Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"What the—" Jingyi blinked at the empty countertop, where the bowl of noodles he had been in the process of paying for should have been.

Two bright, gold coins stood in its place.

The merchant stared at them before palming them quickly as she shrugged at Jingyi. He made another disbelieving noise, searching for whoever sniped his fucking noodles -- he'd been on the road the last two weeks and this was the first proper meal not cooked over a campfire since he'd left Gusu's borders. The promise of those noodles had been holding him together for the last six hours. They were going to make him capable of holding an actual conversation with the people he was meeting in less than an hour, and now—

Someone slurped loudly, purposeful and right in his ear.

Jingyi reached back to feel the hilt of his sword for a little reassurance, sending a small prayer to whatever god was listening for the patience and grace carved into the side of the mountain back home. 

He turned around slowly to behold the noodle thief.

A teenager, who didn't even look remotely apologetic with his cheeks stuffed full and chin stuck out stubbornly at him. Somehow he managed to look down his nose at Jingyi despite looking like an idiot squirrel and being half a head shorter. He’d even be good-looking, if it weren’t for the nasty face he was making. A smear of red across his forehead like it'd been wiped off hastily. A cloth-covered sword hilt one one shoulder, the curve of a very well-made bow over the other. There was something off about his robes, too, the collar of them not quite sitting right, as if it was buttoned the wrong way, and the white fabric too fine to be as plain as it was. Weird.

Jingyi pushed the thought away and breathed in slowly, trying to channel some of Zewu-jun's eternal calm. He smiled. Absolutely calm. Definitely calm.

"Did you order that?" He asked, tucking his hands in his wide sleeves so he didn't give in to the urge to snatch the noodle bowl back. Or throttle the idiot who stole them.

"Paid for it."

Jingyi felt his eyebrow twitch. "I see."

The kid swallowed and smacked his lips. "Get your own."

“I did,” Jingyi clenched his teeth. “You took it.”

For half a heartbeat, a flash of something between guilt and embarrassment crossed the thief’s face. But then his jaw squared up. He shoved the empty bowl at Jingyi’s chest. “Don’t be so slow then.”

Jingyi squawked, indignant, but the guy had already turned and left, his long ponytail whipping out behind him as he stomped away. The noodle vendor reached out to take the bowl from Jingyi’s numb fingers. She tutted at him.

“Not often a Lan is out and about these days,” she commented, passing him a steamed bun. He blinked as his attention slid back to her. 

He tried to give her the calm Zewu-jun smile, surreptitiously pulling his grey travel robe closed a little tighter. "Oh? How did you figure out I'm—"

She cut him off. The smile clearly didn't work. He'd work on it. “But I remember them being more polite and quiet—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jingyi held up a hand. “You think that idiot is a Lan?”

She nodded. “What other sect wears all white like that?” She looked Jingyi up and down. “You’re not.”

“Ma’am, he’s not—”

The vendor raised an eyebrow at the mud staining the hem of his travel robes and the visibly mended elbows. She tapped the counter of her stall with two fingers. Jingyi pinched the bridge of his nose. He set down two copper coins for the bun, which apparently wasn’t a gift of commiseration. 

Somewhere, he just knew Sizhui was cackling.

“Thanks,” he muttered, walking away. "So much." He made it two steps before he had to turn around again. "And that shithead is not a Lan."

The woman snorted. Jingyi sighed and took a bite out of his bun. It wasn’t even that good.

Honestly, he was still floored by someone having the gall to just take noodles without ordering them like it was nothing. On top of that, the fucker getting mistaken for a Lan just because he was running around with his clothes inside out? Terrible, unbelievable, the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. He would be filing a complaint with Teacher Lan immediately.

At least there was the night hunt. Which—right, Sizhui was waiting, hopefully with more information beyond the Nie sect being baffled by it and opening things up to the other sects. He hoped it was interesting enough to put this whole thing out of his mind.

Sizhui sighed. Zizhen started laughing again, stopping to lean on a tree.

"Ha ha, it's very funny, I know," Jingyi grumbled, swatting vaguely at his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Zizhen wheezed. "But it's just a bowl of noodles, and you got so worked up, you're still worked up—"

"It wasn't the noodles!" Jingyi insisted. "Besides, I earned those noodles! I've been walking for days—"

This time Sizhui laughed at him. "Jingyi, we're allowed to fly for nighthunts. Encouraged even."

Jingyi turned on his heel, pressing his eyebrows tight to try to mask his indignation. He tucked his right hand behind him as he swung back around. "Of course, young master Lan. But have you considered the journey might teach you more than the goal?"

Sizhui blinked. Zizhen's head kept flicking between them. Jingyi's eyes began to burn from the strain of keeping them open and placid. And then they all burst into laughter.

"That's a terrible impersonation."

"I haven't even met Hanguang-jun, and I can tell how bad that was."

"It was great, come on." Jingyi rolled his eyes. "I should get a little credit. Hanguang-jun has totally said that before."

Zizhen kept laughing, and Sizhui had that smile that meant he was incredibly amused but too polite to do anything about it. 

"You're right, Jingyi," Sizhui said, patting his shoulder. "He has said something like that before. When I was seven and kept trying to sprint across the gardens rather than staying on the paths."

"See, I knew it—"

Zizhen clapped a hand over Jingyi's mouth. "Anyway, so what's the deal with this spirit snatch?"

Sizhui laughed at them as Jingyi bit Zizhen’s palm and Zizhen slapped his shoulder in retaliation. 

“I don’t know if it is a spirit snatch,” Sizhui said, settling back into nighthunt mode as he pulled out a compass of evil. Jingyi sidestepped Zizhen’s hands to look over Sizhui’s shoulder. The needle kept spinning wildly, never settling, switching direction often.

“That’s weird, it shouldn’t do that, should it?” Jingyi asked.

Zizhen tapped the side of the compass. “No, I’ve never seen it do this. If not resentful energy, though, what could be snatching up the villagers’ souls?”

Sizhui hummed and snapped the compass shut. “I think we should visit the temple on the mountain.”

A moving statue, at least three times as tall as any ordinary man -- that was something Jingyi could deal with. That was something he could stab. That was something he could dismember. That was something the three of them could tie up and subdue. 

The idiot who came in and spouted off bullshit that brought said statue to life, though? That was beyond what he could handle without possibly committing murder. He didn’t even get the chance to rub it in Zizhen’s face that Jingyi had been one-hundred percent correct in his judgement: that the thief who stole his noodles was exactly as annoying and terrible as he’d described, thanks, and here was the fucking proof! He woke up a statue that wanted to eat them all!

An arm smashed down, bringing down half the ceiling and separating Jingyi from Sizhui and Zizhen. He ran away from the falling rocks and nearly tripped over said idiot. For half a second, Jingyi considered leaving him there. He deserved it for waking up the statue and getting some poor soul snatched because of his bluster.

Then he saw the blood trickling from his hairline.

Jingyi cursed. He grabbed the jerk by the collar and started dragging him back toward daylight. Naturally, he started struggling immediately, kicking against the ground and trying to slap at Jingyi's hand.

“Stop it—I’m trying to save your stupid life, stop hitting me!” Jingyi shook him. The fool went limp with a woozy noise. Maybe shaking hadn’t been the best idea, what with him having a head wound and all. Whoops.

The daylight turned out to be a sliver he could barely fit his hand through.

“Fuck.”

He felt a hand grab his left wrist and something caught his ankle. The next thing he knew he was blinking dazedly at the ceiling and there was a boot under his chin. Jingyi tried to roll over, but the other boot somehow wound up in his mouth. He slapped at the legs, but that just got his other arm twisted harder. He huffed, wriggling like a beached squid.

“Stop! You asshat, you’re gonna kick me—”

“You already did—”

“You were dragging me—”

“—I’ve got a fucking concussion—”

“Stop wiggling , fight like normal—”

Jingyi kicked at him. He heard teeth clack shut and a loud groan. Jingyi couldn’t help laughing at him. His arm was twisted further and something in his wrist popped as a spike of pain shot up his arm. 

Jingyi kicked again, feeling his heel connect with the side of the idiot’s head. The foot pushing up under his chin relaxed and Jingyi scrabbled backwards until he felt the rock wall against his back.

“What the fuck,” he muttered.

He looked over at the jerk passed out on the stone floor. He was breathing, so at least Jingyi could take accidental murder off his conscience. The ground beneath them rumbled. Had to mean the goddess statue was still trying to kill the other cultivators. He should help.

Jingyi groaned as he got up and moved to the hole with the sunshine streaming through. Looking through, he saw a handful of Yao sect disciples get picked up by the statue and thrown down the side of the mountain. He winced.

They could definitely use some help out there.

There was a groan behind him. Jingyi sighed. He should help him. This whole thing was that idiot’s—that fake Lan’s—that noodle thief’s fault, but Jingyi had kicked him in the side of the head.

“This is stupid,” he said, kneeling down to pick up his wrist and check his meridians. “Get up already, you’re fine.”

“Shut up,” the boy ripped his hand away and slowly pushed himself upright. He scowled up at Jingyi. “This is your fault—”

“Oh that’s rich!”

They glared at each other. Jingyi heard his own teeth squeak. 

He let out a breath, trying to embody Zewu-jun’s calm again. The other guy’s chin pushed out, still stubborn.

“We need to get out of here,” he said with as much fake calm as he could manage, sounding more like Teacher Lan with a migraine. “We’re trapped, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I hadn’t, thanks so much for pointing it out.”

Murder looked more and more appealing.

“Listen, you little faker—”

He pushed past Jingyi to look out the hole. He took a couple of steps back to survey the rocks keeping them stuck in their own little cozy cave hell and heaved out a huge breath.

He turned back around, hair slapping Jingyi in the face. “You’re strong, right? I’ve been told Lans are strong—”

“Of course I’m strong—wait how’d you know I’m a Lan?”

He pointed at Jingyi’s left hand. “The ribbon, dumbass. There are clouds on it, I felt them. I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s why your robes are inside out, huh?”

“Shut up!” His whole face flushed bright red, clear even in the gloom of the cave. 

Jingyi laughed. “Which is it, shut up or help?”

“Both!”

“What a young mistress you are, can’t even make up your damn mind.”

“Don’t call me that!” His fists clenched and he clearly wanted to punch Jingyi. But instead of decking him, he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a slow breath that unwound his shoulders. “Just—use your fucking sword glare or something.”

Jingyi made a big show of rolling his eyes while giving the most ridiculously elaborate bow. “Whatever the young mistress wishes.”

“Hey—” He made to shove Jingyi, so Jingyi shoved him first. He needed space anyway.

He unsheathed his sword, and with a grumble, so did the noodle thief. His was wrapped up in white fabric from pommel to crossguard, but it didn’t hide the golden filigree running down the center ridge of the double-edged blade. If the poor attempt at being sneaky hadn’t already clued him in, this was a dead giveaway that this fake Lan wannabe was a runaway. Some poor little rich boy, probably. 

Whatever. He’d think about it later. When he wasn’t trapped in a cave with an idiot. Concentrate on the issue at hand.

Jingyi let out a breath and let the familiar weight of his sword in his hand level him out. And then he got to work, putting as much power behind his icy blue sword glare as possible. The other boy’s gold glare joined in. At least he seemed capable, even if he was an arrogant asshole.

A few extra blasting talismans later, as beads of sweat started to form on his forehead, the fist-sized hole finally widened big enough for them to wriggle through. Jingyi slashed at it one more time for good measure.

The sound of the fight with the goddess statue swelled from a rumble to a roar. He thought for a second he heard someone calling him. Probably Sizhui. Jingyi rushed through the hole and wriggled out into the bright sunlight. He finally managed to get out and, shading his eyes, he saw Sizhui with Zizhen further down the hill, holding a smoking signal shell.

Loud cracking echoed all around the fight as the GusuLan sigil sparkled and expanded in the sky.

“Well that’s one way to announce us to the world,” Jingyi muttered to himself.

The idiot from the cave scrabbled past him, pushing Jingyi down the rockslide some. He looked up at the sky and his whole face blanched. His robes had come undone at the shoulder, folding down to reveal the gold brocade underneath and the round edge of elaborate embroidery on the chest. Jingyi frowned, looking up at his face in the sunlight again. The pieces were starting to come together.

Once again, Jingyi thought all of this was way above his level. This was only supposed to be a night hunt. First time truly off the mountain. Something easy for the juniors to cut their teeth on. Not—not whatever this was turning into.

“Oh, fuck,” the Jin runaway said, with immense feeling. His eyes found Jingyi’s, and he grabbed at his wrist, fingers digging into the ribbon wrapped around it. 

And as pissed as he’d been, as annoying as this little shit has been, Jingyi could see the panicked plea for help in his eyes as his hand slipped back down to his side.

Jingyi glanced down at the fight -- the other disciples seemed to be holding their own a little better. With the signal flares sent, he knew at least Hanguang-jun was on the way. They’d be fine. 

He turned back and gave him a wry grin. “Do you trust me?”

“What?” The boy jumped, startled from his own thoughts as purple lightning shot out from the trees to wrap around the statue’s arm. Sandu Shengshou had shown up, too. They’d be fine down there.

“It’s a simple question, young mistress,” Jingyi replied, holding his hand out. “You need to get out of here, right? So, do you trust me?”

“How’d you—” A round of cheers sprang up from the junior disciples, and the Jin runaway set his jaw. “I—Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go.”

Jingyi winked. Maybe this jerk wasn’t so much of an idiot after all.

And then he dragged the both of them into the brush, away from the lonely sound of Hanguang-jun’s qin and the crackling lightning of Sandu Shengshou.

Thin branches low on the trees stung as they whipped across his face while they ran. He heard his robes rip, which would be a headache for later him to fix. The footsteps behind him skittered to a stop before he was pushed to the ground, eating a mouthful of pine needles and dirt. 

Something heavy whistled through the air above his head. He turned his head, spitting out the leaves and grit to see one of the statue’s many arms skid to a stop nearby. The weight on his back rolled off him. The Jin idiot brushed himself off and raised an eyebrow at Jingyi, still wallowing on the ground. So Jingyi pulled himself up, grimacing at the new mud stains on his knees and stomach.

“You’re welcome,” the Jin runaway said, snippily.

And Jingyi locked his jaw to keep from screaming.

Night came on fast in the forest.

Still, they couldn’t stop. Jingyi wasn’t sure how long he’d stay paired up with the runaway jerk, but he felt sort of responsible for him now. Something about kicking someone in the head, he was sure.

Jingyi sighed. He watched the swish of the ponytail in front of him as the Jin kid pushed forward into the darkness of the woods.

“Why’d you run away?” He asked after a while of smashing through the underbrush, tired of the silence.

He received a narrowed eye over a shoulder. “Why does your sect hide in the mountains?”

“No idea, but it’s written in the rules and it’s difficult to un-carve the side of a mountain.” Jingyi gestured at the mussed robes. “Like you’re one to talk, young mistress Jin. Running away, aren’t you?”

He froze midstep. “I—How—I’m not—” He tossed his head and walked forward faster than before. “It’s none of your business.”

“Of course, of course.” Jingyi rolled his eyes. “Quick tip, though, from someone who can actually keep a low profile, though—”

The idiot scoffed. “Please, I’ve had you made since the village.”

“Oh, really?”

“Naturally.”

“You’re full of shit.”

He tutted at Jingyi. “You know, for a Lan, you sure do curse a lot. I thought that was one of your eight hundred rules.”

Jingyi laughed. “It’s closer to four thousand, young mistress.”

He scowled over his shoulder at him again. “Stop calling me that.”

“Do you prefer ‘noodle thief’? ‘Fake Lan boy’? ‘Idiot’? Take your pick, I’m happy to call you whatever. Hell, I’ve even got some great stories about some of your competition in the impersonating-a-Lan field—”

“I’m not pretending to be a Lan!”

Jingyi raised an eyebrow. “Then what’s with the get up? What other sect is known for wandering around the countryside in all white?”

The boy huffed and threw his hands up. “I just wanted to cover up my sigil to make it out of Lanling. I wasn’t trying to be one of you idiot Lans. I’m honestly a little offended.”

“You’re offended? That’s my sect you’re pretending to be from!”

“I just said I’m not!” He spun around, arms crossing over his chest as he tilted his head back to look down his nose at Jingyi. “Are you always this annoying, or is this special treatment just for me?”

“I’m always this kind, young mistress,” Jingyi said, spreading his arms wide. It earned him a groan and he had to duck the wild swing of the Jin boy’s ponytail as he turned sharply on his heel and pushed forward. Jingyi laughed as he followed.

The noodle thief kept stomping forward through the underbrush, pushing branches away that Jingyi had to duck under quickly before they slapped him in the face on the backswing. This kid seemed to make it a habit to try and hit Jingyi in the face with something, be it his hair or prickly pine tree boughs.

With only a slowly rising half moon to light their way, it made forward motion difficult. Jingyi had hoped to cut across the side of the mountain rather than climb the thing, but the Jin runaway kept shifting their path to be more and more uphill. Annoying, but maybe he had a plan. Jingyi snorted, already dismissing that as highly unlikely.

An owl hooted loudly, startling them both. The boy’s foot landed in a hole, sending him face-first into the forest floor.

“Whoa, you okay?” Jingyi called out from where he definitely was not clinging to a tree trunk. 

The only answer he got was loud cursing. Jingyi decided that meant he was probably fine. He stepped away from the tree, brushing bark and dirt off on his outer robe, reminding himself that it’d been an owl not a fucking ghost. Jingyi made his way over to where the noodle thief was flailing on the ground, spouting every nasty word he could think up. Some of them were kind of impressive, actually.

Jingyi kneeled down and flicked his forehead to get him to shut up before pulling a fire talisman out of his sleeve. With a thought, it lit at the very edge, providing just enough light to see that the Jin idiot’s foot was twisted up in some viney root.

“Fucking shit—what the fuck!”

“So dramatic,” Jingyi muttered, moving closer to his foot to figure out how best to untangle him. Sword probably. “It’s not that bad.”

“Fucking everything is bad!” He snapped back. “All I wanted to do was go on a night hunt! Not get kicked in the head, or chased by a fucking thirty-chi tall statue, or chased by my damn uncle, or trapped with a fucking idiot—”

“Hey now,” Jingyi scowled at him, his sword wavered in the air next to him as his attention shifted to kick the thief’s shin a little harder than necessary. “‘Idiot’? Let me remind you that this humble one is trying to help you, young mistress.”

The jerk groaned loudly. His little pity party kept him still enough that Jingyi was able to slice through the roots and free his foot. He shot to his feet, wobbled and crashed into Jingyi’s side. Jingyi’s free hand came up to his waist to steady him. He let out a feral growl. Jingyi couldn’t help laughing a little at that.

“Don’t tell me you actually hurt yourself.”

The Jin runaway twisted his hands in Jingyi’s outer robe, slamming his forehead against his shoulder with another frustrated growl. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Wow, you really did,” Jingyi sighed. Then he shoved the half-burned talisman into the boy’s hand. “Hold this.”

“What? Why—Hey!” His confusion turned into an outraged squawk as Jingyi hoisted him up onto his shoulder to go find a log to sit on and see just how badly this idiot hurt himself.

“Keep it up high, I can’t see if the light’s behind me,” Jingyi said, ignoring his complaints. It got him a pointy elbow jabbed into his shoulder blade. So Jingyi jostled him in retaliation. 

Despite their tussling, the talisman was held up high and Jingyi found a boulder to drop the thief. He squawked again and Jingyi grinned down at him as he scowled. 

Jingyi squatted down next to him, moving the tip of his scabbard to keep it from rubbing noisily against the rock. He pulled at the Jin boy’s wrist, ignoring his grumbled protests as he felt for snarls in his spiritual energy. 

“It’s a sprained ankle, obviously,” the thief said.

“Obviously.”

“Just wrap it up, it’ll be fine.”

“The young mistress giving orders now?” Jingyi bared his teeth at him.

And the jerk bared his right back, going so far as to growl again. 

Just to make sure he understood just how annoyed Jingyi felt, Jingyi tweaked his nose and quickly hopped back to avoid the furious hands clawing at him for revenge. Safe, Jingyi checked his sleeve for the little packet of medical supplies that he vaguely remembered packing.

Except it wasn’t there. He sighed, exhaustion weighing on him. It was well past the usual hour he slept and hours of deep woods tromping and digging his way out of a mountain were taking their toll. He glared at the Jin idiot, who sat on his boulder with his arms crossed and chin stuck out ridiculously as he refused to look at him. His sharp little eyes swiveled back to Jingyi.

“What,” he snapped.

Jingyi pointed at the strip of fabric wrapped around his sword hilt. “I need that.”

“My sword?”

“Yes, I’m gonna use your fucking sword to fix your ankle—the fabric, you idiot.”

They both scowled at each other. Jingyi pushed his chin out to match him. But the stupid fool wouldn’t back down. His eyebrows pressed closer together, sharp lines digging across his forehead.

“I could leave you here,” Jingyi said. “A free meal for any hungry ghost passing by.”

His eyes narrowed, eyes dipping down like he was weighing and measuring Jingyi for the truth before steel flashed behind them. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“You can’t,” he clarified with an imperious shake of his head. “You might be a brute and foul-mouthed and rude, but you’re still a Lan.”

And Jingyi hated how that made him pause. How did this dumb noodle thief know exactly what to say to make Jingyi swallow his own tongue. He was a Lan. He couldn’t leave some numb-skulled runaway to fend for himself on the side of a haunted mountain. It wouldn’t be righteous.

“Dammit,” Jingyi muttered to himself, dragging his hand down his face.

When he looked up, the noodle thief was smiling wide, clearly pleased with himself at having gotten his way. It mostly made him want to shove his stupid, handsome face back down into the dirt and smush him around a little for being such a little shit. Mostly. A smaller part of him wanted to laugh. Maybe a bigger part than he realized, as he felt his shoulders shake with a quiet chuckle.

Before he could protest again, Jingyi stepped over and grabbed the end of the fabric, unwinding it roughly to reveal an intricately wrought gold hilt embedded with turquoise and mother of pearl.

He let out a low whistle. Something cold settled in his stomach because no junior should have a sword so ornate, lifelong partner and first-class spiritual weapon or no.

“Wow, young mistress Jin, that’s not fancy at all.”

“Shut up,” he muttered. “You’re so annoying.”

Jingyi snorted as he knelt down by his outstretched foot and started to wrap it up over the boot. “So you’ve said.”

Usually, it was Jingyi getting patched up after doing something stupid. He never kept as quiet as the noodle thief did, though. He always laid it on thick for Sizhui, and Sizhui would laugh, and everything would be fine. They had a system.

The noodle thief hissed quietly as the fabric pulled tight around his ankle. Jingyi clicked his tongue, hoping maybe it’d be enough to stop him from opening his mouth.

“So you ran away to go on a night hunt?”

It was not enough.

The noodle thief looked at him, clearly suspicious. “Why do you ask?”

Jingyi shrugged, tired. “It’s too quiet.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that, either.”

He looked at Jingyi, and for once he wasn’t scowling or glaring, head just tilted slightly with an expression Jingyi didn’t quite know what to call. Curious, maybe. He let out a breath, puffing at his bangs, and looked off into the distance again.

“Yeah,” he said, calm and quiet. “I wanted to go night hunting. I’m not allowed. I’m not supposed to leave.”

Jingyi hummed. “I get that.”

“Shushu says it’s to protect me. Especially after what happened with my dad. But it’s stupid. He doesn’t let me do anything!”

“Very stupid.” Jingyi agreed as he sat on his heels after tying off the bandage on the wrapped ankle. “What happened with your dad?” 

The noodle thief looked at him again, that narrow, measuring look from before only slightly less mad. He leaned forward. “Don’t you know who I am by now?”

Jingyi flicked his eyes up to the golden sword hilt above his shoulder. He probably should know whose sword that was, but the Jin sect’s swords were all named after flowers or with bad puns. If he had to guess -- if Teacher Lan were staring him down from the front of the Orchid Room and Jingyi had sweat rolling down his back as he racked his brain for the answer -- Jingyi would guess that’s the sword of someone directly related to the sect leader. Jingyi stopped that line of thought.

He looked back down to his face, letting the weight of the Jin kid’s attention settle on him. He felt himself grin.

“Nope!”

The Jin kid laughed. “Bullshit.”

“I’m a Lan, I’ll have you know,” Jingyi said, standing up and counting precepts out on his fingers. “‘One does not speak untruths,’ ‘one must survey each matter with the facts,’ ‘one lie becomes ten thousand truths,’ ‘one does not let emotions overrule judgement,’ ‘one must behave in a refined and civil manner’— wait that’s a different one.”

“There really are four thousand rules,” he murmured, accepting Jingyi’s hand to pull himself back to his feet. “What the fuck.”

“You get used to it.” Jingyi shrugged. “Can you walk?”

The Jin kid tested his foot, a frown coming back across his face. “Yeah. It’ll be fine by morning.”

“Great, let’s go—” He turned around, right into the swords pointed at their chests.

Jingyi blinked. His eyes followed the blades to the two MolingSu disciples.

“Why are there so many fake Lans out tonight,” he muttered, rolling his eyes at their white and grey robes. The sword tip pressed harder into his chest. But he heard the noodle thief snort.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The other boy grumbled as he scowled down the length of the sword pointed at him. “They’ve come to collect me.”

“I dunno, this seems overkill for a little runaway.” Jingyi elbowed him and decided to press his luck with their captors’ tempers. “They could want my precious Lan blood for a forbidden ritual to copy our cultivation techniques—”

“Shut him up,” a man snapped as he stepped into the moonlight. Wherever there were MolingSu disciples, there was sure to be the dropout who formed their sect. And sure enough, the angry voice had been Su Minshan. He gave a perfunctory bow to the noodle thief and ignored Jingyi entirely. Jingyi scoffed.

“Jin Rulan,” Su Minshan said, in a bad impersonation of Hanguang-jun’s low, even tone. “Your father and mother have been beside themselves. They’ll be so happy you’ve been found.”

“Tell your dogs to put their swords down,” the Jin kid replied with a sneer. Jingyi once again revised his earlier judgement, maybe this Jin Rulan wasn’t that much of an idiot, if he didn’t like the Su sect leader.

The Hanguang-jun wannabe waved a hand at his disciples and the swords pointed at Jin Rulan lowered. A couple just turned to point at Jingyi instead. Su Minshan finally deigned to look at him. “I trust this kidnapper hasn’t harmed you? I know Lianfang-zun will wish to interrogate him.”

Jin Rulan jumped. “Kidnapper? He’s not—He—”

“He will be punished accordingly. Kidnapping the Chief Cultivator’s son and only heir is a high offense.” Su Minshan’s lip curled at him.

Jingyi bared his teeth. “Come at me, you wannabe.”

Jin Rulan elbowed him, widening his eyes like he was trying to tell Jingyi something. Probably to shut up. People usually told him to shut up. He stuck his tongue out at him. A sword at his shoulder jabbed him a harder, just shy of cutting into his travel robes.

“Su She,” Jin Rulan said, tone flipping back that annoying, arrogant one. “That won’t be necessary. This is just a youth I met on my travels—”

“Oh, it’s entirely necessary, I assure you, young master Jin—”

Another man stepped forward, shorter than all of them, wearing green and silver and waving a fan around like the atmosphere was too hot, too cloying, too much in general. He made a weak attempt at getting Su Minshan’s attention. But he was too busy leering down at Jin Rulan. The man with the fan stomped his foot with an annoyed huff before flicking his fan shut and slapping Su Minshan’s arm with it.

As soon as Su Minshan’s attention was on him, the man immediately reverted to fluttering his fan nervously and glancing around like a deer waiting to be startled. “I don’t know, Su-xiong, I really don’t know that we should trouble san-ge with this.” His voice quavered, reedy with uncertainty. “San-ge usually let da-ge handle things like this, back when—back before—back—” He wobbled, and Su Minshan caught his elbow with an aggrieved sigh.

“It’s fine, Sect Leader Nie,” Su Minshan forced out through gritted teeth. One more thing Hanguang-jun would never do: he only spoke in the most artful and graceful ways possible -- never forcing himself when the situation didn’t require it. Jingyi snorted to himself, earning another elbow in his side from Jin Rulan. “I know Lianfang-zun quite well; he’ll want to know that the Lans are finally off their mountain.”

“Of—Of course, Su-xiong, you’re absolutely right, I really don’t know anything about these sorts of things. But—” All Jingyi could see of the head-shaking Nie sect leader were his eyes, and maybe it was a trick of the moonlight, but he swore he saw a flash of something more than just a scared baby rabbit in them. “But maybe—maybe if you spoke with Hanguang-jun—” Su Minshan and Jingyi both scoff, then immediately glare at one another. “I saw him fighting with Jiang-xiong, and he’s er-ge’s brother. If anyone could explain why er-ge and the Lans have been—”

“Sect Leader Nie—”

“Su-xiong, please let the Nie sect do this for—for you, for san-ge,” he flapped his fan and gave Su Minshan the biggest, widest eyes while patting at his sleeve. “I want to help san-ge, Su-xiong…”

Su Minshan looked at Sect Leader Nie for a long moment. Next to him, Jin Rulan seemed to hold his breath. Jingyi held back the urge to yawn.

“Fine, Sect Leader Nie,” Su Minshan sighed finally, shrugging the smaller man off him. “You can have this youth. Just make sure to report back everything he tells you to myself so I can tell Lianfang-zun.”

“Thank you, Su-xiong, you’re so kind to someone so undeserving as me, I knew you’d understand.” Sect Leader Nie lifted his hand and snapped twice. Two burly Nie disciples with their sabres strapped to their backs wormed their way through the crowd of MolingSu idiots. 

Jingyi gulped. He was strong, he felt confident he could take down a fair number of people in a fight, cultivator or not. But these two looked like they would happily eat him for breakfast and ask for another bowl of rice. One of them raised a hand and ropes shot out from his sleeve, binding Jingyi’s hands behind his back.

Jin Rulan grabbed his arm above the ropes, squeezing hard. The pride and affected disdain had been wiped clean from his face; there was only  worry raising his eyebrows and fear in the tension of his hand. It made something in Jingyi want to ruffle his hair or smoosh his face so he’d go back to being the amusing-but-aggravating jerk he’d been before, bragging about knowing who he was and flushing red with embarrassment when Jingyi caught him in a lie.

“Don’t worry, young mistress,” he said, grinning since he couldn’t move his arms and swords were still trained on him. “I’ll be fine. Really. Who knew you’d care so much?”

Rather than calming down, Jin Rulan’s shoulders tensed. “I don’t—”

The Nie disciples grabbed him and pulled him away. Jin Rulan watched them, arm still outstretched after them like he meant to call out or stop it or something with all his young master privileges and powers.

Jingyi tried to wriggle enough to keep looking back over his shoulder as he was frogmarched away. He settled for shouting when he realized the two Nie disciples’ arm strength was something he couldn’t beat. “I’ll be fine, Jin Rulan!”

“Don’t—Just call me Jin Ling!”

Jingyi laughed. Go figure, he’d finally get the noodle thief’s name when he’s getting carted off to some dungeon in the Unclean Realm. He laughed louder to shove down the spike of fear, remembering that Lan Sizhui and Ouyang Zizhen and even Hanguang-jun had no idea where he was or would be. 

He was on his own, thoroughly pickled.

He hiccuped, somewhere between a howl of laughter and a surprised sob. The Nie disciple on his left gave an annoyed sigh before Jingyi felt something hit him in the back of the head. And then everything went dark.

Chapter Text

Jingyi stared at the spread laid out on the table. Then he looked back up at Sect Leader Nie, who kept fanning himself like the room was too warm or stuffy despite the open window and the light scent of the crabapple tree wafting in on a gentle breeze.

“Please, help yourself, young master Lan,” Sect Leader Nie said, gesturing at the table with his free hand. “The tea is a particular favorite of mine, so I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

This was not what he’d expected when he’d been taken prisoner earlier in the week. He had his own suite of rooms and servants bringing whatever he’d asked for without questioning it. He couldn’t leave said suite of rooms, but he had absolutely caught up on his reading, including that new novel Zizhen kept blabbing about at the inn.

Slowly, Jingyi sat down opposite the sect leader and picked up the teacup. It smelled like Zewu-jun. Which, he thought as he took a careful sip, made sense because Sect Leader Nie -- no, Nie Huaisang -- was the younger brother of Zewu-jun’s sworn brother. Of course he would send Zewu-jun fine, delicately-scented teas that made Jingyi feel like he’d just found enlightenment on the highest peak in Gusu.

Somewhere in the Cloud Recesses, mid-meditation, Jingyi could imagine that Teacher Lan was having a moment of pure joy because his non-stop memorization program was finally paying off, because Jingyi had finally remembered something about another sect’s family tree. Hopefully it wouldn’t overwhelm the old man with a heart attack.

“It is good tea,” Jingyi said, still feeling a little off-kilter. 

“I see Lans are still fans of understatement.” Nie Huaisang sipped his own tea. “You know I took classes at the Cloud Recesses when I was a junior disciple. Twice.”

Jingyi blinked.

“I hated it. The food was terrible, the beds were murder on my back, and Hanguang-jun terrified me. How’s he doing by the way? Er-ge doesn’t talk about him much in his letters.” His fan flicked out again to hide his face. “I have no idea about anything these days.”

Jingyi swallowed the last of his tea, trying not to cough. “Hanguang-jun is great. The best. Hanguang-jun is the best.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes narrowed for a second before they went back to the neutral expression he’d had behind his fan. “That’s wonderful. Great.”

Silence settled between them. 

Jingyi watched the steam that had been curling from the food slowly disappear as it cooled. Well. Wastefulness was frowned upon, so he gave up on trying to figure out what the hell was going through the sect leader’s head and started piling food into his bowl. Much like the tea, it tasted fantastic. 

When Jingyi gave up on manners and just grabbed the entire bowl of chicken and vegetables to eat from it directly, Nie Huaisang laughed.

“You know what, Young Master Lan? I think you’re exactly the person I’m looking for.”

Jingyi lowered the bowl a smidge, gulping down some half-chewed broccoli. “Yeah, what for?”

That fan of his fluttered again as Nie Huaisang gave him a considering look. “What have you heard about the Burial Mounds?”

“Near Yiling? The place where the Yiling Patriarch holed up and died?”

“That would be the place, yes.”

“The very same Burial Mounds that's surrounded by thousands of fierce corpses that no one has made it past since the four sects laid siege to it?” Jingyi moved on from dinner to dessert, snatching up a pastry to munch on while Nie Huaisang watched. “I mean. That’s what I’ve heard. Is all of that.”

“Well, I’ve a proposition for you, in exchange for your freedom.”

Jingyi grinned. “And here I thought you were buttering me up so I’d report back nice things to Zewu-jun.”

Nie Huaisang returned his grin. “I don’t know about that, but I can barely swing a sword let alone a saber, there’s nothing I could do to stop you from telling er-ge about how lovely the tea is.”

Jingyi stuffed another tiny pastry in his mouth while Nie Huaisang kept waving his fan about, looking altogether smug.

“So, Young Master Lan, I’d like you to retrieve a flute. All you have to do is go to the Burial Mounds, get it, and bring it back here to me.”

Jingyi hummed and swallowed the last pastry from the table. “How come you haven’t sent one of your own disciples after it? You are a sect leader, after all.”

“Unfortunately, I am,” Nie Huaisang said with a put-upon sigh. “But I really don’t know anything about curses and wards, and my disciples are more about brute strength rather than puzzling out spellwork.”

As someone who preferred to smash something with a sword rather than relying on intricate talisman work or arrays, Jingyi kept his mouth shut. Nie Huaisang gave him that narrowed, considering look again over his fan.

“Also, I’ve heard that only a trueborn Lan can make it past the spells.” His fan flicked shut and he set it on the table next to his untouched bowl. He smiled, a smidge too tight at the corners to look truly happy. “What do you say to my little proposition, then?”

Jingyi looked at the door behind Nie Huaisang, noting the two Nie disciples’ shoulders easily seen through the doorway. He listened to the sound of drills coming through the open window, meaning that the training grounds were nearby and packed with more disciples and sabers. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a second, considering his extremely limited options.

“I think,” Jingyi said thoughtfully after realizing there was no way he could fight his way out of the Unclean Realm, even if he wanted to. “I think that Zewu-jun would want me to help his sworn brother’s brother.”

Nie Huaisang’s smile relaxed and widened.

“Excellent.”

Somewhere over in the air above Yingchuan, Jingyi realized that maybe that whole conversation had been a bit of a trap. Just a bit of one. Going by the two Nie sect disciples that had been so generously loaned out to him for help. In case you need help, Sect Leader Nie had said, There could be some very heavy rocks.

Jingyi scoffed to himself. Luckily, the wind carried the sound away before it reached his guards.

The sun started to set by the time they got to Yiling. The three of them landed, aiming for an inn outside of town. Jingyi eyed the Nie disciples.

“So am I supposed to pay for you two? Because—” Jingyi patted his coin purse, weighing the money in it “—I definitely do not have enough for all of us.”

They both looked at each other and laughed. “Don’t worry about it, kid.”

“Cool. That’s great.”

The shorter one clapped him on the shoulder and moved past him with his sect brother into the inn. Jingyi shook off the feeling like they were in on some joke that had gone over his head. Not like it was the first time he’d been left out of something. Still, somehow, it felt even more annoying than having his noodles stolen from under his nose.

Jingyi ran a hand down the side of his face with a groan. 

First things first, food. Then figure out how he was supposed to get past the dead guarding the Burial Mounds. He followed the Nie disciples inside and sat down at an open table.

Nie Huaisang had said a Lan could get through. He could just try to walk through it in the morning. Which would be batshit insane and stupid.

He stared down at the innocent bowl of chicken stew the server had brought without asking, wishing it had answers for him. At least it had chicken. And after how his week had gone so far, Jingyi was happy to accept chicken as a victory.

Less than twelve hours later, Jingyi stared down an eyeless fierce corpse in the pre-dawn light, wondering why the fuck he was doing this. He could just walk away from all of this. His guards hadn’t even bothered to follow him out of the inn this morning.

Except he’d made a promise.

And Jingyi might err on the loud side, eat too much chicken, have a tendency to be a little crass, and always want to know the latest gossip -- but he was still a Lan. And Lans were righteous, they didn’t go back on their word.

He groaned. What a stupid way to die.

Well, if he was going to die because he was a Lan, he’d better look the part. He pulled off his grey outer robe, folded it and set it under a scraggly black tree. Maybe he’d find it later. If there was a later. He shook out the ends of the ribbon wrapped around his left wrist and untied it to wrap around his forehead where it belonged. His finger drifted along the silk, trying to pull a little more determination and courage from the wavy cloud embroidery.

“This is stupid,” he said.

Then he pulled out a talisman he’d drawn up the night before, a design that Sizhui had shown him a few weeks back as they studied in the library in the Cloud Recesses. He prayed he’d remembered the correct radicals, remembering that time he’d singed his eyebrows off on a basic flare talisman when he was fourteen. This should hopefully repel resentful energy. And if not, well, lacking eyebrows would probably be the least of his problems.

Closing his eyes to focus, he activated the talisman. Blue light flared out in an uneven circle around him.

Jingyi gritted his teeth. Let out a breath. And finally took a step forward, concentrating on the talisman. And it worked just like Sizhui had promised it would -- pushing corpses back as he walked toward them. The dead seemed unbothered and soon enough he was nearly surrounded by them. They shifted stiffly, a head tilting as crows cawed loudly from the trees at the foot of the mountain.

It was actually impressive that this many fierce corpses were still here, all these years after the death of their master. Jingyi hoped that he wouldn’t have to face down that ghost to get the flute Nie Huaisang was after. Somehow, he figured the Yiling Laozu was bound to be more powerful as a ghost than he was as a living man. Even if some stories said he never was a living man to begin with.

Shaking his head, Jingyi jumped to see that his circle of safety had narrowed to barely a full arm's length. He scowled and sent another wave of energy through the talisman. The upper edge of it was starting to darken ominously, like it was considering catching fire.

The added spiritual energy caught the attention of some of the fresher corpses, their sagging faces twitching in his direction. One shambled toward him, reached out with its skeleton hand to touch the air above the blue circle on the ground. The offending phalange popped off and bounced on the ground as the corpse watched. It’d be funny, if Jingyi wasn’t surrounded by the fucking dead with only the promise that his Lan blood would protect him if his talisman burned up in his hand.

He walked faster.

Finally, he saw a break in the line. Dimly, he heard someone shouting behind him, but Jingyi pushed it to the back of his mind. He was so close to making it through -- he gave another burst of energy to his talisman, which actually caught fire this time. But if he ran the last dozen feet, he’d make it through before the flames ate up the cinnabar.

Jingyi sprinted, threw himself to the ground past the final line of fierce corpses, landing heavy on his side. He flicked his hand, shaking the soot from the burned up talisman off his fingertips. Heaving out a breath, he rolled over on his back. 

The sky had been clear before, a couple of stars still holding on to the dark sky over head as the eastern horizon warmed to a peachy pink where the sun had started to rise, but now a heavy fog swirled around him. Jingyi could see the wall of corpses he’d just walked through and some scraggly trees leading uphill, but nothing farther. Not the mountain peak, not the smoke from the chimneys in Yiling. He couldn’t even hear the noisy crows anymore.

He shivered. This place was fucking creepy.

No longer protected by his talisman, the corpses closest to him stumbled toward him.

“Shit,” Jingyi muttered, pushing himself back onto his feet. His movement made more of them turn his direction. “Fucking hell, this is so fucking stupid.”

Jingyi grabbed his sword hilt and pulled it out, grateful for the comfort of its weight in his hand. His spiritual energy flickered down its length, giving off a bright blue light. He lowered himself into a defensive stance. 

If Sizhui or Zizhen or even that noodle thief were here to back him up, they’d probably manage to make it back to the other side of the corpse wall in mostly one piece. By himself, though, Jingyi doubted he’d make it out of this fight alive, let alone without at least one missing limb.

He adjusted his grip on his sword. Energy flared off from it, too bright to look at, pushing most of the corpses backward. And then, after a second, as if the undead had enough active brain cells to actually be confused, they shambled back to their ranks in the wall. 

Jingyi tried it again. And again, more of the corpses turned back around. By the third time, nothing was looking at or approaching Jingyi threateningly anymore.

“Okay,” he murmured, slowly relaxing. “That’s weird.”

Frowning, Jingyi finally looked away from the corpse wall. There was an old dirt path leading between the twisted black trees and up the mountain. A red paper lantern hung in one of the trees, unlit and unnaturally still. With one last glance backward, Jingyi headed toward it with his sword in his hand and blue spiritual energy glowing dimly down the blade.

By the time he reached the crumbled remains of a slipshod village, Jingyi felt like he’d been hiking up the mountain in circles for days. Probably a maze array helping all of this fog to mess with his sense of direction. Not that that was too great to begin with. 

Every now and then he’d pull out his compass of evil, thinking it’d point at the corpses behind him so he’d know which direction to walk away from in order to get closer to his goal. But the needle kept spinning in circles, refusing to settle in one spot. It was far from helpful. So he kept moving, hoping that Nie Huaisang’s promises of only a trueborn Lan can get through applied to this, too, and not just the corpses.

The fog receded as he neared the wooden buildings. More like shacks, clearly no longer in use, most lacking a roof. Much like the rest of the mountain, nothing living had come to reclaim them, so they just stood and rotted until they were leaning against one another, and Jingyi thought if they were given another few years, they’d disappear into the soil below without a trace.

He walked through slowly, hand clenching tighter around the hilt of his sword. Definitely ghosts in these shadows. He could feel them watching him, hair raised on the back of his neck. And if there was one thing he’d learned, it was to trust that feeling to mean trouble.

At the far end of the village, there was a cave with rotting wooden doors. An old carving above told him it was the Demon Slaughtering Cave, which Jingyi snorted at. No demons getting slaughtered in this spooky place, but maybe people being slaughtered by demons.

Still, there was nowhere else left to look. And if this flute was worth enough for Nie Huaisang to be after it, then it was bound to be left somewhere so auspiciously named.

“This is so stupid,” he muttered to himself for the umpteenth time. He squeezed his hands tightly to stop the tremble he could feel trying to take hold. Nudging one of the doors open with his foot, Jingyi stepped into the darkness.

Dim light filtered in from the gaps around the doors and an even weaker spotlight lit up the back of the cave from some hole in the stone roof overhead. It was enough to see by once his eyes adjusted. It was enough to make everything cast long shadows that moved every time Jingyi stopped looking directly at them.

His teeth squeaked with how tightly he’d locked his jaw.

Dust motes floated idly past him, and the sound of a wet trickle echoed oddly off the stone. A dank pool of dark water -- Jingyi hoped it was water -- sat to his left. Beyond that were broken tables, worn rugs, and even a couple kids’ toys abandoned in this hopeless cave. 

At the very back, under the skylight, was the only thing in the cave that wasn’t covered in dirt and dust and neglect. A granite plinth stood as high as Jingyi’s chest with a black flute sitting there, like it was waiting for him.

Jingyi stopped a sword-length away from it. Close enough to examine it better, but far enough to hopefully not get caught in whatever magic had kept it so pristine.

He reached out with his sword and poked it.

The flute rolled off the edge, red tassel waving merrily on the way down to the ground. The hollow sound of it echoed throughout the whole cave.

It kept echoing.

In fact, Jingyi doubted the rumble he heard was an echo from the flute. It sounded suspiciously like feet. He spun around in time to see the rotted doors fall off their hinges as corpses flooded into the cave.

“Fuck!”

Jingyi backed up, nearly tripping as the flute rolled under his heel. He chanced a glance at it, then back up at the fierce corpses coming at him.

It was said the Yiling Laozu used a flute to control corpses. A bastardized version of GusuLan’s own musical cultivation, some called it. The ultimate insult to the most righteous of the sects, he’d heard.

The Yiling Laozu used a flute. This flute.

Jingyi couldn’t take all these corpses with his sword and the talismans he had ready. Not by himself. But if they were raised by the flute, maybe he could manage something to stall them so he could escape with most of his limbs intact. He wasn’t great at woodwinds, but he did remember the opening measures to ‘Rest.’ It would have to be enough.

He snatched up the flute and blew.

The sound it made was shrill, whistling, and the absolute fucking worst screeching. Jingyi wanted to cry.

And the corpses were still coming.

The lacquered wood warmed to his finger tips. Jingyi tried again, controlling his diaphragm and forcing his lips to stay relaxed.

God-awful noise seemed to be the only thing this damn flute was capable of. But for a split second, an array started sputtering to life under his feet and Jingyi swore he saw the corpses stop. Which was the moment a sharp crack echoed across the stone. 

The ceiling came down all around him, and for the second time in less than a week, Jingyi found himself trapped in a cave on a fool’s errand. Rocks tumbled around, crushing the tables, the toys, the corpses, falling closer and closer until Jingyi hopped up onto the plinth that had held the flute.

He kept up a steady stream of cursing under his breath. 

It almost sounded like there was laughter echoing behind the crash of stone. The light from the hole in the ceiling flickered, serving as Jingyi’s only warning before a rock smacked into the side of his head. His vision grayed out, the pounding in his temples growing louder than the rocks. 

A hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling at him until he tipped over off the plinth to smash face first into the ground.

“Oh fuck,” he heard someone say through the fog of unconsciousness creeping over all his senses. “Lan Zh—”

Jingyi woke up to the sound of a hobo humming something horribly out of tune and eating a bun. A pebble skittered down from the larger rocks from the cave-in and bounced off his head.

He groaned. “What the fuck.”

The hobo dropped the bun with a squeak. 

Jingyi sat up, patting himself down. All his limbs appeared intact. Some crunchy bits in his hair, which were probably blood. He grimaced and finally took a better look at the hobo, staring at him with wide eyes. His hair was a mess with a long red ribbon tangled in it, and his dark robes were worn threadbare as they wrapped around the almost too-lean form of his body, like he’d been skipping meals for a long time. Jingyi rubbed at his temples, scowling as he felt his ribbon in place and surely stained with blood. That’d be a pain to wash out. 

“Wow, I really hit my head, huh?” He muttered to himself, staring down at the hobo’s translucent torso.

The hobo laughed, picking up the bun. “You really did, little Lan.”

“Oh great, the imaginary hobo is talking to me, too.” 

“Imaginary—” the hobo cut himself off with a snort. “You really don’t know who I am?”

“A hallucination from concussing myself for the second time this week,” Jingyi said, flapping his hand at him like it would dissipate him fully. Instead, the hobo caught his wrist with his very much corporeal hand. Jingyi froze. The hobo concentrated, brows furrowing as Jingyi felt a pulse of weird energy race up inside him from his wrist. His skin crawled with the foreign feeling.

“Well, I’m no Wen Qing, but you don’t seem to be concussed.” The hobo flashed him a grin. “So rest easy, little Lan.”

Jingyi made a noise of disbelief and gestured vaguely at him. “Evidence to the contrary.”

“I’m not imaginary!” The hobo’s lips thinned and he crossed his translucent arms over his equally translucent chest. “Did you forget about summoning me?”

“Summoning—” Jingyi swallowed, feeling his heart crawl up his throat with every stressed beat. “Are you a ghost?”

“What are they teaching you kids these days?” He rapped Jingyi’s pounding head with the black flute from before the cave collapsed around him. “I’m not a fucking ghost—you used Chenqing, you summoned me.”

“Ch— Chenqing?! That’s really Chenqing?” Jingyi all but squeaked. If that flute—Part of him had known it had to be that flute, the ghost flute wielded by the demon-in-human-form Yiling Laozu.

The hobo laughed again while Jingyi felt his stomach twist. “Ah, so they are teaching you some things.”

That was enough of a confirmation to make Jingyi’s stomach drop. Oh no. Oh no. This was bad. But—what other flute would have a reason to be here, in the middle of the Burial Mounds, where the Yiling Laozu had made his last stand and nearly taken the four great sects down with him?

“Wei Ying, called Wuxian, at your service,” the hobo -- no, Wei fucking Wuxian-- said with a wide smile, floating to the height of a tall man if he’d had proper legs rather than the vague suggestion of them. He bowed extravagantly but sloppily. “But I think you knew that, coming into my home and playing such a racket on my flute like that.”

“What the fuck!”

“A common reaction, but unexpected from you, little Lan,” Wei Wuxian replied breezily, finally polishing off the last of the bun. “This is where you introduce yourself, by the way. Good manners is one of your rules, isn’t it? Although, I also distinctly remember another handful forbidding trespassing, and yet here you are.”

“I—I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond to that. This. Everything that’s happening right now.” Jingyi sighed and ran a hand down his face. “This isn’t even the first cave-in I’ve been trapped in this week, you know? You’re even almost as annoying as the last guy I was stuck with, too.”

“Really, just how many—” Wei Wuxian shook his head quickly. “No, don’t try and distract me. You should tell me your name. I gave you mine.”

Jingyi narrowed his eyes, feeling like he’d walked into yet another trap. “How do I know you’re not some spirit-snatcher wearing that face. You don’t have a body.”

“It exploded. Or was eaten. Who can remember?” Wei Wuxian paused and gave him a thoughtful look. “The bit about the spirit snatch, though, that’s a valid concern, actually.”

Jingyi felt a flash of victory. “Tell me something that only the Yiling Laozu would know.”

“If it’s something only I would know, how would you know if I’m telling the truth?”

The satisfaction crumbled to dust. “Shit, that’s a good point.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Wei Wuxian coughed lightly into his hand, and a pebble fell from the wall, bouncing off his head and passing right through his arms. He winced.

“Can you—” Jingyi paused. He shouldn’t engage a spirit-snatching demon in conversation. That was common knowledge. But… “Can you feel that? When things pass through you?”

Wei Wuxian bobbled his head and shrugged. “Sort of? It’s hard to explain. I don’t feel it, but I feel like I should feel it. But I can’t, actually, so it’s weird, and then I feel weird.”

“Okay,” Jingyi replied slowly. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Wei Wuxian shrugged again.

Jingyi rolled his shoulders, trying to dispel some of the stiffness in them. Wei Wuxian seemed to fade in and out like he had to put effort into maintaining a visible presence. Jingyi wasn’t sure what he was, if what he said was true and this was the creator of demonic cultivation himself sitting on the floor of a collapsed cave with him, or if he was some clever demon using Jingyi’s fears against him. Every time he seemed a little solid, his eyes watched Jingyi with a far-off expression like he was seeing someone else. 

Looking around their little circle of safety, Jingyi recognized the rock Wei Wuxian sat on as the plinth from before, toppled over on its side. The array on the floor still glowed softly, providing the only light to see by. The rocks from the ceiling had settled in a perfect dome around the array. Given how the light kept getting dimmer and dimmer, Jingyi didn’t think they could rely on it much longer. He felt it pulling weakly at his spiritual energy, which definitely felt muted inside him.

“I’ve got an idea—” Jingyi started.

“How about this—” Wei Wuxian said at the same time. “You go first.”

“Okay,” Jingyi answered. “We need to get out of here. The array is dying. But I don’t have the space or spiritual energy to bust out of here.”

“Excellent observation. Do you have any blasting talismans? Or talisman paper?”

“Ah, no,” Jingyi stopped again, feeling stupid. He pushed the feeling down and tried to focus on the issue at hand. “I used the last of them to get up the mountain.”

Wei Wuxian cocked his head to the side. “How were you planning on getting off the mountain?”

Jingyi’s face flushed hot. “I hadn’t thought about it,” he said in a rush.

Which just made Wei Wuxian laugh at him again. “You are an interesting little Lan. Much different than the ones from my time.”

Jingyi opened his mouth to defend himself, but Wei Wuxian cut him off.

“Anyway, as luck has it, this form of mine has granted me some powers that I think will be useful,” We Wuxian said, tapping the side of his nose like he and Jingyi were in on some joke. “How about a trade -- I’ll get us out of here, and you tell me your name?”

“Deal.”

The smile Wei Wuxian gave him was wide and reached his eyes for the first time. He solidified as he lifted the black flute to his lips. Jingyi gritted his teeth, ready for that terrible screeching from before, but the sound that came out was smooth and clear, the melody haunting. 

Black, resentful energy came out from between the rocks, curling around Wei Wuxian as the array under their feet shifted from soft blue to a hungry red. The song circled back and started over and the stone started to tremble. Pebbles rained down on Jingyi’s head. He felt his skin crawling, like it wanted to stay as far away from the resentful energy as possible.

But soon enough, the cave-in shifted. The perfect dome around them expanded outward until the dim, foggy light from the outside shone on them. By the fifth time the melody started again, a crumbling, crude staircase had formed that Jingyi could easily climb. The flute died out, the bare echoes of it still ringing and bouncing off the rocks.

Wei Wuxian grinned at him, idly spinning his flute in his hand. He waggled his eyebrows at Jingyi’s slack jaw. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

Jingyi gave him a hysterical little hiccup of laughter.

“Just wait until you see me do something really cool.”

“You—That wasn’t—I mean, it felt gross, but—” Jingyi spluttered. If that was what resentful energy could do, it was no wonder that Teacher Lan had railed so hard against it in his lessons. Jingyi wasn’t even controlling it and he could feel the strength of it, the hunger of it pulling at him like it wanted to consume him whole. Definitely something Teacher Lan would hate.

Wei Wuxian laughed at him for the millionth time. He pointed the flute at him. “You owe me a name.”

Right. That had been the deal. Jingyi bowed, still dazed from Wei Wuxian’s display. “Lan Jingyi.”

“Well met, Lan Jingyi.”

Jingyi felt the bubble of panic in him pop as he laughed, doubling over on himself. This whole thing is so fucked up. He wasn’t the sort who fell into stories like this -- he wasn’t Zewu-jun or Hanguang-jun or even Lan Sizhui. He was just Lan Jingyi from a distant branch family, just good enough to be allowed to bear the clan name but always on thin ice, always watched for a misstep. 

But here he was anyway. 

He coughed, standing upright again. Wei Wuxian watched him, expression caught somewhere between bewildered, fond, and almost worried.

“Wow,” Jingyi said weakly. “This is just—wow. Okay. Alright.” Wei Wuxian took a couple steps toward him but Jingyi waved him off. “I’m good, I’m good—Just. Wow.” 

He coughed again. Straightened his spine and steeled himself for whatever the fuck this was because even if it didn’t make sense, here he was. So it was his responsibility.

“Lan Jingyi?” Wei Wuxian squatted down next to him -- well, floated at a squat-level, his legs having lost their form again, like the light weakened them. Jingyi didn’t even remember sitting on the ground.

“I’m fine, really, just—whew.” Jingyi sat back on his hands and tried to soak in some sanity from the weak sunlight. “So,” he said after a moment, nodding at the black flute in Wei Wuxian’s hand. “What’s the deal with the summoning thing anyway?”

Wei Wuxian rocked back like he’d shifted his weight to his heels. “It’s pretty simple actually. My spirit is bound to Chenqing. It’s fuzzy, how it happened, I can’t remember much. I know that I’m not dead and I’m not alive, either. And I think there are some things I can do in this form that I couldn’t do with my body. Like I’m stronger? More—” He wiggled his fingers ambiguously “—magicky? I’m not really sure. I’ll have to do some experiments.”

The Yiling Laozu doing experiments to test his strength sounded like a great way to get killed, in Jingyi’s humble opinion. “Strong enough to snatch my spirit?”

He tutted at Jingyi. “Still on that bullshit?”

Jingyi shrugged. “It’s the most likely thing. Unless you really are a demon like Teacher Lan always told us.”

“Ah, good to know there’s always a Teacher Lan who hates me,” Wei Wuxian gave a wry smile before flicking his eyes carefully to the ground where he started drawing in the dirt with his flute. “That wouldn’t be your Lan Wangji, would it?”

“No,” Jingyi said as he watched him with a vague sense of horror as he used the ghost flute to draw crude clouds and flowers in the dusty soil of the Burial Mounds like it was just some stick he’d found on the ground. “No, it’s Lan Qiren. Hanguang-jun leads our night hunts, though.”

That brought Wei Wuxian up short. He stared at Jingyi, mouth open a little, his eyes looking at him and past him at the same time. He murmured something under his breath before shaking himself out of it. He coughed. “It hasn’t been as long as I thought, I guess.”

“Dozen some-odd years?”

“Huh.”

Wei Wuxian chewed on whatever thought that information brought up, rubbing absentmindedly at the center of his chest. Slowly, Jingyi stood up and did his best to beat the dust off his white robes. Leaving his travel robe at the base of the mountain had turned out to be a mistake.

“Come on, we should get off the mountain before dark,” he said, eying the slowly dimming sky. He frowned, watching Wei Wuxian fade in and out as he dug the heel of his palm into his chest, like there was an itch or something he wanted to reach. “What’s wrong? Why are you doing that?”

Wei Wuxian popped back up. “Oh it’s nothing. A weird pull. I’m sure it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I used to live here, and you are absolutely correct that we should skedaddle,” Wei Wuxian blathered on brightly. “Freaky shit comes out after dark. Wen Ning hated it, and he was one of the freaky things that came out at night. A-Yuan, that weird little radish, thought it was the coolest thing—”

Jingyi snorted. Then he started to pick his way down the slope with Wei Wuxian breezing along behind him, keeping up a constant stream of commentary.

Chapter Text

The corpses remained a bit of a problem. At least, going by Wei Wuxian’s surprise that the dead he had raised himself were still actively upright and lurching.

“That’s not right,” he muttered.

Jingyi stopped and turned on his heel, eyebrows nearing half a foot off his head. “Uh, what now?”

Wei Wuxian gestured at the mass of corpses milling about aimlessly a dozen or so yards away from them. “They should just be corpses. Flat on the ground. Them being up, moving? That’s not right.”

“It’s not part of your curse?” Jingyi asked. “Because I lost a good thirty years off my life walking through them earlier.”

“You walked through them?” Wei Wuxian looked at him, genuine curiosity lighting up his eyes. “Just walked through? No fighting? They didn’t attack? I’d thought maybe the seal, but if you just walked—”

“I had a talisman my friend designed, but like, I’m shit at talismans, so I know I messed it up.”

Wei Wuxian swayed back on his heels and hummed, a finger tapping his chin thoughtfully as he muttered to himself. Jingyi watched this for a good three minutes before clearing his throat loudly. Wei Wuxian jumped.

“You just walked through?” He asked again.

Jingyi glared at him. “Yeah, we’ve been over this. It’s part of your curse. Only a Lan can get through.”

“‘Only a Lan’—” Wei Wuxian nearly choked on his own laughter. “Who the hell told you that—Ridiculous—Outrageous—Why on earth would I let a Lan through—”

Jingyi crossed his arms. “You literally just spent the last half hour waxing poetic about Hanguang-jun.”

Wei Wuxian spluttered.

“Which like, honestly it was an incredible information dump, and I’m absolutely keeping it for future use, but, wow, do you talk about anything else?”

“Aspersions, Lan Jingyi!” Wei Wuxian wagged a finger under his nose. “Besides, you keep going on about this ‘noodle thief’ from your last cave-in—and let’s not even dig into the fact that you’ve been in multiple cave-ins this week, Lan Jingyi, I know for a fact your Hanguang-jun wouldn’t endanger his juniors like that—”

“Hey!” Jingyi squawked, wagging his finger right back at Wei Wuxian. “Those noodles were mine, and there are laws for a reason! Who the fuck runs away from home like some angsty pre-teen, anyway? And! And! And there you go again about Hanguang-jun! Thank you for proving my point!”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t talk about Hanguang-jun? Do you think he’s so weak—”

“No, Hanguang-jun’s the fucking best and—”

“—do you think your precious noodle thief could best him—”

“—No one can fucking take him! Don’t make me laugh, I bet that young mistress can’t even beat me, let alone—”

A corpse walked through Wei Wuxian, dispersing him into smoke. Which is when Jingyi realized he was completely surrounded by the crowd of undead guarding the base of the mountain. 

“—Han...guang...jun.” Jingyi swallowed. “Oh, fuck.”

He took a step and the bubble of space around him moved with him. Weird. Very very weird. 

Wei Wuxian corporealized in the open area, face shocked, muttering quietly to himself. Then he grabbed Jingyi’s shoulders.

“Listen carefully, Lan Jingyi,” he said. “I don’t know what’s the deal with these corpses, and why they’re still up. But I can tell you register as a threat to them, so I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. For your protection. Okay?” 

He shook Jingyi until he nodded. 

“Great. You need to cover your ears, shut your eyes and run as fast as you can. I’ll be right behind you. Don’t look or listen until you feel Chenqing in your hands. Okay?” 

He shook Jingyi again as he gaped at Wei Wuxian, demon-in-human-flesh-turned-spirit-trapped-to-a-ghost-flute, fearsome Yiling Laozu, who was trying to save his fucking life. 

“Okay? You got it? Say something!”

Jingyi swallowed. “Y-Yeah! I got it.”

“Good. Now be a good boy and listen to your Senior Wei. Go!”

“Yeah—But wait, I think I can just walk through—” Wei Wuxian ignored his protests and spun him around to push him down the slope.

Jingyi clapped his hands over his ears, squeezed his eyes shut, and ran screaming down the hill. He tripped. Somehow he clambered his way up with his knees and elbows and kept running, ignoring the trickle of blood running down his neck and chin.

After what felt like miles of stumbling, Jingyi felt the cool bamboo of Wei Wuxian’s black flute slide under his palm. He promptly keeled over and collapsed on the ground, chest heaving to try and catch his breath again. He looked up back toward the Burial Mounds, but all he saw was scraggly trees and rocks and crows flocking together, disturbed by Jingyi’s mad dash. 

But no corpses. No undead stumbling after him. Whatever Wei Wuxian had done seemed to have settled the dead, not just let Jingyi pass through unscathed like he had on the way up the mountain.

He plopped his head back to the ground and breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be able to see the dark blue of the dusky sky again.

He heard something pop off with a loud crack from the denser patch of trees nearby, and a GusuLan cloud sigil twinkled to life above him. A flare. Jingyi sat up to see Lan Sizhui and Ouyang Zizhen running across the uneven ground, back towards the mountain. Oh, no. He pulled himself back to his feet, ignoring the wobble his legs gave under him.

“Hey—” Jingyi hacked out a cough before his throat would cooperate. “Lan Sizhui!”

Sizhui spun around, unwrapping his qin as he plucked a string in the same graceful movement. A wave of power rushed at Jingyi. He blocked it with the flute on instinct, hearing someone grunt in his ear. Zizhen whipped around at the sound and almost fell over, but his eyes widened immediately with recognition.

“Lan Jingyi!” Zizhen shouted. He grabbed Sizhui and started running toward him. “Holy shit, holy shit—”

Jingyi saw stars as they both tackled him, smacking the back of his head for the umpteenth time that day. Had to be a concussion for real this time.

“Jingyi, are you okay?” Sizhui’s voice floated down through the haze of pain.

Jingyi made a noncommittal noise back at them.

“Holy shit, man, we saw you this morning, just walking into that army of corpses!” Zizhen prattled as Sizhui laid two fingers on Jingyi’s wrist, a quick, cool rush of energy helping him to focus. “Like, what the fuck were you thinking, Jingyi? We’ve been waiting all day and sending flares and you never answered. Not cool. Incredibly not cool.”

And Jingyi started laughing. This -- this was normal. Finally something was normal again.

Sizhui’s fingers poked into his neck under his jaw. “Jingyi?”

“He’s gone hysterical, hasn’t he?” Zizhen whispered loudly in a poor attempt to hide his words. “No one goes to the Burial Mounds and comes back the same.”

“They usually don’t come back,” Sizhui muttered back. He flicked Jingyi in the center of his forehead with his finger, sending another burst of his energy. Jingyi’s ears stopped ringing, the fuzziness in his eyes cleared so he could focus on his friends’ faces.

“Thanks,” he wheezed. “Wow, it’s been a day.”

“Jingyi,” Sizhui’s eyebrows furrowed and this time when he flicked his forehead, it hurt. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Zizhen scoffed. “That’s a bold assumption, Sizhui.”

“You get me, Zizhen. You get me.”

Sizhui sighed heavily. Jingyi laughed again, slowly pulling himself upright again.

“Sorry, Sizhui,” he said with a rueful grin. “It’s a long—Hanguang-jun?!”

Sizhui turned around so fast his hair slapped both Zizhen and Jingyi in the face. Hanguang-jun strode toward them, something almost raw in the set of his eyebrows that Jingyi didn’t recognize. He pulled up short, robes whipping around him, and looked all three of them over. If Jingyi didn’t know better, he’d think that this was what Hanguang-jun would look like if he ever panicked -- not that he would, he’s Hanguang-jun, after all.

“Sizhui, Jingyi,” he said, voice as steadfast as ever.

Jingyi jumped to his feet to bow in time with Sizhui, but wound up falling on his ass again, still a little woozy. One too many hits to the head. 

“Hanguang-jun, this disciple and young master Ouyang were in the area and saw that Jingyi required help, so we came to offer ours. Given the location and the amount of unbound resentful energy, I thought it best to call a senior, too.”

“Mn, you did well.” Hanguang-jun’s eyes landed on Jingyi. Even Zizhen seemed to feel the tension rise, eyes round over Sizhui’s shoulder. Sizhui’s expression stayed calm and tranquil, which meant he was absolutely furious.

Jingyi swallowed. He tried to stand, but Hanguang-jun waved the effort away. He settled for kneeling as he cleared his throat one last time.

“Ah, Hanguang-jun,” Jingyi finally answered, wondering how on earth he managed to get the words out of his dry throat. “This disciple was, ah, completing a request for Sect Leader Nie.”

Hanguang-jun hummed. “Were you injured?”

“Not badly, Hanguang-jun.” He indicated to Sizhui and Zizhen. “Lan Sizhui and young master Ouyang treated them. The injuries. I’m fine now.”

Sizhui nodded. “He just needs rest—”

“Where did you find that?” Hanguang-jun’s voice shook, his eyes round and fixed on the flute in Jingyi’s hand and all of that couldn’t-possibly-be-panic from before tight across his face again.

Jingyi carefully held the flute out carefully in both his hands, palms up. Hanguang-jun reached out but pulled back before touching the flute like he’d been stung.

“Up on the mountain,” Jingyi answered quietly. He’d never seen Hanguang-jun so unsettled, he didn’t know what to do. “Sect Leader Nie was looking for it and asked me to retrieve it.”

“Do you know who that belongs to?”

“Yes, Hanguang-jun.”

Something unreadable crossed his face as he finally looked up from the flute to Jingyi.

“Did you see him?” This time, his voice was steady, but so quiet the wind almost took it away.

Jingyi could see the pieces of something shaping up, between Hanguang-jun’s reactions and Wei Wuxian’s non-stop praise on the way down the mountainside. Something was there. He needed to think on it. Or have a good, long chat with Zizhen.

“I did.”

Hanguang-jun shut his eyes tight and Jingyi heard a sharp inhale from Sizhui or Zizhen. Jingyi willed his hands to not shake, once again feeling like this was way more than he’d signed up for. After a long moment, Hanguang-jun’s eyes flicked open and he looked hard at Jingyi.

“Can you show me?”

“I-I can try, Hanguang-jun,” Jingyi straightened his back, like his mom was there pressing her hand on his shoulder blades, and rearranged his fingers on the flute’s finger holes. “I don’t know if it’ll work. He got me out of a pinch on the way down the mountain, I don’t know if he has to rest or something.” Hanguang-jun’s expression softened slightly at that. “And I’m not great at—”

“Try,” Hanguang-jun cut him off, and this time, Jingyi knew the gasp came from Sizhui. “Please.”

Jingyi nodded, eyes flicking over to Sizhui and Zizhen. They both gave him an encouraging nod, Zizhen even flashing a thumbs up. Right. He could do this. He had done it with a horde of fierce corpses descending on him in a cave, he could do it outdoors with Hanguang-jun. Nowhere safer. No rocks to fall on his head. 

He shut his eyes. Knowing Hanguang-jun would hear his barely passable flute-playing was nerve-wracking enough. Add to that this strange tension radiating off the strongest, most badass cultivator in the world, and Jingyi felt more than a little nauseous.

He relaxed his lips, drew in an unsteady breath, and shakily started to play ‘Rest.’

For a moment, nothing happened. No swirling black mist, no energy lighting anything up around him. Just the sound of the flute and the wind. Then the birds from the nearby trees took off, startled by something. Jingyi heard someone chuckle. 

A hand settled on his shoulder. “You played better this time, little Lan.”

Jingyi set the flute down in his lap and scowled at Wei Wuxian. “Hey now, last time there were extenuating—” Wei Wuxian pinched him to shut him up.

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.”

Zizhen passed Jingyi his canteen as Jingyi rifled through his qiankun pouch to find the buns he’d stuffed in there that morning at the inn, just in case. The buns were gone. He remembered Wei Wuxian munching on a bun, earlier, when he’d woken up trapped in a cave. Jingyi heaved out a sigh. He was doomed to starve, it seemed. Whatever, it wasn’t like he’d been on an energy-sapping adventure for the last twenty hours or anything.

Sizhui perched on a rock, watching Hanguang-jun and Wei Wuxian as they discussed whatever it was that had made both of them not-so-gently suggest that the juniors go out of earshot.

“You think he’s really the Yiling Laozu?” Zizhen asked, squatting down next to Jingyi.

“Mn,” Jingyi nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Wow,” Zizhen whistled softly. “That’s so cool and so terrifying. But mostly cool. Is he a ghost?”

Jingyi gave him a flat look with a gesture at himself. “What do you think?”

“Good point, good point.” Zizhen patted Jingyi’s cheek twice. “You hate ghosts. Remember that time when—”

“Zizhen.”

“It was a little funny!”

Jingyi stood up and stomped over to Sizhui, proud that he only swayed a little bit. Take that, concussion. Sizhui nodded at him, eyes still trained on the adults. Jingyi plopped down on the ground next to him and took a long swing from Zizhen’s canteen, thoroughly ignoring him as the other boy squatted down on his other side. Zizhen nudged Jingyi’s shoulder. Jingyi waited a second before shoulder-checking him back, shoving hard enough to make Zizhen fall back on his ass. Jingyi grinned at him while Zizhen laughed.

After a moment, they were all settled, watching Hanguang-jun and the wispy robes of Wei Wuxian that curled with the wind like smoke.

Zizhen popped his lips. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

Jingyi shrugged. Sizhui frowned, mouth pressing thin like it did when he was puzzling out some unwinnable ethical dilemma set by Teacher Lan for him to answer in front of the class.

“I think,” Sizhui started quietly. “I think they have a history. That they knew each other.”

Zizhen nodded thoughtfully. “If I remember my classes right, they butted heads a lot, right? During Sunshot? So that sounds like some sort of history to me.”

Sizhui looked at Zizhen, his frown digging deeper. “That’s not what we were taught.”

Zizhen frowned back. Jingyi looked between the two of them.

“Well,” he said loudly after a moment of silent frowning all around lasted too long for him to handle. “All I know is that Senior Wei couldn’t stop talking about Hanguang-jun on the way down the mountain. He even called him by his birth name!”

Sizhui hummed. 

Zizhen’s frown turned on Jingyi. “‘Senior Wei’?”

“Uh, yeah?” Jingyi tried to act casual, like he’d intended to say it, not that it’d slipped out of him. “He’s our senior and he clearly doesn’t want to kill us, so not our enemy. Neutral at worst. And calling him ‘Yiling Laozu’ is a fucking mouthful.”

Sizhui gave Jingyi a disapproving look for the cursing. Jingyi stuck his tongue out. Zizhen tapped a finger to his chin, nodding thoughtfully, and muttering to himself.

“I think you’re right, Sizhui,” Jingyi said. “There’s definitely a history there.”

“Yeah, I remember, when I was little, I remember Hanguang-jun playing a song at night.” Sizhui paused, eyes losing focus as he tried to dig through his memory for more. Growing up, it had always been a little patchy, especially for his earliest ones. “He said there was a part for a flute. He sounded sad.”

Jingyi squeezed his shoulder. “And don’t forget how he got when Teacher Lan was going over Sunshot and all of that with us? I think he was mad? Does Hanguang-jun get mad?”

“Mn,” Sizhui nodded, a far-off look still in his eyes and clearly not paying attention. Jingyi sighed.

The quiet stretched. Zizhen kept counting on his fingers, still muttering under his breath. And Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-jun had drifted closer together. It was hard to make out anything from that distance. Wei Wuxian’s back was toward them, and Hanguang-jun seemed to have recovered from whatever emotion had pulled at him so strongly before, leaving his face as smooth and implacable as ever.

Zizhen snapped suddenly. He sprang up and immediately moved between Jingyi and Sizhui, dragging at both their shoulders.

_{Art by @ana_pla_. Comment/kudo on AO3 here!}

“I’ve connected the dots!” 

“What dots?” Jingyi scoffed, shrugging him off.

“I’ve connected them, I’ve figured it out!” Zizhen said again, just as loudly. “It’s a romance!”

Both Lans turned on Zizhen with wide eyes and matching incredulous faces.

“Zizhen—”

“What the fuck, no way—”

“Like you and that noodle thief you had that meet-cute with—”

“Zizhen, what the fuck—”

“Lan Jingyi!” Wei Wuxian’s voice chimed in from fucking nowhere, and Jingyi’s jaw hurt with how fast he snapped his mouth shut. “Introduce me to your friends!”

Jingyi spluttered as Wei Wuxian draped himself across his and Sizhui’s shoulders. Hanguang-jun stopped at the edge of their circle, a crease tucked between his eyebrows ever so lightly.

“Ah,” he answered. Very smart.

Sizhui recovered first, slipping out from Wei Wuxian’s spectral arm and popping into a textbook bow. “This humble one is Lan Yuan, called Sizhui.”

“And this disciple is Ouyang Zizhen,” Zizhen stepped up quickly to drop into his own salute. “Are you really Yiling Laozu? Like the Yiling Laozu?”

Wei Wuxian pulled his eyes away from Sizhui, covering his thoughtful look with a bright smile and laugh. “At your service, young master Ouyang.”

“So fucking cool.”

Sizhui and Jingyi stared at Zizhen, while Wei Wuxian looked more startled than anything. Then he looked at Jingyi and tapped the side of his nose. “You have good taste in friends, Lan Jingyi.”

Hanguang-jun stepped into their circle, and all eyes snapped to him. It hit Jingyi suddenly that they were breaking one of the more recent rules carved into the side of the mountain back home. One does not associate with Wei Ying, Yiling Laozu. But Hanguang-jun had asked for Jingyi to summon him again. That had to be a loophole. Not association, exactly, more like accidentally entering a contract. By touching a flute. Slightly different. But if Hanguang-jun was going to punish them for talking with Wei Wuxian, he wouldn’t have talked to him, on his own, for so long. 

Jingyi clung to that.

Sizhui stepped toward Hanguang-jun, settling easily into proper posture with his right hand tucked behind him. Hanguang-jun glanced at him and some of the tension of his face eased. And whatever Sizhui could read in that made him smile.

“We should head into town,” Hanguang-jun said. “We have much to discuss.”

Wei Wuxian left Jingyi’s space to crowd Hanguang-jun. “Such a responsible senior you’ve become, Lan Zhan!”

And the way that Hanguang-jun let him dangle off his shoulder, and the way his eyes watched Wei Wuxian so intently, carefully, made Jingyi wonder if maybe Zizhen was on to something.

It turned out that Lan Sizhui and Ouyang Zizhen hadn’t immediately come chasing after him after the goddess statue smashed in her own temple. On the one hand, Jingyi understood -- he and Sizhui had come down from the Cloud Recesses for two nighthunts, so it made sense that they had assumed he’d show up at the second location after getting separated during the first one. But on the other hand, Jingyi was a little offended.

Just a little bit.

“Jingyi, I cannot stress enough to you how freaky this arm was,” Zizhen said, chewing loudly through his noodles. “Firstly, bulging muscles, absolutely ripped. Whoever’s arm that was could easily lift a small mountain. Second, it’s just this arm, zipping around without a body or a brain, but it knows that it wants to kill you.”

“That’s fu—ah, messed up,” Jingyi replied, aiming to be too quiet for Hanguang-jun to hear from his own dinner table on the other side of the room. Sizhui side-eyed him, but Jingyi elected to ignore him. This wasn’t the Cloud Recesses. Besides, he’d held back the curse word, which was the worse infraction anyway.

“That’s what I was saying!”

Sizhui set his chopsticks down across his empty rice bowl and pushed it forward, neatly settling his hands inside his sleeves in his lap. Jingyi used the opportunity to snag the last of the braised eggplant before sliding his own empty rice bowl out of the way.

“Hanguang-jun is continuing to investigate the arm,” Sizhui said. “He’s taking it to the discussion conference in Lanling to ask Zewu-jun—”

“Lanling?” Jingyi blurted out. “The Jin sect is hosting?”

Sizhui gave him a weird look. “Mm, they’re hosting this year. Why?”

Zizhen looked like he was struggling not to choke while swallowing, face turning an interesting shade of maroon. With a sigh, Sizhui slapped his back. Zizhen gasped out a hoarse ‘thanks.’ He leaned forward on his elbows, setting his chin on top of his laced fingers and batted his eyes at Jingyi.

“What’s that face, Ouyang Zizhen?” Jingyi shifted back from the table, away from Zizhen. “I do not like that face.”

“You have a story, Lan Jingyi, I know that look.”

Sizhui raised an eyebrow and leaned ever slightly forward.

Jingyi looked wildly around the room. To Hanguang-jun, still sedately eating tiny bites of cucumber salad. To the crooked ceiling beam holding up the floor above them. To the auntie taking another patron’s order on the far side of the room. Accidentally making eye contact with Zizhen for a terrifying quarter of a second before giving up and staring at his hands in his lap.

“Jingyi, don’t be so stingy—”

Sizhui tried to intervene. “Zizhen—”

“So you remember back at the village in Dafan? And how I got my noodles stolen?”

He heard a loud groan and someone flopped onto his shoulder. “Not the noodle thief again.”

Jingyi blinked down at Wei Wuxian, suddenly present and being dramatic. “Weren’t you in your flute house?”

“I got bored , and I thought I heard you start your little Lan not-gossip gossiping, but if it’s just the noodle thief—” A swirl of white robes registered in the corner of his eye, and Hanguang-jun was staring down at their table. Wei Wuxian immediately switched targets, rolling bonelessly to lean against Hanguang-jun’s shins and stare up at him instead.

Hanguang-jun didn’t even blink. “Wei Ying.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian mused as he drifted up to something roughly close to standing, even if his legs were more suggestions than actually present. Jingyi prayed that no one would look over and scream at the sight. “Does Lan Zhan take offense to gossiping?”

“Gossip is forbidden,” Hanguang-jun replied, still not perturbed. “Lan Jingyi is reporting back on his venture.”

At the flick of Hanguang-jun’s eyes, Jingyi nodded quickly. “Yup, absolutely. That is definitely what I’m doing, Hanguang-jun.”

Wei Wuxian made a scandalized noise. “Lan Zhan ! Bending the rules, and after all those times you made me copy them.”

And Hanguang-jun merely hummed; something in his eyes made Jingyi think that he might be laughing. Wei Wuxian looked delighted, and if there was one thing Jingyi had learned in the past day of their acquaintance, it was that a delighted Wei Wuxian meant trouble for everyone else.

After an interminable moment of shared eye contact between the adults, Wei Wuxian’s eyes slid to Jingyi. He smirked down at him, expectant. Jingyi revised his previous thought to Wei Wuxian’s delight: it caused trouble for him, Lan Jingyi, specifically.

“What’s your report, Young Master Lan?”

Jingyi steeled himself, straightening his posture and attempting to reach some level of placid calm on his face. “While on a nighthunt at Dafan Mountain, this one was assailed by a possibly possessed goddess statue and became trapped in said goddess’s shrine with a Jin disciple, who had absconded with this one’s noodle order before the hunt.”

“A Jin disciple, so that’s why you got excited,” Zizhen piped up, clearly choosing to not read the room. He was summarily ignored.

Hanguang-jun nodded at Jingyi, and Wei Wuxian looked something close to impressed. Jingyi allowed himself a small moment of pride for being able to bullshit his way through that without lying once. As Wei Wuxian’s eyes turned back to Hanguang-jun, Jingyi relaxed. He glanced back at his friends. Zizhen only looked mildly perturbed at being ignored, while Sizhui stared wide-eyed at Hanguang-jun, like whatever that display had been was the strangest thing he’d ever seen. Which. Yeah, it was up there.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian leaned in close and poked Hanguang-jun in the chest. “Are you playing a prank on me? Did you just bully one of your juniors into playing a prank on me?” 

Hanguang-jun blinked at him, face fully unreadable. Wei Wuxian smiled, looking absolutely thrilled.

“Lan Zhan!”

“Wei Ying,” Hanguang-jun’s eyes flicked over to a group of well-dressed customers who’d just entered the inn before looking back at the juniors. He nodded at them. “Be mindful of the time.”

“Yes, Hanguang-jun!” All three of them chimed together, saluting him as he turned to go to his room upstairs.

Wei Wuxian flopped back down as soon as the hem of Hanguang-jun’s robes was out of sight. “I can’t believe that just happened -- when I knew Lan Zhan, he was such a stick in the mud. What was that—”

Jingyi poked him hard in the chest with Chenqing. “Do you ever shut up?” Jingyi poked him again for good measure. “I swear, you’re almost more annoying than the last asshole I was trapped in a cave with.”

“The noodle thief?” Wei Wuxian grinned something sharp at him. “You’ve said that before, Lan Jingyi, talked about it at great length, in fact.”

Zizhen tried out his own wicked grin, leaning forward on his elbows again. “Oh, the Jin noodle thief?”

“Stop that, both of you,” Jingyi grumbled, glaring at both of them. “Sizhui, back me up here.”

“I didn’t meet your noodle thief, Jingyi,” Sizhui answered, prim and proper and taking a small sip of tea behind his wide sleeve. But his eyes crinkled at the corners, obviously laughing at him, the traitor.

Jingyi scowled. “One does not make light of others’ troubles, Lan Sizhui.”

“One does not make assumptions about those he has not met,” Sizhui answered back, light and breezy.

“One does not abandon those in need of aid.”

“One does not use one’s power to influence the wills of others.”

“One does not—”

Wei Wuxian yawned enormously. “Alright, alright, little Lans, enough of that, you’ll bore me back to death if you keep lobbing your damn rules at each other like that.” He paused, tapping the side of his nose. “Besides, you’ve attracted the attention of some new friends.”

Jingyi snapped his mouth shut, having rounded on Wei Wuxian, ready to give him what for after the interrupting of his soon-to-be rhetorical victory against Sizhui. Indeed, the group of customers from early kept glancing over at them and whispering. 

They were definitely cultivators, with their robes all in the same color palette even if they weren’t quite all the same cut. He should know this. Jingyi wracked his aching brain to remember which of the big sects wore white and orchid grey. His head gave an unhelpful pound, scattering his thoughts.

Jingyi scoffed a second later when the realization broke its way through his headache.

“More knock-offs, great.”

Wei Wuxian quirked an eyebrow at him. “‘Knock-offs’?”

“Moling-fucking-Su—” Jingyi started, but Sizhui stepped in before he could really dive into his well-worn rant about the MolingSu sect.

“Their sect leader studied at the Cloud Recesses, and they still use variations of many of our techniques.”

“More like copy them, and not even well.”

Zizhen stage-whispered behind his hand. “Jingyi always gets like this.”

“Why?” Wei Wuxian replied. Zizhen just shrugged. Sizhui, at least, had his back, with his lips pressed tight with a close eye on the other group.

“Pah!” Jingyi scoffed again, standing up abruptly. “Let’s go upstairs before my eye starts twitching from how off-key they are.”

He marched off without waiting for an answer from the others.

“I had to deal with Su Minshan, Mr. Pretend-to-be-Hanguang-jun himself, on top of all that!” Jingyi slapped the table, rattling their water cups and the paper packet of peanuts Zizhen had procured on his way upstairs. “Sect Leader Nie did me a solid there, otherwise I’d probably be rotting in some nasty dungeon in the Moling swamps, being tortured for the sheet music for ‘Inquiry.’”

Two clay liquor jars plonked onto the table. Jingyi stared at them, reaching out to steady his wobbling cup. Glanced at Sizhui. Then frowned at Wei Wuxian, who’d plonked himself down on the remaining cushion. Where had he even been? Wasn’t he physically tied to Chenqing? Jingyi could feel the flute digging into his back from where he’d stuffed it into his belt. And Jingyi did not remember stopping to buy liquor before going upstairs.

He opened his mouth—

“Whoever said they were for you kids?” Wei Wuxian said, lifting one up by the knotted handle and chugging. Most of it seemed to miss his mouth entirely. It puddled on the floor, dripping through his transparent legs, which Wei Wuxian couldn’t seem to keep solid without effort.

He closed his mouth. Zizhen pushed a ceramic cup over with a smile. Wei Wuxian obliged him with a small pour. Jingyi opened his mouth again.

“I’m not a Lan,” Zizhen said quickly.

Jingyi closed his mouth. Again. 

Sizhui passed him the peanuts. “So that’s why you were interested in the Lanling discussion conference? Because of the noodle thief in the cave?”

“I think ‘interested’ is an overstatement—”

“Jingyi—”

“I think ‘interested’ is exactly the right statement.” Zizhen chimed in.

“Understatement even!” Wei Wuxian agreed. They clinked their respective cup and jar and laughed.

“Shut up, both of you!”

“—You’ve literally brought him up in every conversation since we rescued you from a mountain of fierce corpses—”

“You don’t steal a traveling man’s noodles, Zizhen!”

“Anyway,” Sizhui cut in before Zizhen could whip out some other nonsense that Jingyi would have to deal with. “Zewu-jun was planning on coming down for it, and we’re supposed to bring the arm to him to see if someone there might recognize it.”

“So we’re going to Lanling?” At Sizhui’s nod, Jingyi knocked his water back like it was the wine Zizhen was so smugly sipping. “Great.”

Wei Wuxian sighed dramatically. “I hate Lanling. It’s the worst. Jins just dip everything in gold and call it good taste.” He paused to tip the last of the first jar of wine down his throat while Jingyi frowned at the waste. What was even the point, he was a spirit who only had physical form by pure force of will. “My poor shijie had to marry one of those peacocks. The worst, the absolute worst.” He gestured vaguely at Jingyi. “I take it back, Lan Jingyi, you have poor taste, actually.”

“What the fuck,” Jingyi said softly.

Zizhen laughed while Sizhui gave Jingyi a commiserating pat on the shoulder.

“Well, these two are fine, I guess.” Wei Wuxian gave Jingyi and Sizhui a considering look, which Jingyi did not appreciate. “You two sure are strange for Lans, though. You’re sure you were taught by Lan Qiren? Not some secret other Lan Qiren with a sense of humor?”

Sizhui and Jingyi exchanged a glance before replying in unison. “No?”

Wei Wuxian flapped a hand at them. “No matter, no matter.” He sat up suddenly snapping his fingers. “Wait! Wait, wait, wait -- the Jins, I’ve got a great idea.”

Jingyi narrowed his eyes. “No you don’t.”

“What is it, Senior Wei?” Sizhui said at the same time.

“I knew I liked you, Lan Sizhui,” Wei Wuxian said, eyes crinkled and his smile wide.

Zizhen made a small noise, so Wei Wuxian laughed and poured him another cup of wine from his second jar.

“My brilliant plan is to play a trick on Jingyi’s little noodle thief!”

“A trick?” Sizhui asked.

Wei Wuxian slapped a hand on the table. “Absolutely. Let’s make him think our Lan Jingyi is an upstanding gentleman and not the scrappy rapscallion he is. Gild him a little, like those Jins love to do. Impress the noodle thief.”

“Hey—”

“That’s great!” Zizhen practically shouted over Jingyi. “He looks like he crawled out of a dusty cave full of corpses, not very impressive at all.”

“I literally did do that, Zizhen! And I don’t need to impress anyone, least of all some stupid noodle thief!” Jingyi blew at the hair that fell into his face and crossed his arms. “I just need to do laundry.”

“Mm, laundry would be a good start,” Sizhui said with a smile that Jingyi recognized and did not trust. “But you’d need a whole new set of robes to be suitable for a conference of such a caliber. If you just mended those ones, not even the servants would look twice at you, let alone your noodle thief.”

Jingyi slumped onto his elbows on the table, absolutely betrayed. “Sizhui, you too?”

Sizhui’s smile turned a little rueful. “Jingyi, you’re complaining about him so much, I almost think you really do like him.”

Jingyi groaned over everyone’s laughter.

“Oh, you little Lan, you,” Wei Wuxian sighed, pretending to wipe a tear out of his eye. “I can help you out, you know, you just have to ask your Senior Wei nicely.”

Zizhen and Sizhui shared a look. “Senior Wei,” Sizhui said, ignoring Jingyi’s continued discontented grumbling. “Are you more than just a spirit tied to an item?” 

“Are you like a ruyi? You grant wishes, Senior Wei?” Zizhen added.

“A ruyi?” Wei Wuxian asked back, bemused. “Do you think Chenqing is a backscratcher?”

“No, but you just said—”

“I’m offering my good fashion sense to help young master Lan here woo his beloved, obviously.” He snatched the flute from where it’d been tucked in Jingyi’s belt and gestured grandly with it. “Besides, that comes with rules, and I’ve never done well with those. But maybe?”

“All of you are absolutely right,” Jingyi said, voice brash as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I clearly want help with my look to ‘woo’ some cute little rich boy -- who I don’t even fucking like, I’d like to add.” He pointed at Wei Wuxian. “You’re a fucking spirit with no body and you chose to manifest in rags. Why would I use a wish for that if I’d only wind up looking like more of a beggar?”

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes, taking a swig from his liquor bottle. Sizhui opened his mouth. Zizhen’s face seemed caught between delight and worry. The only warning Jingyi got was one last thoughtful and slightly threatening slurp of wine.

Then Wei Wuxian whistled.

Chapter Text

Jingyi opened his eyes to Sizhui’s concerned face hovering over his. Not too unusual, but not entirely usual either.

“This is weird,” Sizhui said. “Follow my fingers with your eyes, Jingyi. You hit your head pretty hard on the way down.”

“Mnuh,” Jingyi replied, feeling extremely put together. He managed to watch Sizhui’s finger (fingers?) as it moved across his vision, and he got a satisfied nod. Sizhui helped pull him upright, sending his pulse rushing into his ears. This had to be at least one more half concussion to add to all the ones he’d sustained in the last few days.

“Holy shit,” Zizhen whispered, staring at him.

Suspiciously, Wei Wuxian had disappeared from the room. Chenqing sat as innocently as a demon flute could on the table top.

“What happened?” Jingyi asked. “I remember he whistled, and then…”

Sizhui and Zizhen shared a look. That had to be the fourteenth time tonight. He really hoped it was still tonight. They both sighed. Sizhui sat back down and passed Jingyi a full cup of water, which Jingyi dutifully sipped at, letting the water cool the warm, heavy pounding in his temple. He flicked his hair out of his face with a frown. Seemed like it’d spontaneously grown longer. Zizhen rifled around in his bag on the far side of the room before coming back and plopping himself back down on his side of the table.

“It’ll be easier to show you than tell you,” Zizhen said, trying unsuccessfully to hide his smile as he set down a mirror on the table.

Jingyi took it, and -- just in case he needed it, he let himself have one last normal breath, one last normal thought about how this whole week had been so fucked up what the fuck -- then he looked at it.

“What the fuck?!” Jingyi tugged at his bangs, long on either side of the face. His headband had been replaced and repaired, no more blood staining it right at his hairline. The mirror was too small to get a good look at his robes, but the embroidery around the collar had changed from blue to white and silver. What the fuck. “I look like—”

Zizhen fucking giggled. “Baby Hanguang-jun!” 

“—Baby Hanguang-jun!” Somehow, despite trying to yell, his voice stayed quiet and expression placid in the mirror. Jingyi grabbed the flute and shook it like a madman. “Wei Wuxian, come out of there right now—”

A loud cackle rang in his ear as Wei Wuxian materialized behind him. Jingyi spun around and tried to grab him, but between Sizhui holding him back and Wei Wuxian’s general lack of form, all he managed to do was dissipate his torso some, which just made Wei Wuxian laugh even more.

_{Art by @ana_pla_. Comment/kudo on AO3 here!}

Wei Wuxian flicked the tip of his nose. “But Jingyi, I thought you said Hanguang-jun was the best?”

“I didn’t mean this!”

“It’s a little weird, Senior Wei,” Sizhui said entirely too calmly.

“It’s amazing, Senior Wei,” Zizhen said at the same time.

“Oh, that expression takes me back. Next thing you’ll tell me ‘it’s after curfew’ and ‘alcohol is forbidden’!” Wei Wuxian grinned fondly as he patted Jingyi on his head. He dodged Jingyi’s swipes and gave him an overly-deep bow. “I was just trying to do as you’d asked, young master Lan.”

“I didn’t ask you to do anything!”

Wei Wuxian’s grin turned into something too sharp and too clever for Jingyi’s liking. “Did you or did you not say, ‘I clearly want help with my look to woo some cute little rich boy,’ Lan Jingyi?”

Jingyi spluttered.

“Besides, what look could be better than Hanguang-jun’s?”

Sizhui opened his mouth, hopefully to defend him, but Wei Wuxian put up a finger to stop him.

“Wei Wuxian—”

His finger waggled under Jingyi’s nose, this time to cut off what was going to be an extremely cutting insult. Jingyi rolled his eyes. It seemed like he was really leaning into this wish-granting spirit charade. Fine. Fine.

Jingyi stood and returned the over-exaggerated bow Wei Wuxian gave him earlier. Picture perfect minus the black flute in his hand standing in for his sword, and only a little sarcastic. “O great Yiling Laozu, please grant unto this humble one who wishes for an appearance befitting the auspicious Lan sect.”

“And?” Wei Wuxian still looked untrustworthy, practically impish with how pleased he was at the turn of events. Jingyi heaved out a breath.

“And to turn the head of one particular Jin disciple.”

Wei Wuxian lifted him from his bow by the wrists, his smile something close to normal, as far as Jingyi could tell. “Now that, little Lan, is a wish I can work with.”

The trek to Lanling wasn’t a long one. If they pushed themselves, they could make the flight in one day. So the next morning, they packed up, stowed their qiankun bags and got ready for the trip. Hanguang-jun didn’t give Jingyi a second glance, so whatever Wei Wuxian had done to him must not have worked.

(“Don’t worry too much, Jingyi, I promise I’m done with the jokes.”

“Right now, I trust you about as far as I can throw you, even if you did save my life multiple times today.”

“I’m a spirit, you can’t throw me.” Wei Wuxian paused, mouth twisting into a small grimace. “Oh, I see.”

“Yeah.”)

Whatever. His clothes were clean and mended, even if he’d lost the grey travel robe so the clouds on his white robes were on full display. His ribbon was tucked back safely around his wrist, right where it was supposed to be when they left the Cloud Recesses. And he’d managed to grab a stick of candied hawthorn before the street food stalls opened up for the day, thanks to the kind auntie running it.

So maybe whatever Wei Wuxian did to him had actually worked.

It was just subtle. Which was good. Jingyi absolutely did not want it to be obvious. First off, that went against at least fourteen rules about vanity off the top of his head, and second, he knew better than to aspire to any direct comparisons to Hanguang-jun, so best to avoid looking like a shorter copy of him. No matter how funny everyone else had thought it was.

Besides. That Jin noodle thief had already seen Jingyi’s face, so what was the point in a disguise?

Not that he was trying to impress him, or whatever. Jingyi had just been amusing his friends. Playing along with their joke at his expense. And trying to keep a particularly dangerous spirit and its vessel calm. It was what any righteous cultivator would do.

Said dangerous spirit also wouldn’t stop hanging off of Hanguang-jun. Supposedly discussing the arm from Mo manor. Theorizing about its identity, how to put it to rest. Things that Wei Wuxian was an expert on, being the person who created demonic cultivation. It made sense to go to him for advice on the case, but Jingyi wasn’t that stupid. 

He tried to make eye contact with Sizhui on his sword across the way, but one of the Nie cultivators who’d escorted him into Yiling blocked his view.

(A hand stopped him at the bottom of the stairs. “Nice flute, kid.”

“Oh, haha, you’re still here?”

The shorter of the two Nie disciples stepped forward, casually resting his hand on the pommel of his saber. “Of course we are.”

“Cool.” Jingyi blinked, head swiveling between the two of them. “Are you taking me prisoner again? Kidnap me back to Qinghe?”

They exchanged a look. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Because Sect Leader Nie wanted me to bring the flute back?”

“We really have no ideawhat you’re talking about.”)

Jingyi sighed. Zizhen snorted behind him.

“You’ve had a week, huh?” He called out over the cross-wind.

“You could say that,” Jingyi muttered. 

“What?”

He turned to avoid accidentally eating a bug and hollered back. “Yup!”

They’d made their way out of the southern riverlands and headed steadily through the foothills of the northern mountains. Jingyi looked to the east, wishing for a second that they were headed home, that this whole trip had turned out like it was supposed to, rather than the goose chase it was turning into.

It was stupid, but he kind of missed it.

Soon enough, Lanling glittered in the distance. Of course it glittered. That Jin noodle thief -- Jin Ling , he reminded himself -- had still managed to glitter, even with his robes inside out and the gold of his sword hilt wrapped in linen. So, of course, Lanling would glitter.

They landed at the base of a long staircase, bordered by deep hedges of huge peonies blooming out of season. Jingyi looked past them to the stone walls inscribed with the names of the Jin sect leaders and their accomplishments, each with more peonies carved into the marble and gold embedded just to show off. Carp Tower rose high above at the top of the stairs, taking a commanding view of the valley and the city sprawling below. And even this close, it glittered under the sun’s dying rays.

Jingyi had to admit, it was impressive, if ostentatious. Nothing at all like the winding paths of home, with the white walls, soft-sloping roofs, and dark wood.

He looked for his friends, both standing next to Hanguang-jun. Zizhen stared around him, mouth slightly open. When he made eye contact with Jingyi, he raised his eyebrows and gestured widely around him, which Jingyi laughed at. Sizhui waited calmly beside Hanguang-jun, who didn’t even look remotely impressed as he stared straight forward and waited for a Jin manservant to come down and acknowledge them. 

Glancing around more, it seemed like the Nie disciples had vanished. Again. He hated how good they were at doing that.

Sizhui slid over next to him, tapping him on the shoulder. “Hanguang-jun says we can put our ribbons on, if we choose. Since this is official sect business.”

“Oh,” Jingyi blinked, shaking his left wrist out to tug the tails of his ribbon loose. “Cool.” Sizhui, efficient as ever, had already tied his own headband around his forehead and removed his travel robe.

Sizhui smiled. “I feel better like this.”

“Mm, yeah,” Jingyi grinned back as he tied his ribbon in a knot at the back of his head. “I’m sure there’s a reason for the rule, but it’s a weird one.”

He heard a laugh in his ear, too soft to have been Sizhui or Zizhen. Still, he checked -- Zizhen was off in his own world, staring at their surroundings; Sizhui staring at him with a weird expression.

“What?” Jingyi asked. He checked his ribbon to make sure the embroidery on it was centered and it wasn’t crooked. It seemed fine… 

“It’s nothing!” Sizhui shook his head and flashed a quick smile, meaning it was the opposite of ‘nothing.’

Jingyi frowned, ignoring a louder peal of laughter that sounded suspiciously like one Wei Wuxian, which made no sense as he’d ‘gone fluting’ as he told them. “Sizhui, what is it?”

Sizhui stepped close to whisper. “I think Senior Wei spelled your headband.”

“What. How?”

“Look at your clothes.”

Jingyi did. They looked normal, the hole on the sleeve he’d sewn up that morning still visible despite his attempt at careful stitching. “What about them?”

“You don’t—” Sizhui paused, turning over his shoulder. “Zizhen, can you come here?”

Zizhen jumped. He whistled long and low when he stepped up beside Sizhui. “When’d you change, Jingyi?”

“I didn’t?”

“But like—you weren’t wearing lace earlier.”

Jingyi looked at his sleeve again, fiddling with the raised line of repaired stitching. “What the hell?” He muttered. Wei Wuxian laughed again in his ear. “Stop doing that, you creep.”

Sizhui and Zizhen blinked, Zizhen opening his mouth to reply, when Wei Wuxian materialized, laughing out loud. He patted Jingyi on the head.

“Very handsome, Lan Jingyi,” he said. “I deserve some acknowledgement, I think, don’t you, Lan Zhan?”

Jingyi startled. Hanguang-jun was standing behind Sizhui, blocking Wei Wuxian from view of the LanlingJin guards on the stairs.

“Wei Ying,” he said. “It’s not safe here.”

“Aiya, I know, I know, I just needed to see how this little Lan reacted to my little illusion.” Rather than dissipating back into his vessel again, more of Wei Wuxian took form as he gravitated toward Hanguang-jun. “Do you think he’ll catch the eye of a Jin?”

Jingyi flushed as Hanguang-jun’s gaze slid to him, an eyebrow raised just enough that he could see the question in it. “That’s not—Senior Wei, it was a joke, we weren’t serious—”

Zizhen slapped a hand over Jingyi’s mouth. “We were absolutely serious, this is great Senior Wei.”

Wei Wuxian nudged Hanguang-jun. “Hm? What’s the verdict, Lan Zhan?”

“Wei Ying is talented,” was all Hanguang-jun replied. 

And somehow this made Wei Wuxian laugh. 

Jingyi looked at Sizhui to confirm that he wasn’t the only one who had missed whatever the joke was. Sizhui shrugged back. Zizhen leaned over and gestured between the adults, mouthing ‘romance’ where neither of them could see. 

Whatever passed between them, it seemed to satisfy Wei Wuxian, who ruffled Jingyi’s and Sizhui’s hair before disappearing back into his flute tucked into Jingyi’s sleeve.

Jingyi sighed, patting himself down. Still looked normal to him, but if he wasn’t looking directly, he could sort of see the impression of white lace laid over a pristine white GusuLan uniform. Sleeves a little fuller than standard, embroidered in something lighter than the usual blue. Hopefully his face was normal. Neither Sizhui nor Zizhen had mentioned any changes there.

Well. Whatever. Not like it made a difference. He’d get Wei Wuxian to lift whatever illusion spell he’d put on his headband later.

Footsteps sounded behind them. Probably a guard finally coming down to tell them they’d found rooms for them in their giant tower. Jingyi settled into his usual spot beside Sizhui and behind Hanguang-jun, bowing in time with them.

“Hanguang-jun,” an imperious voice said, still from higher up on the stairs. “Welcome to Carp Tower. My father sent me to greet you and show you your rooms—”

Jingyi snapped up with a shout. “You!”

“You!” One Jin Ling, called Rulan, and known noodle thief, shouted back.

He felt Hanguang-jun looking at him, and Jingyi immediately dropped back into the bow he was supposed to be in. Zizhen snorted softly behind him.

“Young master Jin,” Hanguang-jun replied after a long moment. 

Jin Ling cleared his throat, snapping back into host-mode. “If you'll follow me.”

The juniors stood back up, and for a second Jin Ling stared straight at him, finally managing to be high enough to actually look down his nose at Jingyi, thanks to the stairs. Jingyi stood up a little straighter, raising an eyebrow at him, and watched Jin Ling grind his teeth, a muscle working at the corner of his jaw.

The gold suited him better than his attempt at runaway clothes, Jingyi thought. He even had gold beads twisted into his hair, looking every inch the clan heir he was supposed to be. On anyone else, it'd be over the top, terrible, too much, but for Jin Ling, it was a good look. And—maybe it was all the talk at the inn, all those definitely-just-jokes with Sizhui and Zizhen and Wei Wuxian. That was the story Jingyi was going to stick with anyway to explain it. He didn’t want to think about other reasons without feeling the need to look at his life, look at his choices.

He winked at Jin Ling.

Who flushed bright red and immediately turned on his heel to stomp back up the stairs, long ponytail whipping out behind him dramatically.

“This way!” Jin Ling’s voice cracked.

Jingyi stifled a laugh in his hand, steadfastly not making eye contact with anyone as they climbed the staircase after Jin Ling.

The inside of Carp Tower glittered as much as the outside had when they were flying in. But Jingyi wasn’t really paying too much attention to that.

While marching through the many courtyards within the sect compound to take them to the guest wing, Jin Ling’s shoulders had steadily climbed up until he looked like a block of wood dressed in silk.

Zizhen kept nudging Jingyi in the back every now and then, mouthing the word ‘noodles’ with over the top eyebrow waggling every time Jingyi made the mistake of making eye contact. Probably wanting to discuss the wink. What the fuck had possessed him to do that? Jingyi wanted to blame Wei Wuxian, but he’d gone suspiciously silent, not even laughing in his ear at Jingyi’s discomfort.

Hanguang-jun was shown his room first, and the juniors were given the one immediately next door. Jin Ling made an awkward gesture at them, clearing his throat imperiously. Jingyi had to muffle another laugh, which earned him a hard glare.

“Thank you, young master Jin,” Sizhui said, ever the diplomatic one, inclining his head courteously.

Jin Ling sniffed. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for a servant. We take great pride in our hospitality.”

Zizhen dropped into his own bow, reminding Jingyi that he was, in fact, a sect heir, despite tagging along with them for the last few weeks. “Do you know when the BalingOuyang delegation is set to arrive?”

“Two days’ time, last I’d heard.”

“Excellent, thank you, young master Jin.”

Jin Ling waved his hand like he had better things to do. His eyes flicked over to Jingyi, clearly expecting it to be his turn to say ‘thank you ever so much, you’re such a delightful host, this is the most amazing place I’ve ever seen, isn’t Carp Tower just the best, young master Jin?’ which just made Jingyi swallow down a swell of laughter.

The silence stretched as they stared each other down. Vaguely, Jingyi was aware of Zizhen whispering to Sizhui and of Sizhui nodding along, as if whatever nonsense Zizhen was saying made sense. But he was too focused on needing to win this standoff.

Finally, Jin Ling tossed his head with a scoff. “It’s good to see you made it out in one piece, I guess.”

“Of course I did,” Jingyi said. He paused, tucking his hands behind his back as he took in the half-annoyed expression Jin Ling gave him. But he couldn’t leave it at just that. “Or was the young mistress worried?”

“I—You—Don’t call me that!”

Jingyi couldn’t hold back the laugh this time. Jin Ling sputtered, looking about half a second away from committing murder. Which made the strange look Sizhui gave the two of them even weirder before he steered a slack-jawed Zizhen into their guest quarters. Jin Ling didn’t even notice, too busy trying to spit out the nastiest rebuttal he could. After about half a dozen false starts, he settled for a furious scowl.

“I suppose I should have just let Su She take you, then?” He said.

Jingyi rolled his eyes. “As if that wannabe would have been able to -- I’m a real Lan, unlike that faker, thanks very much.”

Jin Ling’s head tipped back to keep glaring down his nose at him as Jingyi straightened his spine, like perfect posture could prove a point. “The way you keep saying that makes me think I’m not the one you’re trying to convince, young master Lan.”

“Hey!”

“I guess you’ll just have to prove it during the competitions this week.” He stepped forward to poke Jingyi hard in the chest. “If you can keep up.”

And before Jingyi can respond with something smart and quick and definitely witty enough to one-up him -- something about not being the one to twist his ankle in a hole in the ground, it was right there on the tip of his tongue -- Jin Ling had already whipped around on his heel and stomped away.

Jingyi cursed under his breath. Next time, next time he’d wipe that stupid smug smirk of his face.

Sizhui glanced up at him from where he’d already made himself at home at the low table in the center of the room, starting to brew a pot of tea. Zizhen, the absolute fool, jumped away from the window he’d been pressed against and immediately slid over to Jingyi, elbows nudging him none-too-gently.

“That’s your noodle thief?” He asked, sounding far too happy for Jingyi’s taste. “I’ve gotta say, he does live up to all your hype. Definitely seems annoying, but in a cute way?”

“Zizhen—”

“It’s like you two completely forgot we were there the second you started arguing, right, Sizhui?”

Jingyi felt something like heartburn in his chest when Sizhui gave a hum vague enough to pass for noncommittal. But Jingyi knew Sizhui and his hums, and that one was actually a very clear ‘yes, Jingyi, you did completely ignore us for your noodle thief.’

Zizhen tapped his chin thoughtfully. “But why would the LanlingJin heir need to steal noodles?”

Jingyi clenched his fists so as not to strangle his dear, dear friend.

“There’s something you’re not telling us, Lan Jingyi.”

Jingyi looked to Sizhui for help. All he got was an amused smile quickly hidden by his sleeve as he sipped at his steaming tea.

“And back on the stairs you winked , and just now, you were flirting—”

“Zizhen!” Jingyi squawked, resigning himself to an hour’s worth of handstands and lines later that evening for breaking half a dozen rules in the last three minutes alone. “Shut the fuck up!”

Every discussion conference started with a banquet. That was what the reports in the library always recounted, and that was what the agenda put forward by the Jin sect listed. A banquet to start at sundown and end who knows when. Nine, for them. A half hour before that, really.

Zizhen waved from his table behind his father at the far end of the hall as the Lans passed by, following Zewu-jun and Hanguang-jun to their section. Jingyi grinned and wished that he and Sizhui could sit here, well away from the attention. But Zewu-jun’s sworn brother was the second of Sect Leader Jin, so the Lans were honored by being seated up front, very near the sect leader’s dais. 

Extremely unfortunate, Jingyi thought. 

He had tried to get Sizhui to agree, but all Sizhui had done was hum noncommittally at him like Hanguang-jun. At least Wei Wuxian had been helpful, grumbling with Jingyi about ‘Jin peacocks,’ which seemed a little odd, but Jingyi would take any commiseration at this point. He heard laughing just behind him, in that creepy way Wei Wuxian liked to make his presence known, so Jingyi snuck a hand into his sleeve to flick at the flute hidden inside.

It was a small bit of luck that had him sitting at the back of the Lan delegation, safely tucked behind Hanguang-jun so that Jingyi could goof off a little without it being noticed too much. The pillars blocked Zizhen from view, unfortunately. 

He accidentally managed to catch the eyes of one of the Nie disciples that’d been glued to him on the trip to Yiling, and the burly man bared his teeth at him like a shark. Terrifying. Jingyi forced himself to grin back as his gaze slipped to Sect Leader Nie sitting at the front of his delegation, fanning himself idly. He was staring vaguely in the direction of the Jins at the front of the hall, looking bored and vacant-eyed. Also terrifying.

Jingyi shook it off, glancing to his right, where some of the Jin sect were seated at their fancy gilded tables that no one else got, he saw a disciple at the very front with no sword and a bedazzled ponytail that he recognized. Jin Ling.

Jingyi had to find some peanuts immediately.

Sizhui cleared his throat quietly but pointedly from his own table as Jingyi rooted around for a projectile. Jingyi immediately snapped back into a proper sitting posture.

A man in elaborate, Jin-gold robes and a black gauze hat stood next to Zewu-jun, talking and smiling and being extremely friendly. Must be Lianfang-zun. After a moment, the two adults dipped their heads and Lianfang-zun moved toward the center of the banquet hall. Hanguang-jun raised an eyebrow or something because Zewu-jun shook his head and whispered ‘not now,’ which was interesting. Wei Wuxian hummed in agreement, making Jingyi think that whatever had just passed between the two of them probably had something to do with Wei Wuxian. What didn’t, these days?

The doors at the far end of the hall opened with much pomp and circumstance, revealing a tall man with even more elaborate, Jin-gold and cream robes with a golden sword at his hip that Jingyi recognized as the one Jin Ling had carried with him during his runaway nighthunt. Beside him, a petite woman in tasteful, flowing lavender with delicate gold accents on her sleeves and in her hair tucked her hand in his elbow. They seemed to glide in, and Lianfang-zun fell into step behind them as they passed, which Jingyi figured meant that they must be Sect Leader Jin and his wife, Jiang Yanli.

Jingyi tamped down on an unfamiliar urge to jump up and run out of the room, as far away from her as he could. He put a hand in his sleeve and grabbed onto Chenqing, which was practically vibrating with Wei Wuxian’s anxiety.

“Stop it,” he hissed. Wei Wuxian groaned weakly in the back of his head. Jingyi squeezed the flute tightly, filing away that the next time he needed to do something that required being in front of the whole conference, maybe he should leave Wei Wuxian in their quarters. 

By the time this minor personal emergency settled down, Lianfang-zun was smiling too wide and welcoming everyone to Carp Tower. Sect Leader Jin said something quiet that didn’t carry far enough for Jingyi to hear. Probably more official things. Boring. Glancing over, Jin Ling looked tense as he dragged his hand down the side of his face.

He uncovered a small bowl of dried peas and flicked one at him.

Jin Ling whipped around, scowling at everyone he could see, so Jingyi waved with a grin. The scowl turned into a full-on glower. But something about having Jin Ling’s attention, having him to bother, made this whole stuffy banquet a little more interesting. Jingyi popped some of the crunchy peas in his mouth as Jin Ling rolled his eyes at him. 

Which was about the time Jingyi realized the peas were coated in something spicy.

He swallowed painfully before coughing loudly as he reached blindly for his water cup. Someone pushed it into his hand and Jingyi whispered a hoarse ‘ thanks,’ which made Sizhui sigh on his left. 

Jingyi opened his eyes to find Sizhui calmly removing the small bowl of peas from Jingyi’s table. He really was the best friend Jingyi could ask for. Glancing up, he saw Zewu-jun eyeing him in amusement, and he smiled weakly in response. Better than being chastised. He mentally added a half hour to his handstand tally for the day.

A burst of poorly muffled laughter drew his attention back to Jin Ling, who looked like he was doing everything he could to not laugh outright at Jingyi’s misadventure with the spicy peas. His chin pushed up as he caught Jingyi’s eyes, all haughty arrogance, before pointedly tossing his hair over his shoulder and proceeding to ignore him entirely.

Jingyi blew at his bangs.

This was going to be a long week.

Before any of the actual discussions were scheduled to start, the LanlingJin wanted to open their conference with something exciting, something flashy, something over-the-top.

An archery contest. Two juniors from each sect, with the winner receiving some grand prize. Jingyi hadn’t been listening too closely when it was announced at the banquet. He cleared his throat lightly, still feeling fire crawling up his throat from the spicy dried peas that had betrayed him.

Somehow, Wei Wuxian took this as an invitation to come pester them as they waited out the allotted morning free time, presumably left for everyone to recover from their banquet hangovers. He immediately ruffled Jingyi’s bangs before deciding to flit about their rooms room and poke at their things.

Jingyi ignored him in favor of looking over his bow to see whether it’d survived being forgotten about in his qiankun pouch for the past few weeks. Archery wasn’t his favorite method of nighthunting. Too far away, too much left to chance. Jingyi just really appreciated being able to jump in and hit something over the head with his sword. The simple joys in life. 

“Senior Wei,” Sizhui said, smiling as he opened his eyes. He relaxed from his meditation pose and waved him over.

“Lan Sizhui!” 

“I was just thinking about you, Senior Wei.”

Wei Wuxian made a surprised noise and plopped himself down in front of Sizhui. “Why on earth would you waste your time doing that? Don’t you have competitions to focus on?”

“Mn, yes,” Sizhui nodded, but smiled away any chagrin he might have had. “But I’ve been thinking about that conversation from the other day, about your body?”

“Oh. But that’s—You don’t have to—It’s—hm.” Wei Wuxian shifted uncomfortably before laughing loudly. “You’re a good child, Lan Sizhui. But you should leave thoughts like that to your seniors, yeah?”

Jingyi looked up from oiling his dried-out bow to see Sizhui press his mouth together carefully, like he did every time he was about to dig his heels in about something. “I understand,” Sizhui replied slowly. “But if you’ve become a ruyi, then all it would take is someone’s wish. I’ve been doing some reading, and most ruyi allowed three wishes for those they serve with few restrictions on what those wishes could be. So if someone wished for you to have your body—”

Wei Wuxian’s smile dropped, eyes sharp. “Leave it. I died, my body is gone. There’s nothing to be done about it.” He stood quickly and left the room, gliding right through the closed doors.

Sizhui stared at the space he’d been sitting, shocked. Jingyi stared, too, unable to remember the last time an adult had reprimanded Sizhui for something. After a moment, Sizhui shook himself and stood.

Jingyi swallowed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I’ll do my handstands for disrespecting a senior later,” Sizhui said, frowning lightly as he continued to work through the puzzle that was whatever had just happened with Wei Wuxian.

“You’re not leaving it, right? You’re gonna figure out how to bring him back? Really back?” 

And at that Sizhui smiled so that his eyes curved. “People obviously miss him. Why else would someone have set up such an elaborate system to protect him back at the Burial Mounds? Of course I’m going to figure something out.”

Jingyi smiled back. “I think you’re right. Even if it’s just Hanguang-jun who wants him back, that’s enough for me.” He paused, remembering Wei Wuxian laughing off something weird at the Burial Mounds. “He said he felt a pull on his spirit when we were coming down the mountain. If that’s helpful. He used his powers to get us out of the cave-in and then spent like. The next half hour flickering in and out and rubbing at his chest.”

“Interesting,” Sizhui hummed to himself. “I’ll have to take it up with Hanguang-jun. He has some of his own ideas about how to help.”

“Nice.” Jingyi snapped his fingers suddenly, having an epiphany. “Oh! If he has his body, then he can’t just pop up out of nowhere and be annoying. Win-win!”

Sizhui laughed. “Definitely a win-win.”

Cultivation discussion conferences, Jingyi learned, were not all that interesting. There was a lot of talking, a lot of toasting, more talking which turned out to be veiled threats, and then somehow trade treaties were signed after Lianfang-zun swooped in and put his diplomatic dimples to use.

At least, that’s what Jingyi gathered from what he could see. Luckily, after the first morning discussion the day after the banquet, the junior disciples got herded off into various vanity competitions. Stupid on paper as the winners were just vanity metrics for the sect leaders, but actually pretty fun, considering his sword skills. Jingyi learned some of the most fun disciples to spar with were the saber-wielding QingheNie juniors -- they knew how to hit hard and somehow nimbly dodge as if they weren’t all built like tanks. It was like when he practiced with Sizhui, if Sizhui had a sword three times larger than his.

At some point on the third day, while waiting for the finals of the sword-fighting competition, Jingyi perched on the spine of the roof above the guest rooms. He idly spun Chenqing in his hand, vaguely hoping the movement would relax the cramp building in his hand after he’d accidentally placed in the top three of the calligraphy competition. Teacher Lan would be quietly beside himself with pride and self-satisfaction when the news reached him, proving all those handstands and rule-copying he’d punished Jingyi with had paid off in some way. Not necessarily with good behavior, but the bronze medallion in Jingyi’s sleeve was definitely something the old man would be pleased about.

“Aiya,” he heard Wei Wuxian sigh as he materialized next to him. “These things are always so stuffy, and it’s even worse like this.”

“You’ve been in your flute house this whole time?” Jingyi asked, scanning the courtyard below for any curious passersby who might chance a look up and find the ghostly form of one Yiling Laozu haunting the rooftops of Carp Tower.

Wei Wuxian leaned over to flick Jingyi’s nose. “It’s not a house, I’ve told you that at least a hundred times, Lan Jingyi.”

Jingyi swatted him away. “It’s technically a house.”

“It’s not,” Wei Wuxian gave him a flat look before sprawling dramatically on his back. “And I’ve been out and about every now and then. I’ve got a pretty decent range away from the flute, actually. Get a little see through and if I’m gone too long, I get zapped back without warning -- but it’s fine.” He sighed heavily. “Lan Zhan’s just as bored with this thing, too, I can tell. Zewu-jun isn’t listening to him about the arm, you see—”

For a split second, Jingyi thought about dropping off the roof and going anywhere else, as this ramble of Wei Wuxian’s was veering dangerously toward gossip. And he should know better. He really should. Instead, he put his chin in his hand and encouraged it. “How so?”

Wei Wuxian flapped a semi-transparent hand at the sky. “Lan Zhan suspects there’s some plot at play, but we just don’t know who all is involved. We do know that that arm belongs to Chifeng-zun, though, so it must involve Zewu-jun’s other sworn brother and Nie-xiong. That’s simple logic. Lan Zhan agrees, so I’ve been doing some snooping—”

He continued on, but Jingyi tuned out a little. Stuck on Chifeng-zun and arm and Zewu-jun and all of it really. He sucked in a breath and tried to think. Simple logic, Wei Wuxian had said. Suddenly, it seemed awfully convenient that Sect Leader Nie had tasked him with freeing Wei Wuxian. Awfully convenient that he hadn’t even followed up on whether Jingyi had been successful, even though he’d claimed he wanted the flute. Jingyi pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the headache all this thinking was causing.

“—not that I’ve heard anything interesting mind you. Just stupid shit and bad bragging. It was fun to watch Jiang Cheng’s face turn more and more purple the longer he had to listen to Sect Leader Yao, though. That fucker hasn’t changed a bit since Sunshot.”

Wei Wuxian trailed off. And Jingyi tried to push back whatever sort-of revelation he’d been piecing together by staring at the clouds above. One looked like a bunny. A weird, misshapen bunny with three long ears. Okay, not like a bunny at all.

“Shijie’s doing well,” Wei Wuxian murmured.

Jingyi shook himself. “Huh?”

Wei Wuxian startled, too, popping back upright. “Nothing!” He said too brightly as he grinned too brightly and leaned into Jingyi’s space. “How’s your noodle thief? How’s your courtship progressing?”

“Courtship?” Jingyi sputtered. “Where the fuck did pull that from?”

Wei Wuxian just laughed in his face. “That’s not a denial!”

“First of all, fuck you,” Jingyi grumbled as he crossed his arms and looked the other way. “Second, he took first place in the archery contest. Hit all five bullseyes with one draw, the show-off. But Sizhui kicked his ass in the sword quarterfinals.” Jingyi kept the fact that Sizhui had then immediately kicked his ass in their semifinal match to himself.

“Surprisingly capable for a Jin, your noodle thief,” Wei Wuxian said sagely. Jingyi looked at him from the corner of his eye, and instead of some mocking faux beard-stroking, he was staring off into the distance, eyes unfocused and more thoughtful than Jingyi had seen in the entire time he’d known him. Very weird.

Jingyi elbowed him. “He sucked at poetry.”

Wei Wuxian gave a rueful laugh. Better, but still weird. Jingyi chewed on his cheek to keep from blurting out anything to make Wei Wuxian act like normal again.

Which only delayed the inevitable by approximately thirty-seven seconds. “Did you know Sect Leader Nie sent me to get your flute? At the Burial Mounds?”

“Did he? Nie Huaisang did?” Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows pressed together and he bit the edge of his thumbnail, worrying it as he considered the new information. 

Jingyi nodded. “Yeah—yup!”

After a long moment, he seemed to settle on some sort of decision. He turned and smiled at Jingyi while tapping the side of his nose twice. “Well, we should get you back to cheer on our Sizhui, shouldn’t we?”

And then Wei Wuxian disappeared, only a faint, smoky tendril left behind to wrap itself around Chenqing.

Chapter Text

Sizhui won the sword competition easily. He was breathless and happy in a way Jingyi rarely saw him as Sect Leader Jin awarded him a golden medallion like the bronze one in Jingyi’s sleeve. Jingyi felt Wei Wuxian laugh in the back of his head. 

Tired of waiting in the crowded stands, Jingyi wormed his way out to go tackle Sizhui or something equally embarrassing to celebrate his big win. Something heavy collided with his back -- Zizhen whooped loudly to announce himself.

“That was awesome,” he shouted.

Jingyi elbowed him. “Duh, it’s Sizhui -- Hanguang-jun taught him, and he’s the best!”

Both skidded to a halt as Sizhui rose from a bow to Lianfang-zun. “An excellent showcase of the Lan sect’s famed swordsmanship, young master Lan.”

“Thank you, Lianfang-zun,” Sizhui replied, smiling wide and bright. “I still have much to learn from my seniors.”

Lianfang-zun smiled back, sending a weird shiver down Jingyi’s back. “I’m sure your seniors will be very proud of your accomplishment and representing GusuLan so well after so many years in isolation.”

“You’re too kind.” Sizhui bobbed his head in thanks again.

Lianfang-zun caught sight of something in the distance before he nodded his head and left. 

Zizhen wasted no time throwing himself at Sizhui with another loud whoop. Jingyi laughed at Sizhui’s face when he surfaced, face flushed and surprised that this kid they had stumbled on all those months ago on their first trip down to Caiyi was trying to lift him up and spin him around all while expounding on how incredible Sizhui’s win was.

“Thanks, Zizhen, really,” Sizhui said, trying and failing to gently pry himself away.

Gravel crunched underfoot as someone stepped up beside Jingyi. He glanced over -- ah, Jin Ling. Who was rolling his eyes and huffing at the display.

“Honestly,” he grumbled.

Jingyi shoulder-checked him because he knew it’d annoy him. “Hello yourself, young mistress.”

Jin Ling whipped his head around to glare at him directly. “Don’t —” he took a slow, deep breath and looked like he was consciously trying to calm down. “I was going to congratulate him, but if he’s busy, I guess I can do this later. What a fuc—an unnecessary display. Aren’t you Lans supposed to hate touching people?” 

With a grin, Jingyi shrugged. “When you’re as cute as our Lan Sizhui, everyone wants to get a cuddle in.” Jingyi nudged him again. “He’s surprisingly hard to squish, though. But young master Ouyang here has a certain talent for it.”

“Hmph.” Jin Ling scoffed and kicked at the gravel under his feet. He threw a cautious look over his shoulder, and Jingyi saw Madame Jin waving at her son encouragingly.

Jingyi hummed to himself, considering whether he should do something just because he could. “I think you should just. Get in there. Insert yourself into the situation -- you’re an expert at that, after all.”

“Hey—”

Jingyi didn’t wait for whatever comeback Jin Ling wanted to spit at him, he just shoved him into Zizhen’s tentacle-like grasp and watched the chaos ensue. Zizhen, bless him, immediately sucked Jin Ling into his hug, where Jin Ling wriggled and flailed and kicked and yelled until even Sizhui had to help contain him before he just went limp between them, red-faced and furious. Hilarious. 

Jingyi stepped up to clap Sizhui on the back and ruffle his bangs. 

“Jingyi, stop,” Sizhui whined. Jingyi wasn’t fooled, his best friend was positively giddy and beyond pleased, even if he was being a little contrary about it.

So Jingyi just laughed at him some more, which Zizhen took as tacit permission to pull him into the group hug. Jingyi endured it with a grumble. That was the secret to getting Zizhen to stop, after all. Besides, it wasn’t that embarrassing. After another round of unnecessary squeezing and laughter and spiteful cursing, Zizhen released everyone.

Zizhen sighed happily. “Oh, that was so great, you did so well, Sizhui.”

“Thanks, Zizhen,” Sizhui said again, hiding a chuckle behind his sleeve.

“Can’t believe I’m best friends with the best swordsman of our generation.”

Jingyi blurted out a laugh. “Get in line, Zizhen. He’s my best friend first.”

Sizhui laughed outright at that, so Jingyi shot Zizhen a smirk.

“You’re all ridiculous,” Jin Ling groused, smoothing out his hair and carefully resettling the gold beads dangling from his ponytail. 

Jingyi tugged at the end of his ponytail. “I think the young mistress liked it.”

“Hah!” Jin Ling made a big show of freeing his hair from Jingyi’s fingers. “Like I would. I’m a sect heir , I’ll have you know. I don’t behave like—” he made a vague, pissy hand gesture encompassing the three others “—this.”

“I’m a sect heir,” Zizhen helpfully butted in. “And Sizhui, too.” He paused, glancing between Jingyi and Sizhui with half of a doubt lifting one of his eyebrows. “I think?”

Sizhui patted Zizhen’s shoulder. “It’s a little complicated.”

“Ridiculous,” Jin Ling replied, even more vehement.

Jingyi decided Jin Ling was a prime target for another bit of hair ruffling. He moved in only to have Jin Ling slap his hands away. Zizhen grinned way too knowingly at Jingyi over the top of Jin Ling’s head.

Jin Ling sniffed loudly, attempting to free himself from all of this friendliness that he clearly had no idea how to handle. “I only came over to congratulate Lan Sizhui. If I had to be defeated, at least it was by the disciple who won.”

“Thank you, young master Jin,” Sizhui acknowledged with a polite bow. “I quite enjoyed our match, too. You’re very skilled.”

Jingyi bit his cheek to keep from laughing as Jin Ling puffed up at Sizhui’s praise. His head lifted a little higher, a little spot of color growing high on his cheeks. It was—It was almost—It was maybe a little—

Zizhen elbowed him, his eyebrow raised in a way that made his meaning unmissable: that Jingyi had looked a little too long, watched a little too closely. So he pulled a nasty face back at him and pretended he didn’t understand any of his friend’s unspoken implications. 

Except -- even as Jin Ling and Sizhui continued with their fellow competitor pleasantries -- he saw Jin Ling watching him out of the corner of his eye, waiting for Jingyi to look back at him. As soon as he did, Jin Ling tossed his ponytail over his shoulder like he was bragging that Sizhui had acknowledged his skills, like he was challenging Jingyi to disagree with Sizhui, like he wanted Jingyi to do something. 

Jingyi felt a little breathless with the weight of that attention. 

And it all evaporated away too fast, too soon as Jin Ling’s head whipped around to look toward the stands, to where someone in a gaggle of gold-clad cultivators had called his name. With an annoyed sigh, Jin Ling turned back to them and started to make the appropriate polite gestures.

Jingyi -- carefully avoiding looking at anyone, especially Sizhui or Zizhen -- flicked his forehead when he tried to give him a half-assed bow. Jin Ling jerked back upright to scowl at him and slap his hand away for the umpteenth time.

“You’re right, you don’t deserve it,” he snapped. Jingyi had to hold back a laugh, he looked so funny with his head tipped back and his scowl so fierce.

“And here I was going to tell you to stop working so hard,” Jingyi said, waiting a second before dipping into a farewell bow of his own to hide his smirk. “But that’s probably too bold for this humble disciple, to presume the young mistress is in want of a distraction.”

He looked up to catch Jin Ling’s eyes wide with surprise, that flush he’d had returning. 

And then Jin Ling visibly squashed it down with his bitchiest eyeroll yet, muttering something definitely disparaging under his breath. “That is too bold, actually,” he declared. “Now be off with you, I have important things to attend to!”

Jingyi laughed at him as he spun on his heel and marched off. He ignored Zizhen elbowing him, Sizhui tipping his head into view, and watched Jin Ling go, his gold robes flapping with the force of his stomping. 

Just before he disappeared into the crowd of gold-robed disciples, he turned back and looked, a small, pleased curl at the corner of his mouth. Jingyi winked back, and that small curve widened even as his face turned red, just for a second, just long enough that Jingyi knew he wasn’t imagining it. A man in a black hat pulled Jin Ling into the group, and Jingyi found himself staring at Lianfang-zun instead. His smile unsettled Jingyi.

Zizhen, completely oblivious, threw his arms around Sizhui and Jingyi and laughed loudly.

“That was—wow,” Sizhui said.

Zizhen snorted. “That sure is a word for it.”

“Jingyi—”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

There was no way that Jingyi wanted to deal with anything that had just happened. So he ducked under Zizhen’s arm that was trying to trap him and weaseled his way to the other side of the competition ring to make his escape from his friends. 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t escape Wei Wuxian chuckling in the back of his head. Jingyi considered throwing Chenqing in a pond, which seemed enough of a threat to shut him up.

A distant part of his brain functioned enough to recognize the courtyard as one near the guest quarters. Noticed the silver and green robes of the QingheNie, the navy and burgundy of BalingOuyang, the purple and blue of YunmengJiang. 

Jingyi really wished he could turn a corner and be home. Even if it meant that Teacher Lan would assign him to copy the entire Wall of Discipline while doing handstands and with no breaks. At least at home, he knew what to expect, he didn’t have to figure out why the glare of one person made him want to do stupid things to keep that attention. Sure, he did stupid shit all the time, but not like this, like he wanted to get caught, like he wanted to see how long it’d take to cycle through all those scowls Jin Ling so readily threw out until he looked at him and laughed. Like he had when his ankle was sprained and Jingyi had wrapped it too tightly. 

Jingyi tripped on nothing.

Ohh, oh no. This was—Oh no.

He immediately quashed that half-realization right there on the tip of his brain and shoved to the darkest corner of his mind.

Absolutely not. 

He had to deal with somehow entering a contract with the cultivation world’s most-hated villain of all time, he didn’t know how long said contract would last or how to end it, and not to mention whatever the hell was going on with that arm the others had found. He didn’t have time for this, for having a—

Sizhui’s voice floated to the front of his brain, reminding him of what he had said in Yiling, you’re complaining about him so much, Jingyi, I almost think you like him.

His heart gave an odd, heavy thump. Jingyi crashed into a pillar shoulder first for the vaguest sense of plausible deniability.

It didn’t work. He’d always been a shit liar.

“Oh, Jingyi, excellent timing,” Zewu-jun said, waving at the open cushion next to Hanguang-jun.

Which was exactly when Jingyi realized he’d ducked into the wrong guest room. He wanted to turn around, leave, possibly take up a new identity entirely. But Zewu-jun was smiling at him. And Hanguang-jun, too, in that Hanguang-jun way where he didn’t actually smile but Jingyi could tell he was.

So, with only the smallest bobble of uncertainty, Jingyi sat down on the cushion.

“I heard from A-Yao that Sizhui placed first in today’s junior swordsmanship competition.”

“Yeah—” Jingyi took a breath to collect himself. “Yes, Zewu-jun. It was a really great match, lots of people came up to congratulate him, and you know how he gets.”

Zewu-jun’s smile turned a little wistful. “I’m glad you’re both getting this experience.”

Hanguang-jun nodded with a soft hum.

Recognizing his cue, Jingyi bowed from the shoulders. “This disciple is very grateful to be included.”

“Are you alright, Jingyi?” Zewu-jun tilted his head. 

Jingyi flushed, ducked his head. It felt like somehow he’d let Zewu-jun down. Like the internal crisis that’d been chasing itself in circles in his brain this whole time was plainly apparent to everyone in the room. Oh no, Hanguang-jun was seeing him like this. Terrible. Just terrible. It was never just one thing that went wrong. Hand tucked in his sleeve, he pressed his fingernail into the pad of his thumb to center himself and act like a human being again.

“I’m fine, Zewu-jun,” Jingyi said, decently proud of how normal it sounded.

Until Hanguang-jun’s eyebrow raised a hair. “Jingyi.”

Ohno. Jingyi’s shoulders fell. “It’s—It’s just been a lot. I think. A lot. Really a lot. A lot’s going on.” Jingyi bit down on his tongue to stop from babbling more nonsense.

Hanguang-jun looked at his brother, something pointed in his expression. Zewu-jun sighed.

“I know, Wangji,” Zewu-jun murmured, pressing a careful finger between his eyebrows.

It seemed like something he shouldn’t see -- too close to an argument between the sect leader and his brother, two people who always seemed so in step and aligned with one another that Jingyi didn’t think they could disagree. Not so obviously anyway, not in any way that Jingyi would be able to tell. Jingyi pressed his fingers together harder, desperate not to fidget.

Zewu-jun’s face smoothed and his smile, as kind and warm as ever, came back as he looked over at Jingyi. “I sometimes wonder if that rule did more harm than good, too.”

“What?” Jingyi said.

“Closing off the mountain,” Zewu-jun explained. “Uncle and the elders wanted to protect us all after—well, after everything that had happened. But I think in the end, it didn’t quite achieve the goal they’d hoped it would.”

Hanguang-jun nodded, face placid again. “One should not live with regrets.”

“Mn, yes, one should not, if it’s possible.” Something sad flickered across Zewu-jun’s face. “But one must also be mindful of the consequences of one's choices.”

Jingyi shifted on his cushion as the silence that settled around them began to feel strained. Even more than before, Jingyi felt caught in the middle of an argument that was way over his head. He needed to get out of here. He firmly ignored the curious noise from the back of his head that he knew was Wei Wuxian’s, the nosy bastard.

“Ah, thank you, Hanguang-jun, Zewu-jun,” Jingyi said, grateful he managed to keep his tone even. “I’ll, um, go meditate and reflect on that?”

“Very dutiful, Jingyi.” Zewu-jun’s eyes crinkled at the corners. 

Jingyi took that as a dismissal and shot up to his feet, saluted his seniors, and booked it out of the room as quickly as he could without running. Two doors down, he slid to a stop outside a room and peeked in to double-check it was the quarters he’d been assigned. All these damn Carp Tower doors and their stupid, flashy gold decorations making them all look the same.

Thankfully, it was the right room. Jingyi shut the doors behind him and sagged down to the floor, digging his fingers into his scalp.

Wei Wuxian laughed, squatting down in front of him. “Oh, you’re really going through it right now, aren’t you, little Lan?”

Jingyi picked his eyes up from the ground to scowl at him, fingers flicking toward his sword hilt on his shoulder. Then he thought better of it and grabbed Chenqing from inside his sleeve. “I don’t want to hear about it. Least of all from you.”

“Easy there,” Wei Wuxian said, semi-transparent hands up to try and placate Jingyi as he eyed his hand twitching closer to his sword. “No need to do anything hasty. Remember what your Hanguang-jun said about living with regrets?”

“Senior Wei,” Jingyi bit out, poking Wei Wuxian with his own flute. “Do you not know how to shut the fuck up for a single second?”

“Honestly? No.”

Jingyi stared at him, mouth pressing thin as he tried not to scream. “I really wish you’d get lost.”

Wei Wuxian let out a bout of startled laughter. “Oh that’s a familiar feeling, maybe you baby Lans are related to Lan Zhan after all!” He dodged Jingyi’s leg as he kicked at him. “Aiya, I’m going, I’m going—Maybe I can catch Zewu-jun before he runs off and hides from me again!”

Still talking to himself, Wei Wuxian flits through the closed door, leaving Jingyi in blessed silence. He tossed Chenqing on the table for good measure. 

He heaved out a long breath, head hitting hard against the frame of the door. 

One crisis at a time. 

Whatever was going on with Hanguang-jun and Zewu-jun wasn’t his problem. Wei Wuxian was probably going to make it his problem, and then it’d probably become Jingyi’s problem because Wei Wuxian was inherently his problem, what with Jingyi having been the one to summon him. But that was at least two hours down the road. He could ignore that for now.

The ongoing crisis that was Wei Wuxian’s existence had just flounced off, so that wasn’t worth thinking about either. Chifeng-zun’s dismembered-yet-sentient arm was rattling in a spirit-trapping pouch on Hanguang-jun, so that didn’t need attention either.

Which just left the one thing he really didn’t want to think about.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself, thunking his head against the door again.

Somehow, even though they’d only exchanged maybe a dozen civil words with one another, Jingyi had managed to possibly develop a regard for Jin Ling.

Terrible. The worst. A huge mistake, really. What the hell was wrong with him.

The worst part of the whole thing was that everyone else had already caught on, already pinned this on him, and they were all going to be insufferable. Zizhen especially.

Except, it all felt maybe a little inevitable, now that he took the time to think about everything. He liked the steel in Jin Ling’s eyes as he scowled at him, he liked the way a single nice word made him turn into an overdressed human tomato, he liked the way he kept throwing challenges down regardless of the situation. 

He felt something in his chest wobble.

He liked that Jin Ling had looked back, that he’d let himself smile, and it was fucking cute. He looked good when he smiled, good enough for Jingyi to want to—

It was his heart, the wobbling thing that kept flopping heavy between his ribs.

Terrible.

Everyone was always on him to be a more proper Lan, to follow the rules, to be polite, but here he was, doing the most Lan thing ever by accidentally getting a crush on the world’s worst (but maybe best?) person ever. Teacher Lan probably just broke out in a cold sweat, and he’d never know why.

Still, there were worse things, maybe. Like if he hadn’t left the mountain at all. Or if he was still trapped in that cave on the Burial Mounds.

Jingyi laughed weakly, dragging a hand down his face. This was stupid. Lying on the floor like this twisting himself into knots. This was the kind of bullshit Zizhen would do.

One should not live with regrets, Hanguang-jun had said.

Which meant there was only one thing for Jingyi to do. 

He picked himself up, righting his robes and fixing the mess he’d made of his hair. He ran a finger along his forehead ribbon to check it had survived his flailing. He felt a zing of energy that almost sounded like Wei Wuxian’s laughter. Ah, right. His spell was still intact, if inactive.

Well. If he was going to do this, he ought to do it right. If he was going to do this, to see if he was right about what those small moments meant, Jingyi wanted to make sure he looked great.

So he concentrated on the spell Wei Wuxian had attached to the ribbon and hoped it wouldn’t make him look too ridiculous. Just...impressive. To turn the head of one particular Jin disciple.

Zizhen waved him down on the way to the banquet hall. Jingyi immediately ducked behind a carefully pruned bush. Zizhen called out for him, and he heard his shoes slapping against the stone path, and in a blur of dark red, saw Zizhen pass by his hiding spot. 

Jingyi let out a breath. He was on a mission, and if he got waylaid, he wouldn’t follow through. He’d make it up to Zizhen later. After he figured out this thing with Jin Ling, somehow. 

Not that he had much of a plan. Just grab Jin Ling after dinner, and see what happened from there. And he had to do it now, while he had Hanguang-jun’s words about no regrets in his head, otherwise the twisting of his stomach and heavy thunk of his heart would rattle him, and he’d think about it too much or worse -- talk about it -- and then he’d wind up doing exactly nothing about it.

And that wasn’t an option.

He stuck his head out from behind the bush and found the area Zizhen-free. He walked toward the entrance to the banquet hall, the sound of people talking and ceramic clinking together wafting through with the smell of those spicy noodles they kept serving like they were supposed to taste like something other than fire. 

He took a second to look through. It seemed like the normal mealtime was over, and people were milling about and drinking, as they would probably continue to do through the rest of the night going by how the past days of the conference had ended. This entryway faced the side where the Lans were assigned. 

Zewu-jun sat at his table, amicably talking with another sect leader. Sizhui and Hanguang-jun were sharing a pot of tea, discussing something that had put a small furrow between Hanguang-jun’s eyebrows. On the other side of the column, where the Jin sect sat, most of the tables were empty, including the one at the front where Jin Ling had sat all week. A movement caught his eye and he saw Lianfang-zun attending to Sect Leader Jin, leaning down discreetly as they talked. 

Basically everyone but the one person he was looking for.

“Damn,” Jingyi cursed under his breath. “Where would he have—”

“Young master Lan?”

Jingyi whipped his head around at the quiet voice coming from just inside one of the doorways. A woman in Jin-gold robes edged in pink stepped outside with little golden beads twisted into her hair in a familiar way. She was older than him, maybe a little younger than his mom, like Hanguang-jun.

“Um, yes?” Jingyi answered.

“Is there something I can help you with?” The woman smiled, the expression a little crooked like she laughed easily and often. “You look a little lost.”

“Oh, I was just—It’s not—” Jingyi stopped himself, shook his head to clear it. The woman watched all this calmly, smile quirking up further on one side as Jingyi bowed like he should have in the start of their conversation. “This one would not want to trouble you—”

“But?”

Jingyi grinned, chagrined. “But would you happen to know where young master Jin is?”

Her eyebrows raised up before she smiled wide and laughed quietly. “You must be that young master Lan, then.”

“What—”

“He’s usually in the western gardens at this time, with his dog. Try the one with the gazebo overlooking the lotus pond.”

“Thanks!” Jingyi said with one more quick bow. “I’ll owe you—”

“Luo Qingyang!” A gruff voice barked out from behind Jingyi. Sandu Shenghsou came storming down the pathway, headed right toward them. “Have you seen Zi—Sect Leader Jin?”

Luo Qingyang clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes before answering. “What do I look like to you, Sect Leader Jiang, a scrying mirror?”

“Very funny,” Sandu Shengshou returned, lip curling. He glared at Jingyi, sneering at him for no reason that Jingyi could figure out. So Jingyi tried to give him his flattest stare back, like when Hanguang-jun had to deal with something particularly annoying. “What does this Lan boy want?”

Luo Qingyang patted Sandu Shengshou on the shoulder before grabbing him by the elbow to steer him into the banquet hall. “Oh, he was just asking about how we keep the peonies in bloom. You know how the Lans enjoy their horticulture.” 

Sandu Shengshou snorted, clearly disbelieving, but let her lead him without too much fuss. Luo Qingyang winked over her shoulder at Jingyi, and he grinned back. He took her tacit approval and speedwalked to the western side of Carp Tower to find the garden Luo Qingyang had mentioned.

Chapter Text

The paths were wide and smooth, even the less-used ones, so Jingyi wound up past the guest quarters, the sword drill courtyard, the outer disciples’ dorms way faster than he expected. He heard a dog barking, something splashing in water, and loud cursing. 

Jingyi laughed. That had to be Jin Ling. 

He stepped into the garden and saw a fluffy dog shaking water off while Jin Ling hid behind his sleeve to protect his face. Jingyi immediately choked on his laughter as his throat closed up.

“Shit,” he muttered, swallowing whatever the fuck that was back down and realizing he had no idea what he was supposed to say. He’d spent the entire afternoon trying so hard not to psych himself out that he forgot to think about what he would do when he was face-to-face with Jin Ling again. Now that he knew why he kept poking at him to get a reaction. Because it was cute. When his face scrunched up, when he looked down his nose—

Jingyi coughed loudly to forcibly cut off that thought.

“Hey!”

And now Jin Ling was running toward him. “Shit,” he said again, a little dazed. 

Jin Ling came to a stop in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest. “You again.”

“Me again.”

The dog came trotting over to sniff Jingyi, adding another level of judgement to the whole ordeal. Jin Ling didn’t do anything to call the dog back from snuffling at Jingyi’s feet even as the dog’s head pushed under the hem of his robes. He fidgeted under the scrutiny, putting a hand down to try to get the dog’s head back out into the open. 

“Fairy,” Jin Ling said. The dog stopped licking at Jingyi’s fingertips with a loud snort and sat down happily at Jin Ling’s feet, looking incredibly round. “Good girl.” After scratching behind her ears, Jin Ling looked at him again. “You know, you’ve never properly introduced yourself.”

Jingyi blinked. “Wait really?” He laughed. “What have you been calling me this whole time?”

“Variations of ‘that Lan idiot’ mostly,” Jin Ling replied, pushing his chin out like he expected Jingyi to fight him about it. 

Instead, Jingyi snorted. “Wow, I didn’t take you for such a flatterer, young mistress Jin.”

“Don’t call me that!” He snapped. “Who even said you could come here, these are the private apartments of the sect leader’s family, don’t you know?”

“I didn’t know, actually.”

Jin Ling rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘Lan dumbass.’ Jingyi let his brain have a second to wonder what exactly was it again about this guy that made his heart flop around like a fish on a hook, anyway. He clicked his tongue.

“It’s Jingyi, by the way.” 

“I know, we know the name of everyone who’s here.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

His stubborn jaw came back as he frowned at Jingyi. “To make a point.” At Jingyi’s raised eyebrow, he threw his hands up in a huff and turned on his heel to stalk off to the other end of the garden. “Who even said you could come here?”

Jingyi took the continued sniping as an invitation to follow. “A disciple -- ah, a Luo Qingyang? -- she said you’d be here.”

Jin Ling groaned. “Of course she did. Mianmian-guma is so nosy.”

“I didn’t know she was your aunt.” Jingyi stepped quickly to peer around Jin Ling’s shoulder and catch his eye again. “She seemed pretty nice to me. Maybe too friendly with Sandu Shengshou -- I don’t know how anyone is friendly with him, he’s so pissy.”

“And that’s my jiujiu, so watch your fucking mouth.”

“Am I not allowed to comment on well-known facts about your relatives?” Jingyi asked, trying not to grin.

Jin Ling’s gaze narrowed. “Depends. Do you want to see how fast I can plant your ass in the ground?”

Jingyi didn’t try to stop his sharp grin at the challenge of that, and he made a big show of idly stretching his hands out in front of him. “If I recall, you can plant yourself in the ground quite well on your own. No need for me or my ass to get involved.”

“Hey—”

“Your ankle seems to have recovered just fine, though.”

He scowled at Jingyi, but the expression softened a little when his dog’s tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth. He let out a tired breath. “What are you doing here?”

Jingyi threw his arm over Jin Ling’s shoulders to try and drive out the defeated tone of voice that felt so wrong coming from him. “Providing a distraction.”

“What?” Jin Ling squawked, batting at Jingyi’s arm as he wormed his way free. “What does that even mean?”

Jingyi laughed. “No idea, but I’m starving so let’s say we get out of here.”

“Go eat at the banquet hall,” he snapped back before pausing, his interest piqued. “How?”

“Swords, obviously.”

“I’m not allowed to leave Carp Tower.”

“Didn’t stop you before.” Jingyi nudged him with an elbow, waggling his eyebrows.

Jin Ling pressed his mouth tight like he was fighting back a different expression. “Hm.”

Jingyi squatted down to pet the dog still sitting there at their feet, round and fluffy and stupid. “Is that a good ‘hm’ or a bad ‘hm’?” He took the dog’s face between his hands, finding her face extremely smooshy and easy to squish into some hilarious expressions. “Do you know?”

The dog didn’t answer, she just started licking at his wrist. Dogs were weird.

“She doesn’t know,” he said, looking back up at Jin Ling. 

Who just stared down at him, furrowed eyebrows lifting as a small, bright spot of color started to bloom high on his cheeks. Oh, he thought as his heart suddenly felt uncomfortably large in his chest, that expression was probably a contributing factor to the whole fish-on-a-hook thing. Jingyi sucked his lip into his mouth and tried not to laugh, feeling slightly hysterical.

“She doesn’t—” Jin Ling cleared his throat, trying and failing to hide the way his voice cracked. He shook his head and plowed on, determined. “Fairy’s a dog, of course she doesn’t know.”

Jingyi’s cheeks hurt from the smile he couldn’t keep off his face. He rubbed a knuckle between the funny-colored spots on her head that looked like worried little eyebrows. “I’m sure you know lots of things,” he said in a stage whisper. “Don’t listen to the young mistress—eurgh!” 

He fell back onto his ass trying to dodge the dog’s tongue as she licked the side of his face. Jin Ling’s affronted squawk dissolved quickly into a surprised laugh. Which turned into an outright cackle as Jingyi wiped his face off, grumbling about how wet dog slobber was. Jingyi gave him a dirty look which got ignored.

“Good girl,” Jin Ling said, smirking at Jingyi as he praised the dog.

“Fuck you,” Jingyi muttered back, no heat in his voice.

For some reason that made Jin Ling laugh again. Jingyi hated that he wasn’t even close to mad about being the butt of a joke. Jin Ling put his hand out and helped pull Jingyi up to his feet. The warmth of his hand soothed some of Jingyi’s frazzled dignity.

“Come on, Lan Jingyi,” Jin Ling said, turning quickly on his heel and marching off toward a doorway. “We’ll need to go before shushu notices anything.”

After a second to recenter himself, to stop running his thumb over his palm to keep the feeling of Jin Ling’s hand there, Jingyi lurched after him with a grin.

Jin Ling walked fast, taking several turns as he led Jingyi through the interior of Carp Tower, out through another courtyard, inside again, and up two flights of stairs. They passed a window looking out onto a balcony, and Jin Ling skidded to a stop so fast that Jingyi nearly tripped over him. The floor creaked under Jingyi’s foot. The face Jin Ling made was possibly sour enough to pickle vegetables, certainly worse than the one he’d had after he tripped over a hole in the ground on their first misadventure. Jingyi shrugged back. Not like he could un-creak a floorboard.

“A-Ling?” A woman’s voice called out, gentle and quiet.

Jin Ling took a second to rearrange his face into something less pissy. The dog didn’t wait, she just nosed her way through the door, probably looking for some pets. With a sigh, Jin Ling stepped through, too. Jingyi stayed in the hallway, not even bothering to hide -- there was no point with white robes, and besides, he was following Jin Ling, so that meant he was allowed to be here. 

He tried not to eavesdrop. He really did. But the door was only lined with paper and did very little to block sound. Especially Jin Ling’s voice. When he spoke, it carried. 

“Mom, stop, my hair is fine!” He heard Jin Ling whine. Jingyi covered his mouth to muffle the laugh that popped out.

“Of course, A-Ling,” Madame Jin replied in that all-knowing tone of voice every mom seemed to have. “Don’t be too late, your father—”

“I know, I’ll help,” Jin Ling cut her off. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“Hm, I don’t know about that,” she said, voice wry. 

She stepped into the darkness of the hallway, not minding Jin Ling’s indignant noise and absolutely unsurprised to see Jingyi standing there. Jingyi bowed quickly as Jin Ling pulled a face at him from behind his mother. When Jingyi straightened, Madame Jin looked him up and down, face calm and serene except for the slight raise of one eyebrow. And even though she only came up to his shoulder and had no weapon in sight, Jingyi felt a little worried that she might just break him in half if she so chose. Mothers were terrifying.

He smiled, glad his hands were tucked into his sleeves to hide their nervous fidgeting.

This seemed to be what she was waiting for as she smiled back, the same way Jin Ling had, just a small curve of her mouth. Jingyi let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

She turned back to Jin Ling. “Before the last bell.”

Jin Ling made a big show of rolling his eyes and huffing and grumbling out an ‘obviously, Mom,’ that she laughed lightly at. She patted his cheek before moving past him down the hall. She turned a corner and started down the staircase they had just climbed up without another word.

He felt a tug at his sleeve, and Jin Ling was pulling him in the other direction. They ducked into a room. Jin Ling’s room, he realized, seeing a familiar bow on a weapons rack by the door. A paper-strewn writing desk had several books stacked up haphazardly, one good breeze away from toppling over onto the floor. Half-drawn golden curtains kept most of the bed from view, but everything in the room had a touch of gold to it, even the books with the gilded calligraphy on their covers.

While Jingyi gawked from where he stood by the door, Jin Ling settled his dog, taking a second on the way back to peer at something set against the far wall. A mirror, Jingyi realized, he was untangling one of the golden chains in his ponytail. Jingyi wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked. He didn’t remember how it had felt when he’d tugged on it earlier, too focused on watching Jin Ling's face scrunch up in annoyance.

Jin Ling caught him looking and flushed a bright red. Jingyi felt the back of his neck burn just as hot as he quickly looked elsewhere.

“Where’s your sword?” He said, gamely ignoring the weird wobble in his voice. Rather than looking back at Jin Ling, he decided it was safer to move toward the weapons rack.

“Dad has it.” Jin Ling slapped Jingyi’s hand away from his bow. “Don’t touch that.”

“Why?”

“It’s his sword,” Jin Ling said it like it should be obvious. And, well, it probably would be because Sect Leader Jin was more than a little famous for having survived a hole in his chest, and famous men had famous swords. “Suihua is his sword. I don’t have one.”

“That explains why it’s too long for you.” Jingyi physically felt when the little bits of information he’d been given clicked into place in his brain. “Your uncle?”

“Shushu is very dedicated to keeping me safe,” Jin Ling replied, an oddly blank look on his face. Then he grabbed Jingyi’s wrist and dragged him back out of the room again. “Stop asking stupid questions, let’s go. We have to be quick.”

“How are we—”

“Your sword.”

Jingyi dug his feet in when they reached the balcony and used the momentum to turn Jin Ling back around. “There are two of us.”

The cagey look left Jin Ling’s eyes as he looked up, jaw pushing out a little and Jingyi felt the weight of it slam into him. Jin Ling raised an eyebrow. “I thought Lans were strong.”

And Jingyi grinned back, sharp and ready to meet that challenge head on.

He couldn’t land soon enough.

Jin Ling couldn’t stand still, which was a little dangerous when flying by sword at dusk and high enough to seriously injure oneself should either of them slip. But Jin Ling was determined to be a wriggler. 

They’d started out fine -- Jin Ling standing behind him, hands on his shoulders. But then Jingyi had dropped off the balcony a little too steeply before he could adjust to having two people on his sword, and Jin Ling nearly choked him to keep from falling off.

(“What the fuck—” “Hrrk—” “—you said you could do this—” “—oof, ack, leggo, I—” “—pull up, fucking pull up!” “—can’t breathe, shit, I’m trying!”)

When they’d leveled out, Jin Ling had somehow managed to worm his way in front of Jingyi. That had been fine, too, until he’d started trying to steer.

(“Stop leaning—” “It’s not my fault you can’t find the updrafts—” “—you’re going to make us fucking fall—” “—if you’d just go over there—” “—it’s my fucking sword!” “—we’d go way faster!”)

But eventually, they’d made it to a town on the coast and set down, both thoroughly grumpy with each other.

“What the fuck was I thinking,” he heard Jin Ling mutter, moving away as he smoothed out his robes. He shot a foul look over his shoulder at Jingyi, so Jingyi stuck his tongue out at him as he sheathed his sword.

Still, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d decided to track Jin Ling down and see if maybe there was something to the way Jingyi’s eyes kept catching on him. Maybe there was something to the way he swore he could feel it when Jin Ling’s eyes found him, too. There was a heaviness to his attention. He felt it settle on his skin, and sure enough, Jin Ling’s head whipped around in the opposite direction from Jingyi, clearly trying to pretend he hadn’t been watching him.

Jingyi laughed to himself. Well. He could work with that. Besides, he wasn’t a quitter.

Jin Ling cleared his throat loudly, shaking his head so that the golden beads in his ponytail made little tinkly noises as they bounced off one another.

“There are lanterns,” he said. Proclaimed, really, like he was presenting something to the discussion conference they’d just absconded from. Jingyi swallowed back another laugh.

“The young mistress has a good eye,” Jingyi replied easily. “Very observant.”

Jin Ling scowled at him but didn’t comment on the nickname for once. “That means there’s a town, Lan Jingyi. People, shops—”

“Food!”

“—And—yes, food, too.” Jin Ling side-eyed him. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

Jingyi wasn’t Sizhui, able to soothe frayed edges with a smile, and he wasn’t Zizhen with his clever tongue. But he was pretty sure that was about as close to a peace offering as he was going to get from Jin Ling. So he threw his arm over Jin Ling’s shoulders, ignored his embarrassed squawk, and steered them toward the path between the lanterns.

“It is,” he said. “I missed dinner and all they had left was wine. Is that the famed Jin hospitality you bragged about?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have missed dinner.”

Jingyi elected to ignore this. Jin Ling had stopped trying to shove him away, so Jingyi focused on that instead, feeling his neck heat up with how close they were.

The path gave way to a small village with one street still bustling with people even as night fell around them. The street vendors had set up with sparklers and skewered meat, paper spinners and fried dough. Maybe this would turn out okay, actually.

“Nice, must be a festival,” Jingyi said, beelining to a stall to grab as much barbecued chicken as he could hold. 

By the time he started fishing for his coin purse, Jin Ling pushed him along by the arm. “Don’t worry about it,” he muttered, ducking his head to avoid Jingyi’s eyes. Jingyi elbowed him, smiling around his third skewer. He waved the last two under Jin Ling’s nose, where he was still looking down at his feet like they were the most interesting thing. Jin Ling startled a little, and that’s when Jingyi saw how red his face was. 

He elbowed him again. “Thanks.”

Jin Ling turned a little, eyes narrow like he was suspicious of the offer of skewers. Jingyi winked. Which made Jin Ling snatch the skewers and scowl despite the full-face flush. “You’re welcome. You did fly us here. Sort of.”

“Only sort of?”

Jin Ling looked at him head on, one cheek stuffed with chicken. “Yeah. Sort of.” He swallowed and elbowed Jingyi back. “Do better on the way back.”

“You are so demanding, Jin Ling,” Jingyi laughed, feeling something warm thrum through him.

“I’ve been told,” he replied, voice a little bitter but the curl of a smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth. 

The town they’d found had carved itself into the side of the mountain, overlooking a forest and then, with the nearly full moon glimmering on the waves not too far in the distance, the sea. In the day, it’d probably be quite beautiful, the kind of landscape that would make someone with the patience for it stop to grind down fine ink and try to put it to paper. The people seemed happy, decently fed, laughing and chatting and selling their wares to one another.

For all his scoffing about how Jingyi should have had the dinner served at Carp Tower, Jin Ling gravitated toward one of the stalls making sugar paintings, little butterflies and rabbits and birds standing on sticks and a large, intricate dragon precariously strung above the counter. Jingyi followed him over for a closer look.

The auntie running the stall held a paper spinner out to two kids. She called back the shapes they got to an older woman making the sweets. Jin Ling put out a hand to catch her eye and gestured at one of the ready-made snacks on display, two gold coins already tucked between his fingers. She smiled as she took the money.

Jin Ling pushed the snack at Jingyi, eyes carefully trained over Jingyi’s shoulder.

“What’s this?” Jingyi asked. He spun the stick between his fingers, grinning at the shape of a dog barking. He shifted his weight over so Jin Ling had to make eye contact with him. “Not quite my year though, I’m a horse.”

“I wasn’t—” Jin Ling’s face did something funny as he cut himself off, like he couldn’t decide if he should glare at him or smile, instead settling somewhere between the two with a snort. “That makes too much sense.” He poked Jingyi in the chest and raised his eyebrows at the treat. “That is so you stop insulting my sect’s hospitality.”

Jingyi made the vague motions of an elaborate bow. “This humble one is beyond grateful—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, stop,” Jin Ling said, catching him by the elbows to push him upright, once again refusing to look directly at him. Jingyi ducked his head to catch his eyes and grin, a little dazed by how readily his own neck and shoulders burned when Jin Ling started to flush across his cheeks. “Just eat the damn thing already.”

Jingyi bopped him on the nose with the sugar dog and popped the tail of it into his mouth as Jin Ling shook his head, startled. The sugar instantly dissolved, caramelly sweet and honestly a little too much for his tastebuds to handle. Still, Jin Ling had bought it for him, and that meant something. He took another bite.

He felt a little giddy with that something.

“How is it?”

Jingyi smiled, crunching a bit of stubborn candy. “Good. Very sweet.”

“You like it?” For this, Jin Ling made a point of looking at him directly, the force of it pinning Jingyi in place and he felt the heaviness of it again, the expectation there for something that Jin Ling wasn’t saying. His heart pounded in his ears. For a wild second, Jingyi wondered what it’d be like to kiss him with that look on his face. It looked so good on him. He pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth to keep from outright giggling.

“Yeah, I like it,” he said, speaking low enough that Jin Ling had to lean closer to him to hear above the sound of the crowd around them. Jingyi’s heart did that wobbling thing again, like the only thing keeping it upright and in place were his ribs. He leaned in, too, watching a slow smile stretch across Jin Ling’s face like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“Good,” Jin Ling replied after a moment, the smile settled into something that made him look so incredibly satisfied with himself. 

Jingyi proffered up the remaining half of the candy. “You should try some.”

Jin Ling looked up at him for a second, measuring and intent, and Jingyi’s mouth dried out. Then Jin Ling wrapped his hand around Jingyi’s, and he bit off the last of the sugar clinging to the stick. Jingyi felt himself leaning in a little more, focused on the warmth of Jin Ling’s palm and the rough patches of the calluses on his skin.

“It’s good,” Jin Ling said finally. His eyes flicked down for a breath before he shook his bangs out of his face, not doing much to hide how he’d licked his lips. Jingyi wondered if this was what it would feel like if his soul left his body: too warm, too close to bursting, but still aching for something missing. 

Jin Ling flicked the stick off to the side and tugged at his hand. “Come on.”

And Jingyi wheezed out a laugh as he followed, hand still held tight in Jin Ling’s.

One of the villagers said something about fireworks, and before Jingyi managed to string together a reply, Jin Ling had dragged him toward the tallest building, jumping up to the peak of the roof to stare down at him archly. Naturally, Jingyi followed him up. They settled on the center beam, Jingyi a little too lost at Jin Ling’s shoulder pressed so close to him to mourn the loss of his hand. Jin Ling nudged him, pulling him out of his reverie. 

“Are you even allowed to be out like this?” He asked, gesturing at Jingyi’s white robes with their clouds embroidered clearly on the lapels and the tails of his headband trailing over his far shoulder. “I thought it was one of your twelve million rules.”

“Four thousand,” Jingyi corrected, leaning back a little to flick Jin Ling’s nose, amused at the way his whole face scrunched up again. Then he stopped to actually think about the question. He shrugged. “It’s probably fine. We’re at the discussion conference, so I think the whole ‘one does not travel grandly’ and ‘one does not announce oneself while traveling’ thing is moot now.”

Jin Ling considered it for a second before clearing his throat. “Well, this suits you better than that shitty grey thing did.”

“Does it?” Jingyi raised his eyebrows, squeezing a hand tight to keep from fidgeting out of his own skin with the way Jin Ling was looking at him.

“Yes.” Jin Ling said, matter of fact. “It’s more dignified. More handso—” He stopped suddenly, shoulders seizing up as he turned his head quickly to avoid Jingyi.

Jingyi snorted. “I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being ‘dignified,’ Jin Ling.”

“So Zewu-jun won’t be demanding punishment for me stealing you away, then?” Jin Ling blurted out, determined to not discuss whatever he thought was so ‘dignified.’

Jingyi laughed loudly, unable to keep it in any longer. “Oh, is that what this is, young mistress? You ‘stealing me away,’ huh? And here I thought your mom was going to break my legs for flying off with you.”

“No, that’s jiujiu,” Jin Ling said with a dismissive flap of his hand. “But he’s never followed through when he’s threatened that, so it’s probably just shushu you should worry about. Mom’s more easy-going than either of them.”

“Not worried about your dad?”

Jin Ling sighed. “Dad’s fine. He does his best. And he means well—” his paused, face twisting oddly for a second “—most of the time, anyway. When he’s not being embarrassing. But shushu is better at getting things done. Which is probably why dad relies on him so much.”

Jingyi chewed on his lip, thinking. “He’s the one who said you can’t leave Carp Tower?” Jin Ling frowned as he nodded at the question. “And won’t let you have your own sword?” 

That seemed to make Jin Ling waffle a little. “That’s more complicated. Suihua is as much my sword as it is my dad’s. Mostly because my dad apparently dangled it over my head as a baby. Nothing else has been compatible. So shushu told them to stop trying.”

“I bet you screamed a lot,” Jingyi said, nodding sagely. Jin Ling shot him a displeased look, so Jingyi grinned at him. “Babies like shiny things, especially the screaming ones.” 

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me,” Jin Ling said, eyes narrow and face pressed a little too tight.

Jingyi winked. “Only a little bit.”

Jin Ling pushed his jaw out, stubborn and petulant. His mouth opened, but the first firework popped off, blooming bright and red above them. He let out a breath instead of whatever biting response he’d had at the tip of his tongue. Jingyi nudged him a little, and Jin Ling finally let himself relax and lean fully on his shoulder, looking up at the sky.

The entire trip back, Jingyi had to remind himself to stay steady. Not to focus too much on Jin Ling close behind him, on the hand tucked warm in his or the palm pressed to his shoulder or the hot puff of breath against his neck.

Instead, his mind stayed stuck on the way Jin Ling’s bluster had melted off him while they watched the fireworks. How close he’d been, with his face openly smiling for once. How the glow of the fireworks had colored Jin Ling’s face handsomely with red and gold and green. How he didn’t fuss when Jingyi slipped his arm around him. He’d just leaned closer with his own arm resting behind Jingyi for him to lean on, too.

And how Jingyi’s heart couldn’t stop rocketing around inside his own chest like it wanted to burst and fizz out into a million twinkling stars, too. 

“That was—” Jin Ling looked down at the wood floor of the balcony for a second before his jaw set and he practically scowled up at Jingyi, still floating on his sword. “That was an acceptable distraction.”

Jingyi’s neck felt like fire even though the night air was cool. “Acceptable, huh?”

“Yes. It was.”

“I should have expected it’d be hard to exceed the young mistress Jin’s expectations.”

“Don’t call me that!” He hissed, and Jingyi bit back the urge to laugh. “How are you soannoying?”

“No idea, but I’m considering trying to cultivate it into a talent.”

Jin Ling huffed. “That’s not how it works. You know that, don’t be such an idiot.”

Jingyi grinned and poked Jin Ling’s shoulder to get him to look at him again, rather than past him. “I do. I do know that, you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he said with a toss of his head, like it was insulting to even presume otherwise. Jingyi bit the inside of his cheek. Jin Ling smirked up at him. Jingyi forgot to inhale.

The low light from the empty behind him limned the curve of Jin Ling’s jaw and the smooth line of his nose, the moonlight above them caught in his eyes, and Jingyi found himself thinking again about what it’d be like to kiss him. If he’d shove him away, if he’d sigh and melt against him, if he’d push back hard and determined, if his lips were as soft as they looked, or maybe they were a little chapped from the wind—

His sword wobbled under his feet, concentration lost completely, and he dropped down without warning. Jin Ling sprinted the two steps back to the edge of the balcony, reaching out over the balustrade to catch Jingyi by the collar.

“Jingyi—!”

Jingyi sucked in a breath, sword steadying under him. Jin Ling stared down at him, eyes wide and mouth still open as he leaned over the railing to keep his fist clenched tight in Jingyi’s robes like he was still falling.

And it was so easy. To wrap his hand around Jin Ling’s wrist and worm his thumb between Jin Ling’s finger and palm, to nudge himself a little higher so he could slide his fingers along the side of Jin Ling’s neck, to bring him down just enough to feel his gasp when he kissed him.

Something soft, barely there. Jingyi heard his heart pounding in his ears, felt it in his palms and the echo of it in the pulse racing under his fingertips as Jin Ling pulled him up to his level. Pressed in closer, firmer, until Jingyi felt the balcony railing digging into his legs.

He pulled away, just enough to breathe, to gather the scattered pieces of himself into a pile to try and figure out what just possessed him to actually kiss Jin Ling.

Jin Ling, who was looking at him like he was asking himself the same thing. Jin Ling, who made no move to unwind their fingers or remove his hand from Jingyi’s side.

“Jingyi,” he said again, quieter, softer. Jingyi smiled. 

“Hi,” he answered eloquently.

Despite the unimpressed line of his eyebrows and the flat stare, Jin Ling’s shoulders started to shake. He fought the smile, biting his lip to keep from laughing out loud. He lost the battle in seconds. His whole face lit up in a way that made Jingyi’s breath catch high in his throat. Laughter suited him, Jingyi thought, he should definitely laugh more. Jingyi could do that, he was great at making people laugh.

He leaned in to kiss him again, to taste that laughter and keep it with him. Jin Ling hummed happily, and Jingyi felt it all the way to his toes. The hand on his side moved to his back, fingers curling into the fabric of his robes as Jin Ling tried to press closer. His hair felt so soft twined between Jingyi’s fingers turned to a sigh of his own that Jin Ling chased wholeheartedly.

And, Jingyi thought, if all of the bullshit he’d had to deal with led to this every time, it was all worth it.

After a long moment, Jin Ling pulled back slowly. The smile was still there, cheeks rosy and eyes warm, looking right at Jingyi. Still close enough to count each eyelash. To feel the puff of his exhales on his cheek. Jingyi wondered if part of his forehead ribbon would be stained red. He almost hoped it would be.

“An acceptable distraction, Lan Jingyi,” Jin Ling said again, stepping back until it was just their hands tangled together in the space between them. Head high and trying to look down at him, but with a softness that made Jingyi smile wide.

“I’ll have to work harder next time,” Jingyi replied with a wink.

Jin Ling’s face flooded a flustered red. He shook his head back in a poor attempt to cover it, tiny golden beads tinkling together in his hair. He took in a sharp breath before his eyes flashed at Jingyi.

“Yes, do that.” He smirked, squeezing Jingyi’s hand tight. “I look forward to it, Lan Jingyi.”

And before Jingyi could respond, he spun on his heel and walked back into his room. 

Jingyi stood there with his hand still outstretched for a whole half a minute before his brain finally got back up to speed. He laughed loudly, pulling his hand close to his chest as he doubled over to catch his breath. Eventually, he could stand up on his sword without needing to hold the railing for balance. He grinned at nothing in particular. Oh, he was in so much trouble.

“See ya around, Jin Ling,” he called out. A dog bark answered him.

Laughing again, Jingyi lazily flew himself back down to the garden outside of his guest quarters that he’d left a few hours earlier or maybe a whole lifetime ago. His sword whispered back into its sheath with a thought as he speedwalked to his rooms to find Sizhui and Zizhen.

A bell rang, sounding out the hour, and someone shouted in another courtyard, somewhere far away. Jingyi ignored it, pulling his lip into his mouth, remembering the way it felt when he’d kissed Jin Ling. Another giggle bubbled out of him.

Jingyi slammed the doors open, absolutely in violation of the Lan sect rules, but he didn’t fucking care right now.

“You guys will not believe what just happened—”

Zizhen whipped around with panic etched into every line of his face. 

“Jingyi, fucking finally, we have to go help Sizhui and Senior Wei.”

That was when Jingyi’s brain registered that there was actually a lot of shouting. A lot of shouting, along with Zizhen freaking out, his best friend missing, and Chenqing sitting too innocent and too quiet on the table in the center of the room with no Wei Wuxian in sight. 

He was in so much fucking trouble.

Jingyi grabbed the flute and followed Zizhen out the door at a sprint.

Chapter Text

Fear that wasn’t his own ran down Jingyi’s spine, growing with every step he took. All of the buoyancy that had lifted him up the last few hours dried up, disappearing faster than Jingyi could even try to hang onto it. 

Instead, he could feel Chenqing pulling at him like it knew where its master was and it wanted to go that way now. Something in his gut told him they needed Hanguang-jun. Zizhen’s long legs pulled ahead of him faster than Jingyi could grab at him.

“Zizhen!” He called out. Zizhen turned over his shoulder, still running. “We need Hanguang-jun!”

“Great idea!” Zizhen yelled back. “You get him, I’ll find Sizhui and Senior—Yeah, do that!”

Jingyi whipped around and went back to their guest quarters, slid past the door to his and Sizhui’s room and pounded on the one next to it. It was too loud, but the shouting was getting louder and louder and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath even though he’d barely run anywhere.

Hanguang-jun opened his door, face implacable. He took one look at Jingyi -- knuckles white around Chenqing and his hand grabbing at his collar to try to find more air to breathe -- and grabbed his sword and qin, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Where is Wei Ying?” He asked, tone level in a way that helped Jingyi focus as they walked quickly through the courtyard, toward the shouting.

Jingyi couldn’t answer, not being able to draw in enough breath for it. He gestured with the flute instead. It was enough for Hanguang-jun. They shifted into an outright run when a group of gold-clad cultivators ran by with their swords already out.

Through several more gardens and hallways, finally they found where all the noise had come from. The pull from Chenqing calmed down somewhat—

“Hanguang-jun!” Sizhui’s voice rang out from across the courtyard where he stood surrounded by Jin disciples and a handful of other sects. A few of the braver ones had even unsheathed their swords, despite Sizhui trying to smile and be as unthreatening as possible. Hanguang-jun pushed through them all, and with one wordless glare, their swords lowered.

Jingyi leaned heavy against a pillar for the overhanging roof, gasping for breath. Whatever was going on with Wei Wuxian, he must feel terrified, almost panicked, if just the echo of it was affecting Jingyi so strongly. He couldn’t hear what was going on with Sizhui or Hanguang-jun anymore, his own breathing too loud in his ears for anything else.

He tried to focus. Chenqing pulled at him again, a wisp of black energy curling around his wrist. Right—Obviously, he could just wish something—How did he do it before again, back at the inn—

“O great—” Jingyi coughed on his own spit, trying to inhale and speak at the same time. That wouldn’t work. Something simpler. He pushed past the emotion that wasn’t even his to begin with and drew in a breath. “I wish Wei Wuxian was right here, right now, as safe as he can be.”

The wisp of resentful energy curled tight, and a cold shiver all his own ran down Jingyi’s back. Then all of that excess feeling, that terror and panic floated out of him. Jingyi sagged against the column, finally able to pull in a real breath and take in some much-needed oxygen.

Voices started getting loud, the disciples across the way squabbling and shouting over one another as they tried to get at Sizhui around Hanguang-jun’s protective arm. He snorted weakly, knowing a fruitless endeavour when he saw one. No one could beat Hanguang-jun, he was the best. 

Zizhen skidded to a stop next to him. “Have you found him? Where’s Senior Wei? Oh thank fuck, Hanguang-jun’s here.”

“Yeah,” Jingyi panted to answer all of it, still catching his breath.

Then he actually looked around.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t anywhere nearby, like he’d wished. He glanced down at the flute.

“What is it?” Zizhen asked, worry and stress pitching his voice high.

“I wished for Senior Wei to come back from wherever he was, and like, I thought it worked?” Jingyi’s head whipped around one more time, checking for any stray, slightly translucent demonic cultivators, but the only red he could see was the dark burgundy of Zizhen’s clothes. “But he’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

Jingyi hit Zizhen in the shoulder. “I don’t fucking know, Zizhen! Use your ears!”

He looked up to see Hanguang-jun push through the cultivators surrounding him and Sizhui, to storm into a set of rooms marked as the Fragrant Palace. Sizhui caught Jingyi’s eyes, panic written on his face as sword tips started to be raised toward his chest again. Jingyi swallowed nervously.

“Zizhen,” Jingyi said, low and serious and miraculously steady. “Go help Sizhui.”

“Oh fuck,” Zizhen whispered. He ran off, quick to insert himself into the situation, actively pushing people’s hands down and away from Sizhui. He said something and the group’s ranks started to relax, swords resheathing, and Sizhui’s shoulders coming back down to a normal height.

Which left Wei Wuxian to Jingyi. He rolled the flute in his hand and wondered—

“What is the meaning of this?” A voice rang out behind him. Jingyi turned to find Lianfang-zun coming to a halt just inside the courtyard with Zewu-jun close on his heels. “Er-ge, what are your juniors doing breaking into my—Hanguang-jun?”

Jingyi whipped his head back around to the main building and saw Hanguang-jun standing in the doorway, eyes round in a way that he’d never seen before. Fear all Jingyi’s own ran cold down his spine.

Zewu-jun took a step forward. “Wangji, what is the meaning of this?”

But Hanguang-jun looked directly at Jingyi. Jingyi swallowed again to push down the fear clogging his throat and nodded. He brought Chenqing to his lips and blew.

But no sound came out.

He blew again. Nothing.

Hanguang-jun’s eyes widened.

The cultivators around Sizhui finally took notice of Jingyi, of the black flute in his hands, and muttered and pointed. Started moving toward him, instead. Fuck.

“Chenqing?” He heard Lianfang-zun whisper. Then louder: “Er-ge—what is this?”

And even Jingyi, focused on furiously shaking the flute and trying to dislodge whatever seemed to be blocking the airflow, could hear how damning Zewu-jun’s silence sounded. He blew into Chenqing again, but it still refused to make a sound.

“Jingyi!” Sizhui called out. He reached out his hand, palm up and open.

Jingyi nodded. The cultivators were getting too close to him, anyway. Not even Zizhen’s silver tongue would be able to keep them from wresting it from him. 

Quickly, Jingyi threw Chenqing over their heads, the red tassel and jade ornament sailing behind it making it look like an arrow. Sizhui caught it easily, and with barely a breath, played the first, quavering notes of a song Jingyi didn’t recognize.

Zewu-jun moved fast to put himself between Jingyi and the drawn swords of the cultivators while all eyes were on Sizhui, but he froze suddenly halfway, his eyes going wide. Someone grabbed the back of Jingyi’s robes and pulled him down until he felt the cool bite of metal sliding against his neck. 

Ah. 

Jingyi held as still as he could to keep the flexible blade pressed to his neck from biting into his skin.

At the third measure, Wei Wuxian started to take form in front of Sizhui. A few of the cultivators had been clever enough to move back toward Sizhui, but Hanguang-jun flew from the doorway to stand between them, holding them back with the power of his glare alone. 

Sizhui’s song petered out. Lianfang-zun sucked in a sharp breath that rang in Jingyi’s ear. Wei Wuxian placed a fond hand on Sizhui’s head and murmured something that made Sizhui’s face turn pink. 

“Er-ge,” Lianfang-zun called out, over his sect’s disciples as they shouted about the return of Yiling Laozu. “What are your brother and your junior disciples doing, consorting with Wei Wuxian like this?”

“A-Yao, please—” Zewu-jun sounded so tired. His hand reached out toward Lianfang-zun.

The sword against Jingyi’s throat dug into his skin a little deeper. Jingyi held his breath as Zewu-jun froze, still as a statue. 

More people tumbled into the courtyard -- more sects showing up. He thought he heard the acidic bark of Sandu Shengshou, the nervous voice of Sect Leader Nie.

Lianfang-zun pushed Jingyi toward an artfully placed lantern. 

“What is the meaning of this, er-ge,” he said, voice ringing out clear despite the emotion banked into it. “I caught this junior of yours attempting to play the ghost flute Chenqing. Your brother in my rooms without permission, and this other young Lan has—has summoned—” His voice quavered before he stopped to take a careful, steadying breath. “Have you been hiding Yiling Laozu -- the enemy of the entire cultivation world -- all this time? After you yourself brought word to your sworn brothers—to me—of his demise? Did you lock yourselves away from the rest of us to hide this secret, er-ge?” Lianfang-zun paused, waiting until a few whispers could be heard in the silence. Then he pitched his voice so it could be clearly heard by everyone despite how choked with emotion he sounded. “Er-ge, how is this righteous?”

Zewu-jun stayed silent. From the murmurs he could hear from the crowd, that was good enough to be a confirmation for many.

“Ngh—” Jingyi tried to twist out of Lianfang-zun’s grasp, to deny the accusation like Zewu-jun couldn’t seem to do, but he only managed to cut himself on his blade, feeling a small trickle of blood roll down his neck. He froze again.

Wei Wuxian stepped out from behind Hanguang-jun, looking more solid than Jingyi had ever seen him and expression stormy. The whispering crowd went silent, newcomers finally seeing him for the first time.

“Yiling Laozu,” Lianfang-zun said, still in that voice a little too clear, too perfectly enunciated to be natural. “Have you come to finish what you started on the Qiongqi Path? To finally destroy the LanlingJin?”

Wei Wuxian laughed, something mean and thin and very unlike anything Jingyi had heard from him. 

“Let it never be said that Jin Guangshan never overstated his own importance.” He stopped and grinned darkly. “No, I came to remind you all that I will not be used as a tool in your pitiful power games. You accuse Hanguang-jun and Zewu-jun of ‘harboring’ me? Like I need to be kept safe?” A wave of resentful energy washed out from him. It crawled under Jingyi’s skin, making him try to twist away despite it aggravating the cut on his neck. “From who? I’m the most powerful person on this earth -- not even the purifying magics of the Cloud Recesses could attempt to contain me. The Lans are nothing.”

Before Lianfang-zun could say anything more, before Hanguang-jun’s hand could touched Wei Wuxian, he disappeared in a whirl of black tendrils that swooshed through the crowd, away from them.

Hanguang-jun’s face was slack, like he’d been struck hard by surprise. He closed his hand around nothing and dropped it.

The massed cultivators recovered after a too-still, too-quiet moment of shock, many running back out of the courtyard to follow Wei Wuxian. Jingyi felt Lianfang-zun take a step back, like he was going to follow them, but he came up short, stopped by something Jingyi couldn’t see.

“A-Xian?” A quiet voice gasped -- Jin Ling’s mom, Jingyi realized.

Lianfang-zun recovered fast. He dropped his sword from Jingyi’s neck, and shoved him hard at a Jin disciple who’d stayed. Jingyi’s arm was twisted behind his back painfully by his new captor.

“Take these juniors to the dungeons,” Lianfang-zun ordered, voice quiet. Then he fixed a smile onto his face and turned to Madame Jin. “Sister, it’s not safe here, we’ve been attacked. Please return to your rooms while I secure Carp Tower.”

“That was—” She shook her head. It seemed like Madame Jin needed great effort to push the startled expression of her face, to replace it to be more measured, more uncertain, rather than she’d seen someone come back from the dead in front of her. “Of—Of course, A-Yao. But—” she let out a breath, worry lining her eyes. A burly Jin cultivator stepped up behind her at Lianfang-zun’s silent order. “But I came to get you—to play for Zixuan again. He collapsed, he won’t—he won’t wake up.”

“Our cousin will fetch the doctor as he escorts you to safety, sister.” Lianfang-zun nodded at the man behind Jiang Yanli. “I will be there as soon as I can.”

“Perhaps I could trouble Zewu-jun here or—”

“Sister, please, it is not safe for you here.”

Jiang Yanli’s eyes darted between everyone left in the courtyard. Jingyi wondered if she recognized him as the boy she’d met in the hallway with Jin Ling earlier when she looked at him now, arms twisted tight behind his back by some mouth-breathing Jin disciple.

“I see. Thank you, A-Yao.” She turned and walked away quickly with her escort. Lianfang-zun let out a quiet sigh.

Which is when Hanguang-jun jumped up to the roof and dashed off toward where the crowd and Wei Wuxian had gone.

“Wangji!” Zewu-jun yelled out after him, finally pushed to take action.

At the same time, Lianfang-zun cursed quietly. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

He gave a look to the cultivator restraining Jingyi. Pain bloomed hot and red behind his ear and everything went black.

“—Jingyi? Can you hear me? Jingyi?”

“Hrngh,” Jingyi replied intelligently.

Sizhui let out a breath. “Oh thank goodness. Be careful sitting up, your spiritual energy is still snarled up. How many times have you been hit in the head recently?”

“Ugh, a lot,” Jingyi groaned, deciding staying on the ground was probably the safest bet for his pounding head. He took in the darkness around them, the faint yellow glow of a lighting talisman that revealed the latticed, wooden bars that made up one wall of wherever they were. “What happened?”

“A lot,” Sizhui echoed as he shifted to sitting back in a lotus position, sounding entirely too calm for someone in a dungeon. “We’ve been imprisoned—”

“Duh.”

“—and I haven’t seen Zewu-jun or Hanguang-jun since they took us down here. And there are too many people running around to feel for them no matter how hard I meditate, so I don’t know what’s happened to them.”

“Great, love that for us,” Jingyi grumbled. He focused on untwisting some of the knots of spiritual energy in his head. It was hard with how slowly his core seemed to be spinning. “Zizhen?”

“Not here, either.”

“Senior Wei?”

Sizhui paused. “No idea. And—And they took Chenqing from me, when they brought us down here.”

Jingyi sighed, heavy. He sat up slowly, impossibly tired despite having been unconscious for who knows how long, and leaned against Sizhui to try and take some of the weight off his shoulders. Sizhui leaned back gratefully.

“How long have we been down here?” Jingyi asked.

“No more than a day, I think. Maybe less. Probably less?”

“Cool.” His stomach grumbled loudly. 

Sizhui laughed, a strange sound that echoed on the stone walls of their cell. But at least it meant Sizhui was present, rather than stuck in a corner of his own head, over-analyzing and thinking something to death.

Slowly, the shape of their prison made itself known: a small cell with no light of its own, shackles bolted into the wall, including the one locked around around his left wrist which ran through a ring on the wall and attached to Sizhui’s right wrist. If he moved too much or concentrated too closely on the flow of his spiritual energy, a spell etched into the metal would glow brassy and bright and a wave of exhaustion would rush through him.

Talismans covered every joint of the lattice-work bars, forming a non-physical barrier to prevent them from simply using their strength as cultivators to punch through the wood.

“This is so fucked up,” he grumbled. Sizhui hummed his agreement. “Do you know what I was doing before this?”

“No, you just ran off after Jin Ling did, no explanation. I didn’t see you at dinner or anything.” Sizhui answered, sounding grateful to latch onto a topic that wasn’t focused on how shitty their current situation was. 

“Time is fake,” Jingyi said suddenly. “That can’t all have happened in one day.”

Sizhui tilted his head. “All what?”

So Jingyi counted it off on his fingers. “You won the sword final. Zewu-jun and Hanguang-jun had an argument in front of me -- so weird, don’t get me started. I hid from Zizhen behind a bush, and that idiot just walked by. I saw Sandu Shengshou get sassed by a Jin senior disciple. Pet a dog -- did you know Jin Ling has a dog by the way? Snuck up to Jin Ling’s room. Flew off to somewhere in Shandong and wandered around a festival. Jin Ling out-and-out flirted with me at said festival.” He stopped and stared at his hands for a second, realizing he only had two fingers left to count things with. “I might need your hands, too, actually.” Sizhui laughed. “Watched some fireworks. Snuck back into Carp Tower. And I kissed—” Jingyi cut himself off, feeling his whole body flush as he remembered the feel of the side of Jin Ling’s face under his fingers, the heat of his mouth—

Sizhui nudged him out of his reverie. “He flirted with you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jingyi breathed out. “Yeah, he did.”

“And?”

“Super effective.”

Sizhui smiled. “Clearly, if you two kissed.”

“Yeah.” Jingyi shook himself, wincing at the ache in his head. “This is a weird thing to talk about in a dungeon.”

“A little,” Sizhui agreed. “But thanks, I needed that.” Then he started counting off on his fingers, too. “Senior Wei said he saw something in one of the rooms he’d been snooping around in and ran off. Chased after him all the way across Carp Tower. One of the Jins caught me in the garden. Had swords pulled on me, a living person. You and Hanguang-jun showed up. You threw Chenqing. Senior Wei finally reappeared and called me a radish, of all things! And—And Senior Wei denounced us all and ran off again.”

“And now we’re here,” Jingyi finished for him. 

“Yeah.”

“In a dungeon.”

“In a dungeon,” Sizhui agreed again.

A muffled curse echoed from the hallway. Jingyi straightened up, peering over Sizhui’s shoulder to see who was beyond the bars. They weren’t close enough to cast a shadow yet, but he thought—

Sizhui leaned over, too. “Who is that—”

Jingyi sprang to his feet and dashed to the bars, ignoring Sizhui’s yelp as the chain dragged him to the back of the cell. “Jin Ling? Is that you?”

“Which one are you in?” Jin Ling called back, footsteps coming faster. 

“Over here!” Jingyi shouted.

Finally, Jin Ling rounded a corner and caught sight of him. He sprinted the last few feet “There you are, I’ve been down here for an hour!”

“Jin Ling! What are you doing?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Lan Jingyi.” Still, even with the harsh words, Jin Ling’s shoulders relaxed minutely. “You’re okay?”

“What was that about stupid questions, young mistress Jin?” Jingyi replied. He grinned when Jin Ling pushed his chin out to glare down his nose at him. “I’m fine. We Lans are strong, remember?”

Sizhui snorted behind him, making both of them jump. Jingyi felt his neck burn and for the first time he was grateful for the dim light masking his blush. Jin Ling’s hands slapped together loudly as he bowed.

“Lan Sizhui,” he said.

The chain on Jingyi’s wrist tugged him back a couple steps as Sizhui returned the bow. “Jin Rulan.”

“Don’t—Just Jin Ling.” He paused to clear his throat before snapping suddenly. “I’m springing you out of here.”

“Nice!” Jingyi almost whooped without thinking.

Sizhui pulled on their chain. “Are you implying you’re not on your uncle’s side, then?”

“Sizhui, you’re seriously not suggesting—”

“Jingyi, I have to ask.”

Jingyi clenched his jaw, glaring at his best friend over his shoulder. As if Jin Ling would—after everything that Jingyi’d shared about earlier that night, as if he thought it meant nothing— 

Jin Ling laughed for some reason. “You’d fit right in here, young master Lan. You’re right to ask.” His face tightened, suddenly serious. “But no. Shushu told the rest of the sects that you both helped Yiling Laozu make an attempt on my father’s life.”

“We didn’t—”

“What the fuck—”

Jin Ling looked back at Jingyi, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. “Of course you didn’t. I know where you were when my dad was attacked.” Then he smirked. “Besides, I know your style by now, Lan Jingyi. You don’t do subterfuge.”

“He really doesn’t,” Sizhui agreed.

Both of them had the gall to laugh at the indignant noise Jingyi made.

“You’re both terrible, I take back every nice word I’ve ever said about either of you,” Jingyi huffed at both of them, choosing to look at the wall rather than either of these two terrors.

Sizhui gave Jingyi a sympathetic shoulder pat. “I take it you have a plan, Jin Ling?”

“I do,” Jin Ling said as he pulled a talisman out of his pocket. “Stand back.”

Jingyi and Sizhui stepped toward the back wall while Jin Ling stuck his talisman to the wooden bars. It glowed bright, and then Jingyi’s ears popped as the barrier protecting the bars dissipated. Jingyi felt his golden core spin faster and grinned. With a nod from Sizhui, the two of them pulled hard at the chain, snapping the bolt holding the ring to the wall.

“Well, I guess connected is better than stuck,” Sizhui said.

Jingyi beamed at him. “Definitely. Besides, I know how you fight like the back of my hand!”

Sizhui let out a soft laugh. They turned to Jin Ling, who was looking at Jingyi, so Jingyi winked at him. His mouth snapped shut, face turning bright red even in the dim light. Jingyi’s heart gave a heavy thud in his chest. Distantly, he heard Sizhui clear his throat. Jingyi jumped to attention. Right, they were trying to get out.

“No swords or spiritual weapons over there, Jin Ling?” He asked.

“Obviously not,” Jin Ling scoffed, very clearly trying to pretend he hadn’t just been staring at him. “The crossguard wouldn’t fit through the bars anyway.”

Jingyi pulled a face. “I thought you had a plan?”

“Yeah. Keys, dumbass.” Jin Ling swung a jangling ring of said keys around his finger, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

And for some reason Jingyi heard himself laughing. Jin Ling’s smirk sharpened at the sound as he tossed his hair over his shoulder before fiddling with the padlock on the door. 

The door swung open with a squeal. Jingyi and Sizhui stepped through quickly into the stone hallway that stretched far in one direction, but the other way was blocked off. It looked like something had exploded, stone and timber and brick twisted together in a mess that seemed out of place in such an otherwise well-kept dungeon.

“See?” Jin Ling said, catching his attention as he tipped his head back to look at Jingyi. “A plan.”

Jingyi opened his mouth, hand already coming up to flick Jin Ling on the tip of his nose or maybe to grab him and kiss him again, but Sizhui beat him to the punch with a bow and murmured ‘thank you.’ Jin Ling blinked, turning to look at Sizhui instead.

Sizhui smiled, completely ignoring Jingyi’s attempts to beam into his brain how not cool that was. “What’s next, young master Jin?”

“Right,” he replied slowly. Then he nodded sharply. “Mom wants to talk. Follow me.”

Before he turned, he grabbed Jingyi’s free wrist and pulled him along with him as he marched them down the hallway. And it wasn’t a lot, but Jingyi still felt a little stupid with it.

It turned out that Carp Tower was littered with secret passages. Jin Ling led them through at least four on their way up from the dungeons, including ducking into possibly a fifth one to avoid guards as they made their rounds through the tower. Apparently, only a scant few hours had passed, not a whole day, going by the same full moon hanging heavy in the sky and the wisps of late night fog curling in the planters. 

Somewhere along the way, Jingyi’s hand wound up in Jin Ling’s as he dragged them through the complex. 

Soon enough, Jingyi recognized the upstairs hallway they’d been earlier that night, before all of whatever the fuck this was had started. Sizhui stepped on the creaking floorboard, making Jin Ling grumble under his breath, but he kept tugging them along past Jin Ling’s door, turning down yet another hallway and up another flight of stairs. 

Two steps before the landing, he pushed at the wood pillar. It popped out and revealed another hidden passage that he stepped into quickly. He pulled Jingyi in, and the chain on his other wrist tugged Sizhui inside. Jingyi kept moving, walking directly into Jin Ling’s back with Sizhui bouncing off his back a half-second later.

“What the—”

Jin Ling’s hand slipped out of his to slap over Jingyi’s mouth. “Shut up.”

Jingyi scowled at him, which Jin Ling missed entirely in the dark, so Jingyi tried to wriggle out from under his hand. But that just rattled the chain between him and Sizhui loudly and earned him a sore foot as Jin Ling dug his heel into Jingyi’s boot. Jingyi tried to say ‘what the fuck,’ and got shoved into the wall for all his effort. After a pause where Jingyi could only assume Jin Ling was glaring back at him with his eyebrows pressed tight and eyes narrowed, Jin Ling huffed out a sigh. 

He removed his hand and knocked on the wood in a very particular pattern. The prison chain clinked in the silence. Jin Ling shushed them and pinched Jingyi’s shoulder.

“Yeah, Sizhui, be qui—”

Jin Ling jabbed him sharply in the side, making Jingyi buckle over. ”Shutup.”

He heard Sizhui sigh softly behind him.

An answering knock sounded on the other side of what Jingyi realized was another false wall. Jin Ling knocked back twice and it popped open. Jingyi found himself in a softly lit room, curtains shielding a bed on the same wall he had just crawled out of and Madame Jin standing nearer the center of the room with a lit talisman in her hand.

“A-Ling, you’re back,” she said with a relieved breath. She smoothed a hand over Jin Ling’s cheek before the jangling of Jingyi’s and Sizhui’s chain drew her attention. “Ah, and both young masters Lan. Well done.”

Sizhui bowed, with Jingyi quickly following suit.

“How are things here?” Jin Ling asked brusquely, eyes glancing over to the bed and the man laying on it. “Any changes?”

“No,” she replied. “We’re still under guard. No one has come in or out since you left. And your father seems to be stable.” Her face twisted for a second, emotion breaking through the smooth expression she’d been careful to keep on her face. “Do you all have any more news?”

“Shushu’s put Carp Tower under lockdown. He’s moved everyone into Glamour Hall—”

“Everyone?” Sizhui cut in. “Zewu-jun and Hanguang-jun, too?”

Jin Ling shook his head. “Just Zewu-jun. Mianmian-guma didn’t say anything about Hanguang-jun.”

Jingyi and Sizhui exchanged a look. That was both good and bad news. Zewu-jun seemed fine, albeit probably a willing hostage, and if there was no news on Hanguang-jun, that probably meant he was alive somewhere, hopefully with Wei Wuxian.

“If I may ask,” Sizhui said after a moment. “What exactly happened with Sect Leader Jin?”

Madame Jin’s face pinched. And then she started to explain how she’d found the sect leader collapsed in his rooms. How Lianfang-zun had shown up after the incident in the courtyard to declare that Jin Zixuan had been attacked by Wei Wuxian and the Lans he’d ensnared to do his dirty work (Jingyi snorted at this). How Madame Jin and Jin Ling were basically under house arrest (“For our own safety,” Jin Ling said with a sneer) and that Lianfang-zun had assumed control of the sect while Jin Zixuan remained unconscious.

Jin Ling’s shoulders tensed tighter and tighter throughout the whole conversation, and Jingyi could see his jaw clenching as he ground his teeth. Jingyi nudged him lightly. Jin Ling turned quickly to glare at him before whatever he saw on Jingyi’s face made him relax, bit by bit. Jin Ling took half a step closer to him, not touching, but close enough to feel him.

“I had something to ask of you two, actually,” Madame Jin said. “How is it—That is to say—How did you find him? A-Xian, I mean.” She paused, spinning a ring around her finger a few times before looking up at them. “How do you know Wei Wuxian?”

Sizhui stepped up to answer, much to Jingyi’s relief, even if the movement pulled at his wrist with the way the chain between them shifted. “Jingyi found Chenqing about a week ago now,” he said. “And from what we can tell, Senior Wei was cursed to become a ruyi when he died.”

“The Yiling Laozu is a backscratcher?” Jin Ling blurted out.

Jingyi snorted. “Nah, he’s bound to Chenqing, although in a pinch—” A thought stopped him mid-sentence. “Sizhui, you summoned him, right? In the courtyard?”

“Yeah,” Sizhui nodded slowly with a faraway expression. “He called me a radish.”

“Can you feel him?”

“Oh!” Sizhui shut his eyes, eyebrows furrowing as he concentrated, giving Jingyi his answer. “I—I don’t think so, no.”

“Is there a way to save him? If it’s a curse?” Madame Jin asked.

“In theory, yes,” Sizhui said. “If someone were to summon him and wish it so, that should be all it takes. But it might also require a body. We don’t know the limits to his wish-granting powers.”

Madame Jin let out a breath. 

Jin Ling held up his hand. “Shushu—Lianfang-zun has the ghost flute.”

“What?” Sizhui said at the same time Jingyi shouted it.

“Oh, that’s really fucking bad,” Jingyi continued at a normal volume. Jin Ling stomped hard on his foot while shushing him, his eyes flicking over to Madame Jin, who stood very still and very pale.

“Does he know about Senior Wei?” Sizhui asked. “About what he can do?”

Jin Ling turned to glare over his shoulder at Sizhui. He took a step toward him, voice starting low before getting louder and sharper. “Do you think that when I went on a reconnaissance mission that I just danced in and announced myself to my dubiously-aligned uncle? After he left some idiot MolingSu disciples over here to imprison me and my mother here? Just to ask if he knew he had a limitlessly powerful wish-granting spirit’s vessel tucked into his belt? That even I didn’t know about until literally just now?”

“Ah,” Sizhui said delicately, blanching in the face of Jin Ling’s fury.

“Hey,” Jingyi poked Jin Ling’s shoulder, redirecting his glare onto him. “Be nice to Sizhui, young mistress. He’s stressed.”

Jin Ling’s voice turned shrill. “He’s stressed—”

“A-Ling,” Madame Jin reprimanded him softly, but her eyes were on Jingyi.

Jingyi swallowed, suddenly feeling like maybe she might be a hair too close to wanting to snap him in half for his comfort. He flashed her a quick smile because that had seemed to work in the hall earlier. 

“Jingyi, it’s fine,” Sizhui patted his shoulder and offered a smile right out of Zewu-jun’s peace-keeping catalogue at the others. “We need to get Chenqing back.”

Madame Jin’s expression firmed up with determination, eyes finally leaving Jingyi now that he’d started sweating. “Let’s put together a plan.”

“Mom—”

She held up a hand, a rueful half-smile softening the motion. “I helped my stubborn brothers rebuild our sect and I’ve managed to keep your father out of trouble. Most of the time. How hard can this be?”

Chapter Text

Hard, it turned out.

An awkward silence stretched out between the lot of them. Jingyi stretched his left wrist, finally freed from the chain and shackle connecting him to Sizhui. No one said anything. It made him antsy. His wrist popping loudly didn’t help. It took a soft groan from the bed for everyone to spring into action. Well. Except Jingyi, who just jumped in place, at a bit of a loss of how he fit into everything at the moment. 

Somehow, Sizhui wound up offering to play the handful of measures of ‘Clarity’ he could remember on a regular pipa that Jingyi had found tucked into a corner as he’d nosed around the room. The effect wouldn’t be great without a spiritual instrument or playing the entire song, and add in having to play it as quietly as possible to not alert the guards outside the main door of the sect leader’s apartments -- Jingyi wasn’t sure if it was worth the trouble.

It did seem to soothe Madame Jin, though (‘I remember it was such a help for A-Xian, when Hanguang-jun played for him.’). And Sect Leader Jin quieted down a little. So that was something.

But Jin Ling’s face tightened, the crease between his eyebrows so deep, it threatened to swallow the vermillion mark there.

“It’s different,” he said quietly.

Jingyi blinked at him. “What is?”

“The song, it’s different,” Jin Ling repeated. “I’ve heard shushu play—”

“Wait—Wait a second,” Jingyi put a finger up and a hand on his hip. “Are you saying Lan Sizhui is playing a song that we only teach inner disciples wrong? The same Lan Sizhui who was taught to play by Hanguang-jun himself?”

“No!” Jin Ling snapped, throwing his hands up. “No—I don’t know—It’s just different!”

“Maybe your uncle played it wrong.”

“Shushu has a perfect memory!”

“A-Ling,” Madame Jin called over softly. 

Jin Ling’s shoulders immediately dropped, and Jingyi’s mouth snapped shut without his permission. The mysterious and altogether terrifying power of mothers. 

He took a second to breathe, Jingyi did, to listen to the sound of Sizhui carefully trying to find the notes on the neck of a stringed instrument that wasn’t his and wasn’t meant to channel spiritual energy. He felt his body relax, hands absent-mindedly falling into the qin fingerings he could remember. It calmed Jingyi down, it centered him again.

Jingyi tapped Jin Ling’s shoulder to get his attention again. Jin Ling was still mad, going by the way his eyes flashed up at him. For a second, he watched Jin Ling square up for a fight -- eyebrows furrowing, jaw clenching tight, fists twisting at his sides. And as eager as Jingyi had been for it barely a moment ago, he found he didn’t want to go down that path again. 

So he grinned back and offered an olive branch. “If we’re going to try to sneak into a hostage situation, we’ll need our weapons back.”

Jin Ling’s scowl loosened. He blinked at him. “Right.”

“You know where they are?” Jingyi asked, grinning a little wider as Jin Ling absentmindedly swatted his hand away as Jingyi tried to tug on a bead in Jin Ling’s hair.

“Yeah. Stop that—”

Jingyi clapped his hands together, cutting him off. “Great! Let’s us two do that, and Sizhui can meet us before we storm the keep or whatever.”

“Sizhui, can you meet us in half an hour at your guest quarters?” Jin Ling asked, pulling at the back of Jingyi’s robes to keep him from marching off toward the door. Sizhui hummed, not looking up from the pipa in his hands. 

“That’s a ‘yes,’” Jingyi said as he tugged his robes out of Jin Ling’s hands. “I’m fluent in Hanguang-jun. Now can we—”

“No, shut up,” Jin Ling poked him in the kidney, not even flinching as Jingyi yelped. “Mom, how many?” 

The guards, Jingyi realized. They should probably take care of those before they left, so that Sizhui wasn’t basically on his own with weapons that were clearly just for decoration as his only options for defense.

“Just three,” Madame Jin replied, looking fondly over her shoulder at him, like that was a perfectly normal thing to ask.

“Right.” Jin Ling grabbed the sword off the weapons rack at the foot of the bed, and Jingyi recognized it from the golden filigree and inset turquoise stones as Suihua. “Get some rope ready.” He picked up a spear that had been tucked in the same dark corner as the pipa and tossed it at Jingyi. “Can you make do with this?”

Jingyi groaned, catching the weapon. “Spears are the worst.” Still, he tested the weight and balance, and it was nicer than anything he’d ever trained with. 

Jin Ling raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very famous spear that’s been passed down from Jin sect leader to Jin sect leader for the last ten generations. I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, this’ll work,” Jingyi said quickly. “But I want you to know I’m not happy about it.”

Jin Ling scoffed. “And here I thought you’d enjoy knocking out some MolingSu disciples, after our last run-in with them.”

“Oh!” Jingyi smiled brightly at Jin Ling, all complaints forgotten. “Oh, young mistress, you shouldn’t have!”

Jin Ling’s mouth popped open and then snapped shut just as quick. He turned on his heel quickly, but not fast enough to hide the red of his ears. “Come on then!”

Sizhui snorted behind them as they stepped into the sect leader’s receiving chambers, each of them standing to one side of the door. After a shared nod, Jin Ling opened the door. Three MolingSu disciples startled and stared at Jin Ling. 

Then one of them saw Sizhui’s back through the doorway to the bedroom and shouted, which got all of them moving haphazardly into the room. Jingyi wasted no time slamming the haft of the spear into the back of one of their heads while Jin Ling jabbed up at the second one’s throat with his sheathed sword, choking him out before kicking a foot behind his knee and slamming him into the floor with a vicious twist of his body that made for a loud, echoing thud. The third guard wheeled her arms to stop herself before she ran into Jin Ling, trying to turn tail and run back out the door. Except Jingyi stood in the doorway.

“What’s up, you wannabe?” Jingyi grinned and readjusted his grip on the spear. And then he clocked her under the chin with the butt of the pole. Jin Ling took the opening to haul her down by the shoulder to throw her on top of the other guard. Satisfied, Jin Ling stood up and brushed his robes off. 

He shot a sharp look over his shoulder at Jingyi. “‘What’s up, you wannabe’? Really?” 

Jingyi realized his mouth was open as his teeth clicked together suddenly. He laughed a little breathlessly and shrugged, elbowing Jin Ling lightly in the process. “Always good to remind people of the facts.”

Jin Ling snorted, amused while nudging him in return. Jingyi decided that was a victory of sorts. He stepped a little closer and decided to press his luck.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Jingyi said, waiting and hoping for a flush to cross Jin Ling’s face. Except Jin Ling tossed his ponytail behind him as he turned towards him, smirking up at Jingyi.

“I know,” Jin Ling pushed his chin up a little higher. “Are you reminding me of a fact?” 

Jingyi felt a flush crawl up from his neck and burn across his own face instead. Then he leaned forward and smiled. “I am. I am doing that.”

Madame Jin cleared her throat lightly. Jingyi jumped away two feet, barely catching himself from falling with the haft of the spear. She passed Jin Ling a tasseled rope. And Jingyi had the good sense to make himself busy by collecting the MolingSu disciples’ weapons and anything that could be a weapon, and throwing them into a random cabinet. 

Jingyi turned back, swallowing nervously even as Madame Jin smiled gently at him.

“I think it might be a good idea to stand out as little as possible, young master Lan,” she said. “My husband’s robes would be too grand, and A-Ling’s are too far away...and probably a little short in the leg. But these three here might have something workable?”

“Um?” Jingyi managed. He heard Sizhui snort again, his playing not pausing. 

Madame Jin smiled a little wider as she pressed a hand to Jingyi’s shoulder before turning her back to him to fuss over Jin Ling, who’d gone from squawking indignantly to laughing loudly at her suggestion. He quickly went back to indignant squawking as she straightened the collar of his robes and smoothed the shoulders out while she whispered something too quiet for Jingyi to hear.

Although, it was hard to hear anything over the ringing in his ears at the mere hint of the suggestion that he—

Jin Ling snapped a finger in front of his face. “Mom’s right. You need a disguise.”

“I am not wearing Moling—”

“Shushu—” Jin Ling stopped, something complicated crossing his face. He took a deep breath and it cleared. “Lianfang-zun trusts their sect leader. It’s less likely we’ll be stopped if people think you’re escorting me somewhere.”

“Fuck no—”

“Lan Jingyi.” Jin Ling crossed his arms and stomped his foot. “Do it.”

Jingyi ground his teeth together. The terrible thing was that he knew Jin Ling was right. So with a loud groan, he snatched the rope from Jin Ling and went about pilfering the outer robes of two of the guards, throwing them at Jin Ling with a huff, and tying the MolingSu disciples up so they wouldn’t be a hassle later. 

“For the record,” Jingyi said, standing back up to scowl properly at Jin Ling. “I hate this idea. It’s terrible. It’s the worst.”

Jin Ling had the nerve to laugh. Jingyi found it harder to keep up the righteous indignation at the sound.

Rather than ducking guards in the halls and twisting around through the myriad of secret passageways again, Jin Ling led Jingyi up to the roof, jumping up to the center ridge. Jingyi grimaced at the added weight of the MolingSu robes, which were apparently made from a much heavier fabric than the lightweight silks he was used to. Still he swung himself up over the eave and managed not to dislodge any roof tiles.

Jin Ling stood at the far end, looking out over the rest of Carp Tower. He pointed toward the largest building, with the most elaborately gabled roofline. 

“That’s where shu—Lianfang-zun has everyone right now.” His hand moved a little to the south, and Jingyi recognized the shape of the courtyard by the guest quarters. “That’s where we’ll meet Sizhui.” Then he pointed at a low building in the farthest, darkest corner of the complex, near the training grounds. “And that’s where your weapons will be -- assuming Lianfang-zun didn’t keep them on him like he did with the ghost flute.”

“Okay, seems simple enough,” Jingyi said, starting to bounce on his toes. Jin Ling frowned at the motion. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t even do anything—”

Jin Ling shot him a flat look. “You forgot to—here I’ll just grab it—” He reached up, fingers skimming the edge of Jingyi’s forehead ribbon, which startled Jingyi into a less-than-graceful hop backwards.

“What the fuck—” Jingyi blurted out, batting Jin Ling’s grabby hands away from his ribbon. “You can’t touch that—”

“Take it off—”

“—That’s so forward of you, young mistress—”

“—shut up, I touched it before—”

“—a kiss is one thing, but—” Jingyi froze mid-sentence, feeling like he’d been drenched in cold water as a memory surfaced. ('The ribbon, dumbass. There are clouds on it, I felt them.') 

Jin Ling used the opportunity to get a finger under the ribbon and tug it loose. He held it out to Jingyi, the cloud embroidery curled over a finger in a way that Jingyi’s brain couldn’t quite process. He raised an expectant eyebrow at Jingyi, like Jingyi was supposed to do something.

“Take it,” Jin Ling said, poking him in the chest with the two fingers pinching the ribbon like he was sticking a talisman on him.

“Oh,” Jingyi finally managed to say. “Right.” Despite his numb hand, he managed to lift his hand up to hook his thumb under the ribbon, fingers trembling a little as they brushed Jin Ling’s skin. Jin Ling breathed out with a soft noise, and Jingyi felt the warmth of it flush through him. The way their hands wrapped together, it reminded him of the start of the night, before everything else that had happened, when he’d nearly fallen off his sword and Jin Ling had pulled him up just in time.

“What’s it—” Jin Ling’s voice wobbled a little. He swallowed, eyes darting down Jingyi’s face for half a second. “What’s the ribbon have to do with a kiss?”

“They’re sacred,” Jingyi replied, an answering wobble in his voice. “Our founder asked his fated one to place it upon his brow so that he may be reminded to be righteous and act with restraint in all things.”

Jin Ling made an amused noise, the start of a smile curling at his lips as he rolled his eyes. “‘Be righteous,’ how very Lan of you.” Jingyi wanted so badly to dip down and kiss him again, to remind himself of what Jin Ling’s laughter tasted like. But—But—

“You’re not supposed to touch it.” 

“I touched it before.” Jin Ling’s chin took on a stubborn set.

“That was different. I didn’t notice, or I would have said then.” Jingyi watched the amusement leave Jin Ling’s face slowly, his brow furrowing. “Only family can, or—”

“Or?”

Jingyi opened his mouth and hesitated. He liked Jin Ling, he liked him a lot, so much it made him stupid, but no matter how much he might want to spend his immediate future picking at him, getting a reaction out of him, listening to him laugh, seeing how often Jin Ling would let himself be kissed and held and swept off to a random village on the side of a mountain -- Jingyi didn’t know if that was enough. 

He was just a teenager, he didn’t know shit.

The moment stretched out a hair too long. Jin Ling ripped his hand out from Jingyi’s, and turned sharply on his heel so fast his hair slapped Jingyi in the face. 

“Stupid,” Jin Ling muttered, pressing both his hands into the side of his head before swinging them down with a loud huff. “Whatever. I get it, I’m—” He cut himself off with an angry noise. “I’m sorry I touched your fucking ribbon. Let’s just fucking go and get this over with.”

He didn’t wait for Jingyi to reply before taking a running leap off the hip ridge of the roof. Jingyi watched him, numb again, only finally snapping back into action when Jin Ling finally looked back from three buildings away. He sloppily tied his ribbon around his left wrist and sprinted after him. 

They had a job to do, after all. A coup to foil. A Hanguang-jun to find. Possibly even a mass murderer (but maybe just a minor murderer, it’s a little unclear) to save.

Not that it made him feel any better. 

Jingyi might not be a smooth talker like Zizhen or adept at reading nearly any situation like Sizhui, but even he could tell he’d hurt Jin Ling. He knew it before it’d even happened, yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself, like the conversation had been on rails from the second he had jumped away from Jin Ling.

Jingyi cursed under his breath.

He might not know anything for sure, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to find out or try or see where any of this would lead. If there was one thing Jingyi could do, it was fix his own damn mistakes. Sometimes. If the right stars were out and there was a favorable wind. So he had to try.

Jin Ling didn’t let him catch up, staying a building away until he reached the last one before the storage building he’d pointed at earlier. Jingyi had barely found his balance before Jin Ling was trying to slide down the tiles and down to the ground. 

“Hey, wait—” Jingyi grabbed at the hem of Jin Ling’s robes, catching him before he could drop down from the edge of the roof.

Jin Ling glared up at him, forcefully tugging his clothes free from Jingyi’s fingertips. “What.”

Sure, the venom in his tone was at least twelve steps backward and he wasn’t quite looking directly at him anymore, but Jin Ling hadn’t ignored him to keep running ahead. Jingyi took that as a good sign. He slid down the tiles to the edge of the roof, so he could actually see his expression rather than guess at it. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what.”

“For making you feel bad, I guess.”

Jin Ling’s frown deepened. “You guess.”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to—it was—and you—”

“Shut up, I don’t care,” Jin Ling hissed. “You’re not the first person to pretend to like me in order to get ahead or whatever the fuck it is you’re after.” He finally looked at Jingyi, eyes a little too shiny to just be a reflection of the moonlight. “You’re not special. I don’t care.”

He dropped down to the ground and was halfway across the training grounds below by the time Jingyi managed to follow him. 

Part of him was pissed. He wanted to stomp across the grass and shake Jin Ling until he understood. Part of him just wanted to flop back on the roof and become nothing. Mostly, he was tired. It took Jingyi a long time for his body to decide to follow, finally catching up as Jin Ling pulled to a stop by the storeroom door. He didn’t bother trying to reason with him again.

He hoped there’d be someone in there to fight. Punching something would really help him right about now.

Jin Ling tried the door, but it was locked. 

So Jingyi kicked it down.

There were rows of weapons, and on a far table, Jingyi saw Sizhui’s qin. Next to it was a stack of talismans, a handful of flares, and their swords. No one was in the room. 

“Some fucking lockdown, shushu,” Jin Ling scoffed to himself, stepping into the dark room.

Jingyi pushed past him, stuffing the flares and talismans into his sleeves and strapping his sword onto his back. Then he took a breath and felt a small wave of guilt for acting so childish. He ground his teeth as he wrapped Sizhui’s qin back up in its cloth, knotting the corners together carefully and sliding his sword in for easy transport.

He felt Jin Ling’s eyes on him, the weight of his gaze settling between his shoulders like it had all week. Except when Jingyi turned around, Jin Ling had turned his head back to the door, already itching to leave.

Sizhui met them exactly on time. He landed lightly on the roof over their guest quarters, looking frustratingly immaculate in his own MolingSu disguise and interrupting exactly nothing. Just a terrible, awkward silence that had weighed on the two of them since leaving the weapons storeroom. Every now and then, Jingyi had to roll his shoulders to roll off the heavy feeling of Jin Ling looking at him. Then Jingyi would wind up glancing over at him, and Jin Ling would be determinedly glaring in the other direction with a furious set to his shoulders.

“Jingyi, Jin Ling,” Sizhui greeted, shooting Jingyi a confused look. “No trouble?”

“Of course not,” Jin Ling replied. “You?”

“Madame Jin has Suihua, and Sect Leader Jin is resting much easier. I’m no expert on the pipa, but it seemed to help a little.” Sizhui smiled -- a real one that crinkled the corners of his eyes -- at Jin Ling. “I think he might wake up soon, actually.”

Jin Ling nodded sharply, even as his shoulders relaxed a little. 

Jingyi passed Sizhui his qin and sword. “Have you seen many guards? It’s been weirdly quiet.”

“Mm, I haven’t, actually. I only passed one patrol, but they didn’t notice me.” Sizhui shrugged at Jingyi’s frown. So much for Jin Guangyao, tactical genius and espionage expert of the Sunshot Campaign.

“Most of them are probably stationed around Glamour Hall,” Jin Ling cut in. “Everyone else is most likely searching for Hanguang-jun and Yiling Laozu.”

“Ah,” Sizhui replied, tone turning carefully calm. “No sign of them then?”

Jingyi shook his head with a grimace. “Nope.”

“That’s probably for the best, it means Lianfang-zun doesn’t know how to summon him yet.”

“One must try to find the good in even the most adverse situations,” Jingyi agreed, in a vague impression of Teacher Lan reciting the rules. Sizhui gave him a half-smile, appreciating the effort, so Jingyi clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “We’ll find them. We just gotta keep on with the plan. Besides, Senior Wei can only stay out of his flute house for so long, so it’s probably more likely that he’ll find us.”

Jin Ling made a dismissive noise. 

Jingyi flattened his expression and wheeled around. “Have something to say, young mistress Jin?”

Jin Ling crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his chin up imperiously. “I don’t see what the big deal is with Wei Wuxian.”

“It’s—He’s Senior Wei.” Jingyi said, like it explained everything. Because to him, well, it did. 

“What does that even mean?” Jin Ling blurted out, exasperated. “You both act like he’s actually a member of your sect -- just like shushu is trying to convince the rest of the sect leaders so that everyone turns against you, by the way, so not a very smart thing to do!” He started pacing. “Mom always gets this sappy look on her face when he comes up and she sighs and sometimes even cries, and jiujiu gets so mad but will run off after the smallest hintof a rumor about him—”

Sizhui eased his way between them. “Jin Ling—”

“And Dad gets this look and freezes up, which I guess is what happens when you’ve seen a corpse’s hand coming out of your own fucking chest!” Jin Ling sucked in a breath before whirling around to face them again. “I don’t know what the fuck they’re teaching you on your mountain, but your ‘Senior Wei’ is a really shitty guy!”

“Jin Ling,” Sizhui said again, impressively quiet and steady, after that rant. “I—We know that. Really. But right now, he’s cursed and could be forced to use his powers against his will because of it. It would be unrighteous to not help—”

“‘Unrighteous—’” Jin Ling clicked his tongue and threw his hands up as he started pacing again. “That’s so—I swear if I hear that word one more time tonight, I’m gonna punch something!”

Jingyi pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan while Jin Ling continued on.

“—Nevermind that he hurt people, that he hurt my dad—why would he even do that?”

“If Lianfang-zun summons him—” Sizhui tried to redirect Jin Ling one more time, but Jin Ling ignored him, still going on as he stopped at the far end of the roof and looked off into the distance, toward the tall shape of the banquet hall.

“—Mom’s convinced he’s doing something bad, and Mianmian-guma, too. That he’s been doing bad things this whole time—but—” Jin Ling’s rambling quieted, like he wasn’t really talking to them anymore. His shoulders had drawn in tight with his hands fisted at his side. “He’s family, and—and why would he do that?”

Somehow, Jingyi didn’t think he was still talking about Wei Wuxian.

Sizhui gave Jingyi a confused look over his shoulder.

Jingyi tried to grin back at him with something close to normal. “We should probably get going, right? With the plan?”

Sizhui opened his mouth, but Jingyi jerked his head toward the courtyard. “Right,” Sizhui replied slowly, frowning. “I’ll meet you in the garden.”

Jingyi gave Sizhui two thumbs up as he slid down the roof and off the eave, giving Jingyi the weirdest look the whole way down. Which just left Jin Ling, still brooding. Jingyi kind of hated how small he looked over there, heaving out a frustrated noise and completely unaware of anything but whatever was spinning around in his head. The annoyance and anger he’d felt earlier dissolved into something more like worry watching him.

Two steps closer and Jingyi could see his shoulders shaking. Five steps, he heard Jin Ling’s teeth squeaking with how tightly he’d clenched his jaw. One more, and Jingyi reached out to lay a hand across his shoulders, feeling Jin Ling seize up even tighter.

“Jin Ling,” he said, aiming for the steadiness that Hanguang-jun had when he said Jingyi’s name that always managed to reel him back in.

“What,” Jin Ling snapped, shaking off Jingyi’s hand. “Come to gloat, to make fun of me again? To rub it in my face how fucked up my family is?”

Jingyi pressed his lips together and screamed inside his head. He was trying -- trying so hard to not give in to his tendency to be bull-headed, but Jin Ling refused to make anything easy. Jingyi let out a calming breath before replying. “No, what—who would even do something like that?”

“Well I don’t care what you think!” Jin Ling practically shouted back at him. “And I know you don’t give a shit, so you don’t have to pretend anymore! No one ever—”

This time, Jingyi’s hand came down on his shoulder a little harder than necessary to spin Jin Ling around so Jingyi could glare at his face rather than his stupid ponytail. “Hey! Don’t fucking tell me how I feel—”

Jin Ling opened his mouth, ready to shout again, so Jingyi clapped his hand over it before he could.

“—because I do give a shit, actually! I really do! So will you please just listen to me?”

Over Jingyi’s hand, Jin Ling’s expression stayed furious, but he was looking at him at least rather than over his shoulder or past him. Jingyi moved his hand away, deciding he could trust him to not immediately start screaming again. Some stealth mission they were on. Jin Ling’s mouth was twisted up, matching his furrowed forehead. He raised them quickly, and Jingyi could almost hear the pissy ‘well?’ that went with the motion.

“Sorry for that,” Jingyi said quickly. “And I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have made a big deal about something you didn’t know.” He stopped and swallowed down the thudding of his heartbeat that seemed to get caught in his throat before he relaxed into a pre-emptive rueful grin. “I know I’m not special or whatever, but—but I do care.”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Jin Ling said, quiet and fast, the words almost tumbling into one another. He dropped his face, like he found something about Jingyi’s MolingSu disguise incredibly interesting. “That was—I’m sorry.”

Jingyi ducked his head to catch Jin Ling’s eyes. “It’s been a night.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, some of the weight leaving his shoulders as he shrugged.

“And we’ve still got a lot left to do.” Jingyi flicked one of the beads in Jin Ling’s hair, smiling at the mildly annoyed look he got in response. “You up for it?”

“We don’t really have a choice,” Jin Ling replied simply, if a little sour about it.

“No, no we don’t. But—” He reached for Jin Ling’s hand to squeeze it for a second “—once we get Hanguang-jun and Senior Wei back, things will be a lot easier. They can figure out what the fuck is going on, and maybe you can ask Senior Wei about your dad.”

Jin Ling squeezed his hand back instead of replying. He still looked mad, but more than that, he mostly seemed stressed and sad. 

Jingyi gave him a lopsided grin, and tugged at his hand. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Before he could step off the ridge, Jin Ling stepped in close and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Soft and fleeting and gone right as Jingyi tried to press back.

“Thanks,” Jin Ling whispered, squeezing his hand again. Then he quickly stepped away and slid down the roof.

Chapter Text

“Everything okay?” Sizhui asked as they followed Jin Ling through the shadowed pathways towards Glamour Hall.

Jingyi shrugged with an easy smile. “As okay as it can be, I think.”

Sizhui let out a breath. “Oh good, I was starting to worry.”

“Worry? Sizhui, please.” Jingyi pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “It’s me.”

“I know, I know,” Sizhui answered, laughing quietly. “What was I thinking?”

Jingyi laughed back, probably a little too loud for trying to sneak around. Jin Ling shot him a warning look over his shoulder, but it shifted quickly into something a little more amused. He gestured for him to be quiet, and sure enough, a patrol of two guards marched by. They waited a moment before sprinting across to the shadowy corner of the next building over.

This was where they’d leave Sizhui. He squeezed both their shoulders as he passed.

“Remember, around the back, stay low, and it’s twenty-one steps from the stairs at the back of the dais to the throne.” Jin Ling reminded him, voice low.

“Got it, thanks, Jin Ling. I’ll be ready to grab the flute once you two do your part.” Sizhui smiled at both of them. “Do your best, I’m counting on you.”

“Add oil to the fire, Sizhui,” Jingyi grinned back.

Jin Ling nodded. “May your task go smoothly, Lan Sizhui.”

Sizhui disappeared into the darkness, and Jin Ling and Jingyi dashed off under the eaves of the roof, ducking into a doorway as footsteps rounded the corner. Jin Ling stayed close, a hand pressed into Jingyi’s chest to make sure they were both hidden well enough. Jingyi held his breath as the guards passed by. 

He bit down on his tongue to stop himself from saying or doing anything stupid that might give them away. Like how his neck kept trying to relax and dip down, like how his mouth kept tingling at the thought of catching Jin Ling’s lips again, even just the edge of them.

Then, the coast was clear, and Jin Ling dragged him back out onto the pathways. All business. Now was not the time. He needed to focus. He could definitely do that. Even if Jin Ling still had his hand gripped tight in his as he pulled him along.

Soon enough, they made it to the main doors of Glamour Hall. Or, at least they made it to a nearby bush large enough to sit behind and watch the guards’ movements.

Jin Ling poked his shoulder. “Remember, you’re supposed to be escorting me, so keep your mouth shut, alright? Su She will probably be in there and he’ll know you’re not one of his disciples, so—”

“Head down, mouth shut,” Jingyi made a face, still unhappy about his disguise. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good.” Jin Ling stopped, eyes darting around the courtyard one last time. He frowned, teeth pulling at his bottom lip before he sighed. “Good. Then I’ll...”

Jingyi grinned. “Bust in and do your best young mistress—”

“Hey—”

“Just like that, yeah,” Jingyi said, trying not to laugh too loudly.

“You are so annoying,” Jin Ling replied without any bite. Almost amused. He tried to poke him again, but Jingyi caught his hand and tangled their fingers together. He watched Jin Ling’s face flush as he looked at their hands. “We could—this whole thing could—ugh, you make it so hard to think.”

Something warm fizzed up in Jingyi’s chest, a smile stretching wide across his face as he leaned in a little closer. “Do I now?”

Jin Ling pushed his jaw out stubbornly. “Yes.”

“Well, in that case—”

Jin Ling tipped himself up and kissed him square on the mouth before Jingyi could finish speaking. He grabbed at Jingyi’s shoulder to pull him a little closer, tilting his head to chase after the surprised noise caught in Jingyi’s throat.

Oh, he’s completely done for. Jingyi pushed into the kiss, threading his fingers into Jin Ling’s hair. But at least he wasn’t the only one getting distracted in the middle of all of this. There was something close to desperate with the way Jin Ling’s fingers curled in the fabric of his robes.

After a moment, Jin Ling pulled away, taking Jingyi’s lip with him as he tried to chase after his mouth. But the hand on Jingyi’s shoulder kept a distance between them.

“Okay,” Jin Ling said, breathless. “I just wanted to—in case something—” He shook his head sharply, pushing past the thought. “Okay, we need to focus. We have to focus.”

Jingyi tried to shift closer despite the hand holding him back. “How am I supposed to focus—” Jin Ling flicked his nose, startling Jingyi into a huff of laughter. It took him a minute, but he managed to draw in a full breath. “Alright, alright, let’s go do this then.” He tugged at Jin Ling’s ponytail for a small scrap of revenge.

Jin Ling looked at him, expression warm and eyes bright as they made their way across his face like he was memorizing him, and Jingyi stupidly thought that he could look at him forever probably, if he was allowed. From the slope of his nose to the high curve of his cheek, the sharp line of his jaw -- he could be glaring and scowling with his features all twisted up, but he’d still be insufferably handsome. And it was nice to see that the fear from before had died down into nothing more than a small shadow at the edge of his eyes.

“Okay,” Jin Ling repeated. Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and turned to gauge what the guards were up to. Jingyi turned, too, still leaning into the warmth of Jin Ling at his side the same way it seemed that Jin Ling gravitated to him.

Jin Ling took a deep breath, steeling himself. Then he stood and walked around the bush to the path, striding purposefully up the middle of the stone path. Jingyi followed quickly, half a step behind with the most brainless expression he could summon up plastered on his face.

The three guards were all in Jin gold so, luckily, no one would call the bluff of Jingyi’s MolingSu disguise. A stocky teenager barely taller than Jin Ling stepped up with his chest puffed out like he wanted to make sure everyone in a thousand-foot radius could see the peony on his robes. Jingyi resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be out,” the little shit sneered, blocking the doors. “Who said you could leave?”

Jin Ling glared at him, face tight but relatively calm. “I need to speak to shushu,” he said. “Let me through, Jin Chan.”

Jin Chan lifted his head in a poor imitation of Jin Ling. “You’re not allowed inside.”

“Jin Chan,” Jin Ling ground out, admirably trying to keep his voice even. “Get out of my way.”

“What are you gonna do, call for your dog?” The asshole cousin laughed meanly. 

Jin Ling took a step forward, fists balled and shaking at his sides. “I don’t need Fairy to kick your ass!”

The other guards stepped up at a motion from Jin Chan, and Jingyi decided maybe now would be the time to step in. They didn’t have time to get into an unnecessary fight with some shitty cousins. He put his hand between everyone with their bared teeth and scowling faces.

“Hey,” he snapped. “As much fun as kicking all of your teeth in sounds, I’m supposed to take the young mis—ah, master to see Lianfang-zun.”

Jin Chan, clearly an intelligent and well-educated boy, blinked up at him stupidly. “So?”

Jingyi stepped fully into the middle of all these Jins and did his best to use the gift of his height to loom over them. 

“So move.” Then Jingyi pulled one of his favorite tricks he learned from Hanguang-jun and glared down at all three of them, one by one. “Or I’ll move you.”

Jin Chan spluttered. One of his lackeys pulled at his sleeve frantically while the other one scrambled behind to open the big doors into the banquet hall.

Jingyi straightened and smirked to himself as he stepped aside and gestured at Jin Ling to pass through first. He still looked spitting mad, still puffed up and face screwed tight into a furious scowl, but when their eyes caught as Jin Ling passed, Jingyi had to push back the urge to laugh. The cousins didn’t make a peep as Jingyi shut the doors behind them. With a satisfied hum, he fell back into step beside Jin Ling.

The hall was mostly quiet, just a couple of hushed voices and the distant sound of a qin in a neighboring room. Most of the sect leaders had condensed their tables near the throne at the far end. A group of their seconds stood around the edge. Zizhen saw them and did a double-take, gaping like a fish before he started coughing loudly to cover the expression. Zewu-jun was seated calmly at a table near the front of the group. Jingyi didn’t see Sizhui. 

“Follow my lead,” Jin Ling muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Jingyi hummed again in acknowledgement.

Halfway down, the hall Lianfang-zun looked up from his paper-strewn table, a couple of military markers scattered over what had to be a map. His expression was one of concern and surprise as he stood.

“A-Ling,” he called. 

Jin Ling pulled to a stop and bowed quickly from the neck. He snapped his fingers behind his back and Jingyi remembered to drop down into a bow of his own.

“Shushu,” Jin Ling said, straightening. 

“This is unexpected.” Lianfang-zun might have been speaking to Jin Ling, but his eyes quickly moved past him to Jingyi, making his skin crawl. “Who is watching over your father?”

Fuck. “Ah, disciple L—Luo’s sect are keeping watch. From MolingSu.” Jin Ling straightened and plowed on. “I—I had something I thought you’d want to hear from me directly. Shushu.” 

Jingyi could feel Jin Ling tensing, knowing he’d fumbled that answer, tripping over the fake name and fucking the whole thing up really. They were not off to a good start. He hoped it would still make for a good enough distraction for Sizhui to do his part.

Jingyi glanced over at Zewu-jun, but he hadn’t looked up from the full cup of tea on his table. Something moved in the corner of his eye, and Zizhen was subtly waving at him. When he saw Jingyi’s eyes on him, he started trying to mouth words at him, but Jingyi had no idea what he meant. He ignored him.

“And what is that, A-Ling? What did you have to tell me?” Lianfang-zun continued without skipping a beat, like nothing was out of the norm about this conversation.

“Well, the doctors said that dad—uh, he, well—”

Lianfang-zun’s full attention snapped to Jin Ling for the first time at the mention of Sect Leader Jin. Jin Ling stiffened up more as he gamely blundered his way through his fake report.

“—He’s not—He should be, um, waking up. Soon. They said. Yeah.” Jin Ling coughed. 

“That’s good,” Lianfang-zun said, smiling widely and sounding fully genuine. His hand strayed to something on his table, long and black—Chenqing, Jingyi realized. “Thank you, A-Ling, that’s excellent news.”

Jin Ling must have noticed the flute, too, panic flashing across his face before he could school his features into something normal. “Yes!” He practically shouted, a beat too late. Bless him, he was incredibly bad at this. Not that Jingyi would be any better, but at least Jingyi knew that he was a bad liar.

“If disciple Luo—” Lianfang-zun’s eyes flicked over to Jingyi again, and this time, Jingyi was absolutely sure he’d seen through them both “—wouldn’t mind escorting you back. You should be with your—”

“A-Ling!” Sandu Shengshou interjected. “Sit here.”

Lianfang-zun’s wide smile and dimples came back. “Sect Leader Jiang, I really must insist—”

“He’ll sit here,” Sandu Shengshou snapped at him. He turned to Jin Ling and gestured at a cushion. “A-Ling. Sit.”

A muscle in Jin Ling’s jaw worked before he turned on his heel to sit on the cushion next to Sandu Shengshou. Jingyi started to follow him, but the way Lianfang-zun smiled at him made him think maybe that was the incorrect thing for a MolingSu disciple to be doing. Lianfang-zun looked expectant, staring at him with his hand curled almost absent-mindedly around Chenqing. This was a test. A test he was failing, the longer he hesitated. All his brain seemed to catch on was the sound of someone playing qin, but he couldn’t place the song—

“Disciple Luo!” A voice behind him called out as a hand slapped down on his shoulder. Zizhen pulled him around and Jingyi thought he might cry with relief. “Great to see you, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that thing from the other day, let’s do that.”

Jingyi made all the right yeah, sure, okay, alright, noises at Zizhen chattered in his ear, pulling him back to where the less important people stood and away from Lianfang-zun’s direct attention. 

As soon as pillars blocked them from view, he dragged Jingyi down by his collar and hissed. “What the fuck was that?”

“Part of the plan?” Jingyi whispered back weakly.

“The plan? How the hell was any of that a plan—” Zizhen stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. “Is that why Sizhui’s skulking around behind the throne, too?”

“Yeah.”

Zizhen tutted. “I leave you two alone for half a minute and you get thrown in jail, escape somehow, and come up with the world’s worst plan to do who knows what.” He grabbed Jingyi, who’d been leaning around the pillar to check on Jin Ling, and shook him by the shoulders. “Honestly. You’re hopeless without me. The only thing you managed to do right was team up with young master Jin, not that he seems much help at whatever that little skit was—”

Jingyi scowled at him. “It wasn’t thatbad—”

“But that’s okay, I’m here, and I can save this.” Zizhen ignored his protests. “Give me a second to think—”

A flute trill cut through their hushed conversation and quiet of the rest of the room. Someone started shouting. A lot of people shouted actually. Then the doors slammed open, tossing Jin Chan and his lackeys aside like ragdolls as a smoky, black mass swirled forcefully into the hall.

“Fuck,” Jingyi whispered.

The mass started to coalesce and take shape in front of Lianfang-zun, a tall man with wild hair and long, dark robes. Well, at least they’d found Wei Wuxian.

“Was this part of the plan?” Zizhen asked, tugging at Jingyi’s elbow. 

Jingyi shook his head. Zizhen cursed, eloquently and colorfully. Jingyi nodded in agreement with the sentiment.

“Nevermind, I can’t save this, we’re fucked.”

Lianfang-zun smiled. Which wasn’t a good thing. He’d always seemed odd, throughout this whole conference, but something about him holding Chenqing in one hand and Wei Wuxian’s chin in the other made Jingyi’s skin crawl.

It was the smile. Something was off with the smile. Jingyi had thought Zewu-jun had the market cornered on smiles that meant more than they seemed, but Lianfang-zun was teaching him some new things about the expression.

Jingyi chanced a look across the way at Jin Ling, who still sat next to his other uncle, white-faced and stiff but otherwise fine. An eerie mirror of Sandu Shengshou, who had the same expression on his face. A Jin disciple knelt beside Jin Ling and discreetly started to whisper in his ear. Luo Qingyang, Jingyi realized.

Zizhen grabbed Jingyi by the shoulder, pulling him back behind the column. 

“We need to get Sizhui,” he hissed.

Jingyi nodded dumbly. Yeah, Sizhui would be great. Sizhui would know what to do. Zizhen squeezed Jingyi’s shoulder. Then he started walking toe-to-heel along the edge of the room, toward the front. Jingyi followed him quickly.

He heard Wei Wuxian speaking, that disdainful and dark tone of voice from the courtyard earlier echoing through the hall. Something about a mirror in Lianfang-zun’s rooms, a dismembered body on a table and a head on a shelf. Jingyi sucked a breath in, remembering the arm from Mo Manor that Sizhui and Zizhen had subdued, how he could feel the resentful energy of it seeping through Hanguang-jun’s spirit-trapping pouch (Wei Wuxian sitting with him on the rooftop, hands waving as he rambled, ‘that arm belongs to Chifeng-zun’).

They stopped behind Zewu-jun. 

Zewu-jun, who sat unmoving, his posture perfect as always. A movement across the room caught Jingyi’s eye and it was Sect Leader Nie’s fan fluttering, his eyes flicking quickly from Wei Wuxian to Zewu-jun and back again. The sound of the qin was louder now that they were closer to the dais.

Lianfang-zun smiled wider somehow, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks as Wei Wuxian continued on about the song he’d heard from Chifeng-zun’s own memories, how he’d bastardized a sacred Lan song that had been taught to him in confidence and with Zewu-jun’s trust. 

“Er-ge, if you’d be so kind,” Lianfang-zun said, cutting across Wei Wuxian’s words like they were nothing to him. “We can’t have this criminal spewing such falsehoods.”

Zewu-jun barely moved his head to answer, voice coming out toneless in a way that made a cold shiver run down Jingyi’s back. “You had me seal my spiritual power.”

Lianfang-zun made a thoughtful noise. “Yes, I did.” 

He glanced around at each of the other sect leaders in the room, a clear threat in his eyes. If he could subdue Zewu-jun, he had the power to do the same to each of them in turn. Then Lianfang-zun locked eyes again with Wei Wuxian, who grinned sharply at him, completely unaffected by the intimidation tactic. 

“I have a use for you, Yiling Laozu. You see, I know what you are -- you’re cursed to grant wishes. But I don’t need you to speak.” Lianfang-zun’s free hand flicked out, a qin string slipping out of his sleeve, and before Jingyi could blink, he wound it tight around Wei Wuxian’s neck. 

Jingyi watched a drop of red run along the silk string, catching on the knot. Apparently, cursed spirits could bleed.

Zizhen tugged at Jingyi’s sleeve. Sizhui stood next to him, and even if he looked scared as all shit, Jingyi still felt a wave of relief wash through him. Sizhui would know what to do, how to help. Somehow. Jingyi opened his mouth, but stopped when Sizhui held a hand up, his eyes trained on Lianfang-zun, who had pushed Wei Wuxian to his knees and was bent over, hissing something in his ear. Wei Wuxian tried to clench his jaw, but the motion pulled on the string around his neck, making him flinch.

“Good, good,” Lianfang-zun murmured as he stood up. “Then I’ll make my wish. It's very simple. I wish to be the leader of the Jin sect and named Chief Cultivator, and acknowledged as such by everyone here.”

The silence hung heavy in the room as Wei Wuxian glared at Lianfang-zun. Jin Ling sprang to his feet, shouting something that Jingyi couldn’t make out as Sandu Shengshou pulled him back down fast enough to make him yelp. 

Wei Wuxian dropped his head and whistled. A breeze gusted through the hall, rippling through the trailing fabric of Lianfang-zun’s robes. When Jingyi looked back at Lianfang-zun, his robes had become more golden, like someone had snuck in real fast to embroider and bead the creamy brocade to be as decadent as possible. Something cracked loudly outside.

Jin Ling jumped up again. “Shushu, what are you doing—you can’t—you’re n—” His shout cut off, and Jin Ling frowned in confusion. He tried again. “You’re not—” he growled as the word got caught in his throat again. “My dad is the—Jin Zixuan is—ugh, what the fuck is going on, why can’t I say it—”

“A-Ling, don’t be rash. That’s no way to speak to your sect leader—”

“You’re not—”

“Jin Guangyao,” Sandu Shengshou’s voice rang out over Jin Ling’s cursing as he stood up, too. “You get that it doesn’t fucking work like that—”

Lianfang-zun held a hand up, pushing Wei Wuxian back down to the floor as the latter tried to lurch back to his feet. Sandu Shengshou’s mouth shut audibly. “Sect Leader Jiang, please take care.” 

“A-Yao,” Zewu-jun’s soft voice cut in, freezing Lianfang-zun in place. “Jin Ling is a child. And your nephew.” Lianfang-zun turned on his heel to stare at Zewu-jun, something close to incredulous clouding his smile for a second. “Sect Leader Jiang is your brother-in-law.”

“Er-ge, I know, why do you feel the need to remind me? Whatever do you think I’m going to do?”

Zewu-jun didn’t reply. After a long moment, he turned his head away and resumed staring at the cold cup of tea on his table.

“You hear that, A-Ling? Be a good boy or who knows what I might do.”

“Fuck that—” Jin Ling made to step forward but Sandu Shengshou and Luo Qingyang both reached out to pull him back by the wrists.

“Oh no,” Sizhui whispered.

Zizhen made a noise of agreement. “This is bad.”

“You think?” Jingyi hissed back at them. “What the fuck do we do?”

“What the hell is my dad doing?” Zizhen muttered to himself as he shouldered past to get a better look from their shadowed corner. Jingyi tore his eyes away from Jin Ling’s stricken face across the hall to see that Sect Leader Ouyang had stepped up to make an awkward bow at Lianfang-zun. 

“Ah, your excellency...”

Lianfang-zun practically glowed with how pleased he was to be addressed as Chief Cultivator.

“What does your excellency plan to do,” Sect Leader Ouyang continued, the quaver in his reedy voice steadying once he physically turned away from Sandu Shengshou. “With the war criminal Wei—”

The doors slammed open again, this time with the very solid and real figure of Hanguang-jun standing outside the threshold. Jingyi couldn’t help shouting out for him. Fucking finally something was going right.

Hanguang-jun swept through the hall, eyes only on Wei Wuxian and Lianfang-zun. Waves of icy cold energy rolled off him, which Jingyi thought was pretty fucking awesome. But Sizhui grabbed at Jingyi’s shoulder, tense and worried, and Zewu-jun let out a loud, shaky breath. So maybe Jingyi wasn’t as fluent in Hanguang-jun as he’d thought he was. He caught Zizhen around the waist as he slid back from the blast of energy.

“Hanguang-jun,” Lianfang-zun greeted him, oddly pleasant and not sounding worried in the slightest. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

Hardly a breath passed -- Hanguang-jun’s sword slid into his hand to point directly at Lianfang-zun.

Lianfang-zun grinned wide, teeth and dimples out for show.

“Careful, Hanguang-jun,” he said, voice quiet and pitched carefully to carry across the hall. He reached down to pull at the string wound around Wei Wuxian’s neck. “Your life is in my hands, after all.”

If Jingyi didn’t know better, that Hanguang-jun was the best and absolutely fearless, he would think he saw Hanguang-jun’s hand tremble and the point of his sword drop an inch. But that was impossible. Impossible. Jingyi looked at Sizhui for confirmation, but his fingers just tightened on Jingyi’s shoulders. Zizhen stared at both of them.

This was so incredibly beyond what Jingyi thought he should be expected to handle. 

Lianfang-zun laughed brightly. “Yiling Laozu, I have another wish. It’s not enough to be chief cultivator.” Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes, big and dramatic, complete with a shoulder heave. Jingyi could practically hear his sarcastic scoff of ‘no, really?’ implied in the motion. “I wish to be the most powerful cultivator -- so strong that no one here can stop me.”

Wei Wuxian managed a full-on sigh despite his bound throat. Hanguang-jun took a step forward and Lianfang-zun pulled the qin string tighter around Wei Wuxian’s neck, making him choke. This started a minor kerfuffle between them, but Jingyi felt struck in the chest with a realization. 

He immediately tugged Zizhen back into their hiding spot behind a pillar. “It’s still the flute,” he whispered. Sizhui’s eyebrows furrowed and Zizhen looked half a second away from slapping Jingyi upside the head. “Like, if we take it I mean. That’s still the best plan.” Jingyi paused, eyes darting between the two. The sound of electricity and heavy footsteps echoed through the hall, so Sandu Shengshou must be up to something now, too.

Zizhen snapped his fingers. “Jingyi, you brilliant bastard, you’re right.”

“It’s been known to happen!” Jingyi poked Zizhen’s shoulder, hard.

“The flute binds Senior Wei, so if we take it,” Sizhui murmured to himself, a fingertip tapping his chin as he looked up at the ceiling like it held all the answers. “Then Lianfang-zun can’t use his powers.” 

Jingyi grinned. “And we can undo whatever Lianfang-zun wished, too. I’ve used all of mine up, but you two could—”

“Jingyi, you brilliant bastard, you’re right!”

And maybe he’d spent too much time around Jin Ling today because Jingyi gave Zizhen a flat look. “Zizhen, there’s a lot of shit going down right now, but I’m willing to ignore all of that to plant your ass in the ground.”

Sizhui put a hand on each of their shoulders, breaking Jingyi out of his momentary ire and Zizhen out of his poorly muffled laughter. Something had softened in Sizhui’s face for the first time all night. He looked hopeful. Sizhui pressed his mouth together carefully, and Jingyi couldn’t help grinning at him. He knew what that stubborn set to his jaw meant.

It meant Sizhui had a plan.

A whistle trilled out, and Jingyi felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. The spin of his core slowed like when they’d been in the spelled dungeon earlier. 

“Oh that’s—it’ll be fine, we won’t need our cultivation,” Sizhui said. “Zizhen, you need to distract him. I’ll sneak up from behind. Jingyi, you’re our backup, okay? Anyone catches on and tries to stop us, you know what to do.”

“Got it, Sizhui,” Zizhen nodded.

“Zizhen, I’m sorry in advance if I have to punch your dad.”

Zizhen flapped a hand at him. “If you do, it’ll be because he deserved it.”

“Okay, let’s do this.” Sizhui squeezed their shoulders before turning quickly and ducking further into the shadows to make his way toward Lianfang-zun. A quiet had settled over the room, making it obvious when the qin player stumbled over a note. How sloppy. Jingyi pushed the thought away.

Jingyi and Zizhen turned back to look at what was going on with the adults. Lianfang-zun stood in the same spot, a hand on Wei Wuxian’s neck with his other hand idly spinning Chenqing. Hanguang-jun had sheathed his sword and stared at Wei Wuxian, eyes wider than Jingyi had ever seen before. Wei Wuxian kept looking between him and Sandu Shengshou, who looked shell-shocked as he knelt next to them and stared blankly at the floor.

Something drastic must have happened. More drastic than the suppression spell that Wei Wuxian had cast with his whistle, anyway. Zizhen looked at him with his face pressed and unusually serious. After a second, he nodded to himself, then he skittered out into the main part of the hall, looking every inch a frightened teenager as he skidded to a stop beside his dad and wailed about Sandu Shengshou and Wei Wuxian and isn’t this all just so shocking.

The noise pushed Jin Ling into action, too, dashing across the hall to slide up behind Sandu Shengshou, shouting at him. It almost felt like he was in on this part of the plan. Jingyi liked the idea of that.

Zizhen’s dad fended him off, clearly used to his son’s antics, so Zizhen switched tactics, moving quickly to Jin Ling’s side to cling to his sleeve and echo everything he said with a loud, whiny voice. Jingyi held back a laugh when Jin Ling glared at him over his shoulder and tried to shove him off.

“Why!” Zizhen howled, hands twisting tighter in Jin Ling’s sleeve. “I just don’t understand! Lianfang-zun, what’s going on?”

It was a little over the top by Jingyi’s standards, a little too obvious to be genuine. But if anything, Lianfang-zun smiled wider and looked so incredibly pleased with himself that someone had finally asked. With a smug little hum, he tucked Chenqing into his belt and stepped down from the dais to the floor. 

He flung Wei Wuxian at Hanguang-jun. “Don’t do anything stupid, Hanguang-jun.”

Hanguang-jun caught Wei Wuxian and immediately tucked him into his side, all while glaring down at Lianfang-zun so coldly it was a wonder he hadn’t frozen in place. Lianfang-zun sidestepped them without a second glance.

“I’m so glad you asked, young master Ouyang,” he said, patting Zizhen on the cheek. “You know, A-Ling here doesn’t have many friends, so I’m glad a forthright and filial son like you managed to make a connection with him.”

“Shushu—”

“Quiet now, A-Ling,” Lianfang-zun cut him off, perfectly pleasant. 

Jin Ling’s mouth snapped shut, and he couldn’t seem to open it anymore no matter how much he tried. He settled for glaring furiously at Lianfang-zun, who just smiled back.

Lianfang-zun started walking in circles around the group in front of the dais. “You see, it’s quite simple. Everyone here knows who I am, who my father is. But despite all that and despite being the one to kill Wen Ruohan, I’ve been damned to be overlooked and stepped over by everyone due to who my mother wasn’t.” He stopped and stared at the empty throne. “But in the end, no matter what I managed to achieve -- bringing peace to the sects, having Zewu-jun and Chifeng-zun as my sworn brothers and thus making their sects our allies, expanding our power within the cultivation world -- it was never enough. Not that I’d expect two young masters like you to understand.” He turned back to look at Zizhen and Jin Ling. “Your father tried, A-Ling. But still, while he sits on a seat he didn’t earn, I’m the one breaking my back to keep him in power. How is that fair?”

A movement on the dais caught Jingyi’s eye. A swirl of grey-edged robe let him know Sizhui was ready. Jingyi did another scan of the room to make sure no one else saw him. Luckily, everyone seemed intently focused on Lianfang-zun and the tale of woe he was spinning as if he was a villain in some novel Jingyi was reading.

“He’s managed to slip through my previous plans, but not for long -- he’s effectively out of the way. And with the Yiling Laozu enforcing my claim, no one can oppose me—”

Jin Ling let out a pained noise as he managed to break through the spell and rip his mouth open. “That’s my dad—You did do all of this, you tried to kill him and blame the fucking Lans—”

“Language, A-Ling—”

“We’re your fucking family!” Jin Ling shouted over him, pulling away from Zizhen to step forward. Jingyi took a step forward.

“That doesn’t make it fair. I’ve earned this; I have worked too hard to always be second best. And so long as I have Wei Wuxian bound to me and my desires—”

A lot of things happened at once. Sandu Shengshou lurched up to his feet, flicking out the length of Zidian’s whip as he glared down Lianfang-zun over Jin Ling’s head. Wei Wuxian shouted out hoarsely as Hanguang-jun started to unsheathe his sword. And Lianfang-zun, seeing three adult threats and a teenager on the verge of a breakdown, grabbed Jin Ling and wrapped another qin string around his neck.

“Watch it,” Lianfang-zun practically sing-songed. “After all, even Zewu-jun doesn’t know what I might do!”

“Jin Guangyao—” Sandu Shengshou growled as Wei Wuxian rasped out his own curse.

Jin Ling wriggled in his hold, before freezing up as Lianfang-zun tightened his grip. Jingyi suddenly realized that he’d stepped out from behind the column, already stepping into the main area of the hall without even noticing. A hand caught the hem of his robes, stopping him, and Jingyi looked down to see Zewu-jun holding tight and shaking his head minutely with a very clear ‘Let the adults handle this,’ written in his eyes.

“Shushu,” Jin Ling whispered, mindful of the sharp string drawn across his neck.

“I’ve earned this, A-Ling,” Lianfang-zun replied. “Everything I’ve done, it’s been so that I could be this, the best—”

Jin Ling’s jaw clenched tight. “This—Whatever the fuck this is you’re doing right now? That’s not earning shit—”

“A-Ling—”

“It’s stealing. You’ve stolen this, shushu! That’s not—” Jin Ling grabbed at Lianfang-zun’s arm, pulling it down to draw in a full breath before he rolled on. Honestly, Jingyi was impressed at that bull-headed determination. “If you still need some ruyi to prop you up, that means you’re still gonna be second fucking best!” 

The hall fell eerily silent.

And then all hell broke loose. Someone burst into the room, desperately flailing as he slid on the floor in a panic and shouted for Lianfang-zun. Su Minshan, Jingyi realized, with a start. Everyone turned to look to see what the commotion was, which is when Sizhui jumped out from behind the throne, hand reaching for the flute in Lianfang-zun’s belt. He missed it by a hair but momentum pushed him bodily into Lianfang-zun, accidentally sending all three of them rolling on the floor in different directions.

Heavy footsteps sounded and Su Minshan’s distressed flailing resumed. His hands clutched tight around a too-shiny qin with gold tassels. Something hit Su Minshan from behind and he and the qin went flying, the instrument sliding to a stop near the dais while the man landed on the hard floor and kept rolling.

Resentful energy radiated from the massive figure shambling into view. A corpse, Jingyi realized. A really powerful fierce corpse, held together by thick black thread, visible at the neck and at the shoulders through the thin fabric of the inner robe wrapped around its body. And none of the cultivators had their powers. They were all helpless.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered.

Sect Leader Nie suddenly stood up. “Da-ge?”

Zewu-jun’s head whipped around. Lianfang-zun started scrabbling backwards on the floor, away from the hulking form of Chifeng-zun.

“Jin Guangyao!” Zewu-jun shouted out, standing with his sheathed sword clenched tight in his hand. “What have you done?” Blue robes billowing out behind him, he rushed past Jingyi, heading straight for Lianfang-zun.

This was a lot. Too much. Once again, Jingyi felt that whatever the fuck all of this was that was happening around him was way beyond what should be required of a mostly average junior disciple of the Lan clan. He was tired; the sun was coming up. The adults were all shouting at one another, and a fierce corpse was slowly stomping across the room. Enough was fucking enough.

So Jingyi made an executive decision. 

He followed after Zewu-jun, catching Zizhen by the sleeve until he followed before grabbing both Sizhui and Jin Ling by the back of their robes to drag them away from the shit show that was whatever the adults had going on. Predictably, Jin Ling struggled. Jingyi didn’t stop pulling them across the floor until they’d made it to the empty table Sandu Shengshou had been at earlier. 

Jin Ling immediately scrambled upright and tried to make his way back to the clusterfuck at the head of the hall, but Zizhen grabbed him by the middle and swung him back around at Jingyi. Jin Ling glared up at him as Jingyi caught him by the arm, and something in Jingyi calmed at the feeling of him, real and warm and alive under his palm. Jingyi tipped his chin back with a finger, grateful to see the mark on Jin Ling’s neck was barely a scratch, a little raw but nothing truly serious. The furious set of Jin Ling’s jaw relaxed slightly the longer Jingyi looked at him. That was better.

“You okay?” Jingyi asked quietly.

Jin Ling’s face twisted. “No.”

“Yeah, that tracks.”

“That could have gone worse,” Zizhen said brightly as he helped Sizhui up to his feet, very deliberately ignoring the inhuman roar coming from Chifeng-zun, Sect Leader Nie’s answering wails of distress, and Sandu Shengshou yelling for blood.

“What the fuck, Zizhen,” Jingyi and Jin Ling said at the same time.

Sizhui sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We still need the flute—”

“Uh, I think we might be too late on that, actually,” Jingyi cut in quickly, pointing at the adults.

Jin Ling’s head snapped around, a bead slapping Jingyi in the face. “What.”

Lianfang-zun rolled the flute in his hand, completely focused on it despite Zewu-jun lecturing him and keeping Chifeng-zun back at the same time. Sect Leader Nie latched onto Lianfang-zun’s shoulder.

“San-ge!” he cried. “San-ge, you have to do something, don’t you have the power to do something?”

Lianfang-zun blinked, mouthing the word ‘power’ to himself before a scarily wide grin stretched across his face. “Yes, yes that’s it. I have to—Get off, Huaisang—” He shoved Sect Leader Nie off in a heap on the floor, standing up and holding out Chenqing to point at Wei Wuxian. “Yiling Laozu!”

Wei Wuxian jerked at the call. He pushed Hanguang-jun behind him before giving Lianfang-zun a flat stare. “I’m so tired of talking, Lianfang-zun, can’t we just get to the part where we fight?”

“I have another wish,” Lianfang-zun said. “After you grant that, we’ll see about the fighting.”

“Oh, great.” Wei Wuxian spread his arms wide, nimbly stepping away from Hanguang-jun as he tried to pull him back. “Lay it on me.”

“I wish to have the same powers as you.”

“All of them? Are you sure about that? Because—”

“Don’t—I want all your power, give it to me. Then nothing can stand in my way!”

Wei Wuxian stared him down. Then he smiled a little too sharply and his short laugh was a little too dark to be normal. He put his hand out. “I’ll need my flute.”

Lianfang-zun handed over Chenqing, chin tipped back imperiously.

“Oh fuck,” Jin Ling said. He started to move forward again, and this time, Jingyi followed close behind. 

“Remember, Lianfang-zun,” Wei Wuxian said with a lilt in his voice. He lifted the flute to his lips. “You asked for this.”

The first note was fine. The second note sent everyone flying back with the blast of power emanating from it. Jingyi found himself sliding across the floor with a lap full of Jin Ling and Zizhen’s bony knees digging into his kidneys. Hanguang-jun slammed into Sandu Shengshou, and Zewu-jun had enough wherewithal to catch Sect Leader Nie before they both slammed into a pillar.

Only Wei Wuxian, Lianfang-zun, and Chifeng-zun remained upright, black mist swirling around them and keeping everyone else pressed into the ground. Chifeng-zun stopped trying to reach Lianfang-zun, swaying side-to-side instead as Wei Wuxian’s playing intensified. The feel of the resentful energy sweeping over them curdled Jingyi’s stomach. 

But Lianfang-zun laughed through it all.

All at once, the energy dissipated. A final, high note lingered in the air as Wei Wuxian turned around, his body fading with the sound of Chenqing. Hanguang-jun stood quickly but Wei Wuxian shook his head and smiled. “Lan Zhan, it’ll be fine.”

“Wei Ying—” Hanguang-jun held out a hand, but Wei Wuxian had disappeared. Chenqing hit the ground and rolled toward him. 

Meanwhile, Lianfang-zun kept laughing. He twirled his fingers in the air, and sounded delighted when dark mist tangled with them. “How marvelous, how truly extraordinary,” he murmured to himself. Chifeng-zun had started moving forward again, but it seemed no one else had quite noticed yet. 

Until he punched a hole through Lianfang-zun’s chest.

“A-Yao!” Zewu jun yelled out at the same time Jin Ling shouted, “Shushu!”

Lianfang-zun looked at the fist, amused. “There’s a certain poetry to this, don’t you think, da-ge?” Then he laughed as his form dissipated into mist that settled on the golden-tasseled qin Su Minshan had dropped earlier. 

Zewu-jun yelled again, crawling across the floor for the instrument. Sect Leader Nie stayed suspiciously quiet, something too calm and still in his expression, like he was weighing the odds before his next move. It reminded Jingyi of the face he’d been quick to hide behind his fan when Sect Leader Nie had asked him about Hanguang-jun.

Someone slapped Jingyi’s shoulder repeatedly. “Hey?” Zizhen spluttered. “Uhh, that’s—we should run, right?”

Jingyi looked at where he was pointing and blanched. Chifeng-zun had swung around and was now marching toward them, faster than he had been when he’d been coming at Lianfang-zun. 

“Fuck—”

Sizhui cut Jingyi off. “Jin Ling, you need to run!”

“What?” Jin Ling shouted back. “Why would I—oh shit , when’d he get so fast! Jingyi—”

“Yeah, yup,” Jingyi practically squeaked as he pushed Jin Ling off of his legs, both of them jumping to their feet. Standing so fast made his head spin a little, or maybe that was just the pressure of the killing intent coming from Chifeng-zun who was barreling toward them now.

Sandu Shengshou yelled. Jin Ling squeezed Jingyi’s shoulder, giving him a look before he tore off toward his uncle. Jingyi let that look settle him. He squared his shoulders and glanced over at Zizhen and Sizhui to see them standing on either side of him, ready. Jingyi could feel his core brightening, so the suppression spell from before must be wearing off. At least they had that going for them.

Chifeng-zun changed direction to match Jin Ling. Jingyi sprinted at the fierce corpse, Sizhui and Zizhen hot on his heels. There was no plan beyond don’t let him get Jin Ling. Jingyi wasn’t looking forward to whatever terrible injury this would get him, but it was better than anyone dying. Then he’d never get to kiss Jin Ling again. Couldn’t have that.

Someone started plucking out a song on the qin. Chifeng-zun immediately pivoted and moved that way. Sizhui tripped, forcing Zizhen into Jingyi’s back, and all three tumbled to the ground in a pile. Jingyi ignored the throbbing in his head from where it hit the floor to turn his head toward the playing. 

Zewu-jun sat calmly, fingers easily finding the notes for ‘Clarity' as Lianfang-zun slowly solidified in front of him. Chifeng-zun’s steps slowed down. He came to a halt a few feet away from Zewu-jun, just behind Lianfang-zun, and stared down at him, all of that roiling energy coiling back under his skin like he hadn’t been chasing after Jin Ling or tried to punch a hole through Lianfang-zun.

Maybe...everything would wind up okay. If Zewu-jun could calm Chifeng-zun’s rage and contain Lianfang-zun’s mania, then all they had to do was get the flute to Sizhui and everything would be fine.

Sect Leader Nie clutched at Zewu-jun’s shoulder suddenly, crying out loudly. “Er-ge!”

Zewu-jun’s finger slipped. The wrong note sounded. Chifeng-zun roared. And the sound of wood splintering echoed throughout the hall. 

The qin lay on the floor in pieces and snapped silk strings. Lianfang-zun had disappeared again, leaving no trace of resentful energy behind.

Jingyi tried to untangle himself from Zizhen’s stupid limbs, getting up to his feet to be ready to try the run-and-tackle-and-hopefully-not-die strategy again if Chifeng-zun focused again on Jin Ling. But Hanguang-jun was already ahead of him, stepping forward and playing 'Rest' on his qin with such an incredible amount of force that it made Jingyi yawn.

“Oh!” Sizhui squeaked, jumping off Zizhen’s legs. He pulled his qin out of his sleeve and joined in at the third measure. The two of them coming at Chifeng-zun from two sides managed to bring the corpse to his knees. 

Jingyi started to jog across the hall and found Jin Ling already looking at him, batting away Sandu Shengshou’s hands with a grumbled ‘Jiujiu!’ as he ducked under his arms. Sandu Shengshou gave the bitchiest eye roll Jingyi had ever seen before turning to help Hanguang-jun and Sizhui, pulling out a talisman from his sleeve as he stormed toward them.

Jin Ling met Jingyi halfway, looking pale and tired but otherwise fine. Jingyi tugged at a lock of Jin Ling’s hair with a grin.

“Hey.”

“Hey’? That’s what you’re gonna say right now?” Jin Ling frowned at him. Then he punched Jingyi in the shoulder. “What the fuck was that?”

Jingyi made a big show of rubbing at his shoulder. “Ow.”

“You just ran at him? Do you have a fucking death wish? Are you an actual idiot?”

“Ah—I didn’t really think about it, really,” Jingyi answered, chagrined. The back of his neck burned and he had to stomp on the urge to duck his head and hide his face, knowing the flush would soon spread there, too.

Jin Ling’s eyes narrowed. “Clearly, you didn’t think—”

“What was I supposed to do, just let him get you?”

Whatever Jin Ling had meant to say cut off, his mouth snapping shut as he looked at Jingyi with a strange expression like he couldn’t settle on staying pissed or being embarrassed or something much softer entirely. He pressed his jaw tight, chin pushing up stubbornly as he reached for Jingyi’s hand and squeezed it hard. Jingyi laughed.

“Thanks,” Jin Ling managed to say finally.

Jingyi squeezed his hand back and winked. “Anytime, young mistress Jin.”

Jin Ling swatted at his chest, a not quite sour expression furrowing his eyebrows at the nickname. Jingyi pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth to hold back the urge to kiss him.

But before Jingyi could even start to lean in, the double doors at the end of the banquet hall opened, bringing in the bright light of dawn with it. Jin Ling’s dog came bounding in, barking happily when she spotted her boy. Behind her, Jingyi made out the shape of a man and a woman. The man had some of his weight leaned on the pommel of his sword, straightening quickly as the doors opened wider.

“Dad!” Jin Ling called out to the figure.

“Madame Jin, Sect Leader!” Another voice rang out as Luo Qingyang dashed across the hall to help Jiang Yanli over the threshold. “You got my message.”

Jin Zixuan stepped into the banquet hall, eyes sweeping across the cracked marble of the floor, the drawn faces of the sect leaders, the fierce corpse tied up with a talisman stuck directly between his eyes, Sandu Shengshou holding Chenqing tightly in his hand, and Zewu-jun still sitting on the floor as he carefully collected the pieces of the shattered qin.

“A-Ling,” Jin Zixuan said in his usual quiet voice. “What on earth happened here? Where’s A-Yao?”

Jin Ling’s face tightened, so Jingyi squeezed his hand one more time. He gave Jingyi a quick, grateful look before pulling away to tend to his dad. Jingyi watched him go. Zizhen seized the opportunity to drop all his weight on Jingyi’s shoulder, smiling from ear to ear and entirely too pleased with himself.

“So,” he dragged the word out. “That’s new.”

Jingyi shoved him off. “Hey Zizhen? Have you ever, for one single second in your life, considered shutting the fuck up?”

Zizhen didn’t answer, just cackled loudly. Jingyi sighed.

After taking the time to wipe fake tears from the corners of his eyes, Zizhen dragged Jingyi toward Sect Leader Ouyang. “Come on, we should help clean up the sect leaders while everyone else is dealing with—” he gestured at the cluster of adults: Zewu-jun, Hanguang-jun, Sect Leader Nie, and Chifeng-zun “—that. But don’t think for a second you’re gonna get away without telling me everything.”

Jingyi looked over his shoulder to find Jin Ling looking at him, too, as he explained everything that had happened to his parents. With a soft snort, Jingyi smiled and waved at him, feeling warmth thrum through his chest as Jin Ling’s face softened. Okay. Jingyi could deal with Zizhen being nosy and obnoxious while he helped him. There would be time later. After all, they’d survived.

Zizhen cooed loudly as he caught the tail end of the interaction. Jingyi elbowed him hard. And then the two of them got to work.

Chapter Text

Jingyi woke up to the sound of someone humming. He blinked the fuzz of sleep out of his eyes and tried to focus. Last thing he remembered was sitting down on the floor of the banquet hall after shooing the various sect leaders and disciples out of the hall and back to their quarters. Banquet’s cancelled, go to bed, get out, go be useless somewhere more useful, the megalomaniacal breakdown has ended, there’s nothing left to see.

“Ngh,” he said, trying to ask for the time.

The humming stopped. “You’re awake!” A woman said. Madame Jin, he figured, going by the purple sleeve that came into view. “How are you feeling, young master Lan?”

Some unintelligible noise left his mouth.

“I figured as much.”

Slowly, Jingyi sat up. Every muscle in his body screamed at him for daring to do so. He looked around and recognized the sunny guest quarters that they’d been assigned a week ago. Madame Jin sat next to him, a soft smile on her face as she held out a cup of tea to him. Jingyi took it and sipped carefully.

“What time is it?” he managed when he was halfway through the cup.

She passed him a bowl of soup when he set down the cup on the bedside table. “A little past midday. You and the other young master Lan fell asleep in Glamour Hall. A-Ling and young master Ouyang brought you both here. And, well.” She hid a laugh behind her sleeve and gestured at Zizhen who was curled up in a ball at the foot of Sizhui’s bed, and Jin Ling who had sprawled out on the cushions under the window. 

Jingyi snorted inelegantly.

“You teenagers will sleep anywhere.” She patted Jingyi’s head. “You should drink that soup before it goes cold, you know.”

His stomach made a noise, reminding him that he hadn’t had a proper meal since the day before. He tucked into the soup with vigor, letting out a sound that made Madame Jin laugh again.

Sizhui woke up while Jingyi was eating, and Zizhen not too long later. Madame Jin floated out of the room, murmuring something about Hanguang-jun. By the time Jin Ling sat up, the three of them had crowded around the table for their second bowls of soup. He joined them slowly, sitting down next to Jingyi in a daze. Part of his ponytail was stuck to the side of his face. Jingyi felt his heart thud big and stupid in his chest as he reached over to brush it back.

“Mnuh?”

“You had something.”

“Oh,” Jin Ling blinked, the sleepy haze finally clearing from his eyes. “Thanks.” 

He frowned at the table before he uncovered the last bowl of soup and started in on it like he hadn’t eaten for a week. A bubble of laughter popped in Jingyi’s throat as he watched him, cheeks puffed out like an idiot squirrel. Jin Ling swallowed loudly and narrowed his eyes at Jingyi.

“What?” He grumbled.

“Nothing.” Jingyi smiled, slow and wide as he leaned over to elbow him lightly. 

Jin Ling made a disbelieving little hum around his spoon, but his face had taken on a soft flush.

“I told you, Sizhui,” Zizhen stage-whispered from his side of the table.

Sizhui finished tidying his used dishes with a tired smile. “Zizhen, I already know.”

“Whaaat?” Zizhen whined. “Aiya, how am I the last one to know anything?”

Jingyi kicked Zizhen’s shin from under the table, the scrabbling nearly upsetting the half-full soup pot on top of it. Jin Ling scowled at them.

“Watch it.”

Jingyi leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands as he smiled innocently at Jin Ling while he refilled his bowl with more soup. “Oh, the young mistress is awake!”

“Don’t call me that,” Jin Ling replied without any heat. Something in his eyes even looked like he might be close to laughing when he glanced over at Jingyi. The weight of it felt good, felt right on his shoulders.

“But your face does this thing—” Jingyi scrunched up his own face, sticking his bottom lip out and squishing his cheeks between his hands until Zizhen and Sizhui started laughing and even Jin Ling had to hide an amused smile by eating overly fast.

Jin Ling set his bowl down with a put-upon huff. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?”

“Hmm, let me think,” Jingyi said, tapping a finger to his chin. “Yeah, actually. You have. You’ve told me that.” He leaned in to press their shoulders together. “I think you like it.”

“Do I.” Jin Ling replied flatly, even as he leaned into Jingyi’s shoulder, too. Jingyi could feel the way he looked at him all the way down to his toes. Jingyi hummed.

Zizhen let out a muffled sob, sniffing loudly. “Sizhui, are you seeing this?”

“No,” Sizhui said. He had turned to salute Hanguang-jun as he stepped over the threshold.

Jingyi popped up to proper posture and mirrored Sizhui’s gesture while Jin Ling grumbled darkly under his breath. Hanguang-jun nodded and settled on an empty cushion. Quiet settled around them like a quilt. Then Hanguang-jun set Wei Wuxian’s lacquered black flute on the table. Sizhui reached a hand out for it, waiting for Hanguang-jun’s head to dip slightly before picking it up and running his fingers along the segmented ridges of the bamboo.

“What did the Sect Leaders say?” Sizhui asked quietly.

“Brother will be returning the Cloud Recesses immediately. He will be going into seclusion to better research how to repair a cursed spiritual weapon without damaging the spirit bound to it.” Hanguang-jun paused to let that sink in. 

It made sense to Jingyi, as he remembered Zewu-jun on his knees in the banquet hall, scouring the floor and the hem of people’s robes for every spare splinter or thread of golden silk that had come off the qin that Lianfang-zun had trapped himself inside.

Sizhui nodded. “And—And what about Senior Wei?”

The faintest wrinkle formed between Hanguang-jun’s eyebrows. “I managed to relieve Sect Leader Jiang of Chenqing.”

“How?” Jin Ling butted in. “Last I saw, it was practically part of his hand.”

Hanguang-jun looked at Jin Ling for a long moment, until Jin Ling had cycled through sitting up unbearably straight to slouching as if he wanted to be under the low table to sliding closer to Jingyi like the cloud-embroidered robes would protect him. Hanguang-jun blinked and the moment broke.

“By reminding Jiang Wanyin of the role he played leading to Wei Ying being cursed and without a body.”

All four of the boys winced.

“Jingyi,” Hanguang-jun turned his gaze on him. “You said Wei Ying felt a pull while you were still at the Burial Mounds, yes?”

“Yeah—Yes. While we were coming down the mountain. He said it tickled?”

Hanguang-jun hummed. “Sect Leader Nie said he met a young cultivator from Mo Village, and I gather he may have persuaded him to do something drastic in an attempt to summon Wei Ying.”

Zizhen jumped in this time. “The village where we found Chifeng-zun’s arm?”

“Mn.”

“So we’re going back to Mo Village?” Sizhui asked.

Hanguang-jun gestured at the flute in Sizhui’s hand with a nod. “If Wei Ying wishes, Sect Leader Nie believes that’s where we should start.”

“And what if I were to simply wish for Senior Wei to have a body of his own?”

“The powers of ruyi, especially ones like Wei Ying is cursed to be, are not well known,” Hanguang-jun said. “It could be that after using so much power to transform Lianfang-zun, that he simply doesn’t have the power to do so. It could be that the wish is too vague and thus impossible to grant.”

Sizhui rolled the flute in his hand, brow furrowing like he was listening to someone else speaking to him, too. Jingyi remembered the feeling of Wei Wuxian riding along with him, like an extra voice for his conscience that had laughed at him throughout most of the cultivation conference, and how the echo of his emotions had flooded through Jingyi so easily. Sizhui’s face scrunched to one side as he rolled his eyes.

“He thinks he’s too weak to even materialize right now,” Sizhui said finally.

“So I had thought.” Hanguang-jun breathed in deeply.

“But he’d like to try.”

Sizhui closed his eyes and concentrated. Faint wisps of resentful energy leaked from the flute’s fingerholes and coalesced into the vague form of a grinning Wei Wuxian. Still a bit see-through, but there enough. He instantly leaned into Hanguang-jun’s space.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, voice barely louder than a whisper. His face softened into a smile that was almost too embarrassing to look at directly.

“Wei Ying.” The line of Hanguang-jun’s shoulders softened and his brow smoothed out into his usual expression, except just a little lighter.

Wei Wuxian grinned at Sizhui. “You’re such a good child, A-Yuan.”

Sizhui ducked his head, his cheeks gone faintly pink at the praise. Jingyi felt Jin Ling shifting next to him, antsy. He raised an eyebrow at him, but Jin Ling shook his head. The movement caught Wei Wuxian’s eye, his grin returning quickly.

“A-Ling, look at you.”

Jin Ling stiffened, like his spine had been made steel. “What?”

“You’ve grown up so well,” Wei Wuxian laughed. “A reflection of my shijie’s perfect parenting, naturally.”

It felt like Jin Ling was fighting to keep from vibrating out of his skin, grinding his teeth and staring deliberately at the table, his fingers digging into the fabric of his robes above his knees. Gently, Jingyi put a hand over his. And to his surprise, Jin Ling grabbed his hand and squeezed it way too tightly. But the set of his shoulders dropped slightly.

“Ah, I should have expected this, it’s alright. I'm sorry, I’ll go, A-Ling—I mean, Jin Ling—”

Jin Ling held up a hand, cutting Wei Wuxian off, and he took a steadying breath of his own before raising his eyes to stare him down. “Come back and meet me properly.” He turned his head to the side to frown at the wall. “Mom misses you.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t reply. But his lip quivered, and he hid his face in Hanguang-jun’s shoulder with a squeak.

“You should rest, Wei Ying,” Hanguang-jun said.

“Yeah,” he answered, voice thick. “I’ll see you in Mo Village, Lan Zhan. Kids.”

Hanguang-jun hummed, watching as Wei Wuxian dissipated with the smallest curl at the corner of his mouth and crinkle at the edge of his eyes. Happy, he was happy. Jingyi didn’t think he’d ever seen him look like this before.

The quiet stretched. Jingyi tried to channel the urge to fidget into wiggling his toes where no one would see. Jin Ling relaxed the death grip on his hand, running his thumb along the heel of Jingyi’s palm before letting go to smooth out the wrinkles in his robes. He cleared his throat and looked at Hanguang-jun, reverting to an arrogant tip of the head.

“What about my dad?” Jin Ling blurted out. “What’d he say?”

This time, when Hanguang-jun regarded him, Jin Ling sat up with his chin stuck out stubbornly. It struck Jingyi square in the chest how much he liked him.

“He didn’t,” Hanguang-jun answered. “Luo Qingyang is guarding his rest -- from me and his advisors alike. She said I should take sect matters up with you.”

“What. Why?”

“Lianfang-zun has no heir.”

Jingyi watched Jin Ling stare at Hanguang-jun, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Zizhen poked him in the leg under the table, and Jingyi shook his head, ignoring his wide eyes.

“No.” Jin Ling stood up and stomped toward the door. “No way. Absolutely not. No fucking way am I gonna be the fucking sect leader when he’s perfectly fucking fine—”

The door slammed shut behind him. Hanguang-jun watched him go. It almost looked like Hanguang-jun thought the whole thing was a little funny. He was making the same face he had when he’d caught Jingyi walking on his hands to reach a basket of berries when he was twelve.

Jingyi laughed. 

It was late and Jingyi couldn’t sleep. He and Sizhui would be going with Hanguang-jun to Mo Village in the morning. Zizhen had said his goodbyes already, sighing heavily about having to finally get back to his duties as the heir to BalingOuyang or else face the wrath of his eldest sister for forcing her to be the one to reel their dad in from his bad instincts. Jin Ling hadn’t come back after storming out of their quarters that afternoon. 

So naturally, he found himself on his sword, flying up to the balcony near Jin Ling’s room.

He stepped down, sheathing his sword, and tried not to feel a little disappointed that Jin Ling wasn’t already out here, leaning against the railing and sighing wistfully. That’s what the books always said happened, anyway.

Jingyi slipped inside and immediately stepped on a creaky floorboard. He froze, cursing under his breath. Barely a second later, a door down the hallway opened loudly and an arrow thudded into the wooden door frame, right next to his head.

“That’s a warn—Oh, it’s you.” Jin Ling lowered his bow and tilted his head to the side.

Jingyi flicked the arrow before raising an eyebrow at Jin Ling. “Whoa. Nice shot. Do you always shoot that indoors, or am I a special case?”

“What do you think?” Jin Ling smirked as he walked toward him and Jingyi felt his chest squeeze too tight. He laughed as he ducked under the arrow to meet him.

“I think,” he said, reaching a hand out like he was going to flick Jin Ling’s nose. “I think you’re quite fond of me, actually.”

Jin Ling rolled his eyes as he fended off Jingyi’s hand with his bow. Jingyi settled for leaning in a little further than necessary so that Jin Ling would stick his chin out at him.

“I think you think I’m pretty great.”

The tongue click he got made Jingyi laugh.

“And I hope I’m right about that, otherwise things might get a little awkward here real fast.” Jingyi bit down on his bottom lip to keep from smiling too wide and giving the whole game away.

Jin Ling tossed his head, shaking the hair out of his eyes while turning his face up to him, but it didn’t hide how they dipped down before meeting Jingyi’s eyes again. “Oh, and why’s that?”

Jingyi tugged at a bead in Jin Ling’s hair. “Because I think you’re pretty great, too.” 

Something rosy bloomed on Jin Ling’s face as a smug smile stretched across his mouth. Jingyi closed the distance and kissed him. Warmth fizzed through him, to his fingertips and toes and back up to settle in his chest. The bow in Jin Ling’s hand dug into Jingyi’s shoulder as he tipped himself onto his toes to press closer, palm hot against the skin of Jingyi’s neck. Jingyi pushed his fingers into his hair, thumb tracing the edge of Jin Ling’s cheek.

Jin Ling pulled back, just enough to draw in a breath. Jingyi smiled as he nudged their noses together, making Jin Ling laugh. He tossed his bow to the side, gave Jingyi a sharp look that made him want to jump out of his own skin, and then he hooked both hands around Jingyi’s neck to pull him down again.

His feet tripped over the threshold of the door he’d come through, and Jingyi landed flat on his ass with Jin Ling laughing in his arms.

“What was that,” Jin Ling chuckled as he sat up on Jingyi’s legs.

“I had a thought,” Jingyi said, leaning back against the wood of the balcony floor dazed with how his mouth wouldn’t stop tingling. Jin Ling raised an expectant eyebrow at him. “‘Am I kissing a sect leader right now?’”

Jin Ling snorted. “You’re ridiculous.” He stood up and reached a hand down to help Jingyi to his feet. “But no. Mianmian-guma just has a terrible sense of humor.”

Jingyi clicked his tongue in mock-disappointment. Jin Ling gave him a sour side-eye as he led him by the hand to a bench and sat down. He tugged at their still-joined hands to make Jingyi sit, too.

“I could argue my case in front of the elders,” Jin Ling said, almost to himself. “I’d probably win, it’s not like we have a standing bylaw about what to do if the sect leader is magically deposed but not killed.” He untangled their fingers so he could trace the lines on Jingyi’s palm. “But I don’t want it right now. People compare me to jiujiu enough already.”

“That’s very sensible,” Jingyi replied. “Keep that up, and I’ll have to call you something besides ‘young mistress.’”

“No, you like it too much. My face apparently does a thing.”

Jingyi flicked his nose. “It’s very cute, the thing your face does.”

Jin Ling scoffed, rolling his eyes. Jingyi laughed, which made Jin Ling look at him directly with a weight in his eyes that made Jingyi’s stomach try to somersault. And maybe Jin Ling could tell because he tossed his head and smiled, small and off-center. 

“You should come with us tomorrow,” Jingyi said, unable to stop smiling.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not sect leader. Because you can. You should come.”

“Is that it? I still have duties here, you know.” Jin Ling asked it with a look on his face that reminded Jingyi of that earnest way he’d asked after the sugar painting at the festival. Jingyi felt a flush of warmth run through his whole body.

“Because I can’t kiss you if you’re a hundred li away. Because I like you,” he said, the words starting to tumble over each other. “I like you so much that I have a half-written letter in my sleeve asking my mom to ask your mom if I can court you for real.”

Jin Ling’s eyes went wide, his mouth popped open. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Jingyi could feel his face burning bright red.

Jin Ling tugged him closer by the collar of his robes and kissed him. Their noses smashed together, but after a little readjustment, it didn’t matter because he could feel the way Jin Ling smiled against his lips. He brought a hand up to the back of Jin Ling’s head, swiping his thumb along the curve of his cheek. Jin Ling pressed into him, just as eager to be as close as possible until Jingyi had to pull away to suck in a breath.

“I want that.” Jin Ling’s voice sounded a little raw, a little brittle and close to unsure. “But what if—what if I can’t go—”

Jingyi pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Then you can’t.” He kissed the tip of his nose. “I’ll send this letter to mom.” He kissed across Jin Ling’s cheekbone. “And I’ll just pine away.” Then he made his way down the line of his jaw. “Until we can see each other again.”

Rather than answering, Jin Ling caught his mouth again and kissed him so slow and sweet that Jingyi felt like he might just melt into cultivator goo. After a long, wonderful moment, Jin Ling pulled away. He gave Jingyi a look crossed between the well-kissed, hazy expression on Jingyi’s own face and like he was measuring something, trying to read Jingyi’s mind by whatever Jin Ling could see in his eyes.

“You really mean that,” Jin Ling said again.

“Of course.” Jingyi nudged their noses together. “Don’t you trust me?”

And Jin Ling smiled. It started small, but after a breath, it pulled wide and handsome and perfect across his face. “Yes. I do.”

Jingyi kissed him again as Jin Ling started to laugh. And for that moment at least, nothing else mattered.