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The Second Jade of the Lan was no less beautiful than he had ever been, and no less dangerous, either. Wei Wuxian thought it first as a distraction, and then just because it was true, all while Lan Wangji stared down at him with eyes as cool and impassive as unbroken river ice.

He’d thought of plenty of clever things to say to Lan Wangji as he darted unseen in and out of his palace. Three midnight visits before this final one. He should have known better than to try an unlucky fourth time, but Wei Wuxian was the Thief of Yiling, and he owed his life to the Jiangs. If Jiang Yanli wanted him to sneak into the Cloud Recesses to steal secrets for her, then that’s what he would do.

And anyway, the Thief of Yiling was Wei Wuxian. He would do anything his sister asked him to, and all the things she couldn’t ask as well.

As if he hadn’t pestered her to let him go. As if he hadn’t delighted in getting under the famously stoic Lan Wangji’s skin. As if he didn’t leave little gifts for him all over the palace, even in his bedchamber. A rabbit and a note—here, Lan Zhan, isn’t this place boring? I’ve brought you a friend!

Maybe, maybe, bringing a living squirming thing into the Cloud Recesses and leaving it in Lan Wangji’s bedroom just to prove that he could was taking it a little too far. He hadn’t told Yanli or Jiang Cheng about that part beforehand. Jiang Cheng’s face when the spymaster reported Lan Wangji’s furious reaction had been spectacular.

It didn’t matter now anyway. Of all the jokes to die for, it wasn’t the worst. At least it had put an expression on Lan Wangji’s face. Supposedly he’d broken an inkstone in his fury, and yet: the rabbit was alive and well cared for. Wei Wuxian had managed to visit Lan Wangji’s bedchamber before he was caught. He’d seen it.

So he made Lan Wangji furious. So Lan Wangji hated him. That was good. Maybe if he believed hard enough that Lan Wangji was going to just kill him in a fit of rage, then that’s what he would do. But then he started thinking about what someone as hard and vicious and cold as Lan Wangji was going to do, if he hadn’t killed him already, and he started shaking in the guards’ grip again, and—

So instead of anything clever, what Wei Wuxian said, his voice ragged, while Lan Wangji’s eyes pierced his heart, was: “Who told you that I’m afraid of dogs?”

The dogs were what sealed his fate. He could have escaped the guards, he’d made it all the way out of the palace, he had an exit all planned out. And then there were dogs at his heels, and he couldn’t breathe, and all his cleverness wasn’t worth anything in the face of their teeth. Neither was his right calf, which still burned, and was probably infected. The dogs had been a few days ago, now, and were followed up by a much worse fate: Wen Chao, on one of his endless diplomatic visits, had been the one to search him and interrogate him, doing both badly. He hadn’t liked it when Wei Wuxan asked to see Lan Zhan’s pretty face instead.

He wanted to say something disparaging about Wen Chao and all the qualities he shared with the dogs, but the thread of it eluded him. He could barely think at all.

Lan Wangji considered the question, but did not answer. He tilted his head, and the guards holding Wei Wuxian between them dragged him forward.

“Come on,” said Wei Wuxian, but he could still hear the dogs barking, feel their claws in his skin, and he hadn’t eaten any of the food they’d given him in the cell. Thankfully, he didn’t need to think to talk. “At least put a sword in my hand, let’s have a proper duel. How dishonorable, Hanguang-jun, to kill an unarmed man!”

“You’re injured,” said Lan Wangji impassively. “It wouldn’t be a fair fight regardless.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him. He had to turn his head to do it, as the guards strapped him down. Then he burst into laughter. Lan Wangji was serious. “So it’s better to kill me while I’m tied up?”

“I am not going to kill you. That’s not the proper punishment for thieves.”

“You should,” said Wei Wuxian, earnestly. His breathing was starting to pick up again. Dogs at his heels. “I promise I won’t come back to haunt you.” He jerked his right hand against the restraints, putting three of his fingers together as if to make a salute. “A nice clean death.”

“Thieves do not deserve clean deaths,” said Lan Wangji. He drew his sword.

Wei Wuxian did not scream when he brought it down. He did not look at his hand as it was cut, cleanly, from his arm; he did not make a sound when the wound was cauterized. When Lan Wangji took him by the chin, and tilted his head up to better look into his eyes, all he said was what he’d meant to, the thing he’d thought of constantly as he was sneaking around the palace, entertaining himself with the idea of Lan Wangji around every corner. It wasn’t even one of those clever things he’d thought of; none of those things had been true.

He said, “Isn’t it lonely?”

If only, he thought, Lan Wangji’s startled eyes on him were the last thing he would ever see—that would be worth it.

Then the pain caught up with him, and darkness crawled up his throat to the backs of his eyes, and he said nothing more.

Lan Wangji looked at him for a moment longer, and then dropped his chin. He ordered the guards to have Wei Wuxian seen to by a doctor. He swept out of the room. He didn’t think about what the Thief had said. There was nothing to think about.

Wen Chao had thought the Thief of Yiling should be killed, and told Lan Wangji so, because he thought it was his place to give advice. Lan Wangji was furious enough with the Thief that he might have done it, despite the wrath it would draw to kill a ward of the Jiang clan. But Wen Chao had been the one to suggest it, and so he had not. Instead, he informed him that Lans always followed the righteous path. They did what was just: no more and no less. Lan Wangji’s reputation for ruthlessness said more about the rest of the world than it did about him.

He only wondered, now, if this was in fact what Wen Chao had intended him to do. Leaving Wei Wuxian alive to seek revenge, endangering the Lan’s relationship with the other sects even further.

It was hard to imagine Wen Chao was capable of that kind of planning; harder still to imagine Wei Wuxian, wide-eyed and trembling and still talking until the very moment he’d passed out, as the sort to take revenge.

That night, he moved too quickly to offer the rabbit a green from his bowl, in a way he never did—Lan Wangji was a man who had learned to measure his every movement carefully. But tonight he moved too fast, and the rabbit startled, and fled from him.

He had not given it a name.

He had not known the Thief of Yiling was afraid of dogs.

Then, he did think about what Wei Wuxian had said. He sat very still in the center of his room, until the rabbit returned to him, and ate from his trembling hand. The next day he sent Wei Wuxian back to Yunmeng, delirious with fever, confident that he would not be stolen from again. Thieves lost their hands so they could no longer steal. Justice, and no more. He was sure he would never see the Thief of Yiling again, in these halls, or anywhere else.

It was not as comfortable a confidence as he would have wished. Perhaps, even then, he already knew that what Wei Wuxian had taken from him could never be replaced.

-

Wei Wuxian was not conscious for any of the journey back to Yunmeng. He spent it haunted, ghosts tearing at his muddled, fevered thoughts. They wanted Wei Wuxian to join them. When he thrashed and tried to fight, they asked more sweetly for his help. He could feel their cold fingers at the back of his neck, trying to pry him open and dig their way inside.

By the time he arrived at Lotus Pier he was half dead from infection, balanced precariously. Teetering on the edge of life the way that the Thief of Yiling often walked along rooftops, daring the world to let him fall.

When Wei Wuxian did wake, disoriented, Jiang Yanli was frowning at him.

For a moment he thought he was still a child. He’d been ill after Jiang Fengmian found him. His new big sister had cared for him then, sneaking away from her duties to wipe at his forehead with cool cloths, even when Madame Yu protested.

Perhaps he wasn’t a child. Perhaps he was sixteen, and they had barely escaped the attack from the Wen, and his sister was there beside him, begging him to wake up.

Maybe he was dead. No—Yanli was with him, and surely she was alive—

His hand throbbed. He tried to curl fingers that weren’t there. Then he remembered. If he was a child, or sixteen, or dead, he would have two hands. Madame Yu had only threatened to cut his off. He shuddered, and then dredged up a smile for his sister.

“You shouldn’t be at my bedside,” Wei Wuxian scolded her. “What will the rest of your councilors say?” His voice was scratchy. Frowning harder, Yanli poured him a cup of water and held it to his lips.

“A-Cheng can handle them,” she said, as though leaving Jiang Cheng to deal with her advisors himself was not a move of last resort. It never ended well. She hid a grimace, thinking of the yelling that was likely taking place in her absence, and reached out and brushed Wei Wuxian’s hair from his eyes. “The Thief of Yiling is an important asset to our sect. Why shouldn’t I be by his bedside?” This she said teasingly. She always said his title teasingly. He was always a-Xian to her. “Here. There’s soup.”

Yanli was too good, thought Wei Wuxian, as usual. Kindness was what she was best at, and she so rarely got a chance to use it anymore. Putting broken things back together again, smoothing over difficulties, she was good at that, too, but it didn’t make her smile. Not that she was smiling now. Wei Wuxian raised his hand to poke her in the cheek, and bring one back to her face. Halfway through the motion he gasped, and went pale, collapsing back against the sheets. It was just as well; he’d been trying to raise the hand he no longer had.

Too bad, he thought bitterly, that she wasn’t going to be able to put him back together again no matter what she did.

Of course she called the doctor then, lips tight, and Wei Wuxian had to submit to being fussed over, and he didn’t get to speak to Yanli that day after all, or even have any soup. He was unconscious again before they were done fussing over him, and he only managed to convey one message to the annoyed and frantic doctor, demanding she pass it on to his sister. She had to know that he’d been successful. He should have said that first. Why did he never say the important things first?

Wei Wuxian succumbed to fever for an interminable number of days, though it was a gentler one, this time. The dead were safely locked away, for now. They couldn’t touch him here. He was aware of words spoken over him, sometimes: the doctor’s straightforward voice, Jiang Yanli’s soft tones, Jiang Cheng’s harsh and wavering ones.

It was an old familiar argument, though Wei Wuxian, drifting, wasn’t able to pick out the words. Jiang Cheng demanded to know what was so important that Jiang Yanli had sent Wei Wuxian one last time to the Cloud Recesses. He was aware, the way one was aware of shadows in the night, indistinct but surely present, that his sister was hiding something from him.

“I expect him to push his luck,” he said. “I thought you knew better.” And then, at the look on his sister’s face, “Shit, a-jie, I didn’t mean that—”

“They said he’ll live,” said Jiang Yanli, now wrapped in Jiang Cheng’s arms. “He wanted to go, a-Cheng. I should have stopped him.”

“No,” he said, resigned now. “You couldn’t have.”

They both knew it was true.

Wei Wuxian dreamed, too. Once he woke alone in the dark, certain there was someone watching him. But when he said Lan Zhan’s name, there was no answer.

The next time he surfaced, it was Jiang Cheng with him, pacing Wei Wuxian’s bedchamber like a large and unhappy cat.

“Stop that,” said Wei Wuxian. “You’re making me dizzy. I already have a headache.”

“Of course you do,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “You nearly split your head open, in addition to the bites on your calf, three broken ribs, and—”

“Alright, alright,” said Wei Wuxian wearily. His head really was pounding. “I was there, remember?”

Jiang Cheng slumped into the chair by his bedside. “Council has been awful without you,” he said, which was his way of saying thank the gods you’re okay. Wei Wuxian was not an official advisor of Sect Leader Jiang Yanli, and rarely attended council meetings. If Jiang Cheng really wanted him to show up, he’d tell him he couldn’t go.

Wei Wuxian rolled onto his back and sighed. He could imagine how insufferable those meetings had been in his absence, although he suspected Jiang Cheng had a great hand in making it that way. “I’m sorry.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry! You warned us it was too dangerous—”

“Don’t you dare say sorry where a-jie can hear you,” Jiang Cheng said. “She feels awful. She thinks it’s her fault, and if you apologize to her, how do you think that’s going to make her feel?”

“It was my fault,” said Wei Wuxian. “I got caught.” He thought of Lan Wangji’s face, cut from ice, the furious set of his mouth. He closed his eyes, and did not stop seeing it.

“So, so, so,” snapped Jiang Cheng, cutting into the air with his hand. “It’s done. Don’t make yourself a martyr about it. Lan Wangji will pay, don’t worry, we’ll be sure of that.”

Wei Wuxian struggled to sit up then. He failed at that too. His head hurt, he felt like he was about to throw up, and he bitterly regretted that he didn’t have two hands to wring Jiang Cheng’s neck with anymore. “What does that mean?”

“Haven’t you heard?” said Jiang Cheng, as though Wei Wuxian had been slacking for being unconscious for the past two weeks. “We’re at war with the Lan.”

-

Lan Wangji listened patiently to reports of troop movements, the progression of the harvest, and other important matters. His expression was as still as a lake as his advisor and spymaster Wen Qing spoke. She’d gained her position not because she was trained for it, or even particularly well suited to it, but because Lan Wangji trusted her. He had trusted no others in the time since his brother entered seclusion in the wake of Jin Guangyao’s betrayal. Weakened as they were, the Lan were nearly annexed by the Wen at the time. But Wen Qing had stolen away to the Cloud Recesses, turning on her family and putting herself at Lan Wangji’s mercy.

It was a risk. The stories told about the Second Jade of the Lan did not speak of a man moved easily by sentiment. He could have taken her intelligence, and the things she had stolen from Wen Ruohan, and ordered her execution in the same breath. No one knew what Wen Qing said to convince Lan Wangji of her honesty, and thus the stories of her cunning spread. No one knew exactly what she had taken, either.

Only she and Lan Wangji knew that she had simply bowed, and asked for clemency for her little brother, and nothing else. Then she waited, head down, to find out whether his sword would fall.

Wen Qing was a doctor by trade; Lan Wangji told her often, without humor, that she could return to that position once his own position was secure. So she had resigned herself to her work as a lifelong duty. It was a better life than one spent in Wen Ruohan’s court, and it allowed her brother to be safe.

She was surprised when Lan Wangji looked up from his guqin, which often rested in front of him as he heard reports, a habit which infuriated Wen Chao, and asked after the Thief of Yiling.

“You cut off his hand,” said Wen Qing bluntly. “By all accounts, he’s still in bed.”

“Willingly?”

“Under duress from his adopted siblings.”

This was more in line with what little he had seen of the Thief, and with what he had heard. There were a wide range of stories about the Thief of Yiling. Lan Wangji had taken to collecting them, after the second time Wei Wuxian stole into the Cloud Recesses.

His expression remained still. “Keep track of him.”

Wen Qing rubbed her face. “He’s not a threat,” she said. “We only have so many resources.”

Lan Wangji did not reply. He began picking out a few wavering notes, and Wen Qing understood that she was dismissed.

-

When Jiang Cheng burst into the Thief of Yiling’s bedchambers, he was painstakingly writing out talismans with his left hand. The door rattled so hard that the ink splattered. Wei Wuxian made a face, first at the stained paper, and then at his brother. He picked up the ruined talisman and brandished it in Jiang Cheng’s direction. The characters on it were those for moving silently.

“Stop moping,” said Jiang Cheng.

“How is this moping?” Wei Wuxian gestured at the small stack of talismans he’d written out this afternoon.

“Any idiot in this palace can write talismans,” said Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian did not point out that relearning how to write talismans clear enough to be functional had taken him several long miserable weeks of practice, working at it until his eyes stung in the candlelight. “Come to council meetings. Come to dinner, at least.”

“I went to dinner last week.” It was terrible. People wouldn’t stop looking at him. Not the way they used to, like they were waiting for his next joke; now they were waiting for him to break, or scream, or whatever it was he was supposed to do. He wished they would just tell him. He didn’t know either. What was a thief with one hand? The start to a bad joke. It didn’t give him a lot to work with.

Jiang Cheng sat down on his bed uninvited. Wei Wuxian sighed, gustily, and settled down beside him.

“A-jie is worried about you.”

“Now you’re just playing dirty.”

“You don’t think she has enough to worry about already?” Jiang Cheng elbowed him in the side. “Have you been sleeping at all?”

There were dark circles under Wei Wuxian’s eyes. He had been sleeping, a little, though he had nightmares when he did. He spent many of his evenings in the practice yard. He would never be a master swordsman with his left hand, and he would never be any kind of archer at all, anymore, but there was still work to do. The dead had quieted, but not gone completely silent. He’d had plenty of late nights speaking to them. Perhaps it would be better to banish them entirely, but there was a comfort in it. He didn’t have to watch what he said to them, the way he did with his siblings, and anyone else who cared for him.

“I didn’t ask her to declare war over me,” snapped Wei Wuxian, and then immediately regretted it. He wondered what Madame Yu would say, if she were still alive. The Jiang sect at war with the Lan, over Wei Wuxian of all people. Over such a small thing as a hand.

People were going to die because Wei Wuxian wasn’t good or smart or fast enough. People already had. If only he’d been a bit more annoying; then Lan Wangji would have killed him after all. There could have been peace in that. He knew it. But he knew, also, that Yanli had sat by his sickbed during his fever. Jiang Cheng had too, loathe as he was to admit it. If he’d died, they would have had to watch him do it. Jiang Yanli was never going to let it go after that.

“You think we would do any less?” demanded Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian put his forehead to his fist. He ached all over. His ribs, and the place where his hand should be, and in his stomach. He felt sick every time he thought about all the intelligence he could gather from Lan Wangji if he had two fucking hands to do it with. He felt sick every time he thought about Lan Zhan at all. “They’ve been getting too friendly with the Wens, anyway. We were always going to have to do something.”

“Whatever you say,” said Wei Wuxian. “You’re the minister of war, after all.”

Jiang Cheng wanted to pull him into a hug, to shake him out of the dark places he went when he wouldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. But it had been too long since the end of Wei Wuxian’s convalescence. He elbowed him in the side instead before he left.

-

The dreams continued. Wei Wuxian called them dreams, because to call them nightmares where his sister could hear wasn’t possible. It wasn’t always Lan Wangji. Sometimes it was Madame Yu, pacing in front of him, the way that Jiang Cheng was not aware he had inherited. That one was the same, every time. She demanded he pick up his sword, and turned away from him in disgust when he couldn’t. He tried, he did, in the dreams he was fourteen years old, so of course he tried. But even when he clumsily picked up Suibian with his left hand, his grip was so atrocious that she only sneered, and didn’t bother to correct it.

It had been Madame Yu’s idea to use Wei Wuxian like this. To let the Thief of Yiling become something more than a whisper behind her back. Her husband had plucked a little thief from the gutters of Yiling, all because of who his mother was, and no one ever let her forget it. Madame Yu was not good at being insulted. Wei Wuxian was thrilled to let her turn this one into a weapon. Of course she was never proud, but he had a place. He carved out a place for himself. They both knew it. When she’d thought about cutting off his hand, it was because she knew what it could cost him to have it taken away.

And then Lotus Pier had been attacked, and Jiang Yanli truly did need a Thief. He dreamed of that night too.

Only once, while he slept, a figure in white visited him, a bloody cloth wrapped around his eyes. He sat at the side of Wei Wuxian’s bed, glowing as though bathed in moonlight. Outside, the sky was covered in clouds.

Xiao Xingchen asked, “Do you regret it?”

It had been a long time since any of Baoshan Sanren’s disciples had visited Wei Wuxian. He still thought of them as friends of his mother’s, and not as something closer to gods.

Xiao Xingchen was gone before Wei Wuxian, realizing only then who exactly he was dreaming of, could speak. In the morning there were a few drops of blood on his pillow, and he knew the answer to his question. He’d always known the answer. He didn’t need Baoshan Sanren’s messenger to tell him.

“You know,” he said aloud, to the empty room, “if you really did know my mother, you could come scold me yourself.” But Baoshan Sanren never came down from her mountain, not even for her true followers.

Wei Wuxian knew that Jiang Cheng was right. Yanli was worried. She remained so, even when Wei Wuxian visited her in the middle of the night, picking up a thread of a conversation they’d been having the night before he’d left to rob the Cloud Recesses. He told her he could speak to the dead; he told her he could use them. He didn’t need two hands for that. He didn’t even need his flute.

She nodded. Her face was drawn in the candlelight. It was a good thing Jiang Cheng didn’t know about the things they talked about here; he’d kill Wei Wuxian for making their sister look like this. But she knew as well as Wei Wuxian did that they didn’t have a choice.

And if Jiang Yanli blamed herself for the loss of his hand, then Wei Wuxian simply had to make sure she knew that stealing from Lan Zhan was worth it. He didn’t regret it at all.

-

“Sect Leader Lan,” said Wen Qing, in a very even tone. “There’s nothing new to say about the Thief. There never is.”

They were meeting in Lan Wangji’s private chambers; he’d lately avoided taking her reports at court. Wen Chao was still lingering, like a thorn, and it was always difficult to discourage him or his entourage from skulking around. Lan Wangji had no choice but to placate them, but it was better for Wen Qing to keep out of his sight.

“Wen Ruohan is getting greedy,” she said instead. “He’s been picking fights with Nie Mingjue.”

“I know.” Lan Wangji was not at his guqin; instead, he was settled with the rabbit. It still did not have a name.

“If Nie Mingjue falls, we’re next,” she said.

Nie Mingjue was lucky to be alive; he’d barely survived the attempt on his life ten years ago. Lan Wangji knew this very well. Lan Xichen had unwittingly acted as an accomplice, and claimed afterwards not to know where Jin Guangyao had vanished. No one, not even Lan Wangji, knew if he was lying.

He likely would have gone into seclusion no matter what, even if it meant leaving the sect to Lan Wangji. He had begged his brother not to go. He was seventeen at the time, faced with a world thrown into chaos. He could hardly recall, now, the way he’d felt, the abruptness with which his new position had crashed over him, like a wave that would drown him. His brother was desolate, hollowed out in a way Lan Wangji had never seen and could not yet understand. All of it defied understanding. So he begged, and thought Lan Xichen might listen.

But Nie Huaisang visited Lan Xichen, too. Lan Wangji did not know what was said that night, and likely never would. But his brother left the next morning. Lan Wangji had spoken to him only three times since. It was a long trek into the mountains, and there was no one he could safely leave the Cloud Recesses to in his absence.

“Sect Leader Nie will not fall,” said Lan Wangji.

“No one is invincible,” said Wen Qing. “Can you get Wen Chao to leave? He’s been here too long. I’m worried about what information he’s sending back.”

Lan Wangji said nothing, which was as good as a response. If he could feasibly throw Wen Chao out of the Cloud Recesses, he would. But ten years had not made the Lan’s standing among the other sects any more stable. He was already at war with the Jiang sect, now, after teetering on the edge of war with the Wen for so long. The other sects would stay out of it for as long as they reasonably could. No one wanted to make trouble with Wen Ruohan after what he had done to Lotus Pier.

The rabbit twitched its nose. Lan Wangji said, abruptly, “What do you suggest?”

“What?”

“He’s your cousin. How do you suggest I deal with Wen Chao?”

Wen Qing was used to being asked only for information. She gave advice, but typically it was unprompted, and often ignored. She frowned. “Bore him,” she said. “Don’t let him rile you up. That’s his favorite thing. If he knows he’s upset you, he’ll never leave you alone.”

“That will not be hard,” said Lan Wangji, thinking of the last interesting person to visit the Cloud Recesses. “He isn’t very interesting.”

Wen Qing, surprised also at having to stifle a smile, agreed.

-

As Wei Wuxian’s disposition appeared unchanged, Jiang Cheng called in reinforcements. At least Wei Wuxian assumed it was him who arranged for Jiang Yanli to have an entire afternoon free, which she cheerfully spent in Wei Wuxian’s cramped room, chattering pleasantly as if everything was normal.

It was better and worse than trying to navigate a conversation with Jiang Cheng. Yanli would baby him as much as he liked, but every minute she spent with him was a minute she was supposed to be doing something else.

“A-Xian,” Yanli said, reprovingly, because Wei Wuxian had just cheerfully threatened to spear the peacock through with his nice new hook if he was rude to her again, “he apologized for all that.”

“Not to my satisfaction,” said Wei Wuxian haughtily. No apology would ever be good enough for his sister, obviously, but Jin Zixuan had better keep trying. He and Jiang Cheng had agreed that they would keep him on his toes.

She shook her head. And then her smile faded, and Wei Wuxian sighed, accepting that she wasn’t going to let herself be distracted anymore.

“A-Xian,” she said, in a very different tone. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

“I’ve been working,” Wei Wuxian said, which was true, and she knew it. He had much to practice.

“We only just got you back.”

“You didn’t send me to Cloud Recesses so I could come back and sleep all day.”

Her mouth thinned. Wei Wuxian couldn’t stand it when she frowned at him, and she knew that, too. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m learning how to fight left-handed, along with everything else. It’s exhausting, that’s all.” He didn’t like to talk about the fierce corpses with her. She didn’t deserve to have to hear about all that.

“You don’t have to fight, you know,” said Jiang Yanli. It was something she’d told him many times, before and after he lost his hand. “You aren’t a soldier.” Yanli had never been particularly good with her sword, and trained only as much as was necessary for appearances. She didn’t enjoy it. She never sparred like Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian did, laughing with the exhilaration of it; she had never crossed blades with another person and felt the world all at once become right. The famous accord of Baoshan Sanren and Lan Yi were just stories to her, even as she heard Wei Wuxian tell them over and over. She had never lived it for herself.

“We’re at war,” said Wei Wuxian. “And you did send me to Cloud Recesses for a reason.”

“Not so that I could lose you. To Lan Wangji or to anything else.” She rubbed at her eyes. Wei Wuxian didn’t point out that she hadn’t been sleeping, either. “You should at least have someone to talk to, don’t you think?”

“Of course, shijie,” said Wei Wuxian. “I have you!”

His sister only looked at him. “Someone you won’t hide from, a-Xian.”

He looked away. He wondered if Lan Zhan and his brother had been the kind of siblings who shared everything; it was hard to imagine, but Wei Wuxian had only ever known Lan Xichen from a distance. What else did Yanli expect him to say? His bones ached; his missing hand did; his heart, too. Even now he could hear the dead whispering. What good would it do to say any of that? Should he let himself become as useless as Madame Yu always knew he was?

“It’s getting late,” he said instead, reminding Yanli that she was overdue for her next appointment.

-

Nie Huaisang woke to a hand clamped over his mouth. He kicked, hard, but his assailant was quick, and dodged out of the way. He scrambled for the knife his brother insisted he keep under his pillow. It wasn’t there. Well, he was always telling his brother he didn’t need a blade.

Wei Wuxian yelped as Nie Huaisang bit down on his hand, hard.

“Wei-xiong?” demanded Huaisang, sitting up. He reached for a talisman to light the room, but Wei Wuxian grabbed his wrist.

“Better not,” he said in a low voice. “The Unclean Realm is being invaded.”

“By you?”

“By Wen Xu. I’m rescuing you.”

“I expect a rescue to be a lot more romantic than this,” complained Nie Huaisang. “Couldn’t you have sent your brother?”

“He’s busy helping yours. Also, Jiang Cheng has never been quiet a day in his life. There’s a reason I’m the Thief and not him. Don’t tell him I said that.” There was a shout from a few hallways down, and then silence. “We should go.”

“Just let me get my things—”

“No time,” said Wei Wuxian cheerfully, yanking Nie Huaisang out of bed. He managed to snatch a single fan from a table as he was dragged out into the cold, and then onto Wei Wuxian’s sword with him.

The ride was quite long, because Huaisang didn’t shut up. He felt this was his right, since he was being kidnapped.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’ve been rescued?” asked Wei Wuxian. “Believe me, you would know if you’d been kidnapped. For example, when you kidnapped me, it was very easy to tell.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Nie Huaisang breezily. If he had borrowed Wei Wuxian’s services in order to steal necessary evidence against Jin Guangyao, then that would only be fair. But everyone knew Nie Huaisang didn’t have the head for that kind of thing. This was for the best; otherwise Nie Huaisang might worry that Wei Wuxian’s capture by the Lan was caused, at least in part, by the time Wei Wuxian had once spent skulking around the Cloud Recesses, investigating Zewu-jun’s rooms.

Lan Xichen, in the end, had too much on his mind to be bothered about being stolen from. It was the least of his regrets. Nie Huaisang suspected Lan Wangji didn’t feel the same. A little bird had told him, however, that Wei Wuxian had made several more visits to the Cloud Recesses much more recently. If Huaisang had possessed the kind of conscience which could be cluttered, this would have helped clear it.

They made it back to Lotus Pier without incident. It was still the middle of the night. Huaisang complained up until the moment he was shown to his quarters; then, he reached out to hug Wei Wuxian, whom he hadn’t seen in two years.

Wei Wuxian, not expecting it, flinched so hard he had to take a step back to keep his balance.

Huaisang eased back very carefully. He smiled. “I’m tired,” he said. “I think we’ll have to discuss matters of state in the morning. You know, my brother was telling me all the reports said you were barely leaving your rooms. But I’m glad to see you’re recovered. ”

“As much as I’ll ever be,” agreed Wei Wuxian, copying Nie Huaisang’s smile. Maybe his sister had been right. He was as happy as always to spend time with someone so easy to tell lies with.

-

There was a new song coming from Lan Wangji’s chambers lately.

“I think it’s nice,” said Wen Ning to his sister. Ostensibly he was in her office to help her with her reports. This was largely a convenient reason for her to give him a break from guard duty. Wen Ning did not have the disposition to be any kind of soldier. At the time of his assignment, Wen Qing had assumed the intention was to use him as collateral against her good behavior. As she spent more time with Lan Wangji—it would not be right to say that she had gotten to know him better—she realized that he simply needed all the manpower he could get. If there’d been any choice, Wen Qing would have recommended that Wen Ning supervise the kitchens.

Neither of them were well-served by their positions, but she could still spend time with him, so there was no use complaining.

She closed her eyes, listening to the song. Her brother had a better ear for music than her. “Do you know it?”

He shook his head. “Lan-er-gongzi composes, doesn’t he?” He closed his eyes to listen better, and so didn’t see his sister smiling at him. She would pat his head, but her fingers were too inkstained to risk it. “It sounds sad,” said Wen Ning finally. “Don’t you think?”

“A little.” She had never heard Lan Wangji play anything that didn’t.

“Sad, but, the good kind of sad, maybe? And it isn’t finished. He keeps stopping and starting over.” Wen Ning tried to hum along, charmingly off-key, but the notes he was expecting didn’t come, like when he tripped running too fast through the courtyard when he was late. He shrugged at her sheepishly.

Wen Qing gave in, and ruffled his hair, only smudging a bit of ink on his forehead. “Well, hopefully he’ll finish it soon. I’m tired of hearing the same thing over and over.”

“I kind of like it. It sounds, um, like him, you know?”

“A-Ning,” cautioned Wen Qing, “just because he saved our lives doesn’t mean you should trust him.”

“I know,” he said, as he always did, and not sounding any closer to believing it. Wen Qing would not wish her brother to be anyone but himself; but it would be a little easier, if he wasn’t so decisively loyal to the people he thought deserved it. Their lives did not leave much room for extraneous loyalty.

The music began again. Wen Ning continued to hum along as they worked.

-

“What exactly am I doing here?” Nie Huaisang stretched luxuriously. He was sprawled out on Wei Wuxian’s bed, well-rested after their midnight flight.

“You’re our honored guest,” said Wei Wuxian. “As a favor to Nie Mingjue, our ally. You’ll be safe here until he finishes clearing out Wen Xu’s forces.”

“As your honored guest, am I free to go?”

“We can’t guarantee your safety from the Wen if you do.”

Nie Huaisang flopped back onto the bed with a great sigh. “So that’s a no.”

“I’m sure you can find a way to entertain yourself,” Wei Wuxian said, without sympathy.

“I’m sure I can,” said Nie Huaisang. He tilted his head up at Wei Wuxian and fluttered his eyelashes.

For a long moment, Wei Wuxian had no idea what he meant. Then barked out a laugh, not at all dignified. He and Huaisang had entertained themselves together often enough in their school days, mostly to avoid studying. It had once been likely that they would be asked to marry as part of one alliance or another; it seemed to both of them like a good idea to get a head start on matters. All of it felt like a very long time ago.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian said, when Huaisang stuck his tongue out at him, turning his nose up as though offended. “I have a lot on my mind. Now’s not really a good time.”

“I get it,” said Huaisang cheerfully, dropping the pout at once. “It’s about Lan Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian froze. Nie Huaisang, if he noticed, ignored it.

“I seem to remember you had the most miserable crush on one of the Second Jades back when we were boys,” he continued, musingly. “You were always waxing poetic about pale blue robes in the moonlight.” He tapped his closed fan against his mouth. “I thought you were hung up on Lan Xichen, you know.”

“No, not at all. That was you.” Wei Wuxian was too annoyed not to say it. He’d been unaware that Nie Huaisang had known he had a specific person in mind when he said those things, or that he’d even been sober enough to remember Wei Wuxian saying them.

It had the intended effect. Nie Huaisang shut up, snapping his fan open. They eyed each other warily above it. Things were so often the same as they had been when they were young, except for when they weren’t.

“Why didn’t Lan Wangji kill you?” asked Nie Huaisang. “Da-ge and I couldn’t figure it out. If it was me he’d caught, I’d be dead for sure.”

Apparently they were done being polite now, so Wei Wuxian responded equally rudely. “Oh, I don’t know. What is it that you said to Lan Xichen to make him leave Lan Zhan all alone?”

More silence. Wei Wuxian thought of Lan Wangji’s face when he hadn’t killed him; Nie Huaisang thought about Lan Xichen’s face when Huaisang hadn’t killed him.

Wei Wuxian missed the days when he could win in a game of patience against his friend. He sighed. “I don’t know. He told me it wasn’t the proper punishment for thieves. Maybe Lans really do care about things like that. You know, justice.”

“Maybe. I don’t know if Lan Xichen does, but I suppose his brother might.” Nie Huaisang hummed. “You look terrible.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Nie Huaisang wafted his fan gently. “I never said anything to Lan Xichen. Everyone thinks I did, and they don’t believe me when I say I wasn’t even there, not even Da-ge—”

Wei Wuxian groaned, and buried his face in his hand.

Nie Huaisang set his fan down and beamed at him. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Well,” said Wei Wuxian airily. “Apparently I can still kidnap people, so I’m not totally useless. Help with the war, I guess.”

Instead of pointing out that Wei Wuxian had finally admitted to kidnapping him, Nie Huaisang stood. He took the Thief’s face between his palms, and then thumbed, delicately, at the dark skin under his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said, consideringly. “I really don’t know. I’ve seen you sleepless, Wei-xiong, and you never looked like this.”

Wei Wuxian looked up at his friend, who, thanks to his sect’s particular cultivation style, knew a great deal about all the things that might give someone dark circles, or bloodshot eyes, or fine tremors in their limbs.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. Nie Huaisang, gracious again now that Wei Wuxian had not pressed the issue of Lan Xichen, politely pretended to believe him.

-

Wen Qing’s eyes were fixed on the floor. She often adopted this pose when about to deliver bad news. Much of the new, as of late, had been bad.

It had been a frustrating day already. Lan Wangji composed as the one luxury he allowed himself. It helped clear his mind. But the song he was working on would not be pinned down. Trying only made him more restless.

Also, he’d spoken with Wen Chao.

“Tell me.”

Wen Qing did not raise her eyes. “There are reports of dead men walking on the battlefield,” she said. “They fight endlessly, and shrug off injuries. They are ripping our forces apart.” She paused. “It’s not good for morale, either. Even the Jiang soldiers seem troubled, and they aren’t the ones fighting the corpses. I guess fighting alongside them isn’t much more pleasant.”

She hadn’t looked up yet. “What else?”

Wen Qing was not usually one to stall, but it was a long time before she answered. “They say,” she said, “that the dead wake and fight at the beck and call of Wei Wuxian.”

“The Thief.”

“They don’t call him that anymore.”

Lan Wangji could not think of him any other way. He had imagined the Thief still confined to his bed, despondent; he had imagined him toiling away at petty tasks. He could not imagine this.

He realized that Wen Qing expected him to be angry with her. That was what she was braced for. He should be angry. She had often told him, toeing the line of exasperation, that the Thief of Yiling was no threat to them.

“He’s cultivating resentful energy?”

“Unless there is another way to convince a corpse to do your bidding.”

“If there was,” said Lan Wangji, “he would be the one to find it.”

Wen Qing looked up at him then, surprised.

“How?” he asked.

“Some of the men say they heard—a ghost, wailing. A sound from hell.” She shrugged. “Music, probably. I know he used to play a flute, but.” He didn’t anymore. “Whistling, maybe.”

He inclined his head to her. She kept that same startled look as she left, as though still waiting for his wrath.

Lan Wangji was still waiting, too. He waited a long time. When nothing came, he went back to his music. It was grave news. The Jiangs were not a superior fighting force, but now perhaps they could be. Lan Wangji needed a resounding victory, to avoid Wen Chao’s sideways offers of assistance.

Still, the song came easier now. He thought about what kind of melody might tempt dead men from the ground, and played.

-

All in all, Nie Huaisang wasn’t a bad companion to have; he was a cheerful gossip, flirted with Jiang Cheng to hilarious effect, and ran interference for Wei Wuxian without asking why he was doing it, on the condition that someday, Wei Wuxian would owe him a favor. Wei Wuxian should have known that his sister was right.

The war progressed. Nie Mingjue sent messages, and Huaisang complained of the cold of the oncoming winter, as if Lotus Pier wasn’t much warmer than Qinghe, and Jiang Cheng frowned down at maps. Jiang Yanli remained a quiet calm force, and never cried where anyone could see her. Wei Wuxian demanded to be sent out with the other soldiers, and came back to Lotus Pier all sharp smiles. Nie Huaisang was the only one who ever found him ducked behind a bush, relearning how to breathe. He extorted several bribes in exchange for not telling his sister about it.

They no longer called him the Thief of Yiling, although they never called him anything else where his siblings could hear it.

“What’s it like?” asked Nie Huaisang idly one night. They were drinking together perched on one of Lotus Pier’s roofs; Nie Huaisang had complained the entire climb up, and had not stopped doing so even when Wei Wuxian pointed out that he had two hands.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Nie-xiong. The Emperor’s Smile is as good as always, I promise.”

Huaisang swiped the bottle from him just as he was pouring it into his mouth. “Resentful energy,” he said. “What does it feel like?”

Wei Wuxian leaned back, elbows against the roof tiles. He thought about the first few weeks after he’d returned from Cloud Recesses, muddy in his mind. There was something new in him, those days, vicious and scared, growing like thorns between his ribs. It would be right to say that resentful energy felt like that, but it wasn’t the entire truth. “It gets cold in Qinghe, doesn’t it? So cold it hurts you to breathe.”

“Sure,” said Nie Huaisang, wrinkling his nose, “not that I’m going to see winter there this year anyway.”

“It feels like that,” said Wei Wuxian, his mind wandering now to frozen rivers, their surfaces cracking. The way ice filled his whole body when he talked to the dead. Lan Zhan’s eyes flashing as he drew his sword, just for a moment too furious to be cold. He took the bottle back from Nie Huaisang, and drank deeply.

-

Only once, Lan Wangji saw for himself what the Thief of Yiling was truly capable of. He didn’t often leave the Cloud Recesses, even to fight, but the Jiang forces had come too close to Gusu. Regardless, he wanted to go. Wen Qing had told him that his soldiers were scared of Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji knew the effect he had on people. The Jiang cultivators could take a turn at being afraid.

They didn’t cross swords, but Lan Wangji saw him, and heard the way he laughed. It was edging into winter, and the wind pulled Wei Wuxian’s hair back, throwing his face into sharp relief. Lan Wangji’s sword cut a man down, an automatic motion, but he was looking at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes danced, and he smiled, unfamiliar. But why shouldn’t it be? The last time they had met, Wei Wuxian had no reason to smile. Still, it did not sit well on his face.

He vanished into the chaos of battle moments after Lan Wangji saw him. After that, the only fighting was among the living.

Not a single one of the corpses had touched Lan Wangji. When he found a flower in his hair long after the fighting was over, while he washed away the blood, he wondered if that was the cause of the laughter in the Thief of Yiling’s eyes, or something else.

-

Wei Wuxian collapsed after a skirmish at the outskirts of Gusu. Dazed and bleeding sluggishly from his nose, a few other soldiers carried him back to the Jiang camp. Wei Wuxian used to be the friendliest face in any army, the one people came to for drinks or companionship or laughter. He realized as he stumbled along that he didn’t know these men’s names. They were stiff, nervous. For a dizzy moment, Wei Wuxian was unsure they were alive.

They left him in Jiang Cheng’s tent, where he smiled at his brother, and demanded a drink.

Huaisang was there too, which wasn’t typical; Jiang Cheng had wanted him to help with strategy, despite his insistence he wasn’t any good at it. Wei Wuxian was thankful. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t throttle him if Huaisang was there.

“Go home,” said his brother. “You can’t collapse in the middle of a battlefield, what is wrong with you?”

It was a good question. Wei Wuxian thought about the corpses he’d coaxed from the ground here, remnants of another battle fought so long ago no one remembered it, except for perhaps Nie Huaisang and the dusty histories he was always reading. Most of them hadn’t wanted to fight. Wei Wuxian had to give them their resentment, and when that ran out, he gave them fear, the only thing he had in true abundance.

What would it be like to hate Lan Wangji, and for that to be the reason his corpses had to claw men to pieces?

Wei Wuxian coughed, tasting blood. Nie Huaisang stood. “I brought a medicinal tea,” he said. “I’ll go fetch it.” He fled the tent, leaving Wei Wuxian at the mercy of his brother.

Jiang Cheng wrapped Wei Wuxian roughly in a blanket, frowning. “I thought the point was for you to be better at this,” he said.

“I am. How many losses did we take today? We’re doing great.”

“We’re not being demolished,” said Jiang Cheng. “The Lans have been building an army for years. We’ve been busy rebuilding. Not all of us have Lan Wangji’s luxury of resources.”

Wei Wuxian frowned down at the low table between them, covered all over in maps. “He needed the army,” he said. “The Wens were ready to take over.”

“Who cares? We’ll kill him either way,” snapped Jiang Cheng. “I’m sure he’d make a resentful enough corpse.”

That time Wei Wuxian nearly knocked over Nie Huaisang in his haste to get out of the tent before he threw up.

-

Winter was a bitter time at the Cloud Recesses, high up in the mountains. Lan Wangji always found it to be a welcome respite, even during times of peace. Wen Chao had decided to stay for the winter, but he had not seemed happy about it. So the first few stirrings of spring did not bring Lan Wangji joy.

The air was still cool and pleasantly crisp on the night he returned to his rooms, taking his headpiece off with distracted movements. He didn’t allow servants to attend him here. At first it was a practical matter of keeping his throat intact, and then it became a preference.

Once he had a moment to look around, hair unbound, Lan Wangji surveyed his rooms and found them empty.

It was the first day of spring. The shutters of the window were open, just barely. They were cleaned when he wasn’t present, scrupulously enough that he could forget that anyone had been here at all. Perhaps they had been left open to give him a breeze.

He took Bichen with him to go search for the rabbit. His hair he left loose; likely he would have to go searching through the underbrush.

The thought made him feel strange. It was almost funny to imagine it. The Second Jade of the Lan, chasing rabbits and getting twigs caught in his hair.

He thought about where a rabbit might want to go, suddenly released from its very small world. It was a refreshing problem to contemplate. Rabbits were not weapons of war, and he didn’t have to calculate how much weight a horse could carry in order to pick the most likely direction. He headed towards the back hill. Green things grew there, especially now.

The walk was satisfying. It had been a long time since Lan Wangji needed to worry seriously about falling prey to an assassination attempt, less because no one would try and more because no one could hope to succeed. The walls of Cloud Recesses were high. Few would dare climb over them. But he’d never bothered to start walking around the grounds again. Without his brother to walk with, there hadn’t seemed to be much point.

That’s what Lan Wangji was thinking of, coming upon the stream. His rabbit was perched near a tree, nibbling at a bright green shoot. Lan Wangji quieted his step.

He looked up when he heard the branches shaking above him, and so his neck was bared for the sword laid against it, as the Thief of Yiling dropped from the tree and landed neatly behind him.

Lan Wangji breathed in very shallowly. The rabbit had not even startled.

“Sorry,” said Wei Wuxian. “I missed the little guy! What did you name him?”

Another shallow breath. “I haven’t.”

This didn’t surprise Wei Wuxian. It did help a new ache bloom beneath his sternum. “Lan Zhan, it’s been a year.”

“I’ve had other matters on my mind.”

“Fair enough,” said Wei Wuxian. “Toss your sword behind you for me, will you?” He did not simply take it from Lan Wangji, because his hand was currently occupied holding a sword to his throat.

Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened around Bichen. It was hard to imagine the Thief of Yiling cutting his throat.

It was hard to imagine the frightened boy Lan Wangji had captured raising the dead; but that had been before what Lan Wangji had done to him. He’d seen Wei Wuxian laugh with corpses all around him. He did not draw his sword. He threw Bichen into the underbrush behind them. That startled the rabbit enough that it fled.

“Do you expect to get me all the way back to Lotus Pier by swordpoint?” Wei Wuxian’s sword was cold against his neck. Lan Wangji even knew its name. Suibian was a careless name, Lan Wangji had thought the first time he’d heard it. Wei Wuxian’s grip now did not seem careless.

“I’m sure we could figure something out,” said Wei Wuxian. “But there’s no need, I think.”

Lan Wangji closed his eyes. He should have drawn his sword, then, if Wei Wuxian meant to kill him regardless.

He did not feel particularly angry. He had often been angry, in all the time since he took over the Lan sect, and there was plenty to be angry at Wei Wuxian for. But it was only fair that he die this way. Maybe that too was justice.

His brother would be devastated. Wen Qing and Wen Ning would likely not survive the annexation of the Lans by the Wen or the Jiang, whoever snapped them up first. Lan Wangji would not be able to see Wei Wuxian’s face again, if he killed him now, a clean slice across the throat.

He couldn’t think of much else to regret.

Cool metal passed over his throat, the smooth flat of the blade. He heard the sound of a sword returning to its sheath.

Wei Wuxian stepped back, leaving Lan Wangji suddenly shivering.

“You’re a hard man to get an audience with,” said the Thief of Yiling. “I have an important matter to discuss with you.”

Lan Wangji turned. Wei Wuxian did not look well. He was dressed as he was when he haunted battlefields, in striking black and red. His face was pale. He’d lost weight during the winter. Lan Wangji wondered if it was worse, with no battles to fight; it wouldn’t matter to the ghosts.

Of course he couldn’t help but look at Wei Wuxian’s missing hand. The hook he wore in its place was well made, gleaming in the moonlight. Wei Wuxian did not flinch when he saw Lan Wangji looking, but his eyes darted away.

“What is there for us to discuss?” What, Lan Wangji wondered, could be between them but a blade?

“Oh, it’s boring,” said Wei Wuxian. “Politics. What else?”

“Jiang Yanli would do well to pick better diplomats.”

Wei Wuxian snorted. “I’m telling her you said that.” He raised his sword. He was not holding it well. More like a boy play-acting than a man at war. It would not be hard for Lan Wangji to dart past his guard and take Suibian from him. The weapon would not obey him for long, but he wouldn’t need much time. It would be over before Wei Wuxian could make a sound.

“Anyway,” he said, “obviously she knows I’m here, and will work even harder to kill you if I don’t come back. Jiang Cheng is even coming to pick me up! Like I’m some maiden who can’t be out after curfew, not to ruin the mood. But I really needed to talk to you.”

Lan Wangji shook his head, as if that would make anything the Thief said make sense. “About what?”

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “I didn’t really—I kind of thought you would stab me before I got to this part,” he said. “I didn’t think of what to say.” He looked at the ground, and then met Lan Wangji’s eyes again.

“Speak,” said Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian shivered at the sound of his voice.

He could ask to strike a deal on his sister’s behalf. He could charge forward with his blade, and run Lan Wangji through. He could dart away and leave Lan Wangji unsettled and confused. But nothing had changed in the year since he and Lan Zhan had stood this close. Still, when faced with Lan Wangji furious and cold, he was left only with the truth.

“Marry me,” he said, rushed, like words gasped out after too long spent beneath the surface of a river, like a first breath after drowning. He pressed his lips tight together, but did not take them back.

Lan Wangji stared at him.

Wei Wuxian scratched the back of his neck; he did this still holding his sword in an atrocious grip. Lan Wangji nearly snapped at him to have respect for his weapon. He found he couldn’t say anything at all.

“It’s a good plan, right?” said Wei Wuxian. “And simple, too. Marriage, no more war. You can stop wasting troops you can’t afford to lose with the Wens breathing down your neck, my sister will stop worrying about me, Jiang Cheng can stop hiding away to break all our dishes and pissing off the kitchens. It’s a win-win.” He did not mention any advantages for himself.

“I won’t leave the Lan sect,” said Lan Wangji stiffly. They both knew that without him it would crumble. He had no idea what game Wei Wuxian thought he was playing.

“Oh, of course not. I’d marry into your family.” Wei Wuxian tapped at his nose with the dull side of the hook. “You know, a long time ago, I told Nie-xiong no one would ever want to marry into the Lan clan. So many rules!” He was not smiling now. “It’s funny how nothing turns out the way we expect as children, isn’t it?”

“And if I say no?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged. “Then I guess we’ll all keep killing each other, and then the Wens will gobble up what’s left like vultures. I’m not that bad a catch, am I? Here.” He lay his own sword down in order to toss Lan Wangji’s back to him, before he picked up Suibian again. “You’re right, it’s rude to propose if only one of us has a blade.”

Lan Wangji caught his sword deftly, and in the same motion raised it. Not pushing through to attack, but giving himself the option.

“Before you do that,” said Wei Wuxian.

“Shut up,” snapped Lan Wangji, his control slipping away from him. Wei Wuxian, who was rightly terrified for his life, still felt a burst of satisfaction at that.

“Okay,” said Wei Wuxian. “Just one thing before I shut up, and before you stab me.” He smiled. Lan Wangji could hardly stand it when he smiled this way. It was though he was a paper lantern set alight, and a cheap one, liable to burst into flames without care.

“Fine,” he snarled.

Wei Wuxian shivered again. He himself had no idea if it was in fear or something else. “You should know, before you spill my guts, that I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I saw you.”

Wei Wuxian did not start laughing at his own joke. He looked at Lan Wangji with clear eyes and a grave expression.

“Our first meeting was not auspicious,” said Lan Wangji carefully. Always so polite, thought Wei Wuxian, even when he was being vicious. Why not just say it plain: who falls in love with a man as he’s cutting off your hand?

“No,” said Wei Wuxian. “I fell in love with you the first time we traded blows.” He tapped his nose again. “Okay, it took me a little while to figure it out. I promise I knew before I gave you the rabbit, though.”

“We’ve never traded blows. I refused to fight you. We’ve never met in battle.” Lan Wangji remembered how wild Wei Wuxian’s eyes had been in the dim flickering candlelight, begging, almost childishly, for a duel.

“Yes, we have,” said Wei Wuxian. “We fought in your family’s courtyard. Don’t you remember? I snuck in. It was right after—after shijie became sect leader.” Right after Lotus Pier was invaded, and her parents were killed. “I wasn’t supposed to come. She wanted me to stay to look after Lotus Pier, but I thought, if something happened, then I should be there.” He pressed his lips together. “So I was lurking outside, pretending to be drunk in case anyone found me. But I got distracted. There was a beautiful young Lan cultivator there in white, and you said—”

Lan Wangji nearly startled the way the rabbit had. He remembered now. A boy about Lan Wangji’s age had stood in the courtyard. He’d laughed, and offered Lan Wangji a drink from the bottle he carried, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. He said his name was Yuandao.

Lan Wangji had been furious already before he came outside. His brother was quiet those days, subdued. War was coming, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. And somehow there was nothing Jin Guangyao could do about it, either, which was why his brother was actually upset. Every other sect leader attending the conference seemed sure the Gusu Lan would soon be absorbed into the Jin, and that they should be grateful it was not the Wen. So Lan Wangji told the trespassing boy to leave, or his life would be forfeit.

Wei Wuxian had looked at Lan Wangji, in his pale robes and silver headpiece, sitting alone in the dark, and thought: how can someone so beautiful look so lonely? He had leapt over the wall to talk to him. He wanted to make him smile. Lan Wangji drew his sword on him instead, and laughing, even more delighted then, Wei Wuxian parried.

Eventually the boy had left, taking his laughter with him, and months later, Lan Wangji’s brother left him too. He’d had more important things to think about then. But he remembered now.

“Here,” said Wei Wuxian, drenched in the same moonlight. There was a story about the moonlight of the Cloud Recesses; some said it was a blessing left by Lan Yi’s lover. The bright moon and gentle breeze, was after all, a disciple of Baoshan Sanren. Wei Wuxian twirled his own sword. “I’ll prove it to you. I learned the moves backwards, don’t worry.”

Lan Wangji stared at him. “You think I won’t run you through where you stand because we met once a decade ago?”

“I don’t know. How am I supposed to know unless I try? And anyway, how dishonorable, Hanguang-jun, to kill an unarmed man!” He gave an expansive shrug, and then a wink. He lunged.

Lan Wangji met his attack easily. They went several moves. Wei Wuxian thought that Lan Wangji was as beautiful in motion as he had been all those years ago, his eyes just as determined and just as unsettled by Wei Wuxian’s intractability. He hadn’t laughed yet, but the night was young. They were young, still, despite all that had happened. It was the first time in a long while that Wei Wuxian felt like it.

It did not take long before Wei Wuxian’s sword was knocked from his hand. He was a passable swordsman with his left, but not a good one. Lan Wangji held his own sword to his throat, forcing him to tip his chin up to avoid being cut. Wei Wuxian was breathing quickly, his eyes wide. One thrust was all it would take to kill him.

His eyes slipped closed as he tilted his head back. His expression was nearly peaceful. “Okay, Lan Zhan,” he said. “You can kill me if you want. But I really think you should marry me instead.”

“Why?” demanded Lan Wangji. He was shaking. He was no longer sure if it was with anger. “Because you love me?”

A very fine shudder passed through Wei Wuxian. “Yes.”

“Not because of what you stole from me?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes opened. His grin was a little sheepish this time, though no less arresting for it. The glint in his eyes was at first his natural mischief, but after a moment it changed. His eyes darkened all over, gaining a hollowness that Lan Wangji had nearly dismissed as a trick of the light at a distance. He lifted his left hand, free of its sword. In it was a small piece of metal, wreathed in darkness, that had once sat in Lan Wangji’s least used jewelry box, hidden away deep in the Cloud Recesses. That jewelry box now held a bright red ribbon, left in its place on Wei Wuxian’s final visit. Lan Wangji had not discovered what was missing until a week after he’d sent Wei Wuxian back to his family.

Only then did Lan Wangji realize how angry he had truly been when he’d captured Wei Wuxian. So furious that he had let useless Wen Chao be the one to search him and interrogate him.

Holding Lan Yi’s piece of the Yin Iron, something the Lan sect had kept safe for hundreds of years before the night he stole it, Wei Wuxian said, “I thought maybe you didn’t notice.”

“You thought that I wouldn’t hear about the things the Demon of Yunmeng has been doing on the battlefield?”

Wei Wuxian wrinkled his nose. “I wish they wouldn’t call me that,” he said. “Shijie doesn’t like it. Jiang Cheng really doesn’t like it. I’m still a thief. And Yunmeng is my home, but...” But he’d gotten his name as a thief living on the streets of Yiling. He liked getting to make it into something new. It was a part of him. He might lose everything else, but he would always be a thief. No one could take that from him.

“If you had that with you, even when I caught you,” said Lan Wangji, not lowering his sword, not able to move at all for how furious and confused he was, “why didn’t you stop me?”

“You may have noticed I wasn’t thinking very clearly at the time.” He had other reasons, ready on the tip of his tongue. He hadn’t been sure he could control the Yin Iron yet. He wanted to ensure he brought it safely back to Lotus Pier. He thought Lan Zhan would just kill him if he realized how much power Wei Wuxian had. They weren’t lies, exactly.

Instead he bared his throat to Lan Wangji, and said: “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Lan Wangji had never been more angry at the Thief of Yiling than he was at that moment. He could feel it rising in his throat, pushing against the backs of his eyes, the way water pressed and pressed against a dam before bursting through. He wanted to weep, or to scream, and felt closer to doing either than he had in many years.

“And now?” he demanded. “Will you fight me to save your life?”

“I’d rather not find out,” said Wei Wuxian. There were shadows dancing all around him. Not one of them had touched Lan Wangji.

Bichen trembled in Lan Wangji’s grip. Before he could find an answer, a piercing cry came from the trees, and one of Wen Chao’s birds swooped down.

Wei Wuxian whirled, the shadows traveling with him, but the bird plucked the Yin Iron from his grasp easily. He lunged in the direction of his sword, but Wen Chao was there now, and grabbed him by the back of his neck like an unruly puppy. He balanced the flat of his sword against Wei Wuxian’s throat almost carelessly.

“I thought the reason you didn’t want my soldiers here was because you could protect yourself,” said Wen Chao, raising an eyebrow at Lan Wangji.

“Your soldiers appear to be here anyway.” They were coming out of the trees now, along with their prisoners, a handful of Jiang cultivators. One of them was cursing, loudly. His ire was directed at the woman holding him, Wen Chao, and when he could draw breath for it, Wei Wuxian as well.

“Sorry, Jiang Cheng,” said Wei Wuxian. “I really did have it covered!”

Lan Wangji held out his hand. Wen Chao tossed the Yin Iron up and down contemplatively. “I think maybe I should take care of this,” he said conversationally. “Until you tighten up your security.”

“Of course,” agreed Lan Wangji, surrounded by Wen Chao’s soldiers, who had not been given permission to enter Gusu, let alone the Cloud Recesses. He inclined his head. “We should deal with the intruders first.”

He did not look at Wei Wuxian, whose eyes were fixed on him. He was shaking, a little; Wen Chao assumed, incorrectly, that Wei Wuxian, the fearsome Demon of Yunmeng, was afraid of the blade at his throat.