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He finds him sprawled out across a murky field.

At first glance he almost thinks it’s him. It’s Wei Ying, with his disheveled long wavy hair, blood streaks down the side of his pale white cheeks, head face-planted into the tall thin grass. He looks just like him, in every angle, in every way. If Lan Wangji doesn’t squint too hard, he could pretend it’s him.

But it isn’t. His heart still skips a beat, but it isn’t.

He kneels to the ground, and takes in the familiar, sickening scent of fresh blood. With a hand, coolly brushing against the man’s head of hair, Lan Wangji tries to feel for a pulse within a body that has shown no indication of life so far.

There’s a heartbeat, and this time he’s certain it isn’t his.

He lives.

Who are you, and why have you taken on the image of Wei Ying, Lan Wangji wants to ask. He turns the body over, as delicately as he can, just so he can catch a glimpse of his face.

His fingers immediately loosen in grip at the horrifying realisation of who is in his grasp.

Xue Yang. Lan Wangji never forgets a name, never forgets a face. This was the young boy—now a young man—that had devastated entire cities, even sects. The last he had heard of him, he was to be executed by the hands of Jin Guangyao, who had made it his first order the moment he succeeded the late Jin Guangshan. Lan Wangji had thought Xue Yang to be gone by now; although to be brutally honest Lan Wangji has not cared much for keeping up with events of the outside world, not when the world has become so dull in comparison without him.

Whatever circumstances have led Xue Chengmai here, abandoned by the side of the road, succumbing to his fatal injuries—Lan Wangji does not care to find out. He does have a decision to make, however, because this body is quickly bleeding out, and he is the only one around here who can save him.

And then it really dawns upon him—only he can save him.

Lan Wangji has failed before. He had reasoned, he had fought, he had begged, and all for naught. He had played his song for Wei Ying a thousand times, and still he never listened. He’d stood by him until the very end, and still he was told to get lost.

Where he has failed with Wei Ying, he cannot let himself fail again, now.

This young man in his hands is a criminal, he knows. Xue Yang is a dangerous being—he knows. But he had seen him from a mile away, and thought his dark robes resembled Wei Ying’s. He’d seen his long tresses of black hair, and thought he could be Wei Ying. He’d smelled the blood on his cheeks, and remembered the way Wei Ying had fallen to death in his grasp.

He’d taken a look at his face, and remembered how everyone else branded Wei Ying a villain without a second thought.

You will not become who they said you will be, Lan Wangji thinks, as he prepares Bichen for flight.

Xue Yang wakes up to the sound of guqin.

His head throbs, his stomach aches, one of his legs still feels broken in. But he is alive, and heavily bandaged, and half his strength has already been returned to him. How can this be, when he was so sure he had been left for dead. It is impossible to be healed at such a speed, unless—

“You are awake,” he says.

Xue Yang has never stirred himself awake faster in his life.

He is not where Jin Guangyao left him.

“Hanguang-Jun,” Xue Yang musters out, in shock, with what’s left of his voice. It is not much. He reaches blindly for water on the table next to him, until a glass is pushed into his hands the same time the guqin stops and he hears footsteps walk over.

“Xue Chengmei,” Lan Wangji returns, respectfully.

Xue Yang cannot speak. He drinks and he drinks, and when the glass is empty he still cannot will himself to speak. His heart has lurched to his stomach as he takes in the room he is currently in. He has just narrowly escaped death at the hands of one sect—and now he is yet again in the hands of another one.

“I did not know the Lans have business with me,” he says, because there is no other reason for him to be here if not to be punished by the all-mighty and righteous Lans for his wrongdoings. They have three thousand rules, and counting, and Xue Yang’s very presence here must have already broken at least ten.

“We do not,” Lan Wangji says. His face is passive, and Xue Yang cannot read him. Has never been able to read him. “I found you on the side of the road, and brought you back to be treated. You are currently in the jingshi. My home.”

Xue Yang chokes on what little water is left in his throat. Brought back to be treated? In his home? By the highly esteemed, venerable, Hanguang-Jun? Sure, he has heard plenty of tales about Lan Wangji’s kindness, and his reputation for being wherever chaos is. But to be actively bringing chaos to his own house? Lan Wangji cannot be so kind.

He feels the sheets in the bed he’s in—holy fuck he’s in Hanguang-Jun’s bed—

“You do know who I am,” Xue Yang asks, just to be sure.

“We have met before, in passing,” Lan Wangji says, agreeing.

“No—beyond that,” because what the hell does it matter if they have met before, “You do know of the things I have done.”

“Involving yourself in demonic cultivation,” Lan Wangji says. “You are not the first.”

He does not take it as an insult. Xue Yang knows very clearly who the pioneer was. Reveres him, even. It is a pity Wei Wuxian died so young.

“So why have you saved my life,” Xue Yang utters, an incredulous look on his face. There is no need to put his walls up for a man who has overlooked them so far and still saw a soul worth saving.

Lan Wangji, for the first time in this entire conversation, lifts his gaze to him. He looks into Xue Yang’s grey eyes, and sees the shadow of a man he once loved.

“I thought you might want a second chance,” he says. And that’s all he says. 

That’s all he needs to say.

Xue Yang is the spitting image of Wei Ying.

It troubles Lan Wangji, in fact it hurts him. Every time he looks at Xue Yang, he sees him. Realistically they are worlds apart. Wei Ying is gentle and inherently kind and everytime Wei Ying laughs Lan Wangji feels blinded, like Wei Ying is the sun. He knows the intricacies of Wei Ying’s heart, and he knows how imperfectly pure his childhood love is. 

He does not, for Xue Yang.

He knows nothing of Xue Yang except for grey eyes that can glisten at night and mimic the colour of silver when near the flame of a candle. He knows nothing of Xue Yang except for the black robes he insists on wearing, day in, day out, dark cloth swaying around him like they used to do so for Wei Ying. He knows nothing of Xue Yang but the guarded look on his face because he has been failed by this world too many times to trust it will ever be forgiving to him again. This world is cruel, and has failed too many people in the same way.

This time, he does not push. He does not insist on Xue Yang’s rehabilitation, does not play the guqin unless Xue Yang asks. He leaves Xue Yang to his devices, and lets him sleep in his bed. There is no space for Xue Yang anywhere else in Gusu, not after how hard his uncle has come down on him for harbouring a fugitive within the confines of their sect, not after how Lan Xichen had pleaded with uncle on his behalf to see reason and to see light. Lan Wangji knows his brother pities him, knows what his brother thinks.

Xue Yang is but his second chance at redoing things, so he can finally forgive himself for his own failure, all those moons ago.

Lan Wangji goes about his days in routine. He sleeps on the mat on the floor—he punishes himself, he’s been punishing himself ever since Wei Ying left—and wakes at five to begin preparing for his sect duties. He does not wake Xue Yang. He sleeps in till eleven, worse than Wei Ying. Lan Wangji holds classes until it’s afternoon, and then he returns to the jingshi for his meal, and to draft his lesson plans after.

Xue Yang eats with him. It’s silent, it’s all in silence. He does not know what Xue Yang does when he’s away, but he does not see it fit to ask, either. There is nothing for Xue Yang to steal within this room, and nowhere else for him to go besides it. It is not that Lan Wangji wants to trap him—Xue Yang being kept here must stay a well-hidden secret from the elders, the juniors, with only the exception of the trusted few who have to tend to Lan Wangji and the jingshi. Uncle will not risk an all-out war with the Jins should they find out the Lans have been sheltering Xue Yang all these while. And so, Xue Yang does not have the option to run free, even in Gusu.

And yet Xue Yang has not complained so far. It seems solitude and rest suits him well, and very soon colour is returning to his white-washed cheeks.

Lan Wangji fights the memories of Wei Ying, but they come back even stronger with Xue Yang around. He is a small semblance of what Wei Ying used to be, what Wei Ying is, and Lan Wangji has been so alone. Lan Wangji has wanted the company.

Even simply listening to Xue Yang’s soft breathing in the night helps Lan Wangji sleep better, these days.

In this rare period of his life, Xue Yang no longer starves.

This is new. This is all new to him. Even back in the Jin sect he had to earn his keep. Here, he eats and he sleeps and he eats and he sleeps. There is no obligation to be. There is no one demanding a thing in return. Xue Yang sleeps in comfort, is given his own space to pursue his own things, and has access to an abundance of resources and books he never once had before—the Lans’ library is the best amongst all of the sects, and the Jins can never compare.

He had thought Lan Wangji to have an ulterior motive for bringing him back here—maybe use him as a bargaining chip for something in return from the Jins—but five months in of quiet mealtimes and barely two sentences exchanged on a daily basis with the highly esteemed Hanguang-Jun has solidified Xue Yang’s faith that the Lans, do indeed, want nothing of him.

He is no one’s bargaining chip. He is no one’s weapon in a war. He has a place to call his own of some sort, and dare he say—a home. A temporary one, and still very make-shift, but still a place he belongs to. You cannot give Xue Yang the finest bed in all of Gusu and say he has no place here. Lan Wangji has given him too many nice things to take it back from him at this point.

Xue Yang is not a fool. He knows this is not out of sheer luck. Yes, perhaps luck and coincidence played a part, for no one had known it would be Lan Wangji of all people to find him at the side of the road, but for Lan Wangji to choose to take him home and nurse him back to health—and not persecute him in any way? This is not down to dumb luck.

When Lan Wangji looks at him, he doesn’t see him. He looks right past him, and sees someone else. Wei Wuxian, Xue Yang wants to say. It has to be Wei Wuxian, because if all the stories he has heard about the two of them are true, then Lan Wangji very well has a ton to mourn for.

Xue Yang does not fault him. Wei Wuxian was a force to be reckoned with. Xue Yang regrets not crossing paths with him sooner before his death. Perhaps he could have learned more from him, perhaps they could even have been friends. They’d have had much to talk about. Xue Yang is sure he would have fit right in at Yiling.

For five months Xue Yang does nothing but rest. He does not think about cultivation—he is too weak for it—and he does not think about revenge. He sinks into an abyss of bliss, and a contentment that feels like it will last forever. 

He’s rummaging through one of the jewelry boxes on Lan Wangji’s shelf one evening, because the man never makes a sound with whatever Xue Yang does around here. Lan Wangji does not speak to him much. That’s fine. Somehow, it’s this confidence that makes Xue Yang not want to be a threat. There is no point in trying to outdo a man who is not afraid of being outdone. There is no thrill in that.

Xue Yang finds a red ribbon in the jewelry box.

Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing special about it at all. The material is simple, and inexpensive. It’s long, and suitable to be used as a hair tie. Xue Yang does not think about how overly familiar it seems to him.

When he puts his hair into a half-ponytail, because god, isn’t it hot here lately? Summer in Gusu is rather unforgiving—he hears the shutter of the doors moving behind him, and then the soft sucking in of a breath.

“Wei Ying?” he asks, like his life depends upon it.

Xue Yang’s movements still, like he’s just figured everything about Lan Wangji out.

He turns, and gazes up to a man who cannot see him any other way; cannot see past the shadow of which Xue Yang has willingly stepped in and let consume him whole, just because.

“Hanguang-Jun,” Xue Yang greets, as always.

Lan Wangji’s eyes are still dazed. He is trapped in his own illusion of who Xue Yang is supposed to be, and it takes him a long moment to shake it off. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to. Like he does everything, to try and hold on.

I have heard that he has mourned for thirteen long years, Xue Yang thinks. So it is true, what they say.

“Xue Chengmei,” Lan Wangji says, clearing his throat, after. But he does not remove his eyes from Xue Yang. He cannot remove his eyes from Xue Yang. He shakes as he enters the room, and closes the doors from behind him.

They have their dinner in silence, again.

But when Lan Wangji never takes his eyes off the red ribbon in his hair, Xue Yang realises he never had to give Lan Wangji anything in return for being saved, in the first place. 

Xue Yang’s very presence—it was saving him.

Xue Yang wakes up later, in the middle of the night to the sound of guqin; the same song he’d heard being played the first time he was brought back here.

He’s never been musical, but he’s a quick learner and he’s well adept at recognising notes.

Lan Wangji plays the same tune over and over again, like it’s—no, Xue Yang was wrong, it’s not a song, it’s a plea for help, it’s inquiring, he’s talking, he’s asking, he’s reaching out—to someone who’s no longer of this world, who no longer has the capacity to respond to him.

To be so desperate for a soul to rejoin him in this world? Xue Yang cannot fathom such a pain. He has never been there. He has never encountered anyone to deserve as such.

Lan Wangji plucks the same notes over and over again, until his fingers feel raw and they are bleeding. He waits for a moment after every fifth note, then plays it again. He plays it well into the night, plays it well into the morning until the birds have risen themselves and join in on a song of their own.

Xue Yang does not get any sleep that night. He memorises every note that oscillates into the air, feels them strumming through his veins until Lan Wangji packs up and leaves.

“I am fully recovered,” Xue Yang says to him, the sixth month in. “And I know you have recently begun resuming your night hunts.” He has seen Lan Wangji going out the door every evening, guqin and Bichen in tow. 

Lan Wangji nods. He does not talk during meals, but he does not chastise Xue Yang for what little words he has, either. Xue Yang has followed his rhythm the past half a year, and does not speak unless necessary. Lan Wangji appreciates that.

“Can I join you?” Xue Yang asks. He is slightly nervous, even if he tries to hide it. He has never learned how to be with Hanguang-Jun. Never got the beat of what to say. Wei Ying was always good at that. He fell into every step of Lan Wangji’s, listened to his heart even when Lan Wangji wasn’t listening. 

How could you know me so intuitively, so intimately, and then just leave, Lan Wangji still wants to ask.

Lan Wangji is apprehensive. “I have begun taking the juniors with me,” he says. “It will not be convenient.”

“Yes yes yes, of course,” Xue Yang says. He’s not ready to give up. “We can go on a night hunt, just the two of us. No one will have to know.”

It is a level of intimacy with Xue Yang that Lan Wangji is not prepared for. They may have lived together thus far as… roommates, and Lan Wangji has mistaken Xue Yang for Wei Ying more than once—when the nights get particularly rough—but Lan Wangji does not know how he feels about taking Xue Yang out with him on a night hunt. The last time he’d night hunted with someone else, it had been with Wei Ying.

“Please,” Xue Yang says, almost whining. “There is nothing else to do here, anymore.”

He’s as free-spirited as Wei Ying. Of course the jingshi would bore him.

Lan Wangji is weak to Wei Ying—Xue Yang’s pleas. 

“I will make arrangements,” he states, quietly. “Perhaps for later this week.”

Xue Yang cracks open his first smile.

Being with Lan Wangji is peaceful. There is no need for revenge, or for mindless killing, as he once did. Lan Wangji calms him down as easily as the incense that he burns within the walls of jingshi every morning. Life with Lan Wangji moves at a routine, slow pace. Xue Yang thought he would abhor it—but he surprisingly doesn’t. It’s a welcome change from having to fight for his life every morning he wakes, like he used to. 

His mind is clear. His hands are clean.

And when Xue Yang opts to wear the red ribbon out for his first night hunt with Lan Wangji, he knows what he’s doing.

Treat it as my gift to you for giving me this night out, he thinks, pretending he does not notice Lan Wangji staring at the back of his head, always.

He skips in his steps gleefully, and fights easily any evil spirit or ghoul that comes his way. Lan Wangji simply watches. There is no need for him to help—Xue Yang is impressive, far too impressive for a young man that fights like he’s beyond his years.

Night hunting gives him a taste of freedom beyond those Gusu walls, and he relishes in it. Enjoys it. Has much fun with it. Sometimes, he teams up with Lan Wangji to decimate a stubborn demonic spirit that refuses to leave or be pacified in any way. Stands back to back with him, pulls out his sword and fights like nothing else matters but them winning. It is exhilarating, night hunting with a partner. Xue Yang has never had one before, never known the value of such companionship. Two truly is better than one. No wonder that damn Xiao Xingchen was always stuck with Song Lan—

On their way home, Xue Yang is so pumped full of adrenaline from the great hunts they’ve had that he’s asking Lan Wangji, excitedly, “Perhaps I should get a spiritual weapon like you, too, for future hunts. Your guqin is impressive.”

Lan Wangji has not yet promised him any future hunts, but Xue Yang does not think he will deny him with a red ribbon in his hair.

“What ever should my spiritual weapon of choice be?” Xue Yang wonders aloud, tossing options up into the air.

Lan Wangji’s voice cuts through the silence. It seems he is in high spirits, as well.

“A flute,” he volunteers, a warm look on his face. “A flute is good.”

Xue Yang sees it on his face, feels it in the air. He has moved certain pieces of Lan Wangji’s heart, and something has clicked into place between the two of them.

I can get used to this, Xue Yang thinks, happily to himself. I’ve always wanted a friend, like Xiao Xingchen has Song Lan.

They are on the pebbled path back up to jingshi when Lan Sizhui stumbles upon them.

“Die,” he calls, a name he uses only when they are alone, and far from prying eyes.

He looks completely aghast at the sight of his father walking with another man back up to his place. A smile on his face. A hint of happiness that had never seen the light before in Lan Wangji’s eyes, for as long as Lan Sizui can remember his father. 

“Sizhui, it is ten in the evening,” Lan Wangji lightly reprimands. 

He had not wanted Lan Sizhui to find out about Xue Yang like this. He’d kept it secret from his adopted son, like the rest of the juniors, because he hadn’t seen a need for Sizhui to know of it. He wouldn’t expect Sizhui to understand. He may not remember much of Wei Wuxian, but he knows enough of his father and what the Lan sect stands for that he would not be too ready to agree with Xue Yang being sheltered by Lan Wangji like this.

“I was waiting to speak to you about some sect matters,” Lan Sizhui says. His eyes dart over to take in the entirety of Xue Yang, in worry. “And to confirm some rumours I have heard from the others.”

“Gossip is forbidden,” Lan Wangji immediately says.

“So is harbouring a fugitive and shielding him from justice,” Lan Sizhui challenges. He is grown, now. He is no longer the tearful boy Lan Wangji picked up from Burial Mounds, and he has modeled himself in every way after his father, such that he will point out any discrepancies in his behaviour.

Lan Wangji sees so much of himself in him, and understands now how Wei Ying must have felt each time he tried to take him back to Gusu.

“You Lans always think you’re so righteous,” Xue Yang scoffs, in his boldest move in Gusu to date. “As if everyone else who does anything and everything they can do to survive is reduced to nothing but mere criminals in your eyes.”

He swishes his hair as he speaks, and Lan Sizhui just stares.

“The red ribbon, I’ve seen it before,” he utters, softly. It guts him that he cannot remember.

“It is late,” Lan Wangji interrupts. He uses his fatherly tone with Sizhui, which means business. “Sizhui, bed.”

“Die,” Lan Sizhui says, helpless.

“Be good,” he says. 

Lan Sizhui relents. It is not within his bones to deny his father.

When Lan Sizhui turns and leaves, Xue Yang returns to his chatter with Lan Wangji. They have not spoken much the past six months, but it seems things are different now. It feels like things are different now. It took Xue Yang six months to learn Lan Wangji’s beat, but he thinks he understands how to be around the other man now. There is no need for a front. He just has to be.

“I did not know you have a son,” Xue Yang says. He cannot picture someone as straight-laced as Lan Wangji ever copulating with a woman to bear a child.

Lan Wangji hums, “I do.”

“Who is the mother?” Xue Yang asks.

Lan Wangji’s eyes flicker to the red ribbon in Xue Yang’s hair, and hesitates for a moment before answering, “Dead.”

He is as transparent as it can be.

Six months, and Lan Wangji has never once talked about Wei Wuxian in front of him.

“Does he know who…” Xue Yang asks.

Lan Wangji averts his gaze. “It’s better if he does not.”

Xue Yang does not push him. Lan Wangji does not do so for him, has not ever asked about his past or what led him here. He returns the favour.

They trudge on their cobbled path, and return home.

Xue Yang removes the red ribbon in his hair, and crawls into bed. Lan Wangji takes his place on the mat, a good distance away from him. He sleeps by the door, as if putting enough distance between him and Xue Yang will somehow make harbouring Xue Yang here an easier fact to stomach.

He blows out the candle, and eases himself to sleep.

“I think he would have been happy,” Xue Yang says, out of the blue, as he stares towards the ceiling. 

Lan Wangji does not reply.

“I am living a life that is not supposed to be mine,” Xue Yang continues. “In a bed that should have been his. Food he should be sharing with you. A son he would have loved to watch grow up. I don’t know much about family, but I know I would have liked one. So I think he would have been happy.”

Lan Wangji shifts against his mat.

“I was orphaned as a child, too,” Xue Yang says. He knows of Wei Wuxian’s background; he’s heard the stories. “So I think I know how he would have felt. To have all of this… to finally have a home. Do you know how my pinky got broken? I was but a young boy scrambling to get my hands on some food…”

And so he delves into the story. He talks and talks into the night, he talks like it’s the first time someone is listening to him. And it is. He has never told anyone this particular story; none of his temporary companions ever cared for it. Jin Guangshan definitely didn’t care for it. Jin Guangyao, much less. People look at him and see what they can take from him, and so no one ever cared to listen.

He knows Lan Wangji takes, too, in his own way. But for the first time Xue Yang is allowed to just be. And he’s grateful for it.

“How nice it would have been, to know of a home like this,” Xue Yang finally finishes. “To even know of candy.”

Lan Wangji is still awake. He’d listened to it all. “The Yueyang Chang sect,” he murmurs. He’d connected the dots on his own.

“Yes, how horrible,” Xue Yang scoffs, in mock ridicule. “How horrible of me to massacre their entire sect, just because.”

Lan Wangji blinks. He takes a long while to gather his thoughts, and when he does, he surprises Xue Yang.

“...could have ended up like you,” he says quietly, to no one in particular.

His voice picks up after, now meant for Xue Yang, “The world was cruel to you, and you retaliated in return. It is not right. But it is human.”

Xue Yang lets out a bewildered laugh. “Is the great Hanguang-Jun actually condoning my actions?”

“No,” Lan Wangji says. “But I can understand it.”

Somehow, that’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to him.

Xue Yang’s gaze falls over to the mass of a shadow that lies by the end of his bed.

“I think the great Hanguang-Jun has changed,” Xue Yang says. Warmth spreads across his chest as he speaks. It makes him uncomfortable, but it entrenches him even further into this makeshift place he has come to think of as home, makes him want to stay. “I think you are not as rigid as they say. They say you are the most uptight of the Lans, and yet it is in your bed that I am sleeping in. Your brother still refuses to look at me.”

Lan Wangji hums, “He cannot stand lying to the chief cultivator.”

Xue Yang snorts. “Yeah, Jin Guangyao would have my head.”

It is well into the night, and yet Lan Wangji still entertains his idle chatter. He rambles on about anything and everything until he’s too tired, until he doesn’t even realise he has fallen asleep.

When he wakes the next morning, he finds a freshly carved black bamboo flute on his bed.

And a piece of candy.

Perhaps to the unassuming onlooker they may think the obvious: that Lan Wangji has lost the love of his life, and hence is looking for a replacement.

He is not.

No one could ever replace Wei Ying. And the more time he spends with Xue Yang, the more night hunts they go on, the more Xue Yang opens up to him—it gets more and more evident, that this man is not Wei Ying. He can never be. If he could, perhaps it might even be a good thing. Lan Wangji mourns and mourns over the people who have left him, and he never lets go. His mother had taken with her a small piece of his heart when she went, and Wei Ying had taken twice the size. If Xue Yang could replace Wei Ying, he might even have a second chance at happiness. 

But he is not Wei Ying. And Lan Zhan’s heart is too stubborn to see it any otherwise.

There are comparisons to be made, however. Because behind every grievance Xue Yang has committed against others, he has always has a clear motivation, a clear reason. It’s not always fair, and it’s never right. But he’d been beaten down by others, and so he saw fit to rise up and retaliate.

Wei Ying had been gentler, and he’d been more in control. But he’d retaliated plenty against those who caused him harm, and each time Lan Wangji had berated him for it.

Not this time, Lan Wangji thinks. Not to the boy who wears your red ribbon in his hair. He will get the second chance I never got to give you—and he will become better for it. 

Another half a year passes just like that, and Xue Yang remains a secret as hidden as any. No one ever comes to knock on their door, and Xue Yang has calmed down plenty within the confines of the Gusu Lan sect. His instinct for survival outweighs his need to run amok and wreak havoc. There is no one left on his list to exact revenge on, anyway. 

Considering there are many out there who want him dead, Xue Yang is content staying safe within the bounds of Gusu. Within jingshi. He is well-fed here, and there is good company to be found in the rabbits that dwell on the back hill of the mountain, and a Lan Wangji who allows him to tag along on his private night hunts. During his day he spends his time learning from Lan Wangji’s lesson plans left around the jingshi and practicing his cultivation alongside it, and in the evening when Lan Wangji gets home he gets to bombard him with questions should he have any. Lan Wangji is both a teacher and a companion—in one. 

If he gets bored, he simply plays small-scale pranks on the juniors in their dormitories. No one ever finds out. And even if they do, no one dares retaliate. 

Lan Sizhui still comes by every now and then to visit his father, but he has learned to tolerate Xue Yang’s company.

It takes exactly a year since he’s been brought back to Gusu that Lan Wangji begins to detect the slightest amount of restlessness in Xue Yang. 

Not for freedom—for permanence.

He learns this when he returns home one night from night hunting with the juniors and sees the red ribbon in Xue Yang’s hair again, something Xue Yang has particularly taken to wearing in the past few months. He used to wear it sparingly, and now he has all but adopted it as part of his standard dressing.

Lan Wangji cannot help but feel Xue Yang is trying to fill a role.

He keeps his guqin, stores his sword away, and takes a seat when Xue Yang beckons him to, offering him hot tea he has brewed while he’s away.

“That took longer than usual,” Xue Yang comments, a coy smile on his face.

“Juniors encountered some difficulty, so I helped,” Lan Wangji says. He’s about to take into his hands the cup of tea that Xue Yang has prepared for him, when Xue Yang makes a grand show of blowing it for a bit.

“It’s hot,” Xue Yang explains, when Lan Wangji gives him a look.

He takes the cup anyway, and sips at it.

It’s domestic. It’s all very domestic.

Xue Yang is not Wei Ying, and he never will be, but sometimes in these moments of gentleness he gets selfish and pretends, just for a second, that the one in the dark robes is him.

If you ever came back with me to Gusu, would this have been our life together, Lan Wangji wonders. Wei Ying...

“Lan Zhan,” comes the answer.

Lan Wangji almost drops the steaming cup in his hands at the voice he hears. He could have sworn—

He raises his gaze up to Xue Yang, squeezing the porcelain glass in his grip and nearly breaking it into pieces.

“You called for me,” he says wryly.

Lan Wangji shakes with anger. “Xue Chengmei. What are you doing.”

“Oh, come on,” Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “It’s been a whole year. I’ve told you multiple times that you can call me Xue Yang by now. And aren’t we on familiar terms? Can’t I call you Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji sucks in a heavy breath. “No one calls me by that—”

“Not even him?” Xue Yang says.

Pain clouds Lan Wangji’s eyes. “Xue Chengmei. Do not be so assuming.”

“So I guessed right. He was the only one,” Xue Yang clucks his tongue. “Lan Zhaan.”

Lan Zhaan! 

Lan Wangji has not heard that version of his name on anyone’s lips in fourteen years, and hearing it again makes him want to cry.

“Xue Chengmei,” his voice comes out, all cracked. “I will not ask again. What are you doing.”

Xue Yang’s smile wavers. He allows himself to be brutally honest—only because he has never needed to lie about anything to Lan Wangji. “Everything has a price,” he says. “You will not tolerate my company forever.”

The hurt in Lan Wangji’s gaze vanishes for a moment, and his heart sinks. “You—you think you have to—”

“It has been a year,” Xue Yang says. “Let’s be honest about our situation to each other. I was healed months ago. You have no reason to let me stay. You brought me back because you saw him in me, and you pitied me. I was your pity project for a while, and now I’m fixed. You’ll throw me to the wild dogs, sooner or later. But if I can give you something in return,” he looks down at the table, at the tea set up he’s prepared for Lan Wangji’s return. “If I can be your Wei Ying…”

Preposterous. It’s preposterous to even entertain such an idea. 

“When you look at me, you still see him,” Xue Yang continues. “And that’s the only reason I can stay.”

“Xue Chengmei,” Lan Wangji warns, quietly. He does not intimidate. He lacks the strength.

“You like it when I wear his red ribbon in my hair, or at least you never complain,” Xue Yang says. “You don’t insist on me wearing the Gusu Lan robes, because you know he wouldn’t have worn them, either. And if you were so possessive over the idea of Wei Ying, you wouldn’t have given me a flute. You miss him. And that’s okay. That’s human, too.”

Lan Wangji maintains his silence.

“If you want to call me Wei Ying, sometimes,” Xue Yang offers, softly. “I will pretend not to notice.”

“Xue Chengmei,” Lan Wangji says, limply.

“Lan Zhan,” Xue Yang answers back, looking at him with grey eyes that always turn silver under the candle light.

This time, Lan Wangji does not fight it.

Xue Yang always wanted a home. A companion to call his own. It needn’t be romantic. It needn’t be anything else but platonic. And Lan Wangji is not your everyday bachelor—he is Hanguang-Jun, he holds status and reputation higher than most, he has power in ways Xue Yang can only dream of.

To be by Lan Wangji’s side is an honour, and an unfathomable idea to most. Except it is now perfectly in Xue Yang’s reach. He had placed his claws onto Lan Wangji without even meaning to, grown on him like moss that’s now too difficult to get rid of. Wei Wuxian is dead, and Lan Wangji loves him too much to ever seek out another. And yet he still craves company, because that’s what all humans seek. Xue Yang can be that company. Xue Yang is the perfect mold for it.

Lan Wangji continues keeping his distance from Xue Yang for a whole of three months, though he no longer stops Xue Yang from calling him by his birth name. 

I think he likes it, Xue Yang thinks. I think he likes it, because it’s intimate, and he has forgotten how that has felt like for fourteen—long—years.

It finally happens on a cold winter’s day, when they are out night hunting. Xue Yang successfully exorcises an evil spirit with a melody meant for cleansing that Lan Wangji taught him on his flute, and he’s so proud of it he spins around and asks Lan Wangji if he had witnessed it.

“Lan Zhan, did you see that?”

Lan Wangji has a hand on his head, dusting bits of snow out of the ponytail in his hair. He looks fondfully down at Xue Yang, like he’s never seen anything quite so marvelous before.

“You did good, Wei Ying.”

It’s his first slip-up. It won’t be his last.

Xue Yang doesn’t point it out, doesn’t want Lan Wangji to retract it and be embarrassed. He goes along with it, because that’s what he’d wanted from the other man. He’d wanted to secure his place next to him.

Now he has it.

He’s not even sure if Lan Wangji notices, because the man doesn’t mention it. They end their night hunting fairly early that day, and return to the jingshi to have their regularly scheduled cup of tea.

Lan Wangji is in the mood to play his guqin afterwards, and he plays a melody Xue Yang has never heard in his life. Lan Wangji almost sounds rusty when he plays, even. But he’s at bliss when he plays, like it’s all he ever wanted.

His fingers are no longer raw and bleeding, because he has stopped asking after a spirit who no longer exists.

“It’s a good song,” Xue Yang says, after it ends. Lan Wangji does not always play the guqin for leisure, not when he plays it plenty already for classes and during night hunts. So he appreciates the times when he does. “What is it called?”

Lan Wangji’s lips simply purse up into the smallest smile.

“Go to sleep,” he says. He packs his guqin, and gestures to the bed.

Xue Yang acquiesces. He gets up, does not pry, and goes to bed.

This time, Lan Wangji actually follows after him, and helps tuck him into the sheets.

When he presses his lips against Xue Yang’s forehead and tells him goodnight, Xue Yang knows he’s won.

Lan Wangji is lonely. He is. It’s no excuse, but it is what it is. Lan Wangji has gotten used to someone sharing his home, and having his meal times shared. He is used to the sight of red ribbons, dark robes, and a black bamboo flute. He has hungered after being called Lan Zhan. He has longed for closeness. He has always envisioned life to be like this with Wei Ying, and now he has accidentally fallen into it with the unlikeliest option of them all: Xue Yang.

He is not Wei Ying, but he wants to be. Lan Wangji cannot understand his rationale—he’s too privileged to. Wei Ying was lucky, too, in the sense that he got to have a home and a family that Xue Yang never had. It terrifies Lan Wangji sometimes just how close Wei Ying was to mirroring Xue Yang’s fate. And yet, at the end of it all, it is Xue Yang who is alive to this day—not Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji had resisted the idea vehemently at first, for sure. There is no replacing Wei Ying. There is no substituting him. But the minute Xue Yang deployed Lan Zhan from his lips, Lan Wangji thinks he has begun seeing things. Sometimes he wakes up and sees Wei Ying sleeping in his bed. Sometimes he looks up from his meal and sees Wei Ying smiling at him. When he is night hunting and he turns to see the flute being played, it is Wei Ying who expertly exorcises the spirits they meet.

Xue Yang knows exactly how to get to him. And Lan Wangji… is weak for anything Wei Ying.

He is happier these days, he thinks. His brother looks at him even more solemnly when he realises, like it’s an indication of how far Lan Zhan must have fallen. Lan Sizhui gazes to him adoringly still—he can never forsake his father—but no longer believes his father is invulnerable.

Xue Yang looks at him like he’s the only one who ever bothered looking at him. How ironic, then, that he insists on Lan Wangji looking past him. Everything has a price, Xue Yang had said.

I never wanted anything in return, Lan Wangji wanted to say. I never wanted anything from you, and I never needed you to be Wei Ying.

It seems Xue Yang’s upbringing—or lack thereof—prevents him from understanding that kindness exists in actual forms in this universe.

And Lan Wangji is lonely.

If Wei Ying is dead, is it so bad to seek companionship in another? If Wei Ying is dead, should Lan Wangji still mourn for the rest of his life because of it? If Wei Ying is dead, can’t Lan Wangji pretend he is alive in another?

By the time winter comes back around, Lan Wangji no longer sleeps on the mat. Xue Yang returns half the bed to him, and Lan Wangji… accepts.

Maybe it is the cold. Maybe it is as simple as Lan Wangji seeking warmth. Or maybe he is still grasping at straws and whatever little scraps he can get of Wei Ying.

“I have always wanted a friend,” Xue Yang tells him one night, absent-mindedly, when they are under the covers.

Lan Wangji’s heart wrenches, when he realises. “This is not friendship.” 

Xue Yang laughs. “I know.”

But whatever this is, it’s still a home.

Very off-handedly, Xue Yang wonders if this is his very own version of rehabilitation. He wonders if he is being rehabilitated. Lan Wangji has done nothing of the sort to rehabilitate him, but it is a rather enjoyable thought to think of him orchestrating this entire thing, and playing Xue Yang for the long-con. Surprise, he’d imagine Lan Wangji to say. I wanted to turn you into a decent human being, so I brought you back here and actually treated you humanly for once.

He has not thought of revenge, or even survival, in the past two years. And if he does think of survival he thinks of Lan Wangji. He thinks about possibly staying in Gusu forever, because time stops when he’s here. Even if he does not have much freedom with the exception of their weekly night hunts, he does not lament the loss of it. 

He likes it all. Having a place to return to every night, eating the same things every meal. It’s all routine, and he never used to have one. Even the simplest things people take for granted in their daily lives gives Xue Yang the greatest tingle down his spine. His life feels normal, for once. He is normal. He belongs somewhere.

Now that they sleep in the same bed, Lan Wangji is even kinder to him. Physical touch never goes beyond a forehead kiss, and that’s fine by Xue Yang. It’s not like Xue Yang knows of anything else. No one has so much as kissed him in this life, not even a mother that he can recall of.

One time, Xue Yang pushes and prods, just to see what will happen. He rolls over into Lan Wangji’s side of the bed, purposely slipping his dark robes down his bare shoulder.

“Lan Zhaan,” he calls, rather amorously.

Lan Wangji is stunned into silence, like the very illusion he’d been immersed in all these while is broken.

“Go to sleep,” Lan Wangji says. He calmly eases his hands off Xue Yang, and turns his body to the other side.

It’s a blatant rejection. Xue Yang does not take it to heart.

In fact, a part of him is relieved.

He’s about to turn to face his own side of the wall, when he catches a small glimpse of Lan Wangji’s back. It appears his robes are tied looser than normal, and have given way to some skin when the man had pulled hurriedly away from him. 

Xue Yang spots numerous red gashes down Lan Wangji’s back, scars that permanently brand him for life, and realises the man has suffered too much under the weight of his love for Wei Ying.

Oh, Xue Yang thinks. So this is why I can never replace him.

Xue Yang always knew this life of his was temporary. 

He hears the news from the juniors passing by, as he’s in the midst of his regularly scheduled meditation in the field outside of jingshi. It’d been a habit Lan Wangji had gradually instilled into him over the past three years, considering Xue Yang has had plenty of time to learn and adopt the best cultivation practices from the Lans as far as possible.

“Hanguang-Jun has sent word back to Zewu-Jun that he is bringing a man back here with him!”

“Another one?! Is Hanguang-Jun running a shelter back here in his jingshi?”

“Who knows, maybe it’ll turn out to be another Lan Sizhui?”

“Or another… you know who…”

They scurry away, but the damage has already been done.

Xue Yang breaks out of his meditation, already growing ill with fear. A million thoughts run through his mind—did Lan Wangji get bored of pretending I was Wei Ying, has Lan Wangji found a new project to fix, will this be another addition to our growing party of two, what might this mean for me—but then he hears soft, melodious laughter ring through the air from the road leading up to the jingshi, and he instinctively knows. He knows. He knows right away who it is.

“Lan Zhaan,” comes a voice, of which Xue Yang had never been able to mimic, to its fullest perfection. “Lan Zhan!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji returns, affectionately, wearing the most devastating smile on his face.

Xue Yang knows immediately he has to leave.

It’s not out of fear of the formidable Yiling Patriarch, no. It’s not out of fear of what this might mean to him. It’s out of respect, it’s out of duty, it’s out of everything Lan Wangji has given to him.

You have given me three good years, Xue Yang thinks. And so I will return to you the rest of your life. I owe you because of it.

He runs back up into the jingshi, and grabs what little things he has. He loosens the red ribbon in his hair, pulls it off. He sheds the shadow of Wei Ying he’d been wearing. He takes his flute, takes his spare clothing. He turns to the bed, and sees the piece of candy left for him by Lan Wangji that he’d yet to savour this morning. He’d meant to save it for after his afternoon meal.

He takes it.

He looks around the jingshi one last time, and knows in his heart he will never be as content as he was, back here.

He hears Wei Wuxian’s laughter grow louder from the front, and he slips out the jingshi from the back.

I know you said this wasn’t friendship, Xue Yang thinks, as he whisks away. And I think you were right, because we were more than that. You were home for me.

He doesn’t turn his head back for a last look.

Not even once.

He’s on the road by himself, a weary smile on his face. He has been walking for hours now, anything to get away from the place—or person—he can no longer call home.

It was good while it lasted. Xue Yang cannot possibly have asked for anything more. It was more than he ever deserved.

He walks until he’s tired, until he’s in the middle of a forest and then he rests on the nearest log.

He almost falls asleep on it, when he hears the loud tapping of a stick.

“Is someone there,” the person asks.

Xue Yang turns, and sees only white.

For a moment he sees Lan Wangji.

Then he realises who it really is.

“Xiao Xingchen,” Xue Yang breathes. Three years of living as a Lan has made him overly honest.

Xiao Xingchen tenses. He may be blind, but he would recognise that voice anywhere. “Xue Yang. I presumed you dead under the hands of the Jin sect.”

Xue Yang breaks into mild laughter. He recalls the last three years briefly, in his head. 

“A kind samaritan in white saved me, and I will never be the same again.”

Xiao Xingchen frowns. “You will come with me,” he says.

He is blind, and alone. Logically speaking, Xue Yang has the full advantage here to make a run for it—and succeed.

Instead, he says, “I will,” and wonders to himself if it’s time for a new home.