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Chapter Text

The new ribbon had been prepared long before Lan Wangji’s birth, dainty clouds having been carefully stitched into fluttering silk a mere day after the announcement of his mother’s second pregnancy. Making a new ribbon was always a joyous occasion for the Gusu Lan Sect, especially when said ribbon was for a direct descendant of the Lan family. While the ribbons were common, the stitching was not; the last time such a ribbon had been prepared was a few years earlier, when a similar one had been made in time for Lan Xichen’s birth, and before that the last time had been when their father and uncle were born.

Though the new ribbon had sat neatly folded in its case at his mother’s bedside for the entire final month of her pregnancy, it was not secured around Lan Wangji's head until a full week after his birth. His father was certainly not the one to tie it — he had returned to seclusion shortly after the birth of his second son, lingering only long enough to settle on a name for the child — nor was it his mother, keen as she was. Instead, it was Lan Xichen who, with an encouraging nod from their mother and a stern look from their uncle, stepped forward with the ribbon clutched between his hands, tenderly wrapping it around his baby brother’s head and making a neat loop with the ends. He was gentle, albeit a little clumsy with his mildly inexperienced hands, careful enough not to pull on the infant’s hair. When the ribbon was finally secure, he stepped back with a prideful beam on his lips.

It was not the usual ceremony that came with tying the ribbons for the first time, but their parents had always been different to the previous leaders of the sect. Lan Xichen’s ceremony, too, had been a quiet affair. Somehow, Lan Wangji’s was even quieter — sombre, almost, save for his brother’s soft touches and bright, enthusiastic eyes. Later, when the ribbon had been once again removed and replaced in its case for safekeeping until Lan Wangji was old enough to wear it permanently, their uncle took him into his arms and away from his mother for the first time, Lan Xichen following quietly with a small smile still warming his face.

Lan Wangji’s earliest memory of the ribbon, however, came from a few weeks after his ceremony. Of course, he was still an infant, so the memory became little more than fleeting images and lingering sounds, but it remained with him for years to come. And it went like this: him, curled in his mother’s arms with his brother chattering at their side, a gentle fingertip tracing his forehead, and the cool fabric of the ribbon soothing his skin. He felt a slight jolt, a singular burst of energy that made him babble incoherently and giggle up at his mother.

She smoothed her hands over his forehead, whispering and laughing. Her eyes crinkled in pure joy, and she muttered something that must have become lost in translation over time, for Lan Wangji could never remember what it was that she said. Lan Xichen leaned across and held onto his mother’s hand, still holding the ribbon over Lan Wangji’s head, and the three of them remained there, simply holding each other, until dusk fell.

--

At five years old, Lan Wangji was deemed ready to take on the full responsibilities of being a member of his sect. Though his mother argued that he was still too young, his uncle had insisted on both of his nephews being taught from a tender age.

“Rules learned young will be rules followed for a lifetime,” he had reasoned, and very few people had seen fit to argue with this logic.

Once again, it was Lan Xichen who guided Lan Wangji’s chubby fists around the ribbon, teaching him patiently how to tie the ends in the customary way. He had laughed at the stern look of concentration on his younger brother’s face, and at the pout that only grew more pronounced each time Lan Wangji failed to tie the ribbon tightly enough to have it stay in one spot.

It took a few more tries and a plethora of encouraging words for Lan Wangji to finally succeed – with a satisfied quirk of his lips, he had gazed up at Lan Xichen expectantly with shining eyes and cheeks tinted red. Lan Xichen had laughed, ruffling Lan Wangji’s hair gently and cooing at the blush spreading to his baby brother’s neck and the tips of his ears.

“Brother,” Lan Wangji said then, glancing away with a sudden dejected look adorning his features. “The ribbon is so difficult to tie. It feels uncomfortable, too. Do I really have to wear it every day?”

Lan Xichen huffed a laugh, flicking the ends of Lan Wangji’s ribbon teasingly. “Yes, Wangji. Wearing this ribbon is a great honour in our sect. It is a custom that has been passed down from our ancestors for generations.”

This, it seemed, did little to persuade his brother, who frowned stubbornly. “But why? It’s just a ribbon.”

“Hm, well, yes. But it means a lot.”

Lan Wangji considered this for a moment, head tilted in curiosity. Lan Xichen almost teased him again for being so cute, but managed to hold back when the younger boy asked, “What does it mean?”

“We wear this ribbon as a reminder to self-regulate and to control our actions,” Lan Xichen explained, idly brushing his fingers along the edges of his own ribbon with a soft smile. “It reminds us to act accordingly with the rules of the sect and to follow the right path in life. If we do not wear the ribbon, or if we break our sect rules while wearing it, then it is an indicator that we are not worthy of being a part of Gusu Lan.”

Despite still being just shy of nine years old himself, Lan Xichen had already been taught about the ribbon quite thoroughly, and easily recited the purpose of the Gusu Lan ribbons to Lan Wangji. To any other four-year-old, this much information would have been rather meaningless and may have been forgotten very quickly. Lan Wangji, however, was also smart and incredibly mature for his age. He nodded in understanding, but his shoulders drooped.

“Can a ribbon really do that much?” he asked petulantly, lips formed in another pout.

Lan Xichen huffed a fond laugh. “Yes, it can. Here, let me show you.”

Here, he carefully reached around his own head and loosened the knot in his hair, letting the white fabric around his forehead fall into his waiting hands. He crouched down onto his knees, holding the ribbon in his outstretched hands to his curious younger brother.

“Touch it,” Lan Xichen instructed, giving an encouraging nod. Gingerly, Lan Wangji reached out his pointer finger and gave the ribbon a feather-like stroke. When he looked back up into Lan Xichen’s eyes expectantly, he was met with a soft smile. “Did you feel that?”

Lan Wangji didn’t reply with words, but it was evident from the way his hand reached up to his chest that he had, in fact, felt the surge of spiritual energy from the ribbon. Eyes wide and shining with wonder, he carefully touched Lan Xichen’s ribbon once more, eliciting a gasp from his lips when the energy coursed through him a second time.

“I feel it,” he said, excitement lacing his voice. “Will mine do that, too?”

“Eventually, yes.” Lan Xichen secured his ribbon in place again and ruffled his younger brother’s hair. “If you wear your ribbon every day, part of your spiritual energy will eventually remain in the fabric. The ribbon then becomes a part of you; it senses different things and emphasises certain emotions.”

“Like what?”

“Like trust. Happiness.” Lan Xichen paused and smiled conspiratorially. “Love.”

Lan Wangji made a face like he’d just bitten into a rather sour lemon. “Ew.”

Laughing, Lan Xichen nodded. He shared his brother’s sentiment – at their age, love was an icky, incomprehensible thing. Still, he insisted: “It doesn’t have to be romantic love. It can be platonic love, too. Between friends, and family members. Your ribbon will recognise those closest to you – that means your family, and your soulmate.”

“Brother, I want you to be my soulmate!”

Really, his younger brother was too adorable for his own good, Lan Xichen concluded with a grin.

“Oh, Wangji. Your soulmate will be someone you want to marry. They will be someone you want to have children with, someone you will spend every day for the rest of your life with. You can’t do that with me, can you?”

“I guess not,” Lan Wangji mumbled dejectedly, glancing away to hide the disappointment on his face. Yet, within a second, the dejection was replaced with excitement and determination once more. “Well, then, I just won’t have a soulmate! Brother is enough for me. And Mother, too!”

“Fine, fine. It’ll just be the three of us then.”

Lan Wangji beamed at this, and Lan Xichen found that he couldn’t help but wish his words could remain true. Alas, he was older than his brother, and knew that soulmates were destined – they could not be changed, nor could they be ignored. Lan Xichen knew that his brother would eventually find his soulmate and forget about this conversation – in the meantime, he was happy to oblige him by taking his hand and leading him outside, ribbons fluttering together in the breeze as they went.

--

On the twelfth day of every month, Lan Wangji would clutch onto his brother’s hand and allow Lan Xichen to lead him through paths of white stones and budding gentians to his mother’s room. These monthly visits had quickly become something to look forward to, something to cherish for a lifetime. Each visit was more precious than the last, and Lan Wangji savoured the time he got to spend with his mother as much as he could.

Their mother helped Lan Xichen practice his calligraphy, teaching him how to hold the brush correctly and which strokes to emphasise. Meanwhile, she helped Lan Wangji to read – he enjoyed the ancient stories and poems she kept specially for him, in a tattered book freckled with ink stains.

“Mother,” he began one day, his book laying temporarily forgotten in his lap. His mother smiled down at him and gave a nod, so he gathered his confidence and asked the question that had been plaguing his mind recently. “Why does it hurt so much when Uncle touches my ribbon?”

His mother released a startled gasp, before schooling her expression into something more neutral. Across the room, Lan Xichen paused in his writing to send a worried look over at the two of them.

“It hurts when Uncle touches your ribbon?” Lan Xichen asked curiously, placing his brush down on the desk. “How is that possible?”

When Lan Wangji lowered his gaze in shame and gave a helpless shrug, their mother sent Lan Xichen a reprimanding look. She sighed, brushing a gentle hand over her youngest son’s shoulders.

“The people closest to us – those we trust and love the most – can touch our ribbons without causing us any harm.” She spoke softly, soothing her hands through Lan Wangji’s hair to emphasise each word. “For them, it is easy to loosen our ribbons because they are the sole reasons that we are able to lower our defences and stop restricting ourselves so harshly. We can truly be ourselves around them. But for other people – the people whom we don’t trust nor love so much – that doesn’t happen. When those people touch our ribbons, the spiritual energy that has transferred from us to our ribbons reacts negatively with the spiritual energy of that other person, causing pain.”

Lan Wangji bowed his head, bottom lip trembling. “But… Brother said that my family can touch my ribbon. Uncle is family. He can touch Brother’s ribbon without it hurting him, so why can’t he touch mine? Why does it hurt so much?”

A few tears slipped down his cheeks at his final words, and his mother took him up into her arms with a soft sigh. She settled him firmly on her lap, rocking him back and forth in a similar fashion to the way she once rocked him as an infant when he became particularly fussy. The motion had always calmed him, and even now it stopped his crying and sent warmth across his skin.

“Oh, Baby. It isn’t your fault. You know that, right? Sometimes, there are exceptions to the rule. Sometimes we don’t love or trust our family members as much as we ought to. It doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person, and it doesn’t mean that your uncle is a bad person, either. It simply means that your spiritual energy isn’t compatible with his, so your ribbon’s energy repels his.”

Lan Wangji nodded in understanding, though he still felt a little guilty. Across the room, Lan Xichen cleared his throat and stood. With a few quick steps, he was beside them, reaching out his hand to tug gently on his brother’s ribbon.

“I think,” he said quietly, cheeks red, “that as long as you have people you trust – people who you can be yourself around – then it doesn’t matter who they are. So… I think that as long as Mother and I are here, and we can still touch your ribbon without causing you harm, then you will be okay, Wangji.”

His words were met with two pairs of glistening eyes, and their mother reached out a shaky hand to cup his cheek lovingly. She smiled, bright and brilliant and full of pride, and nodded.

“That’s right,” she said, holding onto her two sons tight. “As long as we all have each other, we’ll be fine.”

--

It took some time for Lan Wangji to understand why these visits to his mother had to be cut so short, and why they could only happen once per month. It baffled him that his parents refrained from seeing each other, and it angered him that everybody he met seemed so reluctant to speak of his mother. She was a nice person, the best person, and he loved her – so why did everybody else seem to hate her?

He still hadn’t really comprehended the reasoning behind it all by the time the visits abruptly stopped one winter’s day.

The twelfth day of that month had finally come around, but his brother was nowhere to be seen. Lan Wangji knocked repeatedly at the door to his brother’s room, but to no avail. When he deemed the search for Lan Xichen hopeless, he began to seek out his uncle, instead; Lan Qiren never usually accompanied the brothers to see their mother, but Lan Wangji was slowly becoming desperate. The visits to his mother were too short by his standards to begin with, and no doubt this delay would make this particular visit even shorter. He needed to find someone before his time ran out.

When his uncle, too, was nowhere to be found, Lan Wangji clenched his fists and gave a frustrated stomp. Frowning, he glanced around at his surroundings, finding that the path to his mother’s room was not too far away. He knew the way there like the back of his hand by now, so surely, he thought, he could navigate the path by himself.

It was snowing a little harder than usual as he began weaving his way along the path, feeling the crunch of stones and gravel beneath his feet. The air upon his skin grew colder with every step he took, and by the time he emerged at the clearing before his mother’s home, he was shivering against the biting chill.

In the courtyard, it was silent as always. Lan Wangji breathed in the serenity with contentedness – his mother’s room had always been one of his favourite places to visit in Cloud Recesses, closely followed by the Library Pavilion. The two places filled him with equal amounts of joy and satisfaction. If he could spend the remainder of his life flitting between those two rooms, his mother and brother at his side, he would be happy.

With a smile, he shook off the cold clinging to his robes and skipped up to the front door, rapping his knuckles against the wood in his signature tap, tap, tap-tap, tap. He took a step back, waiting eagerly for the door to be thrown open and his mother’s smiling face to come into view.

He waited. And waited. The air grew colder, and the sky became a gloomy grey. It seemed as though there was a storm brewing beyond the mountaintop – Lan Wangji knew that he should take refuge from the weather soon. Maybe his mother hadn’t heard his knocking over the wind?

He knocked again, louder this time: TAP, TAP, TAP-TAP, TAP. He waited. A shiver travelled along the length of his spine.

The door didn’t open.

Something was wrong – his mother would never ignore him, would never leave him outside to freeze alone in a gradually-building storm. Tears began to gather in his eyes as he knocked again, growing desperate. When the knocking still went unanswered, he kicked as hard as he could against the door until it was rattling in its frame, but still he was met with silence.

When he had finally exhausted himself and the snow was falling in heavy sheets all around him, he stepped backwards and fell to his knees in the snow. In front of him, the door still stood, motionless and looming.

And his mother didn’t come.

Hours later, he heard a worried shout – it was his name, he realised, but he no longer had the strength to shout back. Instead, he remained there in the snow, kneeling and watching the door to his mother’s room until he finally felt a gentle hand come to rest at his shoulder. When he turned, he was met with the sight of his uncle standing over him, face stern; beside him, Lan Xichen gazed down at his brother with puffy eyes and tear-tracked cheeks.

He learned that his mother was dead. In his six years of life, he still hadn’t been exposed to much death – still wasn’t really sure what death was, exactly, except for the fact that it was something very permanent. His mother wasn’t coming back. She was gone forever.

After the news, things changed. And as he grew, he changed, too; his expression became indifferent, his words blunt and only spoken when completely necessary. To others, he was detached and cold – only Lan Xichen still saw and felt the tendrils of warmth in his little brother’s eyes when the two were together, and only he noticed the way Lan Wangji’s ribbon would emit a pleasant thrum of energy at his touch. It was if the ribbon was still chasing the gentle caress of their mother’s hands and found mild comfort in Lan Xichen’s instead – the only available option, but he’d take that. He was happy to be the sole person whom Lan Wangji’s ribbon would react positively to. In their mourning, it was the only reason he still smiled from time to time.

Their mother had promised that, were the three of them together, everything would be okay. Now it was just the two of them. Lan Xichen wasn’t going to let Lan Wangji drift away from him, too.

--

Wei Wuxian came clambering into Lan Wangji’s life with bottles of illicit alcohol and a mischievous smile, and Lan Wangji hated him. He was annoying, disobedient, defiant in all the most inappropriate of situations. He was, to put it simply, a complete brat.

His uncle showed clear disdain for Wei Wuxian from the beginning, glaring at him each time he misbehaved in class and clenching his jaw every time one of the disciples mentioned his name. Lan Wangji once heard him refer to Wei Wuxian as ‘the worst disciple to ever grace this mountain’, to which he had wholeheartedly agreed.

And yet.

Wei Wuxian was mind-bogglingly smart and passionate and spoke about things in a way that was unconventional yet thought-provoking. His enthusiasm was unparalleled even when his ideas were far from acceptable, which was something Lan Wangji had never seen before but found himself largely intrigued by. Wei Wuxian was kind and treated others fairly, helping the younger disciples when they were struggling no matter which sect they were from. His personality was bright and loud, all-encompassing, and somehow totally addictive. Like a moth to a particularly dangerous flame, Lan Wangji found himself inexplicably drawn to Wei Wuxian.

He wasn’t quite aware of this fact until his brother had smiled at him, sporting that knowing smirk that had persisted throughout their childhood upbringing together, and said, “You wanted him to come, didn’t you?”

Embarrassed, Lan Wangji had turned his face away before his brother could see the flush creeping from his ears to his neck and walked briskly in the opposite direction. But later, with a handful of Wei Wuxian’s collar as he carried the other boy away from the centre of the waterborne abyss they had been battling, he found that he couldn’t deny his brother’s words no matter how much he wanted to.

Having Wei Wuxian around was… confusing. Lan Wangji was endlessly irritated by his ramblings and persistent need to touch all the time, but he also didn’t want Wei Wuxian to touch anyone else but him. And when the other boy showed no signs of doing so, it filled Lan Wangji with a weird bout of satisfaction – pride, almost.

This was decidedly not good. Lan Wangji knew the rules and restrictions the Lan sect leaders had put in place over the years were there to help him, but he couldn’t help but feel as though they were suddenly antagonising him. He ached to release all his inhibitions, to stop acting like the perfect disciple he was forced to be. When Wei Wuxian was around, he wanted to laugh and play and scream and fight and cry. Wei Wuxian made him feel things that an honourable Lan disciple was certainly not meant to feel. It didn’t matter that this was the first time in almost a decade that another person had made him feel something – it was wrong and improper.

So, from then on, Lan Wangji decidedly ignored the clench in his stomach every time he heard Wei Wuxian’s musical laugh. He ignored the fluttery feeling in his lungs every time Wei Wuxian approached him with a grin to rival the brilliance of the gods and a teasing lilt in the way he chimed Lan Wangji’s name. Wei Wuxian was annoying, he was a brat, he was not someone whom Lan Wangji should involve himself with. And yet somehow, even after the time spent copying rules in the Library Pavilion and the fiasco at Biling Lake, Lan Wangji turned out to be the person Wei Wuxian spent most of his time with during his studies at Gusu.

And Lan Wangji discovered that, despite everything, he really didn’t mind. He didn’t mind being the centre of Wei Wuxian’s attention, didn’t mind being his muse or even the butt of his jokes. Maybe, with the way he felt a surge of something every time he was near Wei Wuxian, he even secretly enjoyed all of these things.

It wasn’t until much later, however – a year since Wei Wuxian had walked away from Gusu and left a lingering silence that Lan Wangji should have found relieving, but mostly found rather oppressive – that he finally realised the reasons he had always felt the way he did around Wei Wuxian. And all it took was an archery competition and his forehead ribbon.

People had touched his ribbon without his consent before. A disciple had once tugged on it accidentally while training with Lan Wangji, resulting in him quickly gaining the upper hand as Lan Wangji fell to the floor in agony, clutching at his head and attempting to loosen the ribbon from where it had rapidly constricted. There was also the time he had been approached by a young maiden in the streets of Caiyi, flirtatious and bubbly and altogether much alike someone else Lan Wangji had come to know, except not really, because nobody could ever be the same as him. And when she had casually brushed her fingers over the ends of his ribbon with a giggle that she must have deemed cute and attractive, Lan Wangji was once again clamped down by excruciating pain until he yanked it away from her and stormed off in the direction of home.

When Wei Wuxian touched his ribbon – pulled it off completely, would be a more accurate description – nothing happened. There was no pain, despite how much Lan Wangji had steeled himself for it. The ribbon did not constrict; it loosened. It came away from his forehead and pooled in Wei Wuxian’s palms, stitched clouds against tanned skin. Lan Wangji suddenly found himself unable to breathe.

Shoulders shaking with anger and shame – Wei Wuxian had just pulled off his ribbon, in public where everyone could see, and now everyone was watching and whispering – he turned to level a glare at the boy behind him. For once, Wei Wuxian appeared to be rather speechless. He clutched the ribbon loosely between his fingers, mouth opening and shutting as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t formulate the correct words. Eyes wide, he held up the ribbon between their chests, the sight of it in someone else’s hands making Lan Wangji’s face turn dark with irritation and humiliation – and then it finally, truly dawned on him.

Wei Wuxian. With his ribbon. He had taken his ribbon. Had touched it, tugged it – it had come undone. It was in Wei Wuxian’s hands. Lan Wangji was not in pain – the ribbon had reacted positively to Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian was–

He was–

“I… I didn’t mean to,” Wei Wuxian said, voice shaking slightly. “Here, tie it yourself–”

Before he could finish speaking, Lan Wangji noticed movement from the corner of his eye. He quickly snatched the ribbon from Wei Wuxian’s hands, ignoring the hurt in the boy’s eyes as he turned away and braced himself for the questions, the pity, the disbelief, and the condescending words of his fellow sect members.

Immediately, they swarmed him with judgemental frowns and scathing glares directed at Wei Wuxian. Lan Xichen slung his arm over his little brother’s shoulders, gently leading him further from the other boy as he whispered supportive words of reassurance. All around him, he heard the Gusu Lan disciples offering their words of what he supposed was meant to be support.

“Maybe your ribbon was wrong!”

“We don’t always need to choose the person the ribbon dictates to us, anyway.”

“The ribbon must be flawed; otherwise why would it choose a man?”

“Anyone as shameless as him doesn’t deserve it, anyway.”

“Why would it be Wei Wuxian?”

“Just ignore him from now on, he doesn’t deserve it.”

Of course he deserves to be someone’s soulmate, a small part of Lan Wangji thought despite everything. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. And then he had to fight against a wave of nausea as the word soulmate rattled around in his head, flashing neon bright and causing his palms to start sweating.

What were his brother and uncle going to say now? How differently would he be treated by the other disciples from his sect? It was clear that they didn’t approve of who his ribbon had reacted to – would they look down on him as much as they already looked down on Wei Wuxian?

Lan Wangji didn’t particularly want to find out – he wasn’t usually one to run away from his problems, preferring to be honest and face things head-on. But this was something else entirely. This was terrifying and exciting and crushing all at the same time, and he found himself rapidly overwhelmed. As he tied his ribbon once more around his head, he felt it buzzing incessantly at the presence of his soulmate still standing so close. Swallowing down the urge to vomit, he shared a glance with his brother which he hoped accurately conveyed his need to leave right now, please. To his relief, Lan Xichen nodded and pulled him away from the other disciples, nodding at them to disperse and return to their own preparations for the competition.

Lan Wangji found himself being led far away from where the competition was to take place, and he was grateful for the breath of fresh air that it provided him with. When his brother finally pulled him to a stop, he discovered his own breathing to be uneven and shaky. Lan Xichen eyed him with concern, gently rubbing his arm.

“Wangji, are you okay? I’m sorry that it happened like that,” Lan Xichen said, to which he received a half-hearted glare. He gave his brother a small smile. “I meant in front of everyone. I do not care who your soulmate is, Wangji, as long as they make you happy.”

“The others,” Lan Wangji said breathlessly, hands shaking. “Uncle. The elders. What will they all think?”

Lan Xichen sighed and took his brother’s hands into his own, giving them a kind yet firm squeeze. “Their opinions do not matter. Nobody can change who your soulmate is, remember?”

Lan Wangji nodded after a moment of quiet thought. His breathing had calmed enough that he felt almost normal again. Slowly, he pulled his hands back to himself and straightened.

“Are you unhappy with the outcome, Wangji?” his brother asked then, concern glinting in his eyes. Lan Wangji hesitated; his brother did not seem to be judging him, nor did he look disapproving. Sighing, Lan Wangji averted his gaze and shook his head.

“I do care for him,” he said honestly. He saw his brother nod from the corner of his eye.

“Then everything will be fine.”

Lan Wangji wasn’t too optimistic, but he still wished that his brother’s words could be true.

--

Later that night, Lan Wangji remained awake for hours past curfew, clutching his ribbon to his chest. Like this, with the fabric inches away from where his heart lay beating beneath his skin, he could feel the steady thrum of energy coursing through the ribbon. That energy had finally responded to someone outside of his immediate family. He had finally found the person he was most compatible with, the person he was destined for – the person he should be spending the rest of his life with, marrying, having children with.

Wei Wuxian.

It couldn’t actually be him, though, could it? Maybe his ribbon truly had made a mistake – after all, wasn’t his soulmate meant to be a woman? He remembered the words he’d heard earlier that day, spoken with clear disdain: why would it choose a man?

And yet, it made so much sense. Ever since his first appearance in the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian had been lowering Lan Wangji’s walls and etching himself into his thoughts. He had been the cause of so many contradicting thoughts and emotions – had been the sole reason for Lan Wangji’s confusion and happiness and pain and bliss for an entire year when most people never drew a second thought from Lan Wangji's mind.

So, really, who else could possibly have been his soulmate but Wei Wuxian? Who else would he release all of his inhibitions for? Who else could he be entirely himself around? It didn’t matter that he was a man, because he was Wei Wuxian, his soulmate, the person his ribbon deemed most compatible with him.

What he had told Lan Xichen earlier that day was entirely the truth – he did care for Wei Wuxian greatly. More than he’d ever cared for anyone outside of his immediate family. He only wanted happiness for Wei Wuxian, and now that he knew why, he found himself wishing that they might eventually find that happiness together.

But Wei Wuxian couldn’t see him like that. Sure, he liked to tease Lan Wangji and flirt incessantly with him, but he was like that with everyone. He merely wanted a reaction from Lan Wangji, wanted to rile him up for the sole reason that nobody else ever could. Lan Wangji certainly didn’t think so lowly of Wei Wuxian as to say that he didn’t care for Lan Wangji at all, but he knew that the extent of the other’s care for him would never be anything more than the way a friend cares for a friend, or a brother cares for a brother.

It kind of broke Lan Wangji’s heart, but time with Wei Wuxian was time well spent regardless of their relationship, so he would take what he could get and give willingly in return – in the end, he knew it was all he could ask for.

--

The song came to him in the early hours of the next morning. It was a simple yet beautiful melody, captivating and a little haunting. Gentle on the ears, yet powerful in its provocation of emotions. Or, maybe it was just Lan Wangji’s own emotions that the song was able to provoke so well. He’d never find out, of course, because he simply could never allow another person to hear it.

Someday, there would be lyrics to the song. He shaped the faint skeletons of them now, testing the taste of them upon his tongue, but he was not yet ready to set them in stone. Instead, he tested the notes that formed in his mind upon the strings of his guqin, each strum a mirror-image of a heartbeat. The jingshi was filled with the sound of what it was to love and long for.

Each note, each beat of his heart in his chest, reverberated in the ribbon upon his skin.

--

After the destruction brought down upon the Cloud Recesses by the Wens and the subsequent disappearance of his brother, things became blurry and difficult to comprehend. Events began to progress too quickly for Lan Wangji to keep up with. Before he knew it, he was stumbling into the Wen indoctrination with a barely healed leg and a chest full of scorching guilt.

He hadn’t expected to see Wei Wuxian at the indoctrination – after all, though he was one of Lotus Pier’s head disciples, he was not obliged to attend the event in the same way that Jiang Wanyin was. Usually, Lan Wangji would be glad to see Wei Wuxian – after the incident with his forehead ribbon had made him finally acknowledge his own growing feelings towards the other for what they truly were, he had been more and more eager to see the other boy with every day that passed. But things had been tense and painful recently – his usual excitement and hope had been diminished, and he found himself living through each day in an emotionless state while the wreckage of the life he once enjoyed lay strewn around him. He was struggling to pick up the pieces, especially when they were crumbling under his touch.

This time, even seeing Wei Wuxian couldn’t distract Lan Wangji from everything that had happened. With his home destroyed, his father mortally wounded, and his brother presumed hurt or worse, he might even admit that seeing Wei Wuxian again was the last thing on his mind, despite the slight twinge of energy he felt pulsing through the ribbon at the sight of him standing beside Jiang Wanyin. He ignored the sensation, ignored the way his heartrate slowly picked up against his will, ignored the wave and smile sent his way.

And of course, Wei Wuxian was his usual troublesome self. He couldn’t help it, Lan Wangji knew, but it still irked him – Lan Wangji’s sect had suffered so much, he himself was injured, and Wei Wuxian treated everything like a mild annoyance and a means of poking fun. Of course, it had to come to a head eventually.

Inside the cave, it was dank and smelled of rotting flesh. The ground beneath Lan Wangji was covered in blood, and he could no longer tell how much of it was his own. Wei Wuxian sat a few metres away, stripped down to his inner robes. The fire lay between them, painting their faces with shadows cast by flames.

Wrapped haphazardly around the wound on his leg, Lan Wangji’s ribbon was still. He absentmindedly reached for one of its ends, thumbing the material gently. The stitching felt foreign on the pads of his fingertips, rough and irregular. It no longer felt like a pattern he knew, but rather something that he had seen in passing somewhere. A split-second image that he would remember for a lifetime but would change slightly each time he recalled its appearance.

In all the time he had known Wei Wuxian, he had never seen him so motionless and quiet. He supposed it had something to do with the way he had acted towards the other in the past few hours, though he was too exhausted to feel much more than a slither of guilt. He just hoped that Wei Wuxian would not dwell on things too much. In the heat of the moment, Lan Wangji had called him awful and cruel, had hurt him, had ignored him. He’d cried in front of him, brushed him off, told him to shut up. He’d driven him away in a time when they possibly needed each other more than ever. Lan Wangji wished desperately that Wei Wuxian would forget any of it ever happened. He wished he could forgive him – but maybe they were both simply too stubborn, too afraid.

Killing the Slaughter Xuanwu was an exhausting task. After three days, waiting finally gave way to acceptance and then to preparation as the two of them bickered over adjustments and techniques. They put their plan into action silently upon the arrival of their fourth day in the cave, creeping about the water’s edge to collect materials and organise themselves appropriately without waking the sleeping tortoise within the pool. Eventually, each armed with their respective tools, they separated; Wei Wuxian descending into the shell of the monster, and Lan Wangji finding a suitable spot at which to wait anxiously outside.

The wait was not only long, but terrifying. With each second that ticked by, Lan Wangji grew more worried for Wei Wuxian’s safety. After everything they’d been through together, he hoped desperately that nothing would go wrong now. There were still countless things that Lan Wangji wished to apologise for, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive himself if Wei Wuxian did not emerge from the creature’s shell alive. He didn’t want Wei Wuxian to die thinking that Lan Wangji hated him.

Replaced around his forehead, his ribbon gave no indication of Wei Wuxian’s condition inside the tortoise’s shell. He could only hope that the fabric’s repose was temporary, and that Wei Wuxian was still safe.

When the head of the tortoise eventually emerged from its shell, Lan Wangji’s first response was paralysing fear – Wei Wuxian was nowhere to be seen. Nevertheless, the Xuanwu thrashed about as if being torn apart from the inside out, and that was when it struck Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian was inside the monster’s mouth.

Panicking, he immediately pulled his strings taut and wrapped them around the neck of the monster, heaving with all his might. The Xuanwu’s flesh succumbed to the string agonisingly slowly, and still, Wei Wuxian did not emerge from within the creature’s mouth.

It took hours, the work painstaking and utterly petrifying, and the Slaughter Xuanwu was relentless in its thrashing and screeching. Lan Wangji’s leg, still only three quarters of the way to healing, was bleeding again from the effort of keeping up his position for so long. Droplets of blood streamed steadily along his calf, but it was the string slicing into his hands that almost made him black out from the pain.

When the Xuanwu finally gave one last helpless groan and collapsed dead below him, Lan Wangji almost lost consciousness. He would have immediately fallen to the ground in exhaustion if it were not for the terror squeezing his chest; gathering as much strength as he could from the little supply he had remaining, he jumped down into the water and swam towards the head of the tortoise.

“Wei Ying!” he screamed, struggling to pry open the mouth of the dead Xuanwu. Even now, its jaw was clenched so tightly that it felt almost impossible to separate its rows of teeth from each other. Somehow, though, he managed to create a gap just large enough for a person to squeeze through, and that’s when he saw him. Wei Wuxian’s limp body was wrapped around the rusted, blunt blade of a sword. If he had been even an inch further inside the Xuanwu’s mouth, he likely would have been swallowed down its throat already.

As carefully as he could, Lan Wangji contorted his upper body inside the mouth of the tortoise and tugged on Wei Wuxian’s clothes. He was a dead weight as he lifted him out, all flailing limbs and sodden robes. The clothes at his chest clung to his skin where the Wen brand had left a permanent mark, and he was freezing to the touch.

He looked dead – felt dead. But there was a reassuring buzzing in Lan Wangji’s ribbon now, faint but nonetheless still there. Wei Wuxian was, against all odds, still alive.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji tried again, and this time he received a response.

“Is it dead?” Wei Wuxian asked, gaze just a little unfocused still. Lan Wangji sighed a breath of relief.

“Yes.”

After assuring him that he was fine and could swim on his own, Wei Wuxian pried himself away from Lan Wangji and the two began searching underwater. The hole that the others had left through all those days ago had to be around somewhere, but the longer they searched, the more hopeless it became. Their escape route was nowhere to be found.

They were still stuck.

Wei Wuxian fumed for a while, throwing curses and insults in such a trivial manner that it made Lan Wangji's skin itch. Every time Wei Wuxian’s voice rose, his ribbon twitched as if imitating the spikes in the other man’s emotions. Lan Wangji, tired and irritable, was not appreciative of this.

In the end, it didn’t take much more for Wei Wuxian to completely exhaust himself. He collapsed without warning, but Lan Wangji had already been watching him and was quick on his feet. He caught him swiftly, supporting his weight as best as he could. Wei Wuxian’s head lolled to the side for a moment, and he groaned before righting himself. After a few more staggered steps forward, his knees buckled once more. This time, Lan Wangji was more prepared, and took the brunt of his weight more easily than before.

Moving him to a comfortable position was difficult. The floor was still slippery with water and blood, and each step Lan Wangji took with Wei Wuxian’s added weight leaning into his side was a strain on his own injured leg. By the time he had propped Wei Wuxian up against a rock close-by, he was sweating and panting with the effort despite only carrying him for a couple of metres.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian groaned, squinting his eyes up at him as if he were confused as to why he was still there. Lan Wangji placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, letting himself linger there for just a second before moving away.

“You have a fever. Rest,” he ordered, and promptly ignored Wei Wuxian’s ensuing protests in favour of turning his wrist so that he could begin the process of transferring spiritual energy to him.

It was an odd thing, feeling his own energy entering Wei Wuxian’s body. He could feel every twist and turn it took to reach Wei Wuxian’s golden core, and for a moment the sensation was so overwhelming that he was almost forced to pull away completely. But still he persevered, closing his eyes and concentrating on the stream of energy leaving his fingertips. As more of it left his body, he felt the ribbon around his forehead gradually stop its relentless buzzing, in turn losing its tension.

Later, when Wei Wuxian wouldn’t stop complaining and fidgeting despite his weakened state, Lan Wangji distracted himself with thoughts of before – before they were trapped together, before the Cloud Recesses were destroyed, before Wei Wuxian left Gusu so long ago. He imagined that the two of them were sitting side-by-side in the Library Pavilion instead, Wei Wuxian whining about the number of rules he had to copy as Lan Wangji pretended to be less flustered by the other boy’s pout than he actually was.

“It’s so boring,” Wei Wuxian said then, tugging on Lan Wangji’s sleeve. “Lan Zhan, sing me a song.”

And really, what else did he have to lose? Would it be so bad, to share this one thing with Wei Wuxian and nobody else while he still had the chance?

So he took a breath, braced himself, felt his ribbon grow warm to the touch, and he sang.

“What’s the name of the song?” Wei Wuxian asked when it was over, eyelids heavy and speech slurred.

He was already asleep by the time Lan Wangji replied. The song had not had a name before now, for settling on something that fitted both its melody and its inspiration was too difficult. But now, with Wei Wuxian right here in front of him and the final notes of the song echoing between them, he felt a name shaping itself on his tongue. It felt right.

“Wangxian,” he said, and he smiled.

--

Jiang Wanyin had not often spoken to Lan Wangji before – when the two of them were in the same place at the same time, it was often the case that Wei Wuxian was present too, the latter taking it upon himself to talk to Lan Wangji enough that Jiang Wanyin didn’t need to. He supposed that Jiang Wanyin didn’t particularly want to speak to him, either – not very many people often did. So, when Jiang Wanyin sought him out amidst the revival of both their sects, Lan Wangji immediately prepared for the worst.

“Wei Wuxian is missing.”

And oh, it was so much worse than he could have expected.

There were many details that Jiang Wanyin chose not to divulge to Lan Wangji, and he didn’t pry – though he desperately wanted to. He wanted to know exactly when Wei Wuxian disappeared, the events leading up to him going missing, any places he may have gone to. But he knew the extent to which the Jiang clan had already suffered, and he knew that actually finding Wei Wuxian was much more important than the minor details.

Lan Wangji knew, for reasons he couldn’t really explain, that Wei Wuxian was… physically okay. Maybe in some pain, with the way the energy coursing through his ribbon fluctuated occasionally – but he was alive and somehow surviving, wherever he may be. If he was… if he wasn’t okay, he’d know. The ribbon would react, somehow. He was sure of it.

A month into their search for Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji thought they had come close to finding him. It was in a small town on the outskirts of one of the Wens’ shiny new supervisory offices that it happened; shortly after cleaning up the place, he felt a sudden buzz in the ribbon at his head. While it didn’t hurt, it was sudden enough that it made him gasp and clutch at the ribbon, stumbling slightly on his feet. Beside him, Jiang Wanyin paused and shot him a wary look.

“Everything okay?” he asked, though he seemed more shocked than concerned. Lan Wangji had to compose himself for a moment before he gave a small nod, straightening his ribbon. They left the supervisory office then, discussing in brief words where to direct their efforts next.

At their next destination, they found themselves beaten to the punch. The Wen cultivators laid dead at their feet the moment they arrived, each tortured to death in rather gruesome and unthinkable ways, each dying differently and horrifyingly. The sight was enough to make bile rise in Lan Wangji’s throat, but he swallowed it down when he felt that same buzz in his ribbon. Quick, harsh, startling. It only lasted a fraction of a second, and it was gone.

Whoever had reached the supervisory office before them on that first occasion continued to do so on the next, and then the one after that, and so on and so forth until Jiang Wanyin was practically foaming at the mouth.

“It’s clear that whoever this is, they’re on our side,” he said one night, inspecting the bloodied head of a dead Wen before dropping it with a grimace. “I just wish we knew who they were. It would certainly save us from having to continue with this wild goose chase.”

At first, Lan Wangji wasn’t sure where to begin in trying to find the person responsible for the deaths of so many Wen cultivators. He had never seen deaths such as these, and certainly had never known anyone who played such cruel tricks on people as to torture them to the point of madness in their final moments.

It was on one particularly windy night that it dawned on him. He and Jiang Wanyin led their formation through the gates of the supervisory office – they’d only settled on this particular one a few hours prior, when they discovered that Wen Chao himself had been residing and working here for the better part of the past week. When they emerged into the courtyard, however, they were met once again with death and eerie silence.

Jiang Wanyin grunted and kicked at the abandoned sheathe of a Wen cultivator’s sword on the ground, breathing ragged and shoulders hunched.

“Why did they have to reach this one before us?” he said angrily, releasing yet another kick onto the sheathe at his feet. “Of all of them, this is the one I needed.”

Lan Wangji understood Jiang Wanyin’s grievances. After all, they both had rather personal reasons for hating Wen Chao and wanting to see him get what he so deserved. Lan Wangji was admittedly rather disappointed that they’d had the opportunity to capture him themselves snatched from their hands, but he supposed that Wen Chao and anyone close to him had been dealt with all the same. To Lan Wangji, that was all that mattered.

All, except for maybe the identity of the person who had dealt with him. This was still a mystery that had Lan Wangji both intrigued and anxious – after all, this person seemed particularly powerful and dangerous. If they suddenly decided that the Wens weren’t enough, or if they weren’t on any side at all and were acting completely on their own, then who was to say they wouldn’t turn on Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin next? Who was to say that they weren’t someone to be feared even more than Wen Ruohan himself?

The thought gnawed at his mind for the entire time that it took to inspect every crevice of the offices. They discovered the gruesome corpse of Wang Lingjiao in one of the main rooms, still with a jagged piece of wood lodged in her throat and protruding from her bloodied mouth. Countless Wens were strewn about the remainder of the rooms, each new body appearing in a worse state than the one that came before it.

All in all, this particular office seemed to be in much the same state as the others that Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin had already come across, save for one minor detail: the talismans. Peculiar strokes fitted together in a way that seemed amateur at first glance, though it quickly became apparent that whoever had made them was quite talented and experienced. But that wasn’t all – they were drawn in blood. Human blood.

Lan Wangji committed the design of the talismans to memory before they departed the offices. On the route to their next destination, he pondered over who could have drawn them. It wasn't until a while later that he realised just what about the talismans had captured his attention in the first place – the writing had looked so similar to Wei Wuxian’s. Now, he found himself hoping that he was wrong, that it couldn't possibly be Wei Wuxian's writing at all. Of course he wanted to find Wei Wuxian, but he wouldn’t know how to react if it really had been him creating the talismans. Because if it was him, then wouldn’t that mean that he had been behind the cruel deaths of all of those Wen cultivators, too? Surely, that was not something Wei Wuxian would do. That was not the Wei Wuxian that Lan Wangji knew.

A few nights into their journey, a Jiang disciple approached with panicked eyes and jagged breaths. He reported everything he knew – that there was a place not too far from where they were currently stopped, and that Wen Zhuliu himself had been spotted sneaking around. Lan Wangji shared a brief glance with Jiang Wanyin, who nodded.

They left the group behind with clear instructions: stay close just in case of any mishaps, but otherwise do not get involved. The two of them proceeded to cut through trees and slip in amongst the shadows, eventually emerging into a small clearing outside an abandoned building.

They spotted Wen Zhuliu immediately but refrained from attacking too soon. Up on the roof of the building, they found a spot that allowed them to peer down into the room that Wen Zhuliu had entered. Inside, he was talking quietly with a rather distressed and somewhat mutilated Wen Chao.

Lan Wangji saw Jiang Wanyin sneer beside him. “Whatever happened to him, he fucking deserved it,” Jiang Wanyin whispered. Lan Wangji did not reply, though he was secretly in agreement.

After they had been watching the scene below them unfold for a while without any major progress, it was clear that Jiang Wanyin was becoming impatient. He began to inch forward, but Lan Wangji stopped him with a tug on his sleeve. He wasn’t quite sure what it was about this situation, but something was telling him that it was best not to get themselves involved just yet. Reluctantly, Jiang Wanyin settled back into his original position with a huff.

It was a few moments later that Lan Wangji felt it again – that insistent buzzing in his ribbon that made him jolt in shock. Before now, it had only lasted a few seconds each time and had been rather subtle, but now it was altogether much more noticeable and lasted longer than before. Lan Wangji tugged at his ribbon to loosen it a little, uncomfortable under its ministrations. As if something was provoking it, the buzzing only became more pronounced.

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened as he heard the footsteps from below them, closely followed by Wen Chao’s whimpering. The puzzle pieces clicked together inside Lan Wangji’s mind, and his heart rose into his throat. He realised, with a baffling mixture of relief and distress, that he had been right about everything – about who had been behind the talismans and the deaths of the Wens.

And now, he realised, his ribbon had been trying to prove his theory to him all along. After all, there was only one person to whom it would react so strongly to.

A few metres below them, Wei Wuxian stepped into view. And he was different.

--

He had tried to avoid Wei Wuxian during the night hunt. When Wei Wuxian walked away in one direction, confidently despite the thick ribbon wrapped securely over his eyes and impairing his vision, Lan Wangji had made sure to walk the opposite way. When he had heard the shrill sounds of the other man’s flute, he had turned and made quick work of cutting through the trees until the notes were but a soft hum in the distance.

So when Lan Wangji emerged some time later at the edge of a clearing to see Wei Wuxian leaning against a tree only a few metres away, hair softly framing his cheeks and deft fingers soothing over the ridges of his flute, he felt his heart plummet to the tips of his toes at the same time that all the air left his lungs.

In the split-second it took for Lan Wangji’s heart to skip a beat, he recollected the glint in Wei Wuxian’s eyes when he had approached him earlier, lips twisted up in a mirthful grin. Let me borrow your forehead ribbon, he’d said, ignorant of Lan Xichen’s concerned gaze and Lan Wangji’s own frustration. Wei Wuxian, ever so blasé, just couldn’t resist teasing, could he? He couldn’t resist asking for the one thing that Lan Wangji so desperately wanted to give him but couldn’t.

Wei Wuxian noticed his presence almost immediately, back straightening in alert. “Who’s there?”

With his lips parted and the sunlight piercing through gaps in the treetops to settle on his skin, Wei Wuxian looked almost otherworldly. Though Lan Wangji found himself unable to form words to reply to Wei Wuxian’s question, his traitorous mind helpfully supplied, He looks stunning like this.

“Are you here for the hunt? Why are you so quiet? Can you not speak?” Wei Wuxian continued to ask a myriad of questions, and Lan Wangji found himself more and more entranced. It was almost as if a spell had been suddenly cast over him – he could no longer think coherently, nor could he control his actions as he took a step closer to Wei Wuxian, and then another.

He thought back to those long months he had spent searching for Wei Wuxian. He had missed him, had craved his touch and his attention, had been hungry for the sound of his voice giving life to Lan Wangji’s name. Lan Zhan, he longed to hear, I’m home. I’m safe. I’m here.

He was here now, so beautiful and alive and everything that Lan Wangji could ever want.

“Hello? Why are you so quiet? Who are you?” Wei Wuxian was becoming nervous, restless. He reached up to his head, no doubt about to untie the ribbon around his eyes so that he could catch a glimpse of the mysterious person approaching him, and Lan Wangji’s eyes grew wide with the panic that settled in his chest.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t see him like this – it would all be over too soon. He’d know his feelings immediately from his expression, from the unrestrained adoration in his eyes, from the way his hands shook as he steadily approached him. Lan Wangji inhaled sharply, deciding that Wei Wuxian just couldn’t take off that blindfold of his.

Before he could really think it through, Lan Wangji swooped forward and gathered Wei Wuxian’s wrists into one of his hands, pinning his arms against the tree at his back. Wei Wuxian stuttered a startled gasp as Lan Wangji closed in on him, before their lips were suddenly locked in a harsh kiss.

It felt… wrong. So, so wrong. Wei Wuxian struggled a little against Lan Wangji’s chest, and Lan Wangji could feel the vibrations on his skin where Wei Wuxian attempted to shout and protest. Even when he relaxed seconds later, when he finally released a soft breath through his nose and began moving his lips against Lan Wangji’s, it still felt so horribly wrong.

The true implications of Lan Wangji’s actions registered in his mind at the same time that his own ribbon fluttered loosely over his eyelids to rest upon the slant of his nose, and he broke away from the kiss with an acrid taste in his mouth. Wei Wuxian was frozen to the spot, hands still held high above his head even as Lan Wangji pulled away and staggered backwards, tripping over a few fallen branches. He needed to run, to escape before Wei Wuxian came to his senses and removed the blindfold, but he, too, was frozen to the spot.

It was only when Wei Wuxian cleared his throat and began moving again, and Lan Wangji felt the sickly-sweet warmth seeping from his ribbon into his skin, that he finally turned and fled. He whipped through trees and over rocks, unsheathing Bichen to help clear the way as his lungs burned and his pulse skyrocketed. The further he ran, the hotter his ribbon burned, as if punishing him – and gods, did he deserve that punishment. What right did he have to take advantage of Wei Wuxian? Who was he to kiss him and hold him as if he belonged to him, when Wei Wuxian belonged to no-one?

He came to a sudden halt, breathing heavily. Angrily, he reached up and tugged on the ends of his ribbon hard until the fabric dug painfully into his skin. Had he thought that, just because the ribbon had dictated that Wei Wuxian was his soulmate, he could do whatever he wanted to him?

Stupid, he scolded himself, pulling on the ribbon with more force until tears began collecting at the corners of his eyes. Irresponsible. Impulsive. Reckless.

He lashed out, grunting as he slashed at nearby trees and shrubs. With every collision of his sword against an innocent tree trunk, the kiss replayed tauntingly in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and swung particularly hard at the next tree, his sword slicing almost all the way through the trunk. Pieces of bark scattered to the ground when he pulled the blade free, breathing heavily.

And then there was a presence behind him, and he paused. He didn’t need to look – the clench of his ribbon told him immediately who it was.

Stupid, his mind repeated helpfully. When he lunged at the next tree, he failed to blink away the tears in his eyes.

--

Yiling was situated a fair distance away from Gusu, so it was unusual for someone of the Lan sect to make such a trip unless absolutely necessary. And with Yunmeng not too far away, it was hardly ever a necessity.

Lan Wangji found himself making the trip regardless, uncaring of whether the problem was big or small, insignificant or important – any night hunt was a good opportunity for growth and skill development, he would argue if someone were to bring it up. Nobody did.

He suspected that there was a reason only he was making the trip, anyway. The problem sounded easy enough to deal with – a minor case of ghost sightings at the farthest corner of the city, easily cleared up within a few days – but none were as willing as Lan Wangji to try. After all, it was Yiling. The city was no longer just a city with the Wen remnants and the Yiling Patriarch staking their claim on the hills just outside of the city’s borders.

Except that, when Lan Wangji arrived at the city gates, things looked rather normal. There were still street vendors boasting their goods, still children running about laughing and playing with wooden swords. Women conversed over baskets of fresh fruit, and a few customers of a nearby inn laughed heartily when they were served more alcohol.

If this was what life was like living under the so-called fearsome and oppressive Yiling Patriarch, then it didn’t seem half-bad.

The ghosts he was to deal with were said to appear only after the sun had set below the horizon. Knowing that he still had some time before nightfall, Lan Wangji decided to explore the city a little longer. After all, it seemed lively and jovial, and he found himself rather intrigued by what Yiling might have to offer.

It was as he was inspecting a stall laden with children’s toys that he felt a tug at the robes around his legs. Thinking that it was merely someone accidentally jostling him as they passed by, he ignored the initial pull. But then it happened again, harder this time; startled, he glanced down to see a child staring up at him with wide, mesmerised eyes and lips parted around a soft gasp.

He didn’t recognise the child, so the child certainly could not have recognised him. Surely, then, he was lost. Lan Wangji knew, logically, that now was the time he should be offering to help find the child’s parents. At the least, he thought he should ask for the child’s name.

But before he could do or say anything, hot tears were sliding down the child’s cheeks and collecting on the robes at Lan Wangji’s knee. He froze, unsure of how to react in such a situation – he should comfort the boy, right? Tell him that everything was going to be okay?

“Do not worry,” he said, attempting to school his voice into something gentler than his usual blunt tone. “I will help you find your parents.”

This, however, seemed to only aggravate the child even more. He began to wail loudly, attracting the attention of various onlookers who met Lan Wangji’s gaze with either pity or disappointment. Lan Wangji wasn’t sure which reaction made him feel worse.

He was beginning to lose hope of finding a way out of the situation when he heard a shout, and immediately his blood froze in his veins and time seemed to slow down. He knew that voice, had been secretly hoping to hear it by coming here but had nonetheless still doubted that his hopes would become a reality - until now.

Because there was Wei Wuxian, bounding towards him sporting possibly the biggest and happiest grin Lan Wangji had ever seen, and he felt his heart plummet through the ground at his feet. He suddenly felt upside-down and turned inside-out, as if he’d been pulled apart and put back together again in the wrong order, and here was the man who was going to fix him back to normal.

Lan Wangji wasn’t sure what prompted the memory, but he suddenly remembered what his brother had told him years ago – your soulmate will be someone you want to have children with.

Well, he thought, glancing between Wei Wuxian and the child still clutching at his legs. Here is my soulmate, and here is a child.

And really, he was quite proud of himself for unveiling this little loophole – the child didn’t need to be biologically theirs, right?

At Wei Wuxian’s abrupt proximity, Lan Wangji felt a wave of energy in the ribbon at his forehead. He was pleased to discover that nothing much had changed, then; despite their distance over the past few weeks, he was still close to Wei Wuxian in ways that were invisible to the eye. They were still tied together in ways that only Lan Wangji knew, and the thought almost brought a smile to his face.

It had been a while since the two of them had seen each other and had the opportunity to speak about trivial things – it had been too long, in fact, in Lan Wangji’s opinion. Wei Wuxian quickly made up for lost time, and Lan Wangji was glad to see that he, too, hadn’t changed much. He still rambled and ran away on tangents, still spoke with a smile on his lips, still gestured animatedly and poked fun at Lan Wangji the way he always did. He still laughed that warm, cosy laugh of his, still touched Lan Wangji with searing fingertips.

The only real difference was the child between them, each hand clutched in one of Lan Wangji’s and Wei Wuxian’s as the three of them walked together. It felt comfortable to be seen like this. It felt right.

The child’s name was A-Yuan, he quickly learned, and he was a Wen. A rather troublesome little rascal, but absolutely adorable and extremely well-versed in adult emotions for his tender age. He sensed every high and low in Wei Wuxian’s moods, placing a hand atop the older man’s when he was upset or smiling wide and bright up at him when he was anxious. The two matched each other well, complemented one another as if they truly shared the same blood. It warmed Lan Wangji through to see his soulmate content and at peace, surrounded by smiles and laughter. It was all he had ever deserved, all Lan Wangji knew he had always strived for.

When Wei Wuxian’s talisman began to burn to signal trouble at the Burial Mounds, Lan Wangji didn’t hesitate in picking A-Yuan up and running alongside Wei Wuxian to help diffuse the situation. He had spent too long wondering how Wei Wuxian was coping, who he was with and what he was doing. He was not about to let whatever this was end their time together so soon.

He didn’t even realise what A-Yuan had done until they reached the clearing in which Wei Wuxian’s little camp was nestled and, upon handing A-Yuan off to an elderly woman he presumed to be the boy’s grandmother, felt his ribbon slip away from his forehead. He was momentarily too startled to do much more than stare as A-Yuan clutched the ribbon tightly in his little fists, waving it at Lan Wangji as if showing off a prize.

It was only when he heard Wei Wuxian shouting from inside the cave beyond the clearing that Lan Wangji sprang back into action, gently yet swiftly removing the ribbon from A-Yuan’s hands and giving the boy a half-grateful, half-apologetic pat on his head. He re-tied the ribbon around his own forehead as he ran to catch up to Wei Wuxian, pushing what had just transpired to the back of his mind for the time being.

He managed to keep thoughts of what A-Yuan had done at bay until after they had managed to settle Wen Ning and he was finally saying goodbye to Wei Wuxian a few blissful hours later. As they bid their farewells to each other, Wei Wuxian held tightly onto A-Yuan’s hand as if he was afraid the child might run after Lan Wangji and attach himself to his leg permanently.

That wouldn’t be a problem if you just stayed, Lan Wangji thought. Somehow, the voice in his head sounded a lot like Wei Wuxian’s in that moment. With much effort, he ignored it.

On the descent back down the mountain to the centre of Yiling, all thoughts of why he had originally come to the city had left his mind and been replaced by that one fleeting moment from before; A-Yuan with Lan Wangji’s ribbon in his hand, beaming up at him with eyes full of stars. Innocent, mischievous, perfect little A-Yuan who was practically a carbon copy of Wei Wuxian, in both his personality and the exuberant curve of his smiles.

The child whose soul had already been tied to both of theirs. He had already been accepted and welcomed as another previously missing piece of the puzzle that was Lan Wangji’s evidently expanding collection of loved ones.

Giddy and content, he hoped that it would not be too long before they got the chance to meet again. The three of them together – a mismatched family, of sorts.

--

Hope was a fragile thing.

Wei Wuxian had made many mistakes in his life, and Lan Wangji had been a witness to many of them. But this – the shouting that echoed around Koi Tower, the loud cries of Jiang Yanli for both her husband and her brother as she clutched her baby son to her chest, and the whispering and nudging of onlookers – this was new, it was frightening. It was irreversible. It was Wei Wuxian’s biggest mistake yet.

Jin Zixuan was dead. And soon, Lan Wangji now realised with heart-stopping dread and a painful spark of energy in his ribbon, Wei Wuxian would likely meet the same fate.

--

“Get lost.”

Lan Wangji choked back a sob at Wei Wuxian’s harsh words, cradling the man close as he attempted to placate him. Already, they’d both sustained serious injuries, and Wei Wuxian was close to death. He was also beyond sanity, but Lan Wangji tried not to lose hope – he could fix this, he knew he could, he just needed to convince Wei Wuxian somehow that he was still here for him, that he wasn’t going to leave, that he still cared for him, loved him even.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, wiping away blood and tears from Wei Wuxian’s face. He ignored the weak shove he received to his chest in response. “It will be okay, Wei Ying.”

“Get lost,” Wei Wuxian croaked again, louder this time as dark shadows swirled behind his eyes. Lan Wangji knew that he wasn’t thinking straight, that the resentment had already corrupted his mind, but it still stung to hear the rejection so clear in his voice.

He continued to whisper soft words of reassurance, rocking the man in his arms back and forth. Wei Wuxian was one sudden move away from falling apart completely at the seams, and Lan Wangji wasn’t going to risk such an occurrence. He held onto Wei Wuxian as if he were brittle, which, he supposed, he kind of was.

Amidst his half-hearted struggling and muffled protests, Wei Wuxian’s hand came into contact with the bloodied ends of Lan Wangji’s ribbon. His breath caught in his throat as, apparently unconscious of his own actions, Wei Wuxian gave the fabric a short tug. The ribbon immediately loosened at the brush of his fingertips, eventually falling away from Lan Wangji’s forehead and pooling between them like a lifeline that was impossible for them both to hold onto at once.

Wei Wuxian’s hand opened around the ribbon and he let go – Lan Wangji shakily gathered the material into his own hand and flung it away from the both of them, ignoring the pang in his chest. Anger and shame coursed through him, but they were both overshadowed by an excruciating sorrow that constricted around his heart; he had been naïve to think that, even on death’s door, Wei Wuxian couldn’t possibly be so cruel.

But still, when the two of them had already been hiding for hours and the darkness had settled around them, filling in the dips and edges of their bodies like a cast, his first thought at the echo of footsteps near the mouth of the cave was: Whatever happens, I cannot let them take Wei Ying.

At the sight of his brother rounding the corner, he was almost filled with relief. He knew that Lan Xichen would listen to him, would reason with him and try to help him in any way that he could. He knew that he could trust his brother. But then more faces appeared, and Lan Wangji felt his hope run dry.

I cannot let them take Wei Ying, he thought as his brother pleaded with him to let go, to come home, to forget about the man laying half-dead within his arms.

I will not let them take him, he thought as he clutched Wei Wuxian tighter to his chest with one arm, unsheathing his sword with the other. Bichen cast an eerie blue light over the faces of the thirty-three elders, turning their eyes a startling black.

He barely registered his uncle shouting at him. For an indefinite amount of time, he entered a trance of sorts; he could feel Wei Wuxian laying limp in his arms, could feel the cool hilt of his sword in his hand, could see the blue sheen of the blade combining with the metallic red of blood. Sounds amalgamated into one incoherent stream of white noise, and his vision darkened until there was nothing left to see.

He felt himself slipping, falling. Where, he didn’t know. He felt warmth torn from his arms, hands scratching at his skin. There was the scent of blood and death lingering oppressively in the air, choking him.

When he woke from the trance, he was already kneeling. The jagged edges of the discipline whip landed square between his shoulders for the first time.

--

Lan Wangji felt it before anybody had the chance to break the news to him.

It started as a dull throb around his temples, barely noticeable at first until suddenly he was overcome with the pain of the ribbon constricting around his head. He clawed at the fabric that was still wound through his hair until he was almost screaming in agony, but in his weakened state, not even he could prevent the ribbon from growing tighter. He registered the sliding of a door, quick footsteps, a panicked voice – and then the pain skyrocketed as gentle fingers came to clutch at his ribbon.

With a startled gasp, Lan Xichen flinched backwards as his brother cried out in excruciating pain. His face was crestfallen, shoulders slumped as he gazed down at the broken body of his younger brother writhing and convulsing atop the bed, the fresh scars on his back coating his white robes in red with each sharp twist.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen pleaded, voice breaking in his desperation, but he only received a broken sob in response.

“It hurts,” Lan Wangji cried. “Please… get it off… it hurts so much…”

“Wangji, I can’t,” Lan Xichen sobbed helplessly, hand hovering besides Lan Wangji’s head but not daring to touch his ribbon again. “It will hurt you even more.”

“Please,” Lan Wangji said again, then repeated it once more, voice a tattered whisper. Lan Xichen took a deep breath, swallowing down the bile in his throat before grabbing once more onto the ribbon at his brother’s head, blocking out the hoarse screams and the hands scrabbling at his arms. He forced a single finger between the fabric and Lan Wangji’s skin, tugging against it with all his might until there was a gap big enough for his entire hand to slip through. The ribbon was constricting with such fervour that Lan Xichen worried it would slice right through his fingers.

“Stay still,” he said, unsheathing his sword. Lan Wangji stopped convulsing, though his arms continued to twitch and there were fresh tears tracking down his cheeks. Lan Xichen slid the edge of the blade through the gap he had created and tugged, slicing Lan Wangji’s ribbon clean in half and letting the pieces flutter back onto the mattress.

While Lan Xichen stumbled back, sword clattering to the floor and arms falling limp at his sides, Lan Wangji deflated on the bed. He let out a few more broken sobs, reaching shakily to where his destroyed ribbon lay beside his head. With slow, almost tentative movements, he clutched onto one of the ends of the ribbon and squeezed, feeling the remnants of the energy dissipating from the fabric.

The two remained silent for a few moments. Lan Xichen was still breathing heavily, mournfully watching Lan Wangji fumble with the remains of his ribbon. There was blood everywhere, coating everything: the bed, their clothes, the ribbon, Lan Xichen’s hands.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Lan Wangji’s voice was quiet and feeble – Lan Xichen had almost not heard him at all. He found himself unable to reply, grasping at something suitable to say but nonetheless coming up short. Lan Wangji’s gaze was still on the ribbon, which he suddenly squeezed tighter. At the lack of response from his brother, he released another loud cry that shook his entire body and snapped Lan Xichen’s heart into tiny jagged pieces.

“I’m sorry, Wangji.” These words were nowhere near suitable enough, but they were all that Lan Xichen had to offer. In this moment, with Lan Wangji torn to pieces and fraying at the edges much like the tattered ribbon in his palms, Lan Xichen was unable to comfort his brother or offer the support he so desperately needed. And it was clear enough from the ribbon anyway – Lan Wangji simply did not want his comfort or his support. Maybe one day he would again, but not now.

Lan Xichen stayed with him until he cried himself into exhaustion. He did not touch him again, nor did he speak. He simply sat at his bedside, willing his brother to stop crying and hurting himself even more. Both brothers knew well enough what it was like to lose someone, but Lan Xichen had never lost someone like Lan Wangji had just lost Wei Wuxian. Lan Xichen had never lost his soulmate. He just hoped desperately that Lan Wangji would not let the grief consume him.

Hours later, well into the early morning when it was dark and cold and devoid of life inside the room, Lan Wangji woke up alone. The remains of his ribbon had been extricated from within his hands and folded neatly atop the pillow beside his head, and his robes had been replaced. His back felt a little less sore than it had during the day, and his head felt clearer.

His brother was still trying. Lan Wangji had pushed him away in the worst way possible; once a ribbon rejected a person, there was hardly ever a chance for that person to be accepted by the ribbon again. Lan Wangji knew that, and so did his brother. And yet, despite Lan Wangji’s ribbon turning on the last person he held dear to himself in this life, Lan Xichen had not given up. He was still looking after Lan Wangji all the same.

The thought brought fresh tears to his eyes, and he let them fall quietly onto the pillow beneath him. He was hopeless, distraught, in so much pain, but there was his brother, the man he had looked up to his entire life – the beacon of light at his back, guiding him even when things were dark and confusing.

He hoped it would be enough, but he knew that he was naïve. Looking back on everything, he thought that maybe he had always been a little naïve. Certainly, he was naïve in thinking that he could rightfully love Wei Wuxian without him being cruelly torn away from him. He was naïve in thinking that everyone would act fairly and without harsh judgements; that they would try to understand Wei Wuxian, who had only ever acted with good intentions and had only ever cared for those closest to him.

In the end, it had turned out like this. Bloodied scars, ripped fabric, shame. Memories only he would hold dear for the remainder of his days. A brother who could no longer look at him without guilt in his eyes.

For the second time that night, Lan Wangji cried himself to sleep. This time, he was alone.

--

His replacement ribbon was completed by the end of the week, by which point Lan Wangji had already worked up quite the storm in his grief. With the wounds at his back barely healing with his newfound lack of self-preservation and the brand-new scorch mark on his chest making his skin itch, he begrudgingly took the new ribbon from the hands of the disciple who had been sent to deliver it to him. This time, his brother was not present when he tied it for the first time.

The ribbon was oddly still when he brushed his fingers over it – it was only a piece of fabric, after all. The stitching of the clouds had turned out slightly different on this particular ribbon; Lan Wangji would have thought there would be more consistency with the design, but alas. Wordlessly, he let go of the ribbon and let his arms drop to the bed. He stared at the wall for a while, fighting the urge to scratch at his chest.

It took an entire week for him to feel the first spark of energy in the new ribbon.

A-Yuan was sick and shaking when Lan Wangji stumbled into the Cloud Recesses with him clutched against his chest, clenching his teeth against the tearing at his back where his wounds had reopened during the journey back from the Burial Mounds. Lan Xichen was the first to greet him at the gates, anxious and pale.

“You terrified me, Wangji,” he cried, grabbing onto his brother’s arms and guiding him back to his room. He was careful to avoid as many people as possible, which Lan Wangji was grateful for – he was still unsure of whether anyone would recognise A-Yuan, and he was already frighteningly overprotective of the boy. If someone were to try to take him from him, he knew he would be more than willing to sacrifice his final fragments of strength to fend them off.

Inside his room, he was immediately pushed towards the bed. Lan Xichen fussed about him for a while, inspecting the wounds at his back and fetching him some medicinal tea. When his wounds had been cleaned and he was feeling a little stronger, his brother finally came to a stop directly in front of him, warily watching the child in his arms.

“He needs treatment,” Lan Wangji said, stroking A-Yuan’s back tenderly, protectively. “He has a fever and is delirious. He needs a place to stay.”

Lan Xichen exhaled shakily. “He is a Wen.”

“He is a child,” Lan Wangji said with steel in his voice. His brother hesitated for a moment more, but at the defiant look in Lan Wangji’s eyes he finally nodded and moved away to retrieve some child-friendly medicine.

A while later, he returned with some herbs, a jar of water, a cloth, and some white robes. Albeit a few sizes too large for A-Yuan, they were necessary – he was still wearing the dirtied rags he had donned in the Burial Mounds, and anything other than Lan sect robes would no doubt raise suspicions about his identity.

Lan Wangji changed A-Yuan’s clothes himself despite his brother’s attempts at taking over. He trusted Lan Xichen, of course he did, but he was admittedly terrified. In only a few days he had already lost his soulmate as well as a handful of people he once would have called acquaintances – now, he had found the child who had quickly become his last tie to Wei Wuxian. He was giving A-Yuan a second chance at life by bringing him home to Gusu, but what the child didn’t know was that he, too, was giving Lan Wangji a second chance. A second chance at trust, love, life. A second chance to do what only Wei Wuxian had been brave enough to do until now; protect and preserve the innocent.

A second chance at following Wei Wuxian’s footsteps and continuing his legacy.

“You are in no fit condition to take care of a child,” Lan Xichen said, frowning at the exhaustion evident in the bags under Lan Wangji’s eyes and the almost-transparency of his pale cheeks. “Where will he stay? What am I to tell the sect?”

“You are the sect leader,” Lan Wangji helpfully reminded him. “You can figure something out.”

Lan Xichen’s face showed a multitude of different emotions in the following seconds: shock, frustration, and finally resignation. “Wangji, this is so unlike you,” he said quietly, shaking his head with a sigh. “But I suppose that isn’t a bad thing. I understand that you are only trying to do what’s right. Of course I will try to help as much as possible.”

“Thank you, Brother.”

Lan Xichen thought for a moment, then gave a reassuring pat to Lan Wangji’s hand still on A-Yuan’s back. “If asked, I will tell people that he is a Lan. They will be curious as to who his parents are, but they will be unable to do much if I do not deign it necessary to explain. It is as you said, after all. I am the sect leader, and I will decide when and if I owe the people in my sect an explanation regarding personal matters.”

Lan Wangji knew that it took a lot for his brother to say such a thing. He had always been such an honest man and had never hidden anything from the rest of his sect – and yet, for his brother, he was willing to change that. Even when he could no longer touch Lan Wangji’s ribbon without it causing him pain, Lan Xichen would do so much to see his brother happy.

Again, Lan Wangji could do little more than whisper a croaky, “Thank you.”

There was silence for a moment, before Lan Xichen rose from the bed with a sigh. “He will be unable to stay with you while you are both still recovering. I will prepare a room for him.” At the worried look on Lan Wangji’s face, Lan Xichen gave a reassuring smile. “Do not worry, he will not be too far away from you. I will make sure that he is well cared for, and he may visit when you both wish.”

Satisfied, Lan Wangji gave a thankful nod. Lan Xichen swiftly took his leave, and then Lan Wangji was alone with A-Yuan in his lap, his brow furrowed in fitful sleep. He desperately needed the medicine Lan Xichen had brought along for him, and now that he was in clean clothes Lan Wangji was focused on the fever that had taken hold of the child.

Carefully, he shifted A-Yuan in his arms so that he had one hand free. Getting him to swallow the medicine took some time and patience but wetting the cloth and laying it upon the child’s forehead was much easier. When everything was done, Lan Wangji allowed himself to relax and let out a breath of relief.

A-Yuan stirred a while later with a quiet whimper, clutching tightly at the robes drawn loosely across Lan Wangji’s chest and inadvertently pulling them taut over the lashes on his back. He winced against the pain but refrained from making any sudden movements. He could deal with the stinging and the ache, but he could not possibly forgive himself if he scared A-Yuan away now.

“Brother Rich?” A-Yuan mumbled, bottom lip trembling. Lan Wangji inhaled sharply. He wasn’t expecting A-Yuan to recognise him, not when he was so delirious and had only met Lan Wangji once before.

“Yes, A-Yuan,” he said softly, wiping at the lone tear that raced down the boy’s cheek. “I’m here. I’m going to keep you safe.”

“I’m going to stay with you now?” A-Yuan asked, a sliver of hope lacing his words.

Lan Wangji nodded. “You will stay here. We will look after you.”

For a moment A-Yuan simply stared up at him with watery eyes. Lan Wangji worried that the boy would be upset, having been left behind as the sole survivor of his family and then taken from the place he had known as his home for so long. But then he was throwing his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck, squeezing him tight in a hug that warmed Lan Wangji through to his core. He held A-Yuan securely, sending him an unspoken promise to always protect him and keep him safe. He knew then that he would make sure A-Yuan grew up safe and happy if it was the last thing he did.

When A-Yuan pulled away, he had Lan Wangji’s ribbon clutched tightly in his hands, just like all that time ago when Lan Wangji had visited the Burial Mounds. He choked on a sob at the sight of his new ribbon between A-Yuan’s fingers, but it did not cause him pain. He supposed it was because the ribbon was still growing used to his spiritual energy, was still largely a lifeless piece of fabric at that point in time. But it still filled him with the reassurance he needed to see A-Yuan able to touch it, to loosen it, to be close to Lan Wangji.

He gently placed one of his own hands over A-Yuan’s and gave a soft squeeze. A-Yuan buried his face in Lan Wangji’s neck in return, ribbon forgotten in his hands, but Lan Wangji did not take it back. Not yet. For now, he was comfortable with this; holding A-Yuan in his arms with his ribbon between them. An indicator of what they meant to each other, and how much they cared for one another. A promise that they would always be together from that point onwards.

They held one end of the ribbon each, and neither let go.

Chapter Text

Mo Village was rather unusually quiet when Lan Wangji arrived atop his sword. The juniors had exhausted their efforts in trying to tame the arm already, and most huddled together in a helpless heap on the sidelines as Lan Wangji strummed his fingers over the strings of his guqin, forcing the arm to finally come to rest. He couldn’t help but think, as he did so, that someone else must have already been here – after all, he could tell already that the arm was extremely powerful. Regretfully he thought that, had the juniors truly been alone, there would have been more casualties.

His questions were answered by Lan Sizhui, who, seeing that the situation was now under control, turned in a daze as he searched for something. Frowning, he turned to Lan Jingyi and sighed.

“Where is Senior Mo?”

Lan Jingyi startled, glancing around their conglomerate in confusion. “Wasn’t he right here a minute ago?”

While the disciples continued to glance wearily around at their surroundings, Lan Wangji stowed away his guqin. Before he could join the others, he saw movement from the corner of his vision and turned, straining his eyes in an attempt to see what had moved amongst the shadows. He took a step in the direction of the movement, only to be stopped abruptly by a flash of pain. Stumbling, he clutched at his forehead ribbon with a grunt, struggling to loosen it from where it had suddenly constricted.

“Hanguang-jun? Are you okay?”

He clenched his jaw, rubbing at his forehead in an attempt to soothe the pain flaring under his skin. His ribbon had not emitted this much energy in years, and to have it so suddenly act like this was mildly disconcerting. What had prompted it to act in such a way after being mostly idle for so long?

“Hanguang-jun?”

“Is it your forehead ribbon?”

“Do you need anything?”

“What can we do to help?”

Amidst the shouting and the myriad of voices, he heard a gentle yet stern shushing. When he glanced down at the junior disciples, many of them looked down at their feet in shame as Lan Sizhui gave them a disapproving stare. At Lan Wangji’s attention on him, Lan Sizhui met his eyes and blushed, looking rather sheepish. Lan Wangji sent him a grateful nod and a small quirk of his lips, which seemed to reassure the boy slightly.

“If you’re feeling alright, Hanguang-jun,” he said gently, making sure to raise his voice only enough to be heard, “then we should really begin moving. We should make sure the arm is secure, too.”

Ah, he really is such a sensible boy, Lan Wangji thought. He knew it was improper to feel too much pride, but if there was anything that he was proud of, it was the way Lan Sizhui had grown up under his tentative care.

“Mn,” he said, the pain in his head already subsiding. “Good work, Sizhui. Thank you all for your efforts.”

He was met with a quiet chorus of gratitude and apologies, all of which he brushed aside as politely as he could. He knew that he was not obliged to help the junior disciples as much as he did, and he was also adamant that none of them owed him a single thing, nor should they feel guilty about needing his guidance so much. He was more than content to help them and to watch them learn and grow.

A select group of unlucky juniors were given the task of containing the arm and, despite it already being quite subdued from Lan Wangji’s work with his guqin, they approached it nervously. It took them some time, but eventually they had manoeuvred the arm into a pouch and sealed it for safe transport.

Lan Sizhui approached Lan Wangji's side as he finally joined the rest of their group, and the two shared a considering look. As preparations to clean up and leave the village were undertaken, Lan Wangji gave a small inclination of his head. Lan Sizhui nodded, and quickly turned to whisper something to the disciple behind him – something about ensuring the correct measures were taken in regard to the dead bodies – before he followed Lan Wangji to a quieter area away from the hubbub.

“I understand that you had some guidance here tonight,” Lan Wangji said, quietly watching the other disciples organise themselves.

Lan Sizhui nodded. “There was another Young Master of the Mo family here earlier. He helped us out a lot, though I think he must have been scared off when you arrived. It appears that he hasn’t been treated well by other cultivators in the past.”

Sounds somewhat familiar, Lan Wangji thought, recollecting a few fragments of stories he’d heard over the past few years. He hummed. “He was experienced in cultivation himself, I presume?”

“That appeared to be the case, yes,” Lan Sizhui said. He seemed to hesitate for only a moment, apparently unsure of whether he was allowed to continue with what he wanted to say. Lan Wangji nodded his permission, and the boy finally continued. “It seemed that his preferred methods are… not a part of the norm.”

Also sounds familiar, Lan Wangji considered, though he forced himself to stop that train of thought before it got too out of hand. There had been many people favouring the demonic path over the years. He really ought to be used to it by now, but every new case of someone using such methods gave him a jolt of unwarranted hope. He’d expected that hope to lessen over the years. Somehow, it only grew stronger with each passing day.

How naïve, he berated himself bitterly.

The two returned to the rest of the group after a few more moments of thoughtful silence, and then their party was finally making its way out of the village. It was already late in the evening, and Lan Wangji expected that the junior disciples should be exhausted after not only travelling and working all day, but also fighting the arm for who knew how long before he had arrived to help. Maybe he would allow them to settle in at a nearby inn for the night, rather than immediately ride their swords home. It seemed the sensible choice.

The disciples were more than happy to take refuge at the nearest inn, splitting off into their respective rooms after bidding each other and Lan Wangji goodnight. He saw each of them off, ensuring that they were all accounted for and content with the room arrangements before slipping into his own room, shutting the door behind him and releasing a tired sigh.

He shed his outer robes and peeled off his boots with a breath of relief, then climbed into bed as he untied his ribbon. As he brought it into view, it gave a strong pulse of energy that reverberated along his arm and gathered at the junction of his shoulder and neck. He shivered with it, inspecting the ribbon for a moment longer before folding it gently. He placed it carefully on the pillow beside his head, tracing over the cloud patterns in silence.

He lay awake for hours, staring at the ribbon. Any ounce of tiredness he had felt earlier in the evening had dissipated entirely, leaving behind an aching curiousness and – ah, there it was again – hope. Why was it there still, burning so vivaciously in his veins? Why had it persisted all these years even when he knew–

He sighed. Lifting a single finger, he traced the fabric of the ribbon one last time, his nails catching on one of the clouds. A small shock raced along the nail of his pointer finger.

He retracted his hand, rolled over, and forced himself not to look back at the ribbon until he fell asleep.

--

Lan Wangji trusted the disciples under his guidance, but he knew that they were still quite forgetful and made mistakes – they were still learning, after all. When they had forgotten to restock their flares following their departure from Mo Village, Lan Wangji had deigned it important to let them realise their error by themselves. So, while the disciples went about their business on Dafan Mountain, he remained close enough that he wouldn’t need a signal to know if and when help was required.

Which is why, when the first notes of the song – his song – rang out tentatively across the mountaintop, they echoed loud and clear in Lan Wangji’s ears. The playing was messy, the notes clumsy, but none of that mattered, because only one person had ever had the privilege of hearing that song, and only one person could possibly be playing it now.

Thoughts of the warm smile he’d missed so much for thirteen arduous years flashed in the forefront of his mind, and Lan Wangji’s heart stopped. He instantly broke out into a run, whipping through trees and leaping over fallen logs as his chest began to burn with the effort. If he didn’t reach him in time, if he was too late, if he lost him again, if someone else had already recognised him and taken him away–

The thought was too much to bear. Lan Wangji forged on, faster and more desperate than before.

After a few minutes, he stopped suddenly with a loud gasp; his ribbon was pulsating with energy, rapidly constricting and loosening around his head in uncontrollable, sporadic bursts. Never before had it felt like this – not when his mother was alive, not thirteen years ago before everything crumbled around him, and certainly not since. For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji welcomed the pain, for it was all the proof he needed that this was real, that he hadn’t been imagining the sound of the music, that the person he had been mourning for over the last thirteen years was alive and he was here.

Clenching his teeth through the intermittent pain, he continued to stagger forward. He followed the sound of the music, allowed himself to be led by the notes that he’d melded together like pieces of two separate souls becoming one. His heart beat rapidly as the sound grew louder and closer still. Hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he was unsure whether they were born of pain or utter joy and relief.

When he emerged at a clearing not far from the summit of the mountain, the junior disciples immediately took note of his presence and began gesturing wildly at him. But even their shouting simply merged into a dim background noise as everything faded away save for the man standing before Lan Wangji, the unfamiliar line of his back facing him as he continued playing that oh-so-familiar tune. He could tell that it wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s original body – this one was slightly shorter, slightly less muscular, with shorter hair and paler skin. He wore clothes that were too big for his frame and were dirtied with blood and grime, shredded at the hems. But still, he held himself in that same way he always did; self-assured yet far from arrogant, the set of his shoulders making him seem powerful and regal.

Lan Wangji couldn’t yet see his face, but it wouldn’t make a difference, anyway. Just the knowledge that Wei Wuxian was here again was enough to take his breath away.

As he played the song Lan Wangji had written and sung for him so many years before, he glided backwards on his feet. Lan Wangji wondered if Wei Wuxian was truly only doing it to distract the corpse in front of him – Wen Qionglin, Lan Wangji half-acknowledged with a jolt – or whether he, too, felt the pull between the two of them.

At the first touch of his hand around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, the music stopped. Lan Wangji’s ribbon loosened as if breathing a sigh of relief, and for the first time in thirteen years Lan Wangji felt like he’d come home. It was as if the world had suddenly burst into colour again after being devoid of its natural hues for so long.

And when Wei Wuxian’s eyes met Lan Wangji’s again – Still the same shade of grey, Lan Wangji realised – he knew that this wasn’t a dream. Wei Wuxian was really back, standing right beside him with his wrist clasped tightly between Lan Wangji’s fingers.

The air rushing into his lungs tasted sweet again after more than a decade of inhaling the foul stench of loss and guilt. He focused in on the steel of Wei Wuxian’s irises, and with a gentle squeeze of his hand, he welcomed his soulmate home.

--

Warm.

A weight on top of him, soft and malleable, chests pressed together through layers of thin cloth. Hair in his mouth, tickling his nose, brushing the skin of his cheeks and neck. Breathing; inhale, exhale, complimentary to the up-down motions of his own chest. Constant, soothing.

In slumber, they melted into each other. If he closed his eyes, focused hard enough, Lan Wangji thought that he would be able to feel their souls meeting each other at the touch of their skin.

He kept his eyes open. There was too much to see, too much he couldn’t possibly miss. Not ever again. Not for the world.

Wei Wuxian – alive, with him. Every part of them meeting in the middle. Warm.

--

Wei Wuxian was hurting. He was always hurting; hurting because of the past, because of what had been taken from him and because of what he had taken, hurting because it was so hard to fix a life when in return it only wanted to cut you open and leave you bare for the world to see. Lan Wangji saw the hurt in the distant look in Wei Wuxian’s eyes, in the tense line of his shoulders, in the way his jaw went slack whenever a stranger spat his real name into the dirt at their feet.

Lan Wangji wanted to be the remedy. He thought that, if he was careful enough not to push the boundaries of their friendship too much, he really could be.

“Wei Ying,” he said, and it felt good to say his real name aloud again, to have Wei Wuxian hear it fall from his lips. It was a bittersweet feeling, he decided – he knew that this was likely the first time since Wei Wuxian’s death that he’d heard his own name be uttered without a hint of hatred or disgust, and oh, it felt good to be the one to do it.

With his back still facing Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian froze and inhaled sharply. He was completely motionless for a moment as he let Lan Wangji’s words register in his mind, settle into the nooks and crevices of his body. His real name, spoken as if no time had passed at all.

Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Lan Wangji thought, over and over again as if he could make up for lost time with that one name alone. I would say your name a thousand times a day for the rest of my life just because I like the taste. I would call you by your name whenever you asked me to, just to prove to you that the shape of it on my tongue is my favourite thing in the world – other than you, of course.

But he was not yet brave enough to say these things out loud, so he waited. And eventually, Wei Wuxian turned, and he locked eyes with Lan Wangji with the hint of a smile at his lips – nervous, but something else, too. Relieved.

--

Amidst the swirling dust and impenetrable fog, Lan Wangji watched Song Zichen leave Yi City. He cast a looming shadow over the ground, cutting through the mist with gentle splendour. Lan Wangji saw now why this man had held such a respectable reputation in the cultivation world. It was a shame that his story had been written with such a tragic end.

For a moment, with his vision blurred by unshed tears, he thought he saw a silhouette of white walking beside Song Zichen. If he squinted, the silhouette looked to be in the shape of man – just a little shorter than Song Zichen, with his long hair wrapped in a fine white ribbon and a gleaming sword at his back. Lan Wangji found himself smiling, and then the silhouette dissipated, becoming one with the mist around them once more.

When Song Zichen had finally left the city for good, Lan Wangji breathed a shaky sigh. Despite everything, he took comfort in the knowledge that Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing’s spirits were still at Song Zichen’s side, now and forever to come. He hoped that, someday maybe, the man would find a way to restore things. Maybe Xiao Xingchen’s soul would begin to piece itself back together with Song Zichen’s presence close-by, or maybe Song Zichen would stumble across a remedy of some sort. In the meantime, he knew that simply having his friend at his side, no matter what form he took, was enough for Song Zichen.

“Lan Zhan? Are you ready to go?” Wei Wuxian was solid and breathing beside him. His voice was quiet, as if he were afraid to dispel the atmosphere around them. Lan Wangji looked at him and, for a moment, saw his reflection in Wei Wuxian’s grey eyes. This was real. It wasn’t a dream.

“Mn,” he said, and followed Wei Wuxian out of the city. They walked side-by-side, white against black, sharing warmth and soft-spoken words. Lan Wangji thought back to every single one of those thirteen years without Wei Wuxian at his side, and thought he was lucky to have him here again. Not a fragment of a soul in a pouch, not a loving memory slowly growing fuzzy with time, not the steel of a sword slung over his shoulder and never to be used again.

He was solid, he was breathing, he was whole. He was alive. Lan Wangji still had his soulmate with him in this life, and he was so, so lucky.

--

Lan Wangji was drunk. The third time, he quickly realised, was no better than the first or the second. His head still swam, his limbs still wouldn’t do what he wanted them to do, and his mouth was still unbearably dry.

And Wei Wuxian was still looking at Wen Ning.

With as much disdain as he could muster in his inebriated state, he glared at Wen Ning. The man in question was immediately alarmed, but it wasn’t enough – Wei Wuxian was still completely oblivious, still looking away when, in his opinion, he so clearly should have been looking at Lan Wangji. He would apparently have to take much more drastic measures to gain his full attention.

He gathered as much strength as he could and stumbled forward, forcing himself into Wei Wuxian’s field of vision and landing a heavy kick atop Wen Ning’s shoulder that sent him flying backwards into the ground. He landed with a brutal thud, the likes of which probably would have caused serious injury were he not already a corpse.

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, “Lan Zhan! What are you doing?”

Lan Wangji turned to face Wei Wuxian, schooling his expression into one of innocence. He tilted his head, the perfect image of a guiltless bystander. Wei Wuxian seemed torn between laughing and frowning, and the result was an exasperated huff and a rather alluring twist to his lips that Lan Wangji unfortunately couldn’t tear his gaze away from.

On the ground, Wen Ning was already recovering from the kick. He groaned a little before staggering to his feet with a wild look about him, bowing clumsily at Lan Wangji.

“H-Hanguang-jun,” he greeted, clearly anxious about the possibility of receiving a second kick.

Not worth it, Lan Wangji thought, and he turned on his heels so that he no longer had to look at the other man. Even the sound of his stuttering was enough to make Lan Wangji’s blood boil an unreasonable amount, so he covered his ears with his hands as his mouth shifted into a childish pout.

If he were sober at that moment in time, Lan Wangji would have acknowledged that he looked rather ridiculous. But really, he was much too upset to care. Wei Wuxian had left him alone and drunk in their room… just so that he could talk to Wen Ning? Preposterous. It was going to take a lot for Lan Wangji to forgive Wei Wuxian, this time.

“…carry him inside and tuck him in.”

Hm, not bad. Maybe he would be forgiven quickly, after all. Lan Wangji nodded, feeling as though what Wei Wuxian had just said was quite a suitable course of action. “Okay.”

Through the hands still covering his ears, he heard Wei Wuxian laugh. He let out a giddy little grin of his own, but quickly willed it away before either of the men behind him could notice.

When Wei Wuxian had finally bid Wen Ning goodbye and Lan Wangji was sure that only the two of them remained in the quiet courtyard, he allowed Wei Wuxian to grab his hands and pull them away from his ears. He sighed, giving Lan Wangji an amused huff.

“What’s gotten into you, hm?” he asked, folding his hands over his chest and attempting to look stern. Lan Wangji thought he looked rather adorable, cheeks puffed and eyebrows furrowed. Though these quirks were on Mo Xuanyu’s features, they were still so undeniably Wei Wuxian that Lan Wangji couldn’t help but melt a little at the sight.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes suddenly glinted with mischief – another of his signature quirks, and the sight made Lan Wangji’s ears warm.

“Give me your forehead ribbon,” Wei Wuxian said, holding his hand out expectantly. Lan Wangji stared at Wei Wuxian’s fingers for a little while, tracing the dips of his knuckles and the intricate details on the pads of his fingertips.

His forehead ribbon… yes, it should belong to Wei Wuxian, shouldn’t it? After all, he was Lan Wangji’s soulmate, so he was practically the ribbon’s second owner. Yes, indeed, Lan Wangji thought that giving him the ribbon was a good idea.

He slowly untied the ribbon from around his head, wincing a little when his alcohol-numbed fingers caught on a few strands of his hair, and wrapped it gently around Wei Wuxian’s wrist. Then, he decided that he quite liked the look of that and wanted to take it one step further. Ignoring the disbelief written plainly on Wei Wuxian’s face, he looped the ends of the ribbon around both of the other man’s wrists a second time and created a tight knot. After, he paused, taking in the sight of the ribbon knotted around Wei Wuxian’s wrists with a slight downturn of his lips. Another knot, and then another, and then several more – and then, stepping back to admire the finished product, he finally gave a nod of satisfaction.

Wei Wuxian was completely aghast. He writhed against the ribbon, attempting to free himself any which way that he could, but his attempts were fruitless. Lan Wangji had never let another person wear his ribbon before, so he hadn’t been aware of what would happen until this point; now, he was absolutely delighted at the fact that the ribbon remained tight and secure around Wei Wuxian’s wrists. It appeared that, were Lan Wangji wearing the ribbon, Wei Wuxian could easily loosen it – however, were Wei Wuxian wearing it, only Lan Wangji could remove it from him. The thought made him rather pleased.

So pleased, in fact, that he thought he should show off what he had just discovered. He grasped onto the ends of the ribbon, willing the fabric not to loosen under his touch, and dragged a spluttering Wei Wuxian out of the courtyard and towards the entrance of the inn. Inside, he could still hear the junior disciples chatting and clinking glasses – they would be the perfect audience, he decided.

Wei Wuxian protested, pulling and begging, but it only served to spur Lan Wangji on. With the slightest upturn of his lips, he waltzed through the doors of the inn and came to a stop before the tables lined with junior disciples. Immediately, the room descended into silence. When he was satisfied that he had everyone’s undivided attention, he lifted the hand clutching his ribbon for all to see.

The effects were instantaneous. Lan Jingyi choked, receiving a heavy slap on the back from the disciple sitting to his left. A few other Lan disciples gaped, their eyes blown wide at the sight that greeted them. Even Lan Sizhui was completely speechless, mouth opening and closing repeatedly despite his apparent inability to form a coherent response.

This is what it looks like, Lan Wangji wanted to say. This is what it is to have a soulmate. Someday, you will experience this, too.

Wei Wuxian chuckled nervously, attempting to free his hands once more. “You see,” he said with fake cheer, “this is a very interesting way to use your ribbons! You should all be grateful that your Hanguang-jun is showing you this unique method!”

Lan Sizhui was the first to recover, ever the perfect image of grace and composure. Ever the perfect son, Lan Wangji’s mind provided, and he had to bite back a smile at the thought.

“Ah, I see,” Lan Sizhui said, nodding enthusiastically. He cleared his throat, tugging on Lan Jingyi’s robes in a silent warning when the other boy emitted a startled sound of protest. “Thank you so much for showing us this method, Hanguang-jun, Senior Mo.”

And that was quite enough of that, Lan Wangji concluded. He’d had his fun, but now he wanted nothing more than to be alone with Wei Wuxian again, so he tugged harshly on the ribbon in his hand and dragged Wei Wuxian unceremoniously towards the stairs. If he had been slightly less drunk, and if Wei Wuxian had been quieter with his protests, he would have heard the muttering of the disciples at their backs.

“So it’s him?”

“How peculiar! No wonder Hanguang-jun was so keen to bring him back to the Cloud Recesses.”

“Does that mean Senior Mo knows? Are they, you know…?”

Lan Sizhui cleared his throat again, loudly. Immediately, the rest of the disciples stopped their gossiping and returned to their food in silence.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Lan Wangji pushed open the door to his and Wei Wuxian’s room feeling rather satisfied. Wei Wuxian squirmed as he placed him on the bed, and the sight was enough to bring warmth to his ears despite his ever-cool expression.

Lan Wangji perched primly beside Wei Wuxian on the bed and graciously ignored his attempts to persuade him to untie the ribbon, instead relishing in the sight of the fabric clinging to Wei Wuxian’s dainty wrists. Each time he flexed his fingers, the cloud patterns would shift as if they were alive. Lan Wangji wanted to burn the sight into his eyelids so he would never have to stop seeing it. He wanted to fall asleep watching clouds kiss Wei Wuxian’s skin.

But he found that it was really an impossible task to embed such an image in his mind with Wei Wuxian’s ever-persistent whining. Usually, Lan Wangji relished in the sound of Wei Wuxian’s voice, no matter how loud he was. Tonight, Lan Wangji was feeling a little less patient.

He brought one of his hands to Wei Wuxian’s mouth and pressed his palm against his lips, and his first thought was that Wei Wuxian felt so soft. His lips were pliable cushions against his skin, and suddenly Lan Wangji had forgotten all about his initial intention to stare at the ribbon around Wei Wuxian’s wrists until he fell asleep. It was all in favour of this; Wei Wuxian staring at him earnestly, lips just slightly parted under Lan Wangji’s hand, the warm touch of his breaths tickling Lan Wangji’s skin.

Lan Wangji found himself thinking that he would happily stay like this forever. But then he felt the fleeting caress of Wei Wuxian’s tongue on his palm, and he forgot how to breathe.

It was a funny thing, then, playing cat and mouse – Lan Wangji had never been interested in chasing Wei Wuxian, content to let him sprint off ahead while he watched from afar. But he found that he quite liked Wei Wuxian chasing him, if only for tonight, for a few minutes of mutual laughter and warmth. Like this, Lan Wangji could almost pretend that they were teenagers again. He could almost pretend that he was someone Wei Wuxian would have liked to play with, would have liked to chase after.

When the chase was up, Wei Wuxian’s gaze refused to leave his own, and Lan Wangji was entirely captivated. He had longed for it – hungered for it like he would never hunger for anything else – but he had never expected to actually have Wei Wuxian’s attention on him like this, just the way he wanted, the way he craved. He was so caught up in this single moment of satiation after so many years of longing that he noticed too late what was happening.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flickered downwards, his lips parting as he released a breathless sound of what Lan Wangji might call need if he let himself hope. There were hands on his own, warm and reassuring; they grounded him, made him feel safe and content. He tilted his head almost unconsciously. It seemed as though every one of his movements were no longer being controlled by him, but by some invisible force. It was telling him to brace for impact – he wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

And then Wei Wuxian was kissing him, really kissing him, and he understood. Wei Wuxian’s lips were soft yet firm against his, the touch tender though it held his usual unparalleled confidence. And compared to their first kiss all those years ago, which had felt so unnaturally wrong, this felt so undeniably right.

Alas, good things must come to an end. Lan Wangji leaned into the kiss, placing his hand atop Wei Wuxian’s wrists in his desperation to get even closer to him, and that was when he felt the burst of hot energy in the ribbon on Wei Wuxian’s skin. This time, there was no hiding it – they both felt the spark, both jumped back with wide eyes. Wei Wuxian licked his lips once before glancing down at the ribbon, head tilted and eyebrows raised.

As if finally processing what had just occurred, Wei Wuxian leapt backwards with a strangled gasp. Lan Wangji didn’t know whether the horror on Wei Wuxian’s face was because of the kiss or the ribbon, and he also wasn’t sure which possibility terrified him more. He also wasn’t yet prepared to find out.

Before the sound of Wei Wuxian apologising could register in his mind, he brought one hand to his forehead and gave himself a heavy smack that reverberated around the room. The last thing he saw before he fell unconscious was the horror and guilt being replaced by astonishment on Wei Wuxian’s face.

And as he gave himself over to slumber, he realised that his ribbon was still tied around Wei Wuxian’s wrists.

--

The room they were provided with at Koi Tower was rather spacious, sporting two beds separated by screens and a low table in between. The decorations were a little over-done, as most things at Lanling were, but the simplistic features of the room were tasteful enough. Wei Wuxian immediately took a seat at the table as Lan Wangji inspected one of the screens, admiring its design. There were flecks of gold strewn throughout the image printed into the folds, subtle and elegant. For once, Lan Wangji found himself quite admiring the features of the Jin sect.

When he next stole a glance at Wei Wuxian, the man in question had already progressed from simply admiring the alcohol that had been set out atop the table to actually pouring himself a cup. He swallowed the contents in one go, grinning at the taste, then poured some more into the same cup with a pleased sigh.

Lan Wangji joined him at the table, setting down his sword and folding his sleeves beneath his arms. Beside the alcohol was some tea, and he poured himself a generous amount before taking a few small, considering sips. Though the atmosphere was rather serene, Lan Wangji couldn’t help but worry what their next move would be.

While he was distracted, he hardly noticed Wei Wuxian migrating across the room to rifle through some drawers. By the time he returned to the table, he had a variety of supplies in his hands – scissors, paper, a brush, and some ink. He carefully carved the shape of a man into the sheet of paper atop the table, before adding a few brushstrokes here and there and finally giving a satisfied hum at the finished product. He glanced up at Lan Wangji with one hand resting atop the paperman, as if asking for permission. Lan Wangji wasn’t sure why he was asking – he certainly didn’t need to. Lan Wangji would let Wei Wuxian have anything he wanted if it meant the spark in his eyes never died out again.

Rather than reply in words, he guided Wei Wuxian to his feet and took him to one of the beds, making sure that he was comfortable against the multitude of pillows and blankets. When Wei Wuxian gave him a nod, signalling that he was ready, Lan Wangji stepped back and waited.

“Be careful,” was all he said, and then Wei Wuxian was transferring his soul into the paper resting atop his hand, the material twitching before finally stirring to life. The paperman twisted around as if taking in his surroundings for the first time. After a moment of gaining his bearings, he leapt up into the air and fluttered onto Lan Wangji’s shoulder, sending a jolt over Lan Wangji’s skin where he touched.

He humoured Wei Wuxian for a little longer, allowing him to climb along the strands of hair framing his face, brushing his cheeks as he went. It was when he began tugging at the ribbon around Lan Wangji’s head that he finally put an end to the paperman’s shenanigans, batting him away gently before the ribbon had the chance to loosen too noticeably. The energy within it had already picked up at Wei Wuxian’s touch, and Lan Wangji wondered whether it was more obvious in his paper form.

On his way down, Wei Wuxian brushed against Lan Wangji’s lips, and it caused another current to spread outwards from his spine to each point of his body. He shivered and tried not to show how obviously affected he was by the action, but it felt so much like–

It was almost a–

No. He wouldn’t go there. Didn’t deserve to, after what happened at the Phoenix Mountain night hunt all those years before. Composing himself, he let Wei Wuxian flutter away from him, riding the air in his feather-light state, and held himself there as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened until he finally saw Wei Wuxian slip out through the gap beneath the door.

He immediately released a breath of air, shoulders slumping. His ribbon was still warm to the touch where Wei Wuxian had toyed with it, and it made Lan Wangji feel rather dizzy. He settled down atop the bed beside Wei Wuxian’s limp body to dispel his light-headedness, then quickly came to the conclusion that he was much too close to Wei Wuxian still to actually calm down. Granted, his soul wasn’t actually in the room with him, but he was still technically beside him. His mind was growing progressively fuzzier with each second he stayed close enough for their hands to brush each other’s atop the mattress.

He managed to slowly drag himself over to the table, where he promptly poured himself some more tea and scorched his mouth trying to drink it too quickly. His throat was parched, and his mouth now burned where the hot liquid had scalded his tongue. Really, he was failing quite spectacularly at keeping his cool, and Wei Wuxian wasn’t even entirely in the room with him. What the hell was wrong with him? All this because of an accidental brush against his lips and a touch of his ribbon?

Frustrated, he reached up and took the end of the incriminating fabric into his hand, tugging until it unwound from his head. He could still feel a steady stream of his spiritual energy pulsating along the stitches of clouds, could still feel that same energy inside him, making his heart beat faster and his blood rush in his ears. The feeling was overwhelming, completely mind-numbing and breath-taking.

He spent a while focusing on his breathing, deep repetitive inhalations and exhalations until he felt almost calm and at one with his own body again. And that’s when Wei Wuxian’s limbs began to twitch on the bed.

Startled, Lan Wangji immediately glanced up and locked eyes on Wei Wuxian’s hand closing and opening sporadically. It looked as if he were trying to hold onto something, but what? If Lan Wangji were to guess, he’d say it looked like–

Well. It looked like Wei Wuxian was attempting to wield an invisible sword.

Alarm immediately took over, and Lan Wangji scrambled to his feet and retied his ribbon in one uncharacteristically graceless motion. He knew that it was dangerous to attempt waking Wei Wuxian, but he couldn’t help but fret over him regardless. He called his name, placed a gentle hand over his head to make sure he wasn’t too hot or too cold, carefully checked the state of his spiritual power. Wei Wuxian was weak and almost entirely drained. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his eyes rolled about beneath his closed eyelids.

The wait for the paperman’s return was too long for Lan Wangji’s liking, and he found himself watching for any signs of movement through the gap in the door as he held it ajar. Just as he was about to lose his remaining patience and begin searching around outside, his ribbon twitched and he glanced down – Wei Wuxian was crawling along the ground towards his feet, sluggish even in paper form.

He felt relief wash over him as he carefully picked him up, carrying him over to his body atop the bed and watching with apprehension as Wei Wuxian’s soul gradually returned to its rightful place. When he launched up to a sitting position, gasping for air as if he’d been deprived of it for years, Lan Wangji’s ribbon relaxed and he found himself able to breathe again, too.

But Wei Wuxian was still on high alert, and when he dragged Lan Wangji desperately from the room and led him to Jin Guangyao’s private rooms, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Even as Qin Su took her own life before his very eyes, and Jin Guangyao somehow kept up a façade of innocence despite Wei Wuxian’s vivid description of what he had seen in his hidden chamber, the feeling persisted. Things were tense inside the room, and bodies shifted uneasily. They were being led somewhere, eyes covered with thick wool, and none of them were aware of where they were going until they were suddenly thrown from the precipice Jin Guangyao had created.

Wei Wuxian, with Suibian clutched tightly in his hand for the first time since even before his death over a decade ago, was frozen under the disbelieving looks of every person in the room. And Lan Wangji suddenly saw fear in his eyes – not because his identity had been compromised, but because of who had been witness to such an event. He saw his eyes shift to where Jin Ling stood, eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. Beside him, Jiang Wanyin was unusually not angry. Tonight, he merely seemed resigned.

With Wei Wuxian still paralysed in fear and the atmosphere within the room shifting to something more hostile, Lan Wangji knew that he needed to get Wei Wuxian away, somehow. When the first strike came, it was easily deflected by Bichen, and this was what finally broke Wei Wuxian from his reverie and prompted him to run.

Lan Wangji cleared a path for him, following close behind him even as Wei Wuxian tried to convince him that he didn’t need to. But Lan Wangji would disagree; this, the act of protecting Wei Wuxian against the world, was something he needed to do. Wei Wuxian was not only his soulmate, but the man he loved, and he had already failed in protecting him once before. He wasn’t going to let history repeat itself.

They were almost clear of Koi Tower when Jin Ling materialised beside them, effectively halting Wei Wuxian in his tracks. The two merely looked at one another for a few moments, and Lan Wangji decided there and then that he never wanted to see that same guilt and sorrow in Wei Wuxian’s eyes ever again.

He was so distracted by this thought that he failed to see the blade directed at Wei Wuxian’s stomach. And he knew that Wei Wuxian wasn’t so oblivious – that he had seen the attack coming and simply let it happen, had let Jin Ling have this one thing after he had had so much taken from him.

It still snatched the air from within Lan Wangji’s lungs. His eyes went wide, and he threw himself forward to catch Wei Wuxian before he could fall to the ground. He realised then, with a combination of frustration and despair, that in his frantic state and with Wei Wuxian already bleeding in his arms, Jin Ling was more than capable of finishing the both of them off there and then. Surprisingly however, no further attacks came. Instead, the boy stepped back and he looked almost… guilty. Hopeless. Conflicted.

Lan Wangji didn’t dwell on the matter for too long. He could already hear shouting behind them, and if he didn’t take Wei Wuxian away immediately, he knew that they’d be cornered in under a minute. He doubted the other cultivators at Koi Tower would let them go as easily as Jin Ling was. So, shifting Wei Wuxian so that he wouldn’t aggravate his wound too much, he took off in a sprint away from Lanling for good.

As he ran, Lan Wangji caught Wei Wuxian watching him curiously through his half-closed eyelids from within his arms.

“What is it?” he asked.

Wei Wuxian seemed surprised to have been caught staring. He blinked, then huffed out a nervous laugh that caused him to wince and clutch at his wound. “Ah, it’s just… your forehead ribbon.”

Dread settled deep within Lan Wangji, but he swallowed it down. Had Wei Wuxian finally remembered what happened back in their room earlier? Had he noticed the energy set within the fabric and wanted to know why it had reached out to him? Or, worse – was he going to mention the accidental kiss?

Lan Wangji tried to act as unaffected as possible when he mumbled a quiet, “Mn?”

“It was… acting weird? Wait, no, that’s wrong.” Wei Wuxian coughed, hissing at the pain. Lan Wangji held him tighter as he continued. “How do I say it? Just now, your ribbon was kind of… twitching.”

Oh. Lan Wangji almost breathed a sigh of relief but remembered himself in time. He cleared his throat. “You were imagining things. You are injured very badly. Please stop wasting your energy.”

Wei Wuxian pouted, but just that simple act was clearly draining for him. Still, he argued petulantly, “I’m not injured that badly.”

Idiot, Lan Wangji thought fondly, though no-less worriedly. “Rest.”

“Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying,” he said mockingly, giving him a stern look. Surprisingly, Wei Wuxian actually did shut up, then. “Rest. Conserve your energy.”

Despite his initial grumbling, Wei Wuxian was asleep less than a minute later. Which is why he didn’t complain when Lan Wangji smuggled him inside of the Cloud Recesses, nor did he make a single move to run when Lan Xichen found them hours later, curled against each other in Lan Wangji’s room as Wei Wuxian slept.

The scene was almost terrifyingly similar to what had happened in that cave at the Burial Mounds thirteen years earlier, only this time, Lan Xichen approached them alone and looked at the two of them with silent concern.

“I thought that I might find the two of you here,” he said, sliding the door to the jingshi closed behind him and taking slow steps inside the room. Lan Wangji folded a sheet over Wei Wuxian’s bare chest so as to preserve some of his dignity. Not that he thought he would have any qualms letting his body be seen, but he was still unconscious and injured. Besides, there was also the matter of Lan Wangji being rather frighteningly protective of him.

“I did not know where else to take him,” Lan Wangji said, discarding the bloodied cloth he had used to clean Wei Wuxian’s wound to the side and facing his brother. “I had hoped that we would not be found again so soon.”

Lan Xichen nodded. “Rest assured, Wangji. I will not tell anyone that the two of you are here. You will be safe for a while, but they will become suspicious eventually.”

Lan Wangji hummed. “I am aware.”

The two were silent for a while, and Lan Xichen took the opportunity to pour the two of them some tea. Lan Wangji rose from the bed so as not to disturb Wei Wuxian and joined his brother at the low table in the centre of the room, accepting the proffered tea gratefully.

“You were already aware of his true identity before the events that unfolded a few hours ago,” Lan Xichen said, taking small sips of his tea. Lan Wangji nodded.

“I apologise for being so secretive.” He didn’t feel an ounce of regret at all, not really, but he felt that apologising was the appropriate thing to do, nonetheless. His brother chuckled, shaking his head.

“I understand,” he said, setting down his cup. He hesitated for a moment, running the tip of his pointer finger over the intricate design of the porcelain. Eventually, he lifted his gaze and smiled at his brother softly. “I am glad he is back, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji gave his brother an incredulous look. He knew that Lan Xichen had never shown signs of actively disliking Wei Wuxian, but he was aware that the only reason Lan Xichen had been upset at Wei Wuxian’s death was because it had hurt Lan Wangji, too. He had also found himself wondering, sometimes, whether Lan Xichen might hold some sort of grudge against Wei Wuxian for causing Lan Wangji so much grief. As his soulmate, it was practically impossible for Lan Wangji to not forgive Wei Wuxian, or to stop loving him as he always had. But he would understand it, maybe, if Lan Xichen blamed Wei Wuxian in some way – if he hated the idea of him being alive again.

Still, Lan Xichen’s expression was honest and open now. He glanced over at Wei Wuxian’s sleeping form in Lan Wangji’s bed and smiled.

“You have been happier since he came back,” he said. Lan Wangji’s eyes burned with a sudden onslaught of unshed tears. “For that, I am grateful to him.”

“You are not angry?” Lan Wangji couldn’t help but to ask. His voice was feeble even to his own ears.

Lan Xichen shook his head. “I was angry, for a long time. Not just at him. There were a lot of things to be angry about, back then.” Lan Wangji knew – he had been angry, too.

“And now?”

“Now, I think it is finally time that we left some things in the past,” Lan Xichen said, reaching over and squeezing Lan Wangji’s hand gently. If they were children still, it would have been a tug of his ribbon instead, or a pat atop his head. After everything, this was all Lan Xichen had left to offer. Lan Wangji took it gratefully anyway.

With his words lingering between them, Lan Xichen rose from the table. He gave Lan Wangji a meaningful nod, before turning to the door. Before he left for good, he turned.

“Take care of him. We can discuss things later when he wakes up.”

Lan Wangji nodded. “Thank you, Brother.”

When Lan Xichen was gone, Lan Wangji returned to his spot beside Wei Wuxian on the bed. The man still slept peacefully, his mouth parted softly as small breaths left his lips. His hair was draped across his shoulders and the expanse of Lan Wangji’s pillow, falling in waves. Lan Wangji didn’t want to allow himself to grow too accustomed to the image of Wei Wuxian in his bed, but it was difficult to stop himself from appreciating it nonetheless. It was a pleasant feeling, to have him here in his space and to be able to watch him be so peaceful, without regret or worry.

Take care of him. Yes, that’s what he would do. It was all he had ever wanted.

--

At Lotus Pier, Lan Wangji could sense the hesitation in each of Wei Wuxian’s steps, the dismay mixed with delight each time he reminisced something new. He knew that visiting again was bittersweet for Wei Wuxian, for it reminded him both of what he once had and what he could likely never have again granted his relationship with Jiang Wanyin remained stagnant. Still, Lan Wangji followed along when Wei Wuxian ran to show him something, asked him questions when he told a particularly interesting story from his childhood. He wanted Wei Wuxian to focus on the good memories, to talk himself silly about everything he still cherished in his childhood home.

When Wei Wuxian leapt suddenly from the tree he had taken to climbing as a child, landing safely in Lan Wangji’s waiting arms, he saw a shift in the other’s gaze and felt a thrill spread along every nerve in his body, setting him alight with hope and love. Maybe, he thought. Just maybe.

The ancestral hall was a different affair entirely. Inside, Wei Wuxian was teary-eyed and guilt-ridden. He spoke to his adoptive parents under his breath, hands clasped together and expression bearing the full weight of his emotions. Lan Wangji kneeled beside him and was instantly reminded of his own mother; of the way he had sat on his knees in the courtyard outside her room for hours after her death. The thought of her now, so suddenly coming to the forefront of his mind, made the back of Lan Wangji’s eyes burn with unshed tears, too. If their circumstances were different, Lan Wangji hoped that his mother might approve of Wei Wuxian, might welcome him with loving arms into the family. He hoped that Wei Wuxian’s parents would do the same for him – if not his adoptive parents, then maybe his biological mother and father whom he still loved so much despite time tearing them steadily apart.

Things were almost starting to get better. Wei Wuxian had spoken to his lost family, the people who had raised him and given him a second chance at life throughout his childhood. He had been given the opportunity to re-familiarize himself with his childhood home, reliving old memories and showing off buildings new and old. Lan Wangji, too, had been able to see him in his natural element, where he was truly meant to be – surrounded by lotus flowers, the soft orange glow of lanterns above doors illuminating his skin and making him look younger, fuller, happier.

But the spell was broken by Jiang Wanyin crashing into the ancestral hall with scathing words and bitter hatred. Lan Wangji had never truly known what it was like to hate a brother, had never even considered hating Lan Xichen even when his ribbon had suddenly turned on him thirteen years ago and hadn’t shown signs of accepting him again since. He wondered just what made it so impossible for Jiang Wanyin to forgive Wei Wuxian, to love him unconditionally despite everything.

There was a faraway look in Wei Wuxian’s eyes every time Jiang Wanyin was near; it was like he was searching for something to hold onto, to pull the two of them out from beneath the surface of guilt and grudges. Wei Wuxian, he knew, was not keen on dwelling in the past. He had never been the type. Jiang Wanyin lived and breathed the past – it was the only thing he knew for sure.

Lan Wangji was expecting the insults. What he wasn’t expecting was this – disgust, a curl of Jiang Wanyin’s lip, a single passing comment that flipped Lan Wangji’s heart upside down within his chest.

And Wei Wuxian, the same as he had always been. “Hanguang-jun is my friend.” Denial, blunt rejection. Lan Wangji thought that he should probably be well-accustomed to these things from Wei Wuxian now, but hearing the words uttered directly from his lips still hurt more than words could describe. As if to add salt to the wound, his ribbon constricted tightly around his forehead, and he struggled to swallow the sob building at the back of his throat.

But anything he might have been feeling was soon replaced by concern and fear when Wei Wuxian became suddenly weak, knees buckling in the face of Jiang Wanyin’s anger. Things progressed too quickly for anything to really make sense; Wei Wuxian fell unconscious and pale in Lan Wangji’s arms, Wen Ning materialised before them, and Jiang Wanyin began to shout. Everything was a blur, and all that Lan Wangji could focus on was the limp body of Wei Wuxian in his arms - once again, he was reminded of the past. Suddenly, he could hardly bear to look at Wei Wuxian’s face for fear of discovering him cold and lifeless once more.

He didn’t understand Wen Ning’s demands at first. Caught up in his worry for Wei Wuxian, he considered leaving Wen Ning and Jiang Wanyin behind to battle things out together once and for all. But as soon as he looked up at Wen Ning – really looked at him for the first time since he had appeared – and saw Suibian pointed at Jiang Wanyin’s chest, he froze.

“Unsheathe it.” Wen Ning repeated his earlier instruction, and Jiang Wanyin, eyes blazing in fury, finally lunged forward and grabbed the hilt of the blade.

It’s no use. The blade sheathed itself, Lan Wangji thought, just in time to see Jiang Wanyin pull away – subsequently unsheathing the sword.

Time may as well have stopped in the ensuing minutes. Jiang Wanyin was frozen as Suibian’s blade glistened in the dim light of far-away lanterns, reflecting the pallid white of his face as he twisted the hilt slowly in his hand. Lan Wangji felt his throat burning suddenly, and the ribbon around his head jolted without warning.

It shouldn’t have been possible. Suibian could only be unsheathed by Wei Wuxian himself – this fact had already been proven at Koi Tower, so how could the sword have suddenly changed its mind so soon?

And then, without even needing to hear Wen Ning’s next words, Lan Wangji understood. There was a hollow sort of feeling in his chest when he reached a shaky hand over Wei Wuxian’s body, aligning the tips of his fingers over where his golden core should rest. He hovered there for a moment, breathing raggedly, before closing his eyes and searching for the energy that should have been there, right under the surface. He hoped he was wrong, gods please let him be wrong–

And yet, Wen Ning was already confirming his suspicions in the same moment that he pulled his hand away, having felt nothing.

This was the final straw; Lan Wangji needed to take Wei Wuxian far away, as quickly as possible. He would not stand to see him hurt again, not after everything that he had already sacrificed, which was apparently more than Lan Wangji had ever known.

When he carried Wei Wuxian away from Lotus Pier with Wen Ning at his heels, he wondered how it had taken him so long to notice. Reflecting on them now, the clues were blindingly obvious. But there was something else – Wei Wuxian had been without his core not only for a long time prior to his death, but also for the entire time since his return to the world. With his soulmate’s core separated from his body, should Lan Wangji not have known? The core was a part of Wei Wuxian. Missing such a vital piece to himself, should his presence not have felt different, somehow? Should Lan Wangji’s ribbon not have alerted him to such a matter as this?

But no. No, that wasn’t right, Lan Wangji decided. Because Wei Wuxian was not just his core – he was his heart, mind, body, and soul. He was whole, even with the glow of his core fading from within his veins. Without it, he was still the same Wei Wuxian - he had already proven that much.

He was still him, no matter what he had lost. No matter what he sacrificed. And that meant that, golden core aside, he was still Lan Wangji’s soulmate. And that was never going to change.

--

The fourth time that Lan Wangji found himself drunk was the worst of them all, because he came to his senses half-naked beside Wei Wuxian with the scent of sweat and something else entirely buzzing in the air. He gasped, cutting Wei Wuxian off mid-sentence as he rolled out of bed and pulled his robes tightly around himself, securing his forehead ribbon in silence.

He would have rather woken from his drunken stupor with another scorch mark on his chest or fresh scars on his back than to have woken the way he did – with Wei Wuxian stunned into silence on the bed, displaying such a fragile and wounded look in the grey of his eyes that it made Lan Wangji’s throat constrict and his ribbon squeeze uncomfortably around his head. When Wei Wuxian next spoke, he sounded terrified, and it filled Lan Wangji with a sense of guilt unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

Everything that had happened since Wei Wuxian came back… the two of them growing closer, working together, becoming almost friends – he’d ruined it all with a drop of alcohol and a single moment of irreversible foolishness. He’d thrown it all away on baseless hope, and now he’d have to suffer the consequences with a tainted friendship.

Wei Wuxian had already made it abundantly clear that the two of them were nothing more than friends. So why had he still been so unable to hold himself back?

The innkeeper made a fuss of the broken bathtub – Lan Wangji hardly even remembered it splitting – and when she was halfway out the door again, Wei Wuxian asked her, quietly enough that Lan Wangji could tell he wasn’t meant to overhear, for a separate room. Somehow, hearing him utter those words was the most heartbreaking thing that had happened all night.

He watched Wei Wuxian close the door to his own separate room in silence. For a moment, he remained in the hallway simply staring at the closed door, as if, were he to try hard enough, he could glare a hole through the wood and see Wei Wuxian again. But nothing happened, and the room beyond Wei Wuxian’s door was deathly still and completely silent.

Inside Lan Wangji’s own room – what was meant to be and had been their room, until he screwed everything up for good – there was a thick and oppressive atmosphere of guilt and longing in the air. It pressed down on him from every which way, pinning him to his spot by the door and rendering him unable to take another step. Still halfway to indecent, he slid to the ground right there, just inside the doorway. The floor was cold and uncomfortable. He thought it was maybe what he deserved.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long he stayed there with his back pressed up against the door, but it was enough time for his legs to grow numb and for his spine to tingle each time he shifted. There on the ground, with his ribbon cold and motionless around his head, he felt emptiness settle within him, a hungry and unforgivable beast of a thing. He wondered if that emptiness would ever – could ever – be filled in again. Now, he’d be surprised if Wei Wuxian ever wanted to look at him again, let alone speak to him or remain friends. It was likely, then, that he would spend the rest of his life like this: hollow.

A shaky sigh left his lips, and he gathered himself to his feet. He was halfway to the bed across the room when he stopped, gasping. His ribbon had tightened abruptly around his head – not enough to tell him that Wei Wuxian was hurt, but enough to tell him that he was in danger.

But how? he thought with building fear, shoving his clothes into a more presentable state and grabbing Bichen from where he had discarded it onto the table earlier in the evening. He’s meant to be right next-door – what danger could he possibly be in?

He left his room in an anxious daze, rushing to Wei Wuxian’s door and pounding on it with his fists. BANG, BANG, BANG-BANG, BANG. There was no answer. Lan Wangji had made the mistake of pulling back from an unanswered door once already in his life – he wasn’t going to do it again.

He shoved against the door and tumbled inside, landing in a jumble of frenzied limbs and panicked eyes darting around the room. He was still recovering from the alcohol he had consumed a few hours before, and the sudden movement made him slightly woozy, but he shook it off quickly at the realisation that Wei Wuxian was not in the room.

He was gone – which meant that he was in a lot more danger than Lan Wangji had first realised. A pang of energy struck him again, the ribbon writhing around his head. But where could Wei Wuxian possibly have gone? How on earth was Lan Wangji going to help him when he didn’t even know where to look?

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the movement of his ribbon stopped. He gasped for breath, standing shakily. The pain in his head subsided, and the answer struck him with such force that he almost toppled to the ground again.

They were meant to have gone together, but Lan Wangji had already ruined everything – maybe Wei Wuxian thought he would be better off investigating alone. Maybe he’d thought that, by sneaking away from Lan Wangji now and acting by himself, they wouldn’t have to face each other in the morning. Wei Wuxian could leave without needing to say goodbye.

The thought caused bile to rise in his throat. He couldn’t let that happen – he needed to find Wei Wuxian before he got hurt or left him for good.

He took off in a sprint, heading for the temple at the centre of the city.

--

Wei Wuxian told him he loved him with tears in his eyes and blood on his collar. The words shocked Lan Wangji to his core, rooted him to the spot as his soulmate reached out to him, clutching at his arms and fitting himself against his chest like he was made to be there. He was made to be there, but Lan Wangji was still in disbelief that he had the privilege of keeping him so close – only a breath away, close enough that the ends of his ribbon brushed over Wei Wuxian’s arms with each gust of wind at Lan Wangji’s back.

Lan Wangji had spent thirteen years – maybe even longer – coming to terms with the fact that he could only love Wei Wuxian silently and from afar. Yet here was Wei Wuxian now, bridging that gap between them and finally offering more.

Back then… I really wanted to…

The words rang in Lan Wangji’s head, Wei Wuxian’s confession and his own muddled thoughts all fighting to be heard over one another, but it was Wei Wuxian’s teary-eyed adoration that had him repeating the words back, holding him closer and closer still. Above their heads, rain tumbled from the sky and thunder rumbled amongst the clouds. Jin Guangyao still clutched onto the bloodied guqin string he had held against Wei Wuxian’s neck, while Jin Ling and Lan Xichen still stood dumbfounded a little ways away from everyone. Lan Wangji didn’t care – to him, nobody else mattered in that moment save for the man in his arms. For the time being, nobody else needed to exist.

When, finally, they came to their senses and followed everyone else inside the temple to take refuge from the storm, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were still close enough to touch. Lan Wangji could feel the warmth at his side and around his head, where his ribbon buzzed incessantly. When they sat together, enveloped within each other’s arms as Wei Wuxian whispered his feelings against Lan Wangji’s skin, the warmth spread down beneath his robes and snaked itself around his heart – earlier, it had felt like cracked porcelain, cold and sharp. But Wei Wuxian stitched the pieces back together, softened the edges until it was whole and beating again, both alive and truly living for the first time since Wei Wuxian had died.

Like you… fancy you… love you… want you… whatever you…

There were tears on Lan Wangji’s cheeks, and he buried his face into Wei Wuxian’s hair to hide them. He felt suddenly as though he could bare all of himself to Wei Wuxian. Not only that he could, but that he wanted to. But here, in front of his brother and countless others, the timing was simply not right.

“Zewu-jun told me everything,” Wei Wuxian said into the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck, the both of them blocking out everything else around them for the sake of this one fragile moment. “Lan Zhan… I really have been an idiot. I’ve hurt you so much. I’m so sorry.”

Lan Wangji hugged him tighter to himself, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You were not aware of my feelings, nor of the true meaning of my ribbon. There is nothing to apologise for.”

“But, gods, I’ve touched your ribbon so many times, Lan Zhan. I’ve even pulled it off completely on more than one occasion! No wonder your uncle and everyone else hated me so much back then.”

Lan Wangji would laugh, if he had the strength. “It was not your fault,” he said instead, brushing a hand through Wei Wuxian’s hair. He paused for a moment. “Besides, I have also willingly given it to you.”

He felt Wei Wuxian snort against his neck and had to hold back a shudder. “Yeah, but Lan Zhan, you were drunk.”

“Hm. Drunk me was a lot more forward than sober me could ever be.”

Wei Wuxian huffed a laugh, squeezing his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck and shoulders. After a moment, his voice became quieter, a whisper that only Lan Wangji would be able to hear. “I’m sorry that I seemed insincere before. I really do love you, Lan Zhan. For real.”

“I love you too, Wei Ying,” he said without hesitation. There would be no more holding back now, no more wondering whether this was right or whether he should just wait for a better time. Lan Wangji loved Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian loved him. If he wanted to say it, then he simply would. Whenever, wherever, forever. “For real.”

“Not just because your ribbon dictates it?”

He shook his head. “No. I have loved you since even before I knew you were my soulmate.”

Wei Wuxian sniffled. “Me too, Lan Zhan.”

“You have?”

He received a barely perceptible yet determined nod. Wei Wuxian’s smile warmed him through. “I wasn’t aware of it for a long time, but now that I look back on all our time together, it really makes so much sense. How could I not love you back then?”

And his words were so earnest, so full of love, that Lan Wangji smiled and hugged him closer. He thought then that it wouldn’t matter what happened now – he wouldn’t care if the world shunned the both of them, or if they never even made it out of the temple alive, because he’d finally gotten what he had always wanted. Wei Wuxian in his arms, their souls alight and their hearts beating as one.

And that was all that mattered.

--

The day after the events at the temple, the sun cast especially warm rays onto Lan Wangji’s back from his spot beside Lil’ Apple’s reigns. He took steady steps forward, breathing in sweet air and relishing the comforting presence of the man at his back.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian babbled, swaying left to right where he sat atop Lil’ Apple. He giggled to himself at something, then shifted so that he could lean over and tap at Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, leaning back into the touch. “What is it?”

“Lan Zhan, Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian said, tracing a warm fingertip over the layers of Lan Wangji’s robes. “There’s something we need to do, isn’t there?”

Lan Wangji hummed. “What is it?”

With a soft sigh, Wei Wuxian leaned back atop the donkey. Lan Wangji tried not to miss the warmth of his touch too much.

“We already have children,” Wei Wuxian said, and Lan Wangji could hear the hint of mirth in his voice and the teasing pout at his lips. He bit back a smile. “We can co-parent the juniors, right Lan Zhan?”

“Mn.”

“And obviously I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Wei Wuxian continued, smiling now. Lan Wangji halted Lil’ Apple and turned, only to be met with a loving gaze and a hand already gently caressing his cheek.

“Mn,” he agreed, trying to keep his voice steady with the emotions racing through him. Wei Wuxian grinned.

“Ah, but there was one more thing, wasn’t there? Your soulmate will be someone you want to have children with, someone you will want to spend the rest of your life with,” Wei Wuxian recounted, gaze never faltering. With a whisper, he finished, “What was the last thing, hm, Lan Zhan?”

“Marriage,” he said, voice a jagged breath. He could feel warmth coursing through every inch of his body – swirling in his chest, gathering at the corners of his eyes, pounding in his ears. His forehead ribbon buzzed pleasantly over his skin.

“Well, then,” Wei Wuxian said, pressing a light kiss to the corner of Lan Wangji’s lips and then another to the tip of his nose. “Let’s get married.”

--

And later, after they’d shared their third bow and their first kiss as a married couple, Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon wound neatly between their hands as their souls intertwined, they each thought to themselves, How lucky I am, to be tied to him.

--

Bonus:

They’ve just settled in for the night, limbs wrapping around each other to preserve the warmth between their bodies while snow patters at the windows outside, when Wei Wuxian speaks.

“Hey,” he begins, softly so as not to disturb the pleasant atmosphere blanketing them, “have you thought about whether... well, Jiang Cheng has my golden core, right? So... is it possible for him to touch your ribbon, too?”

He seems to have been pondering this for a while, if the slant of his lips and the draw of his eyebrows are anything to go by. Lan Wangji frowns, and after barely a moment’s pause, says, “No.”

“No? You haven’t thought about it?” Wei Wuxian shifts so that his chin is propped up against his hands, folded gently atop Lan Wangji’s chest. With every slow exhale, Wei Wuxian sinks further into him.

Shaking his head, Lan Wangji replies, “It is not possible.”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian breathes, considering this. His eyebrows pull together in thought. “How can you be sure?” Suddenly, he gasps, horror seeping into his features. “Has he tried?”

Lan Wangji huffs exasperatedly, but there’s amusement in the shine of his eyes. “He has not. But I am sure.” To further reassure him, Lan Wangji plucks one end of his own ribbon from the pillow beside his head and reaches down to lace his fingers through Wei Wuxian’s slightly smaller ones, watching with concealed glee as the fabric weaves around their skin. He wonders if Wei Wuxian, too, can feel the energy softly thrumming through the ribbon, reacting pleasantly to his touch.

Wei Wuxian, flushing from Lan Wangji’s actions yet still apparently not entirely convinced, presses further. “How? Is it like a feeling, or–”

“He is not Wei Ying. Only Wei Ying can touch my ribbon.”

Wei Wuxian gapes, the redness in his cheeks beginning to spread downwards to his neck. “Well, yeah, but–”

“A golden core is not all that a person is. Wei Ying is Wei Ying; it is you my ribbon responds to, not your golden core.”

And it’s true – Lan Wangji recalls three torturous months of searching for Wei Wuxian, unaware that his golden core was glowing warm beneath the skin of the man searching by his side the entire time. Lan Wangji had never felt any reaction whatsoever to Jiang Wanyin, not even when the matter of Wei Wuxian’s core came to light – simply, this was because he just wasn’t Wei Wuxian. And he never could be. Nobody else would ever be Lan Wangji’s soulmate in this lifetime.

“It has always only been you,” he says with finality, stroking a fingertip over Wei Wuxian’s cheek, just below the shadow of his lashes. His skin burns where he touches with the extent of Wei Wuxian’s blush, and Lan Wangji has to hold back a smug smile at the sight. He receives a groan before Wei Wuxian is burying his head in the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck.

“You’re so cheesy,” he whines, slapping Lan Wangji’s chest half-heartedly. This time, Lan Wangji cannot hold back the grin that makes its way onto his lips and, ever the good husband he is, he grabs Wei Wuxian’s face and tilts it up so that he can see. Wei Wuxian’s eyes go wide and his cheeks darken more than Lan Wangji thinks is healthy, and he gives a helpless, “Lan Zhan!”

“You told me not to hide my smiles from you,” Lan Wangji says, knowing exactly how he’s affecting his husband. “You said you like it when I smile.”

“I do,” Wei Wuxian says in a whine, “but I also told you to warn me beforehand! My poor heart really can’t handle you sometimes!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says, pleased with himself. He leans forward and places a gentle, barely-there kiss in the centre of Wei Wuxian’s forehead. Wei Wuxian leans into it.

Lan Wangji moves backwards and pauses for a moment, watching Wei Wuxian intently. The man squirms under the force of his gaze but remains otherwise still. Slowly, Lan Wangji brings the ribbon in his hands up to Wei Wuxian’s forehead, wrapping it loosely around his head and tying the knot over his hair. It looks good like this, he decides, white and blue against his soulmate’s beautiful honey skin. Summer clouds framing stormy eyes.

He leans in and, this time, presses his kiss over the centre of the ribbon. He lingers there for a moment, and when he pulls away, Wei Wuxian’s eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“What does it feel like,” Wei Wuxian asks, quiet and adoring, “to be tied to me?”

Lan Wangji smiles, threads their fingers together. Holds his soulmate close to his chest. He thinks that, if he were to try to describe what being tied to Wei Wuxian truly felt like, it may take him forever.

But forever is what they have, now. So he takes a breath, opens up his heart, and tells him.