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Chapter Text

Wei Ying’s letters come whenever they please just like the man himself. It is hard to keep a schedule whenever it happens and Lan Wangji quietly anticipates for news, listens for rumors, and tries as much not to worry. If Lan Wangji is fortunate, Wei Ying will send him one once a month, all wrapped with red twine or a ribbon and written on rough paper. Sometimes, there is another parcel along with the letter and within this parcel are treasures that are worth more than Lan Wangji’s own treasury, his silk robes and hair crowns combined. 

The first had been a small wooden figurine of a rabbit carved by hand.

“It reminds me of you. Have I ever told you how much you remind me of a rabbit, Hanguang-jun?” Wei Ying teased him in his letter and Lan Wangji has taken to carrying it with him against his chest or hidden underneath the sleeves of his robes like a talisman during conferences and meetings. He finds himself rubbing his thumb over the familiar grooves until they are worn smooth whenever a sect leader or a petty matter continues to drag on and test his limits. 

The most personal gifts are the paintings. Some are scenes of the places Wei Ying visited,  with a quip of “I wish you were here to see this”   rendered painstakingly real. Others are the paintings of random animals. A few are illustrations of the night hunts Wei Ying had with a detailed talisman or array on another page. But Lan Wangji wishes he is thin-faced enough to request a self-portrait of the man himself. It has been a year since he last saw him.

The most expensive gift he received is a hairpin made of jade. It is plain but the craftsmanship is beautiful and refined, the jade itself is pure and of high quality. Wei Ying told him that the shop seller gave it to him for free after saving him and his young daughter from a yao’s attack despite his refusal to accept any payment - even his daughter’s hand in marriage. Lan Wangji has worn it since then, much to his uncle’s consternation. He can only imagine his brother’s resigned amusement if he has seen him wearing it.

For the Lan, hairpins, hair combs and any other forms of hair accessories are given as courting gifts.  To receive and wear them means accepting the suitor’s courtship and Lan Wangji’s heart threatened to give out when he unwrapped the parcel. He knows that Wei Ying does not mean it like that. The man has always been oblivious and he is always disregarding the Lan’s rules, even though Lan Wangji has bound them with his forehead ribbon years ago and they only needed one last bow to finalize what could have been a marriage. But Wei Ying’s words were sweet and the yearning pit in Lan Wangji’s chest has grown. 

It reminds me of you, Wei Ying says again and again. A part of Lan Wangji hopes that they’re not mere excuses but proofs that Wei Ying thinks of him as often as he does. 

He does not ask for Wei Ying to give him anything because he is not bold or thin-faced enough, nor does desire to. Lan Wangji has been done for a long time ago and nothing can buy his loyalty or affection. He only wants to be by Wei Ying’s side. Deep inside, he wishes that Wei Ying's wandering heart will lead the man back to his side.

A year has passed since Lan Wangji gathered the courage to let Wei Ying go even though every part of him was screaming otherwise. A year has passed since they parted, with the shackles of responsibility staying Lan Wangji’s heel; and preventing him from turning his back from the aftermath and following Wei Ying wherever he wishes to go. And he knew that Wei Ying itched to leave, to take some time away and make good on the vow he uttered upon that hill so many years ago. The moment when Lan Wangji swore he knew that he loved this infuriating man and his heart will never know another.

Lan Wangji saw Wei Ying’s face fall and it remains as one of his greatest regrets to this day. A year, he promised to himself. Hopefully, he can rescind the mantle of chief cultivator the next year and follow the other wherever he wants to go.

He is no stranger to missing Wei Ying and his duties can only go so far to distract him. It is a feeling that has been carved into his very being as old as he has loved him. He spent sixteen years missing him with uncertainty, hope and bitter acceptance twined with the scars he bore and the child he raised. But now, Lan Wangji misses the man with the certainty that he is alive but out of his reach. For now, the letters and the gifts are enough to tide him over.

There is no exact date when a new letter will arrive, oftentimes carried by a young disciple who greets him with eager eyes and presents the letter with a barely contained smile. Lan Wangji suspects that even the disciples are eager for news regarding their Senior Wei. He is aware that Lan Sizhui receives his with either a stack of new talismans and inventions, or grandiose tales that he sometimes shares with his peers. Some days, the two of them open their letters together.

They have been waiting for the man for too long. 

“Hanguang-jun,” Lan Sizhui greets when he enters his office, managing a bow despite the tray full of missives he is holding. There is a small flush on his cheeks and a barely contained smile lighting his eyes. 

Fondness threads into Lan Wangji’s heart, easing the mounting tension left by the letter from the Zhao clan he is holding. “Mn.”

Lan Wangji knows that Lan Sizhui is helping teach qin and sword lessons among the youngest disciples along with Lan Jingyi. His son has grown so much since he came back from traveling with Wen Qionglin and the hints of his maturity makes Lan Wangji remember the time when Lan Sizhui barely reached his waist and tugging Lan Jingyi by the hand into the Jingshi despite Lan Wangji’s seclusion. 

They spent an entire afternoon chasing after the rabbits until their robes and cheeks became dirty with the grass stains and soil, and Lan Wangji has to clean them before sending them off to bed. It seems like a distant memory now.

He is not blind to the deepening affection between the two either.

“Senior Wei sent a letter,” Lan Sizhui tells him as he sets the tray down next to him. Lan Wangji spots the brown envelope and the red twine. It stands out among the stack, placed on the top and his heart thumps so loud in his rib cage.

Lan Sizhui excuses himself.

Lan Wangji waits until the doors are closed before he takes the letter and brushes the talisman which is keeping its contents hidden from anyone else save for Lan Wangji’s eye. The once blank page fills with words.

Lan Zhan,

A little girl asked me where I was going and I told her that I was going home so she’d go back to hers and stop following me. Then she asked me where my home was and for the first time, I was speechless. Imagine me, speechless! Jiang Cheng’s going to ridicule me about this if he knew but you won’t tell him, right?

I thought about it. I’ve been through a few homes, Lan Zhan. Yiling, Lotus Pier, the Burial Mounds. Lotus Pier was the longest one I’ve ever had. This year, I wandered from town to town without any destination or a home to call my own. I’ve seen the greatest views, several beauties who can’t hold a comparison to you, and ate meals all over the land but none of them made me want to stay. Always, I think of you and somehow my feet keep leading me back to your direction. 

Are you my lodestone, Lan Zhan? Are my feet the iron that keeps on finding its way to you?

Gusu will be very cold during the winter but if the offer to stay at Cloud Recesses is still open, then I’ll take it. Your four thousand rules don’t seem so bad when I have your company. Even your bland dishes and bitter vegetable soup can be made tasty with a little bit of chili oil! And if you get tired of dealing with those old fuddy duddies and stupid trivial matters, you can join me!

I am on my way to Lanling Jin as I write this then I’ll stop by Yunmeng then finally to Gusu. Jin Ling has been quiet insistent on having me over, even going as far to send his disciples to inform me! 

I miss you and your one-word responses, you ridiculous perfect man. Even Little Apple agrees. The quiet isn’t the same without you. 

Wait for me.

Wei Ying.

He reads the content of the letter over and over again, committing it to memory. He feels himself smiling, the inside of his chest melting with syrupy sweetness. The kind that reminds him of the melted sugar syrup of tanghulu and a thousand cranes taking flight for the first time. It is impossible not to fall for a hundred times.

Lan Wangji wishes that he can be like Wei Ying - unrestrained in his words. Sweet-tongued. He used to scold the man for being an incorrigible flirt before, with the ache and heavy roiling in his stomach whenever he saw him with a maiden. Jealousy and pettiness used to be foreign concepts to him before Wei Ying came into his life. Even when he was being compared to his brother while growing up, Lan Wangji has never been jealous of him.

Do not harbor jealousy. Do not covet. Do not be possessive. Discipline your own words and behavior. These rules are a constant mantra.

Wei Ying, he thinks with great exasperation and fondness as he dips his brush into the ink. Who knows my heart as I think of you? It is a captive falcon and a caged crane. 

For the past few letters, he has noticed that the tone of their contents have changed. They are full of reminiscing. Hints. Lan Wangji knows that Wei Ying will come back to him one day but with each letter, that day seems to grow closer and closer. His heart clenches at the thought. Unlike the previous letters, this one has an address that Lan Wangji can send his reply to. Although Lan Wangji has written him back before, he could never send them to Wei Ying so he keeps them safe in a storage pouch.

Now the words he keeps buried spills but he restrains himself before he can write them all down, composing a reply briefer than what he actually wants to say.

I will reserve the inside of the bed for you, he writes and his ears warm. The two of them have grown used to sharing a bed during those months and he found out that Wei Ying prefers that side. It is not proper but Lan Wangji finds himself not caring about it anymore. During the past year, Lan Wangji had to get used to sleeping without another warm body lightly snoring in his ear and waking up without a stray limb entangled with his own.

He can hear Wei Ying’s voice whining in his ear and pouting, fake shivering at the barest slip of the cold air and burrowing against Lan Wangji’s side, almost lying on top of him.  It is endearing, how needy and clingy he acts around Lan Wangji. How he trusts Lan Wangji enough to act like this when Lan Wangji knew that the only other person who had the honor was Wei Ying’s dearest shijie.

Do not worry, the Jingshi will not be very cold during the winter since I will request for more firewood and I already found a shop at Caiyi that sells a steady supply of your favorite chili oil. The wine sellers have been asking me when you will come back. I suspect that they will be overjoyed to see their favorite customer.

There are several jars already waiting for him, hidden under the floorboards. Lan Wangji hesitates over the next lines, wondering if such declarations will prove to be too much.

Wei Ying, there is a home with me to call yours if you wish so. You do not have to be alone anymore. Sizhui and I are here to accompany you. I will be with you wherever you choose to go as long as you will have me. 

Lan Wangji is a witness to Wei Ying’s yearning for a home. A stability that has been denied from him for the latter half of his life. Though he knows that Wei Ying likes the freedom of being on the road and his lifestyle as a rogue cultivator, he wishes that he can give Wei Ying a place to return to. A safe respite from the rest of the cultivation world. Jiang Wanyin had grudgingly and implicitly allowed Wei Ying to come to Lotus Pier if he wanted to but Lan Wangji does not trust him to not rake open Wei Ying’s wounds out of pettiness.

Cloud Recesses presents a point of contention against Wei Ying’s freedom but it is the best Lan Wangji can offer for now. The junior disciples are happy to have him and even his uncle has learned to accept his presence as a permanent fixture to Lan Wangji. 

Then he writes to Wei Ying about a case that has been troubling a village at the border of Gusu. The official missive arrived on his table a day ago and demanded his attention. No less than seven people have woken up claiming that their memories are missing. They tried hiring a rogue cultivator but the rogue cultivator has been affected, too. There are no other odd sightings within the village or any other clues cited within the letter. With the village under Gusu Lan’s extended protection, such matters are troubling.

His uncle protested when he broached the news to him, citing that Lan Wangji is no longer a mere cultivator who can go on night hunts at will. Lan Wangji is aware of his...predecessors’ preference to stay within their sect and let other cultivators handle those cases but he finds it unreasonable. 

His uncle said that he should deal with the case personally but with Lan Xichen in seclusion, his uncle has taken the role of running the sect in Lan Xichen’s place. He also said that he should let the disciples handle it and let a senior cultivator supervise. But Lan Wangji, frankly, does not agree with his predecessors' sentiments and wishes to stretch his feet. Lan Wangji made sure to deal with all the pressing matters that needed his attention today so he can prepare to depart tomorrow.

He knows that Wei Ying is most likely in Yunmeng now and when the letter arrives, Lan Wangji hopes that the case will be solved already. Maybe he can meet Wei Ying halfway on their way back and bring him to Cloud Recesses himself.

I will take Sizhui and Lan Jingyi with me. It will do them good to gain more experience, he tells Wei Ying and he can hear the man’s laughter and response of, “Lan Zhan really has favorites.”

I miss you dearly and I will wait for your return.

Boldly, he writes before he loses his nerve: Keep my heart safe for me, Wei Ying. 

Then  he sets the letter aside to dry and moves to write another one for his brother.

This letter is shorter than the one for Wei Ying. He informs his brother of the affairs in the cultivation world even though it defeats the purpose of his seclusion. He tells Lan Xichen about the night hunt he will personally see to, and Wei Ying’s imminent arrival to Cloud Recesses. Lan Xichen will not see him yet so Lan Wangji has taken to writing him letters and slipping them underneath the doors of the Hanshi. He does not know if his brother reads them because there is no reply waiting for him when he comes back to the Hanshi again.

But it does not stop Lan Wangji from trying. He writes to his brother at least once every three days then settles in outside to wait. The doors remain closed and have not opened for him for over a year now. Lan Wangji does not begrudge his brother the time and space needed to heal but it does not stop him from missing his brother’s presence and warm smiles. 

Before, during those three years of his seclusion, Lan Xichen kept on visiting him and bringing A-Yuan along. It is not mere duty or filial piety which leads Lan Wangji back again to the familiar pathway to the Hanshi. The stones have been worn down by his boots alone this year and it is quiet. He does not hear the sound of Liebing, only the faint rustling of the wind among the leaves.

Lan Wangji knocks on the doors. “Wangji greets xiong-zhang.”

He slips the letter inside and kneels to wait in front of the steps. The stones dig through the layers of his clothes but Lan Wangji is used to it. He waits for an hour until the sun sets over the horizon. The doors remain closed and silent to him. Lan Wangji wonders how much he has taken for granted all the times his brother’s home is open to him and what small hope he has fled. He stands on numb legs and says, “Xiong-zhang, I will come back once I am done with the night hunt.”

I miss you, he does not say. I am here for you.

Lan Xichen does not respond and Lan Wangji turns to leave. The Jingshi is quiet when he arrives. He carries the quietness with him even as he sleeps, an empty space by his bed.

When he wakes up, his limbs are leaden and his mind is fogged. He registers the warmth first and the bedding underneath him, then the heady scent of something medicinal. Then he hears something - music - being played. It is loud enough to be near but he cannot recall what it is. The sound is airy and clear, the melody piercing through his  murky thoughts and the thick veil hanging over his mind.

Something builds up under his skin, a warm sensation that does not come from the blanket, bright and rich. It gathers somewhere in the pit of his belly - core, his mind supplies. 

He opens his eyes.

Confusion replaces the fog, thick and heavier than the blanket laid on top of him. It is constricting and relentless. He first sees a blur of warm light and the shadows blotting his vision. When he blinks again, the shapes begin to clear. He is in a room but the gauzy curtains block his vision. He can barely make out the furniture with his bleary eyes. Nothing makes sense. Where is he?

He tries to sit up but his arms falter. It takes him a moment to register his own hands clutching at the blankets. The plain white sleeves covering his arms.

“Wangji!” 

The bed dips and the curtains part. A man comes to sit by his side. His skin was white as jade, his hair is dark and he is wearing pale blue richly embroidered robes. A white strip of silk with a centerpiece decorated his forehead and an intricate head piece kept his hair in place. He is clutching a white jade xiao in one hand and his eyes - his eyes shine with so much concern and relief. There are dark circles under his eyes but they do not detract from his objective beauty. The man’s presence and appearance denotes power and a high status.

A young master, he surmises. A cultivator. The aura the man is emitting is unmistakable.

“You are finally awake,” the man says with a small smile. His voice is soothing and fond. “You had us worried. Are you hurt? How are you feeling?”

He feels a warm hand suddenly encircle his wrist and it breaks him from his stupor. His muscles jump at the contact.

“Who,” he bits out, flinching away from the stranger’s touch and struggling to sit up. “Is Wangji? ”The dryness of his throat catches up with him but he resists the urge to cough. The sound of his own voice catches him off-guard.

The man’s hold loosens. His hand falls to his lap as he watches him. Blinks. The concern on his face fades and he pales, a pained expression twisting his features. “You-” the man starts. He looks like he is about to cry. “You are Wangji. Do you...do you not remember?”

He says nothing. The name conjures a proverb out of nowhere in his mind. Seagulls and a man wanting to capture one but failing. It does not make sense in this situation. This situation? He does not even know what kind of situation he is in, where this place is and what he is doing here.

Was his name Wangji?

He does not - he cannot remember.

Why was he here? What is happening? Who is he?

He looks away. Something builds up within his chest, squeezing so tight he almost cannot breathe. A heavy pressure clambers up his throat, choking and terrifying. His ears are ringing and the man is saying something but he cannot make sense of it. His hands grip the blankets as he forces the feeling back with gritted teeth before his vision goes white. He does not want to show his panic to the man in front of him, he does not want to show his vulnerability. He cannot afford to-

“Wangji!” the man cries out in shock. This time, the man clutches his shoulder before to keep him from doubling over.

He pushes the hand away in irritation and says, “Do not touch me.”

The man makes a sound, something choked and small, but he relents. “I-I apologize, I did not mean you harm. I just-” he cuts himself off and clears his throat. “Do you remember me? Do you remember anything?”

“Who are you?” he asks and sees the devastation fall on the man’s face. 

The man closes his eyes. For a moment, silence descended between the two of them. Then he opens his eyes and with says, “My name is Lan Huan, courtesy name Xichen. Wangji, I am your older brother.”

The words are the breaking of a damn. He feels his heart clenching as he stares at the man who is claiming to be his brother - Lan Xichen - and tries to find familiarity in his features. He tries to reach inside his muddled memories and finds nothing. Blank. He tries to find any affection in his heart for Lan Xichen and senses nothing. For all intents and purposes, Lan Xichen could be lying but there is no way to fake that immense look of concern on his face. The entire set up is too elaborate.

For now, he believes Lan Xichen.

“I do not remember you,” he says. His voice is blunt and empty. It echoes in the room, melts along with the heady scent of what he recognizes as incense. Guilt stirs in his stomach. Something is wrong even if he does not know it. Something must have happened and he cannot remember it. “I apologize.”

Lan Xichen lets out a shaky breath and give a shaky smile. “It is not your fault, Wangji. We will find out what happened. Uncle, Sizhui, everyone has been worried and they want to see you. We will bring back your memories. Do not be worried.”

Uncle. Sizhui. More people he cannot remember, more faces he cannot recall. Titles and names that are all but meaningless to him. Yet he cannot stop himself from asking, “Is Wangji my name?”

Lan Xichen nods. “Yes. Your name is Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji. You are the second young master of the Gusu Lan sect.”

Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji. Lan for “blue.” If he is right, Zhan stands for “azure.” He furrows his brows as he weighs the new information. The name of the sect brings a faint familiarity to him, as if seeing something through a dirty glass. He feels relief coursing through him. At least he has not forgotten everything. 

“Where am I?”

“The Jingshi - your home in Cloud Recesses. The Cloud Recesses is the residence of our clan.”

Jingshi . The “Quiet Room.” Lan Wangji dips his head gratefully. “Thank you.”

“It is no problem. I will let the physician know that you are awake.” Lan Xichen smiles again and stands from the bed. 

Lan Wangji watches him fix the curtains to the side and leave. He feels his temple throb and he touches it. His fingers find silk that he has not realized is there. Quietly, he traces his forehead and feels a bump from the centerpiece on the silk. It must be the same one as Lan Xichen, a further proof. He reaches behind and finds the knot of the forehead ribbon. One of the ends tangles in his hand and Lan Wangji stops before he tugs it loose.

He brings one of the ends to his face and studies it.

The ribbon is soft and smooth to touch. There are cloud patterns embroidered along its length. For regulation, the thought floats inside his mind. Regulation for what? Is this something that those from the Gusu Lan sect must wear?

He looks down and studies his hands. His fingers are thin and long, his nails are well-kept and his fingertips are rough with calluses. His skin is fair and thin enough to see the veins. There are faint scars here and there. He rubs a finger on the callus between his thumb and index finger. A sword, he guesses. Does that make him a cultivator? He furrows his brow as he settles into a meditative pose and tries to reach for his qi.

He feels a surge of warmth rise to meet him. A tendril of a powerful undercurrent ebbs and flows. He senses it within his dantian and is pleasantly surprised to feel a golden core, whole and developed. Thrumming with so much qi.

His.

He hears the door open and Lan Wangji eases out of his meditation. Three people file inside the room. Aside from Lan Xichen, he does not recognize any of them. He sees a stern older man with a long beard. Both of them have the same forehead ribbon. The last man hastens to his side and Lan Wangji tenses when the man places down a chest on the chair beside him. His eyes dart to Lan Xichen who gives him an assuring nod.

“Hanguang-jun,” the man says gently, “I am your physician, Lan Huizhong. May I examine you?”

Lan Wangji observes the man’s face and the plain forehead ribbon before nodding but his thoughts are still on the title. Hanguang-jun. To hold light. What has he done to deserve such a lofty title? It is another one of the things his loss of memory bears on him. 

The physician takes his pulse. Lan Wangji feels a foreign qi in his veins, it disturbs him at first but he forces himself not to fight against it. 

“His pulse is healthy and his golden core remains strong,” the physician declares after a moment. His brow furrows as he says it but he withdraws his hand away. “Hanguang-jun, did you feel anything strange when you woke up?”

“No,” Lan Wangji answers.

“Can you remember what happened to you?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. 

The physician’s frown deepens. “Then can you tell me what you know?”

Lan Wangji sees the expectation in their faces. It does not help the rising apprehension nor the way his mind seems to draw blank. He can say that he knows nothing but that is not true. He knows his name, his status in the sect but it is all for naught since they are only just mere words for him without the context. He suspects that it is not the answer that they are looking for. 

“Cultivation,” he settles. He...remembers what cultivation is and the principles behind it. He knows spiritual energy and how to use it. Talismans. Arrays. Sword forms. The memories are slow and stilted but it is enough for now.

The relief is palpable in the air. Underneath the blankets, Lan Wangji’s fists clench. They ask him basic questions. The difference between a yao, demon, ghost monsters. The different forms of cultivation. He delivers the answers without hesitation and with each correct answer, the elder loses the sternness.

“Do you remember anything about the sects?” The physician asks again.

Gusu Lan, the answers come easily. Yunmeng Jiang comes next but all he can think of are lotuses and purple. Lanling Jin follows and there are brief impressions of gold. Qinghe Nie. Lan Wangji cannot think of anything that he can associate with any of them and he says it. The three men share a look, one he cannot read, and the questioning continues.

When they start asking him about the sect leaders and the date now, Lan Wangji hesitates and the physician stops his interrogation.

“It is good that you have not forgotten everything. Fortunately, despite your memory loss, I sense that there is nothing wrong with you.”

“Impossible,” the elder says. The fury in his voice makes Lan Wangji brace himself. “My nephew goes into a coma, wakes up without his memories and you say that there is nothing wrong with him?”

Lan Huizhong sighs. “There is nothing. We already conducted several tests against curses, possessions and resentful energy. Whatever took Hanguang-jun’s memories still remains unknown but he is healthy and his golden core remains unaffected. That is a good sign. I feared the effects of this...phenomenon.”

The elder whips his sleeves. The action is so sudden that it catches Lan Wangji off guard. He sees the fury in the elder’s face and he tenses again.

“I told him that taking the case was a bad decision but he was too stubborn! He should have listened to me-”

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen interrupts him. “Please. I already sent Jingyi to fetch him from the Koi Tower-”

The elder - his uncle - scoffs. “Of course, the troublemaker. Who else will you send for?”

Lan Xichen huffs and says nothing. The elder tutted. “Since the two of you were the closest, do you mind giving Wangji the basics, Xichen?”

When Lan Xichen agreed, the elder takes a deep breath, looking as if he has aged for several years and continues, “I will take care of Wangji’s duties and make sure that none of this gets out to the other sects. Wangji, until then, rest.”

Lan Wangji watches the elder - his uncle, he reminds himself - and the physician take their leave. Lan Xichen takes his seat by Lan Wangji’s bedside again.

“That man is our uncle, father’s younger brother, Lan Qiren. He is strict but he cares for us,” Lan Xichen explains. “I am the sect leader of Gusu Lan but he's been running the sect in my stead while I was in seclusion.”

Oh. Lan Wangji faintly remembers the resemblance between the two men and wonders if he shares their looks. A father. Seclusion. More things he cannot remember. A lump of emotion fills his throat. He glances at Lan Xichen again and thinks that this man is a sect leader of a major sect yet here he is tending to Lan Wangji.

“What are my duties?” He asks, voice dry and scratchy. As the second young master of a sect, there must be responsibilities that are waiting for him. Now, these responsibilities are burdened on someone else and it feels...wrong. Lan Wangji should be the one doing them. He realizes that this feeling must be shame.

Lan Xichen glances at him and says, “You are the current chief cultivator.”

Disbelief and confusion sparks in Lan Wangji again. Chief cultivators are the head of the cultivation world. He frowns and tries to force those missing memories in his memory but fails. Frustration claws at him.

“What happened to me?” He cannot help but ask. “What is happening?”

“You went to a night hunt with two disciples - Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi - at Yun An Village,” Lan Xichen begins. “There is a case about people losing their memories. Apparently, you only spent a night there and you did not wake up in the morning. The two took you back here and you did not wake up for three days. The same thing happened with the other victims.”

A numb sensation spreads across Lan Wangji’s chest. He swallows the dryness in his mouth. “Has the culprit been found?”

Lan Xichen shakes his head sadly. “Not yet.” 

Silence lapses between them again. Tense and filled with a sort of heaviness which makes him want to shift in his seat.

“Since you can remember some things, will you mind if I give you names so you can tell me if you remember any of them?”

“I do not mind.”

Lan Xichen fetches a paper, a brush and an ink pot then he begins. He starts writing the characters for both their names and their uncle before he says, “Lan Yuan, courtesy name Sizhui.”

He writes Yuan for “honest, hope or desire” and Sizhui for “to recollect and long for.”

Lan Wangji looks at the characters and finds nothing that resonates with him. The person is nothing but a stranger to him.

“No,” he answers.

Lan Xichen presses his lips together. He looks as if he is in pain. “Lan Sizhui is your son.”

Lan Wangji freezes in surprise. The knowledge is unexpected. His heart thumps painfully, constricting, heavy and sharp. Desperately, he tries to remember the boy. Nothing. His mind is a blank slate no matter how much he battles against it.

But he has heard the name before. Lan Sizhui. One of the disciples who was with him during the night hunt. How old is he? What does he look like?

Does Lan Wangji have a wife? Somehow the thought fills his heart with bile. If he does then he should have expected it. As a young master of the sect, it is expected for him to marry well and have sons to pass his name on. As the chief cultivator, he must have married for political stability and to keep the status quo.

Lan Xichen must have read his expression because he hurriedly assures him. “He is an...orphan you took in and raised sixteen years ago.  You raised him well and taught him how to play the qin. He is now the head disciple and the sect heir.”

Lan Wangji lowers his gaze and repeats the name in his head. A child of his own, one that grew up under his guidance. Another missing puzzle in the picture. He apologizes to Lan Sizhui silently and forces back the burning his eyes.

Lan Xichen says a few names of people. People that he should know, who he grew up with. With each refusal, Lan Xichen grows wearier, and Lan Wangji swallows back the tang of guilt budding on his tongue. Then Lan Xichen says a name, a woman’s name. Someone who isn’t from the sect, given her different surname.

“I do not remember,” Lan Wangji says again monotonously. Lan Xichen closes his eyes, heavy with grief and something else that Lan Wangji cannot name. It made him curious. How important is the woman to them for him to react this way?

“Wangji, she was our mother.”

Lan Wangji’s heart breaks. A mother. He cannot remember her face. He cannot even remember her name. He does not know her touch, her smile. The way Lan Xichen said it means that she is dead. The pain and guilt in his heart churns until he can barely breathe.

He hears the rustle of clothes and the bed shifts.

“I apologize. It must be overwhelming for you,” Lan Xichen says with a faint smile that is more weary than comforting. He reaches out and places a hand on Lan Wangji’s arm. The movement is slow and deliberate, with enough room for Lan Wangji to move away if he wishes to. Lan Wangji allows the contact, attempts to find comfort in the touch. It is the least he can do for Lan Xichen but he cannot deny the instinctive way he leans into it.

Lan Xichen squeezes his arm once and lets go. Lan Wangji tries not to miss the warmth as the man continues, “Do not worry, Wangji. We have invited Young Master Wei and I am sure that he can help us break the curse. If there is anyone in the world whom I trust to do it, it is him.”

All of a sudden,  recognition sparks at the surname and his world goes off-kilter. It catches him off guard, after everything that happened in the short span of time, the familiarity in the name grips him with hope. Lan Xichen moves to stand and Lan Wangji raises his head and speaks, almost without thinking, “Wait.”

The smile on Lan Xichen’s face falters. “What is the matter?”

“Young Master Wei,” Lan Wangji repeats even though the words do not fit his mouth right. It feels wrong even though he does not know why. He needs to know why. He wants to ask so many things but he cannot find the right words. “What is his name?”

Lan Xichen has not mentioned Young Master Wei’s name before among the list of people. It makes Lan Wangji wonder why but earlier, Lan Xichen brought up sending someone to fetch a person from Lotus Pier. A troublemaker, Lan Qiren described. Is it possible that this Young Master Wei is that person?

Lan Xichen regards him for a long moment before finally answering, “His name is Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian.”

And it is as if a floodgate has opened, bursting inside his chest and shattering what hold he has on himself. It aches, he realizes, it aches. His heart clenches as a sharp pain stabs him, echoing in his lungs until he can barely breathe. Something fills his chest, an emotion he cannot name. It is heavy and dense, empty and hollow but at the same time, something else buds in its wake. 

A voice whispers in his head, I miss him. Where is he?

Lan Wangji goes still. The surge of emotions has rendered him speechless, unseeing. His throat is tight and dry, he cannot speak.

Lan Xichen calls for him again. “Wangji?”

“The characters,” Lan Wangji whispers hoarsely. The desperation in his tone has taken him aback but he does not care for it now. He has to know, he has to see evidence that this is real.. “Xiong-zhang, please -”

The address slips out unbidden.

Lan Xichen eyes widen and he acquiesces without another word. Lan Wangji watches his hand as he writes like a hawk. One by one, he counts each stroke of the brush until Lan Xichen offers him the paper again. Lan Wangji takes it and he traces the name on the page with trembling fingers, memorizing each fine stroke of his brother’s hand. Wei for “tower over a palace gateway” and  Ying for “infant.”

The name makes his lips twitch. 

He touches the courtesy name. Wuxian . To have no envy. It is a lofty name and Lan Wangji wonders what kind of man this person is to bear it. It is impossible for someone to never have experienced envy, nor wished it for what others possessed. 

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen interrupts his musings. Lan Wangji retracts his hand and smothers his feelings back inside his chest where it sits safe and hidden from anyone who can try to pry it out. Somehow, the thought of someone else knowing discomfits him.  

“Didi,” the other attempts again. “Do you remember Young Master Wei?”

Lan Wangji tries. He digs in his mind, searches for any trace of memory of someone with that name but he comes up empty-handed. He cannot picture what Wei Ying looks like. He does not know him beyond the name and the feeling he wrought. Even then, before Lan Xichen mentioned him, Lan Wangji does not remember anything. He grits his teeth and forces back the frustration welling in his heart as he murmurs with bitterness, “No, I do not.”

It is the truth. He does not remember him.

Who is Wei Wuxian to him? Lan Wangji hesitates as he turns the name over and over in his head. It does not feel right. Using his courtesy name brings back the wrongness and the bitterness in his mouth. It feels like estrangement, he realizes, even though he knows it is proper and respectful to refer to someone who is not his family by their courtesy name. Wuxian was a good and prosperous name but even thinking about referring to the man with it brings a distant bridge between them.  He tries again. Wei Ying. Wei Ying. The name fills the gaps in his mind, warm and melodious. It feels right.

Wei Ying.

Yet at the same time, it is as if he has been impaled, caught by the name. His heart throbs and sings with recognition. The ache in his chest softens with warmth suffusing it, thick and mellow, it spreads over him like sunlight and honey. Wei Ying.

Lan Xichen looks at him with surprise. “You recognize him.”

Lan Wangji says nothing. Lan Xichen’s words unearths the sensation of being so thoroughly exposed bare. His doubt over their relation is erased, the man can read him so easily.

“Who is he to me?” Lan Wangji finally asks. He looks at the man claiming to be his brother, who purportedly left seclusion once he caught wind of the news of Lan Wangji’s plight, with nerves eating up his stomach. Somehow, he dreads the question and he has no idea why.

Who is Wei Ying? Why does Lan Wangji recognize him when could not even recognize his own brother, his own parents, his own uncle, his own child? What kind of hold does this other man have on him to make him feel this way - as if his heart was breaking on longing for something he cannot attain, but making him so warm and whole that it shames spring and sunlight? 

Why does Lan Wangji feel like this from his name alone?

Lan Xichen does not pry but he appears to be considering his words. There is something unreadable in his eyes but it passes as quickly as it appears. He answers, “He is your friend.”

Friend. 

Disappointment washes over Lan Wangji. The word seems wrong. It is missing something that he cannot pinpoint but Lan Wangji accepts it for now. Lan Xichen does not seem like he is lying.

“Oh, Wangji,” Lan Xichen murmurs, understanding dawning in his eyes.

Lan Wangji feels his ears go hot and he looks away.

“A friend and something more,” Lan Xichen adds. “Do you want to know this from me or do you want to find out for yourself?”

Lan Wangji clenches his fists, torn. 

Lan Xichen seems to take pity on him and confesses, “You told me once that Young Master Wei is the person who knew the melody of your heart.”

Oh. It rolls in his mind, dipping down to fit in the bridge between him and Wei Ying. Finally, his heart quietens in approval. Zhiyin. It sounds right to call Wei Ying that. 

Lan Wangji glances at him, noting the odd inflection in Lan Xichen’s tone. “You do not sound like you approve.”

Lan Xichen sighs. “I am your older brother and I do not like seeing you hurt. Nevertheless, why would I stop you?” 

The way he says it makes Lan Wangji wonder if there was more to the story but Lan Xichen does not elaborate further and he tucks the questions back in his mouth. 

“Do you know where he is now?”

“I do not know his whereabouts exactly since the two of you are the ones who keep in touch the most and I was in seclusion, but I heard from Jingyi that he is currently in the Koi Tower right now since his shizi, the current Sect Leader Jin, has invited him. You...you told me that he is planning to come to Cloud Recesses on your last visit.”

Lan Wangji inhales shakily. He stares at his robes, they are white and plain. There is no embroidery or patterns to detract from the blank slate, just like his mind. Where is Wei Ying now? What other plans and promises did he make that he could not remember?

“Do you want me to tell you about him?” Lan Xichen coaxes kindly.

Lan Wangji lowers his gaze, torn. 

A heavy pit opens in his rib cage, so hot and insistent it burns like a forest catching fire.  He wants so much it is impossible to say it. He yearns for an unknown face, an unknown presence, an unknown history that it is almost shameful. Cruel. It weighs on him, crushing him under its force. 

But at the same time, he wants to discover Wei Ying himself. It should be exhausting and terrifying to carry this much emotion in his heart but it feels right. Lan Wangji exhales softly.

A gong rings in the distance, saving him from deciding. Lan Xichen sits straight and sighs about a curfew. It must be late and Lan Wangji must have kept Lan Xichen from his other duties. He tries to apologize for the inconvenience but Lan Xichen waves it off, saying, “I can tell you everything I know about Young Master Wei tomorrow. For now, rest and eat. I brought dinner, they are your favorites.”

There is a tray laden with bowls and dishes on the low table. Lan Wangji is doubtful at the meal. He cannot remember anything he can claim as his favorite but he does not complain. Lan Xichen promises to bring a few things to reacquaint Lan Wangji to the sect and their rules before he takes his leave.

Then Lan Wangji is alone again but despite the quiet and the exhaustion weighing in his bones, he cannot find it in him to relax. Despite the promise of a meal, he does not feel hunger, only the knots in his stomach twisting as the situation dawns on him.

His name is Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji. He is the Second Young Master Lan and the chief cultivator. He has an older brother, an uncle and a son. His mother and father are long dead. He lost his memories from a night hunt and the only thing that remains clear to him is his connection to someone named Wei Ying.

But he cannot remember him. 

He does not know who he was before.

He does not know what he should do.

It is too much.

The panic comes back and his grip on the blanket tightens until it threatens to rip. He takes a deep breath, forces the air in his lungs. Breathe. One. Inhale. Two. Exhale. Until the spots in his vision fades and his heart is left thundering so loud in his ears.

He needs to distract himself.

The floor is cold even with the thick layer of his socks. Lan Wangji slips out of the bed, arranging the pillows and blankets until they are neat before he allows himself to look at the unfamiliar room. His bedroom, he supposes and notes that there is a lot of white contrasting the dark and reddish wooden furniture. It is neat with minimal decorations but it looks peaceful. The tranquility is almost mocking in the face of the turbulence he is experiencing.

He sees a qin carefully set aside and a gleaming white sword on the sword stand.

When he takes the sword from the stand, he instantly feels a rush of energy sing. It is cold, biting, like melted snow drift but it is comforting. It feels natural in his hand. When he unsheathes it, there is a light blue glare and the blade is thin, almost transparent. Bichen, the characters carved on it says. To avoid worldly matters.

Lan Wangji is beginning to sense a running theme with the names.

The qin exudes the unmistakable aura of a powerful spiritual instrument instead of an ordinary qin. The calluses on his fingertips did not seem strange now, Lan Wangji must have been a qin player. Therefore, the piece Lan Xichen has been playing earlier must be a cultivational song.

He goes to the vanity next.

Any lingering doubts about his relationship with Lan Xichen vanished when he saw the face in the mirror. Their similarities are clear on the cut of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, the forehead and the color of his skin. However, the face in the mirror is almost expressionless, cold and hiding the turmoil underneath his skin.

Lan Wangji investigates the containers arranged neatly on it next. There are a handful of hairpins and a comb arranged neatly but what catches his eye is a plain white jade hairpin. It is cold in his hand, only warming at the contact. He does not know where he got it but it is simple and utilitarian. He puts it back in its place again and moves to the cabinets. He opens each one, cataloging every item he sees and trying to piece each evidence of the man he is supposed to be together.

There are several texts arranged neatly in the shelves. Most of them are cultivational materials and books of philosophy but he spots several collections of poetry and songs. There are only a handful containing fictions. He thumbs each spine and pulls one out. When he opens it, a dried peony almost falls out. The once pink petals have turned almost brown and faded. He tucks it back carefully and continues exploring.

As he is walking, a floorboard catches his attention. It is different from the rest and when he touches the edges, he finds out that it is raised. He moves it away without hesitation. Suddenly, a strong stench of alcohol stings his nose. Lan Wangji flinches away and stares in horror at the neat rows of white jars underneath.

He takes one. Emperor Smile, the jar reads and it is still full. Lan Wangji hastily puts it back and covers the hidden compartment. What on earth possessed him to hoard liquor?   

When Lan Wangji opens the dresser, a soft heady scent greets him and he recognizes it as sandalwood. He finds rows and rows of robes. Most are in white and light shades of blue. Each one is well-made, the silk is thick and expensive. He sees a few with cloud patterns and a white sheer outer robe made out of lace. 

But there, folded neatly beside them are garments in black and red. 

They are the only ones that do not match the rest of the garments in the dresser. When Lan Wangji holds one out, he finds that the style is more fitted than the looser flowing garments he seems to favor. They are finely made though, the silk looks to be the same one as his robes. The embroidery and detailing are exquisite and a good fortune must have been spent on them. The outer robes are a rich black but curiously enough, the inner robes are dyed a rich vermilion so stark it is almost blood against the white silks.  It does not make sense, why does Lan Wangji have them with his own clothing when they do not fit him?

They must not be his own but why is he keeping them in his dresser? To whom do they belong to? Another puzzle piece to the mystery. He runs his fingers on the underside and finds the subtle bumps of what seemed to be protection arrays sewn on the fabric. He frowns as he picks up one of the inner robes. It is scandalous to keep another person’s inner garments unless -

Wei Ying.

The thought strikes him suddenly and without any warning like a bolt of lightning. These clothes are Wei Ying’s. The sureness in that thought surprises him and the scene of their robes lying side by side each other flashes vividly in his mind and it makes his ears and the back of his neck heat. It is far too intimate. It screams of permanence and a promise, waiting for the man to wear them again. As if they have been lovers.

He almost drops the clothes.

If they are lovers, surely, his brother would tell him. It is an important piece of information but with the way Lan Xichen said friends implied nothing else. Lan Wangji swallows down the lump of emotion.

This is the first physical evidence of the man himself. That he is real. 

They are the same height, Lan Wangji realizes a beat later. He has a slim build and it looks like Lan Wangji can easily encircle his waist with one arm. With how larger than life Wei Ying makes him feel, the idea of the two of them having the same height...it is endearing. He has to wonder if they had visible differences in their build.  If they stand close together, can he still tuck him under his chin? The flush of his ears go hotter.

Did Wei Ying ever wear these clothes? Did he leave them here, with Lan Wangji, intentionally? A small space conquering a land, a sign of his inevitable return? Or did he leave them here by accident? 

He brings one of them to his face and, without any sense of embarrassment, inhales deeply. He catches nothing but sandalwood - the same scent that lingers in the room, the Jingshi as Lan Xichen said - and disappointment wells up in him. Nothing. He should not have expected it to contain traces of any other scent. Quietly, he folds the garments and returns them to their original places before his heart bursts.

Lan Wangji continues exploring the room, approaching the low table and its contents last. The food is set aside for now but Lan Wangji pours himself a cup of tea. The first sip brought bitterness in his  mouth but Lan Wangji does not mind it. He has not realized that he is this thirsty but he continues drinking the tea carefully as he attempts to open the chest sitting on top of the table.

It is a plain looking wooden chest. Unassuming. But he cannot find the seam of the opening.

He tries sending a tendril of qi and the chest opens without preamble. Neatly stacked inside it are letters. He takes each one of them out and lays them on top of the table. At the bottom of the chest are trinkets - a worn perfume satchel, a carved wooden rabbit that had been smoothed out with daily handling, pressed flowers, a toy drum, an old portrait of himself with the edges creased and a frayed and stained piece of red silk ribbon. 

He does not need to remember to know that each one of them came from Wei Ying. His heart presses down harder against his rib cage as he takes the ribbon in his hands. It is smooth to touch, cold and smelled only of wood, parchment and ink.

Like the robes, there are no traces of the man who used to wear it.

His brother did not tell him what Wei Ying smells or looks like and the realization is a slow burning loss igniting in the hollowness of his heart. He folds the ribbon properly and places it inside again before taking one of the letters and opening it. It is blank but the paper is considerably and around the edges. Frowning, Lan Wangji follows his intuition and sends another tendril of qi. Instantly, words fill out the paper. The handwriting is quick, with short sharp strokes and elegant in its own way. His heartbeat pounds against his sternum.

This is Wei Ying’s handwriting, another clue to his person, and Lan Wangji devours the contents like a dying man desperate for mercy.

How are you? Are the old coots giving you trouble? I heard about the overblown scandal of Sect Leader Long. It’s ironic. They’re always talking about propriety - why bring a personal matter to you? You’re not there to solve all of their petty problems. The next time they do it, the Yiling Patriarch is showing up in their area and scaring them. No, you can’t talk me out of it.

Lan Zhan, you can retire and join me when you get tired of dealing with them. Little Apple will be happy to get a break from me.

The next paragraph stabs harder than a blow to the side.

You asked me once if I didn’t mind the fact that no one can recognize me here. Lan Zhan, I wouldn’t mind if you are the only one who knows who I am and everyone else hates me and remembers me as a monster. I wouldn’t mind if the world forgets Wei Ying as long as Lan Zhan remembers him-

The letter trembles in his hands. 

Wei Ying, Lan Wangji thinks with the yawning ache of a great loss hammering in his ribs. It makes him want to curl up as he tries to remember the face of this man in vain. Wei Ying, I am sorry. I cannot remember you.

He spends the rest of the evening reading the letters until his eyes become sore.

Some of them are gossip about the cultivation world but most of them are mundane stories of Wei Ying’s travels. He speaks of his night hunts, the people he meets - and a rush of unreasonable jealousy pools in Lan Wangji’s stomach at the thought of other people being graced by Wei Ying’s presence, his laughter, and knowing that they know him in some way that has been robbed from Lan Wangji now - and the sights he sees.

Wei Ying talks of people that Lan Wangji should know. He talks about a shidi, a shijie and a Jin Ling who is his martial nephew with so much fondness. He talks about Lan Sizhui with affection, calling him his little radish, A-Yuan, and implying that he is close to the boy Lan Wangji has as a son. He aches knowing that he does not know the extent - he does not know if he considers the boy as his own, too, but he wishes it desperately.

Wei Ying tells him how he procured each gift. For you, Wei Ying says. It reminds me of you. Again and again.

Lan Wangji wonders what he wrote to Wei Ying back. 

Some things only serve to confuse him more. Wei Ying mentions a ‘Stygian Tiger Amulet,’ a ‘Jin Guangyao’ and a temple but they do not mean anything to Lan Wangji. Wei Ying refers to himself as the Yiling Laozu but the tone the title takes seems to be dripping with self-mockery that a pang echoes in Lan Wangji’s chest. 

He finds out that Wei Ying has a donkey named Little Apple and a sword that he somehow could not use as much because of his weak golden core. Suibian. He spots some slips into a past that he cannot remember and those slips leave him cold with horror and worry. It does not take much to connect the dots - something unimaginable happened and it terrifies him to know even if he does not have the complete picture. But Wei Ying seems to dismiss those things as if they are trivial matters.

How did his past self handle this man?

But the more Lan Wangji reads, the more he realizes that Wei Ying loves to tease and his statements are utterly shameless that Lan Wangji has to stop before his ears become permanently red.

Are we looking at the same stars, Lan Zhan? It’s warm here in my camp. The cicadas are singing loudly next to me. When I come back, I’m claiming your bed. You can sleep beside me again if you want. I promise not to move too much.

Shameless, he thinks fondly but the implication that he and Wei Ying shared a bed has him burying his face in his hands.

I saw a paper lantern with a rabbit in the market and I flew it in the field tonight. It’s not as pretty as the one I drew, though but I’m out of paper and ink so I can’t make one myself. It reminds me of that time when we flew paper lanterns at Cloud Recesses because that was the first time I ever saw you smile but you were so mad when I pointed it out. Does your sect still bring the guest disciples to the back mountains to fly paper lanterns, Lan Zhan?

Sometimes, the pages are filled with explanations of a new idea for an invention or an explanation regarding a new talisman he made and Lan Wangji is full of awe. Genius, he adds to the growing mental list. Brilliant. How can this man ever be called a monster? 

...Lan Zhan. You are ridiculous. Why did you send me money? Hanguang-jun, you do know that I was joking about it.  Since when did our little radish become the courier?

I saw two chickens today. They are very fat and good. Do you want me to bring you one when I see you again? You would’ve liked them very much...

There was a qin player playing at the inn but Hanguang-jun ruined me for any other qin players. Who else could play a simple piece so exquisitely? I sat there, silently criticizing the poor qin player for not having fingers that are nimble or skillful enough.  Lan Zhan, when I come back, will you play for me? Will you finally tell me the name of that song?

What song? Lan Wangji grits his teeth in frustration as he parses out the tenth mention of the nameless song. Wei Ying seems to be fond of it, saying that he finds himself playing it with his instrument, Chenqing. Lan Wangji faintly recalls a line: I wished to set forth my thoughts and explain my actions: I little dreamed that this would be held a crime.  

He wonders what kind of instrument Chenqing is. Wei Ying does not mention what it is. Did they ever play a duet? Did they ever play that song together? The letters do not answer his questions.

I bought loquats today but Gusu Lan’s loquats taste sweeter. Lan Zhan, if I bring you loquats, will you finally share one with me?

Yes, Lan Wangji thinks as he gently places the letter on the pile he read. One thing that stands out for him is this: Wei Ying calls him by his name. Even his own brother and uncle call him by his courtesy name but Wei Ying does not. He is simply Lan Zhan to Wei Ying. Er-gege. And oh how it made his heartbeat thump and blood burn when he saw that address. It speaks volumes of how much the other man knows him. 

A few times he is Hanguang-jun but the tone is teasing instead of the respect shown by the physician earlier.

Lan Wangji is sure that there must be something between them. A bond that is unspoken but true, leaving an indelible mark on Lan Wangji’s soul.

He is jealous.

Lan Wangji is jealous of his other self. The one who shares Wei Ying’s memories, the one who these letters are originally meant for. He is jealous like a man who has been robbed and is now looking at another fortunate man even though he knows that such emotion is unrighteous and downright ridiculous. Shameful.

How did he gather the strength to let Wei Ying go? How was he able to stop himself from following when his soul was saying so? 

A knock interrupts his musings.

The sudden urge to hide Wei Ying’s letters catches him off-guard but he finds himself quickly gathering each single one and storing them inside the chest. His heart pounds as he clears his table and looks out at the window. Dawn has already broken through the night and the morning light is beginning to stream in weakly. He can already hear the entire Cloud Recesses rousing from their slumber. Lan Xichen must have come back.

“Enter,” he says, looking guiltily at the untouched food and the still lit lamp.

He hears silent footsteps before someone else enters the room. A young face watches him, arms laden with a tray filled with steaming food. The young man must be another young master of the Gusu Lan sect judging by the forehead ribbon and robes but Lan Wangji cannot find any resemblance on his face, just an unnameable emotion. The young man drops his gaze and says, “Hanguang-jun, this disciple brings your breakfast.”

“Mn.”

The young man places the new dishes and tea on the table, removing the leftovers from last night. His movements are quick and meticulous but he keeps glancing at Lan Wangji’s direction. When he is done, he does not leave immediately. Lan Wangji eyes him curiously.

“Hanguang-jun, may this disciple ask you a question?” The young man asks, voice small and hopeful.

“Speak.”

“Does Hanguang-jun remember this disciple?”

He looks at the forehead ribbon. This young man must be part of the main family. It is no surprise that his brother told their closest family about Lan Wangji’s predicament. He sees the fragile hope in the young man's eyes and steels himself.

“No,” he answers without hesitation. The word is cold, hollow and empty. A pang of guilt strikes him. He must have been a part of this young man’s life before. “Will you tell me your name?”

“This-” the young man seems to be choking, voice wavering as he ducks his head low enough to hide his face but Lan Wangji can see a tear running down his cheek. The young man hastily wipes it away. “This disciple’s name is Lan Yuan, courtesy name Sizhui.” 

Distantly, Lan Wangji feels something shatter. It is a quiet thing behind his sternum but it leaves his ears ringing. He looks at the young man in front of him and the heartbreak in those eyes matches his own.  

“This disciple apologizes. I did not mean to-” Lan Sizhui chokes out.

Lan Wangji rises from his seat but Lan Sizhui steps out of his reach. The young man, his son, puts on a smile and says, “Hanguang-jun, I received a message from Lan Jingyi. He says that he and Senior Wei will be arriving tonight.”

Chapter Text

Koi Tower, Lanling Jin
 
“You’re leaving for Yunmeng in two days, right?” Jin Ling says, still watching the young disciples practice their talismans. They are better behaved now that their sect leader is there than yesterday, when they were all but clinging onto Wei Wuxian’s sleeves and demanding that he explain or else.

Jin Ling has roped Wei Wuxian into helping the disciples with their talisman work, much to the elders’ chagrin but Jin Ling faced them with an expression that eerily resembled his mother as he turned their arguments around, cut their outrage down to the root, and held their incompetence over their heads. Even the talisman teacher wilted. Wei Wuxian applauded his nephew for his ferocity. Jiang Yanli and Madam Yu would have been proud.
 
At least Jin Ling has taken pity and kept that...furry monstrosity away from Wei Wuxian.

Two tables over, the disciples have thrown a balled wad of paper on their sleeping classmate’s head. The sleeping disciple flails awake and turns to glare but he spots Jin Ling and him so he hurriedly busies himself. A bottle of ink almost tips over his sleeves but one of his papermen that are supervising the disciples pushes the bottle out of the way.
 
What a bunch of bear children, Wei Wuxian thinks fondly. Spoiled but adorable, the distinct Jin pride embedded in their mulish faces each time he teases them. It reminds him of his time as Yunmeng Jiang’s da-shixiong. All his younger martial siblings used to flock toward him, they used to tug at his robes and whine adorably for help. Even enduring having their cheeks pinched and hair ruffled.

The memories, faint as they are, bring a pang to his chest.

He sighs and taps Chenqing against his mouth. Then he grins at Jin Ling. “Yes. Why, will you miss me? Don't worry, A-Ling. Your shishu will still write you letters and send you gifts!”

Jin Ling rears back, a look of utter disgust mars his face. “Ugh.”

Wei Wuxian can’t help it. He laughs.

Something in the action reminds him that Jin Ling is still young. The boy matured so much in the time that Wei Wuxian has been away (guiltily, Wei Wuxian can'thelp but think that his mother would’ve been so proud to see him like this), but seeing Jin Ling as a sect leader in his young age left a bittersweet taste in Wei Wuxian’s mouth. He is too young to bear this heavy responsibility just after having his world turned upside down by Jin Guangyao’s betrayal, but Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji and everyone else was also too young when they fought in the Sunshot Campaign and paid a high price for victory.
 
Looking at this younger generation, Wei Wuxian feels hope that they grow up as a generation without war. Where children got to be children for longer rather than soldiers.
 
Jin Ling clears his throat, interrupting Wei Wuxian from his thoughts. “Uncle says that if you try to sneak in and out of Lotus Pier without seeing him first, he’ll hunt you down, break your kneecaps and whip your toes with Zidian.”

Wei Wuxian smiles. “At least he’s not threatening to throw me out, eh?”

Jin Ling is silent for a moment, frowning.

Wei Wuxian thinks back on meeting Jiang Cheng several months back in a town. He tried sneaking away but upon trying to enact his plan, he found Jiang Cheng sitting in his room in the inn, several jars of wine on the low table.

The day after, Jiang Cheng told Wei Wuxian that he better not hide from him like a rat if Wei Wuxian ever passed by Lotus Pier or he’d drag Wei Wuxian out by his hair. It would’ve been threatening if it wasn’t for the look in Jiang Cheng’s eyes. Wei Wuxian took it as an invitation. It isn’t much. In fact, this whole thing between them is more fragile than any spun glass but it’s a start.

“Don’t anger him too much,” Jin Ling grumbles.

Wei Wuxian’s smile falters. Not angering Jiang Cheng is a miracle. “No promises.”

Jin Ling huffs. “They’re going to miss you. The kids, I mean.” His ears turn red.

Something in Wei Wuxian’s chest softens. Jin Ling isn’t just talking about the disciples. He reaches out to ruffle Jin Ling’s hair which the young sect leader dodges. Wei Wuxian laughs. “They can still visit me at Gusu Lan.”

In two days he will leave for Lotus Pier. Then his feet will take him north again. To Gusu. Home.

Lan Zhan.
 
Wei Wuxian’s heart clenches and the knot in his stomach twists.
 
It’s been a year since he last saw Lan Zhan.
 
It's not out of cowardice that Wei Wuxian does not leave a return address on his letters. That’s what he tells himself. Whereas Lan Zhan is a constant that never changes no matter how far Wei Wuxian’s feet takes him, 

Wei Wuxian, after all, doesn't have the luxury of a fixed point to call home. 

He traveled like river waters, wandering in any direction as long as the earth does not stop him. He went from cities to villages, stretching to the farthest corners he could with Little Apple by his side, looking for the next night hunt and as he jokes, gathering merits. Sometimes he goes by as a wandering talisman maker, but the further his feet take him, he goes by unrecognized. 
 
A year has passed by. On foot, his progress has been slow. With his weaker golden core, he is still unable to wield Suibian for long. His poor sword. Each time he meets trouble along the road, he can only rely on Chenqing.
 
He doesn't stay for too long in those places, not even long enough to wait for a reply from Lan Zhan. But he hopes that the man received his letters and parcels. He hopes that they aren't buried under the missives for the chief cultivator. That Lan Zhan has taken his time to read his ramblings, even though Wei Wuxian himself thinks that they aren’t as important as the letters from the great sects.

After all, Wei Wuxian hears enough gossip and whatever news he receives from his chance meetings with his little ducklings. 

He also keeps track of the number of times Lan Wangji walked out on meetings and conferences because the man had a low tolerance for everyone’s bullshit, and silenced a sect leader. Wei Wuxian faintly regrets not being there to see the look on their faces. They forget that under Lan Wangji’s goodness and sense of righteousness is a temper and stubbornness that can rival a mule and a mountain.
 
It has taken him a long time to get used to being on his own again - Little Apple does not count - and it has taken him days to stop talking out loud then looking beside him and realizing that there's no one there. It has taken him a long time to get used to sleeping alone, without the comforting presence of another at his back nor the voice of someone gently waking him up for the day. But it does not escape his notice that whenever he sees a paper lantern, a rabbit, a chicken, a hair ornament, looks at the stars, charms a pretty maiden that there’s a yawning ache in his chest.
 
It has taken him a long time and a second life to parse out his feelings regarding Lan Zhan but he has grown used to it. He accepted it. A lifetime ago, Wei Wuxian claimed Lan Zhan as his soulmate - the person who knew the melody of his heart. Even in his second life, it still holds true.

Sixteen years, the number holds a solid foothold in his mind. Sixteen years and Lan Zhan has never given up on him in a world that only remembers him as a monster. 

It's not out of cowardice, Wei Wuxian convinces himself, each time he wrote his feelings in his letters, disguised in his usual teasing, that he doesn't leave a return address. Not even when the yearning - now a great friend dogging his footsteps- laces his heart and chokes each time he smells sandalwood or sees someone playing the qin. Even a man wearing white passing down the roads stirs his heart and he'll stop in his tracks until Little Apple impatiently tugs at the reins. Wei Wuxian misses him. He also misses his little radish who had grown taller the last time he saw him. He would even tolerate the shitty bitter taste of their tea and soup! 
 
Once upon a time, Wei Wuxian pouted to his shijie and asked her what it was like to love someone. Now he has his answer. He now understands the feeling often described by those poems languishing and pining in heartache he used to see in his shijie’s room.

He isn't a stranger to missing people. He isn't a stranger to feeling the ache of a loss, in drowning in regrets for the words he should have said. Yet. It never prepared him for wanting to reach the distant moon but unable to, in fear that it will hide away. Wei Wuxian can't lose Lan Zhan but in every letter, he impulsively dares to poke at the unspoken and deeply entrenched bond between them, daring to cross but holding himself back. Wording everything in a way that he could laugh off as a joke. 

It doesn't matter if his feelings are returned or not. Wei Wuxian will step aside if he has to. He isn't blind, he knows Lan Zhan’s worth - his status aside - and that it is expected that the sects will send proposals upon proposals for him. And somehow, there is a perfect woman who will match someone as perfect as Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian witnessed it with Jiang Yanli and even Jiang Cheng. Though the latter is more successful in chasing everyone away than in attracting pretty brides with his temper and strict expectations for the poor would-be-brides.

Thinking about often leaves knives raking into his chest, his stomach twisting with knots but what they have is enough. In this world, in this life, he knows that if he jumps off a tree, Lan Zhan will be there to catch him. For as long as the man will have Wei Wuxian.
 
It's not out of cowardice, Wei Wuxian tells himself, when he has sent the latest letter with a return address and begins his journey back. Like an iron bound to always be attracted to a lodestone, he sets to the closest place he could consider his home again. One that Lan Wangji has offered to him without hesitation but Wei Wuxian doesn't doubt that this time, home is not just a place to stay but the company he has and safety.

Now, Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and crosses his arms, tipping his face towards the sunlight dipping  inside the lecture room. He touches the letter - Lan Zhan’s reply- hidden inside his robes. The weight is insignificant but it feels heavy to him. He has already memorized each line by now and the paper is almost crinkled. It should be embarrassing how he, the feared Yiling Laozu, can be undone with mere paper and ink. Who knew that Lan Zhan has a way with words?

Keep my heart safe for me, Wei Ying.

That mere line has made hope rise madly in Wei Wuxian’s heart. So he vows that once he sees that ridiculously perfect man, he is taking his first step. No more hesitation or what-ifs.

I will, Wei Wuxian thinks, if you keep mine safe with you. 

He opens his eyes, ready to call it a day and dismiss the class when he sees a Jin disciple hurrying towards them. Wei Wuxian recognizes that disciple as one of Jin Ling’s aides but the name always escapes him no matter how much he tries to remember it. He is about to leave the two to their sect business and assist the disciples when the aide greets them both and says, “Sect Leader, Senior Wei. Pardon the interruption but a Lan cultivator wishes to seek an audience with Senior Wei.”

Jin Ling frowns. “Who is it?”

Wei Wuxian scratches his nose. Worry clamors in his chest, surely, Lan Zhan or Lan Sizhui would have written to him if there was something urgent.

“It's Young Master Lan Jingyi. He's currently waiting at the Golden Lotus Pavilion,” the aide replied.

Lan Jingyi.
 
Wei Wuxian straightens. He ends up dismissing the class early, gently patting one the kids’ head, and he follows Jin Ling and the aide towards the pavilion set up for guests. He sees Lan Jingyi pacing in the pavilion. The tea that has been served remains untouched. Even at the distance, Wei Wuxian can see how frazzled he looks. His stomach swoops low, heart thudding painfully in his sternum. His grip on Chenqing tightens imperceptibly. 
 
Did something happen on their night hunt?
 
Lan Jingyi looks up as they arrive. There are faint dark shadows under his eyes.
 
Jin Ling raises an eyebrow and says, haughtily, “What are you doing here by yourself? Where’s your other half?”
 
Any other time, Wei Wuxian would have pricked his ears at the faintest rumor of any significant others linked to any of his ducklings but he is too distracted by the state Lan Jingyi is in. Lan Jingyi, instead of shooting a rude rebuttal or spluttering, salutes.

Cold hard dread suddenly grips Wei Wuxian’s stomach. He sees Jin Ling stagger back in surprise at the formality. 
 
Lan Jingyi says, “Sect Leader Jin, please allow this one to have a private audience with Senior Wei.”

Jin Ling gapes like a fish. He shoots Wei Wuxian a look as if to say, what the fuck is going on? Wei Wuxian doesn't  have an answer but he dreads his own conclusion. So he tries to lighten the atmosphere. Laughing thinly, he says, “Ah, Jingyi. Why are you being so formal with us? Have you been infected with the old man’s fuddy-duddiness? Or did you miss me that much?”
 
He sees the way Lan Jingyi’s shoulder tense. Please no.
 
Jin Ling makes an affirmative sound, still speechless. He leaves the two of them with a flick of his sleeves. Still, Wei Wuxian feels a sharp jolt of spiritual energy as Jin Ling activates the privacy wards. Lan Jingyi hasn’t made any other movement other than straightening from his bow. The silence is haunting and painful. Wei Wuxian waits until Jin Ling is out of sight before he approaches Lan Jingyi warily and touches his shoulder. “Jingyi-”
 
He hears a small choked-off sound and his heart nearly shatters.

Bile fills his throat.

Please no.

Lan Jingyi throws himself in his arms. Wei Wuxian almost stumbles at their combined weight. He holds Lan Jingyi tightly as the latter lets out a small sob against his shoulder.
 
“Senior Wei-” Lan Jingyi gasps brokenly, “something happened to Hanguang-jun.”

Chenqing falls to the floor. All Wei Wuxian hears is a faint ringing in his ears.
 

 
Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan
 
Guilt.

Heavy choking guilt.

It crawls out of the bottom of his stomach, winding around his lungs, his heart, to the shaking of his fingers, up to his neck, where it squeezes so hard his vision burns and his ears ring. For a moment, he cannot hear Lan Sizhui’s words at first. He can only look at him desperately.

But Lan Sizhui is still speaking, “Senior Wei will - he will find out a way to reverse the curse. Please don’t be worried, Hanguang-jun.”
 
Lan Wangji listens to Lan Sizhui talk. It was more of a ramble, he notices. The faint tremble in Lan Sizhui’s voice, the shakiness in his smile.  Lan Sizhui is so strong and so, so brave.

Lan Wangji aches to gather the young man into his arms but he hesitates, clenching his fists in his robes. What can he say? There are no words that can erase this nightmare. Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to say any empty assurance or promises that everything will be fine.

He does not know if Lan Sizhui will flinch away from him, if Lan Sizhui can find any comfort in the man who is no more than just the hollowed shell of his father.

Please, he wants to beg but he cannot bring himself to say it. He wants Lan Sizhui to stay with him here. He wants to know everything - every little detail he has known but has forgotten. No matter how insignificant. 
 
Lan Sizhui bids him farewell, citing that he still has to look over sword lessons for the younger disciples.
 
He barely registers Lan Sizhui’s final bow before he leaves with another polite smile. Lan Wangji sees Lan Sizhui’s shoulders tremble as he walks out of the door and each step echoes throughout the room with the weight of the entire ten courts of diyu pressing down on Lan Wangji.

Lan Sizhui is a strong child.
 
Lan Wangji does not say anything, just watching Lan Sizhui’s back disappear behind the doorway. His ears strain to hear those muted footsteps until he hears the main door shut and then nothing.

Silence falls heavy even as outside, the world begins to wake. There are the sounds of people talking in the distance, the clinking and pattering. The door remains shut. The food and tea begin to cool. 
 
Everything is war inside Lan Wangji’s head. He met the son he cannot remember and the man whose name he can only remember will be back soon. Between the meeting with his son who he cannot remember and the knowledge that Wei Ying (and oh how his heart burns, his insides twist with the inescapable thorns of yearning) will be back (home, Lan Wangji promised him a home) -
 
It is unfair. 
 
He has failed them.
 
Something hot and wet falls on his cheek. Lan Wangji brushes it away.

I am sorry.

Lan Xichen comes by as promised, just an hour after Lan Sizhui left. By then, Lan Wangji already forced himself to eat his breakfast and compose himself despite the churning in his stomach. Lan Xichen must have sensed something because he visibly hesitates at the doorway when he sees Lan Wangji and Lan Wangji wonders at how close they must be for his older brother to sense his mood so clearly.
 
The dark shadows under Lan Xichen’s eyes has deepened. There is a look in his eyes that scream unspeakable volumes of exhaustion and pain. There is something else, something that almost hurts to look at.
 
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen greets, a small smile on his face. It is a shaky and fragile thing. Lan Wangji feels sick at the sight.
 
“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji says, giving him a salute.
 
Lan Xichen comes to stop in front of him and urges him to sit back down. The touch - one that Lan Wangji has grown familiar with - is grounding. It should be strange, coming to rely on someone who is a stranger but Lan Wangji is too tired to think otherwise.
 
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says, too soft, “Sizhui came to see you.”
 
It is not a question. A part of Lan Wangji wants to curl up in shame, in hurt, in anger, and his fists clench at his clothes as he looks away. At the doorway. What can he say to his brother? That he, the supposed chief cultivator who is the strongest and the most powerful, has failed his not only his duties but as a father? As a brother? As the man who promised another a home?
 
That he broke a son’s innocent heart; that he looked and spoke to him as a stranger would? What kind of father would do that?

How can Lan Wangji look at him in the eye if he is as helpless as he is?
 
He feels Lan Xichen touch his arm. Lan Wangji retracts it as he asks, “How is he?”
 
“He is...fine. I ran into Sizhui earlier and he has been tending to the rabbits before the lessons.”
 
It does not take a lot to know that Lan Xichen hesitated to answer and he is hiding something. Lan Wangji knows that Lan Sizhui is not fine and his heart breaks even more.
 
“Wangji, it is not your fault.”
 
Lan Wangji does not answer.
 
“Sizhui does not blame you. He understands the situation. He understands why you- why you do not remember him-”
 
“He should not have to,” Lan Wangji cuts him off, no longer minding if it is rude to do so. No child should have to shoulder this pain, Lan Wangji thinks. No child should should go through this. If Lan Sizhui does not knock or open his door again, Lan Wangji will not fault him for it.
 
Lan Xichen looks at him helplessly. “I know.”
 
Lan Wangji’s nails bit through his palms.

“I know that you are hurting. I know that you and Sizhui are hurting but please, do not blame yourself. We are all doing our best to find a cure for the curse. I promise you that it won’t be long. Young Master Wei will be coming to aid us.”

Wei Ying. Lan Wangji is struck with a bolt. He does not want Wei Ying to see him like this. He has promised so many things to him, he has so many things he shared with him. What should have been a happy homecoming has gone to this. Lan Wangji does not want to break Wei Ying’s heart. He cannot break his heart like he did Lan Sizhui’s.  He cannot imagine doing so - even the thought fills him with nausea. 

He does not know if Wei Ying will even stay if he sees Lan Wangji like this.
 
And Lan Wangji is tired of hurting people who he has known all his life; people who depends on him. And Wei Ying, who Lan Wangji knows has gone through so much in the bits he pieced from the letters, does not deserve it. None of them do, he thinks as he glances at his brother.
 
He can only say, “I do not want to burden him.”
 
Lan Xichen’s exhale rasps in the quiet of the Jingshi. Lan Wangji feels his gaze on him.
 
“Young Master Wei would never think that you are a burden.” 
 
And who can say for certain? Lan Wangji wants to ask but he bites it back. 
 
“You are not a burden, Wangji,” Lan Xichen insisted before falling back to silence when Lan Wangji did not respond. He seems to be mulling something before he changes the topic, much to Lan Wangji’s relief, “I have planned to take you on a tour around Cloud Recesses to see if anything will spark your memory but if you are tired, we can do it tomorrow.” 

Lan Wangji looks around the room - his room, he reminds himself - and all the things he cannot remember. His eyes linger at the chest before he looks out of the window. There is no harm in trying, he decides. He cannot just wallow here in self-pity and guilt. He cannot just hide himself from the outside world. There must be a way.
 
So he agrees to Lan Xichen’s proposition.
 
However, in the middle of dressing himself, Lan Wangji notices something strange. There are thick raised lines slashing the back of his biceps and shoulders.

Scars.

He turns in front of the mirror and horror rises in his chest. There, crisscrossing his back with barely any skin left unmarred are scars. The worst is in the middle of his back, spanning between his shoulder blades. They have turned white, indicating that they have long since healed, but the way they look tells him that they resulted from a whip. 
 
He touches his shoulder, feels the raised edges. 
 
What happened to him? 

Lan Xichen calls out his name. Lan Wangji puts his question aside and puts on the last layer of his robes. When he looks at himself in the mirror as he fixes the elaborate crown that Lan Xichen brought out and straps his sword, Lan Wangji has never felt more like a stranger playing dress up with another's clothes.

Cloud Recesses is beautiful. Surrounded by the mountains, the air is cold and refreshing. The morning light is gentle. The architecture is elegant and harmonious. There are a lot of white and blue, Lan Wangji realizes. These must be the sect colors.

Apprehension starts when he sees people salute him and calls him “Hanguang-jun” with relief in their eyes and voices. Lan Xichen saves him by intercepting them as Lan Wangji stands there awkwardly, wondering if he should smile or return their small talk but they do not blink an eye at Lan Wangji’s continued silence. 

This must be how he usually acts around them.

No one accosts him or intrudes on his personal space.

It is a relief. Lan Wangji does not know how to explain to anyone why he has attacked them with his sword.

“We have not informed everyone yet of your situation,” Lan Xichen explains to him. “Uncle feared that news will leak if heard by the wrong ears.”

Lan Wangji’s status in the cultivation world cannot afford any weakness, no matter how respected and revered he must be. But how long will their pretense hold? Lan Wangji knows that he cannot do his duties if he does not know the situation, and he worries. 

Lan Xichen leads him outside of the sect, facing a large rock wall. There are several inscriptions on the rocks - perhaps even thousands. All written in seal script. Some had Lan Wangji squinting and craning his neck to read. He inhales sharply when he realizes that these were rules.

He supposes that breaking these rules have dire consequences, specially for a sect that had thousands of them engraved on stone. His thoughts drift briefly to the scars on his back before Lan Xichen pulls his attention away.

“Heaven, earth, and nature. All differences are merged in one. The Lan Clan upholds this belief. From the very beginning, the rules are clearly defined: to understand the fundamentals, to clarify the queries, to strive for strong persuasion and to study diligently,” Lan Xichen says, as if reciting from memory. “Wangji, these are the rules that our clan must abide and memorize by heart. All four thousand of them.”

A part of Lan Wangji balks at that and another part of him is not surprised. He has long guessed the clan’s ascetic nature by the hints from his surroundings to the food he has eaten. However, to expect someone to follow thousands of rules to live - was it not too much?

“Why?” Lan Wangji asks. Unexpectedly, Lan Xichen laughs.

A curl of shame and indignation churns in Lan Wangji’s belly. Lan Xichen must have sensed it because he apologizes. “Forgive me. You reminded me back when we were children. You asked our uncle about it once.” The humor dimmed. “Our sect was founded by Lan An, a cultivator who was a famous monk and musician. He met his fated person in Gusu and founded his sect here. He engraved the first rules in this rock wall himself, and he also started the tradition of our sacred forehead ribbon.”

“What is its purpose?”

“To regulate ourselves. Lan An taught us that we can only let go of all regulations when we are with our love ones, and that our forehead ribbons must only be touched by our family and fated persons.” Lan Xichen sighed heavily. Something shadowed and veiled falls on his face before it is wiped away.

A stray thought wanders in Lan Wangji’s head: did Wei Ying ever touch his? The thought almost made his ears burn and he stops it before it can stray further.

“Before, you were the disciplinarian of the sect. Uncle entrusted you with the task since he knows that you will be fair and firm with enforcing the rules.”  A nostalgic look passes Lan Xichen’s eyes and his smile falters. “That’s how you met Young Master Wei.”

Lan Wangji’s breath stutters.

Lan Xichen continued, “Cloud Recesses had invited the junior disciples of the great sects to join the studies. Back then, Young Master Wei was part of Yunmeng Jiang.” He chuckles. “The Yunmeng Jiang cultivators forgot their invitation at the inn and Young Master Wei retrieved it, however, you already admitted his martial siblings inside despite refusing to do so earlier.”

Lan Wangji’s ears burn.

Lan Xichen turned to him, his smile has taken a teasing edge. “You caught Young Master Wei while he was sneaking inside and drinking Emperor’s Smile. Then the two of you dueled.”

Oh.

Lan Wangji thinks back on the jars of liquor tucked under his floorboards. His eyes flicked to the line on the wall: Drinking alcohol is prohibited. 

So I am breaking the rules for you, Lan Wangji realizes. You broke the  sect rules repeatedly but you became my exemption. 

It is ironic that the man he was before - the man that he is now - has been willingly led astray.

“Young Master Wei did not fear the rules and sought to break them repeatedly. You were always in charge of his punishments but instead of resenting you, he - he tried to befriend you instead. I was glad, Wangji. I was glad that someone wanted to become your friend.”

His heart warms. Lan Wangji looks at Lan Xichen and asks, “What kind of student was he?”

“Uncle says that he is the worst student he ever had but no one can deny that Young Master Wei has one of the most brilliant minds that our sect has ever seen.” Lan Xichen gives him a teasing smile. “Before Young Master Wei came here, we only had three thousand rules but after he left, uncle himself carved a thousand more so now we have four thousand.”

Somehow, Lan Wangji is not surprised.

They begin their trek back to the sect. Lan Xichen leads him to a few more spots that must have hold great significance to Lan Wangji. The halls, the rooms, the library, the training grounds that they passed by as to not disturb the disciples.

All are scenic, as if lifted from classical paintings, and all of them bear no weight of recognition for him. If Lan Xichen is disappointed, he masks it well. He maintains that cheerful and calm persona, only bits of his turmoil breaking through and Lan Wangji wishes that there is a way to comfort him. 

Lan Wangji sees a group of disciples heeding towards their direction. They are young. Children. Some barely reaches past Lan Wangji’s knees. They salute perfunctorily and he cannot help but feel fondness. “These disciples greet Sect Leader Lan and Hanguang-jun!”

Then, like a coin that has been flipped, the disciples suddenly flock around Lan Wangji. They start speaking over one another about how much they miss him, how they were so worried, and asking if he is fine now. Lan Wangji’s throat is thick and tight as one of them tugs on his sleeves, a smile on that small face showing that the child has just lost his front tooth. Trusting and sweet in the way children are.

Lan Wangji cannot remember their names. More stones to add weight to his guilt. 

Lan Xichen laughs as he intervenes and kindly shoos the children off to the lecture halls. Lan Wangji is left standing there, watching them. The disappointment in their faces makes his chest constrict.

“You are their favorite teacher,” Lan Xichen explains.

That revelation surprises Lan Wangji. He taught them?

“The junior disciples have always been fond of you. You were never unreasonably strict with them. You let them play and act like children as long as they do not break the rules. You rarely lose patience with them.”

“They are children,” Lan Wangji says, “they do not know any better.”

Lan Xichen smiles gently. “You would always mention your students achievements and mischief in your letters.”

Lan Wangji hides away the deepening guilt as Lan Xichen’s voice shook when he said “letters.” He nearly flinches, thinking back on his hidden collection of Wei Ying’s letters.

Lan Wangji swallows the thickness in his throat and asks, “Letters?”

Lan Xichen falls into a stop. “Wangji, I - When I was in seclusion, you were the only who did not give up on trying to talk to me.” He touches Lan Wangji’s arm, a resolute look on his face. “I have not been a good brother to you this past year and no apologies can ever make up for it. I swear, this time, I will not abandon you.”

The determination in Lan Xichen’s promise almost makes him step back.

Seclusion. 

The way Lan Xichen says the word, with pain in his eyes and exhaustion lining his features heavily, told him that his seclusion is not a simple matter.

Something must have happened, something terribly heartbreaking. 

He drops his questions.

Lan Xichen does not wait for his answer as he begins walking again.

“Are you not busy?” He asks Lan Xichen as they made a detour from the main buildings.

“My other duties can wait,” Lan Xichen replies easily. “I have one last place that I want to show to you.”

Lan Wangji’s brow furrows. “Where are we going?”

The path they are taking shows signs that it is not usually used. The grasses here are not as neatly trimmed as the ones before. The stone pathways have weeds sprouting in between. The area is quiet without any distant hum of  the disciple’s activities. Only the songbirds can be heard among the treetops.

The answer is a quiet, “Our mother’s home.”

A small cottage greets them, hidden by walls and overgrown bushes with blue flowers. It is beautiful but clearly unused. No one has been living here for years, Lan Wangji realizes. However, the cottage is well-maintained since it does not show signs of disrepair. 

When he turns to his brother, Lan Xichen is looking at him expectantly. Lan Wangji looks away, at the blue flowers, for fear of his brother’s disappointment.

“Gentians,” Lan Xichen tells him, touching the soft petals. “They were mother’s favorite.”

“Why did she live here?” Why did their mother choose to live here, so far from the main houses? As the madam of the clan, she ought to live inside the compound, not in a quaint cottage isolated from everyone. The thought is foreboding. Had his mother lived the rest of her life in seclusion?

“I was afraid that you will ask that,” Lan Xichen confesses. “It is not a happy story.”

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji pleads.

“Our mother killed our father’s teacher. To save her, father married her and had her live here to serve her punishment. Then he went into seclusion to atone. Growing up, we were allowed to visit her once a month until she succumbed to illness. She loved us very much. She was one of the few who could tease you and make you smile.”

“Did she love father?” Did his mother love his father enough to suffer through cruel separation and to live like this? Like a bird in a glorified cage?

Lan Xichen falls silent after that, he plucks one of the dying gentians and lets it fall to join its other brethren on the ground. There’s a heaviness in Lan Wangji’s heart. He feels sadness for his mother he does not remember. He clenches his fist as another throb of pain echoes in his heart. How did his past self carry this burden? There are so many questions he wants to ask, so many things he want to know.

Lan Xichen merely smiles and that is the only answer Lan Wangji needs.

“It is a good thing that this house was not burned down,” Lan Xichen murmurs. “It would have been hard to replicate it along with the entire sect.”

“What do you mean?”

Lan Xichen shakes his head.  “You must be tired and overwhelmed. It is better if you rest before I tell you everything-”

“No, I am not.”

“Wangji -” Lan Xichen protests. 

Lan Wangji presses his lips together. What difference will it make if he finds out now or tomorrow? Besides, he suspects that this information must be the key that he is missing to make full sense of the entire situation. Perhaps, he thinks, that this will help him understand who Wei Ying is to him, and to know who Hanguang-jun really is.

Lan Xichen sighs in visible defeat, murmuring, “Your stubbornness has not changed.”

“What happened?”

“There was a war, Wangji.” Lan Xichen hesitates. “It is a long story. Do you want to know?” 

Lan Wangji interpreted it as: are you prepared to know?

He nods.

So Lan Xichen tells him. He tells him about the long-gone Qishan Wen Sect and how their ambition caused them to want to wage a war against the great sects. He tells him about the yin iron and the quest to retrieve its pieces (with Wei Ying), he tells him how the Qishan Wen Sect suspected Gusu Lan and attacked them. He told him how Clouds Recesses burned, how Lan Xichen escaped and how Lan Wangji refused to leave. How Lan Wangji was caught and became a prisoner. He tells Lan Wangji how their father died but Lan Wangji cannot bring any shred of any filial feelings for his father.

It is an abridged version of the events. Lan Wangji sees the ghosts haunting his brother, clinging on the shadows of his face so he does not ask for more. He senses his brother faltering, and Lan Wangji goes cold when he hears his brother say, “Young Master Wei fell to the Burial Mounds and became a demonic cultivator. The Yiling Laozu.”

He aided us during the war but his temper has grown worse and  worse. The public started fearing him.

He defended the surviving Wens and took them away.

You tried persuading him but failed.

He was invited to his shizhi’s celebration but Young Master Jin Zixuan was caught in a skirmish when Young Master Wei lost control.

The surviving Wens gave themselves up.

He lost control. The Young Madam Jin died that day.

Young Master Wei died.

You defended him so you were punished.

We made mistakes, great mistakes. None of us are innocent and there are days when I ask myself if I had not been to naive and too trusting, if I had listened, if I could have done anything to change what has happened. I am so sorry, Wangji. I failed.

And Sizhui is the Wen orphan that Young Master Wei has taken in. You took him in and raised him as your own.

For sixteen years, you mourned him. 

“I think that it is better if you ask Young Master Wei about his resurrection- Wangji?”

Lan Wangji does not know when he started walking but he suddenly finds himself outside of the gentian house. Lan Xichen catches up to him but he does not speak or attempt to talk to him. Lan Wangji makes his way back to the Jingshi, numb. 

Perhaps, a cruel voice whispers in his mind, perhaps it is better to start with a clean slate. The convoluted and painful history gone. All the sins of the past washed away.

But he thinks of Wei Ying and the inexorable hold that name - that person - has in his soul. The history they shared written in two lifetimes. He thinks of Lan Xichen’s quiet exhaustion, his grief, his regrets and the way he touches Lan Wangji as if to ground himself. He thinks of his uncle, yesterday, the brusque man with dark and heavy shadows under his eyes. He thinks of the children’s quiet disappointment, their bright and hopeful smiles when they first saw him.

He thinks of Lan Sizhui. Now, with everything laid bare, he feels  feels despair, cutting. Then shame. Hopeless.

He cannot forget them.

Lan Wangji makes up his mind.

When the sun dips low into the horizon, Lan Wangji hears a soft thumping outside then the sound of a flute being softly played. The first note hits him and he staggers at the feeling of being cleaved open raw. Something in his chest fills, a heavy pressure that squeezes a soft ache in the cadence of his heartbeat. He swears that he has no recollection of the song but the sheer longing and love contained in every note screams at him with familiarity. He feels it so much it hurts.

He knows this song. He should know this song. 

Lan Wangji rushes out of the Jingshi before he can even think of it, scanning for the player desperately. He sees the figure standing on the roof of the Jingshi, and within a span of heartbeat, the stranger raises his head and the only thing Lan Wangji could think of is -

I know you.

Chapter Text

The song fades into silence just as the world rights itself under Lan Wangji’s feet. The dizi player lowers his instrument and looks at Lan Wangji without saying a word. For a moment, he stands so still in the late afternoon light as if a specter come to life – one blink and he would disappear. 

Lan Wangji cannot move.

Dark hair, and even darker eyes bore into his own. A stark red hair ribbon tied around his top knot. He was wearing black travel-worn robes and holding a dizi made from black bamboo. Disregarding the rules as if they are mere inconveniences restricting him. Lan Wangji devours these little details like a dying man with his last meal.

He is here.

He waits for the annoyance, the indignation, the wariness and suspicion as a proper Lan disciple should. How could he when he feels it - the way his earth settles into the center of the man’s existence, focus narrowing down to him. 

Wei Ying is here.

All at once, the pressure in his chest expands, swooping down to his stomach. His throat is tight with emotions he can barely comprehend. He feels the joy, bubbling in his veins, to know that Wei Ying is here and safe. The gentleness in his heart reigning in the time and slowing everything around them.

His fingers tremble behind his sleeves. It takes every control he has to not to fall to his knees right then and there. Even if his brother did not give him a portrait nor describe what he looks like, Lan Wangji is sure that he will recognize Wei Ying. That his soul will still know Wei Ying no matter how he looks, no matter the life nor the memories they shared and lost.

I miss you, Lan Wangji wants to say. I miss you so much.

I have been waiting for you.

And he is filled with so much want.

He wants to touch Wei Ying so much to make sure that he is real. He wants to hold him in his arms, he wants to brush his hair, he wants.

Wei Ying is still silently observing him, unaware of the turmoil he is causing, twirling the dizi around his fingers. The silence stretches on.

“What are you doing up there?” Lan Wangji asks, voice steadier than the storm raging in his soul. He is going to fall.

Wei Ying laughs. The loud sound startles Lan Wangji. It echoes inside his chest, easing the pressure with warmth. He feels it down to his toes. It sounds...warm. Amused. But there is a fragile mocking edge to it. Then Wei Ying starts speaking softly, and his voice startles Lan Wangji out of his reverie. He barely registers what Wei Ying has said, too focused on the tone of the voice he has only imagined before. So this is what Wei Ying sounds like. His voice isn’t deep and soft, but it held a teasing lilt, somehow like the way he writes his characters. Like the way he formulates his thoughts onto the paper. 

“I’ve only been gone for a year but you’ve already forgotten about our rooftop meetings. Am I so easily replaced in your heart, Hanguang-jun?”

I have not, Lan Wangji wants to protest. I have forgotten everyone except you. Why would you ever think that you are replaceable?

Wei Ying does not wait for his answer. He stands and cups his hands in a proper salute. “Forgive this one’s rudeness. Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian.”

The greeting is cold and impersonal, but for the man in front of him...it seems too formal. Stilted. The letters have bared too much of their intimacy. The evidence is hidden in the Jingshi.

Wei Ying tucks his dizi back into his belt. “This one apologizes for disturbing you. They told me about what happened and I - I wanted to know if I can rouse some of your memories." He clears his throat and turns away but not before smiling as he bids, "I shall be going now, Hanguang-jun.”

No.

He cannot be leaving again.

"Wei Ying."

The man stops in his tracks. Emboldened, Lan Wangji says, “I know you."

He sees the way Wei Ying's shoulders start to tremble and he cannot stop himself from confessing, "I cannot remember everything about you but I know that you are important to me." 

A sharp bark of laughter answers him. "Impossible. That's impossible, Hanguang-jun. Why would you remember me and not your brother? Your uncle? Sizhui? Why me when-” Wei Ying turns to face him, eyes blazing and mouth a firm line. “Sizhui was crying when he told me about what happened."

Grief sinks in his heart, thick and heavy. Lan Wangji hates it. He hates this burden of not knowing and not recognizing the people he called his family, hurting them. "I am sorry. I did not mean to-"

“I know,” Wei Ying interrupts him. The cold mask crumbles to pieces. He is looking at Lan Wangji with wariness and something so terrible and painful that it hurts to look at. Lan Wangji wants to gather him in his arms and to hold him and never let go. “I know you. I know you’d never hurt Sizhui.”

There is a soft sigh and Lan Wangji watches as Wei Ying moves closer to the edge. “It’s not- it’s not your fault. I know that - fuck. I can’t keep talking to you like this.”

Wei Ying steps over the edge and jumps.

“Wei Ying!”

Lan Wangji runs forward and catches him. The impact leaves him staggering and he braces himself before they could fall over. In a space of a heartbeat, Lan Wangji registers his actions and he freezes.

He is - he is holding Wei Ying. 

Wei Ying is warm, Lan Wangji realizes first. He fits perfectly in his arms is the second thought. And he is everything and nothing like Lan Wangji has expected. Of course, Lan Wangji has tried and failed to put a face into someone that feels so larger than life, someone who could render him into a mess.

He had not given much thought to whether or not Wei Ying is attractive but he does not expect this - the man is so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him.

This close, Lan Wangji can clearly see Wei Ying’s features. Smooth lightly tanned skin from the sun, a classically handsome and expressive face with high cheekbones and long lashes framing dark peach blossom eyes. Dark hair is stuck in between those pink, chapped lips from the fall. Lan Wangji’s heart thuds. A sudden urge to touch those lips and feel them against him seizes and –

 “You...you caught me.” Wei Ying blinks owlishly at him. There is a mole below his plump lower lip. It is distracting Lan Wangji from forming any other coherent thought.

“Mn.”

“Are you letting go of me anytime soon?”

Lan Wangji’s grip tightens around him, pinching that thin waist. Wei Wuxian squeaks and Lan Wangji swallows. He gingerly sets the man down before he does something he is going to regret. He does, however, regret letting the man go. Wei Ying stumbles on his feet and steps back. The action is not lost on Lan Wangji and he clenches his fists to stop himself from reaching out again.

“Of course, Hanguang-jun won’t let anyone die from jumping recklessly. What else did I expect?” Wei Ying mutters to himself before he speaks in a louder tone, “Do you know the name of the song that I played earlier?”

Lan Zhan, when I come back, will you play for me? Will you finally tell me the name of that song? 

“I cannot remember.”

“Well.” A forced laugh. “That makes the two of us.”

Lan Wangji looks down, avoiding the probing stare. He stares at Wei Ying’s worn boots, the scuffed edges of his robes, and remembers the new sets of clothes that his previous self has clearly set aside for this man.  It is clear: they have been planning a life together. 

He feels a touch on his cheek and he catches the hand before he can think of anything else. The contact startles him out of his despair and he sees Wei Ying’s dark eyes staring into his eyes. Wei Ying’s fingers feel like embers searing down to his bones and he can barely breathe.

“What are you doing?” Lan Wangji rasps out. Wei Ying’s wrist is thin enough for Lan Wangji’s fingers to overlap. He can feel the pulse thundering beneath the skin. This close, Lan Wangji can smell faint dust and sweat, and something so familiar.

“Trying to see if I can annoy your memories back. Is it working?” Wei Ying leans closer and his thumb brushes Lan Wangji’s cheek. The action makes Lan Wangji want to cry. He presses closer into the touch unconsciously and shakes his head, careful not to dislodge Wei Ying’s hand. 

“Huh. You still don’t talk a lot,” Wei Ying says wistfully as he pulls his hand away. Lan Wangji tries not to miss his touch too much. Wei Ying continues and his tone turns teasing. “But why are you allowing someone else to touch you, hm? Should I be worried?”

Lan Wangji frowns, not liking the implication. The thought of anyone else touching him so intimately makes his skin crawl. “You are not a stranger, Wei Ying. Why should I not welcome your touch?”

Surprise colors Wei Ying's face. “Lan Zhan-”

“Senior Wei!” 

The shout of his name has Wei Ying widening the distance between them yet again. Lan Wangji tamps down the disappointment when he sees two Lan disciples walking fast towards their direction. Lan Sizhui is leading and with him is another disciple that Lan Wangji does not recognize. The other disciple looks dead on his feet. His eyes are red-rimmed as he watches Lan Wangji quietly. The raw hope, terror and disbelief lay bare. He is, Lan Wangji notices, the only Lan he has met to openly wear his feelings on his face. 

“Hanguang-jun,” they both salute. Lan Sizhui straightens and says, “Pardon the intrusion but Grandmaster Lan and Sect Leader Lan want to speak with Senior Wei.” He glances at Lan Wangji as if he wants to say something else but he does not.

Give Sizhui time, his brother told him. He will talk to you when he is ready.

Wei Ying breaks the silence with a laugh. “How mad is the old man? Did his beard turn white?” Turning to Lan Wangji, he whispers, “Your uncle is just angry that I walked out on him. See, he changes colors when he gets very, very mad. It’s funny.”

Lan Wangji does not know how to respond to that.
 
The other disciple pipes up but he was staring at them unabashedly, “Master Lan’s beard is stronger than your - ow! Sizhui!”

Wei Ying throws his head back as he laughs, clapping the disciples’ shoulders. Lan Wangji stands there, a stranger to an inside joke but finds that he does not mind, seeing the way laughter carves Wei Ying into something softer and warmer. His smile is beautiful and blinding. It suits him better, Lan Wangji decides, and wishes that he remembers all the times he saw that smile. He cannot help, however, the faint twinge of envy of not being able to be the one to pull that reaction from the man.

“Jingyi, never change,” Wei Ying tells the other disciple - no, Lan Jingyi, his son’s dearest friend - before throwing both arms around the disciples’ shoulders, turning to leave. “Well, it looks like I’m needed elsewhere. Thanks for not kicking me out, Lan Zhan!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says just so he can refrain himself from following them.

“Yes, Lan Zhan?”

A bubble of panic rises in his stomach. Wei Ying is leaving and he knows that this request is unfair but he allows himself this selfishness. “Come back to me after you are done. Please.”

Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi share a look. A hundred unnamable emotions cross Wei Ying’s face, too fast for Lan Wangji to decipher, but he pastes on a smile and replies. “Of course. Where else will I go?”

...but if the offer to stay at Cloud Recesses is still open, then I’ll take it. Your four thousand rules don’t seem so bad when I have your company.

Wait for me.

He watches as Wei Ying slings his arms around the two disciples’ shoulders as he walks between them. He watches as Lan Jingyi briefly leans into Wei Ying’s embrace until they leave the gates. 

Wei Wuxian runs.

He has spent a majority of his life running. He runs away from dogs and from the consequences of his mischief. Then he runs towards his downfall until he can no longer move, and all there’s left is to fall in his first life. But this is different. His lungs are burning, his feet are almost dead and he is sure that Lan Jingyi is stumbling after him, telling him to slow down but he cannot bring himself to waste a moment longer.

Something happened to Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian wasn't there. He wasn't there when the man needed him the most because he was busy running away in the name of fulfilling his oath, to clear his head and heart, and to prepare himself for the inevitable heartbreak of the announcement of Lan Zhan's wedding to a beautiful and righteous female cultivator. After all, it's expected of his station no matter what Lan Zhan has told him of following him wherever he goes. Now, he wasn't by his side when he could have the stopped the damn curse -

Wei Wuxian is always too late. Too late to stop Jin Zixuan's death, too late to save his sister and too late to stop the Wens from sacrificing themselves. The gods help him if he is too late to save the man he loves. Wei Wuxian does not know what kind of hell he is even more capable of releasing if - no. He cannot bring himself to think about it.

Their trip is cut short because of the horses that Jin Ling let them borrow, and with Little Apple having been temporarily stabled at the Koi Tower. The moment Wei Wuxian sees the gates, he dismounts and hands the reins to Lan Jingyi before he runs with barely a greeting to the gate guards. His heart and blood are pounding too loudly in his ears to hear the shouts of his name as he takes off towards the direction of the Jingshi. 

He feels a smidgen of guilt for leaving the young man to fend for himself.

The guards at the gate shout in warning but Wei Wuxian barely hears them. Lan Zhan needs him and Wei Wuxian is not there. Because Wei Wuxian shouldn't have left. He should have stayed. He should have been with him instead  of gallivanting off to nowhere and gods, if he had just swallowed whatever was preventing him from earlier - this wouldn’t have happened if Wei Wuxian had been there -
 
A white blur enters his line of sight and a call of "Senior Wei!'' has him stopping in his tracks.

Lan Sizhui appears in front of him and Wei Wuxian instinctively sweeps him up into his arms. The boy - no, the young man hugs Wei Wuxian with surprising strength. For a moment, his blood slows and pools with dread. His heart crushes under the weight. Nausea drips down in his empty stomach and Wei Wuxian's hands tremble as he hushes Lan Sizhui. He feels the dampness staining his collar and swears the world will burn.

"It's alright," he says to him, "it's alright, A-Yuan. I'm here. Shh."

Lan Sizhui, his usually composed little radish, is shaking in his arms and clutching his robes. Wei Wuxian swallows back the nausea as he embraces him tighter, rubbing his back. “A-Yuan, hey. What’s wrong - is Lan Zhan -”

He chokes back his words when he sees the tears in Lan Sizhui’s eyes. The sight fills him with horror and helpless anger. His stomach churns and his heart drops down to his knees. 

"Senior Wei," Lan Sizhui, his beautiful strong Sizhui, hiccups. He pulls away from Wei Wuxian's hold and rubs his eyes. For a moment, Wei Wuxian sees a little child crying and begging for more stories at his knees. "Senior Wei, Hanguang-jun he - he's been affected by the curse. He doesn’t remember us. I- it's my fault. I should've-"

His voice cracks.

"It's not your fault, shh." Wei Wuxian folds him back into his arms again, stroking his hair. A thousand scenarios ring in his head, each one more painful than the other but he has to keep himself together.

Focus, he tells himself. Focus on Sizhui. He cannot break down here no matter how much he wants to and add to the burden he can see in Lan Sizhui's eyes. He presses a kiss against Lan Sizhui's head, willing the red to recede from his eyes. "Don't worry, A-Yuan. Xian-gege's here. I'll look after Hanguang-jun and we'll get his memories back in no time, hm?"

Lan Sizhui quietly squirms out of grasp and he sees Lan Xichen walking toward them. Wei Wuxian sees the exhaustion lining his shoulders and the paleness of his skin. 

“Zewu-jun.” Wei Wuxian salutes. 

Lan Xichen gives him a wan smile. Any other time, Wei Wuxian would have asked him insolently and good naturedly about his seclusion. “Young Master Wei, it is good to see you safe. Where is Jingyi?”

Wei Wuxian feels a smidgen of guilt for leaving Lan Jingyi to catch up. "He was with me earlier."

Lan Xichen nods and moves to speak but Wei Wuxian mentally apologizes to Lan Xichen because he can't handle any more pleasantries and small talk at this moment. "Zewu-jun, I apologize but where is Lan Zhan?"

Lan Xichen closes his eyes, resigned. "The Jingshi."

Wei Wuxian cups his hands in thanks before telling Sizhui, "I'll be back, A-Yuan."

“Wait-”

“Wei Wuxian!” Lan Qiren, who is just approaching roars but Wei Wuxian is already gone.

He has to see him first to really believe it. Against everything, he hopes in vain as he climbs on the roof of the Jingshi and takes out Chenqing. He hopes in vain that Lan Zhan would still recognize the song. A part of him whispers, won't it be better if Lan Zhan forgets him?

The Jingshi is quiet. The only thing that he can hear are the whispers of the wind ruffling the leaves and the calls of a cicada. He closes his eyes, brings the dizi to his lips and plays. The song - their song - one of the only comforts he is able to afford in those nights and days when he is the loneliest, flows like a familiar friend.

He is barely halfway done when he hears the doors slide open and footsteps hurry down the steps. Wei Wuxian's finger hovers hesitantly as the note fades and forces himself to open his eyes. He braces himself to look and see a stranger but almost by accident, his gaze meets Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian has thought of hundreds of scenarios of what their reunion would’ve been like. He has imagined them meeting by accident on a night hunt to Wei Wuxian trouncing back to Cloud Recesses to Lan Zhan hearing him play by a cliff side and calling his name.

Not like this.

Never like this.

Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian thinks as a sharp pang echoes in his heartbeat. He almost crumples to his knees. I miss you.

There are a thousand words that he wants to say but he cannot bring himself to say them. Lan Wangji stands below him, severely under dressed in his loose robes and lacking any of the decorations befitting his station. He is still achingly beautiful and so much softer like this that he wants to wrap the man up and whisk him inside, away from prying eyes. Or tease him about propriety. A year has been too long and like a hapless lodestone, Wei Wuxian is not impervious to the gravity of his feelings for him.

Lan Zhan is quiet as he watches him.

Of course, he isn't going to run up to you, Wei Wuxian scolds himself. This oddly feels like the first time they met each other. For all the thousands of words he can say, the thousands of ways he can initiate a conversation, everything falls short. He does not have a plan for this. Fuck.

Lan Zhan is the one who breaks their stalemate. "What are you doing up there?" 

He cannot help it. He laughs, hard and full of unspoken heartbreak. Fucking shit, his eyes are burning. Seriously, Lan Zhan? Why not ask for my identity first?

“I’ve only been gone for a year and you’ve already forgotten about our rooftop meetings," Wei Wuxian remarks almost off-handedly, as if he isn’t breaking apart inside. "Am I that replaceable in your heart, Hanguang-jun?”

Lan Zhan frowns. With annoyance, Wei Wuxian cannot be sure but he knows that he's gotten a rise out of the man. If nothing else, he would always be good at getting under Lan Zhan - Lan Wangj's skin. The thought hurts more than the Wen branding iron on his skin but what else can he do? Perhaps it's better this way, a part of him says. This time, Lan Zhan doesn't have to sacrifice anything anymore for the Yiling Laozu.

No, Wei Wuxian hisses back. The memories of Lan Sizhui crying and clutching him because the father he has come to know does not recognize him, of Lan Jingyi resolutely forging on despite the exhaustion, of Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen looking at him with hidden relief, assaulted his mind. He cannot be selfish to want that for Lan Zhan just to alleviate any guilt he feels.

So Wei Wuxian does the only thing he has never done before to the man in front of him and introduces himself like a stranger would. Then he apologizes for disturbing the other’s peace and makes to leave.

He can stay here for tonight then depart tomorrow for Yun An Village by himself. It's too risky to ask any more of the Lan cultivators to aid him now that even one of their strongest has been affected so he has to do the investigation on his own. Out of all of them, Wei Wuxian is the expert in resentful energy. By hook or by crook, he will find the cure and break the curse. Just as he prepares to jump off the roof and leave, a soft voice stops him.

"Wei Ying."

Wei Wuxian is rooted by the sound of his name. It has been so long since he has heard it spoken by Lan Zhan that it shocks him. It seems like Lan Zhan will forever use his birth name, memories or no memories. Wei Wuxian does not know whether to laugh or cry at the knowledge. Hanguang-jun is only ever impudent to him.

The next words, however, cuts him to the core.

"I know you." And then. "I cannot remember everything about you but I know that you are important to me."

The laughter that comes out of his mouth is almost involuntary because what the fuck? What the fuck? That's impossible - a joke. It has to be a joke but he knows Lan Zhan enough to say that the man will never pull off that kind of joke in his life.

The sincerity in Lan Zhan's face has Wei Wuxian snorting in disbelief. "Impossible. That's impossible, Hanguang-jun. Why would you remember me and not your brother? Your uncle? Sizhui? Why me when-" he chokes back what almost feels like a sob - "Sizhui was crying when he told me about what happened."

The mention of Lan Sizhui has Lan Zhan's eyes widening and the look in his face shattered what remains in Wei Wuxian's heart. Oh fuck. There you go again, Wei Wuxian. There you go, fucking up everything again, you massive fucking idiot. When are you going to stop hurting him?

When Lan Zhan starts apologizing, Wei Wuxian cannot bear it anymore. "I know. I know you. I know you’d never hurt Sizhui." The vulnerability in Lan Zhan's eyes has him stepping closer to the edge of the roof. "It’s not- it’s not your fault. I know that - fuck. I can’t keep talking to you like this.”

And he jumps.

Wei Wuxian braces himself but he does not expect to land on something other than the ground. Two sure hands catch him and Wei Wuxian finds himself looking at Lan Zhan's face.

Do you remember that time I brought you around Lotus Pier and when you caught me like this? The words stay lodged in his throat as he drowns himself, like a dying mad man, in Lan Zhan's eyes. Hope curdles in his blood, sweet and tasting like a knife. Do you remember, Lan Zhan? 

"You-" he begins, trying to choke back the disbelief, "you caught me."

He catches the beginning of a smile on the other's soft mouth. "Mn."

Oh. His breath stutters. Lan Zhan is still Lan Zhan after all.

"Are you letting go of me anytime soon?" He feels Lan Zhan's grip tighten before he is set down, carefully, but Wei Wuxian's knees wobble like a newborn kitten.  Of course, Hanguang-jun won’t let anyone die from jumping recklessly. What else did I expect? He thinks to himself. Still, he weighs his options. The other man claims to know some things about him (he tries not to warm at the thought of being important enough to warrant such exemption) and decides to test it. "Do you know the name of the song I played earlier?”

He tries not to feel disappointed when Lan Zhan refutes the answer. That makes the two of them.

So he tries another tactic.

Wei Wuxian knows that Lan Zhan does not like being touched by anyone else without his permission. Even though his presence is familiar to him, being touched by someone who is essentially a stranger will surely make him flinch, right?

So he catches Lan Zhan face in his hand and boldly cups a soft porcelain cheek. For all that the rest of him seemed to be carved from the finest of jade, Lan Zhan's cheek is surprisingly the softest and squishiest part of him. Wei Wuxian is always tempted to pinch them but before he could get sidetracked, his hand is caught.

There it is.

He waits for the reprimand.

"What are you doing?" Lan Zhan whispers. His ears are turning red. How cute.

The reprimand doesn't come.

"Trying to see if I can annoy your memories back. Is it working?” Lan Zhan's unfairly long lashes flutter close. He is too pale, Wei Wuxian despairs. There are faint bruises under his eyes. While cultivators can go on with less sleep than non-cultivators, not even their golden core can hide how tired they are. Has he eaten enough?

His thumb brushes his cheek as if to wipe away his burden. Lan Wangji shakes his head, still holding Wei Wuxian's hand in place.

The urge to gather him into his arms and hug him is too much. Wei Wuxian gently dislodges his grasp and steps away.

"You still don't talk a lot," he mumbles to himself. Deciding on a familiar route and to lighten the atmosphere, he teases him. “But why are you allowing someone else to touch you, hm? Should I be worried?”

Lan Zhan frowns. "You are not a stranger, Wei Ying. Why should I not welcome your touch?”

Warmth blooms in Wei Wuxian's cheeks.

"Senior Wei!" And there are his two rescuers. He grasps his two ducklings, making sure to keep a tight grip on Lan Jingyi when notices that the other's nerves are fraying. He directs the talk, distracting the three of them with inane chatter before one of them breaks down in front of Lan Zhan. Then he starts to leave.

But Lan Zhan says, "Come back to me after you are done. Please.”

All the fight in him fades into nothing but dust motes at his feet.

Wei Wuxian cracks a smile at that. “Of course. Where else would I go?” 

Where else would he stay?

It takes everything to haul the three of them away from the Jingshi and out of the gates. Lan Jingyi is nearly sobbing into his shoulder as Lan Sizhui comforts him. Wei Wuxian can only hold on to the two as their entire world upended under their feet.

“Tell me what happened.”

Any other time, Lan Qiren would have verbally flayed Wei Wuxian for demanding answers without proper decorum or bursting inside his room without a warning. 

“Sit.” Lan Qiren gestures to the table. “Eat and drink the tea. I will not tell you anything until you stop looking like you will faint on your feet.”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to decline. He has survived worse. What is an empty stomach compared to the situation right now? He does a double take at the table. There is a tray filled with steaming dinner and a pot of tea. Was the old man expecting him?

“I thought that eating outside of the allotted schedule is forbidden,” he protests weakly. Lan Qiren breaking the rules for him?  The ancestors must be turning in their graves by now.

“Clearly, some exemptions must be made. My nephew is not here to remind you about neglecting yourself,” Lan Qiren answers dryly. He picks up a scroll and his cup, signaling that the discussion is over for now. “Eat while we wait for Xichen and Sizhui to arrive.”

Knowing that  the stubborn old goat won’t budge, Wei Wuxian obeys. He doesn’t complain about the plainness and bitterness of the taste, he shovels the food into his mouth and gulps down the tea. Lan Qiren doesn’t scold him even as the vein in his forehead twitches.

He doesn't even bring up Wei Wuxian's recent rule-breaking. In the year since he last saw him, the old man looks like he has aged another decade. Wei Wuxian’s stomach twists, the dread from before souring it.

A servant clears the table and Wei Wuxian settles on tapping his fingers on the table, waiting for Lan Xichen and Lan Sizhui to arrive. At the count of ten, the doors open. Wei Wuxian greets the sect leader and pulls Lan Sizhui next to him.

“Where’s Jingyi?”

Lan Sizhui shakes his head. “I sent him off to rest. He almost exhausted his qi traveling back and forth with barely any break.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his nose with a wince. It is partly his fault why Lan Jingyi has pushed his limits. “Aiyah, that kid.”

“He just needs to sleep, Senior Wei. I will take care of him.”

Lan Qiren clears his throat and gestures for Lan Xichen to speak.

“Now that we are here, Sizhui, please tell us what happened during your night hunt.”

Lan Sizhui recounts what he knows. The three of them went to Yun An village to investigate the case that has been plaguing it. However, when they landed at the entrance of the village, the whole place resembled a ghost town. It was dark, only the innkeepers had their lamps lit. As it were, they were the only visitors. When asked, the innkeepers tearfully relayed what has been happening for a week and pleads for help. After paying for their room, the three separated to investigate. 

Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi knocked on the doors of one of the victims to ask but there all of their answers only relayed what they already knew. The victims were...normal. They were only confused at the entire situation. The only thing that Lan Sizhui is sure of is that Hanguang-jun had played inquiry in the cave where the first victims last visited before the plague started. But no one answered him.

So they went back to the inn.

“While Jingyi and I were preparing to sleep, I felt something strange. So I hurried to Hanguang-jun’s door, but when I knocked, no one answered. Jingyi kicked open the door and then-” Lan Sizhui swallowed, lowering his head. “We saw Hanguang-jun on the bed. He won’t respond to us so we sent for help, and bound the innkeepers with an oath to not to say anything.”

“Has the matter been made public?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “No. We concealed everything. The official story is that something urgent happened in the sect which required Wangji’s attention. Unfortunately, he must go into seclusion. Uncle and I are the ones handling his duties right now. Only the innkeepers who have seen Wangji knows but they have sworn an oath with their life to keep it a secret. A few senior cultivators have been dispatched to guard the village. The case is not yet known as Yun An is under Gusu Lan’s protection, so you do not have to worry about unfavorable news leaking out, Young Master Wei.”

I thought that Lans aren’t allowed to lie, Wei Wuxian thought but kept it to himself “This case...who were the victims?”

Lan Xichen hands him a paper detailing the profiles of the victims. “They are random. Young and old, men and women, cultivators and non-cultivators. There is nothing to connect them.”

Wei Wuxian quickly scans it, frowning when he sees Lan Zhan’s name. “What are the symptoms, Zewu-jun? Did any of you feel resentful energy?”

“They all fell into a coma and woke up missing some of their memories. Unfortunately, there are no reports of resentful energy in the sites. However, we think that this is caused by a curse.”

"Only some of their memories?" Wei Wuxian has to force his hands to stop shaking. A curse, he thinks. A curse powerful enough to affect a cultivator with a strong golden core. What kind of entity can be strong enough to cast such a curse? 

"Yes. The other victims retained most of their memories except that their are noticeable gaps."

That makes him pause. If everyone else retained majority of their memories, it means that... no. It shouldn't be. Lan Zhan was a powerful cultivator. Why is he the anomaly? What made him different? 

“But Lan Zhan has forgotten everyone?”

“No.” Lan Xichen’s gaze rests on Wei Wuxian as ignores Lan Qiren’s sharp intake of breath. “Wangji has only expressed familiarity with you.” 

“What?” Lan Qiren stands in shock. 

Lan Sizhui goes so still beside Wei Wuxian. The guilt claws Wei Wuxian open harder than Wen Qing’s surgical knives.

“Xichen, you hid this from me?”

“I had to be sure, uncle.”

“That does not mean that you have to omit a crucial information! Your brother’s life is in the line and you -”

“I’ll go to Yun An tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian announces before Lan Qiren can start ranting and scolding his eldest nephew. “Alone.”

Lan Qiren flicks his sleeves and returns to his seat with a harrumph. Lan Xichen exhales heavily, frowning at Wei Wuxian. Lan Sizhui clutches his sleeves.

“Senior Wei-”

“Young Master Wei-”

Wei Wuxian cuts off their protests. He presents his argument: the two of them are at risk. If a culprit is strong enough to affect Lan Zhan then he is not willing to risk anyone else going after them. The sect cannot afford to spare their sect leader or their sect heir.

Wei Wuxian knows that if something happens to Lan Sizhui, he’ll never forgive himself. He can just have the other Lan disciples as a backup if he ever needed one as long as they are several hundred li away from the village.

Besides, he argues, it would be better if they were here for Lan Zhan.

With that, they fold like wet paper.

“As you wish, Young Master Wei,” Lan Xichen says, resigned. “We will have the preparations for you. For the meantime, I will have your quarters prepared for the night."

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. "There's no need, Zewu-jun. I can stay with Lan Zhan tonight."

"I...see." For the first time since the start of this meeting, Lan Xichen smiled. "You are both dismissed.” He turns to his uncle who still won’t say a word.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Sizhui bows. Before they part, he catches up to Lan Sizhui, whispering to him, “Sizhui, do you want to come with me to the Jingshi? I think Lan Zhan will be happy to have you over.”

Lan Sizhui freezes. He carefully disentangled his hand from Wei Wuxian’s and shoots him a wan smile. “Sizhui apologizes. I think that you and Hanguang-jun have things to talk about which I should not be privy to.”

“Sizhui,” Wei Ying sighs. He does not want this to drive a wedge between the two.

“I am not upset with either of you, Senior Wei. This is out of our control and I know that neither of you choose for this to happen,” Lan Sizhui says, “I promise I will talk to Hanguang-jun tomorrow so don’t worry about me, Senior Wei.”

Wei Wuxian just smiles and pats Lan Sizhui’s head. “Aish. I’ll stop keeping you. Go to your handsome young man and get some rest.” 

Lan Sizhui turns cinnabar red and Wei Wuxian cackles. He pats his shoulder and turns to leave.

Dusk has already fallen and all the lamps are lit inside the Jingshi when he returns.

That’s when he hears it.

The song.

It’s been a year since he heard Lan Wangji play on his qin.

And, like the undoing of a tide against a cliff, his heart hammers in his chest, threatening to break free.

Wei Wuxian stands still before the heavy doors and raises a hand to knock.

Chapter Text

He waits.

Hours slowly pass ever since Wei Ying left and he waits. Dusk begins to creep outside the window and the brilliant colors fade into the dark shadows of the oncoming night. Trepidation fills his thoughts as he glances at the doors and attempts to busy himself with finding more clues about himself and his situation.

He tells himself: Wei Ying promised to come back.

Through the enduring guilt, the weariness, the roiling grief threatening to drown him in the quiet of his own solitude, there is something that his heart beats with certainty: Wei Ying will be back. If there is one thing that Lan Wangji believes to be certain right now, it is in that promise. So he waits.

A disciple comes to bring him dinner. He introduces himself as Lan Jingyi and their short encounter leaves Lan Wangji with a new cut on the fresh scores of pain in his heart. Lan Jingyi leaves, trying so hard to smile reassuringly, but Lan Wangji has now grown increasingly acquainted with the look of heartbreak on another hopeful person’s face.

He sorts through more letters, this time pertaining to the matters from the other sects. He goes through the reports and the notes. Every single one of them fails to induce any sense of familiarity.

So he goes to the qin and tries his best to recreate the song Wei Ying played earlier. The melody tugs at him, though muscle memory has him plucking the strings with confidence. It fills the emptiness in the room and somehow -

He hears a knock on his doors. The second one for the evening.

He tries not to rush as he goes to answer it, heart almost tripping in his chest, when the doors open to reveal Wei Ying who stands there with arms crossed over his chest. Relief courses through him in staggering waves as he takes in Wei Ying’s smile. It is a small teasing thing, but even Lan Wangji can see the faint apprehension in his eyes. The urge to touch his face, to run his thumb over the curve of smile, burns.

“Hanguang-jun,” Wei Ying says brightly, “I’m back.”

It has been mere hours but their parting feels like an eternity. Lan Wangji should feel ashamed for missing him like this, for wanting him close. Greed is a sin yet Wei Ying’s presence makes him hunger for more.

Lan Wangi nods. He tries not to sound too eager when he replies, “You are home.”

It startles out a laugh from Wei Ying. “As Hanguang-jun decides,” Wei Ying says. He tilts his head to the side, his smile dimming. “Is Hanguang-jun’s Jingshi a home to everyone who knocks or is it just for little old me?”

For a moment, Lan Wangji frowns. The words would be biting if not for the self-deprecation that colored his tone. He sees it then, the tense way Wei Ying holds himself, and it hurts.

“Wei Ying is not just anyone. The Jingshi will always be your home.” He does not miss the shift in Wei Ying’s eyes as moves away from the door and invites the other in.

“Lan Zhan, you really know how to make someone feel special.”

The way Wei Ying says his name…it makes his blood shudder. It turns him molten. The barely tampered urge to hold him so close to his beating heart worsens. He clenches his fists.

Everyone else, Lan Wangji realizes, calls him by his courtesy name and title. Only Wei Ying ever calls him by his birth name.

He does not want to get tired of hearing his name from Wei Ying’s lips, as selfish as that wish is. How did his previous self even do it? From the sixteen years of grieving this man’s death (and oh how that thought feels like a thousand deaths on his seven souls) to a year of letting Wei Ying wander by himself. How could he let him go without following behind? How did he find the strength to let him go?

He grapples with the urge to pull the other man close and embrace him. He does not know if Wei Ying will welcome it. It might have been possible with his previous self, a man who has shared a life with Wei Ying, but him?

He cannot afford to be too forward.

“Wei Ying is special to me,” he murmurs. His ears feel hot. He does not look at Wei Ying.

Yet Wei Ying draws close and Lan Wangji feels a tug on his forehead ribbon.

It draws a soft, ragged gasp from Lan Wangji. Almost instantly, he hears his brother’s words again. This is the answer to how much rules he is willing to bend and break for Wei Ying. But does Wei Ying even know the significance of his action?

“Lan Zhan is special to me, too,” Wei Ying whispers conspiratorially before he moves out of reach.

Towards the direction of the table where their dinner was set. He watches him stretch his arms above his head, sees the way his robes tightens and shifts; the curve of his small waist -

He swallows instinctively, feels his pulse roaring in his ears, feels the hunger and ache as it crests over him in a roaring tide. He stands there, helplessly, desperately, wanting to put his hands around Wei Ying’s waist, to bury his face in his hair, to kiss. He wants but he cannot.

Wei Ying continues on, unknowing.

“Your uncle already made me eat but that was hours ago and I’m still hungry. A-Xian is only three so-“ Wei Ying cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Ah, never mind. It's just a joke, Lan er-gege.”

If his name turns him molten, that “Lan er-gege,” turns him to mere burnt cinders and ashes. He stands there, woodenly, nails biting into his palms. For a moment, he admires his previous self’s restraint.

He cannot trust himself to speak so he nods.

Wei Ying, he realizes, loves to talk. He fills in the empty silences like words scrawled on every space of a paper. It is one thing to read his letters. It is another thing to hear it in his voice.

He gesticulates wildly, so expressive, unlike his brother or even Sizhui. It should not come as a surprise, Wei Ying writes letters full of random anecdotes. A storyteller, Lan Wangji adds to his ever growing list about the man. Perhaps he is someone who talked himself into trouble and out of it more often than not.

Perhaps he is someone who weaves grandiose tales, adding embellishments here and there.

Such a lively person in a sect so solemn. A rule breaker who was made an exemption. Wei Ying should not fit so easily but his presence makes sense. He is like the light; something undeniable and inevitable. It is easy to get lost in him.

The light flavored food tastes better in Wei Ying’s presence.

Lan Wangji wonders if the him from before has learned to keep up with Wei Ying. Or if Wei Ying has been content with his quiet answers, instead of saying things out loud. Did he, Sizhui and Wei Ying eat together often? What other stories has he missed? Forgotten?

The bitter tea sat on his tongue. A hint of sourness at the thought.

Still, he listens eagerly to the adventures and gossip, barely taking his eyes off of the man in front of him.

“I still can’t believe that you got me chili oil,” Wei Ying says, eyes glimmering with hope and disbelief. “Lan er-gege, you remembered?”

Lan Wangji lowers his eyes, suddenly overcome with the fear of guilt of disappointing him. It is a feeling that has become his friend lately. “Lan Jingyi came by to deliver dinner. He brought it for you.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying sighs but he starts pouring a startling amount on his bowl. “Jingyi? Aiyah, I told him to go and rest before he falls on his feet. Kids these days.”

“I told him to go back and rest.”

Wei Ying stares at him, thoughtful, and for a moment, Lan Wangji wonders if he made a misstep.

The other man suddenly laughs. “Good. He looks up to you, you know? Maybe he’ll listen to Hanguang-jun’s advice.”

The tea starts to taste even more bitter. More reminders of things he has forgotten.

Silence falls between them. Wei Ying stares into his bowl, a slight scrunch between his brows. Lan Wangji wants to ask him what is wrong but he cannot find the words. Did he displease him? Should he apologize?

Wei Ying suddenly puts his elbow on the table and rests his cheek on his fist. That action is deemed forbidden by his clan. Even the mere act of speaking during meals but Lan Wangji cannot find it in himself to care.

“So, Lan Zhan. What do you think about Jingyi?”

Lan Wangji puts his cup down. Earlier, Lan Jingyi came by with a tray of their dinner. He was…skittish to say the least. Nervous and worried. As if he was on the verge of crying. Lan Wangji wanted to place a hand on his shoulder to comfort him but refrained, unsure if Lan Jingyi would welcome it.

Then Lan Jingyi asked if he was doing fine and started stammering about how he was glad that Lan Wangji is awake now. When Lan Wangji asked if he was alright, the young man suddenly sobbed. Lan Jingyi hurriedly composed himself with a brittle smile and told him that he was fine and that he shouldn’t worry before excusing himself.

“He is kind,” Lan Wangji begins, “and enthusiastic.”

Wei Ying laughs. It eases the knot in Lan Wangji’s heart. “You know, he is the least Lan of all the Lans who were born into your sect. He’s loud and honest. So much that he can scold sect leaders in front of your uncle but your uncle won’t even punish him for it.”

The thought is almost preposterous but Lan Wangji is glad that Lan Jingyi is afforded that privilege. He knows he should not for a junior must always be respectful of his elders; but he has read the letters from the other sect leaders, one can only imagine how they really are in the flesh.

“You’re smiling!” Wei Ying crows, pointing at his face. “Hah! I knew you’d find it funny! Though, I did hear that Hanguang-jun is fond of using silencing spells on rowdy sect leaders so he definitely got it from you.”

Lan Wangji feels his ears heat at the teasing. “Wei Ying...”

“Ah, but he’s a good kid with a good heart, and he’s one of the best cultivators in their age. They have this little group - we call them the Junior Quartet. Him, Sizhui, Jin Ling who is my shijie’s son and now the sect leader of Lanling Jin, and Ouyang Zizhen from Baling Ouyang. Those four tend to find themselves together during night hunts even if they don’t mean to!” Wei Ying continues, grinning wider.

That makes Lan Wangji’s lips twitch in amusement.

Yet the fact that his son is not alone fills him with relief.

Perhaps one day, he will get to meet them. Though he can only hope that his affliction will not last long enough for others to know. If only so he can spare them this cruelty.

“But Jingyi has already grown more responsible. We won’t have to worry for him and Sizhui when they become cultivation partners -”

Lan Wangji stills when the words sink in.

Another detail forgotten.

Another piece of his life, of their life, taken.

“I shouldn’t have said that to you without a warning,” Wei Ying mumbles, horrified at the slip of his tongue.

Lan Wangji swallows.

His brother did not tell him about it. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi did not mention it either. He cannot fault them, after all, this Lan Wangji might as well be a stranger -

“They haven't announced it yet!” Wei Wuxian yelps, and hurriedly assures him that Lan Wangji did not forget such a crucial stage in his son’s life.

Lan Wangji merely nods. The thought still twists the knife in his chest. A trickle of guilt wraps around his heart and squeezes. It hurts. It will never stop hurting.

“How is Sizhui?” He can’t help but ask.

The smile on Wei Ying’s face falters a little.

Oh.

A hand suddenly grasps his fist. Lan Wangji startles but Wei Ying does not let go. He could only stare at their hands. The contrast between them is stark, the warmth of Wei Ying’s touch sears into his bones. The touch feels right. He aches to brand it into his skin.

The sudden yearning pulsing inside his blood almost makes him recoil, and it almost distracts him from Wei Ying’s words.

“Lan Zhan, he doesn’t blame you. None of them do.”

Under Wei Ying’s touch, his fist loosens.

“They do not deserve this,” he murmurs.

“And Hanguang-jun doesn’t deserve this, too.” Wei Ying rubs his thumb across the back of Lan Wangji’s hand. The gentleness almost makes Lan Wangji break. “Sizhui understands. He would never hate you, Lan Zhan. Even if you don’t remember - which won’t happen, I swear! But even if you don’t, it doesn't take away the fact that you love them and they love you. No matter what.”

Heat stings Lan Wangji’s eyes.

In spite of everything, he allows Wei Ying’s reassurances wash over him. Hope blooms in his chest, and for once, the creeping despair and guilt loosen their hold.

He feels Wei Ying brush his cheek.

And Lan Wangji closes his eyes as his soul sings at the touch.

Thank you, he wants to say but his tongue is heavy. Somehow, Wei Ying understands his unspoken gratitude because that brilliant smile softens. It feels right.

Wei Ying parts away and Lan Wangji tries not to miss his touch.

“Besides, our little radish is pretty resilient!” Wei Ying laughs fondly.

“Radish?”

“Oh,” Wei Ying shakes his head as he stirs his food. “It’s my nickname for Sizhui.”

Curiosity fills him at the nickname, even as the sting of not remembering pierces him again. His older brother has told him about Wei Ying’s past and Lan Sizhui’s connection to him, but things like these…

He does not blame Lan Xichen for leaving out the details. He understands why. Yet a part of him feels robbed.

“Wei Ying, will you tell me about him?”

The question almost startles Wei Ying. He blinks at Lan Wangji. “Eh? Didn’t Zewu-jun tell you?”

“Xiongzhang has told me enough about Sizhui and you,” Lan Wangji answers almost hesitantly. “He has told me about the past.”

“Ah.” Wei Ying nods, jaw tight. “So you know?”

Lan Wangji drinks his tea and nods.

Wei Ying is quiet for a moment. He looks at Lan Wangji long and hard, as if he was peeling open Lan Wangji’s heart.

“And you still invited me here?” He hears the other man murmur to himself. The other man sighs and for a moment, Lan Wangji sees the exhaustion in the lines of his exquisite face. Guilt rises heavily, and he is almost nauseous.

“I am sorry,” Lan Wangji can only whisper but his words ring loud in the air.

“Don’t be, please.” A tired smile appears on Wei Ying’s face. “It’s not your fault, Lan Zhan. Besides, we’re talking about Sizhui.”

Yes, he reminds himself. Sizhui.

He watches as Wei Ying gathers himself, as emotions ebb and flow across his face, before a mask of reassurance takes over. So he does hide himself, Lan Wangji notes, pained. Does Wei Ying always do that with him? Or perhaps he is guarding himself from this Lan Wangji? But what right does Lan Wangji have to demand the same closeness the other man shared with his previous self? It stings, jealousy souring his stomach, but there is no one at fault here.

Except for himself.

“Well, before we called him Sizhui, he used to be our little A-Yuan,” Wei Ying begins. His tone is soft, fond, eyes far away and lost in a memory that Lan Wangji is not privy to. “He was three when we first met and he was the most adorable and clingiest child I ever knew. He would toddle to me and yell, “Xian-gege!” Ah, but when he first met you, he clung to your leg and refused to let go!”

Lan Wangji watches as Wei Ying chuckles to himself.

A-Yuan.

Another missing piece slots into place.

The image is hazy, unbidden, as Wei Ying tells the tale. The two of them are caring for a child, like a family, and a sudden rage crests over his heart at the reality of what has been stolen from all of them.

From Sizhui.

Lan Wangji closes his eyes and tries hard to picture his son as a young child, as he tries to think of a crowded market and paper butterflies. He thinks of a younger Wei Ying holding that child. He thinks of a child trying to plant himself in dirt. He thinks, and wants, and yearns to remember anything. It makes his resolve grow. He cannot be content with staying like this.

But this is enough for now.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Wei Ying hums. “Between you and I, there’s no need for “thank you” and “sorry,” Lan Zhan. That’s what you told me before!”

Lan Wangji’s heartbeat slows, skips, and he is helpless to the tide of utter adoration hammering into his blood. It fills the void inside him with light and he is helpless under the onslaught. He wants to reach out and hold the man before him. He wants to curl himself into his presence for eternity. He wants to turn himself into a wreckage in Wei Ying’s warmth.

He wants.

For the umpteenth time, he wonders how his past self found the strength to let Wei Ying go before.

Or perhaps that is the measure of how much he loves the other man. To let go instead of caging him. To bear the weight of missing him, to be the home he could return to. To be content with friendship.

Unaware of his struggles, Wei Ying continues on and changes the topic, “Do you know what we’re missing, Lan Zhan? A good old Emperor’s Smile!”

At the mention of the liquor he has been illegally harboring, Lan Wangji goes to fetch them. Wei Ying calls after him in confusion but when he comes back bearing four jars, Wei Ying starts laughing.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying nearly sings as he opens a jar, “My fair er-gege, you really know the way to a man’s heart!”

Wei Ying is only teasing but Lan Wangji’s stomach flutters.

“Mn.”

Wei Ying grins at him, eyes shining and more beautiful than anything Lan Wangji has and will ever lay his eyes on. “Your ears are turning red again, er-gege. Some things never change.”

Lan Wangji ducks his head. To Wei Ying, he is still the same, and it settles a part of him that is terrified of being a stranger and scaring the other off.

Wei Ying continues to chatter about inane things and Lan Wangji listens, and listens, and listens.

The other man does not talk about his past and Lan Wangji does not broach the topic.

Wei Ying is here and that alone is enough to sate the raging beast in him.

The night falls, and outside, quietness blanketed the entire.

Only a few walls separate them.

When I come back, I’m claiming your bed. You can sleep beside me again if you want. I promise not to move too much.

But Wei Ying has quickly claimed the side room before Lan Wangji can offer the alternative. The distance rends him, but even then, he still feels Wei Ying’s presence in the Jingshi like a tangible weight crowding close against him. Comforting.

If Lan Wangji were to close his eyes and listen, he swears he can hear him breathing. He thinks back on what happened earlier, of Wei Ying’s flushed face and stammering when he handed him the sets of robes. He thinks back on the way Wei Ying freezes, his expression falling the moment he held the robes before it was buried as quickly. With Wei Ying smiling and teasing him about being so prepared for his arrival.

He wants to apologize but he cannot, knowing that Wei Ying will never accept them. So he forces himself not to acknowledge it as the doors slide shut.

But it hounds him as he makes his way back to his bedroom to prepare for bed.

He wishes, for a brief moment, that he is brave enough to ask Wei Ying to accompany him, but that is too selfish. Too greedy. He understands that the other man will need to take his time. Wei Ying’s presence in the house is enough. Lan Wangji cannot ask for more than what the other man is willing to grace him with.

He falls into uneasy sleep not long after.

Loud screaming tears through the air.

Lan Wangji is up and running towards the direction of the side room. He slides the door open, blood pounding in his ears, heart in his throat, as he prepares for an attack.

It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.

He sees Wei Ying sitting on the bed, blankets pooled down his lap, and hunched. His dark hair covers his face and his shoulders tremble. In the dark, he looks so small.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying lifts his head, and for a singular moment, the air snaps and fizzles. Something cold and dark, unyielding, rises and Lan Wangji tenses as his instincts howl at the feeling of wrongness. Red eyes peer at him but in the next blink of the eye, the tension is gone.

Wei Ying laughs, ragged and exhausted, and unfolds himself. Under the spill of moonlight, he is too pale and the red inner robes are stark against the sheets. Like blood or a wedding robe. Lan Wangji helplessly drinks in the sight, and forces himself to stay in the doorway.

“I woke you up,” Wei Ying remarks, smiling tiredly. The shadows betray the faint bruises under his eyes. “It was just a silly nightmare, Hanguang-jun. You don’t need to worry about little old me.”

When Lan Wangji remains unmoved, Wei Ying says, “You should go back to sleep. I promise I won’t bother you anymore.”

The dismissiveness roots Lan Wangji in place.

He recognizes what the other man is doing.

Self-deprecation.

Wei Ying is dismissing himself, his own importance, when the letters, the mementos, everything that reminded Lan Wangji of him is displayed in his home and begs otherwise.

Sixteen years. A son who is clearly named in his memory. Scars across his back for him. All this time, it had and always been Wei Ying. Even with his memory gone, the other man remains the most familiar to him. As if their connection is the lodestone always pointing back to home.

Even if Lan Wangji’s love is not enough for the other man to stay, it does not matter. He cannot allow him to wallow like this. It seems like distance will only push them apart further.

“Come with me,” he says.

Wei Ying goes still, confusion apparent even in the dark.

“Where?”

“To my bedroom.”

Wei Ying suddenly laughs. He looks at Lan Wangji as if the other just made the greatest joke in the world.

Lan Wangji’s ears feel hot but he will not take his offer back. Shameless as it may be.

“Why, Hanguang-jun is so forward to invite just anyone in his bed.”

The idea of inviting just anyone in his bed makes Lan Wangji recoil in disgust. It must have shown in his face because Wei Ying snorts in response.

“I’m just joking. You’re the purest man I know, er-gege.”

No. Not when it comes to you, he thinks helplessly. “It is not anyone if it is you.”

Wei Ying bites his lip and his hands fidget, before he says, “I - we shouldn’t.”

“Wei Ying-“

“Look,” Wei Ying interrupts him. “You don’t actually remember me. I’m essentially a stranger to you, Lan Zhan. I don’t want to take advantage of you and I don’t need your pity-“

“I do not pity you,” Lan Wangji protests, the sharp pang of rejection makes his eyes sting. “Wei Ying, you cannot take advantage of what has always been yours.”

And I miss you.

Wei Ying looks stricken.

Lan Wangji looks away. He cannot force him, but he hopes that his words make sense. If Wei Ying decides to stay here then he will respect it. Lan Wangji will guard the door outside if need be.

The rustling of silk brings him back. Wei Ying slides out the bed, giving him another one of those smiles. “Oh fine. A peerlessly handsome man like Hanguang-jun wants little old me in his bed? How can I refuse?”

Belatedly, Lan Wangji wonders if he has miscalculated. The room suddenly feels too small with how close they are - their proximity is palpable despite the space between them. It is too easy to reach out and touch Wei Ying’s hair. He has to clench his fingers before he crosses an unspeakable line. For a moment, the envy he has been harboring for his previous self comes back.

If Lan Wangji has not been too weak for the curse, he would have been allowed to touch the other man without fear. They would not be sitting here in stilted silence, feeling the empty spaces where Lan Wangji’s memory should be. Wei Ying was supposed to be happy when he came back and yet -

He watches as the other man takes a seat on the bed.

He swallows the violent shudder in his heart.

The sight of Wei Ying sitting on his bed makes his blood burn and sing. The unoccupied space has been too cold earlier, the four walls are unfamilar and he feels like a stranger who does not belong here.

Wei Ying’s presence makes everything else make sense.

And suddenly, Lan Wangji is no longer a stranger in his own home.

“This is going to sound hypocritical,” Wei Ying breaks the silence as he smooths down the sheets. “But I’m sorry.” He continues to draw figures onto the fabric. “If - if I hadn’t left you then you wouldn’t be like this. I should have stayed, no, I should have taken you with me. Lan Zhan, I should have-“

“It is not your fault,” Lan Wangji’s tells him, pleading.

Wei Ying smiles bitterly and doesn’t say anything for a while. Then he looks at Lan Wangji and holds up a hand in invitation.

Lan Wangji closes the distance. He sinks to his knees in front of Wei Ying, a supplicant praying to his god. The touch on his face is a benediction, stoking the bank embers into a fire that threatens his very being. He melts into Wei Ying, and suppresses the shudder as a calloused thumb strokes his cheek. His chest burns and burns. His eyes sting. He wants, and wants, and wants everything.

“Oh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs gently as if Lan Wangji is something precious. “You must be so tired.”

The thread holding Lan Wangji’s composure together breaks. He gasps, unbidden, as he turns his face into Wei Ying’s hand and tries not to weep.

Wei Ying, however, guides him closer until he is resting his head against the other’s chest, and wrapping his arms around him.

His world rips under his feet, and he is surging forward, clutching Wei Ying close. Something wet - tears - trails down his cheeks. His shoulders tremble as he holds back a sob, still desperate to keep himself together even as his instincts scream for him to fall apart. His heart throbs, exhausted, and he stubbornly pressed his ear close to Wei Ying’s chest just to hear the man’s own heartbeat.

Wei Ying just holds him closer. Steady. Unshakeable. Safe.

“You’ve been so brave, Lan Zhan. It’s alright now, I’m here.” Fingers thread through his hair. “Wei Ying is here. Everything’s going to be fine.”

And Lan Wangji finally lets go.