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Chapter Text

For all his scheming and foresight, Nie Huaisang had never had a long-term plan for his life. For so many years, he had lived his real life in the shadows, scheming against the most powerful man in the cultivation world. In avenging his brother, he had learned to be ruthless, to be vicious in attaining his goals. He has no regrets (though sometimes he cannot help but wonder what his brother would have thought of him now. Would he be proud? Or would he be angry, disdainful of Nie Huaisang’s calculating methods? It would likely be the latter, he knew, but it was nice to pretend otherwise).

There were casualties, of course, as there always are. Lan Xichen may have come out of seclusion a few years ago, but he came out a changed man. His fond and doting Er-Ge has been replaced by a tired and bitter man who refuses to look him in the eye. Mo Xuanyu, now Wei Wuxian, he supposes, was a necessary sacrifice and one he knows he ought to feel more guilt over. But when he sees Wei Wuxian, laughing uproariously with the GusuLan juniors, and Lan Wangji’s fond gaze turned towards his husband, he finds it difficult to feel remorse. No, there was no good life left for Mo Xuanyu, with his fractured mind and soul-deep resentment.

He cannot help the way his lips twist at that. He watches the scene in the clearing in front of him silently, cloaked in the shadows of the forest, clutching his favourite fan to his chest tightly. It is one his brother had given him, so many years ago, red in the face and full of awkward affection, refusing to look his starry-eyed little brother in the eye.

Several feet in front of him, the fight continues. Wei Wuxian stands on a tree branch at the edge of the clearing with his flute to his lips, resentful energy coiling around him as he suppresses the yaoguai. Below him, Lan Wangji strums his guquin, blasting back any creatures that get too close to his husband and cutting down the resentful beasts that seem to pour into the clearing from the forest by the dozen. At the front, Wen Qionglin tears the creatures apart with his bare hands, protecting the two and fighting with impressive speed.

In a moment’s pause between waves of monsters, he hears Wei Wuxian’s strained voice, “Lan Zhan, there are–”

“Mn. Sixteen.”

Safe in his hiding spot, Nie Huaisang clutches his fan tighter. How did they figure it out so quickly? He had placed the Spirit Attraction talismans so carefully around the clearing, with an illusion spell layered over each.

It does not matter though. The array beneath their feet has almost finished absorbing all the spiritual and resentful energy it needs for him to activate it. He is so close. Another minute and it will be enough.

The array had been amongst the few that Mo Xuanyu had stolen from Jin Guangyao, when he was still living at Carp Tower. It had been one of many potential experiments in Wei Wuxian’s notes on demonic cultivation, in the same tattered notebook as the soul-summoning array that had brought its creator back to life. Nie Huaisang had… acquired the notes from Mo Xuanyu before he made himself into a sacrifice, and had kept them hidden in his personal library ever since.

A few years after the dust had settled, however, Nie Huaisang found himself restless. Aside from caring for his sect, and navigating the still grating politics of the cultivation world, he had very little to do. A new listlessness began to creep up on him that even his paintings and his fans could not dispel.

The truth was, Nie Huaisang had very little left. Though avenged, his brother, who had raised and cared for him would never return and threaten to break his legs. Lan Xichen, the closest thing he had had left to family after Da-Ge died, had eventually emerged from seclusion but refused to speak to him. Jiang Wanyin was still wrapped up in helping his nephew navigate the greedy politics of the Jin Sect and had little time for an old childhood friend.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, the most knowing and yet the most friendly (or as friendly as Hanguang-Jun seemed to get, really) of his peers, had leapt straight into a life of domestic bliss after the events of Guanyin temple. Nie Huaisang was genuinely happy for them, glad that all his scheming had at least led to some happiness.

Wei Wuxian deserved this happiness after everything. And seeing how the terrifyingly stoic Lan Wangji’s entire demeanour softened in the presence of his husband had been a revelation. No, Nie Huaisang grudged them none of their long-awaited happiness.

Nevertheless, Nie Huaisang was restless. He was plagued by dreams of his brother, of the time before the war, before everything burned to the ground and nothing was ever the same again. And he could not help wondering about what could have been if only he had done more, had known more.

And then, one day, he came across the notes again. And in those notes, he found an array that allowed souls to move through time into the past.

(“Wei-xiong, do you ever think about how you might have done things differently before, if only you had known how everything would turn out?”

“All the fucking time, Sect Leader Nie.”

At Nie Huaisang’s startled look, Wei Wuxian’s mouth twisted into something uncharacteristically serious and bitter, “What, do you think I have no regrets, Nie-xiong? If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my pride back then, Lan Zhan would not have had to suffer because of me. All those people at Nightless City might still be alive. And Shijie wouldn’t–”

Wei Wuxian took a shuddering breath and turned back towards the training grounds, where the GusuLan Sect juniors were practicing their sword forms under the watchful eye of Hanguang-Jun. His eyes softened as he watched Lan Wangji gently correct the stance of one of the juniors, “But that would be selfish of me. And there are some things I would not trade.”

Nie Huaisang looked away, throat bobbing as he swallowed, “I understand.”

He understands, he really does. He remembers having people too precious to risk or lose. But he looks out at the training field and he wonders.)

Nie Huaisang had never claimed to be as good or selfless as Wei Wuxian. There are some things he can never let go of. So he started to do what he did best—he schemed. Using the array without a plan would be foolish, after all, if they wanted anything to change for the better (and if he wanted to ensure that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji did not cut him down where he stood after they realised what he had done).

It took a long time to gather the information he needed to make a proper plan, including many an innocent conversation with Wen Qionglin about Wen Ruohan and Wen Qing. He would not be unprepared and terrified this time, if the array worked.

And would the array even work? The doubt stayed his hand for a long time. He would not hurt Wei Wuxian more than he had already. There was much he owed him, and accidentally killing him would be a terrible way to repay him. He had little doubt in Wei Wuxian’s skill (and it was his untested array that brought his own soul back, after all). But he would be sure, he would find little ways to get Wei Wuxian’s opinion on at least fragments of the array before he used it.

There would still be a risk, but Nie Huaisang was nothing if not very very good at winning against the odds.

In the clearing, Hanguang-Jun’s sword flew out of its sheath, gleaming palely as it cut through the clearing, finding every hidden talisman with astonishing accuracy and slicing each one neatly in half. As they fluttered to the forest floor, Wei Wuxian pushed out more resentful energy through his flute, crushing the remaining yaoguai into the ground until Hanguang-Jun and Wen Qionglin took care of them.

In the silence that followed the end of the battle, Nie Huaisang crept forward, still hidden from view, his golden core silencing his movements. The array was ready, he only needed to get inside and activate it, hopefully while the three currently standing in it remained ignorant of his presence. There is a fine line between suspicion and knowledge, Nie Huaisang knows, and he hopes to take full advantage of it if—when—the array works.

He enters the array, a corner deliberately drawn in the shadows of the trees, and cuts his wrist. He lets his blood drip onto the lines below him, and prays to every god he knows that this works. He has a feeling that no amount of head shaking will get him out of the retribution if it doesn’t.

His blood soaks into the forest floor and for a minute, nothing happens. His heart plummets until, all of a sudden, every line of the array lights up in a dazzling white, blinding him.

He hears Wei Wuxian’s surprised shout and Lan Wangji’s panicked, “Wei Ying!”

He has a single moment of hope, before there is a sudden and uncomfortable pull of something deep within him, and everything goes black.

*

Nie Huaisang wakes up. He is lying in a bed and the ceiling above him looks vaguely familiar. He sits up with a gasp, shaking, in his room in the guest disciple quarters of the Cloud Recesses and stares at his hands in disbelief. They are trembling and familiar, but strangely different as well. Distantly, he wonders why he finds it so strange that his hands had aged with the rest of him.

He stumbles from the bed and staggers up to his mirror. Wide eyes look back at him in disbelief from a noticeably younger face.

And Nie Huaisang, filled with hope and terror and immeasurable relief, falls to his knees and weeps.

Chapter Text

Wen Ning wakes up. This, in itself, is baffling because Wen Ning hasn’t slept in more than twenty years.

He frowns (frowns?) up at the ceiling, blinking slowly as he tries to remember what happened. Wei-gongzi had insisted that he join him and Hanguang-Jun on a nighthunt since they hadn’t seen each other in a few months. Some yaoguai had been killing farmers at the edge of a forest the local sect had sent a plea for help to Hanguang-Jun, and Wei-gongzi had been bouncing excitedly at the prospect of “having some fun with my two favourite boys.” Wen Ning had been glad he could no longer blush, but he could not help shooting a nervous look at Hanguang-Jun’s thankfully indifferent face and stuttering, “T-thank you, W-Wei-gongzi. I w-would be h-happy to join you.” Wei Wuxian had cheered and grabbed him by the elbow, dragging both him and Hanguang-Jun out of the healing pavilion and straight towards the gate of the Cloud Recesses.

The hunt itself had been... odd. The number of beasts had been much higher than reported in the plea for help– unusually so, until Hanguang-Jun had destroyed the spirit attraction flags pulling them in. He remembers... he remembers finishing off the last of the creatures and then turning to Wei-gongzi to ask him what was happening. He remembers a bright light from beneath his feet that had blinded him and... and then nothing.

He suddenly becomes aware of a burning sensation in his chest and looks down, wondering what could possibly be causing it. The sight of white and red QishanWen robes that he hasn’t seen in decades had him sucking in a sharp breath, more out of habit than need. Except... except suddenly the burning sensation in his chest vanishes and Wen Ning– Wen Ning is breathing. He sucks in another breath and sits up with a jerk, staring down at himself, at his hands, his pale and pink hands that look– that look alive. But Wen Ning hasn’t been alive in more than twenty years. Wen Ning hasn’t been alive in more than twenty years. He doesn’t understand what’s happening and maybe this is a dream – but he cannot dream – so it must be an illusion, it has to be it has to be it has–

And suddenly Wen Ning can’t breathe. His heart is pounding in his ears (his heart is pounding!) and he clutches his knees, desperately hoping that Wei-gongzi finds him soon, breaks this illusion soon, because Wen Ning has forgotten what it feels like to be alive and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t–

He thinks he must make some sort of sound because, suddenly, a door nearby is crashing open and a voice he recognises – will always recognise, no matter how much time passes – is calling his name. A warm hand is placed on top of his, shaking it gently, and he finds himself surrounded by the scent of bitter medicinal herbs overlaying warm honey and ash, and he knows that scent, he knows who it belongs to, and–

He twists around to face that voice, the one still calling his name so gently – “A-Ning, A-Ning, it’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe, A-Ning” – and she’s right there. She is younger than when he last saw her, and strain and starvation do not line her face yet. Her sharp eyes are filled with concern, and a warmth he has not felt since a cold day in a gaudy golden hall, surrounded by raging, spitting, cultivators screaming for their death, spreads through him. Those eyes are looking into his now, alive and worried, and if this is an illusion it is cruel, but he doesn’t care – he doesn’t care – because right here next to him is “A-jie!” It comes out strangled, and he sees her eyes widen in shock before he throws himself at her, burying his face in her warm shoulder, mumbling her name over and over, “A-jie! A-jie! A-jie!”

He feels Wen Qing freeze for a moment before her arms come up around him carefully, subtly checking the meridian points in his back before tightening around him. Wen Ning cannot stop his hands from fisting in the back of her robes as he pulls her impossibly closer, sobbing (he’s crying!) uncontrollably into her shoulder. Wen Ning knows that his sister was (is?) often seen as cold, as haughty and unfeeling, but her arms have always been his warmest and safest place. And Wen Ning has not felt safe in so long, so he clutches her closer, listening to the steady thrum of her heartbeat and feeling something deep inside his chest that he had long thought broken finally slide back into place.

*

It’s several minutes before Wen Ning is able to calm down and loosen his death grip on his sister’s robes, disbelief and insidious hope warring within him. Wen Ning has experienced illusions before, he knows how they work; Wei-gongzi had roped him into helping him test his new illusion talismans a few years ago, but none of them had been like this. People made of illusions are not this concrete– good enough, perhaps, to move naturally and handle small objects, but not to survive being crushed to him for so long. And Wei-gongzi’s talismans are certainly the most advanced ones out there. That’s what Hanguang-Jun said, at least, and Wen Ning has no reason to doubt his word; besides, Hanguang-Jun doesn’t lie. No illusion has ever been able to make him feel alive again, either.

Wen Ning doesn’t understand what’s happening at all. He wishes Wei-gongzi or Hanguang-jun were here– maybe they would know, or least be able to figure it out at frightening speed through their back-and-forth of half sentences that no one else has ever been able to keep up with. But… but maybe they are. Wen Ning was not alone in that array (and it must have been the array). It had looked vaguely familiar– he hadn’t been able to see much, but he had caught sight of a couple of sigils associated with the soul. It was probably one of Wei-gongzi’s inventions. After he had summoned Wen Ning’s soul back into his body in the Burial Mounds, Wei-gongzi had done a lot of work on transferring souls, hounding Wen Ning with a lot of questions about being summoned back that he really had no answer to. Wen Ning remembers the uncomfortable pulling sensation before everything faded, a feeling that he has experienced only once before as a semi-conscious wandering soul.

His soul was transferred again. Transferred… back? Back in time?

He takes a shuddering breath and pulls away slightly to look at Wen Qing. She looks back at him, alarmed but silent, waiting for him to sort through his tangle of thoughts and explain what troubles him, as she always had. He swallows, unable to keep from staring, terrified that if he looks away, she will turn into smoke and he will be alone again.

He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come. He is afraid to shatter this, whatever this is (a soul transfer, he thinks, with an edge of hysteria). He does not know how to even begin explaining anything to the very much alive ghost in front of him.

“A-Ning?” she prompts, gently.

“A-jie, are you really here?” he blurts out, and then feels his face heat in embarrassment (and oh, he hasn’t felt that happen in a long time) at her questioning look.

“Where else would I be, A-Ning?”

“I-I meant… I don’t… A-jie, you’re really real, right?” Wen Ning knows his voice is coming out a little too strained, a little too vulnerable and scared, but he cannot stop it. He needs to hear it, needs this confirmation to come from her.

Wen Qing’s eyes widen slightly at whatever she sees on his face before she purses her lips and says, “I’m here.”

Her hands come up to brush against his cheek, and Wen Ning realises that he’s started crying again. But he is also smiling (smiling!), waves of hope and fear and confusion crashing over him.

“A-Ning, what’s wrong? Tell me what happened.”

So Wen Ning does.

It is a long story, but Wen Qing listens to him in silence, expression morphing from disbelief to alarm to fury as Wen Ning describes his first meeting with Wei Wuxian, the lead up to the war and the burning of Lotus Pier, rescuing the Jiang remnants and the golden core transfer, the Sunshot Campaign and its aftermath in the labour camps, and then, quietly, his own death. Her hands tighten around his as he talks and he can feel them shaking, but still she does not interrupt, silently encouraging him to continue. So he pushes on and tells her about being brought back as a fierce corpse, about their life in the Burial Mounds, about A-Yuan and growing radishes. He recounts the death of Jin Zixuan, guilt still clouding his voice even after all these years, even though Wei-gongzi always insists that it wasn’t his fault. He tells her how the Jin Sect demanded that they give themselves up, how they did, how she died to save everyone at the Burial Mounds but how they all died anyway. Her expression tightens and she pulls him closer as his voice becomes choked, letting him lean into her and listen to her heartbeat and calm enough to finish his story.

After a few minutes, he pulls away again – though still keeping a firm grip on her hands – and finishes his story. He sees her fury when he mentions his years of imprisonment and how the Jin Sect experimented on him, and quickly moves on. He tells her about Wei Wuxian’s return and the events leading up to the conflict in Guanyin temple. With a soft smile, he told her about A-Yuan, how he had been rescued and raised by Lan Wangji, and what a wonderful young man he turned out to be. He tells her about the years of peace that followed, how he spent them working as a healer in the Cloud Recesses and going on nighthunts with the Lan Clan disciples. He tells her about that last nighthunt with Wei-gongzi and Hanguang-Jun, about the array and what he thinks happened. And finally, finally, his words come to a stuttering halt, his voice rough from overuse, and he looks back up at his sister (his sister, he still cannot believe it) to gauge her reaction.

Outside, the sun has begun to rise over Nightless City and he can hear the tell-tale sounds of servants rushing by to begin their chores for the day. But here, inside this room, everything is silent as Wen Qing slowly absorbs everything she has just heard. He can see the conflict on her face, the disbelief and horror etched into her skin; she does not want to believe him. He watches her nervously, afraid that she will dismiss his words, assign them to a nightmare, and scold him for believing any of it. But Wen Qing has always been a sister first, even before a healer, and she knows her brother well. She knows he would not make this up (could not – how could anyone?) and she saw his pain as he spoke– seeing such a haunted look in the eye of a child who has only ever been naïve and innocent in how he views the world does more to convince her than anything else he might have said. This is her brother, but it is also not. There is a difference in the way he carries himself that was not present just the day before, a new weight he seems to carry that speaks to years of experience and hardship. Wen Qing does not want to believe him, but she will anyway.

She takes a slow breath and looks up, noting his tense nervousness, his fear of being disbelieved, and lets the corners of her mouth lift slightly, “Well then, A-Ning, I suppose we have our work cut out for us.”

Wen Ning bursts into tears.

*

A day later, the message arrives, floating through the window of the healer’s pavilion. Holding the messenger dragonfly close, Wen Ning feels the tension he has been carrying inside him ever since he woke up loosen slightly. He had believed that Wei-gongzi and Hanguang-Jun had travelled back with him, but seeing Wei-gongzi’s dragonfly messenger– a talisman he created a few years after the events of Guanyin temple, more subtle and secure than the Jin Sect butterflies, and personalised to each recipient so that only the intended reader could open it– makes relief bloom in his chest. It could only have been sent by Wei-gongzi – the Wei-gongzi he knows – and that means that he is definitely not alone, and that all of this is somehow, astonishingly, real.

“A-Ning, what is that?”

There is no one around but he quickly crosses the room to the door and closes it firmly before turning back to her, “It’s from Wei-gongzi.”

He sees her brows rise, faint disbelief crossing her eyes for a second before they become sharp and focused again, “He’s the one who turned you into a fierce corpse?”

He winces slightly, but nods, turning back to the dragonfly in his hand, whispering softly to it, “Wen Ning is the bestest,” and watches the little message unfurl in his palm.

“What!?”

He feels the blush spread over his face and mumbles, “I-it was Wei-gongzi’s idea. I couldn’t use spiritual energy to open it as a fierce corpse so h-he gave me a password to open his messages. He s-said it should be something f-fun.”

His sister’s eyebrows stayed near her hairline, “I thought you said that Wei WuXian was an adult in your time?”

“He was!” he protests, but he cannot stop the small smile lifting the corners of his mouth, “It’s just the way he is, A-jie.”

“Evidently,” Wen Qing says, amused, “What does it say?”

He looks hurriedly back down at the message and frowns. Ghost General, this laozu and his light bearer have never enjoyed discussions of cultivation, but would be amenable to sharing a jar of Emperor’s Smile with you, should the doctor agree. The head shaker sends his apologies and best wishes for your good health. Until then.

“What the hell does that mean?” A-jie demands, reading the note from beside him.

“I think Wei-gongzi and Hanguang-Jun want us to meet them in Caiyi town during the Discussion Conference in two months. And Nie-gongzi – Nie Huaisang – apparently came back with us too,” he tilts his head and blinks down at the message, “‘Apologies and best wishes…’ A-jie, I think Nie-gongzi is the one behind our return.”

He looks up to find her staring at him in disbelief, “You… how did you... no, nevermind,” she shakes her head ruefully as her lips twist, “I forget, sometimes, that you are not the child you were before, A-Ning. Very well, we shall go and meet this Wei Wuxian. And perhaps…” She stops with a frown, considering, “Perhaps it would be best not to return immediately. With all that you say will happen, it might be better to stay with them for now to find out what they plan to do about everything. Based on what you’ve told me about this Nie-gongzi, it is probably no accident that you were sent back. Besides,” here her eyes spark and Wen Ning cannot help but swallow nervously in response, “I have much to say to this laozu of yours. And a single meeting would hardly be sufficient for that.”

“But A-jie, how–”

“I will speak to Uncle,” she says firmly, a martial light in her eye, “After all, with so many sect heirs gathered in one place, it is impossible to say what alliances may be forming without the Wen Sect’s knowledge. Surely, uncle will see the advantage of keeping an eye on this gathering to make sure that those pompous sects remember their place. And then, there is the matter of the Lan Sect’s famous library. So much knowledge and so many treasures of cultivation are said to be hidden within it. How unfortunate that the so-called righteous clan is so hesitant to share any of it.”

Wen Ning feels a chill run down his spine. He has little doubt she will succeed but, “A-jie, how do you know he will send us? We did not receive invitations before.”

She smirks, “Ah, of course, his heirs would be most ideal for this venture. How unfortunate that Wen Xu is too old to attend these classes, and Wen Chao is too… himself. And yet, how fortunate that a skilled doctor with, perhaps, a desire to study from the Lan Sect’s medical texts, and her unassuming but friendly little brother are so willing to help His Excellency. What a convenient opportunity for them to prove themselves worthy of his trust. As for invitations,” she tosses her hand dismissively, “What care has the mighty Wen Sect for such an insignificant matter? Our mere presence is an honour for the GusuLan Sect, as I am sure they will agree.”

Wen Ning looks at her with wide eyes full of awe, and represses a shiver. Yes, his sister is definitely terrifying when she wants to be. He takes a deep breath and turns back to the messenger dragonfly in his hand, whispering a response before twisting one of its folds to send it back to its owner. He watches it flit back out the window and takes a deep breath (still delighting in the necessity of doing so). Two months still. But Wen Ning has plenty to do in the meantime.

*

He knows that sometimes his movements are a little too stiff and his touches too gentle, as if he’s afraid he will break the things he comes in contact with. And when that happens, he sees A-jie’s frowning eyes following him, worried and conflicted, but willing to trust him as she always has. So he does not mind the learning curve of growing accustomed to being alive again (and isn’t that a thought? He’s alive). No longer needing to be so careful in some of his touches, but more careful in others (sometimes he almost misses being invulnerable to the small pains of cuts and bruises) is a novelty still, but he would not trade this new life for anything, not even if he was offered immortality tomorrow.

He indulges in little things he has not had to do for more than two decades. While not having to eat was convenient, Wen Ning has missed the taste of good food and the satisfaction of a full stomach. He sleeps, and sometimes he wakes up in a cold sweat from nightmares and memories, but he still cannot help but feel pleased by the prospect of dreaming at all. He goes out into the back field and picks up his bow, marvelling at how easily and smoothly his muscles shift into the familiar stance. He nearly cries when he hits his target, muscle memory and small threads of spiritual energy returning a skill he has missed so dearly. As a fierce corpse, Wen Ning had never felt the emptiness and chill that Wei Wuxian experienced in his coreless body, had not really thought much about the loss at all. Being dead had forced him to forget so much about being alive and the simple joys of cultivation– had instead given him a painless, nearly invulnerable existence that he had learned to enjoy in its own way. But now, however weak his core, Wen Ning delights in being able to use his spiritual energy again to warm his food and heat his baths, to pick up his sword and train with it again, to meditate and feel the small thrum of energy within him mixing with his heartbeat.

He takes to his cultivation training seriously, if still privately, much to his sister’s surprise. His assertion that he needs to be stronger this time makes her feel uneasy, even as she understands. He spends every moment free moment in the healing pavilion with her, and surprises her with his expertise. He brews concoctions to cure corpse poisoning and healing salves to cure burns that she had thought to be purely theoretical before. Wen Ning shyly explains how he and Wei-gongzi started working on developing new healing techniques after settling in the Cloud Recesses, “W-Wei-gongzi is always experimenting with n-new methods of c-cultivation, b-but he didn’t know much about healing. A-after everything, he and Hanguang-Jun harassed all the sects into r-returning your medical notes that they s-stole from the Burial Mounds, and g-gave them all back to me. Then, o-one day, Wei-gongzi came into the healing pavilion and a-asked me to t-teach him. He knew I was working on d-developing your theories and w-wanted to help.”

Wen Qing turns away at that, ignoring the slight burning sensation behind her eyes, and says sharply, “If you crushed the herbs instead of leaving them whole and let them slowly emulsify before boiling them, it would probably increase the potency of the salve.”

Wen Ning beams.

*

And in between everything, Wen Ning makes plans. He does not know what Wei-gongzi, Hanguang-Jun, and Nie-gongzi intend to do, but he can guess enough to know that he and his sister are in a good position to act as spies, should the Sunshot Campaign take place again. The two of them spend long hours together on quiet nights, strategizing, determined to protect their family in any way they can. They cannot instantly move their clan to Gusu – where, Wen Ning is absolutely certain, Lan Wangji will make sure that they are protected – at least, not while Wen Ruohan thinks he can use them to control the two siblings. But they know their people and their village, and they start drawing up contingency plans to make sure that their family escapes unharmed, whether or not history repeats itself.

On most days, Wen Qing is summoned by the main branch (and Wen Ruohan particularly), while Wen Ning does his best to avoid the main family like the plague, choosing instead to train and work on his own. Few notice, since Wen Ning has never really had friends in Nightless City, but those that do thankfully seem to shrug off his nervous demeanour. As the days pass, however, Wen Ning sees little of his sister during the day. Convincing Wen Ruohan to let them go to the Cloud Recesses has been slow and delicate work, and while Wen Qing is sure of her success, she is forced to spend more time than she would otherwise surrounded by the more distasteful members of the main clan. Every evening, however, she inevitably seeks him out to make sure that he takes care of himself. Because sometimes, Wen Ning forgets that is no longer indefatigable; he forgets that he cannot work without rest, and that he needs to eat, and that his constitution is still sickly. After he drives himself to collapsing for the second time, Wen Qing loses her patience. After scolding him thoroughly, she sends him off to their village to recuperate for a couple of days, partly as an excuse and partly to make sure that he actually rests (she knows how powerful Granny is in that respect).

Wen Ning spends the couple of days he has with his clan well. Granted, he spends the first hour sobbing into Granny’s lap, but once he has calmed down and she has forced him to eat, he asks to speak to her and Uncle Four privately. It is vital that the number of people who know the truth are as few as possible, particularly amongst the Wens, but they both know they can trust these two elders with the truth. He tells them everything and, slightly disbelieving and more than a little horrified, they agree to begin preparations to evacuate their family to Gusu at a moment’s notice. Neither is willing to risk their family, and they both know enough about the politics of the cultivation world to be wary of their own position in it. They spend the next two days poring over maps and charting possible routes, making lists of supplies they might need to defend themselves or run away or hide. Wen Ning and Wen Qing will leave nothing to chance. Their family will not be made to suffer this time.

When the time comes for Wen Ning to leave, he clasps Granny’s hands tightly in his and stumblingly begs her to keep an eye on A-Yuan’s parents. In the previous timeline, both were forced into the war as medics and died on the field early in the Sunshot Campaign. Though he still feels a deep ache in his heart every time he thinks of Lan Sizhui, Wen Ning is determined that, this time, A-Yuan will grow up safe and knowing his family. He sends a silent apology to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, but knows that neither of them would protest. Granny returns the press of his hands and nods, smiling reassuringly, and Wen Ning heads back to Nightless City still basking in the simple comfort of her love.

*

By the time the two months have passed, Wen Qing has succeeded almost too well in her manipulations. Wen Ruohan is immensely pleased with them, and sends them off with a smirk and a small retinue of Wen cultivators to escort them to the Cloud Recesses. Though it would defeat their plan of meeting the others at Caiyi town, Wen Ning knows that Hanguang-Jun will ensure that they are allowed into the Cloud Recesses to study. And, as A-jie pointed out, making a grand and arrogant entrance will aid them more in the long run than a covert meeting in town.

So Wen Ning does not linger on it as he fills several qiankun pouches with salves and medical notes and maps of their village. The maps he has already made or copied of Nightless City are carefully stashed in his sleeves, using a couple of the illusion and binding talismans that Wei-gongzi had taught him to ensure that they stay there and stay hidden.

By the time he turns his horse towards Gusu, his sister riding beside him, he finds it increasingly difficult to stop the small smile that insistently attempts to bloom on his face.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian is standing on the walls of the Cloud Recesses, poised to drink his remaining jar of alcohol to taunt the beautiful but rigid Lan Sect disciple who had caught him sneaking in, when he suddenly freezes. Between one blink and the next, the jar of Emperor’s Smile slips from his grasp, shattering loudly on the tiles below him. But Wei Wuxian does not spare it a single glance, does not even seem to hear it. His hand comes up to clutch the side of his head, as he frowns unseeing into the middle distance.

Several feet below him, seventeen-year-old Lan Wangji, who had just drawn his sword in outrage to punish the impudent (and fascinating, though he violently dismisses the thought) guest disciple that dared mock the rules of his Sect, pauses in confusion. Then, suddenly – in space between one moment and the next – he is no longer junior disciple Lan Wangji but Hanguang-Jun, the most powerful cultivator of their age and husband to the Yiling Patriarch. He sucks in a sharp breath and stares in startled disbelief at the silhouette of the boy on the wall who does not seem to have registered his presence yet.

“Wei Ying?”

Silver eyes that he hasn’t seen in more than twenty years outside of incense burner dreams snap down to meet his, startled and confused. Lan Wangji feels his heartbeat speed up at the sight of that oh-so-familiar face, tinted by the moonlight. How...?

“Lan... Zhan?”

The confusion and uncertainty colouring that voice make his heart ache, and the edge of fear in those wide eyes makes his hand tighten around his sword instinctively for a moment before he sheaths it in a furious blink and leaps up to his husband’s side. Because this is certainly his husband. Lan Wangji remembers the bright light of an array, and has his suspicions about what it did and what that might mean, but nothing is more important right now than the lost look on his husband’s face as he turns towards him.

“Wei Ying, I’m here,” he says, as he reaches his arms out to his husband.

With a choked gasp of relief, Wei Wuxian throws himself into his arms, pressing his face into Lan Wangji’s shoulder and breathing in the scent of sandalwood and safe and home. Strong arms wrap around him, pulling him in close as Lan Wangji buries his face in Wei Wuxian’s messy hair.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian mumbles, tears leaking out and dampening the cloth beneath his face, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan...”

“Wei Ying,” comes that beloved deep voice, filled with gentle concern, “What is wrong?”

He receives a shuddering breath in response and then one of his arms is being tugged back between them. Seemingly beyond words, Wei Wuxian grasps his hand and presses it firmly to his abdomen, right against his lower dantain. Lan Wangji’s eyes widen in understanding and he sends a small spark of spiritual energy into Wei Wuxian (just to be sure, to know for certain that this is real) and feels it touch then mix with his shockingly powerful core. Wei Wuxian lets out a sharp gasp when he feels their energies mixing, which turns into a sob; he shudders against Lan Wangji, fists clenched and trembling in the back of Lan Wangji’s robes. Without a word, Lan Wangji lifts him into his arms and leaps down from the top of the wall, choosing instead to sit quietly against it with Wei Wuxian in his lap, letting him cling as he runs a soothing hand up and down his husband’s back to offer what little reassurance he can.

Eventually, the sobs turn into sniffles, and Wei Wuxian’s hands loosen enough that Lan Wangji’s clothes are no longer in immediate danger of tearing. Not that either of them would care. Lan Wangji doesn’t stop the motion of his hand, but he brings the other up to curl gently over the back of Wei Wuxian’s head. He does not speak, does not need to. He knows his husband will talk when he is ready. But he presses a soft kiss to the top of Wei Wuxian’s head as he waits, and begins humming their song softly.

The rest of the tension in Wei Wuxian’s frame begins to ease out of him. After a few minutes, he sighs softly and opens his eyes to really look up at his husband for the first time. The humming cuts off abruptly as Lan Wangji’s breath seems to catch; wide golden eyes rove hungrily over every inch of his face, and Wei Wuxian realises with a jolt that he must be in his old body now, his real one. He looks up, equally wide-eyed, at his much younger husband and suddenly grasps the difference between the memory-based illusions of the incense burner and reality. Lan Wangji is still beautiful, still the young immortal Wei Wuxian had thought him on first glance, but now he sees that there is still a slight layer of puppy fat over his cheeks that wasn’t there before, his features are less sharp, his jaw less defined. His eyes look slightly larger in this younger face, and the frame he is curled around is more slender, still missing the muscles that came from years of training.

With a sudden gasp of realisation, Wei Wuxian straightens in his lap, hands coming up to pull at Lan Wangji’s collar frantically, trying to pull apart his many layers.

Lan Wangji, who had been busy committing his husband’s old-but-new face to memory (Wei Wuxian has the faintest mole beneath his lower lip, it’s adorable), is unceremoniously jerked back to the present.

“Wei Ying!”

Wei Wuxian ignores him and manages to loosen the robes enough to slide one hand underneath to the back of his shoulder and then down his chest over his heart. A sob wrenches out of him, “They’re gone. They’re gone.”

Oh. Lan Wangji smiles softly down at Wei Wuxian, pressing their foreheads together, “They never were, Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian’s hand slips out of his collar only to grasp it tightly and yank him forward, crushing their lips together. Lan Wangji kisses back, hands coming up to cup the sides of his face, matching Wei Wuxian's desperation and relief with his own. ‘He still tastes the same,’ he thinks absently. It had surprised him before, too, the first time he kissed him in Mo Xuanyu’s body. As though this essence of Wei Wuxian had transmigrated with his soul somehow. He deepens the kiss, chasing that sweetness, remembering the long years after their hunt on Phoenix Mountain when he had had nothing but his memories of that stolen kiss to keep him company. Wei Wuxian makes a punched-out sound low in his throat—guttural and desperate—that Lan Wangji has never heard from him before. It’s different and startling and incredibly arousing, and Lan Wangji realises that he would do absolutely anything to hear it again.

But Wei Wuxian jerks back, seemingly surprised by his own noises, and stares at Lan Wangji in wide-eyed shock. Lan Wangji does not even try to stop his little huff of laughter at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly as he takes in the sight of his flushed and ridiculous husband. Wei Wuxian's breath seems to stop for a moment as he looks at him in wonder, before he lets out a giggle of his own and presses their foreheads together tightly, his breath tumbling against Lan Wangji’s lips, “Lan Zhan ah, Lan Zhan, what am I going to do with you? You’re so cute, Lan Zhan! I forgot how cute you were at this age. My husband is already the most beautiful person in the world and then he has the audacity to laugh like that! Have some sympathy for my poor heart, Hanguang-Jun!”

“Wei Ying is the most beautiful.”

He lets Wei Wuxian bury his flushed face in his shoulder again with amused satisfaction, unaffected as always by the whining complaints and admonishments that follow. His Wei Ying has always been the brightest, most beautiful person in any room (no matter what face he wears), and Lan Wangji always delights in letting him know it and watching him melt into an adorable flustered puddle.

Wei Wuxian, playfully annoyed by Lan Wangji’s amused composure, leans up to whisper lowly in his ear, “Did you miss this body, Lan-er-gege? Would you like to show me how much?”

“Wei Ying,” comes the strained reply (and oh, how he loves that he can do this to his husband with just a few words). “Not here.”

Wei Wuxian blinks and straightens, really taking in their surroundings for the first time. It is long after curfew and they are in a relatively isolated spot of the Cloud Recesses, but if this is what (when) he thinks it is, they cannot risk being found here together and, he smirks, certainly not like this. He and Lan Wangji should have only just met, he thinks, eyes roaming along the wall and landing on the shattered jar of Emperor’s Smile just a few feet from them.

He giggles at the memory of taunting teenage Lan Zhan by drinking on the wall. He turns back to Lan Wangji and laughs in response to his mildly questioning look, reaching up to teasingly twist his fingers around one end of his husband’s forehead ribbon. “Hanguang-Jun, Lan Wangji, Lan Zhan, tell the truth. Were you about to raise your sword against your poor husband?”

Lan Wangji’s ears turn red, much to Wei Wuxian’s delight. “Wei Ying.”

He laughs again, reaching up to erase the slight crease of annoyance between Lan Wangji’s eyebrows. His smile gentles as he runs his fingers down his husband’s youthful face and he leans in to kiss him softly right in the centre of his forehead ribbon. Then, with a resigned huff, he clambers out of Lan Wangji’s lap, pulling his husband to his feet and straightening the robes he had yanked into disarray earlier.

“Lan Zhan,” he starts, as he fiddles with his collar, “This is real.”

“Mn.”

“We’re in the past.”

“Mn.”

“We’re children.”

A twitch, “...Mn.”

Wei Wuxian laughs again, holding Lan WangJi’s hand tightly in his, “We should probably go somewhere else though.”

“Jingshi.”

Wei Wuxian nods, leading the way back to their home, dodging the patrols with practiced ease and refusing to let go of Lan Wangji’s hand for a moment. When they reach the Jingshi, Lan Wangji pauses for a moment to press his palm against the wards, closing his eyes as he modifies them to always allow Wei Wuxian access to their home. When he opens them again, Wei Wuxian is watching him with a small wistful smile.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, “Ah, it’s nothing, Lan Zhan. Just thinking about our home.”

Lan Wangji nods in understanding, pulling Wei Wuxian into the Jingshi with him and sliding the door shut. His rooms are, he supposes, precisely how he left them, with their bed and closet and desk, and little else—clean and tidy and neat, all his minimal belongings put away out of sight. Yet, though he knows it is illogical, he cannot prevent the wave of disappointment that washes over him as he looks around and does not find signs of Wei Wuxian’s chaotic presence scattered around his home. There are no black outer robes hung up near the door or red under robes slung carelessly over the privacy screen; no mess of half finished talismans and arrays across his desk; no odds and ends, little knick-knacks picked up on their travels scattered on the shelves; no stacks of notebooks and scrolls full of Wei Ying’s research mixed with his own books. He does not need to look to know that his floorboards hide nothing now. It is to be expected, he knows. They are not married yet, in this time. They do not share a home. But he feels a surge of loss and repulsion anyway as he looks around, reminded too closely of those long years without Wei Wuxian in his life; of waking up from dreams of a life together only to find his home cold and empty, and his back aching. He tightens his grip on Wei Wuxian’s hand and pulls him into his side, turning his head to bury it in the side of Wei Wuxian’s face, needing to be reminded that his Wei Ying is here, he is alright, he is here. They are almost the same height now, and Wei Wuxian’s arms come up easily to wrap around his shoulders and pull him into a hug.

“It’s alright, Lan Zhan. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll make this home again, just you wait and see. I’m here, Lan Zhan, I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Lan Wangji tightens his grip on him gratefully, marvelling as always at how easily his husband can read him now. He breathes in the familiar scent of magnolias and spice, and lets his heart settle. Wei Wuxian is here in his arms where nothing will ever be allowed to hurt him. Lan Wangji will always make sure of that. His Wei Ying will not suffer this time around. They will marry again, make their home again, raise their—

He freezes for a moment before pulling away to look at Wei Wuxian with eyes full of panic, and gasps, “Wei Ying. Wei Ying. We have to go back. A-Yuan—Sizhui—”

He sees Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen in horror, feels his arms tighten around him. But Wei Wuxian does not immediately agree, does not nod and get to work to send them back to their son, and Lan Wangji doesn’t understand. Their son is waiting for them, they have to—

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, more gently than he has ever spoken before. But his eyes are haunted and full of grief, and Lan Wangji is starting to have trouble breathing. “Lan Zhan, we can’t.”

“Wei Ying—!”

“Lan Zhan. I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. We can’t—” And then there are tears running down Wei Wuxian’s face and Lan Wangji has never felt so lost as he wipes them away, as he tries to calm his heartbeat and even out his breathing and focus on what Wei Wuxian is telling him because, for some reason, they cannot return to their son and Lan Wangji needs to know why.

“We can’t go back, Lan Zhan. I— the array that sent us here, it moved us through time. And the second it did, it created a separate timeline. The fact that we know the future, that we are our selves from the future—it already means that things have changed, Lan Zhan. Moving to the past is possible because it’s on the same timeline so you can navigate by memory or date. And... an array would only be moving a soul through a path it already knows and to a host—a body—it already knows and belongs to. But if we try to move a soul to the future, it won’t have a path to follow anymore because anything could be different. If there’s even the slightest difference in its path, your soul would be lost. It could end up anywhere. There’s no guarantee we’ll get to the future we left behind... or any future at all.” Wei Wuxian swallows a sob and continues, unable to look at Lan Wangji as he explains, “I don’t know what would happen to these younger bodies if we remove our souls from them There would be nothing to replace what we take with us because we didn’t transmigrate our memories, we moved our very souls. If we try to just reverse the array, they might... we might just die and there would be no future at all to return to.”

Wei Wuxian keeps his head bowed, tears coursing down his cheeks. He does not make any effort to stop them, does not try to seek comfort from his husband. He does not deserve comfort for this. Not when his husband is looking at him like that, with his face ashen and eyes full of something painful and twisted as he learns that he may have lost his son forever. Wei Wuxian’s voice shakes, words stumbling over one another as they pour out of him, “I— I’m sorry. Lan Zhan, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t fix this. I don’t know how to fix this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan. We can’t—I can’t—I’m sorry, I’m so—”

Lan Wangji pulls him tightly to his chest, muffling his apologies. Wei Wuxian sobs against him for his son, his precious baby boy, his little A-Yuan who grew up so well and is now gone, unborn, might never be theirs again. He feels a growing wetness against the back of his neck and clutches Lan Wangji closer, tighter, trying to give him what comfort he can as he breaks under the weight of the same knowledge.

It is a long time before they both calm down, though the ache in their hearts does not disappear. They sink down to the floor, still trembling, still holding on to each other in their shared grief.

“Lan Zhan, I’m—”

“Wei Ying,” his husband interrupts, voice a little rough but firm, “Do not. It is not your fault.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head vehemently, pulling away from him, “No. No. I think it is. Lan Zhan, that array... I only saw it for a second but it looked... familiar. Lan Zhan, ah Lan Zhan, my memory is terrible but I think I might have been the one who invented it.”

Seeing Wei Wuxian’s abject misery as he walks the familiar paths of undeserved self-recrimination, Lan Wangji quietly wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him back into his side. Wei Wuxian relaxes instinctively, one hand coming up to clutch at Lan Wangji’s collar.

“I don’t remember making it, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice low and broken, “But I don’t remember a lot of things from those last months at the Burial Mounds. Everything was so terrible and we were starving, and I knew I was running out of time, even if I didn’t want to admit it. I knew it was only a matter of time before the cultivation world came to kick down our door and I just... I kept working. At least, that’s what Wen Ning says. But I think I was trying to find a solution. A way to buy us more time but then there was the invitation and...”

The breath shudders out of him, and Lan Wangji pulls him into his lap, not letting him resist, and holds him close as he trembles.

“Not your fault.”

Wei Wuxian lets out a bitter, if watery, chuckle, “It is my fault, Lan Zhan. I invented it, probably. And it’s the reason we’re back here and stuck here. It’s the reason we may not see our A-Yuan—”

“Not your fault,” Lan Wangji states firmly, “Wei Ying did not activate the array. Wei Ying did not even remember it existed.”

“But, Lan Zhan—”

“No, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji interrupts again, unflinchingly, “It is not the forger’s fault when the swords he makes are used to kill. It is not yours when your inventions are used. You did not do this, Wei Ying. It is not your fault.”

Wei Wuxian stares up at him with startled eyes, silenced by the intense certainty of Lan Wangji’s gaze. “Wei Ying, we are in the past. And we are stuck here, as you say. But that also means that we have a chance now, to do things differently. And we will...” He swallows, his voice faltering for just a moment, “We will find our son again. He may not be our A-Yuan this time, if we manage to fix things, but we will still know him. A-Yuan will still live and grow and be happy, Wei Ying. That is what matters most.”

Wei Wuxian feels his tears flood over for what feels like the hundredth time that night. His husband is so good. He cannot keep the adoration from his face or voice, does not even want to try, as he mumbles, “Lan Zhan ah, Lan Zhan, you’re too good, too kind. Lan Zhan, I love you so much, you’re the best person I know. I love you, Lan Zhan. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Love Wei Ying, too.”

Wei Wuxian throws his arms around Lan Wangji and buries his face in his neck, mumbling his devotion into his skin. Lan Wangji’s arms wrap around him tightly, warm and safe, and Wei Wuxian finally feels like he can breathe again.

He pulls away slowly, feeling wrung out and exhausted, and sees the answering tiredness on his husband’s face. They still have things they need to talk about, but there are better places to do it than the cold hard floor of the Jingshi.

With a soft sigh, he gets up, helping Lan Wangji rise before leading him around the privacy screen to their bed. He helps him undress with gentle motions, smiling softly at the familiar routine when his husband returns the gesture in his customary comfortable silence. It is a small thing, but Wei Wuxian feels a piece of his twisted heart right itself again. He presses Lan Wangji to sit on the bed before disappearing behind the privacy screen to fetch a damp washcloth, some water, and a comb. He returns to find his husband sitting stone-still, eyes following him intently as though he might disappear any second. He drops the comb beside him when he sits on the bed and pushes the water into Lan Wangji’s hands, encouraging him to drink it all before he runs the washcloth gently over his face, wiping away the sweat and remnants of tears that mark it. When he finishes, he puts the washcloth down only for Lan Wangji to immediately pick it up again and wipe Wei Wuxian’s face for him, too. Wei Wuxian, feeling his heart beat almost painfully with the love he feels for the man in front of him, smiles brightly at his husband and kisses him softly in thanks.

He then gestures for him to turn around and starts taking down his hair. Gently, he pulls out his hair ornament, undoes his topknot, and unravels all his little ponytails and braids until Lan Wangji’s hair is falling loosely around his shoulders. Finally, he removes the forehead ribbon, folding it reverently and placing it on their beside table. He picks up the comb and starts running it carefully through Lan Wangji’s hair, feeling him slowly start to relax under his hands. Only then does he begin speaking, running through what he thinks happened.

“That nighthunt—”

“Planned.”

“Yeah. Definitely. They probably gathered those yaoguai in that place to keep us distracted, too. Huh. Lan Zhan, do you think the souls of those dead yaoguai time-travelled, too?”

“No. Already passed.”

“Hm. I guess so. It wouldn’t matter much either way. They were only there for the array to absorb their resentful energy. It was all very carefully planned. That array was drawn throughout the clearing and disguised long before we got there, Lan Zhan, and it made sure that none of us could escape.”

“Mn.”

“Wen Ning was with us, so he must be back, too. And alive. And alone. In Nightless City. Fuck. We need to send him a message soon.”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian sighed, “You know, he was the one who gave me the idea of taking Wen Ning along, right before we left.”

He feels Lan Wangji stiffen beneath his hands. “Sect Leader Nie.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s probably him again. We’ll know for sure tomorrow.”

He can feel the icy fury radiate off of Lan Wangji, but he does not try to placate him. Wei Wuxian is pretty fucking pissed himself and he is going to make sure that Nie Huaisang knows it. “We can’t kill him, Lan Zhan. We’re probably going to need him for whatever he has planned to fix things.”

Lan Wangji does not physically pout, but he still radiates a bullied aura that has Wei Wuxian stifling a giggle in his now smooth hair. Lan Wangji sighs lightly and turns back around, plucking the comb out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and gesturing for him to turn this time. He unravels the red ribbon holding Wei Wuxian’s hair up in his usual ponytail, and folds and places it next to his forehead ribbon with the same reverence that Wei Wuxian had shown. He combs Wei Wuxian’s hair back with his fingers for a few moments, letting his nails scratch lightly at Wei Wuxian’s scalp, and his husband melts into his hands with a groan.

“Tomorrow,” he prompts, before his husband can get too distracted.

Wei Wuxian groans again, this time in protest, but acquiesces, “Tomorrow. I’ll tell Jiang Cheng I spent the night in Caiyi so that should be fine.”

“Mn.”

“We can speak to Nie Huaisang after classes, I’ll get rid of Jiang Cheng and bring him back here.”

“No. I’ll ask.”

“Hm. You’re right. Less suspicious that way. No one would dare refuse the Second Jade of Lan. But how will you ask for me without Jiang Cheng suspecting anything?”

“Wei Ying will have left the classroom early.”

“I will?”

“Wei Ying does not plan on challenging Uncle this time?”

“Oh. I, uhh—”

“Wei Ying?”

“Lan Zhan,” he says, his voice low, “This time, your uncle doesn’t hate me yet. He doesn’t like me, but it’s nothing like how it was the last time. If I—if I behave this time, maybe it’ll make things easier for us. We’ll need him on our side to fix things anyway, and maybe if he doesn’t hate me, he won’t see me as a taint on your reputation. We could get married properly this time. I don’t want to be a stain on you again, Lan Zhan, I don’t want to drag you down. Your reputation—”

He stops when Lan Wangji drops the comb and turns him around forcefully to look him in the eye. “Wei Ying is Wei Ying. You do not need to act differently. I do not care about my reputation, you know this, Wei Ying. And you have never been a taint or a stain on me. Wei Ying is good. Has always been good. Uncle was wrong before. He is wrong now, to dislike Wei Ying because of rumours and prejudice. I will marry you, Wei Ying. In this and every lifetime, I am yours. And I do not care how our union may come about or what people think of it. It is only you for me, Wei Ying. It cannot be anyone but you.”

Wei Wuxian looks back at him with teary eyes, stunned by his husband’s sudden eloquence, feeling his heart try to rip itself out of his chest and throw itself at Lan Wangji’s feet. “Yeah, okay. Okay, Lan Zhan. Anything you ask, I’ll do. It’s only you for me, too, Lan Zhan. Always you. In this and every lifetime. As long as we’re together, I don’t care about anything else. As long as I have Lan Zhan next to me, nothing and nobody else matters.”

Lan Wangji feels his ears burn and hopes that his hair is succeeding in hiding them. Based on his husband’s grin, however, it is unlikely. He moves forward instead, pressing a kiss to that smiling mouth, and feels soft lips chase his when he tries to move away.

“Wei Ying,” he admonishes, “We still need to plan.”

Wei Wuxian whines against his mouth in protest, hands twisting their way into his hair. “We can talk more in the morning, Lan Zhan. We have to get up stupidly early because of your ungodly Lan schedule anyway.”

Lan Wangji huffs at that, but lets his husband pull him back in. He’s right. They have time.

Chapter Text

The first intimation Nie Huaisang receives that he is well and truly fucked comes the next morning as he makes his way to their first class. Wei Wuxian had been conspicuously absent during breakfast, and Jiang Wanyin was already beside himself with anger (not worry) since he found his brother’s bed obviously unslept in this morning. None of this surprises Nie Huaisang, however, and he just hopes that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji do actually show up for class. But halfway to the classroom, he begins to regret that wish as Wei Wuxian appears by their side with a bright smile and light-hearted greeting, slinging his arm over Nie Huaisang’s shoulder in a way that feels far more threatening than friendly to the boy in question.

“Where the hell have you been?” Jiang Wanyin demands furiously.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian laughs cheerfully, “I stayed the night in Caiyi. Couldn’t risk getting caught breaking curfew now, could I?”

“Since when do you care about breaking rules?”

“Hm. Since my adorable shidi scolded me so terribly about not bringing shame to our sect yesterday! Really, Jiang Cheng, you were so mean to me. That’s no way to show your shixiong how much you love him!”

“You–!”

“Nie-gongzi!” Wei Wuxian interrupts his spluttering brother, turning a truly terrifying smile on Nie Huaisang, “How are you this morning? Did you sleep well? I can’t say I got a lot of sleep myself.”

He manages to get out a stuttering, “I-I slept fine, Wei-xiong,” before Jiang Wanyin thankfully interrupts with an angry shout of “What are you talking about? He’s not the one who snuck out to get drunk and passed out in Caiyi town, Wei Wuxian!”

“Jiang Cheng, loud noises are forbidden in the Cloud Recesses!” Wei Wuxian singsongs, turning away from Nie Huaisang to mock Jiang Wanyin’s slowly purpling face. But the casual arm stays around his shoulder, tightening to an almost uncomfortable degree, and Nie Huaisang can’t help but swallow nervously.

He breathes deeply, trying to calm down as he’s pulled along with the bickering brothers the rest of the way to the Orchid Room, only to freeze in the doorway. Seated at one of the desks near the front of the classroom, Lan Wangji has his head turned towards the three of them, radiating an aura so frosty that Nie Huaisang feels a horrified shiver run down his spine. Oh, he’s screwed.

Seeing that glare pointed their way, Jiang Wanyin groans and demands, “Wei Wuxian, how did you get in trouble already?”

Wei Wuxian pouts at his brother, “Why do you think I did anything, Jiang Cheng? Maybe he’s glaring at you... or maybe, he’s glaring at Nie-gongzi here. He’s the one who studied here before! Maybe he got on Lan Wangji’s bad side.”

Nie Huaisang flips his fan open to hide his face, avoiding looking at either of them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Wei-xiong. I really don’t know!”

Jiang Wanyin snorts, “What would he have done?”

Ignoring his brother, Wei Wuxian turns to Nie Huaisang, the disquieting glint in his eye a sharp contrast to his sympathetic tone, “Are you sure you haven’t done anything to annoy him, Nie-gongzi? He seems to be glaring at you quite intensely.”

Nie Huaisang cannot help but shrink beneath his gaze, stuttering out a protest and sending a silent prayer to any god that might hear him that he survives to see tomorrow. Meanwhile, Jiang Wanyin is looking between him and Lan Wangji, seeming to realise (if the confusion on his face is any indicator) that yes, Wei Wuxian is right, and that absolutely terrifying glare is, in fact, aimed at Nie Huaisang’s poor, unfortunate self. Thankfully, before Jiang Wanyin can interrogate him, he’s distracted by Wei Wuxian bouncing cheerfully into the room, aiming straight for the white-robed boy at the front of the classroom. Wei Wuxian immediately begins pelting Lan Wangji with his customary endless chatter, plopping down in the empty seat beside him and turned all the way to face the impassive boy. Nie Huaisang hears Jiang Wanyin groan from beside him, “What is that idiot doing? Does he have a death wish?”

The rest of the students gathered in the room seem to share Jiang Wanyin’s opinion, eyeing the two at the front with mingled awe and horror. Nie Huaisang snorts quietly, carefully taking a seat behind Wei Wuxian and watching the two fall deeper into their conversation, forgetting, as they so often do, that the rest of the world still exists. They’re really, appallingly bad at pretending not to be married, he thinks somewhat despairingly. He peers over the edge of his fan, observing the couple with narrowed eyes. Huh. Then again, maybe they aren’t as casual as they seem. Despite his careless sprawl, there is a tension to Wei Wuxian’s shoulders that indicates he is trying very hard to avoid looking at anyone else in the room. Nie Huaisang can understand that, he supposes, though he himself has already made careful note of precisely where Su Minshan is sitting near the back of the room, staring at the two in front with wide and envious eyes.

Jiang Wanyin falls into the seat beside him with a thump, eying his brother’s profile with anger and disbelief, which only seems to grow when Wei Wuxian completely fails to register his presence. Oh dear. Nie Huaisang foresees trouble in that area. The Jiang Wanyin of their time had been awkward enough about his brother’s marriage, despite their tentative attempts at reconciliation. This Jiang Wanyin, still young, naïve, and protective of his brother, will likely be worse.

His train of thought is interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing as Lan Qiren sweeps into the room. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji snap to attention, though Nie Huaisang is sure he sees a grimace pass over Wei Wuxian’s face for a second before it turns smilingly impassive. He blinks, slightly confused until Lan Qiren unrolls his endless scroll containing the Cloud Recesses’ three thousand rules and begins reading from it. Nie Huaisang forces himself to swallow his groan. As the lesson progresses, he entertains himself by watching Wei Wuxian droop with boredom, and then slowly list forward in his seat and begin doodling, based on the quick glances that Lan Wangji keeps shooting at his desk.

He sees Lan Qiren’s eye twitch as he finally slams the scroll down on his desk and begins berating the class. Nie Huaisang doesn’t miss the shade of annoyance that crosses Lan Wangji’s face as Lan Qiren singles out Wei Wuxian and hurls questions at him, and oh, oh no, he remembers this. Does Wei Wuxian plan to get thrown out again by talking about resentful energy? Surely not, he thinks a little hysterically, surely they have more sense than to get on Lan Qiren’s bad side right now. But when Lan Qiren gets to his question about the executioner, Wei Wuxian pauses once again, raising a questioning eyebrow at Lan Wangji who nods slightly in response, and Nie Huaisang despairs.

It goes as he remembers it. Wei Wuxian provokes Lan Qiren (it doesn’t help that Nie Huaisang now knows that he’s perfectly right about using resentful energy), and nimbly dodges the book that’s thrown at him. Unfortunately, Nie Huaisang, sitting right behind him, isn’t so lucky (he’s almost certain he hears a muffled snicker as the book smacks into his face). He brings his hands up to rub his forehead ruefully, almost missing how Wei Wuxian stays mercifully noncommittal when Lan Qiren asks him how he would control the resentful energy. At least he has some sense left, Nie Huaisang muses, still a little bitter about being hit in the face with a book. He shudders to think what would have happened if Wei Wuxian had looked the Grandmaster of the Lan Clan in the eye and informed him that he plans on using musical cultivation to control resentful energy.

As Wei Wuxian cheerfully turns to leave the classroom on Lan Qiren’s orders, Nie Huaisang sees him slip the piece of paper he was doodling on to Lan Wangji and—are those rabbits? Nie Huaisang sees Lan Wangji’s impassive face soften slightly as he glances down at picture before slipping it into his sleeve, and turning back to his now apoplectic uncle with a palpable air of unconcern mixed with disapproval. Nie Huaisang supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Lan Wangji has never taken well to criticisms of Wei Wuxian.

By the time the lesson ends, Nie Huaisang is torn between amusement and nerves. The latter wins out when Lan Wangji turns to him as soon as Jiang Wanyin storms off to find his errant brother and quietly says, “Follow me,” in a tone that leaves no room for argument. Nie Huaisang may have been a Sect Leader for more than a decade, but he has always retained a healthy dose of fear when it comes to his interactions with the expressionless Second Jade. He has never learned to read him like Wei Wuxian (who does so effortlessly), and he has never regretted his failure to learn more than he does right now, as he follows Lan Wangji through the Cloud Recesses to what he assumes is his home. Lan Wangji slides the door open, and he sees Wei Wuxian seated at a low table waiting for them, a steaming teapot before him along with three empty cups, and a pleasant smile on his lips. Nie Huaisang feels a shiver crawl down his spine at the implications of the scene before him. They know. They don’t suspect, they know, and they have no intention of acting otherwise. Nie Huaisang is completely and undeniably fucked.

Wei Wuxian gestures for him to take a seat, pleasant smile still in place, as Lan Wangji activates a silencing talisman on the walls of the Jingshi. “Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice dripping with irony, “Thank you for joining us.”

Lan Wangji takes his place beside Wei Wuxian, and suddenly all that icy fury from earlier is back with a vengeance. Wei Wuxian doesn’t so much as twitch from beside him, his smile staying cool and pleasant, and Nie Huaisang feels the hairs at the nape of his neck rise, a deer frozen between two predators. Lan Wangji watches him stonily, eyes never leaving his face and, fuck, Nie Huaisang really might not make it out of this meeting alive.

“You’ll have to forgive Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says pleasantly, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “He gets like this when he discovers he’s lost his son.”

He gulps, “But Wen Yuan—”

“Is unborn,” Wei Wuxian cuts him off mercilessly, eyes blazing, “And may never be ours again. And even if he were, he will no longer know us or remember the twenty-five years we shared.” He takes a deep breath, but his voice is hard as he continues, “Did I not tell you once that there are some things too important to risk, Nie Huaisang?”

Nie Huaisang flinches. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, looking down at the teacup in his hand. “I had to do it.”

“For your brother,” says Lan Wangji.

It’s not a question but Nie Huaisang nods anyway, “For him and… for everyone. I just— I wanted a chance to start over, to make things better this time. The war… it cost too much. It’s what pushed my brother so close to qi deviating. It’s what destroyed the YunmengJiang Sect and let Meng Yao worm his way into the Jin Sect. There was too much lost, and the world changed because of it. You know that better than anyone, Wei-xiong.” He looks up, suddenly fierce, to stare at Wei Wuxian, “You lost your home and your family. You learnt demonic cultivation and became a war hero, only for everyone to turn their backs on you when you stood up for the Wen remnants. You were left to rot in the Burial Mounds until they found a reason to bring a siege to your door. You died—”

“Enough,” Lan Wangji says, his voice flat but radiating anger, “We are aware.”

He clears his throat, but refuses to break eye contact, his fan clenched in his hand, “The war is where everything started. If we can prevent that—or at least end it early—we can save the people who matter. We can stop Jin Guangshan and Meng Yao from grabbing power. We can protect our families.” He pauses, swallows. “I have lived with so many regrets for so many years, Wei-xiong. I have thought and thought about what I could have done differently so that Da-ge could have lived. And when I found your soul transferring array in Mo Xuanyu’s notes a few years ago… how could I not at least try?”

“So it was my array then,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice tight.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji calls, his voice softer than Nie Huaisang has ever heard it. He reaches out and grasps his husband’s hand, and Wei Wuxian instantly relaxes against him with a sigh.

“Go on. I assume there’s a reason you waited so long to use it?”

Nie Huaisang nods, “I needed time to plan. Coming back blind wouldn’t help anyone and I couldn’t risk history repeating itself. I needed to gather as much information as possible first. And… and I wasn’t sure it would work.”

Wei Wuxian chuckles, “Oh, it worked alright. And I assume there’s a reason you brought the two of us and Wen Ning back with you?”

Nie Huaisang nods. “I know that you were finally together back in the future, and maybe you were content with how things were. But the three of you were also the ones who lost the most. I just… I thought you deserved a chance to change things, too.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flash with amusement, though his gaze remains scrutinizing as he voices what Nie Huaisang was trying to leave unsaid, “And you needed us, specifically, for your plan. Which is…?”

Nie Huaisang tells them.

—

“You want me to use Empathy on the peacock!?”

Nie Huaisang sighs, “I know you don’t like him, Wei-xiong, but we need the Jin clan on our side, and he’s the only legitimate heir. And if we want him to stand against his father, he needs to know exactly what Jin Guangshan is capable of.”

“How do you know it’ll work? He’s still a pretentious, arrogant peacock right now, without my Shijie’s influence.”

Nie Huaisang sighs, “You didn’t really know him, Wei-xiong. Jin Zixuan may be a spoilt child right now, but he has a good heart. He never liked his father or agreed with how he… operates, but he had no reason to stand up to him before. If we give him one, he might do it. Besides, we need LanlingJin not to stay out of the war this time.”

“But you want me to show him everything? Even his own death? What about Shijie? What if he decides not to marry her this time because of me? What if this just turns him against us? I killed him. What could possibly get him to—”

“Jin Ling.”

Nie Huaisang blinks at Lan Wangji in confusion, but Wei Wuxian eyes widen in understanding. “Oh. You think so?”

“Mn. His son.”

“Fuck. I guess so. Fine, I’ll do it. But under protest. If he tries to kill me after, you’ll have to save me, Lan Zhan.”

“Will always protect Wei Ying.”

Nie Huaisang watches in amusement as Wei Wuxian blushes and buries a groan in Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

—

“No.”

“Wei-xiong—”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“We need her to—”

“You are not using my Shijie as a pawn in your plans!” Wei Wuxian snarls, “I won’t do it. She doesn’t deserve that. I won’t let her be put into danger! Never again!”

“She won’t be! But Jiang-guniang is also more capable than you give her credit for.”

“I know how capable—”

“No, you don’t! You weren’t there after she married into the Jin Sect. You didn’t see how she navigated their internal politics, how she wrapped those power-hungry sycophants around her little finger. Your sister may not be a strong cultivator—and I have no intention of letting her near the battlefield—but there are some things she can handle better than you and keeping her in the dark would be idiotic.”

Wei Wuxian glares at him. “I don’t care!”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji says, softly.

“Lan Zhan. No.”

“Nie Huaisang is right. Jiang Yanli is very skilled in political matters.”

“But—”

“She will not come to harm, Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji says softly. “We will not let anything happen to her.”

“But I can’t. If she knows… Lan Zhan, she’ll hate me.”

“She will not. Wei Ying, your sister loves you. She will not turn her back on you.”

“Lan Zhan…”

“Wei Ying does not need to decide now. There is time. Think on it.”

“… Fine.”

Nie Huaisang breathes a sigh of relief.

—

“I understand, but he hasn’t done anything yet. We can’t just kill him without reason.”

“Will you kill Wen Chao?”

“Of course, but it’s not the same!”

“How isn’t it?” Nie Huaisang inquires coldly, knuckles white around his fan.

“Wen Chao is already evil! He’s incompetent and cruel. I can’t let him burn down Lotus Pier again and kill my family again—”

“And I can’t let Meng Yao kill mine!”

The Jingshi rings silent for a few moments.

“We will revisit this later,” Lan Wangji eventually says, quietly, “But whatever decision we make, Meng Yao will not be allowed near Sect Leader Nie or Xiongzhang.”

Nie Huaisang nods but stays silent, hiding his scowl behind his fan. He will have to make revisions to his plan.

—

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, with a hint of exasperation, “You cannot use Empathy on everyone. It is too dangerous.”

“But, Lan Zhan! There’s no way your uncle and Xichen-ge will believe us otherwise. Let alone the Jiangs!”

“We will have to provide Uncle with proof,” Lan Wangji acknowledges, “But Xiongzhang will believe.”

“You don’t think we should show your brother the truth anyway?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head, “I would spare Xiongzhang the pain.”

Nie Huaisang nods, “I agree. We cannot show Er-Ge the future without explaining Jin Guangyao.”

Wei Wuxian hums, but continues to frown. “I just don’t see how we can get the current Sect Leaders on our side without Empathy though. But, at the same time, there are things people cannot know, especially Jiang Cheng…”

Nie Huaisang sighs, “We’ll just have to talk to them. We know enough about the near future to be able to prove our claims, at least for now. If we can get Grandmaster Lan to believe us, it’ll go a long way to convincing the other sect leaders. Though, really, Wei-xiong, did you really have to annoy him again like that today?”

“Wei Ying is Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji defends immediately, his voice sharp, “Uncle asked and he answered. Wei Ying did nothing wrong.”

“Yes, I know,” Nie Huaisang says, exasperatedly, “But we do need him to trust us for this to work. The other sect leaders will take their cues from him.”

“Uncle will recover. Wei Ying needed to be here more.”

Wei Wuxian smiles at his husband before turning to look at Nie Huaisang, his gaze sharp, “What about your brother?”

Nie Huaisang swallows heavily, glancing away. “I don’t know. I can tell him the truth, but as he knows me as a teenager, he wouldn’t believe me capable of what I’ve done. And my cultivation isn’t strong enough for Empathy. I can still mobilise him against the Wen Sect though. He won’t need much of a push if he sees other sect leaders banding together, not after what happened to Father…”

Wei Wuxian tilts his head consideringly and turns to Lan Wangji, “Lan Zhan, do you think if we transfer spiritual energy continuously to Nie-gongzi, we might be able to fuel him using Empathy?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head, “Too unsteady. Would take a long time. The power must be pulled and utilised by him.”

Wei Wuxian falls silent, frowning deeply at the table, lost in thought. After a few minutes, he starts mumbling incoherently to himself, and Nie Huaisang shoots Lan Wangji a questioning look. But Lan Wangji only looks back and shakes his head, apparently used to this behaviour. Quietly, he gets up and crosses the room, before returning in a minute with a stack of paper and some writing utensils that he places in front of Wei Wuxian before sitting back down.

He then turns unconcernedly to Nie Huaisang and quietly asks him to continue telling him about his plans. Seeing Nie Huaisang’s confusion, he adds, “Wei Ying had an idea. He will emerge when he is able to articulate it. Do not wait.”

Nie Huaisang nods in bemused understanding and continues talking, lowering his voice so as not to disturb the now furiously scribbling boy.

—

“I will speak to Xiongzhang soon. We will plan for it.”

“We’ll need to stick to the original timeline as long as possible,” Nie Huaisang says apologetically, “If we deviate too much too soon, we won’t be able to predict anything and all our knowledge will be for nothing.”

Lan Wangji nods, but his expression is tight. “The children and civilians will be evacuated. The books can be copied and preserved. We will keep damage to the minimum.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry about this, but we need to plan for it, in case we fail. And even if we do, Er-Ge cannot be allowed to disappear and meet Meng Yao.”

“Mn. It will be unnecessary.” He glances at Wei Wuxian, still writing furiously next to him, “Our priority must be Wen Zhuliu and the main Wen family.”

Nie Huaisang nods, though he still feels a squirm of guilt in his stomach. He tries to smile reassuringly, “We’ll contain the damage and make sure no one loses their life this time.”

He sees something flash across Lan Wangji’s face, but it is gone before he can even begin to guess its meaning. “Mn.”

—

“Can you still use demonic cultivation, Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asks, a while later.

Wei Wuxian looks up from the papers he’s been scribbling on for the last hour or so and blinks at him. There is a splotch of ink on his cheek that Lan Wangji wipes away carefully as he grins, “Of course, Nie-gongzi. It’ll probably be easier now, actually, since my core is so strong. Quicker purification, you know. I figured out the question of balance in Mo Xuanyu’s body, but his core was too weak for proper purification or expelling.” He pauses and turns to Lan Wangji with wide eyes, “Actually, I should experiment with that now. Lan Zhan! Do you think there might be methods to use them simultaneously? What if a talisman could be used to pull on small amounts of spiritual energy consistently for something, like riding a sword? If it could work independently a cultivator’s focus— but it would require some defence sigils for non-interference, right?”

“Mn. Would also need to allow variation in speed and movement.”

“You’re right! That would require more energy, unfortunately. That might be— oh! Do you remember that talisman I made for preservation to use in the kitchens a few years ago? What if I modified the longevity sigils and combined them with—”

Nie Huaisang watches them with bemused awe as they continue bouncing ideas (that are completely incomprehensible to him) off of each other, and Wei Wuxian grabs a fresh sheet of paper and starts writing something on it that looks completely indecipherable to Nie Huaisang. But Lan Wangji only leans over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and points at something he’s written, murmuring something that causes Wei Wuxian to let out a little sound of annoyance and immediately start overwriting it. Lan Wangji nods in response and Nie Huaisang can only sigh in exasperation and wait for them to emerge again. Really, he thinks, if the others require proof that they’re married in the future, they would only need to see the two of them together like this. Just a few minutes in their company and no one would deny that they’re not only definitely married, but also most likely insane. He glances out the window at the setting sun and wonders absently if Jiang Wanyin is currently tearing the Cloud Recesses apart looking for his errant shixiong.

—

“We’ll send him a message tonight and it should reach him in the morning. He’ll come.” Wei Wuxian says, stretching his arms above his head and letting Lan Wangji arrange the messy stack of his work according to a system that Nie Huaisang does not understand. His questions about their content were met with only a bright grin and an order to bring his brother to the Cloud Recesses as soon as possible.

“Are you sure?” Nie Huaisang asks, doubtfully, “They’re still under Wen Ruohan’s thumb. He may not be able to just slip away.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head with a grin. “He’ll come. Wen Ning may be gentle and timid, but he’s also smart. And I have learnt to never underestimate Wen Qing.”

“Wen Qing, the doctor?”

“Yeah,” he says, grin softening to a fond smile, “She’s a lot more sneaky than you might think. I’m sure Wen Ning has already filled her in. She’ll get him here and probably herself in the bargain, if I know her.”

Nie Huaisang hums thoughtfully. He has never met the infamous Wen Qing, but he has heard enough about her from Wen Qionglin and Wei Wuxian to form the impression of a talented, sharp-tongued woman with a fiery will. She would be a powerful ally if Wen Ning can convince her to join them. He glances consideringly at the quiet confidence on Wei Wuxian’s face and decides to let the matter slide. They will know for sure when the time comes, and Nie Huaisang will be prepared either way.

—

“I don’t care what else we do. I just want him safe and away from that abusive family.” Wei Wuxian says forcefully. “You’re the only one who knew him, Nie-gongzi, what would you suggest?”

Nie Huaisang frowns. “We cannot let him go to Koi Tower while Jin Guangshan is alive. I think the best we can do for Mo Xuanyu is to provide him and his mother with protection until this is all over.”

“Bring them here,” Lan Wangji says. They look at him in surprise. “Away from Mo Manor. I will talk to Xiongzhang. He can be a guest disciple and train in cultivation properly.”

Wei Wuxian beams at him. “Yes! So smart, my Lan Zhan, you’re so good. We can keep an eye on him, too! And when he’s older, he can decide what he wants to do. No more soul sacrifices!”

Lan Wangji nods and his hand tightens around Wei Wuxian’s own. “Mn. No need.”

—

By the time they finish talking and Nie Huaisang gets to his feet to leave, the sun has long set over the mountains. Exhaustion has settled itself deep within his bones, and he has never been so thankful for the early hours that the Lan clan keeps. This discussion has gone both better and worse than he had hoped, and his head is already buzzing with alterations and contingency plans that he will need to make.

But just as he is about to slide the door open, Wei Wuxian’s voice calls out from behind him. “One more thing. You’ve given us a second chance, Nie-gongzi, and for that, we may yet live to thank you.” He pauses for a moment, and Nie Huaisang turns back around warily. Wei Wuxian's eyes seem to pierce through him. “But make no mistake, Nie Huaisang, you are alive right now only because we have no other choice. We trust that you had good, if selfish, intentions in bringing us back. We trust your plan to change the future, and that you are indispensible to them. We even trust that your plan is a good one. But. Your scheming has cost us a great deal and, from now on, you may find us less willing to forgive. I would advise you against attempting to trick us again.”

Nie Huaisang remembers a Discussion Conference many years ago that was disrupted by the Yiling Patriarch. He remembers a calm inquiry and cold threats before everything came tearing down. He remembers the fear that pervaded the room long after Wei Wuxian had swept out of it.

Nie Huaisang takes in the cold anger on Wei Wuxian’s face and remembers just how terrifying the Yiling Patriarch can be. He glances at Lan Wangji’s frosty countenance and remembers the Hanguang-Jun who stood by the resurrected Yiling Patriarch and raised his sword against the entire cultivation world to protect him.

Nie Huaisang remembers just why the two of them are considered the most powerful and the most feared cultivators of their generation. He nods a little shakily, “I won’t. I swear on my life, Wei-xiong, Lan-er-gongzi, never again.”

Lan Wangji nods at him, expressionless as ever, but Wei Wuxian cracks a smile that seems almost genuine. “Good. We’ll see you tomorrow, Nie-gongzi. By the way, if Jiang Cheng asks at dinner, you have absolutely no idea where I am, but think you heard someone say that they saw me wander towards the back hills.”

When Nie Huaisang finally makes his way back to his room, he sits heavily at his desk, feeling exhaustion weighing on him. After a few minutes, he scrubs a  hand over his face, then resolutely picks up his brush and dips it in ink. He swallows as he stares down at the blank paper in front of him and starts hesitantly writing the letter that’s been haunting him since he woke up in his teenage body:

Da-Ge,

A matter of great urgency has arisen and I need you to come visit…

Chapter Text

The next evening finds Lan Wangji at the entrance of the Cloud Recesses, waiting for his brother who was due to return from Qinghe. None of his fellow disciples, observing his usual straight-back and expressionless face, would guess at the thrum of nervousness pulling through his veins, for which Lan Wangji is grateful. Nor do they notice how the hand behind his back clenches ever so slightly tighter when his brother appears at the gate, shooting him a small, slightly confused, but pleased smile.

“Xiongzhang,” he nods in greeting, as his brother approaches him.

“Wangji,” his brother smiles, “Were you waiting for me?”

He nods again seriously, then adds, “Mn. Wish to speak to you.”

“Oh? A matter of some importance?” Lan Xichen asks, one eyebrow raised questioningly. He must read the apprehension on Lan Wangji’s face for his smile dims slightly, “Would this be better discussed in the Hanshi, then?”

Lan Wangji hesitates for a moment then hums in agreement. His brother is home earlier than expected and he is unable to stop himself from casting a last glance behind Lan Xichen towards the entrance—though he knows Wei Wuxian will most certainly be sneaking back in over the walls. His husband no longer has quite the free range over the Cloud Recesses that he did just a few days ago, and Lan Wangji is doing his best not to be bitter about it. It is irrational, he knows, but he had fought so hard to ensure that Wei Wuxian always felt at home in the Cloud Recesses—one place he was not a pariah defined by his history, where he did not have to look over his shoulder, or worry about disappointing anyone or not being good enough. He wanted his husband to have the home he had always deserved, and had been pleased to see its effects in how Wei Wuxian slowly relaxed, how the juniors and children flocked to him in wide-eyed adoration, how even the Elders had begun to view his constant chatter and the occasional explosion from his workshop with indulgence. For all that to vanish is… irritating.

His train of thought is broken when his brother shoots him a curious look, but simply shakes his head. Here is not the place, and it will be easier to explain things when Wei Wuxian returns. His husband had zipped out of class the moment it ended to sneak down to Caiyi and acquire the materials he needs for his latest invention. He’d been up nearly all the previous night drawing up diagrams and talisman prototypes, and completely ignoring Lan Wangji’s attempts to get him to rest. Not that Lan Wangji had tried especially hard. He knew that little could deter Wei Wuxian when he was in the middle of a project, and the best thing he could do to help was stay up with him and let Wei Wuxian use him as a sounding board (“Lan Zhan, what do you think of this design? It’s too unwieldy right? I knew you’d agree. Do you think I should maybe etch–”).

The sun has begun to set; Wei Wuxian was meant to be back by now, but Lan Wangji isn’t particularly worried by his continued absence. He knows how easily side-tracked his husband can get. He’ll be back soon. He had promised talk to Lan Xichen with him and his husband never breaks his promises.

He is consequently unsurprised when, a few minutes later, they are stalled on the path approaching the Hanshi by Wei Wuxian’s breathless voice calling out from behind them. They turn to find Wei Wuxian running full-tilt towards them with a bulky package hitched under one arm. “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! I’m sorry I’m late!” he gasps, stumbling to a halt in front of them, panting and beaming up at Lan WangJi from an attractively flushed face. Lan Wangji wants to kiss him. “No apologies,” Lan Wangji says automatically as Wei Wuxian remembers himself and turns to bow to his brother, nearly toppling over from the weight of the package.

“Zewu-Jun.” Wei Wuxian greets, smile still on his face, “Forgive my tardiness. This is one is Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian, from the YunmengJiang Sect.”

His brother smiles politely, gaze flickering between the two of them. “Ah, it’s nice to meet you Wei-gongzi.”

Wei Wuxian smiles beatifically at him before turning to Lan Wangji. “Oh! Lan Zhan, before I forget, here!”

From beside him, Lan Xichen’s indulgent expression morphs into one of shock as Wei Wuxian tosses Lan Wangji’s jade token back to him with a smile. Lan Wangji ignores his brother’s wide-eyed gaze as he reattaches the token to his belt and shoots his errant husband a stern look. “Wei Ying. Go leave the materials in the Jingshi. We will wait for you.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees his brother growing confusion at his familiar use of Wei Wuxian’s given name, but he only asks, “We? Will Wei-gongzi be joining us?”

Lan Wangji exchanges a glance with Wei Wuxian, who laughs nervously. “Ah, actually, Lan Zhan asked me to join you, if that’s alright?”

Lan Xichen looks at his brother in surprise, but Lan Wangji only calmly says, “Mn. Wei Ying should be there.”

Lan Xichen blinks. “Well then, of course you are welcome to join us, Wei-gongzi.”

Wei Wuxian grins his thanks and excuses himself, before rushing off in the direction of the Jingshi. Lan Wangji sighs softly after him and turns back to his still stunned brother, who quickly tries to cover up his surprise with a smile. “Ah, Wangji, I am glad to see that you’re making friends. But, perhaps, you should not lend him your jade token so easily. You know that they are only meant to be carried by residents of the Lan Sect and those we hold in absolute trust.”

Lan Wangji feels his ears turn red at the light censure in his brother’s tone, but he only shakes his head and gestures for them to continue on to the Hanshi. “It is fine. Will explain when Wei Ying returns.”

Lan Xichen walks with him, but the shocked edge to his silence does nothing to put Lan Wangji at ease. His brother has never heard him disregard a rule before. That, and the implication that Lan Wangji does hold Wei Wuxian in absolute trust after, apparently, only a couple of days, seems to have completely thrown him. By the time they have settled at the low table in the main room of the Hanshi with nothing but the tea between them and an awkward silence permeating the air, Lan Wangji is hoping rather desperately that Wei Wuxian appears soon. This is not a conversation wants to have alone.

“Wangji,” his brother starts, noticing how on edge he is, “Is everything alright?”

Lan Wangji looks up his brother—still so young, and unmarred by war and soul-deep betrayal—and nods firmly. “Mn.”

“I am glad.” Lan Xichen says, before his smile adopts a teasing lilt, “You and Wei-gongzi seem quite close already.”

Lan Wangji cannot help the faint flush that rises to his ears at that. “Mn. Wei Ying and I… we are close.”

Lan Xichen’s smile falls away and his says rather faintly, “I see. But… it has only been a few days since you met, has it not? Are you sure, Wangji?”

Lan Wangji nods firmly. “I am sure, xiongzhang.”

Lan Xichen blinks at him and asks, hesitantly, “Is that what the two of you wish to discuss with me?”

“It is part of it. But not the most important matter.” Lan Wangji hesitates, “It may be difficult for you to believe what we have to tell you, xiongzhang, but I ask for your trust.”

“Wangji, of course!” Lan Xichen says immediately, “Of course I trust you!”

Lan Wangji nods gratefully, but anything further they might have said is interrupted by a knock on the door. Lan Wangji rises to slide it open and finds his husband standing on the other side looking decidedly nervous, but immediately smiling up at him. He lets his own face settle into something reassuring as he ushers Wei Wuxian in and closes the door, pressing a silencing talisman to it as he does so.

Lan Xichen glances from the talisman on the door to the now solemn faces of the two seated in front of him, and immediately straightens. Whatever this is, it is serious. Even so, he cannot help but stare incredulously when Wei Wuxian grabs his little brother’s hand in his own as though for reassurance, and Lan Wangji, instead of pulling away angrily as he would from anyone but Lan Xichen, squeezes his hand back and relaxes. Close indeed, Lan Xichen thinks, completely baffled by this uncharacteristic gesture from his reserved little brother. He shakes off his confusion and looks back up at his brother questioningly; there are more important matters to discuss, apparently. “What has occurred, Wangji?”

Lan Wangji takes a breath. There is really no easy way to explain this. “Xiongzhang, Wei Ying and I are not from here. We have travelled from the future.”

“What?”

“It is true.”

“Time travel is impossible,” Lan Xichen says firmly, but doesn’t miss the way Wei Wuxian seems to twitch beside his brother.

“Uh, well, it’s not really time travel per se,” Wei Wuxian says sheepishly, “More of a soul transmigration. Our older souls moved through time to occupy our younger bodies, basically, and have no way of returning.” Lan Wangji nods from beside him, though his hand clenches in his robes involuntarily.

Lan Xichen looks between them incredulously. Such a thing sounds completely impossible, and Lan Xichen is not inclined to believe them. But he has promised his brother trust and his brother cannot, would not, lie to him, so he takes a breath, pushes aside his scepticism for a moment, and then looks at the two in front of him. Really looks. He has not met Wei Wuxian before this, but the boy in front of him hardly meets the descriptions he has heard of an unruly troublemaker. There is a haunted air about the boy that does not befit someone so young, and the way he eyes Lan Xichen with nervous hope and familiarity, and the way he holds Lan Wangji’s hand without a thought (as though he completely expects the gesture to be reciprocated; as though touching Lan Wangji with casual fondness is routine) throws him. So instead, Lan Xichen looks at his brother—because he knows his brother—but what he sees on that familiar face suddenly makes him doubt that. The brother he knew a week ago was a shy, repressed teenager, too confined by the rules set forth by their uncle and the clan; a boy who felt deeply, but could never show it—not since those snowy days all those years ago when he had stubbornly knelt before a door that would never open for him again. But this boy in front of him, looking at him with such pleading resolve, is not that brother. He sits straight-backed as always, but there is an air of assurance about him that was not there before—a quiet confidence in his bearing that speaks of years of patience and experience. And his eyes… they are no longer the eyes of naïve teenager. Those eyes have seen things Lan Xichen cannot imagine; they carry a heavy weight—a strange mix of grief and contentment, of determination and resignation, of loss and hope. No, those are not eyes he knows, and something in his chest aches at the thought. Sometime in the last week, his little brother has grown up, and Lan Xichen has missed it.

Lan Xichen closes his eyes again, pained and still slightly disbelieving, and lets out a shuddering breath before he looks at them again. “How?”

He sees the hope and relief that lights up their eyes, and Lan Wangji gives him a small, grateful smile. “An array. We were on a nighthunt and were caught in the array. And then we were here, two nights ago.”

Lan Xichen frowns, “Caught?”

Lan Wangji nods, “It was a trap, meant to send us back. We did not intend for this to happen.”

“A trap? Do you know who did this? And why?” Lan Xichen asks, alarmed.

“Yes.” Lan Wangji exchanges a hesitant look with Wei Wuxian, who nods and takes over. “It’s a long story Zewu-Jun,” he says, “And not much of it is pleasant. There were two others who came back with us, one of whom was behind the array.”

“Two others? Who are they?”

“Nie Huaisang and Wen Ning, Wen Qionglin. Nie Huaisang was the one who activated the array.”

One of those names is unfamiliar to him, but, “Nie Huaisang was behind this? He created a soul transfer array?” Lan Xichen asks incredulously.

“Oh, ah, no. That was me, actually, though I didn’t remember it. Nie Huaisang found it among some of my old notes.”

Lan Xichen blinks at him. “You created a soul transferring array and do not remember it?”

Wei Wuxian winces. “Yeah, it’s… it’s complicated.”

Lan Xichen just stares at him. Wei Wuxian swallows, “There were circumstances that… that made things hazy in my memory. It’s one of the things we want to prevent from happening this time. This is a second chance for us to change what happened–will happen. And we need your help.”

Lan Xichen looks at them worriedly. “Change the future. You had said things were unpleasant?”

Lan Wangji nods, “There was a war with the Wen clan.”

Lan Xichen pales. There have been signs of brewing conflict recently and, as a budding Sect Leader, he has feared the worst, but to hear such a thing confirmed is unsettling. “I see. When?”

“Soon.” Wei Wuxian says, “Wen Ruohan is currently annexing smaller sects, and coercing the ones in his power to do his bidding. At the discussion conference in Qishan next year, the Wen clan will be humiliated in their archery tournament. Soon after, Wen Ruohan will demand that all the sects send their heirs and top disciples to the Wen clan for indoctrination, to teach us proper cultivation apparently. But it was just an excuse to hold power over the sects. Wen Chao confiscated our swords and used us as live bait on their nighthunts.”

Seeing Lan Xichen’s shocked but confused expression, Lan Wangji softly clarifies, “The Lan clan refused the indoctrination at first, and the Wen clan sent Wen Xu to burn the Cloud Recesses down. Uncle and Father were injured and… Father did not survive. Xiongzhang escaped with our sacred texts. I do not know where you hid those months. The remaining disciples and I were forced to attend the indoctrination.”

“After they broke your leg.” Wei Wuxian spat.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says reprimandingly, seeing the horror and pain crossing his brother’s face. “I was fine, xiongzhang.”

Lan Xichen nods, though the pain does not fade, “Continue, please.”

Lan Wangji nods, “We eventually escaped from Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu. But Wei Ying had offended Wen Chao, and they used it as an excuse to burn down Lotus Pier. Of the Jiang clan, only Wei Ying, Jiang Wanyin, and Jiang-guniang survived.”

“Wen Zhuliu,” Lan Xichen whispers shakily, “The Core-Melting Hand? They used him to destroy the entire Jiang Sect?”

Lan Wangji nods, but Wei Wuxian only stares at his lap in silence, eyes burning. Lan Wangji wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer comfortingly before continuing. “They attacked the Nie clan as well after that, but Sect Leader Nie stood against them. The Four Great Sects banded together with many smaller sects and started the Sunshot Campaign against the Wen clan. We won the war, eventually, but much was lost in the process. Too much.”

Lan Xichen nods slowly, though his jaw is clenched tight. “Is that when you returned here?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “No. Many years after that. Twenty-six years from now.”

“Twenty-six years!” Lan Xichen exclaims, startled out of his horror. “Wangji, you were over forty?”

Lan Wangji’s lips twitch faintly. “Mn.”

Lan Xichen blinks. Wei Wuxian finally raises his head, his eyes clearer now, and grins mischievously at Lan Wangji, tugging at his sleeve. “Lan Zhan, your brother thinks you’re old. You should tell him about all the definitely not old stuff you got up to. For his peace of mind, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji turns to look exasperatedly at him, ears flushing, but his eyes softer than Lan Xichen has ever seen them. The two stare at each other, falling into a silent conversation for several moments that Lan Xichen, for all that he prides himself on being able to read his brother, cannot even begin to understand.

He clears his throat, and cannot help his small twinge of amusement when they both startle as though they had forgotten he was there. “In the future, are the two of you…?” he asks hesitantly, gesturing to the arm that Lan Wangji still has wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s waist.

Lan Wangji nods, and smiles softly, “Husbands.”

“I see…” Lan Xichen says, simultaneously unsurprised and absolutely stunned, “Well, that certainly explains a lot.”

Lan Wangji’s ears redden but Wei Wuxian just grins at him brightly. “Sorry, but you can’t blame me! Just look at him! Lan Zhan is so perfect, what was I supposed to do?”

Lan Xichen laughs lightly, “Did you get engaged at the Cloud Recesses in your timeline, as well?”

Wei Wuxian snorts. “No. Not at all. Though we definitely fell in love then. We got together about… um, almost twenty years from now, I think?”

“Seventeen years.” Lan Wangji corrects.

Lan Xichen looks between them, slightly appalled. “It took you seventeen years? But…”

“There were reasons.” Lan Wangji says quietly, breaking eye contact to look down at his lap, where his hand clenches tightly. Wei Wuxian instantly forgets Lan Xichen’s presence, placing a comforting hand over his husband’s and making soft soothing noises at him that have Lan Xichen raising his eyebrows in shock. What happened to make his brother look so haunted even now? Why does Wei Wuxian keep softly repeating that he is here and his brother is okay?

There is a lot of the story that Lan Xichen is still missing, he knows. But for now, he is glad to see that his brother has found someone who reads him so well and cares for him as deeply as Wei Wuxian seems to. He smiles gently at them as his brother’s shoulders begin to relax again and says, “I am pleased for you, Wangji. You and Wei-gongzi seem happy together. I look forward to welcoming him into the clan when you marry this time.”

He smiles when they look at him in mingled surprise and relief, though they quickly school their expressions. Wei Wuxian smiles teasingly at him. “Does that mean I can call you Xichen-ge again?”

Lan Xichen smile broadens just a little, “Of course. As long as I may call you Wuxian, since you are to be my little brother, too.”

Surprisingly, Wei Wuxian blushes from beside his brother, who smiles appreciatively at him. “Uh, y-yes,” Wei Wuxian stutters, “I would like that, Xichen-ge.”

“Then I shall, Wuxian. You are family now, after all.” He says firmly, and watches Wei Wuxian flush further and oh, the boy is really quite adorable. He understands fully when his brother pulls his husband (his husband) closer and places a soft kiss on his temple. Lan Xichen has never seen his brother so easy with his affection, so comfortable smiling, as he has been in the last hour, and yes, he is very very pleased to include Wei Wuxian in his family.

Wei Wuxian melts into Lan Wangji’s side, his blush now extending to the roots of his hair. But a minute later, his pleased smile fades; he clears his throat and visibly gathers himself, straightening in Lan Wangji’s hold and shooting him a meaningful look before turning back to Lan Xichen. “Before you accept me as one of your family, there are things you need to know, Xichen-ge. And I kind of need you to maybe keep an open mind and not freak out until I explain.”

Lan Xichen’s smile falls away and he nods seriously. “Yes, there is a lot more you have to tell me, isn’t there?”

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and says, “The first thing you might want to know is that, well, I’m a demonic cultivator.”

“What?”

“It was not Wei Ying’s choice,” Lan Wangji defends immediately, “His control of resentful energy won us the war.”

Lan Xichen looks between them with a frown. “Please explain. I promise to hear you out.”

Wei Wuxian nods gratefully. “After the fall of Lotus Pier, I lost my golden core.” He sees Lan Xichen’s eyes widen in horror and chooses to stare down at his lap instead. He will never like telling this story, no matter how much time has passed since it happened, “Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu caught me in Yiling and threw me into the Burial Mounds to die.”

Lan Xichen lets out a small gasp. Every cultivator knows about the horrors of the Burial Mounds. No one, however powerful, who has entered that cursed area has ever emerged again. To be thrown in without power… Lan Xichen cannot imagine it. Lan Wangji’s thumb rubs soothingly up and down Wei Wuxian’s side from where his arm is wrapped around him, radiating comfort and reassurance as his husband recalls some of his worst memories. Wei Wuxian leans into him gratefully, keeping his voice as even as possible, “I had to learn how to control the resentful energy to survive. I escaped three months later and hunted down Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu. Jiang Cheng and I killed them and I joined the war, using talismans and raising the dead on the battlefield to defeat the Wens.”

Lan Xichen looks at the young boy with old eyes in front of him and worries, knowing his simple words hide far more pain that he seems willing to reveal. To have survived the Burial Mounds at all is a miracle. To have invented and mastered a brand new cultivation method in the process? His new brother is remarkable. He looks at them thoughtfully, but knows the story is still very much incomplete. “And after the war?” he asks, “What did you do? Was that why the two of you were not together?”

Wei Wuxian laughs a little bitterly, “You could say that, I suppose.”

Lan Wangji stiffens beside him, and Wei Wuxian looks up at his pained expression and grimaces apologetically, “Sorry, Lan Zhan. I didn’t mean it that way. Just… everything that happened after.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji says softly, before turning to his brother, who looks at them with a furrowed brow. “Wei Ying was celebrated during the war. But after it ended, the cultivation world turned their backs on him. They feared his power, and desired it.”

“No one knew I didn’t have my golden core anymore.” Wei Wuxian adds quietly. “The Jiang clan was still recovering, and Jiang Cheng’s position among the cultivation sects was still weak. Everyone was already questioning my sanity and my right to hold onto the spiritual tools I had created to help me control the resentful energy. If they knew I didn’t have a core, they would have used it to put pressure on the Jiang Sect.”

Lan Xichen winces but nods in understanding. He knows the politics of the cultivation world all too well, and how eagerly the sects would have hounded a seemingly weak sect for such power. He wonders what role the Lan clan might have played in this, but knows it could not have been good, not when demonic cultivation goes against everything they stand for. “What did you do?” he asks, looking at Wei Wuxian curiously.

But it is Lan Wangji who answers. “After the war, the cultivation world turned against the Wens. The Jin clan took responsibility for rounding up the remaining Wen clan forces. But they also took the innocents—the civilians, the healers, the farmers, the children, and the elderly—and imprisoned them in labour camps. Many had nothing to do with the war, or had no choice but to obey Wen Ruohan.”

Lan Xichen looks horrified. “And what of the other sects? Did they condone this?”

Wei Wuxian’s voice is bitter when he replies, “No one cared. They were Wens; they weren’t even considered human. The cultivation world had decided that all those who bore the Wen surname were evil, and that was that. No one cared to check what happened to them. We had won the war, so what did we care what happened to those who lost? To the innocents who were helpless under Wen Ruohan?”

“But surely the Lan clan did not–” Lan Xichen protests, only to stop short when his brother shakes his head sorrowfully and says, “The Lan clan agreed to allow the Jin clan to take care of the prisoners. After the Cloud Recesses was burned, there was no sympathy left for the Wens.”

Lan Xichen breathes in shakily, guilt and horror gnawing at his bones. What had he done? Could the sects truly have been so callous to the fates of so many? “What happened to them?”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “A few months after the war ended, Wen Qing found me. Her brother, Wen Ning, and her clan of healers had been taken away by the Jin clan to one of the labour camps. She begged for my help. I–I owed Wen Qing and Wen Ning a great deal. A life debt and more. After the fall of Lotus Pier, Wen Ning rescued Jiang Cheng and I and took us to his sister. Jiang Cheng was… was injured. They hid us and cared for us until we recovered. They risked everything to help the remnants of an opposing clan that was already gone. When Wen Qing approached me, there was no question about helping her. I interrupted the Discussion Conference at Koi Tower and demanded to know where Wen Ning had been taken. But by the time I found out and Wen Qing and I got there, Wen Ning was already…” He breaks off, his voice shaking.

Lan Xichen listens in silent dismay, feeling increasingly nauseated as Wei Wuxian tells him about what he found at the labour camp, about the atrocities the Jin clan had committed, about bringing Wen Ning back as a fierce corpse and how he took revenge on those that killed him; how Wei Wuxian took the refugees and vanished into the Burial Mounds, how they lived there while the cultivation world slandered them, and how he left the Jiang Sect; how Lan Wangji came to visit and they brought Wen Ning’s consciousness back. Lan Xichen listens in stupefied amazement; such a thing should be impossible, though he has a strong feeling that that word has very little meaning when it comes to his brother-in-law. But amazement is quickly replaced by dread as Wei Wuxian’s voice fails him, and Lan Wangji takes over, quietly relating how Wei Wuxian had been invited to his nephew’s one month celebration, only to be ambushed along the way. Wei Wuxian’s arms wrap protectively around himself as Lan Wangji quickly and expressionlessly explains the death of Jin Zixuan, the demand and sacrifice of the Wen siblings, the pledge conference at Nightless City and then, softly, the death of Jiang Yanli and everything that followed.

“You died?” He whispers, looking between him and his brother, both of who look away.

“For about thirteen years,” Wei Wuxian says, his lips twisting, “I was summoned back against my will by one of Jin Guangshan’s illegitimate sons to get revenge on his family.” He shrugs and tries to make his voice lighter, “We got together after that, really, when I finally stopped being stupid and realised how much Lan Zhan loved me.”

“Wuxian…” He says, at a loss for words. For one person to have suffered so much, for both of them to have suffered so much… Lan Xichen feels sick.

But Wei Wuxian flinches back, “Would you still call me that, knowing what I’ve done?”

Lan Xichen blinks at him, appalled, even as his brother calls his husband’s name reproachfully. His throat feels tight as he looks at Wei Wuxian’s downcast face and shaking hands, this man in a boy’s body, so tortured and troubled by a world that spiralled out of his control and made him pay the price, and feels a sudden angry surge of protectiveness for him. He takes a moment to school his expression to be reassuring before saying gently, “Of course. If anything, I am honoured to be able to call you so.”

His smile strains slightly as Wei Wuxian’s eyes snap up to meet his, wide and startled. Lan Xichen feels completely undeserving of the affection and hope in those eyes. “For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, sorrowfully, “I’m sorry for the role I played in what happened to you. For killing all those innocents, for your family. For the injustices my clan and I perpetrated and condoned. You deserved better. Both of you.”

Wei Wuxian quickly looks down, but Lan Xichen still sees the way his eyes flood with tears. He wonders if he ever apologised to him in that future, if anyone did. He doesn’t think he wants to know the answer. Lan Wangji pulls his husband in, letting him shield his face against his shoulder before he looks up at his brother. The two of them look at each other for some time, understanding passing between them, before Lan Wangji nods and smiles slightly. “Not all the Wens perished, xiongzhang.”

A choked laugh escapes Wei Wuxian, who looks up sans tears at his startled face, his eyes full of soft warmth. “I told you, Xichen-ge. Lan Zhan is perfect.”

Lan Xichen looks at his brother hopefully. Lan Wangji’s face is impassive as ever, but his eyes are gentle, “Before the Siege, Wei Ying hid A-Yuan. I found him after and brought him back. Adopted him. Lan Yuan, Lan Sizhui. Our son.”

“Wangji!” Lan Xichen gasps, somewhat disbelievingly, “You’re a father?”

Lan Wangji nods, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, “Xiongzhang helped me raise him. Made him a member of the clan. My heir.”

Lan Xichen cannot help the wave of relief that washes over him at that. At least in this one thing, he did not fail his brother. He sees the pure adoration with which Wei Wuxian looks at his little brother and smiles delightedly at them. “I am glad. Wangji, Wuxian, I am so glad.” He reaches out to hold his brother’s hand, and is thrilled when his brother does not hesitate to return his grip.

After a quiet moment, he draws back. “Whatever plans you may have to change this future, you have my support. Unconditionally.” He looks at them both seriously, determinedly, “This time, I will stand by my brothers, no matter what. As will the Lan Sect.”

Their eyes light up as they look back him, nodding seriously in adorable tandem. As they tell him of their plans, he cannot help the small, sly smile that spreads over his face. Lan Xichen, heir to the most righteous of the sects, has always had to be cautious in his position, thoughtful and wary before he takes any step. But not openly showcasing his considerable power does not mean he does not possess it. He has only ever required a reason to do so. And here, sitting in front of him, are the two perfect, important reasons. For his two brothers, he will do anything—he will take all his dormant, smiling authority and place it firmly at their backs. His brothers will be safe this time. They will be happy. Lan Xichen will make sure of it.

*

“Lan Zhaaaan,” Wei Wuxian whines much later, stretching his arms above his head as they make their way back to the Jingshi in the cool night air, “Your brother is just like you sometimes. So kind, but so stubborn.”

“Xiongzhang is right, Wei Ying,” his husband says calmly.

“Is he really going to speak to your uncle alone?” Wei Wuxian asks, feeling nervous just at the thought of facing Lan Qiren’s reaction. “Will he be okay?”

“He is capable. Uncle will listen.”

“I still can’t believe he just accepted it all like that. Accepted me, demonic cultivation and all,” Wei Wuxian says, skipping his way up the stairs to the Jingshi and pulling open the door. Lan Wangji hums as he enters their home behind him, patently unsurprised, and Wei Wuxian smiles. “You know, we’re eventually going to have to talk to Jiang Cheng and it’s definitely not going to go that smoothly. Soon, too, since I can’t keep sneaking back to the guest disciple quarters before everyone wakes up and pretending I was there all night. Jiang Cheng is already suspicious since I keep vanishing.”

Lan Wangji makes a small noise of disgruntlement as he lays out the dinner they snuck out from the kitchens on their way back. He looks up at Wei Wuxian, who has already begun pulling apart the package he had brought back from Caiyi. “Did you find what you needed?”

Wei Wuxian grins at him, turning the package around and letting the candlelight reflect the dull glint of iron from within. His eyes are already shining. “Set up some strong wards after dinner, Lan Zhan. I no longer have my workshop, and it’ll be a shame if I accidentally blow up the Jingshi.”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji, thoroughly unconcerned as he draws his excitable husband to the table to eat. He kisses him softly before handing him a pair of chopsticks. “Will do my best, Wei Ying.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian is very pleased with himself. Despite the disgustingly early hour, he hums happily to himself as he makes his way back to the guest disciple quarters, his newest invention tucked into his sleeve. Lan Wangji, who had stubbornly insisted on staying up and helping him work, had smiled that special soft smile at him as he nearly bounced out of skin in excitement, and had sent him off with a kiss and a quiet, “I am proud of Wei Ying,” that has him blushing and smiling all the way back. Years ago, when they had first married, Wei Wuxian had wondered if, maybe one day, he would grow used to his husband; if, one day, he would be able to see Lan Zhan smile and his heart would not immediately attempt to leap out of his chest. But then his husband gives him those soft glowing looks, and says mushy and ridiculous things like I am proud of Wei Ying, and Wei Wuxian feels his heart light up in his chest, and knows that he will always be a lost cause when it comes to his Lan Zhan. Not that he minds. Not at all.

He skips his way into his room, grinning, and quickly readies himself for the day as the bell tolls mao shi. His grin widens when he hears a faint groan through the wall as Jiang Cheng reluctantly gets out of bed. He leaves quietly, sneaking his way down the corridor until he gets to Nie Huaisang’s room, and knocks once before unceremoniously letting himself in, not waiting for permission to enter. Across the room, still sitting on the side of his bed, Nie Huaisang looks at him, startled, before exasperation slowly melts over his features.

“Nie-gongzi! You’re up! Good. I have a present for you!”

“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says tiredly, “It’s barely mao shi. Can’t this wait at least until I’m dressed?”

“Nope!” Wei Wuxian says, grinning wide and delighted. “Don’t look that way, Nie-gongzi! Didn’t I just say it’s a present for you? You should be excited!”

Nie Huaisang sighs, but the upward twitch of his lips gives him away. “Wei-xiong, the last time you had a present for me, I got stuck with three new disciples under the age of ten.” He leaves out the part that those new disciples had shown excellent potential in the saber and had quickly wormed their excited way into the hearts of all his Sect members, himself included. He moves to sit at the low table across from the now pouting Wei Wuxian and grins. “Okay, okay, Wei-xiong, I promise I’m excited! What is it?”

Wei Wuxian, fully aware that the three orphans he had found in Qinghe had thrived under Nie Huaisang’s eagle eye and were beloved by the sect, still took a moment to grumble on their behalf before his excitement overtook him again. He reached into his sleeve, pulling out an intricately carved piece of iron.

“Wei-xiong, is that–?”

“A seal!” Wei Wuxian nods, grinning triumphantly, “A spiritual one to be exact. It should allow you to store your spiritual energy to draw upon later.”

Nie Huaisang gapes at him, his eyes flickering between Wei Wuxian’s beaming countenance and the seal being pushed across the table towards him. “But that’s impossible! Something like that… the whole cultivation world would lose their minds! Wei-xiong–”

Wei Wuxian waves a hand at him impatiently, “Nevermind that right now, try it! Go on! Just push a little bit of your spiritual energy into it. Come on, Nie-gongzi!”

Nie Huaisang opens his mouth then closes it. Wei Wuxian… he really is insane. To be able to wield such a tool… it could make a cultivator invincible. With enough energy stored, even a cultivator with a weak core like him could become powerful. And Wei Wuxian is just… handing it to him to use. Wordlessly, he takes hold of the seal Wei Wuxian is pushing into his hands and sends a small spark of his spiritual energy into it. The seal glows faintly for a moment—the same olive green as his spiritual energy—as it absorbs the spiritual energy and then settles down, fading back into an unassuming piece of welded iron.

When he looks up, Wei Wuxian’s grin has grown impossibly brighter, “Well, go on! Try to draw it back! See how it feels!”

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, carefully seeking out his energy within the seal. Immediately, he feels that same spark flow calmly back through his meridians, with the same ease as drawing from his own core. With a gasp, his eyes spring open and he stares in disbelief at the seal in his hands. “How?”

Wei Wuxian beams. “Remember the Stygian Tiger Seal? If it’s possible for something to absorb resentful energy that can be utilised later, why not do the same with spiritual energy? Obviously we can’t steep this in yang energy for a few hundred years to test how it would work naturally, but if you take the basic principles behind the creation of any spiritual tool by drawing from the core of the wielder, but then add a barrier for storage, it could work. And see here? I’ve inverted the sigils to allow for the energy to be drawn back again. It should work in the same way that you would draw from your own core. You just pull it back through your meridians and–” He looks up at Nie Huaisang’s bewildered appearance and breaks off with a laugh. “Nevermind, that’s not important! Just send another trail of your spiritual energy into it and give it back. Come on, this is the best part!”

Nie Huaisang continues to gape at him for a moment before complying. As the glow of the seal settles back down, he passes it back into Wei Wuxian’s grasping hands and watches as his friend bites into his finger to draw blood and immediately starts drawing a complex talisman over the seal. For a moment, a soft hum emanates from the seal as he activates the talisman, and the light of his spiritual energy within it becomes almost blinding, before everything fades away. He blinks, trying to clear the spots from his vision as Wei Wuxian continues to beam down at the seal in his hand. He watches in confusion as Wei Wuxian sends a small spark of his own red spiritual energy into the seal, only to see it bounce back and sting the tips of his fingers. Wei Wuxian lets out a small yelp and then laughs brightly, loud and long, as he tosses the seal back to Nie Huaisang. “There we go,” he says, his grin nearly splitting his face, “Now it should only respond to your spiritual energy. To everyone else, it’s just a pretty hunk of iron.”

Nie Huaisang nearly drops the seal. “What?”

But Wei Wuxian is already bouncing to his feet. “An advantage of using spiritual energy instead of resentful energy is that it can recognise a master. Congratulations! It’s your own personal spiritual tool. Make sure you feed it as much spiritual energy as you possibly can over the next couple of days till your brother comes, okay?” He makes his way to the door before Nie Huaisang can speak and pauses, looking back at him over his shoulder, his eyes glinting, “I should warn you though, there’s also a preventive built in. It can also recognise one other cultivator, solely to stop the flow of spiritual energy. No offence, Nie-gongzi, but I’m not about to hand anyone a bottomless store of spiritual energy. We can discuss who that person should be after you conduct Empathy with your brother.” Seeing Nie Huaisang pale even as he continues to sit frozen, Wei Wuxian’s grin widens, “It is what you wanted, right?”

“I—Wei-xiong!”

Wei Wuxian pays him no mind, dancing out of the room and closing the door on Nie Huaisang’s baffled and slightly frightened expression with a laugh. He turns towards the exit, still beaming, only to come to an abrupt halt. A few feet in front of him, Jin Zixuan has paused on his way out and is looking back at him, his expression a mixture of curiosity and a deep desire not to look curious at all. Wei Wuxian freezes, his delight melting away. He doesn’t know what his face is doing, but whatever Jin Zixuan sees makes him frown and turn fully towards him, obviously getting ready to say something. Before he can speak, however, Wei Wuxian quickly gathers himself, schooling his expression to be as neutral as possible as he bows—perhaps a little deeper than necessary—and mumbles, “Jin-gongzi.”

Jin Zixuan looks at him in confusion, obviously unused to Wei Wuxian looking or speaking to him with anything but derision. But before he can react in any way, Wei Wuxian hurries past him, making a beeline for the exit. Outside, he pauses for a moment in the cool morning air, jaw clenched as he tries to decide where to go. He’s been making a very concerted effort not to run into Jin Zixuan over the last few days. He is not ready to face that particular ghost yet, though he supposes it’s a moot point now. He swallows and shakes himself lightly, pushing down his instinct to find Lan Zhan and burrow into his arms for comfort. Instead, he makes his way quickly to the dining hall and focuses on quietly bemoaning the appallingly bland food he will find there. He desperately misses his husband’s cooking.

He finds Jiang Cheng already there, grumpily eating his tasteless congee, still half asleep. He amuses himself by annoying his brother into full wakefulness, shooting small covert, but loving smiles at his husband—who sits primly next to his brother at the head table with slowly pinkening ears—and resolutely ignoring Nie Huaisang, who arrives a few minutes before the meal ends and spends most of it trying to furtively catch his eye.

*

By the time their class ends that afternoon, Wei Wuxian has run out of ways to politely expend all the energy still flowing through his veins. The thrill of his successful invention mixed with his sleepless night and being forced to sit moderately still for the last few hours has lent a slightly manic quality to the restlessness that pulses through him. Jiang Cheng huffs from beside him as he fidgets for the third time in as many minutes and punches him in the arm, “What’s wrong with you now?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he says hurriedly, even as he shifts from foot to foot, “Just need to move. You know I’m not good at sitting in one place for so long.”

Lan Zhan walks over to stand beside him—obviously aware of his agitation—but refrains from reaching out as he normally would. “Fly,” he says quietly, looking down meaningfully at where Suibian is strapped to Wei Wuxian’s belt.

Wei Wuxian looks up at him, startled, “But I ca–”

He breaks off as Lan Wangji smiles, invisible to anyone except him, because oh, oh, yes he can. His core is strong again. He can fly on Suibian. He grins, wide and bright, “Oh, Lan Zhan, let’s race!”

From beside him, Jiang Cheng looks wide-eyed between him and the Second Jade, “What are you saying, idiot? You can’t just race inside the Cloud Recesses, it’s not allowed!”

Wei Wuxian pouts at him, but Lan WangJi calmly says, “Back mountains.”

Jiang Cheng startles, “What? But–”

Wei Wuxian laughs delightedly, “It’s not technically in the Cloud Recesses! Lan Zhan, you’re so smart. Are you sure?”

“Mn. Will speak to xiongzhang. Should not be a problem. Provisions made for guest disciples. Good for inter-sect relations.”

“Lan Zhan! You’re so sneaky!” Wei Wuxian laughs as Jiang Cheng stares at Lan WangJi in shock, tinged with something very much akin to slowly growing respect.

“Wei-xiong! What’s this I hear? You’re planning on racing in the back mountains?” Nie Huaisang calls, his voice deliberately loud enough to catch the attention of surrounding disciples as he runs up to them, “Can I join? I’ll be the referee!”

“Yeah! Lan Zhan said it was fine.” Wei Wuxian responds, grinning as murmurs break out amongst their fellow students. Even Jin Zixuan looks intrigued. Wei Wuxian deliberately doesn’t let his smile falter—he will need to get used to Jin Zixuan’s presence. It is not the gold-clad boy’s fault that Wei Wuxian has trouble meeting his eye.

It isn’t long before they’re making their way to the back mountains, a relatively large group of disciples trailing after them, eager to test their skills against each other. Wei Wuxian smirks as Nie Huaisang pulls Lan Wangji into a murmured conversation, having obviously given up on talking to Wei Wuxian directly. An elbow digs into his side and he turns to face a frowning Jiang Cheng, who looks meaningfully between him and Lan Wangji and quietly demands, “When did you get so close to Lan Wangji? You’re even calling each other by your given names.”

He shoots his brother a sheepish look. “You could say I harassed him into it?” Technically, he's not lying.

Jiang Cheng snorts, “Of course you did. Still doesn’t explain why he’s letting you do this.”

Wei Wuxian shrugs, “Lan Zhan isn’t as rigid as the rumours say. He’s actually really kind. Don’t let that stoic face fool you, Jiang Cheng, he actually loves the idea of flying.”

Jiang Cheng looks at him disbelievingly, but says nothing. Wei Wuxian smiles slightly before turning to chat with his fellow Jiang Clan disciples. He’s missed them, too. They come to a halt a few minutes later at the edge of a long meadow, kept invisible from any prying eyes in the Cloud Recesses by the forest that edges it.

Jiang Cheng grins widely and immediately starts organising the gathered disciples into groups to race. “Alright, across the meadow, loop around the border trees and back. Six to a group and everyone else can judge. Nie Huaisang has the final ruling. Top two from each group will make the final six. Alright?”

He’s greeted with nods and murmurs of assent as everyone starts breaking themselves into groups. Wei Wuxian grins, seeing the echo of the authoritative Jiang Sect Leader his brother is well on his way to becoming. He sidles over to Lan Wangji and grins up at him, “Separate groups now and then I beat you in the final?”

Lan Wangji’s next exhale is slightly more forceful, which on anyone else would be a snort. “Wei Ying is very optimistic.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian gasps, rearing back in mock offence, “Are you sassing me? Isn’t that forbidden in the Cloud Recesses?”

Lan Wangji looks pointedly around at where they are very clearly not in the Cloud Recesses, but only says, “I was merely commenting on Wei Ying’s personality. It is good to believe in victory in competition, whatever the odds.”

“Whatever the odds!?” Wei Wuxian screeches, clutching at his heart, “Lan Zhan, how rude! Just you wait, I’m going to leave you in my dust!”

Around them, their fellow disciples fall silent, watching the two bicker back and forth in amazement. The assembled GusuLan disciples eye them with awe as the talkative Jiang disciple manages to breech the walls of ice around their Second Jade as if they simply do not exist, and also apparently read tone and implication what sounds like completely impassive words. A couple cannot help the bitter envy that arises in them, remembering their own failed attempts to make up to the emotionless Lan Wangji, only to be rebuffed. Eventually, as the first group gets ready to race, Jiang Wanyin storms over to retrieve his errant shixiong, shoving him towards the assembled racers with an order to “Stop playing around and go race, since this is all your fault!”

Wei Wuxian grins at him before drawing Suibian, nearly tearing up at the ease with which he can unsheathe it and the brightness of its sword glare. He steps on to the blade almost cautiously, hovering up and down a few inches as he gets used to the feeling of flying on his own all over again. He aims a radiant grin at Lan Wangji, who watches him fondly from the side, as Nie Huaisang begins counting down, and lets his body relax into the familiar stance as muscle memory takes over.

“Go!” shouts Nie Huaisang, and Wei Wuxian shoots forward, wind whipping through his robes. He lets out a shout of joy, pouring more and more spiritual energy into the sword below him, forgetting everything but the feel of the sword beneath his feet, holding him up, carrying him forward, all on his own, his Suibian. He loops around the treeline at a possibly dangerous speed, and closes his eyes as he focuses on the home stretch.

All too soon, it’s over. He hears Nie Huaisang exclaim something as he crosses their finish line, and Jiang Cheng’s “Holy shit, Wei Wuxian!” But he only has eyes for his husband as he leaps down from his sword in front of him, robes and hair a mess, his face flushed with adrenaline. “Lan Zhan, did you see that?”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji, his eyes full of pleased affection. Behind him, a Nie sect disciple crosses the finish line—just a few seconds behind Wei Wuxian—but neither Wei Wuxian nor Lan Wangji spare him a glance.

Wei Wuxian grins widely, “Lan Zhan, don’t lose in the next round. I definitely want to race you later.”

One of Lan Wangji’s eyebrows twitches just the tiniest bit upward as he stares down his incorrigible, attractive husband. “I will not. Now or later.”

He walks away, stepping calmly on to Bichen as he lines up alongside the next round of disciples, and Wei Wuxian has to bite his lip to prevent himself from jumping his husband then and there. He finally breaks his gaze to look around, and catches sight of a GusuLan disciple who seems to be glaring at him rather intensely. The disciple looks away as soon as Wei Wuxian catches his eye, but Wei Wuxian continues to frown at him. There is something familiar about the boy, but he cannot put his finger on it. But then again, he’s had that feeling so many times over the last few days. He shrugs it off and makes his way to Nie Huaisang’s side, smirking as he catches him placing bets with his fellow disciples.

“I’ll put my money on Lan Zhan for the next round,” he says, swinging an arm around Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang snorts at him, “Good luck finding anyone to take that bet, Wei-xiong. Everyone knows Lan-er-gongzi will win.”

“For now,” he says, staring at the broad, white-robed back of his husband as he bends forward slightly before shooting off.

“Wei-xiong, please,” Nie Huaisang sighs, long suffering, “Stop looking at him like that. There are children present.”

“Absolutely not,” Wei Wuxian replies absentmindedly as his eyes track the white-robed streak racing across the meadow, “Nie-gongzi, do you have any idea how well he ri–”

He’s interrupted by a low moan and a hand slapping across his mouth. He finally breaks his gaze to look down at Nie Huaisang, eyes shining with amusement.

“Please,” Nie Huaisang begs, “Stop talking.”

“What’s he doing now?” Jiang Cheng interrupts, eyebrows raised as he comes up to them. “Wei Wuxian, since when have you been able to fly like that?”

“Always, I guess,” Wei Wuxian responds distractedly, attention already recaptured by the white-robed figure of Lan Wangji making its way to the finish line, easily ahead of his group. “God. Fuck. I am going to beat him.”

Jiang Cheng eyes follow after his brother as he bounces up to where Lan Wangji has crossed the finish line, and is stepping down calmly from his sword, not a hair out of place. He snorts, “That idiot is going to end up annoying Lan Wangji to death.”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang comments from beside him, almost despairingly.

By the time he’s gathered at the final line-up next to his husband, Wei Wuxian is almost vibrating out of his skin. On his other side, a smug Jiang Cheng, who had won the last group by narrowly beat out a disgruntled Jin Zixuan, knocks his shoulder with his own and mutters, “Don’t do anything stupid and don’t lose to the peacock.”

“As if,” Wei Wuxian snorts, stepping onto Suibian and letting its comforting hum settle him. He turns his head towards Lan Wangji and grins, “Lan Zhan, I’m going to win.”

“Wei Ying is welcome to try,” Lan Wangji says calmly as Nie Huaisang starts counting down.

Wei Wuxian chokes back a laugh as they start forward, focusing his spiritual energy on his sword. He’s missed this—being able to meet Lan Wangji head on. He and Lan Wangji rocket straight ahead, neck and neck the entire way. They leave the others behind, whipping around the treeline in unison and dashing back across the meadow. Wei Wuxian lets out a loud laugh that dissolves in the rush of wind around them. Lan Wangji’s face curves into the smallest of smiles at the sound, even as he pushes a last jolt of spiritual energy into Bichen, pulling just ahead of Wei Wuxian as they cross the finish line.

“No!!”

Lan Wangji quickly hides his smile before turning an impassive face to his distraught husband. He sees Jiang Wanyin cross the finish line over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, mere seconds behind them. Thankfully, he doesn’t appear particularly bothered about losing to them, instead turning to shoot a triumphant smirk at Jin Zixuan, who follows him closely.

“Lan Zhan, I want a rematch!” Wei Wuxian cries, snapping Lan Wangji’s attention back to his pouting husband. “Let’s race again right now! I’ll definitely win this time.”

Lan Wangji knows his husband can read the amusement on his face as he says, “Another time, Wei Ying. We must return now.”

Wei Wuxian’s pout only intensifies. “But I still want to fly.”

“Fly back,” he suggests calmly, knowing Wei Wuxian will expend the rest of his energy practicing tricks on their way through the forest.

“Stop making a fuss, Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Wanyin says, coming up to pull his brother into a headlock (much to Lan Wangji’s displeasure). “Isn’t losing once enough for you?”

“Jiang Cheng!” cries Wei Wuxian, struggling free of his hold, “Don’t be so mean. I can’t help it if Lan Zhan is better than me. But I’ll definitely win next time, just you wait!”

Lan Wangji blinks at the odd choice of wording, wondering if Jiang Wanyin understands what his brother is telling him. His feelings towards the Jiang heir are complicated. He can no more blame him now for his actions and words against Wei Wuxian in the future than he can blame the current Meng Yao for his future self’s mistakes. At the same time, however, he is very aware of the limitations of Jiang Wanyin’s character, and the threshold of his love for Wei Wuxian. He does not like it, cannot like it, but he will do everything in his power to make sure it is never reached. Wei Wuxian should never again have to fear his brother’s words.

He sinks into his thoughts as the disciples make their way back to the Cloud Recesses, keeping half an eye on his mischievous husband—still on Suibian—who swirls and twists his way around tree branches.

Wei Wuxian hums as he spins his way through the trees just ahead of the other disciples, testing out every trick he can remember from his reckless youth. He turns his head back to call out to Lan Wangji and notices the slight frown on his husband’s face. Momentarily distracted, he forgets where he’s meant to be going and promptly crashes straight into the branches of a tree with a winded “Oof!”

“Wei Ying!”

“Wei Wuxian!”

He ignores their calls as he tries to pull himself up, only to find his robes caught in the branches, pulling him back down to hang from them comically. Somewhere below him, Suibian clatters onto a low branch and balances there perfectly. The laugh that bubbles out of him at the ridiculousness of it all does nothing reassure his husband and brother appear at his side, hovering anxiously. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he chokes out between giggles, “Just stopped paying attention for a moment. Really, I’m alright. Wipe those looks off your faces and help me free my robes, will you?”

His laughter at least manages to calm his brother, whose worry is immediately covered up with anger as he starts scolding Wei Wuxian for his carelessness, which Wei Wuxian happily pays absolutely no attention to. Next to him, Lan Wangji brushes his hand as he pulls his sleeve free from where it was tangled around a branch, quietly passing him a small stream of spiritual energy. His shoulders finally relax when he finds that Wei Wuxian really is alright except for a few shallow scrapes, and he lets Wei Wuxian see his small, nearly invisible smile in response to his joy. He wraps an arm around Wei Wuxian’s giggling form and carries him down to the ground where the other disciples are gathered as Jiang Cheng goes to grab Suibian. Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian glimpses that same GusuLan disciple from earlier—face twisted into something ugly as he glares at where Lan Wangji’s arm steadies Wei Wuxian—but is immediately distracted by Jiang Cheng, who tosses Suibian to him with a huff.

“What are you laughing for, idiot?” Jiang Cheng demands as Wei Wuxian sheathes his sword. But his voice is completely devoid of heat and Wei Wuxian knows he’s amused as well. “Getting distracted and crashing into trees like a novice. You’re disgracing our sect.”

Suddenly, a new voice calls out, tone snide and ingratiating, “Do not be so harsh on him, Jiang-gongzi. Perhaps Wei-gongzi simply had trouble controlling his sword. Fine control is a different skill from speed, after all.”

Both Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji immediately freeze, furious, as the surrounding disciples fall silent. Wei Wuxian’s laugh dies out, but he keeps his amused grin as he turns to the offending GusuLan disciple, who visibly bristles when he smirks, “You’re entirely right, of course. They are different. How fortunate that you are here to teach me, umm… who are you?”

The disciple glowers at him, “Su She, courtesy name Minshan.”

Wei Wuxian blinks before his smirk widens. Ah, he thinks, this piece of shit. He grins as insultingly as possible when he replies, “If Su-gongzi is unsatisfied with my abilities, I would be pleased to display my skills against his own.”

Su Minshan, who had lost rather embarrassingly to him in the first round of races, colours in anger. Before he can speak, however, Jiang Cheng interrupts angrily, “What display? Everyone knows you’re the most skilled flier in Yunmeng. Criticising your skills is the same as criticising the YunmengJiang Sect.”

Su Minshan pales considerably as the Jiang Sect heir turns his terrifying glare on him. He turns to look at Lan Wangji for help, and is shocked by the visible fury on the Second Jade’s face. Lan Wangji turns away from him stiffly and bows to the Jiang Sect heir, much to said Sect heir’s surprise. “I apologise on behalf of my Sect disciple, Jiang-gongzi. I assure you that the Lan Sect holds the skills of the YunmengJiang Sect in highest esteem, and Wei Wuxian has more than proven his skills as a master of the six arts. I assure you that such an insult by my Sect’s disciple will not go unpunished.”

“Apology accepted, Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Cheng says, startled and a little smug, “We hold no grudge against the Lan Sect, and will endeavour to forget your disciple’s ill considered words to our head disciple.”

Lan Wangji murmurs his thanks and straightens from his bow, before turning a flint-like gaze on the now shaking Su Minshan. Wei Wuxian startles from his wide-eyed staring between his husband and brother and steps forward, laying a placating hand on Lan Wangji’s arm (though he doesn’t miss the way Su Minshan’s face twitches at the contact). “Ah, Lan Zhan. It’s okay.”

Lan Wangji pays him no mind and Jiang Cheng pulls him back, quietly whispering, “Shut up idiot, this isn’t just about you.”

Lan Wangji’s furious stare bores holes into Su Minshan where he stands, but his tone is hard as ice when he speaks, “Condescension and mockery are forbidden. Disparagement of another’s skills is forbidden. Showing disrespect to members of another sect is forbidden. Su Minshan has displayed unbecoming behaviour for a Lan disciple. You will copy the Code of Conduct thirty times, while doing handstands. You will also report to the Grandmaster in the morning for further discussion with regard to your insult to the YunmengJiang sect.”

With that, Lan Wangji turns his back entirely on Su Minshan—who looks embarrassed and dumbfounded, his face the colour of chalk—and looks instead at Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, his entire demeanour relaxing. Around them, nobody dares to speak, remembering suddenly just why the Second Jade is so feared. Wei Wuxian sees the dawning respect and humour on Jiang Cheng’s face as Lan Wangji politely inquires if they are ready to proceed back to the Cloud Recesses, the picture of a polite young master of his sect. He wants to grin, but is too busy biting his lower lip speechlessly and fighting the urge to jump his Lan Zhan then and there because that was unbearably hot and Wei Wuxian is only one man. He takes a deep breath as they make their way into the Cloud Recesses, trying his best to focus on the extremely polite, almost amiable, conversation that Jiang Cheng is apparently having with his husband and not on his desperate desire to tear Lan Wangji’s clothes off.

*

It’s only several hours later that Wei Wuxian is able to sneak into the Jingshi to find his husband, who sits calmly before his guqin and has the audacity to look surprised when Wei Wuxian throws himself into his lap. He curls around his husband, wrapping his legs around his waist and burying his face in Lan Wangji’s neck as he whines, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, you’re so mean! Your poor husband has been living in agony for the last few hours. Lan Zhan, you can’t just eviscerate someone like that and then not expect to jump you immediately! How cruel. You destroyed that idiot. Nie Huaisang was beside himself. I think he may try to steal you from me now.”

Above him, Lan Wangji lets out a small huff of laughter and he wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian’s quivering form. But his voice, when he speaks, drips with contempt, “Su Minshan deserved it. He should not have spoken to Wei Ying that way.”

“But Lan Zhan, did you really have to embarrass him so thoroughly like that?” Wei Wuxian asks, even as he wiggles in delight in his husband’s lap.

“I only fulfilled my role as a disciplinarian of the Lan Sect,” Lan Wangji says simply, though Wei Wuxian can hear the edge of smug satisfaction in his tone, “Anything else would have been remiss of me. He could have affected the Lan Sect’s relations with the Jiang Sect. His punishment was appropriate.”

Wei Wuxian pulls back to grin up at him, “Lan Zhan, you fiend! Look at your face. You did it on purpose!”

“He should not have spoken thus to Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji repeats simply.

Wei Wuxian blushes and curls further into his husband’s embrace, whining softly. “Lan Zhaaan! Are you going to fight everyone who’s mean to me?”

“Yes. Wei Ying is mine to protect.”

Wei Wuxian feels his blush deepening and he pulls his brilliant, amazing, absolutely ridiculous husband flush against him. Words like those deserve a reward, and Wei Wuxian is very very eager to show his Lan Zhan exactly how much he appreciates them.

Chapter Text

As far as Wei Wuxian is concerned, Nie Mingjue’s arrival at the Cloud Recesses early one morning, three days later, could certainly have gone better. For one, the sect leader could have chosen not to storm across the Cloud Recesses shouting for his brother without a care for GusuLan’s rules precisely when Jiang Cheng was walking with them to class. For another, it would have been great if said shouting, storming sect leader didn’t draw every eye upon them as they stood frozen on the open pathway. And it would really, really have been preferable if Lan Xichen wasn’t following close behind sect leader, about to witness a reunion that they have deliberately not provided him context for.

Lan Wangji rounds the corner of the pathway at that moment, definitely not running, but his gliding footsteps aren’t exactly slow and measured either as he makes his way to their side. Wei Wuxian sees his eyes tighten when he notices his brother before he turns to meet his own despairingly.

“Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue shouts, “What’s going on? If you called me here as another prank, I’m going to make you practice your saber for so long your arms will fall off!”

Wei Wuxian turns his eyes to his friend, who has turned white as a sheet, his fan dropping from nerveless and shaking fingers as he stares unblinking at his brother’s approaching figure. He winces and places what he hopes is a calming hand on his shoulder, but it only seems to make the shaking worse. Beside them, Jiang Cheng looks between the two brothers in the pendulum of wide-eyed confusion.

The Nie Sect Leader comes to a thundering halt before them and Wei WuXian has never missed his height more as he looks up at the towering silhouette of Nie Mingjue in his prime.

“Huaisang?” Nie Mingjue asks hesitantly, frown turning concerned and the booming echo suddenly vanishing from his voice as he takes in just how ashen his little brother has become. “Huaisang, are you alright?”

Nie Huaisang sways where he stands, still staring at his brother like he’s seen a ghost, which, as far as Wei Wuxian is concerned, is fair and actually pretty fucking accurate. He wraps an arm around his shoulder to steady him and lets Huaisang lean into his side unconsciously, even as Nie Mingjue’s hands come up and hover awkwardly before his brother, unsure of what to do and filled with worry now. Now standing beside them, Lan Xichen looks worriedly between the Nie brothers and then at Wei Wuxian, gaze questioning. But Wei Wuxian only shakes his head and eyes Jiang Cheng’s baffled profile meaningfully.

“Ah,” Lan Xichen says, cutting into the silence with his usual calm, “Huaisang appears to be unwell. Could we trouble you to escort him to the medical pavilion, Wei-gongzi? I will ensure that you are excused from your morning’s class.”

Nie Mingjue blurts, “What? I can–” before shutting up with a frown, obviously unnerved by the warning look Lan Xichen shoots him.

Wei Wuxian nods at him gratefully, and Lan WangJi turns his icy glare on their gawking onlookers, who swiftly recall all the other places they undoubtedly need to be. After a moment’s hesitation, Jiang Cheng bows to the assembled group and hurries down the pathway towards the Lanshi, only pausing to shoot a look at his brother, which is met with a shrug. As Jiang Cheng turns the corner, Wei WuXian turns to look worriedly at Nie Huaisang, who has yet to say anything.

Nie Huaisang is still staring at his brother, but now he blinks furiously in an attempt at holding back tears as his mouth opens, closes, and open again. “Da-ge…” he whispers, voice hoarse as if he’s been screaming.

Nie Mingjue’s frown deepens in evident worry as he reaches out a hand to clasp his little brother on the shoulder. “Huaisang, what is it?”

But the moment his hand touches his brother, Nie Huaisang lets out a gasp and rips himself away from Wei Wuxian to throw himself at his brother, arms wrapping around his middle as he sobs, “Da-ge… Da-ge, Da-ge, Da-ge!”

Nie Mingjue freezes, eyes widened in panic for a moment before he awkwardly lifts his arms and wraps them around his little brother. “I swear to god, Huaisang,” he mutters gruffly, even as his arms tighten, “If this is your way of trying to get out of studying here again, I’m going to break your legs in a dozen pieces each.”

A choked, slightly hysterical giggle emerges from within his arms, muffled against his broad chest. “You wouldn’t, Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, even as his tears continue to fall. His only response is a derisive sounding grunt.

Wei Wuxian can’t help his small smile, even as he turns to look meaningfully at Lan Wangji, glancing between the Nie brothers an alarmed Lan Xichen. Lan Wangji turns to his brother, “Xiongzhang, we should go to the Jingshi.”

Lan Xichen snaps out of his trance and nods at them in understanding before placing a careful hand on Nie Mingjue’s arm and catching his friend’s eye.

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue growls, “What has happened to Huaisang?”

Lan Xichen sighs, “This is what I tried to explain at the gates, Mingjue, before you came storming here. There’s something we need to discuss with you.”

Nie Mingjue’s frown only deepens, “Is Huaisang–?”

“I’m fine, Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says, finally pulling away from his brother and wiping furiously at his face, suddenly unable to meet his eye. “Lan-er-gongzi is right. We should go; we can’t talk here. Wei-xiong has a plan.” His voice breaks into something a little self-deprecatingly at the end.

Nie Mingjue’s gaze sweeps over Wei Wuxian for a moment, eyes cool and assessing, before he turns to the Lan brothers with a nod. Wei Wuxian represses a shiver at the memory of Nie Mingjue’s violently resentful corpse as he picks up Nie Huaisang’s long-forgotten fan and hands it back to him. He nudges the younger Nie brother gently as they walk towards the Jingshi, “Are you okay?”

Nie Huaisang swallows and nods, eyes trained on his brother’s back as he walks ahead alongside Lan Xichen. “I… yes. Sorry, Wei-xiong, that wasn’t part of the plan. I just…”

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian says, smiling, “You don’t have to apologise. I get it. It’ll be alright, Nie-xiong.”

Nie Huaisang nods, but his hands continue to tremble as they make their way into the Jingshi and gather awkwardly around the too-small table.

“What’s going on?” Nie Mingjue demands as soon as they’re all seated, forgoing all social protocols, “What happened to Huaisang? Has someone hurt you?” Hia hand clenches over the hilt of Baxia as he speaks, a storm brewing in his eyes.

“Mingjue,” Lan Xichen starts, “Huaisang is fine. No one has hurt him here. I… I don’t know why–” he breaks off to shoot a suspicious frown at Lan Wangji before shaking his head, deciding to move on. “There’s something important these three need to tell you. It is… rather unbelievable, but Wangji and Wuxian have already spoken to me and I trust them. I ask you to hear them out patiently. It is a matter that affects us all.”

Nie Mingjue’s frown stays in place, but he straightens, suddenly the picture of a Sect Leader as he looks at each of the three boys in turn. His eyes end on Wei Wuxian, his eyebrows rising in confusion. Wei Wuxian blinks and then startles. Oh, of course, Nie Mingjue has no idea who he is. He stands up from beside Lan Wangji and bows quickly, “My apologies, Sect Leader Nie. This one is Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian, from the YunmengJiang Sect.”

Nie Mingjue nods, his eyes sharp, obviously having heard of him, before turning back to his brother, “What do you have to tell me, Huaisang?”

Nie Huaisang gulps, hands tightening in his lap. “Da-ge, I-we-,” he stutters before falling silent again.

 “Mingjue,” Lan Xichen interrupts, his voice taking on a soothing tone, “These three boys have experienced something rather unbelievable, and they need you to keep an open mind about it. The three of them are actually not as they seem. They have... they’ve actually travelled here from more than twenty years in the future.”

The silence that follows is heavy and uncomfortable. “What?” Nie Mingjue says slowly, voicing biting with anger, “What are you talking about, Xichen? Huaisang, I know you didn’t want to come back here to study, but to make up such a stupid story and convince Xichen to play along is beneath you.”

Nie Huaisang pales, but he draws himself up and looks his older brother determinedly in the eye, “It’s the truth, Da-ge. Lan-er-gongzi, Wei-xiong, and I are from the future.”

“Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue says, frustrated and surprised by his brother’s insistence, glancing at the other two boys who look back at him seriously, “This isn’t a game! You sent me a letter saying there was something urgent! I dropped everything just to rush here because I thought you knew better than this!”

“We can prove it,” Wei Wuxian says, deciding enough is enough as Nie Huaisang flinches.

Nie Mingjue’s eyes snap to him and narrow, “How?”

“Nie-xiong will conduct Empathy with you.” Wei Wuxian smiles as Nie Mingjue’s eyes widen in disbelief. Next to him, Lan Xichen frowns at him and then at Lan Wangji, who is doing his best to avoid that suspicious gaze, and pushes down a rueful smile. He had told Lan Zhan that he wouldn’t be able to keep everything from his brother so easily. But his husband is nothing if not stubborn.

“Empathy is a high grade and dangerous spell,” Nie Mingjue says, pulling him back to the present. He pauses and frowns, thinking deeply for a moment as his gaze sweeps over them again. “Even if I were to believe you, Huaisang’s spiritual energy isn’t strong enough for that. And even if it were, I wouldn’t allow him to do something so dangerous,” he says, finally.

Wei Wuxian grins brightly at the frowning man, “We’ve taken care of that, actually.” He turns to Nie Huaisang, who now looks decidedly nervous, “Do you have the seal on you?”

Nie Huaisang nods, pulling it from his sleeve. Wei Wuxian takes it from him, ignoring Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue’s curious looks, and quickly draws a talisman over it. He frowns for a moment in concentration before smiling, “Okay, great. This should be enough spiritual energy. Good job, Huaisang! You listened!”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you wouldn’t have found another way if I didn’t, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, taking it back and holding it carefully in his hands.

Wei Wuxian smirks and jumps up, nodding to Lan Wangji who rises beside him, “Okay, we’re going to set up. Nie-xiong, explain the seal to Sect Leader Nie and Xichen-ge, won’t you?”

As Nie Huaisang talks, he and Lan Wangji start moving the furniture of the Jingshi to clear a large section of the floor. That done, Wei Wuxian immediately gets to work drawing up his new array as Lan Wangji sets up protective wards all around the borders of the array and the Jingshi, both working together with the smooth ease of long practice. Once Wei Wuxian is satisfied with how the completed array looks, Lan Wangji comes over for a last check, looking over his shoulder and placing a small kiss on his cheek in approval. Wei Wuxian smiles and looks up, only to blush instantly when he finds the other three staring at them in varying degrees of amusement and disbelief.

Nie Mingjue turns an incredulous look on Lan Xichen, whose mouth turns up ruefully, “Apparently, Wangji and Wuxian are married in their time.”

Nie Mingjue chokes, turning back to stare at Lan Wangji, who has always unnerved him with how unflappable and cold he can be, and whose ears now redden as he avoids his wide-eyed gaze. Then, as if struck by lightening, Nie Mingjue spins to face his brother. “Huaisang!” He shouts, voice strained and slightly panicked, “Are you married, too!?”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he chokes out, “What? Da-ge, no!”

Nie Mingjue frowns at his little brother, though Wei Wuxian can see the amusement and relief lurking in his gaze, “Aren’t you supposed to be an adult? Why not?”

Nie Huaisang turns red, “You’re an adult! Why aren’t you!?”

Lan Xichen clears his throat, interrupting Nie Mingjue’s angry spluttering, obviously eager to get back to the topic at hand though the corner of his mouth twitches up. “Wuxian, will you explain what this is, please? Huaisang has told us about this seal—which is remarkable—but he seems unclear on its precise functioning and your plan to conduct Empathy.”

Wei Wuxian grins at him brightly. “I can explain the precise workings of the seal later, if you want, but it basically works as a store for spiritual energy. This array,” he says, gesturing proudly at his latest invention, “Will allow them to conduct empathy safely.” Seeing Nie Mingjue’s sceptical look, his grin widens as he explains, “The array is actually divided into two; one side for each of you. Both of you will need to feed a little bit of spiritual energy into your side, and then stay within its borders while you conduct Empathy. When you need Empathy to end, Lan Zhan and I will use spiritual music to anchor your souls to your spiritual energy. So no matter what happens, you’ll both be firmly tied and easily led back to your own bodies.”

Lan Xichen looks at him with wide eyes and something like awe. Nie Mingjue frowns down at the array. “I’ve never heard of such an array,” he says gruffly, “Where did you find it?”

“I made it,” Wei Wuxian says and shrugs when the Sect Leaders snaps his eyes up to him in disbelief.

“You made this? How? And how are you certain it will work?”

“It will work.” Lan Wangji says coolly, eyes hard as he stares at Nie Mingjue.

“Da-ge, you can trust it. Wei-xiong’s inventions are always trustworthy.” Nie Huaisang adds, coming up to stand beside Wei Wuxian and giving him a slight, strained smile. “Where do I focus my spiritual energy, Wei-xiong?”

Wei Wuxian smiles at him and directs him to the right spot, even as Lan Wangji leads a reluctant Nie Mingjue to do the same on the other side. Wei Wuxian glances at Nie Huaisang as he finishes, and finds him looking decidedly nauseated, with his hands clenched tightly over the seal. He places a calming hand on his shoulder and smiles as reassuringly as he can. “It’ll be okay, Nie-xiong. He’ll understand.”

“How do you know?” Nie Huaisang asks nervously as his brother sits calmly within the array, staring intently across at him.

Wei Wuxian smiles, “He’s an older brother. Trust me, I’ve had the dubious pleasure of being inside his head. He might be mad, but he’ll get it. He loves you and nothing will change that. Just be honest and don’t leave anything out.” He catches the quick glance Nie Huaisang shoots him and raises an eyebrow wryly, “What, you think I don’t know? Nie-xiong, trust me. Show him the truth. He deserves to know.”

Something cracks in Nie Huaisang’s expression and, for a moment, Wei Wuxian wonders if this is most honest he’s ever seen him. “Remember that when it’s your turn,” he says, faint amusement colouring his tone as he settles into his part of the array, seal held tightly in one hand as he extends the other to his brother.

“Okay, Nie-xiong, it’s just like we practiced. First, establish an open line with the seal so you have a continuous flow. Yes, good. Now close your eyes and beckon to your brother’s spirit.”

He breathes a sigh of relief as both brothers close their eyes, slipping into Empathy. He pulls out the rough bamboo flute he carved a couple of days ago and twirls it in his hand as he sidles up to Lan Wangji and nudges him, looking pointedly towards Lan Xichen, who is watching the two in the array with worry. Lan Wangji sighs lightly as Lan Xichen looks up and comes toward them, determination marking his every step.

“I believe there are things you left out of your explanation, Wangji, Wuxian,” he says, his usual smile nowhere to be seen.

Wei Wuxian gulps and looks at his husband, who looks back at him uncertainly. He sighs and turns back to Lan Xichen, “We didn’t tell you much about what happened after I died. Lan Zhan wanted to spare your feelings because none of it will actually happen this time so it doesn’t really matter.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes narrow as he glances back at the younger Nie brother. “I believe I should be the judge of that.”

Next to him, Lan Wangji sighs in resignation. “A few years after Wei Ying... was gone, Sect Leader Nie died of qi deviation. After Wei Ying returned, we discovered that the qi deviation had been orchestrated to murder Sect Leader Nie.”

Lan Xichen pales, glancing instinctively at his friend for reassurance as he whispers hoarsely, “The Jin GuangYao you mentioned. Was it him?”

Lan Wangji nods, looking away uncomfortably, “Nie Huaisang discovered the plot over the years and planned revenge for his brother. Part of his plot involved Wei Ying’s resurrection. But his brother’s death is why he brought us back, we think. Revenge was... not enough, in the end.”

Lan Xichen nods slowly, surprise melting away as he turns back to the two brothers still in the array, his face suddenly haggard. “Thank you for telling me,” he says softly, “It is painful but... I am glad to know it.”

Behind his back, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji exchange a quick, worried glance. “Um, Xichen-ge,” Wei Wuxian says softly after a minute, desperate to distract him. As Lan Xichen turns towards them, he smiles as brightly as he can and says, “None of that has happened here. And it will not. For now, we can only focus on this. Could you play the Song of Clarity for them? I think it would help them as they get to the more… distressing parts.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes soften and he nods, settling in a corner of the Jingshi as he pulls out Liebing and begins to play, eyes sliding shut. With a small sigh of relief, Wei Wuxian presses Lan Wangji’s hand and smiles at him reassuringly before going to take his place just outside the array behind Huaisang. Behind Nie Mingjue, Lan Wangji follows suit, summoning his guqin and closing his eyes; he focuses calmly on his brother’s playing and the state of the spiritual energy before him, forgetting all else.

It’s three hours later when even Clarity doesn’t seem to help calm the two in the array. Both brothers frown deeply and Nie Huaisang begins to shake.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian calls, putting his flute to his lips.

Lan Wangji’s hands are already on his guqin as he nods, and they both start playing. It’s a relatively simple tune, less refined than they would both like, but it works well enough for now. Wei Wuxian pushes his spiritual energy into the song, letting it resonate with Nie Huaisang’s spiritual energy in the array and gently call to his soul. On the other side of the array, Lan Wangji does the same for the Nie Sect Leader. For a minute, nothing happens, and Wei Wuxian grows increasingly worried as he pushes more of his spiritual energy into the song.

Then, with a gasp, Nie Huaisang’s eyes fly open and he pulls back from his brother, whose eyes flutter open a moment later. Nie Huaisang scrambles to his feet and backs away, eyeing his brother with a mix of trepidation and fear. For a moment, Nie Mingjue doesn’t move, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face, too quick to decipher. Then suddenly, he’s on his feet, advancing on Nie Huaisang with a frankly terrifying look on his face. Nie Huaisang shrinks in on himself, staring up at his brother’s looming form with wide, wide eyes.

There’s a moment of tense silence and then Nie Mingjue smacks his little brother upside the head. “You’re an idiot,” he snarls, and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug.

The seal clatters to the floor as Nie Huaisang’s arms come up around his brother’s middle and clutch fiercely at the back of his robes. “Da-ge,” comes a muffled sob, “Da-ge, I’m sorry. Da-ge!”

“Shut up,” Nie Mingjue snarls, but his hold on his brother only tightens. “I should have you whipped. You fool, what were you thinking!?”

Wei Wuxian moves to Lan Wangji’s side as Nie Huaisang mumbles incoherently into his brother’s chest, the relieved grin spreading across his face mirrored by his husband’s soft smile. Having aborted his attempt to approach his friend just yet, Lan Xichen politely turns away from the Nie brothers to study Wei Wuxian’s array. But Wei Wuxian cannot look away from them. He wraps an arm around Lan Wangji’s waist, tilting his head to let it rest against Lan Wangji’s own as he smiles. Whatever else they may or may not be able to change this time around, here at least is one good thing. One good, bright thing and Wei Wuxian is trying very hard not to let his tears fall. In his chest, something small and warm flares to life—something that feels very much like hope.

Chapter Text

It is late morning on one of their rare days without lectures and the Jingshi stands peacefully, crowned in warm sunlight as the mountain breeze weaves its way through its open windows, carrying a melody out across the paths of the Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji sits serenely behind his guqin, hands weaving their way across its strings as he composes. Eventually, he will need to test the melody's capabilities with spiritual energy, but for now he takes pleasure in the simple act of creation. A few feet from him, Wei Wuxian is busy sketching out his previous inventions in a notebook, humming along to parts of Lan Wangji’s new melody and occasionally glancing up to shoot him small smiles that Lan Wangji could not prevent himself from returning if he tried.

It is a good day, and Lan Wangji does not hesitate to indulge in this calm joy. Though it has barely been two weeks since they returned to this time, each day has felt far longer in their pretence and mess of emotions, and Lan Wangji has been feeling their weight. Wei Wuxian has, as well, if his exhausted sighs in the last week have been any indication.

“Let’s take a break, Lan Zhan,” he had groaned into Lan Wangji’s shoulder three days ago after yet another emotionally charged meeting with the Nie brothers as they stared each other down over another aspect of Nie Huaisang’s plans, “No more confrontations for a few days. I know it’s my turn for a brotherly emotional breakdown, but can we please just postpone it? Just by a few days, Lan Zhan, please?”

Despite the dramatic delivery, Lan Wangji could hear the exhaustion and fear underlying his husband’s request. Wei Wuxian was terrified of talking to his brother and losing him again in consequence, and Lan Wangji understands. Unlike Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, Jiang Wanyin is still a child, still sixteen and naïve and spoiled, and deeply vulnerable beneath his aggressive posturing. And Lan Wangji knows how deeply Wei Wuxian treasures this version of his brother, whose angry remarks hold no real bite, and whose rare smiles hold true delight without a shadow of years of bitterness.

So he does not hesitate to agree to give Wei Wuxian time to hold on to that happiness as long as he can. And with Nie Mingjue spending his remaining couple of days holed up with his brother and no threats hovering over them that require their immediate concern, Lan Wangji is only too pleased to take a break himself and enjoy simply being with his husband as he hasn’t been able to do in weeks.

It is consequently a shock when he feels the wards around the Jingshi being breached, and hears thunderous footsteps making their way up the steps. He has time only to exchange a shocked glance with Wei Wuxian before the main door of the Jingshi is being slammed open and his uncle stands on the threshold, face red with fury.

“Wangji!” his uncle thunders as he sweeps into the room, “What is this I am hearing from Xichen? What are–” He cuts himself off as his gaze lands on Wei Wuxian’s frozen form still bent to write on the low table, and his face reddens further in anger. “You-!” he says, voice rising to nearly a shout, “What are you doing here? How dare you trespass on Wangji’s private quarters?”

Before either of them can respond, Lan Xichen hurries into the Jingshi behind their uncle and bows to them apologetically. “Wangji, Wuxian, I’m sorry for intruding. I spoke to uncle about what you told me, but as soon as I mentioned your marriage, he… insisted to coming here to speak to you. Forgive us for disturbing you.”

Lan Wangji catches his brother’s eye and reads in them everything he is not saying. Their uncle was sceptical about the news of their return from the future but apoplectic at the thought of Cangse Sanren’s son marrying Lan Wangji. He gives his brother a short nod, even as his lips thin in displeasure.

“Xichen!” Lan Qiren snaps, “It is inappropriate for you to refer to a guest disciple with such familiarity. Wei Wuxian is–”

“My husband,” Lan Wangji cuts him off firmly.

Lan Qiren’s eyes snap to him. “Wangji! I do not know what he has done to make you play along with this farce, but that is going too far!”

“It is the truth, Uncle,” Lan Wangji says calmly, rising to stand beside Wei Wuxian, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Wei Ying is my husband. I am certain xiongzhang has told you of what has occurred.”

“Time travel!” Lan Qiren scoffs, “You would have me believe this? This is another one of his pranks. For you to play along is shameful, Wangji. There will be punishment for this.”

Lan Wangji freezes for an instant, his grip tightening on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

“No,” Wei Wuxian says, quietly, in a voice cold enough to freeze the sun. “You may punish me for whatever you want, but you will not punish Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying,” he tries placating, but cannot continue; the words stuck in his throat.

Wei Wuxian stands abruptly and turns to him with burning eyes. “No, Lan Zhan. Never again. You are as much mine to protect as I am yours and that holds true, whenever and wherever we are.”

Lan Wangji feels himself melt as he reaches out to wrap an arm around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders to pull him close, ignoring his uncle’s furious cry.

“It will be alright, Wei Ying,” he says, pressing his forehead to his husband’s.

“Lan Wangji! Stop this at once! Wei Wuxian, how dare you? Unhand my nephew and remove yourself from the Jingshi at once. You have no place here.”

Lan Wangji knows, logically, that his uncle’s anger is meant to be protective. He knows his uncle does not like Wei Wuxian as he had disliked Cangse Sanren. He knows his uncle’s anger now is largely rooted in uncertainty and fear. But knowing these things does nothing to dispel the fury that sweeps through him when he feels Wei Wuxian flinch at his uncle’s words. Lan Wangji tightens his arm protectively around his husband and turns an icy glare on his uncle, who takes a step back in shock.

“No. Wei Ying is my husband. The Jingshi is his home. He does not have to leave unless he wishes to.”

“You are not married,” Lan Qiren splutters, “Wei Wuxian is not your husband, nor will he be! Enough of this foolishness, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji feels his already threadbare patience snapping. His brother has told his uncle they have travelled from the future and this is his uncle’s concern? “If you will not accept that Wei Ying is already my husband, we will take our three bows tonight and xiongzhang will enter him into the clan registry as my husband tomorrow.”

“You will not! I forbid it. Wei Wuxian will never be accepted into the Lan clan. His existence goes against everything that we stand for,” Lan Qiren says, his face purpling in his anger.

“He does not, and I do not ask for your permission, Uncle,” Lan Wangji responds, voice a deadly calm even as his eyes flash dangerously. It has been a long and difficult two weeks and Lan Wangji is swiftly reaching the end of his rope. “I am married to Wei Ying. And I will marry Wei Ying again. If the Lan clan will not accept him, I will secede from the clan.”

“Lan Zhan!”

“Wangji, no!”

But Lan Wangji ignores them, keeping his hard gaze on his uncle who appears a step away from qi deviation. Lan Wangji cannot find it in himself to care in this moment. “I am over forty years old, Uncle, and I have been forced to spend too many of those years separated from my husband. I will not allow it to happen again.”

Before Lan Qiren can respond, Lan Xichen steps forward, mouth pressed into a thin, strained line. “Enough of this,” he interjects firmly, “Wangji, you will not be seceding from the clan. We are your family and the Cloud Recesses will always be your home, no matter what.” He pauses for a moment, voice morphing into something pointed, though he does not spare their uncle a glance, “As your elder brother and the future Sect Leader of GusuLan, I have already accepted Wuxian into our family and home. Should you decide to retake your bows, now or later, I will not hesitate to add him to our clan registry, should he so wish.”

Lan Wangji deflates as he stares at his brother, stunned and grateful, a look that is mirrored by Wei Wuxian, who intertwines his fingers with Lan Wangji’s and squeezes. Lan Xichen sends them a small, determined smile before he turns back to their horrified uncle.

“I have told you what has occurred, Uncle. Wangji, Wuxian, Huaisang, and Wen-gongzi are adults whose souls have been sent back in time, and they intend to help us change the future. Mingjue and I have heard their stories and support them. There is a war coming, Uncle, and that must be our priority. We may discuss the details of Wangji and Wuxian’s wedding at a later date.”

He pauses for a moment before his pleasant tone takes on a hard, unyielding edge that Lan Wangji has only heard from him a handful of times in the past, and only once directed at their uncle. “Not that there could be any possible objection, of course. Wuxian has already shown himself to be a talented cultivator and an asset to Wangji. More importantly, he makes Wangji happy; and my brother’s happiness will always be of paramount importance to his family.”

But this show of rebellion is obviously going too far for their uncle, unused as he is to meeting even the slightest opposition from his nephews. His looks ready to spit blood.

“I will not have that menace corrupt my nephews like this. Xichen, Wangji, you will cease this behaviour at once and stay away Wei Wuxian! You will not become like your father, Wangji, placing this– this infatuation over your duties to your clan. You will not throw away your potential; you will not fail, as he did. Have I not warned you against such unseemly attachments? Have I not raised you to be better? You will not disappoint me, Wangji!”

Wei Wuxian says something in a furious tone, but Lan Wangji cannot make out his words, his head suddenly filled with white noise. Corrupted. Failure. Disappointment. How often he has heard those words before? How often were they slung at him in those thirteen years when Wei Ying was gone and he was helpless to do anything but mourn him? They should have lost their sting after so long, but he feels hollowed out anyway, an old wound ripped open too many times to count and still bleeding sluggishly.

The edges of his vision start to blur, his focus shifting, spiralling. His uncle is still shouting but Lan Wangji cannot hear him over the ringing in his ears. The skin on his back prickles. No. It’s not real, he knows it isn’t real because years have passed since those wounds scarred over and Wei Wuxian is alive and returned to him and not—not—gone. But the lines marking out reality are becoming distorted and the lines of pain across his back feel so real. The empty Jingshi. His brother’s pleas. His uncle’s fury. It is all so familiar, too familiar. He cannot seem to take in a breath. His heart thunders agonizingly as his mind burrows inward, the world around him shattering like glass and falling away.

(He cannot move. He lies face down on his bed, flushed with fever as his shredded back continues to bleed into his bandages. But it does not matter. Nothing matters. Not when his chest feels so empty, as though his heart has ripped itself out of his ribcage and perished at the Burial Mounds with Wei Ying. Wei Ying. Dead. There was nothing left, not even a body to mourn. Nothing of that bright, kind, beautiful man left. Nothing but a child. A-Yuan. Wei Ying’s son. Now his. Theirs. His. Wei Ying is gone. And Lan Wangji is alone.  

“Enough of this, Wangji! How long will you mourn a villain?”

“Uncle...” he manages to force out, unable to rise. His back burns and burns and burns, but it nothing to emptiness in his chest where Wei Ying used to be. Wei Ying who is dead. Wei Ying who is dead because Lan Wangji failed, failed, failed him, just as he always had. He should not have returned, should not have let them punish him, should not have believed him safe enough, should not have listened to Wei Ying when he told him to leave (Get lost!). He should have stood with him, perished with him if need be. That would have been preferable to this—this living in a world without Wei Ying, with an uncle will not stop storming into the Jingshi and using his love for a dead man to punish him. His heart hurts and hurts and hurts, and Lan WangJi cannot stop the tears that drip down his face. 

But his Uncle is not finished. This is not the first time he has stormed in here in the weeks that Wei Ying has been gone. It will not be the last, Lan Wangji knows. But he is helpless (failure) to stop his Uncle’s poisonous words.

“Wei Wuxian was nothing but a menace! A demonic cultivator driven mad by power. You know what he did, you saw all those he killed at Nightless City, and yet you tried to save him. You raised your sword against your own clan for that heretic! You are truly your father’s son, and thrice the fool! You dare to mourn him, after he killed your own clansmen? After he used you, took advantage of you? Has your punishment taught you nothing? I did not raise you this way, nephew. How much more will you disappoint me?”)

He hears a voice call out in alarm but cannot focus on it through his daze, cannot place it. There is shouting but he cannot make out the words. His head aches. Then another (familiar, beloved) voice rises above it all in a furious snarl, and finally, finally, there is silence. His heart continues to thunder in his chest as he tries to breathe, tries to remember, to ignore the lines of fire burning their way across his back because they aren’t real, he knows they aren’t real—his back hasn’t burned like that in years and Wei Ying is... Wei Ying is...

He shudders violently when he feels hands gently cup his face and hears a soft voice mumbling in his ear. He cannot make out the words, but the voice is comforting and the warmth of those hands is grounding in its familiarity. Wei Ying’s hands. He opens his eyes, not knowing when he closed them, and meets the concern and love in the silver eyes before him. Wei Ying’s eyes. Wei Ying is here. He is alive.

Slowly, the world comes back into focus. The echo of pain across his back fades away and the soft murmurs in his ear coalesce into discernible words. “It’s okay. You’re alright. I’m here, Lan Zhan. You’re not alone. I’ve got you, sweetheart. Nothing can hurt you here. Not ever again. I’ve got you. Just focus on your breath, okay? In and out, slowly. That’s right. You’re doing so well, Lan Zhan. I’m so proud of you.”

His breathing slowly comes back under control; his thoughts settle and calm. He knows where he is and what is happening again. He knows that Wei Ying is here, helping him as he always has.

Over the years, his episodes have become few and far between, but he remembers when they were more frequent, more easily triggered. He remembers the first time it happened in Wei Ying’s presence, after a particularly upsetting encounter with his uncle on their return to the Cloud Recesses; how Wei Ying had watched it happen in wide-eyed terror and hesitated to touch his trembling body; how that hesitation was replaced with fierce affection when Lan Wangji gasped out his name and reached for him; how they had curled up together in bed afterwards and Lan Wangji had slowly, hesitantly whispered a stumbling explanation into Wei Ying’s throat and Wei Ying had listened quietly, full of love and acceptance and grief, and held him close until Lan Wangji fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat; how Wei Ying had become fiercely protective of him after, not hesitating to mercilessly shut down anyone who spoke to him in such a manner, even antagonising a dozen Elders, including his Uncle; how that led to a heated conversation between Wei Ying and Lan Wangji’s brother, as a result of which Lan Xichen had left the Jingshi in a storm of protective fury that he bore down on said Elders and Uncle. None of them had dared to try and antagonise Lan Wangji after that, and Lan Qiren had avoided them for weeks, which Wei Ying had been smugly pleased about though Lan Wangji had felt nothing but immense relief.

But that was then, and this is now.

He lifts his hands to cover the ones cupped around his face gratefully, squeezing them lightly to let Wei Ying know he’s alright now. He sees those eyes flicker with relief and flood with warm affection, and draws courage from the love he sees there before raising his head. Behind Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren stand frozen in shocked silence. His brother is pale with concern and alarm, his hands unnaturally clenched at his sides as though to stop himself from reaching out and pulling Lan Wangji to himself. Beside him, Lan Qiren’s fury has bled away, leaving him ashen with a mixture of fear and alarm as he watched his perfect nephew breakdown in response to his words.

Lan Wangji swallows and bows to them (only a little unsteady), his ears flushing in embarrassment. “I apologise for my unseemly behaviour, Uncle, xiongzhang,” he says, ignoring Wei Wuxian’s indignant objection. Wei Ying has told him often and repeatedly that he has nothing to apologise for, but years of conditioning to remain stoic (excessive displays of emotion are forbidden) have left an indelible mark on him that he is still working on overcoming.

Lan Xichen steps forward quickly and pulls him out of the bow, gripping his arms tightly. “Do not apologise, Wangji,” he says, eyes full of concern and a fierce protectiveness, “It is we who should apologise. Uncle’s words were inconsiderate.”

Behind him, Lan Qiren lets out a half-hearted grunt before turning away to sit down at the low table and pouring the tea. His face is calmer now, his composure returned, as he sits perfectly straight and gestures for them to sit as well. He hands each of them a cup of tea, even Wei Wuxian, the closest to an apology Lan Wangji knows his uncle is capable of making. They remain silent for the next few minutes as Lan Wangji assembles his thoughts and they finish their tea, until Lan Qiren finally places his cup back down with a small clink.

“Xichen informed me that you have travelled from the future,” he says, looking at Lan Wangji, still obviously conflicted but calm enough, “Explain. I will listen.”

So, Lan Wangji does.

——

“Have you any proof?” Lan Qiren asks shortly, frowning at his nephews. He has not looked at Wei Wuxian once since they sat down.

“Immediately, none. Only the appearance of the Waterborne Abyss and the events of the Discussion Conference in six weeks.”

Lan Qiren grunts in acknowledgement before his expression twists unpleasantly. “And you insist on upholding this- this marriage?”

Lan WangJi stiffens. “Yes.”

But his uncle only looks away with a frown. “Very well. But you will not break any rules, and the two of you will not make this matter known to anyone until there has been a proper announcement of your betrothal.”

Wei Wuxian inhales sharply from beside him but stays silent. Lan Wangji can only blinks at his uncle in confusion. Betrothal? Does that mean his uncle is willing to accept that they are telling the truth?

Lan Qiren huffs, obviously noticing their shock, and rises to leave. “I do not know yet that I believe your tale, and I do not pretend to be pleased by your choice in a partner. But it is my duty as Acting Sect Leader to protect GusuLan. As such, I will take every precaution to prevent the possibility of this future you speak of. As for your- your marriage, we will address it at a later date.”

Beside their uncle, Lan Xichen rises as well and smiles.

——

As the door finally clicks shut behind their two guests, and peace descends once more on the Jingshi, Wei Wuxian lets himself slump in exhausted relief. He has not stopped touching Lan Wangji since they sat down, a warm hand pressed to the small of his back, and he reaches out now and wraps his arms tightly around his husband, pulling him close and letting Lan Wangji bury his face in his shoulder for comfort, breathing deeply.

“Okay, I’m serious this time, Lan Zhan,” he mutters, hands running soothing lines through Lan Wangji’s hair and down his back, “No more emotions for a week. At least. If we have one more emotional confrontation in our home in the next seven days, I am personally going to raise every single corpse in Gusu and have them stand guard around the Jingshi so that not a single person can approach us ever again.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji sighs, closing his eyes and snuggling closer into the warmth and safety of his husband’s arms, feeling his heart finally begin to settle down again, “If that happens, I will help you.”

Chapter Text

Nie Mingjue is firmly of the opinion that his brother is a brat. Technically older than him by a couple of decades or not, in many ways, Nie Huaisang is the same little brother he’s always been: spoilt, calculative, and stubborn. Being inside his head has done nothing to dissuade him of this assessment. His brother may believe he’s hidden his manipulative streak well up to this point, but Nie Mingjue more or less raised the boy and he is, unfortunately, keenly aware of how his baby brother likes to get his way. Which is why the desperate doe-eyes his brother is currently aiming at him only serve to make him roll his eyes.

“No.”

“But Da-ge! It doesn’t matter!”

“Eat your breakfast, Huaisang.”

“How can I eat when you’re being so unreasonable?”

Nie Mingjue groans, praying for patience. “Travelling from the future does not mean you’re allowed to slack off and fail your classes this year, Huaisang.”

“But I already passed them, technically! Why do I have to do it again?” Nie Huaisang pouts at him.

Nie Mingjue clicks his tongue in irritation. “Because I sent you here to learn. And I know that you forgot everything you learned here the second you left. I also know that you know that it matters to our sect not to lose face by having its heir fail classes at the Cloud Recesses twice. I’ll be damned if you pull that helpless act again when you’re Sect Leader someday!”

Nie Huaisang’s teasing glint vanishes, his expression shuttering. “I am not going to be Sect Leader! Not someday or ever!”

Nie Mingjue glares back at him for a moment, then sighs. “Huaisang,” he says, trying to soften his tone, “You and I both know it’s still a possibility. Even without Jin Guangyao, our cultivation technique means that Nies live short lives. I need you to be prepared.”

“No,” his little brother says mutinously, refusing to give an inch. He glares at Nie Mingjue and threatens, “If you die again, I will dismantle the entire Nie Sect and order all sabers to be destroyed.”

Nie Mingjue wonders how mad Xichen would be if he violated the ‘no killing’ rule just this once to strangle his brother.

“Huaisang,” he growls, warningly.

“No,” Nie Huaisang glares at him stubbornly, “Da-ge, if you think I’m just going to sit around and wait for you to kill yourself and prepare to replace you just because Nies live short lives—” He breaks off, knuckles clenched white over his fan. “There has to be a way. And Lan Xichen already said he’d teach me Cleansing and Clarity on the erhu. It’ll slow things down at least, until we find something more permanent.”

Nie Mingjue stares at his brother for a few moments, trying to process all of that. It is mostly a well-worn argument at this point, except… Nie Mingjue pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache begin to build behind his eyes.

“Huaisang,” he says slowly, “Did you guilt Xichen into teaching you secret Lan techniques?”

Nie Huaisang stares down at his nails unconcernedly, “I wouldn’t say I guilted him precisely.”

The headache begins to grow with a vengeance. “Huaisang! You can’t just manipulate people into getting your way with everything!”

“Watch me,” says his provocative shit of a little brother.

Fuck sect relations, Nie Mingjue is going to strangle him right here on Cloud Recesses grounds. He opens his mouth to inform him loudly of this plan, only to be waylaid by a firm knock at the door.

Nie Huaisang immediately jumps up to answer it, leaving Nie Mingjue to glower after him. On the other side of the door, a Lan disciple bows and informs them that Lan Qiren has cancelled classes for the day as he is unwell.

Nie Mingjue frowns in concern. It is unusual for any cultivator to fall ill, let alone one of Lan Qiren’s calibre. He wonders what could have struck Lan Qiren down so suddenly and if he should be worried. Xichen had mentioned meeting with his uncle the previous day. Could Xichen be in danger of falling ill, too? If so, Nie Mingjue will certainly have to delay his return to Qinghe the next morning.

He stews in his thoughts until Nie Huaisang returns to the table, smiling mischievously.

Nie Mingjue takes one look at him and sighs, “What do you know?”

Nie Huaisang flips his fan open with a casual air of innocence that doesn’t fool Nie Mingjue for a second. But his brother’s smile only widens as he fans himself languidly, “Nothing at all, Da-ge. Xichen-ge went to talk to his uncle yesterday, didn’t he? How interesting.”

“Huaisang, what—?”

“Eat your breakfast, Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang interrupts cheerfully, digging into his own congee, “Lan Qiren will be fine. And if I’m right, Wei-xiong and Lan-er-gongzi will be here soon to fill us in. We should be prepared to greet them properly, no? I’m sure one of Lan Qiren’s lectures focuses on proper etiquette in receiving members of other sects. So important for maintaining inter-sect relations, Da-ge. Can’t possibly afford to fail that class, can I?”

Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes, and reaches over to smack the back of his brother’s head, ignoring his affronted yelp as he turns back to his breakfast.

——

True to Huaisang’s prediction (and Nie Mingjue has given up on even acting surprised at this point by his brother’s apparent and uncanny omniscience), there’s a knock on their door not ten minutes later. A moment later, the door slides open as Wei Wuxian unceremoniously lets himself and Lan Wangji in, and comes to collapse dramatically at their table.

Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow at him, which only serves to make Wei Wuxian grin impishly.

Nie Mingjue huffs in amusement. He is, much to his chagrin, already rather fond of this irreverent boy. He reminds him too closely of Huaisang at his cheekiest, sometimes. He may be a demonic cultivator, but Nie Mingjue has seen enough of him (in and out of Huaisang’s memories) to know the boy is genuine in his affections and fiercely protective of those he cares for. And evidently, Huaisang is one of the people he cares for. Which means he will keep Huaisang safe. Nie Mingjue approves.

Beside Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji takes his seat far more gracefully. Nie Mingjue pauses in the act of reaching to pour himself some tea, looking between the two and frowning slightly. They look tired. There are dark smudges beneath Wei Wuxian’s eyes as he lists against Lan Wangji’s shoulder, and even Lan Wangji has a mild air of weariness about him, which is saying something since Nie Mingjue hasn’t ever seen him have an air of—well, anything, really. He pushes the teapot towards them instead.

“So,” Nie Huaisang says after a moment of silence that remains surprisingly unbroken by Wei Wuxian, “You talked to Lan Qiren?”

Wei Wuxian slumps in his seat with a sigh. “Oh, we talked to him alright.”

Nie Huaisang makes a noise of sympathy. “He didn’t believe you?”

Wei Wuxian waves a hand at him and sighs deeply, “At this point, who even knows?”

Nie Mingjue blinks, taken aback. Lan Wangji shakes his head and clarifies. “Xiongzhang spoke to him. He has been informed of most things up to the end of the war, with the exception of Wei Ying’s demonic cultivation. He is willing to make preparations, provided he has concrete proof soon. He will receive it with the Waterborne Abyss.”

Nie Mingjue nods and then frowns when Wei Wuxian continues to look upset, “That’s good, right?”

Wei Wuxian nods, but his voice is still a sigh when he says, “Yeah, it’s good. It means that he’s at least willing to listen and act to protect the Cloud Recesses.”

Nie Mingjue blinks. He is still clearly missing something vital. “We received word that he has taken ill.”

Wei Wuxian groans, “He’s probably spitting blood about me again.”

Nie Mingjue stares at him disbelievingly. What? He looks at Lan Wangji, who remains tellingly silent, his eyes hard as glass.

Opposite Nie Mingjue, Nie Huaisang sets his tea down, obviously coming to a realisation. “Ah, Lan Xichen told him you were married.”

Lan Wangji stiffens, his face truly looking as though it was carved from impenetrable jade. Wei Wuxian slumps even further into his space and groans, “You fucking bet he did.”

Catching Nie Mingjue’s confused frown, he elaborates, “He, uh, doesn’t approve of me.”

“I thought you said he didn’t know about the demonic cultivation?” Nie Mingjue asks.

It is Lan Wangji who answers, voice brittle as he stares at his tea. “Uncle has preconceived notions about Wei Ying.”

Nie Huaisang lets out a hiss of sympathy, “Yeah, he’s never liked Wei-xiong. Even before the whole demonic cultivation thing.”

Wei Wuxian shrugs, “Something to do with my mother. Apparently, I take after her.”

Nie Mingjue frowns, finding this ridiculous. He has heard tales of Cangse Sanren, and by all accounts she was an accomplished cultivator. “That’s ridiculous. And it’s clearly too late to object anyway. You’ve been married for years and Wangji is obviously happy. What is there to spit blood about?”

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang interjects, “You know how Lan Qiren is. He’s not good with new ideas.” He shoots Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji a small smile, “He’ll get over it.”

They both nod, and Wei Wuxian’s answering smile is small but genuine.

“I hope so,” Wei Wuxian sighs, “I think poor Xichen-ge is bearing the worst of it, though. He broke the news and went to talk to him once he stormed out of the Jingshi, too.”

Nie Mingjue frowns at that. Storming out indicates that the issue wasn’t resolved. He should go check on Xichen sometime today. Soothing his uncle always leaves Xichen feeling tired and listless.

He sees his brother look at him knowingly over the top of his fan and glares.

They finish their tea in silence. Putting his cup down finally, Lan Wangji makes as if to rise.

“Ah, leaving already?” Nie Huaisang asks.

Lan Wangji nods. “Mn. I have work to do.”

Wei Wuxian notices Nie Mingjue’s questioning look. “He’s changing the wards around the Jingshi,” he explains, “Only the old ones were up. Lan Qiren broke through them yesterday.”

Lan Wangji’s expression darkens, “I forgot before. Will not make that mistake again.”

Wei Wuxian smiles at him, rubbing a soothing hand up Lan Wangji’s back.

“You can manipulate the wards in the Cloud Recesses?” Nie Mingjue asks, surprised.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Lan Zhan can. Wards are his area, not mine. He’ll update the ones around the Cloud Recesses over the next few months, too.”

“Mn. They will require more time.”

Nie Mingjue looks at the younger Twin Jade, impressed. Ward manipulation, particularly with regard to wards as old and complex and the ones in the Cloud Recesses requires an enormous amount of skill and usually multiple cultivators working in tandem.

“Can you show me your work sometime? We could use that kind of skill in the Nie Sect.”

Lan Wangji nods. “You require better wards for the Nie ancestral tombs. I will draw up the designs and give them to you soon.”

Nie Mingjue raises his eyebrows at them, more surprised than he would like to admit. Of course they already know about one of the Nie Sect’s most guarded secrets. He saw this in Empathy, but it is still a shock to hear these little confirmations. But wards for the tombs? He looks at Nie Huaisang, who shrugs.

“I asked Lan-er-gongzi to come up with new wards before. We put them up a year ago in our time. They’re very powerful. If he can replicate them, they will be unmatched.”

Nie Mingjue nods and turns back to Lan Wangji. “Thank you,” he says gruffly, “We will pay you, of course.”

Lan Wangji frowns, suddenly looking distinctly unhappy, much to Nie Mingjue’s surprise. “Unnecessary.”

Nie Huaisang waves his fan languidly over his face, but Nie Mingjue can see his eyes crinkling with amusement, though he says nothing. Wei Wuxian grins widely when he looks at him in question, sliding an arm around an unhappy Lan Wangji’s waist.

“Ah, Lan Zhan didn’t want payment last time either. But Nie-xiong insisted, and when Lan Zhan refused, he kept finding more and more ridiculous reasons to shower poor Lan Zhan with extravagant gifts in public that Lan Zhan couldn’t refuse until he had made up the cost.”

Nie Mingjue turns incredulous eyes on his brother as Lan Wangji glowers at the wall. “Huaisang. That’s… actually not a bad idea.”

His brother’s eyes light up as Wei Wuxian chokes on a laugh. Lan Wangji turns swiftly towards him, his eyes ever so slightly widened. Nie Mingjue has a feeling that on anyone else, that look would be one of open betrayal. He grins, slowly starting to understand why Xichen keeps referring to his little brother as adorable.

He shrugs nonchalantly at the disgruntled boy. “If you’re going to use your extensive skills to aid the Nie Sect, you will be compensated accordingly. It is only right.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw clenches for a minute, before he nods in— not quite defeat, but definitely something not neutral. Nie Mingjue isn’t sure if it’s the amount of time they’ve spent together this week or if the future Lan Wangji is just more expressive, but either way, he feels like he’s definitely getting better at detecting at least some emotions on Xichen’s brother’s face. Xichen will be proud.

“We will discuss it later, once I have recreated the designs.” Lan Wangji says, no inflection whatsoever in his voice. Nie Mingjue is not fooled. He grins.

Lan Wangji stands without another word, bows, and makes his way to the door. Wei Wuxian shoots to his feet as well and grins brightly at them both, eyes dancing, and hurries after him, placing a soothing hand on his arm as they leave.

Nie Mingjue snorts as the door closes behind them. He turns back to his brother, who smiles at him gleefully.

“So, are you going to go check on Xichen-ge now?”

Nie Mingjue reaches over swiftly and hits him again.

——

Nie Mingjue does, in fact, go looking for Lan Xichen soon after, and is surprised when Lan Xichen finds him first.

“Mingjue,” Lan Xichen smiles, but looking too worried and pale for Nie Mingjue’s liking, “Do you have time to talk for a bit?”

Nie Mingjue frowns and nods, letting Lan Xichen lead the way to the Hanshi. He heroically says nothing until Xichen has finished pouring them both tea and has sighed into his cup twice.

“Xichen, what is the matter? Is it your uncle? Wangji and Wei Wuxian told me what happened. Has he been making things difficult for you?” Nie Mingjue clenches his hand on Baxia’s hilt, ready to go start his own shouting match with Lan Qiren if necessary.

Lan Xichen startles and meets his gaze. “What? No. Mingjue, no, it’s alright. Uncle is just… surprised. He will come to terms with everything eventually. That’s not why I asked you here.”

Nie Mingjue nods and loosens his hold on his saber. “What is it then? What troubles you?”

Lan Xichen sighs again. Nie Mingjue feels his blood pressure rise in response.

“Mingjue, you’ve seen all of Huaisang’s memories, right?”

Nie Mingjue immediately has a bad feeling about this. He nods anyway. “Whatever he wanted me to see, at least.”

Lan Xichen opens his mouth to speak before visibly hesitating. The seconds drag on.

Nie Mingjue sighs. “Just ask what you want to know, Xichen.”

Lan Xichen takes a breath and straightens then, meeting his eyes determinedly. “Did you find out anything about Wangji being punished? By– by uncle, or the Lan sect?”

Nie Mingjue takes a moment to blink in shock. Well, that was not what he expected. Lan Wangji being punished? Preposterous.

He combs quickly through his borrowed memories but, “No,” he says, shaking his head, “There was nothing in Huaisang’s memories.”

He sees Lan Xichen’s shoulders droop and frowns, concerned, “Xichen, what is this about? Why would Wangji be punished?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Xichen whispers, looking down at his lap, “They’re hiding things from me, Mingjue. But I think Wangji was hurt somehow in their future; by the Lan sect, or uncle, or–or me.”

“Xichen–”

Lan Xichen looks up at him, and Nie Mingjue is shaken by how distressed he looks. “Yesterday, in the Jingshi, uncle thought they were lying and threatened to punish Wangji. He said some things, wrong things, hurtful things, but WangJi, he—Mingjue, he had a panic attack.”

Nie Mingjue freezes. “What?”

Lan Wangji panicking? He cannot even begin imagine such a thing. But then he recalls the weariness on Wangji’s and Wei Wuxian’s faces that morning, and wonders if maybe it was possible.

Lan Xichen’s hands clench tightly in his lap but Nie Mingjue can still see how they tremble. “Wuxian defended him. He was so angry, Mingjue. He told Wangji that he would not let him be punished again. And then, when Wangji was panicking, he kept telling him he would not be hurt. I’ve never seen Wangji like that. He was shaking, Mingjue!”

Nie Mingjue reaches out and places a large hand firmly on Lan Xichen’s shoulder for a moment, urging him to look up. Lan Xichen meets his eyes and oh, he knows that look. It was the same look he used to see in the mirror in the days following his father’s death, when Huaisang would not eat or sleep, and Nie Mingjue had been so terrified of losing him too—the helpless fear of an older sibling who does not know what to do to protect their little brother. His heart aches for the elder Twin Jade.

“Xichen, it’s alright. Wangji is alright. I saw him this morning and he was fine.”

Lan Xichen just shakes his head in response, “How can you know that, Mingjue? Wangji doesn’t like to show his emotions. And the way he was last night– I don’t– I've never-”

Nie Mingjue sees Lan Xichen working himself up again and grits his teeth over the urge to groan. He has never been good at comfort and reassurance. All he has ever had to offer is the truth. He tries it now.

“Xichen, stop. Calm yourself and listen to me,” He waits until Lan Xichen takes a couple of calming breaths, his hands settling once more in his lap as he focuses on Nie Mingjue. Good.

“You know that I saw Huaisang’s memories. But Huaisang was never on the forefront of the war, as Wangji and Wei Wuxian were. My brother has always worked best behind the scenes, and even he has come out of this future of theirs changed,” He pauses, sighing at the truth of it but focuses quickly back on the matter at hand, “Those two have probably told you more about their experiences than they’ve told anyone else. But I don’t think either of us will really be able to understand what they’ve been through. Even with Empathy, I don’t. But our brothers are different now. And as much as I hate it, we cannot protect them from everything anymore.” He frowns heavily as he grits out the last part, feeling as though the admission is ripped out of him. His hand clenches unconsciously on Baxia’s hilt. He cannot protect his brother from the world anymore and he hates it. He hates it with a deep and abiding fury.

Lan Xichen stares at him for a moment, his own jaw clenched slightly, then nods, his shoulders dipping ever so slightly in defeat. The troubled look still hasn’t left his eyes however.

“You’re right, Mingjue, as much as I may dislike it. But if what you say is true, why, after all they have been through, did my brother flinch at the idea of being punished by his own clan? He is head of discipline for our disciples and he knows what those punishments entail. So why?”

Nie Mingjue’s frown deepens. He doesn’t know the answer to that. “Have you asked?”

Lan Xichen shakes his head, “I do not think Wangji will tell me willingly.”

Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow at him. Ah, of course, the rules. Wangji would not lie, but Xichen would not pull the truth out of him unwillingly. They will have to find another source then.

He narrows his eyes in consideration, “Wei WuXian will not tell us if Wangji has asked him not to. But the boy is obviously protective. He may be willing to tell you enough to prevent it from happening again,” He frowns; it is not enough, “Our only other alternatives are Huaisang and that Wen Qionglin.”

Lan Xichen looks at him curiously, “You said there was nothing in Huaisang’s memories?”

Nie Mingjue snorts, “That doesn’t mean Huaisang has shown me everything he knows. We will ask him. Now.”

Lan Xichen startles, “Now?”

Nie Mingjue shrugs, “I’m sure he’s around. I wouldn’t put it past him to spy on us anyway.”

He ignores Lan Xichen’s protests and walks over to the entrance of the Hanshi and pulls the door open. There is no obvious presence on the other side, but Nie Mingjue recalls his brother’s teasing smile this morning with annoyance and has absolutely no faith that his little brother was willing to forgo an opportunity to gather more gossip.

“Huaisang,” he calls out, raising his voice and letting his annoyance show, “Come out. We have a question for you.”

There is no reply. Not even a leaf twitches.

“Stop wasting our time, Huaisang.”

Still nothing. Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll close the door. You have two minutes. Don’t keep Xichen waiting.”

He turns back inside, ignoring Xichen’s doubtful look. He knows his brother and exactly how incorrigible he can be. Exactly two minutes later, there is a knock on the door of the Hanshi. He almost laughs at the incredulous look on Xichen’s face. He opens the door to reveal Nie Huaisang’s pouting face.

“Really, Da-ge, you’re so mean,” his brother whines, “Accusing me of spying! I would never.”

Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes but resists the urge to whack him as he leads him to the table where Lan Xichen sits, still looking faintly appalled. He knows his brother is trying to goad him, but he won’t give him the satisfaction. Not in front of Lan Xichen at least. “Cut the crap, Huaisang, and answer Xichen’s question.”

Nie Huaisang unfurls his fan and blinks at them innocently over its rim, “What question, Da-ge?”

Nie Mingjue glares at him. “You know exactly what. Do you know anything about WangJi being punished?”

His brother glances quickly at Lan Xichen, but shakes his head, “No, I don’t know. I really don’t.”

Seeing Nie Mingjue’s sceptical look, Nie Huaisang sighs in exasperation and rolls his eyes. “I mean it, Da-ge. If something happened to Lan Wangji, it wasn’t made known to anyone outside of the Lan clan, and neither he nor Wei-xiong have said anything.”

Lan Xichen’s face falls and Nie Mingjue sighs.

“But you have suspicions,” he accuses.

Nie Huaisang frowns at him in annoyance, but Nie Mingjue refuses to budge. “This is important, Huaisang. Lan Wangji had a panic attack yesterday because of things his uncle said to him. If you know something, tell us.”

Nie Huaisang sobers at that. He hums consideringly for a few moments as he stares at the design on his fan, “Lan-er-gongzi has been working very hard on the wards around the Jingshi today.”

Nie Mingjue frowns in confusion. He knows this already so why— he looks up in time to see Lan Xichen startle. Ah.

“It is understandable, since it is his home. I heard Lan Qiren broke through the wards yesterday. It must have bothered Lan-er-gongzi a great deal. He is very protective of his own,” Huaisang muses, still examining the design on his fan in careful detail.

“Just tell us what you know, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue barks, losing patience as Lan Xichen flinches slightly.

Nie Huaisang looks up, his face unreadable, “Fine. But I really cannot think of any incident for which Lan Wangji would be punished. Only a time when it might have happened.”

“When?” Lan Xichen asks, staring intently at Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang hums, “For three years after Wei-xiong’s death, Lan-er-gongzi vanished. The Lan clan said he had gone into seclusion to focus on his cultivation. No one thought much of it. Later, I thought he must have been in mourning.”

“But?”

“But now I wonder. A while after Wei-xiong returned, I found out that Lan-er-gongzi had a son. That he was the last Wen child and Lan-er-gongzi had rescued him after the siege on the Burial Mounds.”

“So?” Nie Mingjue asks impatiently.

Nie Huaisang peers at Lan Xichen over the top of his fan, his eyes calculating. “So, Lan-er-gongzi doesn’t seem the type to rescue a child and then immediately abandon him, even to mourn—especially if that child was Wei-xiong’s. I have seen Lan-er-gongzi with his son. They were both very obviously attached to each other. It seems unlikely that Lan-er-gongzi would not see him for three years, particularly since, by all accounts, the child was ill enough to lose all his memories.”

Nie Mingjue feels an uncomfortable twisting in his gut. He doesn’t like where this is going.

He sees his brother look at Lan Xichen consideringly, something unreadable in his eyes, “That doesn’t sound like Lan Wangji, does it, Xichen-ge?”

Something dark and heavy flash across Lan Xichen’s face for a fraction of a moment. “No,” he whispers, his eyes far away, “That is not something Wangji would do.”

“What you’re saying,” Nie Mingjue growls, his hands clenching into fists on the table, “is that Lan Wangji was prevented from seeing his son for three years?”

Nie Huaisang shrugs, “I don’t know, Da-ge. It’s only conjecture.”

Nie Mingjue levels a sceptical look at him, but surprisingly, Nie Huaisang shakes his head at him firmly, “No. It really is, Da-ge. I suspect the only people who can tell you the truth about this are Wei-xiong and Lan-er-gongzi. Even if I’m right, I don’t know why or how Lan-er-gongzi might have been punished, or by whom. And relying on rumours and conjecture will lead nowhere.”

Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen look at him in wide-eyed surprise, anger dissipating.

Nie Huaisang huffs at them and looks away, saying quietly, “Rumours and conjecture were one of the main reasons behind Wei-xiong’s death in our time. I have already hurt them enough in this time. I will not add to it, and especially not like this. I made them a promise. Whatever it is they are hiding, it is their right.”

Nie Mingjue blinks at him, shocked. He forgets, sometimes, just how much his brother has matured. Huaisang is very good at playing the fool.

Across from him, Lan Xichen frowns at his brother. “You hurt them, Huaisang?”

Nie Huaisang looks back at him with raised eyebrows and says a little impatiently, “I brought them back here, Xichen-ge. Because of me, they have lost their son.”

Nie Mingjue feels the shock course through him like lightening, and then immediately feels ashamed for it. How could he not have realised this sooner? One look at Xichen’s suddenly pale face tells him that Xichen has not considered it either. They were parents. The notion is inconceivable to Nie Mingjue. He had known about the child, of course, had seen him briefly in Huaisang’s memories, but somehow, he has failed to connect that knowledge with the reality of the two young teenage boys he had seen this morning. He grinds his teeth together, suddenly furious.

“Oh, Wangji,” Lan Xichen says, soft and sad.

Nie Huaisang looks between them disbelievingly. Nie Mingjue looks away guiltily.

“Will they not adopt him again?” He asks the wall gruffly.

His brother stares at his fan as he waves it slowly, his expression unreadable, “I thought they would but— he was an orphan of war last time. In this time, he has not yet been born.”

“He may be in no need of adoption if their plans succeed,” Lan Xichen realises, grief colouring his tone.

Nie Huaisang nods. Nie Mingjue feels his gut twist. The silence drags on until Nie Huaisang finally snaps his fan closed, startling the other occupants in the room.

He rises in his place, “If there’s nothing else, Xichen-ge, I will take my leave.”

Lan Xichen nods and pulls up a small smile, “Yes, of course. Thank you for talking to us, Huaisang.”

Nie Mingjue stands as well, knowing Lan Xichen needs some time to think. He has much to think about himself. He will check in on him later before he leaves. He gives Xichen a reassuring nod, and Xichen’s answering smile is ever so slightly warmer. He makes his way to the door, only to realise that his brother still hasn’t moved from where he’s standing and looking at Lan Xichen.

“Huaisang,” he calls in annoyance. Why is his brother staring at Lan Xichen like that? Isn't he planning to leave?

His brother startles at his voice and unfurls his fan, waving it in front of his face in a flustered manner. “I’m coming, Da-ge, there’s no need to shout!” He turns back to Lan Xichen, his eyes crinkling at him sadly, “See how mean he is to me, Xichen-ge! You would never be so mean to your brother, would you? No, I know you wouldn’t. I remember, even so far in the future, Lan Wangji still always had so much affection for you. Won’t you teach Da-ge to be nice to me, too, Xichen-ge?”

Nie Mingjue scowls at him and opens his mouth to growl out a reprimand when Lan Xichen speaks, his smile now warm and almost relieved. “Of course, Huaisang. And… thank you.”

Nie Mingjue frowns, looking between them in confusion until Huaisang snags his sleeve as he passes and drags him out. Behind them, Lan Xichen’s smile lingers long after they leave.

——

“You really don’t know?” Nie Mingjue asks shortly later that night as they settle in Nie Mingjue’s guest room after dinner.

His brother startles slightly before looking up at him with a frown, “I told you I don’t, Da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue shrugs, “I thought maybe you didn’t want to talk about it in front of Xichen, the same as with Jin Guangyao.”

Nie Huaisang’s knuckles whiten on his fan as he shakes his head.

Nie Mingjue sighs, “Huaisang, you agreed not to kill him.”

His brother glares at the wall in front of him, his fan carefully covering most of his expression. “Did I?”

“Huaisang,” he growls warningly.

Nie Huaisang huffs and points his fan at him accusingly, “He killed you. Why do you even care if I kill him?”

“He hasn’t, and he won’t.”

“He’s a viper,” Nie Huaisang hisses, “As long as he lives, you’re in danger.”

“Enough, Huaisang!” He slams his fist on the table, losing patience with this argument entirely. They have already had it more than a dozen times this week and it still always boils down to the same thing, “He already paid for his crimes. But this Meng Yao has done nothing to warrant his death yet. And he won’t ever have to, if we follow your plan.”

“But—”

“Fine!” he snarls, “Then I promise you this. If he steps a toe out of line, if you suspect that he might step a toe out of line, I will put Baxia to his neck myself, whatever anyone else may say.”

Nie Huaisang stares at him intently and Nie Mingjue meets his eyes with his own furious gaze.

“Do you swear?” his brother asks quietly, “Do you swear on our mothers' ashes?”

Nie Mingjue pauses on a sharp inhale. This is more than words for them. This is the deepest promise they can make, an unbreakable vow between brothers. One they have shared since the day after their father died and Nie Mingjue sat his sobbing little brother down and swore to protect him for all of his life. Nie Mingjue lets the remnants of his anger drain away as he straightens in his seat and reaches out a hand to grasp his brother’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly.

“I swear it. Of all his crimes, it is my death you grudge him the most. Then, if necessary, it is my right to take his life.”

Nie Huaisang looks between his eyes, searching for a lie, before letting go of his breath.

“Thank you, Da-ge,” he says quietly.

Nie Mingjue tightens his hand on his brother’s shoulder. His brother should not be so quiet and serious; he was not made for that haunted look in his eyes. He is still so young, even if his soul is old. And no matter his age, it will always be Nie Mingjue’s job to protect him, not the other way around.

But Nie Mingjue was not made for comfort or reassurance. So he shakes the shoulder under his hand and growls, “You just focus on passing your classes this time. I expect you to do better than you did in your lifetime, since you aren’t actually a child anymore.”

The tension broken, Nie Huaisang instantly scowls at him and pulls away from the offending hand. “Da-ge! That’s unfair!”

Nie Mingjue snorts, “Unfair, is it? Lan Qiren knows you’re an adult now. And I’m sure Xichen is already having trouble convincing him that you’re intelligent enough to be one, let alone that you were Sect Leader. Don’t make me lose face when I see the old man next by lazing around now.”

Nie Huaisang's scowl deepens above his fan and he turns away with a huff. “Who needs all that stuff about clan genealogy and all those rules? It doesn’t matter to me. I’m going to be a lazy young master for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, are you now?” Nie Mingjue asks dangerously, “Or maybe I’ll start training you thrice as hard and won’t stop until you’re head disciple.”

“Da-ge, you wouldn’t!”

“What was it you said this morning?” Nie Mingjue asks, grinning ferally, “I believe it was, ‘Watch me’?”

“Da-ge, you—” his brother splutters, pointing his fan at him in outrage.

Nie Mingjue suppresses his laughter and rises to his feet and stretches. “I’ll be sure to start gathering the right tutors and instructors as soon as I get back to Qinghe tomorrow. So make sure you study properly under Lan Qiren until then.”

“Da-ge!”

Nie Mingjue grins and ruffles his little brother’s hair as walks past. “Just focus on your studies for now and leave all the political bullshit to me, okay? That’s my job anyway, as your Sect Leader.”

He makes it all the way to the door separating the sitting room from the inner chambers before he’s called back by a quiet, “Da-ge?”

He turns around with a frown, only to find his brother watching him with a strange, oddly vulnerable look.

“Thank you,” Nie Huaisang says, “For everything.”

Nie Mingjue feels his face redden at the actual sincerity in his brother’s voice and spins back around to storm into the bedroom. What the fuck, Huaisang? “It’s my job to make sure you’re not stuck in the middle of war or whatever,” he growls, “Go to bed, Huaisang. I’ll see you tomorrow at whatever infernal hour we have to wake up at.”

He slams the door shut and storms towards the bed, but not before he hears the giggling, “Goodnight, Da-ge,” from the other side.

Nie Mingjue definitely does not smile in response.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian slumps in his seat as he feels the stony gaze bore into the back of his head, just as it has every day for the last two weeks. He doesn’t need to turn around to know exactly what look Jiang Cheng has on his face right now and why. His heart drops to his stomach and he glances to the side beseechingly, trying to convey his misery to Lan Wangji with big doe eyes. Unfortunately, his husband isn’t looking directly at him, but the message must still get across because Wei Wuxian can see Lan Wangji’s hand twitch towards him, almost involuntarily. He cannot stop the small smile that stretches his lips at that. Ah, his wonderful husband. If only they were back in their own time instead of here. He could have crawled into Lan Wangji’s lap with impunity then, class or no class, and pressed kisses all over his beloved face.

He takes a moment to be resentful about not being able to, then sighs quietly and straightens his spine, trying his best to look like a model disciple. Not that it matters, really. At the front of the classroom, Lan Qiren’s voice drones on. He doesn’t spare a glance Wei Wuxian’s way, even though he would normally have started scolding Wei Wuxian for his bad posture and inattentiveness by now. In fact, Lan Qiren hasn’t looked in Wei Wuxian’s direction for a week now. He storms his way in and out of class every morning, radiating disapproval, but hasn’t said a word to Wei Wuxian. Frankly, Wei Wuxian is inclined to view this as a good thing, even if this sudden shift and the increased but frozen hostility seems to have freaked out all his classmates.

Unfortunately, Lan Qiren’s cold attitude has also begun to include his younger nephew, which Wei Wuxian is absolutely ready to start a war over. But Lan Wangji had vetoed him in this endeavour which was, in his loudly expressed opinion, rude and a violation of his rights as husband, thank you very much—but then Lan Wangji had kissed him in that soft, indulgent way of his and all further arguments had flown right out of his head.

However, Lan Qiren’s bad attitude is not his biggest problem right now. Wei Wuxian shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what the chances of Jiang Cheng not dragging him away today to yell at him are. He has not been subtle; he knows this (Nie Huaisang told him so). Though, in his defence, trying to pretend to not be in love with Lan Wangji was a stupid plan to begin with. Lan Wangji had mourned him for so long, despite believing his love wasn’t returned, and Wei Wuxian had been so callous with his feelings when he came back to life; Wei Wuxian can’t—can’t—do that to him again, not even for show.

Besides, how is he supposed to pretend when he’s certain there’s never been a time in his life when he wasn’t in love with Lan Zhan, even if he didn’t know it? What’s he supposed to do when he is deeply aware of it now? Act distant? From his husband? Over his twice dead body.

He pouts down at his lap for a moment before remembering where he is and straightening his spine again carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his husband’s brow furrow ever so slightly in concern, and has to repress the fond, smitten smile that threatens to bloom over his face. Ah, Lan Zhan, always so worried about little old me.

Eventually, though, their class must end and Wei Wuxian’s hands wring nervously in his lap. His week is long since up, but he’s continued stalling and Lan Zhan has let him because Lan Zhan is the best. But he knows he has to talk to Jiang Cheng, he has to. He just wishes he knew how. What if Jiang Cheng refuses to believe them? What if he does believe them and hates him and Wei WuXian loses his brother all over again? He can’t do it. He can’t. Not when he just got him back. Not when he’s just remembering what it was like before everything went bitter and cold and awkward between them. Not when Jiang Cheng looks at him like that, still annoyed and exasperated, but with no hint of the pain and betrayal that shadowed him all those years in the future.

It’s selfish, so selfish, but Wei Wuxian can’t lose him again, not without falling apart.

By the time Lan Qiren sweeps out of the room in the same icy fury he’s enveloped himself in all week, Wei Wuxian is a nervous wreck. He stays still in his seat, hands clenched tight, praying that Jiang Cheng will just storm out as he has every day for the last two weeks. Just one more day, he begs silently. Just one more. Please.

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says frostily from behind him, but Wei Wuxian can hear the worry and anger underlying his tone. He feels his stomach clench as he turns towards his brother, hands shaking where he’s tucked them into his sleeves, completely unable to meet Jiang Cheng piercing gaze.

There is a moment of tense silence before an exasperated huff fills the room. He snaps his head up, startled, in time to see Jiang Cheng turning away and stomping towards the door, his lips pressed together tightly.

He turns, wild-eyed, to meet Lan Zhan’s steady gaze then sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. His time is up.

“Jiang Cheng,” he calls out. He waits until his brother turns around with a sharp glare that does nothing to hide his mingled hope and irritation, and tries to offer him a small smile. He’s not sure he succeeds.

“Can we talk?”

—

“Why are they here?” Jiang Cheng demands, glaring at Wei Wuxian from across the table. He eyes Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji suspiciously from where they sit on either side of him, gathered in his room. Nie Huaisang flutters his fan agitatedly and refuses to meet his eyes, muttering something unintelligible. Lan Wangji, for his part, stares back at him with silent impassivity, which only serves to increase Jiang Cheng’s irritation.

Wei Wuxian fidgets nervously and glances at his husband. Lan Wangji calmly takes a sip of his tea, sets his cup down with quiet care, and meets his eyes, nodding measuredly. Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and tries to settle his nerves.

“Because this involves them, too,” he starts by way of explanation. Before he can say anything else, he sees Jiang Cheng’s frown deepen with sudden and furious betrayal.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen, knowing exactly where his brother’s mind is going.

“And what is ‘this’ exactly?” Jiang Cheng says dangerously.

Wei Wuxian pales slightly at the level of anger radiating off his brother and bites his lip, trying to gather his words. He sees Jiang Cheng pause for a moment, looking almost surprised, before he noticeably reigns in his anger and says in a forcefully steady voice, “Are you finally going to tell me what’s going on? And why the fuck they’re involved but not me?”

He sees the look of surprise that crosses Wei Wuxian’s face and scoffs. “What? You thought I wouldn’t notice? You’ve been acting weird since we got to Gusu.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him thoughtfully. “Huh.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘huh’?” Jiang Cheng scowls, now deeply offended. “Don’t make me break your legs, Wei Wuxian!”

Lan Wangji shoots him a glare at that, but Jiang Cheng ignores him in favour of shotting his own glare at Wei Wuxian, who grins sheepishly and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Aiya, Jiang Cheng, don’t be that way! I was only surprised you hadn’t come threatening to break my legs long before this if that’s the case, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well, I was going to!” Jiang Cheng snaps, “Who knows what stupid thing you’ve been up to! But then I-”

He stops, clicking his tongue in annoyance as he looks away.

“You…?” Wei Wuxian prompts, leaning curiously towards his brother with a gleam in his eye that Jiang Cheng is, unfortunately, very familiar with.

“Jiang Cheeeeeeng,” Wei Wuxian wheedles, and Jiang Cheng knows when to cut his losses.

“Tch. I talked to Lan Xichen, okay!”

Wei Wuxian blinks, startled. He was not expecting that. “You what?”

Jiang Cheng stares resolutely at a spot on the wall over his shoulder, his face reddening in embarrassment. “I was going to come yell at you before! You were running around, dragging him,” he darts an annoyed glance in Lan Wangji’s direction, “with you right through the middle of Cloud Recesses, like an idiot. I was going come and break your legs, but then Lan Xichen came up to me and—and we talked. And he told me to give you time so I’ve been waiting for you to—to trust me or whatever, but obviously you don’t.”

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says, wide-eyed. There’s a lot to process there, but he ignores it in favour of focusing on the most important thing. “I do trust you! I do!”

Jiang Cheng looks away sulkily, his cheeks flushed, “Yeah, well, you obviously told Lan Xichen whatever it is before you told me. And Nie Mingjue, too, right?”

Wei Wuxian winces at the vulnerability he hears under the anger in his brother’s voice.

“Jiang Cheng, I—that’s not—”

His stumbling words grind to a halt, as he tries to figure out how to explain everything. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the movement of Nie Huaisang’s fan still for a moment as he eyes Jiang Cheng carefully. But both he and Lan Wangji seem willing to keep their silence. For now. 

Wei Wuxian sighs and scrubs a hand across his face, suddenly weary.

“Jiang Cheng,” he says quietly after a moment, and Jiang Cheng’s eyes snap to his at the seriousness of his tone, “The thing we need to talk to you about—what we spoke to Zewu-Jun and Chifeng-Zun about—it’s complicated; and I didn’t know how to tell you. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I do. We do. That’s why we’re here. We need your help.”

He sees his brother frown at him, trying and failing to hide his sudden concern.

“Help?” Jiang Cheng asks carefully, glancing at each of them warily before focusing back on his brother. “What did you do?”

He swallows, “Jiang Cheng, I—”

“Just tell me!” his brother snaps.

“Okay, okay!” Wei Wuxian raises his hands in defeat and sighs. “Look, Jiang Cheng, this is going to sound ridiculous, but I swear it’s the truth: the three of us are from the future.”

He looks up to meet Jiang Cheng’s eyes. His brother just stares back at him, unimpressed and irritated, waiting for the punchline of a bad joke. Wei Wuxian swallows nervously.

“I swear it’s true, Jiang Cheng!” He blurts in a rush, all the careful arguments he had been constructing over the last few weeks suddenly forgotten. “The three of us—and Wen Ning, you don’t know him yet but he’s our friend—we travelled back in time. Or, well, our souls travelled back in time to our younger bodies and got stuck here. But actually, we’re in our forties. There was an array and now we can’t go back, but we want to fix things so we need help because—”

“What the fuck, Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng interrupts, glowering and out of patience. “Did you seriously do all this for a prank? This isn’t funny!”

“It is not a prank,” Lan Wangji says, his voice deep and firm, interrupting anything Wei Wuxian might have said in response.

Jiang Cheng swivels to glare at him instead. “You expect me to believe that the three of you have travelled from the future?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, really.” Jiang Cheng snarls with awful sarcasm, any vestige of propriety melting under his force of his anger. “And you just had to come back in time to what? Attend the Lan classes all over again? Are they so wonderful that you had to take them twice?”

“No,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian winces at the iciness of his tone.

“What then?” Jiang Cheng scoffs, still glaring.

“War,” Lan Wangji says, cold and inexorable. “The loss of innocent lives. The destruction of sects, including YunmengJiang.”

That makes Jiang Cheng pause. He stares at Lan Wangji, startled and disbelieving, caught up in their story against his will.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and decides to interrupt before his brother remembers himself and tries to call Lan Wangji a liar. “Jiang Cheng,” he says, bringing his brother’s attention back to him, “I know it sounds unbelievable, but just hear us out, okay? A lot of bad things happened, and they’ll happen again unless we do something to stop it. And to do that, we need your help.”

Jiang Cheng frowns at him and opens his mouth to say something, but Wei Wuxian intercepts him before he can.

“Please.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw snaps shut and his eyes widen. Wei Wuxian knows that his fifteen-year-old self would never beg, not for anything, ever; and Jiang Cheng knows that too. His brother’s lips purse and whiten as he stares intently at Wei Wuxian, who looks back at him with as much pleading hope as he can. After a long tense moment, Jiang Cheng leans back, his frown still firmly back in place.

“Fine. Talk.”

Wei Wuxian lets out a relieved sigh and feels a bit of tension run out of his shoulders. “Look, we can prove it, okay? In a little more than a month, during the Discussion Conference, a Waterborne Abyss is going to appear in Biling Lake, outside Caiyi. It’s going to get pushed downstream from Qishan because they don’t want to deal with it.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen then narrow, but he stays silent, nodding for Wei Wuxian to continue.

“In our time,” Wei Wuxian explains, “That was the first sign of aggression from QishanWen. Well, one that affected one of the other great sects at least. Wen Ruohan is already annexing smaller sects, but he’s too powerful to confront, so no one does. And next year, after the Discussion Conference is held in Qishan, Wen Ruohan will demand that all the sects send their heirs and top disciples to Nightless City for an indoctrination. When the Lans refuse, the Wens will burn down the Cloud Recesses.”

Jiang Cheng jerks back and swivels to stare at Lan Wangji, who glares down at the table, fists clenched. “What—?”

Wei Wuxian reaches out and places his hand over his husband’s fist in comfort and ignores Jiang Cheng’s wide-eyed look. “At the indoctrination, Wen Chao took away our swords and used us as live bait in his hunts. Eventually, we were left to die in a cave, but we escaped and got back home. But Wen Chao was furious at me for standing up to him during the indoctrination and came with an army to burn Lotus Pier.”

He pauses, swallowing heavily as Jiang Cheng’s open horror. Beneath his hand, Lan Wangji’s fist loosens and flips to return his hold, a comforting grip that keeps Wei Wuxian anchored.

“What do you mean they burned Lotus Pier?” Jiang Cheng whispers, face pale and disbelieving.

Wei Wuxian swallows past the painful lump in his throat and chokes out. “Jiang Cheng—”

“No.” Jiang Cheng says, voice stronger, shaking his head in furious denial. “It’s not possible! They wouldn’t dare. The Jiangs are strong! They could never succeed. Mother and Father would die before—” His voice cuts off with a strangled sound at the look on Wei Wuxian’s face. “No,” he chokes out, “It isn’t true.”

Wei Wuxian stares down at his lap, his hands shaking. “I’m sorry, Jiang Cheng. Only you, Shijie, and I survived.”

There is a heavy silence then, none of the time-travellers willing to break it as Jiang Cheng reels from the blow.

“So the Jiang Sect was gone in your future?” Jiang Cheng finally asks, a few minutes later, his voice suddenly small.

“No!” Wei Wuxian exclaims, lifting his head to meet his brother’s eyes, fierce pride sparkling in his own. “You built the sect back up, Jiang Cheng! In the middle of war, even. You took back Lotus Pier and rebuilt it, and the Jiang Sect was a Great Sect again by the end of the war. You were the greatest leader the sect had ever seen.”

Jiang Cheng blinked at him, colour returning to his cheeks in a rush. “Wei Wuxian, don’t—don’t lie to me!”

“He’s not, actually,” Nie Huaisang speaks up at last. Both brothers snap their heads toward him in surprise. The Nie Sect heir smiles guilelessly, his fan waving lazily back and forth. “Sandu Shengshou was well known for being a stern and powerful leader. He inspired great loyalty in his disciples and great fear in his enemies. Everyone knew not to cross him or his sect unless they wanted to feel the bite of Zidian.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him then nods slightly in gratitude, turning back to his brother who is mouthing the words ‘Sandu Shengshou’ to himself slowly, looking bemused and flushed and impossibly young. He smiles slightly at the sight and leans forward to punch his brother’s shoulder lightly.

“Don’t get all arrogant yet, shidi! You’ve still got years to earn your title!”

“You-!” Jiang Cheng begins then scowls, “Who says I believe you anyway?”

Wei Wuxian ignores the light frowns on the others’ faces and grins delightedly at his brother. “Don’t be cranky, Jiang Cheng!”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng mutters, staring at the table, “Just tell me what else happens.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile drops and he takes a moment to gather himself, to make sure he can get through the next part without crying. His grip on Lan Wangji’s hand turns into a vice, but his husband does nothing but tighten his own grip and drop a kiss on his hair, letting Wei Wuxian gather courage from his embrace. Wei Wuxian spares a moment to be grateful that Jiang Cheng is staring at the table rather than them or this conversation would get a lot more complicated fast.

“After—After Lotus Pier was destroyed, Wen Ning rescued us. He took us to the Yiling Supervisory Office where his sister, Wen Qing, was. They hid us and nursed us back to health. They saved our lives, even though they and their family would have been killed if it was discovered. But then we got separated in Yiling and I—” Wei Wuxian feels his throat close up, unable to continue.

“Wei Ying was caught by Wen Chao,” Lan WangJi intercedes, his steady tone belied only by the way his grip on Wei Wuxian’s hand turns bruising. “He threw Wei Ying into the Burial Mounds.”

Jiang Cheng blanches, his hands curling into fists. “He did what?”

“Wei-xiong escaped after a while,” Nie Huaisang says placidly, turning Jiang Cheng’s attention away from the tense lines of the other two. He ignores Wei Wuxian’s flinch and continues, “He came back three months later having learnt demonic cultivation and killed Wen Chao.”

“Demonic cultivation? Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng shouts, appalled.

“I didn’t have a core.” Wei Wuxian says quietly, looking down at his lap. “It was the only way for me to survive.”

That gets Jiang Cheng’s jaw to snap shut. He swallows, his face white. “What?” he whispers, horror and disbelief radiating from his tone. He cannot imagine it, living without a core. He would rather die.

“Wen Chao’s right-hand man is a man named Wen Zhuliu,” Nie Huaisang says, “Do you know of him?” When Jiang Cheng shakes his head, he nods and sighs, “He is also known as the Core-Melting Hand.”

Jiang Cheng’s face turns ashen and Wei Wuxian looks down, grimacing. Jiang Cheng’s anguished face in the candlelight that night in Guanyin temple flashes behind his eyelids, and his free hand clenches into a fist. Never again.

“Wei Wuxian, you—” Jiang Cheng whispers, evidently at a loss for words. Wei Wuxian shakes his head and summons up a smile as he lifts his head to look at him.

“Jiang Cheng, don’t look like that. I could still cultivate, it was just… different.”

“Wei Wuxian—”

“Aiya!” he interrupts, “Enough, enough! It’s not important except you should know because I’ll probably have to use it again.” He huffs, waving his free hand at his brother, even as his husband maintains his tight grip on the other. Wei Wuxian is thankful for it, letting it anchor him.

Jiang Cheng scowls and opens his mouth to protest, possibly very loudly, before Wei Wuxian interrupts as chirpily as he can. “So! There was the war. That’s the important bit—the bit we’re currently trying to avoid. It was long and horrible, but we think we might be able to avoid it, or at least, cut it as short as possible. We win, in the end, which is also an important bit!”

“Wei Wuxian, you—!”

“And anyway, that’s why we’re here and need your help!” Wei Wuxian says, cheerfully steamrolling over anything his brother might have to say, “So, do you believe us? We kind of need you to believe us, Jiang Cheng!”

Jiang Cheng scowls but lets him change the subject. “How did you come back?” He asks instead.

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says, looking straight at Nie Huaisang, who winces and lifts his fan like a shield. “Well, you see, someone decided it would be a good idea to trap us in an array during a nighthunt and here we are.”  

Beside him, Lan Wangji tenses slightly, just as he does every time someone mentions the array. Wei Wuxian reaches out and runs a soothing hand up his arm, leaning closer into his side for comfort as Nie Huaisang shrinks back before Jiang Cheng’s heavy frown.

“You?”

Nie Huaisang flutters his fan and glances reproachfully at Wei WuXian, who only grins unrepentantly in response. “Ah, well, I—” he starts, unsure.

“Why?” Jiang Cheng asks, more confused than angry.

Nie Huaisang flutters his fan agitatedly. “I don’t know! To help people, make things right! It seemed like the right thing to do.”

Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at him sceptically then turns back to his brother, mouth opening to speak. Whatever it is he has to say, however, dies in his throat as he finally notices the way Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are sitting, tilted towards each other and intimate.

“Okay, what the fuck are you doing?” Jiang Cheng demands, glaring intently at his brother.

Wei Wuxian visibly perks up. “Doing? Doing what?” he asks, eyes wide and innocent.

Jiang Cheng’s glare deepens. “That,” he says, gesturing furiously at their still-joined hands, his cheeks reddening.

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian whines, his tone belied by the broad grin stretching across his face. “Can’t a man touch his husband in peace?”

“Husband?”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him and smiles beatifically. “Of course. Lan Zhan is my husband.”

There is a long, shocked silence before Jiang Cheng's shoulders slump in defeat. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with a groan, tired and long-suffering. “Why am I even surprised? You’ve always been shameless. This is why you’ve been hounding him so much since we got here?”

“Not hounding.” Jiang Cheng’s eyes snap open to meet Lan Wangji’s impassive gaze. “Wei Ying is always welcome.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian gasps, “Haven’t I told you to warn me? My poor heart!”

Jiang Cheng ignores his stupid brother in favour of glowering at Lan Wangji. “Who said you could marry him, anyway?”

“Wei Ying.”

“You think that’s good enough?” Jiang Cheng snorts, “Whatever nonsense he pulled you into in your future, you better be prepared this time! You’re both part of great sects. You have responsibilities. You have to get the approval of your Sect Leaders first—this is a political alliance, and you at least should know that, even if that idiot wants to ignore it.”

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian pouts at him, “You sound just like Lan Qiren!”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes flash at that, his jaw clenching in irritation. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s very sad, Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian pouts at him. “He doesn’t like me at all. I’m not good enough for Lan Zhan!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says admonishingly, “You are good.”

“You’re the worst.” Jiang Cheng says at the same time, and ignores Lan Wangji’s glare, “You’re so annoying, of course he doesn’t like you. But what the fuck does that have to do with anything? Lan Wangji married you already, didn’t he? What, is YunmengJiang’s head disciple suddenly not good enough for GusuLan?”

Wei Wuxian’s jaw drops open and even Lan Wangji almost looks surprised at that, before something almost like approval passes through his eyes. Jiang Cheng absolutely refuses to acknowledge the small glint of satisfaction he feels at that.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice wobbling, touched.

Jiang Cheng ignores him in favour of eyeing Lan Wangji with suspicion. “Just because you’re a Jade of Lan, doesn’t mean you can wander over and steal our head disciple so easily. Future or no future, you better court him properly.”

Lan Wangji nods seriously. “I will court Wei Ying as he deserves.”

Jiang Cheng snorts and glances at his brother, who’s staring wide-eyed between them, his cheeks red. “Well, he’s obviously smitten with you, though what he sees in a block of ice, I don’t know.”

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian exclaims immediately, affronted, “Don’t you dare insult Lan Zhan! He’s not a block of ice!”

Jiang Cheng squints at the Lan disciple in question whose face hasn’t moved an inch then turns back to his brother with a scoff. “What, we can call A-jie’s betrothed a peacock, but I can’t call yours a block of ice?”

“He’s not my betrothed,” Wei WuXian protests, pouting. “He’s my husband!”

Lan Wangji nods in agreement, letting Wei Wuxian cling tighter to his arm. “Mn. Husband.”

Jiang Cheng’s lip curls with faint disgust at the display and glares at Lan Wangji. “Fine, husband, whatever. Good luck with him. He’s never going to follow all your rules, you know. He’ll turn the Cloud Recesses upside down before he turns into some perfect Lan so you better be prepared. And if you make him unhappy, you’ll have to answer to YungmengJiang!”

Lan Wangji nods in acceptance, peaceable and unmoved. “Wei Ying is Wei Ying.”

“You—both of you—,” Wei Wuxian splutters, blushing. 

“Oh, A-Jie is going to love this,” Jiang Cheng snorts. To his horror, Wei Wuxian immediately grows teary-eyed. “What? Wei Wuxian?”

“Nothing! Nothing!” Wei Wuxian waves him away, valiantly attempting not to sniff. “Stop looking at me like that!”

“You’re crying.” Jiang Cheng says with disgust.

“No, I’m not!” Wei Wuxian scowls petulantly.

“You are!” Jiang Cheng insists.

Over their heads, Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang exchange a look. Nie Huaisang shrugs and pours them both fresh cups of tea while the brothers continue their bickering for the next several minutes.

“Stop acting like a child, Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out. “I’m decades older than you! If anyone’s the child here, it’s you! You’re so young that—”

“Who’s young!?” Jiang Cheng interrupts with an affronted glare.

Wei Wuxian laughs then, a genuine sound that has Jiang Cheng’s shoulders relaxing minutely in response. Wei Wuxian leans forward and grins at his little brother, “Ah, Jiang Cheng, everyone is young to us. We’re really over forty years old, even if we’re stuck looking like teenagers for a while. So really, you’re younger than even our junior disciples now, a real baby.”

He watches in delight as Jiang Cheng’s face reddens in fury and opens his mouth to continue taunting his shidi when he feels his husband’s hand rest lightly on his arm. He turns to look at Lan Wangji beseechingly, but his husband only shakes his head in fond exasperation and sighs.

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian pouts, “Aiya, Lan Zhan, I was only going to tease him a little. Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Don’t look at me that way, or your poor husband will be reduced to tears!”

He turns back to his brother, still grinning, only to find Jiang Cheng eyeing Lan Wangji with stunned bewilderment, his previous fury forgotten.

“He listens to you,” Jiang Cheng says slowly, each word radiating with horrified disbelief. “What the fuck?”

He ignores Wei Wuxian’s indignant squawk and eyes Lan Wangji’s hand as it silently wraps around Wei Wuxian’s waist and pulls him closer—much to his brother’s obvious delight—with growing dismay. The look he finally turns on Nie Huaisang is one of blank horror.

“Are they always like this?”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang nods fervently in perfect understanding, “In fact, they’re usually much worse.”

Jiang Cheng takes a moment to close eyes and breathe deeply.

“Get out.”

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian pouts at him.

“Shut up! Just because you’re some married old man, doesn’t mean I want to see you mooning over Lan Wangji like an idiot! Can’t you be decent and wait until you’re actually married at least?”

Wei Wuxian doubles over with laughter, Lan Wangji placidly stopping him from knocking over his teacup with the arm still wrapped around his waist. Jiang Cheng’s face grows redder and redder with outrage until Wei Wuxian gathers himself somewhat and launches himself at his brother, arms coming around him like an annoyingly clingy octopus.

“Are you protecting your shixiong’s honour?” He exclaims with delight, “I knew you loved me, A-Cheng!”

“Who’s your A-Cheng!?” Jiang Cheng says explosively, shoving Wei Wuxian off of him, his cheeks pink.

“Don’t be mean, Jiang Cheng, I know I’m your favourite brother!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully, letting Lan Wangji help him back to his seat and immediately curling into his side, ignoring Jiang Cheng’s affronted look.

“You’re my only brother, idiot!”

Wei Wuxian beams at him, and Jiang Cheng realises with a sudden pang that maybe that’s what Wei Wuxian was after all along—he shakes the thought away and scowls instead.

Nie Huaisang, sensing that Jiang Cheng is close to throwing them out altogether, decides that he has better things to be doing. He sets down his empty cup with a click and stands, waving his fan cheerfully at them. “I’ll leave first then, Jiang-xiong! You know where to find me if you have any questions.”

Jiang Cheng nods distractedly in his direction as he slips out the door, but his eyes stay narrowed on Wei Wuxian as he continues to cling to Lan Wangji’s arm and beam at him shamelessly.

He takes in the picture they make, his brother bright and cheerful as usual, but more settled somehow at Lan Wangji’s side. And Lan Wangji, famous for his stoicism, who stares at his brother with a disgustingly fond look that Jiang Cheng didn’t even know the jade-like boy was capable of making. He catches Lan Wangji’s eye as he looks up and glares at him, only slightly incensed when it seems to have no effect on the Second Jade.

“You,” he says, ignoring the way Wei Wuxian’s grin immediately shrinks to a nervous smile. “You and I are going to have a talk soon. If you’re going to be marrying this idiot, you better be able to take care of him. God knows he can’t do it himself.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widen slightly in what Jiang Cheng takes to be surprise, which he finds deeply offensive. Does Lan Wangji think he can just abscond with Jiang Cheng’s brother without even a by-your-leave and that he would have nothing to say about it? He’s ready to emphasize the point when Lan Wangji straightens his already straight back and nods solemnly in acceptance. The fight goes out of Jiang Cheng then as he grudgingly nods back, still glaring, but secretly glad that at least his brother’s betrothed is willing to put in the work to take care of him—which is more than he can say about the stupid peacock his A-jie is engaged to.

“Jiang Cheeeeng,” Wei Wuxian whines. Jiang Cheng’s head whips towards him at the tone and is revolted to find a hint of tears in his brother’s eyes again, even as he makes an abysmal attempt at teasing. “Is this you giving us your blessing? Do you care about your shixiong so much then?”

“Who cares about you?” Jiang Cheng huffs, but he knows his voice is weak. He looks past the two of them at the wall, trying hard to look annoyed instead of deeply uncomfortable. “If you’re going to cry, don’t do it here,” he scolds, aggrieved, “Can’t you go weep on your precious Lan Wangji somewhere else? Maybe he'll care enough to comfort you.”

Wei Wuxian’s teary smile gives way under a smirk, and Jiang Cheng is immediately filled with regret.

“Oh, Lan Zhan is very good at comforting me, don’t worry—”

“Out!” Jiang Cheng howls in outrage. “Get out!”

With a last tinkling laugh from Wei Wuxian, they do.

Chapter Text

Nie Huaisang stretches his arms above his head, pulling the muscles tight then relaxing them, his shoulders slumping in relief. He stretches his neck and hums as he contemplates the neat collection of notes and letters spread out in front of him. Rebuilding an entire spy network from the ground up is far more tedious than he thought it would be and only half as fun, especially since he’ll need to wait a couple of years to make full use of a few key pieces of blackmail. But no matter, even if it takes a little more effort, Nie Huaisang knows he’ll get what he wants; he always does. And in the meantime—he glances out the window to where the sun has begun to dip low over the horizon and gathers up his papers into a qiankun pouch that he slips up his sleeve.

Minutes pass quietly as he carefully brews a pot of tea, laying out two empty cups as he retakes his seat. But when another handful of minutes pass and nothing happens, he rises again with a pout and makes his way to the door, sliding it open with a purposeful crack that startles the person standing on the other side.

“Jiang-xiong,” he says mildly, “The tea is getting cold.”

Jiang Wanyin straightens from where he had taken an instinctive step back, covering his surprise with a scowl. Nie Huaisang moves aside to let him in but Jiang Wanyin stays where he is, hesitant and, apparently, still unsure.

Nie Huaisang points his fan at the other boy and sighs mournfully. “Really, all this indecision almost makes me miss your future self. At least he had no problem barging into rooms and making demands.”

That, at least, makes Jiang Wanyin’s scowl turn genuine. He stomps past him into the room, sitting down heavily at the table and pulling the teapot towards himself with an appalling lack of courtesy. Nie Huaisang suppresses a laugh and goes to join him, carefully affixing a silencing talisman to the door on his way.

He unfurls his fan slowly and blinks innocently at Jiang Wanyin over its edge. “What can I help you with today, Jiang-xiong?”

The Jiang Sect heir scowls. “You invited me, didn’t you?”

Nie Huaisang’s lips twitch behind his fan. “I told you to come to me if you had any questions, certainly.”

Jiang Wanyin’s scowl deepens, but there’s an air of hesitance about him that Nie Huaisang hasn’t seen from his future self in decades and he pauses, feeling almost rueful when faced with the boy in front of him. Perhaps teasing him isn’t the right way to go about this just yet.

“I did, I invited you,” he admits and sees Jiang Wanyin’s shoulders relax in response.

They sit in silence for a few minutes as Nie Huaisang watches Jiang Wanyin visibly struggle for words in mild amusement, head tilted like a curious bird.

“The Wens,” Jiang Wanyin says finally, frowning down at his hands, “Is there really going to be a war with them?”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang says simply, the movement of his fan smooth and careless, “It’s too late to stop it entirely. If things go to plan, it won’t be as long or as bad as it was for us, but it will happen.”

The Jiang Sect heir swallows and nods, then looks up determinedly after a few moments. “What plans?” he demands belligerently, “I should be involved, too!”

Nie Huaisang hides a smile and reaches into his sleeve to pull out a bundle of papers, passing them over to the Jiang heir. “Of course. This needs to stay between us alone but look them over. We’ll need your help.”

“Mine?” Jiang Wanyin says blankly, staring down at the thick bundle in his hands, a little overwhelmed, unsure how to react now that the fight he expected hasn’t happened.

“Yours,” Nie Huaisang says crisply, “You’re the heir to one of the Great Sects, with perhaps, the greatest to lose. Your involvement is necessary.”

“You need my sect,” Jiang Wanyin concludes gruffly.

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes, huffing exaggeratedly, and points his fan at the other boy. “We need you, Jiang-xiong. Your position is important, but if you’ll read those beautiful notes of mine before you destroy them completely as you currently seem bent on doing, I think you’ll find that we want your sect as little involved in this as possible.”

Jiang Wanyin loosens his crushing grip on the notes and sets them aside, flushing lightly, but his eyes, when he lifts them to Nie Huaisang’s, hold a frown. “Why don’t you want my sect involved? YunmengJiang is strong! Are you looking down on us?”

Nie Huaisang groans, twirling his fan in the air dramatically. “Jiang-xiong, please. You know as well as I do that no one is going to believe us if we tell them the truth. And considering how that entire generation refuses to lift a finger in defence of anyone who isn’t their own, telling them would be a waste of breath.”

“They wouldn’t just–”

“Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang interrupts firmly, “When we went to war, the leaders of the campaign consisted almost entirely of teenagers. Most Sect Leaders and elders of the Great Sects who were still alive did not fight on the frontlines or even work to organise troops or supplies. We were on our own then so we’re going to assume the same now, and gladly.”

“My parents wouldn’t let that happen!” Jiang Wanyin protests, expression torn between anger and uneasiness.

“Maybe not,” Nie Huaisang allows, with a delicate shrug, “But that’s not an argument in their favour.”

“What?”

“Jiang-xiong, think about it. Your parents may participate in and lead a war when it happens, but would they believe us now? Would they take the advice of children into council? If we go to them tomorrow and say, ‘We are from the future and there is a war coming. Listen to us,’ would they actually do so?”

“I– They–” Jiang Wanyin stutters, looking wrong-footed and distressed.

“They would not,” Nie Huaisang says, gentle but firm, “And if we did manage to convince them, what do you imagine they would do?”

After a few moments of struggle, Jiang Wanyin mumbles, “I don’t know.”

Nie Huaisang shrugs, the movement of his fan steady and negligent. “Nor do I. And that’s why we can’t afford to risk it.”

“Risk what?” he asks, frowning.

“Right now, we can be fairly certain of what will happen,” Nie Huaisang explains patiently, “And that is how we may make plans to change it. But every person who learns about the future has the potential to alter it in unknown and unpredictable ways. With those we know and trust, this risk is lessened. But with anyone else–” he breaks off, shrugging unapologetically.

Jiang Wanyin digests that quietly for a few moments, then says, almost petulantly, “You told Lan Qiren.”

“The Twin Jades of Lan,” Nie Huaisang says heavily, in accents of doom, “Are terrible liars.”

The air around them lightens as Jiang Wanyin blinks at him, then valiantly attempts to stop his lips from twitching in amusement.

“They also hold less power that many would assume in their own sect,” Nie Huaisang adds, “Which makes Lan Qiren’s involvement extremely inconvenient, but unfortunately necessary.”

“They do?” Jiang Wanyin asks, surprised.

“Over three thousand rules make for a very inflexible political system,” Nie Huaisang sighs, put out, “Until Lan Xichen actually takes on the mantle of Sect Leader, his uncle’s word holds far more weight than his own.”

“But wouldn’t Lan Qiren also be–”

“A very big liability?” Nie Huaisang fills in, “Yes, especially considering his distaste for Wei-xiong almost seems to trump his common sense sometimes.”

Jiang Wanyin scowls. “What is his problem with Wei Wuxian anyway? I know he has a reputation as a troublemaker, but he hasn’t even broken that many rules since we got here. I’d be worried he was planning some big stupid prank if I didn’t know he wasn’t… him,” his voice breaks slightly, but he recovers quickly, “But Lan Qiren also knows that, so what’s his problem?”

“Ah,” Nie Huaisang says awkwardly, “Lan Qiren knew his mother in their youth.”

“Cangse Sanren?”

“Yes, apparently they didn’t get along.”

Jiang Wanyin scowls. “He won’t let Wei Wuxian marry Lan Wangji because he didn’t like Wei Wuxian’s mother?”

Nie Huaisang shrugs. “Apparently they’re similar.”

Something in Jiang Wanyin’s eyes shutters. “I’ve heard.”

“It must be hard for Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says quietly after a moment. At Jiang Wanyin’s look of confusion he clarifies, “To be constantly compared to a mother he doesn’t even remember.”

The Jiang heir looks away, too many emotions flitting across his face for Nie Huaisang to decipher. “What’s Lan Qiren going to do anyway? Does he even believe all this?” he asks after a minute, an evident attempt to change the subject. Nie Huaisang lets it go easily. There will be time enough to cultivate that seed.

He flicks his fan dismissively. “He doesn’t quite believe it yet or doesn’t want to. But he’ll come around. Besides, we want him to do as little as possible anyway, which makes all the rigid righteousness rules of the Lan clan useful. Right now, we just want him to give the Twin Jades more power to increase the Cloud Recesses’ defences and invite Sect Leader Jiang here for a visit soon.”

“My father? I thought you aren’t going to tell him anything?” Jiang Wanyin asks, frowning.

“We aren’t,” Nie Huaisang says shrugging, “But inviting him here is the most convenient way to invite your sister here as well. And we do need her.”

Jiang Wanyin stiffens instantly. “What do you need from A-jie?” he demands, eyeing him with significant disfavour.

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes in exasperation. “You and Wei-xiong–! We need her because she’s one of the few people we can trust, she’s got a great head for politics, and she’ll be able to help us. Also, she’s the only person other than Lan-er-gongzi that your brother will listen to and I have a strong feeling that’s going to be necessary.”

The set of Jiang Wanyin’s shoulders relaxes somewhat and he nods seriously, though he scowls at the mention of Lan Wangji.

“What does Wei Wuxian even see in that block of ice?” he grumbles, almost petulant.

Nie Huaisang can’t help the giggle that escapes him then, despite the glower it earns him. “Lan-er-gongzi is very handsome,” he suggests provocatively, peering at the other boy over the edge of his fan. “And very skilled. I’ve heard their relationship is quite… passionate.”

Jiang Wanyin’s face twists in disgust. “Shut up!” he says hotly, “With that stone face of his, does he even have feelings?”

Nie Huaisang smirks. “Don’t be fooled by his face, Jiang-xiong. Lan-er-gongzi feels plenty, especially about your brother.”

Jiang Wanyin huffs in annoyance, obviously remembering the way the Second Jade and his brother had gravitated towards each other the previous day. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean he can marry him just like that! They’re too young, anyway!”

“Not too young to be betrothed though. But we both know that’s just a technicality,” Nie Huaisang says cheerfully.

Jiang Wanyin’s scowl deepens. “Who says they can get betrothed!”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes twinkle mischievously above his fan. “If it makes you feel better, Jiang-xiong, I’m sure Wei-xiong won’t marry Lan-er-gongzi without getting Jiang-guniang’s blessing first.”

Jiang Wanyin stills for a moment before an unholy gleam enters his eyes, making him look very much like the boy he is. He leans back slowly, frown melting into a smirk. “You make a good point, Nie-xiong. A-jie would want to know right away, too. I’m sure she’ll be very eager to meet Lan-er-gongzi.”

They exchange a look of shared mischief for a minute before Jiang Wanyin seems to recall the reason he’s here and straightens up again with purpose, purposefully replacing the look of childish glee with his signature frown. Nie Huaisang catches the renewed seriousness in the air and matches his movements, letting his own humour vanish as he nods to the Jiang Sect heir to voice whatever questions he has.

“Wei Wuxian said there’s one more person who came back?” Jiang Wanyin asks.

Nie Huaisang nods. “Wen Ning, Wen Qionglin. He’s the younger brother of the doctor, Wen Qing. They’re from a branch family.”

Jiang Wanyin frowns. “Why? If there’s going to be a war with the Wens, how can you trust him?”

Nie Huaisang takes a moment to marvel at the difference in tone. In contrast to his future self, there’s no poison in Jiang Wanyin’s voice when he speaks the name Wen now, only suspicious curiosity and confusion. So he says with perfect calm, “Wen Qionglin is a good man, and he’s very loyal to Wei-xiong. He and his sister never believed in Wen Ruohan’s actions, but they couldn’t do much and protect their family at the same time. However,” he adds, as casually as possible, “they did still save your life.”

Jiang Wanyin’s head shoots up, startled, before understanding slowly sinks in, “Wei Wuxian said… after what happened to Lotus Pier, they took us in?”

Nie Huaisang nods seriously. “You were badly injured. They’re both from a healer branch and you recovered due to their efforts.”

He watches Jiang Wanyin digest that and says nothing further. Even if he was willing to face the Yiling Patriarch’s wrath, he finds in himself no desire to elaborate further. Oddly enough, Nie Huaisang finds himself suddenly weary of the heartaches of the past. The boy in front of him is still so unbearably young as he naively mulls over this new revelation—no older than his own junior disciples who used to come to him when they wished to escape the rigid training of their sabre-master and knew they could cajole him into hiding them away to paint fans instead. Whatever the boy in front of him may one day become, and be capable of handling and doing, he is a child still, and Nie Huaisang finds himself surprisingly unwilling to tarnish that entirely.

“Do you really trust them?” Jiang Wanyin asks finally.

Nie Huaisang hums thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t have brought Wen-gongzi back if I didn’t. After all, it’ll be useful to have a spy on the inside whose loyalty we don’t have to question. As for his sister: I never had the pleasure of meeting her, but both Wei-xiong and Wen-gongzi speak highly of her. From what I gather, she’s extremely intelligent and would do anything for her family, which can only work to our advantage.”

Jiang Wanyin eyes him, frowning, but nods. Then he proceeds to throw Nie Huaisang by demanding uncompromisingly. “Why did you do it anyway?”

Nie Huaisang blinks a bit in shock and flutters his fan nervously. “What?”

“Why did you do it?” The Jiang heir repeats, waving his hand impatiently. “Come back, time-travel, whatever. Why?”

“Ah,” Nie Huaisang says delicately, pausing the movement of his fan. “Well, I told you. To change things, save the people who matter.”

“Which people?” Jiang Wanyin asks sceptically.

“My brother, for one.” Nie Huaisang snaps.

That makes Jiang Wanyin pause, surprise coating his features. “Your brother?”

Nie Huaisang nods tightly, the hand on his fan tightening involuntarily. He sees Jiang Wanyin eye his white-knuckled grip and makes an effort to loosen his hold. “My Da-ge was murdered. I avenged him, eventually, but revenge doesn’t bring people back.”

Jiang Wanyin stares at him in shock. “Who the fuck managed that?” he blurts, then immediately turns red with embarrassment at his own lack of tact, “Not that–I didn’t mean– I– It’s just that Chifeng-Zun is so–” He stumbles to a halt then takes a breath, grimacing awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” he says, and bows in his seat, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Nie Huaisang says quietly, his fan eerily still. “It won’t happen again.”

Jiang Wanyin eyes him with consideration. “Will you kill them, whoever did it?”

Nie Huaisang snaps his fan shut and scowls at it. “I’ve been forbidden from doing so. So, maybe.”

“Forbidden?” Jiang Wanyin asks, surprised, “By whom?”

“Da-ge. Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says tightly.

Jiang Wanyin frowns. “Why?”

Nie Huaisang sighs. “They’re too honourable. They won’t hold him to crimes he hasn’t committed yet. They think he can be redeemed,” he spits bitterly.

The silence that follows is thick.

“You said your brother and mine won’t let you,” Jiang Wanyin says suddenly, “What about Lan Wangji?” At Nie Huaisang’s expression, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Holy shit.”

“He’s not for it. But I don’t think he’s exactly against it either.” Nie Huaisang acknowledges.

“What the fuck did this person do?” Jiang Wanyin wonders in flabbergasted horror.

“Too much,” Nie Huaisang says curtly, “To all our brothers.”

“All our brothers?” Jiang Wanyin asks sharply, “Wei Wuxian and Zewu-Jun, too?”

Nie Huaisang nods and watches with some pleasure as Jiang Wanyin’s face hardens. “I see,” the Jiang Sect heir says bitingly. He meets Nie Huaisang’s eyes firmly. “If they try anything again, you’ll tell me.”

It’s not a request. Nie Huaisang nods and unfolds his fan once more, raising it to hide his smirk. Jiang Wanyin stares at him penetratingly for a few moments then states in the manner of one announcing an unquestionable fact, “You’re different.”

Nie Huaisang shrugs but says nothing, eyes sharp above the rim of his fan.

Jiang Wanyin huffs, somewhere between annoyance and amusement, and insists, “It’s not just that you’re older, you’re different.”

Nie Huaisang hums and flutters his fan carelessly. “Very likely. I had to be.”

To his surprise, Jiang Wanyin only nods. At his inquiring glance, the Jiang Sect heir looks away, frowning at the wall in the way that Nie Huaisang knows means he’s hiding how he really feels, and mutters, “So is Wei Wuxian.”

Ah. “Not as much as you would think.”

At Jiang Wanyin’s glare, half-hopeful and half-disbelieving, he sighs. “He’s not the same as the Wei-xiong you knew, no. But he isn’t a completely different person, either. He’s just… been through a lot.”

The silence between them stretches and Jiang Wanyin’s face twists with something difficult.

“He– is he–” Jiang Wanyin starts, then cuts himself off with an annoyed huff.

Nie Huaisang hums questioningly. “Jiang-xiong?”

“Is he okay?” Jiang Wanyin grits out, glaring furiously at his teacup.

Nie Huaisang blinks in genuine surprise. “What?”

“He said… demonic cultivation?”

“Ah, that,” Nie Huaisang shrugs, “Wei-xiong seems to have a way to combat the effects. I’d be sceptical, but Lan-er-gongzi seems to trust him, and he’s never put anything over your brother’s safety.”

Jiang Wanyin scowls but nods grudgingly. “Wei Wuxian is stupid,” he says, with the off-hand recognition of a sibling, “He can’t take care of himself for shit. If Lan Wangji is also keeping an eye on him then… that’s good, I guess.”

Nie Huaisang valiantly represses the way his lips twitch at that as he hums in agreement and considers telling Lan Wangji that he owes him money. “Lan-er-gongzi will make sure he’ll be okay.”

Immediately, Jiang Wanyin’s eyes sharpen on him. “Will be? So he’s not okay now.”

“He’s just adjusting,” he says, attempting valiantly to keep the atmosphere light, but Jiang Wanyin’s frown only deepens.

“What does that mean?”

“It means the answer to your question is complicated, Jiang-xiong.” Nie Huaisang gives in with a sigh, “They’re both going through a lot right now.”

“Like what?” Jiang Wanyin demands, confused.

“They had a son, you know,” Nie Huaisang says quietly. He lays his fan out in his lap and looks down at it contemplatively. “They lost him when I brought them back. They’ve made it clear I won’t be forgiven for it anytime soon, so you might as well know too.”

When he looks up, Jiang Wanyin’s eyes are huge, his lips parted in shock. “They had a what?” he croaks.

“A son,” Nie Huaisang says ruefully, “I thought they would adopt him again, but he was a war orphan last time and, well, we’re actively attempting to prevent him from being one again.”

Jiang Wanyin just continues to look vaguely horrified. “Wei Wuxian had a child?”

“Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says, voice torn between reluctant laughter and exasperation, “You’re forgetting how old we actually are. Their son was already twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five,” Jiang Wanyin repeats hollowly. Then, all of a sudden, his expression twists. “Wait, Wei Wuxian said you came back in your forties.”

“Yes?”

“Forty what?”

“Um, forty-two?”

Jiang Wanyin’s face turns purple so fast, Nie Huaisang becomes vaguely alarmed. “You let Wei Wuxian adopt a child when he was seventeen?” Jiang Wanyin screeches, “He stole all my left shoes and hung them from the rafters around Lotus Pier two months ago and you lot let him be a father?”

Nie Huaisang can’t control the laughter that bubbles out of his throat then, all remaining tension melting into pure amusement. He doubles over, ignoring the Jiang heir’s glare as he gasps for breath. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, “But your face, Jiang-xiong.”

“Shut up!” Jiang Wanyin snaps even as his lips start twitching involuntarily in response to Nie Huaisang’s giggles. “Just tell me about the kid.”

Nie Huaisang snorts but settles down, unfurling his fan to cover the lower half of his face. “He wasn’t adopted for a few years after he was born, don’t worry.” Jiang Wanyin grunts, but doesn’t look very appeased. Nie Huaisang suppresses another giggle. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jiang-xiong.”

Jiang Wanyin shrugs, then looks away. “Is that why he doesn’t want to be here?” When Nie Huaisang looks at him curiously, he glares impatiently. “It’s obvious he– he isn’t happy or whatever, the way you are.”

“The way I am?” Nie Huaisang asks, head tilted.

Jiang Wanyin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, obviously. You haven’t stuttered or pretended to be useless since we started talking. You’ve been all… smug.” He grimaces.

Nie Huaisang smiles, a slow spread across his face. “And what would be the point of my doing that now?” he asks lightly, “It still has its uses, of course, but this is about trust as I’m sure you'll agree, Jiang-xiong.”

Jiang Wanyin pins him with a glare for a minute then sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Whatever. Just tell me what’s going on with Wei Wuxian.”

Nie Huaisang eyes him with some amusement. “Shouldn’t you be asking him that yourself, Jiang-xiong?”

Jiang Wanyin looks away, his frown turning into something more complicated. “He won’t tell me,” he mumbles, petulant.

Nie Huaisang hums consideringly then shrugs and settles on the truth. “He would. He would tell you anything you ask.”

“Then why is he hiding things?” Jiang Wanyin asks in confusion.

“Ah,” Nie Huaisang says, fanning himself casually, “Because we told him to.”

Jiang Wanyin startles at that, his glare intensifying. “You–! Why?”

“Because Wei-xiong has a bad habit of taking the blame for a lot of things that aren’t his fault. I’m sure you’ve noticed, it’s not new.”

He watches Jiang Wanyin shift uncomfortably under his gaze. Good.

“Is this about what happens to Lotus Pier?” Jiang Wanyin asks, looking down at the table. “That they came because of him.”

Nie Huaisang feels his expression harden. “He was their excuse,” he says, flintlike, “They would have come anyway. Trust me, that’s what they did with my home. It’s what they did to Cloud Recesses before any of us had a chance to anger Wen Chao over anything.”

“Then why did he–?”

“Because he still blames himself.”

“But you just said–”

“Yes, I did.”

Jiang Wanyin stills, a complicated look twisting his expression. “You mean, I– the future me– he–?”

Nie Huaisang hums. “Did you blame Wei-xiong? Yes and no.”

“What do you mean?” The Jiang heir growls, frustrated.

“I spoke to you—the future you—before I set the array, you know.”

“I knew?”

“No. Of course not.” Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes. “You’d have strangled me with your Zidian first.”

“My Zidian,” the Jiang heir mumbles, a strange look on his face. He looks up to see Nie Huaisang watching him and shakes his head with a scowl. “Why would I do that?”

Nie Huaisang snorts, half-amused, half-wry. “What would you do if I proposed taking your brother away from you?” He pauses as the other boy straightens, his glare growing fierce, and flutters his fan agitatedly, doing his best to look harmless. “I won’t, I won’t! But you see my point.”

Jiang Wanyin seems to calm a bit at that, but still mutters belligerently, “Maybe I should strangle you anyway. For my future self.”

Nie Huaisang flutters his fan and protests meekly, “Jiang-xiong!”

But the Jiang heir only continues to glower. “Shut up,” he says, seemingly on instinct, then pauses, eyes searching. “You didn’t answer my question,” he says slowly, his mouth twisting uncomfortably, “What did my– my future self say?”

Nie Huaisang feels the corners of his lips twitch and raises his fan to hide it. But he keeps his voice cool and matter of fact when he speaks. “From what I gathered, when it happened, you did blame Wei-xiong, and told him as much.”

Jiang Wanyin stills and suddenly appears much younger when he asks, “I did?”

Nie Huaisang masks his wince with a shrug. “Wei-xiong stopped the Wens from killing Lan Wangji and Jin Zixuan during the indoctrination by holding Wen Chao hostage. Wen Chao used that as a reason to send his mistress to Lotus Pier and punish Wei-xiong.”

The Jiang heir pales. “Punish him?”

Nie Huaisang sighs and says quietly, “You wouldn’t say much about it. I had to get you quite drunk to talk about it at all.” He shrugs unrepentantly. “But from what I gathered, your mother was made to whip him.”

Nie Huaisang sees the stricken look on the boy’s face but forges on, “You were pretty tight-lipped about what happened after. All you said was that your mother said it was all Wei-xiong’s fault and, at the time, you agreed.”

“But– you said–”

Nie Huaisang sighs at the evident distress and confusion written across the younger boy’s face. “You had just lost your home, Jiang-xiong,” he says gently, “Your parents and your sect-siblings were dead. You were still a child. We all were. You no longer blamed him when we talked, but you know what Wei-xiong is like. I don’t think he ever forgot.”

“But I said it wasn’t his fault!”

Nie Huaisang cocks his head and hums contemplatively. “You know, I don’t know if you ever told him that.”

Across from him, Jiang Wanyin freezes. “What?”

“Things between you weren’t always easy, Jiang-xiong. You both tried in recent years, but I don’t actually know how far you got with everything.”

Jiang Wanyin frowns, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. “Only recent years? What about before?”

“Ah,’ Nie Huaisang says awkwardly, “It wasn’t really possible before.”

Immediately, the Jiang heir’s eyes narrow in suspicion and Nie Huaisang swallows down a sigh. “Why not?” Jiang Wanyin demands.

Nie Huaisang flutters his fan nervously, Lan Wangji’s freezing glare from that first day flashing before his eyes. “You should really ask Wei-xiong about that.”

“But he won’t–!”

Nie Huaisang sighs and says gently. “Jiang-xiong, he’ll tell you. Wei-xiong will tell you anything you want to know, no matter how much it hurts him. The question is whether you want to know.”

Jiang Wanyin blinks. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Ah, youth. “Some things, Jiang-xiong, you cannot unlearn.”

Jiang Wanyin rolls his eyes, annoyed. “What does that mean?”

Nie Huaisang’s lips twitch. “It means, Jiang-xiong, that there are some things it might be better not to know.”

Jiang Wanyin’s confused frown doesn’t lighten. “Why?”

“What would be the point of coming back if everyone here carries the burdens of our future? Wouldn’t that only create more problems?” Nie Huaisang waves his fan languidly, the picture of an indolent young master. “Tell me, Jiang-xiong, if what you learn is terrible, what will you do?”

“I– what should I–” Jiang Wanyin stammers, his face turning red, then clenches his jaw and glares at the table, unable to find an answer.

“Precisely.” Nie Huaisang says calmly.

Jiang Wanyin’s head shoots up then and he glowers. “I don’t know what I’ll do, but he’s my shixiong! If something’s wrong with him, I should know! Otherwise, who will stop him from going off on his own and doing something stupid?”

“His husband?” Nie Huaisang suggests innocently, unable to resist the temptation.

Jiang Wanyin’s scowl grows fierce, hand twitching towards Sandu’s sheath beside him. “He’s not married!”

“Yet,” Nie Huaisang chirps, unbothered. To Jiang Wanyin’s growing annoyance, he laughs, “The sooner you get used to it, the better, Jiang-xiong. I can promise you that neither of them is going anywhere without the other.”

The Jiang heir only continues to glare, though it seems more petulant than anything now. “Yeah, well,” he huffs, “If they had a kid and stuff, then– But that Lan Wangji still better court him properly!”

“I’m sure he will, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says soothingly, “Don’t worry about them too much. You and I have other things to think about.”

Jiang Wanyin turns his gaze towards where Nie Huaisang is tapping the forgotten bundle of papers with his fan and smiles grimly.

“Go on.”

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, surrounded by warmth. The light in the Jingshi is dim and soothing, the grey shadows draped across the floors softened by the sun’s rays still barely peaking over the mountain. The air is chilly, as it always is at this hour, but Lan Wangji is wrapped in warmth, his husband’s body curled around him like a hearth-fire.

For a moment, he can almost pretend that nothing has changed; that he will rise, extricating himself carefully from his husband’s clinging limbs and tuck him back beneath the blankets before dressing and venturing out to make their breakfast. That he will bring it back to their home just as the morning mist rises from the grass, the covered dishes stuck with a warming talisman as he goes over the juniors’ reports, waiting for his husband to wake up and come drape himself across Lan Wangji’s lap with a complaining whine, warm and sleep-soft and affectionate. That they will eat together, the quiet only broken by Wei Wuxian’s sleepy mumbles, before they rise and begin their day, parting only to teach their respective classes of juniors who would not so much as blink to see their Hanguang-Jun and Wei-qianbei being overly affectionate in public. That they will return home for their evening meal at dusk and perhaps find Sizhui waiting patiently outside the Jingshi to join them, his perfect posture and composure so similar to Lan Wangji’s own, but with a twinkle in his eye that is all Wei Wuxian.

He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply, letting the warmth of his husband settle him before gently extricating himself from Wei Wuxian’s grip and rising. He leaves his husband to rest a while longer, knowing he would not have slept well after their conversation with Jiang Wanyin the previous day. He is halfway across the room when he freezes, his breath caught in his throat.

Black and grey robes are cast over the privacy screen with deliberate carelessness and more peek out messily from the crack in his wardrobe door that had definitely held only neatly folded white robes when Lan Wangji fell asleep the previous night. His previously ordered dresser is scattered with red ribbons and hair pins, and a carelessly thrown grey belt dangles precariously over its edge. Lan Wangji inhales shakily and strides quickly to the main room of the Jingshi. Spread across the low table are notes covered in Wei Wuxian’s scrawling handwriting, and Lan Wangji’s few belongings around the room have been unceremoniously rearranged to make space for the handful of books, carvings, and lotus figurines that his husband must have brought with him from Lotus Pier. Lan Wangji stands motionlessly in the doorway for several moments, still in his sleeping robes, taking in the muddy boots pushed up against his own pristine ones near the entrance to their home. He turns abruptly and makes his way back to their bed, where Wei Wuxian is still fast asleep.

“Wei Ying,” he calls, soft but urgent, sitting on the bed beside his husband and reaching out a hand to caress his cheek. “Wei Ying.”

“Mm?” Wei Wuxian mumbles sleepily, eyes still closed, “Lan Zhan, what is it?”

“Your things…” Lan Wangji says, unsure what he’s trying to ask or why he has woken his husband at all.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian mumbles, one eye cracking open to peer blearily at him, “I moved them last night. Jiang Cheng is the only person who goes into my room and now that he knows, I just thought… is it okay?”

Lan Wangji nods, throat tight with an emotion he cannot quite put into words. “Yes. Wei Ying, I–”

“Oh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying coos gently, scooting closer and curling his arms around Lan Wangji’s waist, “I know it isn’t really home, but I thought it would be a start? I– Is it too much?”

“No.” Lan Wangji says immediately, slightly choked, “Not too much. It–”

Wei Wuxian tightens his grip and gives him space to gather his words.

“I am glad.” Lan Wangji whispers finally, “Wei Ying is… here.”

“I’m here, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whispers, soft and affectionate, curling impossibly closer. “I’m home.”

Lan Wangji nods and bends down to press his lips to Wei Wuxian’s temple with something close to reverence. “Home,” he whispers, something unfurling gently in his chest. “Sleep, Wei Ying.”

“Mm,” Wei Wuxian says agreeably, eyes closing in cat-like pleasure when Lan Wangji presses a gentle kiss to his cheek, his arms loosening enough for Lan Wangji to rise and begin his day properly. “Love you, Lan Zhan,” he mumbles, already halfway asleep again.

Even after so many years, Lan Wangji feels his chest suffuse with tender warmth. He gives Wei Wuxian’s hair a last affectionate stroke before he turns away. He dresses with his usual efficiency, barely managing to prevent Wei Wuxian’s own haphazard pile of clothes from toppling to the floor when he opens his wardrobe door, suffused with fondness.

He works on his sword forms behind the Jingshi in the weak morning sun, stiffening his back instinctively against the coolness of the mountain breeze that curls between the trees, then relaxing, the smallest of smiles playing about the corners of his mouth when the expected pain never arrives. He runs through the movements smoothly for half a shichen before sheathing Bichen and venturing back inside to rouse his complaining husband—this time for good—and shepherding him into his disciple robes and out towards the dining hall for breakfast.

Wei Wuxian wakes up fully along the way, blinking in the morning sun like a baby bird, bouncing on his heels. He always regains his energy with a speed that never fails to impress Lan Wangji, who has more than once wondered if his husband is somehow powered directly by the sun. Wei Wuxian dances around him as they walk, chattering and teasing in turns, occasionally darting away when something catches his attention but always returning as though drawn to Lan Wangji like a magnet to a lodestone. Lan Wangji watches his husband move in the sunlight—his eyes bright, his hair already, somehow, messy, despite Lan Wangji's best efforts—and feels the remaining tension drain out of him. It will be a good day.

*

But as the weeks pass and the incident with the Waterborne Abyss draws nearer, Lan Wangji feels the tension return, settling into the pull of his shoulders. In a way, the crisis with the Waterborne Abyss is the start of a countdown, the beginning of a terrible spiral that Lan Wangji cannot, will not, allow to repeat itself. He sees the same strain reflected in his husband’s eyes, pulling his smiles a little tighter at the edges. Lan Wangji wishes more than anything that he could dispel it, that he could wrap his husband in blankets and shut out the rest of the world with all its demands; that they could do nothing but curl up together and rest. But between their duties and their secret preparations, they have little time for leisure or joy, every moment growing in its gravity.

It makes Lan Wangji feel almost resentful then, when, just days before the Discussion Conference, his uncle demands he supervise the punishment of a group of disciples who attempted to sneak out after curfew. It is a relatively minor infringement considering they are guest disciples, and their punishment is consequently minimal, easily supervised by any available Lan disciple. But his uncle had demanded Lan WangJi’s presence as they copied the rules and Lan Wangji had obeyed, spending the last several hours on the receiving end of their wary and resentful glances, despite not being the one to either catch them or assign their punishment. In fact, he was moderately sure that supervising them was meant to be his own punishment.

His uncle had likely intended to use this to remind Lan Wangji of his responsibilities and his duties to his sect. If this also had the effect of keeping him away from Wei Wuxian’s influence, well, then Lan Qiren was hardly likely to complain. Lan Wangji breathes deeply and quickens his steps back to his husband, letting the prospect of spending the rest of the day in his husband’s cheerful company soothe the restless itch that grows beneath his skin.

It does not help that walking around Cloud Recesses often feels like the double vision after a concussion, like overlapping images that don’t quite align, as if the world Lan Wangji knows has shifted three inches to the left. It is a mirror of the feeling that had dogged his steps unpleasantly when they had first rebuilt Cloud Recesses after the war, and one the Lan Wangji is usually able to ignore in this time.

Usually.

He lengthens his stride, eager to return to the welcoming and undemanding embrace of his husband, trying to ignore the crawling feeling under his skin every time he notices even the smallest difference in his surroundings. As a general rule, these small changes have been easy to handle, even welcome for what they signify. But as he rounds a corner and passes by a vaguely familiar senior disciple conversing with another on the steps leading up to the Lanshi, something in him arrests at the sight. He pauses for a moment on the white stone pathway, heart lurching, wondering why she looks so familiar. She must be dead in their future, like so many others. Perhaps at Nightless City, or the War, or, or—

Oh.

It comes to him in a flash. Lan Meilin, a distant cousin. She had stood with him when he protected the library, the day the Wens came.

(The harsh sounds of clashing metal and terrified screams come from all around him, but Lan Wangji can barely register them above the thick smoke that fills his lungs, the heat blazing across his skin. Exhaustion hangs heavy in his bones, pulling at the edges of his mind, begging him to stop, to rest. But Lan Wangji cannot, will not. His home is burning, and they are running out of time. He cannot falter now, even as his muscles scream with the strain. He must remain here, a barrier between these murderers and this most precious building. He will buy his brother as much time as possible to gather their invaluable knowledge and escape, will die here if need be so his brother may be free.

Several feet away, another of his fellow disciples falls to a Wen’s blade and Lan Wangji grits his teeth against the horror and fear and grief that fills him to the brim. There is no time left, no hope of defeating this army in their home. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lan Meilin waver, clutching her bloody side, the same desperate fury he feels painted across her face.

“Retreat,” he says tersely, blood painting his guqin strings from his torn open fingers but his battle melody never faltering. Please, he thinks. 

“With all due respect, Lan-er-gongzi,” Lan Meilin says calmly, lifting her sword resolutely, even as her arm shakes, “No.”

Those were the last words she ever spoke.)

Oh, Lan Wangji thinks, staring as Lan Meilin laughs lightly in response to whatever her fellow disciple says, she died for us.

The bite of his nails against his palm breaks him out of his trance, and he turns away abruptly before they can notice him staring. He makes his way back to the Jingshi as swiftly as he can and hopes that Wei Wuxian will be there waiting for him. He needs his husband. Lan Wangji does not quite understand what he is feeling at the moment, only that the rawness from before has grown deeper, has grown claws, and he cannot figure out how to soothe it away on his own. But that is alright, Wei Wuxian will know.

He feels himself relax slightly as the Jingshi comes into view and glides past the wards and through the door of their home, shutting out the outside world with a snap. Across the room, Wei Wuxian looks up from his work with a smile.

“How was the supervising, Lan Zhan?” he inquires cheerfully, then freezes when he notices whatever expression Lan Wangji is making. In an instant, his husband is at his side, one hand coming up to cup his cheek in soft concern, the other curling around his waist. “Lan Zhan? Are you alright?”

He smiles tiredly, a small invisible thing, but knows Wei Ying will see it anyway, he always does. His shoulders relax as he leans into his husband’s palm and sighs in relief and... something else. “Ghosts,” he explains.

Wei Ying inhales sharply in understanding. “Oh, sweetheart. Was it awful?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head with a frown. “No. I did not know her well. But she stood with me when the Wens came to burn the library. She died then.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says softly. He wraps his arms around Lan Wangji’s shoulders and pulls him in. He doesn’t say anything else. There is nothing to say. Lan Wangji sighs, pressing his forehead to his husband’s shoulder. So many had died in their future, so many had suffered. They had all carried so many scars and ghosts by the time they were fully grown and the war was done. It is odd, now, to be the only ones with so much loss settled in their bones. It will take time, he knows, to stop feeling so out of place here, for the overlapping images to settle into something new.

He stays there for a long time, until he feels the remaining tension of the day slip out of his frame as Wei Wuxian holds him close, humming tunelessly in comfort. Eventually though, Lan Wangji pulls away, flushing lightly in embarrassment. “Forgive me, I did not mean to worry you over such a small matter.”

But his husband frowns. “No apologies,” he says sternly, “And it isn’t small, Lan Zhan, not when it upsets you.”

Lan Wangji only shakes his head. “I did not truly know her. And there are so many here who lost their lives. I have seen some of them, have spoken to some even. I do not know why today I–”

“Hush, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian interrupts, pressing a finger gently to his lips, “You do not need to find a reason for this. Some days will be harder to work through than others, some memories will be more difficult to bear. She was your comrade; she protected your home. She did not need to be your friend for you to mourn her.” He sighs and presses his forehead gently against Lan Wangji's, a gesture as familiar as it is comforting. “It’s alright to take time to adjust to this world, Lan Zhan. I will be here as you do. I want to be here when you need me, Lan Zhan. That’s what husbands are for.”

Lan Wangji stares at him, a little helplessly. “I love you,” he says, arms wrapping tight around Wei Wuxian’s waist.

Wei Ying smiles then, a lovely soft thing that only Lan Wangji has ever seen. “I love you too, Er-gege.”

They stand like that for a while, curled around each other. Lan Wangji feels Wei Wuxian’s hands in his hair, playing idly, and just lets himself breathe until he feels settled back in his skin again, the strain and irritation of the day melting away. He nuzzles affectionately into Wei Wuxian’s hair to indicate that he’s fine now and his husband giggles in response, using his grip around Lan Wangji’s shoulders to rock them gently from side to side.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he sing-songs into the space behind Lan Wangji’s ear.

“Wei Ying is restless,” Lan Wangji observes, the corner of his lips curling slightly. Wei Wuxian squeaks when he catches sight of it but doesn’t contest his words, the continuous movements of his hands answer enough.

Lan Wangji pulls away from the gentle rocking and cups Wei Wuxian’s cheeks, feeling suffused with affection. Wei Wuxian beams at him from between his palms, his eyes crinkling adorably.

“What would Wei Ying like to do?” Lan Wangji asks.

Wei Wuxian makes a contemplative noise then shrugs. “Dunno. I’ve just been sitting around all day,” he complains, pouting at Lan Wangji, “Abandoned by my husband, left all alone to fend for my poor little self. So cruel, Lan Zhan, your Wei Ying has been distraught!”

Lan Wangji hums skeptically and reaches down to pinch lightly at Wei Wuxian’s waist. Wei Wuxian squawks but immediately forgets his indignation when Lan Wangji’s eyes slide to where Suibian rests and asks after some consideration, “Would Wei Ying like to spar?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes light up immediately. “What happened to no unauthorised fights in the Cloud Recesses, Lan Zhan?” he asks teasingly, even as he pulls away to pick up Suibian and twirls it in his hand.

“Will ask Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji assures him, sure of his brother’s response.

Wei Wuxian beams at him and tugs at his sleeve in glee, almost bubbling over with excitement. “Lan Zhan! It’s been so long since I’ve sparred with you properly!”

Lan Wangji feels anticipation curl within him as well at the reminder, the leftover weariness of the day vanishing before his husband’s smile. “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian grins and pulls him out the door. “I want to see how I match up to you now, but oh, I haven’t practiced in so long, Lan Zhan, you’ll beat me too easily!”

Before Lan Wangji can object, he continues, “We should get our brothers to join us so we can practice against them first! I bet they could use the stress relief themselves. Well, I know Jiang Cheng always feels better after whacking things around with Sandu, at least!” He turns around to wink at Lan Wangji, “I bet Xichen-ge would have fun, too, what do you say, Lan Zhan? He’s been so busy lately, I bet he’d have fun!”

Lan Wangji hums in agreement and lets the pleasant tempo of Wei Wuxian’s chatter wash over him. He reaches out to grip Wei Wuxian’s hand affectionately for a moment as they approach his brother’s study and his husband shoots him an impish smile in response. Lan Wangji knocks politely on the door and waits for his brother to allow them to enter.

Lan Xichen looks up from behind his paperwork and smiles in unaffected pleasure as they walk in, setting down his brush immediately in expectation. Lan Wangji takes in the piles of paperwork surrounding his brother and his heart clenches slightly at the signs of strain he sees around his brother’s eyes. Wei Wuxian was right, Lan Xichen has been too busy and Lan Wangji has been too occupied to notice. He tightens his grip on Bichen in determination and nods at his brother.

“Xiongzhang,” he says, with no preamble, “Would you spar?” 

Lan Xichen blinks in surprise, staring at them in confusion. He cannot blame him. Lan Wangji knows it has been months since he and his brother crossed swords, both too busy and distracted by their own work and the influx of guest disciples. He regrets that now as a delighted smile spreads slowly over his brother’s features, his countenance lightening. But even then, Lan Xichen hesitates, glancing down uncertainly at the work piled on his table.

Before he can say anything, however, Wei Wuxian speaks up, his eyes wide and pleading, “Please, Xichen-ge? It’ll make Lan Zhan so happy.”

Stronger men than his brother have found themselves helpless when Wei Wuxian gives them that look. His brother chuckles at the blatant attempt at manipulation and nods in agreement, his eyes lightening with amusement and a hint of anticipation as he rises and summons Shuoyue into his hand. Lan Wangji blinks; it has been a very long time since he has seen his brother so clearly excited about something. He has missed it more than he knew.

Wei Wuxian laughs in delight and skips away to find his own brother as Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen make their way to the training fields in tranquil silence.

They are just finishing with their warm-up exercises when Wei Wuxian comes running over, dragging his brother behind him.

“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian calls, already pulling Suibian out of its sheath and swinging it around excitedly. Jiang Wanyin sighs heavily but draws his own sword and begins to move through a few practice forms while Wei Wuxian skips between him and Lan Wangji. “I’m going to spar with Jiang Cheng first, but then you have to fight me, okay? I want to see how my skills compare to the great Hanguang-Jun’s now.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji nods and turns his head to his brother, who looks at him oddly.

“Hanguang-Jun?” His brother asks, one eyebrow raised teasingly.

Lan Wangji feels his ears flush lightly as Wei Wuxian breaks into a peal of laughter behind him. “That’s Lan Zhan’s title! Isn’t it fitting, Xichen-ge?”

Lan Xichen laughs softly, but his eyes contain a hint of surprised pleasure and pride that Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to do with. “Very.”

Lan Wangji feels his ears darken and draws Bichen, trying to distract his brother. Somewhere behind him, he hears Jiang Wanyin’s gruff demand that Wei Wuxian pay attention and turns his own attention away from his husband to where his brother stands, Shuoyue already raised to its starting position.

Lan Wangji nods and from there, there is nothing but the clash of metal, his world narrowing to the flick of his brother’s wrist, the deceptive swirl of his robes. If he were truly a teenager, he would have considered the outcome of this match foregone, still unable to reach his brother’s level in skill. But with all his years of experience, he finds himself curious to see how he will fare against Lan Xichen now.

He learns quickly that he cannot match his brother in strength yet as his arm nearly gives way under Shuoyue’s direct strikes, his body unable to meet those old demands quite yet. But what he cannot match in strength, he makes up for in speed, breaking the traditional Gusu Lan forms to incorporate the skills he has learnt over the years, during the war and from his husband as he worked to develop Mo Xuanyu’s weak core. He sees Lan Xichen’s eyes widen in surprise as he feints and twists his sword arm, and a moment later Shuoyue is in his hand.

The moment of frozen silence that follows is broken by a clang and Jiang Wanyin’s annoyed shout.

“Wei Wuxian, pay attention!”

Both Lan brothers turn in time to watch Jiang Wanyin whack Wei Wuxian on the head with Sandu’s sheath, glowering as Wei Wuxian sheepishly picks his sword up from where he had apparently, insanely, dropped it mid-fight.

“Sorry, sorry,” Wei Wuxian tells his brother, grinning unrepentantly. “But I can’t help it! Lan Zhan looks so beautiful when he’s fighting!”

Lan Wangji feels his ears flush in pleased embarrassment, even as Jiang Wanyin screeches in indignation and starts chasing his laughing brother around the training field. Lan Wangji turns back to his brother with a sigh only to find Lan Xichen chuckling softly.

“It appears someone is quite smitten with my little brother,” Lan Xichen muses, his eyes dancing.

Lan Wangji’s ears flush darker but he says nothing as he hands Shuoyue back to his gleeful brother, refusing to engage with this teasing over his husband. He steps back and raises Bichen again to its starting position pointedly, waiting for his brother to do the same. Lan Xichen obliges him with another laugh, openly delighted in a way that makes it clear how much he was holding himself back when Lan Wangji actually was a repressed teenager with a furious crush on the loudmouthed Jiang disciple. He doesn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed now when he sees his brother’s twinkling eyes as they spar.

The second bout ends much as the first one did, though it drags on longer. Lan Wangji hands Shuoyue back to his brother who laughs a little ruefully.

“It seems you’ve outstripped me now, Wangji. I may not be so useful as a sparring partner anymore.”

Lan Wangji frowns. “Untrue. Xiongzhang is good. I am still lacking.”

Lan Xichen’s smile grows wider at the defence. “Thank you, Wangji. Nevertheless, I might not be able to give you much of a fight now.”

Before Lan Wangji can protest once more, Jiang Wanyin interrupts. “Join the club,” he snorts, gesturing aggressively at where Wei Wuxian is holding Sandu, but has clearly given up on focusing on his brother in favour of staring dazedly at Lan Wangji, “This idiot has always been better, but now he’s a monster.” He rolls his eyes and huffs in annoyed exasperation, “There’s no help for it though since they have more experience than us now. We just have to work twice as hard to beat them.”

Lan Wangji blinks and turns to gauge his husband’s reaction, only to find him staring at his brother with stars in his eyes.

Jiang Wanyin follows his gaze and bristles, “What? You think that just because you’re an old man now, I’m going to go easy on you? You think I can’t still break your legs? You can’t even finish a fight without getting distracted. What? Stop it. Stop looking at me like that and come fight!”

Instead, Wei Wuxian casts both Suibian and Sandu aside and throws himself at his brother with a wail. “Jiang Cheeeng! You’re so mean to me. Spare your poor old shixiong, shidi! He’s very delicate in his old age and needs you to show your love for him properly!”

Lan Wangji watches in amusement as Jiang Wanyin turns red and splutters, angrily trying to shove Wei Wuxian off himself, which Lan Wangji knows only serves to make his husband stickier when he’s like this. He picks Suibian up and watches his husband fondly from where he’s now attempting to pet Jiang Wanyin on the head, much to the boy’s fury. Lan Wangji may never be able to truly like Jiang Wanyin, but seeing his husband’s eyes sparkle as he dances around his shidi makes that task a little easier. Especially since the worst thing this Jiang Wanyin seems inclined to do in retaliation is whack his brother with his sword sheath.

He hears a low chuckle from beside him and turns his head to find his brother standing tranquil at his side, Sandu in his free hand, faced towards the Jiang boys but nevertheless eyeing him with considerable amusement. “It appears that Wuxian is not the only one smitten.”

Lan Wangji jerks his head away, willing his ears not to blush once more. His love for Wei Wuxian is no secret and he has been married to the man for several years. This repeated blushing from an older brother’s teasing is beneath him. He will not do it.

After a few more minutes of tussling, Wei Wuxian abandons his flustered brother and dances up to Lan Wangji instead, plucking Suibian from his hand and twirling it excitedly. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! Fight with me now!”

“Mn.”

“Hey! What about me?” Jiang Wanyin yells in outrage, still furiously attempting to bring his hair back to order after Wei Wuxian’s treatment.

“Fight with Xichen-ge!” Wei Wuxian responds flippantly, flapping a hand at him over his shoulder.

“Fight with–!” Jiang Wanyin chokes, turning vaguely purple when Wei Wuxian pays absolutely no attention to his spluttering, too busy tugging impatiently on Lan Wangji’s sleeve. “Oi! Wei Wuxian! You can’t just go ordering others around like that! Wei Wuxian, are you even listening to me!?”

“It’s alright, Jiang-gongzi,” Lan Xichen says with amusement, walking up to the Jiang heir and handing Sandu back to him calmly. “I would be happy to test my skills against yours. Would you spar with me?”

Lan Wangji feels his own twinge of amusement as Jiang Wanyin flushes, his boyish eagerness when faced with the rare opportunity to test his skills against the First Jade of Lan obvious.

“I– That is, if Zewu-Jun doesn’t mind–” Jiang Wanyin says, bowing, appearing almost ludicrously young to Lan Wangji in his sudden polite formality.

“Call me Lan Xichen,” Lan Wangji’s brother says, drawing Shuoyue again with a smile. “We are to be brothers after all, are we not?”

“I– yes, I suppose,” Jiang Wanyin says with difficulty, his face an interesting shade of purple, before he shakes himself and draws Sandu, a look of determination crossing his face. “Then you should call my Jiang Wanyin,” he demands belligerently, as though expecting a refusal.

“Of course, Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Xichen says easily, flexing his wrist, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Jiang Wanyin grins then, boyish and crooked, and springs forward. Lan Wangji glances around the training field and notices that a few disciples seem to have gathered around the edges, staring at the four of them with varying levels of surprise and confusion. Jin Zixuan stands among them, a look on his face that Lan Wangji might almost call jealous if he were close enough to observe it properly. He dismisses their observers and turns back to survey their brothers’ spar, only to be distracted from their fight by his husband, whose tugging on his sleeve has grown ferocious.

“Lan Zhaaaan,” Wei Wuxian whines at him, pouting furiously, “Pay attention to me!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says apologetically, letting Wei Wuxian tug him further into the training field for their own spar. His husband grumbles half-heartedly the entire way and Lan Wangji wishes fondly that he could kiss the frown off his face.

“Wei Ying,” he says, when Wei Wuxian decides they’re far enough from their brothers.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian responds instantly, maintaining his pout with difficulty, “What has you so rivetted, hm? Is your husband no longer enough to capture your attention?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says in exasperation, and Wei Wuxian’s expression breaks into a grin.

“Aiya. Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing my poor husband. What stole your attention from me, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji glances back towards their brothers. “It is strange,” he muses, “Seeing our brothers like that. It is very different.”

Instantly, Wei Wuxian’s face softens. He, too, glances over at where their brothers are exchanging friendly blows and huffs, remembering the distant, if vaguely pleasant formality that defined their brother’s relationship in their own time. “Yeah, it is. But good different, right?”

Lan Wangji nods with some difficulty, unsure how to put the tangle of his feelings into words. But Wei Wuxian squeezes his hand under the cover of their sleeves and smiles understandingly at him, and Lan Wangji’s shoulders relax. He squeezes his hand back then lets go, stepping back and drawing Bichen. Immediately, Wei Wuxian’s eyes gleam, all his banked excitement coming back with a vengeance as he pulls Suibian from its sheath.

Lan Wangji feels his own twinge of anticipation as he and Wei Wuxian step back to the appropriate distance and raise their swords in tandem. He has sparred with his husband before, of course, helping him slowly build up Mo Xuanyu’s fledgling core. Those sparring sessions had certainly provided their own challenges as his inventive, reckless husband found new and occasionally bizarre methods to combat Lan Wangji’s superior strength, forcing him to grow more adaptable in his style.

But Lan Wangji would be lying to himself if he did not admit to the thread of excitement that runs through him now, faced with Wei Wuxian and his original strong core. Years ago, they had been equals in strength and skill, but inexperienced in real combat. Lan Wangji is curious to see how they will face each other now.

They stare at each other in silence, the world seeming to hold its breath, then spring forward as one, their swords crossing in a clash of metal. Lan Wangji forgets everything else—their brothers, their audience, the training field all melting away. There is only Wei Wuxian, only the gleam of his sword and the matching gleam in his eyes, only the distracting twirl of his dark robes and the deceptive twist of his wrist.

Equals, he thinks, his eyes narrowing in satisfaction when Wei Wuxian meets his attacks head-on for the first time in decades and holds steady against him. He hears a murmur run through the crowd watching them and ignores it. Let them see, he thinks, watching the way his husband’s eyes spark with determination as he springs back, breaking their stalemate, let them know how magnificent my husband is.

They circle each other, looking for an opening, testing, waiting, then spring forward once again. Lan Wangji's world narrows once more to the clash of metal between them, the tension in Wei Wuxian’s bicep, the turn of his shoulder, the angle of his hip. He feels the possessive creature in his chest rear its head at the way the sunlight dances around his husband, as though drawn to him as inevitably as Lan Wangji feels himself to be. Mine, he thinks, smug.

Time melts away. Lan Wangji has no idea how long they’ve been fighting, but neither of them are willing to give ground.

“How are you better now?” Wei Wuxian huffs at one point, pouting as he springs back, their swords disengaging once again, “Your core is weaker now, shouldn’t you be as well? How did you get so fast?”

Lan Wangji’s lips twitch up at the corners and Wei Wuxian blinks, momentarily distracted. Lan Wangji doesn’t hesitate to press his advantage, gliding swiftly beneath Wei Wuxian’s guard, Bichen twisted to disarm him.

He barely manages to dodge to the side when Wei Wuxian hurls a talisman in his direction.

“Wei Ying,” he says in admonishment as the talisman meets the ground with a burst of heavy wind, startling another round of murmurs from their onlookers.

His husband only laughs in delight as he dances out of reach again.

“There are no rules in battle, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian sing-songs, rotating his wrist and preparing for his next attack.

“Hn,” Lan Wangji says, consideringly. On the next attack, he feints to the side and slips under his husband’s arm, pulling his guqin out swiftly and turning to send a wave of spiritual power at his husband who yelps in surprise and only barely manages to raise Suibian in time to halt the attack.

“Lan Zhan! That’s cheating!” Wei Wuxian gasps, even as his eyes sparkle with delight.

“There are no rules in battle,” Lan Wangji intones calmly, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

“Oh, that’s how you want to play it, is it?” Wei Wuxian asks, mischief curling in the depths of his eyes, bright and intelligent and dangerous. Lan Wangji doesn’t bother to point out that it was Wei Wuxian who started it, his stomach curling in anticipation.

“Mn,” he says dispassionately, watching with satisfaction as his husband’s eyes brighten with glee.

They circle each other again warily for a few moments. Lan Wangji sees his husband’s hand twitch and leaps overhead to dodge the three talismans that fly his way. He meets Suibian’s strike mid-air, letting his natural trajectory lend force to his retaliatory attack. Wei Wuxian dodges away and Lan Wangji sends wave after wave of spiritual energy after him, forcing him to twirl and leap to escape them. There’s a shout from somewhere in the crowd as the wind kicks up around the training field, but Lan Wangji pays it no mind, all his attention focused on his husband’s movements. They dart after and around each other, neither gaining quite enough ground to press their advantage.

Lan Wangji loses himself in the momentum of this, the challenge of Wei Wuxian at his full strength with his bright grin and determined eyes. With every clash of their weapons, his blood sings, his heart pounding along to the beat of Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying. He revels in the answering delight he sees in his husband’s eyes, in the way he doesn’t hold back against him, doesn’t try to pull his punches as he does with everyone else, doesn’t pretend to be less powerful, less intelligent, less brilliant than Lan Wangji knows him to be. Lan WangJi doesn’t hesitate either, would never dream of disrespecting his husband by not doing everything in his power to defeat him now. He chases Wei Wuxian from one end of the training field to the other, forcing him to leap up into a tree that borders the field, the one that Lan Wangji knows is less than stable thanks to a children’s talisman class that got out of hand years ago.

He sends out another wave of spiritual energy from Bichen, this time aimed deliberately wide, and watches with a gleam of satisfaction and Wei Wuxian leaps to the side precisely as he was meant to. The branch he’s standing on creaks ominously, and he squawks when he finds a small explosive talisman waiting for him. Lan Wangji sees the moment he hesitates, his balance turning precarious in the instant it takes him to decide what to do.

In the next second, Wei Wuxian is on his back, Bichen’s point inches from his throat.

His husband doesn’t bat an eyelid, his growing pout belied by his pleased flush and dancing eyes. He doesn’t make a move to rise, seemingly content to lie in the dirt panting. “Not fair, Lan Zhan. Did the array also give you super speed, hm? Tell your poor husband your secret, Hanguang-Jun.”

Something flickers for a second in Lan Wangji’s eyes, so slight and brief that it would be completely unnoticeable unless someone were looking very, very close indeed. Unfortunately for Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian is always looking very, very closely at him. Immediately, the laughter falls off Wei Wuxian’s face and he scrambles to his feet to look at Lan Wangji more closely. 

“Lan Zhan? What is it?” He asks, worry suffusing his face.

Lan Wangji shakes his head, trying to convey reassurance, suddenly very conscious of the silent gazes of their brothers, who have long since stopped their own spar to watch them, and of the crowd of gathered disciples that seems to have grown even bigger. But he cannot hide the fondness in his gaze as his husband reaches out to grasp his elbows and pull himself closer. This is good. Wei Wuxian should always be close to him.

“Lan Zhan, please,” his husband pleads softly.

Lan Wangji sighs inaudibly and chooses his words carefully. “I do not have any special abilities. I believe I had just forgotten,” he says quietly.

Wei Wuxian makes a small questioning sound but stays silent otherwise, encouraging Lan Wangji to continue with the gentle press of his palms to Lan Wangji’s elbows, their audience forgotten entirely.

“How to spar freely,” he clarifies, “To not need to–”

To maintain a constant stream of spiritual energy to his back, bolstering his damaged muscles and nerves in order to move easily and painlessly. The whipping had left more consequences than just their ugly scars. Lan Wangji had become so used to weaving a small portion of his spiritual energy into his back over the last twenty years that it had become nearly unconscious. Not needing to do so anymore feels strange, and there are still mornings when he finds himself automatically channelling his spiritual energy into his back before he has even fully awakened.

But the erasure of those scars has left him freer now than he can truly recall being. Lan Wangji has been testing his new-found old freedom by practicing all those quick little tricks that were beyond his capabilities before, requiring a little too much flexibility or ease from his stiff muscles.

He sees the realisation dawn slowly on his husband’s face as one of Wei Wuxian’s hands runs softly up his arm to his shoulder to where scars no longer pull uncomfortably at his skin when he moves his arms too much.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says softly, something gentle and terrible cutting through his eyes. Lan Wangji presses his free hand with his own under their sleeves, trying to reassure him. His husband should never frown.

“It is good,” he tells him softly, knowing Wei Wuxian will see the smile in his eyes, “Though I need to rebuild my strength. I will require greater practice.”

And just like that, the look in Wei Wuxian’s eyes is replaced by a terrible fondness and his husband steps back again with a laugh. “Ah, Lan Zhan, I can definitely help you with that! I might lack your practice and experience, but you should remember that it was my sword, not yours, that was made to be quick.”

Lan Wangji feels his heart overflow with fondness, even as he lifts Bichen to its starting position once again, widening his stance, his husband mirroring his movements. He lets Wei Wuxian’s laughter wash over him as he rotates one ankle ever so slightly to adjust his posture, ready to spring, when a loud voice interrupts them.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Jiang Wanyin demands loudly.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian blink, straightening up from their stances and looking towards where their brothers are advancing swiftly towards them.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks in confusion.

“What?” Jiang Wanyin parrots, nearly screeching. “Look around you, idiot!”

They both turn their heads, taking in their surroundings. The training field is a mess, looking suspiciously as though a tornado has blown through it, the kicked-up dust just starting to resettle now. Disciples line the edges of the field, watching the two of them with wide, awed eyes, murmurs spreading through the crowd as even the Lan disciples ignore the no gossiping rule. Nie Huaisang catches his eye from among their ranks and winks from behind his fan, leaning over to whisper something to a fellow Nie disciple. Lan Wangji’s gaze sweeps across the crowd in bemusement, then arrests when he catches sight of his uncle, watching them from a distance with a strange, unreadable look. His uncle holds his gaze for a moment then turns away abruptly, walking away measuredly towards his office.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says dumbly from beside him, “Huh.”

“Perhaps it is time to retire for the evening,” Lan Xichen says calmly, though his eyes are a little wide. “The sun is setting, and it will be too dark to spar soon.”

Lan Wangji nods slowly, unsure what to say. Evidently, he and his husband had gotten a little too carried away. He and Wei Wuxian exchange a glance and sheath their swords under their brothers’ incredulous gazes.

“What the fuck was that?” Jiang Wanyin demands, shock and pride and envy and too many other emotions to count battling for dominance on his face. He looks at Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji then glances away, clearing his throat. “I mean, where did you learn to fight like that?”

Wei Wuxian scratches at the side of his nose sheepishly. “Ah, well. Experience, you know? Lan Zhan and I have been sparring with each other for a long time.”

Lan Wangji hums in agreement, though it isn’t the whole truth. He catches his brother’s eye as Jiang Wanyin continues interrogating his husband about his abilities. Lan Xichen looks between him and Wei Wuxian, a strange look on his face, but huffs a small laugh when Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow in his direction.

“I’m just surprised,” Lan Xichen admits, “I had not expected that. The two of you are very well matched.”

Lan Wangji nods in acceptance and looks back at his husband, his gaze snagging on the way his eyes sparkle in response to Jiang Wanyin’s gruff demands to be taught one of his moves. Lan Wangji takes in the flush of exertion still staining his husband’s cheeks, the way the sweat beads and rolls down his neck, and feels a rush of heat run down his spine. Wei Wuxian catches his gaze and winks, his lips curling into a smirk.

Lan Wangji gathers all his remaining self-restraint and tears his eyes away only to find his brother watching him with amusement, though his own cheeks have flushed lightly. “Ah, Wangji, perhaps here is not the place.”

Lan Wangji’s ears flush, embarrassed at having been seen through so easily and turns away, walking swiftly back towards the main compound. His brother laughs lightly and follows him, thankfully saying nothing more as they make their way back towards Lan Xichen’s office, the two Jiang boys trailing after them unconsciously, still in a heated discussion. Lan Wangji sighs lightly as he watches the way the other disciples scatter as they approach, still a little wide-eyed, though they don’t go far. He cannot tell whether this day has made him more approachable or less so to his fellow disciples. He sees the gleeful glint in his brother’s eyes, however, and fears the worst.

He observes his brother as they walk and is pleased by how relaxed Lan Xichen looks now, the lines of strain around his eyes having smoothened out, the curl of his lips coming more naturally. Lan Wangji feels the way the set of his own shoulders has eased considerably and is glad for it. Their responsibilities do not feel so overwhelming now, the future no longer so insurmountable. And a smaller, more animal corner of his brain has calmed as well, hackles settling when faced with the evidence of his husband’s strength.

They reach his brother’s office in silence and turn to regard the two following behind them. Wei Wuxian beams when he notices where they are, but Jiang Wanyin startles, looking around the with a sudden flush when he realises he’s more or less invited himself into Lan Xichen’s office.

“Excuse me, Ze– Lan Xichen,” Jiang Wanyin says, bowing.

Lan Xichen waves away his apology, smiling. “Think nothing of it. You are quite welcome.”

Jiang Wanyin nods hesitantly, a small smile curling the corners of his lips as Lan Xichen draws him into a conversation about his fighting style. Jiang Wanyin absorbs his advice with the eagerness of youth, and offers his own comments almost shyly. Lan Wangji watches them interact with some astonishment and blinks when Wei Wuxian sidles up to him, grinning. Their gazes catch and hold, a silent conversation passing between them even as Jiang Wanyin eventually bows and takes his leave.

“Wei Wuxian,” he barks, when his brother doesn’t move, “Aren’t you coming?”

“Nuh-uh,” Wei Wuxian says, grinning, eyes still on Lan Wangji, who flushes lightly under his gaze. “I’m going home with Lan Zhan.”

Jiang Wanyin lets out a strangled noise of disgust and bolts out the door. Lan Xichen lets out a noise suspiciously like a snort and clears his throat pointedly, pulling their attention away from each other.

“While I’m pleased to see you so happy, Wangji, perhaps the Jingshi might prove to be more comfortable,” he says blandly.

Lan Wangji feels his ears darken with another blush but Wei Wuxian only laughs and snags Lan Wangji’s sleeve, bowing informally to Lan Xichen and pulling Lan Wangji away, back towards their home. Lan Wangji lets himself be pulled along, entirely willing to follow Wei Wuxian wherever he may go.

The moment the Jingshi’s door closes behind them, Wei Wuxian is on him, pushing him backwards towards the bedroom, his hands sweeping across Lan Wangji’ frame, tugging at his robes and hair.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” his husband murmurs, mouth trailing hotly across Lan Wangji’s throat, “Do you know how sexy you looked, Lan Zhan? Do you know much effort it took not to rip your pretty white robes off right there in the middle of the training field? Hm? Take responsibility for your actions, husband.”

Lan Wangji growls, tightening his grip on Wei Wuxian’s waist and lifting him into his arms. Wei Wuxian makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and wraps his legs around Lan Wangji’s waist, hands tightening in his hair as he tilts Lan Wangji’s head up to meet his heated gaze.

“It is Wei Ying who must take responsibility,” Lan Wangji says firmly, and tosses his husband onto their bed. Wei Wuxian bounces a little on impact and laughs in delight, making grabbing motions with his hands until Lan Wangji joins him, crawling into their bed and looming over his beaming husband.

“Oh, I will,” Wei Wuxian says, eyes dark and full of promise. His hands fist in his robes to pull him closer, and Lan Wangji follows, helpless, hopelessly in love.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji is fast asleep in his husband’s arms when the talisman goes off. The dark quiet of the room bleeds red, a low insistent chime rousing the two occupants of the Jingshi. Lan Wangji raises an arm, summoning the talisman, which finally quiets at his touch, and slowly sits up, looking down at his husband who grumbles and wriggles around under their blanket.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whines, eyes still stubbornly closed. He frees one of his arms from the blankets and reaches out to pat Lan Wangji’s hip insistingly, trying to get him to lie down again. “Nooo. Too early. Sleep time.”

“Hn,” Lan Wangji denies, carding his hand through Wei Wuxian’s hair. “We must get up.”

“Nooo,” Wei Wuxian says, curling tighter under their blankets in denial but leaning his head further into the movement of Lan Wangji’s fingers. “Lan Zhan, don’t be mean.”

Lan Wangji’s huffs, running his thumb gently over where his husband’s eyebrows are scrunched together in a frown. “Wei Ying,” he says again.

Wei Wuxian pouts fiercely, peaking an eye open to glare balefully at his husband. Lan Wangji hums and moves the now quiet talisman into his husband’s line of sight.

“Oh.”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian huffs and shuffles till he has an arm slung across Lan Wangji’s waist, squishing his face into his husband’s hip and muttering resentfully into it. Lan Wangji continues stroking his hair apologetically as Wei Wuxian slowly stretches out his limbs like a cat and then relaxes. He gently pulls Wei Wuxian into his arms when he makes grabby hands at him and lifts them both to stand, stroking his husband’s back comfortingly as he gathers his bearings.

After a minute, Wei Wuxian pulls away, pressing a kiss to Lan Wangji’s collarbone in thanks. “Lan Zhan,” he says on a sigh as Lan Wangji reaches for his robes and starts wrapping him in them. “Xichen-ge first?”

Lan Wangji nods, pulling on his own robes and slipping the talisman up his sleeve as Wei Wuxian goes to collect his notes, shuffling them into a messy stack. He gathers their swords but when Wei Wuxian reaches out to take Suibian, he reels him in instead, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Wei Wuxian’s cheeks pinken, some of the sparkle coming back into his eyes as Lan Wangji draws back. “Aiya, Lan Zhan,” he says, “Such a silly man.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees amiably, and leads his husband out the door.

Wei Wuxian huffs but follows obediently, chastising his husband under his breath all the way to the Hanshi, even as his hand stays linked with his husband’s. He quiets only when they reach the Hanshi, and Lan Wangji knocks softly on the door. There’s a muffled sound of rustling after a moment and then Lan Xichen’s voice calls out, alarmed, “Who is it?”

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji says softly through the door, “We need to speak with you.”

“Wangji?” Lan Xichen says, his quickly approaching steps echoing in the quiet. The door slides open, and Lan Xichen’s worried face peers out at them. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Lan Wangji nods but doesn’t say anything as Lan Xichen looks at him searchingly. Lan Xichen seems to see something in his expression anyway and sighs, inclining his head, and ushers them in. Lan Wangji leads Wei Wuxian to the table and turns to boil the water for tea as Lan Xichen vanishes back into his bedroom to dress with a murmur of excuse.

Wei Wuxian hums lightly and sends out a few more talismans to provide light around the room as he situates himself, pulling out a sheaf of papers from his sleeve and laying them out on the table. He then leans over and slips his hand up Lan Wangji’s sleeve, snagging the alarm talisman from earlier and dropping it on top of the pile. Lan Wangji pours the water into the teapot and settles himself beside him to wait, and Wei Wuxian reaches out to snag one of his large, elegant hands to play with, humming contentedly, knowing that Lan Wangji wouldn’t mind.

He laughs quietly at the thought, the oddness of their situation. A lifetime ago, when they were truly teenagers and still struggling to be friends, such a position would have been unthinkable. Wei Wuxian had been an arrogant and irreverent youth, obsessively trying to make the beautiful boy from that moonlit night—the only person his age who matched him blow-for-blow—to glance in his direction. He spent hours, days even, planning ways to get Lan Wangji’s face to twitch, delighting in any shift in his expression, in the thrilling shiver that ran down his spine when faced with his anger. Back then, he hadn’t understood why it felt so necessary to provoke those feelings, to be different to Lan Wangji from everyone else the Second Jade turned his indifferent eye on. He had only known that having Lan Wangji look back at him felt like surfacing from a deep lake on a sunny day; like the pleasurable relief of his cramped lungs filling with air and the warmth of the sun on his wet shoulders, prickling and new.

And yet, he had never even dreamed of this; of sitting beside Lan Wangji and holding his big, warm hand, simply because he could, simply because Lan Wangji would let him; to be able to glance at Lan Wangji and immediately know how he feels; to rub a thumb across his knuckles and call him husband, and have Lan Wangji look back, always look back, with that soft expression is his eyes that makes his chest ache, even now, so many years down the line.

Wei Wuxian’s teenage self had craved Lan Wangji’s attention in any form he could get it, but had had no understanding of its true value, of the preciousness of this calm presence beside him.

He turns his head to beam up at his husband, chuckling at the slight tilt of his husband’s head, the implied question in the angle of his eyebrow. “Nothing,” he says, still smiling, “I just love you.”

He laughs again as Lan Wangji’s ears blush red and his husband turns his gaze away, flustered in a way that reminds him strongly of his teenage reactions to Wei Wuxian’s terrible flirting. But then Lan Wangji turns back, a smile in his eyes and says, “I love Wei Ying,” and Wei Wuxian feels his heart skip in response, his own flush rising to his cheeks. Lan Zhan! He’s so– his husband is so –!

Lan Xichen chooses that moment to return, stoppering any protest Wei Wuxian might try to make. He’s dressed for the day with Shuoyue at his side, his calm smile firmly back in place as he folds himself neatly to sit across from them. He looks between them, an eyebrow raised in question as he notices Wei Wuxian’s flushed countenance. But before he can say anything to defend himself, Lan Wangji leans forward and elegantly pours his brother a cup of tea with a quiet, “Xiongzhang.”

Lan Xichen’s eyebrow quirks in amusement as he accepts the cup, noting Lan Wangji’s teasing and seeming to derive enjoyment from it, much to Wei Wuxian’s chagrin. He accepts his own cup resentfully, glowering up at Lan Wangji who blithely ignores him. But his expression grows serious again when Lan Xichen finally sets down his cup with a sigh.

“The Abyss, I assume?” Lan Xichen asks.

“I’m afraid so,” Wei Wuxian says, a little ruefully. Lan Wangji hums in confirmation and passes the alarm talisman over to his brother.

Lan Xichen takes it from hum and frowns. “This–”

“It’s an alarm talisman,” Wei Wuxian says, his eyes regaining their twinkle when Lan Xichen looks at him in confusion. “I may or may not have set up an alarm system around the lake that may or may not alert me if, perhaps, coincidentally, by chance, a large body of resentment just happens to enter the area?”

Lan Xichen eyes him with no small measure of exasperation. “You are aware that setting up an alarm system to mark any sort of comings and goings in another sect without their permission is considered to be a rather large breach of etiquette?”

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully, “Which is why any alarm system that I might have, perhaps, set up by, let’s say, leaving the Cloud Recesses without permission is entirely hypothetical. In fact, this whole conversation may or may not be happening, depending on how this entirely hypothetical scenario of a potential massive abyss of resentful energy in your clan’s waters may, hypothetically speaking of course, work out.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, with a sigh.

Wei Wuxian winces dramatically and pouts up at his husband. “What?”

“Ridiculous.”

Lan Xichen watches in amusement as Wei Wuxian’s pout grows distinctly sulky as he subsides, muttering under his breath. He catches the words ‘cruel’ and ‘mean,’ and glances at his brother who looks about as close to rolling his eyes as he is capable of. Even so, after a minute, Lan Wangji raises a hand to stroke his thumb gently across Wei Wuxian’s cheekbone, which causes the muttering to cease immediately with a small squeak.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, gently reprimanding, “Focus.”

“What? Huh? Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, somewhat dazed, “I’m focused. I’m sooo focused, Lan Zhan. What were we talking about?”

“The Waterborne Abyss,” Lan Xichen sighs, looking pointedly down at the alarm talisman in his hand. “You were telling me that it is approaching Biling Lake?”

“I was telling you that it’s in Biling Lake,” Wei Wuxian says, his gaze sharpening. “It’s probably settling in for a nice long stay as we speak.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen says, a small frown forming between his eyebrows. “So now we wait a few days for the report from the civilians and–”

“No,” Wei Wuxian interrupts.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says, meeting his brother’s startled gaze. “Reports only came after some civilians had died. Cannot wait that long.”

“Ah,” Lan Xichen says, his face paling slightly, the gravity of the situation seeming to dawn on him. “How long do we have?”

“We don’t,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice unusually serious. “The first deaths will happen in the morning, when the fishermen go out.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen says, frowning. He looks at Lan Wangji and sighs. “We will need to inform uncle immediately, then, before he leaves for Qinghe tomorrow.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says tightly, as Wei Wuxian soothes a thumb over his knuckles in comfort.

Lan Xichen shoots them a sympathetic smile and glances down to the pile of papers between them. “And this is…?”

“A solution,” Lan Wangji says, as Wei Wuxian shoots the Lan sect heir a wide grin that send a slight chill up his spine. He gestures for them to continue.

“So,” Wei Wuxian says, his gleaming, “We might have come up with a way to deal with the Abyss that doesn’t involve draining the lake for five years?”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen, slight disbelief marring his features before he smooths it away. He glances between them and the sheaf of notes in front of him and nods faintly, waiting for them to continue.

Wei Wuxian’s grin grows wider. “It’s pretty simple actually! The idea is that we suppress the majority of the Abyss and cleanse it bit by bit with fancy Lan music techniques.”

Lan Xichen frowns. “That sounds… too simple.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees, eyeing his husband disapprovingly.

“Well, there might be a bit more to it,” Wei Wuxian admits ruefully, pulling his stack of notes towards him and pulling out the top few papers and handing them over to Lan Xichen, who reads over them quietly, his eyes widening with each page.

“Wei Wuxian, this–” he says, glancing up at his impossible brother-in-law.

“It’s a little rough, I know,” Wei Wuxian says absently, flipping through some of the other notes in front of him. “I’m still working on refining it but I don’t think we have a lot of time. That’s the best version of the suppression array I can come up with right now that’ll serve our purpose, but it’s going to need a lot of manpower.” He clicks his tongue in annoyance and passes another few sheets of paper over to Lan Xichen, still looking through the rest of his notes. “Here, see this? If we create enough of these talismans, we should be able to build a workable boundary around the lake to prevent accidents. It should do for now until I manage to fix up that array properly, but it’s not really a permanent solution yet. Lan Zhan said he’ll be able to improve it with time, but we don’t have much of that right now.”

Lan Xichen accepts the new set of papers helplessly, looking at his brother in stunned amazement only to see him nodding, a slight smile on his face. He nods back, face pale, and looks over the new set he’s been handed as Wei Wuxian continues to ramble on his explanation of the talismanry work that goes far beyond Lan Xichen’s not insubstantial knowledge of the field. Dangerous, he thinks, this level of intelligence could be dangerous. If the other sects knew, Wei Wuxian would find himself coveted and hunted on all sides. He swallows slightly as Wei Wuxian hands him the rest of the papers cheerfully.

“Here! You’ll probably find this more interesting,” Wei Wuxian says guilelessly, oblivious to Lan Xichen’s thoughts, “Lan Zhan did most of the work for it!”

Lan Xichen lets his eyes rove over the papers and then stops, struck. He flips back to the beginning and reads them again intently, running his finger over the notes drawn across the pages, unconsciously humming along in snatches. Wei Wuxian glances at his husband, cooing at the way Lan Wangji looks almost shy at he watches his brother read his work.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says slowly, looking up at his brother after several minutes, his eyes shining with admiration. “This is… incredible. If this works–”

He cuts off to suck in a sharp breath and then starts again. “When this works, it will be a huge addition to our sect’s techniques. This kind of work… it hasn’t been seen in generations.”

Lan Wangji blushes and glances to the side. “Wei Ying’s work too.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes affectionately. “No, no. You did pretty much all the work on that one. So modest, Lan Zhan! But you can’t fool us. Isn’t Lan Zhan amazing, Xichen-ge?”

“He is,” Lan Xichen says firmly, then narrows his eyes in Wei Wuxian’s direction. “Don’t think I have forgotten about you, Wuxian,” he says sternly, tapping the stack of array and talisman designs in front of him. “I may not understand all the details of this, but I understand enough to know that it is revolutionary.”

Wei Wuxian stares at him, wide-eyed, as Lan Wangji hums affirmatively at his side. “It’s not–” he starts weakly, and then closes his mouth, unsure what to say.

“It is,” Lan Xichen stresses. “You need to realise the significance of this work. If you decide to loan this to the Lan sect, it would have large diplomatic and financial repercussions.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian says, head tilted in confusion. “Loan? But this is yours now.”

“What.” Lan Xichen says, clipped.

Wei Wuxian rears back slightly in confusion and fidgets in his seat, looking between Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji in concern. “I’m not loaning this to you? It’s not like any other Waterborne Abyss that we know of is going to show up in the next few years? I made this for you.” His voice gets smaller when Lan Xichen’s expression grows sterner. “I don’t understand. Lan Zhan?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says softly, curling an arm around him in comfort. “Xiongzhang is right.”

“Right about what,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice rising in pitch. “I didn’t make this for money you know that, right, Lan Zhan?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji affirms, running a soothing hand up Wei Wuxian’s back. “Nevertheless, Xiongzhang is right.”

“Lan Zhan?”

“Wei Ying deserves to be compensated for his work. Wei Ying does not realise the value of his inventions. Xiongzhang understands.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says, his face red. “You can’t just say that.”

“Why not.” Lan Xichen states, his eyes hard. “It is true. Mingjue told me that you made Wangji accept compensation from the Nie sect for his work. How is this any different? You are currently of the YunmengJiang sect, and even if you were part of ours, you would be given adequate compensation and recognition for your contributions.”

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji says sternly as Wei Wuxian shrinks back even more, his eyes fixed firmly on the table between them.

“I’m sorry, Wangji, but you can see how this won’t do.” Lan Xichen says, only slightly apologetic.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji acknowledges, but adds, “Not like this.”

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji looks at where Wei Wuxian is curled into his side consideringly. “Before,” he starts, his voice serious, “Wei Ying did not ask for credit when he made his inventions. Wei Ying’s heart is very big, and he only thinks of helping others. Even when in the Lan sect, Wei Ying distributed his inventions freely and never thought of asking for anything in return. Would not allow anyone to compensate him for his work.”

“Lan Zhan, not this again! Why would I ask for anything? I had you and you gave me a home. I already had everything I could want.” Wei Wuxian laughs nervously at the uncompromising expression on the Twin Jades’ faces and tries to joke, “Besides, why would I need money when my handsome husband is always willing to let me borrow his purse?”

Rather than lightening, Lan Xichen’s frown only gets deeper. He shoots his brother a sharp look. “Your purse?

“Mn,” Lan Wangji admits, his face carefully blank.

“Aiya,” Wei Wuxian says straightening up defensively next to his husband. “I wasn’t that bad, I promise! I never tried to empty the Lan coffers or anything. Lan Zhan wouldn’t let me even if I tried. You know he’s far too responsible for that, Xichen-ge! Don’t blame him.”

“I’m not worried about your spending our money. I daresay you couldn’t spend it all even if you tried,” Lan Xichen says, seeming confused himself, “I am concerned about why you were spending Wangji’s money instead of your own.”

Wei Wuxian looks at him in confusion, unsure why this seems to be of such importance to his brother-in-law. “I was pretty poor, you know?” he explains slowly, his head tilted. “Mo Xuanyu didn’t exactly have a fortune to his name when he gave up his body.”

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “No, not that. I mean your money as a spouse of the Lan clan.”

“My what?”

“As Wangji’s spouse, you would be provided for by the clan. You should have been given your own funds.” Lan Xichen turns back to his brother, his brow furrowed in confusion now. “Wangji?”

Lan Wangji’s face is blank, a slightly hard edge to his features. “Wei Ying was not permitted.”

“What?” Lan Xichen demands.

Lan Wangji ignores his brother, turning towards his husband and taking his hand. He rubs a thumb over Wei Wuxian’s knuckles and looks down at their joined hands intently, regret creasing the corner of his mouth. “Wei Ying should have been given more. Wei Ying deserved better.”

Wei Wuxian’s features soften at his downtrodden expression, a small sad smile pulling at his mouth. “Aiya, Lan Zhan,” he says, his voice full of affection and understanding. “Such a silly husband. How many times do I have to say that I already have everything I need?”

“Unacceptable,” Lan Xichen says firmly. When they turn back to him, his face is grave. “I apologise for my evident inaction in your time. But that will certainly not happen now. Wei Wuxian,” he adds, his tone brooking no argument, “You will be adequately compensated for your work.”

“Xichen-ge–!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, his hand covering Wei Wuxian’s, “Allow us this.”

“But Lan Zhan–” Wei Wuxian protests, starting to look genuinely upset.

“Please, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian’s jaw clicks shut in the face of his husband’s pleading. He swallows and nods reluctantly.

“Can we just… talk about this later?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says immediately, grasping his hand tightly in comfort.

“Well then,” Lan Xichen says after a few moments, his usual smiling demeanour sliding calming back in place. “Shall we go wake Uncle then?”

Both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji grimace at that.

–––––x––––––

Lan Qiren is a man of habit. His whole life, he has lived by the rules of the Lan clan, regarding them as sacrosanct: perhaps not the only way to live (he is hardly so foolish as to be ignorant of how the rest of the world views their clan), but certainly as the only way for him to live. He has learned from bitter experience the consequences of violating these rules—of allowing oneself to be swept away by irrational emotion into ignoring one’s duties—and refuses to allow such history to repeat itself.

Perhaps some may consider him overly strict, particularly in the way he raised his nephews. They might accuse him of leaning on the rules too heavily, of holding those two boys to too high a standard. Lan Qiren, too, cannot deny that he has raised his nephews rather more severely he would any other disciple, has been rigorous and exacting in their education, and stern in his enforcement of the rules. Nor does he regret it. His nephews have grown up well and will undoubtedly blossom further in the right circumstances. Others may consider Lan Qiren unfeeling, perhaps even cruel, but Lan Qiren knows better than bow to those expectations.

After all, those people have never felt the desperate hopelessness of being young and afraid, with too much responsibility thrust onto their unprepared shoulders. They have never had to kneel in front of a closed door, begging for a response, any response. Of Please, please. They are your children; she may be gone, but they are not. They need you, they need you, not me. They need their father. Please, and being met with only silence. They do not carry with them the memory of small, clinging hands and teary eyes and quiet little voices asking for their mother (not their father, never their father). They have never tried to beg for the return of that father anyway, one who never bothered enough about his children for them to even know his face because Lan Qiren was never equipped to be a father and leader, never taught how to handle those responsibilities, never wanted those roles in the first place. Lan Qiren had knelt and begged and wept then—breaking rules he would later punish himself for severely—because he had been terrified.

On that terrible day, when it became clear that his brother would truly never return, would sooner choose to die in isolation than do his duty to his clan and family, Lan Qiren had made a choice. He had packed away his dreams of travel and scholarship, of the quiet life he had planned for himself, and taken up the burden his brother had dropped, with the knowledge that he would carry it until Lan Huan came off age, if not longer. Lan Qiren would not allow his nephews to feel his same hopelessness and fear, would not allow them to be forced to carry this heavy responsibility alone, with no guidance, with no one to turn to. When, one day, they would be compelled to take on this heavy weight, Lan Qiren would ensure they were prepared, that they would be above reproach so that none may hold the mistakes of their parents against them.

Now, so many years later, his nephews have grown into fine young men (boys, still boys). The Twin Jades are perfect examples of talent, intelligence, and competence, a credit to their clan, and Lan Qiren is quietly but fiercely proud of them. And if Xichen smiles too much sometimes and tries too hard to maintain the peace, Lan Qiren has faith that it is nothing that a little more experience will not fix. And if Wangji shies away from social interactions and comes across as too cold and rigid, Lan Qiren knows (and sometimes fears) that his heart beats too passionately behind his frosty exterior.

No, overall, Lan Qiren has taken great pride in the young men his nephews are becoming and has never had cause to suspect them of deviating from the path set before them. Not for one moment has Lan Qiren regretted taking on the care of his two nephews; both have conducted themselves admirably on all occasions and, over the course of years, have never given him cause to be disappointed. Not until recently, that is. Not until the entrance of that boy.

Wei Wuxian is nothing but trouble, just as Lan Qiren had known he would be. The Lan are forbidden from gossiping, but even Lan Qiren has heard rumours of the Jiang head disciple; skilled in the six arts and popular with his juniors, but arrogant, irreverent and playful. Precisely like his mother, Lan Qiren had privately thought, only to be proven right when the boy chose to spout his atrocious, forbidden theories in his very first class, with no concern for natural morality.

To add insult to injury, Wei Wuxian had somehow managed to enchant Lan Qiren’s younger nephew and his greatest pride. He cannot deny that he had been hoping Wangji would be a good influence on the Jiang disciple; he had planned to let Wangji act as a countermeasure to all the boy’s mischief, to discipline him and keep him under control during his stay with the Lan sect. To discover how thoroughly flawed that plan had been is a bitter pill to swallow. Lan Qiren has always feared that Wangji’s heart would lead him down the same path as his father for despite his vast intelligence, the boy was easily swayed by his emotions and endlessly stubborn. Yet, he had never imagined that Wangji would fall so easily and thoroughly under that boy’s sway.

The knowledge that they were from the future, the absolute ridiculousness of their claim of time travel, has not helped improve Lan Qiren’s opinion of the situation. Wangji, married to That Boy, of all people. For a moment, Lan Qiren had been sorely tempted to throw Wei Wuxian out of the Cloud Recesses altogether, to remove his corrupting influence from his nephews and hope that they would regain their sense in time. But then Wangji had threatened to leave his clan for his so-called husband, threatened to throw away his duties for love just as his father had, and Lan Qiren had known it was already far too late.

Time travel. Every part of Lan Qiren rebels against the idea. He has been a scholar his whole life, but never has he even heard of such an idea and would staunchly consider it blasphemous if he had. And yet Wangji, who never lies, insists that such a thing had happened to him and Wei Wuxian. And because of Nie Huaisang, a spineless boy whose foolish frivolity has frustrated Lan Qiren to no end. Granted, the boy has seemed slightly more sensible than he had the previous year, but Lan Qiren is hardly willing to credit him with the sort of calculative intelligence required to do what Wangji claimed he did.

However reluctant Lan Qiren is to accept their tale (and certainly not without proof), it is undeniable that something extraordinary has occurred to change Wangji greatly. His youngest nephew has settled in a way Lan Qiren had never imagined for him, has grown softer and more tolerant (too tolerant!); Lan Wangji has grown confident and certain in himself but somehow more distrustful and wary of his clan. Of his own family.

He cannot forget the way Wangji’s gaze had grown distant and full of pain, the way his breathing had grown shallow and quick, the way he would not respond to anyone but Wei Wuxian, who had seemed to know exactly what to do and say, as though this was not the first time such a thing had occurred. As though Wangji’s suffering—because of Lan Qiren—was not the most strange and horrifying thing he had witnessed.

It had shaken Lan Qiren more than he would care to admit to witness Wangji in such a state. It had hurt to see him recoil from Lan Qiren in such a way, as though he could not trust him to keep him safe, as though Lan Qiren’s care for him could ever be in doubt. In his heart of hearts, Lan Qiren can admit to also being bitter about the way his nephew had turned towards Wei Wuxian, about how he had even been right to do so, considering how helpless Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren had been in the moment.

If Lan Qiren is being honest with himself—and Lan Qiren endeavours to be honest with himself on all occasions—he can admit that part of his reluctance to accept their tales of time travel is rooted in fear. If, if, they are telling the truth, it means that at some point in their supposed future, Lan Qiren had lost his nephew’s trust completely. At some point, Lan Qiren had failed badly enough for Wangji to turn that cold gaze on him, to regard him with a wariness that Lan Qiren is entirely unfamiliar with seeing in his nephew’s gaze. Such a situation would be unbearable. As such, Lan Qiren puts it to the back of his mind, waiting for proof.

So when Lan Qiren is suddenly woken by knocking in the middle of the night and slides his door open to find his two nephews and Wei Wuxian already dressed for the day, he is filled with a strange sense of dread. He swallows the feeling, trains a stern look on the three boys, and demands to know why they have broken the rules to wake him up so late in the night and why his nephews have brought Wei Wuxian to the private quarters of the main family.

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen says, his expression politely contrite but serious. “We must speak with you immediately. It is a matter of some urgency.”

Lan Qiren purses his lips and takes the solemn expressions they wear, even Wei Wuxian, and curtly tells them to enter as he retreats to dress. When he emerges, they have arranged themselves around his table quietly, and even Wei Wuxian stills his infernal restlessness to look up at him seriously when he approaches. Lan Qiren is loath to admit how much that unnerves him.

“Well?” he demands.

The three of them exchange looks before Lan Xichen speaks. “Uncle, do you remember what we told you about the Waterborne Abyss?”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren says curtly, stroking his beard.

“It is here,” Lan Wangji says bluntly.

Lan Qiren feels something resembling a block of ice drop into his stomach, but maintains his stern expression. “How do you know of this? We have received no reports.”

Wei Wuxian fidgets in his seat and Lan Qiren is immediately suspicious. He trains his gaze on the boy. “Wei Wuxian,” he barks out, “What have you been doing?”

“I–” The boy starts guiltily, only to be interrupted by Lan Qiren’s younger nephew, who lays his hand over Wei Wuxian’s own and gazes at his uncle defiantly.

“Wei Ying set up an alarm talisman in advance so we would be notified. I allowed him to do so.”

Lan Qiren’s suspicion sparks into anger. “You allowed him to set up his own talismans in our sect’s territory without informing me?”

“Mn.”

“Uncle–” Lan Xichen starts, but silences himself when he meets Lan Qiren’s gaze. At least one of his nephews seems to understand how unacceptable the situation is.

“You know the rules, Wangji. What authority do you possess to allow him to do such a thing?” Lan Qiren demands.

“Lives matter more than rules,” Lan Wangji says, jaw set stubbornly.

Lan Qiren purses his lips at that, fury warring with the grim acknowledgement that Lan Wangji is right. As important as the rules may be, as much as Lan Qiren cannot and will not tolerate any flagrant defiance of them, he can acknowledge that certain circumstances may call for their overruling.

“What,” he says, trying hard to swallow his anger, “Makes you think that such a measure was necessary?”

He sees Wei Wuxian’s mouth open and glares until the boy closes it. He turns back to his youngest nephew, whose expression has tightened.

“Lives will be lost in the morning. It was necessary.”

Lan Qiren grits his teeth against a sharp rebuke at Lan Wangji’s tone. He has been trying very hard to be more patient with his changed nephew lately, but the unfamiliar wariness, the underlying defiance to everything that Wangji has said and done lately sets his teeth on edge. He does not know how to converse with this version of his nephew, one who actively avoids being in his presence, when a few weeks ago they took tea together in companiable silence nearly every day.

He takes a breath and tries to gather his thoughts, ignoring the surprised look the three in front of him exchange and the prickle in his chest it evokes. The Waterborne Abyss is here. Lan Qiren is suddenly able to place his finger on the vague sense of the dread that had overcome him when he saw his nephews at his door. Cowardly as it may be, Lan Qiren had not wanted to believe Wangji and Wei Wuxian, to face the reality of his nephew’s change and know he could do nothing about it, could no longer hope to remove that irritating boy from his nephew’s side and from the Cloud Recesses, and hope that Wangji would soon return to himself.

Wangji would never return to himself.

Lan Qiren swallows the bile that rises in his throat at the thought and focuses on the problem at hand. Now is not the time for irrational emotions. The presence of a Waterborne Abyss in their clan’s waters is a serious issue, and will cause a number of problems, not just for their sect but for the people of Caiyi, many of whom depend on those waters to maintain their livelihood. Five years, it would take, at the very least, and who knows how many lives. Draining the lake will be a dangerous business, and Lan Qiren will need to be careful to select the right disciples for the task, and be prepared for any accidents or casualties that may occur. He feels the old weight of all those lives descend on his shoulders once more but straightens his back and meets his nephew’s eyes squarely.

“Very well,” he says, “Show me the Waterborne Abyss.”

Lan Wangji nods, serious as ever. He rises immediately and reaches out an entirely unneeded hand to help Wei Wuxian up, one that the boy takes shamelessly with a small affectionate smile. Lan Qiren feels the corner of his eye twitching and turns away swiftly. Lan Xichen falls into step beside him but stays silent as they make their way through the quiet Cloud Recesses, his younger nephew and Wei Wuxian following a little further behind. The silence stretches on until Lan Qiren cannot bear it anymore.

“Speak,” he says curtly, looking straight ahead as they make their way down the mountain.

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen says lowly, with obvious hesitation.

“Save me the prevarication, Xichen. Neither you nor your brother are suited to subtlety.”

He sees Lan Xichen’s mouth curve into a rueful smile out of the corner of his eye. His nephew hums, the set of his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“I only wanted to beg your patience with Wangji,” Lan Xichen says gently, “He does not mean to sound disrespectful.”

“Lying is forbidden,” Lan Qiren reminds him mildly.

Lan Xichen’s smile turns wry but his eyes are troubled. “Wangji is different. I do not fully understand it, but whatever he’s been through, it must have been truly terrible. It makes me thankful he has Wuxian.”

Lan Qiren frowns, irritation immediately thrumming through him. “That boy is a menace.”

Lan Xichen smiles faintly. “He is certainly lively,” he says mildly, in what Lan Qiren feels is a severe understatement of the problem. “But he makes Wangji happy and they are good for each other.”

“How could that boy possibly be good for Wangji?” Lan Qiren demands.

Lan Xichen hums thoughtfully. “It is strange, but despite the difference in their temperaments, they complement each other. Wei Wuxian speaks what Wangji cannot and brings him out of his shell, and Wangji tempers Wei Wuxian’s impulsive nature. I have never seen Wangji act so openly affectionate or be so content. I did not even know he could be.”

Lan Qiren huffs, but considers what he has seen of his younger nephew in the last weeks. Wangji has been curt and rebellious, and far too disrespectful of the rules they live by. Yet, what Lan Xichen points out is not entirely untrue either, however much Lan Qiren may be loath to admit it. His youngest nephew has been isolated from his peers all his life, yet now it is not uncommon to find him in the company of others his age. Aside from Wei Wuxian, who seems to have nothing better to do than stick to his nephew like a persistent shadow, Lan Qiren has observed both the Nie and Jiang heirs approach his nephew after classes. Even a few junior disciples from their clan, who have always seemed too wary of Lan Wangji’s cold expression to try befriending him have seemed more comfortable approaching him since that ridiculous race in the back hills that Lan Xichen signed off on.

There is a gentleness to Wangji now, one easier sensed than seen, but present nevertheless. “Perhaps, it is so,” Lan Qiren acknowledges, and ignores the surprised look Lan Xichen shoots him, “Even so, I cannot approve of that boy’s influence.”

Lan Xichen hums, a small smile forming on his face. “He may yet surprise you.”

Lan Qiren snorts. He has no doubt of that. He pulls out his sword as they cross the wards and mounts it, waiting only long enough for Xichen to do the same before setting off towards Biling Lake. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian follow closely behind them, neither of them saying a word as Lan Qiren directs them towards an outcropping to the north, closer to the mouth of the lake. He lands, surveying the quiet unmoving lake below them carefully, knowing that such an appearance is likely to be deceptive. In fact, the very stillness of the lake seems suspicious.

“Well?”

Wei Wuxian hops off his sword and steps towards the edge, a frown forming between his eyes, head cocked as though listening for something. “It’s definitely here,” he says softly, seemingly to himself, eyes roving the glassy surface of the lake.

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji says softly.

Lan Xichen nods, a frown forming on his face as he pulls his xiao out of his sleeve. He puts it to his lips and starts to play, the notes of the Song of Clarity echoing across the still surface of the lake. For a minute, nothing happens. Lan Qiren sweeps his gaze across the lake, looking for any disturbance.

“There!” Wei Wuxian says suddenly, pointing out into the darkness. Lan Qiren follows his finger until he catches sight of it. Half a li to their left, a ripple has formed on the lake’s surface, growing wider and deeper the longer Xichen plays. Lan Qiren grits his teeth as the water begins churning, something very large below the surface obviously growing agitated by the spiritual music. He feels when the first tendrils of resentment start to emerge, his instincts urging him to flee as more and more resentment starts to seep into the air. Far more than could possibly be produced by even a dozen water ghouls.

There is a Waterborne Abyss in our waters, he thinks, dismay washing over him. And then, They were telling the truth.

“Xichen, enough,” he calls, and the music cuts off immediately.

Lan Qiren turns to check on the three boys, concerned how they might react when faced with such a mass of resentment. Xichen looks back at him with wide eyes, his face pale. Wangji, too, seems a little pale, but his gaze is trained on Wei Wuxian who has yet to look away from the still-churning lake, his expression strangely blank. Lan Qiren frowns, a tendril of concern winding its way through him. He opens his mouth to call the boy back when Wei Wuxian seems to shake himself and turn away, a wide grin immediately forming on his face when he catches sight of all three pairs of eyes on him.

“Well,” he chirps in his obnoxious way, “That’s that then.”

Lan Qiren feels a spark of irritation at his own needless worry. He opens his mouth to scold the boy for his frivolity but is arrested by the intensity with which his younger nephew is regarding the boy.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says quietly.

Lan Qiren feels his chest hollow out slightly when he realises that he cannot read Lan Wangji’s tone anymore. Wei Wuxian, however, does not seem to share the same trouble, and his expression softens, smile dimming slightly as he focuses on Lan Qiren’s nephew. “Lan Zhan,” he says simply, and Lan Qiren is surprised by how Lan Wangji’s shoulders seem to loosen slightly in response.

He takes a deep breath and swallows his grief, pulling his face into stern lines as he turns to his eldest nephew instead. “We will need to report this to the Elder Council.”

Lan Xichen nods, glancing out at the lake that has now calmed, eerily still and quiet once more. “I will station guards around the lake to warn the civilians away.”

Lan Qiren nods in approval before the weight of the situation hits him. A Waterborne Abyss. “Five years,” he says out loud, a sigh weighing down his words “It will be difficult.”

“Um,” Wei Wuxian says, “So, about that.”

Lan Qiren eyes cut towards the boy, who hesitates a moment but presses on. “We might have another solution?”

“We?” Lan Qiren asks, already dreading the answer.

“Lan Zhan and I,” Wei Wuxian says eagerly, “We’ve been working on something for a while now and we have a solution. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than waiting around for five years.”

He says we so easily, the thought strikes him involuntarily, As though they are one, a unit. A couple.

Because they are. He feels a chill down his spine, the truth of their claims leaving him cold and untethered. Time travel, war, marriage, Wangji grown, Wangji resentful and Lan Qiren somewhere, somehow, to blame.

“Uncle?” Lan Wangji asks, his voice almost hesitant, cutting through Lan Qiren’s thoughts. His eyes snap to him then away, forcing his breaths to deepen and slow, years of meditation and restraint coming to his aid as he forces his mind back to the present. He clears his throat and focuses on Wei Wuxian, who looks back at him, confused and oddly concerned.

“Solution? What do you mean?”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Um,” he says, scratching at the bridge of his nose, “Lan Zhan and I have been working on something. It could get rid of the Abyss is less time.”

“Less time?”

“Umm, about a week or two?” Wei Wuxian says, “It depends on the number of cultivators working on it.”

Lan Qiren feels his blood pressure spike. “Wei Wuxian,” he says sternly, “Are you trying to tell me that you and Wangji have come up with such an easy solution to a problem expert cultivators have not been able to tackle for centuries in a matter of weeks?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says implacably, taking a step forward, placing himself between his uncle and Wei Wuxian. Lan Qiren ignores the sting the action provokes, as though Lan Qiren could not be trusted not to harm a child.

“Wangji.”

“Wei Ying is a genius,” Lan Wangji says calmly, as though such a claim were not antithetical to Wei Wuxian’s character. “He has invented many things, helpful things.”

“If you consider his childish pranks to be marks of genius, you have been sorely fooled,” Lan Qiren says angrily.

“Not a child,” Lan Wangji says, his face hard, and Lan Qiren suppresses his flinch. “Wei Ying has not played any pranks.”

“He–!” Lan Qiren starts, and then stops, arrested. Lan Wangji is right: since coming to the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian has played no pranks. In fact, the boy has been oddly quiet after that first class. Suspiciously so, Lan Qiren had thought with confidence. Knowing the boy’s reputation, it was simply a matter of time. Had he been mistaken?

He purses his lips. A lack of pranks still does not indicate the boy is a genius, and certainly not to the extent that Lan Wangji is claiming. If the boy was that talented, there was no reason for there not to have been signs of it in his youth. Lan Qiren would have known if the head disciple of the Jiang clan had displayed such talent.

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen says into the growing tension, “I have seen their work. It is impressive.”

“Xichen!”

“Please, uncle,” Lan Xichen says quietly, “If you disapprove, we can still proceed with the usual methods. But if their method could save the civilians years of suffering, is it not worth considering?”

Lan Qiren curses how weak he is to his nephew’s pleading, a corner of his heart unable to forget a much younger Xichen looking at him in much the same way. He takes a deep breath, forcing down his irritation.

“Very well,” he says and the three boys exchange relieved looks. “But I will speak with Wei Wuxian alone.”

“No,” Lan Wangji says immediately, meeting Lan Qiren’s glare with a stubborn look of his own.

“If he is such a genius as you claim, he can prove it to me himself,” Lan Qiren says, equally stubborn.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, putting a hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder and squeezing, a gesture that his nephew leans into, to Lan Qiren’s horror.

“Hn,” Lan Wangji says stubbornly, turning to look at the boy.

Wei Wuxian gives him a rueful smile. “It’s a little overdue anyway and you know it.”

“Don’t want Wei Ying to be hurt,” Lan Wangji says quietly.

Lan Qiren bristles at that. “I am not going to hurt a child.”

Surprisingly, it is Wei Wuxian who jumps to his defence. “Yeah, Lan Zhan, your uncle isn’t going to do anything to me. We’re just going to talk and you know it.”

His youngest nephew has the grace to look chastised. “Not what I meant,” he says, turning to Lan Qiren and bowing. “Apologies, uncle. I did not mean to imply you would cause Wei Ying physical harm.”

Lan Qiren nods, slightly mollified by the contrite expression on Lan Wangji’s face, though he does not miss the specification of physical harm. “Let us return,” he says briskly, “We have wasted enough time already.”

He turns away from the three boys and mounts his sword, leaving the lake behind. The four of them make their way through the Cloud Recesses in silence until they stand before Lan Qiren’s quarters. Lan Qiren turns to observe the three boys.

“Xichen, go wake the guards and ask them to patrol the lake. Wangji, return to your quarters until mao shi. Wei Wuxian, with me.”

His eldest nephew nods and leaves for the guard quarters, but Lan Wangji stays where he is, reluctance in his eyes as he looks between his uncle and Wei Wuxian. Lan Qiren contemplates reinforcing the command but before he can do so, Wei Wuxian steps forward, hand coming up to cup Wangji’s cheek. Lan Qiren scowls at the inappropriate display, but whatever silent communication the two seem to be having seems to work as his nephew nods slightly and steps back. He reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a sheaf of papers, handing them to Wei Wuxian, before lifting his head to look at Lan Qiren.

“Wei Ying deserves kindness,” he says quietly before turning and heading in the direction of the Jingshi, ignoring Wei Wuxian’s indignant call of his name. Lan Qiren watches him go, a complicated spiral of hurt, anger, and despair twisting in his chest.

“Aiya, sorry Lan-xiansheng,” Wei Wuxian says. He turns towards him with a small grin and Lan Qiren notes with distaste that his cheeks are tinted faintly pink. “Lan Zhan can be overprotective sometimes. Don’t mind him.”

“You use my nephew’s given name freely,” Lan Qiren notes with a frown, allowing the boy into his quarters reluctantly and moving to the table, gesturing for Wei Wuxian to seat himself.

“Mn,” Wei Wuxian says, a cheerful and unnerving imitation of Wangji as he sits in a messy heap and starts flicking through the papers before him. “He’s my husband, what else should I call him?”

“He is not your husband,” Lan Qiren denies sternly, and watches the smile on Wei Wuxian’s face slip.

“He is,” Wei Wuxian says, more quiet this time but certain. “Whatever the state of our bodies, our souls are one.”

Lan Qiren turns away to heat the water for tea, hiding his scowl. His nephew can do better than the son of Cangse Sanren. How dare this impudent boy lay claim on him so easily, as though he could ever hope to be Wangji’s equal? Wangji, who is talented, intelligent and moral, a model student and the bright hope of their clan. How could this mannerless, arrogant boy hope to stand beside him, when common sense dictates they should have nothing to do with each other? Lan Qiren feels his lips thin in displeasure and does his best to push his annoyance aside when he turns back to the boy, pouring the water into the waiting teapot. He is here now as the primary scholar and teacher of the Lan clan. He will not allow this boy to provoke him.

He catches Wei Wuxian watching him in silence, and something about his gaze makes Lan Qiren suddenly acutely aware that the boy is actually far older than he seems. There is an understanding there, along with bitterness and slight amusement, as though he can see right through all of Lan Qiren’s thoughts. It is unnerving from such a youthful face, and Lan Qiren realises abruptly that he has never really looked at Wei Wuxian properly, not this directly in the quiet candlelight faced with only each other. Like this, without his constant chatter and restlessness and blinding smile, Wei Wuxian simply looks… tired.

It is a surprising discovery in many ways. Wei Wuxian, in report and in the last few weeks, had appeared to be an endless and irritating fount of energy and mindless inane chatter. Yet the boy—man—before him sits quietly and thoughtfully, albeit with terrible posture, his eyes contemplative.

After a minute, Wei Wuxian straightens and reaches for the teapot. “Allow me, Lan-xiansheng,” he says quietly and waits until he nods to pour with more grace than Lan Qiren would have expected from him.

Lan Qiren considers the boy before him as he sips his tea, surprisingly steeped precisely to his preference. He wants to consider it a coincidence, but a glimpse of Wei Wuxian’s small smile shatters the illusion. It occurs to him, suddenly, how much Wei Wuxian might know about him and their clan, how familiar such a situation may be to him while novel to Lan Qiren. The idea that this is his first time taking tea with Wei Wuxian but not Wei Wuxian’s first time taking tea with him is disorienting.

He had meant this to be quick: allow Wei Wuxian to ramble at him about whatever little project he had been working on to appease his nephews, reject it for the nonsense it was, and send the boy away. Yet now, faced with this unfamiliar version of his most troublesome student, he hesitates. As much as he despises the notion, if Wei Wuxian is truly Wangji’s husband, then he would know why Wangji is… not himself.

“My nephew is not the same,” he says, a question and a confession at once.

Wei Wuxian has the audacity to laugh a bit at that. “No, no he isn’t.”

Lan Qiren’s eyebrows furrow, stroking through his beard. “He is disrespectful.”

Wei Wuxian takes a sip of his tea in a poor attempt to hide his smile. “Lan Zhan is perfectly polite,” he says mildly.

Lan Qiren’s frown deepens as he looks searchingly at the boy across from him. “My nephew,” he stresses in an admittedly petty move. “His words may be polite. His attitude is not.”

Wei Wuxian nods, acknowledging it, but says nothing. Apparently, the boy delights in testing his patience.

Lan Qiren’s frown shifts to a glare, but his voice stays controlled and even as he grits out, “I cannot help but notice that his attitude is directed towards me in particular.”

It’s as close as Lan Qiren is going to get to ask why Wangji insists on treating him so. As though Lan Qiren is an enemy, not an uncle who would do anything to protect him. Displaying even so much vulnerability before someone like Wei Wuxian makes his skin crawl. Thankfully, Wei Wuxian seems to give in, setting his teacup down and eyeing Lan Qiren seriously.

“The problem with being from the future,” he says, gentle and serious in a way Lan Qiren did not think him capable of being, “Is that you get stuck between knowing who people are now and who they can or will be. It is difficult sometimes, to know how to act around people when you know what they are capable of even though they have done nothing yet.”

Lan Qiren’s face flushes, anger swooping through him. “You are saying you believe me to be capable of such heinous acts? Of hurting my own nephew?”

“I’m saying you already have,” Wei Wuxian says, still terribly gently, and Lan Qiren feels nauseated.

“I have never–!”

“No, you haven’t.” Wei Wuxian interrupts, mannerless as ever. “But Lan Zhan is not your Lan Zhan. Just because you haven’t done something yet, doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened to him.”

That makes Lan Qiren pause. “You are saying that in your future, I hurt my nephew and that is why he is so cold to me.”

“Yes.”

Lan Qiren pales, ice shooting through his veins. “What did I do?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “That’s not for me to say.”

“Wei Wuxian–!”

“I will not betray Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says softly. “If he wishes you to know, he will tell you.”

Lan Qiren does not know what his face is doing, but after a few moments, Wei Wuxian sighs.

“He is trying,” he says, still so soft, “Lan Zhan is trying very hard to remember that you are not responsible for the actions of the Lan Qiren he knows. It is hard for him, sometimes, to remember. Things between you were... difficult when we left. But Lan Zhan loves you. He wants to trust you. I would not be here now if he did not.”

Lan Qiren clears his throat, unsure how to respond to such a confession. It has not seemed as though Lan Wangji trusts him. If anything, Lan Wangji has been studiously avoiding him for weeks and Lan Qiren refuses to acknowledge how much that has affected him. But Wei Wuxian’s eyes are clear and certain, even kind, which is deeply discomfiting, as is the air of maturity he suddenly exudes.

It is clear that Wei Wuxian will tell him nothing. Perhaps it is the better choice. Lan Qiren has spent much of the last few weeks reflecting on his relationship with his youngest nephew, unwillingly haunted by the memory of Wangji, eyes unseeing, spiralling into his own mind because of Lan Qiren’s harsh words. Perhaps it is his punishment for being so strict with his nephews, for failing to be an adequate substitute for their own parents.

He clears his throat and turns his eyes towards the papers sitting between them, pushing away his dark thoughts. They are here for a specific purpose. He should not have allowed himself to be distracted. “Explain this.”

Wei Wuxian’s shoulders loosen and he nods eagerly, reaching for the papers in front of them while Lan Qiren regards him skeptically. Yet over the course of the next half shichen, Lan Qiren finds himself stunned. The scope of the work Wei Wuxian casually lays before him is astonishing, to say the least. Revolutionary, even. Wei Wuxian answers every question he throws at him excitedly, hands waving wildly as he goes over the complex arrays and talismans he has devised in careful detail, explaining the logic of their construction easily with all the air of a teacher himself. Lan Qiren cannot even bring himself to correct his posture and outbursts, shock overwhelming habit.

Lan Qiren knows himself to be an intelligent man; he has earned his positions as teacher and scholar of his sect, has worked hard to advance his sect’s cultivation techniques. Yet it is clear to him that Wei Wuxian’s grasp of the talisman arts far exceeds his own. Though the admission does not come without a bitter edge, Lan Qiren knows that a talent like Wei Wuxian has not been seen in the cultivation world in at least a hundred years.

Yet the greatest shock to his system occurs when Wei Wuxian hands him a scoresheet with a wide grin and proudly declares it to be Lan Wangji’s work.

“Wangji wrote this?” Lan Qiren asks disbelievingly, his eyes raking over the notes, the melody playing in his mind, the careful yet complex modification of Lan musical techniques evident. He flips over to the explanation of the musical notations laid out clearly and concisely in Lan Wangji’s neat handwriting, stunned.

“Yup!” Wei Wuxian says brightly, “Lan Zhan is a genius!”

Lan Qiren looks up at him and finds Wei Wuxian smiling widely, pride shining in his eyes. He looks down at the notes in his hand again, hiding his own swell of pride. Lan Qiren had always known his nephew was wildly intelligent and had potential to be a great cultivator. But he had never considered him capable of the sort of ingenuity necessary to adapt an entire cultivation field in such a way.

“It’s similar to Cleansing,” Wei Wuxian rambles, his pride evident, “If you look at the second page—no there, the fourth line from the right—there’s a resemblance there. It covers a much wider scale though and is more targeted, which is excellent for our purposes. See that variation halfway through? That’s based on Lan Yi’s notes on spiritual energy guidance using modified chord progressions. Except Lan Zhan developed it further to fit within the current Lan techniques so that Cleansing’s effects aren’t dampened.”

Lan Qiren looks searchingly at the boy across from him. “You are very familiar with the Lan sect’s secret techniques.”

“Hm, yeah,” Wei Wuxian says absently, looking through his notes distractedly, “I’ve lived here for nine years, it was inevitable to pick some of it up.”

“Nine years,” Lan Qiren echoes.

“Yeah, since I married Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says casually. He looks up and his expression sobers. He straightens in his seat and regards Lan Qiren warily, waiting for Lan Qiren to respond.

But Lan Qiren feels struck dumb. Nine years. Nine years. Wei Wuxian, living in the Cloud Recesses for almost a decade. Familiar enough with their sect to display such casual mastery of their techniques, given access to their most secret books. Wei Wuxian, living as Wangji’s husband in his home for nine years.

“Lan-xiansheng?” Wei Wuxian asks carefully when he doesn’t speak.

Lan Qiren forces his mind to focus on the present. He clears his throat and fixes Wei Wuxian with a stern look. Wei Wuxian blinks back at him uncertainly and Lan Qiren forces himself to swallow his annoyance at his foolish expression. Why the boy has hidden such a brilliant mind behind all his frivolous irreverent mannerisms is beyond him. Even if his current work is the product of years of study, surely such genius would have been evident in his youth as well. Yet, while the Jiang head disciple had been called intelligent and a master of the six arts, nearly all reports regarding him spoke of an arrogant and careless youth who spent most of his time playing pranks and encouraging his peers into foolish escapades. Has he been hiding his true intelligence all this while, or did he only bend his mind towards serious study later in life?

“This solution,” he says slowly and Wei Wuxian’s spine straightens, his expression growing serious, “How long did it take to create?”

Wei Wuxian hums and strokes at the bridge of his nose in thought. “Around five weeks?”

Lan Qiren glares at him. “Five weeks?”

“Yes?”

“You had not worked on this before?”

“No?”

Lan Qiren takes a deep breath, closing his eyes in pain. Five weeks. His nephew and the Jiang head disciple. Creating revolutionary, cultivation-altering work in a matter of weeks.

“Lan-xiansheng?” Wei Wuxian asks hesitantly, his head tilted in confusion.

“It is risky,” he says instead of How? “There will be consequences to proposing such a solution, for you and Wangji, and for your sects.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. “Our sects?”

Lan Qiren frowns at him. “It will be a joint effort between the Jiang and Lan sects. An economic alliance at the very least.”

To his surprise, Wei Wuxian frowns. “That would take too long. Why get the Jiang sect involved at all?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren says irritably, “Are you not their head disciple?”

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian says and then, impossibly, “So?”

Lan Qiren has to breathe deeply for a moment before responding. “We will need to pay compensation for the use of Jiang resources.”

“What resources?”

Lan Qiren feels his face flush red in annoyance. “You, you foolish boy! You and your work that you have spent the last half shichen showing me!”

Instead of acknowledging his mistake and apologising, Wei Wuxian only frowns slightly. “Oh. No, no, I didn’t make this for the Jiang sect. It’s for the Lan.”

It is such a nonsensical statement that Lan Qiren has to pause for a minute to comprehend it. How can Wei Wuxian claim to be an adult and inventor and yet know nothing about this? “Are you suggesting that we simply take your work to use for our own benefit and not inform the Jiang sect? Do you think so lowly of the Lan sect?” he demands, angrily.

Wei Wuxian’s frown deepens, something genuinely upset starting to brew on his face. “No. It’s just– the Jiangs won't–” He breaks off, lips pursing in agitation.

Lan Qiren eyes him sharply, his anger cooling to something more pensive at Wei Wuxian’s obvious distress. “Your work belongs to you and your sect, and as a member of the Jiang sect, it is only proper that we apply to your sect leader to use it. Anything less would be considered theft,” he explains.

“Then take it as Lan Zhan’s work!” Wei Wuxian bursts. “It’s half his anyway! And it’s not like the Jiang sect cares about this stuff. They’re not going to take it seriously!”

Ah.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren says sternly. He waits for Wei Wuxian to calm down in silence, watching the way the boy’s fists curl and uncurl in his lap as the minutes stretch. When it seems that Wei Wuxian has settled back a bit, he asks, voice even. “What do you mean the Jiang sect won’t take it seriously?”

Wei Wuxian glances up at him, agitated and confused. “Because I made it? They don’t like my talisman work so they won’t care if you use it,” he says, as if such a fact should be obvious.

Lan Qiren frowns. “That cannot be true. Perhaps in your… time, they would not accept your reckless youthful experiments. But this is an adult contribution to a field of study and they will not allow it to pass out of their hands so easily.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth tugs up bitterly at the corner, but he still shakes his head in denial. “No, they won’t care. Even when I made shield  and binding talismans to help with nighthunts and made arrays to help with the yearly flooding back then, they didn’t want to look at it. Besides, it’s not like they need to know. It’ll only get me in trouble if they do.”

Lan Qiren’s frown deepens, something itching at him. “What do you mean?”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “I’m the head disciple. Talismanry is only a distraction from my real duties and a waste of their time.”

The sense of unease Lan Qiren had been feeling grows into alarm. Wei Wuxian says it with confusing off-handedness, like he’s remembering an old, nearly forgotten rule that has nevertheless been hammered into him so often as to become an automatic response. He considers what he knows of this boy (still a boy, even though Lan Qiren knows better for certain now), and cannot shake the feeling that something doesn’t quite add up.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, breaking the silence suddenly in the manner of someone coming to a realisation, “Xichen-ge told you all that stuff about loaning my work and compensation and stuff, didn’t he?” He huffs, shaking his head, “That’s why you’re so concerned about all this. That’s all nonsense of course. I don’t need any of that.”

“Any of what?” Lan Qiren asks, confused and irritated by both Wei Wuxian’s insistence of speaking in vagaries and his familial reference to Lan Qiren’s eldest nephew. Lan Xichen had been entirely silent on their way back to the Cloud Recesses; what in the world is Wei Wuxian speaking of?

“You know, all that financial compensation business and all his talk of diplomatic whatever. It’s all silly and I made this stuff for the Lans anyway. There’s no need to waste time on something so unnecessary.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren snaps, impatient, “You claim to be an adult and yet speak so foolishly. Are you truly this naïve?”

He regrets the iciness of his tone when Wei Wuxian flinches back at the insult, his face growing entirely blank. There is a pause where Lan Qiren tries to figure out how to fix the damage he has done.

Then Wei Wuxian bows deeply in his seat and says quietly. “Apologies, Lan-xiansheng. This one did not mean to offend you.”

Lan Qiren’s lips purse. He is painfully aware that Wei Wuxian is not the one that owes an apology at present, yet it galls to offer one himself to this troublesome boy with Cange Sanren’s eyes. This boy who pulls his nephews into his mischief just as easily as his mother used to sway her peers. After all, wasn’t it she who shaved Lan Qiren’s beard and mocked him for his seriousness? She, who laughed at him with those dancing eyes, taking nothing seriously and wounding his boyish pride? She, who inspired that same insolence to her son who likely grew up being told how amusing her antics were by the Jiang sect leader and learnt to embody them the same way.

But Wei Wuxian’s eyes stay blank as he looks down at the table in deferential silence and for the first time since Lan Qiren has met him, he doesn’t look like Cangse Sanren at all. His mother had certainly never learned to reign in any of her emotions, though it would have served her and everyone around her well had she learned to do so. If anything, he looks like his father. Lan Qiren did not know Wei Changze very well, but he remembers him as a quiet, polite young man who always stood two steps behind Jiang Fengmian, his head bowed the same way.

Like a servant.

Abruptly, Lan Qiren feels ashamed of himself. Wei Changze may have been a servant once, but he had long since obtained his freedom, which Lan Qiren had wholeheartedly supported at the time (even if the man did elope with the living embodiment of his worst nightmare). Wei Changze had been a talented, intelligent and accomplished young cultivator, and Lan Qiren had always privately thought that his loyalty and skills were being grossly squandered in the position he held in the Jiang sect. Lan Qiren had never understood how the Jiang sect could bear to let such talent waste away when it could have easily been cultivated to be a shining star of their sect, but it hadn’t been his place to ask. Though he would never admit it out loud, he had been secretly pleased to hear the news of the couple’s elopement, if only because it meant Wei Changze would never have to stand two feet behind anyone else again, his head bowed in forced deference.

Exactly as Wei Wuxian’s head was bowed now.

Lan Qiren knows that he has always been a stern man, that most of his students consider him unnecessarily strict and that most of his own peers would agree he is too rigid. But he would like to think he is not cruel. He would never demand or want this sort of deference from his students, one born of forced submission and not genuine respect. And while he may be aware that Wei Wuxian is an adult, he is unable to separate this knowledge from his youthful appearance.

In front of Lan Qiren is a boy, a child whose education is his duty. Part of that education is teaching him how to navigate the world of cultivation politics. And if, for whatever reason, Wei Wuxian did not learn this in his true youth, then Lan Qiren had evidently failed in that duty. He will not fail again.

However irritating he may be, Wei Wuxian does not deserve… this. Lan Qiren takes in his stooped posture, his downcast eyes, the way his hands fidget in his lap seemingly unconsciously. He looks at the papers between them, the product of an evidently brilliant mind.

He wonders, for the first time, if anything has truly changed in the Jiang sect since Wei Changze left its fold. He had assumed, since Wei Changze’s son held the position of head disciple, that Jiang Fengmian had done better than his father. But the boy’s reluctance to disclose or claim credit for his work is concerning. It is evident that he has the mind of a scholar, the likes of which Lan Qiren has never met before. In any other circumstance, Lan Qiren would be thrilled to find such a scholar amongst his students, would have done his best to nurture such a mind to help the child reach their full potential.

So why is Wei Wuxian any different? Trouble, his mind whispers, just like his mother, and Lan Qiren feels the shame rise in his throat. Is that all it is? Is he truly so petty as to dismiss a child’s potential simply because he did not like their mother? Unacceptable. Lan Qiren has always prided himself on following the Lan rules exactly, and yet here he is, throwing away those sacred tenets over a grudge from decades ago. Wei Wuxian may often seem troublesome, but Lan Qiren can grudgingly admit that he has not provided much food for anger after that first class, which Xichen has explained was done on purpose, with Lan Wangji’s permission. If anything, his nephew is more at fault, yet Lan Qiren had laid all the blame on this boy’s shoulders, had seen it as confirmation of his own biases.

It is clear now, that Lan Qiren has failed. He has failed as a mentor to Wei Wuxian, both in the past and at present, he has failed as a teacher by refusing to look past his biases and nurture a young mind, and worse still, he has failed as an uncle by refusing to trust his nephews, by rejecting their pleas for faith in this troublesome boy. This boy who has brought his clan innovative, cultivation-altering work and handed it over to them as though it were nothing.

No more.

Do not make assumptions. Be careful with your words. Be respectful and humble. Harmony is the value.

“Wei Wuxian,” he says, clearing his throat and trying to soften his tone, though it mostly comes out awkward. “I apologise.”

Wei Wuxian’s head shoots up, shock and disbelief causing his eyes to widen comically. Lan Qiren almost feels insulted except… except, well, he’s hardly given him any reason to react otherwise, has he?

Wei Wuxian gapes at him. “Lan-xiansheng! What– why–”

Lan Qiren presses his lips together. “I spoke unfairly. I have allowed my assumptions of your character to overrule my reason. I have harmed you with my words. It is unacceptable for me to do so, as your elder and your teacher. I apologise.”

Wei Wuxian gapes at him as though he has never heard an apology before. “I– Lan-xiansheng, please don’t. There’s no need. I should be the one apologising,” Wei Wuxian laughs awkwardly, running a hand through his unruly hair, “I’m the one who provoked you. I know you don’t like me and that’s completely fair. I know I can be a lot. It’s okay.”

Lan Qiren eyes the flustered teen in front of him with disapproval, ignoring the sudden sting of concern he feels. Truly, the boy needs to be trained socially. Wangji has evidently not succeeded in teaching him any better, despite being married for nine years. Lan Qiren will need to correct this. The boy’s discomfort with receiving a simple apology combined with his hesitation to approach his sect with his inventions only intensifies his suspicions regarding Wei Wuxian’s treatment in the Jiang clan. Such behaviour must be dealt first with if the boy is to join the Lan clan.

“Wei Wuxian, that is enough,” he says, stern but attempting to soften his tone somewhat. Wei Wuxian does not immediately recoil which is a good sign. “I wronged you and therefore I need to apologise. That is all there is to it. Do not dismiss what you owed by undermining yourself.”

He sees Wei Wuxian open his mouth to protest and changes the topic before the boy can interrupt. “This work of yours. Is this your first invention?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

Wei Wuxian blinks, thrown slightly off course. “No.”

“Have you never claimed rights to your inventions?”

“Rights? I– uh, no?”

“So you have not received financial compensation for the use of your creations?” Lan Qiren demands.

Wei Wuxian shrinks back slightly, but he appears more confused than upset. “Um, no? I– uh, no, I don’t need anything. As long as it helps someone, it doesn’t matter right?”

“Wrong,” Lan Qiren says severely. How has such an issue never been addressed before? If the Jiang sect never saw fit to educate their head disciple on such a key issue and Wei Wuxian is ignorant, Lan Qiren knows his nephew is not. Nine years. What has Wangji been doing?

Well, Lan Qiren has always been a teacher first. He narrows his eyes at Wei Wuxian who swallows nervously. “While helping those in need is not incorrect, there is a reason possessing rights to your work is important. Your sect will record your work as part of their own. You will need to be given credit for your work and adequate compensation for its use. If someone were to take credit for your creation and sell it on a street for profit, how would you refute them?”

“Aiya,” Wei Wuxian says, appallingly ill-mannered and dismissive, “I don’t need credit and the great sects have done lots without me. If some poor merchant wants to sell some talismans to feed his family, why would I object?”

Lan Qiren feels his blood pressure rise. This foolish boy! He glowers at him, ready to scold. But Wei Wuxian looks back at him, amused but not malicious, genuine confusion lining his eyes.

Very well, if such arguments had no impact on him, then perhaps, “And if it were not some poor merchant? If another cultivator claimed rights to it and sold it only to a select persons at a high price, denying it to those in need? If there is a problem with your creation at some point and someone is harmed, and you needed to take responsibility, but they do not know who you are. What then?”

He sees his argument hit home as Wei Wuxian’s expression crumples into a pensive frown.

He lets the boy think over it for a few minutes as he strokes his beard. After a while, he huffs to himself. “Really, what has Wangji been doing, allowing you to run wild in such a manner? It is irresponsible.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes snap to his immediately, his expression growing mulish. “Lan Zhan isn’t at fault! My shortcomings have nothing to do with him.”

“You are very defensive of Wangji,” Lan Qiren observes with a frown.

“Lan Zhan is my husband,” Wei Wuxian says stubbornly, as though it were an explanation in itself. Perhaps, to him, it is.

“Your husband,” Lan Qiren repeats quietly, mostly to himself. Suddenly, he feels the weight of this long night, heavy on his shoulders. The Waterborne Abyss, the truth of this time travel, the burden of a future that needs to be altered. And Wangji, the same yet so very different, a relationship Lan Qiren does not know how to even begin fixing.

Outside, the bell rings through the Cloud Recesses to indicate mao shi.

“Lan-xiansheng,” Wei Wuxian says, breaking the silence, his eyes glinting seriously in the candlelight, “I know you are concerned about Lan Zhan, and I’m not going to pretend to be deserving of him.”

“Then why do you insist on this marriage?” Lan Qiren cannot help but ask.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth twists for a moment. “Despite all my faults and my folly, Lan Zhan loves me. He loves me more than anyone ever has. Lan Zhan is the kindest, sweetest, most loving person I have ever had the fortune to know. I cannot pretend to understand how I could ever be worthy of him.”

Lan Qiren feels his eyebrows raise incredulously. “Wei Wuxian–”

“But I can promise you this,” Wei Wuxian forges on, his eyes fiery where they meet Lan Qiren’s own. “I will love Lan Zhan entirely for all of my life. And every life after, I will love him still. I will protect him and care for him and honour him. I will make sure he is safe, that he is happy, that he is loved as much and as completely as he deserves to be. There is nothing I cannot and will not do for him. He is the most important person to me, nothing matters more than his wellbeing and his happiness.”

Lan Qiren stares at him in disbelief, but Wei Wuxian stares determinedly right back. Lan Qiren is the first to look away, clearing his throat as he attempts to gather his thoughts. His first instinct is to dismiss the boy’s words, but something prevents him from doing so. Perhaps it is the way Wei Wuxian’s hand clench, white-knuckled, in his lap or the way he stares Lan Qiren down with absolute certainty in his gaze.

Perhaps it is because, as much as Lan Qiren is loath to admit it, he is almost inclined to believe this strange and compelling version of Wei Wuxian whose eyes shine with far more maturity than his youthful face conveys. It has been one of the strangest shichen of Lan Qiren’s life.

“You do not need to believe me,” Wei Wuxian says after a moment with a rueful laugh, misunderstanding Lan Qiren’s silence. He strokes his nose again, seeming to deflate as he sits back. “I just wanted you to know that.”

Lan Qiren stares at him as the silence stretches between them. He cannot tell him honestly that he approves of this marriage. His opinion of Wei Wuxian may have risen tonight, but not so much that he would willingly hand him his nephew.

“Your mother used to do that,” he says instead, abrupt and unintentional, and silently curses himself for his foolishness.

Wei Wuxian startles. “What?”

Lan Qiren gestures at his hands and then his face irritably. “That gesture, when you are thinking. Your mother used to do it as well.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes are impossibly wide. He looks at his own hand like he’s never seen it before. “My mother…?”

Lan Qiren nods, confused as to why the boy looks so struck. Wei Wuxian glances up at him, and looks suddenly exactly like the child he is, his eyes slightly glassy.

“I– thank you,” Wei Wuxian says, slightly choked, much to Lan Qiren’s horror, “I didn’t know.” He takes a deep steadying breath and looks up at Lan Qiren with something awfully like hope. “I– Lan-xiansheng, I know you disliked my mother. But if it would not trouble you terribly, could you– would you perhaps be willing to tell me about her?”

Lan Qiren startles at that, his hand stilling where it had gone to stroke his beard. How does the boy know about his relationship with Cangse Sanren? And why would he want Lan Qiren’s stories? Surely, he could find a dozen better sources in Yunmeng.

“What do you want to know?” He asks suspiciously, trying to recall if he has any fond memories of that terrible woman. Perhaps the boy has heard about the incident with Lan Qiren’s beard and wishes to hear it from Lan Qiren’s own mouth in order to mock him.

“Anything,” Wei Wuxian says, oddly desperate.

Lan Qiren frowns, feeling slightly unmoored. “Speak clearly.”

“I– will you tell me one thing, please?” Wei Wuxian asks, hesitant and hopeful at the same time.

“What is it?”

“Do you– would you perhaps know what her name was?”

As quietly as Wei Wuxian asked the question, it hits Lan Qiren like a bolt of lightning.

“What?”

Wei Wuxian recoils immediately, his hands fisting in his lap. “I– nevermind. Sorry, Lan-xiansheng.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren says sternly, “Do you mean to tell me you do not know your own mother’s name?”

Wei Wuxian stares down at his lap, hands fiddling with each other. He shakes his head.

Lan Qiren takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. Wei Wuxian is sixteen years old. Wei Wuxian is over forty. Wei Wuxian has lived with Jiang Fengmian for many years now. Jiang Fengmian was intimate friends with both Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren once.

Wei Wuxian does not know his mother’s name.

He opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by a knock on his door. He frowns, wondering who could be interrupting him so early in the day. “Enter.”

The door slides open to reveal Lan Wangji.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian exclaims.

“Wangji, what is the meaning of this?” Lan Qiren demands, “I told you to remain in the Jingshi.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze sweeps the room and lands on Wei Wuxian, searching and intense. “It is mao shi,” he says, and Lan Qiren feels a vein in his forehead throb. “Wei Ying did not return,” his nephew adds quietly.

Wei Wuxian laughs and jumps up, moving to Lan Wangji’s side. He pulls at Lan Wangji’s sleeve teasingly, seeming to have forgotten where he is. “Aiya, Lan Zhan, I was right here. Were you lonely without your Wei Ying? Did you miss me?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji confirms, much to Lan Qiren’s horror. He watches his youngest nephew’s eyes soften as he reaches out to cup Wei Wuxian’s cheek.

He clears his throat loudly to remind them of his presence. Wei Wuxian jumps guiltily and spins to him with an apology on his lips, but Lan Wangji only looks at him with a stubborn glint.

Intolerable. Lan Qiren wants to scold him, but then sees the way Lan Wangji has angled his body protectively around Wei Wuxian, the genuine concern in his eyes when he surveys his husband.

Wei Ying deserves kindness, Lan Wangji had said before he left and was now looking searchingly at his husband as though he expected to find Wei Wuxian harmed or distressed. He did not trust his uncle alone with Wei Wuxian. Perhaps he had been right, too. Lan Qiren had not been kind.

He swallows the uncomfortable feeling that rises in his throat and looks away from the pair, gathering the papers still scattered on the table before him into a neat pile.

“Wei Wuxian,” he says, and notices the way his nephew stiffens. Wei Wuxian turns to him in question and Lan Qiren meets his eyes steadily. “The answer, to your question from before: Liu Jing, Liu Qinyang. She never said where she got the name Liu, if she was born with it or if it was given to her. But she insisted on taking your father’s name after they married. She did not care for convention. Wei Jing, Wei Qinyang.”

Lan Wangji freezes where he stands but Lan Qiren keeps his eyes on Wei Wuxian, whose eyes grow large and glassy. The boy falls into an unnecessarily deep bow before him, choked words of gratitude falling from his lips.

“A child should know their parents’ names,” Lan Qiren huffs and recites strictly, “Be a filial child.”

Wei Wuxian nods fervently and Lan Qiren notes how tightly he grasps Lan Wangji’s hand. His nephew clasps his hand just as tight and curls the other around Wei Wuxian’s shoulder in support. Lan Qiren meets his nephew’s eyes and is surprised by the gratitude in them, the way they have softened into something almost tentative.

Lan Qiren looks away. He rises from his seat with dignity and tucks their notes into his sleeve. “I will look further into this idea of yours while I am in Qinghe. Do not do anything until I return.”

He waits until the two of them nod their understanding. Good.

“When I return,” he pauses and looks to Wei Wuxian, “I did not know your parents as well as some others, but if you would like me to share what I know, speak to me then.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, wide smile spreading across his face, his eyes shining with gratitude and joy, “Thank you, Lan-xiansheng! I will.”

“Wangji,” Lan Qiren says, focusing on his youngest nephew next, who straightens at the attention. “Wei Wuxian showed me your song to cleanse the Abyss.”

Lan Wangji nods.

“It is very well done. Name it wisely.”

Lan Wangji nods again, surprise and mild pleasure reflecting in his eyes. Suddenly, the chasm between does not seem so insurmountable. Lan Qiren strokes his beard in thought and dismisses the two boys. They bow to him, Wei Wuxian still beaming at him with watery eyes. But his nephew pauses on the threshold and turns back to Lan Qiren.

“Uncle,” Lan Wangji says quietly, bowing once more, a little deeper. “Thank you.”

Lan Qiren nods, keeping his expression stern as the two boys depart. He has much to do before he leaves for Qinghe this afternoon, more so now with the appearance of the Abyss, and breaking his usual sleeping habits has left him already grey and weary. But he takes a moment to watch them go, eyeing the way they lean towards each other, Wei Wuxian already chattering at a mile a minute at his nephew who nods in response, his eyes soft.

In the pale light of dawn, they shine with youth. Yet, something about the way they walk together, so perfectly in sync despite Wei Wuxian’s restless flitting about, speaks to a lifetime of companionship. Harmonious and strange at the same time.

Lan Qiren still does not approve of their marriage. Not yet. But maybe someday.