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There’s to be another raid on the Burial Mounds. 

Zizhen does not find this out from his father, who is supposed to be participating in said raid this time around. No, he finds out from Nie-zongzhu, the day he gets back from his monthly visit to the sect that he’s more or less abandoned. 

When he arrives back in the Unclean Realm after a long horseride from Ouyang, the entirety of the Nie compound is empty, with only a few servants milling around the courtyard. This is never a good sign, since that usually means that the disciples have been sent home for the day, which only happens when Nie-zongzhu is in a mood. 

“Nie-zongzhu is in a mood,” one of the servants informs him, as he brushes his way past her to head towards his own chambers, “a bad one. Nobody’s seen his temper this bad since…” she trails off, but Zizhen can guess what she means. 

Since Nie Mingjue died, he thinks to himself, and he gives a little thin-lipped smile in response. 

“Don’t worry,” he answers, calmly, “Nie-zongzhu is like a father to me. I am sure that whatever has him so angry will not negatively affect me in any way.” 

He doubts it really does anything to soothe the servant’s nerves, but she leaves him be nonetheless, and that’s all he can ask for. If none of the disciples are around, that means that he’s the only one who stands a chance at finding out what has his mentor so worked up. 

He doesn’t even have to try hard to do it, either. When he nears the common room that he and Nie-zongzhu both use for painting, there’s the sound of something shattering against the wall, loud enough to make Zizhen flinch and then increase his pace. When he nudges the door open - very carefully, and with a quiet “Nie-zongzhu?” - Nie Huaisang is pacing, his hands tugging at his hair. 

“-mean, I don’t get it!” Nie Huaisang is saying as he paces, muttering mostly to himself, “haven’t they done enough? What do I do? Da-ge, what the fuck should I do?” 

Zizhen winces. He’s grown familiar with all of Nie-zongzhu’s moods; from the flighty headshaker persona he uses outside of the Unclean Realm to the stern but caring sect leader he is towards his disciples to the grieving, broken man he’s become in his loneliness. Perhaps he’s too young to truly understand, but he hadn’t been lying to the servant when he mentioned Nie-zongzhu being a father to him. 

“Nie-zongzhu,” he says louder, waiting for Nie Huaisang to turn around and notice him. Correct him, even. They both know that Zizhen only calls Nie Huaisang by his formal title in private when he wants to be corrected. 

And finally, Nie Huaisang turns, his fists white where they’re clenched around strands of hair. “Zizhen,” he says, and he slumps against a wall with a loud sigh, “I didn’t think you’d be back today.” 

No corrections. Zizhen takes it in stride. “I came a little early.” He takes in the sight of… whatever is going on with Nie-zongzhu, and steps forwards, into the room. “What’s wrong?” 

Nie Huaisang hesitates, chewing on his lip the way he does when he’s debating about sharing the information he has. It’s a familiar look; Zizhen has had to coax many things from his mentor. “Ah, you curious youths,” he finally bemoans, and the anger in his eyes has already started to settle down. 

“Lanling Jin is hosting another raid on the Burial Mounds,” he says, picking himself off the wall and sweeping his way towards his desk. Zizhen follows him. “It’s been almost exactly thirteen years since it was sealed, and yet, they never do leave things alone. ” 

It’s no secret - to Zizhen and the other Nie sect disciples, at least - that Nie Huaisang is one of the few sect leaders in existence who bears no ill will towards the Yiling Patriarch and the Dafan Wens he’s stashed away in the Burial Mounds. No secret that he, in fact, often travels to Yiling, hoping that maybe the rumors of the Burial Mounds’s sealed barrier were false, or maybe that even if they were true, he’d be allowed in anyways. He’s never been successful. 

“Another raid on the Burial Mounds?” Zizhen hovers awkwardly around Nie Huaisang’s desk as the elder sits down, tearing through letters. “Is Lanling Jin calling the sects into action again?” 

Nie Huaisang hums an affirmation, and he pulls out a blank piece of parchment, his quill clenched in his hand almost precariously. “And as a great sect - even if the world believes the Qinghe Nie to be weaker now under my rule - I’m all but required to attend with disciples. To disgrace him, again. ” He shakes his head, and the quill falls from his hands. “I can’t say no.” 

“Do you have to go?” 

Nie Huaisang turns his head to look at him. In the dim candlelight, he looks tired, far older than he actually is, though still friendly, still kinder than Zizhen’s own father. “What are you thinking about, hmm?” 

“Well,” Zizhen pauses, and then clears his throat. “I’m your student. I could go on your behalf. That way, Qinghe Nie still shows, nothing happens to further damage its reputation, but you don’t have to disgrace the Yiling Patriarch yourself.” 

Nie Huaisang stares at him, and then he laughs. It’s a long, self-depreciating chuckle, one that has the hairs on Zizhen’s neck stand up. “Oh, Zhen’er,” he says, fondly, “you are too sweet for your own good. Careful, or I might really steal you to be my head disciple.” 

I would not mind, Zizhen thinks, but he can’t really afford to think like that, not when he’s the only male child in his family. He has plenty of sisters, but he doubts the cultivation world will allow any of them to ascend to sect leader while he still lives. 

“Is that a yes?” He asks, tilting his head. “I wouldn’t mind, really. I’ve never been to Yiling.” 

“It’s not a place for children,” Nie Huaisang says, thoughtfully, and he sighs, turning back towards his desk. “But you’re not much of a child anymore. Nearly eighteen! I should stop calling you Zhen’er. You’re still my A-Zhen, though, don’t worry.” He purses his lips. “It’s not a bad plan. I’m afraid of what the sects might say, but you know how to handle my reputation already.” 

“He doesn’t know,” Zizhen says with a smile, hiding the way the terms of endearment make his cheeks flush red, “was this supposed to be important? He’s terribly sorry, he didn’t know when he sent me.” 

Nie Huaisang laughs again, and he stands, a mirth back in his eyes, “perfect. Perfect! I’m sure that Jin-gongzi and Lan-gongzi will be there too, so you won’t be alone. Just…” he trails off, and glances off somewhere that Zizhen can’t see. “If something does happen…” 

“I won’t hurt the Yiling Patriarch,” Zizhen promises, “nor will I listen to what the Jin sect cultivators say of him. You’ve told me enough to know that I should hear all sides of the story before I make my own judgement.” 

“Good boy,” Nie Huaisang says. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Yiling is, as it turns out, cold. 

Not in the literal sense. Zizhen isn’t entirely sure that he can feel the cold nowadays, with how used to Qinghe’s mountain winters he is now. Plus, it’s nearing the summer months, and Yiling is located in Yunmeng, already sticky with humidity. But the people… 

Well. Zizhen has never seen a city more subdued, and he’s spent most of his time recently in Qinghe. 

“What’s up with this place,” Lan Jingyi wonders aloud, and Zizhen breathes a sigh of relief. He’s not the only one that’s noticed the way the people seem to avoid the sect cultivators, shooting glares at them as they pass. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a town more hostile.” 

“This place just sucks,” Jin Ling snorts, and he folds his arms across his chest petulantly, “I don’t even know why we’re here.” 

“To bring out the Yiling Patriarch, obviously,” Jingyi rolls his eyes, “he has to pay for his crimes. Wouldn’t you of all people know that, young mistress?” 

“Shut the fuck up, Lan Jingyi,” Jin Ling snaps. 

Zizhen sighs, familiar with the bickering between his two friends. He doesn’t have the heart to correct them. The Yiling Patriarch is much kinder than you know, he wants to say, but to say that to Jin Ling, who had lost his father to the man, would be unfair of him. 

Sect Leader Jiang glances back towards them at Jin Ling’s barked cursing, and Zizhen shivers. He’s heard far too much poetic rambling about the man to actually be scared of him, but honestly, he’s not entirely sure what Nie Huaisang sees. Unless Nie Huaisang is into grumpy scowling men who look like they would rather whip the hell out of someone than admit to having feelings. 

The Burial Mounds loom in the distance, a large mountainous area covered in mist and shrouded with wards. The Lanling Jin sect leads the way, towards the wards, and the closer they get, the worse that Zizhen feels. 

He doesn’t want to do this. He only volunteered because he had seen the anger and worry and frustration in Nie Huaisang’s eyes, knew that his mentor would rather die than harm someone he considered a friend without probable cause. 

Finally, though, they reach the path that, according to the older cultivators, leads to the settlement that’s been nestled in the Burial Mounds for years. It’s shielded from view, the wards shining brightly. One cultivator reaches out to touch them and is sent flying backwards, the entirety of the wards flickering. 

“Yiling Patriarch!” Sect Leader Yao bellows, glaring at the wards like they will personally come down at his command, “we demand an audience!” 

For a moment, it seems like nothing will happen. Good, Zizhen thinks. He doesn’t particularly want to hurt Nie-zongzhu’s oldest friend, and he has a bad feeling about this place. 

And then, the wards shimmer, and someone steps out of them. 

At first glance, he probably could be the Yiling Patriarch. Anyone who’s ever met the Yiling Patriarch says two things; he wears black robes and a red ribbon, and he carries a black flute. This person is wearing black robes and a red ribbon and he’s carrying a black flute, but there’s a sword strapped to his side as well - the Yiling Patriarch does not use his own sword - and he’s much smaller than one would expect the Yiling Patriarch to be. 

“The Yiling Patriarch does not see anyone,” he says, in a chilling voice, “leave.” 

“Who are you? Where is Wei Wuxian?” Sect Leader Yao demands. 

“I am Wei Sizhui, the last protector of the Yiling Wens,” Wei Sizhui lifts the flute - chenqing, though why he has it, nobody knows - and his eyes glow red, “and you are not welcome here.”

“Oh my god, he looks our age,” Jingyi mutters. 

Jin Ling glares hard at him, “he’s a demonic cultivator, ” he says, doubtfully, “who’s been living with my uncle for who knows how long!” 

“He’s pretty,” Zizhen says half-heartedly, staring up at the… at the demonic cultivator, who is their age, who stands at the edge of the wards unafraid of the mass of cultivators gathered there to siege, his eyes flashing red despite the fact that he hasn’t played a single note on the flute, doesn’t have any talismans visible on him. For intimidation, probably, he thinks. 

“You cannot go and befriend any random demonic cultivator you find,” Jin Ling hisses. 

Jingyi sticks out his tongue. “You know what? Just for that, Wei Sizhui is now my best friend. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.” 

“Yeah, uh huh, good luck with that.” 

Less focused on his friends’ constant fighting, Zizhen creeps forward, through the mass of cultivators who are now drawing swords, intending on fighting a kid - well, a teenager, and if that - who has chenqing in his hand and is twirling the flute idly, standing his ground. 

“Wei Sizhui,” Zizhen calls, drawing the attention of both Wei Sizhui and most of the cultivators, “as the acting head disciple of Qinghe Nie, this one apologizes for disturbing you. Please give Wei-gongzi my regards.” He bows low, tilting his head up to meet Wei Sizhui’s gaze as he does. 

Wei Sizhui blinks, and while the red doesn’t fade from his eyes, he does smile, bowing as well. “Thank you, Qinghe Nie.” 

Nie Huaisang might kill him, Zizhen muses, as he steps back and watches the faces of the cultivators shift in blatant disgust. He might kill him, for withdrawing Qinghe Nie prematurely. But he might kill him even worse if he found out that Zizhen had been involved in… what? Murdering the presumed son of the Yiling Patriarch? 

Besides, Wei Sizhui is… well. His hair is tied in a low ponytail, his bangs curling over his forehead, and although his eyes are glowing red like a demonic cultivator, there’s something so sweet and genuine in his smile, like the sun coming out on a rainy afternoon. Fitting, for someone who was probably once a Wen. 

“Zizhen!” Jin Ling hisses, and he follows Zizhen as he sweeps past the crowd of cultivators, the Nie disciples following him with a certain reverence most foreign disciples don’t have. “What the fuck? What was that about?” 

“What did it look like?” Zizhen tries hard not to think about how Nie Huaisang is most likely going to kill him, and instead watches as some of the older cultivators pull swords. He winces, and turns his attention back on the path towards Yiling, not wanting to watch Wei Sizhui fight. 

“Did Nie-zongzhu ask you not to fight anyone?” Jin Ling shoves at his shoulder, forcing Zizhen to stop and face his best friend, “because Nie-zongzhu always asks not to fight, so you shouldn’t be so surprised!” 

“Well, yes, but that’s not it.” Zizhen sighs. “Think about it, Ling-di. He’s our age, and yet he’s having to defend his home from a thousand cultivators despite the fact that the Burial Mounds have been quiet since the day they closed. It’s not fair." 

“He must be Wei Wuxian’s son, but a-niang never mentioned me having a cousin.” Jin Ling frowns, and he bites at his lip, his cheeks flushing red. “Zhen-ge, do you think he is? My cousin?” 

“He called himself Wei Sizhui,” Zizhen says, kindly, and he reaches out for Jin Ling’s hands, squeezing them reassuringly, “and he certainly seems friendly enough, if you’re not trying to kill him and his father. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a friendly cousin?” 

Jin Ling, who’s only blood-related cousin was on his late father’s side and was awfully rude to him, scowls, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes and a tense, hopeful intonation of his voice when he asks, “do you. Do you think.” He doesn’t finish the question, but Zizhen hears it all the same. 

“I was already planning on coming back,” he admits, “the flora here are very unique, don’t you think? Good inspiration. But if I happen to see Wei Sizhui again, I can put in a good word. On my honor.” 

“Better hurry,” Jin Ling scowls again, “before Lan Jingyi gets there first.” 

“Jingyi was just messing with you,” Zizhen teases, just to watch the way Jin Ling squawks indignantly. Zizhen thinks he has every right to tease his best friend - the brother he had claimed at a young age - about the very large crush he’s had on his not-friend Lan Jingyi. Especially now. 

“Whatever,” Jin Ling finally grumbles, and Yiling comes into view, just as silent and dead as it had been earlier. “Tell Nie-zonghzu that I give my regards. Actually, tell him that jiujiu gives him regards as well. Maybe he’ll actually send another letter.” 

“Nie-zongzhu has sent many letters.” Zizhen sticks out his bottom lip. “I would know, I was there. He cried over them. Tell your jiujiu to respond to them.” 

“He’ll murder me, ” Jin Ling complains, but he nods anyways. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How was Yiling?” Nie Huaisang asks, whenever Zizhen returns to the Unclean Realm alone, the disciples sent along with him trotting faithfully behind him. 

Zizhen must have a look in his eyes - he’s still thinking about Wei Sizhui’s smile, the one that had been on his face for only a few seconds, the one that brightened his entire face even with the glowing red eyes of resentment - because Nie Huaisang makes a sound in the back of his throat, his hands clapping together. 

“You met someone!” He leans forward to grab at Zizhen’s hands, dragging him towards their parlor, tea already set up on the table. “You have to tell me everything. Who is it? Do I know them? Are they cute?” 

“Very cute,” Zizhen says, and he allows Nie Huaisang to drop him into a chair, watching the way his sect leader sits next to him. “But shifu, were you aware that the Yiling Patriarch has a son?” 

Nie Huaisang squints, and then his eyes widen slightly. “There were rumors,” he says, slowly, “of a child in the Wen encampments. A young child. It was… it was the only reason that da-ge had left them alone, you see, when Wei-xiong whisked the last remaining Wens off to the Burial Mounds. No child deserved to live like that.” 

Zizhen’s heart aches in sympathy. He’s heard of the Wen encampments, the ones that Wei Wuxian had fought the cultivation world so hard on. Nobody save for Wei Wuxian, the famous Dafan Wen doctor Wen Qing, and Hanguang-Jun knew of the true conditions of the camp, but if Hanguang-Jun had spoken out against them saying it was unfair and wrong… well. 

“The boy I met,” Zizhen folds his arms across his chest, staring at the floor, “he calls himself Wei Sizhui. The last protector of the Yiling Wens, he said. I don’t understand. Doesn’t Wen Qionglin live with them as well?” 

“It’s possible that, without a master, Wen Ning could be less powerful,” Nie Huaisang muses, and then gasps at his own thoughts. Without a master; like Wei Wuxian is fading. Like Wei Wuxian is dead already. 

“I want to go visit him again,” Zizhen says, sternly, “without other cultivators there. He was… shifu, he was using demonic cultivation, but he also smiled at me, and it was like the sun on a cloudy day, or the bright of a full moon after a storm.” 

Nie Huaisang gives a fond little sigh. “Ah, young love. I remember when I was your age and becoming smitten for the first time. Very well, A-Zhen, you have my permission to do what you’d like. I’ll even write to your father and tell him all about the recent series of nighthunts you’ve gone on and how brave you’ve become. It’s not even much of a lie!” 

Zizhen giggles, despite himself, and he flops against Nie Huaisang in a hug. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

He feels arms squeeze around his torso, and there’s something longing in the touch. Something pressing and hesitant, like maybe Nie Huaisang was imagining someone else. 

“Of course, Zhen’er,” he murmurs nonetheless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later, Zizhen sets out on his own with nothing but a few pieces of parchment, his favorite brush, and a vial of ink that Nie Huaisang had purchased for him. Without a sword, the trip to Yiling is slow, but he has permission to stay for as long as he desires. 

Yiling is not quite as empty as he remembers. A few people walk around the shops, which is normal considering the time of day; the sun is setting whenever Zizhen dismounts his horse, leading her to the stables. 

The innkeeper makes a face at him when he walks into the inn, having stabled his Cheng’e. “You want to stay? Here?” 

“Yes, here.” Zizhen tugs his purse free. Contrary to popular beliefs, the Qinghe Nie sect is quite wealthy, Nie Huaisang a very capable and efficient sect leader who had gotten his sect to flourish after Nie Mingjue’s death. It just so happened that most people hadn’t bothered to look into the finances of Qinghe Nie whenever they scorned Nie Huaisang for his public reputation, and since Nie Huaisang hardly ever offered aid to other sects, it remains the Unclean Realm’s best kept secret. 

“Aren’t you a cultivator?” The innkeeper is still staring. “Cultivators don’t normally stay here.” There’s an edge to his voice. Zizhen wonders if the Yiling Patriarch got his title because of his crimes or because of how he had inspired the entire village to defend him. 

“Do you see a sword?” Zizhen gestures to his empty belt with a smile. “I mean no harm, I promise. I’m more of a poet than a cultivator, and I’d like to make Yiling my next muse.” 

Not all of Yiling though, he can’t help but think, just one person in particular. 

“Hmph. Very well.” The man takes his coin, and gives Zizhen one of the rooms in the very empty inn. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wei Sizhui finds him after only a single stick of incense has burned. 

Zizhen hadn’t made a big show of hiding. He didn’t touch the wards, because he didn’t think it was necessary. Nie Huaisang had taught him all about warding talismans, how the ones that Wei Wuxian had preferred in his youth - the ones he’d nearly invented on his own - relied more on sensing motion than a physical touch. Wei Sizhui would know that he’s here. 

When Wei Sizhui does step out of the wards, fluteless but sword drawn, Zizhen has his ink vial set carefully on the ground, his paper pressed against a flat rock he had found as he begins the way that he was taught: with a warmup sketch, a pair of trees intertwined. 

“I remember you,” Wei Sizhui says, blinking, and Zizhen glances up from his sketch to offer his most recent muse a fond smile before he stares down at his picture. Art isn’t his strongest suite, even with Nie Huaisang as a teacher. He much prefers words. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“I know, I know, I’ve gotten looks the entire time I’ve been in town.” Zizhen shrugs, and he can’t look up. He doesn’t trust his mouth to be able to look at Wei Sizhui and not say what’s on his mind. “But I had a burst of inspiration last time, and I wanted to chase it down. Without any other cultivators, this time. They can be a bit of a downer.” 

Wei Sizhui snorts, and he steps forward, his sword - suibian, the Yiling Patriarch’s blade - sliding back in its sheath as he peers at the paper curiously. “You didn’t bring your own sword?” 

Zizhen shakes his head. “I don’t need it. I meant what I said last time, Wei-gongzi. I don’t bear any ill will towards you or your family. I’m just here to write poetry.” And to see you. 

If Wei Sizhui is surprised by Zizhen’s use of the formal title, he doesn’t say as much. “It can be dangerous here,” is what he does say, and his hand curls around the sheath of his blade, almost protectively, “bring your sword next time.” 

“Young master, are you inviting me back?” Zizhen smiles coyly, finally glancing back up to Wei Sizhui to watch the way his ears flush red, “I’m honored.” 

“I’ve never been around someone my age before,” Wei Sizhui does not sit down, doesn’t join Zizhen where he’s perched on the ground, but he does edge a bit closer, “so I guess I am. You don’t seem as bad as the others.” 

The others. The people that wanted to kill him. Zizhen thinks about how vehemently opposed to killing Wei Wuxian Nie Huaisang is, how much he raves about his old friend. He shudders at the thought of someone hurting him, hurting Wei Sizhui. 

“I study with Nie Huaisang,” he offers, tracing his brush delicately against the paper. “and Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to hurt you or your family either. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I do promise I won’t hurt you.” 

“How can I trust you when I don’t even know your name?” There’s a lilt to Wei Sizhui’s voice, something teasing. 

Zizhen flushes, and then laughs. “That’s true,” he concedes. “My name is Ouyang Zizhen, though I would prefer you just call me Zizhen.” 

“Call me Sizhui, then.” 

“Sizhui,” Zizhen savors the way the name feels on his tongue, the permissions it has. 

The wind rustles, and Sizhui must hear something in it that Zizhen does not, because he grimaces. Zizhen studies his face; his eyes, when not glowing red with demonic cultivation, are a warm brown, the kind of warmth that one could get lost in, that makes one feel comforted, safe. 

“I have to go,” Sizhui says, apologetically. 

“Take care,” Zizhen replies. It elicits one of those smiles he had gotten at the raid, and it’s very much a good thing that Sizhui is leaving because it takes Zizhen’s breath away, the genuinity of that smile. How could anyone think him evil? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Zizhen still does not have his sword, because he left it behind in Qinghe and he’s not making the trip from Yiling to the Unclean Realm and back all for the dumb sword he hardly uses anyways. 

Sizhui does not greet him at the wards this time, which is fine. Zizhen forces down the pang of disappointment, and instead focuses on his calligraphy. 

He’s so focused on his calligraphy, in fact, that he completely misses the way the wind picks up, the growling that emits from the forest. As he dips his brush carefully in the ink vial, he doesn’t see the figures shambling from the wards, not until there’s a sharp trill of a flute. 

Zizhen jerks his head up just in time to see Sizhui leap from the wards, his eyes glowing and chenqing raised to his lips. 

“Leave!” Sizhui commands, and he accompanies the words with music, a high-pitched tune that is as demanding as his voice. The fierce corpses that had wandered from the Burial Mounds seem to listen to the resentful energy, and they growl and grumble but turn around, shambling back through the wards. 

“Wow,” Zizhen breathes. He’s never actually seen demonic cultivation used before, has just been told that it’s bad, despite the fact that it won them the war. 

As soon as the corpses disappear, Sizhui tucks chenqing into his belt, the glow of his eyes fading as his shoulders slump. He whirls around, lips pursed. “I told you to bring your sword,” he says, accusingly. 

“I left it in Qinghe!” Zizhen protests, but it’s half-hearted. “I didn’t think anything would attack me.” I trusted you not to attack me goes unsaid, but Sizhui hears it anyways, his gaze softening. 

“It’s dangerous,” he sighs, and then holds out his hand, “and you’re going to get yourself killed. Come here.” 

Zizhen stands on shaky legs, watches the last of the lingering cloud of resentful energy dissipate into thin air. He takes Sizhui’s hand. 

It’s warm. That’s a good thing, right? He’s heard so much awful taunting about how demonic cultivators and Wens couldn’t be considered human, but Sizhui’s hand is warm and soft, the pads of his fingers callused from playing the flute. He’s so very alive, and real, and Zizhen curls his fingers around that hand ever so gently. 

“I knew you’d protect me,” he says, softly. He doesn’t miss the way Sizhui inhales, a sharp sound that’s out of place in the otherwise quiet stillness of the wards. 

“You trust too easily,” Sizhui finally replies, and he gently guides Zizhen over to the wards. They’re humming in a way that no talisman-created wards have ever hummed before; at least, none of the ones that Zizhen had been taught to make. “But I suppose I’m asking you to trust me again.” 

“Always,” Zizhen smiles. 

Sizhui gives him a hard look. “You barely know me,” he blinks, “and you know my family history. Why are you here? Talking to me?” 

He’s still guiding Zizhen’s hand towards the wards, and Zizhen pointedly doesn’t look at where their hands are intertwined. Whatever Sizhui’s doing must be important, for some reason. “I didn’t want to come to Yiling, last time,” he admits, “but my shifu, Nie-zongzhu… well, he’s always still considered your dad a friend of his, and he didn’t want to come either. So I came in his stead, that way the Nie sect wouldn’t be looked down upon for not going to the raid.

“When I came, I didn’t expect anything to change. I was just… making up the numbers, you know?” Zizhen shivers as his hand passes through the wards, skin tingling. “But then I saw you, and you looked so… I don’t know. Lonely. And Nie-zongzhu has always spoken kindly about Wei Wuxian and about the Wens sheltered here, but he hardly ever talks about the past and the cultivation world hasn’t been kind. I wanted to get to know you for myself.” 

He’s definitely rambling now, but Sizhui just works silently and listens all the while, tracing some symbol over the spot where Zizhen’s hand and his own have disappeared into the shimmery wards. 

“I see,” Sizhui finally says, softly, as whatever symbol he’s traced glows and he steps back, satisfied. “Baba doesn’t talk a lot about his past either, I didn’t know he had any friends aside from… ah, nevermind. Maybe I will ask. Next time I see you, I can tell you what I know.” 

“Another next time?” Zizhen winks, but the message is clear. If you just lied to me, if you’re not here for why you say you are, I will strike you down. It’s intimidating. It’s unfairly attractive. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I didn’t explain what I did with your hand yesterday,” Sizhui says by means of greeting, the next day. 

Zizhen hardly blinks, staring down at the line he’s crossed out three different times. “No, no you didn’t.” 

“It’s a tracking array, of a sort.” Sizhui still doesn’t take a seat, but he has suibian this time, and he leans against a tree next to where Zizhen is writing, his hair swaying in the wind, “if dormant resentful energy - like fierce corpses - comes too close to you while you’re in a certain distance from the wards, they will let me know and I can come to your rescue, since you left your sword in Qinghe.” 

“Aww, Sizhui,” Zizhen makes his best puppy dog eyes, sticking out his bottom lip in a way that just has to be goofy, “you care that much about this one? I knew your heart is as kind as I thought it was.” 

Sizhui’s ears flush again, but he smiles thinly, almost amused. “Well, I wouldn’t want Nie-zongzhu’s acting head disciple to die here in Yiling. It would be bad for our reputation.” 

“Is that a joke?” Zizhen narrows his eyes in scrutiny. “Wei Sizhui, did you just make a joke?” 

The amusement in Sizhui’s eyes only grows, and that smile turns wry and teasing. 

“You did, ” Zizhen declares, and he laughs, tossing his head back. “What did Wei Wuxian say about Nie-zongzhu? Did you ask?” 

“I did,” Sizhui nods, and he leans a little bit more against the tree. His robes - the same black and red of the Yiling Patriarch, but now with a white underrobe instead of the third black one - flutter in the wind, just like the red ribbon in his hair. “Baba’s memory isn’t so good anymore, but he spoke very highly of Nie-zongzhu.” 

“Not many people speak highly of shifu,” Zizhen sighs, “so it’s very nice to hear.” 

“I know the feeling,” Sizhui says, dryly, and the winces. “Ah, sorry. I try really hard not to be so,” he waves his hand flippantly, “bitter, when I’m around other people.” 

Zizhen just laughs. “Don’t apologize. You have every right to be bitter, I think. Don’t hold back on my account!” His eyes light up, and he adds a word to his poetry, carefully sketching the characters. 

It’s quiet for a few minutes, save for the slight hissing of the wind, and it’s that eerie stillness that draws Zizhen’s attention back upwards, where Sizhui is just staring at him. There’s something in that gaze, the light reflecting in his eyes making them warm and golden like honey. Zizhen is hesitant to break that gaze, to say anything now that he’s caught in such an enticing trap. If the Yiling Patriarch really were evil and Wei Sizhui a trap to lure me in, he thinks, this will have been worth it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“Can I read some of your poetry?” 

Zizhen jumps half a foot into the air, startled. “Wei Sizhui,” he grumbles, “you snuck up on me!” 

Sizhui, who Zizhen hadn’t even notice approach, just smiles sheepishly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Sorry,” he apologizes, “you normally hear me coming.” 

“Aiyah, it’s fine, it’s fine.” Zizhen glances down at the half-full page, a blotch of ink on his cheek where he had accidentally tapped the bristles side of his brush to the skin. “And… hmm. I’m not shy about it, but you don’t even ask me questions about my life! How could I let someone like that read my work? What honor would I have?” He’s teasing, and he winks at Sizhui to convey the fact that he’s definitely, completely teasing. 

Still, Sizhui takes a seat next to him. He’s forsaken the black outer robes for a pair of simpler brown ones, the fabric looking thick and heavy. Chenqing is tucked away in his belt instead of suibian. He only seems to wield one or the other when he’s not facing off against a thousand cultivators. 

“You say you study with Nie Huaisang?” 

Zizhen blinks, and then nods. It’s not really the question he had been expecting. 

“Why?” Sizhui isn’t even trying to read the paper sitting on Zizhen’s makeshift desk, he’s just sitting cross-legged in the soul, his eyes wide and attentive. 

“Eh,” Zizhen makes a face, “my dad’s not the best, and besides, Nie-zongzhu asked for me personally.” 

“That sounds like there’s a story behind it.” There’s a wicked gleam in Sizhui’s eyes as he leans in on his elbows. “Tell me? Since I don’t know anything about your life and all.” 

Zizhen snorts, but he acquiesces easily enough. “There’s not much to tell, really. My dad liked dragging me to the stupid cultivation conferences. A couple years after Chifeng-Zun’s death, I was at one of those conferences writing and Nie-zongzhu saw and I guess I impressed him? He formally asked my father if he could take me in as some apprentice, but I’ve always been more than that. He’s…” he pauses, “not like what people think. I think he was lonely.” 

“That makes sense,” Sizhui says, softly, “I don’t…” he pauses, and then sighs. “Well. I wasn’t going to talk about… personal stuff, with you. But it’s only fair.” 

“You really don’t have to, I was totally teasing you earlier.” 

“Oh, I know. But it still feels unfair.” Sizhui shrugs. “I just… I think baba would be lonely, without me. I mean, he has my aunts and uncles, but he distances himself from them. I think he feels guilty still, about locking them here. And a-die comes to visit every so often, but they never see each other, they just fight about me.” He gives a little shrug again. “So I understand.” 

“A-die?” Zizhen questions. 

“Ah,” Sizhui’s ears flush red. “It’s. What I call Hanguang-Jun. He gave me my courtesy name, so baba once teased that he was practically my other father, and it just kinda. Stuck?” 

“Oh, Jingyi’s gonna flip,” Zizhen’s eyes widen, “he’s so gonna flip. If he didn’t consider you his new best friend before now, he totally will when he finds that out.” 

“Jingyi?” Sizhui tilts his head questioningly. It’s endearingly adorable. 

“Oh, my friend.” Zizhen smiles apologetically. “He was with me during the raid, if you saw. He and my other friend, Jin Ling, were arguing that day and he declared you his new best friend to be spiteful and argumentative. He also idolizes Hanguang-Jun, it’s very funny.” He pauses. “You know, reasonably, I think Jin Ling could be considered your cousin.” 

“Jin Ling…” Sizhui hums, and then frowns. “Jiang Yanli’s son?” 

“You know him?” 

Sizhui nods gravely. “Baba cries about them sometimes.” Like that’s not a huge bombshell to drop on someone. Zizhen’s eyes are very much in danger of watering themselves. 

The distress on his face must be visible, though, because Sizhui’s eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head, “oh, please, don’t cry. You look like you’re going to cry.” 

“I’m not going to cry,” Zizhen sniffs, wiping at his eyes more dramatically than anything else. “It’s just… tragic, is all. I wish I could give you a hug. Can I give you a hug?” 

Sizhui surprises him then. Rather than answer the question, he just gives that teasing smile of his and launches himself forward. Zizhen hardly has time to tuck away his brush and move his ink vial before there are arms around him, Sizhui’s head tucking immediately into the crook of his neck. It’s a nice hug, and Zizhen allows himself to bury his nose into Sizhui’s hair, breathing softly. 

“Zizhen…” Sizhui pauses, and his hands scrunch up the fabric of Zizhen’s simple robes, clenching them tightly. “Thank you.” 

“What for?” 

“For just… I don’t know. Being you, I guess. Talking to me. Not hating me or baba. It’s nice. Really nice.” Sizhui curls a little bit tighter, chenqing digging into Zizhen’s side, “this is all so new to me. I don’t know what to do.” 

“You’re doing really good, actually,” Zizhen promises, “really good, Sizhui. And I meant it, the other day. I think you’re so kind, even in spite of your upbringing when you have every reason to be angry.” 

“And the demonic cultivation thing doesn’t make you mad?” 

“Why would it?” Zizhen tries to shrug, but it just dislodges Sizhui, who releases something that sounds like some sort of whine. “Nie-zongzhu says that the way that the Nie sect used to cultivate - with sabers and all - was pretty close to demonic cultivation, and the world accepted it just fine. Sure, it’s different, but different isn’t bad.” 

“Ah-” Sizhui sniffs, hard, like he’s the one that’s about to start crying now. “Ah… Zizhen…” 

Zizhen just holds him all the tighter. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, when it’s dark and they’re still practically cuddling in the grass, Zizhen decides to be bold. 

“Sizhui,” he murmurs, fingers carding through Sizhui’s hair. 

“Hmm?” 

“I really do like you.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Like, a lot.” 

“Mm.”

“I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever met. And I’ve met Nie Huaisang.” 

“Mm- what?” 

“I know, I know, it’s silly of me, but that day, when I saw you…” Zizhen sighs dreamily, “I knew I had to come back and write here, if it meant seeing you again. For a minute, I was afraid that your heart wouldn’t match your beauty, but those worries were for naught. You’re wonderful, and I’m afraid that if I keep meeting up with you, I might just end up kissing you.” 

There’s silence for a few painfully long minutes. 

“I’ve never been kissed before,” Sizhui says, tentatively, and he shifts, lifting his head from Zizhen’s shoulder to stare pointedly at his face. They’re awfully close. It wouldn’t even take much to lean in for a kiss. 

“Oh, neither have I,” Zizhen laughs, “I’ve always wanted to wait for the right person. Is that silly?” 

“I don’t think so,” Sizhui pauses, and then swallows. “Is… is that person…” 

Oh. 

“I’m not sure yet, but maybe.” Zizhen brushes a thin lock of hair out of Sizhui’s face. Sizhui’s hair is dry, brittle, like he hasn’t been fed well, and that wouldn’t be so surprising, considering where he lives and everything. “Like I said, I do like you. Really, really like you.” 

“I really like you too,” Sizhui whispers, “I’m just… afraid.” 

“I’m afraid too.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Baba’s invited you over.” 

It’s been a few days since the evening the two spent together cuddling. Zizhen almost regrets his big mouth, because the few times he’s peeked at his normal spot outside the wards, he hasn’t seen anybody, and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. Maybe Sizhui thinks he’s abandoned him. Maybe Sizhui doesn’t care anymore. 

But Zizhen commits to going back after three days of moping around Yiling, and Sizhui’s there within a few minutes. He doesn’t have either of his weapons on him, or any of the Yiling Patriarch robes he normally wears. In fact, he looks… normal. Brown robes with black underrobes just barely peeking out, his hair still tied with the red ribbon but not quite as messy. 

He still blinks. His poetry is nearly finished, and he thinks he might’ve written a masterpiece for Nie Huaisang to add to his collection, but finishing means he no longer has an official reason to stay in Yiling, which is… depressing. 

“Wei Wuxian’s invited me into the Burial Mounds?” He glances at the wards curiously. “I thought they were sealed?” 

“They are sealed, but I can invite you in.” Sizhui pauses, and then sighs. “And yeah, he wants to meet you. Ning-shushu was spying on us the other night, he probably thinks we’re dating.” 

“Oh,” Zizhen swallows, thinking about the way he was holding the Yiling Patriarch’s son in his arms and talking about kissing him. He’s screwed. He’s so totally screwed. 

“You’ll be fine,” Sizhui must sense his panic, because he laughs, and he tugs Zizhen to his feet. “Now come on. I get to give you the tour.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tour isn’t much. 

The path up to the village is a long, uphill path decorated with mangled trees and the occasional fierce corpse that just kind of stands there and watches them. Sizhui had explained once that the fierce corpses here are a constant, but they normally leave him alone. And the village itself is small, with a little farming area off to the side, a rather pretty lotus pond, and a bunch of sturdy houses. 

It’s not any of the houses that Sizhui directs them to, though. Instead, he leads Zizhen to a cave that looms over the village. The demon slaughtering cave, Zizhen realizes. He had heard that the Yiling Patriarch resided in a cave, but he didn’t actually think it was true, that it was real. 

Well, apparently, it is. Sizhui calls out, “baba, qing-gugu, ning-shushu, we’re here!” before stepping fully in. 

The cave itself is… interesting. Zizhen glances at all the talismans hanging up, drying, at the ones that litter the floor, at the arrays drawn on the walls. Protection spells, mostly. There’s a bed off to the corner, where a man and a woman sit. 

Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing. 

“Ah, so this is the boyfriend!” Wei Wuxian smiles, gesturing them over. He might have once been a very nice looking man, but there are bags under his eyes, made darker with how sickly pale his skin is, and his hair is brittle, his body paper-thin. Still, his smile is almost as bright as Sizhui’s and he leans forward on the bed. “Where did my A-Yuan get himself a boyfriend?” 

“I found him planted in the radishes,” Sizhui deadpans. It makes no sense, but there’s something glittering in Wei Wuxian’s eyes, something that is almost dangerous. 

“Yep,” Zizhen agrees, nodding. “That’s why my clothes are so dirty.” That’s not why his clothes are dirty, his clothes are dirty from sitting in the dirt all day. 

Wei Wuxian laughs, though, and that dangerous gleam in his eyes fades. “I like you, kid,” he says, snorting. “When Wen Ning said he saw my A-Yuan cuddling with some random boy… well, I was worried. But you seem decent.” He glances down at the paintbrush tucked in Zizhen’s belt. “Are you the reason he asked about Nie Huaisang the other night.” 

Zizhen nods. “I study with him,” he explains, “but it’s really like… he fathers me, almost. My own dad is kinda an asshole. Anyways. He misses you, you know.” 

“Huh.” Wei Wuxian stares off into space, and then jumps. “You should bring him here, if we’re going to discuss engagement gifts.” 

“Engagement gifts! Baba!” Sizhui sputters, and Zizhen feels his cheeks heat. “We’ve only just met!” 

“Ah, sorry, sorry, but I recognize that look. ” Wei Wuxian does not sound very sorry. He does, in fact, sound rather smug. “Better to be safe than sorry. Besides, trust me, when Lan Zhan gets here, he’ll say the same thing.” 

“Hanguang-Jun is coming here ?” Zizhen gasps. 

Wei Wuxian nods, very seriously. “He takes these kinds of things very seriously. Only the best for our A-Yuan.” He claps his hands together, and it’s hard to think of him as the scourge of the cultivation world when he’s like this, all bright and joyful and smiling. 

“That’s really not necessary,” Sizhui chokes out, and his entire face is red now. Zizhen thinks it’s adorable, but he doesn’t dare say so when the Wei Wuxian is teasing them about getting married. They aren’t even really dating! 

“Ah, it’s fine, really,” Wei Wuxian waves his hand flippantly, “Lan Zhan and Wen Qing and I have already been talking about you going to study at one of the sects to learn proper cultivation from someone that’s not me or Wen Qing. He wants you at Cloud Recesses, but I think it’s reasonable to also discuss it with Nie Huaisang.” 

“Oh, that would be so fun!” Zizhen turns to smile at Sizhui reassuringly, squeezing the hand that’s still joined, “Qinghe is so beautiful, and Nie-zongzhu is a surprisingly very good instructor. And I could show you my poetry and artworks.” 

Sizhui looks at him incredulously, as if to say; why are you going along with his demands? But Wei Wuxian’s smile only increases. 

“What a wonderful idea,” he says, and then he breaks into a coughing fit. The demeanor of the room shifts in a single moment, and Wen Qing - who had been silent throughout the entire discussion - sighs and wraps her arms around Wei Wuxian, bringing his head into her chest as he shudders and heaves. 

“Foolish,” she scolds, and then gazes up at Sizhui, who looks… sad, but almost resigned. “He’s getting worse.” 

“I can’t leave him here like this,” Sizhui says, sadly, and he leans forward to gently trail his fingers against Wei Wuxian’s back. “He’s dying, I can’t…” 

Zizhen feels a stab of guilt, first for entertaining the thoughts of Sizhui leaving behind his family, and then as a general oh, we did this, watching the way that the Yiling Patriarch curls into Wen Qing’s embrace, curls of resentment energy peeling off of him. 

“Play for him,” Wen Qing suggests, her fingers combing through Wei Wuxian’s hair. It’s an oddly romantic gesture, except it doesn’t look romantic at all. More familial, Zizhen thinks. 

Sizhui nods, and his hand slips out of Zizhen’s own with one last, apologetic squeeze. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and then hesitates. “You can go, if you want. I think bringing Nie-zongzhu here would be… good for baba. You don’t have to stay and listen to me play.” 

Zizhen just shrugs. “It’s probably getting late, I can’t make the ride back to Qinghe tonight anyways.” He smiles, hoping it’s a comfort to Sizhui, who seems distressed still. “Besides, I like listening to you play.” 

Sizhui flushes, but he crosses the cave to draw chenqing from what must be his area of the cave with a determined gait. The song he plays is something soothing, high and lilting and calming, and Zizhen watches the way the energy curling off of Wei Wuxian rises and then dissipates at the song. It’s soothing, and Sizhui looks so calm, even as his eyes glow red and he nearly glows within the dimness of the cave. 

After the song finishes, Wei Wuxian sighs, and he seems to have drifted off into sleep, slumped over in Wen Qing’s arms. Sizhui lowers chenqing from his lips, and the energy that he’d lured away from Wei Wuxian curls around him for a minute before settling back into the cave. 

“A-Yuan, stay with your idiot father,” Wen Qing says, gently nudging Wei Wuxian off of her. Sizhui rushes over to take him from her, and Zizhen takes a step back. He almost feels like an intruder, which is silly considering he was invited. “I’ll escort your… friend, back to the inn.” 

Well that sounds ominous. 

Sizhui glances up from where he’s now sitting with the Yiling Patriarch, and he gives Zizhen a wry little smile. Good luck, that smile says. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So,” Wen Qing says, dryly, as they walk down the path to Yiling, “you’re the boyfriend.” 

Zizhen winces at the tone. 

“I don’t think we’re… like that,” he says, waving a hand in the air, “I mean, I did tell him that I did. Like him, in that way. But he didn’t… ah, answer me. So I’m not sure.” 

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Idiots,” she mumbles, probably under her breath and to herself, “just like his fathers, that one is.” She straightens up, and gives him a hard look. “Listen. Every single one of these people here… well. A-Yuan has always been our reason for living. We won’t lose him. Do you understand?” 

“I understand,” Zizhen nods hard, his fingers twisting together. His ink vial and parchment sits heavy in his qiankun bag at his side. 

“You do seem to care, though, which is… good.” Wen Qing pauses, and then sighs. “I’ve met Jin Rulan as well, you know. I doubt he remembers me, but I did meet him. His mother refuses to let him believe in the tales of the Yiling Patriarch.” 

Zizhen thinks about Jin Ling, who was so scared about his cousin, but only because he wasn’t sure if he would be accepted, not because he feared demonic cultivation. “I think it worked,” he says, softly. 

Wen Qing regards him with a stern look, but it melts into something unreadable after a few moments. “Nie Huaisang. I’ve only met him once. Is he knowledgeable about golden cores?” 

“Very,” Zizhen nods, “after his brother died… well. He decided to change up the Nie sect cultivation methods, so that way nobody else would die violently to the saber spirits. I helped him, some. He developed treatments for the golden core, to reverse some of the damage already caused by the saber spirits. He’s… amazing, honestly.” 

“I see,” Wen Qing says, “then yes, please, bring him here. I think it will do them some good. And maybe I will talk to him again. A-Ning was always fond of him for some reason.” She pauses. “Jiang-zongzhu as well.” 

Zizhen snorts. “Don’t talk to me about Jiang-zongzhu being fond of Nie-zongzhu. I’ve had to deal with Nie-zongzhu’s pining for years now.” 

“Can’t be any worse than the way Lan Wangji still refuses to admit he has feelings for Wei Wuxian.” 

“Doesn’t Sizhui call them both father?” 

“You really think either one of them are smart enough to realize what that means?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I need you to come to the Burial Mounds with me,” Zizhen says, as soon as he is in front of Nie Huaisang for the first time in at least two weeks if not longer. 

He’s tired and worn out from the journey, but he thinks about Sizhui - beautiful Wei Sizhui, who hadn’t denied them being boyfriends - and the way Wei Wuxian is deteriorating, and he knows that this just can’t wait. 

Nie Huaisang, for his credit, just blinks slowly. His hair is loose around his shoulders rather than up in a formal style, his robes informal and plain in consideration to what he normally wears. “To the Burial Mounds? Me?” 

“Yes, you.” Zizhen smiles. “For one, you need to meet the person I’m courting. For another, you have a friend who wants to see you again.” 

There’s a pause, as Nie Huaisang seems to take in the information. Zizhen watches the way the emotions flicker across his face, his eyes getting wider and wider with each second that passes. 

“Wei Wuxian wants to see me?” 

“He’s not doing so well,” Zizhen admits, “but he looked pretty sincere. I think he’s invited Hanguang-Jun over as well. Something about engagement gifts?” 

Nie Huaisang laughs at that, but it’s a weak little thing, shaky and trembling with unshed tears. “That’s my A-Zhen,” he says, fondly, “ever the romantic. I should’ve known you’d come back engaged.” 

Zizhen flushes a bright red. “Shifu…” 

“Aiyah, you’re not normally so easy to tease, you really are smitten!” It seems to lift Nie Huaisang’s mood, and he leans over to ruffle Zizhen’s hair affectionately. “Alright, A-Zhen, I’ll go with you. After a good night’s sleep and a bath. You’re filthy, did you bathe at all?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lan Wangji is, in fact, at the Burial Mounds when Zizhen returns with Nie Huaisang in tow. 

He’s not even the only one. Jiang Yanli, known for being the matriarch of the Lanling Jin clan now that Jin Guangshan is dead, is there as well. Jin Ling isn’t, he must still be in Lanling with Jin Guangyao. It was not Jiang Yanli’s idea to host the raid, Zizhen is pretty sure, watching the way she gently combs Wei Wuxian’s hair, a fondness in her eyes. 

Sect Leader Jiang is there as well, and he stares as Zizhen walks in with Nie Huaisang in tow. Really, he couldn’t be more obvious. Arms crossed, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to be here, at least, not until Nie Huaisang offers him a shy smile. 

“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says, his fingers all entwined together, “I hear you asked for me?” There’s a fan tucked into his belt, but Zizhen knows well enough to know that he’s trying not to hide behind it for now. 

“Ah, Nie-xiong,” Wei Wuxian pushes himself upwards. He still looks weary and tired, but his eyes are bright again. Lan Wangji is watching him too, Zizhen notes. “Come on, come here. I haven’t had a proper hug in decades.” 

Nie Huaisang sniffs, and then he’s thrown himself at Wei Wuxian, wrapping him in a bruising hug. Wei Wuxian returns the gesture in kind. Zizhen smiles. 

“I know you,” Sect Leader Jiang says, as Jiang Yanli stands to walk over and talk to Wen Qing in the corner. “You’re the Ouyang sect heir, aren’t you?” 

Zizhen nods, hesitantly, “I… haven’t been affiliated with Baling Ouyang in awhile, though.” 

“I’ve noticed,” Sect Leader Jiang says dryly, and then he huffs. Like it’s Zizhen’s fault that his dad is a piece of shit and horrible at leading. Even Zizhen’s older sister would be a better leader. “So you’re a Nie sect disciple now?” 

“Well, not really? I mean, I have to go back to Baling, don’t I?” 

“Do you want to go back to Baling?” Sect Leader Jiang glances over at a sobbing Nie Huaisang again, and this time it’s a bit more meaningful. 

Zizhen snickers. “Well, not really. But honestly, if you’re worried about Nie-zongzhu not having an heir if I don’t move into the Nie sect formally, you shouldn’t. He’s only ever had eyes for you.” 

Sect Leader Jiang sputters. Zizhen leaves him standing there, walking over to Wei Sizhui instead. 

Sizhui is watching Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang as well, even in his little corner of the cave. It feels stifling, having so many people in here, but there’s also something so familiar in it. Like the family that Zizhen’s never had, he thinks. 

“So what’s really going on?” He asks, sidling up to Sizhui’s side. “I mean, why are so many people here?” 

Sizhui sighs. “I think that… they’re planning something about making the Burial Mounds an official sect. Which, I mean, it’s about time. But I don’t think anyone realized that the wards could be crossed before now.” 

“What, they thought everyone was locked in here, unable to get out and like… buy food?” Zizhen snorts. 

Sizhui shrugs. “I’m not sure. But if it means that… well. That baba will be accepted in the cultivation world and get the help he needs? I’d be okay with it.” There’s something so resigned in his tone. Zizhen doesn’t like the sound of it. 

He laces their fingers together. “This is a huge thing,” he says, very seriously, “it’s okay if you’re unsettled by it. But honestly… I think having Nie-zongzhu’s approval was the last thing they needed. I mean, look! All four of the great sects are here, in one room! Without killing each other! I’m impressed.” 

It draws a laugh from Sizhui, who squeezes his hand. “What if they still don’t accept demonic cultivation?” 

“I think you’re the living proof that it’s really not as bad as they say it is,” Zizhen says, and then pauses. He’ll have to choose his words carefully. “...since you have a golden core.” 

Sizhui’s eyes widen. “What?” 

“Just a guess,” Zizhen admits, “Wen Qing asked me if Nie-zongzhu was knowledgeable about golden cores. That, plus the lingering resentful energy that seems to like Wei Wuxian so much… I just put the pieces together, really. He doesn’t have a golden core, does he?” 

Sizhui looks conflicted, and then he shakes his head. “No. No, he doesn’t. Qing-gugu has been… talking about a partial transfer, that’s why she summoned Jiang-zongzhu here. But it won’t work if there’s not a way to heal his damaged meridians, which is why she needs Nie-zongzhu, I think. Yanli-gugu is mostly here for moral support. So is a-die.” 

“And for engagement gifts,” Zizhen says, teasingly, and then frowns when Sizhui just flushes hard and glances away. “That was a joke. Right?” 

“No, I think that baba was being serious, actually.” Sizhui fiddles with his fingers. “Apparently, if I were to marry into one of the great sects, it would look pretty nice for Yiling Wei as a sect?” 

“I’m not from one of the great sects,” Zizhen points out, “not unless I…” and suddenly, Sect Leader Jiang’s words click in his head, and his eyes widen. “Oh. Oh. They’re gonna ask Nie-zongzhu to formally welcome me into the Nie sect. That’s why he was asking me about Baling.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sure enough, later that night - when everyone’s scrambling for sleeping arrangements, and Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji talking in hushed voices - Nie Huaisang pulls Zizhen aside. 

“I know your relationship with Baling is… strange, right now,” he says, still all teary-eyed from earlier, “but you’ve always spoken strongly of your sisters, and I… I would be honored, to give you the family name Nie. There’s nobody else left with the name except for me right now.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nie Zizhen. It sounds weird, but not as weird as Ouyang Zizhen, the name he was born into. And… well, it’s not as if Zizhen really likes Ouyang. It’s a small sect nestled in Yunmeng, and constantly antagonistic towards its neighbors. If Zizhen became the sect leader, there would be so much work he’d have to do to make people like his sect again, and he’s not actually all that good at that kind of stuff. 

His older sister, however, is excellent at it. She’d be a wonderful sect leader. The more that Zizhen thinks it over, the more logical it is. 

He finds Sizhui sitting outside the cave, once Nie Huaisang flits off to talk to Wen Qing and Sect Leader Jiang. Sizhui is staring at the sky, his hair loose. Wei Wuxian’s red ribbon is tied around his wrist, and he’s fiddling with it even as he looks upwards. 

“A-Zhui,” Zizhen says, softly, just to test the name out. 

Sizhui jumps, and then he glances up at Zizhen instead. His cheeks are still flushed a bright red, though it’s hardly visible in the dim moonlight. “You don’t have to call me that,” he says, embarrassed. 

“Well, I’m not going to call you Wei Yuan, not unless you really want me to.” Zizhen takes his hand again, entwining their fingers. He can feel the fabric of the red ribbon like this. “Do you? Want me to? Want to do any of this?” 

“I do,” Sizhui answers, fondly. “I mean, it’s still strange, but I think I like it. And I think I will like Qinghe, as long as we come back to visit here every so often.” 

“Deal.” Zizhen brings Sizhui’s hand up to his lips, and he gently kisses it, smiling as Sizhui flushes harder. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, there’s a deal made. 

First: the great sects will officially recognize the Burial Mounds and Yiling Wei as a sect. No more raids. No more hatred. Jiang Yanli will - as she has done in the past, but with more meaning - renounce the crimes of the Yiling Patriarch and welcome him back into normal society. 

Second: the heir of Baling Ouyang will officially step down and allow one of his sisters to take his place. Upon his dismissal, Qinghe Nie will recognize him as the head disciple of the Nie sect and welcome him into the clan. 

Third: upon the reinstatement of Nie Zizhen as the head disciple of the Nie sect, his engagement to Wei Sizhui of the Yiling Wei sect will be announced. It will be a long engagement, but one that will hopefully mend most of the bridges and prove that people have nothing to fear from Yiling Wei. 

Fourth: as soon as Wei Wuxian recovers from the partial core transfer, a process invented by physician Wei Qing and refined by Sect Leader Nie, he will announce his engagement to Hanguang-Jun. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Maybe that will inspire Nie-zongzhu and Jiang-zongzhu to actually make a move,” Jin Ling sneers. He shoves at Zizhen’s side. “Asshole. I can’t believe you went off and seduced my cousin on a whim.” 

“I didn’t seduce him!” Zizhen protests. “I just… happened to get him to fall in love with me. It was a total accident I swear.” 

“Uh huh. Sure thing.” Jin Ling crosses his arms. “Jingyi’s gonna be so pissed at you. You stole his best friend.” 

“Well, it’s not like they still can’t be best friends.” Zizhen smiles slyly. “Not when he’s in love with you.” 

Jin Ling makes some sort of weird squawking noise in the back of his throat, and he lunges to tackle Zizhen. Zizhen, an expert at dodging Jin Ling, just swerves around him. 

“What’s going on?” 

Both boys stop as Wei Sizhui steps into the room. He’s dressed in a simplistic style; grey robes lined in red, the new colors of Yiling Wei. He gazes at Zizhen with a certain fondness in his eyes and at Jin Ling with amusement. “A-Zhen?” 

A-Zhen. Zizhen does not blush at that. Instead, he beams, eagerly skipping across the room to throw his arm around his fiance. That’s gonna take some getting used to. “You’re here early,” he observes. 

They’re at a conference in Lanling, where Jiang Yanli will commence with stage one of the deal that had been made. Zizhen’s expecting some sort of shovel talk from her later, considering the way she and Wen Qing were whispering earlier. Or maybe they’re just like that; Sizhui had explained once that Wen Qing had been sneaking off to visit Jiang Yanli a lot during the past decade. 

“Yeah, well, baba wanted to talk to his siblings again,” Sizhui explains, and he glances shyly at Jin Ling, something sparkling in his eyes. “Jin Rulan?” 

“Just call me Jin Ling, everyone does,” Jin Ling grumbles, but he’s looking all shy too. Cousins. It’s too strange, Zizhen thinks. “I’ll… I’ll leave you two alone.” 

“Go find Jingyi!” Zizhen calls after him, to be an asshole. Jin Ling makes another strangled noise, and scrambles out of the noise faster than ever before. 

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Sizhui admits, when they’re alone. “We’re getting married.” 

“One day,” Zizhen gently corrects. “I mean, I’m not even a Nie yet. We have time, I’ll make you fall in love with me yet.” 

Sizhui smiles mischievously. “You already have,” he says, and then he’s leaning up to press a chaste kiss to Zizhen’s lips. 

Zizhen’s cheeks flush hard, and he sputters as Sizhui pulls away. “Wei Sizhui!” He exclaims. “That was a dirty move!” 

Sizhui just shrugs, and he links their arms together, leaning against Zizhen’s side. “Will you let me read your poetry now? I think I’ve done a pretty good job getting to know you.” 

Zizhen rolls his eyes. “You’re so sneaky,” he complains, but it’s half-hearted at best. “Okay, okay, fine. After this conference. If we make it out alive.” 

“We will,” Sizhui promises. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And maybe not everything is fixed. Wei Wuxian and Sect Leader Jiang aren’t on good speaking terms. Wei Ning still isn’t accepted in society. The Burial Mounds remain desolate, bleak. 

But things are better. Sect Leader Jiang was caught with his arm around Sect Leader Nie’s waist at the conference. Jingyi was upset that Zizhen had befriended Sizhui, but he seemed pleased enough when Sizhui explained that he and Zizhen were engaged, which means they weren’t really best friends. They took to each other far too quickly. Jin Ling was stewing about it. 

And, as Zizhen formally accepts his position, Nie Huaisang smiles at him. A big, beaming smile, one that had both of their eyes watering. 

“Nie Zizhen,” he says, fondly. 

Nie Zizhen. 

I can get used to this.