Work Text:
Pain.
For all his life, Xue Yang has only ever known pain.
Pain when he lived out on the streets, pain when he never had enough food, pain when he had to sleep on rough rocks, pain when the cart had driven over his finger—
He seethes, and then he sobs, right hand coming up to crable his left, gripping so tightly so that the pain would go away, the pain doesn’t go away, it would never go away—
And he lets it all out, howling and sobbing and throwing his right fist into the ground, crying until he can do nothing more but scream until his throat is raw and his entire body is shaking with tremors and he can barely breathe. And when his sobs subside, when his trembling is reduced to weariness, Xue Yang curses himself, for all the energy that he has spent crying could have been used to do something much better, and now he will not even have anything to eat for the day.
Xue Yang stares at his bloodied stump of a finger, and wishes with all his heart, that, somehow, someday, he will get to rip Chang Cian apart with his own, nine-fingered hands.
It’s raining, he realizes belatedly, and with that comes the realization of needing to get to someplace dry, to shelter him from the rain, and before he can pull himself up onto shaky legs, the rain stops and a steaming bun is thrust into his face.
He looks up, and it’s a man, and what his previous assumption of the rain stopping is proved wrong—the man is holding an umbrella above them—and his first instinct is to take the food and bow at the man’s feet.
Yet Xue Yang does not let himself, forces himself to shout an aggravated, ‘Who are you?’ into the man’s face, backing himself away and into the rain once again. He does not know if he can survive another betrayal again today.
‘I am Wei Wuxian,’ the man says, calmly, demurely, and Xue Yang wants to relax at the sound of his voice, ‘I noticed you looked hungry, so I bought some food for you.’
As much as Xue Yang wants to accept, as much as the sweet smell of the food tempts him—he cannot. ‘No,’ he says, and his voice breaks pathetically, and because he cannot stay upright any longer, lets himself rest against the wall.
‘May I?’
And against all of his brain telling him no, Xue Yang nods and lets the man sit beside him.
The umbrella that shields him from the rain is not unwelcome.
‘You know,’ Wei Wuxian starts, ‘I was an orphan.’
And when the silence drags on and it becomes clear that Xue Yang is not replying, the man lets out a light laugh and continues. ‘I stayed on the streets for two years, until someone found me.’
‘Well, who cares,’ Xue Yang says, not caring that he’s interrupting someone else, ‘I’ve stayed here almost my entire life.’
The laugh that the man lets out is more akin to a bark, gruff and humorless and Xue Yang thinks he should be scared, but—why would he, if the man has not attempted anything until now?
‘I saw you,’ Wei Wuxian says, laughter ceasing, ‘Can I see your hand?’
‘Fuck no!’ And without even realizing it, he’s curled further into himself, hiding his left hand from view and growling, bristling like an angry dog towards the man before him.
Wei Wuxian does not seem to take offense, and simply holds out a pouch and says, ‘I have a few herbs. Let me heal you?’
And no one, not ever, has ever wanted to heal Xue Yang in his life, so he thinks—he thinks that this man wants something, because no one has ever given without taking, and apparently his distress shows on his face, because the man’s face softens and he shifts towards Xue Yang slowly like he might scare him off.
‘What do you want?’
‘I would say nothing, but I doubt you would believe me,’ Wei Wuxian laughs, ‘And so, I’ll say that I want someone to look after you the same way my uncle did.’
Xue Yang freezes, and it is with trembling fingers that he reaches out to take the pouch, and when he does, Wei Wuxian undoes the pouch and rummages through it, bringing out some herbs that make Xue Yang hiss when his hurt hand comes into contact with it, and Wei Wuxian soothes him through the pain, murmuring in a soft voice to hold on as his hand starts to become numb.
‘What do you want?’ Xue Yang asks, again, after he takes a bun and shoves it down his throat, stomach hungry as he hasn’t eaten properly in days.
Wei Wuxian hums. ‘I want to build a sect,’ he says, ‘And I’m looking for disciples. I thought that you were a good choice.’
‘Why me?’
‘Because,’ Wei Wuxian stops, eyes misting over as he looks off into the distance, ‘I remember what it was like to be cold and homeless. Without an uncle finding me, I would’ve been nothing. I want to create a sect that does not care about blood—there are so many children, everywhere, that have so much potential and power and yet because they do not have the right tools, can’t ever harness it. I want to help them.’
Xue Yang listens through his eating, and then he thinks—what would be different, if he followed this man back to wherever he lived? What would be different if it turned out horrible? He has already been living in hell; nothing could be much worse.
And so he steels himself, grits his teeth, and says, ‘I’ll come with you.’
Wei Wuxian smiles, and Xue Yang thinks he sees something terrifying yet familiar in the man’s smile as lightning flashes above them.
(He does not know yet that it is a flash of home.)
Wei Wuxian leads him to a horse in a stable nearby, where another man in white is grooming the horse quietly. Xue Yang notes that, despite his stony expression, he seems to be a touch happier with Wei Wuxian enters.
Then his gaze shifts and lands on Xue Yang, and he tries his best to stand up straight and look at him in the eyes instead of cowering.
To his side, Xue Yang feels the man let out a quiet laugh.
‘He is the one you have chosen?’
‘Yep! Xue Yang, this is Lan Zhan! This is who you’ll be living with until you grow up.’
A sudden panic fills Xue Yang, irrational and hot and burning and he does not like the way he trembles, the way he clutches onto Wei Wuxian’s robes as he says the sentence.
‘No,’ he says, hating how his voice breaks and hating that he’s still so weak. ‘No. I don’t wanna.’
Wei Wuxian frowns. ‘I know you’re scary Lan Zhan, but you don’t need to make him cry…’
‘No,’ Xue Yang repeats stubbornly, ‘No.’
He hears a rustle, and then he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting a blow or a hit and when none comes, he opens his eyes again, just the tiniest bit.
The stony-faced man is sitting in front of him, pristine robes spread around him like a halo.
Gentle, cold hands pry his own from Wei Wuxian’s robes, and Xue Yang whimpers as they brush against his injured hand. Golden eyes take him in, slowly, and then large hands smooth his own ones over, cupping them and holding them in a position that will not hurt.
‘Xue Yang,’ the man says, quietly composed, ‘You do not have to leave if you do not want to. When you grow up, you will be given your own place to live—that is what Wei Ying meant. There are people who will love you back home. You will have a family.’
The phrasing is awkward, and the man seems uncomfortable as he says it, but he seems sincere, safe, and that is all Xue Yang has longed for, for his entire life.
He can’t help the way he lunges forward and breaks out into sobs.
Lan Zhan starts in surprise, but then his arms come up to hesitantly pat his head on his back and soon after, there is another pair of hands, carding through his hair and shaking out knots and tangles. After, the warmth at his front is accompanied by another at his back, and he feels Wei Wuxian against him, holding him up and letting him leech off his warmth.
They are comforting, and Xue Yang falls into a slumber not long after his sobs subside.
When he wakes up, there is no one, save for the horse that is pressed up against his side and is watching him with creepy red eyes.
There is no one else there.
Tears well up in his eyes—they, they promised! And yet here he is, abandoned.
Again.
Before he can dwell on his thoughts further, however, there are voices and the door swings open.
Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan step in, carrying what seems to be food and supplies—though for what, Xue Yang does not know.
The relief that crashes down onto him is overwhelming and he is struggling to his feet before he can think, sends himself barreling towards Wei Wuxian.
‘Woah, Xue Yang, what’s—‘
‘Missed you, Wei-ge.’
‘…ah. I missed you too, A-Yang.’
He hugs him tighter, uncaring of how his hand is starting to hurt, until Lan Zhan clears his throat and Xue Yang winces at the pain that shoots through his hand as he steps back.
Lan-ge seems to notice this, though, and, pushing Wei-ge out of the way, he settles down in front of Xue Yang.
His hand is bandaged, something he had not noticed earlier with his panic, and Lan-ge carefully unwraps it. Xue Yang stares in morbid fascination at his mottled purple-blue skin.
And then wisps of blue transfer from Lan-ge’s hands to his own, and he watches as the swelling in his hand lessens and the pain recedes. Satisfied with his work, Lan-ge takes a new bandage out of his sleeve and expertly wraps his hand up.
Xue Yang stutters a bit as he says, ‘Thank you, Lan-ge.’ (He’s gratified when Lan-ge looks at him with the barest hint of a smile.)
‘Well!’ Wei-ge claps his hands, making Xue Yang jump a bit, ‘We aren’t too far from the Burial Mounds, but we should leave. We’ve stayed here for too long already.’
‘How long have I been sleeping?’
‘Two days, more or less,’ Wei-ge answers, going over to the horse and nudging it to get up. ‘You needed it, though. At least your dark circles are disappearing.’
Xue Yang lets himself get pulled up by Lan-ge, who hands him a bun that he devours—his hunger returns full force, and Xue Yang devours the entire thing in under a minute.
Lan-ge wordlessly hands him another.
Wei Wuxian grins at them and walks the horse out, Xue Yang and Lan-ge following after him. When they get outside and Xue Yang blinks at the sunlight, Wei-ge lifts him effortlessly by his waist and deposits him on the horse.
The horse nickers softly.
‘Wei-ge?’
The man smiles up at him. ‘It’s not very far from here, A-Yang, but you still need to rest as much as possible.’
‘But you and Lan-ge—‘
‘We will be fine by walking.’
Xue Yang nods and tightens his hold on the horse’s mane as they start walking.
Throughout their entire journey, Wei-ge fills the silence. Lan-ge doesn’t talk much, except for occasionally replying back. Xue Yang replies dutifully whenever he’s asked something. Halfway through, he thinks he falls asleep—though it doesn’t feel like that, because one moment he’s closing his eyes and the next the sun’s setting.
Wei-ge and Lan-ge are walking ahead of him, pressing closer than needed, and Xue Yang can’t help but notice the fact that there’s a very beautiful sunset right in front of them, Wei-ge and Lan-ge are looking at each other—chattering in Wei-ge’s case and just silently gazing in Lan-ge’s—like there is nothing around them, like they are completely immersed in each other and blind and deaf to the outside world. Xue Yang wonders where he has seen this type of expression before.
And then it hits him—he’s seen those types of expressions on lovers walking in the street, families passing by and it always used to disgust him, because why bother?
But now—now, looking at the people he was going to be staying with, the people who at the very least can he his saviors, now, he feels happy for them, somehow.
And that happiness is such a foreign feeling, but he knows it; he knows it to be happiness and the weight of those feelings can’t even compare to the amount of affection that his two seniors are showing.
He does not interrupt them, and only when they cross a boundary that seems foreboding and a wall of something moving does Xue Yang hug his arms tighter to himself.
Wei-ge apparently notices, and comes to walk beside him. ‘A-Yang, don’t worry. They will only attack if you are a bad person. And you’re with me and Lan Zhan, so you can’t be a bad person, right?’
Xue Yang nods slightly.
Wei-ge smiles, and then leads them through the wall, where the corpses move to the side, to let them through and into what Xue Yang assumes is a village.
The atmosphere is dark, and people mill about, some farming and others talking to one another amiably.
When they spot Wei-ge, almost all of them wave, to which Wei-ge responds with enthusiastic waves of his own and Lan-ge nods.
‘Young Master,’ someone says, and Xue Yang jumps at the—man?—that talks to his senior.
‘A-Ning! How have things been?’
‘It’s calm, Young Master. No one has attacked these three days. How are you and Second Master Lan?’
Wei-ge grins, bright, and turns to Xue Yang. ‘A-Yang, this is Wen Ning! He’s a fierce corpse, but he’s still conscious, so treat him well, okay? He’s also like a brother to me.’
Xue Yang nods, forgetting himself for a moment and reaching out to touch the dark lines that crawl up Wen Ning’s face. To his credit, the corpse lets him, and Xue Yang’s mouth parts in wonder as he feels cool, undead skin under his hands.
Wei Wuxian lets out a light laugh.
‘Well, A-Ning, it’s been a long day for A-Yang. We’re going to rest, okay?’
Before Wen Ning replies, though, another child runs over, and latches itself onto Lan-ge’s leg.
‘I’ll go…patrol the borders,’ Wen Ning says, and leaves.
‘Rich Brother!’
‘Ah, A-Yuan,’ Wei-ge sighs dramatically, ‘Already forgot me, I see.’
‘No! Remember Xian-gege!’
Xue Yang watches as Lan-ge picks the child up, holding him comfortably in his arms as Wei-ge teases A-Yuan.
‘Wei-ge?’
‘Ah, A-Yang, meet A-Yuan! He’s our son!’
‘Wei Ying.’
And Wei-ge laughs, loud and boisterous, and Xue Yang looks at the tiny child, even younger than him, and says, ‘I am Xue Yang.’
‘Wen Yuan!’ The child laughs and reaches out for Wei-ge to take him, and Xue Yang—he does not think he’s seen a more caring couple than this one.
‘A-Yaun,’ Wei-ge tells him seriously, ‘Go back to Qing-jie and Granny, okay? A-Yang is tired and he would like to rest.’
‘Okay!’ Then Wen Yuan turns to him and says very seriously, ‘Have a good night.’ The way he says it sounds slightly threatening, but there is a bright smile on his face as he toddles away.
Xue Yang stares after him, and startles when Wei-ge’s hands wrap around him again, this time lifting him off the horse and setting him gently on the ground.
‘Wei-ge?’
‘Ah, A-Yang,’ Wei-ge says, leading him another direction as Len-ge walks away with the horse, ‘You’ll have to stay with me and Lan Zhan for tonight, okay? We don’t have anywhere else you can stay, but I promise that in a few weeks, we’ll have a proper place for you!’
Xue Yang grips onto Wei-ge’s hand, ‘Don’t care. As long as I’m with you and Lan-ge.’
There’s no reply, but when he looks up again, Wei-ge is grinning, a bright smile on his face and Xue Yang feels pride bloom in his chest at the fact that he made someone happy.
The walk into a cave is silent, and Xue Yang stands quietly as Wei-ge lights a lantern, hurries around and haphazardly tidies the place up. Just as he’s finished, Lan-ge walks in, carrying a bundle of cloth in his arms.
‘Lan Zhan, what are those?’
‘Someone saw us and gave up quilts to keep Xue Yang warm.’
While Wei-ge coos and bounds over to Lan-ge, Xue Yang wonders if he should ask them what’s been nagging at his mind.
‘Wei-ge, Lan-ge, may I ask you something?’
Both of them turn towards him, and—Xue Yang will not lie; their gazes are unnerving.
He gulps, and then asks, hesitantly, ‘Where are your rings?’
At first he’d assumed that they did not wear their rings out in the open because of other people—he might be young, but he knows the way people look at cut-sleeves—but evidently, with the way they’d interacted and how the people living here seemed to like them a lot, Xue Yang does not feel the need to hide.
‘Rings?’ Wei-ge asks hesitantly, leaving Lang-ge’s side to come and sit down in front of him, ‘What rings, A-Yang?’
‘You know!’ Xue Yang flails his hands about, ‘The rings of your marriage!’
Wei-ge freezes, and when Xue Yang looks at Lan-ge his expression seems colder than usual.
‘A-Yang,’ Wei-ge says, as Lan-ge turns away and starts to set the quilts down on what he assumes is the bed, ‘We’re not married.’
‘Oh,’ Xue Yang says, ‘When will you be?’
Wei-ye hesitates, looks back at Lan-ge before saying, ‘A-Yang, we aren’t going to get married at all. Lan Zhan and I don’t have feelings for each other.
They don’t? But they seem so close…
When Xue Yang does not reply, Wei-ge stands up and clears his throat, ‘Well! I’m sure you’re tired, A-Yang, so let’s sleep! It should be nine right about now…’
‘It is,’ Lan-ge tells them, beckoning them over to the bed, ‘Come. Sleep.’
Xue Yang closes his mouth and obediently walks over, and waits for Lan-ge and Wei-ge to settle down and snuff out the light before he hesitantly places himself down between them. To his surprise, Wei-ge’s arms surround him and Lan-ge almost immediately, while the latter seems to fall asleep almost immediately.
‘Lan Zhan is used to sleeping at nine and waking up at five,’ Wei-ge whispers in his ear.
‘Mn. Good night, Wei-ge.’
‘Night, A-Yang.’
Xue Yang finally feels the weight of the day hit him in full force, and he quickly succumbs to sleep after wrapping his own tiny arms around Wei-ge’s waist.
He manages to catch the faintest touch of a kiss on his forehead before he passes out.
(Strangely, he feels at home in this place.)