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Chapter Text

Others would have been shocked, disgusted even at the sight of Wen Ning hunching over the dead body of Wei Wuxian, would have screamed in terror at the sight of her brother’s jaw almost unhinged as he roared in fury; a feral and deranged sound no human would ever be able to make.

But not Wen Qing. She looked at the way her brother swiped at Jiang Yanli’s hands as she desperately tried to reach out and touch her sibling— her dead sibling, Wei Wuxian was dead, Lanling Jin had killed him, why him? — and she only felt sad.

Others would see a feral fierce corpse hovering over a broken and bloody body, but she knew how deeply her brother trusted, and she knew Wen Ning had no malicious intents with Wei Wuxian’s corpse.

No. It was like a loyal puppy curled up on their owner’s chest, barking and growling in warning as an unknown person got closer and closer, unable to do anything but snap at the threat until their owner soothed them, told them it’s okay, she won’t hurt you. Shhh, yeah, see? She’s not going to hurt you, good boy.

But Wei Wuxian was dead. He couldn’t sit up and assure Wen Ning that Jiang Yanli meant no harm, couldn’t sooth the fury roaring through his veins as he stared at the gold peony— Lanling Jin wore gold, their robes were gold, their swords were gold, but the blood they spilled was a dark dark red — embroidered on the woman’s chest.

“Please,” Jiang Yanli was sobbing, her chest shaking as she stared through blurry eyesight at the bloodied and destroyed body of her younger brother. “ Please .”

Wen Qing wasn’t sure what she was asking. Please let me see him? Please let me hold him?

Please give me my brother back?

Wen Qing couldn’t do that.

She knew, knew it to her very core from Wei Wuxian’s words, that Jiang Yanli was the kindest woman he had ever met.

But she wore gold.

And Wei Wuxian had left Burial Mounds to see her .

Wei Wuxian died on his way to meet this very woman, and she wanted his body?

It was petty of her. She knew it. This was Jiang Yanli, the woman who had grown up with Wei Wuxian, had been there for him when he was young and naive, she had wiped his tears and supported him when he stumbled from laughing too hard— and she had killed him.

It was petty. Wen Qing had to remind herself that she didn’t have any right over Wei Wuxian’s body either, but a vicious side of her spat I would have never allowed my family to kill him.

Jiang Yanli sobbed louder, and Wen Qing would’ve winced if she wasn’t so numb .

Wei Wuxian had been their sole savior. Donned in black so dark it melded with the shadows and that splash of red from his ribbon, he had taken all of them from their torturous war camps and gave them hope. He gave them a new home, protection, and a family .

He was the only thing standing between the surviving Wens and the rest of the world, who was adamant on killing them.

No one knew it better than the fifty Wens living on the Burial Mounds.

Now that Wei Wuxian was gone— dead, he was dead, and no one had been skilled enough to try and call his soul, make him a fierce corpse like Wen Ning so he could live — and would never come back, they knew they were next.

No one would stand up for them, leftover Wens from a powerful sect that had been shot out of the sky and burned to the ground.

And everyone knew that.

Jiang Yanli pulled Wen Qing from her controlled silence by turning to her, looking seconds away from abandoning all pride and throwing herself at the two corpses laying on the bed. “W-Wen Qing, please, I— p- please let me take him— we’ll bury him— a grand b-burial— please, he’s m-my brother —“

A sharp needle of pain shot through the numbness settled around her heart, and she shoved it away instantly, but her mouth had already moved.

“He went to see you.”

Just as she knew it would, the words destroyed Jiang Yanli’s world like no other, and she shoved away the spike of vicious pleasure as the woman’s shoulders dropped and her face crumbled, pure guilt swarming into her eyes and staining her face in the form of tears.

My Shijie makes the best Lotus Pork Rib soup! Really, Qing-jie, you should try it!

My Shijie once held me for an hour as I cried because I was attacked by a rabid beast. Don’t laugh! A-Yuan, dogs are demons! Demons I say!

Shijie is a saint to have married that bastard peacock Jin. He’s always so stuck up, but if he ever makes her cry again, I’m going to bash his face in!

Shijie once said Jiang Cheng had a crush when we were younger, but I find that hard to believe. Did you know Jiang Cheng has insanely high standards? It would be easier for him to marry a deity!

You know, A-Ning? You remind me of my Shijie. Always super soft spoken and gentle, but you guys are both so, so scary when you’re mad!

Wen Qing felt a little guilt wiggle it’s way through the numbness. Every one of those memories always had Wei Wuxian trailing off, suddenly slipping into an uncanny silence as he remembered siblings he had cut ties with to keep them safe.

Wen Qing tried to convey her guilt of spitting words that weren’t true— but they were, Wei Wuxian is dead because he went to see Jiang Yanli, he said he would be back, he said it wouldn’t take him long — but her words were empty, as blank as a piece of paper. “Jiang Yanli, Wei Wuxian is dead. There is nothing we can do.”

Wen Qing was a doctor. She was of a no-nonsense mentality and said it how it was, even if her blunt words and cold facade had made many people hate her. She didn’t comfort people, had never been good at social interaction, and this was just another piece of proof.

Jiang Yanli— was it even Jiang anymore? Wasn’t she a Jin now? She wore gold, gold swords, gold clothes, gold arrows, but red, red, red blood — curled into herself and wailed. Loud, high pitched, and long.

Wen Qing knew she didn’t come alone, but she had to stop herself from doing something when her husband dashed in— gold, he was wearing gold. How dare he walk in here in gold, when his brother and cousin and father had planned to kill Wei Wuxian and succeeded— Wen Qing was good at controlling herself, but her little brother wasn’t.

He threw himself off of the bed with a strangled scream, and with one inhumanly strong swipe, the man in gold was thrown out of the room as quickly as he had entered, and Wen Qing had to put a hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder before he went after him and killed him.

Jiang Yanli cried out and ran to her husband’s side, which made something hiss angrily inside Wen Qing.

Everyone Wei Wuxian had trusted did that. They turned their backs on him for another, ignorant to his pain and suffering as he painted on a happy smile and waved them off with a too-joyous laugh. They always walked away.

The only person Wen Qing acknowledged was that Lan Wangji.

When Wei Wuxian painted a happy smile onto his face, Lan Wangji looked at him. When Wei Wuxian let out a bout of laughter so happy it hurt , Lan Wangji sat closer. When Wei Wuxian waved him off, Lan Wangji distracted him with one thing or another. When Wei Wuxian cried, Lan Wangji hummed a soft song Wen Qing had never heard before, but she had also never seen Wei Wuxian sleep sounder than that.

But Lan Wangji hadn’t shown up.

Others would get mad. They would spit at the man the next time they saw him, yelling and screaming where were you?! Why weren’t you there?! Do you even care?!

But Wen Qing had seen the way Lan Wangji’s eyes had sparked when Wei Wuxian laughed his real laugh, had seen the way his hands had clenched in self-restraint when Wei Wuxian teased him with flirtatious words and bashful smiles, and she knew.

If Lan Wangji saw Wei Wuxian as he was now, bloodied, broken, and dead , he would probably off himself quicker than anyone could blink.

She squared her shoulders and gently moved Wen Ning back to Wei Wuxian’s bedside, where he immediately knelt and stared at Wei Wuxian’s face, peaceful in a way Wen Qing hadn’t seen in so, so long.

She moved to the front of the cave’s entrance and stared down at Jiang Yanli gently helping her husband sit up, red splattered onto his perfect golden robes from where he spat out blood.

Wen Qing stared as she met golden brown eyes, and knew all the man saw was pure, unadulterated hatred.

“How dare you?” She breathed, but immedielty stopped herself, her voice coming out more choked than she would’ve liked. “Please leave.”

“Wait,” Jiang Yanli started, her voice reflecting just how destroyed Wen Qing was emotionally. “Please, I—“

“You dared to bring your husband into the presence of my brother,” Wen Qing lifted her head, letting Jiang Yanli know just which brother she was talking about. “While he was wearing gold.”

“I—“

Wen Qing narrowed her eyes at the man in gold. Jin Zixuan , a voice that sounded suspiciously like Wei Wuxian said in her mind, and the familiar tone made her ache. “You come here, bearing the color of the sect that wishes to kill us all, and expect to leave with my brother’s body?”

Jin Zixuan looked pained, and so, so guilty. Wen Qing almost felt bad, knowing it wasn’t technically his fault, but at the same time, he was wearing gold . “I didn’t—“

Belittling was below a doctor. Her job was to help people, not hurt them. And yet, her voice was dripping with sarcasm as she mocked, “You didn’t know? Didn’t know your own brother was planning on killing mine?”

She felt her eyes well up with the tears she had been pushing away, and her tone became desperate, “Was one of my brothers not enough?! You just had to kill the other one, didn’t you? Why? Why ?! What did he ever do besides protect us?!”

She couldn’t push away the sob that came out as she whirled around on Wei Wuxian’s beloved Shijie. “And you! Where’s your brother?! Pretending he doesn’t owe me his life, where is he?!”

Jiang Yanli looked startled through her tears. “A-Cheng? He owes you his life?”

It’s said that the ones who are the most composed have been the most destroyed, and the ones who were the happiest had been hurt the most. Fury roared up her throat in the sound of angry laughter.

“Oh please, don’t tell me you didn’t know ?” She mocked. “Your brother lost his golden core, didn’t he? Ever wonder where he got a new one? And why Wei Wuxian was never able to weild his sword again?”

Wen Qing had never turned on her doctor’s oath to keep all patients secrets a secret, but at the same time, she had never felt the urge to hurt someone. Wei Wuxian had begged her to never tell Jiang Cheng that he gave him his core, but right now, Wen Qing wanted them to hurt as much as she was.

And the horror that painted both of their faces made Wen Qing viciously pleased.

A golden core was the most treasured thing a man could have, as it was the key to immortality and power. Everyone knew it.

To just give it away?

It was unheard of.

Wen Qing turned away from the horrified couple. “Please leave, while I’m asking nicely. You can’t have my brother’s body, not now, not ever.”

Wen Qing ignored whatever protests they had as she moved back into the cave, and stared at both of her dead brothers.

Wen Ning was watching Wei Wuxian’s face like he was expecting it to move, for the man’s eyes to snap open with a loud laugh as he pinched Wen Ning’s cheeks and asked, Did you really think I died? Ha! The Yiling Laozu can’t die! Don’t doubt me!

But he didn’t move. The both of them were so still, Wen Qing felt like she was staring at a painting, a depressingly soul-crushing painting, but a painting nonetheless.

“A-Ning,” she said softly, and a small twitch in Wen Ning’s hand was the only indication he had heard her. “Let’s put up barriers, that way no one can destroy his body.”

Wen Ning’s face curled into a snarl at the very thought, and Wen Qing’s heart clenched. She wiped the tears off of her face and took a deep breath. “Let’s also see if anyone will move somewhere safe, or if we’re all just going to be lambs to slaughter.”

It was just as she thought. No one wanted to leave.

She told them over and over that they were just asking to be murdered, but the steely determination she had been met with made her proud, despite the situation.

When she and Wei Wuxian had rescued these people from the camps, they had been so frightened of everything, even answering a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to Wei Wuxian’s questions made them tremble, but now, they stared at her with their minds made up.

They had built a life on these grounds, had created a habitable space where they all laughed and worked, harvesting and planting, singing and dancing. Wei Wuxian had given all of them a home when they were certain of their own death, and she understood what they were feeling.

She too, would rather die here than to leave all of Wei Wuxian’s hard work and sacrifices go to waste. Even if he would argue, say that he had given them everything so that they could live , the only way to repay him back was to defend the place he had built for them.

And they weren’t alone.

Below their very feet, the most feared place in the entire lands wept. It moaned and groaned, sobbed and shrieked, mourning the loss of the only child it had ever had, and did what it did best.

It screamed and wailed, let the agony fester and rise to unfanthomable amounts as it remembered the way Wei Wuxian had gently brushed his fingers agaisnt it’s wounds and soothed centuries of it’s pain in just a few months, had laughed and teased it like he knew it was sentient, and it had loved him for it.

But now he was gone. It’s only child, the only light of happiness in the dark storm of it’s screaming agony, and he was gone. Taken from it.

And that made the Burial Mounds furious.

Resentful energy welled and welled, festering over the brand new wounds that Wei Wuxian had once sealed over, and the corpses in the mountain rose with it, restless with the abhorrence the Burial Mounds felt for the puny creatures that had dared to take it’s son.

Resentful energy grew in thick thorns and strong walls, shutting the Burial Mounds from the outside world and protecting everything Wei Wuxian had left behind. The Burial Mounds remembered the ones Wei Wuxian had told it were staying with him— I’m going to protect these people, and keep them here. No, I’m not abandoning you, just think of it as, um, more me’s! Just, they can’t feel you. Oh! To protect someone is to — and they felt a deep hatred towards something called ‘gold’.

Burial Mounds knew what gold was. Once upon a time it was filled with gold, before red splattered everywhere and stained it’s once-pure lands with the blood of countless innocents.

It was easy to have resentful energy locate this said ‘gold’, as all it had to do was focus on Wei Wuxian’s ‘protect’, and it could feel the hatred strong.

This was what had killed it’s only child.

And with a scream that was heard over all the lands, the Burial Mounds unleashed an army of resentful creatures, letting them tear through the gold like lions through lambs, but these things were stronger than the Burial Mounds remembers.

Their sharp things— I will never be able to wield a sword. It’s kind of sad, you know? No, I don’t regret it, because I got you, but it does make me kind of sad — sliced through the monsters of the Burial Mounds, but all that did was enrage it more.

How dare these things kill what was it’s? Wei Wuxian— oh, well, that’s easy! I’m human! Or a cultivator? Take your pick! I’m not an animal, no, that’s rude! That’s like, that’s like calling you a normal mountain! Yeah, that’s what I thought! — was the only thing it had ever— it had ever—

The Burial Mounds hasn’t felt anything besides rage and anger and hurt and pain and forgotten and kill kill kill— until Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian, the only “ human cultivator ” the Burial Mounds had ever cared for.

And he was gone.

No one could blame the army of resentful creatures on Wei Wuxian, since it was well known that he was dead— Did you hear? LanlingJin ambushed and murdered Yiling Laozu when he was on his way to see his Shijie. Do you really think he’s gone? — but the older cultivators, the ones who had been warned about Burial Mounds, knew.

Lessons on the Burial Mounds had been much more common when they were young, and everyone knew what had happened, what had made it into the place it was today, teeming with lost lives and unfinished business.

When the story reached their ears that Yiling Laozu, the demonic cultivator Lan Qiren had failed to guide on the right path, had tamed the Burial Mounds, they had been blown out of their seats.

But it was easy to see, the black smoke of resentful energy wafting off of Wei Wuxian’s form when he stood on the battlefield, the red of the bloodied sky glowing in his eyes when he played his flute, and the eerie feeling of being watched lingering on their skin whenever he was nearby.

They knew he had tamed the Burial Mounds.

It was one of the reasons they had backed off, let him finish the war and let him take the Wen survivors, because what were they supposed to do? This teenager had saved all of their lives by taming the Burial Mounds, but some of the newer sects didn’t seem to understand that.

Was demonic cultivaton the right path? Of course not, but Wei Wuxian was harming none of them with his ways, so as long as he kept to himself, the elders saw no reason to poke the sleeping bear.

The younger sects, however, didn’t understand.

The elders had all shared the sinking feeling of doom, knowing all of them were dead men walking when LanlingJin began boasting, We killed Wei Wuxian! Let the Yiling Laozu be no more! The demon has been slain!

And the elders were right.

No less than an hour from when Lanling Jin’s letters went out to the sects, and that everyone, even the poorest beggar on the street knew that Wei Wuxian was dead, did the Burial Mounds unleash centuries and centuries of agonized rage with a single scream.

Lanling Jin, save for a couple, was wiped out in less than ten minutes, and everyone’s mentality instantly changed.

Wei Wuxian is dead! They had once cheered, planning parties and getting ready to celebrate like it was their last day on earth.

Wei Wuxian is dead! They now cried, fear tinging their voices as if they were weeping for a well-loved emperor.

The sects that were still thriving— still alive is a better word— had set up an enormous amount of soul-summoning grounds to try and bring Wei Wuxian back before the Burial Mounds murdered everyone, but his soul refused to show up.

Was he really gone for good?

People begged and pleaded for their lives, kowtowing in front of the Burial Mounds for hours and burning offerings for the late Yiling Laozu, but the elders knew it was too late.

The Burial Mounds cried with every plead and wailed with every condolence, because Wei Wuxian hadn’t been around long enough to teach it mercy . All it could do was continue to sob, continue to kill, because Wei Wuxian wasn’t there to teach it otherwise.

It wasn’t until another “human cultivator” showed up at the barriers Burial Mounds had thrown up did it pause, because this human cultivator had an abundance of the emotions Wei Wuxian had showed it, and promised to teach.

Hanguang-Jun was the first and last person to ever walk into the Burial Mounds after the Yiling Laozu’s death.

At first, the Burial Mounds had been very cautious, unsure of this human cultivator in the way someone guarded their heart because it had been broken before, but it quickly learned that this one meant no harm.

He taught it— he taught it that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have wanted it to destroy everyone in revenge. Wei Wuxian had been avenged, and Lanling Jin was no more.

Lan Wangji— please be nice to him. He’s so pretty, it would be a shame to ruin his face! Pretty? Like, when I see his face, it makes me happy. What?! No! That’s not the same as love! You, you, you’re insane! — was the one to show Burial Mounds what mercy was.

And it infuriated it.

These puny creatures wanted it to cease killing them, forgive them for killing it’s only child ?

The Burial Mounds roared at the audacity of these pathetic creatures, and the sound, created by a million decayed corpse throats, sent goosebumps up everyone’s arms, made dread curl deep in their guts as they stared into the direction of the Burial Mounds, wondering just what the Second Jade had done to make it that angry.

But eventually, Lan Wangji shared memories of it’s child that Wei Wuxian had been too embarrassed to share, and the Burial Mounds slowly receded, sobbing and curling into itself like a kicked puppy as it saw it’s child smiling and laughing, smaller than usual but still so— so—

Happy.

Lan Wangji wasn’t of many words, unlike it’s child, but he felt so many things that it made the Burial Mounds spin. Wei Wuxian had felt a lot too, but never at this intensity.

Lan Wangji, Hanguang-Jun, the Second Jade of GusuLan, had been the one to teach the Burial Mounds mercy, as the both of them wept over the loss of the brightest thing in their life.

And the Burial Mounds wept.

And wept.

And wept.

Until one day, it stopped.

Everyone froze when the sound of the Burial Mound’s pain ceased, skin prickling with the primal urge to run , but fear had locked their legs in place, and all they could do was stare in the direction of the Burial Mounds with baited breath, wondering what had happened.

Eventually, every resentful creature that had been wreaking havoc for the past few years— and despite some crying out that this wasn’t mercy ! The elders would stare them down, and say you’re alive, aren’t you? This is the closest thing we’ll get to mercy — had suddenly whirled around and began racing back towards the Burial Mounds, shoving past people and animals, heedless to everyone’s shriekeing and crying.

No one knew what happened, but people began hoping. Did the Burial Mounds forgive them for murdering Wei Wuxian? Did it find something else to lament over? Were they safe?

In a small village, Mo Xuanyu finished his ritual, and Wei Wuxian slumped over, body drained of all energy.

Chapter Text

Jin Ling was two years old when he learned who the Yiling Laozu was. 

It was hard, at first, for him to remember someone he had never met, but the name Wei Wuxian was spoken daily in the streets of Yunmeng, whispered behind fans whenever he and his father walked by, and it easily stuck. 

Wei Wuxian was the Yiling Laozu, a demonic cultivator who sacrificed everything to keep his family safe. 

It was no secret, Jin Ling learned while growing up in Yunmeng, that Wei Wuxian had been hated at first, feared for the power he possessed— but it wasn’t like that anymore. 

Jin Ling had asked his parents and his uncle why everyone did such a one eighty on their view of Wei Wuxian, but all he ever got was Jiang Cheng storming out of the room, Jin Zixuan’s head lowered in shame, and Jiang Yanli’s soft hug, gentle whispers promising to tell him when he was older. 

When Jin Ling was ten years old, he learned why. 

“This is a page copied straight from the Yiling Laozu’s book,” the merchant whispered, and like it always did, the name of his famous uncle made Jin Ling pause, interest piqued. “I can give it to you, but for a price.”

“Wei Wuxian wrote a book?” Jin Ling asked, puzzled. His parents never really spoke of Wei Wuxian, as his name always put Jiang Cheng in a bad mood, but he had a general gist of who Wei Wuxian was as a person. Although everyone he spoke to about his late uncle agreed that he was very talented in all of the arts, writing a book or staying on one form of the art wasn’t his style. this was something he

“No, no, no, child.” The merchant laughed, waving a paper with writing and drawings scribbled onto it in his face. “The Yiling Laozu had a diary that was found after he died, but everyone calls it a book because it saves the man some face.”

“How did you find it if Burial Mounds is closed?” Jin Ling asked, glancing at the street to make sure his mother wasn’t looking for him. 

“It was tossed into a river that went through Yiling,” the man said, speaking as if he was telling an extravagant story. “The Yiling Laozu probably meant to rid of it, but it was found, and now people call it his book.”

Jin Ling hummed, narrowing his eyes at the page. “And what’s on that page?”

The merchant smiled. “You’ll have to buy it in order to know.”

Jin Ling huffed a breath but obediently took out his money pouch, knowing he just lost all of his allowance money. “Fine. Here. Give me the page.”

“Good choice, Young Master.” The merchant snatched the money and handed over the page. “If you’re interested in more, I’ll be here next week, but you don’t know that.”

Jin Ling was puzzled, “But you just told me.”

The man huffed a breath. “It means if someone asks where I am to report me, you don’t know I’ll be here, but if you’re interested, I’ll be here.”

Jin Ling nodded in understanding. “Okay. I’ll remember that.”

“Good good.” The merchant made a shooing motion. “Now, run along little Jin.”

Chills raced up Jin Ling’s spine, as he had already turned to walk away, but at the sound of his cursed given name, he spun on his heel, eyes wide as he stared at the merchant’s stand. 

But he was gone. 

Jin Ling shoved the paper into his robes and began making his way back to Lotus Pier, goosebumps on his arms the entire way. 

Jin Ling knew about how the Yiling Laozu died. His father had told him when Jiang Cheng had snapped during a meal after hearing Wei Wuxian’s name and trashed his office, because he would rather Jin Ling find out straight from his mouth than from another’s. 

“Your dajiu was a good man.” Jin Zixuan had murmured while patting Jin Ling’s hair. “He fought for the weak and stood up for what he knew was right— he didn’t let anyone tell him he couldn’t do something.” 

“But then he died?” Jin Ling had pulled his blanket up to his chin. “Why does Jiujiu hate you for that?"

Jin Zixuan had sighed. “A-Ling... it’s much more complicated than that.”

“You can tell me,” Jin Ling had said eagerly. “I’ll listen.”

Jin Zixuan had pursed his lips, glancing at the door like his mother was going to walk in, but Jin Ling knew Jiang Yanli was trying to calm her brother down. “Alright, but I’m only going to tell you a summary. You’re too young for the full version.”

Jin Ling had nodded. “Okay!”

Jin Zixuan had sat back on the chair besides Jin Ling’s bed and began picking at the edge of his robes. “My father, your grandfather, was a very bad man.”

“Did he kill people?” Jin Ling had asked, eyes wide. 

Jin Zixuan tilted his head from side to side, “Yes, and no. Hush and let me talk.”

Jin Ling had obediently snapped his mouth shut. 

“My father wanted power after Qishan Wen was destroyed, and your uncle was very, very powerful. But he was a good man, he stood up for the farmers and doctors of Qishan Wen— those who had never killed anyone— while everyone else wanted to kill them.”

“But why?” Jin Ling had asked, eyes even wider. 

“Because we were blind,” Jin Zixuan had whispered. “We thought all Wens were bad, and Wei Wuxian was the only one to see them for who they were— farmers and doctors. So he took those farmers and those doctors to Burial Mounds, and he protected them from us.”

Jin Zixuan looked at Jin Ling with a soft smile. “And then you were born.”

Jin Ling blinked up at his father, watched his face fall into the shame it always did whenever Wei Wuxian’s death was spoken of. “I invited him to your one month because A-Li asked, but before he could arrive, my half-brother informed me that my father was planning on killing him.”

Jin Ling watched his father’s head lower into his chest— another familiar sight whenever Wei Wuxian was brought up. 

“I rushed to Qiongqi Path—“ there it was. The place Jin Ling’s uncle had died. “To try and prevent that, and I almost did. But I just had to provoke Zixun. I just had to, didn’t I?”

“Father,” Jin Ling sat up when his father’s shoulders began shaking, his tone choking with something Jin Ling wasn’t able to name. “It’s— it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Jin Zixuan whispered. “A-Ling, I’m the reason your dajiu is dead— and that’s why your uncle hates me. Because if I had just moved— if I had just kept my mouth shut, your dajiu wouldn’t have died saving me.”

There was a tense silence as Jin Ling digested that information and Jin Zixuan struggled to hold back his tears, but it was broken by Jin Ling asking, “How did he save you?”

“He threw himself over me,” Jin Zixuan whispered. “The arrows would’ve hit me in the back, but he grabbed me and spun— the next thing I knew, we were on the ground, him on top of me, and there was blood everywhere.”

Jin Ling’s stomach l instantly lurched, “Father—“

Jin Zixuan took a deep breath and looked up at his son, “Sorry A-Ling. You’re too young to be hearing this.”

He had gotten up, kissed Jin Ling goodnight, and left the room. 

But Jin Ling had gotten the gist. 

The Jins, Lanling Jin, they were all hated for killing the Yiling Laozu. They were so hated, in fact, that it absolutely taboo to speak of them— to give them any memory to live by. 

Everyone in Yunmeng knew that Jin Ling was a Jin, but they pretended they didn’t, pretended that he was a Jiang like his mother and uncle, and they never spoke his given name. 

It was ‘Jiang Rulan’ or ‘Xiao Ling’. Never, ever, was it ‘Jin’. 

His mother was Madam or Yanli for those who were closer, but his father was never called. People waved him down, they said, “Hey, you!” And they tapped his shoulders, but his name was never spoken. 

It was too close to the name Jin Zixun— the man who had called for three hundred archers to fire down upon the defenseless Yiling Laozu— for people to be comfortable with. 

No one, absolutely no one called him Jin. 

But this merchant, this random man on the street, had spoken of his cursed name, had pointed out the tainted blood that ran through Jin Ling’s veins, and it wasn’t the last time someone did that, but it was the most chilling. 

But for the time being, he went home and went through a peacefully quiet dinner with his family before excusing himself to his room, the paper he bought almost burning him through his robes. 

He lit a candle and huddle down behind his desk like a child trying to hide something from their parents, and then pulled out the paper. 

The print was neat in a way that said someone was reverently trying to copy something else, but the handwriting was slanted, like someone was frantically writing down everything, as if their time was short. 

The first scramble of words Jin Ling read made his stomach twist. 

‘I want my golden core back it hurts it hurts it hurts want it back promised Madam Yu Jiang Cheng needs it hurts hurts hurts want it back want it back WANT IT BACK’

Jin Ling had to put the paper to his chest and take a deep breath. 

It was no secret, that Wei Wuxian had given up his golden core to Jiang Cheng, but to see it written straight from his uncle’s hand made Jin Ling shudder. 

He knew how important a golden core was. It was what made people look at you with a different eye, made them think, ‘oh, a cultivator. This one is stronger, smarter, faster, better than us.’

And Wei Wuxian had watched himself fall from the very top of the cultivation world to rock bottom. 

Jin Ling read the rest of the page and ended up crying, sobbing as he curled around the piece of paper like it was his lifeline, the letter written to him at the very end ingrained into his very soul. 

‘A-Ling,’ it started. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were born— you’ll forgive me right— please don’t hate me— dajiu is sorry— am I your dajiu? Or am I the hated Yiling Laozu— will you look at me and say— or will you hate me— please tell your mother to take it easy— you’re probably so cute— going to grow up strong— don’t take after the damned peacock— be nice to women, respect them because they’re fucking scary— Jiang Cheng’s sword forms suck ass— I’ll help you if you ask— stay strong— love you— little A-Ling, always attempt impossible— nothing is impossible— stay strong—‘

It was everything Jin Ling needed to hear, and it came from a man who had died eleven years ago. 

Eleven years, and his dajiu had somehow known that Jin Ling needed to hear that his uncle was terrible at explaining things in a way children could understand— that it wasn’t his fault he was struggling with cultivation. 

There were little pictures drawn by the scribbled sentences, hands drawn gripping sword handles, stances done by stick figures with writing underneath it explaining the distance his legs needed to be and where the weight should be held— it was everything Jin Ling needed to know and wanted to know.

Eleven years ago, his Dajiu had known Jin Ling would need the extra help. 

It brought Jin Ling closer to an uncle he had never met, and it made his eyes linger on the painting sitting in Lotus Pier’s family room, framed by a pure silver and carved lotuses. Wei Wuxian’s figure was painted with his flowing black robes, hair swishing in an invisible breeze, and the only color visible besides the black and grays was the splash of red from Wei Wuxian’s infamous red ribbon. 

There were no paintings of Wei Wuxian’s face. Jin Zixuan had told Jin Ling it was because no one knew how to properly paint his face, but Jiang Cheng said it was because everyone was afraid of what he would do to them if the painting wasn’t accurate. 

Jin Ling studied the small sketches of sword forms and little movements his uncle left behind, and he applied them to his training diligently— and was promptly shocked with how quickly he had jumped in front of his peers in terms of skill and strength.

The next week, Jin Ling showed up to the merchant’s stand and bought another paper, this one depicting a letter to Jiang Cheng— about his golden core. 

Jin Ling cried, reading Wei Wuxian’s words about how agonizing it was to feel his spiritual energy drain second by second, the bright warmth that he was raised with disappearing bit by bit, until his chest was completely empty. 

‘But for you Jiang Cheng,’ the words said. ‘I would do it all over again.’ 

Jin Ling went to that merchant every week to buy a new page until he had collected all thirty six pages, and he bound it together with the outside of one of Jin Ling’s favorite books— something his uncle despised and his parents were mediocre towards because of the love story— but that was good. They would never open it because they thought they already knew what was inside, but Jin Ling was sure to shove it under his matters every time he left his room. 

Jin Ling read pages written to his mother about how beautiful Wei Wuxian knew she was during her wedding, read threatening paragraphs to his father about treating his mother right. He read small snippets of Wei Wuxian’s wobbly handwriting— something Jin Ling knew was due to him crying— asking his parents if they were still proud of him. 

‘Can you even stand what I’ve become?’ Was what was written. 

There were other things written in the book, things that made Jin Ling’s stomach lurch with unease, things that made him cry, and things that made him want to scream at the world. 

“Wei Wuxian was alone after the war,” the merchant had told Jin Ling during one of his last visits. “There was no one there to get him out of his head, and we believe this is him trying to push through the trauma.”

And Jin Ling could see it. He could see it in the way Wei Wuxian’s pages were splattered with tear drops, smeared with the pain of a young man who was abandoned by the world, and he better understood why his father couldn’t look Jiang Cheng in the eyes.

Such a good person was killed by Jin Zixuan’s family— such a good person was killed while saving Jin Zixuan from his own family. 

Jin Ling better understood why Jiang Cheng sometimes couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Jin Zixuan. Jin Ling’s father was a living, walking, breathing reminder that Wei Wuxian was dead— and Jiang Cheng was painfully reminded every single day how his brother was murdered. 

Wei Wuxian sacrificed himself so Jin Zixuan could live, and although the Burial Mounds got Lanling Jin back by massacring everyone, it didn’t stop the hatred of everything gold, didn’t stop the hatred of the Jins. 

When Burial Mounds was massacring everyone that wore the golden peony on their chests, Jiang Yanli had ran to he brother with her newborn son and husband, had collapsed to her knees and begged her brother to help them— to keep them safe. 

Jiang Cheng hadn’t needed his sister to beg for protection, he had taken Jiang Yanli and Jin Ling into Yunmeng with warm arms and a protective sword, but he had stood in front of Jin Zixuan with hatred, and said, “What do you want?”

Jiang Yanli’s begging wouldn’t make Jiang Cheng forgive Jin Zixuan, not when his eyes were red and his hands were shaking, still reeling from the fact that Wei Wuxian, his best friend, his brother, the only person who understood him, was dead. 

Was killed by the man standing in front of him, begging for protection. 

It was no secret that Jin Zixuan kowtowed in front of Lotus Pier for three days and three nights before Jiang Cheng snatched him by the collar and dragged him inside, unable to stand his sister’s begging any longer. 

And even now, Jin Zixuan and Jiang Cheng’s relationship was almost nonexistent. They tolerated each other at best, and it was something Jin Ling found hard to understand, but he knew his father was prideful. Being treated like this-- a way he had never been treated before made his blood boil with fury-- but he was grateful to Jiang Cheng for keeping him alive, so he didn’t act up.

But just because Sandu Shengshou had taken two Jins under his wings didn’t mean that everyone was okay with them. Jin Zixuan still got sneers and terrible attitudes wherever he went, still got people who spat upon the street when he walked by, but he endured it with a straight back and a blank face, even as his eyes swirled with an emotion Jin Ling didn’t want to name. 

Stand up for yourself, Jin Zixuan always told Jin Ling. Don’t let anyone step on you. 

But every day, Jin Zixuan put his head down whenever Jiang Cheng snapped at him, walked away from anyone calling him the son of an unforgivable, and didn’t fight back when someone badmouthed him. 

Being scorned as the last Jins living was something Jin Zixuan and Jin Ling were used to, but that didn’t mean it made it easy. 

It didn’t mean that times like this didn’t make Jin Ling want to curl up into a ball and cry. 

It was supposed to be a quick night hunt. Only a few hours, and they were scheduled to get back before midnight, but here Jin Ling was, racing through the forest like his life depended on it, desperately trying to cover the slash in his arm before the scent of his blood was caught by a resentful creature. 

Jin Ling had been cornered by three outer disciples from Qinghe and Yunmeng, and while Jin Ling was improving by leaps and bounds due to Wei Wuxian’s little scribbled notes about helping his cultivation, they were all noticeably older than him by three to four years— and as a thirteen year old, Jin Ling knew he wasn’t strong enough to take on a seventeen year old. 

So he was running. 

The Yunmeng’s disciple had stabbed at him with his sword, and although Jin Ling had been able to dance around the blade, the other disciple’s sword caught his arm, and had slashed through his purple robes. 

Jin Guanyao had been the very last Jin to be killed, and it wasn’t even due to the Burial Mounds’ wrath.

He had fled Koi Tower as soon as he heard of what was happening to everyone, and went to Qinghe, seeking shelter.

Zewu-Jun just so happened to be visiting Chifeng-zun that day, otherwise if Jin Guanyao showed up on Nie Mingjue’s doorstep with the words, “I was a part of the Yiling Laozu’s death.” He would’ve been tossed onto the streets in an instant, because Nie Mingjue didn’t want to chance Nie Huaisang’s safety.

But Lan Xichen had been there, and he had begged Nie Mingjue to take Jin Guanyao in- so Nie Mingjue had, and he had protected him from the resentful creatures that were seeking his head.

But then Jin Guanyao had confessed to everything Jin Guangshan had made him do- had made others do, and Nie Mingjue knew he had been extremely calm for a Nie who had just been told their death had been in the making. He was willing to put it past him since Jin Guanyao swore he wasn’t planning on continuing that plan-- but then Jin Guanyao said that Jin Guanshan wasn’t just going to kill Nie Mingjue. After Nie Mingjue was dead, he was going to pressure Nie Huaisang into marrying one of his bastard daughters, and once she was pregnant with an heir, Jin Guanshan was going to kill him, giving him full control of the Qinghe Nie Sect.

In a fit of very Qinghe-like anger, Nie Mingjue had punched Jin Guanyao straight across the face and broke his nose.

As soon as Jin Guangyao’s blood touched the ground, it was said the scream of someone being torn to shreds echoed across all of the lands.

It became very important to Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng at that moment that Jin Ling’s blood was never spilled, otherwise he would meet the same fate as his uncle. 

But here he was, desperately trying to outrun the teenagers hot on his tail while avoiding the creatures they were hunting, his hand clenched over his cut tightly. 

If anything caught the scent of his blood, he was dead, and he knew it. 

He had to find Jiang Cheng. He had to get to his uncle— only when Jiang Cheng’s hand was on his shoulder did he know he was safe. 

But the disciples chasing him were laughing— they were jeering and cackling as Jin Ling desperately raced away, as if they knew he would tire out before them, and they would catch him. 

If only he had more stamina, Jin Ling couldn’t help but think. Wei Wuxian’s cultivation notes scribbled on the page dedicated to Jin Ling helped his cultivation immensely, but Jin Ling’s body was still young, and he couldn’t outrun someone who had been cultivating longer than him. 

He could outrace them, but he couldn’t outrun them. 

Need to get to Jiujiu, he thought desperately. Get to Jiujiu, get to Jiujiu, get to Jiujiu—

When a strangled scream came from behind him and the disciple from Qinghe cursed loudly, Jin Ling felt tears pour down his cheeks. 

A fierce corpse. It had caught scent of his blood. 

He pushed himself to run faster, even as the back of his robes shredded from the creature clawing out for him, even as his hair was yanked and tugged out— Jin Ling only kept from screaming because he knew he would probably alert more fierce corpses by being that loud, but the urge was there, right alongside the panic and fear coursing through Jin Ling’s veins.

I’m going to die, he thought. It’s going to catch me, I’m going to die just like Jin Guangyao did—

A loud explosion made him jump, and although he wanted to turn around to check what it was, he could tell by the lingering sound of sizzling that it was either Yunmeng or Qinghe’s signal flare. 

Jin Ling kept running, even as his chest became tighter and tighter, his head going light— he didn’t stop. 

And he smashed head first into another person. 

Jin Ling’s speed meant the both of them went flying, and when he smacked his head onto the ground, he blacked out instantly. 

He came to a second later, confused and disoriented, aware of the throbbing in his arm and head, a cold pain behind his eyes. 

He peeled his eyes open, blinking rapidly as he tried to clear the colorful dots that were dancing across his vision, and it took him a few seconds, but he focused on a face hovering above his. 

The face was faintly familiar, something about his features ringing a bell in Jin Ling’s mind, but he was too confused to try and make sense of it. 

“Hey,” the man said, waving his hand in front of Jin Ling’s vision. “Are you okay?”

“Bhhuerhh?” Jin Ling breathed, shaking his head to try and clear the fog from his brain, but the movement made stars dance across his eyes. 

“Yeah, don’t move too quickly,” the man admonished. “You were running quite fast, and hit your head hard. You might have a concussion.”

Concussion. Okay, Jin Ling knew what to do— ice. No, did you ice a concussion? Is it like a bruise? No— what is a concussion?

“Wha’?”

The man sighed, running his hand through his hair as he glanced at the sky, “You’re of Yunmeng, right? Were you the one who sent up the signal?”

Signal. Yunmeng. That wasn’t him. 

Jin Ling slowly shook his head, and the man studied his face. 

“You look familiar,” the man murmured, frowning as he scanned Jin Ling’s robes like he was searching for a name tag, and then paused on Suihua hanging from Jin Ling’s belt. 

Jin Zixuan had fondly shaken his head when Jin Ling said he didn’t want any other sword besides Suihua, and lended it to him whenever he asked-- and Jin Ling was slowly coming back to himself. 

“Look familiar too,” he murmured, reaching his hand out to brush against the man’s forehead. “Know you.”

The man raised an eyebrow, “Do you now? The name’s— uh, Mo Xuanyu.”

Mo Xuanyu. The name didn’t ring any bells, but then again, Jin Ling was still trying to think past the throbbing in his brain. 

“I was wondering if you could answer a few questions,” the man— Mo Xuanyu said softly. “Like, how long ago did the Yiling Patriarch die?”

Yiling Patriarch. Wei Wuxian. Wei Ying.

“Dajiu?” Jin Ling asked confusedly. Didn’t everyone know when he died? “When did Dajiu die?”

He slowly rolled onto his side to push himself up into a sitting position, and winced when a sharp throb went through his body. “Dajiu— Dajiu died eleven years ago.”

Mo Xuanyu made a choked sound, but Jin Ling was too busy scanning his surroundings, the chase quickly coming back to him. 

He was running from a fierce corpse— he didn’t make that up, his shredded robes and stinging head said he didn’t make that up— but there was no fierce corpse in the small clearing he was in. 

“Where—“ he turned to the shell-shocked Mo Xuanyu. “Where did the fierce corpse go?”

Mo Xuanyu opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it, looking like he was having a war with his own words, and just barely managed to whisper, “Jin Ling?”

The sound of his given name sent goosebumps up Jin Ling’s spine, and he shuddered, whipping back around to stare at Mo Xuanyu with wide eyes. “You— you know who I am?”

Mo Xuanyu’s eyes were suspiciously shiny, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, and his words were choked, “I— yes, I know who you are.”

Jin Ling stared at him with a small frown, “How?”

Mo Xuanyu let out a nervous laugh, borderlining delirium, and said, “You sure as hell don’t act like the peacock!”

Peacock. 

‘Don’t take after the damned peacock.’

“Peacock was what Wei Wuxian and I used to call your father,” Jiang Cheng had gruffed out when Jin Ling had asked once. “Because your father used to stick his head up and prance around like he was better than everyone else.”

Jin Ling zeroed in on this Mo Xuanyu, who was staring at the ground like it had the answers to the world written among the dirt, and felt hope bloom in his chest. 

Could this— could this be his Dajiu? Did someone perform that ritual— did Mo Xuanyu perform the ritual that would summon ghouls into your body if you sacrificed your soul?

Although Jin Ling felt a little sad someone would hate life that much, he felt an immense amount of gratitude towards Mo Xuanyu— if this was Wei Wuxian sitting in front of him. 

Jin Ling reached out and touched the man’s chest, prompting him to meet his eyes. “Are— are you afraid of me?”

Mo Xuanyu— hopefully Wei Wuxian— blinked confusedly. “Why would I fear you?”

“Exactly,” Jin Ling stared the man in the eyes. “I can’t do anything to you.”

Mo Xuanyu leaned back a little, frowning, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I have my own question.”

Mo Xuanyu nodded slowly, “Okay?”

“Are—“ he glanced towards the sky, as if making sure Jiang Cheng wouldn’t descend on him like an angry bird, and said, “You’re my Dajiu, aren’t you?”

Jin Ling knew what putting up an act looked like. Jiang Cheng would put on a smiling face whenever the festival celebrating the Yiling Patriarch’s birthday was started, even though Jin Ling could see the way his shoulders shook, the way he would collapse in his office and cry afterwards.

Jiang Cheng didn’t like reminders that Wei Wuxian was dead. He already had to deal with Jin Zixuan walking around Lotus Pier, and the annual festival was another reminder. 

He could see the act his father put up whenever his family was slandered in front of his very eyes, when the place of his childhood was spat on-- and he could see the face his mother put up whenever Jin Zixuan and Jiang Cheng fought, one that said she was trying to convince herself that everything would be okay.

So Jin Ling was very well versed in how to see the cracks in someone’s facade.

While the way Wei Wuxian threw his head back and laughed was very convincing, Jin Ling’s hand was on his chest, and he could feel the way the man’s heart started racing. The ending of his laugh was also forced, as if he was trying to make his laugh longer-- to try and convince Jin Ling that his thought was extremely funny.

Wei Wuxian smiled at Jin Ling, a fake sparkle of amusement in his eyes, “How could I be your dajiu? Wei Wuxian is—“ his tone softened, as if he realized laughing about his own death wasn’t funny. “Wei Wuxian is dead.”

Jin Ling was impressed. 

Like really freaking impressed.

But also extremely upset. 

The fact that Wei Wuxian knew how to put up such a good front was impressive, but the fact that he could put up such a good front meant Wei Wuxian had plenty of practice in the art, and that wasn’t something Jin Ling was happy about. 

He--

This was his Dajiu.

It hit Jin Ling squarely in the chest like a blow from Zidian— that had been an accident. Jiang Cheng hadn’t seen Jin Ling standing behind him, and that was the first time Jin Ling ever saw his uncle cry— that this was his Dajiu. Wei Wuxian was alive and breathing, blinking at the tears welling up in Jin Ling’s eyes like he was puzzling over a complex math equation. 

Jin Ling lurched forward and buried his face into Wei Wuxian’s chest, desperately trying to keep himself from sobbing as he curled his hands into the man’s black robes, tears streaming down his face. 

Wei Wuxian paused, as if he didn’t know how he was supposed to handle this situation, but his arms slowly wrapped around Jin Ling, and he laughed softly. “I guess you got your mother’s sharpness, didn’t you?”

“Dajiu,” Jin Ling cried, hands shaking as his emotions crashed into him like a tsunami. “Dajiu.” 

Wei Wuxian gently removed Jin Ling’s ponytail clip, and his head stung when his hair fell down to his back, a reminder that he had almost been killed by a fierce corpse, and he cried harder. 

“A-Ling,” Wei Wuxian murmured, gently running his fingers through Jin Ling’s hair as he rocked them side to side. “Don’t cry, A-Ling. Don’t cry, it’s going to be okay.”

Jin Ling was blubbering, trying to tell Wei Wuxian just how much he had helped him, how much his little sentences of encouragement pushed him through dark times, but he couldn’t get a word out without sobbing, his sentences being choked by his own torrent of tears. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t shush him. 

He didn’t try and stop Jin Ling from crying besides telling him everything was going to be okay, he just kept Jin Ling close and rubbed his back, murmuring soothing words. 

“Dajiu—“ Jin Ling sobbed. “Dajiu don’t— don’t leave— please— I don’t want you to leave— Dajiu please— stay with me— don’t go back—“

An echoed cry of Jin Ling’s name made him stutter, and Wei Wuxian‘s body instantly tensed up around Jin Ling, his breath stopping in his chest. 

He began trying to pull away from Jin Ling, and Jin Ling made a strangled noise of complaint as Wei Wuxian tried to wiggle away, whispering, “Jin Ling, let me go— Jiang Cheng can’t—“

Jin Ling was frantically shaking his head, clinging closer to Wei Wuxian, “Dajiu no— don’t leave— Dajiu please—“

Wei Wuxian freed one of Jin Ling’s hands, and he instantly felt the fear of being abandoned. “A-Ling—“

“Dajiu!” He sobbed, “Dajiu no! Don’t leave— please! Don’t leave me Daijiu— please stay with me—“

“A-Ling I can't,” Wei Wuxian whispered frantically, casting fearful glances to where Jiang Cheng’s shouting was getting louder. “I have to leave, Jiang Cheng—“

“Jiujiu won’t!” Jin Ling cried. “Jiujiu won’t hurt you— Dajiu—“

“You don’t know that!” Wei Wuxian cried, a brief moment of panic shooting across features, and the moment Jin Ling’s hand went slack in shock, Wei Wuxian lurched to his feet and shot off into the trees. 

Jin Ling couldn’t help the strangled scream that passed his lips, and Jiang Cheng was on him in an instant, harsh words disguising his worry as he gently pulled Jin Ling to his feet, asking a million questions, but Jin Ling could only thrash in his grip, trying to see where Wei Wuxian had ran off to. 

“Dajiu!” He shrieked, trying to yank himself out of Jiang Cheng’s grasp, “Dajiu!” 

Jiang Cheng handed Jin Ling off to the top disciple and took off towards where Jin Ling was screaming, but the burst of healing qi that entered Jin Ling’s system knocked him out instantly. 

Wei Wuxian was excited. 

He was buzzing around the Burial Mounds like a young maiden allowed to splurge her husband’s money for the first time, blabbing a mile a minute as they fluttered to and fro, and he couldn’t even try and hide it.  

He was going to see his nephew! The tiny Jin Ling, he had been invited to his one month!

Wei Wuxian ignored the Burial Mounds cackling at him from the back of his head, knowing his nervous excitement was amusing it, and continued tugging his hands through his rat’s nest, trying to smooth it down. 

“A-Ning!” He called, whirling around to the silently amused conscious corpse. “You have the gift?”

Wen Qionglin nodded, raising his open palms to brandish the cloth-covered bamboo box holding Jin Ling’s birthday gift, and even from where Wei Wuxian was standing, he could feel the warning the bell was emitting; to stay away or else. 

Something in Wei Wuxian’s chest loosened, before immediately tightening again, realizing how close to it Wen Qionglin was. “It doesn’t hurt you right?”

Wen Qionglin opened his mouth to answer, but Wei Wuxian was already rambling away, pacing up and down his Demon-Slaughtering Cave anxiously as he continued trying to brush his hair with his fingers. “I may have made it too strong, since it burns me when I get near it— but maybe that’s for the best? Because I’m the strongest resentful creature other than the Burial Mounds, and if it hurts me to touch, imagine all of the lesser beings? Do you think it would be hard to visit Jin Ling in the future? Since it repels so well— Maybe I can ask Shijie to take it off of him when I visit— if I visit. If I’m allowed to visit. Do you think they’ll let me visit? A-Ning, what if— hey! Don’t touch that!”

Wen Qionglin jumped as if he had been scalded, but obediently removed his hand from the bamboo box. 

Wei Wuxian sighed, removing his hands from his hair and snatching the red ribbon sitting on his makeshift bed to tie his hair back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just don’t know what kind of side effects it would have on a conscious corpse, and I don’t want to chance it.”

Wen Qionglin nodded eagerly. “It’s okay, Young Master Wei, I understand. If it works on you and me, that just means Young Master Jin would be all the more safe, right?”

“Aiya,” Wei Wuxian gave up on trying to do his hair nicely and just tied it in his usual messy half-up half-down. “Your sister adopted me as her little brother, A-Ning. That makes me your Gege!”

Wen Qionglin made a small strangled sound. “Jiejie did, but Young Master Wei, to call you—“

Wei Wuxian turned to the nervous corpse and pouted. “Does A-Ning not want to call me Gege?”

“No! That’s not— I didn’t mean—“ Wen Qionglin scrambled to try and comfort Wei Wuxian, only to trail off in embarrassment when Wei Wuxian bursted out laughing. 

“I’m just teasing you!” Wei Wuxian giggled, reaching out to poke Wen Qionglin’s cheek. “Come on, let’s start making our way to Lanling.”

With Wen Qing no longer stressing over how safe her family was, she was allowed to keep going deeper and deeper into her medicine practices, and she was currently looking into a way to try and bring a corpse back to a human-looking state. 

Although Wen Qing had to sit Wei Wuxian down and explain that there was no way to bring Wen Qionglin’s body back to life— something about his organs being completely dead and unable to be restored— she had read ways to restore a human look in a corpse when the face was too disfigured to just cover, and that was what she wanted to do for Wen Qionglin, that way he would stop being so self-conscious about his undead look, but it was slow work. 

Of course, the manuscripts she read the process in were lost when the Nightless City was burned down to the ground, but there were plenty of fierce corpses Wen Qing experimented on, and currently, Wen Qionglin wasn’t such a deathly color. 

Although Wen Qing had only begun experiments to help her brother, Wen Qionglin already had a healthier color, and his cheeks flushed darker when he was embarrassed, which was closer to a human look than he was just last week. 

Wei Wuxian poked that dark flush once more before gently taking the box out of Wen Qionglin’s hand, ignoring the heat it gave off. The warning that if touched, Wei Wuxian would be seriously injured.

Wei Wuxian had actually been going for something a little less harsher than this, but in the future, he knew it would be better for Jin Rulan to have such a strong resentment repellant, especially if he was living in the lion’s den known as Koi Tower. 

“You don’t have to call me Gege if you don’t want to,” Wei Wuxian assured him as they walked out of the cave. “I was just teasing you.”

“I want to.” Wen Qionglin admitted. “I just don’t want people to...”

“I don’t care if people talk,” Wei Wuxian started, but Wen Qionglin cut him off. 

“I don’t want people to say you married Jie.”

Wei Wuxian choked on his next breath, the sudden admission making him stumble down the small hill he was ready to move around, and he crashed straight into the woman they were speaking about. 

“Be more careful!” Wen Qing immediately admonished. “Do you want to dirty the brand new robes we just bought you?!”

“Jie,” Wei Wuxian whined. “I almost fell to my death and you’re worried about my robes?”

Wen Qing scoffed and pushed Wei Wuxian off of her, but he pretended he didn’t notice her sweep a worried glance at his legs, as if wondering if he needed to be treated for an injury he didn’t tell her about. 

“Of course. If your robes get dirty, we don’t have the money to buy you new ones. I don’t have to worry about you dying because you’re like a cockroach. Nothing can kill you.“

Wei Wuxian gasped, slapping a hand to his chest as he allowed himself to fall back onto Wen Qionglin. “Didi, Jie is being mean to A-Xian.”

Wen Qionglin glanced down at him with an unamused stare, but like the little angel he was, didn’t push Wei Wuxian off. 

Wei Wuxian brushed imaginary dust off his black and red robes and stood straight, shooting Wen Qing a grin as he waved the bamboo box under her nose. “We’ll be right back, Jie! You won’t even have time to miss us!”

Wen Qing crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “If you stay here, you’re going to be late.”

“Ah!” Wei Wuxian curled his arm around Wen Qionglin’s and began tugging him towards the one way to get into and out of Burial Mounds. “We’ll be leaving then!”

“Xian-Gege!”

Wei Wuxian spun on his heel as a small red and white blur latched onto his leg, making him laugh loudly as he leaned down to scoop the small boy into his arms, giggling as a warm face immediately buried into the crook of his neck, “Be safe Gege!”

“I will,” Wei Wuxian promised, squeezing the boy lightly. “I’ll be right back!”

He nuzzled Wen Yuan’s cheek and beamed when the small child shrieked with laughter, wiggling to try and escape. “Be super fast!”

“I will!” Wei Wuxian sat the boy down on his feet and urged him back to Wen Qing, who took his hand to keep him from running at Wei Wuxian again. “I’ll be like lightning!”

“Fast fast!” Wen Yuan laughed, jumping up and down eagerly. “And then Xian-Gege can come home!”

“Yes!” Wei Wuxian laughed and took Wen Qionglin’s arm again. “We’ll be right back!”

Wen Qing had a soft smile on her face. “See you when you get back.”

Wei Wuxian saluted her, and then dragged Wen Qionglin out of the Burial Mounds. 

What happened afterwards could only be told by Wei Wuxian in parts. 

He remembers teasing Wen Qionglin all the way to Lanling, and he remembers pausing on Qiongqi Path, the danger receptors gifted to him from Burial Mounds alerting him that he wasn’t safe. 

He had apologized to Wen Qionglin and stood behind him, knowing that if they were attacked, Wen Qionglin would be able to protect him first, and they continued their careful journey towards the path on high alert. 

When a Jin had shown up, demanding Wei Wuxian to take off the Hundred-Holed Curse, he had simply and honestly answered that he didn’t know how to take people’s curses, to which he got a lot of strangled gurgling and a furious snarl. He had shared an identical glance with his younger brother, one that screamed ‘this is the guy we were so worried about?’

He remembers the Jin taunting him, claiming that he was only showing up to Jin Ling’s one month in order to steal Jiang Yanli from Jin Zixuan, that he was going to—

He really wished he didn’t remember all the things that Jin had accused him of wishing to do with his own fucking sister, but he did. 

The Burial Mounds had been able to feel his horror, his pure disgust and it had gotten irritated on his behalf. 

Wei Wuxian had become affected by that irritation, and he remembers the vindictiveness he felt when the Jin flushed a dark, mortified red at being called flaccid, and he remembers Jin Zixuan showing up, panting and looking frightened. 

Wei Wuxian remembers speaking to Jin Zixuan, remembers the man telling off the other Jin, and then he remembers a blur of movement. 

Arrows were shot at Jin Zixuan. Wei Wuxian had a split second to think, “And leave Shijie all alone?” Before he acted. 

He remembers the disgusting feeling of being pressed up against Jin Zixuan, remembers turning on his heel, and then pure, sharp pain was shooting through his entire body. 

He remembers Wen Qionglin’s horrified screech, remembers hearing the Burial Mounds screaming just as loud, and he remembers thinking ‘this is too much’. 

He remembers closing his eyes. 

And when he opened them, it was— to his utter confusion— to the sight of an abandoned building. 

It took a few seconds for him to adjust and recognize the sounds of chatter when he had just been in the silence of Qiongqi Path, but when he adjusted, it was easy to see he didn't actually know where he was.

The building he was in was in shambles, the doors hanging off of their hinges and the glass shattered, paint peeling off the walls and the ground utterly filthy, and Wei Wuxian didn’t recognize it at all.

He slowly pushed himself to his knees, trying to gain his bearings, and he jumped when the chatter suddenly got louder, like whoever was outside the building was arguing with each other, and Wei Wuxian heard, “Demonic cultivator,” and decided he needed to book it. 

He shoved himself to his feet, stumbling on what looked suspiciously like a sacrificial knife, and blanched when he caught sight of the blood painted onto the floorboards.

“Hey,” someone spoke above the loud chatter. “Whoever’s in there is awake.”

Wei Wuxian threw himself bodily out of the window just as the entrance was stormed by what looked like farmers and merchants, their hands gripping torches and swords.

But Wei Wuxian had already recognized the ritual painted on the ground.

There had been a small period in time on the Burial Mounds that Wei Wuxian had been extremely unstable. Having just gone through a war and having to deal with being outcast by the entire world, he felt extremely alone, and scared. 

He was stuck inside his head most of the time, the resentful energy contributing to his inability to speak to anyone, and he felt like he was drowning more often than not. 

But he couldn’t tell anyone. Who would listen to him? 

Jiang Cheng? Who was rebuilding his Sect from the ashes and couldn’t even spare Wei Wuxian a glance?

Jiang Yanli? Who was celebrating her new marriage and pregnancy, a smile firmly on her face out of happiness instead of obligation?

Lan Wangji? Who was the textbook definition of a righteous stick in the mud, and couldn’t handle Wei Wuxian’s cultivation if his life depended on it?

No. He couldn’t tell anyone. 

And this was before Wen Qing allowed him to call her Jie, before Granny patted him on the head and told him A-Yuan needed a parent, that she needed a child, before Wen Ning would sit beside him in the fields and listen to him ramble about everything and anything— no. This was when Wei Wuxian was all alone, the world against him and the Wens terrified of him. 

His mind could only spin around in circles, laughter screaming at him from the back of his mind as the Stygian Amulet’s whispers wracked his being with pain, asking why don’t you wield your sword? Why weren’t you strong enough? How could you kill them? Murderer. Murderer! Your mother would hate you, your father would be disappointed in you. How dare you even try and make yourself seem human? You’re a monster, a monster, monster, monster!

And he needed to let it out. He needed to channel all of that negative emotions out before he clawed his eyes out in his own insanity, sobbing from the guilt of everything that happened to Yunmeng Jiang, and then the mocking ghosts who asked him if he even had the right to cry. 

Torture methods, spiritual weapons, elaborate plans to rid of resentful energy, talismans that only brought despair, traps for night hunting, devices to catch liars— everything and anything flowed out from underneath his brush, slanted and frantic, laying out his brief insanity for the world to see. 

When Wei Wuxian had properly connected with Burial Mounds and the extra strength helped him soothe his mind—helped not only shove away the Stygian Amulet’s control of him, but actually completely destroyed it— he had reread his notes with horror. 

If anyone saw them, they would truly believe Wei Wuxian was the madman they claimed him to be. 

He read rituals to summon fierce ghosts to exact revenge, about talismans that could suck out all of the water from a person’s body, arrows coated with poison that would set on fire as soon as it touched blood, devices that would scramble the mind like eggs if placed on the temples, traps that would drive people insane and contribute to the resentful energy Wei Wuxian could use—

He read scribbled paragraphs dedicated to Jiang Cheng about his golden core, about trying to make himself seem less so Jiang Fengmian would leave him alone, about how he always felt he somehow deserved Madam Yu’s rage, and how he knew nothing he would ever do could pay for what he’d done to them. 

There was a whole page apologizing to Jiang Yanli for not making it to her wedding, promising her that he was certain she was beautiful, that Jin Zixuan didn’t deserve such a heavenly bride, and that he wishes her happiness throughout the rest of her life. 

There was a letter to Jin Ling, asking if he was still allowed to be called his Dajiu— and assuring him that Jiang Cheng was a shitty teacher and if he was struggling with cultivation that wasn’t his fault. There were pointers and tips, small drawings and encouragement.

There were threatening letters to Jin Zixuan about treating his shijie right, and exactly what Wei Wuxian would do to him if he ever made his sister cry again. There were pages smeared with tears begging Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan for forgiveness, and the occasional line asking if his parents were still proud of him.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t reread all of it. He was so horrified by what he has created— this monstrosity that was proof of Wei Wuxian’s insanity, his inability to keep his head on his shoulders through tough times, and he almost tore it in half before glimpsing the last page.

It was a drawing of Lan Wangji, his robes bloodied and ruined as his eyes burned with anguish, his hair flowing gracefully down his back, and the words come back to Gusu with me were written everywhere. Like a mantra, a reminder that Wei Wuxian had, at one point, been given a chance. 

He should’ve burned that book. Should’ve torn it to shreds and buried it where no one would ever go, in the heart of Burial Mounds where the resentful energy was so thick it would choke even him, but like a goddamned idiot, he didn’t. 

He chucked it into the inky black water that ran through the mountain, not knowing that his maniacal brain had put a stasis talisman between the pages, so water wouldn’t damage it and fire couldn’t burn it. 

(He didn’t know that the river flowed out into Yiling and was found by a traveling fisherman, where it was sent to a nameless sect after his death and then copied word for word, tear droplet for tear droplet, and sent to the major sects. 

After reading the entire thing and realizing what a breach of privacy it was, Yunmeng Jiang banned the printing and selling of the book, Gusu and Qinghe readily agreed, but that didn’t stop a few copies from being passed around. 

Namely, the infamous page that had I want my golden core back it hurts it hurts it hurts want it back promised Madam Yu Jiang Cheng needs it hurts hurts hurts want it back want it back WANT IT BACK slashed into the pages like someone angrily carving their pains out for the world to understand, the first page Jin Ling had gotten his hands on. 

And of course, the drawings. Those were traced and sold to everyone, the less the drawing was printed, the more it cost. 

Drawings of Lan Wangji, of a laughing Jiang Cheng and a smiling Jiang Yanli, of a child no one could name, of the Burial Mounds that no one had ever seen, of a Wei Wuxian with bloody tears running down his cheeks, a bright smile on his shadowed face. 

It made people truly see how young he was, a child who had been tossed into a war that he had no choice but to fight, and with no one there to help him get out of his head, he was suffering. 

It made the weaker hearts cry, made mothers clutch their children close and made everyone who condemned him understand.

It made Wei Wuxian become someone who people prayed to, prayed for, asking all of the gods and deities above to grant him a peaceful journey to the afterlife, praying for the Burial Mounds as they could now understand the pain it was feeling.

But Wei Wuxian didn’t know this.)

All he knew was that the book was the bane of his existence, and the ritual painted on the wooden floorboards was the very ritual scribbled down on one of those pages. 

The one that summoned vicious ghosts to exact revenge. 

But Wei Wuxian didn’t recall becoming a vicious ghost. He didn’t remember ever haunting or hurting anyone after his death, so why was he still summoned?

But these were thoughts for a different time. 

It was well into the night as Wei Wuxian raced through the trees, desperate to get away from the proof that his notebook had made it out into the world, proof that everyone saw the insane moment in his life— and he was certain he was already hated for it. 

Crashing head-first into a disciple from Yunmeng wasn’t on his list of to-do things, but then again, life can’t be planned. 

Wei Wuxian had spun around when he felt the resentful energy creeping up on him, and flung his hand out in a ‘halt’ motion, tilting his head to the side as the fierce corpse swayed on its feet, waiting for Wei Wuxian’s command. 

“What are you doing?” He asked it sternly, knowing for sure that this was a child from Yunmeng. “Why are you chasing this child?”

Tainted. The resentful energy shrieked. Tainted tainted tainted kill kill kill die die die—

Wei Wuxian shut it out of his head and waved the fierce corpse away, “Leave. Don’t bother this child ever again.”

The corpse obediently whirled on it’s heel and dashed back into the forest, it’s footsteps almost silent.

Meeting Jin Ling wasn’t something that he ever thought he would be able to do, since he was killed on his way the first time, but it was definitely a pleasant surprise. 

Even as he found out he had been dead for eleven years. 

Eleven years. 

That made Wen Yuan fourteen. 

Fourteen.

Although Wei Wuxian had a brief moment of fear, where he worried that Jin Guanshan had really gone on his word and killed everyone on Burial Mounds, he had faith that the Burial Mounds wouldn’t let anyone get into it- especially when he specifically asked it to protect the people he left behind.

And as soon as Wei Wuxian heard Jiang Cheng, a small part of him screamed run. Run run run—

And that part of him got louder and louder just like Jiang Cheng’s shouts, until he had to pry himself out of his nephew’s hold, heart throbbing with every cry the child let out, but he was a coward. 

He didn’t have the guts to face Jiang Cheng— especially since he had just been on Qiongqi Path— but that was eleven years ago— why did it feel like seconds ago—

He didn’t expect to be chased down. 

He didn’t expect to be tackled into the ground. 

He didn’t expect Jiang Cheng to cry.

“Why the fuck would you run?!” Jiang Cheng spat angrily, his hands gripping Wei Wuxian’s arms tightly to keep him from running. “Why?! Do you not see what state you left A-Ling in?! You— why the fuck— the hell is wrong with you?!”

Wei Wuxian could only lay in the dirt, eyes wide and chest heaving as Jiang Cheng snarled angrily, shoving his arms firmer into the dirt, like Wei Wuxian could somehow break his grip and run again. 

“You didn’t— you didn’t want to see me, is that it?” Jiang Cheng hissed through clenched teeth as Wei Wuxian snapped his jaw shut. “That’s— that’s fine— but how dare you, how dare you make A-Ling cry like that? What the fuck Wei Wuxian?!”

“I didn’t—“

“You did!” Jiang Cheng raged. “You saw how he was clutching at you, and you still ran! You still— why the fuck would you do that?! The hell is wrong with you?!”

“Can you blame me?!” Wei Wuxian cried. “I could— I could hear you! You were coming, and I—“

“And you what?! AND YOU WHAT?! Do I scare you that fucking much?! That you would go running as soon as you heard my voice?!”

“Jiang Cheng, I just died!” He cried angrily, ignoring the way Jiang Cheng flinched. “I just— I just died, okay?! We don’t— didn’t have a good relationship before I died— and I died what feels like just a few seconds ago! Don’t fucking scream at me because I’m scared! I woke up to find out that— that I’ve been dead for eleven years! Eleven years Jiang Cheng, eleven!”

“I know how many years you’ve been dead!” Jiang Cheng hissed. “I had to live every single one of them without you! You— you fucking bastard, why the hell would you— fuck you!”

Wei Wuxian gaped, “What?”

“Don’t what me,” Jiang Cheng snarled. “I lived every single fucking day watching that bastard laugh and smile with A-Ling, knowing you had died for him to live! Knowing that his family had been the one to murder you— and why did you have to die?! Why—“

“It was me or him!” Wei Wuxian screamed. “It was Jin Zixuan or me! How dare you blame me for choosing Jin Zixuan!”

Jiang Cheng looked like he had been struck. “Would you rather have had Jin Zixuan die instead of me?! Would you have rather had Jin Ling grow up without knowing what a father was?!”

Wei Wuxian tore his arms free from Jiang Cheng’s slack grip, “Well fuck you Jiang Cheng! I’m sorry for choosing Jin Zixuan over myself! I’m sorry for making sure Jin Ling had a father growing up! I’m sorry for making sure he had something neither of us had! Fuck you for shaming my decision! Fuck you for believing for even one goddamned second I would’ve been the reason to make Shijie cry!”

Jiang Cheng flinched, as if he had never put much thought into Wei Wuxian’s position at Qiongqi Path, and knowing Jiang Cheng, he probably didn’t. 

“You didn’t think about that, did you?! If Jin Zixuan had died, Shijie would’ve been widowed! Fuck you for thinking I would do that to my own sister! Fuck you for thinking I would ever put myself above Shijie’s happiness!”

Wei Wuxian shoved Jiang Cheng off of him and stood, knowing he needed the extra height to make his point. “What the fuck, Jiang Cheng? What’s wrong with you?!”

It was Jiang Cheng’s turn to stutter, to gape and stumble over his words, “I—I—“

Wei Wuxian kicked Sandu off of Jiang Cheng’s belt in his fury, and snarled, “If all you’re going to fucking do is insult my actions and question my decisions, then fuck you! Let me go back to the Burial Mounds, and then you’ll never have to see me again!”

“No!” Jiang Cheng cried, shooting up to grab Wei Wuxian’s robe. “Don’t do that!”

Wei Wuxian faltered, his fury warring his confusion. “What?”

“Don’t leave— Wei Wuxian, you fucker— don’t leave please, you goddamned— don’t leave, please please don’t— don’t disappear again— I can’t— you can’t—“

Wei Wuxian dropped to his knees and quickly hugged Jiang Cheng, “Hey, hey, breathe, it’s okay, Jiang Cheng, breathe okay?”

Jiang Cheng was crying, shaking his head as if Madam Yu’s commands for him to stop being a pansy was playing on repeat in his head, but he shoved his face into Wei Wuxian’s chest in an exact replica of Jin Ling’s crying earlier, and the similarity made Wei Wuxian’s heart clench. 

Hearing Jiang Cheng muffle his sobs into Wei Wuxian’s chest made Wei Wuxian understand instantly that what he had seen as rage wasn’t rage, but fear and hurt. 

Fear because Wei Wuxian was finally back, and Jiang Cheng was scared he would leave him again, and hurt because Wei Wuxian’s first action after hearing Jiang Cheng nearby was to run, to escape.

His fury disappeared in an instant, and his demeanor softened to something of guilt, his hold on Jiang Cheng getting tighter as he tried to make his brother feel his regret, his apology he didn’t know how to put in words, but Jiang Cheng only cried harder. 

“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian murmured. “I really thought you hated me.”

“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng sobbed. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you—“

“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian repeated, ignoring the wet spot on his robes that was getting bigger and bigger, sticking to his skin in an uncomfortable way. “I won’t leave if you don’t want me to—“

“No,” Jiang Cheng choked out instantly. “No, no— don’t leave— please, Wei Wuxian—“

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian soothed. “I won’t disappear.”

“Don’t- don’t go to Burial Mounds,” Jiang Cheng choked. “Please don’t— I won’t see you again—“

Wei Wuxian sighed, carding his fingers through Jiang Cheng’s hair like he had just done to Jin Ling not even five minutes earlier. “I have to go back to Burial Mounds—“

The choked cry Jiang Cheng let out made Wei Wuxian want to curl up into his own ball and cry. 

“But that doesn’t mean I’ll stay there,” Wei Wuxian amended quickly. “I just— I need to see how everyone is doing. The last time Didi saw me—“

“‘M your Didi.”

Wei Wuxian paused, blinking slightly, but buried his smile into Jiang Cheng’s hair, “Yes, you’re my Didi, but so is A-Ning.”

Wei Wuxian felt déjà vu while rocking Jiang Cheng from side to side in a way he hadn’t ever done before, but it was almost soothing. 

Jiang Cheng had never hugged Wei Wuxian before, always saying it was below the future Sect leader to hug people, but Wei Wuxian knew it was because he hadn’t been given affection as a child, and feared what it would do to him. He knew that if he got used to hugging Wei Wuxian, to sitting close to him and letting him do his hair, he would be utterly broken when Wei Wuxian decided to stop being close to Jiang Cheng.

Not that Wei Wuxian would ever, but Jiang Cheng didn’t seem to understand that. 

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian murmured. “What happened to your bun?”

Jiang Cheng choked out a laugh, “It— looks more like you.”

Ah. 

On Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian didn’t exactly have the time or patience to care for his own hair, so he would leave it down. Only after he connected with the Burial Mounds and became more stable did Wei Wuxian’s third aunt force him to sit on a barstool in the middle of the camp and make him go through a grueling makeover. 

Granny laughed and laughed when she saw Wei Wuxian’s hair done up like a rich mistress, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t even deny that he liked how it looked. 

A-Yuan would tug on the pigtails and giggle when Wei Wuxian gasped in outrage, would laugh when Wei Wuxian snapped open the fan third aunt gifted him with and snottily turn his nose up. Like the children they both were, they would burst into cackles while Granny watched with a happy beam. 

He remembers one time when he was freshly pimped up, his face smeared with homemade makeup and hair pulled back so tight his eyebrows were raised haughtily, he had stood gracefully and snapped open the fan, holding it under his eyes coquettishly as he fluttered his eyelashes at Wen Ning, making Granny wheeze with laughter as he playfully flirted with the poor boy who got more and more nervous, stuttering on his words as he tried to deny the ‘young maiden’s’ advances. 

Wen Qing had slapped him upside the head and said she refused to have her ‘little sister’ trying to start something with her younger brother, and Granny was almost crying from laughter by the time the woman had dragged Wei Wuxian away to do the farming as punishment for shirking his duties.

But the idea of Jiang Cheng, sitting alone in Lotus Pier with nothing but his own lonely thoughts, doing his hair like Wei Wuxian as an attempt to try and get closer to the brother he had lost— it broke Wei Wuxian’s heart. 

The image of Jiang Cheng’s hands shaking has he took his signature purple ribbon from his usual bun and allowed his hair to fall down his back, tears sliding down his face as he retied his hair up into a high ponytail—

Wow. 

As if Wei Wuxian needed his heart, emotions, and sense of survival.  

He hugged Jiang Cheng tighter and whispered, “...I’m sorry.”

Jiang Cheng made a noncommittal sound, sniffling like a child, and they sat like that until Jiang Cheng broke the silence, “You want to know something funny, Wei Wuxian?”

Wei Wuxian hummed. 

“After you died, Sandu stopped responding to me.”

Wei Wuxian froze. He slowly turned his head to where he had kicked Sandu— and sure enough, the cover was purple, but it wasn’t Sandu. 

It was Suibian.

“I couldn’t unsheathe it,” Jiang Cheng murmured. “It was like Suibian; it had sealed itself, and no one could open it. It was confusing for everyone, since I was the obvious owner of Sandu— and I was wearing Zidian, so there was no way I was possessed— but it wouldn’t open.”

Jiang Cheng let out a self-deprecating huff. “People said all sorts of things— had all sorts of theories. But of course, nothing was worse than when I took Suibian from that damned man’s hands— and it came straight out of its sheath.”

Wei Wuxian was silent. 

Jiang Cheng finally pulled away from him, and his eyes were shiny with tears, his voice choked with things he wouldn’t say. “Do you know what your notebook said?”

Jiang Cheng didn’t wait for Wei Wuxian’s answer. “That book said that you had laid awake for two nights and two days while Wen Qing painfully extracted your golden core— that you could feel every incision she made, could feel the warmth of your spiritual energy slowly leaving your meridians— because anesthetics could harm the core during its removal.”

“Jiang Cheng—“

Jiang Cheng’s tears began sliding down his face. “That book said that you only continued through that pain because I needed spiritual cultivation more than you did, that although you would watch yourself fall from the very top to rock bottom, you knew I had a lot of pride, and probably wouldn’t make it out of the war alive.”

Jiang Cheng dropped his stare to the ground and sniffed, wiping his tears with his purple sleeves. “I— I’m not mad. I was mad, for a long time too— but Yunmeng Jiang firmly stands beside the Yiling Laozu. When that Sect was destroyed, Yunmeng Jiang didn’t—“

“Wait, what?” Wei Wuxian shook his head slightly to try and stay with the flow of this conversation. “That Sect? Qishan?”

Jiang Cheng stared at Wei Wuxian as if he had majorly missed something, but obediently opened his mouth and said, “No. The— the other one.”

Wei Wuxian’s lips parted in confusion. “There was another Sect that was destroyed?”

Jiang Cheng nodded once,quickly wiping his face clean of tears. 

Wei Wuxian’s jaw dropped. “What?! Oh my god— wait, which one?! Did— how many— was it another war?! How did—“

“It was the Sect Jie married into,” Jiang Cheng murmured, looking away. “They were destroyed about an hour after your death.”

Wei Wuxian blinked stupidly. “Shijie— Lanling Jin?”

Jiang Cheng flinched as if he had been struck, and whirled around to glare at Wei Wuxian. “I’ll let you off this once since you just came back to life, but we don’t say that name.”

Wei Wuxian was bewildered. “What— why?”

“Because,” Jiang Cheng rubbed Zidian. “It’s taboo.”

“How—“ Wei Wuxian pressed a hand to his temple. “How is it taboo?”

Jiang Cheng huffed a breath. “I don’t have time for this! Just talk to— to the Burial Mounds, I’m taking you to Yunmeng.”

Wei Wuxian squeaked when he was hoisted into Jiang Cheng’s arms, and he flushed an embarrassed pink. “What— what are you doing?”

“I’m taking you to Yunmeng,” Jiang Cheng said like it was obvious. “You can talk to Burial Mounds like this, it’ll take about an hour to get home.”

Home. 

Lotus Pier would always have his respect and happy memories, but with Yu Ziyuan making her hatred for him regularly known and the animosity growing between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian because of Jiang Fengmian’s obvious favoring, he always felt like he was walking on eggshells, afraid of being too loud and bringing everything crashing down around him. 

On the Burial Mounds, fourth uncle would drink Wei Wuxian under the table while the other alcoholics roared with laughter, third aunt would do his hair in outrageous ways to make him grin as the other beauty gurus lectured him on skin care, A-Yuan would laugh at every joke he told and hug him whenever he was quiet for a second too long, and Wen Qing would slap him upside the head when he slacked on his farming. 

Granny would sit with him on the quiet days and teach him how to sew, would pat his head in a motherly way Wei Wuxian had never experienced before, would brush her fingers through his hair when he cried into her lap, and when he slacked in his self-care, would scold him gently, like a mother worried for her child but still trying to get across what they did was wrong. 

Lotus Pier hasn’t ever been home before, and Wei Wuxian was about to say so, but Jiang Cheng angrily cut him off. “Before you say some shit about not being welcome, my Lotus Pier will always be your home.”

Wei Wuxian buried his face into Jiang Cheng’s neck to try and curb his urge to cry. “Thank you.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed, “Whatever.”

But his arms were gentle when they unsheathed— unsheathed Suibian, and the sight of his sword gave Wei Wuxian a sharp pang of longing, but he shoved it away quickly— and Jiang Cheng was careful to not jostle Wei Wuxian when he stepped onto the blade. 

Suibian had been taken by Jiang Cheng after a terrible argument they had right before cutting ties, where Jiang Cheng had accused Wei Wuxian of believing himself above everyone else, that his skills were so high he didn’t even need to bother carrying around a sword, and Wei Wuxian hadn’t been ready for such an accusation. 

Can you not feel it?! He had wanted to scream. Can you not feel how familiar that energy is?!

But he didn’t. He had stalked up to Jiang Cheng and shoved Suibian into his arms, snarling, “If it means so much to you, then you can have it.”

He had then turned around, placing his back to Jiang Cheng, and the obvious dismissal pissed Jiang Cheng off, so he had stomped off with Suibian in his hands. 

Wei Wuxian smiled softly into Jiang Cheng’s purple robes. It seemed Jiang Cheng had kept Suibian all this time, instead of tossing it into a lake or down a mountain to get rid of it. 

Even if it had helped expose his secret of the Golden Core transfer, the fact that Jiang Cheng had kept it warmed Wei Wuxian’s heart. 

He called the resentful energy to him string by string, trying to keep the amounts small and build on them piece by piece, that way Jiang Cheng had time to get used to it, as opposed to just tossing him into the feeling and letting him drown in it.

Besides tensing up and staying as stiff as a board when they departed— wherever they were, Jiang Cheng didn’t object to the cool feeling, so Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and reached out for the Burial Mounds. 

It was quite an experience the first time he connected with the Burial Mounds, a cool, agonized conscious brushing against his curiously, like a child dipping their fingers into the water, and then falling into it. 

The Burial Mounds’ amount of spiritual energy was so vast Wei Wuxian wondered how many immortals had been slaughtered in the battle that had created it. But he never asked, because that was quite rude.

It was like asking Wei Wuxian how he died. Was it not obvious how he died?

The rush of another consciousness brushing against his mind always made Wei Wuxian shiver, his hair raising on end as a multitude of emotions rushed past him. Wei Wuxian was accustomed to the agony and pain that he felt, but it was easily forgotten as Burial Mounds shoved another emotion at him. 

The feeling of pure joy ran through him, and Wei Wuxian felt his eyes well up with tears as the Burial Mounds screeched happily, like a drunken man learning he had free drinks for the rest of his life, consciousness rubbing against his like an exhilarated bunny seeing its owner again.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, momentarily forgetting that Jiang Cheng was right there. “Did you miss me?”

The Burial Mounds vibrated loudly, as if it was shaking erratically, and Wei Wuxian didn’t even have time to pray for everyone in Yiling, who was experiencing an earthquake, as he was too busy working up all of his energy to hug the Burial Mounds. 

The body he was currently in had a sparse amount of spiritual energy, like the original owner had cultivated just enough to complete the soul-sacrificing ritual before throwing himself headfirst into the summoning, and Wei Wuxian didn’t want to destroy that small amount of energy because he was hasty. 

It made Wei Wuxian’s heart clench. Mo Xuanyu had died so young.

As if sensing his low spiritual capabilities, the Burial Mounds rumbled louder and sent energy his way, letting it rush through this body’s meridians and power up his mind completely, until he was just as clear-minded as before he started demonic cultivation. 

When Wei Wuxian had first felt it through his agonized insanity, he had lashed out, utterly terrified of what felt like another person in his head, and the slip in focus allowed the Burial Mounds to see into his mind. 

It saw how Wei Wuxian used to laugh, used to lean on Jiang Cheng and drink until the younger boy had to drag him back to his room by his foot, and then looked at the boy who clawed at his eyes and screamed in agony from the weight of things he couldn’t hold up, and it was pained to see such a young child so broken. 

And so it had yanked Wei Wuxian into a state that was similar to the Empathy, and it spoke to a human for the first time since the Burial Mounds was created.

It was in that state of appearance that Wei Wuxian understood how exactly the Burial Mounds was sentient.

And because of that interaction, he was calmer, cool-headed when facing something frustrating and no longer worked himself into a rage. 

Burial Mounds comforted and praised as best as it could, feeling as though the praise Wei Wuxian had gotten as a child was double-sided and not actually for him, but it was even quicker to point out what he was doing wrong and scold him gently like Granny, out of fear that if it didn’t push Wei Wuxian away from things that could possible harm him, he would lose himself to the madness again.

Wei Wuxian had never had someone do that for him. Jiang Yanli was too soft-hearted to ever tell him he was doing something wrong, and while Jiang Cheng was quick to point out his faults, it was always strained because Jiang Cheng knew he would never reach the pedestal Jiang Fengmian placed Wei Wuxian on. 

But not the Burial Mounds. Not Wen Qing. Not his family. 

Wen Yuan had cried when Wei Wuxian stepped out of his Demon Slaughtering Cave with a clear head, explaining through his muffled blubbering that the ‘bad man’ who took over Wei Wuxian’s body wasn’t his Xian-gege. Wen Yuan couldn’t associate Wei Wuxian’s insanity with the Wei Wuxian he had grown to know, and that part had hurt Wei Wuxian the most. 

He had lost himself that much.

The Burial Mounds murmured softly, and a feeling of gentle curiosity brushed against his mind, making him sigh. “No, I’m okay. I’m just... thinking about A-Yuan.”

The Burial Mounds felt his longing, and made a clicking sound that reminded Wei Wuxian very painfully of the ‘tch’ Madam Yu would make when she found something unfavorable, and it suddenly shoved him into a memory. 

Burial Mounds’ memories were very insane to relive. They weren’t like Empathy, but at the same time they were?

It was like watching a memory from a million different perspectives. Wei Wuxian could feel Wen Yuan’s footsteps tapping on the ground as he walked, could see his ponytail swinging from behind, from above, from the side, could see his pale face from the front, from below-- like he had a million eyes and they were all focused on Wen Yuan-- and sometimes it was too much. 

His vision could be from three steps away to inches away faster than he could blink, could be soaring above all of the Wens from the highest peak on Burial Mounds, could be anywhere really, and Wei Wuxian mourned the fact that he would never get used to it. 

But Wei Wuxian understood. 

“They’re— they’re all okay,” he breathed, watching the boy he had adopted kneel down in a small patch of black grass and pick a flower so red it made Wei Wuxian shudder. 

Wen Yuan was tall, slender and youthful, but awkward in the way a teenager was, his skin a tad too pale for Wei Wuxian’s liking, and his face somber in a way he didn’t quite like either. 

Wei Wuxian was staring at his fourteen year old son, who just moments ago-- at least for Wei Wuxian-- was three years old.

The Burial Mounds grumbled, and Wei Wuxian laughed as he was hit with the sudden feeling of offense, as if it was asking you really thought I would let them get hurt?

Wei Wuxian wiped his face clean and chuckled. “No, I was just.... worried. Scared. I... just found out I was dead for eleven years.”

Jiang Cheng tensed. 

He shifted, apologetically patting Jiang Cheng’s arm as he tried to speak softer, assuming Jiang Cheng’s unease was because he was being loud. “You know what else I found out?”

The Burial Mounds went silent, like a child who just got shown the object they broke, and was currently trying to seem innocent. 

“Why did you do that?” He asked softly. “You killed so many people.”

Wen-Dogs. Burial Mounds hissed. They’re not even human— we didn’t kill any humans!

Wei Wuxian sighed softly. “Just because they’re Jins doesn’t mean—“

As soon as he said the name, hatred coursed through his system, and Wei Wuxian was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to bash every Jin’s snotty face in, to stab them until they were all a bloody pulp unrecognizable by their own mothers, and then burn their—

Wei Wuxian jerked away from the Burial Mounds, horror making him clench his hands into Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, and he got a grunt in reply. “Hey, Wei Wuxian, what’s—“

“Nothing,” he gasped. “Sorry, sorry.”

Burial Mounds was sitting quietly in the back of his mind when he reached for it again, as if it was trying to make itself seem smaller than it was. 

Wei Wuxian sighed shakily and quickly mentally formed the image of Jin Zixuan, shoving away the instant spike of hatred. “No. You’re not allowed to hate him.”

The Burial Mounds surged up and sent him the moment seconds before his death, making him sigh heavily. 

He didn’t need to relive that. He didn’t regret it, but watching it from Burial Mound’s perspective was making it seem more mournful than it was. 

“It wasn’t his fault,” Wei Wuxian murmured. “I chose to save him. He didn’t force me to die for him.”

The Burial Mounds was silent, as if adamant that Jin Zixuan needed to be hated, even though they both knew Wei Wuxian had been clear headed and made the decision to sacrifice himself on his own, and Wei Wuxian realized neither of them would be backing down.

He sighed and allowed the Burial Mounds to curl around his conscious and pull him into that state of appearance where he could speak to the Burial Mounds, and his vision wavered until he was seeing a large cave that housed the resentful creatures that made the Burial Mounds appear sentient.

There were a total of six or seven creatures inside the heart of Burial Mounds, and out of all of them, only one had a humanoid form, the others so lost to time they themselves couldn’t even remember what they looked like, and resembled black blobs of shadow. 

The human sitting in the middle of all of the shadows was wearing pristine white robes with bright blue air currents sewn into the sleeves, and her inky black hair was pulled into a delicate bun, bangs just barely brushing dark eyes. 

The female in front of him wasn’t Burial Mounds, but she held the most resentment, therefore whenever any soul in Burial Mounds wanted to be heard, they would speak through her. 

Burial Mounds was sentient through the emotions and thoughts of every person murdered there and left to be forgotten. Every has-been immortal and divine creature that was slaughtered there during the massacre where Heaven and the Demon Realm clashed spoke through this woman.

When Wei Wuxian met the woman’s cool black eyes, a wobbly smile full of relief formed on his lips. “Hi.”

The woman’s face was emotionless, having lost the ability to express what she wanted from so many years living without a mirror or anyone to interact with, but her eyes betrayed everything.  

They sparkled with joy, and when she reached out one of her dainty hands, Wei Wuxian immediately felt the cool resentful energy curl around him, a soothing hug that the female wasn’t able to physically give him. 

The shadows all around her began writhing, experiencing joy for the first time since since Wei Wuxian’s death, and they shrieked and crooned, begging Wei Wuxian for more of the good emotion with eager eyes and loud voices. 

Wei Wuxian laughed, wiping the tears from his cheeks, and he asked again, “Did you miss me?”

The woman nodded her head regally, even as the shadows around her betrayed what she was actually feeling, thrashing and keening from pure happiness. 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but smile, sending some of his energy back at them so they could murmur happily, and he laughed when they curled around Wei Wuxian’s energy like happy koalas. 

“You do care about me,” Wei Wuxian teased, slapping both hands to his chest and allowing his mental body to whirl around in a circle. “A-Niang is so very kind to me.”

The woman’s amusement washed through him, even as her face hardened at the familiar name, angry that she had been deprived of it for so long. 

Wei Wuxian knew next to nothing about her because she refused to speak too much about herself, insisting that Wei Wuxian was more important than her, but he did know that she was poisoned by her maid and died during childbirth. 

She hated her maid to hell and back, because that woman’s jealousy kept her from ever meeting her child, and even if her soul was cleansed and she was given a grand burial, she still despised that woman even to this day. 

The funny thing to Wei Wuxian was that she wasn’t as old as the rest of the shadows who had been collecting resentment over the centuries, but she was the strongest. 

He couldn’t imagine how some of the other shadows felt, once living up in Heaven beside the Jade Emperor, only to be murdered during the massacre and left to be forgotten on an unnamed piece of human land. And after stewing in hatred for centuries growing stronger and stronger, fighting to be the sole alpha for Burial Mounds, just to be surpassed by a human woman?

The Burial Mounds was always very amused whenever Wei Wuxian acted out how he imagined their meeting, with outrageous gasps as he drawled about how they didn’t have room for humans, and then he would choke out words he modeled after a certain mountain goat when they all tittered at him. 

All of Burial Mounds was fond of him, enjoyed listening to him ramble about anything and everything, would croon softly at him whenever he remembered something with the Jiang family and fell silent, would titter and whistle whenever he was done up by third aunt, but if this woman decided she didn’t like him, because she was the strongest, the rest of the Burial Mounds would have to bend to her will. 

But she wasn’t like that. She had adopted Wei Wuxian after seeing Wei Wuxian’s parentless childhood, and because she was fond of him, the rest of the Burial Mounds were forbidden from hating him. 

Wei Wuxian allowed his face to become more somber, remembering why he barged into their cave in the first place, and he murmured, “Jin Zixuan isn’t a bad person.”

As soon as the man’s surname was said, the shadows screeched angrily, thrashing like burning worms on a hot day, and the woman’s beautiful face was marred by a small frown. 

“He isn’t,” Wei Wuxian insisted. “He can occasionally be a pain, but he isn’t a bad person! You can’t hate him.” He crossed his arms and turned away with a pout. “I won’t let you.”

The woman stared hard at him, as if trying to understand why she wasn’t allowed to let anyone else on Burial Mounds hate the man, but when she saw that Wei Wuxian wasn’t backing down, she dropped her eyes and nodded, raising her hand towards the shadows around her. 

They instantly quieted, lessening their hate in an instant, and while there was a petulant mutter here and there, they didn’t overwhelm Wei Wuxian with hatred. 

He beamed. “Thank you, A-Niang!”

The woman nodded once, and the shadows began writhing again, this time cooing and laughing as Wei Wuxian’s smile brought them joy. 

“Oh yeah,” he tapped his chin. “I’m going with Jiang Cheng to Yunmeng, so tell Didi and Jie that I’ll see them in a little bit. Oh! And tell A-Yuan A-Die’s coming home.”

The woman nodded regally, and wiggled her fingers in his direction, spiritual energy surging through him again. 

He laughed heartily. “A-Niang, at this rate, you’re going to give this body a golden core!”

The woman’s lips twitched, and she hummed softly. 

He smiled, “I agree. But still, don’t waste spiritual energy, okay?”

She crossed her hands daintily in her lap, and the shadows around her began blowing raspberries at him, crossing their arms and laughing loudly, as if the meager amount they’ve sent him isn’t even a drop in the ocean to what they have. 

Which. Wei Wuxian knows that’s exactly what they’re doing. 

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes fondly. “Who’s the real child here?”

The woman’s eyes sparkled with euphoria as she pointed to the shadow beside her. 

It squawked angrily, and Wei Wuxian laughed himself out of the mental cave. 

He could still feel the Burial Mounds hanging out at the edge of his consciousness, not enough to overwhelm him or even influence him if it got angry, but enough so that he could feel that he wasn’t alone anymore. 

He hugged Jiang Cheng tighter and apologized again, “I’m sorry if I was loud. I can’t hear myself when I’m speaking to them.”

Jiang Cheng was suspiciously silent, even for the speed they were going. 

He tilted his head, “Jiang Cheng?”

He felt the rumble of Jiang Cheng saying something against his chest, but it was so soft, it had been snatched by the wind. 

“What?”

Jiang Cheng said louder, “What makes him so special?”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “What?”

Jiang Cheng repeated his question, this time through clenched teeth. “What makes him so special?”

“What do you mean?”

“...Didi. Why does he get to be Didi?” 

The and not me went unspoken but not unheard. 

Wei Wuxian buried his smile into Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “Do you want me to call you Didi?”

Jiang Cheng’s shoulders loosened, but his voice scoffed. “Call me whatever you want.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, and the sound trailed them all the way to Yunmeng.

Chapter Text

The Yiling Laozu had walked the streets of Yiling many times before his death. 

They were afraid of him at first, like any person would be when a human reeked of hatred, of everything a human shouldn’t be, but he wasn’t aggressive. He didn’t even sneer at the children who dashed past him with filthy robes, stitched together and patched up with mismatching colors, as most wealthy cultivators do, but he instead smiled softly, and indulged them gently when they tugged on his robes curiously, asking question after question, and not batting an eye when they stained his already dirty robes. 

He worked labor for people who needed help, never demanding a payment over what was promised, never trying to swindle those out of a proper deal, and he took that hard earned money to the stalls across the street and bought supplies. Medicine, seeds, the odd meat bun here and there, a scrap of cloth when he could afford it, and then he disappeared into the Burial Mounds, not a glance back at the bewildered, but silently curious town watching him. 

No indifference, no arrogance, and absolutely no aggression. He was a normal person, living in a harsh environment and trying to survive. He treated them like normal people, and who were they to deny him the same treatment?

Slowly, as weeks and weeks passed, people stopped tensing up in fear when he stopped at their stall. They stopped clutching at their robes and averting their eyes as the boy asked in soft words if he could have certain things, and they stopped letting out breaths of relief when he left. 

The parents stopped hiding their children away when they felt the boy approach their town, and the children stopped tugging on his robes in favor of clamoring over his legs and tugging at the infamous flute attached to his belt. 

The boy never angered at the children, never snapped or let out breaths of annoyance, never untangled their fingers from his robes or pushed them away. He listened and hummed when they spoke to him, rubbed their heads when they showed him something they accomplished, and praised those who boldly asked questions. 

There had only been one time, ever, that the boy had shown aggression, and that was when a pickpocketer had snatched the bell that dangled from his belt and ran.

The Yiling Laozu’s eyes had burned red, and the child had cried, dropping to his knees and sobbing as he held out the bell like an offering to a god. The Yiling Laozu hadn’t laid a single hand on the child, instead grabbing the bell and turning on his heel, leaving back towards the Burial Mounds.

When he returned a week later, the bell was nowhere to be seen. 

Eventually, he began speaking to them. He would laugh, tease the stall owners who had opened up to him, and politely greet people who stared at him in awe. The people of Yiling watched the isolated boy open up to them, turn into the loud, joyous boy they’d heard rumors about when he was of Yunmeng Jiang and in return, he became someone they felt protective towards.

They knew he trusted them the moment he came out of the Burial Mounds with a child. With a child, a brother, and a sister.

Three Wens, one Wei, four cursed people. But they didn’t say anything. They smiled, offered the child toys just to coo at the way he gasped in excitement, spoke to the woman respectfully and spoke to the boy gently. 

Two humans, one fierce corpse, and one alleged demon. Two damned to death, two already dead. If they were so cursed, why did the child still shriek with laughter when the demon held him high in his arms? Why did the fierce corpse shuffle nervously when someone approached him, if he only thought of murder? Why did the Wen-Dog offer medical advice and different ways to cure certain ailments if she cared not about the outside world?

Cultivators were tough to understand. They turned on each other with the slightest offense and built social ranks based on one’s bloodline and spiritual energy strength, but this boy didn’t attempt to put himself on top. He walked the streets of Yiling like any other person, and that was when they stopped listening to the rumors of the fickle cultivational world. 

“The Yiling Laozu preys upon the innocent,” rumors appeared at their inns. “He bathes in the blood of children and requires virgin sacrifices every full moon. I would know, my own sister was sacrificed to that bastard!”

The boy who walked the streets of Yiling, a monster? The boy who opened up to them little by little, answered shallow questions about the people he was protecting, a murderer? The boy who carried a child like he was more precious than his missing sword, the boy who adopted two people as his siblings because they had no one else?

The rumors were silenced instantly, and the Yiling Laozu could walk in Yiling without whispers following him, without rumors crumbling his self worth and making him question everything he had ever done.

And that was why when he was murdered, Yiling was the first place in uproar. 

Such fickle cultivators, as arrogant and ignorant as the Lanling Jins, had such audacity as to murder their Laozu? To spill his blood as if he were no more than an animal for their hunting, to prey on his innocence and stab him when he was down? 

“He was invited to see his Shijie,” for once, they listened to the rumors. “They killed him when he showed vulnerability, and then threw a banquet with goblets of his blood on display.”  

Yiling was no cultivational town, with more talented hands than fighting ones, but they had sharp tongues and even sharper eyes. Their Laozu had been wrongfully slaughtered, and they reveled in the pandemonium when the rest of the cultivation world understood. 

Their Laozu was no weak thing, and their sharp eyes watched as Lanling Jin toppled from their golden throne, scattering like the bugs they were to try and plead for some place to keep them safe. 

But who would protect them? Their Laozu had once been of Yunmeng Jiang, was best friends with the Second Young Master Nie, and Gusu Lan was known to stay out of conflicts they weren’t involved with.

Lanling Jin was slaughtered just like Qishan Wen, just like Yunmeng Jiang, and just like their Laozu.

Burial Mounds threw up walls and shuddered with the pain felt throughout Yiling, but the people still remembered. 

Their Laozu had people he protected in Burial Mounds, and they were sickly. 

Yiling was a town with talented hands over hunting hands. Baskets were woven, lanterns were created, and a small table was built.

The Yiling Laozu had bought medicine, food, and scraps of cloth when he could afford it. The people of Yiling left medicine, food, and cloth outside the wall that protected their Laozu’s people. A table was left there to keep the food off of the floor, and every week, when the people brought more seeds and different tools they could spare, their gifts were accepted, nothing but a paper butterfly left in their stead. 

Soon enough, the town of Yiling became known as the last place walked by the Yiling Laozu, and people flocked all year long to try and gain the Burial Mound’s favor, to try and plead for its mercy.

The people of Yiling were shocked to find out what was happening to everyone else, lavish houses destroyed and Young Masters attacked, but that was just how deep of a hatred the Burial Mounds had for things that resembled Lanling Jin. 

People prayed very often to the Yiling Laozu, and at first Yiling wanted them out. Because who were they, to walk the streets the Laozu had walked when they had done nothing but scorn him? Made rumors to darken his name and buried every accomplishment he had ever done under the names of their own?

But the town’s owner spoke to them, said, “If these people pay money to stay in our inns, to drink the wine and eat the food our Laozu did, we will be able to give more to his people.”

There were no paintings of their Laozu outside of Yiling. Yunmeng Jiang showed an unusual amount of animosity towards those who attempted to put the Yiling Laozu’s face down on paper, but their word had no power beside the Burial Mounds.

It was never spoken aloud. It was not common knowledge, but it most certainly wasn’t a guarded secret. No one wanted to notify Yunmeng Jiang in fear of the backlash they wouldn’t be able to handle, so word was only passed through trusted people. 

“You’ve never seen the Yiling Laozu?” A cautious glance around. The opening of a fan. A hushed whisper, “ There’s a statue of him in Yiling.”

It was not a large statue. The people of Yiling may have talented hands, but they were a poor city, and they knew their Laozu would rather they make sure they survive the winter than spend their money building a statue of him. So after the winter, the craftsmen brought all of their stone together, and the women sketched and sketched and sketched.

Eventually, a life-sized Yiling Laozu stood elegantly in the middle of a man-made lotus pond, Chenqing in his belt and a paper butterfly in his outstretched palm. He was smiling softly, the same smile he gave children when they tugged on his robes curiously, and the sight brought many people to their knees. 

He was just a boy, dressed in dark robes to intimidate off aggression and a cursed flute in his belt to ward off any attacks, but his eyes were curious, his hands gently offering a butterfly to those who could see past his mask.

No one spoke a word to the man in white who frequented that statue, head bowed in silence and shoulders shaking in unspoken affection, but they remembered him. 

In the beginning, he had sat with the Yiling Laozu and the child like a small family, face blank but eyes bright, his posture leaning towards someone who was just barely keeping composure. 

At first they had feared that composure would be broken by hostility, but when their Laozu blew the man a kiss and disappeared into his land, the man stood there for almost two hours, staring.

Yiling didn’t need to fear him. He held no aggression for their Laozu, in fact held the exact opposite, but that was what made it more painful to see him crumble in front of the statue they built. 

He was just as broken as they were. 

And when their Laozu’s book got out, it did nothing but hurt them. 

Pages upon pages painting out the trauma he had gone through, the tears and blood smearing pages speaking volumes of what he would never say himself.

For once, they approved of Yunmeng Jiang’s decision to ban the selling of the book, but Yiling wasn’t just made of talented hands.

The original book was soon in the shaking hands of Yiling’s town owner, and they all stood silently as he placed it down between the Laozu’s feet, a promise to never touch what was his. 

Resentful creatures never bothered Yiling after that. The Burial Mounds no longer spewed resentment over their lands, and their crops grew for the first time. 

In two years, Yiling became more green than Cloud Recesses. Plants flourished like never before, flowers that weren’t even native to their era bloomed, and animals they had never seen before began populating their forest. 

Were the Laozu’s people vegetarian? Did they have certain illnesses towards certain foods? Yiling didn’t want to be offering food their Laozu’s people couldn’t eat, so they left a parchment of paper and ink with simple questions. 

They retrieved the parchment with their simple questions that now had simple answers. They adjusted their gifts to take out certain things, and then add other things. Yiling was becoming prosperous because of how many people frequented, and although not allowed to see the statue, still stayed. They had plenty of money to keep these offerings for years to come.

And then one day it clicked that the Laozu’s child was growing up inside the Burial Mounds, never to step foot outside of the barren land. 

Flowers, coloring books, ribbons, toys and practice swords were added to the gifts. The first two weeks, everything was accepted, but the third week they were greeted with the toys and coloring books sitting there still, a simple paper butterfly unfolding to say, “You are spoiling him.”  

It was a blessing for them to spoil the Yiling Laozu’s child, to be able to claim such a thing and have it be proven true by the way their town was untouched by resentful energy, but the butterflies were firm, albeit thankful. They didn’t want the Laozu’s child to grow up spoiled rotten, so they cut down on the toys, but didn’t stop the flowers or ribbons.

If they knew every flower and ribbon had been woven into the Laozu’s hair at one point, they would have fainted from shock.

But that knowledge wouldn’t be known for years, not until a young boy spilled his cursed blood to bring a cursed boy back to life. 

Mo Xuanyu was always destined for greatness.

He didn’t need to be repeatedly told this to know it was true. The way his mother looked at him was all the proof he needed, the way she would murmur how proud she was of him between meals was all he needed, because his mother would never lie to him. 

He could laugh and play now, careless of the cultivational world, because when his father came to take him to Lanling, he would rise to the top. He would be an amazing cultivator that would make his mother proud, with a gold flower on his chest and vermillion between his brows. He would be able to bring his mother to Koi Tower and shower her in the lavish life she deserved, and she would no longer suffer with the gossip about her age and Mo Xuanyu’s father’s reputation. She would be able to raise her head and walk with confidence, because Mo Xuanyu would make her proud.

At least, he had thought so. But that changed very quickly.

Word on the streets traveled quicker than cultivators on their swords, even to small areas such as Mo Village, so it took absolutely no time for everyone to know that the Yiling Laozu was dead. 

And his mother was happy. She laughed giddily and swung him into her arms, cuddled him close and peppered his face with kisses. When he asked what happened, she merely said, “You are a part of a great bloodline, my child.”

Lanterns were put up. Children raced between the celebrational and food stands that were set up in seconds, banners depicting Lanling’s peony were pasted everywhere, and Mo Xuanyu suddenly felt at home.

When he was older, that peony would be the only thing he saw. Gold would be the only thing he would ever wear, and he didn’t mind. His mother looked radiant with the gold all around her, her best robes on as she happily took Mo Xuanyu to all of the food stands, and bought him whatever he wanted.

And what could his aunt say? He was Mo Xuanyu, son of Jin Guangshan. Bastard child or not, he would have a higher status than everyone in this town combined when he was accepted and recognized as a Jin, because it was Lanling Jin. 

Word travels fast, and in even less time, Jin Guangshan’s shattered sword had been passed to every small Clan, proof that Lanling Jin fell faster than the Yiling Laozu.

It was pandemonium after that. The stands and banners and decorations that had been put up in seconds were torn down quicker than Mo Xuanyu could blink, and his mother was screaming.

People shoved past his mother, who had collapsed to the ground, dashed past confused and young Mo Xuanyu, not casting them a single glance as they cried and shrieked about their own things.

His aunt had snatched his wrist, the grip tight enough to make him cry out, and then she was dragging him away. Harsh, cruel words were spilling through her lips as she yanked him outside of the town, slapping and kicking him whenever he struggled and cried out to see his mother, who still hadn’t moved.

She shoved him into the dirt right outside the marker of her land and snarled, “Stay out here and die . Don’t ever come back!”

And what was he supposed to do? Mo Xuanyu, who was destined for greatness, had just been abandoned in the forest because-- because what? Why? Was it something he did? Was he so terrible that his mother would scream her pain for the world to hear?

Did something happen?

And word travels.

“We’re sorry!” People screamed, and it was the same for every town Mo Xuanyu passed through. White clothing was handed out regardless of status, and shops were going out of business because of how little was being charged. Mo Xuanyu himself, a nameless child off the streets, was torn out of his normal black robes and shoved into white before he could ask why.

He knew Jin Guanshan was dead, that all of the Jins were dead, but this wasn’t a normal mourning. People weren’t crying or offering condolences to-- to whoever would accept them, they were screaming. They were desperate for their regret to be heard and to be acknowledged, but it wasn’t out of free will. Mo Xuanyu didn’t understand why until he witnessed the first attack.

A group of fierce corpses attacked a man who had a gold hair trinket, and then shredded his mansion that had gold-tinted walls and pillars to display his wealth. The man was dead in seconds, his blood splattered across what people began calling the Cursed Color, and after that, everything gold was buried or hidden away.

Gold walls were painted over, gold pillars were destroyed, gold trinkets were melted down and disposed of, gold robes were burned, it was as if the color never existed before.

Mo Xuanyu understood why the people were screaming, why they rid themselves of such valuables without blinking an eye.

They were mourning the Yiling Laozu. Not out of free will, but because they were scared.

And Mo Xuanyu hated him for it.

What right did such a bad person have to murder and destroy people’s lives after his death? What right did such a heretic person have to cause his mother’s death by killing his father, and then turn around and expect the world to bend to his will?

What right did Wei Wuxian have to destroy everything Mo Xuanyu has ever known because he couldn’t leave in peace? To make Mo Xuanyu an orphan because he too was an orphan?

Mo Xuanyu hated him. He hated Wei Wuxian. He was destined for greatness! He was going to be accepted into Lanling Jin and become a cultivator his mother would be proud of! But how was he supposed to do that if there was no such thing as Lanling Jin? How was he supposed to do that if any mention of his father would get his tongue cut out?!

Mo Xuanyu traveled to Lanling Jin in order to try and find something that would be able to torment Wei Wuxian-- maybe something against his family? Something that would make Lotus Pier burn like Lanling Jin?

Lotus Pier burned once before, it would be easier to burn again, Mo Xuanyu believed. 

He found a book in the bag of a traveling merchant on the way to Lanling Jin, and Mo Xuanyu was the first Jin to touch the Yiling Laozu’s book and live.

He couldn’t read very well, but he had eyes, and the Yiling Laozu’s infamous Chenqing was drawn on the first page with diagrams and sketches that Mo Xuanyu couldn’t read. There were pictures of a place Mo Xuanyu didn’t know, with corpses that clawed out of the ground and screamed, a place with thick, dark clouds that hid the stars at night and allowed nothing but the color black to grow.

He took the book to a nearby cultivation sect because he knew they could all read, and asked them to translate it for him.

Instead, they copied it down word for word, and handed him a copy along with a large sum of money. He used that money to get classes that taught him to read, but that money eventually ran out. He could only read half of the words written in the book, so he volunteered to work at an inn, desperate to know what it said.

It was surprisingly gruesome work, but if Mo Xuanyu was lucky and bribed the right drunk cultivator, they would lazily draw a character on the one piece of parchment he had and teach it to him before waving him off.

It took Mo Xuanyu eleven years to decipher the book he had taken from Lanling, and it was only then that he understood his father wasn’t the victim in the story.

His father wasn’t the man his mother made him out to be, and that stung more than learning his father never actually cared about him.

If he couldn’t even trust his mother to be truthful to him, who was he supposed to trust?

Mo Xuanyu ignored the words in the book for a long time, unable to accept that his mother had lied to him, but eventually, he knew he couldn’t push it off.

He was wrong for slandering the Yiling Laozu’s name when all the man did was try and hold onto a family. When all he did was try to ignore Mo Xuanyu’s father and live despite the whole world hating him for existing.

And Mo Xuanyu always knew he was destined for greatness. When he was a child, he thought it was because he had the blood of Jin Guangshan running through his veins.

But no. 

Mo Xuanyu was destined for greatness because he would be the one to undo what his father had done. He would be the one to apologize to the world for everything his family did by bringing back the Yiling Laozu. With his life, he would be able to give up his body for the Yiling Laozu to inhabit, and then people would stop spitting on his mother’s name for wishing to be a part of a dead sect. With his blood, he would be able to bring back a teenager who had been condemned by the whole world and give him a second chance.

So Mo Xuanyu painted the ground with his tainted blood, drew the characters for the ritual that would ultimately kill him in the end, and he tried to keep his hands from shaking.

Mo Xuanyu felt something inside his chest heat up, like a warm fire starting inside of his room, comforting and reassuring, but it suddenly exploded. Before he could scream, he felt his body slump over, and then he was tossed into an abyss of grey and black smoke. A single movement from his hands sent the smoke swirling away from him like ripples in the water, and every small gap in the mist showed grey stone, a warm glow, and soft robes.

Mo Xuanyu blinked, and then realized he wasn’t able to. Confused, he brought his fingers up to his face, and froze when he realized his eyes were closed.

He forced them open, and was greeted with a sea of faces he didn’t recognize.

Jiang Cheng was too tired to try and get the rest of the way to Yunmeng, so they stopped at the very edge of the town and paid for two bedrooms in an inn. Even though it was the far edges of Yunmeng, Jiang Cheng’s infamous purple robes with Wei Wuxian’s mismatching sword were known far and wide, so the matron had checked them in with wide eyes and a more than agreeable attitude.

Jin Ling had been sent home to Lotus Pier along with the rest of the disciples, although he was still knocked out when the decision was made, so he didn’t have a say in the matter. Wei Wuxian didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse, and hated that he didn’t know.

He knew Jin Ling was his nephew, his Shijie’s son, but this kid had been a month old almost an hour ago, and now he was eleven. Wei Wuxian needed to fully come to terms with someone aging a decade in an hour, and it was easier now that he was alone, sitting at the edge of his window and staring out at the dark sky.

Jin Ling was eleven. Wen Yuan was fourteen. He needed to remember this.

Although Wen Qing had berated him and the Burial Mounds for hours and hours on end about getting Wei Wuxian to sleep properly, it was very easy to forget he had a physical body when he was in that corporeal form with his mother, so he rarely slept more than three hours.

This of course led to many naps with Wen Yuan when the child was due for one, and he had woken up too many times with the child halfway inside his robes, blankets discarded below their feet. It told an obvious story; they got hot, kicked the blankets off, Wen Yuan got cold and then used the only thing around him to keep warm, which just so happened to be Wei Wuxian. Despite this leading to the belief that Wen Yuan could just jump into Wei Wuxian’s robes whenever he was cold, he didn’t have the heart to break him out of it. It was just so cute!

Because Wei Wuxian had only been gone from Burial Mounds for about an hour mentally, he was easily able to recognize a familiar energy that spoke of a fierce corpse that lacked the bloodlust an unconscious one would give off, so when Wen Qionglin jumped up to his window, he did nothing but smile.

“A-Ning,” he greeted, the moonlight illuminating the boy’s face as he stepped into the room, and it gave Wei Wuxian a good view of bright emerald eyes. “Your… Jie…”

Wen Qionglin beamed, “Gege.”

What a whiplash. Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng, Burial Mounds, and then Wen Qionglin all in one night? He needed a drink.

Wen Qionglin was fidgeting as Wei Wuxian slowly took him in, trying to shove away the mentality that he just saw this boy, because he didn’t. It had been eleven years, and Wen Qionglin’s appearance was proof of that.

Wen Qing had been working on making her brother appear more human, and if Wei Wuxian hadn’t been the one to restore Wen Qionglin’s conscious after he died, he would seriously believe the boy never died. His skin was smooth, the same color as Wen Qing’s, and his eyes were the bright green he had when he was alive, no trace of grey skin or black veins anywhere.

He had a natural flush across his cheeks and nose from the cool air, but it was almost painfully obvious how still his chest was.

He had fresh robes on instead of the tatters Wei Wuxian was used to seeing him in, along with a lustrous black hair ornament that surprisingly stood out against his black hair. The robes were quite similar to Lanling Jin’s in terms of style, but they were the same red and black of Wei Wuxian’s, and the robes didn’t go so far down the legs. He also didn’t have flowing sleeves; the black-dipped red material cut off at his elbow and shiny black vambraces took the place of skin-tight sleeves.

Wei Wuxian nodded in slow approval. “Nice. Who came up with this style?”

Wen Qionglin glanced down at his robes, “Oh, Third Aunt, actually. Sixth Aunt helped her make them.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, “Where did you get the materials?” If he was thinking correctly, the Burial Mounds was shut to outsiders, and that also meant none of the Wens could exit. Unless there was a way for them to leave, a way that had appeared in the time he had been gone?

Wen Qionglin pointed to his hair ornament, “First Uncle made these with the materials Burial Mounds provided, but the materials for the robes were, uh, offered to us.”

Wei Wuxian stared. “Offered?”

“A-At the Burial Mounds,” Wen Qionglin held his arms out as if to show how nice the quality was, cheeks pink as Wei Wuxian stared. “People, um, people would leave baskets of things outside the barrier, and… sometimes it was clothes, sometimes it was utensils, and sometimes it was food!”

Wei Wuxian didn’t even bother trying to hide his confusion, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Wen Qionglin dropped his arms and glanced behind him as the sound of people clamouring started sounding below. “We were certain people would try attacking us after the massacre of Lanling, but no one did. We only found out people were leaving offerings because of Hanguang-Jun.”

Wei Wuxian realized they were both standing in front of the window like weirdos, so he ushered Wen Qionglin over to the small table with two chairs and motioned for him to sit before sticking his head out of the door and waving down a passing servant. He ordered some tea and light snacks, thanked the girl, shot a glance at Jiang Cheng’s door, and then shut his own. 

He plopped down in his seat, “Lan Zhan? He… visits you?”

Wen Qionglin nodded. “He gives lessons to Wen Yuan, since, um, the rest of us don’t know how to teach children. He’s the only one who comes in and out of Burial Mounds, so he brings us the baskets...” 

Wei Wuxian mulled over that, “And he didn’t try to take you guys out? He didn’t try and… cleanse you? From resentful energy?”

Wen Qionglin looked startled, “No? What-- do we… Do we need to be cleansed?”

Wei Wuxian waved his hand, “Of course not. It’s just… something he said during the war. He didn’t try to persuade you guys to leave?”

Wen Qionglin shook his head, eyes wide. 

Wei Wuxian pursed his lips and started tracing the bark in the table as he thought that over. Someone knocked on the door, and Wen Qionglin answered it before he could even lift his head, and then he had a cup of tea in front of him.

Maybe it was just the stress of the war that made Lan Wangji want to take him back to Gusu? Could he see that Wei Wuxian wasn’t raising an army, and therefore left the Wens alone? Because then why else would the Burial Mounds allow him in? He knew it wouldn’t let in anybody that would pose a threat, but at the time, Wei Wuxian was almost certain Lan Wangji was a threat, so what had changed its mind?

Oh.

Wei Wuxian’s cheeks burned as he remembered a conversation from a while ago, even for him.

Love?

“No!” He tried to explain, floundering at the innocently loaded question. “We’re just friends! Really!”

...friendship doesn’t match up.

He knew it meant, “Your definition of friendship isn’t matching up to the emotions you’re feeling.”

But what did it know?! Lan Wangji was a boy, he was a boy, and the Lans were very big on continuing the family line! There was no way he would ever fall for someone out of his league, so what he felt was just a different form of friendship! He tried to say so, but the Burial Mounds did nothing but laugh.

Of course. That was why it let him in. It thought he fancied Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian groaned and dropped his face into the table, making Wen Qionglin jump. “Gege?”

“It’s just,” he tried to say, but it came out as a whine. “Does the Burial Mounds really… really think that?”

There was a pregnant pause as Wen Qionglin no doubt tried to pinpoint what Wei Wuxian was talking about, but he let out a soft, “Oh.” And then the sound of a teacup being set down was followed by, “About Hanguang-Jun?”

Wei Wuxian let out a small, strangled sound that sounded too much like Wen Yuan choking on his food while laughing. 

“Does… Gege not?”

Did he??? He was straight, wasn’t he??? Yeah, he was! He liked women! They were pretty, with smooth skin, bright eyes, dark lips, and thick lashes that taunted him with a flutter. He liked the rouge that tinted their cheeks and jewelry that adorned their smooth, pretty hair. He liked slim bodies and delicate hands, liked the confident gait and cool exterior, he liked women!! 

“Hanguang-Jun has bright eyes and smooth skin,” Wen Qionglin pointed out, flipping Wei Wuxian’s whole world on its axis. “He also has, uh, dark lips and smooth hair. And a confident gait. And a cool exterior. He isn’t slim and delicate, but he’s, um, strong and talented. Are you sure you don’t like him?”

Did-- did he? Oh my god, did he fancy his childhood classmate?? DID HE FANCY A DAMNED STICK-IN-THE-MUD LAN?? Did he?? This was a whole crisis, did he actually like him? Sure, he liked-- oh my god sure, he liked his voice and his cool exterior but that didn’t mean Wei Wuxian wanted to marry him right?? He could just fancy the man-- oh god he fancied the man, he actually, no, no he didn’t, he didn’t fancy a man, he LIKED WOMEN, OKAY?? Women, and women only. He liked pretty girls! He liked pretty women! But Lan Wangji-- he was also pretty! Where was the logic in this?! It was like the gods above decided, “Hey, let’s fuck with Wei Wuxian! Let’s give him the most beautiful person in existence and then not make them a female! That’ll stop him!” Except, fuck them! What did they gain by this? What did they gain by separating Wei Wuxian from something he desperately wanted?? Why did-- WAIT! Since when did he desperately want Lan Wangji?? When did this happen? Has it always been like this?? WHY--

“I see Gege is very confused,” Wen Qionglin said, slowly reaching towards the meatbuns sitting on the plate while Wei Wuxian had a whole gay awakening. “So let me explain how the--the Burial Mounds said to explain it.”

The Burial Mounds. Those damned backstabbers, they were really out for Wei Wuxian weren’t they? Did they tell Lan Wangji that he fancied him? Tell him that Wei Wuxian would be very unhappy if he married someone else-- someone other than him?

…

WHAT IF THEY DID??? WHAT WAS HE SUPPOSED TO DO IF THE SECOND JADE OF LAN KNEW HE LIKED HIM??? KNEW HE WAS-- WAS WHAT, A KIND-OF-BUT-NOT-REALLY CUT-SLEEVE??? WHERE WAS HIS FACE??? SUDDENLY HIS FACE WAS THINNER THAN PAPER, AND HE NEEDED TO GET TO BURIAL MOUNDS AND JUST DIE AGAIN!

“Gege.”

Wei Wuxian lifted his head from the table and cradled his chin with the best smile he could put on, but he knew his face was flaming just from how hot it was. “Yes?”

“...you, uh, look like you figured it out.”

Wei Wuxian sat up and pointed at him, “You, you, who taught you this?? Who taught you such things, where you can bring them up to your Gege and embarrass him, hm?! Who told you this was okay?! What about you?? Are you going to be single forever?? When are you going to find someone?”

Wen Qionglin’s cheeks were red, and then they lost some of their color as he became solemn, “Gege… no one wants to be with a corpse .” 

Wei Wuxian gasped, and then slammed his hand down on the table, “Hah?! Says who?! Who made you believe that no one would love you?? If their love is that shallow then- then, fuck them! If someone really loves you, then they would love you for you, no matter what state your body is in! And to make things better, you look completely human!”

“But I’m not.” Wen Qionglin sadly denied. “What human can do this?”

He pressed his middle finger to the table, and then flicked his wrist down so it would smack against the table, and the wood splintered in half from the sharp impact. Wei Wuxian scrambled to snatch the tea before it spilled everywhere, but he wasn’t quick enough to save the porcelain plate or Wen Qionglin’s cup. Both shattered against the floor, and Wei Wuxian pursed his lips as he turned to look at Wen Qionglin.

The boy wasn’t looking at him though, he was staring at the empty space between them, where the table had once stood before shattering from what was obviously a ton of force, and Wei Wuxian sighed, “A-Ning, look at me.”

Wen Qionglin’s eyes were sad, but there were no tears when he looked up. Out of curiosity, he asked, “Can you secrete liquids?”

Wen Qionglin blinked, and shook his head “No… a-all of my inner organs are dead, remember?”

Wen Qing telling him that there was no way to bring Wen Qionglin back to life because of his organs rang in Wei Wuxian’s mind and he momentarily cursed for not paying closer attention to what she was saying. “But you have saliva, right?”

Wen Qionglin nodded, “I, um, I don’t make it, though. I have to constantly drink something to keep everything… working? If I forget to drink something, I-I can’t speak.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Really?”

“Mm-hm, I can only make sounds like a fierce corpse until I drink something.”

“And what about down there?” Wei Wuxian gestured towards where Wen Qionglin’s privates were. “Any liquids down there?”

“G-Gege!” Wen Qionglin’s face flushed a dark red in record time, and he snapped his knees together while shoving his robes down to cover up as if Wei Wuxian was leering at him. “D-d-don’t-- why-- y-you, w-wh-why--?”

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian held up his hands, which were still holding the tea. “I’m just asking. If you were to have children, how would they come out? Strong like their father?”

“Gege!”

Wei Wuxian laughed heartily, mentally patting himself on the back at diverting the subject, and didn’t quiet down when someone below pounded on the floor, finally tired of their racquet. Wei Wuxian almost felt bad when he stomped down on the floor to annoy them, and only laughed louder.

He was surprised no one came in because of the loud noises they were making, especially since Jiang Cheng’s room was across the hall from his, and they weren’t being quiet by any means. And of course, as with Wei Wuxian’s luck, someone stomped up the stairs and started pounding on their door, most likely the person below them.

Wei Wuxian put the tea down on the floor and walked leisurely to the door, unhurriedly pulling it open when the pounding got louder.

Whatever body he was in obviously wasn’t a cultivator or fighter at all, because when a blade was thrust at his face, he could do nothing but flinch, his legs locked from shock.

Wen Qionglin didn’t have such human restraints, and he had Wei Wuxian behind him before the man outside the door could blink, and Wen Qionglin sent the man flying into the door across from them with a single shove.

Of course, such a calmour would wake up any cultivator with sensitive hearing, and Jiang Cheng was barreling out of his room with robes askew and hair in disarray, hands clenching Suibian tightly.

Once he caught sight of Wen Qionglin, his pupils shrank, and he lurched forward, recognizing in a split second what exactly Wen Ning outside of Burial Mounds in Wei Wuxian’s room meant. It took no genius to connect the dots, he knew the other man was there for his brother, and the fear of losing someone he had just gotten back made his blood run cold. 

But Wen Qionglin was not human by any physical terms besides looks. He had tossed Wei Wuxian over his shoulder, dashed to the window, and jumped out of the window before Jiang Cheng could even get to the room.

Wei Wuxian was too disoriented from the fall to realize what was happening, but he did hear the signature clang of metal clashing with metal, and then Jiang Cheng shouting, “WEI WUXIAN!”

Wen Qionglin dropped his arm and turned to Jiang Cheng, black vambrace glowing a soft, golden color where it had clashed with Suibian. He knew there was no running away now, Jiang Cheng had called the name of the Yiling Patriarch, and he was right in his assumption that it would make people come running, but was wrong in his reason why.

Jiang Cheng jumped from the window and sheathed Suibian when it came flying back at him, and despite the pink in his ears from being so undressed, he made no move to try and fix himself, as if afraid looking away from Wen Qionglin would make him disappear.

“Sect Leader Jiang.” Wen Qionglin tilted his head up in defiance.

“Wen Qionglin,” Jiang Cheng greeted back, tensing up as people began forming a circle around them, eager to see the fight and see the famous Ghost General.

Wen Qionglin wavered at the sound of his courtesy name, as if Jiang Cheng had called him a nickname from his childhood, and the sound of it made memories rush through his head. Wei Wuxian knew it wasn’t so, Wen Qionglin wasn’t used to anyone using his courtesy name besides his close family members, and hearing it from a man he’d only met a few times was a little disorienting to him.

Already, people were whispering, “Ghost General!”, “Out of Burial Mounds!”, “Is that the Yiling Loazu?”, “And he’s fighting Sandu Shengshou?!”, and it was getting on Jiang Cheng’s nerves. As soon as he opened his mouth, though, silence fell.

“Where are you going with my brother?”

Wen Qionglin bared his teeth, “Since when was he your brother?”

Wei Wuxian blinked, lifting himself up by pushing against Wen Qionglin’s back, disoriented and quite confused, only to meet the eyes of an eager crowd. The eyes on him, piercing and bright send chills up his spine, because the last time he was stared at so openly was when he stood in Lanling Jin, facing Jin Zixun and pressing him to give the location of the Wens. He felt like there was a looming threat over his head, a need, an urge to run away screaming  in his head. 

Jiang Cheng drew himself up, fury roaring in his throat. “Excuse me?”

Wen Qionglin matched his tone, eyes blazing, “You don’t even know what he’s done for you.”

“Whoa,” Wei Wuxian wiggled in Wen Qionglin’s grasp as Jiang Cheng bristled, suddenly understanding what was happening, but Wen Qiongling didn’t release him. “A-Ning, let’s not do this here--”

Wen Qionglin ignored him, “You lost the right to call him your brother when you took Suibian from him.”

Wei Wuxian thrashed in Wen Qionglin’s grasp, and the man instantly put him down, not out of obedience, but out of fear of dropping him.

Wei Wuxian cupped Wen Qionglin’s face, stared into the sad green eyes of a friend who had seen the worst of him and murmured, “It’s okay.”

Wen Qionglin’s eyes gained the sheen Wei Wuxian knew was tears, “But it’s not.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “It is. This is a thing of the past, so please don’t bring up bad memories, okay? We can discuss this rationally, like normal people, instead of screaming in the middle of the street at,” he glanced at the sky, “Four in the morning.”

Wen Qionglin grabbed his sleeve when he moved to turn around, “But you have to come home. Jie preserved your body. You don’t have to stay in this one.”

Wei Wuxian turned around, eyes wide. “Really? It—“

“Wei Wuxian.”

Jiang Cheng looked almost pathetic standing in the middle of the street with his sleeping robes hanging off his shoulder, hands shaking with the desperation he felt as he clutched Suibian like it was his only lifeline. “Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian turned to him, “Jiang Cheng, they have my original body. I have to go back.”

“What about A-Ling?” The desperation crawled into Jiang Cheng’s voice. “Are you going to make him believe he lost his Dajiu after leaving him crying on the forest floor?”

He didn’t think about that.

In all reality, Wei Wuxian knew that there were certain rules he had to follow by inhabiting this body, and he also knew the summoner was supposed to tell him what they wanted, but Wei Wuxian’s head had been empty since he woke up. He didn’t know how long this body would accept him, and the last thing he wanted was to collapse in the middle of Yunmeng with a defective body. Who knows what that would do to his nephew or heavens forbid, his Shijie.

Whispers were starting to rise in volume, and it made Wei Wuxian’s hackles rise. He couldn’t catch the majority of it, but he could recognize his name after years and years of hearing it be whispered by servants and passing people in Yunmeng.

Although he knew no one would dare attack him in the middle of a street, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t stage an attack against him when his back was turned. It didn’t mean they wouldn’t hire people to take him down when he was sleeping, or when he let his guard down for a split second. 

He turned completely to Jiang Cheng, “We’re going to discuss this inside. There are too many eyes and ears out here.”

Five minutes would have three men sitting at a table in the far corner of a silent tavern, hot tea placed in front of them, and one hell of a tensely awkward atmosphere. 

“So,” Wei Wuxian said conversationally from behind his hands. “How was the trip?”

Wen Qionglin turned towards him, “It was quick.”

“Obviously.” Jiang Cheng sneered. “Why are you here?”

Wen Qionglin tilted his head up, defiant to the way Jiang Cheng was addressing him, and the tension doubled. 

The poor matron who owned the shop looked seconds from breaking down, her eyes shooting between the three of them like she didn’t know what to think, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t bring his face from behind his hands. 

Now that his adrenaline wasn’t rushing through him and he wasn’t in danger of being kidnapped by his own brother, everything had sunk in and he felt nothing but embarrassed.

They made a scene in the middle of the street, while Jiang Cheng was still in his under robes, Wei Wuxian was still covered in dirt from when he was tackled by both his nephew and younger brother, and Wen Ning looking like a rich rouge cultivator with strength that singled him out as a fierce corpse. 

This utter loss of face, the Yiling Laozu’s Ghost General Wen Qionglin of the Burial Mounds clashing with Yunmeng Jiang’s Sect Leader and Sandu Shengshou Jiang Wanyin, would be the gossip of the century, even after the two of them established a decent relationship. 

And what were they fighting over?

Wei Wuxian sank further down into his chair like Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows when the man hissed out, “I asked you a question.”

Wen Qionglin zeroed in on him, “I have heard the gossip.”

Jiang Cheng blinked, as if startled by the sudden change of subject. “What of it?”

“I am of a higher rank than you,” Wen Qionglin glanced at the matron, seeking confirmation, and the poor woman paled when Sandu Shengshou glared darkly at her, blatantly daring her to confirm that, but she ultimately nodded her head rapidly. 

Wen Qionglin turned back to Jiang Cheng, who was seething, and said, “You didn’t address me as a higher rank.”

Jiang Cheng looked seconds from snapping and whipping out Zidian, but he closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and spoke evenly, “Wen Qionglin, may I ask why you’re here?”

“You may not.”

“You—!”

“Guys!” Wei Wuxian finally cut in, slapping his hands down on the table. The two of them turned to him in unison, the same ‘do you see what’s happening?’ look on their faces, and he snorted. “Can we not argue in the middle of a poor woman’s inn?”

“She isn’t complaining, is she?” Jiang Cheng pointed out, and the woman flushed when he said, “It’s because when word gets out that the Yiling Laozu sat in this very room and drank her tea, this place will be exploding in business.”

Wei Wuxian snorted. “Mhm, the feared and hated Yiling Laozu, who feasts on young maidens and steals children for rituals, what a way to market your inn.”

Jiang Cheng frowned over the sound of the woman gasping. “No one says that anymore.”

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You’d think people never change, but a dead man is a dead man, right? Can’t continue to spit on my name if I’m not there to take revenge, right?”

“Wei Wuxian—”

 “Gege.” Wen Qionglin cut in. “You need to come back to the Burial Mounds so we can—“

“Absolutely not!” Jiang Cheng interrupted, turning to him angrily. “He’s coming back to Yunmeng!”

Wen Qionglin also turned to face him. “No he isn’t! He’s coming back to Burial Mounds!”

“Like I’d let him leave!“

“You’re not strong enough to stop me!”

“You damned—!”

“Boys!” Wei Wuxian cut off again, slamming his hands down on the table hard enough to make the both of them jump, and then stared at each of them in silent disbelief. “You’re acting like children!”

Wen Qionglin wavered, his shoulders sinking as he curled into himself. “I’m sorry...”

Jiang Cheng sniffed disdainfully, protesting, “He’s trying to take you away! Who gave him the authority to boss me around?”

Wei Wuxian rubbed his temple, already feeling a headache building. “One at a time. No, Jiang Cheng, you’re not first. A-Ning, why do I need to go back?”

Wen Qionglin took a deep breath, as if trying to explain things to Wei Wuxian would drain him of so much energy he would need to hibernate for a week, and repeated himself. “Jie preserved your body, and she figured out how to do a soul transfer.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, “I remember. How is that done?”

“Like Empathy!” Wen Qionglin said excitedly. “She calls the soul into another body using a link like Empathy, and then it’s as simple as—“

“Wait a minute.” Jiang Cheng held up a hand. “And I’m supposed to believe this?”

“She was talking about it a lot yesterday,” Wei Wuxian murmured, before blinking, and then exhaling sharply. “Or— she was thinking about it the last time I saw her— eleven years ago?”

Wen Qionglin nodded. 

“And she finally figured it out.” Wei Wuxian laughed, feeling pride towards someone he called his sister. “She really is a smart one, isn’t she!”

“Wei Wuxian—“

“Calm down, Jiang Cheng.” Wei Wuxian sighed, pressing his hands to his temples. “As far as I’m concerned, this body isn’t going to last long, so getting to Burial Mounds would be my first instinct—“

Jiang Cheng opened his mouth to argue, looking offended, but Wei Wuxian held up a hand. “Would be, if I didn’t leave Jin Ling with the belief that I would run away from him.”

He turned to Wen Qionglin, who looked like he had swallowed a lemon. “A-Ning, let’s go to Yunmeng first, to drop Jin Ling off, and then we can go home and see everyone, okay?”

“But Gege, you—“

Wei Wuxian pursed his lips. Noticing the silent request for silence, Wen Qionglin closed his mouth, but still looked off-put. Jiang Cheng glanced between the two of them, and realizing he wasn’t going to get an answer, snatched his cup of tea and sipped it aggressively.  

Wen Qionglin didn’t need to finish his sentence, because Wei Wuxian was already thinking the same thing. He was in an unnamed body, one that had an unknown time limit, and an unknown but not limited way of ousting him from within. It was like cooking an egg on a cracked pan; eventually, the thing was bound to break, and the unknown factor just had to be when. There also came the obvious question of why someone would use something faulty, when there was another, perfectly fine object in front of them?

You wouldn’t. 

You shouldn’t . 

But Wei Wuxian couldn’t explain this to Jiang Cheng. It would be the same as telling a rebellious child they couldn’t swim in the waters during winter: they wouldn’t truly understand the reasoning behind “ it’s too cold ” until they dove in head first and had to be dragged out due to their body seizing up in shock. 

It was a harsh way to teach kids, to let them burn their hands on the hot pan that way they know never to touch it again, but words didn’t really teach the way the real world did. A kid could stumble and be caught by their parents, being warned of what would happen if they were to actually hit the ground, but when their parents weren’t there to catch them was when they understood how dangerous it was, how much it hurt. 

But Wei Wuxian didn’t really feel up to having this body eject him from within, because even with the lack of information about what would happen to the person within the body, he knew it wouldn't be pleasant. And despite what the entire cultivation world believes, he isn’t stubborn enough to cause himself harm just to prove a point. 

He turned to Jiang Cheng. “Does that work? We’ll bring Jin Ling to Yunmeng so that we can safely travel to the Burial Mounds without gaining too much attention. We won’t be able to stay long though.”

Jiang Cheng’s face pinched, but he didn’t argue. 

Wei Wuxian turned to Wen Qionglin. “Mm?”

The fierce corpse nodded, seemingly appeased. 

“Great!” Wei Wuxian stood, and his fluid motion made Jiang Cheng jerk, hand shooting out to grasp his wrist at the same time Wen Qionglin’s fingers closed around his sleeve. 

He blinked at the both of them, who were resolutely not making eye contact with him and instead glaring at each other, as if he couldn’t see the way Jiang Cheng’s neck was flushing red and Wen Qionglin’s cheeks were pink. 

Ah. What would he do without his jealous little brothers fighting over his attention as if it were the last slice of bacon on the table? Actually, that was a terrifying way to think of things, because Jiang Yanli would just break the piece in half, allowing Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng to have the same sized piece, and Wei Wuxian didn’t really feel like halfing himself to soothe both of his brothers. 

With the silence that came with an intense stare-down, Wei Wuxian was able to hear the chattering outside the inn pick up, still quiet enough that should any of them within the inn speak it would be easy to shut up, but loud enough that Wei Wuxian knew they were talking about them. 

He twisted his wrists at the same time, breaking Jiang Cheng’s grip on his wrist and shredding a piece of his robe off with Wen Ning’s grip, and they both made aborted motions to stop him, but when he merely turned to the owner of the inn, they both relaxed. 

“I apologize for the disruption,” he bowed, and the woman made a sound like a cat choking on a hairball. “But if we could bother you to check out right now?”

The woman, standing with her hands in front of her in a surrender motion and panic written on her face opened her mouth, but Jiang Cheng spoke, “The rooms are already paid for. I paid last night.”

“This morning.” Wen Qionglin corrected, and Jiang Cheng sent him a nasty glare. 

“Oh, sweet.” He bowed to the woman, “Then, we’ll be out of your hair!”

The woman nodded rapidly, and the three cultivators left to go upstairs, no doubt going to leave from the upper part of the building instead of pushing their way through the crowd. 

When the silence of absolutely no one within her inn became clear to the woman, she staggered, slumping to the ground and pressing a hand to her mouth. 

The Yiling Patriarch. 

In her inn.  

He had sat on her chair, stood on her floors, and touched her tea sets. She shakily looked up to the tea still steaming on the table, and felt like she had been given a child, something precious, durable, and yet easily taken advantage of. She needed to hide this teacup, to put it somewhere everyone could see, make it known the Yiling Patriarch had stood in this very room and let the world be blessed with his presence once more. 

She exhaled sharply, resembling a sob more than a breath of air, and bowed her head down in the direction of the silent Burial Mounds. No more would the fierce corpses bother her and her family; her sister could stop running around like a headless chicken and finally settle down with her husband and child, they wouldn’t need to constantly be in fear just because her sister had once been of That Sect. 

She gave her thanks, prayed, and praised the Burial Mounds, grateful that she would finally be allowed to meet her niece without the underlying panic of fierce corpses finding them and making her alone in this world.

She shot to her feet, ignoring the clamor outside her inn and dashed to her rooms, intent on sending a letter to her sister to let her know that she could come back. That she wasn’t in danger anymore. 

‘Luo Qingyang’, the letter began. ‘The Yiling Patriarch is back. Do you understand? You can come home, please, come home…’

Chapter Text

The Burial Mounds had been closed for seven years now, having thrown up walls forged from rock that was slowly hardening into something stronger than metal, impenetrable to any outside forces. 

People had tried to break in, and how could they not? When the Burial Mounds was the cause of so much pain and agony, of cold-blooded murders via fierce corpses dragging out anyone who even resembled the scent of a Jin’s bloodline, it would be more unbelievable if nobody tried. 

But they did. And nobody had managed to ever get in.

Nie Huaisang was among the many people who believed nobody ever would. 

(There was word amongst the common people that never actually managed to reach cultivation sects, something about a man in mourning white who made the trek up Yiling’s spiraling pathways to the Burial Mounds, disappeared within the crack the Yiling Laozu hadn’t managed to repair before being murdered, and returned days later, pristine and untouched.

Word by mouth liked to say the man had been spotted with the Yiling Laozu when the boy was with his son, and that they looked like a family.)

But seven years after his best friend was murdered in cold blood, watching the way his brother couldn’t actually handle anybody questioning him, Nie Huaisang had been slammed full-force with the realization that he wasn’t safe. That nobody was safe. 

And yes, now that The Sect had been decimated and nobody could even dare to think of their name without the terror of something lurking in the shadows, watching their every move, he knew that if it had been done once before, who’s to say it wouldn’t happen again?

Nie Huaisang wouldn’t necessarily say he lost himself to paranoia and anxiety, but he did open his eyes to the fact that cultivators… actually sucked. A lot. No longer would he survey a group of people and push away the obvious flaws that sat behind a person’s carefully crafted mask; no, he cataloged everything he saw and he remembered it all. 

He could tell someone’s lie by the way their fingers twitched as they desperately tried to remember how to make their story more believable, the way their eyes flicked to the side as if the answer to the sky was written in the concrete walls beside them; he could tell someone’s underhand mockery by the way their head tilts slightly to the side, putting their eyesight below his as they smile, lower lip pursed in something that even a child could see was fake. Seeing these things now, how easily people would write him off with a simple ‘hmm, really? ’ and pretend to listen to his next words while laughing when his back was turned; he wondered how he had never seen it before.

Now, he saw everything, and he remembered it all. Now that for some reason, his brother was crumbling underneath a weight nobody seemed to be able to find, he couldn’t allow himself to be passive anymore. No longer would he allow himself to be air-headed and careless. The world he lived in was dangerous, and he needed to start acting like it, lest his brother actually kill himself from the amount of work he was putting onto his own agenda.

Somewhere along the lines of Nie Huaisang teaching himself to read between the invisible lines of simple flattery and underhanded compliments meaning to belittle and simpering fools meaning to worm their way into his mind and into his heart, he realized his brother was lying to him. 

Nie Mingjue was sick, and he was trying to keep it from Nie Huaisang. 

Before, when Nie Huaisang was happy being carefree and unworried about the world, he wouldn’t have ever noticed it. He probably would’ve waltzed along to Nie Mingjue’s tune, happy to be led along like a naive child who didn’t want to see the elaborate play he was starring in. He probably would’ve been handed a script written with his name down as ‘IDIOT’ and he would’ve laughed and happily read the lines.

But now? Now there was nobody Nie Huaisang couldn’t see through, be it with the words they tried to twist into his brain and confuse his tongue or the way their actions wouldn’t spark a flame to the malicious intent in their eyes.  He could read anybody like a book he’d written himself, not even needing to glance at the title to know exactly what was going to be said or done. 

And it was how Nie Huaisang ended up watching Nie Mingjue, the first time he realized his brother managed to divert the topic of his sudden disappearance from the Qinghe Nie sparring matches onto Nie Huaisang’s new bird. He hadn’t realized his brother hadn’t answered his question until he was back in his room, happily humming to the bird his brother somehow knew about and didn’t get upset about. 

He had stood there, gently brushing the bird’s soft feathers when he froze, replaying the conversation in his head. 

His brother never answered the question. He had taken Nie Huaisang’s excitement over his new pet and completely made him forget that Nie Mingjue hadn’t competed in his favorite competition of the year. When Nie Huiasang had been so into retelling the tale of how he had captured his current bird, his brother had bemusedly informed him that he could keep the bird, but Nie Mingjue had to work, so Nie Huaisang had to leave him alone.

It was there, in his room, that he realized oh. He’s lying to me.  

And it was then that he started watching. 

He sat atop one of the sturdy railings that overlooked the training yard when the sun had long fallen, having heard his brother leave his office and make his way out of the fortress. He was wrapped in a thick robe meant to ward off the chilly air as he silently watched his brother lift his saber, swing it once, swing it twice, and then collapse to his knees, coughing like he had just been stabbed. 

Nie Huaisang had jolted off of the railing, intent on rushing down the steps to aid his brother, but Nie Mingjue had merely stood on shaky legs, and tried to pick his saber back up. His hands were trembling, and his pallid skin was clammy like he was sick. 

Nie Husaiang stood there, underneath the angled arches, next to the railing and the stairs in the fortress he’d been raised in by his older brother, and watched that brother fail to lift his saber again. 

Nie Mingjue was sick, and he was trying to keep it from Nie Huaisang. 

But he wasn’t the same little boy who’d cried so hard he’d thrown up at their father’s funeral. He wasn’t the same child who clung, sobbing, to Nie Mingjue’s leg when the thunder was clapping so loud it made the walls shake. He wasn’t the same. 

Had it been earlier, before Nie Huaisang realized he wasn’t safe anywhere that wasn’t beside his brother, he couldn’t have known what to do. He would’ve been so lost, so out of his own depth that he probably would’ve convinced himself his brother was actually fine, or that time was all his brother needed before coming back to himself. Looking back on himself, and the prime example with Wei Wuxian, that’s exactly what he would’ve done. But that’s not who he is anymore. Because of a child showing up at his doorstep, he had a plan. 

He knew if Nie Mingjue was going through all of this to keep everything from Nie Huaisang— the signed document that declared Nie Huaisang the next Sect Leader, the allotment towards a funeral rite for a Nie who hadn’t yet passed, and the proper storage for a saber who’d yet to lose its wielder— then it wasn’t something Nie Mingjue would just open up about. 

So Nie Huaisang had to work around his brother. That was fine, he’d done it a million times when sneaking out to drink so much he passed out behind the fortress and was found the next morning by exasperated— but not surprised— guards doing their rounds. It was child’s play to sneak out, only because he was certain Nie Mingjue had someone trail him from afar to make sure he never actually ended up dead. 

Regardless, this time, he would have to go without any guards trailing him, because he had an idea, and gods forbid his brother catches wind of what he’s planning. 

His brother may just kill him, Nie Sect Heir or not.

So, he asked two guards to accompany him to the nearby market, which would be flourishing from the residue of the celebration that had occurred after the Nie’s saber competition. People were drinking, kids were laughing, couples were— being disgusting, as usual— and Nie Huaisang flounced about, chattering happily and buying anything that caught his eye. He made sure to talk his guard’s ears off, and when they were tense from irritation, temples throbbing from how much they wanted to thrash Nie Huaisang, weighed down by the various amount of random things Nie Huaisang hadn’t wanted to carry, he deemed that he was done for the night, and made his way home. 

And the next day, he sought out the same two guards, and went to the market, dancing through the stalls like he hadn’t seen them the night before, and he bought everything he fancied. 

And the next day, he did the same thing. 

The next day? Same guards, same market. 

The day after that? The day after that day? 

Until the fateful day his guards informed him that he didn’t need to be accompanied to the market. Until they smiled down at him with pinched expressions, as if they wouldn’t be able to keep themselves from throttling the Nie Heir if he suggested they accompany him to every single stall for the seventh day in a row. 

He did his best faked attempt at wheedling them to accompany him, acting like he truly didn’t understand why they wouldn’t want to see the same stalls— again— until one of the guards had to physically start doing breathing exercises to keep his temper in check. The other one, who wasn’t doing much better than his friend, informed Nie Huaisang— through a clenched jaw and gritted teeth— that they really wouldn’t mind allowing Nie Huaisang to explore the stalls by himself. 

As if they were allowing him leeway to explore as a gift, and not a well-deserved break for them from the astounding way Nie Huaisang managed to irritate people.

He doesn’t let the victory he feels show on his face, and instead nods sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head as if he had only just realized how much they hated these trips. He assures them that if they really don’t want to accompany him— one of them practically explodes, and has to be wrestled back by the other guard, who barely manages to stay respectful when he tells Nie Huaisang that they’d be overjoyed to let him go off on his own— so he takes his win, and he leaves.

He doesn’t even care that both of those guards could lose their jobs, position in the Nie Sect, and possibly their lives from the way they couldn’t handle their temper around a Sect Heir, but Nie Huaisang wasn’t going to mention it to Nie Mingjue. He needed these guards to get so irritated with his very presence that they did exactly this; left him to his own devices. 

He was a little upset. It took them a whole week before they couldn’t handle him anymore, and he was hoping to put his plan into play much faster than that— weren’t Nie supposed to be extremely susceptible to their tempers?? A week seems very imperturbable, in his opinion— but now that he was finally alone, he couldn’t help the rush of excitement and anxiety that flooded his veins. 

He knew that as soon as he did this, his brother wouldn’t be happy with him. Well— he wouldn’t know exactly what would happen, or what had happened, but he would know that Nie Huaisang wanted to go to the market, and then disappeared for two days. 

He almost felt bad for the two guards who would undoubtedly take the blame for his disappearance, but he found that he actually couldn’t care. 

His brother was sick. His brother was, actually, probably dying. He didn’t want Nie Huaisang to know. 

If his plan didn’t work, he didn’t care if those two guards were killed— because if his plan didn’t work, he would die, and his brother would follow. 

It was only right that the men who couldn’t keep his brother alive felt the cold embrace of death right alongside him. 

It took a day of travel to land himself in Yiling, a time that he knew would’ve been more-than halved if he’d just sucked up how much he hated the way his saber felt in his hands and cultivated a core strong enough for flight, but it was too late for him now. 

He sat in his carriage, the excitement he had felt earlier simmering deep in his chest and burning through his throat in a horrible resemblance to fear. He clenched his hands into his robes, exhaling slowly as he tried to slow down the rapid beating of his heart. 

He had a plan. 

Was it absolute insanity and relied solely on how much resentment resentful energy was capable of? Yeah, it was, and it did. 

But this was the best he could do while watching Nie Mingjue lose himself slowly with every day passing that he couldn’t wield his sword. (With every day that Nie Mingjue stared down at the blade on his desk and wondered if this was how Wei Wuxian felt, that perhaps it wasn’t arrogance the boy held when he wouldn’t— couldn’t— wield his weapon. He wondered how he would handle someone accusing him of being full of himself, when the pain of being unable to hold Baxia was tearing him up from the inside out. He wouldn’t have handled it well.) With Nie Huaisang’s mind in a torrent of panic as he watched his brother become someone else, this was the best he could do. 

He was going to make a deal with the Burial Mounds, his brother’s life for Wei Wuxian’s. 

Because not too long ago, a small, unassuming boy who looked like someone Nie Huaisang wanted to forget brought his sect a book— no, not a book, a diary. He claimed that it belonged to Wei Wuxian, and asked that they teach him how to read what was written. 

Nie Huaisang stood before a bastard child of Jin Guangshan, and wondered how he was still alive. 

He took the book, sent the boy to a room for the night, and settled himself in his room to read it. 

He cried so hard he threw up, and that was something that hadn’t happened since he was a child. 

But case in point, there was enough written in that book— on the two pages Nie Huaisang ripped out that made the diary thirty six pages instead of thirty eight— that made him form a plan. 

One of the pages was written in the chicken scratch that wasn’t quite slanted, and wasn’t smeared with tears, so Nie Huaisang assumes this was when Wei Wuxian was calmer— he could tell. Comparing it to the pages smeared with tears and ink and blood, he knew Wei Wuxian was calmer when he wrote this page. 

It was about a small portion of the Burial Mounds that he realized was open. It was a rock that housed a thick crack down the middle which would slide open when the Burial Mounds was to allow resentful creatures to enter and leave. The first page Nie Huaisang had ripped out claimed Wei Wuxian hadn’t walked down to try and find it, because it was further from the Wen Camp then he’d like to be when the outside world was intent on killing them, but he could feel it when he allowed the resentful energy in the floor to ‘vibrate at a speed he could understand.’

Nie Huaisang didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t care. There was a way to get close to the Burial Mounds— by carriage and by walking— and now, there was a way to enter it. 

The second page he’d ripped out was slashed with words that held the type of desperate terror someone would write while being stalked by a killer. He couldn’t read all of them, as the words were smeared with fingerprints like Wei Wuxian had written them down and then thrown the book into the wall while the ink was still wet. 

From what Nie Huaisang could discern, it was a jumbled mess off ‘I’m not alone— there’s someone here— they’re here— I can hear them’, ‘—talking, whispering— stop it— shut up— don’t—‘ more scrambled, smeared words he couldn’t read, and then, ‘GET OUT OF MY HEAD.’

It was the last page written in the diary. Nie Huaisang didn’t know why— but it scared him. He didn’t know when this passage was written— was it right before he left to see Jiang Yanli? Was it right after the war?— and if he thought about it, it didn’t make sense. 

Wei Wuxian wasn’t alone when he took the Wens to the Burial Mounds; he had the fifty survivors, along with Wen Qing and Wen Ning. So why was the fact that he could hear other people talking bothering him to the point of insanity? Wei Wuxian was someone who flourished when all eyes were on him, not in a way that meant he was self-absorbed, but in the way that meant he wanted people to react to him. He wanted people to acknowledge him, see that he was living and breathing and real and not something to be ignored. 

(Maybe that was something Wei Wuxian had shared with Nie Huaisang one night when they were very, very deep into Nie Mingjue’s not-so-hidden stash of alcohol, but it was something Nie Huaisang thought of often. He wondered if that was something that came because of Wei Wuxian being ignored often when he was a street rat.)

If that was who Wei Wuxian was, why would he change all of a sudden? Nie Huaisang had spoken to him after the war, after his best friend stopped feeling like a gentle breeze over a pond and started feeling like his abandoned saber, and he wasn’t much different. A little more tense, a little more snappy, but then again, they’d just won a war, and any sort of victory they would’ve felt was overshadowed by the devastating losses they’d suffered, it made sense that everyone’s temper was shorter than what it was before they first stepped onto a battlefield. 

But Wei Wuxian wasn’t this different— to the point of this sort of insanity. It made Nie Huaisang ache, knowing that somehow he’d made Wei Wuxian feel like he wasn’t someone he could lean on. It made him feel horrible for all the times he convinced himself Wei Wuxian would be better after time passed— after Lotus Pier was rebuilt, after Jiang Yanli got married, after Jin Ling was born. 

But Wei Wuxian had never gotten better, and now he was dead. 

Nie Huaisang refused to lose another person he considered family, he’d already failed with Wei Wuxian, and he wouldn’t— couldn’t— fail with Nie Mingjue. 

So he let his mind run wild, and when he had felt like he was on the brink of giving up, temples throbbing from how long he’d been staring at the wall, how hard he’d been trying to think, think, think— it had hit him. 

Wei Wuxian had lost himself to some sort of insanity that could only have happened because he was cultivating with resentful energy— if Nie Huaisang took that and ran with it, the Burial Mounds held the most resentful energy by far, in comparison to anything else. 

Considering Wei Wuxian had gained his type of cultivation in what was no-doubt the most traumatizing experience of his lifetime– because despite how everyone Nie Huaisang seems to think, he knows Wei Wuxian’s disappearance wasn’t him on his own little relaxation trip to find himself– and that traumatizing experience had to do with the Burial Mounds– hadn’t Wen Chao gloated about how he threw Wei Wuxain into their depths?-- then what does that mean happened he had been forced to permanently relocate to a place with such memories? There was no doubt that this was the cause for his sanity to snap. 

If Nie Huaisang took that and ran even further with it, Wei Wuxian had mentioned in his second to last place that he could physically map out the lands of the Burial Mounds if he allowed the energy to ‘vibrate at a speed he could understand.’ That could’ve been Wei Wuxian connecting to the Burial Mounds for the first time, connecting with it as more than just a source of resentful energy, but a weapon, of a sort. 

And if that weapon connected with Wei Wuxian in the way Wei Wuxian claimed resentful energy likes to connect with him— sinking into his head and whispering and shouting and screaming until he wishes he could claw his ears off and die— then who’s to say his last page was listening to the Burial Mounds for the first time? 

It was insanity. It was blasphemy, really, and the fact that Wei Wuxian could take a whole entire section of a land that could no longer sustain any sort of lifeform and turn it into a weapon made his head spin. Because that was when Wei Wuxian first started using resentful energy, when he was still considered a child who fumbled with his blade. If he had lived long enough to refine his understanding of the energy he cultivated, to understand how it really worked?

He would’ve been strong enough to wipe out everyone had he wanted to. 

It was no wonder That Sect killed him. 

But Nie Huaisang knew Wei Wuxian wasn’t that kind of person, so he seethed at the needless death of his best friend.

The carriage he was riding in pulled to a stop, and the driver’s rough voice came out much lower than he expected, “This is as far as I’ll take you, young master.”

Nie Huaisang gave himself a split second to breathe deeply before stepping off. He could vaguely tell where he was— based on the singular sketch Wei Wuxian had painted into his diary— and he nodded shakily at the driver. “This is fine. Thank you.”

The driver took off without another word. 

He had to visibly steel himself as he stared up at the mountains that towered high above any landmass that existed in the Unclean Realm. There didn’t seem to be any sort of life around these mountains, the ground dry and cracked where not even the most stubborn weed didn’t dare to peek through the dirt. The sparse amount of dead trees were thin and faded gray, as if Nie Huaisang was standing in a charcoal painting, and to make it worse, the sky was dark and ominous, clouds blocking out whatever thin rays of sunlight wanted to peek out as if there was a storm to be coming, but Nie Huaisang knew Yiling hadn’t had rain in almost a century. 

This close to the Burial Mounds, he could feel a gentle buzzing beneath his feet, like the ground was rumbling with deep, agonized breaths. 

The chilling air that was borne from the hatred of a million undead corpses made his hair rise on the back of his neck, and a shudder went down his back. He felt like he was being watched, and unease pooled low in his gut as his hackles raised high. 

He didn’t feel safe. He wasn’t safe. He had to get out, he needed to leave. 

He wasn’t welcome here. 

Nie Huaisang shuffled backwards as slow as he could, desperately trying to quiet his breathing so he could listen for any movement around him, but it was deathly silent. When his back pressed into a decaying tree, he clenched his shaking hands into his robes, the ringing in his ears getting louder the more he tried to focus his hearing. 

He wasn’t safe. He was out in the open, he wasn’t hidden, it could see him. 

Nie Huaisang felt sweat drip down his spine, and his next breath came out in a shudder. Instantly, feeling that the sound was too loud to go unnoticed, he froze, horror pounding through his veins. 

His whole body tense, Nie Huaisang held his breath. 

A crow cawed right into his ear. 

Fear shot through his body so quickly it burned, and he was running away from the tree like it was chasing him. He knew, subconsciously, that the tree wasn’t chasing him, and it was just a crow that made the noise and something that would kill him, but the panic and fear in his veins was telling him run, run run run you’re not safe run! 

So he ran. Up the twisting, overgrown pathway, stumbling on rocks as his robes got snagged on branches that snapped far too loudly for the silence of the Burial Mounds, and his lungs were heaving in air he couldn’t taste. He ran until his foot finally caught on a rock that sent him slamming into the ground so hard the air left his lungs in a great whoosh . 

Having already been panting like some dog in the hot summer heat as he ran, his eyes watered with the utter terror of suddenly not being able to breathe. Of suffocating, of the lack of air to his brain making him think, and the belief that he was going to die. That he was dying. He was—

He gasped air down so quickly it burned, and he choked on it. His next breath wheezed, and then he was sobbing, inhaling lungfuls of air as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. 

His torso ached with the movement, and he tried to steady his breathing as he tilted his head up and paled at how close he was to the jagged rocks of the Burial Mounds. The buzzing underneath his feet was stronger too, to the point that he could feel it in his ears, and the ticklish feeling did nothing to make him feel better.

Dropping his eyes from the towering spires, he realized he was staring right at a crack in the wall, as if two plates of rock had smashed into one another but hadn’t melded. There was enough space for him to peer through the thin slit and see nothing but gray rocks and disturbed dirt.

A pathway well worn.

He felt lightheaded, as he realized there was no turning back now. He had quite literally delivered himself to the dragon’s open maw— he couldn’t turn and run now. Running, he felt, would make things so much worse. He raised his shaking hand up to touch the rock, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was so, so scared. There was nothing to back up that this would even work besides his own fucking theories and desperate wish for it to be true. He could be throwing away his life for nothing.

He dropped his hand, intent on taking a deep breath to calm his racing mind, but the tips of his fingers brushed against the rock beside the crack. 

It was frigid to the touch.

The buzzing beneath his feet increased like an angry swarm of bees, and then to the shuddering of a gentle earthquake, groaning as the rocks cracked and splintered, as if trying to widen. 

Nie Huaisang was frozen in place as something— something old and dark and resembling his best friend’s aura and yet his saber at the same time— forged within the walls reared up and hissed angrily, resentful energy curling up around him in thick wafts that reeked of rotten corpses and blood. 

He felt all the blood drain from his face as the feeling of the resentful energy turned his body to ice and his mind to mush, but for some reason, despite all of the warnings blaring loud in the back of his mind, there was a small part of him that assured him he was fine. He was safe. It wouldn’t hurt him. Come closer. 

Nie Huaisang shuddered, gasping as the thick coils of hatred shut off his airway, curling around his lungs and squeezing tighter with every breath he took. His body broke out in a cold sweat as his arm trembled, threatening to give out underneath him as his eyesight became hazy around the edges.

“I—“ his voice gave out as the resentful energy curled up his skin, slithering across his robes and burning with a frigidity he had never experienced before. His next sentence came out choked, barely audible. “I can bring back Wei Wuxian!”

The resentful energy paused in its assault, as if shocked by the pure audacity Nie Huaisang had to speak his name, before it surged back into his body with a vengeance. Nie Huaisang’s arms gave out and he hit the ground with a sickening thump, dry heaving out the taste of hatred and despair. He choked, tears filling his eyes as his lungs screamed for air, the cold clench of his chest threatening to pop all of his organs like balloons. 

He felt at this point, it would hurt less if he just died.

“I —“ he coughed, hands clenching as he resisted the urge to claw at his throat, knowing he would only succeed in hurting himself. “I can! I can b— bring him back! Wei W-Wuxian—“

The crack in the rock before him shuddered, then caved into itself, and if Nie Huaisang wasn’t currently grasping for the smallest bit of air he could get, he would’ve gasped in shock. His eyesight was beginning to blur, black spots flitting across his vision and making his head spin, and he had no way of knowing if his shaking was from his body quite literally fighting for its life or from the way the ground beneath him roared.

Something crawled out of the hole before him, jagged rocks clinging to the broken body and shredded clothing of a fierce corpse.

He didn’t think he would be hallucinating already, but he didn’t really know anything about how the body works when it’s quite literally on its last breath. He deliriously watches as the corpse claws to him, sharp nails and bones and decayed skin getting closer, closer, closer, until bones colder than the air he was fighting to get closed around his wrist. 

“How?”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes snapped open, and all of a sudden he could breathe. He gasps, coughing as the tears burning in his eyes spill onto his cheeks. He bends over, clutching at his cold, tight chest as he heaves in air, choking and coughing as he inhales his own spit. He’s trembling, shaking as he sways heavily to the side, head spinning and threatening to send him straight into unconsciousness. He’s surprised he’s stayed conscious until now, but it seems he has reached his limit. As the world around him spins and vision swirls in a mass of colors he’s never seen and the dark bliss of unconsciousness, there’s the soft sound of a snap!, and then everything is fine. 

Nie Huaisang can breathe, his vision is fine, he isn’t sweating, he isn’t crying, he’s just… there. He’s standing in a forest he doesn’t recognize, watching as bright plants bloom and animals he’s never seen before prance through the high grass and thick trees. Birds he’s never heard chirp and sing, creating a symphony he’s never even read about before. He takes it all in, too stunned to really realize what was going on, before there’s another sound. 

“How?”

Startled, Nie Huaisang whirls around— ah, he can move— and there is a woman kneeling before him. Her pink and white robes were almost pristine, like a woman who has come straight from the clothing shop with a custom order, but her face was destroyed, half of it blooded and disfigured while the other half was still powdered to perfection, lips tinted just enough to make her look innocent, but her rouge was running down her cheeks, and she was sobbing.

She looked up at him with desperation, and cried again, “How?!”

Nie Huaisang tried to step back, but his legs wouldn’t respond. They were rooted in place as if he was paralyzed, and fear clawed up his throat the same way the resentful energy had. As if he wasn’t shocked enough, the image of the woman wavered, and there was a man standing there, dressed in battle armor Nie Huaisang had only seen in scrolls and paintings, of a time that was fabled to have gods walking amongst humans. 

The man’s teeth were bared in anger, his eyes burning with fury, but there were also tears running down his face.

“How will you do that?” He gritted out, before wavering again, and another woman took his place, this one more frenzied than the other as she clutched at her cracked-open chest. 

“How?!” She screamed. “How are you going to bring my son back?!”

Oh. 

The woman gripped her hair and fell to her knees. “He didn’t sign up for your war! He didn’t want to fight anyone! And now he’s dead! How are you going to change that?!” 

Oh. 

“I—“ His mind was racing, from the people he was seeing to the similar resentment all of them seemed to hold, connecting the dots so quickly he felt like it couldn’t be true, but he still pushed himself to talk. “I can bring Wei Wuxian back.”

An older woman took the place of the frenzied one, but she was still crying. 

“Don’t lie to me!” She shrieked. “Don’t give me false hope! My son, my child, my baby—“ The woman wailed, and goosebumps rose along Nie Huaisang’s arms. 

“There is a ritual—“

“We’ve tried all the rituals!” A man roared. “Nothing works!”

“My son!” Another man cried. 

Heaving, as if the despair these spirits were pumping out was starting to affect Nie Huaisaing too, he gasps, “I—it’s forbidden, but—“

“You think I care?!” A woman incredulously yelled, and another quickly followed. “I don’t care! Bring my son back! Bring him back!”

Nie Huaisang couldn’t breathe.

A small boy clad in green stared at him with something akin to horror. “You can’t do it.”

“No—“ Nie Huaisang choked out, but—

“You can’t!” The boy cried, curling into himself with a loud wail. “You can’t, you can’t, you can’t!”

“How dare you show your face here!” Another screamed. 

“I want my son back!” A man sobbed, and then they were all screaming at once. 

“My son died fighting your war!”

“How dare you?!”

“My child! My baby! He’s gone!“

“Why?! Why?! Why?!”

“My son was innocent!”

“He didn’t sign up for your war!”

“You can’t help him?! Why would you say you could?!”

“He’s dead—“

“My son—

“Why?! Why—“

“How could you—“

“Why would you—“

“He didn’t—“

“He was—“

“I WANT MY SON BACK!”

So this was how the Burial Mounds was sentient. 

“I-I can! I swear!” Nobody seems to hear him, and the sound of agonized screaming and wailing made Nie Huaisang want to scream too. He wanted to claw his ears off and fall to his knees, he wanted to sob and pound at the ground and cry, because it was futile. He’d lost it, the only thing he ever truly cared about, and there was nothing he could do. He was powerless, useless, pathetic. He could kill anyone he wanted as easily as he raised his arm, but what good was his power if he couldn’t keep the one thing he cared about safe? He was worthless, he was useless, he was abandoned, he was a failure, he was—

Nie Huaisang drops to his knees and vomits. He heaves, convulsing as he pukes up everything in his stomach until he’s choking up stomach acid.

Oh my gods, he thought to himself. How did Wei Wuxian live like this?

“I can.” Nie Huaisang grits out, panting as his body heaves with the urge to puke, but there is nothing left. “I can give him a body.”

The screaming didn’t stop, but it quieted enough that Nie Huaisang could focus on the small boy that was suddenly standing in front of him, dark green robes splattered in blood.

The boy was young, so, so young. What was he doing in a place like this? 

“You can’t.”

Nie Huaisang shook his head, trembling. His mouth tasted like blood and stomach acid and the rotting flesh of corpses long forgotten. “I can. I— I know how.”

A woman took the young boy’s place, but— 

Nie Huaisang’s breath left him as the woman rolled her shoulders, large black horns proudly growing from the top of her head and curling around her pointed ears. Her eyes were burning a dark blue, and her teeth were sharpened to a knife-tip as she snarled at him. “You seek to trick us, mortal. I know of your kind, you promise us something you cannot give, and expect something in return.”

Oh. Wei Wuxian wasn’t insane; Nie Huaisang was right there with him. 

Nie Huaisang inhales shakily. He can’t find the energy to stand up, not only from the absolute onslaught of resentful energy the Burial Mounds assaulted him with, but from the pure amount of respect this woman demands. His voice is barely a whisper, “My brother is sick. I think he’s dying. If… if you can help him, I will bring Wei Wuxian back.”

“An ultimatum.” The woman, the thing, the creature, the shifting mass of shadows so dark she resembled an actual, literal demon, hisses. Her lips curl in disgust as she takes him in like he’s a piece of shit her horse just stepped in. “You lie, mortal.”

Nie Huaisang shakes his head. He’s shaking, his hands trembling where they rest on his knees, and the smell of his puke is starting to make him feel sick, but he can’t dredge up the energy to stand. It’s getting easier to breathe, but his voice is still shaky. “I don’t. You can— you can see it for yourself.”

The woman’s hand slams into his forehead hard enough to send Nie Huaisang into another realm, where everything is dark and he’s not in his body. It’s like his soul has been forcibly torn from everything that keeps him tethered to the mortal realm, and it’s just floating about aimlessly, nothing to tether it to the world. Before he can truly begin to panic, his next blink has him laying flat on the ground, staring up at the clear blue sky. 

“Your Nie Clan uses the strength of dead kings to tame their sabres.” The woman tells him, and before Nie Huaisang has enough time to think what? she continues talking. “Since a mortal such as yourself isn’t able to eat the resentment the way our son can, you will have to stabilize their power with medicines that align with moonlight. Your brother will live.”

Nie Huaisang has a single second to think, I’m sorry, what does that mean? before he sees a single flash of the woman’s face blocking out the blue sky and then he’s yanked up into the air, her fists twisted into his robes as she bares her sharp, sharp teeth in his face. 

“If you lie, mortal, we will kill your brother.” She smiles, and the sadistic gleam in her eyes makes his heart stop. “Him, and everyone who wears his colors.”

In a flash of movement and sharp, white teeth, she snaps her jaw shut around his face, and before his facial bones can crunch beneath her bite force, he wakes up, gasping, laying outside of the Burial Mounds. 

He rolls over and promptly empties his empty stomach for what feels like the fourth time that day. 

But it doesn’t matter. What he’s just done has been set in stone; the deal that he’s just made with the Burial Mounds not only put his and his brother’s life on the line, but the lives of everybody who wears the Nie colors and bears the name. 

If Nie Huaisang fucks up, the Burial Mounds will kill him and his Sect like they killed That Sect. 

He felt nauseous, but he’d already puked, so he just closed his eyes and tried to breathe. 

They’d done it before, and made a massacre on such an insane level look so, so easy, so he didn’t doubt for a single second that they weren’t bluffing. 

This was his reality now. He’d made a deal with the Burial Mounds. 

Despite the fact that everyone’s life was now in his hands he didn’t feel scared. Well— now that he was breathing, and no longer on the verge of a panic attack times two, he didn’t feel scared. He didn’t feel anxious, because he knew what he was doing. He knew how to bring Wei Wuxian back, and it started with giving that Jin boy a copy of Wei Wuxian’s diary. 

Particularly, a copy of the page that held a soul transfer. 

He feels giddy laughter bubble up his throat, and he revels in the insanity of it all. 

His brother would live, and the Burial Mounds would have their son back. 

His plan worked. 

His brother would live. 

When Nie Huaisang returned home and got his ear chewed off so hard he was surprised he still had his hearing when his brother finally ran out of disappointing things to compare Nie Huaisang to, he couldn’t help but throw himself at his older brother in a desperate hug.

Nie Mingjue was livid, thinking it was a ploy to get out of punishment, but for some reason, in the safety of his older brother’s arms, everything that happened that day slammed into Nie Huaisang, and he was sobbing into his brother’s robes before he could stop himself. 

Nie Mingjue, never one able to ignore Nie Huaisang’s tears, recognized these as real tears, and held him quietly, extremely concerned. 

Nie Huaisang didn’t care. 

His brother would live. He didn’t care how many times he’d cried or thrown up that day from pure fear, because his brother would live.

That night, Nie Huaisang was plagued with nightmares of women who sobbed over their son’s dead bodies and men who screamed at the unfairness of it all. 

He didn’t sleep well. 

There was something oddly entertaining about watching two grown men revert back to childish arguments when it came to someone they both viewed as their older brother, and it was even more entertaining when they both had little brother complexes which couldn’t handle the thought of being outshone by the other. 

The best way Wei Wuxian could explain it, and his favorite way to think about it, was when someone has a beloved, old, cranky cat named Jiang Cheng who hates everybody, including Wei Wuxian, and doesn’t have an issue hissing, snarling, and biting anyone who even dares to think they can lay their undeserving hands on him. The batty, angry cat doesn’t understand why someone would ever want to be fawned over by Wei Wuxian, so he goes out of his way to ignore Wei Wuxian and pretend he doesn’t exist. 

So when Wei Wuxian finally accepts that his angry cat Jiang Cheng doesn’t want anything to do with him, and goes out of his way to adopt a small, tiny, adorable little ball of fluff named Wen Qionglin, all of a sudden Jiang Cheng is floored and stunned and all of the ‘ed’s because how dare Wei Wuxian replace him with this… thing? 

Peering behind him to take stock of the fact that while he’s walking on legs he’s never used before– shorter than he’d ever been, except for when he was maybe fourteen– and was actually struggling to keep a decent pace, both Wen Qionglin and Jiang Cheng were walking behind him, glaring at one another like the other would take off with Wei Wuxian if they took their eyes off them.

He would be amused if it wasn’t starting to get old. It was funny at first, in a way that would make him feel loved and wanted because his two beloved younger brothers were arguing over who he loved more, but holy hells, when he took any breath that was louder than a silent inhale, one of them was using it as an excuse to prove that Wei Wuxian actually hated them.

He just wanted to exist in peace, thank you very much. 

Wei Wuxian turned back towards the clearing in the trees he was finally starting to see, the air having long-since changed from the gentle scent of dirt and grass to the humid air of open waters. He felt a small tingle of excitement shoot down his spine, as he couldn’t say he’d seen Lotus Pier after it’d been burned down, because when he was still hiding the fact that he had no golden core and his cultivation method was slowly driving him insane, he spent all of his time drunk out of his mind, and he genuinely has no clue what Jiang Cheng did with the construction.

Wei Wuxian steps over a log, and for some reason that was what made him tune back into his idiotic lovable younger brother’s bickering.

 “You say that, and yet you’re still here.” Jiang Cheng sounds irritated, and yet, when does he not?

Wen Qionglin’s voice is smooth, but Wei Wuxian can hear the undertone of petulance. “I’m still here because my gege wishes to be here.”

The tone of Jiang Cheng’s next sentence makes it obvious that he’s grinding his teeth together. “So you’re saying if he didn’t want to be here you’d take him? Away from me and away from his nephew?”

“Who are you again?”

Wei Wuxian sighs and turns back around as he hears the cap on Jiang Cheng’s patience explode, and both of his younger brothers turn to him, in varying degrees of annoyance and frustration. 

Well, Wen Qionglin actually looks more smug than he does irritated, so that means all of the rage and irritation is coming solely from Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian wished he was surprised. 

“Boys,” he says, unable to hide the way he sounds like he’s been killed, revived, dragged out in front of a crowd while in ratty robes, carried like a sack of potatoes, and simultaneously ignored and used as the basis of an argument in the span of seven hours. Oh, wait. “Do you really think this is the time and place to be arguing about this?”

Jiang Cheng looks rightfully scolded, but Wen Qionglin— where did his spine come from? He knows Wen Qing didn’t spend the past eleven years teaching her younger brother to be a little shit— tips his chin upwards in the most adorable show of defiance Wei Wuxian has ever seen from him. “Yes.”

Jiang Cheng shoots a stunned glance at Wen Qionglin, and then looks back over to Wei Wuxian, as if Wen Qionglin talking back was enough to warrant him being abandoned and denounced as one of Wei Wuxian’s younger brothers. Wei Wuxian would find it cute, the way he looks so lost and stunned, if it weren’t for the fact that he was actively the sole creator and only member of the Wen Qionglin Hate Squad.

Was that a thing? Now that Jiang Cheng knew Wen Qionglin was Wei Wuxian’s little brother, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

He shakes his head and gestures towards the opening of the trees, where he knows stepping through will have them standing on the platform that would lead towards the floating buildings of Lotus Pier. “We’re almost there, and because you two wanted to spend all of your time arguing about who’ll carry me, the head disciple got here before us. As did the rest of the party on the night hunt. And Jin Ling. You know, I think even my great grandchild got there before us!” 

Wen Qionglin joins Jiang Cheng in looking contrite, and they both avoid each other’s gaze as they stew in their own guilt. Wei Wuxian sighs heavily. He has some dramatic brothers.

He turns to step through the trees, and tells Wen Qionglin, “It would probably be best that you stay hidden for now, until Jiang Cheng sets up my guest bedroom, and then you can sneak in.”

Breaking through the trees, Wei Wuxian lays his eyes on Lotus Pier for the first time since it was bathed in flames and blood and loss.

It looks exactly the same. There’s almost no difference from when he grew up in the Lotus Pier that preceded this one, and he takes it all in. The lotus pods have grown back in with such abundance that he instantly knows there aren’t enough children who steal them and eat them. The wooden planks are dark from the exposure of all the moisture in the air, and he swears if he stares long enough he can see the place he ate shit as a child and stabbed a hole through one of the stakes.

It hurts, to look at something that had been everything to him, and realize that it was fine, if not better, without him. Lotus Pier may have never been his home, but he had wanted it to be so for the majority of his life. 

Burial Mounds rumbles deep in the back of his mind, and the soft support coming off of that simple sound makes Wei Wuxian smile, relaxing slightly.

Jiang Cheng’s voice suddenly cuts through his thoughts, “Are you listening to me? You’re not staying in his room.”

And then Wen Qionglin, “Why not? I’ve shared rooms with him many times before, what is another night?”

Jiang Cheng grits his teeth, his irritation palpable, “Because, you’re going to be here for more than a night.”

“My gege and I have shared a singular room for multiple nights before.”

Wei Wuxain feels a headache growing. All of a sudden he understands why people abandon the things they can’t handle, because the urge to shove the two of these pain-in-the-asses in a little box and dump them into the rain with a note written, ‘Free rabid younger brothers! Please take them!’ is so, so appealing. 

Burial Mounds is suddenly on board, and he has to inhale deeply to keep himself from making an extremely rash decision just because the Burial Mounds was urging him to abandon the both of them to their petty arguments and come home.

“That’s not true, is it? Wei Wuxian, he’s lying, right? You haven’t shared a room with him, right?”

Wei Wuxian sighs. Heavily. The thing is… Wen Qiongling wasn’t lying. Wen Qionglin doesn’t need to sleep, so of course if for whatever reason Wei Wuxian needed to stop in an inn for the night, or multiple nights, they would only get one room with one bed, because Wei Wuxian was the only one who slept.

But leave it to Wen Qionglin to word it like he and Wei Wuxian were cuddling it up in a little puppy pile while Jiang Cheng slept alone on a rock in the middle of a tundra.

These two.

He needed a fucking break, and he’d only been alive for seven hours.

“We can talk about rooms after we’ve stepped onto Yunmeng Jiang’s land.” Wei Wuxian says, stepping off of the grassy, muddy lands and onto the muddy planks that would lead towards Lotus Pier’s main building. “You two have a penchant for bickering like me and–” 

What happens next can only be told when Wei Wuxian is completely drunk, with zero inhibitions and without any fear for the judgment he would receive in the morning.

See, even when he was a child and Lotus Pier was a novelty to him, he was aware of the false step that was halfway through the land and the first lantern that hung over the lake. It had been pointed out to him by Jiang Fengmian when he was first brought to Lotus Pier, and it had been pointed out a million times by Jiang Cheng, even when he remembered it was there.

And the thing with remembering something to the point that you didn’t have to think before your body was moving, when it was so ingrained into who you were that you no longer needed to think about it? Well, when you have a new body that doesn’t have that muscle memory, but it’s been so long that you no longer think about skipping that false step, what happens is you step on it.

It gives an ominous creak, and then snaps underneath his weight.

He’s not even shocked when he’s dropped straight into frigid waters that make his body seize up, no, he’s merely disappointed in himself.

He’s still disappointed in himself when Jiang Cheng dives in after him, yanking him from the murky depths he remembers from his youth and lifting him out of the water. The blast of cool air makes him shiver, teeth chattering, and Wen Qionglin hoists him completely out of the water and lays him on the planks.

He looks scared as he presses two fingers to Wei Wuxian’s throat. His anxiety matches the way the Burial Mounds surges into his mind, smooth and cool and yet so much different from the water he was just submerged in.

“I’m fine.” Wei Wuxian assures both his brother and the Burial Mounds. They hover, one over his body and the other in his mind, so he just sighs and doesn’t bother arguing. “Just disappointed in myself.”

Jiang Cheng is grinning when he pulls himself out of the water, hair slicked down against his face and making him look like a water ghoul, and yikes, the poor thing. Rogue could only do so much when someone looked like that. 

Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes and holds up a finger in warning, but Jiang Cheng ignores it. “The false plank, Wei Wuxian? Really?”

“Hey, this body is completely different.” Wei Wuxian objects. “You’re telling me you’d do better in my situation?”

Although that topic could very quickly, and very easily turn towards much darker themes, Jiang Cheng merely laughs, and the sound of it soothes some of Wei Wuxian’s rankled pride. With a quick flick of his finger– and a burst of energy so familiar it makes Wei Wuxian’s heart ache – Jiang Cheng is dry.

His grin turns even more smug, if such a thing was possible. “I would’ve lifted my foot a little higher.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, but files away that particular trick for later. “Smartass.”

Jiang Cheng gasps and then gestures to Wen Qionglin. “There are children present.”

Wen Qionglin’s eyes narrow, but before he can murder Yunmeng’s Sect Leader, Wei Wuxian allows his teeth to shudder louder. “C-can we please go inside?”

He doesn’t know how, and he definitely couldn’t explain it if someone asked, but he ended up on his feet and stepping onto Lotus Pier’s main building before he had even finished shivering.

Wei Wuxian glances at Jiang Cheng on his right, and then to Wen Qionglin on his left, who somehow, someway, managed to work together. Regardless of whether or not it was for Wei Wuxian’s sake, he was surprised they had it in them.

“Shit.” Jiang Cheng hisses, gently shoving Wei Wuxian and Wen Qionglin into an alcove they were just about to pass. “The cooks haven’t left for the night.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, confused. “And?”

Instead of giving him an answer after being ominous and saying something along the lines of ‘we’re not alone’, Jiang Cheng strips off his dry— the bastard— outer robe and tosses it over Wei Wuxian’s head. 

“You look like someone from That Sect.” Jiang Cheng hisses under his breath. Stunned, Wei Wuxian lifts the robe high enough just to see his brother’s face. “Don’t take that off until we get you past them.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian hisses back. Jiang Cheng locks eyes with Wen Qionglin over his head, and whatever passes through that look has Wen Qionglin’s presence disappearing from behind him. Whirling around, he sees that his younger brother is gone. Beginning to feel the rise of panic, and yet wanting to remain calm, he turns back to Jiang Cheng, “Why are you hiding me?”

“I won’t let them take you from me again.” Jiang Cheng whispers furiously, as if somehow that’s an answer. Wei Wuxian’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth to ask Jiang Cheng to clarify what the absolute hell that meant, but Jiang Cheng yanks the robe down to cover his face again.

There’s a gasp from behind Jiang Cheng, but he can’t see anything aside from Jiang Cheng’s belt and the shoes of a servant standing behind him. Jiang Cheng clears his throat, dropping his hand as he turns back to the servant.

The servant waivers, before the sound of fabric rustling lets Wei Wuxian know they were bowing. “Sect Leader.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t say anything, as usual, because he’s emotionally constipated and doesn’t know how to interact with anybody in a civil way unless their name is ‘Jiang Yanli’.

The servant takes his silence as dismissal, and hurries off.

Wei Wuxian lifts the robe from his face, still confused, “Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and then gestures for Wei Wuxian to follow him. “Nothing, Wen Qionglin went to the roof to stay hidden. I know for a fact that the rest of the Sects are going to want to get together to discuss what’s going to happen now that the Burial Mounds has calmed down the killings, and I thought it would be best if he wasn't seen.”

Wei Wuxian understands that, and hurries after his brother, but… “Why’d you have to cover my face too?”

Jiang Cheng drags a hand down his face. “You look like– your face, it’s– whoever’s body you’re in, they belonged– they wore gold.”

Ah. A Jin, then. A bastard no doubt.

That thought gave him pause, because if the body he was currently residing in was a Jin, and everyone was under the impression that all of the Jins had been massacred, did that mean the bastard kids got away because when Burial Mounds sent out the fierce corpses, they weren’t wearing gold?

It intrigued him, but he left that thought for later, and instead hurriedly followed Jiang Cheng to his office.

Meanwhile, the servant who had been so unlucky as to run into Jiang Cheng was rushing as quickly as she could to the kitchen, where she was originally due. 

She threw open the doors and hissed, “A-Lin, it happened!”

The cook, Meilin turned around, red spices stained into her outer robe as she cocked her head to the side in confusion. “What happened?”

The other cook, with the name Ling, stomped over to the taller woman and hissed, “Sect Leader brought a woman home!”

Meilin’s eyebrows shot up, but otherwise, she didn’t sound very shocked. “And?”

“You don’t sound shocked at all!”

Meilin shrugged and turned back to the giant pot of spicy broth. “It was bound to happen soon enough. People act like he would really let his bloodline end with him.”

Ling crossed her arms and tilted her head. “You didn’t think so too?”

Meilin shook her head. “That man was determined in bringing his sect back from the ashes, why would he finish off his bloodline?”

“Okay,” Ling held up her hands as if what she was about to say was absolutely stunning. “But the woman he brought was a peasant!”

Meilin paused, glancing back at her friend. “And?”

Ling’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean ‘and?’!“

“Should it matter what the Sect Leader does with his free time?”

“Uh, yes? Isn’t there a rule against this?”

A new voice cut off their conversation. “Isn’t there also a rule against gossiping about your Sect Leader?”

The two cooks squeaked and whirled around, quickly bowing to Jiang Yanli, who was standing behind them with a disapproving stare, her arms crossed across her chest. 

“Forgive us, Madam.” Meilin murmured. “It was out of place for us to gossip.”

Jiang Yanli glanced at Ling, her posture relaxing after she got an apology. “What has my brother done?”

Ling and Meilin shared a quick glance, before Ling cleared her throat, “Um... Madam... Sect Leader brought home a woman.”

Jiang Yanli paused. “What?”

Ling shifted uneasily, “U-Uh....”

Jiang Yanli blinked rapidly, looking as shocked as Ling felt. “A woman?”

“Yes, Madam.”

Jiang Yanli seemed so stunned she couldn’t even decide what kind of facial expression to make. “A— pardon, a woman?”

“Mhm!” Ling said, starting to get excited. “A petite thing! She looked so small next to the Sect Leader!”

“Petite.” Jiang Yanli repeated, and Ling nodded. 

“Sect Leader’s outer robe was thrown over her to hide her face, but she had the most beautiful voice ever! It was really sweet actually, Sect Leader gave her his outer robes to wear since,” she held her hand up to her grinning lips, “Hers were soaked.”

Jiang Yanli exhales slowly. “And—“

The doors were thrown open. “A-Lin, A-Ling, it happened! Sect Leader—“

Qiao froze in his spot when he spotted Jiang Yanli standing in the kitchens, and he laughed nervously, shuffling the rest of the way into the kitchens like a cat edging around water. “Ah... Madam.... fancy seeing you here?”

Jiang Yanli smiled brightly, but it somehow seemed more threatening than Jiang Cheng’s snarl. “I see my brother is the prime topic for gossip today. I’ve been told he’s brought home a woman?”

Qing nodded frantically, his eyes lighting up. “I heard him in the hallway— Madam, he was— it sounds like he really loves her!”

Jiang Yanli’s smile brightened. “Oh? By the sounds of it, do you think you could guess how long my brother’s been seeing this woman?”

“Oh, a long time for sure,” Qing nodded, “He was telling her that he wouldn’t allow anyone to take her from him again. Oh, Madam, I think he really loves her!”

Jiang Yanli, for some reason, didn’t seem to share the same excitement. Her face was plastered in a serene smile, but it felt like she was feeling everything aside from joy. “How interesting. You said they were going where?”

Qiao, ever the airhead, hums as he thinks. “Oh! I think they were going to his study, Madam.”

Ling giggles, and even Meilin cracks a smile. This late into the night, there was no way the Sect Leader had any work to do, so if he was taking his lover to his study… ah! Ling felt her cheeks heat up with the thought alone.

Jiang Yanli wastes no time in excusing herself and bids them a wonderful night.

Qiao hums, propping his head in his hand as he leans against Ling. “The Madam didn’t seem too happy. I wonder why?”

Ling shrugs, “Couldn’t tell you. Maybe she finally realized that guy is not worth the amount of trouble she goes through for him.”

Qiao nods in agreement. “Must’ve been a hard realization, considering they have a kid n’ all. Hey, A-Lin, your soup is broiling.”

Meilin shrieks, and for a moment, they forget that their beloved Madam is married to a cursed man, and their Sect Leader had a lover nobody knew about.