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At first, it felt like sorrow. Lan Wangji sat still, tears streaming down his face, and thought only on the pain in Wei Wuxian’s eyes, the pain that followed terror and finally, the emptyness. A terrible hollowness. With each crack of the whip against Lan Wangji’s skin, he pushed the memories to the forefront of his mind. Wei Ying. Wei Ying .
Wei Ying, running like he was dancing, moving as if movement was what sustained him. The sound of his voice, happy and mischievous, tired and strained, angry and resentful. Each crack of the whip hurt, unbearably so, but Lan Wangji clenched his jaw until it felt like his teeth would crack from under it, and didn’t utter a sound. He heard his brother’s sob which each blow, he heard the gasps from the crowd. Lan Wangji did his best not to scream, tears continuing to flow like rivers from his eyes. He had to remember. He had to.
Wei Ying twirling his hair between his fingers. Wei Ying making faces at the blandness of the food at Cloud Recesses. Wei Ying, tipping his head back as he emptied the jug of wine down his throat right before Lan Wangji’s eyes, mirth dancing in his gaze. Wei Ying, smiling, but body hollow and tired, walking around the Burial Mounds like it was home.
Lan Wangji needed to remember, as each of the thirty-three lashes cracked his skin open, what this had all been for. He had failed. He had failed Wei Ying, but summoning the images to mind now made Lan Wangji even more sure that his actions had been right in his heart. Lan Wangji did not regret standing by Wei Ying. There had been no other option in his mind. He should have done it sooner, much sooner.
Lan Wangji wept, the pain from the lacerations dulled only by the unbearable pain in his chest, pulsating out into his entire body as his heart beat, out through his limbs like a curse. Wei Ying was gone. Lan Wangji would have to go on living, even though he was gone. The whip cracked again, and a sob pushed between Lan Wangji’s lips, unallowed.
His control was slipping.
“Twenty-four.”
“Uncle,” he heard his brother’s voice crack, pleading and distraught. There was no use. They both knew it.
“Twenty-five.”
Another crack of the whip, and Lan Wangji thought of Wei Ying’s red eyes, the dark smoke of resentful energy dancing around him. He had been beautiful, always so beautiful, and all Lan Wangji had wanted was to wrap him up and shield him from the world. To protect him from the pain which was embedded in Wei Ying’s chest. Lan Wangji had not been able to reach it.
He would go on his entire life missing him. Lan Wangji had wronged him in so many ways, surely more than thirty-three. It was hardly penance for all he could have done for Wei Ying, but hadn’t. He did not regret standing between Wei Ying and those who aimed to harm him. He did not regret his behaviour towards the thirty three elders he had harmed. His uncle knew this. His brother knew it as well… as did all those who were spectating. Lan Wangji did not care about their opinion. How much had the world wronged Wei Wuxian? How much had Lan Wangji?
The lashes would be a reminder of this. How Lan Wangji had found someone truly righteous, bold, brave and true. How Lan Wangji had the privilege of meeting someone with such brilliance, such brightness, and had let him down.
Wei Ying.
His laughter rang through Lan Wangji’s ears. Joyous, teasing, deflecting, hollow, mean.
He never wanted to forget. He couldn’t.
“Thirty-three,” his uncle said, and Lan Wangji let out a stuttering breath, before he collapsed onto the cold ground.
Later, it seemed he should have observed it sooner. He should have noticed it earlier, years ago when they were so desperately searching for Wei Ying when he disappeared. Lan Wangji had felt increasingly frustrated, like he was thinning out, his mind foggy and slow. Names slipped from his mind like water poured on a duck. Lan Wangji found it frustrating. He had always prided himself on having a sharp mind and a solid memory. Others noticed the change too. Jiang Wanyin only laughed and said Lan Wangji had been spending too much time with his brother, which made all of their moods sour. Clearly, none of them had been doing such a thing recently.
It was easily explained from lack of sleep and the endless searching Lan Wangji had been doing, of spending too much time close to the burial mounds, playing and playing in search for Wei Ying in some form. Reaching out. Lan Wangji’s mind narrowed, Wei Ying’s well-being had been the only thing he could think of but then… then he came back, vicious and terrifying. Beautiful. Alive. Unwell. Beloved.
The urge to sweep him up in his arms and take him back to Gusu to help was staggering. Drag him back to the Jingshi and keep him there by any means. Lan Wangji’s mind cleared, and things became sharper. His focus on Wei Ying stayed the same.
Seclusion felt like those months searching.
Lan Wangji could not pinpoint why at first. Then, he had been surrounded by others, preparing for war, fighting on the battlefield, running. Surrounded by other cultivators. Now, in the quiet of the Jingshi, there was only him and the boy who had looked at Wei Ying like they belonged together. A-Yuan was quiet, wide eyed and full of wondering questions. Then, Lan Wangji had felt strong, his cultivation known and his golden core everything he had trained it to be. Now he felt weak, the wounds on his back painful in each movement, each breath. It took from him the ability to play guqin, to wield a sword, to do handstands. It pained him to sit, to eat, to walk, to breathe, to sleep. The pain in his chest was even worse, draining him of any semblance of energy.
The only similarity was that then there had been the hollowness of Wei Ying being out of reach, out of sight. Wei Ying was lost, even if back then he had not been gone… dead. Lan Wangji forced himself to think it, even if he could not voice the word out loud. He thought that the ache would fade if he forced himself to think it, to let the reality of it sink in. Wei Ying was lost to him, as he had been then. Then he had been found again. Now he never again would.
At least, the hollowness of the loss of Wei Ying was the only similarity Lan Wangji could think of at first.
Seclusion was welcomed. Not as punishment, but because of it Lan Wangji didn’t have to face all of those who hated Wei Ying. All who saw him as evil turned flesh and had hunted him down, thirsty for his blood on their blade. Lan Wangji did not have to speak to them, or justify them, be pleasant or respectful. In seclusion, he could hold the anger in his chest, let it swell until he felt nauseous from the intensity. In seclusion, he could nurture the one thing Wei Ying had left behind, and pour his all into him. A-Yuan was bright, talented, and mischievous. As Wei Ying had been.
Had been .
Six months had passed, and Lan Wangji could still remember moments with Wei Ying as if it had been an hour since. An hour since he chased Wei Ying around the library pavilion, laughing playfully after having swapped out Lan Wangji’s book. Hours since he had showed him the burial mounds and introduced him to A-Yuan. Hours since he had slapped Lan Wangji’s hands away, telling him to leave with a sharp glare.
“Sect leader Yao wrote to me the other day, expressing an interest in a couple of their disciples coming to study at Gusu,” his brother spoke, and Lan Wangji frowned, searching his mind. He could not remember a sect called Yao.
“Seact leader Yao?” he inquired, and his brother hummed and nodded, a soft smile on his face.
“His son studied here for a while as well. You shared a few classes.”
Lan Wangji searched his mind once more, but found no memory of any called Yao. None. As if he had never heard the name before. His brother seemed to notice his confusion, for a crease appeared between his brows. “You do not remember him?” he asked, and Lan Wangji shook his head once. His brother sat up a little straighter, his gaze flickering over his expression. “Oh, hm.” His eyes darted away for a moment. “Have you been eating enough, Wangji? Are you… is seclusion tearing on you? It is not like you to forget.”
“It is fine,” Lan Wangji said, because it was. Seclusion was stifling, in a way a caged bird must feel. In the way his mother must have felt. Still, for now it was better than wandering in a world where there was no Wei Ying. He could not wander regardless. His back had still not healed. “Yao Sect?” he repeated, and tried once more to find a memory of this in his mind.
He could not.
“I will bring you reading material,” his brother stated confidently, smiling in a way which was strained, but still pleasant. Lan Wangji hummed and nodded regardless.
He read the texts when they arrived, and could not remember having ever read them before.
Every morning Lan Wangji recited the wall of discipline as he meditated. His uncle, along with the elders, had been adding many new rules to it recently. Lan Wangji recited the old ones flawlessly, but for some reason he had trouble once he passed three-thousand. The newer rules seemed troubling to remember. Perhaps it was because Lan Wangji knew they had been placed there because of Wei Ying’s actions. An uncomfortable sensation sat in the pit of his stomach because of it. However, the rules gave him stability. In his own opinion, he had acted according to most of them when he protected Wei Ying.
One morning, just as his back had started to heal to the point where sitting was manageable for most of the day, he came up short on rule 2874. The rule escaped him completely. A gap in his mind. Lan Wangji sat for a long moment, trying to remember.
He could not.
“Brother,” he said, the next time his brother came to visit. Five days had passed, and since he had not been able to remember rule 2874 on his own once. He had read it, in his own book of the rules, but every day it escaped him once again.
“Yes, Wangji?” his brother said, a soft smile on his face.
“I am losing my memory,” he said, and saw his brother tense. It was true. He had noticed several minor things escaping him. It was uncomfortable, as if there were blank spaces in his mind where information should be.
“What do you mean?” his brother asked, a crease between his brows.
“The Yao sect,” Lan Wangji reminded him. “Rule 2874 on the wall of discipline. Any rule after 3045. I cannot remember them.” Lan Wangji sat still, his face turned to his brother.
“I see,” his brother said with a slow nod. “I assume you have, you are sure it is not a curse? Or poison?” Lan Wangji was sure. He meditated a great deal since he had entered seclusion, and he knew his body fully. There was nothing foreighn in his body. “Perhaps seclusion is not good for you. I will speak to uncle.” His brother looked determined, and Lan Wangji looked down.
“Not enough time has passed,” he pointed out. He knew uncle would never allow it, and neither would the elders. Perhaps they thought it good that he was losing his memory even. Perhaps they would hope he would forget… Lan Wangji’s stomach dropped. He could not think it. Even the thought felt unbearable.
“No matter,” his brother said. “Let me speak to him.”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed with a nod, and his brother looked pleased.
The next day, Lan Wangji could not remember rule 1089 either.
His uncle came to visit two days later. He had not come since Lan Wangji had entered seclusion, and Lan Wangji had not expected to see him so soon. The wounds on his back ached from the sight of him, as if they knew the one inflicting them was before Lan Wangji.
“Uncle,” he greeted, bowing respectfully. His back throbbed from the movement, but they were now healed enough so they did not open even as he lowered himself. Uncle looked at him, chin tilted up. Lan Wangji had looked up to him so much as he grew up. Now, he barely managed to look at him at all. He remembered every hurtful word uncle had said about Wei Ying, every sharp comment, every displeased look.
“Wangji,” he greeted, and followed as Lan Wangji motioned for him to sit. “Your brother implied you have had trouble with your memory.”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed, and then explained to his uncle what he had noticed. His uncle asked some questions, but none of them were anything Lan Wangji had not considered before himself. His uncle grew more and more severe as the conversation transpired.
“I will bring a physician,” he said, and then his eyes narrowed. “Could you have been cursed?” he asked, once again. Lan Wangji shook his head as he had the first time, and added:
“I see no one but A-Yuan, and brother.”
“Perhaps the child then,” uncle said, and Lan Wangji felt irritation rise in his chest.
“No,” he said firmly, giving his uncle a pointed look.
“Wangji he is not…” uncle trailed off. Lan Wangji was not sure what he had planned to say, but it did not matter.
“He is my son,” Lan Wangji said firmly. “He has not poisoned me.”
Uncle looked at him for a long moment, and then gave one slow nodd. “Very well. I will come back with a physician.”
“I am sorry, Second master Lan,” the physician said, a conflicted look on his face. “I cannot find anything wrong with you.”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed. He knew as much. As the physician had examined him, it became even clearer that there was nothing physically wrong with him.
“There is nothing which can be done?” his brother asked, shuffling in place in a way which was uncharacteristic. “Surely there must be something causing it?”
“It is difficult to say,” the physician said, folding his hands into his robes. “There is nothing physical, no poison, no curses, no illness. Your cultivation is strong, remarkable even.”
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said. His chest felt tight, but he tried not to look to his brother for comfort. This must be equally distressing for him. “For your hard work,” he added, and bowed to the physician. He caught his brother’s eye as he rose, and saw a flash of terror in his eyes, before it was smoothed away to practiced serenity.
That night, Lan Wangji laid awake long after nine, letting his memories of Wei Ying move under his eyelids. Every single one he could conjure. Every laugh, breath, word, every single twist of his wrist, gush of wind in his hair, slash of his sword, note played on his flute. Tears gathered in the corners of Lan Wangji’s eyes, slipping down the side of his face in steady streams.
For the first time since Wei Ying’s death, he was frightened.
He had thought there was nothing more to lose. Nothing as precious which could be taken from him.
He could not forget.
He could not forget Wei Ying.
There was nothing more to him, if he did.
It was slow passing, the memories slipping away from him. When the third year of seclusion ended, and Lan Wangji was allowed to step out of the Jingshi. Many greeted him whom he no longer had a name for. He could remember Gusu, the Cloud Recesses. He remembered the bunnies, and the way to the library pavilion. He could not remember his second cousin’s name.
He could remember sword forms, the ones he had faced Wei Ying with, up on that roof. He could even remember the Jiang ones Wei Ying had used when they had sparred, equally matched. He could not remember how to shoot an arrow properly.
Every night before bed, he thought of Wei Ying. Let every memory he had wash over him like a steady stream over smoothed stones. Just in case it would be the last time. Just in case, come morning, Wei Ying would no longer exist in his mind. The memories were so precious to him.
So far he had not lost a single one.
Movement came easier than memory, as if his body remembered what his mind could not. Playing the guqin was easy, fingers moving over the strings mindlessly. Melodies flowed, connected to his spiritual power if he so wished it. One melody was the easiest to play. The one he had sung so many years ago trapped inside a cave with the boy who drove him to madness, his voice then broken and his heart not yet understood.
Sword forms came easy too, if he did not try to remember them. Then, it was as if his mind locked his body up tightly, and he could do nothing. He and A-Yuan often practised together. Not against each other, but moving through the sword forms side by side. A-Yuan was truly talented. He was sure to become a great cultivator. Lan Wangji had not forgotten A-Yuan yet, for which he was grateful.
A-Yuan was so much like Wei Ying, even as he became more and more like a Lan. There was the spark in his eyes, hauntinly similar to Wei Ying, as if A-Yuan continued to carry Wei Ying with him, even though he could not fully remember him.
Lan Wangji told A-Yuan about him instead, anything he could think of. Perhaps together, they could remember. Perhaps A-Yuan could tell him, in case Lan Wangji forgot.
“Hanguang-jun,” the man before him said, and Lan Wangji hummed. He did not know who the man was, nor did he remember when he was given the name he had been addressed as. “Would you tell me your earliest memory?”
Lan Wangji looked up at his brother, who smiled comfortingly. Beside him stood their uncle, looking much more severe.
“It is alright, Wangji,” his brother had urged. “He is a physician. He is here to see to your… memory conundrum.”
Lan Wangji hummed. He was aware of his lack of memories. They were like a thickening fog around his mind, hollow blanks where something should be, but was not.
“May I sit?” the physician asked, and Lan Wangji nodded again. The physician did, settling down on the side beside Lan Wangji. “Would Hanguang-jun tell me of his earliest clear memory?”
Lan Wangji considered for a moment. There was the fleeting memory of a warm embrace, of a woman’s voice. A hand in his own, larger than his but not as big as an adult. A sword in his hand, handstands, and then…
“Wei Ying, late to the Cloud Recesses, having lost his invitation.. And then, on the roof, out after curfew and holding jars of the emperor's smile,” Lan Wangji recited. Wei Ying had smiled so beautifully in the moonlight, deadly. Lan Wangji had feared him then, the liveliness of him, the joy. Lan Wangji had been startled, seeing someone so different from everything he had ever encountered before. He had never encountered anyone like him after either.
“I see,” the physician said with a nod, as if expecting it. “Tell me about Wei Ying.”
“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji corrected, because it was important. A smile tugged at the physician’s lips, but it was gone in a moment.
“Wei Wuxian,” he corrected, and Lan Wangji hummed, and then spoke. He did not say much, but he did tell the physician of Wei Wuxian’s virtues, his shortcomings, his righteousness, his liveliness. Once Lan Wangji fell silent, the physician nodded once more.
“Hanguang-jun,” he said, posture perfect. He looked as if he was about to deliver a verdict. Lan Wangji tensed. “Have you ever heard of glömska , soulmate sickness?”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji agreed, and then all at once it was as if realisation filled his chest. “ Glömska ,” he said, his voice a quiet wonder. He had not considered it. He had not even for a moment thought of it.
“Yes I do believe it is what is causing your memory loss,” the physician explained, as if it needed to be spelled out. It had not.
“Can it be cured?” his brother asked. Lan Wangji already knew the answer. This was knowledge he had yet to forget.
“I have not found any cases of it,” the physician said as he stood.
“We will have to continue looking then,” his brother said with a firm nod. He looked anxious. Lan Wangji’s stomach turned to knots.
“What if… is it possible to somehow remove other memories,” his uncle said thoughtfully, caressing his beard.
“What are you proposing, Master Lan?” the physician asked curiously.
“ Glömska causes the unknowing part of a soulmate bond to forget all but the soulmate if they are not reunited, correct?” his uncle asked, and the physician nodded in confirmation. “If the memories of Wei Wuxian could be removed-”
“No,” Lan Wangji interrupted sharply.
“Wangji,” his brother said softly.
“Lan Wangji!” his uncle reprimanded, much harsher.
“If it could make you better, if you could remember again,” his brother said in a much softer way, even if he stepped forward, eyes pleading.
“No,” Lan Wangji said again, turning away from them. “I cannot lose any more of him.” Wei Ying was his soulmate. Of course he was. Lan Wangji felt a smile tug at his lips, fondly. He should have known.
Glömska was caused in a person when separated from their soulmate, if they were unaware of the connection. Lan Wangji had never known, never even considered Wei Ying to be his soulmate. He wondered if Wei Ying had known. When the glömska had started, the forgetfulness, nothing could cure it but seeing one's soulmate again.
Lan Wangji would never have the opportunity.
There was a man, who seemed familiar but unknown to Lan Wangji as to why. He had a soft smile on his face, a pleasant expression. He wore the Lan robes, his posture perfect.
“Good morning Wangji,” he said, and Lan Wangji bowed in greeting. He was not sure how to address him, and did not want to do it improperly.
“Who are you?” he asked, and saw the man pause, as if his entire body froze. His eyes grew wide, as if Lan Wangji’s words had struck him.
“A-Zhan,” he said in a breath, as if he knew him intimately. His voice wavered, his eyes suddenly, all at once, wet.
“Why are you upset?” Lan Wangji asked, and the man swallowed, a tear slipping down his cheek.
“I am sorry,” the man said, and then smiled again, as he reached up to swipe the tear away. Lan Wangji’s chest ached, but he did not understand why. “It is nothing.” The man sat down, and reached for the pot of tea. His hand trembled. “How are you today?”
Sizhui’s father remembered everything about Wei Wuxain, even when he had forgotten everything else. His father could remember Wei Wuxain’s exact phrasing on things, how he would hold a sword, how he would ride one. He could remember his handwriting, could describe the redness of his eyes as he played for the dead. The righteousness in his actions. He could tell Sizhui all about Wei Wuxian’s brother’s hatred towards him, but had no idea who seact leader Jiang was. He could remember Wei Wuxian’s son, but could not remember the courtesy name he himself had given Sizhui. Now, he could only remember him as A-Yuan.
Sizhui’s father remembered Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, even as the rules of Gusu escaped his mind. They still exist in his body however, in the rise and fall of his movements, the way he carried himself. When Sizhui asked, he could not remember what rule number two, sixty five or two thousand and twenty two were, or any for that matter. When Sizhui asked which one’s Wei Wuxian had broken during his stay at Cloud Recesses, his father could list them all. He could remember the song he had composed for them, but all other melodies escaped him. His father remembered Wei Wuxian even as he forgot the names of his clan members, of his own family. He remembered why he had gotten the lacerations on his back. He did not remember his uncle who gave them to him. He did not remember his brother, even though he came to visit every week.
His father remembered Wei Wuxian, feared and cursed nightmare of the cultivation world, with fondness and warmth, with hollow longing.
This had been an especially draining hunt. The demon arm currently in Sizhui’s pouch had been extremely resentful. He had to leave it in the Mingshi as soon as possible. In the Mo village, he had worried him and Jingyi had been in over their heads, but Senior Mo had helped a lot, and they had managed to lure the arm way into the forest, so as to spare civilian lives. Senior Mo surprised him, for the head of the Mo village had called him crazy… sure he acted odd at times, but it seemed to fluctuate. Sizhui wondered if maybe it wasn’t all it seemed.
They had been lucky that sect leader Jiang had shown up to help suppress the arm, even if it had led to him accusing Senior Mo of being Wei Wuxian. Senior Mo had squawked loudly when sect leader Jiang had whipped him, and hid behind Sizhui, complaining loudly about how much it hurt. Still, he had to be something special to be able to handle such a thing, as well as the way he managed to control the demon arm. How come Sizhui hadn’t heard of Senior Mo before?
The name of his father’s soulmate had made Sizhui pause. He did not think such a thing was possible, bringing someone back from the dead after 13 years. Zidian hadn’t indicated that Seinor Mo had been possessed either, so Sizhui had let it go but…Senior Mo had played the song Sizhui’s father had composed. He had never heard anyone else play it. Sect leader Jiang had been Wei Wuxian’s brother, so what if… Sizhui had felt the urgent need to bring Senior Mo with him back to Cloud Recesses immediately, just in case. He would never be able to live with himself otherwise.
Sect leader Jiang had wanted to take Senior Mo for himself of course. He was known to track down demonic cultivators. Luckily, Sizhui had indicated that Seinor Mo was under the protection of Gusu Lan, as they were indebted to him. It wasn’t a lie. Senior Mo had helped them. Sizhui was pretty sure they couldn’t have managed without him.
Senior Mo had been tentative to come with them at first, but one look from sect leader Jiang seemed to have convinced him. Now, they were walking side by side into Cloud Recesses. Sizhui kept an eye on Senior Mo’s reaction, trying to judge anything. So far, everything and nothing seemed to be a sign. He was driving himself in circles. He couldn’t remember Wei Wuxian other than from what his father had told him. How was he supposed to know him now?
“I need to visit Hanguang-jun,” Sizhui said once they had come up the stairs. He always did as soon as he came back from nighthunts. He was the only one his father remembered anymore after all. He did not want to go too long between seeing him. Every time, he worried that his father might have forgotten him too, but it had not happened yet. “Jingyi, can you take my pouch to the Mingshi?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Senior Mo perk up, as if having heard the name of an old friend, or was Sizhui reading too much into this? “Hanguang-jun, huh?” Senior Mo echoed, a sly grin splitting his face. Sizhui could not pin him down, he did not understand him. “The handsome Hanguang-jun! I heard he was second only to his brother, but I think that's a lie. I think he should be first. I haven’t heard what he’s been upto lately,” he continued in a blabbering manner, as if trying to talk around them.
It was a very odd thing to say, even for someone with a reputation as Senior Mo. Why would he have heard of Hanguang-jun? No one had heard of Hanguang-jun besides in rumours ever since the Yiling Patriarch died. The official explanation was still that he was in seclusion. “Probably going around helping people, being righteous and graceful. All the maidens swooning over him. I’m sure he charms people in every village he passes without knowing it. They liked the quiet type you know.”
“I am…No, Senior Mo,” Sizhui said, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. He wondered if that was what his father would have done, had he not been afflicted by soulmate sickness. His father was brilliant even now. He could have gone out and helped so many, if he had not lost his memory.
“No?” Senior Mo asked, his steps light, as if he was dancing or bouncing. It was too much movement here in the Cloud Recesses. It felt out of place. “What is he doing then?” he looked over at them, grinning. “Is he a family man, married and taking care of a bunch of little Lan’s? They must be so cute, with their little forehead ribbons. Hanguang-jun’s children must be exceptionally cute.”
“He’s…” Sizhui said, trailing off. His cheeks were flushed, which was silly because Senior Mo was talking about small children, and not him.
They were attracting attention, walking with this odd man who seemed entirely too much for the usual quiet. Sizhui hoped they wouldn’t attract too much before he had managed to introduce Senior Mo to his father, or think of a plan. He didn’t want to have to explain to Great Master Lan or Sect Leader Lan why he had brought him here before he was sure of… something. “He’s in seclusion.” It tasted bitter on his tongue.
“What?” Senior Mo asked, his eyes wide and blinking. His steps faltered a little, as if the energy drained from them. “Why, what did he do?”
Sizhui saw Jingyi frown from the comment, and then he took a deep breath as if to speak - but Sizhui hurried to speak before him. “No gossip,” he said, firm but not harsh. Jingyi tensed, and then laughed, as if caught red handed.
“Ah, you won’t tell me,” Senior Mo pouted, looking fairly ridiculous. It was odd. He was acting so odd. At times when they had travelled, Senior Mo did seem rather crazy, talking nonsense and screaming, but then he had bursts of sharpness. He had been very capable when handling the arm too.
“Jingyi,” Sizhui said, and handed over his pouch. Jingyi sighed but took it. “If you run into Zewu-jun, please don’t speak of our new guest.” Sizhui smiled pleasantly. Jingyi gave him an odd look, but then shrugged his shoulders and gave a small bow before he walked away, a little too quickly for Master Lan’s taste, surely. Sizhui looked after him for a moment, and then turned back to Senior Mo.
“Very un-Lan like, that one,” Senior Mo said as he looked after Jingyi too, and then seemed to think better of it, laughing too loudly again. “From what I hear you’re all so quiet! No fun, no fun in Cloud Recesses. I’m sure there’s a rule about it.”
“Mhm,” Sizhui agreed with a small smile. It did not sound at all as if it was something he had heard. It sounded like experience. Treacherous hope swelled in Sizhui’s chest. “This way.”
“To where?” Senior Mo asked, and Sizhui held back the smile which was tugging at his lips. It felt mischievous.
“I am sure Hanguang-jun would enjoy meeting you, Senior Mo.”
“You think?” he asked, eyes wide. “Wasn’t he in seclusion? He doesn’t even know me you know and…” Senior Mo’s face spread into an odd expression, as if he was trying too hard. “I might find him too handsome too, I might faint like all of those maidens.”
“Indeed you might,” Sizhui said, which felt terribly scandalous. He still guided Senior Mo towards the Jingshi, mindful of the way his body grew more and more tense the closer they came. “Perhaps you could play him the tune you did in the forest? He very much enjoys music.”
“Huh?” Senior Mo said with a frown, glancing down at the flute tucked in his belt. Sizhui smiled, and knocked on the door.
The door to the Jingshi slid open, and Lan Wangji rose into consciousness from his meditation. The room was bright, it must be around midday.
“Father,” A-Yuan called, and Lan Wangji felt his lips curl up.
“Sizhui,” he greeted, and heard A-Yuan’s footsteps pause, before they resumed, walking a little quicker. He came to sit next to him, a wide smile on his face.
“Father,” he said again, and there was something in his expression which was not as it usually was. It was nerves, or perhaps excitement. “How are you today?”
“Mn, well,” Lan Wangji said with a nod. He felt more clear headed than he had in a long time. “How are you?” he asked, and A-Yuan smiled.
“I am well, father. I have just come back from a nighthunt and…” he glanced towards the door, and then looked back to Lan Wangji once more. Hope danced in his eyes. How odd. “I met someone when we were out. I would… he’s here to see you.”
Lan Wangji blinked once in surprise. He did not think many visited him, but he did not mind. “Let them in, Sizhui,” he said. The name slipped again from his tongue, the one he himself had given A-Yuan. It felt as though he had not said it in a long time.
“Of course,” A-Yuan said, and looked at the door. “Please come in, Senior Mo.”
A second pair of steps flowed through the room, and Lan Wangji felt his heart leap up in his throat from the familiarity of the pace. “Hanguang-jun,” a voice called. It was the wrong voice, but… Lan Wanji blinked and looked up, and met unfamiliar eyes. Yet, he knew. Like a rubber band which had been stretched and then released, his mind snapped back into place.
“Wei Ying,” he said, breathless, heart aching. It felt like a dream, like a hallucination. The man, who did not look like Wei Ying but was still him, scrunched up his nose.
“Ah!” Wei Ying squawked, as if he was an offended bird. His cheeks colored. Lan Wangji wanted to take them into his hands and feel the warmth spread into his cold fingers. “Wei Ying? Surely I am not as handsome as the Yiling Patriarch. I’m not that old either! What a terrible thing to say. Have you been cooped up too long, Hanguang-jun, hm? Forgetting your manners?”
“Hm,” Lan Wangji said, and then stood. He still talked to make people lose track of what they were saying, clearly.
“Are you too pretty, so they hid you away?” he asked, and Lan Wangji’s heart ached, ears burning. He felt an overwhelming sense of homecoming. “Hanguang-jun, too handsome for the outside world.”
“Shameless,” he said, warmth filling every syllable, and saw Wei Ying startle.
His heart was beating too hard in his chest. He could feel Wei Ying’s eyes on him as he walked across the room, to the shelf there. There was a harsh intake of breath, and Lan Wangji had to turn and look at him. He was wide eyed, clearly seeing the content of the shelf Lan Wangji had been walking towards.
“Wha-” he said, seeming to forget for a moment to pretend to be this Senior Mo A-Yuan spoke of. Lan Wangji had missed the expressiveness of him, of how his mere eyes could relate full sentences. Lan Wangji reached up, and pulled Subian and Chengqing from the shelf. They had not been easy to retire, but it did help to have a brother who was a sect leader. Lan Wangji walked back, and placed them on the low table before Wei Ying where he was still standing.
“I am returning these to Wei Ying,” he said, and then turned once more, heart pounding. He was sure that Wei Ying had seen the portrait he had made of Lan Wangji too, standing in a wooden frame on the shelf as well. Lan Wangji retrieved two cups, and walked back to the table. He placed one where Sizhui was sitting, and the other next to Wei Ying’s weapons, before giving him a stern look. “Sit.”
Wei Ying did, looking lost as he continued to follow Lan Wangji with his gaze. It felt good. He had missed this attention, Wei Ying’s focus. He had missed everything about him so terribly.
“Lan- Uhm… Hanguang-jun,” he said, and Lan Wangji hummed, reaching down to pull up one of the floorboards. Wei Ying made a small sound at the back of his throat, and then Lan Wangji pulled out a jar of emperor’s smile. He heard Wei Ying’s breath catch again, and Lan Wangji walked back and he sat down next to him. So close, he was so close and Lan Wangji could reach out and touch him but…but the last thing Wei Ying had asked of him was to not to, so he would refrain, even if it pained him too.
Instead he poured wine into Wei Ying’s cup, seeing that A-Yuan had poured himself tea from Lan Wangji’s teapot. He had even filled Lan Wangji’s cup. He was such a good boy.
“Hanguang-jun, ah, how did you know I like this so much?” Wei Ying said, and when Lan Wangji looked over at him, his eyes were searching. He still smiled though, and Lan Wangji looked down at his own cup.
“Lan Zhan,” he corrected, because he could hardly stand Wei Ying calling him that. “Unless you do not want to.” He wasn’t sure. Wei Ying had been so angry at him, in the end.
“Lan Zhan,” he said, and Lan Wangji’s heart ached in the most wonderful way. He glanced up, and was met with a soft smile, the one which Wei Ying only had smiled when they were alone. The most genuine one. “Thank you.” He inclined his head, and then took the cup, bringing it to his lips.
“Mn,” Lan Wangju said, warmth filling his chest. “Did Wei Ying help…with your nighthunt Sizhui?” he asked, and saw A-Yuan’s eyes sparkle as he nodded.
“He did, yes,” he agreed, and then pulled, masterfully in Lan Wangji’s opinion, Wei Ying into retelling what had happened. It was incredible to watch. Lan Wangji felt like it was a dream, seeing his two favourite people bounce off each other as if they had always been supposed to. It sounded like quite the riveting night hunt. He did not enjoy hearing Jiang Wanyin whipping Wei Ying however. Rushed steps interrupted them, and Lan Wangji tensed, suddenly on edge. He remembered the hurried steps which had come for them, when he had tried to protect Wei Ying from those who had only meant him harm.
“Sizhui, Hanguang-jun, Senior Mo,” Lan Jingyi said with a polite bow, even if his posture was not what it should be. He looked out of breath, and a little stressed. “Zewu-jun is on his way, in case…”
“Ah yes,” Sizhui said, and stood abruptly. Lan Wangji looked back at him, trying to understand. “Senior Mo, perhaps you would enjoy some time to rest and perhaps a bath?” he said, and Lan Wangji felt horror fill his chest. Wei Ying leaving? No, he couldn’t. Lan Wangji couldn’t stand it, what if he went away again? “I could escort you.”
“Sizhui,” he said, rushed, panic seeping into his voice. Sizhui had already walked over to pull Wei Ying to his feet, who looked equally confused. He grabbed for Wei Ying’s things too, thrusting them into his arms.
“Just for a little while father, speak to Zewu-jun. I am sure he will be very happy to talk to you today,” Sizhui said, and he looked earnest, like he truly meant it.
“What?” Lan Jingyi said, looking between them, his eyes lingering on Lan Wangji, puzzled. “What happened? He knows your name?”
“Let us go,” Sizhui said, ushering Wei Ying towards the door hurriedly. “We will be back for dinner father. Me and Senior Mo, right?” he looked to Wei Ying then, who looked unsure suddenly, glancing back at Lan Wangji.
“If Lan Zhan wishes,” he said, and Lan Wangji wanted to bow deeply and plead.
“Please,” he said, and he could hear the desperation in his own voice. It seemed Wei Ying could too.
“A-alright. Yes, of course,” he said, looking taken aback. He laughed then, airy and deflecting. “No punishments though.”
“Never,” Lan Wangji said, because ever since Wei Ying had been kicked out from Cloud Recess so many years ago, he had never wanted to punish him… only help.
“You say that now, but I know you,” Wei Ying said, laughter dancing in his voice as he tapped his nose, a familiar gesture. He was so beautiful. Lan Wangji wanted to know what that laugh felt like against his lips. “See you later, Lan Zhan.”
“Lan Zhan?” Jingyi asked, looking thoroughly confused and offended. “You can’t call him Lan Zhan!”
“I can since he asked me to,” Wei Ying said, and then looked over and winked. Lan Wangji’s heart felt so full, his lips turned up into a smile. It seemed to take Wei Ying off guard, but he didn’t have time to say anything else before he was pushed away by the boys. Lan Wangji felt a horrible loss almost immediately. He was just about to stand up to follow, when his brother appeared in the door.
“Good day, Lan Wangji.”
Lan Wangji looked at him, seeing a soft smile on his brother’s face. There was a tension to him which seemed unusual, and Lan Wangji frowned. It must have troubled him, when Lan Wangji could not remember him.
“Brother,” Lan Wangji greeted with a lowering of his head, and saw his brother’s eyes widen, a shocked gasp pushing past his lips. He took quick steps across the floor of the Jingshi as his gaze filled with tears, which soon rushed down his cheeks.
“Wangji,” he said, all but falling down before him, kneeling. “What- I don’t-”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji said, unable to hold back the smile tugging at his lips. “Wei Ying was just here.”
“Wei Wuxian?” his brother asked, confusion written in every feature of his face. “Wangji I- How is that possible? He is…” he trailed off, and Lan Wangji understood why. Even unspoken, the word pained him.
“Sizhui brought him,” he answered. “He did not look the same but… but I am sure it was him. They had met on a night hunt.”
“Unbelievable,” his brother said, shaking his head as if in disbelief. Lan Wangji could only agree. “And you remember? Not just me but… but Sizhui’s courtesy name? Anything else? What… what is rule sixty-four?”
“ Do not take your own words lightly,” Lan Wangji recited, and his brother reached out and took his hand, the other covering his mouth as he sobbed.
__________________________
Wei Wuxian was wondering if perhaps he had not been dead for thirteen years and then zapped into a new body, but perhaps simply brought to another version of the world.
Lan Zhan had been looking at him so warmly, and said please so desperately, and so many of the things in the Jingshi had seemed connected to Wei Wuxian. He couldn’t make sense of it. Not at all. The Lan Sizhui kid looked so smug about it all too, and Lan Jingyi mainly seemed confused, which was fair because Wei Wuxian was as well. He had to get to the bottom of this. Things were not adding up like… why Lan Wangji would be happy to see him… why anyone would really… and how come Lan Wangji was in seclusion? He had never done anything wrong in his life.
Wei Wuxian pondered this as he dressed in new robes, which looked hauntingly like his old black and red ones. This was another odd thing about this situation. Why were so many of his things here, in Gusu? WIth Lan Zhan? Why had Lan Zhan kept them? Wei Wuxian tied the sash, enjoying the wider arms and the longer skirt of this than the robes Mo Xuanyu had worn. He tucked Chengqing into his belt, but left Subian in the guest quarters Sizhui had arranged for him.
He needed to search out information, and knew exactly who to target.
“Lan Jingyi,” he said cheerily, smiling widely as he spotted the junior disciple. Just from travelling back with Jingyi and Sizhui, Wei Wuxian had realised that if one wanted to get gossip out of a Lan, he was the one to go to. So, he put on his best grin, hurrying his steps to catch up.
“Senior Mo,” Lan Jingyi said tentatively, looking him over. “You look… cleaner.”
“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said with a grin. “Gusu Lan has always been proper in its hospitality,” he said. He chatted about the demon arm for a moment, getting Jingyi relaxed. Then leaned in a little closer. “So, earlier it seemed like you had something to say about why Hanguang-jun is in seclusion, hm?” he said, moving around Jingyi as he walked alongside him. “Care to share?"
Jingyi looked at him, and then looked over his shoulder. Wei Wixian felt his grin grow wider. “He’s not in seclusion. He has soulmate sickness!” Jingyi whispered. Wei Wuxian felt his stomach drop. What?
“Soulmate sickness?” he echoed, trying to wrap his mind around this. Lan Zhan had soulmate sickness, glömska ? He was in seclusion because he was losing his memory…but it had seemed fine when he and Sizhui were there.
“Yes!” Jingyi exclaimed, still whispering. Wei Wuxian loved this kid. He looked so happy to be gossiping. He leaned in closer to Wei Wuxian, eyes bright with mischief. “It was the Yilling Patriarch.”
Wei Wuxian felt his stomach turn over, heart stopping in his chest. Lan Wangji had soulmate sickness, because of him? They were soulmates and… and Wei Wuxian had died. Soulmate sickness could only be cured when reunited with your soulmate, and Wei Wuxian had died.
“How- How do you know it was the… Yiling Patriarch?” he asked, hearing his own voice come out soft. His heart was racing. Lan Zhan had kept his things. Lan Zhan had asked him to come back to Gusu, all those years ago. Wei Wuxian had assumed it was because he wanted to punish him but… but what if that hadn’t been the case?
“How do you think?” Jingyi asked, giving him a flat look. “It’s been thirteen years since the Yiling Patriarch died. The only thing Hanguang-jun remembers is his ‘Wei Ying’...and Sizhui of course.” His Wei Ying . Wei Wuxian had to swallow. It made so much sense. He had never been able to look away from Lan Zhan, he had always found him more fascinating than anyone else. He found him to be so good, so handsome. Interesting. Perhaps it should not be so easy to accept, but in his heart it felt as if he should have understood it long ago.
Of course Lan Zhan was his soulmate.
Who else could it ever be?
“Interesting,” Wei Wuxian said slowly, even as it felt like his heart was going to burst. Soulmates. Him and Lan Zhan, soulmates. “How come he remembers Sizhui? Double soulmates?” He had never heard of such a thing before.
“No!” Jingyi said with a deep sigh, shaking his head. “They say it’s because Sishui was Wei Wuxian’s son! Hanging-jun took care of him to remember his soulmate!”
His child ? Wei Wuxian’s memory was bad, but not that bad. He had not fathered any children.
“Huh?” he asked, blinking. “I mean! That Yiling Patriarch sure got around huh? Haha.” Wei Wuxian took a step back from Jingyi, restless energy suddenly drumming through his veins. He needed to understand this. “Thank you so much. I’ll just.. Bye!” He turned, and then rushed away.
For the second time that day, there were rushed steps on his porch, and then a rapt quick knocking. Lan Wangji stood and walked over, pleased to see Wei Ying there. He looked more like his old self, with longer robes and his hair pulled into a ponytail, tied with a red ribbon. So beautiful. Sizhui had come back to retrieve the robes Lan Wangji had hidden in the back of his closet, from long ago, when he still hoped he would be able to convince We Ying to come back to Gusu with him. Clearly they were a little big, but they made him look real.
Wei Ying seemed a little frantic, and a little sad, as he pulled Lan Wangji back into the Jingshi. His hand was warm on Lan Wangji’s as he tugged him along, and he easily followed Wei Ying over to the table, sitting down beside it.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, and sat down in a pile of limbs, no proper posture to be found. He sat close too. He had never cared about proper etiquette or personal space. Lan Wangji looked at him, drinking in the sight. Wei Ying’s eyes darted over his expression, looking nervous. “Why are you here, all alone?” he asked, reaching his hand up tentatively. He caressed some hair back from Lan Wangji’s face. The touch felt warm, welcomed. Lan Wangj’s eyes slipped close from the sensation, heart singing with joy from being touched. “Why aren’t you out night hunting? Why have you stayed here?”
“Wei Ying,” he said, his heart too big, his chest too tight. Wei Ying still had one hand in his, the other on his cheek. It was so intimate, and all Lan Wangji had longed for. He looked pleading, and Lan Wangji couldn’t deny him anything. Never wanted to.
“Please tell me,” Wei Ying said, and Lan Wangji swallowed. He leaned into Wei Ying’s touch, turning his face to press a kiss to the palm of his hand. Wei Ying’s breath stuttered. “Lan Zhan,” he said again, and Lan Wangji was so happy to hear his name said so tenderly. “I didn’t know,” he said, letting out a breath. “Lan Zhan, sweetheart,” he said, and Lan Wangji’s heart ached blissfully. “How could I have known? You are too good, you know. So good. Do you hate me now?” he asked, and Lan Wangji shook his head. What a ridiculous notion.
“I could never hate Wei Ying,” he said with determination, and Wei Ying smiled wobbly, his eyes wet. He looked beautiful, smiling, full of life. Lan Wangji had thought that the last memories of him would forever be Wei Ying pushing him away, life draining from him. Now here he was, smiling, hand on his cheek.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said again, and never before had his name sounded so sweet. “Did you miss me?”
“It is the only thing I do,” Lan Wangji said, and a tear slipped down Wei Ying’s cheek. He reached out to caress the wetness away, and Wei Ying laughed, wettly.
“I missed you too,” Wei Ying said, and then the hand cupping his cheek caressed down and curled a hand around Lan Wangji’s neck. He shuffled closer, and then carefully guided Lan Wangji to rest his forehead against his shoulder. Lan Wangji sighed, and felt the first tears slip down his own cheeks, into the fabric of Wei Ying’s robes. “Never again, alright. Never again will you miss me. You’ll have to push me away when I get too annoying, because I can’t leave you again. Not after…” Wei Ying trailed off, a soft sob encough through the Jingshi. It was cut off as he placed a kiss to Lan Wangji’s hair. “Promise me, you’ll tell me when I become too much,” he whispered, and Lan Wangji shook his head.
“Never,” Lan Wangji said, because this he was sure of. Wei Ying laughed, and Lan Wangji pushed himself up to look at him. “Wei Ying is good as he is.”
“Lan Zhan!” he said scoldingly, even though his expression was warm. “I’m the most annoying person you have ever met.”
“Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji said, and then cupped Wei Ying’s neck. Wei Ying’s eyes grew wide, before they fell closed. Lan Wangji’s gaze dropped to his lips, and then he leaned in slowly, to press their mouths together. Wei Ying let out a squeal, and then a sigh, and then he smiled, pushing back into the kiss. Home. Lan Wangji felt like he had finally returned home after years of searching.
By the door, someone cleared their throat.
Lan Wangji pulled back, his ears red. He glanced over at the door, where their son, who was looking pointedly away, stood. His cheeks were very red. Lan Wangji looked at Wei Ying, who grinned.
“I hear the word around is that this boy claims to be my son,” he said teasingly, and Sizhui looked over at them then, his eyes wet but a wide smile on his face. “Lan Zhan! What made you think I had a child? Have the rumours about me been so bad? Do they say the Yiling Patriarch kidnapped maidens and made them carry his children?” He was teasing, Lan Wangji knew, but he still grew a little jealous.
“A-Yuan,” he said simply, and saw Wei Ying’s eyes widen. He looked over at Sizhui, who smiled back, tilting his head to the side and grinning widely in that way which made him look like the small child Lan Wangji had found in the burial mounds after Wei Ying’s death. Sizhui walked inside, joining them at the table. Wei Ying’s eyes filled with tears again, pinching his lips together. He looked at Lan Wangji, before he looked back at Sizhui once more. His hand clutched Lan Wangji’s tightly.
“See, I knew planting you in the dirt would make you grow up all big and strong,” he said, his voice wobbly from tears. “A-Yuan.” He looked at Lan Wangji again, sniffling once. “You took care of him?”
“He was Wei Ying’s,” he said and Wei Ying laughed again, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.
“Lan Zhan,” he said, and never before had his words been said with so much meaning. He was not sure how he would manage to get used to this. Perhaps he would never. He had decades to find out.