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The time with Baoshen Sanren had taught Wei Wuxian so many things. He felt quieter about himself, and the core of power inside him had shifted again, stronger now and less difficult. It felt like more of a part of him now. But a few days after their last talk, when she had entrusted her magic tokens and Lan Yi’s music to him, she and Song Lan both disappeared, and he was alone again.
He was beginning to get used to it, even beginning to welcome the silence he had (finally) begun to nurture in his own head. Crave it even, sometimes. That didn’t stop him from being pleasantly surprised—even over-eager—when Song Lan appeared one evening, just as the sky had turned bleeding red and Wei Wuxian had begun to build his fire for the night.
Wei Wuxian came to his feet, bowing quickly but suddenly unsure how to greet his fellow disciple. Everything he’d ever learned of etiquette was gone now that he was effectively clanless, so of course this would be when he started to care about it. Lan Zhan’s influence, undoubtedly. “Song-xiao. It’s good to see you again.”
Song Lan returned the bow. “Wei-xiao, there is no need for such formality.”
Wei Wuxian gaped at him. It had been a long time since he had heard Song Lan’s voice. “You...you can speak.”
Song Lan’s smile was sad. “Yes. It was her last gift to me.”
Wei Wuxian took this in, weighing all the implications. “So she...she’s gone now. She won’t be coming back.” He’d known it would happen, but a weight settled into his stomach at the finality of it. At least he’d been able to study with her before she moved on.
Song Lan gave a gentle nod and laid down his swords—his and the one that had belonged to Xiao Xingchen—then helped Wei Wuxian build his small fire. Together, they ate the fish Wei Wuxian had caught just before dusk, then they sat together in the shifting firelight and talked, reminiscing. Wei Wuxian had the impression that Song Lan was telling him everything he’d wanted to say when they’d been studying together, everything that had been too laborious to discuss when he was unable to speak. Wei Wuxian didn’t mind. It was a change of pace for him to be the quiet listener.
The night was nearly half-spent when Song Lan fell silent for a long time, the space between them strained for the first time since darkness had fallen.
“Song Lan,” Wei Wuxian said finally. “What are you thinking?”
Song Lan shifted, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. “I wish to ask something of you, but I’m not sure it’s something I should ask of you.”
Wei Wuxian frowned. “Song Lan, you can ask me. I can decide not to answer.”
A piece of firelight showed him Song Lan’s slight if uncomfortable smile. “Yes.” Song Lan picked up a stick, poking at the fire with it. “When we were with Baoshen Sanren, I saw you draw up the spirits inside you, one at a time. I saw you embody them, speak to them, and help them overcome resentments and move on.”
“Yes.” It had been the most important and most terrifying thing Baoshen Sanren had helped him discover. It both weakened and strengthened his power, made him more certain, and quieted the voices that had plagued him for so long. It also often left him without full control of his body, as he gave it up to the spirits for them to find healing.
Song Lan kept his gaze focused on the fire, or some vague space beyond it. He reached down and touched the spirit bag that hung at his waist. “Do you think… Do you think there is enough of him left?”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “For you to speak to him? I think—”
But Song Lan shook his head. “Not just speak.” Finally, he looked up. The raw pain, the need, in Song Lan’s eyes was so intense it made Wei Wuxian’s throat close for a moment. He understood it all too well.
He was silent for a time, struggling to control his emotions. Then, quietly, focusing on the fire, he said, “My body is not entirely my own in that regard, Song Lan. I think you know this.”
Song Lan nodded, his hand tightening on the spirit bag. “Do you think he would mind?”
“I think he would mind very much.”
“You wouldn’t have to tell him.”
Wei Wuxian shook his head, a rueful smile curving his mouth. “Yes, I would.”
“I understand. Perhaps, Wei-xiao, we can forget I spoke of it.”
But Wei Wuxian’s brain had gone off on a hare-trail, and he found himself mulling the possibility, tapping the end of his nose unconsciously as he considered it. It was the challenge that captured his imagination. And Song Lan had helped keep Shijie safe when Wei Wuxian had not been able to—it was a debt he had yet to repay.
So, finally, with the darkness making him more rash than he might have been in the daylight, and his own clan motto ringing in his ears—attempt the impossible—Wei Wuxian said, “Yes, Song Lan. I will try to do this for you.”
Song Lan stared at him. “Are you sure?”
“No. But when have I ever been sure?” When Song Lan looked like he was about to protest, Wei Wuxian reached out and clasped his wrist. “I want to find out if it will work.”
Quietly, reverently, Song Lan handed him the spirit bag. “If it works… I will only speak to him.”
Taking the bag, Wei Wuxian gave a slight bow. “Song Lan, I trust you. You are among the most righteous men I know. I give you leave.”
And so, with Song Lan blinking back tears, Wei Wuxian began.
#
It worked. It worked so well, in fact, that Wei Wuxian remembered little of it. He woke lying on the ground wrapped in a blanket, Song Lan close next to him. He could tell by the way his body felt that Song Lan had used him, though not ungently. He moved automatically into the warmth, pulled Song Lan against him. In that moment, it felt right.
He woke the next time because he was cold. Slowly, he sat up, pushing his hair back from his face and taking in the campsite blearily. A basket of fresh-picked berries sat next to the fire. Song Lan was nowhere to be seen.
Wei Wuxian picked through the berries and wished he had wine. He had drunk little when he was with Baoshen Sanren, his mind busy with other things, but the craving had returned once he was on his own again.
He would buy wine in Gusu, he decided, because he would have to go to Gusu soon to confess his sins.
There was a rustle in the trees not long after, and Song Lan appeared, swords crossed at his back, the spirit bag tied again to his waist. Wei Wuxian had a sudden flash of memory—the taste of his mouth, the warmth of his hands. He let it go.
Song Lan came up short, realizing Wei Wuxian was awake. He bowed delicately. “Wei-xiao.”
Wei Wuxian only nodded. Song Lan blinked, hesitated, then came to sit across the fire from him.
They were silent for a long time. Wei Wuxian ate the berries, the tips of his fingers turning red and purple. Song Lan passed him a jar of water, fresh and cold, and Wei Wuxian drank.
Finally Song Lan said, “Do you remember?”
Wei Wuxian shook his head. “Only a little.”
“I tried…not to leave marks.”
This, unexpectedly, made Wei Wuxian laugh. “Thank you.”
Song Lan smiled vaguely, and some of the tension dropped away. Delicately, as if afraid his words might break something, he added, “In the darkness...it was like he was really there.” He touched Wei Wuxian’s knee so lightly Wei Wuxian barely felt it. “This was a gift and a kindness and a sacrifice I never expected to receive, and I thank you.”
They watched the fire die as the sun made its way to noon, then Song Lan came to his feet. “Wei-xiao, I will leave you now. If you need anything from me, from us...ever...”
Wei Wuxian stood and returned the formal bow. “You owe me nothing. You were there for my shijie when I was unable to keep her safe, and for that I will always be grateful.” Suddenly he closed the distance between them and took Song Lan into an embrace. Song Lan’s body jerked as if with a sob, but then he stilled.
Wei Wuxian held him for a time, breathing in the smell of his hair, then gently let him go and repeated his bow. “Travel safely.”
Song Lan started to turn, then stopped. “I think…I think you brought back more of him than I had before. We spoke, and we will continue to travel together.”
Wei Wuxian remembered none of this, but the truth of his struck his heart. He swallowed hard. “I am glad for both of you.”
Song Lan smiled a watery smile, and then walked away, into the shadows of the trees. Wei Wuxian turned to cover the fire. Today he would start for Gusu.
#
The careful order, the austerity of Cloud Recesses had once given Wei Wuxian hives. Now it settled his heart, calmed him. Now it was home.
He hadn’t sent a message ahead to let Lan Wangji know he was coming, but when he came into the Jingshi, Lan Zhan was sitting at his table pouring a second cup of tea.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said. “You’re expecting someone?”
“You,” Lan Wangji answered.
They drank the tea in silence. Finally Lan Wangji lifted the teapot to refill Wei Wuxian’s cup and said, “Wei Ying, you are so quiet. Are you well?”
“I am.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes flicked up, taking in Wei Wuxian’s expression, brows slightly drawn together. “You are ill at ease. Why?”
Wei Wuxian sipped the newly warmed tea, set it down. He took a breath, and told Lan Wangji everything.
To anyone else, it would seem that Lan Wangji took the story in placidly, his jade-smooth face still and calm. But Wei Wuxian saw the storms of emotion as they rose and fell, Lan Zhan’s jaw clenching, eyes darkening, brows pulling in. His hand shook ever so slightly as he refilled his own teacup, and then he didn’t drink from it.
When Wei Wuxian had finished, Lan Wangji said, his eyes downcast, his voice tinged with steel, “Why would you do this?”
Wei Wuxian looked at him, knowing that if Lan Wangji could meet his gaze that it would all be mostly well again. “Tell me, Lan Zhan. If you had been offered this chance even once, in those sixteen years, would you have taken it?”
Lan Wangji went utterly still, his lips parted ever so slightly, and all the steel in his expression slid away. One hand went to cover his heart, as if the brand there suddenly pained him. Then he got up, shook down his sleeves, and walked into the courtyard.
Wei Wuxian finished his tea, wishing for something stronger, before he followed. Lan Zhan stood straight and still, right fist closed at the small of his back. Wei Wuxian came up behind him and touched his shoulder blade, a snowdrift of a touch, light and easy.
“You understand,” he said.
Lan Wangji turned and met his gaze. There was still something smoldering in the dark eyes, but it wasn’t what it had been before. “I do.” He leaned toward Wei Wuxian and said, very quietly, “But if you think that I will not fuck every trace of his scent from every inch of your body, then you, Wei Ying, do not know me as well as you think you do.”
Wei Wuxian laughed. Lan Wangji grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him back into the Jingshi.
#
Wei Wuxian was covered in bite marks by the time Lan Wangji was finished with him. At least one of them had drawn blood. He ached everywhere, the kind of aching he had craved all those months alone on the mountain. Lan Wangji had held nothing back, had reclaimed every bit of Wei Wuxian’s body with his own.
As it should be.
His head was on Lan Zhan’s shoulder now, while long fingers combed through his hair. Any semblance of formality was gone—his red hair ribbon had one end still tied to the bedframe; the band that usually held his topknot up was somewhere across the room. Somehow, though, Lan Wangji’s headband still sat properly across his forehead. He looked quietly ethereal, his hair down around his face in waves of night-black.
“Have you forgiven me, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asked.
“Yes.” He wrapped a strand of Wei Wuxian’s hair around his finger. “Wei Ying, how long will you stay this time?”
Wei Wuxian shrugged. “I don’t know. Not long.”
Lan Wangji took a slow breath. “A-Yuan will be here in a half-month. Stay until then. He misses you.”
Wei Wuxian smiled against Lan Zhan's chest. He was warm and content, body and mind as quiet as they had ever been. “I will,” he said, and let himself slide softly into sleep.