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Chapter Text

“You do not necessarily need to take up the sword at once,” Lan Xichen called after Wei Wuxian, perhaps too desperately, but it mercifully stopped him in his tracks. “You can come to Cloud Recesses and simply consider it further there.”

“So instead of agreeing to take up the sword, Zewu Jun would like me to agree to agree to it in time. A grand distinction.” Wei Wuxian tipped his head back and drained the rest of the jar of baijiu. When he drew it down and looked at it, the rigid arrogance etched into his profile was mixed very briefly with a desperate despondence. Lan Xichen might not have noticed it, were it not for his conversation with Wangji.

Wei Wuxian had been somewhere terrible for three months, and he was not well. Wei Wuxian needed help. Wangji was forbidden to come, so Lan Xichen had to do this in his place, and please, Xiongzhang, you must get him to agree to come to Gusu, whatever it takes.

After what he’d seen so far of Wei Wuxian’s state, Lan Xichen was not sure it would be within his power. But Wangji had placed his trust in him.

“You will not be required to do anything, if only you will come.”

“I do not recall when Zewu Jun gained the authority to require things of me.”

That hostility could bring them to failure. Lan Xichen needed to shift to his reserve approach. He thought, given the circumstances, Wangji would consent. “To speak even more plainly, it would please Wangji very much to see you. You were correct when you said so yourself. He has been anxious since the close of Sunshot, and lonely at Cloud Recesses. I am asking you for this favor, as his closest confidant, for the sake of my brother’s happiness – so I will not be easily discouraged.” Those words were all true; it had become clear Wangji’s happiness depended very much on Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian’s expression softened once again, this time toward affection. Lan Xichen gave his words time to sink in, and then followed them with a wager: “It will be an opportunity for you to rest.” Despite Wei Wuxian’s bright smile and earnest greeting when they’d met on the street, Lan Xichen had sensed underneath it that Wei Wuxian was haggard and worn.

Wei Wuxian finally turned and looked at him again, and his agitation had fully melted back away. Lan Xichen felt the gentle lift of hope.

“I’m a member of the Jiang sect, aren’t I?” Wei Wuxian asked. “My brother has been named Sect Leader, and needs me now more than ever in his life. How can I go to Gusu with you?”

“Please allow me to ask him,” Lan Xichen said immediately. “On my own behalf, please give me your leave to request of him that you come visit us.” He did not mention, and only barely allowed himself to think, that if Wei Wuxian was here in town drinking baijiu in the middle of the day, he was probably not giving his brother the support he needed regardless.

Wei Wuxian stared at the floor for a very long time. He gave a hollow laugh. “All right. If Jiang Cheng gives you his blessing, I’ll go to Gusu with you.”

Lan Xichen had swayed one immovable stone, only to find another in its shadow.

/

Jiang Cheng received him almost immediately in Lotus Pier’s Sword Hall. He sat on the carved lotus seat, looking every inch a Sect Leader despite his youthful face. Wei Wuxian stood slightly to one side, looking carefully at the opposite wall instead of either of them.

“Take Wei Wuxian to Cloud Recesses?” Jiang Cheng kept his voice even and respectful, for now, but his features clearly displayed his incredulous irritation. “And you want to go, I suppose,” he added, much more acidly, to Wei Wuxian. “You’d like to run off and see Hanguang Jun, nevermind Yunmeng Jiang.”

“Zewu Jun has asked it of me,” Wei Wuxian said lowly. “Should I just refuse him out of hand?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed, and Lan Xichen could almost hear his rejoinder – So you make me do it instead? “Have you been drinking? I needed you today. Look at you.”

“Sect Leader Jiang, I am asking this of you as a personal favor,” Zewu Jun said, hoping to coerce Jiang Cheng into discussing it with him instead. “I’m hopeful spending a measure of time together at Cloud Recesses will be beneficial for both my brother and yours.”

“Hanguang Jun is more than welcome to come to Yunmeng,” Jiang Cheng countered.

“Currently Wangji has sect matters he is required to attend to,” Zewu Jun answered, before immediately wincing.

“And Wei Wuxian doesn’t?” Jiang Cheng snapped. He looked incensed with a fire more furious than this one conversation would ignite, implying Wei Wuxian’s truancy today was not an isolated incident; this request was precisely the fuel to grow a smolder into a blaze. “Not that he’s been doing them. Are you planning to stand by my side and help me at any point, Wei Wuxian? Have you no sense of responsibility?”

Lan Xichen saw those words hit Wei Wuxian like a blow, but he was surprised when Jiang Cheng flinched as well. Perhaps he had not intended the second meaning – the implication of blame, as well as duty.

Jiang Cheng took a breath to recover, and apparently that gave him the time he needed to reconsider.

“Forget the thing I just said. You should go with him.”

Wei Wuxian looked right at him, then, for the first time in that conversation, and his face was masked with slow confusion and hurt. “Jiang Cheng …”

“Don’t argue with me! Go cheer up Lan Wangji and yourself, and come back. You’ve been impossible and stubborn since you got back from wherever on earth you were, and I need you to get your head back on straight.” Wei Wuxian’s face had gone blank again during that tirade. Jiang Cheng snorted in exasperation and added, “Don’t forget to take your sword with you, and see if you can come back riding it.”

Wei Wuxian stiffened, and Lan Xichen was briefly terrified the situation would collapse mere inches from success. He stepped forward, clamped a hand down hard on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, and said, “We will bring the sword with us.” He hoped Wei Wuxian would remember the assurances Lan Xichen had given him, so he wouldn’t have to repeat them in front of Jiang Cheng. “Where is it, Wei-gongzi?”

/

Lan Xichen escorted Wei Wuxian to collect the sword and some personal effects from his room – thankfully, Jiang Cheng remained behind. Suibian was tucked behind a chest of drawers, where Wei Wuxian would not see it as he went about his daily life. Wei Wuxian retrieved it and stared at it like it was alien in his own hand, in contrast to the dark flute he held as at his side as an extension of himself in the other.

He thrust his arm toward Lan Xichen.

This disturbed Lan Xichen, the way Wei Wuxian seemed actively averse to the sword’s presence, but he said nothing; he was on the verge of achieving his mission. All this could be discussed in the fullness of time once Wei Wuxian was safely at Cloud Recesses. He took Suibian in his own hand, for the time being. He would bear this person and his sword to Wangji.

Wei Wuxian was slow and lethargic in his movements, some combination of mood and intoxication. It took all of Lan Xichen’s discipline not to rush him. It felt as if every moment that elapsed could bring some unforeseen stimulus that would knock Wei Wuxian off this vital and fragile course. Eventually he was ready, and as soon as they had sky over their heads, Lan Xichen took him on Shuoyue and maneuvered them into the air.

Lan Xichen relaxed, since they were now underway, which seemed a significant milestone in making this more difficult to stop. Wei Wuxian clung to him in strange desperation with the arm that wasn’t holding Chenqing. He stared down and around and out, face wide and wild as they climbed into the dusky sky. Did he feel unsafe relying on someone else to maneuver the sword? Had something happened that had instilled in him a fear of heights?

“Hide your eyes, if you would be more at ease,” Lan Xichen told him. “I assure you, Wei-gongzi, I will deliver you safely.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers tightened ever so slightly in Lan Xichen’s robes, like he was hesitating, fighting a silent battle. Finally, his head collapsed onto Lan Xichen’s shoulder, his face angled into the side of his neck. Otherwise he said nothing, and did nothing. It was so far distant from the buoyant young man who had come to Gusu for lectures and even the sharp, bright, terrible one he’d seen glimpses of during Sunshot. Wangji had been correct. Wei Wuxian was deeply not well. Lan Xichen had been moderately convinced by the end of their conversation at the inn; now he was beyond certain.

The flight was long, but at the end of it, the patch of garden in front of Wangji’s jingshi came up to meet them, and Lan Xichen set them safely down. Wei Wuxian had made the journey.

///

Lan Wangji heard a sound he quickly placed as Xichen maneuvering Shuoyue, and he was out the door of the jingshi as quickly as he could physically manage it. First, because Xichen would not maneuver the sword within Cloud Recesses if he were not on some urgent mission, and second, because Lan Wangji would not have been able to hear him if he were alone and unburdened.

Sure enough, he was met with the sight of Xichen ushering a rigid Wei Ying from the steel onto the grass. A relief so intense it threatened to send him to his knees expanded through Lan Wangji.

“Wei Ying,” he said reflexively, closing the space between them.

Wei Ying turned to him with glazed, hazy eyes.

“He may still be intoxicated,” Xichen said, “and he has been harrowed by the flight.”

Lan Wangji stopped just before he touched Wei Ying, remembering him step away from him at Yiling Supervisory Office, turn away at the cliffs at Nightless City. This time, Wei Ying let him slowly move in and take him by one wrist. It was hope, and forgiveness, and a plea.

“Let’s get him inside,” Xichen said, which meant Lan Wangji had to release him. He followed as Xichen escorted Wei Ying up the walk. By the time they reached the open doorway, Wei Ying had recovered some of his senses, and he pulled himself out of Xichen’s hold.

“You don’t have to … you didn’t have to,” Wei Ying said coldly. “I shouldn’t be here. I should go back.”

Lan Wangji’s stomach sank, but Xichen just said, “Wei-gongzi, surely you aren’t suggesting I fly you back to Lotus Pier by sword this very moment.”

Wei Ying flinched, even as he scowled at himself for it.

“You must at least take dinner with us, and stay the night,” Xichen continued. “We can discuss it further in the morning if you like. You’re no prisoner here, just a welcome guest.” Xichen extended his arm, gesturing for Wei Ying to continue into the jingshi.

At length, he did.

Wei Ying stopped in the center of the room, standing aimlessly as Xichen and Lan Wangji came in around him. “I’ll go have someone prepare us a meal,” Xichen said. He held out Suibian, which for the first time Lan Wangji noticed he was carrying.

Wei Ying stared at him. He made no move to take it.

Xichen smiled sadly and went to set the sword at one of the places at the table.

Lan Wangji said stepped forward and took Suibian from his hand. “Xiongzhang,” he said, bowing formally with Wei Ying’s sword clasped in his hands, “thank you for bringing Wei Ying here. Now I will speak with him.”

Xichen briefly looked taken aback. Then his gaze floated from Lan Wangji to Wei Ying before returning. “I told Wei-gongzi we would not force him to take up his sword if he came here. That we would not require anything of him if he was unwilling.”

Lan Wangji imagined how the conversation must have gone, for Xichen to make that assurance. “Thank you,” he said again, and he hoped Xichen understood him.

Xichen nodded. “I will have the meal sent over for you.” Xichen acknowledged Wei Ying and left, surrendering Wei Ying into Lan Wangji’s custody.

Wei Ying was here. He had come to Gusu, however tensely. Lan Wangji was not helpless any longer. He could do something. He looked at the sword in his hand. Wei Ying’s wild Suibian. “I will play Cleansing for you until the dinner comes,” he said.

“Lan Zhan, you can’t help me.”

“You said you would allow me,” Lan Wangji pushed back, pacing around Wei Ying to face him. “You came here.”

“No, Lan Zhan. You can’t help me.” Wei Ying looked up at him, expression gaunt. He was still thin, from wherever he’d been when he was away. If he was intoxicated, it was the morose kind. “You can play Cleansing for me until your fingers bleed. I still won’t take up the sword again.”

“Why not?” Lan Wangji bit out, clenching Suibian in his grip. “What happened, Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying’s gaze was heavy on the sword in Lan Wangji’s hand. He thought for a great, long silence. “You have to believe me this time,” he said, swaying a little on his feet. “If I tell you, you have to believe me.”

Lan Wangji had not believed him when he spun a tall tale about a book and a cave with a dark, haughty grin. He had been afraid to believe him when he mentioned the Burial Mounds with a smile. Now, with Wei Ying standing empty in the jingshi, a silent tear rolling down his face, having relented and left his home so Lan Wangji could help him, Lan Wangji was prepared to believe anything he had to say. Lan Wangji nodded.

“It’s a secret,” Wei Ying pressed instantly, and more tears followed the first. “You need to swear to me you’ll keep it a secret. From Zewu Jun, from your uncle, from everyone. I would die rather than have it be known. Do you understand, Lan Zhan? It’s a secret I was going to die to keep.”

That image, the one of Wei Ying dead, frightened Lan Wangji more than anything had previously in his life. A year ago, it would have seemed impossible – his overloud, overfamiliar other, taken by death. Now, it seemed possible. Now, Wei Ying was barely held together by resentful energy and thin wire.

Lan Wangji raised his head, decided. He crossed the room, to the sword stand where his own Bichen stood. He put Suibian to rest alongside it. Then he turned. Wei Ying had turned to watch him.

Lan Wangji held out his hand, palm up. “Then tell me. We will keep it together.”

Wei Ying looked at his hand like a man going to his death. He looked at it like a man who wanted to be saved. He barely took his eyes off it as he took the three steps necessary to lean and place Chenqing on the corner of the table - for whatever reason carefully setting it aside. Then he took the three steps back – toward Lan Wangji – and took Lan Wangji’s hand in his own.

He drew it toward him and pressed it against his lower abdomen.

It took Lan Wangji a second to process this strange action, and another to follow its implication. He controlled his spiritual energy, reached in to touch Wei Ying’s spiritual core.

Nothing.

Lan Wangji’s hand clenched, pulling in a handful of Wei Ying’s clothes. He could feel his own breath begin to accelerate. Wei Ying’s cultivation was a match for Lan Wangji’s own. How could Wei Ying lack a golden core?

Wei Ying had bit his lip so hard he bled. Lan Wangji raised his other hand instinctively, to wipe the blood and tears away.

“Hanguang Jun,” came a voice from outside, and the door slid open.

The junior disciple holding the tray with their dinner froze on the threshold. Fortunately, Wei Ying was facing away from the door, so the tears on his face would not be visible. Lan Wangji could not begin to imagine what his own showed.

The disciple opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“Place it quickly and go,” Lan Wangji said, his voice harsh even in his own ears. The disciple leapt forward to obey, practically diving across the room and setting the tray on the table. Her sleeve brushed against Chenqing as she withdrew, sending it clattering to the floor. She winced and reached for it.

“Leave it,” Lan Wangji commanded. The disciple gave the quickest bow he had ever seen and fled the jingshi, banging the door closed behind her.

Wei Ying gave a wet laugh. Lan Wangji’s hand was still on his face. “Lan Zhan, that disciple surely thought you were in the middle of ravishing me. By morning, every junior in the Lan sect will be talking about Hanguang Jun and his secret lover.”

Lan Wangji drew Wei Ying into the circle of his arms and crushed him to his chest.

“Wei Ying,” he said into the side of his head. He clutched at him, dug one hand into his hair. “Wei Ying.”

“It’s all right, Lan Zhan, really,” Wei Ying said, voice hollow. “It’s not so terribly bad. I’m practically used to it at this point. But you see why I can’t take up the sword anymore.” Wei Ying was still babbling. “Do you see, Lan Zhan?”

“Enough talking,” Lan Wangji said. His mind was beginning to seek causes and effects. “Wen Zhuliu?”

“I thought you said enough talking,” Wei Ying deflected.

The Wen soldiers had said things that hadn’t made sense to Lan Wangji. They’d said the heir to the Jiang sect had been burned down into a mediocre person. The pieces rearranged themselves, and Lan Wangji spat, “Jiang Cheng. Wen Zhuliu, and Jiang Cheng.”

“Enough talking,” Wei Ying whispered, but his hands finally came up and wrapped around him. He finally took hold of Lan Wangji. And he began to cry. It was quiet. Listless. Unlike everything Wei Ying was.

Lan Wangji held him until he stopped.

He didn’t realize tears were on his own face until they dampened Wei Ying’s shoulder and he felt the coolness.

When eventually they pulled back, Wei Ying was barely on his feet. Lan Wangji walked him over to the table. He food had gone cold, but he needed to eat. Wei Ying picked up Chenqing and placed it back on the corner of the table with a shaking hand. Lan Wangji sat beside him instead of across from him, an arm still wrapped around his waist. He did not know when he would be willing to let go of Wei Ying again.

When Wei Ying finished eating, he realized he would have to.

“I will play Cleansing for you,” Lan Wangji said, though it came out more stifled than he intended.

Wei Ying shook his head ruefully. “I’ve taken you too off-guard, Lan Zhan. I’m sure you could if my life depended on it, but you don’t need to play it tonight.”

Perhaps that was best. Lan Wangji did not feel even remotely clear himself. He shifted so he could draw Wei Ying back against him, back pressed against Lan Wangji’s chest. As if it were possible to hold him close enough to make this all right.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I didn’t know you were going to be quite so possessive of my spiritual power,” Wei Ying said – joking even now, joking already. He tipped his head back on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, showing his exhaustion. “Ah, well, now you know the truth. You can send me back to Lotus Pier tomorrow with a clear conscience.”

Lan Wangji shook his head. Slowly, several times. How could Wei Ying say such false things, even in jest? Lang Wangji cupped a hand under his chin, angling his face up slightly.

Wei Ying stared up at him. “Lan Zhan …”

Lan Wangji leaned down and kissed him.

It was brief and light. Lan Wangji could taste the whisper of baijiu on his breath. Then it was over.

Wei Ying stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, lips hanging ever so slightly agape.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. “You said you would allow me to help you.”

“Oh,” he said, as if he were truly surprised. His chin drifted back down, and he stared across the jingshi unseeing in thought. Then he took one of Lan Wangji’s hands in both of his own and raised the back of it to his lips.

It was barely seven thirty, long before even the Lan sect’s curfew, but soon Wei Ying was starting to drowse in his arms. Lan Wangji wanted to continue to hold him, but he had been exhausted even when he stepped off Shuoyue. He needed to rest.

Lan Wangji might have carried him to the bed, but he woke and was already pulling himself up before Lan Wangji could arrange it. Instead, he walked at his side, supporting him.

Wei Ying slept the sleep of the bone-weary. Lan Wangji sat beside him and watched. This was worse than anything he’d imagined. But now he understood, and he could stop wasting energy on the false problem and help Wei Ying with the true one.

Wei Ying had dark circles under his eyes and alcohol in his blood and no golden core, but he was safe in Lan Wangji’s bed at Cloud Recesses. As long as that was true, hope was not gone.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian awoke, and he had so little idea where he was or why that for a second it could have been before, and all of it – Lotus Pier and that mountain in Yiling and the Burial Mounds – could have all been a long, fading dream.

He was empty, though. He didn’t even have to reach for it – it was a conspicuous scoured ache. He was in Gusu, crumpled in failure. It was inescapably real.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t slept well in weeks, so he was both surprised and unsurprised he’d dropped off so early and still made it well past sunrise. And that Lan Zhan hadn’t awoken him, even though the day would have started long ago for the inhabitants of Cloud Recesses.

There was movement in the jingshi – Lan Zhan had been at his desk, reading something, but he’d noticed Wei Wuxian was awake and had risen to come over to him. Wei Wuxian rolled blearily out of the bed. He blinked in the sun-washed light of the dwelling.

They were alone – Lan Xichen wasn’t waiting for him too. Suibian was still in the sword stand, though Bichen was now at its master’s side. The table held one person’s breakfast, kept warm with a talisman.

He was a little dazed that Lan Zhan hadn’t berated him or, he didn’t know, the sky hadn’t fallen down around him now that he’d revealed the truth to someone. To be honest the shock might have been making him a little woozy. That was what he felt – light and otherwise empty.

He was very fortunate, then, that Lan Zhan had arranged this meal for him – generous and formal, as if he were a guest visiting with honor – and didn’t seem to be asking anything of him in exchange for eating it.

Lan Zhan sat down at the table with Wei Wuxian, even though he had obviously eaten hours ago. Lan Zhan poured chili oil in his porridge and set it in front of him. Lan Zhan made him a second cup of tea when he finished his first. Lan Zhan did not speak – there was, of course, no talking during meals at Cloud Recesses. For once, Wei Wuxian was happy to keep that rule.

It was only when he was finished, and they had sat there in silence long enough that it was clearly ‘after breakfast’, that Lan Zhan spoke. “How?”

That was a short and nonspecific question, so Wei Wuxian answered it as shortly and nonspecifically as possible – after Jiang Cheng’s core was crushed by Wen Zhuliu, Wei Wuxian had discovered a way to give him his own, and he had fooled Jiang Cheng by going about it a roundabout way but was diverted by Wen Chao before he could rejoin him.

If he was lucky, he would never be forced to give more detail than that.

Wei Wuxian had not been lucky for a long, long while.

Still, for now, Lan Zhan only nodded. He’d probably spent half the night going over everything Jiang Cheng had said to him while they were searching for Wei Wuxian together. He’d just needed Wei Wuxian’s version of the story to fill in the gaps.

The silence stretched again. Wei Wuxian didn’t want to volunteer anything to fill it.

“Jiang Wanyin is a fool,” Lan Zhan said.

That was so far down on the list of things Wei Wuxian had expected to be confronted with that he hadn’t even managed to reach it yet. “What do you mean?”

“He knows his core was destroyed. He had it magically restored, though an opaque machination of yours, and when you reappeared afterward you were wielding demonic cultivation and refused to use your sword.” Lan Zhan’s cup hit the table hard, for him anyway. “Can Sandu Shengshou not add to two?”

Wei Wuxian let out a laugh despite himself, at Lan Zhan’s protective grouchiness, but he quickly sobered. “I told him something wholeheartedly and he believed his shixiong. Is that really his fault?”

Lan Zhan looked lost at him. “Very well. You are also ridiculous. Do you prefer that?”

“You’re right. We deserve each other. I mean Jiang Cheng and me.” Wei Wuxian certainly didn’t deserve Lan Zhan. Something occurred to him, and he put forward a sudden burst of energy, leaning forward to argue his case. “Lan Zhan, my three month absence and the flute and the ghosts were very distracting! I think you should give me some credit! It’s only because I so convincingly threw up so much smoke – quite literally, I might add – that Jiang Cheng was fooled!”

Lan Zhan didn’t take the bait. He continued looking upset, and not riled at all.

Wei Wuxian did not have the appetite to play upbeat forever. “Lan Zhan,” he tried to wheedle, but it came out more morosely than he’d intended.

Lan Zhan winced as if struck. Wei Wuxian did not want to do that to Lan Zhan. Before he could think of a way to make it better, Lan Zhan had risen. “Come,” he ordered.

“Where are we going?”

“Come.” When Wei Wuxian still didn’t manage to move right away, Lan Zhan added, “Somewhere simple. Come.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t like that he’d needed to be told that. But it did help for him to know. He went.

The paths of Cloud Recesses were not crowded. Most likely everyone was engaged in their daily study or tasks, and Wei Wuxian suddenly wondered what it had taken for Lan Zhan to be with him. He has sect duties to attend to, Lan Xichen had said to Jiang Cheng. He has been tasked with repairing the sect’s scriptures, he’d told Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan hadn’t been permitted to come to Yunmeng, or otherwise Wei Wuxian was now quite certain he would have. But here he was now, leading Wei Wuxian up the back mountain in the middle of the day, apparently uncaring if anyone saw them or not.

He didn’t know how to ask that, though. He couldn’t say ‘Lan Zhan, are you making trouble for yourself by seeing to me?’ He didn’t know what he would do if the answer was yes.

He would have to insist on returning to Lotus Pier immediately. He would have to endure the sword flight back.

He was selfish. He didn’t ask so he wouldn’t have to do those things. Not yet.

Lan Zhan took him to the hidden clearing where the bunnies lived.

At the sight of the soft, white creatures, Lan Zhan’s secret flock, Wei Wuxian felt a thickness in his throat that completely eliminated any possibility of speaking. He merely looked at Lan Zhan with what felt like a pinched and desperate expression and hoped his question would be conveyed.

Lan Zhan guided him with small touches to sit down on a low stone. Then he bent down and carefully scooped one of the rabbits into his arms, and settled it in Wei Wuxian’s lap.

Wei Wuxian cupped it, warm body and soft fur, with both hands – the reflexive response to a small animal. “Lan Zhan?” he managed. He stroked his hand down its back, rubbed the downy spot behind its ears.

“I find them soothing,” Lan Zhan said, in a small voice. “I hoped …” He looked away, like he was ashamed.

A traitorous tear finally escaped Wei Wuxian’s eyes, which meant several more sympathizers followed. “They’re marvelous, Lan Zhan. Thank you very much.” He hugged the bunny close against him – gently, of course, but holding that living, beating thing to his cold, still center.

Lan Zhan immediately turned and started to collect more rabbits for Wei Wuxian.

He ferried them in ones and twos over to him, and when they began to overflow from Wei Wuxian’s lap – which didn’t take long – he coaxed Wei Wuxian down off the rock and into the grass and lay more bunnies alongside him. Once he’d apparently decided the supply at hand was adequate, he settled himself directly next to Wei Wuxian and put his arm once more around his back.

Wei Wuxian had no objection to this touch – it was more pleasing than any or even all of the rabbits, as lovely as they were. But it was uncommon – he hoarded his memories of Lan Zhan’s contact as preciously as any stones – and as he sat limply, three rabbits resting in the circle of his own arms, he couldn’t help but wonder at it. “Lan Zhan, why do you keep petting me like I’m one of these bunnies. Are you trying to soothe yourself?”

No sooner did the words leave Wei Wuxian’s mouth than he realized of course he was. Lan Zhan was plainly beside himself, to anyone who knew him at all.

“I’m okay, Lan Zhan. It’s only a little spilled milk.” He let his mind wander down a wistful trail. “It’s natural for you to be disappointed our epic rivalry in cultivation is ruined.”

“You are not. It is not.” Lan Zhan took an almost-unsteady breath. “I am not.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for the type to try to avoid competition, but I suppose I won’t hold it against you,” Wei Wuxian continued. He was parrying, saying bald and callous things so he could avoid thinking about the raw ones, but Lan Zhan was growing only palpably more distressed. Wei Wuxian had to stop.

“I’m sorry,” he said, before he could think about it. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

Lan Zhan’s arm squeezed him fervently, but he didn’t speak. He was waiting for him to elaborate. Maybe he meant ‘about what?’. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but think it would be more reasonable if he meant 'what were you not wrong about?’

“When I said it wasn’t your concern. When I called you ruthless, and accused you of not cherishing our relationship.” When Wei Wuxian had spoken those words the first time, they’d felt true – he’d been an angry sort of terrified Lan Zhan would press further and intrude on the ways he was compensating for the things he now lacked. Repeating them now, in the gentle respite of Gusu’s hospitality and Lan Zhan’s literal embrace, they tasted like ash on his tongue. “I’m sorry I called you Hanguang Jun. I was trying to make you mad at me, saying hurtful things on purpose. I know … I know you …” Care seemed paltry, next to everything Lan Zhan did and was. Wei Wuxian couldn’t find anything better.

Lan Zhan’s free hand circled his bicep, slow and barely restrained. A silent I do.

“Me, too. Lan Zhan. I’m sorry.”

“There is no need,” Lan Zhan said, “so long as you stay.”

Wei Wuxian let himself absorb that for a moment. The benediction that Lan Zhan would forgive him. But … “I can’t stay forever, can I? I will eventually have to go back to Lotus Pier, and attend cultivation conferences, and rejoin the world.” Wei Wuxian made himself smile ruefully. “Tempting as it might be, I can’t hide here in Cloud Recesses forever, kept like another of these rabbits.”

Lan Zhan didn’t dispute his comment directly. That meant he knew Wei Wuxian was right and he didn’t like it. “We have time.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t know if there was enough time in the world. He didn’t know what difference time would make. He didn’t voice that, though. He was done arguing with Lan Zhan.

“Is there anything else I need to apologize for? My brain is a leaky sieve these days, Lan Zhan – have I done anything else cruel to you for which I need to repent?” It was hard to understand now how he’d been so sharp with Lan Zhan, who had taken it all from him and only returned stiff, anxious concern.

There was a hesitation. Lan Zhan asked quietly, “What was your intention?”

“Hm?”

“It was only by chance you were thrown into the Burial Mounds and forged your tool and the yin tiger amulet. You would not accept my help – you would not have sought it out. Did you intend to wield the raw yin iron from the start? When you came down from the mountain after the removal of your core, what was your intention?”

Wei Wuxian stared at Lan Zhan’s knee long enough that Lan Zhan shifted forward and captured Wei Wuxian’s eyes. Wei Wuxian sighed. He knew he would not like the answer. “I thought probably I would die quickly in battle, and then the secret would go to my grave.”

Wei Wuxian had been right. Lan Zhan’s expression at that was … agonized wasn’t a wrong word. Considering how Lan Zhan had reacted to the revelation about his core, considering how he’d been treating him… he couldn’t imagine how Lan Zhan would have received his death. How stricken he would have been.

"Fortunately, I met Wen Chao,” Wei Wuxian said, which was a truly bizarre sentiment considering what had followed.

“Your golden core is gone, and your body and temperament are being devoured by resentful energy,” Lan Zhan said mournfully. “It is not fortunate.”

“I’m here, Lan Zhan. That’s fortunate enough.” One of the rabbits reached its snout under his cupped hand, sniffing inquisitively. Wei Wuxian felt himself smile. He lay his hand over its eyes, blinding it momentarily, but then in payment he dutifully stroked its fur. “The wicked tricks aren’t really so bad, are they? Didn’t they save us from Wen Ruohan?”

“You saved us,” Lan Zhan agreed slowly, like he didn’t quite see the correlation. Wei Wuxian didn’t know that he understood his skepticism – Lan Zhan had been discussing the price, so Wei Wuxian was reminding him of what it purchased. Lan Zhan elaborated. “It’s not whether they are valuable, or right or wrong. Your use of them is harmful to your wellbeing.”

Wei Wuxian thought about the powerful tearing energy that flowed through him when he played Chenqing. He thought about all the blood he’d spit into the soil of the Burial Mounds when he’d made it. He thought about how he felt empty and tired all the time, and how even now he couldn’t be completely sure where the absence of his core ended and the disintegration of the black smoke began. He thought about how it didn’t matter – now they were one and the same – and how nothing mattered, and how everything mattered but he was powerless to change any of it. He thought about anger – at the Wens, at Lan Zhan, at Jiang Cheng, at the war council led by Nie Mingjie, at everything – and how even that now seemed distant and beyond his reach. He’d felt a burst of it when Lan Xichen tried to persuade him to pick up the sword. It had flagged quickly, and now numbness and an almost pathetic gratitude and affection for Lan Zhan were all that remained of him.

“You could play Cleansing for me,” Wei Wuxian said. “Actually, Zewu Jun mentioned you’d been studying other scores. You can play whatever you think is suitable.”

Lan Zhan looked deep into Wei Wuxian’s face. Wei Wuxian didn’t know if he hadn’t been expecting that out of him, or if he thought it was rich for Wei Wuxian to be asking for it now, after refusing so many times – but at length, Wei Wuxian could swear he could see tears in his eyes. “Some of the scores are experimental,” Lan Zhan said. “I have tested them, but please note their effects.” Then he turned in place so he was angled away from Wei Wuxian and conjured his guqin.

In this way, his back to him, Lan Zhan managed to play without leaving the thin bubble of air heated by their mutual warmth. Their shoulders even touched. Wei Wuxian tried not to lean on him. He didn’t want to add any more weight, push Lan Zhan more out of his regular alignment than he already was.

Then again, what was the point of him being here? How could he let Lan Zhan help him without letting himself impose?

He couldn’t, then. He couldn’t be selfish any longer.

But Lan Zhan wanted him to.

It was a tangle in Wei Wuxian’s head. He couldn’t parse it, didn’t have the will, so he just sat there and let the music wash over him, let Lan Zhan play until he was done, and then obeyed when Lan Zhan suggested they go back.

When they returned to the jingshi, Lan Xichen was waiting for them.

///

Lan Wangji observed the way Wei Ying’s demeanor closed in on itself again when he caught sight of Xichen. It was dismaying, but in a distant way – compared to all that had already dismayed him, it was nothing, and as long as Wei Ying remained here, it had no real significance.

Of course, that second thing relied on Xichen’s support.

“I’ve ordered tea to share, if there’s no problem, Wangji.”

He was giving Lan Wangji the option to defer if he still wished to, as he had last night. Lan Wangji could admit it was tempting – there was a part of him that wanted to wrap his hands around Wei Ying alone together in the jingshi and hold him until those tight shutters unfurled themselves again. But they would need to give some account to Xichen sooner or later, and Wei Ying was in a calm state. There would be nothing to gain by delaying.

They sat down at the table and were served. Wei Ying made a few frivolous comments, a thin but genuine attempt at normalcy, and Xichen responded with good nature, but the unignorable topic hung in the air. When the chatter lapsed, Lan Wangji tracked Xichen’s eyes around the jingshi. They stilled on the sword rack – on Suibian, set obviously to the side.

Xichen drew a breath.

“No more,” Lan Wangji said.

“Wangji?”

“We should talk no more about the sword. It’s irrelevant.”

Lan Xichen looked concernedly at Lan Wangji, and Lan Wangji stared steadily back.

“It’s a serious departure.”

“Xiongzhang, we must achieve harmony in the cultivation world over Wei Ying’s new style of cultivation.” He didn’t address Xichen’s comment about the sword directly at all.

The crease deepened in Lan Xichen’s brow. “That’s a tall order.” He surely also had reservations about whether it was a correct course at all. “Are you certain this is the best way to proceed, Wangji? Is there no other solution that’s being abandoned too quickly?”

“No.” Lan Wangji understood now that Wei Ying had been shattered beyond repair, and any other solutions had been shattered with him. There was a narrow path before them, and danger lapped on either side. But if it were possible to see Wei Ying to the other side of it, to avoid suppression by the various sects on one hand and annihilation by his own cultivation on the other, Lan Wangji would see it done.

Xichen’s gaze slid over to Wei Ying – who watched his teacup firmly. “Well … if Wei-gongzi continues to be inflexible, I suppose it is the immediate remedy.”

He had the wrong ideas. Lan Wangji did not correct him.

///

Wei Wuxian did not contribute much to the conversation, but neither Lan Zhan nor Lan Xichen seemed to expect him to. They determined the main obstacle would be Jin Guangshan – and that tipping the scales away from him would be a matter of ten thousand small words instead of a few big, bold ones.

“Sect Leader Jin will not easily let the matter of Wei-gongzi’s amulet go,” Lan Xichen pointed out, mildly as anything.

He was right. That settled like a lead ball in Wei Wuxian’s stomach, but hard problems were not solved in a day.

They also determined – and got Wei Wuxian to agree – he would stay for now, and they would revisit the matter in two weeks and not before. This felt strangely as though Wei Wuxian had been about to go under the sword and he’d gotten a reprieve. It didn’t matter that it was temporary, and all together brief. It felt infinite in comparison to the smother of expectation, and suddenly he could breathe.

He spent the afternoon intermittently walking the circumference of the jingshi’s garden and being in nature, trying and mostly failing to read a few of the books Lan Zhan had brought from the library pavilion he thought might interest him (“Only if you are looking for something to occupy yourself,” Lan Zhan had stressed), listening to another round of Lan Zhan’s healing music, and working fixatedly but not very fruitfully on the design of a talisman. He ended up sitting with his knees in his chest in the circle of Lan Zhan’s arms – limp with what he had finally accepted was exhaustion. When night fell, Lan Zhan opened the jingshi’s doors and they sat close beside each other on the threshold of the porch, looking up at the stars.

In that beautiful, settled silence, Wei Wuxian eventually said, “I don’t know what to say to Jiang Chang.”

“You will be here for at least two weeks,” Lan Zhan replied. “Perhaps much longer.”

“I know, but eventually I’m going to have to go back, and I don’t know what to say to Jiang Cheng.”

“We have time to consider it. That and other things.” Lan Zhan shifted his hand ever so slightly where it rested on his knee. Almost as if he wanted to do something with it. “You must be careful with your use of demonic cultivation. It would be best if you allow other people to act whenever possible, and only use the amulet when there is no alternative.”

“That’s a nice idea, Lan Zhan, but it’s hard when I can’t justify it. Not also using the sword, if it means I can’t do all the things I used to.”

He could only do it if he had someone beside him who knew, who could compensate and step in. But the only person who knew, and who could know, was Lan Zhan.

"I cannot leave Cloud Recesses,” Lan Zhan murmured. “Uncle has forbidden me.” Then, he immediately countered with, “I will ask Xiongzhang to intercede with him. He has already been convinced to have you here and to allow me to spend time assisting you. We will tell him …”

"Lan Zhan, you don’t have to do that.”

“I would not be doing it because I have to.”

Wei Wuxian lay his hand over Lan Zhan’s. He curled his fingers around it, loosely. “I know. I just mean it would be hard for you, too. When you can’t justify it.” There should be no reason Wei Wuxian needed a guard and companion, so it would be impossible to explain to anyone – Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng and Shijie, the whole cultivation world – why Lan Zhan would remain at Wei Wuxian’s side.

It was a nice thought, just an impractical one.

Lan Zhan must’ve agreed with him, because he didn’t dispute this. Instead he finally asked, “Was it painful?”

Wei Wuxian often avoided thinking about it, but when pressed, one thing he remembered was the messy nest Wen Ning had made out of his outer robe to cushion Wei Wuxian’s head. Wei Wuxian had tried to refuse him, claiming it would get dirty. “Use mine,” he’d offered.

“You’ll be cold, Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning had replied. “From the ground.”

“Won’t you then, from the air?” He’d given a thin laugh. “I don’t think my being cold or warm is going to matter much.”

Wen Ning had just looked at him mournfully.

He also remembered screaming.

"It wasn’t that bad,” was what Wei Wuxian said. “I was unconscious for the worst of it. Mostly just a little sore when I woke up.”

Lan Zhan gave him a long look. Maybe that was too unbelievable – that something so hard would be so easy. "I thought you were telling the truth.”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“It matters.”

“But Lan Zhan, don’t you … Aren’t you upset enough? I don’t want to torture you with the details.”

“Wei Ying. It matters.” There was a lengthy pause. “Does it hurt still?” Lan Zhan asked, so quiet it was barely there. Having the core be gone, he surely meant.

Hurt was the wrong word.

When Wen Qing began the procedure in earnest, he’d felt his life leaving him. He’d known his heart would falter and stop by the end of it. He was feeling its last weak beats, drawing his last plaintive breaths, and his throat had tightened in mortal panic.

He lived on, of course, but afterwards he’d still known he was dying – could feel his body slowing down and drying up without the bright warm thing that powered it. He’d been prepared for that possibility from the beginning. He understood it, that his dying body was going to ache and shrivel around him. He’d just needed it to get him down the mountain, get him back to Jiang Cheng, ideally get him in front of an enemy sword so there wouldn’t be any questions about it. As the days passed, it seemed like it might.

The days had turned into weeks. Yiling Tea House had turned into the Burial Mounds. That empty, dead feeling never went away. Wei Wuxian just realized he wasn’t actually going to die from it.

That had been surprisingly hard to deal with.

Wei Wuxian slowly bent forward until he was crumpled against Lan Zhan’s chest. Lan Zhan put his arms around him immediately – the embroidered fabric of his robes rich against Wei Wuxian’s cheek, the drape of his sleeve enshrouding him.

“No, it’s just gone now.” The words felt thick in his throat, so he repeated them. “Lan Zhan, it’s gone.”

Lan Zhan’s lips pressed against the crown of his head. “Wei Ying,” he said, in a tone of voice that sounded like ‘I am here’ and ‘that means nothing’ all at once. Wei Wuxian dug his fingers desperately into Lan Zhan’s robes. He could do nothing, certainly, but it didn’t mean nothing. For him to give up the past day for Wei Wuxian meant something. And the next two weeks, that meant something, too.

Wei Wuxian would try to absorb as much of that meaning as he could, funnel it into that empty space inside him. He would use it for fuel, when it was over. He could perhaps push himself very far on it. He slumped against Lan Zhan’s warm chest and willed it to seep into him.

Lan Zhan stroked his hair – slowly, lightly, the same quiet way he spoke. Lan Zhan wiped dry the intermittent tears that slid silently down one side of Wei Wuxian’s face – those on the other side just seeped into his robe. Lan Zhan hummed to him, a song he’d heard only once before, drifting in and out of consciousness in a dismal cave.

Wei Wuxian’s whole world was the expansion and contraction of his chest. They sat under the light of the scattered infinite stars.

Eventually, after the heavens had turned quite a ways above them, Lan Zhan gathered Wei Wuxian up and took him to bed – settled him down on the edge of it, removed his ribbon and combed down his hair, coaxed off his clothes and dressed him in one of his own sleeping robes. He lay him down and arranged the blanket over him, the way he’d done the previous night.

This time, though, once Lan Zhan had made himself ready for sleep, he got in and joined him. Lay right next to him in the bed, not even a hint of modesty or hesitation, tangling their knees and tucking Wei Wuxian’s head beneath his chin so every inch of them was close.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked – and it meant Is this all right? Lan Zhan obviously expected it would be, since he’d gone on and done it first, but he was giving Wei Wuxian the opportunity to voice the contrary.

Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have known he wanted it, but it turned out Lan Zhan was quicker than him, at least when it came to these things, because he did. He pressed his cheek into the warm skin of Lan Zhan’s neck and snaked his arm around his waist. “Lan Zhan.”

That night sleep went back to eluding him, spent hours standing ruthlessly out of reach – but instead of being alone in the darkness with his sharpest thoughts, he had Lan Zhan’s precious weight for company.

///

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji said, on the porch of the hanshi. “What about a marriage?”

Lan Wangji had appeared at his brother’s door so early Xichen was still in his sleeping attire, but he still invited Lan Wangji inside and gave the inquiry due consideration. “Certainly Jin Guangshan would be appeased, or at the very least distracted, if the Jiang sect would agree to form that alliance. But Jiang-guniang has already indicated no quite publicly, at the victory banquet, so it will be some time before the matter could be reopened. Besides, I thought we agreed it was unwise to let Sect Leader Jin consolidate power unilaterally.”

“Not a marriage for Jiang Yanli. Or the Jin sect.”

Wei Ying had gone far astray, nearly to the point of catastrophe, but Lan Wangji now realized he had also been in error. He had been overly fixated on getting Wei Wuxian to come to Gusu.

The best solution, the only lasting one, was for him to go to Lotus Pier.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji could see the precise moment Xichen realized what he was suggesting – a marriage between himself and Wei Ying. He stood up a little straighter, as if realizing he was going to have to be a sect leader and eldest brother in this conversation even this early in the morning. A bittersweetness appeared in the set of his eyebrows. He believed Lan Wangji was being foolishly lovelorn.

In fact Lan Wangji was terrified and this was the only straw within his desperate reach.

“This seems very sudden,” Xichen said. “I know you harbor a deep affection for Wei-gongzi, have perhaps for years, but in recent times he’s held you harshly at a distance.”

“It’s not like that. Xiongzhang, he is vulnerable to Jin-zongzhu.” He was also vulnerable to himself, and to Jiang Wanyin, and to everybody who came within arm’s reach of him, but Lan Wangji could not say any of that.

“Did he request this of you?” Xichen asked, clear eyes sharp.

“We have not discussed it.”

Xichen sighed. He slowly crossed the hanshi – so similar to the jingshi, in its uncluttered elegance, but so different in that it was Xichen’s and Lan Wangji could not imagine Wei Ying within it – and sat down at the table, which bore tea. It must have been delivered before Lan Wangji arrived – no simple feat, since he had risen carefully from the bed and left the jingshi even before the dawn chime sounded.

He hadn’t slept. He had spent the night absorbing the texture of Wei Ying’s hair, its scent, the tide of his breath and its dampness against his chest. The warmth of him. The bright shine of his drowsy eyes when he couldn’t sleep and the peace on his haggard face when he could. The weight of his arm and the affectionate brush of his thumb against Lan Wangji’s spine, comforting even now when he was the one wounded. The shift of his leg between Lan Wangji’s own – completely idle, totally at ease, the two of them sharing one space. There could be nothing more natural in all the world, and nothing more rare and precious.

Lan Wangji had spent the night planning to marry Wei Ying. Now it was morning, so he could try to do it.

Xichen poured himself a cup. “Do you think he would agree? His brother has just ascended as Sect Leader of Yunmeng Jiang. It was difficult to convince him to come to Cloud Recesses even temporarily.”

Lan Wangji shook his head. “I would go to Lotus Pier.”

Xichen paused, tea halfway to his mouth. It had likely never occurred to him Lan Wangji might marry out. It hadn’t occurred to Lan Wangji himself until it was nearly too late.

“Wangji,” Xichen said solemnly, “Why don’t you sit?” He retrieved another cup from the tray and placed it across from him.

Lan Wangji obeyed. He sat and drank, and otherwise said nothing and did nothing. He let Xichen think.

At length, Xichen said, “It would not be disadvantageous.” His words were slow, as if draw through deep water, some thick medium which resisted their passing. “Under Jiang Wanyin, the Jiang sect has emerged vibrant from the ashes of their defeat. Wei Wuxian is a formidable figure, weakened only by his instability and Jiang-zongzhu’s youth and insecurity, which Jin Guangshan uses to undermine them both.” He paused. Then, “The Lan sect would benefit from their alliance, and the Jiang sect would benefit from the aura of the Lan sect’s venerable reputation.”

Lan Wangji’s hand clenched involuntarily around the teacup. “You will allow it?”

“Wangji … I sense you are doing this because feel you would be protecting Wei-gongzi, but I must ask you to also consider yourself. You have your own life. This is too much of yourself to give solely on his behalf.”

“No.” Lan Wangji didn’t know how to put what he felt into words. “Xiongzhang. Who else but Wei Ying?”

He worried that wouldn’t be clear enough, didn’t know how to convey that he would not be giving anything, that it was Wei Ying whose hand would be forced and he who would be going with his whole heart – but a very soft expression settled over Xichen’s face. “Ah, Wangji. Please understand it’s hard for me to grapple with the idea of parting from my dear younger brother. If this is what you yourself want, I would never stand in your way.”

Lan Wangji felt so pleased and relieved he might perhaps have smiled.

Xichen certainly smiled back at him, though it was touched with bemusement. “It’s a little early for that, don’t you think? There are a number of other people whose agreement we must secure.”

We. Lan Wangji did not know what he could have done in his past lives to deserve an older brother like Xichen.

“Who will you approach first?” Xichen continued. “Wei-gongzi, or Shufu?”

Wangji had considered that. There had never been any question Lan Wangji would start with Xichen, but having received his blessing: “If Wei Ying is not willing, there is no need to involve Shufu.”

Xichen nodded his agreement. “Additionally, if Shufu is to be convinced, I think Wei-gongzi will need to give an account.” At even the mention of that, Xichen sighed.

Lan Wangji could not argue with his dismay. Shufu would be nearly impossible to sway, considering his opinion of Wei Ying to start and Wei Ying’s new cultivation besides. It did not matter. Lan Wangji would try. Lan Wangji would succeed. If Wei Ying was willing, how could Lan Wangji do anything but marry him?

If Wei Ying was willing.

When Lan Wangji returned to the jingshi after accompanying Xichen during his breakfast, he found Wei Ying awake, sitting bleary and alone at the table, eating breakfast himself. The servants must have come at Lan Wangji’s usual time. For a brief moment he was angry at them, for waking Wei Ying when he’d been sleeping. But that was not fair. He was unhappier with himself, for leaving Wei Ying alone. It had been necessary, to initiate the motion of this necessary thing, but he had not intended for Wei Ying to wake up with the bed empty beside him.

“Have they made you start rising even earlier now?” Wei Ying said, before yawning around his porridge. “The Lan schedule is truly merciless.”

Lan Wangji made himself sit across from him as if nothing were different. In truth, nothing was different. Not yet. “I apologize. There was a matter that could not wait.”

“You know, you can go off and do things even though I’m here, Lan Zhan. I realize I am in quite a pitiful state, but I will be able to survive for brief periods without your kind and tender care. Not that I’m at all complaining.” Wei Ying looked up at him and smiled, playful and warm despite everything. Lan Wangji wanted to marry him.

Instead he served himself his morning meal and ate it in silence. Never before had the rule against speaking during meals felt so constraining. Perhaps he should be grateful. Without it, he might have asked him over tea and congee.

“Will you go back to sleep?” was what Lan Wangji did in fact ask Wei Ying, when they were through. He would not beleaguer Wei Ying due to his own fervor.

Wei Ying sat back with one of his knees canted up. Improper, but lively. “No, no. Maybe this way I’ll be able to sleep better tonight.” His tone held a little skepticism, but he smiled. He was smiling much more now than he had when he’d arrived, just the night before last. It could have been an affectation, but even so it meant he felt comfortable and strong enough to pretend. “What will we do today? Shall we go back and see the bunnies? If you have work in the Library Pavilion, I could come with you and pretend to copy lines.” His smile turned mischievous for an all-too-brief beat.

“We will go to the cold springs.” Lan Wangji felt hot, too hot. Agitated. Perhaps the water would give him clarity. He needed to get this right. This was the most important question he would ever ask.

And that was the place he had wound his headband around Wei Ying’s wrist – where he had first, barely even knowing or comprehending it, declared to the universe they were one another’s. He’d often wondered if that memory stood out to Wei Ying as well.

Wei Ying ran a hand through his hair, smiling in chagrin. “I guess I could use a wash, ah, Lan Zhan?”

That was not what Lan Wangji had meant – Wei Ying was not noticeably unclean – but if it made him comply, Lan Wangji would not argue.

///

Wei Wuxian was hardly in any position to talk, but Lan Zhan was acting strangely.

More strangely than the magnetic closeness and the constant possessive touch. That was actually all very delightful, and Lan Zhan was still doing it – but now he also seemed distracted. It was a little hard to tell with someone who neglected to react to things as often as Lan Zhan, but Wei Wuxian knew him very well. He was needing even longer than normal to think and speak, and he was taking Wei Wuxian’s teasing – ah, Lan Zhan, I’m going to wash my ankles now, don’t look! – with a dazed silence, instead of his more usual pointed unamusement or even the dry-tinder outrage that had been so easy to kindle when they were younger.

Lan Zhan ended up coaxing them to sit very close to each other in the therapeutic cold water, inner robes plastered to their skin. Lan Zhan’s eyes kept flitting between the forest across the pond and Wei Wuxian’s face. Wei Wuxian would to need to go off on his own to wash his hair and scrub his body at some point – preferably soon, before he froze to death – and it didn’t seem as though Lan Zhan was going to give him an opening.

“Do you have something on your mind, Lan Zhan?” He nudged his shoulder. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. If you need to be taking care of some other business, whatever you were doing this morning, just say so. Or if you’re already regretting the two weeks, that’s fine as well. I’m nothing but a humble guest in your home, and you and Zewu Jun have already been unbelievably kind. You’ve helped me a great deal.” And that was true – Wei Wuxian felt better today. Lighter, freer. If he reached for them, he could detect that tension and anguish and despair right around the corner, waiting for him, but as long as he didn’t look directly at them, he was able to pretend they weren’t there.

He would have no choice but to look at them when he went back. But right now he was carefully ignoring the whole snarl. That was a problem for a future Wei Wuxian.

Lan Zhan’s mind was very far away. Then he was right here, and then he was facing Wei Wuxian and clasping both of his pruny hands in his strong, skillful own.

“Wei Ying,” he said, and then he didn’t continue. His expression was a little frantic.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, because whatever it was, it would be – or at least, he’d do his best to make it that way. “You can take your time.”

Lan Zhan did – he took a breath. He took his time. When he spoke, it was quietly, and he said, “Wei Ying, would you let me marry you?”

At first Wei Wuxian couldn’t even make sense of his meaning. Marriage was a concept he had really never applied to himself, if he were honest. He had to go through the sentence word-by-word like a young schoolchild. Once he had and he understood it, his heart dropped into a yawning endless void.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, toneless even to his own ears, “you don’t have to do that.”

“No.” Lan Zhan squeezed his hands like a vice, unyielding when he tried to pull away. “There’s no ‘have to’. I want to marry you. To be married to you.”

“But.” His voice came out tight and cracked, but he couldn’t help it. “How can I let you do that? How can Hanguang Jun marry me?” Demonic cultivator, master of wicked tricks. Tainted with resentment. Without a golden core. Ruined.

“I would ask for nothing more in all my life,” Lan Zhan said, as if that were a reasonable response. “Whatever the form, I would be content if you were. If you would not be, if you are unwilling … I understand. I will find another way.”

“What do you mean, whatever the form?” Wei Wuxian didn’t quite understand what he was talking about, but for some reason he really didn’t like the sound of it. It sounded like deprivation, resignation, sacrifice, and Wei Wuxian would never want that for Lan Zhan. “What do you mean, you’d be content?”

“I understand if you do not feel as I do.”

Wei Wuxian’s ears were ringing. “Feel?” Lan Zhan’s declaration, I would ask for nothing more in all my life, was playing over and over in mind, along with the rabbits in his lap and the tears in Lan Zhan’s eyes when Wei Wuxian asked him to play Cleansing for him, and Lan Zhan’s gentle fingers in his hair last night, and his desperate insistence Wei Wuxian come back to Gusu, and the tender kiss he had planted against Wei Wuxian’s lips when he tried to tell him he didn’t have to help him – all those myriad pieces that actually, when he thought about them for even a fraction of a second, made up one monolithic, all-encompassing whole.

Wei Wuxian gaped, and then he tried to hit him, though his hands were pinned and he was unable to. “Lan Zhan! Did you just say you’d marry me even if I didn’t love you back? That’s terrible. How could I tolerate that?”

“It would not affect my intention. I would do it gladly, if it would protect you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t.” He tugged at his hands, and Lan Zhan still held them. “How am I supposed to embrace you, Lan Zhan, if you keep me trapped like this?”

His hands were freed instantly, and then he was being dragged close. Wei Wuxian threw his own arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders, clutching at him tightly – they were a tangle of cold water, wet heavy clothes, and hot skin. Lan Zhan eventually pulled him fully into his lap and held him there. Wei Wuxian gladly held him back, let himself relax in the hold of this ridiculous person.

“I do,” Wei Wuxian said into half-damp hair. “Feel the way you do.” Maybe it was shallow to love someone who’d been so good to him, especially when he’d so often been harsh or annoying in return, but he did. There was no use not saying it. “But I don’t know if I can let us get married.”

Lan Zhan’s grip clenched ever tighter. “Why not?”

Why not? Wei Wuxian was choking on the reason, drowning in it. Was Lan Zhan really going to make him say it? He forced himself to laugh. “How shall I order the list? Lan Zhan, I’m me.”

“And?”

“I’m a demon, for one. And parentless, a hanger-on to the Jiang sect, merely Jiang Cheng’s faithful subordinate. Not to mention my small lack …” He drew one hand almost reflexively down to press against the void of his core. Lan Zhan’s hand was right there to cover it. “And you’re Hanguang Jun.” He gripped that hand instead. “One of the Twin Jades of Lan. The most powerful cultivator alive today, in possession of a sterling reputation. It strikes me as too poor a match.”

“You are more powerful than I, with your tools. The Jiang sect is formidable because you are its head disciple. It may be a poor match, as I am only a second son and can offer no heir or political friendships – but I ask that you give me an opportunity to convince you. My spiritual power would be yours, and my sword, so you could keep yourself from the needless fray. My family’s influence …”

“Your family would never agree to me,” Wei Wuxian said, the words striking him hard in the chest for some reason. “Not even if the sun toppled from the heavens and the sea flooded the earth.”

“Xiongzhang has already given his blessing,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Wuxian pushed himself away so he could look at him, hardly able to believe it. “Is that what you were doing this morning? Before the curfew was even lifted?”

Lan Zhan nodded.

Wei Wuxian felt tears prickling in his eyes. He curled his hands around Lan Zhan’s damp-robed shoulders.

“Wei Ying, do not deflect. Would like to marry me and have me join you in all things for the rest of your life?”

Wei Wuxian was well on his way to crying now, his breaths hitched and unsteady. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Of course. But …”

Lan Zhan’s hands squeezed viciously. “No ‘but’. Do not think of the obstacles. We will take them together, always. On the same path, without regret. Will you agree?”

“Lan Zhan … you’re too much, you’re not real.” Wei Wuxian put a shaking hand to Lan Zhan’s cheek. “You can’t want to marry me.”

“I judge for myself, and I do.” Lan Zhan mirrored the gesture, carefully moving a strand of hair out of Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “Wei Ying, will you?”

“Lan Zhan!” Lan Zhan had gone mad – that was the only explanation. But Wei Wuxian was not in the best condition himself, and he had no more will to continue fighting, not when he so desperately wanted to give in. “Yes, I will.”

Then they were hugging again, harder than before. Wei Wuxian could barely feel his arms and legs, and he didn’t know that it had much to do with the cold water.

It seemed impossible to imagine. He and Lan Zhan, married. Lan Zhan, who knew his mind, and his secret, and his dreams, who spoke to him when he spoke to nobody and who was righteous and good and whose company he could never tire of keeping. If they got married, Wei Wuxian would never again be asked to choose against him. They would never be required to keep apart. Lan Zhan seemed too calm, but maybe he’d just had more time to get used to it. Wei Wuxian would himself, before long.

For now, he lay his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and wept, because Lan Zhan had been cut by him at his most hostile, and seen him at his most bruised, and felt the hollowed-out edges of his vacated power, and still somehow wanted him anyway.

///

It was barely late morning when Lan Xichen received a note from Wangji. It simply read, He is willing.

In the privacy of his own thoughts, Lan Xichen would admit that a small corner of his heart sank. He had always been in favor of Wangji’s relationship with the lively – if unorthodox – Wei-gongzi, but his recent changes had complicated things; Wei Wuxian’s willingness meant either Wangji would leave their home and face Wei Wuxian’s many challenges, or he would be heartbroken when this unlikely betrothal proved impossible to negotiate.

And despite having given the matter some thought, Lan Xichen really could not imagine how Shufu could be convinced.

Still, they would try, so he went to the jingshi to discuss next steps. He found them sitting on the floor in front of the bed: hair damp, Wangji’s headband wound around both their wrists, fingers tangled together, dressed in white inner robes out of Wangji’s wardrobe – looking in all ways a paired set. Wei Wuxian seemed dazed and had obviously been crying, and the open awe with which he was gazing at Wangji went a long way toward mollifying Lan Xichen’s reservations about his reciprocation. Wangji himself looked more beatifically happy than Lan Xichen had ever seen him.

If only Shufu could see this, perhaps he would relent.

“Can we speak with Shufu after lunch?” Wangji asked. Wei Wuxian winced a little, but otherwise did not protest.

“So soon?” Lan Xichen would think Wangji might want to enjoy this for at least short time. “Have you considered how you will approach the meeting?”

“We will ask him. What else can we do?”

Lan Xichen tried not to let his heart feel heavy. Not yet, when, in all current respects, Wangji had precisely what he wanted.

And if Shufu was to be worn down, Lan Xichen imagined it would be very much like water wearing down a stone, which meant it would be good to start now.

First, though: “Don’t you think your prospective husband should ask me for your hand himself at some point?”

Wei Wuxian startled immediately, scrambling to his knees. He was tethered to Wangji, so Lan Xichen went over to them, allowing Wei Wuxian to address him without requiring them to part. His hair was slightly bedraggled from being wet – apparently they had gone to the springs – but his expressive face was solemn as he clasped his hands in front of himself with great formality and said. “Zewu Jun, this humble cultivator seeks a betrothal with your younger brother, Lan Wangji.”

“The head of my family is my shufu, and you will need to ask his permission. If he gives it, I will agree to the betrothal.”

“Thank you, Zewu Jun,” Wei Wuxian murmured, bowing a lot lower than he needed to, considering Lan Xichen had already acquiesced. “For this and every other thing.”

“For this, you have no need to thank me, Wei-gongzi. There are few things I would not do in service of my brother’s wellbeing. You will certainly remember that?”

Perhaps Lan Xichen was mistaken, but he thought he saw Wei Wuxian’s life flash before his eyes as he nodded. “Of course, Zewu Jun.”

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji said woundedly.

“I will call for lunch,” Lan Xichen said, instead of deigning to justify himself, “and you will both need to get fully dressed. Shufu has no afternoon classes today, so I will set an appointment with him in two hours’ time.

/

When they met him before the path to Shufu’s residence, they were groomed meticulously; Lan Xichen had expected no less. Wangji now wore an elegant white outer robe, and the headband had been returned to his forehead – almost a shame, but likely a wise choice. Wei Wuxian had redressed in his own attire, black with vibrant flashes of red, hair smooth and high, that dark dizi at his waist. Suibian was nowhere to be seen.

On the one hand, he might have considered at least giving the impression he intended to rejoin the sword path for this meeting’s sake – not that Lan Xichen generally condoned lying. On the other, if even the task of securing a betrothal to Wangji – which Lan Xichen did believe he wanted – would not convince him to carry it, Wangji had been astute to suggest they stop trying.

Wangji knew he was intractable on the matter and wanted this marriage regardless. Lan Xichen would simply have to hope he was making the right decision for the long term.

Shufu kept his eyes on the document in front of him as they entered the residence, but Lan Xichen was not certain he was reading it. He rather seemed to carefully track their movements – Lan Xichen to the side, present primarily to offer visible support, and Wangji and Wei Wuxian to kneel in front of him, one beside the other. Shufu abandoned any pretense of reading, instead staring witheringly at one of them in particular.

“Generally my nephews do not set appointments to see me for casual matters,” Shufu said. “And generally my guests come by invitation.”

An invitation Wei Wuxian had certainly not received in the few days he had been at Cloud Recesses. This was primarily because Shufu had been informed he was recovering from an illness, but Shufu’s point – that Wei Wuxian was certainly not his guest – was difficult to miss.

Wei Wuxian took a visibly took a slow breath. “That’s because this is not a casual matter, Lan-xiansheng.” He clasped his hands and bowed pristinely. “Lan-xiansheng, this humble cultivator seeks a betrothal to your nephew, Lan Wangji.”

“On whose behalf?”

Wei Wuxian’s brows furrowed. Clearly he was not expecting to have been misunderstood. “My own, Xiansheng. I, Wei Wuxian, seek to take Lan Wangji as my husband.”

The silence that occupied the residence seemed to have an energy of its own, washing any potential sound away with the force of its current.

“Get out,” Shufu said, and it was painful to watch Wangji’s downcast face flinch. “The depth of your malintent. Get out.”

“No, Xiansheng,” Wei Wuxian said firmly, still bowed. “My inquiry is serious, and I would state my case.”

“Such inquiry could never be serious.” Shufu’s face quivered with his anger. “You will never wed Wangji. Get out.”

“My parents were Wei Changse, a lifelong friend and servant of Jiang Sect Leader Jiang Fengmian, and Cangse Sanren, a disciple of Baoshan Sanren,” Wei Wuxian recited, undeterred. “After their deaths, I was raised under the care of Jiang-zongzhu and Zi Zhizhu. I am the number one disciple of the Yunmeng Jiang sect, shixiong and right hand to Sect Leader Jiang Wanyin.” He paused, then forged onward. “I am the cultivator who subdued Wen Ruohan’s puppets at Nightless City. With Jiang Wanyin, I brought justice against Wen Chao and the Core-Melting Hand.”

“Are you also the phantom who used wild resentful energy to slaughter the entire complement at Yiling Supervisory Office and every Wen soldier you encountered on your path thereafter?”

“I am,” Wei Wuxian answered immediately, and a shiver ran down Lan Xichen’s spine at the cold light that settled in Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “I am the master of Chenqing and the Yin Tiger Amulet. If your nephew is at my side, he will never need to be afraid of anything.”

Shufu narrowed his eyes. “Except you.”

Wei Wuxian shook his head, venomously slow. “Even if your nephew had his sword at my throat, he would never need to be afraid of me.”

Lan Xichen wondered if that was true. He believed Wei Wuxian believed it was, and prayed he was correct.

More urgently, the hostility in the air had grown as thick as fog. Lan Xichen tried to cut through it. “Undoubtedly Wei-gongzi is a talented and innovative cultivator, irrespective of his methods.”

“His use of resentful energy is a perversion of cultivation, and he is hazardous to everyone around him.”

“Xiongzhang and I would have been killed by Wen Ruohan’s puppets,” Wangji said softly – the first words he’d spoken. His hand landed on Wei Wuxian’s arm in restraint. “Sunshot would have ended in catastrophe.”

Shufu’s bearded mouth turned down, as if when chewing on that thought, he found it against his taste. “Perhaps. That does not mean I will ever allow you to marry him.”

“Shufu.”

“No.”

“Shufu, please. I will be able to help him.”

“No! Have you learned nothing of the lessons of your father’s mistakes? You cannot shield someone from the consequences of their actions!”

“Shufu, with every respect, I do not follow the same path. Please let me go out and stand with Wei Ying, so that we may live all our lives rightly together. To root out evil, help the weak, and live without shame or regrets.”

Wangji and Wei Wuxian knelt side-by-side, heads bowed; so severe, so earnest. Their feelings were true, and the circumstances were reasonably favorable. If it were any other person but Shufu, any other supplicant but Wei Wuxian, there would be little difficulty. As it was …

“Wangji, you will be better off without him,” Shufu intoned.

“Shufu,” Wangji said, so mournfully Lan Xichen had to close his eyes against it.

“Shufu,” he said, so suddenly it surprised even him. But he the next words came to his lips. “I am not so certain.”

He had not come here to argue against Shufu’s judgement. He had intended to let the water wear down the stone. But … but his brother was truly in love, and he truly loved his brother.

Through the silence, eventually that gruff voice came. “Wangji.”

“Shufu?”

“He is rude and irreverent, erratic and unconstrained. His mind crawls with wicked ideas, and his body is brimming with resentful energy. Is this what you wish to tie yourself to, now and forever, before all your ancestors?”

“Yes, shufu.”

“He is stained in the eyes of the cultivation world, through his own doing, and joined to him you might find your own reputation dragged through the same mud. You would have that?”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said quietly.

“Yes, shufu.”

“Among all the people of the world, you somehow prefer him? Do you not see that in time, you could come to prefer another?”

“Among all people, there is only one Wei Ying.”

Shufu let out a long, grumbling sigh. “Very well, then.”

Lan Xichen opened his eyes to look – and the wide shock on Wangji’s and Wei Wuxian’s faces matched his own enough that he couldn’t have been mistaken.

“If being deprived of marrying him would break your heart, Wangji, how could I rip this from you?”

“It would,” Wangji croaked.

“So it would seem,” Shufu said, not bothering to hide his distaste, “as my other nephew has not hesitated to point out.”

Lan Xichen wasn’t certain whether he ought to truly feel abashed, but Shufu managed it regardless.

“Wei Wuxian, for Wangji’s sake alone, I will allow him to be betrothed to you.”

“Shufu,” Wangji said fervently, clasping his hands and bowing. “Thank you.” Wei Wuxian did the same barely a heartbeat behind him.

“If he should come to harm in your care, there isn’t enough resentful energy in the world to shelter you.”

“Of course, of course, it will never come to that,” Wei Wuxian rattled off. “I will protect him and care for him, Xiansheng.”

“And I him,” Wangji vowed.

Shufu looked much less impassioned by that.

“With this agreement sorted out,” Lan Xichen interjected, still a little chagrinned, “we can go to Lotus Pier when the two of you are ready, to negotiate the betrothal with Jiang-zongzhu.”

“We should go tonight, or tomorrow,” Wangji said. Then, as if suddenly possessed by an idea, “We should pour the tea now, and bow at the ancestral shrine. So we will not have to return to Cloud Recesses after securing Jiang-zongzhu’s approval.”

Lan Xichen was obviously going to object, but Wei Wuxian did so even faster. “Lan Zhan, we can’t do that,” he said under his breath – though in the enclosed residence, it was audible to everyone. “This is a real wedding, your wedding, we should do it right. It should be good and nice.”

“It will be good for us to be married. The rest is irrelevant. There is no reason to delay.”

“Come on, Lan Zhan, how can we do the ceremony yet? I don’t even have a betrothal gift, or a spouse price.” Wei Wuxian sniffled. “Jiang Cheng … well, he’s going to be furious, but he’d be even more furious that way. Let’s wait, and I’ll convince him to make it nice. You’re worthy. It would be terrible to give them after the wedding’s half done.”

“Give me whatever you like. It doesn’t matter,” Wangji said.

Or perhaps, You gave me Suibian, did you not?

Lan Xichen wondered if that second meaning was a figment of his imagination – but Wei Wuxian’s eyes were shining brightly, so perhaps not. “Lan Zhan … What if he really refuses? What if it doesn’t work out? We’d be stuck half-married.”

“You would not be stuck – it will only be my ancestors before whom we have bowed, my family for whom we have poured tea. If negotiations dissolve it will only be I who is bound to you.”

Wangji’s voice calm and sure, but his meaning was wild with devotion. Lan Xichen didn’t know quite what to say – and exchanging a glance with Shufu, whose eyebrows had risen quite high, he appeared to feel the same way.

Wei Wuxian had covered his mouth with both hands, as if to physically contain whatever thought or emotion wanted to come out, and still he tipped over and spilled down a waterfall of tears. The formidable Wei Wuxian, master of Chenqing and the Yin Tiger Amulet, who had cast a terrifying shadow a mere minute before, disintegrated into emotion – his thin shell splintering to reveal a ravaged terrain underneath. “Lan Zhan. You’re really too much to bear.”

He shuffled around on his knees and bowed all the way to the floor facing Wangji.

Wangji moved instantly, urgently tugging him upright. He held Wei Wuxian by both arms, and Wei Wuxian reflexively mirrored him. Wangji stared firmly into his eyes. “Wei Ying. We will do this together.”

Wei Wuxian was entirely in pieces, trembling, tears dripping down his face. He nodded, and he clung to Wangji so tightly his hands disappeared in his bunched robes.

Shufu was looking at Lan Xichen, brows furrowed, but he said nothing. He was deferring to Lan Xichen to make this judgement. Shufu did not, after all, know the details behind Wei Wuxian’s coming to Cloud Recesses in the first place.

Lan Xichen knew there were layers to this situation beyond his reach, but he understood Wangji was saving Wei Wuxian’s life with this marriage. To hold Wangji’s portion of the ceremony without having solidified the betrothal was very irregular and might give insult to Jiang-zongzhu – but considering the circumstances, he would allow it if they felt it necessary. “I urge you to consider carefully the feelings of Wei-gongzi’s family, and the importance of cherishing this event in both your lives – but if you are determined, we can hold a ceremony this evening.”

“We can call for tea now,” Wangji said stubbornly.

“Wangji, with a few hours we can at least find you both something to wear. You will have an opportunity to prepare your mind, and so will we.”

“Lan Zhan, it’s all right, this evening is more than all right,” Wei Wuxian urged. “Don’t rush your family, really, it’s already bad enough.”

“Indeed,” Shufu said, causing all three of them to tense. “I was expecting you would have several months to reconsider this madness. At least let me retain hope until nightfall.”

Wangji looked nearly petulant, but Wei Wuxian actually laughed – a short, startled sound. Lan Xichen smiled despite himself. “Remember, Wangji, this is Wei-gongzi’s wedding as well as yours. Allow us make it as beautiful as we can in the time available.”

That, unsurprisingly, was what convinced Wangji to relent.

///

It was beyond unorthodox for the two betrothed to help one another prepare, but Lan Wangji savored doing so.

When they got back to the jingshi after the meeting with Shufu, Wei Ying seemed weary and strung tight, so Lan Wangji said, “Let’s sleep.” In this way he got Wei Ying to rest for an hour within the circle of his arms. He woke him by gliding his thumb over the skin of his cheek.

After that, Xichen came with an assortment of clothes that were all reasonably suitable to choose from, and a message. “Shufu would like some time alone with you, Wangji.”

This was probably not unreasonable, considering Lan Wangji was going to get married and leave Cloud Recesses. Shufu had raised Lan Wangji, so even though he suspected it would be an attempt to dissuade him, he went.

He was pleasantly surprised. Shufu did not in any seriousness try to convince him to abandon his marriage to Wei Ying. Instead, he lectured and read passages, giving Lan Wangji one final lesson. He told him about patience and honor, and duty, and trust, and unsurprisingly about what is right and wrong, and surprisingly about love. Lan Wangji listened to understand his wisdom, and to receive the care contained in his providing it.

It was not long – maybe three quarters of an hour. Lan Wangji left the residence feeling prepared, and anticipatory, and at peace.

In the jingshi, Wei Ying was at the desk scowling intently at a sheet of paper covered in unorganized crossed-out notes. He looked up when Lan Wangji entered, and after a moment his face smoothed. He lay the brush aside and folded the paper over, certainly smudging any ink that might not yet have been dry.

“You can finish your work,” Lan Wangji told him.

Wei Ying shook his head, taking the paper with him and crossing the jingshi. “I was trying to write something, but I think … it’s not necessary.” He tucked the paper into his robe, and his gaze drifted over to the mound of red fabric on the bed.

“Did you find something you liked?” Lan Wangji asked. He still had to select something himself.

“I thought … since they aren’t personal anyway, maybe we want to match.”

There were two loose wide-sleeved robes laid to one side, crisp red silk with the thinnest glimmering gold embroidery. Lan Wangji felt a smile pull at his lips and Wei Ying’s fingerprints dance over the back of his shoulder blade. “Yes.” He would have done what Wei Ying wanted regardless, but he liked what he’d designed.

They dressed one other, beginning with simple white fitted robes. Lan Wangji’s clothes fit Wei Ying well enough for this purpose, since there would be another layer on the outside. Lan Wangji closed the robe around Wei Ying’s torso and tied the stays, fingers pressed right up against the solid heat of his body. Wei Ying mirrored this procedure. Then they fixed one another’s hair. Lan Wangji combed until Wei Ying’s hair was as soft as silk itself, and then pulled it up and into a gold circular hairpiece. When it was his turn, he lost himself in the steady ministrations of Wei Ying’s hands, until Wei Ying was finished and Lan Wangji’s hair was adorned with arcing gold spires.

They ate dinner – or at least, Lan Wangji made an attempt. He wanted something, to be sure, but it was different and it would be his very soon – just a few short hours and a single pot of tea, one journey to Yunmeng, one conversation with Jiang Wanyin. Maybe a day or so after. What need did he have for food, in the face of that? He forced himself to take bites regardless. He had to maintain his strength.

Wei Ying devoured his meal, and then he had to step outside into the blue dusk to retch.

Lan Wangji soothed his hair back, put supportive hands on his waist and under his arm. He was trembling from it, and still too thin, and his eyes were red and bruised from crying and now this. It hit Lan Wangji very fiercely that he didn’t have the warm golden suspension that ran through his own veins. Wei Ying had come here tired and unwell, and Lan Wangji had already demanded several things of him that day. “Are you ill? We can delay.”

“No!” Wei Ying gripped Lan Wangji’s arm with ferocious strength. Ill or well, Wei Ying would keep fighting on any battlefield until his body gave out beneath him. Wei Ying’s other hand traced the line of his collar, brushed his lip, hovered to his headpiece. “No. Not unless you want to wait. If you want more time to think, or …”

“No.”

“Then no. I’m just nervous. Anxious, I mean, excited. I’m about to marry Hanguang Jun, Lan Wangji, Lan Zhan. Who wouldn’t be?”

Lan Wangji didn’t answer him. The question was rhetorical. Only Wei Ying would ever know. He held him for a moment, slid his arms around the back of his waist to support him and press them together. Wei Ying’s face was tired, but he seemed soft and happy. “It will not take long,” Lan Wangji promised him. “Then we will rest.”

They went back inside. Wei Ying cleaned his mouth and teeth with fennel powder, and ate some orange slices to give himself a pleasant taste. He playfully demanded to feed several to Lan Wangji as well – “after all, we’re trying to match” – and Lan Wangji was emboldened by the knowledge Wei Ying was going to marry him, so instead of ignoring him, which was all he had ever known how to do, he knelt beside him and parted his lips obediently. Wei Ying’s eyes were wide and dark, and there was a rosy flush to his cheeks that had nothing to do with fever or illness when he placed the sweet fruit in Lan Wangji’s mouth.

The acid tingling of the juice spread much farther through Lan Wangji’s body than it should have from just the touch of it on his tongue.

It was nearly time, though. They had to finish their preparations.

Lan Wangji took one of the red robes off the bed. It was light – the silk would fall elegantly. Wei Ying turned his back, and Lan Wangji draped it over his shoulders. Wei Ying turned, lifting one hand to pull his hair out from beneath the robe, and suddenly, between the golden hairpiece and the crimson robe and the light in Wei Ying’s eyes, he looked like he was getting married. He looked like they were getting married.

Lan Wangji grasped Wei Ying by the arms. He felt … something, and he needed … something more.

“Wait, wait, Lan Zhan, let me get you in yours first,” Wei Ying said softly. “It’s not fair otherwise.”

Lan Wangji, very reluctantly, had to admit that was true.

He allowed Wei Ying to pull the robe over his shoulders, and then to carefully smooth and straighten the parallel lines of it down his chest. Lan Wangji used the opportunity to look at him. Wei Ying made a stunning groom in their improvised clothes. He would have in rags. Lan Wangji would never allow that, would face blades and arrows to prevent it.

“Don’t worry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, running his hands down his arms, cupping his hands up beneath his jaw. “Jiang Cheng will say yes – I will do whatever it takes to convince him. You will come to Lotus Pier and have a home there, and I will take very good care of you as my husband.” His fingers tightened behind Lan Wangji’s neck, as if to reinforce the oath. “I don’t have quite as much money as the very illustrious Lan sect … in fact, I don’t really have any money of my own … but …”

Lan Wangji had somewhat forgotten he was the one marrying into Wei Ying’s household. “My brother will pay a generous dowry,” he assured him. “And he will continue to give me anything we need.”

“Ah, so will my brother!” Wei Ying objected. “Well, somewhat. And he will certainly be less pleasant about it …”

“I am not concerned,” Lan Wangji said. As long as he was at Wei Ying’s side, further luxuries were optional.

“But I have to keep you in fine robes, Lan Zhan. Rest assured, the Second Jade of Lan will still glow under my keeping.”

Lan Wangji had no doubt of that.

Wei Ying wrapped his arms around Lan Wangji beneath the red outer robe. In this way, pulled close, he brushed a ghost-light kiss to the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth. He’d pulled away before Lan Wangji could turn to return it. “I will also protect you, like I told your uncle. I will have to cause a little less trouble with the other cultivators, I suppose, and I will let you handle the regular things with your sword. But if anyone should really try to harm you …” A little of that menacing light gleamed in Wei Ying’s eye. “I will not let it stand. You know that, don’t you, Lan Zhan?”

He did, and it was torturous. Lan Wangji did not ever want Wei Ying to hurt himself on his behalf. But it would be hypocritical, he supposed, to try to deny him, when he himself would do the same. Additionally, as a purely academic thought, Wei Ying commanding his dark, wild power for Lan Wangji was not – strictly – unappealing. “Only when truly necessary,” Lan Wangji said. He wondered if Wei Ying knew it was a plea. “Only when there is no other choice.”

“Lan Zhan, I will let you play your guqin for me all night long afterward,” Wei Ying replied, which was not even remotely a direct agreement – but his voice was teasing, and they would be married any minute, any second, so Lan Wangji let it go. He would have a lifetime to prevail in this quarrel. He was about to make the vows to ensure it. Even if Jiang Wanyin refused them, even if the world ended that very night, they could never be wholly unconnected from one another. Lan Wangji would be Wei Ying’s.

There was sound at the door – Xichen had appeared. He wore a formal dark blue robe and there was a smile on his face as he regarded them. “You both look very fine. I’ll be back for you in just a few minutes, Wei-gongzi. Wangji, are you ready?”

He was.

Xichen led him to the hanshi. The doorway had been draped in crimson, as had the perimeter of the central room. Candles burned along the walls. Shufu was there, seated behind the table, dressed in rich misty brocade, a more elaborate garment than Lan Wangji had seen him wear since he’d handed responsibility for inter-sect affairs to Xichen. The table held a beautiful tea set – deep azure porcelain with a pale blue design and silver gilding. Suitable for Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan, for Wei Ying and Lan Wangji. Suitable to form part of Lan Wangji’s dowry. It was perfect. He couldn’t imagine how Xichen had found it at such short notice.

“Wangji,” Xichen said, making him look up, and Xichen had a red ribbon embroidered with gold clouds suspended in his hands.

Lan Wangji reached up and removed his powder blue one. He held still as Xichen tied the red one around his forehead. It had been years since he had needed help to don his ribbon. It was a strange feeling to have someone else do it now, one that lodged him firmly in this moment.

It was done. A servant brought in hot water, lit the candle beneath it, and departed. “Shall I go get him, Wangji?” Xichen asked. “Or would you like a moment?”

Lan Wangji’s heart flew erratic in his chest. “Go on.”

It felt as though Lan Wangji had no time at all before Xichen returned. He came in alone and took his seat beside Shufu, behind the table Lan Wangji knelt in front of. Then Wei Ying appeared in the doorway.

There followed a century in which Lan Wangji beheld him. Framed by the night garden, red garlands, and candlelight, he looked fine indeed – a brilliant flash of white between rich and auspicious red and gold, tall and elegant, hair fine, hairpiece gleaming. He was here for Lan Wangji. He stepped across the threshold into the hanshi.

“Stop,” Shufu said.

Wei Ying stopped short. Lan Wangji turned to Shufu in betrayal.

Shufu cleared his throat. “Wei Wuxian. Are spirits, demons, ghosts, and monsters the same thing?”

It took Lan Wangji a too-long moment to understand. This was the challenge his family would throw up for Wei Ying, which he had to overcome to reach Lan Wangji. A simple question even a junior disciple could answer. He looked back to Wei Ying, who was smiling. “No. Spirits are formed from living non-human beings. Monsters are formed from dead non-human beings. Ghosts are formed from dead humans.” A wry thread touched his voice. “Demons are formed from living humans.”

“Very good,” Shufu said gruffly. As the silence stretched, Wei Ying took another step forward. “Stop,” Shufu commanded again. “What is the order of measures of cultivation?”

Wei Ying let out a breathy laugh. “There are a number of methods. First, liberation. Second, suppression. Third, elimination.” He paused. “I think sometimes of a fourth method, but I will not bother you with it this evening, Xiansheng.”

Lan Wangji could not help but look at Shufu. There was a small tic in his brow, but he could have expected nothing else, asking that question. After a moment, he pronounced, “Very good.”

Wei Ying advanced one more step.

“Stop.” Shufu raised both eyebrows. “What is the thirteenth Lan principle?”

Wei Ying’s grin widened, sharpened, hardened. “Don’t practice crooked ways.”

Shufu stared at Wei Ying and said nothing. Wei Ying stared at Shufu and said nothing further. Eventually, Shufu jerked his chin upward, and Wei Ying advanced the last few steps and took his place at the table.

Lan Wangji exchanged a harried glance with Xichen. Shufu might easily have been more intransigent, Wei Ying more combative. He wondered why Shufu had brought up Wei Ying’s cultivation style again if he didn’t mean to pursue it. Perhaps he was just making clear his enduring disapproval.

Perhaps the challenge was tolerating his open disdain.

The ceremony did not take long. Wei Ying took the red ribbon from Lan Wangji’s forehead and wound the ends around their wrists. Bound together, they prepared the tea. Wei Ying poured the first cup and offered it to Shufu. “Shugong, please accept this from me.”

Shufu looked briefly to the heavens when Wei Ying referred to him as family, and for one final moment Lan Wangji’s breath stilled – but Shufu grimly acknowledged, “Zhixu,” and accepted the cup. Xichen answered Wei Ying’s appeal with a warm ‘Dixu’, and they exchanged bright smiles.

Lan Wangji’s heart could not have been fuller. He was not properly meant to cry until they departed Cloud Recesses, so he restrained himself, but it was difficult. He poured tea for his family with steady hands.

In truth, they would not be finished until they were wed within the Jiang sect, but for the time being it was enough. After they went to the Lan family shrine and bowed side-by-side before Lan Wangji’s ancestors, Lan Wangji took Wei Ying back to the jingshi and lay him down to rest, just as he’d promised. He gathered Wei Ying to him back to front, so they were pressed together along every inch. Wei Ying laced the fingers of both their hands tight. Lan Wangji tugged him a little bit closer.

Wei Ying slept quickly once he was free to let his exhaustion claim him. Lan Wangji intended to plan his petition to Jiang Wanyin, but he must have been weary himself, because before too long he fell unconscious alongside him.

Chapter Text

When Wei Wuxian woke, full bright light filled the jingshi and his body ached with too much sleep. It was late. Lan Zhan’s five-in-the-morning wasn’t even in the picture. For all he knew, it could be after noon.

It was, he discovered slowly and hazily, just after lunchtime. Lan Zhan had ordered him something and was going to wake him if he didn’t wake on his own soon.

He would have thought he might feel better, finally getting a powerful dose of the rest he’d lately been deprived of. Instead he just felt a different sort of unwell. But it faded to the background as he ate his lunch and worked some life back into his limbs.

It came to him distantly, nearly halfway through the meal, that he was married. Not quite, but at the same time more than he’d need a lifetime to process and believe. He should be doting on Lan Zhan. Being happy with him, and letting Lan Zhan – always so grim, so restrained – be happy in return. A husband had a number of duties, really, and Wei Wuxian had fulfilled none of them. He’d laid in bed for twelve hours and was now being dully led through the necessary task of eating as if he were a child.

Some portion of this train of thought must have shown on his face, because Lan Zhan said, “No talking during meals.” This prompted Wei Wuxian to actually look at him, and he looked frowny. “Unless …” Lan Zhan bit himself off mid-thought, as if realizing he himself was breaking the rule, and then after a brief vacillation was apparently unable to restrain himself. “Unless you have regrets.”

Did Lan Zhan think it was possible Wei Wuxian was sorry they were married? Was that the most likely explanation he could conjure for whatever dissatisfaction had touched Wei Wuxian’s face? The snort escaped before Wei Wuxian could contain it. “Lan Zhan. The only regret I could possibly have is that I am so unworthy of you.” He waved his hand, trying to banish Lan Zhan’s deepening dismay. “But for whatever reason, you want this with me regardless, and for that I will be grateful and as worthily unworthy as possible all my life. It’s too late for you now, Lan Zhan, you’re stuck with me!”

Relief. The softening of Lan Zhan’s face at that statement was relief. Wei Wuxian wanted to give him all the water in Yunmeng. He settled for asking if Lan Zhan had eaten his fill, and serving him a little more when he didn’t say yes, as if this wasn’t Lan Zhan’s house and every morsel of this meal wasn’t his to begin with.

It was all right, though. This next part would be where Wei Wuxian got to give something to Lan Zhan, hopefully over and over again for the rest of their lives.

The relief fell away too fast, and Lan Zhan parted his lips once more. But he didn’t actually speak – he simply closed them and turned back to his meal. It was as if he’d decided whatever was still bothering him wasn’t worth breaking the rule of silence for. Only Wei Wuxian’s worries measured that high.

“Lan Zhan, what about you, though? Do you have regrets?”

Lan Zhan’s bowl hit the table hard. “Never.”

Wei Wuxian allowed himself to drink in the powerful balm of his certainty for one moment before smiling and pushing back. “Lan Zhan, I think at some point in your life you’re going to have a regret, however small.”

Lan Zhan looked unhappy at Wei Wuxian. “Never this.” He looked unhappier at the table. “But.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t even bothered by the dull ache of that drop. “But what? You have to tell me, since I’m your husband.”

Lan Zhan shook his head, and of course Wei Wuxian was joking anyway, but he did answer. “You were promised two weeks. I forgot myself, in my eagerness.” He hung his head, all beautiful and ashamed. “You should still have them, if you want them.”

Wei Wuxian had in fact been carefully ignoring that he was going to have to go back to Lotus Pier today. Their marriage was actually a fabulous excuse, a very distracting conceit, to keep him from having to think about having to conduct himself like a person again in front of Jiang Cheng and Shijie and Lotus Pier and the cultivation world, to leave this delicate bubble of quiet and rest.

A heavy dread stirred low in his belly, and he smothered it down – a dance so familiar he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it had been absent for several days. It would be better this time, though. He would be better at talking, better at being, better at ignoring the dark pit at his center and getting on with the things he had to do – and as well, Lan Zhan would be there. Lan Zhan had done this thing so he would always be there. Wei Wuxian’s heart bloomed, or rather felt some feeling that was wonderful even though it hurt, and he said, “Lan Zhan, do you not think the rest of my life is a great deal more than two weeks?”

Lan Zhan looked up at him.

“I don’t have any idea why you want to do this. I still think you must be mad – are you sure you haven’t been tying your headband too tight? Maybe your fifteen layers of robes are too constricting and you haven’t been getting enough air. Nevertheless, you have to understand that it’s everything. Do you think I wouldn’t do anything to make it happen? For you to have what you want, and for me to have you?”

Lan Zhan was staring at him, leaning forward, as if the small tea table between them was an intolerable barrier – and then apparently it was, because he moved, gathered his robes and shuffled around it until he was right beside him and he could pull Wei Wuxian into a slow, firm embrace.

“You should still have them, if you want them,” Lan Zhan repeated – not like he actually thought he could convince Wei Wuxian, more like he wanted to make sure he knew he really did have the option.

“Please, Lan Zhan, I have to get you all tied up before you come to your senses. I’d be willing to leave for Lotus Pier this instant, except we’re in the middle of a meal and I’m sure there’s a Lan principle about that.”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan said. He released him but sat very close next to him, the same way he had for Wei Wuxian’s first meal after he arrived here those few days ago.

Wei Wuxian reach across for his bowl and set it in front of him. It occurred to him this was going to be Lan Zhan’s last meal in his jingshi – at least like this, with him living here and not visiting as a guest.

“Of course, if you’d rather linger, we can,” Wei Wuxian said. “This is your home, Lan Zhan. I’m not trying to drag you away from it.”

Lan Zhan was quiet for a moment, like he was building up to a confession, and Wei Wuxian was ready for him to ask for a few days. But then he said, “I’ve already prepared,” and moved the edge of his sleeve aside to reveal a qiankun pouch. “There are disciples waiting to pack the remainder of my belongings and send them after us. Once we’ve departed.”

The gentle, happy flush on Lan Zhan’s cheeks and ears made Wei Wuxian feel like the insane one.

They finished their meal together, and Wei Wuxian laughed at him, and perhaps also got teary-eyed and clung to his husband (he was going to say it counted). When Lan Zhan escorted him from the jingshi and along the walkways of Cloud Recesses, it was in mutual triumph.

Lan Xichen was actually standing around in front of the hanshi as if he were waiting for them.

For a moment, Wei Wuxian felt ashamed himself – for being the reason all this upheaval was necessary in the first place, and for sleeping so long and making Zewu Jun wait. But he looked so pleasant, and not irritated at all – he was certainly well-suited to his position as sect leader. Wei Wuxian forced himself to smile as well as he said, “How are you doing on this beautiful day, Zewu Jun?”

“I am content.” He looked vaguely puzzled at Wei Wuxian – who wasn’t even sure himself why he’d chosen the title instead familial address. Maybe it was that now, in the light of day and without their red robes and dizzy urgency, it seemed ridiculous to presume Lan Xichen would recognize him as his family. But Lan Xichen replied, “And yourself, Dixu?”

Wei Wuxian was sure some measure of his thrill at being invited to address Lan Xichen in that way seeped through in his grin. “I’m plenty more than content, Da-baizi.” And what a miracle it was, for both him and Lan Zhan, that the good and lofty Lan Xichen was against all reason in favor of him.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Zhan said, with a slight bow. “I will miss you, Shufu, and Cloud Recesses, and I know I am meant to cry, but I am not very sad.”

Lan Xichen’s responding smile overflowed like the most silver moon. “I’m glad, Wangji. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

These two exchanges, right on each other’s heels, connected a sticky and muddy pathway in Wei Wuxian’s mind – the possibility that Lan Xichen’s approval was somehow related to Lan Zhan’s quiet desperate joy. That inexplicably he, Wei Wuxian, might somehow truly add happiness to Lan Zhan’s life.

He would have to try very hard. He would have to be diligent, and careful, and true. There was something precious in his hands, and he’d dropped everything he’d ever been asked to hold, but … not this. Please, let him not drop this.

“Let’s go, then,” he said suddenly, before he could second-guess himself. “If you’re both ready, of course, esteemed Twin Jades – take out your swords and let’s depart.”

Lan Zhan immediately abandoned his fond gaze at Lan Xichen to squint at Wei Wuxian. “We will walk to Caiyi town and go by boat.”

“Lan Zhan, a boat would take forever! Of course we’ll fly.” The fear – the exposed horror of being high in the air on someone else’s sword, the memory of the plunge – was already stirring in his belly, but he disregarded it.

Lan Zhan assembled his response for a long time. “You would suffer,” he said finally. “That is counter to the purpose of this.”

“Lan Zhan, it’s one little sword flight. It could hardly be called suffering – believe me. How could we not go as quickly as possible to Lotus Pier? We’re, you’re …” Lan Zhan was married out of his own family and was not yet married into Wei Wuxian’s. That couldn’t stand.

“I am fine,” Lan Zhan said obstinately.

“So am I, Lan Zhan! Believe me, it would be very nice if we had been betrothed for years and now finally I had sent a luxurious palanquin for you on Yunmeng Jiang’s grandest boat and you could be borne to Lotus Pier in luxury, but we’re far beyond that. You can’t rush us through your half and expect me to let us amble around aimlessly for mine. Come on – you can hold me close on Bichen, and we’ll be there before you know it.”

Lan Zhan looked like he wanted to argue further – but luckily he also wanted to be married to Wei Wuxian.

Lan Zhan wore his regular Lan headband on his forehead – they still had to negotiate the betrothal with Jiang Cheng, so he could hardly show up in conspicuous wedding adornments – but Wei Wuxian took the red one and tied it around Lan Zhan’s wrist, where it would be hidden by his sleeve. It wasn’t a fine silk veil, but it would have to do. Then Lan Zhan drew Bichen and took Wei Wuxian onto its blade.

As they climbed into the sky, the terror began to shriek in Wei Wuxian’s chest – but he’d meant what he said. A single flight was nothing for Lan Zhan. The Burial Mounds was not waiting at the end of it.

Lan Zhan would not drop him. Lan Zhan would return him safely to the ground.

///

Wei Ying did not speak a word after they left the ground, and within a quarter of an hour he was curled stiff and catatonic into Lan Wangji’s chest. Lan Wangji felt himself going wild with concern and fury – at Wei Ying, paradoxically, for advocating for something that would so clearly harm him, and more rationally at himself for giving in. This had been his first test at caring for Wei Ying in his new capacity as his spouse, and he had failed it. He would have to learn from this. He would do better. Perhaps he should land the sword now and insist they complete the journey on foot.

But they were already well beyond Caiyi town, which would have been the most reasonable place to get a boat. It seemed unthinkable to turn back, to force Wei Ying to retread any of the terrain he’d covered at such high cost.

Lan Wangji looked at Xichen. He flew with Wei Ying to Cloud Recesses, and would have witnessed the extent of this fear. Could he not have warned him?

Xichen inclined his head in apology. When he spoke aloud, it was to Wei Ying directly. “Dixu, I feel I must express my gratitude to you. You and I both know Wangji has extended himself greatly on this matter out of a true and unselfish devotion, and as the one who allowed him to do so, I will be quite anxious until he is safely ensconced on the other side of it. I hope neither of you will find anguish in your care for one another, in small things or in large ones, so I regret you are doing so now; nevertheless, it does comfort me to know his commitment is returned in full measure.”

Wei Ying made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, and his hand gripped more tightly at the front of Lan Wangji’s robes – but they were passing over a mountain that dropped off precipitously, so it might have been a coincidence.

Lan Wangji held him and tried to feel loved. He did, he supposed, after some thought. Wei Ying was miserable, so there was no joy in it.

///

Wei Wuxian would have vowed he would never ride on a sword again, but that was likely to be impossible. He was a cultivator, whatever his method, and associated with cultivators who used them. He would probably have to ride on swords regularly. Perhaps even recreationally, because how could he deny Lan Zhan the easiest way to visit his family and his childhood home?

Wei Wuxian instead vowed to invent a talisman that would blank his mind and senses. He could stand unthinking and unfeeling in Lan Zhan’s arms and make whatever journey he had to. It would be substantially the same as this, except perhaps without the sickening, drenching fear that by the end of the journey consumed every inch of his limbs.

Wei Wuxian supposed they landed before the gates of Lotus Pier and Lan Zhan guided him to step off Bichen, but only because he eventually realized he was standing on the wood of the boardwalk and Lan Xichen was conferring with a servant at the door.

Lan Zhan still had his arm around him, and his low voice vibrated soothingly in his ear. Wei Wuxian leaned into him. After a moment, Lan Zhan shrouded him in a more intimate embrace.

“Jiang-zongzhu and Jiang-guniang do not know we are wed,” he murmured in Wei Wuxian’s ear – likely an argument for them separating and holding more space between them – but he didn’t eject Wei Wuxian from the shelter of his arms. His too-many robes were comfortable padding. He, Lan Zhan, was the safest place to be.

“There is really no need for Jiang-zongzhu to receive us formally,” Lan Xichen was saying. “I believe Wei-gongzi” – it was interesting hearing the distant title fall from Lan Xichen’s lips, after earlier, hearing the familial one – “was going to speak with him about a personal matter.”

“Jiang-zongzhu was very clear,” the disciple said nervously. “He will receive you all in Sword Hall immediately.” His anxiousness was uncharacteristic, from all Wei Wuxian knew of him. He would only expect it if something were wrong.

He had only been gone for a few days. How could anything be wrong?

Wei Wuxian extracted himself from Lan Zhan’s hold, and they crossed the courtyard of Lotus Pier as if they were their own instead of each other’s.

Jiang Cheng had the flint-cut face that meant he was mad.

Wei Wuxian had not even been here. How could Jiang Cheng still have found a reason to be angry at him? Was he still upset that he’d left at all? That seemed unfair – it had already happened, and they’d discussed it at the time. Wei Wuxian did not know if the accumulated weight of all his past sins and mistakes was something he could bear.

Shijie stood at Jiang Cheng’s side looking a little wilted, and Wei Wuxian hoped that was only the summer heat. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Jiang Cheng’s eyes raked over each of them in turn – Lan Xichen, Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian himself.

It would be better for Shijie to be upset with him than for her to be unwell. If that was what was happening, Wei Wuxian would gladly accept those terms.

Jiang Cheng gestured at the tables that lined the room – they had been set, ominous in a way Wei Wuxian had not expected. Wei Wuxian took his place beside Shijie’s at the front of the hall, though Shijie did not come join him. Lan Zhan sat on his other side instead of across the aisle with his brother. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too conspicuous, since Wei Wuxian could hardly call attention to it by shoeing him away. They were known to be close. Wei Wuxian had gone to Cloud Recesses to be with him.

“I thought I told you to be carrying your sword when you returned,” Jiang Cheng opened, and his voice was acid and ice. “Though you’re back so quickly, I can’t help but wonder why you even left.”

Suibian was all the way back in Gusu, in the sword rack in Lan Zhan’s jingshi. It belonged there, after all, in Lan possession. Wei Wuxian had given it over to Lan Xichen, an elder member of Lan Zhan’s family. Lan Zhan had accepted it and offered his open hand in return. A more treasured return gift Wei Wuxian couldn’t imagine.

“I suppose we should feel blessed that Lan-er-gongzi has been relieved of his pressing duties to his sect. Mere days ago, he was so bound by them he could not have dreamed of visiting Yunmeng.”

His vitriol was bizarre. It meant something, certainly, but Wei Wuxian could not even begin to imagine what.

“How kind of you to return Wei Wuxian to my keeping early, Lan-zongzhu, after I let you take him from me temporarily as a favor. How fortunate he’ll be able to resume his post, and my A-jie won’t have to keep handling all his duties.”

Lan Zhan bristled and tensed to rise. Wei Wuxian clenched his fingers around his arm. They were not yet married by Yunmeng Jiang’s reckoning.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen tried.

“A-Xian,” Shijie said, the first thing she’d spoken, and it was very much a warning.

“Jiang Cheng, let’s talk privately for a second,” Wei Wuxian finally got out. “I have something I really need to discuss with you.”

But Jiang Cheng was staring claws and daggers at Lan Zhan – at Lan Zhan’s wrist. “Is that red I see under your sleeve, Lan-er-gongzi? I thought you only wore mourning colors.”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth, but didn’t speak. He seemed to be warring between defensiveness of Lan Zhan and nervousness of Jiang Cheng’s mood.

Wei Wuxian tried to step in. “What do you mean, Jiang Cheng? Lan Zhan can wear what he likes, can’t he? I mean it, let’s go outside for a moment while the Lans get served some tea.”

“Lan-er-gongzi, raise your sleeve,” Jiang Cheng seethed, and that was when Wei Wuxian understood beyond any doubt that Jiang Cheng knew somehow and it was not good.

Searching for any information, he looked to Shijie again, and this time he finally was met with her eyes. They looked back at him with such sadness someone might as well have plunged a sword into his chest.

He had done something terrible. He couldn’t quite understand how – the thing he’d done was something that had made him feel more free and hopeful that he had in almost longer than he could remember – but he’d set out from Lotus Pier to try to drag the tattered scraps of himself more together so he could help Shijie and Jiang Cheng better again, and instead he had managed to cause them further grief.

Lan Zhan slid back his sleeve, revealing the red-and-gold ribbon.

“So it’s true,” Jiang Cheng choked out, eyes going wider with fury. “It’s true. You and Wei Wuxian are married.”

“Did you send disciples after him?” Lan Zhan asked frigidly. “Spy on the Lan sect?”

“We didn’t need spies! Zewu Jun sent a small army of disciples to Caiyi town yesterday, scouring the streets to find red fabric and auspicious decorations and any wedding clothes that might fit two young masters on immediate notice. They were shouting it up and down the canals. My sister heard it from her handmaidens, who heard it on Yunmeng’s docks in the evening. The very last people between Yunmeng and Gusu to know there was a wedding being held in Cloud Recesses yesterday were the two of us!” The spots of color on Jiang Cheng’s cheekbones had blossomed from faint impressions to full angry blooms. “Then, of course, we turned to the spies – what choice did we have? You had spirited Wei Wuxian away from us mere days before, apparently on false pretenses. For all I knew, you were forcing him into vows with a minor Lan disciple or bartering him over to some worthless Jin subordinate in a bid to remove him from Yunmeng Jiang. But no – from the spies we learn that gossip among the junior Lans indicates Lan-er-gongzi and Wei Wuxian were seen weeping in one another’s tender embrace the night he arrived at Cloud Recesses! Which makes it seem as though he and you were conspiring against me right to my face that day, so you could take him away from here and carry out some secret wedding neither I nor my A-jie knew anything about. We tried to tell ourselves there had been some mistake, some other conclusion to draw that we were missing, but we received word this morning confirming their tea ceremony last night!”

“Jiang-zongzhu, there has been a grave misunderstanding,” Lan Xichen said.

“Then Wei Wuxian is not married to Lan Wangji, and all that I have heard otherwise is in error?”

“He is not,” Lan Wangji intoned, before Wei Wuxian or even Lan Xichen could respond. “Wei Ying is not married to me. Yet. But I am indeed married to him. Xiongzhang means there was no deceit.”

“No deceit? How could he have left here three days ago to pass a short visit with Lan Wangji and come back married to him, without any premeditation?”

“Wei-gongzi and I truly had no ulterior motives when we left Lotus Pier that afternoon. Wei-gongzi and Wangji spontaneously decided they wanted to wed.”

“And they also spontaneously decided to do it immediately and in secret, and without my permission? And you along with them? Why, Lan-zongzhu, so you could carry his amulet off to Gusu for yourself? What do you take me for?”

“Wei Ying will not come to Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji corrected. “I will join the Wei Ying in the Jiang sect at Lotus Pier.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be a secret,” Wei Wuxian said to Jiang Cheng, to Shijie’s stunned gaze, begging them to believe him. “It was only to save time. So we didn’t have to travel back if you agreed.”

“That’s why we’re here now, Jiang-zongzhu, with minimal delay – to negotiate the betrothal with the Jiang sect.”

“To save time?” There was a pause. Jiang Cheng was visibly rocked when he finally decided they were telling the truth. It didn’t seem to calm him. “To save time? Wei Wuxian! And what if I don’t agree? What position do you put me in now?”

“It’s my fault, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said, because whatever else it was, it was surely that. “Shijie.” Did she believe him? “It all happened suddenly, and I thought …” Wei Wuxian looked for the rest of that sentence, but it wasn’t there. What had he thought? The inside of his mind was the same thick grey as the air in the Burial Mounds. Maybe he hadn’t thought at all.

Lan Zhan’s arm appeared around his shoulders. “Jiang-zongzhu, the responsibility is mine,” Lan Zhan said, close by his ear. “I pressured Wei Ying to perform the ceremony before we came here.” Wei Wuxian tried to shake his head.

“In that case, how dare you, Lan-er-gongzi – but do you really claim Wei Wuxian should have allowed himself to be swayed? Since when would he not stick up for his own family?”

“Wei Ying is … tired,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Wuxian’s own mouth was still stuffed with cloth.

“Tired? In what way does ‘tired’ justify this?”

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen interjected, “the fault in this case truly lies with me, and I owe you, Jiang-guniang, and the Jiang sect my deepest apologies. Their only crime was to be eager in their affections, which I believe are deep and true. I, as sect leader, should never have allowed them to rush into this without negotiating your approval.”

“That’s right – you shouldn’t have! And you, Lan Wangji, you, you … But Wei Wuxian. Lan-er-gongzi says he will join you in the Jiang sect – not that he has my leave to do so – but it really seems as if you decided to go off and make decisions with him and the Lan sect, and never mind us one bit!”

“That’s not true,” Wei Wuxian intoned, prayed. “Jiang Cheng, it’s not true, I …”

“It is true!” Jiang Cheng snapped. “He wears red for you, and neither I or A-jie are involved.” He launched himself from the carved lotus throne. Shijie startled, but didn’t move or stop him. “If the Jiang sect means so little to you, don’t pretend to seek my permission. If you really feel so little respect for it and for my family, there was no need for you to return!” Jiang Cheng had to struggle with his cape for a moment, but he subdued it and stormed out of the hall.

Wei Wuxian stared after him. Every word he knew he’d never say sat on his tongue, heavier than lead or gold. It rendered him dumb.

///

Lan Xichen had not even considered the gossip.

He had indeed broadcast what was happening at Cloud Recesses; he had not even instructed the disciples to be circumspect. He had known they would travel to Lotus Pier immediately afterward, to close the circle with the Jiang sect. It had never occurred to him that news travelled on winds faster than any sail.

Wei Wuxian looked dazed, like he’d been struck. Or like he’d just been passed down a terrible sentence.

Wangji rose swiftly to his feet.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, but he ignored him completely. Wangji strode with rigid purpose after Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Yanli had looked pained when they arrived, which turned tentatively relieved when it appeared the Jiangs’ worst fears were unfounded, then increasingly dismayed at Jiang Cheng’s escalating fury. Now she watched Wangji’s egress with true panic. “A-Xian.” She darted from her position on the dais to Wei Wuxian’s side, shaking his shoulder. “A-Xian, you have to go after them. You can’t let them argue.” He wasn’t rousing himself fast enough, and she dragged him to his feet.

Lan Xichen made to rise also, but she said, “No! Ahem, Lan-zongzhu. Please allow us to handle this within the Jiang sect.”

Her request was flawlessly polite and reasonable and she was halfway out the door with her shidi when she said it, so Lan Xichen reluctantly sank back into his seat, alone in the Jiang’s Sword Hall. He had, perhaps, done all he could do for now.

If Jiang Cheng could not be mollified, if this marriage had been ruined by their impulsive preemption, Lan Xichen will have done far too much.

///

Jiang Yanli dragged A-Xian along the walkways of Lotus Pier. He was too limp, sluggish and slow, and they could not afford that now. A-Cheng had not had too great a head-start, but he would be quick from his ire, and Lan Wangji was certain to find him before they would.

He did. When she and A-Xian rounded the pavilion, they stood facing each other on the uncovered platform before the ancestral temple. A-Cheng had obviously been heading there, to seek privacy, feel his anger and move through it, but Lan Wangji had stopped him on the boardwalk, and A-Cheng was bristling the way Zidian might.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Yanli called out. It was vital that a wedge not be driven between them. For the time being A-Cheng was just momentarily upset. The thing he was most upset about, A-Xian’s apparent betrayal, was not true. But if he and Lan Wangji said things that could not be unsaid … A-Cheng could be as stubborn as their father and as venomous about it as their mother. The thought made her want to cry. A real fight now could sour the chances of A-Cheng relenting forever. “Please, Lan-er-gongzi, if you would go back to the hall. Let us discuss this matter as a family.”

“Yes, Lan-er-gongzi,” A-Cheng sneered. “Despite your unsanctioned tea ceremony, Wei Wuxian’s family matters do not concern you.”

Lan Wangji did not back away. He stood rigid and unyielding, his hand iron-tight around his cold white Bichen.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Yanli repeated, almost desperately. She shook her didi. “A-Xian, say something.”

Lan Wangji fell to his knees.

Jiang Yanli felt her feet lurch to a stop, a few paces away from them. This tugged A-Xian still as well, and he swayed back beside her. A-Cheng gaped – there was no other word for it. “Lan Wangji … You …”

“Jiang-zongzhu. This cultivator begs you to allow him to marry Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji set the luminous Bichen down on the weathered wood of the boardwalk. He circled his arms, straightened them, and bowed all the way to the ground at A-Cheng’s feet.

“Lan Zhan,” A-Xian croaked, which made A-Cheng’s gaze snap up at him. He stared back and forth between them in bewilderment – at Lan Wangji, in supplication at his feet, and over his head at A-Xian, who stood limp and hollow in the crook of Jiang Yanli’s arm.

“Wei Wuxian?” A-Cheng asked, in a very small voice.

“This cultivator understands the disrespect shown to the Jiang sect by our premature ceremony,” Lan Wangji continued. “This cultivator knows how and why it transpired. This cultivator begs Jiang-zongzhu to lay it at his feet alone.”

“Wei Wuxian?” A-Cheng asked again.

“This cultivator will accept any punishment Jiang-zongzhu would administer. This cultivator will do anything if Jiang-zongzhu will allow him to marry Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan ...”

“Stop!” A-Cheng’s voice was high and thin, like only his anger was keeping him from bursting into tears. “What is the meaning of this? Why is Wei Wuxian tired? Why is Lan-er-gongzi on his knees in front of me? Why did you want to save time? What’s happening?”

“Wei Ying was injured during his time in the Burial Mounds,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Yanli felt A-Xian jerk in her arms at the mention – the two combined sending a shiver of horror down her spine.

She’d known in some ways that A-Xian was different when he reemerged from his disappearance. She had … only suspected about the Burial Mounds. She had been afraid to think about it precisely, the what or how or why. She had been afraid to ask too often or look too closely. She had not wanted to make things harder for A-Xian. She had been giving him time and space, and waiting for him to go back to the way he belonged.

Now Lan Wangji was kneeling at A-Cheng’s feet over it, and she forced herself to consider – shamefully, for the first time – whether that might not ever happen.

“He is my counterpart, and I would give him my support. Please, Jiang-zongzhu, permit this marriage. I wish to stand always at his side with the Jiang sect.

“He was injured? He came back months ago. Wei Wuxian, what’s he talking about?”

“Jiang Cheng, he’s making too much of nothing, I’m fine, just fine, I …” But A-Xian had rarely been less fine in his life. That had been clear all along.

“A-Xian,” she murmured, stroking his arm gently. She was careful to avoid the touch of his Chenqing, the powerful and dark thing he now carried with him always, but she tried to lend him comfort regardless.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” A-Cheng asked him. “Why did you run off to Gusu to get Lan-er-gongzi to marry you instead of telling me you were hurt?”

“I didn’t go there to marry him,” A-Xian said. “It was just to visit. And then he asked, and I knew, and I …”

“Jiang-zongzhu, I care for Wei Ying. Please allow me to marry him.”

“Well, does he care for you? Wei Wuxian, you don’t have to do this for some desperate reason. You could just ask me for help. You could always have just asked me for help!”

Jiang Yanli thought of the thing A-Cheng had told her last night – they had been pacing the floor sleepless while, as it turned out, a great distance away A-Xian was getting married. He’d told her of how he’d made the choice to leave her to A-Xian’s care after the fall of Lotus Pier, how he’d given himself up to the Wen soldiers so they could get away. How A-Xian had let him down by going back for him instead of taking care of her, just like he was letting them down now by abandoning them in favor of Gusu Lan. She’d heard the underneath-story – the story of how he would do anything for his lifelong brother, and he couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t do the same in return – at least the way A-Cheng saw it. She looked at A-Cheng now. His face was flushed, and his eyes were bright. He was fighting back tears because A-Xian had kept all these things to himself. Because A-Xian had gotten married without them.

She also thought of A-Xian, and how his whole life the thing he’d been told was to always, always help them. He was her didi, not her shidi, and she had tried to live it so thoroughly he would believe it even if she had never really able to speak the words – not as able as she should’ve been, not as able as was right. But she glimpsed, at moments like this, how impossible it was for him to see himself as their equal. She knew he used his dark new power, the one that put a worrying terror in Lan-er-gongzi’s eyes, to protect them – and she felt uneasily responsible. She believed he would carve off pieces of himself, just like A-Cheng would, if he were asked to, only he would never feel entitled to anything in return.

Had it even occurred to him A-Cheng would be upset? Not because it flaunted his authority as A-Xian’s sect leader, but because he would want to be involved?

A-Xian stepped out of her grip – his hand trailing down her arm and squeezing her fingers, a silent ‘thank you’ – and went over to stand next to Lan Wangji. “Jiang Cheng.” He sank to his knees, head high and tilted back, tiredly. “Jiang-zongzhu. I will always return to the Jiang sect. I would never abandon my duty to protect and serve it. I … you … it means very much to me.”

Jiang Yanli pressed her hand to her chest, to both capture and restrain the feeling of those words. A-Cheng’s mouth had opened slightly, a silent plea for help. He was so silly, so dear, unable to bear hearing the thing he most wanted to know.

“I do care for Hanguang Jun, very much. Somehow, miraculously, he is willing to join our family and be with me always, and there are few things in the world I could ever want more. So please, forgive my disrespect, and I beg you to allow me to marry him.” Then he also began the gesture to bow at A-Cheng’s feet.

A-Cheng grabbed him by the arm before he could get that far, physically preventing him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he seethed wetly. “Both of you, get up off the ground and stop embarrassing yourselves. Two of the greatest heroes of the Sunshot Campaign, acting like maidens who’ve read too many love poems.” He practically hauled A-Xian to his feet. “I can’t believe I wish you were drunk,” he muttered, and gave him a shove. It was surely meant to be affectionate, but A-Cheng’s emotions were high and A-Xian staggered back.

Jiang Yanli reached one of A-Xian’s elbows and Lan Wangji surged up and caught the other, and together they prevented him from falling. She sensed Lan Wangji move in unison with her to stare pointedly at A-Cheng.

For his part, A-Cheng looked a little startled. He stared closely at A-Xian. “You’ll let him take care of you, then, won’t you? You’ll let all of us take care of you?” He scowled in desperate worry. “Is it that flute?”

A-Xian was paying no heed as he continued, stuck in growing elation at the first of A-Cheng’s statements. “You mean …”

“Of course! You can get married to the most stuck-up Lan alive if you want to. Bring as many illustrious spouses and concubines into the Jiang sect as you please. If you regret it and come whining to me later, see if I care.”

A-Xian sagged against Lan Wangji. “Just the one will do.” His eyes tracked over to Jiang Yanli, and he grinned. “Shijie, I’m getting married! Though maybe I should apologize. You really should have been first.”

That wasn’t why he might have needed to apologize, but Jiang Yanli would not hold ill will over that. She felt her own gaze draw up to Lan-er-gongzi’s face. He returned it steadfastly. His arm was circled protectively around A-Xian, strong and sure, and he would not easily let him go.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Jiang Yanli said, letting her relief spread a smile across her face. “I’m so happy for you, A-Xian – and you as well, Lan-er-gongzi.”

He nodded at her respectfully. He was quiet and perhaps odd, but for all A-Cheng’s scorn, she’d never found him objectionable. He was good, polite. He would be a fine person to have as a brother-in-law.

He already was, in some ways. “Shall we call for tea now, then, if you two are in such a terrible hurry?”

“Yes,” A-Xian said, his somewhat-husband nodding in agreement.

“No!” A-Cheng exclaimed. “You think is the Lan sect, and you can just drape some red bunting around your shoulders and call it a wedding? This is Yunmeng Jiang. We have some self-respect.”

///

Jiang Cheng made them wait three entire weeks to finish get married.

Lan Zhan was outraged – but where Lan Zhan had been able to sway Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren, since when it came down to it they loved him and wanted their dour young Lan Wangji to be happy, Jiang Cheng did not care one bit about Lan Zhan, so he dug his heels in and would not budge a single inch.

He did ostensibly care about Wei Wuxian, but that didn't seem to matter either.

“We need time to have robes made, time to decorate, time to plan the banquet.” He spoke as if Wei Wuxian was a five-year-old shidi who didn’t know his sword forms. “You’re lucky I don’t make you wait three months, so it would be after the Group Hunt and we could invite the other sects. As it is, we can’t upstage the Jin sect by holding a surprise event beforehand, not without insulting them, and I’m not about to jeopardize A-jie’s invitation from the peacock’s mother on your impulsive behalf.”

Wei Wuxian would never want that either, his low opinion of the peacock notwithstanding, and he also certainly wasn’t going to wait or make Lan Zhan wait three entire months. He tried to take the three weeks as the gift they were.

In fact, Wei Wuxian suspected they were more in deference to Lan Xichen’s uneasy heart than either his or Lan Zhan’s. Once everyone’s tempers had calmed, the two sect leaders had a very long, very sect-leadery conversation in which Lan Xichen once again expressed his apologies for any disrespect, and Jiang Cheng circuitously admitted he had probably gotten angrier than necessary considering everything that had happened had been done in good faith, and the Lan sect was a valued ally of the Jiang sect, and if for some reason Lan Xichen was willing to marry his younger brother to Wei Wuxian – which he clearly was – he himself was honored to welcome the Second Jade of Lan into the Jiang sect. In other words, he of course approved of the match, and he hoped he had not offended his new and powerful in-laws too terribly much with his outburst or the overt acknowledgement of the spies all the major sects had but pretended not to, please and thank you.

Lan Xichen was of course endlessly gracious about it. Perhaps this was simply due to relief that everything had worked out all right. Perhaps it was because he was Lan Xichen.

Once it was all settled, Jiang Cheng was deliriously happy for Wei Wuxian, in his own way that involved a lot of punching and shoving and rude words.

“How dare you, Wei Wuxian – we spent our whole childhoods planning the most extravagant wedding of the age for A-jie. How could you think I would ever let you do something slipshod for your own? Between you and Hanguang Jun, this should be an event the cultivation world talks about for generations, but you decide you can get married in front of me and the lotus stalks and that’s a grand enough wedding for Yunmeng Jiang?”

“We did that because Shijie is our beloved, beautiful, perfect sister!”

“Yes, and you’re a disaster – who even thought you’d get married at all? You’d need twice the pomp and circumstance for it to seem grand enough to be my head disciple’s wedding.”

Wei Wuxian had an emotional feeling when Jiang Cheng said that. He began to understand, possibly, where he had gotten things wrong.

Jiang Cheng kept haranguing him, but Shijie said something about it just once – “A-Xian, I wasn’t there to fix your hair, or help you prepare to get married to your husband.”

“Shijie, you’ll be here this time, you’ll fix my hair when the day comes. That was mostly just Lan Zhan’s part, and he had his family there to help him.”

“You poured tea too, didn’t you? You made a promise to them. Weren’t you nervous?”

Wei Wuxian had been terrified. He remembered sitting in the jingshi, writing messy notes on Lan Zhan’s nice paper, trying to get his thoughts in order. When Lan Zhan had walked in, when he’d seen him, he’d decided everything was actually clear … but it would have helped, surely, to have Shijie there with him. Jiang Cheng too, even if he would’ve been intolerable about it.

“What I’m most nervous about is that Lan Qiren will decide he really can’t take it and come kidnap Lan Zhan back before I can secure him properly.”

Shijie smiled and laughed and consoled him over his agonizing wait, and made extra lotus and pork rib soup for Lan Zhan and Zewu Jun, and even helped Wei Wuxian evade Jiang Cheng’s extremely unnecessary sentries and sneak into Lan Zhan’s room at night.

That was an important balm, because being back at Lotus Pier was harder than Wei Wuxian would have thought, even with the blessed distraction of the wedding. Jiang Cheng wanted his help with everything – planning and preparing for the ceremony, Sect business, even picking what tea to serve the Lans at dinner in the evenings. This was probably an effort to make amends, for missing that Wei Wuxian was unwell, for needing Lan Xichen to come and whisk him away to compel him to acknowledge it. It was Jiang Cheng’s way of spending as much time with him as possible – but it was exhausting. Wei Wuxian tried to lean into and match his enthusiasm, but he was a tired person. His betrothal to Lan Zhan had not made a new golden core spring to being inside him, or made the seething darkness he’d replaced it with any less demanding.

So he poured all his energy into Jiang Cheng, and at the end of the day Shijie ferried him to his almost-husband’s side and he collapsed on the floor beside the tea table so Lan Zhan could pour him a drink, or lay with his head on Lan Zhan’s lap, or sat on the bed and meditated while Lan Zhan played him music – and even though beside that last thing this was objectively no different from relaxing or lying still in his own room, it was a thousand times better, because Lan Zhan knew he was tired and it was all right. He didn’t even seem to mind.

When one evening Wei Wuxian rubbed at his shoulder and called Jiang Cheng a barbarian, Lan Zhan looked very serious and told him he would come up with a way to stop it from happening. That doing so was, in fact, why he was here.

“Lan Zhan, you’re here because you enjoy my thrilling company, and also to kill low-level ghosts and monsters with your sword so I don’t have to use my cultivation all the time, not to defend me from my family. What can we say? ‘Jiang Cheng, please stop using your spiritual power to hit your shixiong and running him ragged with robe fittings, he’s a fragile man and can no longer take it’?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. “We told them you were injured at the Burial Mounds. We can imply that is the reason. We cannot spread this story to other sects, because strategically you must not be made to appear weak, but among your family, it is a version of events that will let us do whatever we need to do.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, impressed. “You’re an esteemed Lan, and your brilliant solution is for us to simply lie?”

“Is it entirely a lie?” Lan Zhan asked severely, and Wei Wuxian was forced to admit it wasn’t.

They slept together, usually. Wei Wuxian lay with his head on Lan Zhan’s chest, listening to his heart beat. He curled around Lan Zhan possessively, running his fingers through his hair. He collapsed boneless on the bed while Lan Zhan got undressed, and was unconscious before he joined him.

Sometimes he made himself go back, sleep alone in his bachelor’s quarters. He felt like he should, for some reason – like he didn’t have the right to lie next to Lan Zhan at ease yet. Not without reservation, anyway.

He was unhappier that way. He thought Lan Zhan was, too. He didn’t like it, itched against it. Soon, soon.

Lan Xichen and Shijie took tea together nearly every afternoon. Sometimes they would invite one or all of the rest of them to join them, but more often they wouldn’t. A small part of Wei Wuxian hoped these intimate meetings would spark some romantic connection – he would much rather marry Shijie to the First Jade of Lan instead of some tasteless Jin. But probably that was a hopeless prospect. When he pretended to needle her about it (a clever ruse for actually needling her about it), she told him they were simply becoming fast friends over their shared experience being elder siblings to completely hopeless young men.

“That’s not a very nice way to talk about Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian joked back.

Shijie laughed at him. His heart was full.

“If that peacock isn’t as nice to you as Lan Zhan is to me, you can’t marry him,” Wei Wuxian told her.

“A-Xian, very few people could claim to be as devoted as your Lan-er-gongzi is to you,” she said, amused. “But I do take the two of you as an example – that rarely pure things can exist, and as a worthy ideal against which to measure my companionships.” She smiled. “It will only be ten more days now.”

“Jiang Cheng is torturing me! He’s abusing his power. Perhaps you should be Jiang-zongzhu.”

“So it’s mutiny, now,” Jiang Cheng said from the door. “The disrespect grows without cease.” He rolled his eyes so far back in his head Wei Wuxian wondered if he was looking for a nonexistent speck of kindness or mercy in his brain.

/

Wei Wuxian got properly finally married on a beautiful day. The air was muggy and thunderclouds rumbled over Yunmeng, but it was beautiful because Wei Wuxian put on fine, crisp red garments and went to the gates of Lotus Pier, and Lan Zhan – in ethereal robes and a red weimao – was there waiting for him. They stepped across the threshold of his home together and walked across the courtyard to the joyful din of firecrackers, and bowed in front of Jiang Cheng and Shijie, and bowed to heaven and earth and his ancestors at the Jiang ancestral shrine, and returned to Sword Hall to pour more tea, and then bowed – finally – to each other.

Then they had the greatest banquet of Wei Wuxian’s life. It wasn’t substantially different from other banquets he’d attended in terms of the refreshments or the guests – though Jiang Cheng had done an exceptional job on both, considering he only had twenty days and couldn’t invite anyone from the other sects. It was the greatest banquet of his life because Lan Zhan was sitting next to him in the most elegant crimson clothes, and the thing they were celebrating was that they could keep sitting next to each other forever.

Wei Wuxian was not required by tradition to cry, which Lan Zhan kept quietly reminding him, but he had to periodically wipe a tear off his cheek all the same.

/

When it grew late and it was time for them to leave their guests and retire, there were no petty guards between him and Lan Zhan. They could walk before every eye in the world to the same quarters, and no one alive could make an argument they should instead be apart. The bed and the room had been dressed in red and hung with symbols of happiness, and there were dates, oranges, lotus seeds, and wine laid out on the table.

Shijie had taken him aside and given him a gentle, private talk about wedding nights. When she’d brought it up, he’d asked her what she might possibly know about his and Lan Zhan’s wedding night, in a reflexive, panicked effort to either turn the situation toward the ridiculous or prevent the conversation entirely, and she’d replied very matter-of-factly that she’d asked Lan Xichen all about the considerations of other anatomies so she would be able to adequately advise him. This had been the most horrific revelation of Wei Wuxian’s life, on a list that included a number of quite horrific things, because it meant he now had to picture Zewu Jun and his Shijie – two luminous and pristine people – sitting at their tea table pragmatically discussing the explicit particulars of things that would be shredded into confetti if they were printed in a lewd book and presented to a younger Lan Wangji in the Lan Library Pavilion.

It was all for nothing, too, because nothing like that happened on Wei Wuxian’s and Lan Zhan’s wedding night. It wasn’t that Wei Wuxian had no interest in such things, either in general or with Lan Zhan (beautiful, lofty, his) in particular. It was just that they were both so relieved to be married they weren’t really worried about anything else. They sat very close together in their half-undone wedding clothes, and shared fruit, and drank wine (well, Wei Wuxian drank wine). Lan Zhan kept looking at him like he was shocked he hadn’t disappeared yet, and Wei Wuxian kept touching Lan Zhan’s hand, and arm, and knee, and hair, because he was right there and he could. Lan Zhan kissed him once, fast enough Wei Wuxian wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t imagined it, and then they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Wei Wuxian woke up the next morning, long after five, in that soft tangle of red sheets and red-and-gold robes and half-combed-out hair and a discarded weimao, and found himself gazing into Lan Zhan’s luminous eyes. He couldn’t imagine a more auspicious start.

/

Wei Wuxian spent the next few days showing Lan Zhan around his home. Jiang Cheng whined that he’d gotten used to Wei Wuxian’s assistance with things, and Shijie shushed him – which meant Wei Wuxian didn’t have to. He took Lan Zhan out on the lakes, they frolicked in the lagoons and pools (well, Wei Wuxian frolicked – Lan Zhan ‘admired the natural beauty of Yunmeng’), and they visited the nearby townships and perused the towns.

Lan Zhan kept almost meeting him halfway and then drawing back. When their hands were close, their fingers would bump and then Lan Zhan would pull his own away. When they sat side by side in a small boat, Lan Zhan would put his arm around Wei Wuxian, shift even closer so they were almost very intimately embracing, then shift away so only his hand was on the small of Wei Wuxian’s back. It was a little maddening and very hard to read. Was Lan Zhan feeling out his own boundaries, or Wei Wuxian’s? Wei Wuxian didn’t know, and he was giving the situation a little time to run its course in case maybe he wouldn’t have to summon the energy or courage to confront it. They had all the time possible, after all. If Lan Zhan needed some, Wei Wuxian would not rush him.

On the fourth day, he had run through most of the things he thought Lan Zhan would particularly enjoy, so he took the excuse to show Lan Zhan his favorite wine house – halfway between the docks and Lotus Pier, near enough to easily walk even when pleasantly drunk but far enough Jiang Cheng might not bother walking that far to fetch him back to do real work. It was well into the afternoon, and he had no responsibilities except being with Lan Zhan, so it was a perfectly fine time to get into his cups – and Lan Zhan kept pouring for him with the most delightfully soft almost-smile, so he kept drinking with little reservation. By the time they left, he was warm all over and feeling very light, and when they reached Lotus Pier proper, he was swaying a little bit. Not because he couldn’t have righted himself if he absolutely had to – but because it felt nice and he was having fun. Lan Zhan took his hand, then took his elbow, then released him entirely, then took his elbow again. And some combination of Wei Wuxian’s heart only being able to take so much of this treatment and the more uncertain pieces of his mind being anesthetized with baijiu made him say, “What’s the matter, Lan Zhan?”

This brought Lan Zhan to a halt. He hesitated. He let go of Wei Wuxian again and moved a terribly distant half-pace away.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian peered at him.

He looked very worried. “Wei Ying. I am not sure what you want for us.”

“What do you mean? I want us for us.” If the problem was he was worried about Wei Wuxian’s feelings, well … “You can do whatever you want with me, Lan Zhan. I think you own me, soul and body.”

Lan Zhan stiffened, aggrieved. “Wei Ying. No.”

“I don’t mean it like that, not like I’m obligated! I just mean, you don’t have to hold back with me, Lan Zhan. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Anything you want, I’m going to want as well.”

“Not anything.”

“Sure anything. I can’t think of any things I wouldn’t want.”

“It’s only you who can’t think of them.” Lan Zhan was giving Wei Wuxian a very harrowed look. “There surely are things.”

“No one’s ever accused me a lack of imagination before, Lan Zhan. Why don’t you try me, if there’s something you’re worried about?”

Lan Zhan was at first very still, but after a moment, he drifted toward him like a moth to a flame – a destruction he couldn’t resist. He cupped one hand at the base of Wei Wuxian’s skull. He looked long at him, searching. He kissed his lips to Wei Wuxian’s – lightly, like he was afraid Wei Wuxian would bruise like old fruit. Lingering, like he didn’t think he was going to get another chance. Then he pulled back.

He looked at Wei Wuxian mournfully, as if to say, see? I told you.

Wei Wuxian felt a smile tug at his lips, even if it was rude to laugh at him for being honest and vulnerable. He curled his hands around Lan Zhan’s shoulders, reeling him back in so they were chest to chest. “We’ve done that before, Lan Zhan, of course I could think of it. Try again.”

Lan Zhan held Wei Wuxian. “Wei Ying,” he said, pained, imploring. Don’t toy with me. Don’t tease. I can’t take it. Then he kissed Wei Wuxian again, and it was not light.

Wei Wuxian unsealed his lips and tried to follow along. He’d done this once or twice, with random people he hadn’t really cared about, and he didn’t know what he was doing – but Lan Zhan probably didn’t either, and they only had to get good at kissing one person (each other) so anything other than what Lan Zhan was doing was irrelevant.

Right now Lan Zhan seemed to be trying to devour him, mouth and teeth and grasping fingers, and Wei Wuxian … Wei Wuxian would gladly be consumed. He slumped a little, hanging on to Lan Zhan’s steady shoulders. Lan Zhan held him up.

It broke off suddenly. Lan Zhan stared at him, eyes terrified, chest heaving. Was I right? Was I too much? Do you despise it?

Wei Wuxian held that precious face in his hands. Why was this person so foolish? “Now I’m supposed to ask you to try a third thing, to complete the pattern, but we’re in the middle of Lotus Pier and I’m almost positive whatever’s next would be indecent. More indecent, anyway.” If a servant had seen them kissing passionately like that, it would get around like wildfire, and Jiang Cheng would probably whip him with Zidian. “I expect we’ll be happier to have a bed for it anyway. Am I right?”

Lan Zhan shook his head, and Wei Wuxian felt the brief drop of disappointment, but then Lan Zhan leaned in again and kissed him a third time. This one was slow, like the first, but deep – even deeper than the second. It moved, and moved, and moved, and Lan Zhan’s hands were in his hair. Then he drew back just far enough to kiss his cheekbone. Once, twice, three times. Each one purposeful, worshipful, sure, and he held and maneuvered Wei Wuxian all the while. He kissed his hairline. Kissed his jaw. Down the side of his neck. Across his shoulder.

“Mm,” Lan Zhan hummed in satisfaction into the top of his sleeve, while Wei Wuxian tried to put his heart back into a box that now seemed too small for it. Then, “There are some things I think of that would require the bed.”

“Me, too,” Wei Wuxian breathed, and Lan Zhan nodded serenely.

Chapter Text

“I thought I told you not to overdo it,” Jiang Cheng said to him lowly, as he and Wei Wuxian made their way together back down the mountain toward Jinlintai.

“Didn’t you hear that Jin-gongzi at the opening ceremony, though? He practically begged me. I wasn’t blindfolded, but I think I lived up to his invitation.”

“So it was on purpose, then? You set out to catch half the mountain in our nets? It wasn’t because you didn’t know your own power?”

Wei Wuxian didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t at all. There would be time for that later, when they weren’t sharing a hillside with a hundred cultivators – or never, if he really had his preference.

“It’s fine,” Jiang Cheng said, before the question or its answer could agitate him. “We’ll work with it. It certainly made a statement, and if the point is to remind the Jin sect they don’t rule the world, a ridiculous display of power from the Jiang sect head disciple isn’t the worst thing that could have happened.”

Wei Wuxian thought ‘not the worst thing that could have happened’ was a low bar to set, but wasn’t about to argue with him about it.

At that point Jiang Cheng left Wei Wuxian’s side and made his way over to confer with Shijie. That was for the best. She would probably be clearer in the retelling of the previous tense confrontation than Wei Wuxian would be. Somewhere in the middle the Jin cousin had said something too far, something about Lan Zhan and a demonic cultivator like him, and Wei Wuxian’s brain had gone white and his core had gone black, black, black with smoke. He didn’t know why he hadn’t torn that blowhard to pieces. Lan Zhan and Shijie must have stopped him.

And then Shijie, Shijie, stood in the center of a bunch of loud, arrogant men and cut every one of them down.

A part of Wei Wuxian was itching to abandon this banquet – to get away from the Jins and particularly that one, with his lousy attitude and even lousier manners, and from Yao-zongzhu and his ilk. He imagined forgoing a stuffy room full of fake, stuffy people and walking the public boulevards with a bottle of baijiu, agreeably alone in that crowd instead of under a thousand eyes in the customary one. He hadn’t forgotten the welcome ceremony, the archery range with its human targets. He’d been furious since then, in a way he’d started to think maybe he’d grown too cold to be anymore. Furious at the treatment of the Wen prisoners, furious at his impotence under the shake of his brother’s head.

Lan Zhan had taken his headband from his forehead and given it to him. Right in front of the entire world. He and Wei Wuxian were married, so he was allowed to do that. And he wanted to.

Wei Wuxian had stepped up to the targets – innocent people in front of him, guilty ones behind. Lan Zhan watching him, Jin Guangshan watching him, Shijie and Jiang Cheng and the peacock and Jin Guangyao. He had no golden core, just euphoria and fury swirling in his blood. He had to nock his bow and do this right. There were innocent people in front of him. There was no other option.

It was enough. He was enough. He just had to keep being enough.

He’d felt like too much on the mountain, when everyone was arguing with him. He felt like too much now. To make himself feel better, he looked over at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan, who today wore blue, a darker color than Wei Wuxian had ever seen him in. Darker than the baby blue of his forehead ribbon. Light for a Jiang, but unmistakably something that placed him with them – though the white wasn’t gone, showing in his inner layers and the embroidery down the sides of his collar. Wei Wuxian liked it. He looked … Wei Wuxian’s and himself at once. It was exactly how Wei Wuxian wanted him to look for all their days.

Lan Zhan, who despite not knowing about the flute playing advance, had immediately jumped to Wei Wuxian’s defense when Jin Whoever accused him over it. Who’d said things like, “You stand before us and think we should know your name. How can you say Wei Ying is too proud?” “Wei Ying doesn’t need to carry his sword. I carry mine.” “If you think you have more capability than Wei Ying or myself, show me.”

Lan Zhan, who’d stood next to him, right next to him, and maintained a steady grip on his arm even as tears leaked out of Wei Wuxian’s eyes and he didn’t know how he was going to bear standing there and continuing to exist from one second to the next. That feeling had receded fast, fortunately, and Lan Zhan hadn’t let go of him until it was gone.

Lan Zhan, who was now looking at him.

Wei Wuxian made his heart settle, banished any remaining errant thought of leaving the group. He couldn’t be anywhere else when his husband was here. He smiled back at him.

Lan Zhan moved toward him like a river moved downhill.

As soon as he reached his side, he put a hand under his elbow, so they were walking as one.

“If you’re not careful, Lan Zhan, people will think something scandalous.” Nothing could be scandalous between them, really, but Wei Wuxian felt compelled to tease.

Lan Zhan did not rise to the bait, nor did he remove his hand. It was amazing how a few lifelong vows had emboldened him. “You did not need to play,” he said. “To use your cultivation today.”

Ah, that. “It was for the hunt, Lan Zhan.”

“The crowd hunt is a game.”

“Yes, and I did it for show, for helping Jiang Cheng secure power. He asked me to do it, we worked it all out in advance.”

“Jiang Wanyin has no call to ask that of you.”

“Lan Zhan, are you jealous? You are! You both really are two pieces of work. Jiang Cheng is my shidi and sect leader. You are my beloved husband and partner – in cultivation and all other things. I know I am not quite a whole man, but still, surely there is enough of me to spread between you.“ This routine was meant entirely in jest, but as was sometimes the case with jests, Wei Wuxian felt like he’d struck himself somewhere vital saying it.

Lan Zhan still seemed dismayed as well. “You are your whole self. But what of you? How much of you do you retain?”

“The whole part you have, I have,” Wei Wuxian promised, leaning closer into Lan Zhan, letting him carry his weight. “This modest, simple Wei likes how much you have of him.”

Lan Zhan hmphed. “You are not modest.” Then, with no humor: “You chose not to tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I didn’t want you to worry about it the whole time. You can play Cleansing for me three times this evening to make up for it.”

Lan Zhan’s face took on a look of despair, and Wei Wuxian realized that was probably not a kind thing to have said. This wasn’t banter.

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan,” he said again, and this time he tried to say it seriously. “I needed to do this for Jiang Cheng. I’m going to have to use it sometimes. But I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand. I shouldn’t, we …” He stopped and grabbed Lan Zhan’s hand, turning it palm-up and putting his hand overtop of it. The others would get ahead of them, but they could catch up. “I should have told you. I know. I just don’t like to make you sad.”

“You are harming yourself.”

“It’s my way of doing good in the world, Lan Zhan.” It’s the only one I have left, he didn’t say where someone might be around to overhear them, but he knew Lan Zhan understood it. “Would you really begrudge me of it?”

Lan Zhan’s hand tightened around Wei Wuxian’s own, like he was fighting a violent internal war and Wei Wuxian was his lifeline. That wasn’t quite true – Wei Wuxian himself was the one putting Lan Zhan through this in the first place. There was nothing to be done about it, though. The other person’s battles were unavoidable now that they occupied shared territory.

Wei Wuxian wouldn’t terribly mind letting Lan Zhan eviscerate all his enemies for him. He certainly wouldn’t mind lying down somewhere small and private and listening to Lan Zhan play sweet healing music for him. Then he would beckon him over and take his husband in his arms. He shook those thoughts out of his head. They still had work left to do here today.

“Never mind it now, Lan Zhan. We have a banquet to attend. Afterward, we can talk all night.”

“You must sleep.”

“And so must you, but if my Lan Zhan needs his husband to soothe him, that will of course take precedence.” He caressed his free hand down Lan Zhan’s shoulder, a gloriously intimate gesture for a public space, one he could make because they were married.

“I am always soothed, simply being with you,“ Lan Zhan replied – though he wasn’t arguing. He said it softly, like an embrace.

"Ah, Lan Zhan, I think if you look back to our younger days, you will find that is fundamentally not the case!”

Jiang Cheng, who’d apparently hung back, called over his shoulder that they were being sickening, and Wei Wuxian hastened down the slope so he could shove him. Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan glowered at each other. Shijie smiled and scolded them.

She scolded Lan Zhan sometimes, now – not quite the way she scolded Jiang Cheng, the free and easy way of people who’d been doing this all their life (scolding and being scolded respectively) and knew exactly what it meant between them. Lan Zhan was too new for that, they were too much strangers, so when she chastised her Difu it was gently, politely, obviously affectionate. She was inoculating him to the play-biting that went back and forth between the three of them, indoctrinating him into having a elder sister who knew better. Lan Zhan, for his part, seemed baffled by both the behavior and his own unquestionable yearning for it. The first time it happened, he was very disoriented, wounded and remorseful and bewildered. She had sat with him and touched his hand and cooked some traditional Lan food for him afterward, in apology. But now he was easing further and further into it with each exposure. He never argued back – perhaps never would, since it wasn’t really like him, at least with anyone who wasn’t Wei Wuxian – but he was absorbing the lesson that affection could sound like chastisement when it was meant right.

Coming from the Lan sect, where affection took the form of 3000 severe and limiting and unfun rules, Wei Wuxian would have thought he would have grasped it more quickly.

When they reached Jinlintai, the peacock was waiting at the top of the steps for them. Well, for Shijie, but he bowed to the rest of them to be cordial.

Jin-furen had asked Shijie to accompany her privately back to Jinlintai, saying she would convince Jin Zixuan to come see her and apologize, and Shijie had said, “I must go with my family to the banquet, as a representative of the Jiang sect, but I would be quite pleased to speak with Jin-gongzi there.” And apparently Jin-furen had made it happen. The peacock escorted Shijie inside with sure, careful honor, even after making a complete fool of himself over her in front of everyone on the mountain.

That was the first time Wei Wuxian was willing to consider that – perhaps – the peacock might love Shijie enough to be worthy of marrying her.

The rest of them filed in and found their seats – Wei Wuxian’s with Lan Zhan on one side and Jiang Cheng on the other. Jin Guangshan toasted Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Cheng gave all their prey to the other sects. This was probably necessary, after the way people had reacted, and Wei Wuxian made himself stand up and say a few empty pleasant words. He probably came across a little stiff over having to act like what he’d done and what he’d learned were nothing. It was fine, though, would be fine for Jiang Cheng. Anyway, let them think it was nothing. Let them underestimate him – or let them know he could do far more if he wanted.

Then, Wei Wuxian turned his back for one moment – to share a quiet snicker with Nie Huaisang over something unrelated and entirely too lewd for this formal setting – and when he turned around, Jin Zixun was deeply overcommitted in harassing Lan Zhan.

He started out ostensibly harassing Lan Xichen, but Lan Zhan had gone over to speak with his brother, and Jin Zixun was targeting both of them. Wei Wuxian restrained himself for the count of three, the count of five. Maybe Lan Xichen would dissuade him. The rest of room was quiet, but Wei Wuxian’s blood was loud. What was the matter with this man? Everyone knew the Lans didn’t drink by doctrine. Was this revenge for Lan Zhan’s words on the mountain, an attempt to humiliate the Lan sect in retaliation? Jin Guangyao tried to talk him down, but he was toothless, had no bite. Why in the world was Jin Guangshan just sitting there watching the First Jade of Lan consume alcohol against his will instead of calling his uncouth nephew to heel?

Jin Guangshan’s eyes flickered to Wei Wuxian, just long enough they couldn’t avoid meeting.

He’d been making sure Wei Wuxian was watching. This was retaliation, but not against Lan Zhan. Maybe Jin Zixun was truly an idiot, a petty, small man bullying polite people thinking it would win him face – but Jin Guangshan was letting him, the same way Jiang Cheng had excused him catching thirty percent of the prey on the mountain.

If it would hurt Wei Wuxian to see his husband suffer out of Jin Zixun’s rudeness, if it would weaken him to embarrass the Lans, Jin Guangshan wanted it.

Wei Wuxian was taking the cup out of Jin Zixun’s hand before he was even conscious of crossing the hall. The black rising energy must have gotten him there.

Wei Wuxian drank for Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian spoke smooth and briefly to Jin Zixun. There was fear in the man’s eyes when he looked back at him, and he stepped away. Good. Jin Guangshan was the only other person he could see, and he looked much less relaxed and haughty than he had a moment ago. Very good. A servant came up beside them.

Except it wasn’t a servant. But the moment he spent sorting that out, the half second it took his humming brain to identify dust-covered red from burnt orange, was all the time she needed.

Wei Wuxian would have recognized her in short order anyway – he’d spent a desperate week in her compound and two terrible days under her hand on a mountain, so he knew her carriage, her breath, and a simple disguise wouldn’t have fooled him for long. But the hood of Wen Qing’s cloak fell back when she swung Jin Zixun around and pressed her knife to his throat, saving him even momentary confusion.

///

Lan Wangji would later have to recognize he did not notice Wen Qing’s approach because Wei Ying had been the center of every thread of his attention.

Lan Wangji had wanted to disappear when Jin Zixun extended him the cup of wine. It put him in a position where he had no good path. Refuse, and coldly insult the host sect. Drink, and make a mockery of himself. Both would reflect poorly on his family, of birth and marriage. Both would diminish him, which would endanger Wei Ying. He had never been good with words or people, had few informal relationships. What he had was his reputation, and he was going to damage it here, one way or another.

Shufu had asked him if he was willing to have it dragged through the mud for Wei Ying. He was. But he had intended on preserving it long enough to be able to spend it on his behalf. This humiliation would be pointless.

Then Wei Ying stood above him.

The dark, bold lines of his form stood out against the colorful backdrop of Glamour Hall. His bold actions did likewise. The decisive movement of his hand. The contraction of his throat. His possessive words. Even the cold voice he spoke them in – those soulless tones sent a shiver down Lan Zhan’s spine like they always did, but he would at some future point grapple with the truth that this time, directed as they were at the detestable Jin Zixun in Lan Wangji’s open defense, that shiver was touched by something magnetic.

Lan Wangji was watching Wei Ying, as he always was, when it happened, with a contradictory mixture of alarm and awe.

He returned to himself immediately once he understood there was an intruder. He moved to draw Bichen. Wei Ying’s hand wrapped around Lan Wangji’s wrist, staying it.

“Wen Qing,” Wei Ying said.

Wen Qing.

She looked hollowed and worn, was covered in dirt and mud like a vagabond. She did not carry her sword. Lan Wangji tried to decide if he was personally moved by her hardship. She was the one who agreed to maim Wei Ying, tore that golden light out of him with her own skill. On the one hand, Wei Ying begged her to do it, and Lan Wangji faced the same struggle every day – between what Wei Ying wished to do and what would be good and safe and well for him. On the other, if he could not forgive himself for his failures there, why should he forgive her?

Her grip was ferocious on her knife and on Jin Zixun’s collar, but the blade never brushed his neck. “Tell me where the Dafan Wens are, or I’ll kill you.”

Jin Guangyao had lurched far back when Wen Qing struck. His hand had flown to his waist and frozen there. Several Jin disciples who had been standing guard had hurried in, and every guest had risen and exposed the steel of their swords, but no one had made the decision to approach yet. Wen Qing had no escape, but a confrontation would surely end Jin Zixun’s life along with her own. Lan Wangji almost wished someone would be bold enough to take the initiative – but Wei Ying spoke of Wen Qing like a friend. And if she had some argument against Jin Zixun, Lan Wangji had to consider the possibility he would agree with her.

Wen Qing did not jerk Jin Zixun or twist his clothing. She just repeated her demand. “Tell me where they are. The old women and young children, the people who have never known how to fight. The disciples you attached lure flags to so they could serve as live bait in Ganquan. My brother, Wen Ning, Wen Qionglin. Where is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jin Zixun pled.

“Then you’re no good to me alive,” Wen Qing said, and Jin Zixun flinched.

“Do you think I know your brother by name? Do you think I have time to remember every disciple from the Wen sect?” He tried to sneer despite his obvious pathetic terror. “Besides, I thought your breed of Wen didn’t kill people.”

“Who told you that?“ The fear and fury rang through in her clear voice. "Who said to you that my family doesn’t kill people?”

He said nothing, but the answer was plain enough.

“You’re right, Wen Qing doesn’t kill people,” Wei Ying said. “But I do.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Wanyin interjected, alarmed.

“I don’t mean anything by it. Only that we of course need to see this out. Wen Qing and Wen Ning did not fight against the allied sects during Sunshot – in fact, they sheltered Jiang-zongzhu and I from their own family. They saved our lives. In that respect, the cultivation owes the defeat of Wen Ruohan’s puppets to them.” And to Wei Ying himself, he was subtly reminding them. “We all know a great many Wens have been detained, but if they are being mistreated and used as live bait, if Wen Qionglin is in danger, I know Lanling Jin will be just as eager to get to the bottom of it as the rest of us.“ Wei Ying looked past Wen Qing, past Jin Zixun, and stared Jin Guangshan dead in the eye. Daring him to argue.

Dangerous. That was dangerous. Jin Guangshan was a man accustomed to being in power. Still, Lan Wangji admired it.

“You really brag about your use of Yin Iron?” Yao-zongzhu asked him from one side. “About hurting so many cultivators in the process on the battlefield?”

“She’s still a Wen, isn’t she?” Nie Mingjue said from the other. “Dafan Wen, Qishan Wen – it makes no difference. She did not act to stop Wen Ruohan. She is complicit.”

“She did shelter us,” Jiang Wanyin interjected, setting his shoulders nervously against his fellow sect leader. “She and Wen Ning took that risk.”

“The Dafan Wens have a long history as doctors who eschew violence,” Lan Xichen added, meeting Nie Mingjue’s gaze. “Both their skill and strong code of ethics are well-attested in the cultivation world’s histories.”

“Then you all see her hypocrisy,” Yao-zongzhu cried. “Is she threatening to perform a surgery on this Jin-gongzi?”

Luo Qingyang spoke out in reply. “If he takes her brother and treats those people like they aren’t people, why shouldn’t she do the same?”

“Jin-gongzi,” Wei Ying said, sounding chillingly bored. “Why don’t you tell Wen-guniang where her brother is, before anyone in this room gets more agitated.”

Jin Zixun looked to Lan Xichen, to Jin Guangyao, to Jin Guangshan at the head of the room. No one came to his rescue. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” he snapped at Wei Wuxian. “Who are you to side with her in front of all these people?”

“I am Wei Wuxian. If I want to side with someone, who could stop me?”

Jin Zixun revealed that the relevant Wens were being held in a place called Qiongqi Path, and Wen Qing then made it clear she intended to take Jin Zixun with her as a hostage when she went there. Jin Guangshan looked like he’d eaten an unexpectedly sour plum, but seemed prepared to cut Jin Zixun loose. Wen Qing would likely be apprehended and stopped at some point in the unfolding of things – she would have few options even if she managed to get to Qiongqi Path with Jin Zixun, and nowhere to go with her brother if she secured him – but the odds were similarly poor for any hostage that went with her. Jin Zixun seemed aware of all these things and his behavior was growing increasingly distressed in response.

“Don’t worry, Jin-gongzi,” Wei Ying said, in a voice that would have deeply worried anyone. “I will escort you every step of the way.”

“As will I,” Lan Wangji intoned. He would hardly let Wei Ying go alone.

“And I,” Luo Qingyang asserted.

“And I,” Xichen said.

Lan Wangji’s head turned with the majority of the heads in the hall, including a bewildered Wen Qing’s.

“There are Lan sect disciples guarding the camp at Qiongqi Path,” Xichen explained. “I will go to ensure their safety, and to see with my own eyes what’s transpired there.”

Nie Mingue was staring at Xichen, his brow slightly furrowed. “I as well,” he said. “To ensure justice.”

“I will also come, with a group of disciples,” Jiang Wanyin declared.

“Then there is no need to drag me along on this wild hunt,” Jin Zixun wheedled. “This Wen bitch has her pick of hostages.”

“I will have a Jin,” Wen Qing said to Jin Guangshan, ignoring his waste of a nephew entirely. Jin Guangshan stared calculatingly back at her.

“I have better things to do with my time,” Jin Zixun argued back. “I won’t go along with this farce. You’ll have Luo-guniang if you want so badly to kill a member of the Jin sect.”

“Jin Zixun,” Wei Ying barked, hand straying dangerously toward Chenqing, which made Lan Wangji’s heart rise in his throat.

“I will go,” Jin Zixuan said, which stilled both of them.

“Wait,” Jin Guangshan said. He looked worried, now, for the first time. “Everyone, calm down, and we will take our time to discuss this.”

“There’s no need to be hasty,” Jin-furen simpered from beside him.

“I will discuss nothing until Wen Ning is safe in front of me,” Wen Qing replied icily.

“It makes sense. An elder sister will of course feel protective of her brother.” Jin Zixuan stepped forward, glancing over at Luo Qingyang and then at Jiang Yanli as he did so. “We will go without delay, and I will offer myself as a hostage, because I am sure Wen-guniang’s account is not wholly accurate. The truth of the situation will resolve it.”

The looks on Jin Guangyao’s and Jin Guangshan’s faces did not encourage Lan Wangji to agree with him.

Jiang Yanli had made her way silently over to Jiang Wanyin, and her hand curled around her brother’s arm. It seemed she intended to come as well.

It was this eclectic group that left the stunned remainder of the assembly at Glamour Hall and set off for Qiongqi Path. Wen Qing had no sword, so she instructed Jin Zixuan carry her on his. She vowed to kill him if someone tried to move against her, but it was obvious no one would. Despite all manner of vague political excuses, Wei Ying was going to help her recover Wen Qionglin, and the majority of the people in the band were going along to support – or at worst, keep a protective eye on – Wei Ying.

It turned out to be a very good thing they had all made the journey.

The camp was a disgrace. The guards were liars and cowards. Lan Xichen stayed back at the main encampment with the Jiang disciples, holding the Jin sect guards there at the point of Shuoyue. The rest of them proceeded down the slope and found the Wen dead – out in the open and unburied, tangled wherever they lay, half-submerged in water churned muddy by the torrential rain.

Wen Qionglin was among them. The lure flag still protruded from his corpse.

The crimes of the Jin sect were laid bare before them. Jin Zixuan looked as stunned as if someone had snatched his heart from his chest. Lan Wangji believed it was authentic. Jin Zixuan had often seemed to him self-absorbed, but not cruel. He remembered his brother’s words. The uninformed are not guilty. He wondered if he agreed with them. He wondered how anyone could be innocent after this. Luo Qingyang was speechless with fury. She threw her sect robes on the ground and stepped on them, grinding them into the muck. Nie Mingjue had left, gone back to the main encampment, trembling in unstable rage. Lan Wangji wondered what they would find there when they returned. Jiang Yanli wept silently. She had stayed out of the cesspool, but she did not look away. Jiang Wanyin’s face was drawn and pallid. He stared at the dead form of Wen Qionglin with a dull, slow horror. Wen Qing howled.

Lan Wangji was glad. He was glad for the mud. He was glad he was here in the driving rain. He was glad he could stand beside Wei Ying when he tore people apart for this. Because he would, surely. Wei Ying was going to cross many lines tonight, and Lan Wangji was glad he could go with him, without reservation or any regret.

///

Wei Wuxian looked for Lan Zhan through a blinding haze. There would be no healing music today. It was time for another kind, the kind Wei Wuxian played. This wasn’t showing off. This wasn’t a game. This was what he was here for. He found him, finally, and Lan Zhan nodded his infinitesimal agreement.

Wei Wuxian reached for that seething pool within him. It was overeager and insistent on a good day – now it surged over its borders and coursed through him. That would hurt later, as it had before, but he would deal with it then. When this was over, Lan Zhan would take care of him.

He put Chenqing to his lips and began to play.

/////

So technically that’s the end, and this AU can go wherever you like from there. But if you’re interested in my opinion:

• Wen Ning still gets zombified. Wei Wuxian probably doesn’t kill anyone he doesn’t want to kill while he’s doing it. Nie Mingjue doesn’t have a qi deviation.
• With the exception of Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, who have to go back and be Sect Leaders and sworn brothers and play reasonable with the cultivation world, everyone else flees to Lotus Pier with the Wen remnants, and it’s like a third iteration of the increasingly messed up inter-sect summer camps.
• Things are a little tense – technically they’re in rebellion against the Chief Cultivator, Jin Guangshan. But he’s not just gonna … march into Lotus Pier and burn it down. What, is he Wen Ruohan? Terrible optics, Jin Guangyao keeps reminding him, especially after this whole torturing-prisoners thing.
• (Plus he’s not actually sure he’d be able to, against Wei Wuxian and his amulet. He’s heard some pretty fantastic things out of the generally reasonable mouths of the Lan and Nie sect leaders. He’s not sure what would happen to him or his sect if he went up against that force and failed, and he’d rather not find out.)
• Wei Wuxian is still going a little crazy from going all in with the demonic cultivation and working night and day to bring Wen Ning back, but instead of aloneish starving in a cave, he’s at Lotus Pier and everyone’s around. He’s taken over a pavilion and plastered it with nets and talismans. Lan Wangji doesn’t make him stop or sleep if he says he really can’t. He does make him listen to Cleansing a lot.
• Auntie Wen gets a nice guest room. Fourth Uncle helps refine the lotus wine. A-Yuan is absolutely still a miracle, and he also gets to eat good wholesome food whenever he wants it. Maybe Jiang Cheng is rich-gege this time. Or maybe that’s Jin Zixuan. Lan Wangji can be quiet-gege. He has several amazing jiejies. This new place with all the water is delightful.
• Jin Zixuan is there as a ‘hostage’. "Yes, I’m definitely here against my will,” he says, making puppy eyes at Jiang Yanli. It does offer Jin Guangshan additional motivation to not attack them.
• Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng probably never have to stab each other.
• Jiang Cheng spends an awkward amount of time watching Wen Ning be dead-ish. He keeps spending time with him once he’s undead. He’s always liked Wen Ning, some kind of baby sibling solidarity. In the long term, it turns out he did want a gentle admiring Wen sibling to go on dates with, he just started with the wrong one. The ghost general thing does not phase him.
• Meanwhile, Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang are getting along like a lakehouse on fire: swimmingly.
• Maybe Nie Huaisang saunters up to Lotus Pier about a month in and says ‘I’m here to negotiate, and perhaps to spy, yes, certainly’ when really he’s there to join the others! How could they leave him out! He was at the last two summer camps, and he knows he’s not the most obviously valuable player on their sorts of teams, but he thinks his wit and jovial spirit merit him a return invitation! (“You didn’t even invite me to your wedding, Wei-xiong, Lan-er-xiong.” “Jiang Cheng said I couldn’t because it would make the Jins mad – looks like that was a waste, huh, Jiang Cheng? We should have had a rude and extravagant affair after all.”)
• I couldn’t really get any of this into the fic itself because I’m not trying to write a 100k epic, it had to end, but I’m attempting to eat my cake too by putting it all here.
• I’m not sure how it might unfold after that, but my preferred interpretation is that everything generally turns out better. In canon, Wei Wuxian’s disruption of the banquet at Jinlintai is extremely scorched-earth, but in this scenario where Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to be the one throwing fighting words at the Jin sect and Jin Guangshan doesn’t have an opportunity to really demand the Yin Tiger Amulet, it might at least leave the door open for an eventual resumption of friendly relations between Wei Wuxian/the Jiangs and the Jins. Jin Guangshan can throw Jin Zixun under the bus and come out clean in the prisoner debacle, and if he’s frustrated the Jiangs now have ‘custody’ of the Wens and his sect has lost its elite status and his window for removing the Yin Tiger Amulet from a weakly-positioned Wei Wuxian is closing … there’s not much he can do about it.
• And if he starts to take those frustrations out on the only son left in his house and/or he gets a little (self)destructive in his attempts to recoup power, and Jin Guangyao becomes his best self by committing patricide before he gets set up to marry his sister and then quitting while he’s ahead … I don’t think anyone’s going to complain. Jin Zixuan might be a little sad. Jiang Yanli can comfort him.