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Lan Wangji walks in measured steps, weighed down by soul-binding shackles that prevent his escape as ghost guards on either side of him lead him into the second layer of Hell.
He does not understand what wrongs he has committed to warrant such an act. Indeed, he had been deemed a normal soul upon his entrance to the first circle of the Underworld, a noble one at that. He is supposed to be lingering in the top-most layer while he awaited his judgement and subsequent reincarnation.
Instead, two ghost guards, tall and fit and covered from head to toe with black armour, had appeared almost as soon as he stepped into the dimness. Placing chains on his wrists and ankles to subdue him, they had led him away without an explanation.
Well, they had provided an explanation when he had demanded.
“Our lord has found favour with you.”
There may as well have been no answer at all, the response leaving only more questions in its wake.
The Second Circle Hell is a large wasteland desert, with strong winds buffeting tortured souls back and forth aimlessly to punish them for their infatuated passions in life. If it were not for the Stygian chains weighing him down, Lan Wangji would no doubt be caught up by the gales as well.
Some ways from him stands the only source of light in the otherwise desolate landscape. The massive palace shines with extravagant gold, blinding in their reflections though it is only lit by torches that appear to be ordinary. From a distance, Lan Wangji thinks that the serpentine shapes lining the eaves of the roofs are dragons, but upon closer inspection, he sees that they are snakes instead. Reliefs of pigs are carved in the palace walls, and as the ghost guards force him up the shining steps, he sees statues of roosters standing guard at full crow.
Near the palace, the temperature becomes warmer, just hot enough to be uncomfortable, coming as a shock after the bitingly cold winds. However, when Lan Wangji raises his eyes to look at the plaque above the grand entrance, he feels his blood run cold though he has no physical body.
Jiang Manor.
The emblem of a nine-petaled lotus blooms grandly next to the characters, mocking.
No, Lan Wangji thinks to himself. It cannot be him. He did not pass on so long ago that he would have already been capable of—
Lan Wangji does not dare continue that train of thought. Suddenly, he longs to have Bichen or Wangji qin with him, even though the spirits of his instruments cannot possibly follow him under the Nine Springs. His lack of weapons makes him uneasy, vulnerable, and he clenches his hands into fists to push away those feelings.
The gates to the palace swing open soundlessly. Inside the courtyard, fires blaze in every corner, but what makes Lan Wangji’s face heat up is the sight that greets him as soon as he steps past the threshold.
Men and women in various states of undress tangle together, uniting in acts of debauchery with their eyes lidded and their mouths open in cries of ecstasy. They do not pause in their actions even as Lan Wangji passes them by, keeping his posture straight and looking ahead in order to avoid the shameless display in front of him. It is one thing to know what each level of Hell contains; it is another altogether to bear witness to their revelry in person.
As if taking great joy in his discomfort, the ghost guards on either side of him laugh boisterously and shove him forward, so that he stumbles when they finally enter the throne room of the palace.
The grand hall is even worse than the courtyard. Souls in here are intertwined in entire groups, such that it is difficult to tell when one being ends and another begins. These souls, however, all have small horns atop their heads, and pointed tails that snake out from behind them. The closer they are to the throne, the more prominent these demonic features become. Those at the foot of the dais even have flames dancing across the tips of their tails. Lan Wangji’s ears burn at the implication that these people had chosen to be here, giving in to the pleasures of the flesh rather than favouring the path to enlightenment.
His disgust must show on his face—indeed, he is doing little to hide it—for there is a dark chuckle that comes from the direction of the throne. The sound draws his attention to the lord of this palace, ruler of the Second Circle of Hell.
“Does my lowly establishment displease the great Hanguang-jun?”
Lan Wangji grits his teeth, glaring at the man on the throne. He is less dressed than Lan Wangji ever remembers seeing him, clad in purple silks and laces that cling to his body suggestively, seductively. The man smirks when he senses Lan Wangji’s gaze on him, turning to the figure perched on his lap. “My Queen, it appears that our guest is not entertained.”
“Jiang Wanyin! You—!” Lan Wangji growls, unable to suppress his rage. A million questions flash across his mind, but when he says instead is, “Release Wei Ying at once!”
Jiang Wanyin has the nerves to laugh. “Release him? When I’ve put in so much effort to have him? Besides, he is here of his own volition. I am not forcing him.”
When he sees Lan Wangji’s incredulous expression, piecing together the shards of information, a devious glint flashes across his eyes. “Oh, yes, do you have such little faith in me? You know, I was not planning to create chaos once I came down here—that’s more the strength of my queen—but once I realized that the lord of this realm had his eyes on him, I couldn’t possibly sit by without doing anything. Don’t look at me like that, Lan Wangji. You would do the same.”
“I would never stoop to your level,” Lan Wangji answers, his tone cold.
“How easy it is to speak as an observer,” Jiang Wanyin says, smiling condescendingly. “You look surprised. Did you forget who I was in life? The fearsome Sandu Shengshou, rivalling Hanguang-jun’s power on the battlefield. A lazy king is no match for a vengeful soul.”
Lan Wangji sneers, but he does not dignify him with a response. To have the audacity to call himself Shengshou, when there is nothing holy about his present state.
Noting his revolt, Jiang Wanyin shrugs. “You were always the epitome of grace, but now that you’re here, you’re nothing more than a feisty kitten, aren’t you? No matter. We can work on the attitude once you’ve joined my collection.”
Red spots dance in Lan Wangji’s eyes, though whether it is a result of the glittering palace or of his own boiling emotions, he could not say. Lan Wangji has always thought himself to be a calm person, staying collected through all circumstances. He has never felt as angry as he does at Jiang Wanyin’s dismissive, condescending tone, speaking to him like he is less than human.
“You must have many questions,” Jiang Wanyin continues smoothly, ignoring the killing intent in Lan Wangji’s eyes. “Don’t worry. I will answer you in due time, when you join us.”
“Fuck off,” Lan Wangji spits, and he would be mortified at his own behaviour had he been able to think clearly at the moment.
Jiang Wanyin raises a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Oh? I was not aware that Hanguang-jun, the polished jade in the eyes of mortal men, was capable of such lowly speech.”
“You have to admit, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian pipes up idly, peeling grapes while balancing the plate on his knees precariously. “He’s kinda hot when he swears.”
Lan Wangji turns his disbelieving gaze towards the man whom he once regarded as the person closest to his heart. “Wei Ying…?” he whispers, almost helplessly. “What has this demon done to you?”
“Now now, Lan Zhan, calling him a demon isn’t very nice,” Wei Wuxian says in a chiding tone.
He shifts slightly on Jiang Wanyin’s lap, tilting his head in the imitation of obedience. His actions allow Lan Wangji to see the horns nestled in his hair, the tail flickering lazily against his waist like a cat’s.
“You see, I have used no tricks on my queen,” Jiang Wanyin says with a feline smile. “The sooner you accept your fate, Lan Wangji, the easier this will be on the two of us. The process is much more painless if you come willingly.”
“The process?” Lan Wangji asks icily, contempt dripping all over his words. “To become part of your—your harem? Do you not have enough?”
Jiang Wanyin takes a moment to understand his meaning, and then he laughs. “The people in the court and in this hall are not my personal playthings. You misunderstand. They are simply souls who would be better served in my palace than in the wheel of reincarnation. No, those who have the honour of becoming my wives must be quite special to catch my eye. You should be honoured, Lan Wangji.”
“Honoured,” Lan Wangji repeats flatly, narrowing his eyes.
“Does Hanguang-jun have trouble understanding human speech?” Jiang Wanyin asks mockingly. “No matter, you are pretty enough to make up for any defects. Stop resisting, Lan Wangji. I have seen the way you look at my queen. When you join us, you can have him, and so much more.”
At the mention of him, Wei Wuxian turns to Lan Wangji and flutters his eyelashes, smirking like a devious fox spirit. Slowly, deliberately, he pops a freshly peeled grape into his mouth, taking care to suck his fingers clean in the most obscene fashion possible without breaking eye contact.
It is Lan Wangji that looks away first, his ears burning in shame at both the sight and at the spark of desire that has begun burning low in his core. Still, he manages to say, “I would sooner have my soul torn apart, never to be reincarnated, than participate in this—this immoral display!”
Jiang Wanyin grins, revealing pointed canines. It is clear that he heard the stutter in his voice, the lapse of conviction for a single instant. “I would not make any vows you would regret very soon, Lan Wangji. I have, quite literally, all of eternity to wait out your self-righteous speeches, but I assure you, there are many more…pleasurable activities we could be using our mouths for instead.”
“You’re a monster!” Lan Wangji hisses at him, straining uselessly at his shackles. They dig into his wrists, and the pain clears his head for a split second, only for it to cloud over the moment Wei Wuxian begins to laugh.
“Oh, Lan Zhan, we are all monsters here, darling,” he purrs, low and dangerous.
Lan Wangji clenches his fists harder, his nails leaving little crescent indents across his palms. He tears his eyes away from the throne, from the sea of indulgence around him, staring down at his feet as he struggles to recall his family teachings.
To nurture the mind rather than the flesh. To seek knowledge rather than earthly desires. To remain on the righteous path and maintain a pure conscience.
However, just because he is unable to see the shamelessness does not mean he cannot hear it as well. Each scream and cry and moan seeps past his skin, digging into his very soul. With each moment that he remains inside the grand hall of Jiang Wanyin’s palace, the offer becomes more appealing, and it becomes harder to wish to leave.
As if sensing his struggle, Jiang Wanyin smiles maliciously. “Sweetheart, are you certain you do not want to come out to greet our esteemed guest?”
Lan Wangji is about to get mad again—how dare Jiang Wanyin call him ‘sweetheart’?!—when he realizes that the lord is not speaking to him.
There is a pause, but nothing happens.
Jiang Wanyin’s eyes narrow, and his tone holds an edge when he speaks again. “Do not make me repeat myself.”
A tall figure dressed ironically in white, faintly traced in sky blue, emerges from the shadows of the throne, his head downcast demurely.
Lan Wangji feels the last of his resolve crack, and then shatter into a million pieces. “Xiongzhang…?!” he exhales in a shocked whisper, looking at his brother with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Wei Wuxian perks up and, as usual, speaks regardless of the tension in the room. “Ah, Xichen-ge, it’s so nice for you to join us!”
Lan Xichen, at least, has the decency to look ashamed, his expression unfitting in this place of immoral pleasure. “Wangji, join us,” he pleas, though there’s an ambiguous edge to his voice that sends a shudder through Lan Wangji. “His Highness will treat you so well.”
Reeling from the revelation, Lan Wangji remains silent, feeling like the room is spinning around him all of a sudden. His brother? The person he looked up to the most in his life, a consort of this demon before him?
Jiang Wanyin rises, jostling Wei Wuxian and making him pout, though the man in black rapidly readjusts himself to lounge across the entire throne. The ghost guards on either side of Lan Wangji release him and step back in response to some unknown signal, and his shackles fall to the ground soundlessly. Despite being freed of their weight, Lan Wangji feels rooted to place, unable to leave.
A crackle of electricity sets the air between Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin alight with desire, and Lan Wangji feels himself drowning in the demon’s dark eyes. Another crack, and the angry purple whip shrinks into a smaller circle, coming to rest in Jiang Wanyin’s hands.
Lan Wangji’s face flushes when he realizes it is a collar, the type one would put on a dog or a slave to assert ownership. To his own surprise, the thought only strokes the fire within him, making it burn brighter, consuming his soul.
“Come, Lan Wangji. Marry me, be my concubine, and I can give the world and more.”
And like an animal who has risen to the bait despite being fully aware of the trap that lies beneath, Lan Wangji steps forward, allowing Jiang Wanyin to secure the collar around his neck with a click.