Chapter Text
Lan Wangji was barely seventeen the day he became a god, his eyes burning with molten gold while his gaze never left Lan Xichen's, a silent promise passing between them.
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Lan Wangji -- Lan Zhan -- was barely six when he had sat at the steps of his mother's confinement and had stared silently into the night, heard the whispers of his seniors around him, their sorrowful and hungry gazes. He had been seven when the elders had told him, as it is your elder brother's fate to be sect leader one day, Lan Zhan, so it is your fate to be a sect god.
(Seven-years-old A-Zhan didn't really understand, but he knew that the elders expected him to be nothing else but obedient to the rules, silent and calm child that he had been. He was to never break the rules, to embody the rules; was the standard every Lan disciple should follow, the Second Jade of Lan, a righteous and just person. But A-Zhan was only seven and still waited at the door of his late mother's home every month until he couldn't feel his limbs anymore, frozen stiff as they were, and so he had simply nodded. He would make his sect proud.
It had never occurred to him why his mother had, in the end, killed herself until much, much later.)
By the time Lan Wangji was ten he had accepted his fate with the same grace and poise as always, too tired to run away from the inevitable. It's not like it had been a complete secret, anyhow. An open one, maybe: Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, the former because he was a sect leader and Xichen's soon-to-be sworn brother, the latter because he spent many summers in the Cloud Recesses, would glance at Lan Wangji in fury and disbelief when they had heard the rumor -- and the confirmation of the rumor -- of who exactly the budding god was, from Xichen.
"That's inhumane," Nie Mingjue had hissed, forgetting decorum and protocol. "Your own brother!"
At that, he had glanced to Huaisang, and Xichen's expression tightened, his smile suddenly too strained. Lan Wangji intervened, if only because he had no desire to see the expression turn into a grimace as it often did. "It is my fate," he simply said, and pretended not to see Huaisang's terror-stricken look.
It had been his fate since the day he was born, after all.
He had earned himself the title of Hanguang-Jun when he was fourteen, even before Xichen became Zewu-Jun, and by the time the new guest disciples came from all corners of the cultivation world, Lan Wangji was a well-known and well-respected cultivator.
And then Wei Wuxian crashed into his life with a charming grin and two bottles of Emperor's Smile, an oxymoron in walking form: he was from a well-respected sect and was the head disciple, a troublemaker that had his uncle furious and close to qi deviation on multiple occasions, a cultivator that spoke to Lan Wangji as if he were a normal person. But he also was a person who would call himself a servant's son in the same breath as he called himself Jiang Wanyin's brother, a brilliant cultivator who came up with new ideas and techniques and simply offered them up for anyone willing to use, not even thinking about making a profit for himself.
And he probably was the love of Lan Wangji's remaining and short mortal life, not even noticing the things he did to him. Like the pictures he drew, or the rabbits. (Lan Wangji saw the rabbits -- in a secluded and private corner of his mind, where he tries not to dwell too long -- as the first offering done to himself, a grim satisfaction coursing through his veins as Lan Qiren grit his teeth, not being able to deny them.)
Still, Lan Wangji was shy of seventeen, and he and Wei Wuxian had just defeated the Xuanwu of Slaughter and had been rescued and left Wen territory to part ways when Lan Xichen was there, waiting, a grim expression greeting them.
"The elders decided, Wangji."
Sect Leader Jiang sucked in a breath even as Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian stared, confused and tired. Lan Wangji merely inclined his head; he'd expected as much -- the Cloud Recesses was burned to ash, the old protection all but lost at the hands of the Wen. He was not yet seventeen, but rebuilding their sect was more important, especially now since a war was all but expected to happen.
"I am ready," he added, more to the benefit of the Jiang sect than his brother.
Wei Wuxian made a questioning noise, and Jiang Wanyin -- in a display that seemed almost heart-wrenchingly tender, leaned down to whisper into Wei Wuxian's ear, having realized what they were talking about. Lan Wangji saw the exact second Wei Wuxian understood.
"Wait, what --" Wei Wuxian whirled around, barely keeping himself upright because of his fever, eyes wide and shocked. "Lan Zhan, what --" His expression shuttered. "--"
He turned to Lan Xichen, anger coloring his words, echoing what Sect Leader Nie had spoken, seven years ago. "He's your younger brother, how could you--"
And here is the thing: many cultivators -- most of the Lan sect elders and disciples included -- see it as a great honor, to be made into a god. Wen Ruohan proclaimed himself one, his age and powerful cultivation lending credit to the ruse, but this close to being one himself, Lan Wangji could see that it was not quite true. Could see that he was mortal still, and he'd told Lan Xichen as much, that they had a chance to defeat the sun if only they rallied together.
But the truth is, Lan Wangji didn't see himself as much of a god, and felt no happiness at being turned into one, just as Lan Xichen felt no happiness losing the only brother he's ever had.
The truth is, if he could, he'd grab Wei Wuxian's hand and would make a run for it, far away from the sects and their strife, and would live a simple life as a mortal man with rabbits and maybe a husband.
The truth is also this: Lan Wangji has never known how to live for anything but his sect, his wings clipped since the day he was born, his voice lost in a sea of hope and fear.
He became a god with these lingering thoughts, a promise from a distraught and broken brother to never continue the ritual again even if he would have to burn the documents and songs himself, and Wei Ying's laughter in his ear.
And then there was nothing.
Consciousness seeped back into Wangji like something slow and honeyed, every prayer that reached him strengthening his being. The passage of time was superlative to him; he knew not how or if the Sunshot Campaign ended, could only remember bits and pieces from the prayers offered to him: many of them had been from his brother, many more even from the rest of the Lan sect. He remembers granting wishes, somehow, of saving the lives of two people at two different times because a kindred soul had screamed and screamed into the void of eternity and begged Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!
He knew of a childish voice that grew older the longer it prayed, and of familiar names and faces that would sometimes invade his rest.
But he knew not how long ago it happened.
Though he had regained his being and had a physical mass again, so the least Lan Wangji could do was thank whoever it was that had sent this last prayer to him; this last prayer that had given him clarity and time.
He willed himself somehow to the space where he felt the prayer being spoken and appeared before the kneeling person, brows pinching together in a miniscule movement as he noticed that he recognized the human in front of him.
Well, maybe not so much time has passed as he'd initially thought.
The kneeling Xiao Xingchen shuddered in surprise at his appearance and was about to bow again, but Wangji stopped him, putting effort into his spoken words. "It is good to see you again, Daozhang."
The cultivator returned the greeting, his expression not as centered on Wangji's face as Wangji would've liked it, but he let it slide, absurdly happy to finally be able to talk to another living being again, especially someone whom he'd respected back when they had met once, in the past.
(Though, the bloody bandages around his head would have made centering difficult, Wangji mused.)
Thirteen years had passed, as the young god found out, that had been spent in relative peace. The Wen sect was annihilated during that time, and the fearsome Yiling Patriarch was killed in a siege nine years ago, though Xiao Xingchen refrained from speaking further about the topic, and Wangji didn't feel the need to pry, yet, not oblivious to the tensing of the cultivator's body.
They even talked about Wangji, for a little while, and how he had no fluid recollection of what happened ever since he's been turned into a sect god.
"Hanguang-Jun helped out many people during the war, and saved the life of Jin Zixuan before the Yiling Patriarch could kill him."
Wangji nodded absentmindedly, being able to recall some of it, now that Xiao Xingchen has told him. Now that he was back in the world of the living, more or less, he felt the need to observe for himself. But first --
"Song Zichen is currently near a border town of Qinghe. I do not know how long he will stay. Hurry, you should be able to find him."
Xiao Xingchen froze. "...what?"
"Mn. I heard your prayer. And his, to find you again." The only answer he received was silence, so he elaborated: "I am able to hear your prayers, and as long as they have been given in a temple --" An afterthought: so there were temples dedicated to him, Hanguang-Jun, how uncomfortable, "-- I know where they are. I do not know what happened, but both of you wish to meet again."
He stepped towards Xiao Xingchen, some new instinct guiding his body, and he touched the man's heart lightly. This, at least, was some advice he could give from his own experiences. "Tell him, before it is too late."
Wangji knew that his emotions were seeping into his voice, but for once he didn't care; Xiao Xingchen raised his hands to his bandaged eyes and touched them, almost reverently, and then a smile broke out on his face. "Huanguang-Jun, I-- thank you."
"Mn."
And then, Wangji disappeared.
Many days later, he heard the joyful prayers of the two cultivators and allowed himself a small, personal smile.
He was in Gusu now, at the borders of the Cloud Recesses, hidden in the same cave where he had been made a sect god, the once freezing waters now nothing but a mild discomfort. He could see that it was often frequented by someone, and there was a small altar in one of the cave walls, incense burned away, Bichen sheathed and an offering. Wangji knew that there was a proper altar in the center of the Cloud Recesses, as this cave was off-limits to anyone not directly related to the main branch of the family, and seldom visited.
(Strangely enough, it was filled to the brim with rabbits, and next to the ceremonial zither there was a smaller, more crude one, signs of use showing on the strings and wood. Someone frequented the frozen cave often enough that they brought their guqin with them, and some vague memory told Wangji that it certainly wasn't his brother, but rather--)
Someone entered the cave, followed by the reverberating footsteps of a small army of rabbits, and Wangji was suddenly invisible to a human's eye as he watched a junior disciple kneel in front of the small altar and light an incense stick.
"Hello again, Hanguang-Jun," he murmured, reverently, before his expression turned softer. "The elders really, really want me to join you, you know? Jingyi says that its not true, and Uncle is doing his best to dissuade them, but I know they want to turn me into the next god. They say that I've been touched --" here, he scoffed, "-- which is true, I guess, but still --! Ah. I haven't been doing any progress on finding other father's soul; I'm sorry. My Inquiry still isn't as good as yours was, even with your help."
The strange disciple's voice softened again. "I miss him so much. And you as well, even though we've never really met. Uncle said you'd be proud of me, so I try my best, but -- but."
Wangji could recall, very faintly, answering this kid's Inquiry once or twice, and he was quite sure that he was the child's voice he's heard over the years, never stopping his vigil.
But he had no idea who he was. He turned his attention to the hoard of rabbits, intent on giving the disciple some alone time, when a black-and-white rabbit caught his attention.
It was wrong. It was one rabbit, but its body held two souls, the colors of its fur not blending together but cleanly switching from white to black along the animal's spine, almost as if it was two halves of two different rabbits molded into one.
And it was looking at him, one red and one brown eye centered on his invisible form. And then it hopped over to him and butted his head against Wangji's leg, and the god noted with certain clarity:
This rabbit was the two rabbits Wei Wuxian had gifted (offered) him, all those years back, impossibly still alive and now one. The god was surprised enough by the impossibility of it that he crouched down and took A-Xian and Jiji (?) Xian-Ji (??) into his hands without any conscious thought or effort and started petting him (them?), sitting down on the ground.
The other rabbits joined in immediately.
Wangji was faintly alarmed by it, as he was suddenly surrounded by more than a dozen rabbits, a myriad of rabbit-colors trying to reach his lap.
And then the disciple turned around, and some small part of Lan Wangji, Hanguang-Jun, the god (that sounded suspiciously like Wei Wuxian), would have liked to introduce himself with more dignity than being burrowed in a pile of rabbits.
As it was, the disciple stared slack-jawed at the unfolding pile of bunny-on-god and stuttered, "H-Hanguang-Jun?" and Wangji simply and elegantly replied with his trademark, "En."
There were multiple ways to become a god, of course, as Wei Wuxian knew; Lan Wangji had become a sect god by the way of human grooming and sacrifice and rituals, and strong cultivators could become gods through cultivation and ascension, to name two methods.
But gods, in the end, no matter how they came to be, only existed because of human belief, and so it could be said that humans were the creators of gods. Because if a human believed in something strongly enough -- be it love, hatred or devotion -- then that something would gain a new kind of sentience.
Wei Wuxian never expected to be on the receiving end of such human belief.
They had praised him first, with his new cultivation as he slaughtered the Wens, called him Yiling Patriarch because that is where he was born (and born anew, in the Burial Mounds at the edge of Yiling) and then later cursed his name in hatred and spite and killed him with their words and beliefs.
...but it seems that his name transcended death, because Wei Wuxian as the Yiling Patriarch became a story told to unruly children, first a man and then a demon in human skin, until word of mouth warped and he became the Founder of Diabolism and everything evil in the world, a vengeful and hateful being killing the innocent and raising their corpses with his ghost flute.
Then came prayers against him, to ward off his evil ways, and then prayers for him, to help ward off even worse evil.
And suddenly, the Yiling Patriarch is the god of the demonic ways, and people pray for him to stay away and they pray for him to stop imitators like Xue Yang, who is an objectively worse person because he delighted in the slaughter of the innocent and stole the Yiling Patriarch's notes for his own, and then the people of Yi City pray to him to keep the wandering corpses in check, so that they don't become fierce corpses, and cultivators start to use his inventions, and there are hidden shrines for offerings and--
Wei Wuxian became a godly entity in the mind of the people.
But what is a god without a temple, if not a wandering, errant soul?
Any god should have a home to return to.
At least, Mo Xuanyu thought so. Even if he had to build a temple himself.
Which is why that's exactly what he'd done, the minute he'd been kicked out of the Lanling Jin Sect. It wasn't Jin Zixuan's fault, of course; Mo Xuanyu knew that his half-brother considered him and Meng Yao and Qin Su his family, but their father wouldn't tolerate the disgrace that Mo Xuanyu was: no talent at cultivation, a half-assed golden core, a leaning towards demonic cultivation and a cut-sleeve to booth -- Xuanyu was thrown out of the sect the second the rumors reached the outside world and became fact.
Rather than returning to Mo Village though, Mo Xuanyu set out to wander, the writings and documents of the Yiling Patriarch hidden on his form after he'd pilfered them from the treasury, to his siblings' amusement. On his way he'd wandered into Yi City and heard the tales of how Xue Yang was killed from the residents of the town, and caught wind of their strange not-problem of the living dead inside the town, living and working next to their alive kin, unaware that they are dead.
And it made him think.
(And, to be honest, as Mo Xuanyu was surrounded by Jin Zixuan and his wife and their child, and was somehow, inexplicably invited by Jiang Yanli to one very memorable family dinner with Sect Leader Jiang, Qin Su and Meng Yao and somehow managed to meet the esteemed Zewu-Jun and his two wards, Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui, who were friends with A-Ling, it had come to Mo Xuanyu's attention that none of them spoke about the Yiling Patriarch with hatred, but some strange melancholy.
And then Mo Xuanyu had asked his… sister-in-law, and she had told him stories from their youth in Lotus Pier, and Jin Zixuan had confided in Mo Xuanyu that the reason he was still alive after almost being killed by the man was because the Yiling Patriarch had, after snapping out of his frenzy, fallen to his knees and had started muttering prayers to Hanguang-Jun in a daze before Jin Zixun forced him to retreat.
Jin Zixuan survived, though he was bedridden for many years afterwards, which was why Jin Ling had been pronounced next sect heir, and their father was still sect leader until then.)
So the public's opinion and Mo Xuanyu's opinion were quite different on the matter of the Yiling Patriarch, which is why he didn't feel dread rising when he'd asked the people of Yi City if he was allowed to refurbish the old and forgotten temple at the back of their village -- they were using it as a shrine already, and it only took Mo Xuanyu a few months of haggling and struggling to make something halfway-decent out of it, after he'd rebuilt the roof and cleaned up the insides.
Mo Xuanyu almost felt a kindred soul in the Yiling Patriarch, as misunderstood as the world made him out to be. Mo Xuanyu knew the feeling, after all. They owed the man who saved the sects from the Wens at least something.
Which was why he was standing in front of the refurbished temple now, incense burning on the altar where he'd placed his pilfered manuscripts (carefully!) onto the stone, a jar of Emperor's Smile and some lotus seeds in his hands (he'd asked his nephew to give him the seeds the last time they saw each other, Fairy demanding scratches the whole time).
And then he offered them to the Yiling Patriarch. And prayed.
And the Yiling Patriarch answered.
But the thing is, Wei Wuxian isn't a god, really; he might call himself one, now, but it would be more apt to say that he was some sort of demonic monster, a personification of resentful energy given form.
A-Yu didn't need to know that, though, as diligent of a disciple he turned out to be, a wallflower waiting to bloom under the right instructions. Wei Wuxian was still too weak to do much, but he did the best he could, remaining hidden from other people and steering Mo Xuanyu onto the right path and away from his single-plank bridge of ruin.
And somehow, along the way Wei Wuxian regained some kind of solid form and a surprising amount of new shrines and honest prayers.
Most sects stay away from demonic cultivators though, especially after Xue Yang, and Mo Xuanyu, as a wandering demonic cultivator and self proclaimed (and readily accepted, damnit! Wei Wuxian was proud of the kid) head disciple and follower of -- not the cult of the Yiling Patriarch, but simply Wei Wuxian himself, which had made the people quite wary, initially. Which was why Wei Wuxian steered them clear of the big sects and kept them to former Wen territory or outlining towns and cities, but never any mayor sect-associated places.
Well, until they stumbled upon Dafan Mountain and the town at the foot of it, and Wei Wuxian, Yiling Patriarch and demon god, caught wind of the apparent goddess of the mountain, and they decided to investigate.
Then, it turned into a family gathering of the extreme sort.