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The full moon never appeared dimmer than it was that night, Wei Wuxian thought. He had long lost track of time. In fact, he wasn’t sure if his heart was still beating, numb to the cold and to the voices calling his name, numb to the chanting of scriptures around him, numb to the pinpricks spread over the length of his legs that had long since fallen asleep, numb to even the hollow feeling in his heart.
He didn’t know to whom the gentle hands shaking his shoulders belonged. Was it Lan Qiren or Lan Xichen? Was it Lan Sizhui or Lan Jingyi? How long had he been staring into the fire, mindlessly feeding yet another piece of paper to the growing pile of ash?
A brief lull of sleep overtook his already heavy eyelids and almost as quick as he fell asleep, Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped open, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead near the lines of his hair. He shouldn’t close his eyes. He couldn’t.
Shouldn’t have.
His eyes were closed for a mere second and that very brief second was all it took for the wretched monster to rip his entire world apart. There was blood in his eyes, on his face, splashed across his body, soaking his robes until the still body of his husband started losing its last vestiges of warmth.
He shouldn’t have closed his eyes, shouldn’t have lost his balance, shouldn’t have turned his back on the monster, shouldn’t have-
“Wei Ying, you need to rest.”
The voice washed over him like the comfort of a parent’s warm embrace. Was that Lan Qiren speaking? Since when was he ever so gentle? Why wasn’t he shouting at Wei Wuxian like he always did? Where was the scorn, the dismissal, the reproach?
“Wangji wouldn’t want you to fall sick like this.”
What would anyone know about what a dead man wanted? Why would they feel the need to drop a name to get him to do things? Why wasn’t anyone angry at him for not doing a better job? Why wasn’t anyone laying siege on him for being too weak to protect his husband the way he was protected?
“Senior Wei, come, you need to rest and eat something. You haven’t moved since… Since.”
Sizhui, sweet Sizhui, his voice shouldn’t be so thick with unshed tears like he was forcing himself to be the pillar of strength when he, too, should be grieving the loss of the man who was like a brother and a father to him. He shouldn’t be the one trying to comfort Wei Wuxian. It should be the other way around, Wei Wuxian wanted to scream.
Yet there he was on the marbled floor shadowed by a coffin that should never have been there in the first place, not moving a single inch, eyes open but unseeing, heart beating but unfeeling. He felt the urge to cry his eyes out yet his eyes were so dry they itch with every blink. He wanted to lash out but he had no energy to even raise his voice.
He heard Lan Qiren’s voice again, and the teary voice of Lan Xichen amidst the deafening echoes of silence that reverberated in his ears. His downcast eyes flew open when a sudden stabbing pain gripped his chest, squeezing his breath out like a vice around his heart. His mouth opened in a silent scream that came out a gurgle, his body falling backwards into someone’s panicking arms.
The chanting of scriptures turned into panicked cries when the ground beneath them quaked, sounds of glass shattering and metal clattering as they fall onto hard floors adding to the painful ringing in his ears. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure if he screamed or not but his mouth hung open as the quake shook the ground beneath their feet, swaying the mountain where the Cloud Recesses rested upon.
Following the quake came a loud, reverberating sound of a gargantuan gong, sending a shockwave that swept through the air like invisible chords, throwing everyone still standing to the ground.
The hands holding him steady fell limp as the owners too fell to the ground with him, unconscious. Wei Wuxian’s throat burned with invisible fire, his head almost split by the pain that clawed at it inside out. The last thing he saw before his last bit of consciousness faded away was Lan Wangji’s coffin catching fire - white fire. His final thought was if this was the end of the world, may death be kind and let him meet his dear husband again.
The gong blared again until there was only the sound of the crackling fire.
And then there was silence.
Too quiet.
Was he dead?
No, he was dead once, Wei Wuxian thought. It was never as quiet, always swirling with war-torn screams pulled from the depth of his memories.
“Wei Ying.”
Who?
And then he felt a gentle caress across his cheek, warm breath like a light kiss upon his cold skin, fleeting.
“It’s going to be okay.”
Would it ever?
“Open your eyes.”
The gong echoed again. Wei Wuxian felt like someone poured ice cold water all over his body and his eyes sprung open, astonished to find himself lying on the marbled floor, alive.
He sat up, dazed. When his back collided with another, he shuffled and turned around to apologise but promptly froze when the other person, too, turned around and their eyes met. Wei Wuxian felt his hand shake before his mouth even form the first syllable of the person’s name.
Surely this was not real? Surely he was dreaming because how would one even begin to explain why he was looking at his husband (who died because his reaction was too damn slow, he screamed inside)? His husband, who wore mourning robes identical to his, looked at him with bewilderment not unlike his own. His husband, who was very much alive.
Anyone else would probably freak out and accuse the man to be an impostor but Wei Wuxian knew he would be able to tell apart the real Lan Wangji from an impostor in a heartbeat. He could never explain the way their hearts and souls resonated in each other’s presence. Lan Wangji made his heart sing with gestures as simple as a light touch.
“Lan Zhan…?”
He had only seen the same expression on Lan Wangji’s face once, years ago when he boldly and openly confessed his love for the man. Peering over Lan Wangji’s shoulder, Wei Wuxian saw that there was no coffin there. There was no pile of ash collecting in a deep tray, nobody chanting scriptures, no talismans. Just silence, peace and tranquility of the Cloud Recesses.
Wei Wuxian didn’t understand. Did he go back in time? Did he die and meet Lan Wangji again in the afterlife, which looked eerily similar to the Cloud Recesses?
“Wei Ying?”
Lan Wangji sounded as dazed and confused as Wei Wuxian, grief and heartbreak just as heavy in his voice. Wei Wuxian ached for him.
They heard multiple groans and turned to look at the others who were also there. Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen and Lan Sizhui shook their heads as they groaned in pain. Lan Xichen was the first one to regain his composure, frowning when he noticed the mourning robes worn by both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.
“Wangji, Wuxian, what happened?” Lan Xichen asked, confusion apparent in the way he hesitated to ask the question as he gave them a once over.
Lan Qiren shared the same befuddlement. “For whom are you both mourning?”
‘Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji breathed out at the same Wei Wuxian time Wei Wuxian said his name. “Lan Zhan.”
For a moment, nobody dared say anything else. Lan Qiren made a noncommittal sound as he rose to his feet and asked everyone else to do the same and to follow him.
“There can only be one explanation for this,” he said before leaving them scrambling to their feet to catch up.
They followed Lan Qiren into the library and down to the vault of forbidden scrolls, an invisible trail of dread following behind like a heavy shadow looming over them. It took a simple spell and a wave of Lan Qiren’s hand to clear away the layers of dust on the books and scrolls.
Wei Wuxian didn’t realise how badly his hands shook until Lan Wangji (Lan Wangji! Lan Zhan! He still couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening) took his right hand into his and Lan Sizhui held his left hand as they wait for Lan Qiren to find the scroll he was looking for. He bit his lip when he noticed how Lan Wangji’s hand was also trembling, only more subdued.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at the taller man. Not yet. There were too many questions. What if he was only dreaming? What if he was dead and it was all a test? What if he had gone crazy in his grief?
But what about the despair in Lan Wangji’s eyes? That was real, at least. Wei Wuxian knew his husband enough to tell the real man from a mere illusion.
“Here it is,” Lan Qiren’s voice cut through the tense stillness of the atmosphere.
They looked at the old man expectantly, waiting with bated breath as Lan Qiren’s eyes raked over the ancient words inked across what looked like a scroll made out of dried animal skin. The language it was written in was old but not too foreign to a Lan elder of Lan Qiren’s calibre.
“Hmm,” the old man hummed, one hand stroking his thin beard. “I had deemed it simply a romantic myth. To think it was real…”
Lan Xichen stepped forward to look at the scroll, his brows furrowed when he did.
“Halves?”
Lan Qiren nodded. “This ancient scroll has existed since before the founding of our Lan sect. According to the text, the world, the reality we live in is but one of many parallels, meaning that somewhere beyond our reach, there are other versions of us living different realities. In the many parallels that exist, there are also souls that split in half upon birth, each half existing in a different universe.”
Wei Wuxian’s mind was reeling. Parallel worlds? Souls split in half?
“However, souls only split in half if they have soulmates. In a universe where soulmates exist, there will be another universe where the other half of their souls exist. The second universe is a perfect mirror of the first one. But…”
Wei Wuxian frowned. “But why is there a need for a second universe if everything that happens in both worlds is the exact same?”
Lan Qiren gave him a look.
Wait a minute. Wei Wuxian gasped. Wait a minute.
There was another sharp intake of breath from the man next to him. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s eyes met, both a little too wide, brimming with emotions both of them could not describe with words.
Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen averted their eyes from the pair, the latter silently motioning for Lan Sizhui to give them a bit more space. There was no mistaking the pain in the young man’s eyes when he, too, understood the words Lan Qiren didn’t say.
“Wei Ying, according to you, Wangji lost his life in the last nighthunt you both went with the senior and junior disciples, which was less than a week ago. According to Wangji, however, you were the one who lost your life.”
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji nodded but their eyes didn’t leave each other’s.
“Sizhui,” Lan Qiren turned to the young man. “What do you remember from the nighthunt?”
“The hunt concluded past midnight and we spent the night at a nearby inn. We returned to the Cloud Recesses the next morning.”
Wei Wuxian found himself unable to voice out his confusion, only blinking rapidly, mouth opening and closing, wordless. Lan Wangji held his hand tighter.
Lan Sizhui took the silence as a request for him to continue. “I did have a nightmare, though. Someone died in it but I don’t remember the details.”
Lan Qiren nodded grimly. “Two halves living in separate universes, bound by the same fate, running on the same timeline, living through the exact same events. These halves, soulmates as they’re commonly known, will continue to exist in perfect parallels until fate itself errs, disrupting the perfect synchrony. In this case, two different incidents happened instead of having the exact same occurrence in both. Because of this discrepancy, the parallels fell into imbalance and sought to fix the problem by merging into a single universe.”
Lan Xichen traced the lines written on the scroll, eyes downcast, visibly shaken by the revelation not unlike everyone else. “To the rest of us, we may or may not experience the anomaly as nightmares, as mere dreams. It’s how the universe compensates for merging our parallel existences into a single entity and to tie up loose ends. To both of you, the halves who jointly hold the key to the parallels, I’m afraid it’s a little more complex.”
Memories, Wei Wuxian thought. Unlike the others, there was nothing for them to merge into when the parallels merge together. There was no way to know which of them were meant to pass. Maybe they were both supposed to be alive. Or dead.
There were so many questions Wei Wuxian wanted to ask in the wake of the sudden existential crisis. What do they do with the memories and knowledge of each other’s death? Was Wei Wuxian supposed to think of it as a nightmare, too?
Was it right for Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji to move forward in the merged universe? Were they still the same Wei Ying and Lan Zhan or were they a different Wei Ying and a different Lan Zhan? Was it right for them to live like they were each other’s Wei Ying and Lan Zhan, to fall asleep and wake up to each other, to love and cherish each other in happiness and sadness, in sickness and in health the way they did?
For the first time since Lan Wangji breathed his last in his arms, Wei Wuxian fell on his shaky knees to the floor where he finally broke down laughing and crying until he fainted from exhaustion.
Wei Wuxian woke up surrounded by plush softness he was both familiar and unfamiliar with, knowing without having to look at it to know that he was on the bed he shared with his husband in the Jingshi. The fresh scent of sandalwood that clung to the blanket covering him jolted him awake but he fell back on his back before he could sit up properly. The sudden movement earned him a headache so strong he felt like banging his head against the wall for relief.
Tilting his head to the side, he was greeted with the sight of Lan Wangji sitting on the floor, eyes pooled with silent tears that fell in rivulets of steady streams, hands in a tight grip on his lap. Wei Wuxian was at loss for words, panic gripping his heart like a vice. He wanted to move, to speak, to do something - anything!
But he also knew if he started talking he wouldn’t be able to stop.
“I wasn’t fast enough,” Lan Wangji’s said through his tears, his voice barely audible but Wei Wuxian had been married to the man long enough to be able to catch even his husband’s lowest whisper.
“I was supposed to protect you… I failed and I only have myself to blame.”
Wei Wuxian slowly sat up to look into Lan Wangji’s eyes. What a curious sight they both make, wearing white cotton and sackcloth funeral garbs, facing each other with tears in their eyes. When he was sure that Lan Wangji’s eyes were on him, he shook his head and let his own tears fall.
“It wasn’t your fault. Knowing me, I was the careless one. Please don’t blame yourself. I was too confident and that dumb confidence cost me you. I was in shock when you…”
Wei Wuxian bit his lips and blinked more rapidly as he tried to be coherent through his tears.
“When you stopped breathing, I thought I had died with you too. The disciples, they had to carry me back. Everything was like a dream until I saw Teacher Lan, Zewu-jun and Sizhui wearing the same thing they made me wear. Suddenly it felt so real and all I wanted was for the ground to swallow me whole.”
Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop the flow of words that tumbled out of his mouth. The past few days felt like he was back in the cold, dark cycle of nightmares before his soul was called back by Mo Xuanyu. Then he remembered how he actually did die once and wondered if Lan Wangji went through what he was going through and if the universe thought it fitting for him to experience the same thing. To grieve indefinitely for his beloved.
Wei Wuxian thought about Lan Wangji and the years he spent mourning Wei Wuxian’s death after the siege of the Burial Mound, raising Lan Sizhui, nursing an unwavering love that ran deeper than he would ever know. He thought about Lan Wangji’s unfruitful search in finding the fragments of his soul, the wonder and disbelief in the man’s eyes when they met again 13 years after his death, the unmistakable happiness when their feelings finally completed each other…
Looking at this Lan Wangji who was silently crying, gripping his robes with shaking hands and looking into his eyes like he was everything he wanted to see, Wei Wuxian was suddenly filled with so much anger at himself for making Lan Wangji cry and grieve for him, again.
“What a weak person I am, Lan Zhan. Forget 13 years, I couldn’t even last 13 days without you.”
Lan Wangji shook his head as if to say it's okay.
“May I hold your hand?”
Wei Wuxian choked and nodded his consent, holding out his hand for the man to hold. How long had Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian been married? When was the last time any of them asked each other for something so ridiculously simple? Why did it feel like they were so close yet so far apart?
Lan Wangji’s hands shook when he reached for Wei Wuxian as if he feared that everything was a mere figment of imagination conjured by a mind consumed by grief. He held Wei Wuxian’s hand like something fragile that would crumble to dust if he so much as blinked.
His thumb gave each finger a light caress before settling on the palm. Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. He could only watch Lan Wangji’s futile attempt to blink away his new onslaught of tears pooling in his golden eyes. He watched as Lan Wangji brought his hand to his face and closed his eyes, snuggling into his palm.
“You’re warm.” You were cold when I held you last.
A humourless laugh escaped Wei Wuxian moments before he broke into choked sobs as he brought his other hand to cup Lan Wangji’s face in a gentle cradle. “You’re warm too.” You were cold the last time I held your face and kissed you goodbye.
They spent the whole day learning to calm their heartbeats and fell asleep holding each other's hand like they feared the other would disappear.
Despite the turmoil that gripped Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji's hearts, the world moved on.
There were two tablets in the Jingshi, one for Wei Wuxian and one for Lan Wangji. They couldn't have them in the Ancestral Hall as both Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were still alive, of course, but they both couldn't forget the pain of watching the lights in each other's eyes dim into the coldness of death.
Sometimes they still asked themselves, “Are we allowed to have each other when our other halves are gone? To be happy together?”
If the universe knew the answer, it didn't tell them. Eventually, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, too, moved on. They were given another chance, an apology for a mistake the universe should never have made. They were the remaining halves of their once complete souls but together, they would complete each other.
At night, the faint scent of incense wafted throughout the Jingshi, coiling around the bolder scents of sandalwood and magnolia blossoms.
What the world forgot, they would remember.