Chapter Text
The Jingshi - the quiet room. The abode of silence, tranquility, calm. The entirety of the Cloud Recesses offers peace and quiet, but the Jingshi is special, an encapsulated haven where it was guaranteed that no trouble would wander.
That was, of course, until Wei Wuxian turned up.
Wei Wuxian is the epitome of trouble, which is why Lan Qiren had sought to send him to the Jingshi for detention in the first place. Poor, naive Lan Qiren had been under the assumption that no mortal would dare to offend the express purpose of the room, to threaten the sanctity of its space, that no disciple that had the dignity to show their face at the Cloud Recesses would taint the purity of the quiet enclave. But Wei Wuxian is not like any other disciple, after all. Wei Wuxian never thinks twice about maintaining his dignity, for he is far too shameless to appear dignified in the first place. No one is quite as appalling as Wei Wuxian, who stirs up a commotion purely for the sake of stirring up commotion. Unfortunately, in an unforeseen turnabout, the Jingshi had not been able to change Wei Wuxian - no, instead, Wei Wuxian had changed the Jingshi. Its namesake had been rendered useless. It was unspeakable, the manner of things that impertinent disciple had attempted on the sacred grounds of the Cloud Recesses, how unabashedly he brought his chaos into the safe walls of the Jingshi. Without a care, he threw all caution to the wind, and made a home for himself as he saw fit.
Lan Wangji, despite everything, let him.
Then one day, it all came to a stop. Wei Wuxian left, and the Cloud Recesses were restored to their former peaceful state. No debauchery, no rowdiness, no hollering. The Jingshi was once again the Jingshi, the quiet room that it had been named as. Things were as they should be.
But somehow, Wei Wuxian had left his mark, and it seemed it would be permanent. Somehow, he had shifted something in the Jingshi's foundation, shaken things up so fundamentally that now, it felt like something was missing.
In the quiet, there was only the fragrance of the incense, the dulled sounds of running water in the distance, and the heavy mist that hung in the air and clung to Lan Wangji's robes. Everything had gone back to normal. He did not know if Wei Wuxian's arrival had disturbed the natural order of the Cloud Recesses to the point that Lan Wangji felt uneasy, or if Wei Wuxian had simply exposed the quiet of the Cloud Recesses for what it truly is. It sometimes did not feel like a purposeful quiet. It sometimes was an abject lack of anything.
Lan Wangji had felt it, before. But at such a young age, he did not know any better. Passing by the gentian house, waiting for the door to open, waiting for an answer to his calls. An answer that never came. The flowers never made any sounds, except for the occasional breeze passing through and rustling the petals against each other. The laughter, the playful teasing, the hushed conversations that only ever took place within the gentian house and never a step outside it. Of course, when the door stopped opening, those conversations stayed locked behind them, never to be spoken again.
But Lan Wangji was born quietly, grew quietly, and had assumed that when the time comes, he would pass quietly, too. So he did not think twice about the coming and going of the bright and boisterous Wei Wuxian, and settled back into the unbothered Cloud Recesses that he knew as his home.
Then, very quickly, things grew louder, and then grew quieter.
It was overbearingly loud when the Cloud Recesses burned down. Lan Wangji never did quite enjoy the sound of a crackling fireplace, but this was something else. Never did he imagine that this is what it would sound like for the walls around him to come crashing down, for the buildings to burn up into ash, for the stability of his home to be threatened with such brutal destruction. To think, he thought Wei Wuxian’s noisiness was bad. The Wen indoctrination camp, the cave that hid the Turtle of Slaughter, the three months of not quite knowing what to believe, the full duration of the Sunshot campaign. It was all so loud, in his ears and within his mind. Though quiet is unbefitting of a battlefield, he supposes.
For thirteen years, it was not quiet.
The Cloud Recesses were still, and he spoke far less than usual. He was spoken to less than usual, as well. Now he understood that uncanniness, the wrongness he had sensed as a child. The silence had never felt louder.
Perhaps Lan Qiren was happy. His sect was once again peaceful. The warring had ended.
But Lan Wangji, in his completely silent anguish, in the pain he never voiced and kept locked in his chest before it could bubble out of his throat and make itself very loudly known, he felt no peace. The quiet weighed down on him, and this was the quietest the Jingshi had ever been, and the least peaceful that he had ever felt.
So he filled the gaps. He did not hush Wen Yuan when he cried in the middle of the night, scooping him up in his weary arms instead and searching for respite with the young child. They watched the dead of night beyond his window, the undisturbed blanket of sleep that had fallen over the Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji pulled that same blanket over the teary-eyed boy and stared into the inky black sky when he could not quite find the ability to pull the blanket over himself.
He played for the boy, and for the people he had lost- they had lost. He learned the feeling of the guqin strings against his sore fingertips in a way he hadn’t known them before. He could soon materialise through his guqin what he could not with his own voice. The notes resonating in the air, echoing throughout the walls, ringing in his ears, they spoke on behalf of him. They were never loud, but they were pained. Lan Wangji’s brother had told him that the strings of a guqin can tell a story as much as the voice of a person can, that they can laugh and cry the same, that there is a ubiquitous emotion within the instrument that is only brought to life by the deft fingers that strum them. He finally knew what his brother meant. The notes he had strung together, inspired by laughter, were now sung with sadness.
But still, he picked up the pieces. He learned more, he played more. He exhausted his books, and went to ask for more. More pieces to play, more trouble to resolve, wherever he could. He started to appear outside of the Cloud Recesses again, where he knew that trouble was making noise, always with his guqin on his back and his sword by his side. He had once assumed that he knew of his own importance as a cultivator, as a vessel through which the guqin can absolve chaos. How naive he had been. He had known nothing then.
He taught the boy, too. Lan Yuan did not cry so much anymore, and had started to flourish into his adolescence taking very much after Lan Wangji. Recluse, polite, and skilled with his guqin. Lan Wangji did not allow himself to feel proud of himself, because he had not done anything. Lan Sizhui was the one he felt proud of.
Just like that, thirteen years passed, and the silence did not feel so loud anymore.
And just like that, as quickly as he had left, Wei Wuxian returned to the Cloud Recesses once more.
When Lan Wangji heard those notes sounding out of that dizi, he could not hear anything else. It was as if the world had fallen silent, listening with bated breath to the song that Wei Wuxian himself did not realise he was playing. The dizi, shoddily cut with a blunted blade out of bent bamboo, it did not sound good, not by any meaning of the word. The notes were off-key, the song out of tune, the cadence lilting all wrong. It was tinny and sharp and grating, as evidenced by Lan Jingyi’s loud protests at the sound of it. But at that moment, nothing had ever sounded so beautiful to Lan Wangji.
It took them quite some time before they got to this point, but they are here again. Wei Wuxian, causing trouble in the Jingshi, determined to distract Lan Wangji from his duties. Only this time around, Wei Wuxian is here by choice. Not even Lan Qiren is telling Wei Wuxian off, not when Lan Wangji is by his side. The Cloud Recesses are noisy and chaotic, a far cry from what they had been the last thirteen years. But despite the Wall of Discipline trying to convince him otherwise, Lan Wangji is certain now that this is the way things were always meant to be.
Wei Wuxian seems to agree.
“When it’s so quiet, it doesn’t even feel lived in, Lan Zhan.” He twirls Chenqing around with his slender fingers. He is leaning against Lan Wangji’s side, his head snuggling itself into the bend of Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “I remember when I was younger, and at the Lotus Pier, my room was always messy. Yu-furen hated it. She used to beat me if I didn’t clean it, but honestly, I knew where everything was, so I never saw any problem with it. It’s hardly like the Cloud Recesses’ Yashi, where guests come and go and it’s so open. No one was ever going to see my room in the first place. I cleaned the entire room up one day, and I went over every little surface to the point where you could not find a single speck of dust unless you had brought it in yourself. Yu-furen seemed happy at last, but I was the most miserable, then. It didn’t even look like anyone lived there anymore.”
Lan Wangji’s papers are long forgotten on his small desk. He winds a hand around Wei Wuxian’s waist, wondering why he hadn’t put it there in the first place. Wei Wuxian turns to look at him, still fiddling with Chenqing. He continues. “You know whenever we set out on a mission and we stay in an inn? You know how the room looks when the innkeeper first presents it to us? The bedsheets are primmed and pressed without a single wrinkle, and the furniture is laid out exactly so. Of course it would look like that, because they’ve prepared it for someone like the last person wasn't even there. A room where someone resides shouldn’t look like an inn.”
“Should you not keep your living space neat and proper?”
“Lan Wangji, nothing I ever do is ‘neat and proper’, and you know that by now! Besides, when I do eventually misplace something, you always find it.”
It isn’t difficult keeping track of their things. Lan Wangji still compartmentalises his belongings the way he was taught to, but Wei Wuxian just throws his possessions around willy-nilly. It is not that Wei Wuxian does not care for them; he simply does not see the need to put something away in a drawer only to take it out again. It’s a uniquely ‘Wei Wuxian’ logic, and one that Lan Wangji can’t be bothered fighting. He likes the balance. Late at night, he likes the sight of their ribbons, intertwined and hanging loosely off of their hands, or wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s wrists, or dangling from the bed frame. The sight of their robes, crumpled on the floor, passionately ripped off and promptly forgotten about, since there were other matters on hand. Similarly, he likes when he finds Chenqing laying against his guqin, or a creased letter from a nearby village amidst Wei Wuxian’s scribbly notes, blotted with drops of ink, or when he finds his hairpiece tossed near the bed, combing his hair up into a more presentable fashion in the morning. After all, the sight of Lan Wangji so undone is reserved for Wei Wuxian’s eyes only.
“This is your life now, Lan Zhan. No such thing as peace and quiet for you. You know how loud I can be.” He can feel Wei Wuxian’s fingers gently caressing his cheek, featherlight, but intentional. “If I’m not chewing your ear off with my words, I’m snoring in my sleep, or I’m playing a tune on my dizi. But you love the sound of my voice, don’t you?”
“I do.”
He feels the fingers still, and Wei Wuxian’s faint smile grows wider. “At night, when I’m shouting and chatting endlessly while you do such merciless things to me, do you like it then?”
“I do.”
“Then, later at night, when I’m whispering in your ear so quietly that you can barely hear it, do you like it then?”
“I do.” He just wants to get a rise out of him, but Lan Wangji isn’t succumbing to Wei Wuxian’s tricks. Not this time. It’s the middle of the day, after all, and they still have public matters to attend to. “Seek out your duties. There is correspondence.”
The fingers that were grazing his skin disappear, and Wei Wuxian twists in Lan Wangji’s hold to face him fully. “Correspondence that is penned out specifically to you, Hanguang-jun. That is your business. My only duty is to sit by your side and bother you until you shut me up forcibly.”
It would seem Wei Wuxian is fully intent on derailing Lan Wangji’s focus. Tough luck, because Lan Wangji is immovable in his insistence. He will not give in to Wei Wuxian’s temptations, not yet. “You were the one who once said, ‘your business is my business.’ The letters are by the doorway.”
“Aiya, Lan Zhan, I will spout whatever nonsensical sayings are appropriate for the situation, okay? I may have said that back then, but it doesn’t apply right at this moment. Your business isn’t convenient to me right now. Unless…” Wei Wuxian shifts, silent as he clambours into Lan Wangji’s lap, wrapping his legs around Lan Wangji’s waist and his arms around the back of Lan Wangji’s neck. “Unless you changethe subject your business. You decide, Hanguang-jun, you can pour over the letter, or you can pour over me.”
“Wei Ying…”
He’s already pressing kisses against Wei Wuxian’s lips, and Wei Wuxian is already tugging at his forehead ribbon, when he realises he was supposed to stop this from happening. But as it would turn out, suddenly the letters don’t seem quite so demanding anymore. They can wait. Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, is not willing to wait.
“Lan Zhan.” He can feel the words vibrating in Wei Wuxian’s neck as he leaves little red marks all along his collarbone, fixating on one specific spot that elicits a breathy moan from the smaller man, sucking on the skin and feeling the heat of it against his tongue. Running his hands up the length of his back, Wei Wuxian whispers, “You just can’t resist my sweet words, can you?”
He answers him by pulling his red ribbon away, sending his hair cascading and allowing Lan Wangji to wind his fingers through his scalp.
The letters are utterly forgotten.
-
“This won’t be like your usual nighthunts, okay, juniors?” Wei Wuxian grasps Chenqing tightly as he rounds everyone up before him. Chenqing is the only weapon he needs, but it’s also the only weapon he can wield. Soon enough, Lan Wangji has no doubts that Suibian will hang by Wei Wuxian’s waist where it belongs, but for now Bichen will have to fight for both of them. Wei Wuxian hovers by Lan Wangji’s side, “Gather around now. The Ghost General isn’t here to help you or save you. Jingyi!”
The boy jumps, startled by the sudden call. “Yes! Wei-qianbei?”
“Show me that you listened closely. Tell me everything you know about what we’re heading out to accomplish.”
The disciple stands proudly, back straight, feet together. From the smile on his face, Sizhui seems to find his gait amusing. Projecting confidently, Jingyi explains. “There has been a series of disappearances in Caiyi town recently. A number of young people have visited the Mist Gardens, the green area that borders Biling lake, and have never come back out. The townspeople have suspicions of some ferocious creature in the garden, but they have never heard any cries or screams from within. A friend of one of the young maidens who disappeared, the one who sent the letter to Hanguang-jun, says she thinks there’s some kind of monster inside, but so many people have disappeared that the townspeople are too afraid to go inside and fetch their corpses in case they disappear too.”
“Good.” Wei Wuxian nods curtly, but holds his intense gaze, keen to make Jingyi his victim for a spontaneous lesson. “Now, tell me what you think about the claim that there’s a monster in the Mist Gardens.”
“Ah?” Jingyi widens his eyes a little, evidently caught off guard, but Wei Wuxian nods again minutely, and the boy sets his jaw and continues. “It would have traversed out of the gardens into the more heavily populated parts of Caiyi town by now, but it hasn’t. Whatever it is, it’s staying in the gardens, so it isn’t looking to consume flesh as its primary goal.”
Wei Wuxian crosses his arms, Chenqing held against his upper arm. “Very good. Now, A-Han, tell me what you think about the cause behind these mysterious disappearances. Is it a demon, or a ghost, or a spirit?”
A-Han, a young female disciple with a rounded face and kind eyes, is surprised at being singled out. With everyone’s eyes on her, she begins to answer timidly. “If there are animals missing from the gardens, too, it kills indiscriminately. If the animals are left untouched, then only humans are targeted. We can narrow it down after observing the garden. If it is a demon, something made a human turn. Perhaps…” Despite her perfect posture, as expected of a Gusu Lan disciple, she seems to close in on herself a little. “If it is a demon, maybe the first person to go missing developed some resentfulness, and they are taking other people out of a need for revenge?”
“Excellent postulation.” Satisfied, Wei Wuxian nods again. “We need more information before we do anything. We likely won’t kill it today, but if we can get an idea of what’s going on, then we’ll come back the next day better equipped. So, as we go into these gardens, we’ll split up so our presence is dispersed and our energies don’t cluster. We don’t want to be cornered by this thing, we want to corner it. Don’t ever be alone, stay in your pairs. You all have those talismans I gave you, right?”
An ocean of nods answers them. Sizhui stirs a little, opening his mouth and leaving his jaw slack for a second before he speaks. “Um, Wei-qianbei.”
“Yes, Sizhui?”
“Some of these talismans…” Sizhui pulls a yellow piece of paper out from the inner folds of his robes. “I don’t quite recognise them.”
“They’re my invention. Don’t worry about them, Sizhui, ignore them for now. Just keep them in your possession, and if it comes to it, I’ll tell you to use it.”
Lan Wangji just barely quirks an eyebrow at that statement, but Wei Wuxian has been up to all sorts trying to keep himself busy these days. The Yiling Patriarch won’t quite sit still, but he trusts that Wei Wuxian knows the limits of his innovations, especially if he’s just handed out several of them to a group of junior disciples. Nodding at no one in particular, Lan Wangji gently places a hand in the small of Wei Wuxian’s back. “Let’s go.”
-
They split up according to plan, and carry the well wishes of the Caiyi townsfolk with them as they enter the Mist Gardens.
It’s a large green area, too small to count as a forest, but too large to fall under the definition of a garden. It used to be a relatively untouched plain of grass and trees, but the people of Caiyi decided to decorate it and sow some seeds in empty patches of soil. Over the years, the grass became overgrown and the trees wild and untamed, but there are large flower bushes and assortments of colours that hadn’t been there before, and it has become a popular destination for young people to hide away and spend their time.
Lan Wangji has come here a few times himself. With Caiyi’s proximity to the Cloud Recesses, and Wei Wuxian’s affinity for Emperor’s Smile, it’s a town where the names Hanguang-jun and Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriach, are often welcomed. The eateries are happy to serve them business, and Wei Wuxian is happy to drink their liquor. As such, the two of them visited the Mist Gardens once or twice, and from what he remembers of their visits, the space was pleasant. The mist hung low, but the garden creatures were lively and friendly, Wei Wuxian teasingly asking Lan Wangji if they should steal a squirrel and roast it at the Cloud Recesses. The flowers were fragrant and bright, and Lan Wangji could understand why youths frequented the area.
So, it was nothing like it is now.
There’s a cold, ominous air about them. The mist reaches higher, and shrouds their surroundings in a cloud of fog. The flowers seem stiff, frozen, and he can’t hear the scutterings of any woodland creatures. Lan Wangji can understand why the people of Caiyi were reluctant to explore this place.
“Lan Zhan, there’s something wrong here, isn’t there?” Wei Wuxian is completely unaffected by the mysterious atmosphere, as is Lan Wangji. The two of them have faced much worse than this before. “No animals. A-Han is a smart girl. Maybe we have a monster with a strong killing intent on our hands. Keep your hands on Bichen’s hilt, just in case.”
“No, look.”
“What? Where?” Lan Wangji points, directing Wei Wuxian’s gaze to the sight - amongst the branches of one of the tall reaching trees, a bird sits. It’s colourful, but alone.
“Oh, is that a Mandarin duck? Lan Zhan, I’ve heard those are supposed to be tasty.” Shoving Chenqing into the belt on his waist, Wei Wuxian tiptoes towards the tree, rearing up to try and grab the bird with his hands. “Here, birdy-birdy. Come to Wei Wuxian. I’ll fatten you up, you’ll feast like a king. Wouldn’t you rather let me turn you into a nice soup instead of dying at the claws of some savage predator?”
Lan Wangji sighs, but makes no attempt to stop him. He doesn’t need to. With a bow and arrow, Wei Wuxian can feed an entire family with his game; but with his hands, Wei Wuxian is too chatty, too clumsy. He’s never caught a bird with his hands once, and this duck isn’t going to be the firstst. Lost in his thoughts, Lan Wangji thinks he spots something a short distance away. A flash of white and blue, like the robes of Gusu Lan - it’s one of their disciples, and it would appear this person is walking around alone. Are they lost? Lan Wangji can’t tell through the mist which disciple it is, so he can’t shout out their name.
He steals a glance. Wei Wuxian is still grabbing desperately at the poor bird, which is flitting in and around the branches trying to avoid the hands grabbing at it. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Lend me Bichen, would you?”
“Wei Ying, I saw a disciple just now.”
“Oh?” Still jumping and grabbing, with his tongue sticking out between his lips, Wei Wuxian asks him, “Who?”
“I’m not sure. They were alone.”
“Alone? Go get them.”
“Stay here.”
“I won’t go anywhere, Lan Zhan. Now come here, you silly bird-”
Quietly, Lan Wangji walks in the direction of the movement he sensed. The sound seemed dampened by the mist, because he’s barely moved away from Wei Wuxian’s vicinity when he realises he can’t hear him anymore. The only noise he can hear is his own footsteps, brushing through the dewy grass.
He hasn’t been walking long when he feels someone bump into his side.
“Ah- Hanguang-jun?”
“Sizhui. Why are you alone?” The young boy seems more on edge than usual. They can normally rely on Sizhui to keep his reins steady.
“I was separated from Jingyi. Hanguang-jun, I’ve seen plenty of birds, but the gardens are totally silent. There aren’t any birdsongs or any chirping. Isn’t it too quiet?”
“Mn.” He’s been holding onto Bichen this whole time. “Let’s focus on finding Jingyi.”
The two of them have been walking around for a few minutes, and the thought of Jingyi being left alone is one that Lan Wangji doesn’t want to think about too much. On top of that, he already knows Wei Wuxian is more than capable of handling himself, but something still urges him to return to that tree. He takes Sizhui along with him and prays that somehow, the lost disciple ran into Wei Wuxian and the two of them are keeping each other safe.
That is not what he sees. Instead, neither of them are there.
The bird is gone, as is Wei Wuxian.
Before he can allow the panic to set in, he surveys the scene. It’s completely barren, which is a good thing - wherever Wei Wuxian is, he still has Chenqing. There’s no blood. Perhaps he did run into Jingyi and the two of them set out to find Lan Wangji and Sizhui. And perhaps, Wei Wuxian actually managed to catch that bird with his hands. No matter how much he tries to rationalise it, Lan Wangji knows that’s just wishful thinking. He opens his mouth to tell Sizhui, but before he can speak, an ear-splitting cry sounds out, echoing throughout the gardens.
“Lan Zhan!”
He looks at Sizhui once, then breaks into a run.
“Wei Ying!” The way the cry echoed itself as it rang out, Wei Wuxian is somewhere on the other side of the gardens. The way he screamed Lan Wangji’s name, Wei Wuxian is-
He has Chenqing. He has to be fine. But why would he yell out Lan Wangji’s name like that if he’s fine? It sounds out again.
“Lan Zhan!”
Lan Wangji can hear it replaying itself in his mind, in his heart. “Wei-”
“Hanguang-jun!” Another voice, coming from a different direction entirely, cuts him off. He recognises that voice.
As Lan Wangji comes to a stop, Sizhui does so, to. Coming up behind him, the disciple asks, “Isn’t that Jingyi?”
The same voice yells again. “Wei Wuxian is here!”
Again, off in the distance. “Lan Zhan!”
Sizhui looks between the two cries, anguished and confused. “Hanguang-jun, which way do we go?”
In the direction of Lan Jingyi’s voice, the shrill and panicked notes of a dizi cut through the air. If this comes down to a matter of who to trust, then… “Split up. You go towards Jingyi.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
This is against his better judgement, and he shouldn’t be sending Sizhui alone, but he is capable, and he can handle himself. Lan Wangji barely breathes as he runs in the direction of Wei Wuxian’s voice, narrowly avoiding the encroaching branches and making perturbations in the mist as he sprints through it. The foliage opens up to a clearing, where everything hands deathly still. He’s bordered by flower bushes, bright magenta. Slowing down, Lan Wangji catches his breath, but there’s no sign of Wei Wuxian here. No rustling, no talking, no sounds at all.
It’s only because it’s so quiet that he hears it coming.
In one rapid movement, he unsheathes Bichen, and swings it to his side. He can see the remains of the thing that was coming straight at him. Lying amidst the grass at his feet are vines, thick and black and lacking any leaves, in such a manner that they almost look like tendrils. In the direction they came from, there’s nothing but thick fog before his face.
“Lan Zhan!”
The cry rings out in front of him, and Wei Wuxian sounds so pained that Lan Wangji almost immediately breaks into another run, but there’s something wrong. It’s loud, much too loud, louder than any human should be able to yell. Now that he’s closer to the source of the sound, he can tell, there’s something beastly lingering in the guttural sound of it, something that doesn’t sound like Wei Wuxian anymore.
He’s paralysed standing in the clearing when he hears footsteps approaching and the sounds of leaves rustling from a little ways behind him. He turns, and a figure emerges out of the mist. Lan Jingyi, whipping his head around him as if he was expecting someone to be following him, eventually settles his eyes on Lan Wangji. “Hanguang-jun! We need to retreat, now!”
Lan Wangji doesn’t get a chance to reply to him, as a bloodied hand slaps itself over Jingyi’s mouth. Sizhui comes up behind him, whispering something in Jingyi’s ear. The former’s right arm is dripping with blood, and there’s a sizeable tear in the upper arm of his sleeve, and his eyes are darting between trying to get Jingyi to be quiet and looking out for, presumably, whatever thing launched those tendrils at Lan Wangji.
The two of them are edging back to escape through the pink flower bushes when an arm pulls Lan Wangji back, and he turns around.
“Lan Zhan!”
Wei Wuxian’s mouth moves in concordance with the cry, but the sound of his voice decidedly does not come from his lips. No, the voice that cried out for Lan Wangji came from behind him, whereas Wei Wuxian is standing in front of him, clinging onto his arm. The voice was as loud as before, and bellowed as if someone was shouting from the treetops or into a large chamber.
But Wei Wuxian is right in front of him.
He moves his lips, mouthing to Lan Wangji. “We need to go. Now.” His eyes are panicked, but he seems resolute, and his grip on Lan Wangji’s arm tightens.
Fighting his instincts, he nods.
Wei Wuxian puts a finger to his lips, instructing Lan Wangji to stay quiet. He starts to drag Lan Wangji through the pink flowers, first shuffling through confidently, eventually breaking into a rapid walk as they near the edge of the gardens. Lan Wangji waits until they’re out of the mist entirely to stop. The other junior disciples are there, waiting for them. A quick head count tells him no one is missing. He immediately diverts his attention to Wei Wuxian, turning him around and looking at him up and down. Chenqing hangs by his waist, and he seems unharmed, but still Lan Wangji asks him, “Are you okay?”
His lips move as if to say “yes”, and with a frustrated furrow in his brow he gestures towards Sizhui. The boy’s wound is being tended to by the surrounding disciples as best as they can, but the gash looks deep, and the blood won’t stop until the wound is closed. They'll have no choice but to head to a nearby inn where Lan Wangji can transfer him some spiritual energy before they head back up the mountains to the Cloud Recesses.
He turns to inform his partner of their plans, calling. “Wei Ying-”
The second Lan Wangji turns around, Wei Wuxian’s heavy eyelids fall shut and he sways dangerously.
“Wei Ying?”
Holding his limp body in his arms, Lan Wangji shouts out his name, but he never receives an answer.