Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Hanguang-jun,” Lan Jingyi says, dropping into his most perfect, proper bow. Even the most stubborn and unruly elders would approve of his current poise. He hates to admit it, but he had brushed up on some etiquette books from the library just for this occasion. After all, he has to be nothing less than stellar, even if it pains him so. 

Hanguang-jun acknowledges him with a nod. Their daily lectures have already ended, and most of the disciples have filtered out of the room, now lingering (quite obviously, Jingyi should add) near the doorway. Although their curiosity is harmless, when Hanguang-jun drops his gaze down to set aside the papers he’s marking, Jingyi still turns around and shoots them a warning look. The other disciples are quick to scramble, and by the time Hanguang-jun is finished with the papers, Jingyi is already facing him, expression solemn.

“Jingyi.” Hanguang-jun is a man of few words, but Jingyi knows him well enough to figure that this is an invitation to speak.

Right. Here goes nothing. “I come with a proposition for you, Hanguang-jun.” At receiving no response—not even so much as a slight nod—Jingyi just continues, undeterred. “I’m one of the oldest disciples here.” And one of the best, he almost lets slip, but talking about oneself in such a manner is definitely against the rules. “I think I’m ready to go on a solo night hunt.”

Hanguang-jun levels him with a stare that’s hardly different from his usual one. Jingyi isn't too sure what to make of it. “You think you are ready?”

“I know that I'm ready,” Jingyi quickly amends, standing up a bit straighter. “Please, Hanguang-jun. This disciple beseeches you to allow me to go." He clasps his hands and bows again. His back aches from how rigid his posture is—how do other disciples, and even Hanguang-jun himself, manage to bow like this all day without pulling a muscle? 

“It is dangerous.”

“Yes,” Jingyi says, without rising from his bow. “I’m prepared for any dangers I might encounter.”

Hanguang-jun is silent—hopefully contemplative and surely about to agree with Jingyi’s proposition at any moment—when he finally says, “No. It poses too great a risk for you to handle it alone.”

All notions of etiquette fly out the window. Jingyi stands back up and begs, “But Hanguang-jun, please—!”

“Where would you hunt?”

“Our usual night hunt areas,” Jingyi answers quickly. “I know those spots like the back of my hand.”

Hanguang-jun mulls it over. “You may go with a friend. It is safer in pairs.”

Jingyi bites down on his lip, hard enough to leave teeth-shaped indents. They’ll bother him all day after this, and he’ll spend ages running his tongue over the ridges, wondering when the marks will go away. “Hanguang-jun, I really am ready to go by myself. Lying is forbidden, so you know I’m telling the truth!”

“You may attend this night hunt with a friend. If it goes well, we can discuss this further.”

Jingyi’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Mn.”

“Thank you, Hanguang-jun!” Jingyi drops back into a bow.

After the adrenaline rush of speaking with Hanguang-jun dies down, Lan Jingyi paces around his room, deep in thought. So he can bring a friend on this night hunt...but no one specified that his friend has to be a fellow Lan disciple…

“What do you think?” Jingyi asks a few days later, smiling smugly. 

Ouyang Zizhen's eyes light up. “It sounds great! Well, I mean, not great for the people going missing…but it’ll be great once we solve it!”

“Right?” Jingyi refills Zizhen’s cup of tea—no alcohol this time around since he couldn’t sneak it in—before refilling his own. “I think this case is perfect for us.”

He had heard about it a week ago in Caiyi town. There’s a village nearby, around the Gusu and Yunmeng areas, that’s been causing quite the buzz in cultivation circles. One by one, people have been disappearing from this village and nobody knows where they are. The villagers themselves sent out search parties to scour the area, but their efforts were fruitless. To make things worse, the search efforts themselves resulted in a few more people disappearing, too. Since then, the village chief called off all searches and sectioned off the area in the forest where most of the people were last seen.

“Do you think they were killed? Or maybe just taken hostage by some weird spirit?”

Jingyi thinks it over as he sips his tea. Without going out to investigate, it’s hard to come to any logical conclusion. But he’s thought about this in preparation for the night hunt, so he does have a few theories. “We’ve seen cases like this all the time. I think there’s some sort of creature haunting the area and it’s been taking people one by one.”

“Maybe it’s someone who used to live in that village,” Zizhen suggests. “Oh! Maybe they were scorned by a lover and decided to come back and haunt their past lover's descendants! Wouldn’t that make for an interesting story?”

Jingyi rolls his eyes and nudges Zizhen in the side. “This is real life, you know.”

“It could happen!” Zizhen slams his hands on the table for emphasis, almost knocking over both cups of tea as well as the bowl of nuts they’ve been snacking on. “That kind of stuff has happened plenty of times in the past!”

“Don’t get so worked up,” Jingyi says, amused. He shrugs lightly and makes no move to clean up the peanuts that have fallen from the bowl, instead opting to pick them off the table and shove them into his mouth. “We’ll find out next week when we go to investigate. We’ll hunt down that monster—or scorned lover—in no time!”

Upon hearing this,  Zizhen’s face falls and he stares down at his lap, dejected.

“What?” Jingyi asks, thoroughly confused at the sudden shift. “What’s wrong?”

“Next week?” Zizhen asks meekly. 

“Yeah?”

“But I can’t go if the night hunt is next week!”

Jingyi blinks at him. “Why not?”

Zizhen’s eyes well up with tears of frustration. He grips his hair and writhes around. “My father is forcing me to attend sect meetings all week! We have a conference coming up and he’s insisting I need to ‘learn what it takes to be a leader.’”

“Wow,” Jingyi says flatly. “That sounds horrible.”

Zizhen collapses onto the table, tipping over the bowl of nuts. They spill around him, some unfortunate ones even falling onto the floor. “This sucks! Can’t we—can’t we go on the night hunt the week after instead?”

Jingyi frowns at that. “You can’t just sneak out?”

“No way! Father would kill me! He’ll probably even have a few disciples follow me around just to make sure I’m not out of his sight!”

“Well...I mean, we could go the week after, but by then someone else will probably already have dealt with the monster. Both Gusu Lan and Yunmeng Jiang are close to that village. If we don’t investigate next week, Yunmeng Jiang certainly will.”

“Then—then—” Zizhen sits back up, arms flailing as he tries to come up with an idea. Mysteries of this nature don’t happen that often—especially so close to one of their sects. If they pass up on this night hunt now, then who knows when a new mystery will pop up. 

“Why don’t we go right now?” Jingyi says. “We’ll be back by tomorrow, so you can still attend all those boring meetings.”

“Are you trying to get me killed?” Zizhen cries. “My father expects me to be at home by then!”

A sombre silence fills the room.

Jingyi wants adventure. He wants to do all the cool things Hanguang-jun did when he was a young adult. But at this rate, Jingyi’s first solo night hunt will probably involve searching for an old lady’s lost cat, or being called over to a rich man’s estate to place protection talismans all around his home.

“Do you have any paper?” Zizhen asks suddenly.

Eyebrows furrowed, Jingyi stands and rummages through his drawers, pulling out a stack of loose sheets. Meanwhile, Zizhen snatches a brush sticking out from beneath Jingyi’s bed, then swivels around to ask, “Where do you keep your inkstone?”

“It’s over here.” Jingyi darts to the other side of his room, pushing aside the thick piles of scrolls and books that he haphazardly throws aside after his classes end. Finally, he finds the inkstone and scampers back around to Zizhen, who waits with a brush in hand.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Zizhen says, tongue jutting out in concentration. He starts to pen a letter, his writing so neat and proper it makes Jingyi slightly ill. “This is from my father. Alright? Stating his explicit permission to allow me to go on a night hunt with you. Take this letter to Hanguang-jun and pretend like I’ll be going on the night hunt. But in reality—”

“—I’ll be going alone,” Jingyi says, slightly awed. 

“Exactly.” Zizhen finishes the letter with a flourish, his penmanship a near-perfect replica of his own father's handwriting. “I’ll inform the messengers to come to me with any letters from Gusu Lan. That way, if anyone writes back and they mention the night hunt, my father won’t see it.”

Jingyi snickers in disbelief. “When did you get so devious?”

Zizhen laughs, carefully folding up the letter. They’ll have to put a seal on it later to make it look official, but the disciples accompanying Zizhen on this trip to Cloud Recesses probably have a few in case Zizhen writes back to his father. It’ll be easy enough to borrow one from them. 

“I learned from the best, didn’t I?” Zizhen says with an exaggerated wink.

Lan Jingyi walks down a lonely forest path, swinging his sword around to clear the way when any bushes and branches come a bit too close to smacking him in the face. The sun has just set a while ago, meaning his night hunt has officially begun. He had spent some time in the village nearby, speaking to the friends and families of the victims who had disappeared. All of them directed him toward this particular section of the forest, so Jingyi figured it would be the best place to start.

Eventually, he strays away from the main path, heading through random directions in the hopes he'll find some sort of clue. He keeps his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary—scraps of torn clothes, signs of a fight or struggle, weapons abandoned in a moment of panic. He keeps track of where he's been by marking trees with a slash. If Hanguang-jun were here, he'd probably frown and insist that Jingyi use something else—string or blank talismans, for example—rather than outright pulling his sword out and attacking an innocent tree. But this is Jingyi's night hunt, so he can damn well do as he pleases.

An odd rustling has him halting in his steps. He swivels around and scans the area, but aside from a few birds whistling in the trees, all is silent. Still, something doesn't allow Jingyi to just walk away. He strides forward with caution, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. That's when he spots a set of footprints.

Lan Jingyi squats down to inspect the tracks. The footprints aren't very large, roughly the same size as his own. Could the evil creature behind these disappearances be a fierce corpse all along? The footprints would certainly add up, but he needs to investigate some more before he can be sure. 

He traces a finger around the tracks, trying to gauge how recent they are, when an arrow hisses past his ear. He straightens in alarm, briefly looking over his shoulder before approaching the arrow with caution. It's impaled deep into the trunk of a nearby tree. 

Jingyi squints as he wraps a hand around it and yanks it free. This arrow...he's seen it before. It's definitely well made; the cultivator using it must be fairly wealthy. No, wealthy isn't the right word...more like lavish. He stares at the arrow, then the footprints, then back again at the arrow. 

The bushes behind him rustle. Someone draws in a sharp breath. At the same time, Jingyi's face scrunches in distaste. He whirls around.

"It's you—!" Jingyi says at the same time as his assailant.

"What are you doing here?" Jin Ling barks, well-mannered as usual.

"Shouldn't I be asking that?" Jingyi snaps back. "You almost killed me!" He thrusts the arrow in Jin Ling's face, only for Jin Ling to snatch it back. He's so rough that Jingyi's fingers burn from the friction. His eyes start to twitch a little. 

Jin Ling inspects his arrow carefully, nose turned up in the air. Jingyi can almost hear his thoughts—oh, the audacity of this cretin to almost soil my precious weapon with his peasant blood, I'd never get the stain out!  

Once he's sure it isn't damaged, Jin Ling nods to himself. "What do you expect?" he says. "You're skulking around like a creep in the middle of the night!"

"Oh no," Jingyi cries. "Did I scare you, princess? Did you mistake me for some big monster?" He raises his hands and wiggles his fingers, tongue jutted out in what he hopes is an expression too repulsive for a 'cultured' person like Jin Ling to ever lay his eyes on.

Sure enough, Jin Ling's nostrils flare in (barely disguised) horror. "I did. That's the whole point of this night hunt anyway. I'm not here to just–to just–” He snaps his fingers impatiently as if that'll help his brain come up with a scathing insult a bit more quickly. "To stroll around like I'm in my back garden."

"I'm not here to stroll around," Jingyi mocks, voice raised in a poor mimicry of Jin Ling’s own. "I'm looking for a monster, too."

Jin Ling crosses his arms with a humph. "Fine." He starts to walk away, but not before shooting a glare at Jingyi. "You better watch where you're going. I don't want to waste my arrows on you."

Jingyi's blood starts to boil. So far, he thinks he's been doing a decent job at keeping his emotions in check. Lan Qiren is always saying that he's too emotional and quick to anger. But how can one not lose their temper when dealing with someone as insufferable as Jin Ling?

"I need to watch where I'm going? Maybe you should get your eyes checked! What kind of a buffoon mistakes a person for a mon–”

He's cut off by a loud cry. Instantly, the two boys tense up, heads snapping toward the direction of the noise. 

"What was that?" Jin Ling asks in a whisper.

"I don't know," Jingyi answers.

Without pausing to think things over—you know, like a normal person would—Jin Ling immediately sets off toward the source of the cry, which now only grows louder and more panicked. Unwilling to be bested, Jingyi takes off after him—the sound was definitely human, so there’s a good chance the monster has already found its latest victim.

Maybe Jin Ling isn't as mindless as Jingyi thinks he is considering that he at least has the sense to notice an extra presence behind him. "Why are you following me?" he asks, turning his head back to glare.

Jingyi bites down on his lip. He needs to focus on the night hunt—he can't afford to lose composure now. "I'm not. I'm going to investigate that noise."

Jin Ling faces the front again, lips pursed. "Don't bother. I don't need any help."

"I'm not doing it to help you. I was already hunting this monster before you got here!" He grits his teeth and hastens his pace until he's in front of Jin Ling. "And look! Now you're the one who's following me!"

Jin Ling doesn't like that. He elongates his gait and turns his brisk jog into a steady run. Lan Jingyi matches his pace before Jin Ling can even take over, and soon enough they're both sprinting like mad through the forest. Jingyi doesn't think he's ever run so hard in his life, and yet he’s still not fast enough to pull ahead of Jin Ling. Although, to be fair, Jin Ling isn’t fast enough to pull ahead of him either. 

Jingyi considers mounting his sword (sure, it's cheating, but as long as he's faster then it doesn't matter) when there’s another long, drawn-out scream.

He digs his heels into the ground, coming to a sudden halt. Jin Ling stumbles on his feet and, with a slight yelp, barely manages to right his balance. If Jingyi weren't so distracted, he'd take the opportunity to nudge him with his boot just to watch him topple to the ground.

A hulking monster stands in the open expanse of the forest floor. It's unlike anything Jingyi has ever seen. At this moment, all he can think is the fact that maybe if he was a teeny bit more attentive during Lan Qiren's droning lectures, he'd know what this monster is. Yet even Jin Ling, who has Sect Leader Jiang as an uncle, draws his brows together in confusion, lips taut in alarm. He must have no idea either.

The monster is large, at least four or five times the size of an adult, its body a weird grey...glob. Its legs, however, are strong and firm, with sharp claws to match. 

Right in front of this grotesque creature lies a man. He's fallen on his behind, frozen in place, mouth agape.

"Hey!" Jin Ling calls out to him. "Are you alright?!"

The man—who, Jingyi should point out, is clearly not alright—stays silent. His whole body trembles and his face pales until he's as white as a sheet.

Jingyi's mind is in too much of a whirlwind to remember to roll his eyes. "Are you dumb? He's obviously in shock! We should—”

He's cut off by another earth-shattering scream. At this proximity, Jingyi has to grit his teeth, jaw clenched tightly as the cry grates over his eardrums. That's when it hits him, a tidal wave that crashes over him at full force. 

A little breathless, Lan Jingyi points at the creature. "It...It's not the man who's screaming?"

Sure enough, the man's mouth—although wide open in shock—is completely silent. The one producing those haunting screams was the monster all along. A cold shiver runs up Jingyi's spine. The warm night breeze he usually finds so relaxing brushes past his clammy skin, sending a chill right into his bones. 

If this thing can replicate human screams so well, has it been wailing like this just to draw people over to investigate? It’s no wonder the missing people weren’t found—they all ended up as its prey.

"It's a voice-stealer!" Jin Ling cries out, confirming Jingyi's suspicions.

Normally, Jingyi isn't allowed to swear. He's been conditioned to envision the disappointed frown Hanguang-jun would adopt whenever he hears any colourful language pour out of the juniors’ mouths, and that mental image is usually enough of a barrier to force him to bite his tongue. But this time, Jingyi can't hold it back.

"What the fuck?" he hisses.

The monster lets out another scream. Its voice is different this time, and both Jingyi and Jin Ling tense up at the implication. A different voice, a different victim. It continues to cycle through different cries and howls, all blood-curdling screams of the people it tormented, of the prey it toyed with. And now it's trying to get a rise out of its next meal, but the man is still stunned into silence, limbs locked as the wails wash over him in torrential waves. 

The monster doesn't appreciate this. It raises a claw, ready to strike, to make the man scream.

Jin Ling crouches on the ground, arrow drawn and at the ready. At the same time, Lan Jingyi unsheathes his sword. The sweet metallic shing that usually accompanies the motion is drowned out by the monster, who continues to alternate through voices as it cries and cries.

Jingyi kicks off the ground and charges ahead. "Don't miss this time!" he calls out.

Jin Ling lets out a loud tsk. He releases his arrow and it soars in an ark that even Jingyi (begrudgingly) has to admit is pretty damn smooth. It buries itself into the voice-stealer's eye.

Instantly, the creature howls in rage and starts to thrash wildly. Jingyi rushes in front of the man and raises his sword, shielding him from the sharp claws of the beast as it swings its legs in panic. The blade cuts clean through its flesh, leaving a large gash behind. A disgusting, almost rotten liquid seeps out from the wound. A few drops spray onto Jingyi's robes. His nose wrinkles in disgust. 

"Hey!" he calls out to the man behind him. "Are you alright? If you can get up, then run away!"

The man's neck slowly snaps upwards. His mouth opens, but aside from a few incorrigible sounds, no words come out.

"Don't be scared," Jingyi says, although it must hardly sound convincing with the way he's already straining to hold back the monster. It slashes at him violently, with pure killing intent. There's a whoosh overheard, and a beat later an arrow sinks into its other eye. Its cries only grow louder, more desperate, but with its impaired vision, as long as Lan Jingyi keeps it busy, it won't go after the man.

"My assistant and I have it covered!" Jingyi says. He starts to move away from the man, sword all but a blur as he deflects the beast's sharp claws. "See?!" he cries out. "Now's your chance! Run!"

The man's arms and legs shake as he forces himself upright. Even then, he's so terrified he can hardly support his weight. He topples to the ground in an instant, his whole body convulsing in panic. He turns his head back around, checking to see if the horrifying monster is hot on his tail, but it's still preoccupied with attacking Jingyi. The man ends up crawling toward a denser area of the forest and uses a branch to pull himself to his feet. Only once he's safely shrouded in bushes and trees does he gain some strength back to run.

Jingyi breathes a sigh of relief. He inhales sharply and swings his arm out in a wide arc, striking the beast across its face. More foul-smelling black liquid oozes from the cut.

A flash of gold passes by, and Jin Ling jumps into the air, shooting another arrow at the monster. He lands elegantly on his feet next to Jingyi, absolutely furious.

"Did you just call me your assistant?" 

Jingyi grunts as he narrowly dodges a hit. "Now is not the time!"

Jin Ling pulls out his sword. "If anything, you're my assistant! I got here first!"

"Does it even matter?

"Of course it does!" Jin Ling snaps at him. He's screaming at this point, charging ahead in a mindless rage, sword ready to strike.

Jingyi lingers back and pulls out a few talismans from his sleeves. He tosses them out in quick succession and they litter the voice-stealer’s body, locking it in place. “Finish it off!” 

In the midst of a loud battle cry, Jin Ling jumps up, raises his sword and swings it down in a deadly strike. But before his blade even gets close to the voice-stealer, a shadowy figure pounces on him.

Jin Ling sucks in a breath through his teeth as he twists in midair to evade the strike. Once back on solid ground, he looks over at the thing that attacked him.

A fierce corpse.

“Look!” Jingyi says, slightly panicked. “We’re getting surrounded!”

“It must have attracted all these monsters!” Jin Ling’s mouth twists in disgust as he runs over to Jingyi’s side.

They stand there for what feels like years, observing the slew of beasts now circling them. They need to get away, and they need to do it now.

"Quick!" Jingyi cries, pointing to a cave a few metres ahead. "We can hide in there!"

His lungs ache as he runs, panting wildly, adrenaline coursing through his system. Just a little more, just a little further, and they'll be safe. The two boys burst into the cave, their frantic steps echoing eerily off the rocky walls. Jingyi dares to look back, hissing through his teeth when he sees the smaller ghouls already hot on their heels. The voice-stealer, on the other hand, lingers at the back, waiting for its prey to be lured out.

"What the hell is this?" Jin Ling seethes.

Not a second later, Jingyi rams into something solid (albeit very unstable, considering that he almost knocks it to the floor). Jin Ling rights himself quickly and then shoots the most heated, fiery glare toward Jingyi. If not for the fact that he usually solicits a similar look from Lan Qiren on a daily basis, Jingyi would be shocked at the sheer amount of rage emanating from such a stare.

"What are you doing?" he cries. "Hurry up!" He pushes at Jin Ling's back, urging him onward, when Jin Ling roughly pulls away from his touch.

"Look around, you moron! You led us into a dead end!"

The stone floor gives out from beneath Jingyi’s feet. "What do you—” He swivels his gaze left and right, heart sinking at the sight. While the entrance to the cave is narrow, it gets more and more spacious the further they go inside. Yet despite its size, the interior doesn't have a single point that leads to some other tunnel that could be used as an exit. The most it can offer in terms of protection is a few crevices they could use to hide in, but it’s already too late for that. 

"You're calling me a moron?” Jingyi all but screeches. “You're the one who was in front of me, so how am I the one that led us in here?"

"Hiding in here was your idea!" Jin Ling bellows. His voice is already obnoxious enough on its own, but inside a cave, it's downright insufferable.

"Are you listening?! You were the one running in front of me! You should have noticed it was a dead-end before we even went inside!"

"Shut up!" Jin Ling says, eyes narrowed in rage. "Behind you!"

Lan Jingyi grits his teeth, swivelling around with his sword drawn. He strikes down a fierce corpse, then readies for the incoming attack of another.

It continues like this for a few minutes. Monsters rush forward to attack, with Jingyi and Jin Ling taking turns to seamlessly defend against the blows, swords gripped tight, footwork effortless and light.

But the monsters don’t stop pouring into the cave. Wave after wave of ghouls and corpses enter, dragging their broken, rotten limbs across the floor, teeth bared in horrible snarls.

It can’t go on like this. Lan Jingyi can already feel the way his clothes cling to his sweaty skin, his fingers and arms aching from swinging his sword around, his calves and thighs quaking under the pressure of dodging continuously. He spares a glance to his right; Jin Ling isn’t faring any better. They’re tired, dirty, sweaty, standing back-to-back and surrounded by beasts. At this rate, they’re just delaying the inevitable.

Jingyi’s chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. He takes a moment away from greedily gulping down as much air as possible and says, “I–I have an emergency flare.”

Jin Ling grunts, pulling his sword out from a corpse he knocked down. “Huh?!”

Jingyi would sigh if he had the air in his lungs to do so. A particularly fast fierce corpse almost knocks him off his feet, and it completely throws his breathing pattern out of order. “I said,” he starts, lifting a leg to kick the corpse’s stomach, “I have an emergency flare!”

It takes a moment for the words to register. But when they do, Jin Ling’s head almost snaps right off with the sheer speed at which his neck twists to look at Jingyi. “What?!”

Jingyi strikes down the last of the monsters. Even then, a new wave is fast approaching, and the voice-stealer still lingers back, like a general waiting for his soldiers to tire the enemy out before he goes in for the final kill. They don’t have much time—even if there’s a tiny chance that one of them can get out of the cave and set the flare off in time for somebody to see, then they should take it.

Lan Jingyi fully intends to be the one to stay behind and distract the onslaught of ghouls, giving Jin Ling ample time to rush out and set the flare off. After all, isn’t it just so heroic to sacrifice himself like this?

But naturally, when Jingyi yanks the flare off his belt and throws it to Jin Ling, the other makes no move to catch it. It falls to the floor by his feet. 

Jingyi rages, “Are you mad?! Take it and go! I’ll—”

“Stay back and distract them?” Jin Ling finishes. “Nice try! If anyone should stay back, it’s me!”

“No!” Jingyi snaps. “I’m better suited for it, so I should stay back!”

Neither of them will back down, both eager to play the role of the brave cultivator who so brazenly puts his life on the line. They both want this chance to prove themselves, to show the world that they’re capable. 

“It’s your flare,” Jin Ling argues. “By all means, the honour is all yours!”

Lan Jingyi picks the flare back up, only to grab Jin Ling roughly by the wrist and force it into his hand. “And since it’s mine, I insist that you be the one to use it!”

They’re both so caught up in their argument that they don’t notice anything amiss until a shadow eclipses their view. Jin Ling spots it first—the voice-stealer, its grotesque head raised, maw wide open and tongue lapping over its sharp teeth. The sheer contrast those pointy teeth have compared with its almost gel-like body is sickening, so much so that Jin Ling doesn’t snap out of his haze until Jingyi shoves him.

They fall to the floor in a heap. Jin Ling’s head collides heavily with the cave floor, but he still swears loudly at Jingyi. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Sprawled on his stomach, Jingyi props himself up with a grunt. “Gods, you’re so weak. I didn’t think you’d fall over like that.”

“You—!”

There’s no more time to argue. The voice-stealer steps forward, drooling right over them, while its disgusting minions circle the area, all eagerly awaiting the chance to attack. There’s no room to escape. They are well and truly trapped.

Lan Jingyi regrets every decision that's brought him to this exact moment in his life, regrets even asking Hanguang-jun to allow him to go on this stupid night hunt. Briefly, he wonders just how much trouble Ouyang Zizhen will find himself in when they recover his lifeless body from this disaster. Worst of all is that there probably won’t even be a body to find. 

The soft trill of a flute permeates through the heavy air. Jingyi is convinced he’s hearing things—maybe the heavens are taking pity on him and this is a final sendoff before he meets his demise. But Jin Ling perks up too, meaning this sound is real.

Strangely, all of the smaller monsters slowly start to stiffen. For a split second, time stands perfectly, hauntingly still. Then they start to walk away, turning around and heading back out of the cave.

Lan Jingyi is baffled. What on earth is happening? Could it be…could it be that the music is controlling them?

The hairs on the back of his neck rise. Just like puppets being pushed and pulled this way and that, the monsters all mill out of the cave, their movements janky. The smaller ones move with more precision and ease, while the larger ones struggle a little, resembling newborn lambs taking to a field for the first time.

The even larger ones almost seem to be resisting. But the music grows louder, the melody so soft and poignant that even Jingyi finds himself slowly being hypnotised by it. In his peripheral vision, Jin Ling’s eyes are glazed over, his breathing harsh and shallow the more he listens to the tune. The monsters can no longer resist, and their awkward steps become more and more fluid.

Once a good portion of the monsters are out of the cave, Jingyi sees a flash of bright light in the distance, followed by the familiar shing of a sword being slashed. Yet the music doesn’t stop even once. Could two cultivators have come to save them? One leading the beasts away with music while the other strikes them all down?

The cave slowly empties until only a few more fierce corpses linger through the narrow tunnel leading inside. At this point, the music starts to echo off the walls, and the sword’s deadly slices have never been crisper. Whoever it is that’s come to save them has entered the cave. Jingyi hears only one set of footsteps, their pace far steadier than his racing heart. They dispose of the last few corpses with ease, until only one obstacle remains. 

The voice-stealer stands firm, seemingly unaffected by the sharp trill of the flute. Yet if Jingyi squints hard enough, the voice-stealer’s limbs shake ever so slightly, as if it’s struggling to resist.

The cultivator (a demonic cultivator maybe? Who else could control the monsters so well? Surely it isn’t him…it couldn’t be…right?) halts in their steps, and for a split second, they stop playing entirely. That single second stretches on for what feels like years, until they breathe in a harsh, loud gulp of air. Then, they start to play again.

The tune is different this time. Jingyi wouldn’t exactly call it beautiful—it’s not a melody one would want to listen to for relaxation or anything of the sort. It’s grating and harsh, full of highs and lows, cresting past long trills and quieter lulls. Jingyi’s heart rate picks up, matching the undulating rhythm of that hypnotic tune. 

Jin Ling’s reaction is far more severe. His breath hitches, his fingers clawing into the expensive fabric covering his thighs. Of course he’d react like this in the presence of what could only be a demonic cultivator.

And yet—

And yet this demonic cultivator is saving them. For Jin Ling, this must be the height of cruelty. 

Slowly, the music takes its effect on the voice-stealer. Its sturdy limbs tremble, and its neck—head? It’s hard to tell if it even has a neck—jerks violently. It’s a strong creature, made even stronger by the fact that it’s consumed living, breathing humans. But the mysterious demonic cultivator doesn’t relent. He keeps on playing his flute, and the voice-stealer eventually gives in.

It starts to move away, backwards and then sideways as it attempts to turn around. Jingyi holds his breath, not daring to even twitch his finger lest it somehow causes the voice-stealer to break free from its trance. 

Tendrils of black coil around the monster and the demonic cultivator, and as the music’s pace grows faster and louder, so do the tendrils grow larger. The energy is suffocating, but Jingyi holds on, eyes wide and unblinking, breath halted in anticipation.

And then, the voice-stealer twitches. 

The air whooshes from Jingyi’s mouth as he jumps to his feet in alarm. “You’re losing control!” he calls out in warning. “Quick! Before it—!”

A hand roughly grabs onto his sleeve and yanks him down. Jingyi’s somewhat-neat outer robes now hang off one shoulder, and he squawks as he swats Jin Ling away to fix his clothes.

“What are you doing?” Jin Ling hisses, teeth bared. “Don’t talk to him!”

“Why not?” Jingyi says, already back on his feet. If not for Jin Ling kicking him in the ankle, he’d already be out there trying to help defeat the voice-stealer. “What is your problem?!” he finally snaps.

Jin Ling’s jaw clenches. “What problem? There’s no—”

A chill traverses up Jingyi’s spine. Something is wrong. Something is different. He shares a concerned look with Jin Ling before looking over.

The music has come to a grinding halt. No one dares to move—even the voice-stealer seems shocked at what’s going on before it finally realises it has the upper hand and starts to thrash around. Its roars echo horribly in the cave, and both Jingyi and Jin Ling grit their teeth, eyes watering at the sheer volume.

But then—there’s movement. Something whizzes around the voice-stealer in a flurry of motion, a dark blur slashing left, right and centre. It is unceasing, unrelenting. The voice-stealer can’t even fight back, and its cries take on a panicked tone. It chills Jingyi down to the bone. How many people had to die by its hands for it to mimic the sound with such startling accuracy? 

The dark, blurry shadow keeps up its pace, dishing out one attack after the next, all in quick succession. The voice-stealer thrashes around violently, crashing into the walls of the cave, disoriented as it tries to flee. Rocks come loose, dust unsettles and starts snowing down on them. Jingyi feels it on his skin, in his hair. He covers his mouth and nose with his sleeve, keeping out both the debris as well as the horrible stench the voice-stealer emits from its wounds.

There’s a horrible cry, and the vile creature finally falls. Then, a violent rumble from all around the cave as rocks fall over, triggered by the voice-stealer’s wild, panicked movements as it fought for its life. 

Jingyi gasps involuntarily, narrowly missing a rock as it crashes onto the floor next to him. The sudden intake of air sends dust into his mouth and nose, and he doubles over in a violent coughing fit. Next to him, Jin Ling resolutely stays silent, even though his eyes are watery and rimmed in red.

A plume of black mist coils upwards, dissipating into the air as the voice-stealer’s body slowly starts to fade into nothing. The dust and debris settle, revealing a figure standing in the centre of it all, poised and proper. They step forward slowly, and as they come into view, Jingyi waits with bated breath.

He sees only the colour of their robes. Stark black against vibrant, blood red. Their hair pulled up high, secured neatly with a ribbon—more red. And then, the flute they twirl so gracefully around their fingers, a red tassel attached to its end.

Jingyi is doused in a cold sweat instantly. He waits as the man approaches, but the cave is dark enough that he can hardly make out his face in any detail. Finally, the footsteps halt, and from the small cracks in the rocks above, a slither of light shines down on a pale face.

“Are you alright?” the man asks, and he sounds…young. He even looks quite young, too. His brows pinch together in concern.

Jingyi is speechless. Ever since Wei Wuxian’s death, rumours have been sprouting all over the cultivation world that he didn’t actually die and is living a life of seclusion, moving around from one place to the next to stay hidden. Most didn’t believe in such rumours, until cultivators donning black robes and red ribbons started showing up, claiming to be disciples of Wei Wuxian. The search for Wei Wuxian’s body started up again, yet nothing was found, and so the cultivation world was divided on the matter. 

Did those rogue demonic cultivators really seek out Wei Wuxian as their master, or were they just banding together for an elaborate prank?

Eventually, once Sect Leader Jiang caught wind of the situation, he made it his mission to hunt down any and all demonic cultivators. Naturally, ever since then, the rumours died down. 

Yet standing here, there’s no doubt in Lan Jingyi’s mind—this man must be a demonic cultivator, and he certainly must have some connection to Wei Wuxian. 

Jin Ling, being Sect Leader Jiang’s nephew and all, is quick to pick up on it too. He’s on his feet in an instant, sword drawn and pointed toward the mysterious demonic cultivator. 

“Who are you?” Jin Ling says, slowly stepping closer toward Jingyi. “What do you want from us?”

Jingyi uses this time to clamber to his feet. He doesn’t bother to pull out his sword (not because he trusts Jin Ling to protect him or anything). He just doesn’t sense anything…bad about this young man. 

The young man in question smiles politely and bows. Jingyi doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone bow with such perfect posture. It stings a little to consider that this random person could bow in a more Lan-like fashion than he ever could. 

“You may call me…” The young man stops short, his eyes darting minutely toward Jingyi before he turns his gaze to Jin Ling again. That flicker in his gaze was so minuscule that Jingyi wonders if he just imagined it. “Wei Yuan.”

“Wei?” Jin Ling’s eyes bulge as he gestures wildly with his sword. “I knew it!” He says the words with such hatred it’s a wonder he doesn’t spit at the end of his sentence. 

“Oh?” Wei Yuan says, seemingly unbothered by Jin Ling’s tone. “Is it that obvious? What gave it away?” He speaks in a lilt, tone lighthearted, as if he’s…making a joke? 

What a strange character. And coming from Jingyi, that certainly carries some weight.

“Then…” Jingyi speaks in a whisper, but the cave echoes and magnifies the sound either way. “Wei Wuxian…is he still alive?”

Wei Yuan does not answer. Instead, he smiles. 

“Are you stupid?” Jin Ling scowls. “Why else would he have the surname Wei? Besides, look at him! The resemblance is uncanny!”

“My resemblance?” Wei Yuan seems genuinely confused. “Ah, you must be mistaken. Master Wei is not my biological father.” Emphasis on ‘biological.’

Hearing this, Jin Ling pales. Lan Jingyi clears his throat to grab their attention. “Ah, I think he meant your mannerisms. You just seem very Wei Wuxian-like. Um…no offence?” He waves his arms around in confusion.

“Oh, none taken! In fact, that is quite the honour to hear!” In the background, Jin Ling audibly chokes. “Master Wei did raise me…I suppose it’s only natural.”

Jin Ling scoffs, and the sound echoes unpleasantly in the cave. “No wonder you’re so…so…” Jingyi almost facepalms. How is Jin Ling this bad at trash talk? Jin Ling bites his lip until finally something goes off in his head and he snaps his fingers. “Shameless!”

…that’s the best he could come up with? The deluge of monsters might not have killed Lan Jingyi tonight, but the second-hand embarrassment surely will.

“You didn’t even tell us your courtesy name when you introduced yourself!” Jin Ling continues. 

“Is that a problem?” Wei Yuan asks, head tilted slightly in question. 

His calmness infuriates Jin Ling, whose face is now rapidly turning red. “We aren’t your friends! Why would we address you in such a familiar way? You should be thankful if we even address you at all!”

Wei Yuan takes a moment to consider his words. Once again, he casts a quick, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glance toward Jingyi. “My courtesy name is Sizhui.”

It’s silent for a single beat before Jin Ling forces some horrible, grating, mocking laugh out. “What kind of name is that?! Who on earth gave you that as a courtesy name?”

Wei Yuan takes it all in jest. His smile stays perfectly in place, doesn’t even droop a little at the edges. “I should ask you the same thing, Jin Rulan.”

Jin Ling’s laughter ceases at once. Jingyi, on the other hand, lets out a snicker, which he masquerades as a cough when Jin ling shoots a glare in his direction. 

“You know my name?” Jin Ling says. 

“Yes,” Wei Yuan agrees, without elaborating further. “And naturally, I know Lan Jingyi’s name as well.”

Jingyi’s eyebrows shoot up, high enough to come into contact with his forehead ribbon. “Wha-?” he says unintelligibly, pointing at himself. “How do you know who I am?”

“Wei Wuxian probably has spies all over the place,” Jin Ling says as he glowers. “This is all an elaborate trap just to—” He cuts himself off suddenly, eyes blank as he stares harshly at Wei Yuan. Or at least, that’s what Jingyi assumes, until he follows Jin Ling’s gaze past Wei Yuan over to the entrance of the cave.

If they could even call it an entrance anymore.

Jin Ling rushes forward immediately, digging through a large pile of rocks and dirt that now blocks their only way out of the cave. He’s frantic, panting and grunting and heaving as he tries to push the heavier rocks aside. But alas, when he moves one, a whole new pile crashes down. He sucks in a heavy breath before giving up, but not without kicking the large blockade with a harsh cry. 

“Oh no,” Wei Yuan says, in probably the most serious tone Jingyi has heard from him yet. “The fight earlier must have dislodged some of the rocks.”

“What should we do?” Jingyi asks, observing the blocked entrance with a frown. “It’ll take ages to dig our way out.”

Clearly, Jin Ling is the most upset at being stuck in a cave with the types of people he hates the most—demonic cultivators and Lan Jingyi. It’s just as well: Jingyi can’t say he’s happy with their current predicament either. At the very least, he hasn’t completely lost his ability to think, unlike a certain someone…

“Do you see what I mean?” Jin Ling snaps. Jingyi resolutely ignores the fact that he’s most likely talking directly to him. “He’s lead us in here, trapped us in here—”

“—saved us,” Jingyi interjects with a roll of his eyes. “If not for—” His mind stumbles between Wei Yuan and Wei Sizhui for a good while, but in the end, he opts for neither, “—him we would probably be dead by now.” He raises an eyebrow. “You know that, right?”

He’s certain that the dirt Jin Ling kicked up has had plenty of time to settle, so the wisps of something around his head must be rage-induced steam. 

“Pardon the interruption,” Wei Yuan says smoothly, gliding over with a gentle flutter of his sleeves. He’s easily the most composed of them all, smiling toward Jin Ling in a placating way. “Please excuse me, Young Master Jin. I didn’t intend for us to be trapped like this. I should have been more cautious.” He clasps his hands and bows in apology. 

Jin Ling bites down on his lip, as if unsure of what else to say. Finally, he throws his hands in the air. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just try to get out of here.”

“Finally something we can agree on,” Jingyi says. He rolls his eyes at Jin Ling’s angry stare.

Jin Ling rolls up his sleeves, jaw set in determination, and starts to dig through the pile of rocks and dirt. Jingyi moves in to assist, even taking his sword out to try and wedge it between the more compact areas. Jin Ling side-eyes him in a very obvious way before taking his sword out and mimicking his movements. Just this once, Jingyi decides he won’t say anything about it.

Wei Yuan lingers back a little, hesitant to approach. He had been so quick to save them, even putting his own life on the line to help two complete strangers, so there’s no doubt in Jingyi’s mind that he isn’t the lazy type. How could his cultivation—be it demonic or spiritual—get to this level otherwise? Yet now it’s almost as if he’s afraid to help.

Someone who only wants to help, yet their actions are always misconstrued…huh…why does that sound familiar? 

“Hey,” Jingyi calls over to him. Wei Yuan doesn’t stir, but he raises his head to show he’s listening. “What are you standing over there for? Come dig over on this side.” Jingyi leans forward and points toward one side of the rock pile. 

Wei Yuan casts a cautious glance toward Jin Ling. When Jin Ling notices the stare, he looks over with a frown. “What?” he says flatly, before turning his attention back to chipping away at rocks with the hilt of his sword.

Jingyi remains silent throughout the exchange, diligently digging through the dirt until finally he feels a presence by his side and looks over to see Wei Yuan joining in. He bites back a smirk, especially when Jin Ling starts to pout, glaring at the two of them. 

They work for who knows how long. Eventually, Jingyi has to bite back a wince every time he raises his sword to strike down. There’s dirt caked under his nails—which, unlike Jin Ling, who keeps pausing after every few swings to try (unsuccessfully) to dig it out, he doesn’t pay much mind to—and his ribbon slants across his forehead. But no matter how much dirt and rocks they remove, the cave walls rumble, only for a fresh wave of debris to wash over them. 

“Screw this!” Jin Ling eventually cries around a fit of coughs. He hurls his sword to the ground, panting heavily. The metallic clang rings out around them as he moves back a few paces and makes a vague hand gesture. “You two, get behind me.”

Jingyi stands slowly, his back cracking as he straightens his spine. He hisses more at the sound than the accompanying pain, but Wei Yuan’s brows still furrow in concern, and he offers a steadying hand. 

“Why?” Jingyi asks. “What are you planning?” He narrows his eyes in suspicion. 

Jin Ling raises an eyebrow and scoffs. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to blast a hole right through those damn rocks.”

“Oh, wow,” Jingyi says mockingly. “And here I was thinking we’d get an intelligent sentence out of you. Guess I was worried for nothing.” He shakes his head with a shrug.

“Young Master Lan,” Wei Yuan admonishes with a gentle smile. “That’s not very kind.”

“I know,” Jingyi says with a grin of his own. He jabs his thumb toward Jin Ling. “Believe it or not, that was me holding back.”

Wei Yuan nods with a slight hum, grinning in amusement. “Even so, it’s not nice to be rude.”

“Would you both shut up?!” Jin Ling hollers, and Jingyi swears he even stomps his foot. “You don’t think I’m strong enough to do it?”

“I don’t,” Jingyi cuts in, brutally honest to a fault. Jin Ling’s jaw clenches at that, his fists shaking at his side, but he says nothing.

A slight jab in his side has Jingyi stiffening in alarm. When he catches Wei Yuan’s gaze, the other only shakes his head. Right. Maybe he went a bit too far.

“I—” Jingyi tries to think of what to say, his mind racing through words and sentences with the same speed he normally reserves for when he’s called on to answer a question during Lan Qiren’s lectures. “I just think the rock pile is too thick. None of us could blast through it.”

Except for Wei Yuan. He doesn’t voice this, but with the way Jin Ling’s shoulders sag, he doesn’t have to.

“We should still try.” Jin Ling is as stubborn as he is insistent. “We can at least wear it down bit by bit.”

“Young Master Jin,” Wei Yuan starts, voice so soft that if not for the cave’s echo, they wouldn’t be able to hear it. “Even when we were using our swords to dig our way out, we only caused more rocks to come loose. If we attempt to clear the way using spiritual powers, we risk the chance of getting completely buried.”

It must take a lot of effort for Jin Ling to bite back any jabs as his mouth flounders like a fish out of water, opening and closing over and over until finally, voice tight, he says, “Then what do you propose we do?”

Wei Yuan considers this carefully. “The only option we have is to wait until someone notices us.”

Jin Ling rolls his eyes. “And how will they notice? Should we just scream for help in case someone will walk past and hear?”

“Well, you’re on the right track if that’s your plan,” Jingyi quips. 

Jin Ling swivels around in anger, words hot and heavy on his tongue, eager to scathe and hurt, when Wei Yuan steps between them.

“Now, now, let’s all stay calm.” He smiles as he says it, which only infuriates Jin Ling even more. “Young Master Jin, our fight with those monsters was loud enough that it probably alerted some of the villagers nearby. We’ll stay here and wait to see if any help will arrive soon.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Jin Ling challenges.

Wei Yuan grins wide enough to show off his teeth, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do not worry. I’m sure it will.”

With an unnecessarily loud scoff, Jin Ling turns around and stomps over near the cave’s entrance. For a minute it appears he might start digging again, but instead he sits down near the rock pile, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Why sit over there?” Jingyi asks in disgust. “Any other part of the cave would be better.”

“You think I want to sit here?” Jin Ling squirms around, trying to get comfortable. “I might be able to hear if anyone is outside.”

“Through a thick pile of rocks?”

“What can I say?” Jin Ling turns his nose up in the air. “I have good hearing.”

“Ugh,” Jingyi groans in annoyance, moving around to sit up against the rough cave wall. “Suit yourself.”

Wei Yuan is the only one left standing, once again caught at an odd impasse, not sure where to sit. Jingyi is about to call him over when Wei Yuan pulls out his flute.

“Would the two of you mind if I play some music?” He twirls the instrument around his fingers, so long and delicate but with a strength unmatched. 

Jingyi shrugs. “I don’t…but he might have some problems.” 

“Oh, yes,” Wei Yuan agrees. “Young Master Jin, I wouldn’t want to give you a headache, what with your sensitive hearing and all.” He says this with such a pleasant, kind expression that one would assume he’s entirely genuine. But there’s a light behind his eyes, dancing around his pupils, that’s full of mirth.

“I already have one,” Jin Ling says, clipped. He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture, the one that irritates Jingyi so much that he’s usually tempted to pull his sword out at the mere sight of it. “Do whatever you want. And my hearing is not sensitive, alright?”

“But didn’t you just say it was?” Jingyi points out.

“I said it was good. There’s a difference.” Under the scrutiny of both Wei Yuan and Jingyi, Jin Ling’s face starts to redden, a sight Jingyi can easily see despite the darkness of the cave. “Just—do what you want. I don’t care. It’s not like I won’t be able to hear anyone outside just because of your music.”

“Right,” Wei Yuan says, sounding equal parts convinced and doubtful. “Do let me know if I’m too loud.”

“Whatever,” Jin Ling says with a huff.

“The same goes to you, Young Master Lan.”

Jingyi nods absently until a thought strikes him. “Hey, wait a minute…Could you play some music to call for help? Maybe some fierce corpses could dig a way out for us from the outside.”

“Ah…” Wei Yuan’s smile falters for a moment, but he’s quick to plaster it back on his face. “I’m…not a fan of lying, and that’s not an easy question to answer…”

“What do you mean not easy?” Jin Ling pipes up. “It’s a yes or no question.”

“Yes but…” Wei Yuan pauses, his fingers tightening minutely around his flute. “In theory, I am able to, but Master Wei has strict limits on how often we should use demonic cultivation in a day. With the earlier fight, I’ve already gone over the limit, so I’d prefer for this to be a last resort.”

“So you can do it but you won’t,” Jin Ling says flatly. “You demonic cultivators make no sense.”

Wei Yuan tenses and gives a thin smile. “Apologies. I hate to disappoint.”

“Don’t worry, I was already disappointed when I first laid eyes on you.”

Ouch. How harsh. Jingyi would already be prepared to throw fists at that point, yet Wei Yuan…Wei Yuan looks amused. 

Because there’s so much Wei Yuan could say in response. At the end of the day, his cultivation is indeed stronger than theirs, regardless of whether he’s a demonic cultivator or not. He could easily hurt Jin Ling just as badly, if not more. That’s definitely what Jingyi would do—what he does—when he’s in a similar position. But Wei Yuan just…takes it. And his smile doesn’t drop even once throughout the whole exchange.

It unnerves Jin Ling. Even from the opposite end of the cave, Lan Jingyi can see how he fidgets and squirms around, waiting for an insult to be thrown his way. Instead, all Wei Yuan does is smooth down his clothes as he sits on the floor. Jingyi has to marvel once more at his prim and proper posture. He’s never gotten the appeal, but he thinks after today he can understand Lan Qiren’s obsession with it just a bit better.

Wei Yuan adjusts his sleeves, now seemingly in his own world as he takes his flute and puts it up against his lips. He inhales and starts to play. 

It’s a calming melody. Soft and tranquil, soothing. It feels like sinking into a warm bath after a tiring day, relief pooling around bruises and in between aching joints. Jingyi shuts his eyes, head leaning back on the rough cave wall, his leg bobbing up and down in time with the song. He starts to hum along when his blood runs cold.

At the same time, Jin Ling shifts around, eyes wide and alert. “I think I can hear someone outside.” It’s comical the way he crawls around on his knees, ear pressed against dirt and rock, straining to hear. “Hello?” he calls out once, and then again, louder, “Hello?! Is anyone there? We—”

“Be quiet.” Jingyi surprises even himself with how he says it. If he wants Jin Ling to stop talking, his usual choice of words would perhaps be an annoyed, “Shut your mouth.” Or—one of his personal favourites—a finger pressed to his lips, sometimes with an added shh just for some oomph, the exact way his mother used to shush him when he was a child.

So it’s no wonder when Lan Jingyi himself suddenly opts to say a simple, “Be quiet,” Jin Ling is so shocked that it stuns him into silence. 

Jingyi slowly rises to his feet. Thankfully, Wei Yuan is still playing, fully engrossed in the music. He staggers a little, limbs jittery, but he has to know. 

“How do you know this song?” The words tumble out of Jingyi. He’s breathless and light-headed, confused and frantic. “Wei Yuan. How do you know this song?”

Wei Yuan calmly looks up, pausing at a note and holding it until it slowly fades into silence. “I apologise—was I being too loud?”

Jingyi laughs a little, humourless. “That’s not what I asked.”

And there’s that light again, the mirth and fire and heat behind Wei Yuan’s gaze, confident and searing. “That’s not what I asked either.” He’s smiling, as usual, in that perfect genuine way that makes it so hard to discern whether he means it or he's just that good at pretending. But he quickly softens it a little, noticing Jingyi’s growing agitation, and says, “You know this song as well.”

For someone who seems so bright, that’s easily the dumbest observation he's made this far. Of course Jingyi knows that song. He’s only heard it a million times, played it until his fingers were numb and calloused from pressing on strings all day. He may not be the most musically inclined Lan, but there’s not a single member of the Lan Sect who wouldn’t know this song.

“It's Cleansing,” Jingyi says simply. From the corner of his eye, Jin Ling approaches, curious, but Jingyi’s focus is entirely on Wei Yuan. “You know how to play Cleansing.” 

Wei Yuan considers this, as if he’s somehow receiving brand new, previously unheard information. “Demonic cultivation is harmful to the mind and body.” The words come out like they’re being recited at a lecture. “It’s important to play Cleansing after using demonic cultivation. Master Wei always encourages us to do this.” 

From the side, arms crossed over his chest, Jin Ling scoffs. “If that’s true, then it’s shocking.”

“Shocking?”

“Yeah.” Jin Ling pretends to fuss over his nails again. “It makes him the biggest hypocrite.”

They’re teetering over a dangerous topic. Wei Yuan’s smile freezes in place, a minute change gone unnoticed by Jin Ling. It's doubtful Wei Yuan would want to start a fight, but with Jin Ling around, the chances of a fight breaking out are already fairly likely. 

Jingyi quickly cuts in, “You still didn’t tell me how you learned it.”

Supposedly, Wei Wuxian was somewhat of a genius in his time. You probably kind of have to be in order to invent a whole new way of cultivation—slightly crazy, sure, but the genius part is important too. His time spent studying at Cloud Recesses, as short (or long, if you ask any of the sect elders about it) as it was, surely wouldn’t have been enough time to learn a song like Cleansing. His early departure meant he might not have even been around to reach that stage in the curriculum. 

But who else could have taught Wei Yuan if not Wei Wuxian himself? 

“That…You could say it’s a sect secret,” Wei Yuan says. He’s twirling his flute again, strands of the red tassel tangling with the sheer speed at which they’ve spun around. “I’ll be happy to tell you, but only if you join.”

He’s teasing again. His smile morphs into something that’s more like a smirk, but not quite. It’s his eyes, Jingyi thinks. They’re too bright, round, earnest. He's teasing him like they’re friends who have known each other for years.

Jingyi laughs a little, before remembering that the person who’s ranked second on the list of ‘people who hate demonic cultivators more than anything’ is right next to him. He clears his throat, deciding to lead the conversation into a (hopefully) safer territory. 

“You made a mistake.” At Wei Yuan’s baffled expression, as if he’s hardly ever heard those words before (Jingyi definitely can’t relate), he elaborates, “While playing. Just now.”

“…I did?”  

“Yeah,” Jingyi says, nodding. “Yeah, during that one part. That goes like—” 

It’s done on impulse. Without thinking—naturally, as per usual—he reaches out, fingers close to brushing against Wei Yuan’s flute. He doesn’t even realise what he’s doing until Wei Yuan slowly moves his hand back in a firm, gentle rejection.

Jingyi catches himself. His hand stops midway. A slap resounds throughout the cave, and when he looks over, Jin Ling has a hand up against his forehead. 

“Are you stupid?” Jin Ling says. It’s a wonder he’s not shouting—maybe he’s too tired for that. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry,” Jingyi says in a rush. His hand balls into a fist and he quickly hides it behind his back. “I just wanted—Uh…”

“Don’t be alarmed,” Wei Yuan says. He laughs gently, a whoosh of air through his nose. “This isn’t Chenqing. Wasn’t that lost in the siege?”

Ah. Right. Battle trophies and all that. 

Jingyi relaxes slightly and clears his throat to ready his voice. “Like I was saying, that one part, you played it like—” He hums the tune right before the part Wei Yuan played incorrectly, then makes a vague, but hopefully encouraging gesture toward him.

Wei Yuan picks up on it immediately and plays that whole segment again. Listening intently, Jingyi taps his arm in time with the music, until he hears Wei Yuan make the same mistake he did earlier.

“A-ha!” Jingyi calls out, snapping his fingers. “Right there!”

Wei Yuan raises an eyebrow in question and plays the same section over again. 

With an enthusiastic nod, Jingyi says, “Yep, that’s it. It’s supposed to go like this.” He hums the correct tune, blocking out Jin Ling’s scowl from where he skulks around them. “Got it?”

Jingyi wasn’t expecting much of a reaction, but Wei Yuan’s entire face collapses in on itself. Gone is the perfect smile he managed to maintain (or at least maintain some sort of variation of), instead replaced by a wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare of horror. Briefly, Jingyi considers that maybe the voice-stealer somehow came back to life and is now drooling right over his head, never mind the fact that he saw its body disintegrate into nothing with his own eyes. 

A shiver courses through his body. Jingyi can't help it—he peeks over his shoulder, just to double-check. There is no voice-stealer and certainly no other monsters lurking about, aside from a disgruntled Jin Ling watching on in confusion.

“…Are you okay?”  Jingyi asks, hesitant.

Wei Yuan’s whole expression darkens a shade further. He’s on his feet with such speed that Jingyi takes a step back in alarm. Immediately, Jin Ling is alert, hand curled around the hilt of his sword. But Wei Yuan does nothing except cling to Jingyi’s arms.

“Are you sure? I’ve…been playing it wrong?”

“I—” Lan Jingyi is speechless. Even though he barely knows Wei Yuan, he gets the sense that he’d hardly ever react so severely to a mistake. Then again…he does also seem like the type to just never do anything wrong in the first place. “It’s not a big deal. It takes us ages to learn songs from our own sect, but you’re not even a Lan and can play it better than most disciples I’ve heard.”

“Regardless of that…” Wei Yuan trails off slightly, coming to his senses. He doesn’t step back but he does let go of his tight grip, then proceeds to fuss over Jingyi’s sleeves. “Please forgive me, Young Master Lan. I wasn’t thinking.”

Jingyi snorts and waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. I could be wrong so…just keep that in mind. I’m not the most musically inclined disciple.” 

“Nonsense,” Wei Yuan says. “I trust your judgement. I was just…” He pauses for a moment, eyes drifting so he isn’t staring directly at Jingyi. He smooths down the front of his robes over and over.

“Just…?” Jingyi waves a hand in encouragement.

“Master Wei has heard Cleansing many times.” Ah, so that must be how he learnt it. “Played by…others. And also played by me. He must’ve known I’ve been making a mistake but never pointed it out.”

“Yeah, fathers can be like that sometimes,” Jingyi says with a shrug. “Or maybe he didn’t notice the mistake either?”

Wei Yuan inhales sharply. “Yes. That’s possible, too.”

“Alright, this has gone on long enough,” Jin Ling cuts in icily. He stands in front of Wei Yuan, arms crossed with his foot tapping the ground. “Lan Jingyi. Haven’t you divulged enough of your sect’s secrets for a day? And to a demonic cultivator no less?”

“What? It’s not like he didn’t know Cleansing already,” Jingyi says. 

“It’s not a fair trade,” Jin Ling says darkly. “He should reveal something about his so-called sect too.”

“Young Master Jin is correct,” Wei Yuan says, although he directs this toward Jingyi rather than the young master in question. “What would you like to know? I’ll answer to the best of my ability.”

Jingyi doesn’t even have the chance to think of a response; Jin ling cuts in front of him smoothly, forcing Wei Yuan to stare at him instead.

“Where is your sect located?” Jin Ling asks.

“Young Master Jin, you don’t waste any time, do you?” Wei Yuan is smiling again, that cutting grin splitting easily across his face. “Our sect has many locations.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Just answer the damn question!”

“But I did.” Wei Yuan tilts his head slightly. His tone is lighter than air. “Perhaps you are confused. Should I elaborate?”

Through gritted teeth, Jin Ling manages to spit out a venomous, “Please do.”

“Master Wei is always moving around. He never stays in one place for too long. So there is no central location for our sect. Master Wei is the centre, and he moves as he pleases.”

Jingyi thinks back to all the lectures that would be cancelled abruptly when Lan Qiren was called away for important sect business. To the hushed tones the sect elders would speak in, so that even if you couldn’t hear what they were saying, you’d still know exactly who they were talking about. Sightings of demonic cultivators from all over, completely at random, with no discernible pattern.

He can’t help but ask. “Then all those times a demonic cultivator claims to be a disciple of Wei Wuxian…?”

Wei Yuan chuckles at this. “They’re the reason we had to put some ground rules in place. Originally, Master Wei was willing to take in any wandering vagrant. Now we are a bit more careful to ensure their interest in demonic cultivation is genuine and not just a gimmick.”

“Then where is he now?” Jin Ling’s hands shake at his sides. He clenches them into fists, but the shaking only gets worse. “Where is Wei Wuxian right now?”

“Ah, I do believe that’s cheating, Young Master Jin,” Wei Yuan says. He shrugs helplessly, before sharpening that deadly, oh-so friendly grin of his. “Since I answered Young Master Lan’s question, doesn’t that mean it’s my turn to ask one now?”

The stale cave air turns sour in an instant. Jin Ling’s entire face is contorted in rage, and without warning, he draws his sword. He points the sharp tip right at the base of Wei Yuan’s throat.

“Shut up!” Jin Ling screams, panting heavily around the words. “Just shut up! I don’t owe you anything!”

“Hey,” Jingyi grabs onto his shoulder, trying to hold him back. “Let’s just calm down. Take a deep breath. Come on, breath in—”

“Let go,” Jin Ling all but hisses, twisting his shoulder in an attempt to loosen Jingyi’s grip. “I’m being serious, let go!”

“You’re being serious? You’re acting insane! He told us plenty of information already. It’s only fair if he wants to ask you something as well.”

Instead of having the calming, mediating effect Lan Jingyi had hoped for, his words fall short. Significantly short. He registers the pain before anything else, but Jin Ling strikes once, a clean hit straight to his stomach. 

It’s not like it hurts all that bad (though it will leave a bruise, which he may be able to leverage to get out of some training—it’s unlikely, but he can only hope) yet he still staggers back, more so in shock. “Jin Ling—”

“What do you know about fairness?” Jin Ling speaks with such rage that spit flies all over the place. He gestures wildly with his sword, the tip of it just barely grazing past Wei Yuan. “Is it fair that both my parents are dead, but he”—Jin Ling jabs his sword at Wei Yuan’s chest, but the latter does nothing except stare at him, face blank—“gets to live a happy, carefree life while I’ve dealt with so much bullshit? Huh? Is that fair, Lan Jingyi?”

“That’s a bold assumption,” Wei Yuan says. His fingers dance around Jin Ling’s sword, slow and languid, until a blue light starts to shine around them. He then wraps his entire hand around the blade, holding it steady, protected by the barrier of light—spiritual light. 

Jingyi gasps. Even Jin Ling is startled enough to pull back ever so slightly. Although he didn’t pierce through Wei Yuan’s clothes, there’s a deep crease left behind where the tip of his sword pressed onto them.

“What—what do you mean?” Jin Ling asks, jaw tight. He pulls on the hilt of his sword with a grunt, but Wei Yuan does not let go. 

“You shouldn't assume things about people’s lives, Young Master Jin. Especially when you don’t know anything about them.” 

“What’s there to know?” Jin Ling bites back. He keeps tugging at his sword like a spoiled child being denied their favourite toy. “You’re a demonic cultivator. Aside from that and Wei Wuxian’s location, there’s nothing else I need to know about you!”

Wei Yuan’s forehead creases. He seems genuinely confused as he asks, “Why are you so fussed about where Master Wei is right now?”

“Hah!” Jin Ling throws his head back in a loud, mocking laugh. His eyes are steely when he says, “Isn’t it obvious? When we get out of here, I’m going to tell my uncle. He can deal with you all as he sees fit!”

With a sharp inhale, Wei Yuan lets go of the sword. Jin Ling almost falls but is quick to pretend like nothing happened. 

“You hate us that much?” Wei Yuan’s face is blank for the most part, except for the slight disappointment in his eyes that betrays him. 

“Why shouldn't I?!” Jin Ling hollers, throwing his sword to the ground. It barely misses Jingyi, and he’s quick to back away before it hits him. “Wei Wuxian killed my parents, so why shouldn’t I hate you both?!”

Jin Ling screams. It’s loud and grating, echoing throughout the cave and reverberating in Lan Jingyi’s eardrums. It’s worse, somehow, than the screams of the monsters they’ve faced before. This scream is rough, raw. This scream is human.

He sprints forward and tackles Wei Yuan to the ground, looming over him like a beast attacking its prey. But the longer Jingyi stares at them, the less sure he is of who exactly is the prey in this situation. While Jin Ling continues to carry on in hysterics, tears in his eyes, hair in complete disarray, all Wei Yuan does is…nothing. Wei Yuan does absolutely nothing.

Instead, he lays there calmly on the rough cave floor and allows Jin Ling to cry and scream above him. He allows Jin Ling to wrap his hands around his collar and yank him up and down as he shakes him wildly. Wei Yuan allows all of this.

“Jin Ling!” Jingyi is on his feet, stalking closer, ready to get involved in the fight. “Stop! Get off—”

Wei Yuan’s eyes dart over to him. His stare pins Jingyi to the spot, and he halts in his tracks. With a smile, as if to say it’s fine, everything is fine, Wei Yuan shakes his head slightly. 

Jingyi thinks that he gets it. Whatever feud they have between them, it doesn’t involve him.

“You bastard!” Jin Ling is still screaming, his voice now reduced to a rasp. He hardly breathes as he spews out insults. “You’re all bastards! You killed my mother! My father! And now you dare to smile? Huh?!” When Wei Yuan remains silent, Jin Ling shakes him once more, all but hissing. “Answer me!”

Wei Yuan’s smile turns into something regretful, and he turns his head to look back up at Jin Ling. “No matter what I say,” he begins, “I don’t think you’ll like it, Young Master Jin.”

“Then say it,” Jin Ling snaps weakly. “Just—say something.”

“Alright,” Wei Yuan says. “Then I’ll tell you my surname.”

Jin Ling inhales sharply. “Do you think this is a joke? You told us your name already.”

“Not my original name. My name before Wei Wuxian took me in.”

“Fine,” Jin Ling says lowly, breath shaky. He lowers his face, his gaze as sharp as the sword at his belt. “Tell me.”

Wei Yuan stares right back, unashamed and unbothered. “Wen.”

It’s silent for a long while before Jin Ling dares to ask, “What?”

“My surname,” Wei Yuan says calmly, “is Wen.”

Lan Jingyi can hardly believe it either. This young man—he was a Wen all along? But weren’t they all—

His face falls. Oh no.

“Hey,” Jingyi tries again, almost frantic as he ignores Wei Yuan’s earlier plea to not interfere and starts to pull on Jin Ling’s shoulders. “That's enough, get off him—”

But Jin Ling doesn’t even notice his presence, let alone feel the tugs and pulls as Jingyi tries to drag him away. “Say that again,” Jin Ling whispers, almost like a challenge.

Wei Yuan smiles. “Your uncle killed my family, Jin Rulan.”

Jin Ling jerks violently, pulls back his arm so quickly that Jingyi doesn’t even have the time to process what’s going on. Before he can intercept the punch, Jin Ling’s fist is moving, hurtling down towards Wei Yuan.

It’s a powerful strike, likely infused with spiritual energy. Dust scatters around them, and the cave floor rumbles beneath their feet. Belatedly, Jingyi realises that maybe Jin Ling could have punched a hole through the pile of rocks after all. 

The dust settles, revealing a Wei—Wen?—Yuan that is perfectly intact, and a sizable crater right next to his head. Jin Ling’s fist must be burning, his knuckles a deep shade of red from the strike. But he still pulls his fist back again. 

Wei Yuan does not flinch. He doesn’t so much as blink as Jin Ling’s fist strikes down again. And again. And again. Over and over until he’s grunting in pain, blood flowing down his knuckles. With each strike, the cave shakes and rumbles. No one thinks anything of it, and that’s when Jingyi hears it. 

“Hey, stop! Jin Ling!” But it’s still no use; Jingyi’s warnings fall on deaf ears. “Jin Ling!”

Suddenly, there’s a loud crack. Wei Yuan’s eyes snap upwards, widening in alarm. 

Rocks start to fall from the ceiling, raining down on them in an unrelenting downpour. Lan Jingyi is frozen, mind racing as he frantically tries to think of what to do, how to get out of this.

There’s a dull thud and then a frantic, “Young Master Jin!”

Jin Ling lies sprawled over a concerned Wei Yuan. Even when he’s nudged in the arm and tapped on the cheek, he doesn’t stir. A stream of blood falls down his forehead, and Wei Yuan curses.

He’s quick to switch their positions so that Jin Ling is beneath him. Wei Yuan clasps his hands together, mouth pursed as if he’s whistling. Tendrils of resentful energy surround him—a protective barrier. Any rocks that are about to fall near his vicinity are quickly struck by the tendrils and broken up into smaller pieces. 

“Lan Jingyi!" Wei Yuan calls out, waving him over frantically with one hand while holding up Jin Ling’s head with the other. “Hurry!”

Jingyi doesn’t have to be told twice. He’s on his feet in an instant, and all seems to be going well.

He registers a few things, at that moment. All in quick succession, in no particular order: a sharp pain on his head, something warm trickling down his face, Wei Yuan’s frantic expression.

And then, there is nothing. 

Lan Jingyi is warm. There’s something soft cushioning his throbbing head, and a pleasant smell in the air. It’s the smell of home, so he’s distantly aware that he’s back in Cloud Recesses. But his mind is too foggy to think of anything else, and his body is too tired to expend the energy to even try to think.

He cannot see anything, eyes shut peacefully as he sinks into the feeling of being weightless, boneless. He cannot hear much either; everything is muted and distorted, as if he’s listening in from underwater.

It takes a while for him to notice the music.

The soft pluck of guqin strings, a relaxing melody played over and over. And then the sound of a flute following along.

Jingyi knows this song, knows it in the depths of his bones. But for the time being, the name escapes him, and it’s to this familiar, nameless song that he falls back asleep.

Hours later, Jingyi finally starts to wake, a soft groan in the back of his throat as he stirs around his bed. 

There’s a soft, hushed voice, tinged with slight panic. “Hanguang-jun—”

“You must leave now,” comes Hanguang-jun’s reply, his voice equally tight. 

“Of course. Then…take care.”

“Sizhui.”

“Yes?”

“Do not blame yourself. One note will not cause adverse effects.”

“...Alright. But Master Wei…his condition—”

“I know,” Hanguang-jun says softly. He sounds sad. Maybe Jingyi is still dreaming. “Give Wei Ying my regards.”

When Jingyi finally manages to open his eyes, the only other person in the room with him is Hanguang-jun, seated in front of his guqin. He rises and walks over to where Jingyi lies on his bed.

“You are awake,” Hanguang-jun says. “How do you feel?”

“Han…Hanguang-jun?” Jingyi’s voice comes as a shock even to his own ears. He coughs slightly and clears his throat, but it does little to help, and his voice is still painfully raspy when he goes on to say, “I…I heard someone else in here. Who was it?”

Hanguang-jun’s face is as blank as ever. He places a hand against Jingyi’s forehead, and the warm flow of spiritual energy relieves an ache Jingyi didn’t even know he had.

“Rest,” is all Hanguang-jun tells him, and so he does.

Lan Jingyi stands before a cave. It's a pretty pathetic sight—the entrance is no more than a pile of rocks, to the point where anyone unfamiliar with the area could easily pass by without even knowing there's a cave here. But Jingyi knows, and he feels like that's enough.

There's the crunch of fallen leaves behind him. His heart does a little jump, but he forces himself to calm down lest he be disappointed.

"Oh. It's you," Jin Ling says.

Ah. Disappointed he certainly is.

Jingyi keeps facing the front, but his eyes glance over to Jin Ling, now standing right next to him. "Who were you expecting?"

"No one," Jin Ling says, as if he and Jingyi both aren't there for the same reason, for the same person. "I was just passing by."

"So was I," Jingyi says, even though Cloud Recesses is further from this place than Lotus Pier is. He looks over properly, only marginally shocked to see a white bandage wrapped around Jin Ling's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Jin Ling's arm twitches, and for a moment it seems like he's about to touch his wound. "Fine. It's...getting better. Would have been worse if..." He says nothing more, but Jingyi still understands. "You seem alright."

"Nothing a few days in bed couldn't heal," Jingyi says with a shrug. "Since I haven't heard anything about the cultivation world falling into shambles, I'm guessing you didn't tell your uncle the full story?"

Jin Ling's face reddens. He rubs the back of his neck, turned away slightly in embarrassment. “I couldn’t just rat him out after he saved us.”

“Twice.”

“Twice,” Jin Ling repeats absently, clearly still bothered that a demonic cultivator, of all people, had been the one to save his life. “What Uncle doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

Jingyi nods, feeling very much the same way. 

“And you?” Jin Ling goes on to say. “I’m guessing you didn’t tell anyone either?”

Jingyi kicks around a few rocks absentmindedly. After he had woken up, he’d expected for his devious little plot to be revealed—especially after he forgot to tell Zizhen to stop sending letters, and so while Jingyi was still bedridden, Hanguang-jun came by with a letter of thanks from ‘Sect Leader Ouyang’ for allowing his son to attend a night hunt with Jingyi, praising both boys for their skill. Jingyi thought it was all over for him, but…nothing had happened. 

Hanguang-jun carried on as if Jingyi hadn’t lied about the night hunt. Jingyi wanted to ask about it, wanted to ask about Wei Yuan, but whenever he approached Hanguang-jun to bring it up, he’d be given this…look. A look that implored—that begged him not to ask, to just keep quiet about this. 

And now, Jingyi stands before a cave, hoping that maybe he’ll find the answers he’s looking for.

“No, I didn’t tell anyone,” he says. 

Jin Ling nods slowly, and then, catching himself acting like a civilised person, follows up with a harsh scoff. “I let him go this one time, but if I ever see him again I’ll—”

“Wait,” Jingyi’s ears perk up. He swats at Jin Ling’s arm, and even though there’s hardly any strength behind the action, Jin ling still gets mad about it. “Shut up for a minute and listen.”

Jin Ling lowers his hand, which had been poised and ready to strike back. They both stand there in the stillness of the forest, listening. 

Carried by a wayward breeze, there’s the unmistakable sound of a flute.