Chapter Text
He was so hungry.
He felt empty on a molecular level, missing something fundamental to his being, he was lacking absolutely.
He ate, but it did nothing, if he didn't throw it up, his skin waxy and pale, bones protruding. Sometimes he feels that this black hole inside of him must break free from the fragile constraints of his body, shatter his skeleton as it tears its way out, devours what’s left of him before it goes on to eat the world.
He sequesters himself away; his fear of destroying the remaining Wens outweighing the gaping maw inside him, their low level of spiritual energy something he can’t afford to accidentally draw out; they are not him, they would not survive without their core.
Wen Ning is a relief. He can’t kill the dead after all, his core and spiritual energy having long left his corpse. Resentful energy is a poor substitute for the pure warmth of a core, but it keeps his body moving and stops him from trying to claw the golden core out of the next man he sees. He stops thinking of himself as living.
The fight with Jiang Cheng is the best he’s felt in a long while; the spiritual energy imbued in the sword warm as it slices him open. Every time Jiang Cheng comes close to him he can feel his own core calling to him, its forgiving warmth suffused throughout Jiang Cheng's body, his every movement leaking potential. It’s not the same, of course it can never be the same, but as Wen Qing is tending to his wound he can pretend that those are his shijie’s fingers pressing a dressing to his skin, pretend that he is a child again, back at Lotus Pier, where death is not yet an old friend and his biggest fear is the threat of dogs. He feels almost normal again, the emptiness abates for a few days, satiated for a short while. He’s so distracted by his brief rebate that he can almost forget the reason for the fight in the first place.
When the hunger comes back it’s worse than before. Now it’s felt that heat it doesn't want to settle for anything less; that feeling of fullness to addicting. He feels himself slipping.
It’s easier to be around A-Yuan—too young to have developed a golden core yet, he offers no temptation. He knows they make an odd pair, a round faced toddler and a gaunt young man examining potatoes with equal determination. Or at least, he assumes A-Yuan is still with him, and it’s not until he hears a commotion and realises the boy is no longer by his side. The rush of fear is something unfamiliar, and almost confuses him before he remembers that his heart still beats in his hollow chest.
He feels him before he sees him, catches sight of his pristine robes amidst the crowd, a rush of something in his blood, a blazing fire of spiritual energy just out of his reach. He’s drawn towards it, towards him, a moth to a flame, helpless in his attraction. It’s only as he’s getting closer, heat washing against his frozen skin that he realises he knows this pillar of flame, could once call him his friend, once wished for more.
“Lan Zhan!” The words are out his mouth before he realises, a name he hasn't dared to even dream, rolling off his tongue with an ease he doesn't feel, cracking and popping in the heat. The man in question turns, his cold beauty the opposite of the raging inferno within him. He can feel himself being fuelled by Lan Wangji's energy, that wonderful warmth filling the aching hole inside of him.
Lan Wangji's presence is so overwhelming that he almost overlooks the crying boy clinging to his robes.
“A-Yuan, come back to Xian-gege now. Look you're making Hanguang-Jun’s robes all dirty.” He squats down to pry the child’s hands off of Lan Wangji's thigh and gives a few brushes to his robe to try and get rid of the snot and tears. “Sorry, Lan Zhan, I think this robe might be done for.” He grins, a lightness that he hasn't felt for a long filling him, and stands back up with A-Yuan in his arms, propped against his hip. “Come on, stop crying now. Look, do you see those toys over there?” He gestures to a stall with his free hand, and waits until A-Yuan nods weakly, “Well, do you want one?”
The boy stops his sniffing at that and nods enthusiastically, reaching out as if to grab a wooden sword . Wei Wuxian turns his back on the toy seller and begins to walk away, the child still clutched to his chest, fully expecting Lan Wangji to follow him. He only stops when that heat doesn't follow him and instead moves away. He turns again and sees Lan Wangji exchanging coins for toys and then hurrying (as much as a Lan sect disciple can hurry) back to the two of them, toys in each hand. He passes them to A- Y uan who immediately stops his crying again and grabs for them.
“Oh, Lan Zhan, you’re so good, you didn't have to give in to his crocodile tears. Now, A-Yuan, what do we say?” He addresses the child once more and puts him down so he can properly thank Lan Wangji. A-Yuan nearly throws himself at the other man’s leg and looks up at him with a teary grin. Lan Wangji looks rather nonplussed and at Wei Wuxian's encouraging nod, slowly reaches down to pat him on the head. “Okay, now that’s done why don't you join us for a meal, Lan Zhan? My treat.”
He bulldozes on when he sees the reluctance on his face, “We haven't seen each other properly off a battlefield for so long, it would be nice to catch up. You can tell me all about the gossip from the outside world!” Lan Wangji inhales but Wei Wuxian interrupts him before he can speak, “ Gossiping is forbidden , I know, I know. But we’re not in the Cloud Recesses now, Lan Zhan.”
He’s suffused with warmth; he feels more at peace than he has for months, Lan Wangji is a veritable furnace, pumping out spiritual energy that his own body is freely absorbing. For once the hunger isn't gnawing at him without respite. He keeps looking down at his sallow skin expecting to see golden curls of energy pouring out from within him he’s so full. Being able to talk to Lan Zhan without having to combat the ever hungry void inside of him, without having to fight to resist the temptation to drain the people around him, is refreshing. He is always starving but he thinks Lan Zhan might be able to satisfy him. He can almost feel his body regenerating, cells finally working properly after having to subsist on resentment, no comparison to the pure spiritual energy pouring off of the other man.
He finds himself grinning, an expression usually at odds with the aching inside of him, laughter tripping freely off his tongue; the unfamiliar feeling of joy at the news of his shijie’s marriage. He’s the happiest he’s been since he can remember, it almost feels like their old days when they were students in Gusu together, afternoons whiled away in the Library Pavilion as he copied countless rules under Lan Wangji's watchful eye. He sometimes wishes he could go back and do it all over again; he fantasises about the things he’d change, what he would do differently, how he would be smarter, be better, be more prepared, be everything he wasn’t. In another life he wonders if he and Lan Zhan might have fallen in love, would have dressed in red robes, prostrated themselves before their ancestors, wonders if Madam Yu would have finally approved of him.
When the talisman goes up in flames he’s almost expecting it.