesn’t hear it so much as he feels it.

The impact blows him backwards, and no amount of spiritual energy directed into Sandu can keep him in place. Jiang Cheng’s back hits the heavy trunk of a nearby tree, and he screams in pain as the wounds he’d gotten earlier slide against the rough bark.

He recalls Sandu to his hand, holds Zidian in the other. He lifts his weapons, prepared to guard and strike as the Bai Hu comes towards him.

Except, long moments pass, and the Bai Hu does not advance on him.

Through the fog of his own adrenaline and fear, a high-pitched note cuts into his awareness.

Below him, on the ground, someone is playing a flute.

—

Wei Wuxian is a blur of black ink against the gray night, Chenqing raised to his lips. His song is frantic, rising to erratic crescendos and cascading back down again. Instead of frightening, the notes are frightened.

Jiang Cheng rides low on Sandu, coming up behind the Bai Hu’s legs as it stands still. Resentful energy swirls around the Bai Hu’s limbs, circling its legs like shackles.

How is Wei Wuxian doing this? Why isn’t he paralyzed by fear?

No matter, Jiang Cheng thinks. He has to take this chance now that he has it.

He sets himself onto the ground, picks up Sandu and charges for the Bai Hu’s back legs. He swings his blade in a wide arc, aiming to slice one leg off entirely.

His sword cuts into the Bai Hu’s leg, all his strength behind the blow. But Sandu does not cut through the muscle and bone as easily as it has severed limbs, severed heads, before. Instead, the sword gets stuck as it cuts into the Bai Hu’s leg, and when the Bai Hu steps forward Jiang Cheng is dragged along by his grip on Sandu. When the Bai Hu sets its paw down again, Jiang Cheng is slammed against the ground.

The high-pitched music cuts off abruptly.

“Jiang Cheng!”

“Don’t stop!” Jiang Cheng hisses. “If you can do anything, focus on that thing!”

There’s a long pause, punctuated by Wei Wuxian’s labored breathing. But then, the song starts up again.

Jiang Cheng pushes himself to his feet, calls Sandu back to him. Attacking the head didn’t work, and neither did trying to slice off its legs. What can he do, now? Go for the heart? But if Sandu didn’t cut through its leg, how will it pierce the Bai Hu’s chest?

“How did you kill the Xuanwu?” he shouts, and his voice is a screech, the sound of sharp metal being dragged across rough stones.

There’s no answer, at first. The song continues, holding the Bai Hu back. With the pounding in his skull and the pain radiating through his body, it takes Jiang Cheng a moment to realize what Wei Wuxian is waiting for. He’s still amongst the Bai Hu’s legs, waiting to be trampled if Wei Wuxian lets the beast go.

Jiang Cheng rushes forward, back to the spot where he’d left Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian hasn’t moved in that time, and his pallor is deathly pale. But he has Chenqing raised, the song continuing until Jiang Cheng is out of immediately danger.

“So?” Jiang Cheng demands, craning his head to look behind him, to keep watch on the Bai Hu. “How’d you do it?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, staring at his feet. “It wasn’t me,” he says. “I told you and Uncle Jiang then, it was Lan Zhan—”

“Oh, shut up,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “Don’t try and brush off the glory, you were there! How did you kill it?”

“It’s—” Wei Wuxian’s eyes are wide, his pupils spinning as he tries to keep focus on the Bai Hu. They’ve got maybe seconds before it resumes its course towards them. “It’s— I—”

Jiang Cheng grabs him by both shoulders, shaking him. “Focus! What did you do? How did you survive?”

Wei Wuxian is shivering under his grip, his fear barely contained. Rage courses through Jiang Cheng like fire, but then Wei Wuxian reaches up and grips his elbows, holding onto him in turn.

His touch, even with Mo Xuanyu’s hands, is startlingly familiar. It’s comforting, and solid, and sure.

“Lan Zhan did kill it,” Wei Wuxian says, gulping down air. “He strangled it, used strings as a garrote, kept tugging for hours until it was dead.”

“We don’t have hours,” Jiang Cheng says. And neither of them have ever cultivated with string. He doubts either of them are inclined to pick up that tactic, after Jin Guanyao’s use of it. “We have to—”

The Bai Hu roars behind them, sending Jiang Cheng crashing into Wei Wuxian, both of them tumbling to the ground. Wei Wuxian clings to Jiang Cheng’s arms, shaking violently.

“Jiang Cheng— Jiang Cheng, dog,” he murmurs, over and over like a mantra. Like it’s the only string of words that can keep him safe.

“I know,” Jiang Cheng snaps, pulling himself and Wei Wuxian back up to their feet. He pulls Wei Wuxian forward, buying precious space between them and the Bai Hu. Wei Wuxian is dragging his feet, rooted in place, and Jiang Cheng grabs his hand and yanks him. “Have I ever let a dog get you, before?”

Wei Wuxian trips over his own feet, looking up at Jiang Cheng with wide eyes.

“Have I?” Jiang Cheng repeats, shaking him.

Slowly, Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “No.”

“Then why would I start now?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“You wouldn’t,” Wei Wuxian says.

It’s something Jiang Cheng always known, but has never been able to express to Wei Wuxian. He would have thrown himself in front of any danger to protect him, no matter what the cost. Hadn’t he chased the Wen dogs away, even though it meant his own capture? He doesn’t want Wei Wuxian to know that, even knowing that Wei Wuxian more than repaid him in kind. He didn’t do it to be heroic. He didn’t do it for gratitude. He did it because protecting Wei Wuxian had been his job since he was a child, and it represented the surest bond in his life, the one relationship he never had to question.

“That’s right,” Jiang Cheng says, giving him another shake. “I will never let any fucking dogs get you. Ever. So, get ahold of yourself, and help me figure out how to kill this thing!”

Wei Wuxian nods, even though Jiang Cheng can see him biting down on the inside of his cheek. Maybe the pain helps him stay in this moment, keeps the fear from overtaking him.

“Before, we had a distraction and a trap,” Wei Wuxian says. “Lan Zhan and I, with the Xuanwu. This thing is moving slowly, but one wrong move and it will crush us. The same might work again.”

“We don’t have any better options,” Jiang Cheng agrees grimly. He steps back onto Sandu, feels Wei Wuxian clutch him around the waist. He lifts them both into the air, hovering at the tree line.

“I’ll distract it,” Wei Wuxian says, close to his ear. “And you, with Zidian—”

“Absolutely not,” Jiang Cheng snaps.

“What else can we strangle it with?” Wei Wuxian asks, his voice shaky.

“You’re not going to be bait,” Jiang Cheng insists, because he doesn’t have an actual answer to Wei Wuxian’s question.

“You just said we don’t have a better plan—”

“You’d be too easy!” Jiang Cheng growls. “It could kill you in a second, and you’d freeze!”

“Not if—” Wei Wuxian starts to say.

“Not if what?” Jiang Cheng demands, before he can even finish.

Jiang Cheng feels Wei Wuxian at his back, ducking his head. He wishes, with sudden intensity, that he could see Wei Wuxian’s face, and read his expression. He wishes it was the face Wei Wuxian had been born with, the one that Jiang Cheng had learned to read as well his own.

“Not if I’m protecting you,” Wei Wuxian mumbles into the back of Jiang Cheng’s robes. “I won’t let it hurt you, either.”

Tell that to his smarting back, Jiang Cheng thinks darkly, before the weight of Wei Wuxian’s words truly hits him. Why would Wei Wuxian still look to protect him, after everything? Jiang Cheng had done nothing to protect Wei Wuxian from his first death, had threatened on every occasion to send him to his second.

Can Wei Wuxian tell, despite all that, that Jiang Cheng still wants him alive? Still wants him in his life? Still loves him, as much as he always has?

Or, more impossibly— does Wei Wuxian feel the same way? Can he possibly have held onto any love for Jiang Cheng, despite everything?

“It’s not going to get either of us,” Jiang Cheng decides. Not if they’re protecting each other.

—

As the leader of Yunmeng Jiang, Jiang Cheng is considerably biased towards his own sect’s cultivation practices. Still, he thinks even if he belonged to one of the more musically-inclined sects, he would still find instruments to be inadequate weapons.

His biases are confirmed when he sees Wei Wuxian standing up in the branches of a tall tree, armed with nothing but Chenqing. Yes, the Ghost Flute has been part of horror stories and legends for over a decade, now. But that doesn’t mean that the slim, tiny flute is enough to stand between Wei Wuxian and the Bai Hu.

Idiot, Jiang Cheng thinks again. Idiot, idiot, idiot! He’s been alive again for what, almost a year, now? And he’s never thought to build up his golden core enough to wield a sword?

The Wei Wuxian of his youth had been careless, even cocky. But he’d backed that up with incredible strength in cultivation, with genius and instincts. He named his sword Suibian, but his finesse with the blade had been nothing to scoff at. How could he let himself be reduced to this?

His own heart beats against his chest, reminding him of the core that lives within him. The one he didn’t earn, or cultivate himself. The one that, once given to him, had robbed Wei Wuxian of his own strength.

Jiang Cheng shakes his head roughly. Now isn’t the time to get caught in his own thoughts. He has Sandu in one hand, Zidian in the other. When Wei Wuxian draws the Bai Hu in, it’ll be his job to finish the beast.

The Bai Hu lumbers slowly, its yellow eyes gleaming in the night. It has no use for speed; whatever it reaches, it will be able to crush immediately.

Wei Wuxian’s song picks up, a gentle melody drifting on the wind. The light notes evoke petals drifting on the breeze, snowflakes floating down to earth, the gentle fall of a silk garment.

Jiang Cheng breathes in, breathes out.

The Bai Hu turns towards the music, its ears perking up like Fairy’s would. Jiang Cheng’s stomach churns at the comparison; it doesn’t want to think of himself as butchering an actual dog. But the Bai Hu could never be a docile pet or a trained spirit dog. Instead, it could crush entire villages, devour countless people. Like the smaller demon dogs, it would render spirit from flesh, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse behind.

He’s not going to let that happen to Wei Wuxian.

The Bai Hu takes its slow steps towards Wei Wuxian, the energy evoked by Chenqing’s song swirling around it.

When its head is turned, Jiang Cheng takes his chance.

He steps onto Sandu, racing through the air towards the Bai Hu. Zidian flares into life, and with one elegant motion Jiang Cheng sends the whip curving around the Bhai Hu’s neck. Zidian makes a loop, coming back to him, and he grips the end of the whip in one hand and its handle in the other. He has Sandu pull back, and as it does he pulls Zidian into a noose around the Bai Hu’s neck.

Wei Wuxian’s song picks up— the gentle melody gives way to a faster pace, like the thunderous footfalls of an army charging into battle.

Jiang Cheng pulls at Zidian, drawing the whip tighter around the Bai Hu’s neck.

The Bai Hu rears back, balancing on its back paws as the front one claw at the air. A low growl builds in the beast’s chest, breaking into the air like the crack of fireworks.

Jiang Cheng is yanked upwards as the Bai Hu throws back its head, still pulling on Zidian. The whip cuts into his hands, the spiritual energy not harmful but ever-present. Sandu keeps him steady, holding him up in the air, but even after a minute of holding on Jiang Cheng has to wonder how Second Master Lan kept this up for hours.

The Bai Hu tosses its head, stamps its feet. The barest motion of its neck sends Jiang Cheng swinging wildly through the air, his knuckles white as he pulls at Zidian.

Below them, around them, somewhere, Wei Wuxian is in the tree branches, playing an increasingly frantic melody.

The energy that swirls around the Bai Hu isn’t enough to hold it in place, just barely manages to distract it from the noose around its neck. It follows the sound, its head cocking to one side as its ears lift and fall.

Through all of this, Jiang Cheng holds on. Is Zidian even making a dent? Are they any closer to taking off the beast’s head?

Sweat beads down his brow. Time is either moving very quickly or very slowly, and he can’t be sure which it is. He pours spiritual energy into Zidian, the whip sparking and flaring with purple light.

The Bai Hu howls, its call shaking the leaves from the trees. The sound overpowers Wei Wuxian’s song, and for a long moment Jiang Cheng can’t hear Chenqing at all. His ears roar with the deafening call of the Bai Hu, the pressure pushing him backwards as he tries to stay steady on Sandu.

But the howl breaks Wei Wuxian’s spell, and the Bai Hu rears up again. It jerks its head forward suddenly, and Jiang Cheng is pulled forward with it.

“Jiang Cheng!”

He hears Wei Wuxian’s cry, but can’t do anything as he falls forward. Sandu drops from beneath him, and Zidian slides through his hands no matter how he tries to hang on. He tumbles through the air, crashing to the ground in front of the Bai Hu’s paws. Zidian is lost somewhere behind him, Sandu hidden among the dark, shadowed grass.

“Jiang Cheng!”

He’s still trying to scramble to his feet when the Bai Hu’s front paw comes crashing down on him, pressing against his back and forcing him face-first into the dirt. The paw covers him entirely, pressing into the wounds in his back. He feels like he’s just burst into flames, and he claws at the ground, trying to find purchase to pull himself away. He opens his mouth, and his scream is hoarse and terrible.

“Don’t come here!” he screams. “Finish the job! Find Zidian!”

“I’m not going to—” Wei Wuxian calls out to him, his voice angry and scared.

“Find Zidian!” Jiang Cheng orders, in the tone that has his enemies falling to his knees, that calls every unruly member of his sect back into line. “I’ll be fine!”

He doesn’t hear if Wei Wuxian descends from the tree branches, if he races for Jiang Cheng or actually follows orders and looks for Zidian. The Bai Hu is pressing down on him, its putrid breath blowing over Jiang Cheng like a hot, oppressive wind. If its mouth is getting closer, that means it’s going to—

Jiang Cheng clenches his eyes shut. He’s thought about death so many times, longed for it at his darkest moments. But not like this. He’s not going out like this.

He hears the snapping of teeth, feels streaming drops of drool fall down on him.

Not like this!

One hand is trapped at his side by the Bai Hu’s paw. He squirms in its grip, reaching down to his hip.

The Bai Hu lifts its paw just a fraction of space, to nose along his back and licks at him. Jiang Cheng shudders, feels the graze of teeth against his skin, big enough to snap him in half with one motion.

But the space is enough, and he reaches until he grabs the hilt of a sword.

“Get off me!” he screams, and then pulls the sword straight up, out of its sheath and into the underside of the Bai Hu’s maw.

The Bai Hu rears back, howling, black blood and spiritual energy dripping from the wound.

Jiang Cheng struggles to his knees, then up to his feet. He’s shaking, his hand clenched around the sword’s hilt. His hair has fallen out of its proper bun, flowing in a tangled curtain of black around his shoulders.

He lifts the sword, poised to strike again.

The moonlight catches on Suibian’s blade, showing Jiang Cheng his own reflection, his eyes gleaming as though lit with purple lightning.

—

The Bai Hu turns on him, growling even as blood drips from its wound. Its yellow eyes gleam with rage, its breathing ragged and stifling as summer heat.

Of course, Sandu hadn’t been enough to kill it, so how could Suibian be?

He doesn’t know where Wei Wuxian is, or where Zidian has fallen to. All he has is Suibian, the pain burning through him like fire, and the knowledge that if he falls to the Bai Hu, it will surely go after Wei Wuxian next.

Jiang Cheng turns his head, spits out onto the ground. There’s blood in his mouth.

He lets out a hoarse roar, and charges at the Bai Hu. Suibian is a slenderer sword than Sandu, it’s weight different in his hand. But he flips it up, guides it straight through the Bai Hu’s left eye with a surge of spiritual energy.

The Bai Hu lets out a terrible cry, rearing up and swatting Jiang Cheng away. He hits the ground hard, Suibian returning to hover at his side, drenched it the Bai Hu’s black blood. The Bai Hu lurches down again, the ground shaking under its paws.

Suibian hovers in front of him like a guard, but won’t be enough to stop the force of the Bai Hu’s paws if it tramples him.

The Bai Hu’s roar is like thunder, and so Jiang Cheng doesn’t expect the lightning to come after it.

And yet, a blaze of purple light illuminates the scene, the bolt of lightning striking out like a whip and wrapping around the Bai Hu’s neck. Force drags the Bai Hu back, Zidian circling its neck like a noose.

Wei Wuxian has climbed up onto the Bai Hu’s back, stupidly, impossibly. His pale face and dark hair are lit up by Zidian’s light. Because Wei Wuxian is gripping Zidian in both hands, using it like only a true wielder of the weapon could. A wielder approved by Zidian’s true master.

“You never told me!” Wei Wuxian yells down at him, even as he focused on keeping Zidian pulled taught around the Bai Hu’s neck.

“What?” Jiang Cheng huffs, getting back to his feet, grabbing for Suibian’s hilt. “I’m supposed to spell it all out for you?”

Wei Wuxian has been able to wield Zidian since Jiang Cheng became its master. Even in his grief, even in his rage, he’d known then that Wei Wuxian was the person he trusted most, perhaps the only person left he could trust, other than his sister. Jiang Yanli had been able to wield Zidian when she was alive, but she’d never had to. And somehow, after he’d lost her, after his resentment against Wei Wuxian had turned to poison, Jiang Cheng had still never rescinded permission for Wei Wuxian to use the whip of purple lightning.

Now, grinning grimly, Jiang Cheng catches a gleam of silver under Zidian’s light. He pulls Sandu towards him, holding it in his right hand while Suibian remains in his left. His loose hair blows around his face, but he has no hand left to brush it back. Looking unkempt and unwound, he charges at the Bai Hu with both blades lit by Zidian’s light.

He tosses both swords upwards, makes two hand signals and watches as Sandu and Suibian circle the Bai Hu’s head. The Bai Hu, seeing out of its one remaining eye, jerks its head back and forth as it tries to follow the movement. On its back, Wei Wuxian is tossed to one side and then the other, kept steady only by his white-knuckled grip on Zidian.

“Jiang Cheng,” he calls out, “Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast!”

Jiang Cheng feels his grin split his face, as he flicks both of his hands outwards and channels spiritual energy to both swords. Suibian goes for the Bai Hu’s remaining eye, while Sandu goes straight into its mouth.

Wei Wuxian yanks backwards on Zidian, a shallow line of blood appearing around the Bai Hu’s neck.

Jiang Cheng extends two fingers, slices his arm through the air to mimic the flash of a sword. As he does, Sandu cuts through the Bai Hu’s mouth, then out the back of its head. The blade surges forward with power and energy, coming to pause in mid-air with the point of its blade a hair’s span away from the point between Wei Wuxian’s eyes.

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian calls out, but he’s laughing in an exhausted, breathy way. “Watch it!”

Suibian and Sandu are coated with the Bai Hu’s blood. Jiang Cheng’s spiritual reserves are the lowest ebb he’s felt since the Sunshot Campaign. He falls forward onto his knees, his strength leaving him all at once.

Suibian and Sandu fall from the air, clattering to the ground around him. His vision is blurring, but he can still see Wei Wuxian and Zidian. The Bai Hu is gurgling up blood, resentful energy flowing around it like fog dissipating into the air. Wei Wuxian pulls Zidian tighter, tighter, tighter. The garrote he’s made shifts upwards, lines up with the hole Sandu had just torn through the Bai Hu’s head. When it does, a sickening slice cuts through the air.

The Bai Hu’s head, mangled and torn, both eyes blinded, mouth gaping open in pain and spilling blood, topples to the ground.

The beast’s body sways in place for a moment, then falls over onto its side. The impact crushes the surrounding trees, sends the earth quaking for long moments. Jiang Cheng can’t tell when the shaking subsides, because his vision and hearing keep reverberating as though fractured into a hundreds of overlapping pieces.

Wei Wuxian scrambles off the Bai Hu’s back, Zidian pulled back into its ring form. Wei Wuxian rushes towards Jiang Cheng, flinching and side-stepping around the Bai Hu’s head.

“You don’t think my luck’s bad enough that I’ll meet a third beast of slaughter, do you?”

Still on his knees, Jiang Cheng looks up at Wei Wuxian and can’t help but bark out a laugh. How can his luck be bad? He’s a hero who’s slain two beasts of slaughter. He’s so lucky he’s living a second life. Who’s luckier, who’s more blessed, than Wei Wuxian?

Jiang Cheng stumbles towards him, grabs Wei Wuxian roughly.

“Jiang Cheng?”

His laughter gurgles up out of him, and he presses his face against Wei Wuxian’s chest. He feels like he hasn’t laughed in fifteen years. Now, all the mirth that he’s due fills him at once, and he laughs so hard he can barely breathe. He holds Wei Wuxian close to him, as if he’ll run away and disappear if Jiang Cheng lets him. As if when he does, he’ll take this delirious happiness with him.

After a long moment, slim arms circle around him. For the first time in years, he’s held in the embrace of someone he can trust, someone he loves, someone who will fight for him.

It’s different than when Jin Ling breaks down and hugs him. In those instances, he’s the one who needs to protect, to fight, to shield his nephew from anything that might even think of harming him.

But Wei Wuxian had fought to protect him. Wei Wuxian had refused to leave his side. Wei Wuxian had killed the Bai Hu of Slaughter.

“Always showing me up,” Jiang Cheng grumbles.

Wei Wuxian laughs sharply. “How’s that? Isn’t Sect Leader Jiang the one who blinded the Bai Hu of Slaughter?”

“Wei Wuxian is the one who took off its head,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. His ribs ache from laughing. Maybe one or two of them is also broken.

“We need to get you back to Lotus Pier,” Wei Wuxian is saying. “You’re bleeding.”

“Some of it is the Bai Hu’s,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

“Mm-hmm,” Wei Wuxian says, indulgently. “I don’t suppose Jiang Cheng can fly us back to Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng affirms. The world goes dark.

—

His feet are dragging through the dirt. Someone has a grip on his waist, his arm thrown over their shoulders. His entire body aches. Two swords hang in their sheaths at his hip, Zidian’s ring back to its usual place on his finger.

“Wei Wuxian?”

The person dragging him along hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t stop moving.

“You’ve gotten quite heavy, you know,” Wei Wuxian says conversationally.

“Maybe you’ve just gotten weaker,” Jiang Cheng spits back.

Wei Wuxian laughs, lightly. “Oh, of course I have. But you’re much bigger than you used to be, too. I can’t carry you as easily as I used to.”

Jiang Cheng shouldn’t need to be carried. He’s the leader of Yunmeng Jiang, and has been alone with the world on his shoulders since he was barely twenty years old. There’s never been any arms he could fall into, no security that he’d ever be caught if he fell.

But being carried, being supported, it isn’t so bad, is it?

“You killed a dog,” he says.

Wei Wuxian’s grip tightens reflexively. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“You have to… go back to training…” Jiang Cheng says. His breathing is ragged, and it isn’t easy to talk. “You were Yunmeng Jiang’s senior disciple. If you can’t even lift a sword— it’s a disgrace.”

“I can lift a sword,” Wei Wuxian corrects mildly. “I just can’t fly on one.”

“Disgrace,” Jiang Cheng repeats.

“Should I be taking lessons from my Shidi, then,” Wei Wuxian wonders aloud.

“I’m not your Shidi,” Jiang Cheng snaps. That was true long ago, when they were both disciples. Back then, they’d never been good at fitting the roles that had been laid out for them. Wei Wuxian never acted like the son of a subordinate. Jiang Cheng wasn’t the heir his father wanted. Even the way they acted towards each other didn’t fit the hierarchy they were supposed to ascribe to. Jiang Cheng would be caught dead before he ever called Wei Wuxian “Shixiong.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile dims, and Jiang Cheng realizes he’s misstepped. There’d be a casual, light air between them for the first time in years, and Jiang Cheng threatened that fragile peace with sharpness.

His head is pounding, and he’s probably still delirious from blood loss. But despite that, he knows he has two options. He can let things stand as they are, and let that peace disappear the same way the resentful energy disappeared into the air as it left the Bai Hu.

Or, he can—

“I’m not your Shidi,” he repeats.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “I know, I—”

“I’m your brother,” Jiang Cheng says.

Wei Wuxian freezes in his tracks, his grip on Jiang Cheng going slack. Jiang Cheng slides forward, his chin hitting the dirt. He grunts in pain as his body slams into the ground.

“What was that for, you—” He pulls himself up, rounding on Wei Wuxian, and then he freezes, too.

Wei Wuxian has lifted both hands in front of his mouth. His eyes are shining.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jiang Cheng demands, voice sharp as a knife.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, slowly. “It’s not another illusion, is it?” he asks aloud, but he’s clearly speaking mostly to himself. “No, there’s no resentful energy— I would sense it—”

Jiang Cheng pulls himself up on shaking feet, reaches out and shakes Wei Wuxian by the shoulders. “Cut it out! I’m not a fucking illusion!”

Wei Wuxian looks at him, a tender smile blooming on his face. “No,” he agrees. “You’re not.”

He pulls Jiang Cheng into an embrace. “My brother,” he says, softly.

Jiang Cheng is in pain, has been through every emotion he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in years all in a matter of hours, and Wei Wuxian is crushing his broken ribs. That is why he’s crying. That, and nothing more.

—

“Jiujiu!” Jin Ling takes an unnecessarily leap off of Suihua, twisting in the air and coming to land on his feet. He races forward, stopping a foot away from Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng is once again draped over Wei Wuxian’s back as the latter drags them both forward. They both sigh in relief when they see Jin Ling, and Lan Sizhui coming down to land behind him.

“You’re alright,” Jiang Cheng breathes. He’d assumed there couldn’t be two beasts of slaughter on the mountain, but that didn’t mean his nephew hadn’t fallen into one of the other traps of this place.

“I’m alright?” Jin Ling demands. “Jiujiu, you look awful! What’s happened to you?”

Jiang Cheng scowls. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” He pauses, casts a sideways glance at Wei Wuxian, and then amends, “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Jin Ling huffs, crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t worry me, like that!”

Wei Wuxian laughs. “This nephew really takes his duties seriously, doesn’t he?”

“I’m fine,” Jiang Cheng reiterates, pulling away from Wei Wuxian. He sways on his feet, but Jin Ling reaches forward to catch him.

“Jiujiu,” he whines, “Stop getting hurt. Please.”

Jiang Cheng rests his hand on the crown of Jin Ling’s head. “Don’t cry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Lan Sizhui comes forward, half-bowing respectfully. “Senior Wei, you look hurt, too. Perhaps we should get back, and you can both be treated—”

“We’ll all go back together,” Jiang Cheng decides, still leaning on Jin Ling for support. “Lotus Pier is closer than the Cloud Recesses.”

He hasn’t welcomed Wei Wuxian back to Lotus Pier for some time. Even that last time, when they’d gotten trapped together, he’d been irritated that Wei Wuxian had dared to show his face. A different feeling fills him now, when he imagines Wei Wuxian crossing the threshold into the inner pavilions, where the Jiang family itself is supposed to live.

Lan Sizhui nods. “We can send for Hanguang-Jun, then, he’ll want to come…”

Jiang Cheng snorts, at that. If he has to watch Second Master Lan fretting over Wei Wuxian, he may be ill. He’d had enough of that back when they were students in Gusu. And now, these two are even more shameless.

Wei Wuxian looks at Jiang Cheng. “You’re sure?”

His lips pull into a scowl, but there’s no heat behind his eyes. He’s made a decision, come to realization that sits deep in his bones. But somehow, his chest feels lighter. “Yes,” he says simply. “Let’s go home.”