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Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were married for two years, eight months, and fifteen days. Not that Lan Wangji was counting or anything. But it was nice to keep track. After all, he’d waited almost twenty years, endured scars and death just so he could have this when he thought he never would.
They didn’t take things slowly. Why would they? Everything for Wei Wuxian had come so slowly it took him by surprise when it finally all came together. The gaps in their friendship, everything Lan Wangji had done for him when Mo Xuanyu gave him his body spoke louder than his husband could ever say. They ran off after Guanyin Temple and decided never looked back. Months passed that way before they finally returned to Gusu.
Life continued normally. The world would not stop turning just because of Jin Guangyao’s downfall or the return of the Yiling Patriarch. Although, he couldn’t even bring himself to be upset when half the cultivational world thought it unwise to let him run around the countryside unchecked. But it wasn’t that unchecked. He had Lan Wangji there to dote on him. During those four months and afterward, he began to work on cultivating his golden core until it was near the way it was before he’d given his original one away. It would never warm him in the same way and would likely never be as strong. Still, he hoped his golden core would keep Jiang Cheng just as warm, just as steady.
He found a mark of success when he could pull Suibian from its scabbard and not feel the pull that made his gut ache. He knew he could do this three years, eight months, and fourteen days after he came back from the dead.
“Wei Ying.”
He thought he was still dreaming for a moment; surrounded by an endless grassy plain punctuated by a stream big enough to almost call itself a river. There were rabbits there, of course, with a thin fence that led down to somewhere just below a hill he could never see the bottom of.
Wei Wuxian opens his eyes and the cloudy day becomes a sunny one. The sun poking through the Jingshi’s windows is undeterred by autumn’s chill. He wants to bury himself into Lan Wangji’s robes where it’s warmest, but his husband is sitting up and leaning over him, so he can do nothing but look past his curtain of hair.
“Wei Ying, it’s time to wake up.” It’s sincerely tender in the way his husband wakes him in the morning. Some days he wakes standing upright, hair wet and fresh robes pulled over his pliant body after a bath. Other days he wakes up at half-past nine to an empty room and a cooling breakfast on the table. He knows Lan Wangji spoils him greatly and Wei Wuxian is, for once, entirely fed up with serving others to try and stop him.
It isn’t five, it would be much darker otherwise. Lan Wangji must not have any classes today if he’s still in bed this late. Or maybe he does and he simply decided to give his students a day off in favor of staying in bed with his husband. Wei Wuxian simply decides he doesn’t care why he’s still in bed with him in favor of capitalizing on Lan Wangji’s attention.
Wei Wuxian wraps his arms around his shoulders, inhaling deeply into wakefulness. His breath smells terrible but it doesn’t stop him from pulling himself up using Lan Wangji’s body as an anchor and kissing him softly. And, for that matter, Lan Wangji doesn’t pull away or make any sound of protest because he too, has morning breath.
“Good morning.” He sighs, still clinging to his shoulders and peppering little kisses all over his cheeks and nose. Lan Wangji dips his head to catch his lips, languidly holding him there for as long as both of them desired.
“Sleep well?” He asks.
Wei Wuxian drops back onto the bed, then rolls off of it to land into a half awkward crab walk on the floor. “I suppose…?” He stands, as naked as the day he was born in the middle of the room. “I had that same dream again.” Wei Wuxian stoops to pick up his red under robes, neatly folded and stacked on a shelf next to the bed. He remembers throwing them off, but not folding them. When did Lan Zhan fold these? Instead, he puts on Lan Wangji’s white ones. They don’t fit- the robes are too long and poke out far more under the layers as his actual ones would. He would never be the same build as him in Mo Xuanyu’s body, but it smells like their incense and Lan Wangji. It smells like home.
“In the field?” Lan Wangji asks. He takes a comb from their dresser and begins to slowly pull it through Wei Wuxian’s tangled hair. He hasn’t even gotten dressed yet, wearing only a thin opaque slip barely tied together around his waist.
He nods with a small sound of affirmation. “I haven’t made it past the fence, yet. I always get distracted by the rabbits right until I wake up. Ah, to think that even in a dream, the rabbits still run away from me.” He turns his head just enough to look at him from the corner of his eye, a little smirk playing on his lips. “Lan Zhan, next time, come into my dream with me and catch them so they can’t run away from me anymore.”
“Mn.” He says. “I will.” His red ribbon tickles his ear as his dutiful husband ties his hair just the way he likes. He shivers.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
That was more than enough affection for him to handle in one dose. Wei Wuxian dances away to skitter about the interior of the jingshi. He can feel his husband’s eyes on him as he scuttles around, and not even in the sexy kind of way. Wei Wuxian can’t stop that gross fond look from taking over his face.
“Lan Zhan, are you jealous of me taking the boys on a night hunt and not you?”
“No.” He says, but he knows he’s lying because he looks anywhere except for him.
Wei Wixuan drapes himself over the man’s shoulders, looking imploringly at his poor, neglected husband. “Don’t be jealous of our children.” He says airily. “That’s unbecoming of our Hanguang-jun, you know.” He taps him on his perfect nose and grins, “It’s just for a couple of days. It’s a good learning opportunity!”
“Sizhui is twenty.”
He waves his hand in the air. “You know how the kids are always asking me to supervise them on their hunts. It’s fun! It’s a nice, bonding hunt over an abandoned temple. Besides, you took him out for a week the last time. It’s only fair that I get him for these few days.”
Lan Wangji gives him something sort of a smile, the kind that’s usually reserved for himself.
“Go. They’re waiting for you.”
Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui really were the examples of the perfect Gusu Lan disciples. Lan Sizhui, now twenty years old and heir to the Lan clan, resembled Lan Wangji so much he wondered how that was possible since he was a Wen. It was frightening at times, how his little A-Yuan could do or say something to remind him of all the important people in his life. Wen Qing would be proud of him, for how far he’s come since he was four years old and under a handful or two of soil. They were both so tall now. Jingyi easily reached the height Wei Wuxian had been at the time of his death with Sizhui not far behind. It was disgusting that he was almost an entire head shorter than a couple of boys half his age.
“Senior Wei!” Jingyi shouts, waving his arm with more enthusiasm than someone should have this early in the morning. And earning himself a hushed scolding from Lan Sizhui about shouting in the Cloud Recesses.
“Lan Jingyi,” He slows to an easy walk. “Lan Sizhui.” Wei Wuxian nods to both of them. “Are you two ready to go?” The two nod and the bag of feed at Jingyi’s feet suddenly pops out at the corner of his eye. “Ah, we won’t need that this time.” He says. Wei Wuxian pulls Suibian from his belt, watching their eyes grow large with realization.
“Senior Wei,” Sizhui gaps. “You can wield Suibian again?”
Like Chenqing, the forge masters created Suibian to sit perfectly in his hands. In his youth, it felt almost like carrying a weighted tube- perfectly suited to his weight and grip. He created Chengqing to fill the gap that Suibian left after he gave away his golden core. In Mo Xuanyu’s body, the weight of the sword would never quite be balanced again and that was just how it would always be. His hands weren’t the same size and he would never be as built in the same way. Wei Wuxian was leaner now, even after years of retraining this weak body.
He pulls Suibian from its scabbard, letting it glint in the light. “This is a recent thing.” He says. “I’m not surprised you don’t know about it, yet.” He missed this; holding Suibian and being able to use it for more than just cutting watermelon. It really filled an ache in his chest that he hadn’t realized he was missing until now.
“Well,” He returns the sword to his belt and puts his hands on his hips. “Are you boys ready to go?”
The haunting they were investigating was out of Lan territory. Technically, it belonged to a minor sect that lived in the area- the Ye sect, but they were so small it was no wonder they’d asked one of the larger clans to help them. Why they chose Lan of all sects when Qinghe Nie was right there. Perhaps Nie Huaisang’s reputation made them second guess the effectiveness of the clan. Or something like that.
The three of them had to alternate between flying and resting, so the trip took a little bit longer than it could have to get there. That was mostly Wei Wuxian’s fault, he wasn’t used to flying by sword. By the end of it Wei Wuxian was huffing and puffing and probably more sweat than man with his dutiful Sizhui patting his back helpfully. Bless his soul, he really didn’t deserve to have such kind, sweet boys look after him.
Once Wei Wuxian was able to catch his breath and feel like a normal human being again, he turned to Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi. “So. What do we know?” They still had quite a bit of walking to do, being in the middle of a forest didn’t exactly help keep their perspective straight when they were looking for a single temple in the middle of nowhere. No wonder the place had become abandoned- no one thought to go visit a place that was just so far out there.
Jingyi took the initiative to lead the discussion, pointing his finger smartly in the air. “The temple used to belong to a minor deity. The Ye sect used to have regular contact with the temple up until about four months ago. About once a month or so one of the priests would come to visit the sect to bring supplies back to the temple. When no one came by, they started to get suspicious and sent someone over. So when that disciple didn’t come back, sect leader Ye turned to Gusu to ask for help.”
“So why didn’t they go to Nie Huaisang?” Wei Wuxian puts a finger to his lips in thought. He thinks back to the most recent discussion conference. The Ye sect should have most certainly been invited. “Which one was sect leader Ye, again?”
Lan Sizhui smiles. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember.” He says, pushing a branch out of the way of the trail. “Sect leader Ye wasn’t at the most recent meeting. From what I recall, there was a death in the family, so he sent his husband and nephew to his place.” Which didn’t really do much to jog a hint into his faulty memory. There were so many uncles and nephews around when he only cared about the one he had. Oh well. That was a problem a future Wei Wuxian was going to have to figure out when he got there.
With a soft sigh, he says, “I can see why he didn’t want to send anyone else out. Planning one funeral is tough, imagine having to plan two. At least I gave people the relief of not having to plan mine by being so universally hated.” He didn’t miss the pained looks on the boys’ faces. “Aiyah, stop giving me that look.” He swats at them as if he were shooing away a pair of mischievous children looking for an early snack.
“Really, don’t look at me like that. People die, that’s just part of life.” Still, their expressions didn’t change. “You can’t change what happened in the past. If you got angry at every little thing someone did or didn’t do, then you would be so overcome by it that you’d forget how to feel anything else. So stop feeling so badly for me, you’re gonna make my skin crawl.” And with a heave that was more ho, he pushed Jingyi up the steep hill they were walking up.
He really wasn’t upset he hadn’t had a funeral when he couldn’t remember the last few days of his first life. All of it was a blur and frankly, he’d rather it stay that way. Wei Wuxian was perfectly happy with what he had now. Mostly. There were some changes he could make with this new life, but not anything that would dramatically change things. He had Lan Wangji, he had a place to sleep every night, he had that stupid donkey he always pretended he disliked more than he did, and he had Lan Sizhui and the other juniors. They weren’t really juniors anymore- now grown adults with sect responsibilities and everything. Jin Ling would always be the barely fourteen-year-old that he first met three years ago, a fact that the young man was probably eternally grateful for if all the other adults in his life still saw him as a child as he thought they did. Maybe if he had the chance to see Sizhui and Jin Ling grow up, instead of stuck in the awkward stage of knowing them as young adults who didn’t need a parental figure to look after them.
But they accepted him for who he was now, and what more could he ask for than that? Wei Wuxian was still working on getting through to Jin Ling, but he knew the boy would come around on his own terms. He was too much like Jiang Cheng and not enough like his shijie, as much of a blessing as it was a curse. She would have liked to see him grow, he thinks. The guilt of her passing would never really fade.
He recalled the last time he attended a discussion conference, now a year and a half ago, hosted by the Lans. Lan Xichen still had yet to return from seclusion and Lan Qiren naturally returned to running the sect in his absence. At the time, he staunchly refused help from Wei Wuxian in particular, but he even rejected Lan Wangji’s aid. Out of all of them, Grandmaster Lan knew what it was like to watch a brother hide away forever. It was a quiet gesture of relieving the burden from his husband for the time being.
Minor sects attended the conference, seated alongside the major ones drinking tea and putting forward their own problems to be heard amongst the others. Some traveled days to attend, farther than even Meishan Yu. Wei Wuxian, bored, slipped away from the discussion hall to trim the thorns away from the flowers just outside.
“Wei Wuxian.” A man, possibly just a couple years younger than himself, stood with clenched fists. He was dressed in rough spun brown- commoners clothes. He would have mistaken him for a pedestrian if it weren’t for the delicate sword strapped to his waist that thrummed with the gentle pulse of spiritual energy. Wei Wuxian didn’t know what clan he belonged to, nothing on his person indicated his rank or sect. It wasn’t as easy to identify the smaller clans, with everyone in the cultivation world so intent on keeping their traditions separate from each other.
Wei Wuxian smiles. “Are you lost? I can draw you up a map. Gusu is quite large, after all.”
He wasn’t intentionally provoking him, but he wasn’t shocked when the man suddenly shoves him against the wooden pole behind him. The cultivator, while not taller than Mo Xuanyu, had the advantage of a stronger body and surprise against him. Wei Wuxian stiffens, gripping the cultivator’s wrists to wrench them off him.
“Where’s my brother?”
Wei Wuxian freezes, searching his face for any memories he might have of him. Where did he know him? “Why did you have to come back, and not my brother?” The cultivator pulls him forward, slamming his back against the wood with force.
“What do you want me to say?” Wei Wuxian didn’t know. This man’s brother must have died at Nightless City, but he can’t remember much at all from that time, even after Lan Xichen told him what happened. “There’s nothing I can do for you.” Guilt raises bile to the back of his throat, uncaring of the anxious little disciple juniors scattered around the hall.
“Fuck you, Wei Wuxian. You don’t deserve to come back to life-”
Wei Wuxian shakes that memory out of his head.
It took some time of walking and going around in circles before they finally found the temple. The sun just set, leaving everything feeling a blueish gray and hazy and vaguely wet. Clouds built up over their heads, not quite heavy enough to rain but just enough to make everything quiet. It was very quiet.
The temple sat on the top of a steep hill overlooking the rest of the forest. Under usual circumstances, it would be extremely peaceful to live in. No people around for miles and nestled in the middle of the woods surrounded by nature. That was the way people ought to live.
Still, it was disconcerting how quiet it was. Even for this time of day, there should be at least something: a cricket or even an owl. Gusu was quiet because it had to be. There was an entire wall’s worth of rules telling people how quiet they should be. But even then, nature had a way of making more noise than the people who lived in it sometimes.
“Why is it so quiet?” Jingyi says in a low voice, feeling the need to whisper.
“Is it because it’s about to rain?” Says Lan Sizhui, also quietly. The two look nervously at the overcast sky.
Wei Wuxian wasn’t convinced. It shouldn’t be so still. There should be wind, at least. Warm air naturally rushed to the top and the result usually made wind caused by the cold air from the clouds. Or something like that. There wasn’t even a breeze and he still swore he heard the sound of wind chimes.
Clearly, no one had been cleaning the temple for months. Weeds were overtaking what he assumed used to be a vegetable garden, a bucket lay abandoned in the middle of the courtyard, and all the doors sat off its hinges. There was an overall heavy layer of dust and dirt that naturally accumulated when no one was around to tidy up the place. If anyone was still living in this place, it didn’t look like it.
“Sizhui, Jingyi, check the side rooms. Be on your guard. Whatever happened here, it caused the residents to vacate in a hurry.”
It could mean anything. The priests might have decided to move elsewhere and the Ye disciple went AWOL. Or something drove them all out. But if that were the case, why wouldn’t they seek out the help of Ye Congyi, whose sect should have been enough to clear out any zombie or hungry ghost problem? The Ye sect was far from Gusu Lan. It was far more likely they’d gone to another sect only to be turned down for some pretentious reason or another. For such a serious matter, he wouldn’t be surprised at all if all the priests were dead. When he got back home, he was going to have a long, serious talk about how the prestigious sects handled the affairs of the minor sects when asked for help.
Wei Wuxian leaves the boys to investigate the side rooms of the temple. He first checks the outside, looking for signs of footprints. Then, he checks under the raised floors of the temple underneath the building. The only thing he could see in the dim light was dark shadows. Wei Wuxian digs out a light talisman. It burns a warm orange and gently licks over the hardwood as he moves his arm farther under the building. The space was empty aside from natural rocks and small shrubs. Only after the second sweep of his eyes did Wei Wuxian notice very faint grooves in the earth. He leans in so close, his nose practically pressed into the ground. Ten long stripes dug into the ground from underneath the building to a good foot and a half in front of it before abruptly stopping. They were claw marks. Human claw marks. They were far too recent to be any of the temple residents, assuming the worst-case scenario that they were attacked by something. These marks must have belonged to the cultivator who went missing. Whatever he was fighting, it was strong enough to drag him out of a tight space. That wasn’t a comforting thought.
One room, in particular, stood out to him. Nearly all the doors were displaced in some manner by broken frames or the door was broken itself. Nothing seemed interesting about the room from the outside- it was just as plain as the others with the exact same design. The architecture resembles square building blocks placed into a tight square.
The second Wei Wuxian puts his foot inside the entryway, he’s hit by a wave of nausea so strong it nearly knocks him off his feet. The resentful energy is so thick he sees blackened earth. Dead trees where there should have been sturdy, yet dusty walls and faint screaming in his ear. It smells of iron and rust, faintly moldy from time. Wei Wuxian blinks and returns to the present and not seventeen years ago. Every inch of the room is covered in blood so old it looks black. It doesn’t look like any ritual he’s ever seen, nor does it resemble anything. The room was used for nonsensical killing. A pure bloodbath in the most literal sense. It’s stripped bare of everything except the ruined foundations and the first thing that Wei Wuxian thinks is; Sorry Mo Xuanyu, someone has you beat for dramatics.
He leaves the room as the boys meet him in the courtyard after conducting their own investigations. Wei Wuxian puts his hands on his hips. “Well?”
Jingyi and Sizhui glance between each other. Sizhui takes the lead. “It’s empty. There are no signs of struggle except for the broken doors. It’s like everyone just walked out and left.”
“And broke the doors in the process.” Lan Jingyi quips. “No sane person breaks all the doors in their houses if they weren’t planning to come back.”
“So something must have forced them out,” Sizhui says. “Whatever it was, it was powerful enough to drive out an entire temple’s worth of people, plus the cultivator the Ye sect sent months later.”
Wei Wuxian nods. “You’re on the right track. I found fresh claw marks on the ground,” He spins and points, “here, and an entire room covered in old blood.”
Lan Jingyi pales at the thought, clearly already coming up with all sorts of ideas of what someone would have done to cover the room top to bottom in blood. None of them were fun thoughts, but that was part of what being a cultivator was. What would they do with the thought that the red room paled in comparison with the depths of the Burial Mounds? The red room was a scene that wouldn’t be out of place, there.
“Do you have your compasses?” Wei Wuxian asks. There were several ways he could draw out the creature, playing with Chenqing’s tassel, he decided his method carried too much of a risk in angering it more than it already was. The compasses made with his own hands worked far more reliably than the copies made after his death. These compasses, made by him, were stronger and more sensitive to resentful energy. However, they were still prototypes, since he was fiddling with the unfinished notes he made before he died. There was a slight advantage to the compass. The needle would always point in the direction of the most resentful energy, so they would never be taken by surprise. Which wasn’t to say it was the most reliable of choices. For example, when a known item or place became so saturated with resentful energy, it messed with the direction of the compass.
Lan Sizhui pulls out his compass. With a tiny gust of spiritual energy, the needle begins to move, bouncing between the red room and somewhere in the forest like it couldn’t decide where it wanted to point.
“We’ll just have to remember which direction the red room is so we don’t walk around in circles. That would waste all of our time.” Wei Wuxian says. They begin their trek to search for the evil entity, the distance lessening the pull from the red room until it merely pointed in one direction. The pin still wobbled a little, but that much was expected.
It was a less than favorable walk once the sun set and the rain began to pour. They were soaked before they could get rain cloaks on and the weather only seemed to get worse from there. Even their fire talismans couldn’t stay lit for very long without getting soaked through and ruined and they were left holding onto the ends of a long rope to keep from getting lost. Lan Sizhui in the front followed by Wei Wuxian, and Jingyi taking up the rear. His sense of direction was strong enough that he was confident he could make his way back to the temple without getting lost again, provided he could keep an eye on the pin on Sizhui’s compass. The walk was even worse going back up the hill to the temple than it had been going down. Any other day, a cultivator’s finely tuned senses would have no trouble seeing in the dark. After all, they were trained to cultivate in the night as well as during the day. Lan Wangji could easily and silently walk the Jingshi from the door to the bed in the middle of the night without disturbing any of the randomly assorted objects thrown around the floor. No matter how many things Wei Wuxian scattered about before bed, he never had to worry about his husband stepping on something and slipping. Mo Xuanyu’s body, however, was not as equipped. His new golden core might be strong enough to withstand the force of Suibian’s spiritual power, but he would never be on the level the not quite juniors had the potential to become. This body’s eyesight wasn’t as good, it ached more. It took all of his concentration to focus on the compass while his eyes strained in the dark. It was giving him a headache but they would all freeze to death if they couldn’t make it back or if the rain didn’t let up any time soon.
“Senior Wei-” Lan Jingyi’s voice could barely cut through the rain. He didn’t even know he was speaking until he had to yell right into his ear. “There’s a light ahead! I didn’t see it before. Tell Sizhui to go in that direction.” Wei Wuxian could see the direction Jingyi pointed in by virtue of proximity, but he couldn’t see the light at all. But he still tugged sharply on Sizhui’s end of the rope to point him in the direction of the apparent light source.
Their slow march brought them to a dark shape just barely punched out in the treeline. Finally, he could make out the light that they were walking to since they turned around. With invigorated energy, they quickly walked to the shape, now revealing to be a forest secluded cottage. Had it the style of architecture Gusu Lan favored, it would have reminded him more of the Hanshi Lan Xichen secluded himself into these past few years. It didn’t bring Wei Wuxian comfort to visit the sect leader, and he wasn’t welcoming any sort of reminders of what brought his husband pain. They didn’t have much of a choice for shelter, so Wei Wuxian shakes the thought away through his body’s shivers and lets the boy he once carried lead him forward.
It’s Lan Jingyi who has the arm strength to pound on the door of the cottage after hours of hiking. Sizhui has none of it left after carrying half the weight of an exhausted Wei Wuxian for the better part of two hours. They’re covered head to toe in mud and rain looking more like homeless men than respectable young gentry of a sizable clan. The three of them are too tired to care about what they looked like, but he knows they’ll get uncomfortable later after they’ve sat down.
An elderly woman answers the door. Her back is hunched over from years of bending over and wrapped in a thick wool shawl. She doesn’t look surprised to see them at all.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” Sizhui says. “We were on a night hunt and got trapped in the rain. Can these disciples and their teacher rest here for a while?” Ever so polite. If Wei Wuxian weren’t so busy trying not to shiver his way out of his skin, he would have probably cooed over how cute he was.
The elderly woman opened the door for them to step inside, motioning to a large fire for them to sit in front of, which Wei Wuxian gratefully sank down in front of. Their wet rain cloaks and shoes were left to drip dry by the doorway. She didn’t speak much, simply nodding her head at his many praises about the warmth inside her little cottage.
“Have you always lived here?” Asks Sizhui, coming to take a seat in front of her fire next to Wei Wuxian. This place was well secluded enough as it was, none of them could imagine who in their right mind would let their aging mother stay out in the middle of nowhere by herself.
“Oh yes.” She says, bringing over a kettle to hang over the fire. “I inherited the house. I prefer the quiet.” Wei Wuxian could see the benefit of it, living in a place where no one else could touch. Guaranteed silence, his own little paradise. The Jingshi, on an off day, was quiet enough to rival how nice it must be here. It hadn’t been used for its intended purpose since Wei Wuxian had moved in.
Wrapping his fingers around an offered cup of tea, he welcomes the warmth the liquid provides. He’s still shivering violently, but the tea soothes his chest and eases some of his trembling. “Where did you get this tea?” He asks.
The old woman sits in the only empty chair left. Her fingernails scrape into the wood of her chair, caked with something dark . “The monks in the temple were kind enough to share their rations with me.” She answers.
“Were you aware of what happened in the temple? The monks are all gone. There was a lot of blood at the scene.” The elderly woman’s eyebrows raise and her mouth opens into a slight “oh”. He sticks his fingers into his armpits in an attempt to warm them.
Her voice cracks when she speaks. She drones a little bit. This woman would be a perfect Gusu Lan teacher had she been a cultivator. Wei Wuxian would have driven himself insane trying to pay attention to any lectures she gave. As if the ability to put someone to sleep was a requirement for teaching in the Cloud Recesses. Probably somewhere next to the rule that said no fun allowed. “I was wondering why it was so quiet lately. These old bones can’t make the journey anymore; someone always came to visit me.”
“The temple was abandoned months ago.” He presses, ignoring his own shivers. A hand comes to rest on his chin, thinking. “I’m also curious… could I see your storeroom? I’d like your advice on such matters. To live out here on your own like this, you really must be very well self-sustaining.” It wasn’t the only reason he wanted to know, but, he really was curious what kind of stock she had hidden away somewhere. Living off the land was extremely difficult, even without the added handicap of trying to survive off the dead soil of the Burial Mounds. In Yunmeng, he could spend all day hunting pheasants, but without the fish and outside farming, no one would be able to survive on pheasants alone. By the time he died, he became very good at calculating how much someone would need to hunt in order not to go hungry. If he weren’t so suspicious, he’d be impressed by her ability to survive completely on her own.
The old woman simply smiles and places her hands on her lap. In the flicker of the fire, he could see scratch marks along the grain of the wood. “I’m afraid that will have to wait, young master Lan. Perhaps in the morning, when the rain has stopped.” Wei Wuxian nods sagely, not quite used to being called “young master” again after so many years, but he had to admit it was an unexpected pleasure to be called young master Lan. But it made sense. He was wearing the white clothes of Gusu Lan, and he was traveling with a pair of it’s inner clan who treated him with respect.
Wei Wuxian waves his hand by his face. “Of course, of course! You couldn’t see much out there anyway, it’s raining so hard.” He takes another sip of tea, watching her from his seat. “Would you mind letting us stay the night? We’re going to get lost if we go out there again.” It was late and they were all cold and tired and he had a feeling Lan Jingyi would cause a riot if he tried making him stay the night at the abandoned temple. Even after all these years, he still jumped over ghosts.
The elderly woman- Xiao Xiuying, as she later introduced herself, gave them a set of heavy blankets each. She didn’t have any pillows, but Wei Wuxian figured it would be fine. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi were both young and would have an easier time come morning. Wei Wuxian, however, was not getting any younger. This body of his might still be in its prime, but it didn’t mean that it could stand the wood floor any better than another man of his age.
Setting the blankets on the floor of her main room, there was just enough space for all three of them to lay right next to each other in an orderly row. Mrs. Xiao didn’t have any spare robes to give them that were dry, but upon looking inside his qiankun pouch, he saw the handful of drying talismans Lan Wangji placed inside while packing for him. Wei Wuxian traces his brush strokes fondly, seeing his husband dutifully painting the characters in his mind's eye. Of course, he would think to place a drying talisman just in case it rained as it had now. With dry clothes, they would sleep much better and more comfortably.
On his right side, Jingyi kept looking at him, nibbling on his lip as if wanting to say something and then changing his mind at the last second. Wei Wuxian ignored him for some time, before finally setting his bunched up outer robes at the top of his blanket for a pillow. “Aiya, you look like a fish, opening and closing your mouth like that. What do you want to ask me?”
“Senior Wei…” He messes with a tangle in his hair where the wind and rain mussed the strands. “Why do you want to see her pantry?” He asks.
“For two reasons.” Wei Wuxian tells him. He holds up a finger. “One, I really am curious how she managed to survive for so long out here by herself. So any advice on how to live completely self-sustaining would be extremely helpful. And two, I’m suspicious of this place.”
Jingyi and Sizhui glanced between each other.
“What do you mean?” Sizhui asks.
Wei Wuxian pulls the covers up to his chin and lays down. “I’m sure it’s nothing. You boys should sleep. It’s going to be another long day tomorrow.”
This time, when Wei Wuxian dreams, he dreams of an unfond memory. He was prone to nightmares, especially on the days leading to his death and the months following his resurrection.
Indeed it would be a long day. The Lan circadian rhythm of rising at five came far too soon for Wei Wuxian. He woke up with a stiff back and a sore neck, and the floor hadn’t been so kind to his hips, either. The makeshift pillow hadn’t helped much to keep the weight off his neck and in the end, he felt like a rice cracker being stepped on with how much he cracked and popped. Sizhui and Jingyi didn’t look much better. Both were bleary-eyed and sore because they’d never slept on the ground before. Or, at least, one hadn’t for a long time. Sizhui’s gaze was sympathetic to his guardian’s plight, gently easing out the cricks while Jingyi folded the blankets and helped Mrs. Xiao prepare breakfast. When they got back to the Cloud Recesses, he was going to insist upon the warmest bath and longest massage from Lan Wangji he could get. It was what he deserved for having to sleep on the ground.
The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving everything wet and the air chilly. As it often was in the mountains, the air tends to run cooler in higher elevations. For this reason, exactly, the Lan robes were made of a thicker material than what one could find in Yunmeng. It would likely remain chilly all day and wouldn’t warm up until tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, they would be back in the Cloud Recesses and pampered by a more controlled environment.
As promised, Mrs. Xiao showed him her pantry. It was more of a storeroom, with the amount of things it could hold. Firewood stacked alongside a wall while meat and herbs hung from the wall to dry. Wei Wuxian poked his head around the shelves.
“I’m afraid I’ll be out of firewood soon.” She says, dusting off a counter with her sleeve. “With the priests gone, I’ll be through my stocks before the week is over.”
Wei Wuxian lifted a lid of a pot, eyeing the sides where the evaporated water had stained the clay. “The boys and I will chop you wood before we leave, Auntie.” He says amiably. “The Nie and Ye sect are nearby. I don’t see why they wouldn’t come to check on you once they know you’re here.” The pot inside was empty, and yet, it sat among the rows of containers that contained food and not stacked with the empty ones. “Quite dusty in here.” He comments, running a single finger across the length of the shelf. “Auntie, you really should take better care of yourself.”
He turns to the corner, suddenly finding it empty. Scanning around the room, he finds she’s completely disappeared. A woman of her age shouldn’t be able to move so swiftly, nor as silently.
Wei Wuxian thumbs the edge of Suibian’s hilt, letting the sword pop open a little. Where was she? The juniors were unaware of what he discovered and would be taken off guard if he let her get that far.
“Where’s the real Xiao Xiuying?” He asks. Wei Wuxian pushes away from the wall he backed himself into sending a talisman into the room. It pops like firecrackers, drawing the attention of the boys in the other room and forcing the demon back into view. Completely free from its disguise as an elderly woman, the demon stood taller than he had in his first life. It was long and thin, with claws that looked almost as large as its hands. “I’ll admit, it was a really good disguise.” Wei Wuxian draws Suibian completely from its hilt, sliding metal ringing in the still air. “You almost had me fooled.”
He doesn’t look as the Lan boys rush into the doorway, weapons drawn. He keeps the demon very securely in his sight in a very intense staring contest.
“Senior Wei, that’s-” Lan Jingyi falters, but doesn’t lower his sword. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have the time to be proud of his improved courage. The demon doesn’t spare them a glance, focused entirely on the most experienced cultivator in the room.
“Xiao Xiuying was the demon this entire time.” Lan Sizhui concludes, clearing the doorway where the two Lans have crowded.
Wei Wuxian shifts his stance. He can use Suibian for only so long without the pull of the spiritual sword’s power depleting his spiritual energy. Which means, he can last in a fight as long as five minutes. If the three of them can suppress the demon in under that time, then they can eliminate the demon without having to worry about those claws. They’ll have to work fast.
He catches Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi’s eye. They know Wei Wuxian’s limits well enough- their eyes turn steely and their bodies shift to the ready.
It’s just long enough for the demon to get impatient and move.
Wei Wuxian moves faster, pulling the shelf down into the path of the demon, keeping Suibian close to his body in the narrow space. The demon clamors over the shelf, the edges of its robes caught underneath the heavy object. The Lans move in, darting in with a talisman to seal the demon into place. The moment it stopped moving was the moment Wei Wuxian would cut it clean through and end the hunt. And then he could enjoy a nice, warm bath and be doted on as he deserved.
The demon pulled the corner of the robe free from the shelf a second too late. Lan Jingyi pressed a suppressing talisman against its forehead, backing away to let the spell do its job. It pulses with pure yang energy, tightening a white band around the demon’s arms and legs as it thrashes and yells. The shelf groans from the weight as the demon fell onto it, struggling in a manner that reminded him of a toddler in the middle of a tantrum.
“Nicely done.” Wei Wuxian levels Suibian brings it up and swings it down- right through the wood of the shelf.
He doesn’t have time to be confused. A dark blur speeds past him, breaking through the window. By the time he’s able to process what just happened, a deep throbbing streaks across his shoulder and chest. The demon is long gone when he realizes the pain he’s experiencing is from its claws.
“Senior Wei!” Sizhui and Jingyi rush to his side, grabbing his arms to support his weight. When did he have trouble with his balance all of a sudden? Suibian clatters to the floor, his sword arm suddenly weak and unable to grip a sword. Lan Jingyi leaves his side to lean out the window.
“Shit!” He shouts. “It’s gone.”
If it weren’t for the mud on his robes, Sizhui would have put the white fabric to shame with how pale he turned. “I’ve never seen a demon move so fast before.”
Wei Wuxian hisses in pain, gingerly peeling the collar of his robes aside to inspect the damage. “It likely killed all those priests.” He says. “It’s an extraordinarily fierce demon. Underestimating how easily we could suppress it was my mistake.” There wasn’t any way of knowing how many of the priests the demon killed, but he knew there would be no saving the woman who used to live in this cottage. The best they could do for her was send someone over to cleanse the place once they dealt with the demon.
They stop long enough to wrap bandages over Wei Wuxian’s injuries with just enough spiritual energy to quell the bleeding. But at best it was a band-aid solution of proper healing. Without proper treatment, it would get infected, and it already would likely scar. It would be Mo Xuanyu’s first major scar. His skin was largely untouched from scars except for one on the pad of his thumb. He wouldn’t even know what caused it, but half the fun was making up theories of what happened to it.
“It’ll be up to you boys to do the heavy lifting.” He says, leading them along the demon’s trail. He couldn’t even hold his sword, let alone Chenqing. He was practically dead weight if he couldn’t come up with a plan soon. “I can’t hold anything properly with my arm, so I won’t be much use.”
Lan Sizhui hasn’t stopped silently stressing since the demon broke through the window. Lines of worry crease the middle of his eyebrows in a manner that looked too much like a face Lan Wangji made when he disagree with one of his stupid ideas. “Should we call for help? The trees aren’t dense, the Ye sect should be able to see it.”
“I’m fine.” He says, marching along ahead. “Even if we don’t need the help later, we will when it comes time to search for the remains of the priests.”
From behind him, he hears Lan Jingyi make a curious sound. “How do you know there’s going to be bodies?” He asks. Wei Wuxian comes to a stop, pointing with his good arm to a mess of bushes and baby trees. There lay what remained of Xiao Xiuying, mostly bones by now, recognizable only by the weathered clothes. It was a grim fate, and it was unclear if she died from the attack from the demon or the elements, or a mix of the two. But the demon had clearly intended to fool a group of cultivators and had likely deceived the temple several months ago.
“That,” He says. “Is how I know there will be bodies.”
After the shock of seeing the remains of the elderly woman, they took enough time for Lan Jingyi to collect himself and quietly discuss a plan. A single flare would be activated, calling for backup ahead of time. Knowing the fierceness of the demon, it would be an almost guarantee that they would need the help. The ferocious demon might have bested an elderly woman and a bunch of priests, but it had yet to encounter the Yiling Patriarch. Demons were his specialty.
“It’s never a shame to ask for help.” Wei Wuxian watches the flare shoot past the treeline, cracking with a loud pop. “You have me, the safest person to night hunt with, second only to Hanguang-jun, of course.” Well, there was Jiang Cheng. Once there was a time he would have put him first before anyone else. Now… he wasn’t an afterthought, but there was someone else sitting in that sensitive heart of his. That made it different.
But asking for help had always been something Wei Wuxian struggled with, even as he guided the younger generation of Lan disciples in their first night hunts. Very soon, he wouldn’t have Lan Jingyi or Lan Sizhui to take. They would be busy leading their own, and he very much preferred to mentor the two of them. It was better that they got the lessons he never got and had to learn the hard way. He endured the looks of long-suffering in the eyes of his students every time he reminded them of those little lessons, the things they took for granted. It was good they really learned it now, before it was all gone when they hadn’t the chance to truly appreciate it.
By now, they weren’t far from the abandoned temple. The Ye cultivators would naturally infer the flare came from the direction of the temple, if not directly from it. With how worried Ye Congyi seemed to be about his own, singular disciple, he doubted the sect leader would waste any time before rushing to their aid. In the meantime, Wei Wuxian would draw the demon out and from there it was a matter of keeping the demon in their sight without dying before backup arrived. With how fast it moved, they would need to be careful in how they dealt with it.
Wei Wuxian returned to the bloody room while Lan Sizhui and Jingyi prepared for the upcoming fight. Either the demon was incredibly sadistic and preferred to kill humans in that particular room, or it had been summoned and the blood just happened to splatter everywhere. He didn’t know of any array or demon who could do that, but he was past the point of being surprised by things. After the Burial Mounds, he really had seen it all. It wouldn’t be possible to confirm his suspicions. The blood sat in the room too long and the wood was already decomposing to the point where he wouldn’t be able to peel away the organic material without damaging the surface underneath. But it was where the resentful energy was concentrated the most, and it would be in that room where Wei Wuxian would draw the demon back.
Chenqing seems to hum underneath his fingertips, coming alive in the environment it was created in. The black, saturated wood carried a distinct tone in the sound, making it wholly unique to Wei Wuxian in the same way Bichen was for Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian could summon a demon with his eyes closed and his hands bound. Once he knew the spiritual trace of the demon, it was impossible for the demon to escape him ever again.
He plays a low tone, followed by a melody that commanded it return, funneling the resentful energy through the dark flute. A challenge. Kill me if you can.
The demon confirms his play when he steps outside and can hear it crashing through the already broken doors of the temple. The boys, prepared for this, stand ready. Wei Wuxian’s flute pitches higher, dark tendrils dragging the demon to a slower pace. Given the speed of the demon, it was unlikely they would stop it completely. Suppressing the demon was out of the question. They needed to eliminate it.
Wei Wuxian can feel the pressure of the pushback from the demon against his temples, scraping against his teeth. The demon has lost all focus for Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui, focusing all of its anger on Wei Wuxian.
White blades arch in a downwards descent to land a killing strike. Through the flute and background noise, he can hear the metal sing as it cuts through the air. Gusu Lan’s spiritual blades have truly fine craftsmanship to sound beautiful even when in combat. But the demon merely blocks the swords with an outstretched hand, not minding as the edged blades cut through flesh. It breaks through the bindings, charging forward backed with the built-up momentum. Wei Wuxian brings his arms up to guard his core, ignoring the pain of his wounds, moving backward. The demon’s claws push past his forearms, knocking Chenqing from his hands. There’s no time to stop it. Uncrossing his arms and pushing out against its arms. It’s not fast enough to deflect it away from his body, but as he feels the claws dig into the sides of his ribs, at least the sharp claws avoid the important organs.
He can’t break out of the cage the demon put him in. Backed into a tree with at least three claws an inch deep into his sides. Wei Wuxian funnels the resentful energy pouring out of the demon back the way it came, up its arms and neck until it screams. Behind them, Jingyi and Sizhui clap their palms over their ears, but Wei Wuxian holds onto the wrists of the demon, holding it in place while it struggles to break free. His head seems to vibrate from the sound, the sudden dispersal of yin energy leaving him feeling weightless. Or maybe it’s the blood loss and all the screaming.
Wei Wuxian’s vision begins to blur as the resentful energy turns the demon ashen, tearing it apart from the inside out. He hears thousands of voices, screaming and tugging on his clothes, hair, scratching at his skin with formless fingers. His arms are covered in hundreds of little scratches, threatening to tear him apart. Jiang Cheng stands in the distance, sword drawn and something clutched into his palm. The sky is a dark red where the sun dips below the horizon in the empty field where he died. This is a scene he has forgotten and does not want to remember, where he was torn to a thousand pieces with nothing left behind. Wei Wuxian does not remember how he died, but the repressed force of the seal does. In moments, he won’t see anything more.
The demon suddenly stops. The air grows still and quiet, their ears ringing in the echo of shrieks. Even the pressure against his ribs begins to dissipate. Wei Wuxian watches as the demon’s head rolls off its shoulders. Standing there with his blade dripping with blood, is Lan Sizhui. His shoulders heave from exertion, but he pries the demon’s body away as Wei Wuxian slides down the trunk of the tree. He feels wrung out to dry, not noticing how the bark digs into his back. The Burial Mounds replaced itself with reality, one he was grateful for
“Ah, good job… Sizhui-er.” He breathes. Wei Wuxian can’t keep his eyes open, annoyed that they keep sliding down of their own accord. It hurts to breathe when every movement reminds him that he has puncture wounds. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi rush to his side pale with worry.
“Senior Wei, hold on!” They cry, looking to the skies. What were they looking for? “Help is coming.” Lan Jingyi presses his palms into holes in his sides, trying to staunch the bleeding while Sizhui pushes more spiritual energy into his body. Wei Wuxian shouldn’t continue to be so surprised when it doesn’t pass right through him, and yet… And yet.
He wakes to the gentle sound of running water and the breeze running through grass. Wei Wuxian is laying in the middle of a field of tall grass, framed by a simple wooden fence. He doesn’t recognize the rolling hills of the field, nor the forest that frames it. He can’t see the stream from here where the ground sits higher next to the fence, but he can see a simple worn down trail in the grass. Rabbits hop away when he stands, and no matter what he does, he can’t seem to catch them. After a while, he gives up and walks to the trail. He follows it down until it reaches a cottage not very far from where he sits.
It’s not the same cottage that he used to daydream about retiring to. This one is larger and is meant to house a family larger than just two. On one side is a gated area where a chicken coop and a goat lives, and on the other side of that, a garden. It reminds him of the homes he and Lan Wangji passed by on their travels together in the rural parts of the country. Belatedly, he realizes it’s the same house he dreamt about. Before, he would always wake up before he could figure out what lay at the bottom of the hill.
“So this is what was hiding.” He muses, a grin on his face as he reaches the front door. Just before it opens, he hears a child laugh, followed by the sound of toys dropping against wood. Wei Wuxian’s fingers hover over the door, before he finally decides to pull it open. When he steps inside, there’s no one around. Of course, he muses, not even a dream would let me have the pleasure of knowing who lives here. But in the end, Wei Wuxian realizes it doesn’t matter. Around him are the ghosts of his woolgathering. On the floor are the toys Lan Wangji once bought A-Yuan, on the table are empty teacups and bowls of soup. Perhaps, if he went to the bedroom he could see two figures kissing on the bed’s headboard. Jiang Cheng’s favorite book sat open on a table next to the window.
Looking around this place, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel contentment. He doesn’t dare keep his shoes on, seeing just how muddy they were. If he tracked mud all over the house, it would ruin the careful housekeeping. There was just one thing missing.
“I wish Lan Zhan were here.” He says to the room. “That would make everything better.” Wei Wuxian felt better just by saying it aloud. He didn’t know where his husband was, but he hoped it was nearby. Lan Wangji told him he would catch a bunny for him to hold. They always liked him better, anyway.
Wei Wuxian turns to the door, opening it with gusto. The sunlight poured in from outside, brightening the room back up. He looks to see his shadow stretched across the room. It waits for him on the floor, unmoving when he shifts. His shadow faces forward and doesn’t look behind, there’s nothing for it to turn to.
“Well?” His shadow says. “What are you waiting for?” Wei Wuxian turns to the field. Somewhere to the side, a goat brays. This dream left out his donkey.
“I don’t know where to go.”
The shadow pauses thoughtfully. “I think you know where to go.”
“I don’t deserve it.” He says. But he can’t bring himself to close the door. Something cool presses against his back. When Wei Wuxian looks, his shadow is gone. This doesn’t alarm him as much as it should. Shadows definitely shouldn’t be disappearing when he wasn’t looking.
Wei Wuxian recalls the discussion conference. What he remembered most was how angry Lan Wangji had been at the cultivator who cornered him back then. It was one of those little moments where he knew his reputation would never be good, but it had surprised him when he was praised by those around him. Half a decade of slander made him believe his character really wasn’t worth praising anymore, especially after the death of Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan. But once Lan Wangji stood in front of him to shield him, maybe he did deserve a little.
“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian answers. “I think I do.”
And he steps out into the field.
Wei Wuxian woke once again feeling stiff. His poor neck survived the rough treatment, but everything else still aches with the reminder of what he just went through. He’s situated inside a simple, yet well-maintained room that smelled faintly of pine and herbs. If it weren’t for the lack of red, it would have reminded him of the Wen supervisory office. When he looks around, he can see the room is scarcely decorated, with only a few shelves and a single table in the room. Another couple of beds line the walls stripped of their sheets and devoid of personal belongings. It wasn’t a guest room, nor the Jingshi he was in, but an infirmary. Apparently he hadn’t made it back to the Cloud Recesses yet.
The door parallel to his bed slid open, revealing a tall man in green, who must have been Ye Congyi, followed by none other than Lan Wangji. “He’s here.” The man says, stepping aside to let his husband through. Both of them immediately notice that Wei Wuxian is awake, and Lan Wangji not running walks in his haste to get to his side.
“Wei Ying!” Relief brings his husband’s eyebrows together and his shoulders forward. He takes Wei Wuxian’s hand in both of his, holding him so reverently in his hands.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian’s voice croaks, almost a pout. “You weren’t there to catch the rabbits for me.” He says without meaning to bring up his recurring dream. His husband looks confused and then smiles.
Lan Wangji shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” He gently pushes away the hair from his sweaty forehead, Wei Wuxian craning his neck to follow his hand as it moves away. Instead of bringing it back to his side, Lan Wangji cups the side of his jaw. They can’t look away from each other, long enough for Ye Congyi to remind the two of them he was still standing there.
“You were lucky your disciples called for help when they did.” He says. He has a long scar across his mouth, and he has a scowl to match Jiang Cheng in temper. “We had to stitch close five puncture wounds, and your shoulder was starting to get infected.” Wei Wuxian, for his credit, quietly endures the scolding.
“Jingyi? Sizhui?” He asks. Lan Wangji presses gently on his uninjured shoulder, urging him to lie back down.
“Wei Ying.” Wei Wuxian stills. In his husband’s speech, he knows the boys are fine. He finally relaxes.
He laughs. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you’re right. I’m worrying too much.” He lets Lan Wangji dote on him, tucking him back under the covers and offering him water and a light broth. He doesn’t notice Ye Congyi leave, only that he left the door open on his way out. Not long after, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi burst into the room. The two both crowd the foot of his bed with similar expressions of distress and relief. Lan Jingyi looks like he cried recently, with how puffy his eyes were. From them, he learns what happened immediately following eliminating the demon. Wei Wuxian was so unbalanced he was seconds away from qi deviating, forcing Sizhui to play through Clarity several times before he was stable enough to be moved back to their sect compound for medical help. And as of that morning, the search party sent out to the woods were able to find what remained of the poor priests who used to live in the temple. Xiao Xiuying was buried and her home was set to be cleansed in the following days.
Wei Wuxian wasn’t certain why he had a dream of the cottage, although it must have some purpose. He feels lighter now than he did two days ago, without even realizing the weight he was carrying. Wei Wuxian reaches over and tugs on Lan Wangji’s sleeve.
“Lan Zhan. Lan Zhaaan. Take me home.” From where he sits, he can see Lan Wangji smile.
“Mn.”