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Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian is warm. It’s not a common feeling, especially not since he and the Dafan Wens took up residence in the Burial Mounds. Nothing feels warm there, but Wei Wuxian finds that when A-Yuan plays with the paper butterfly in his little hands, twirling it around as his face lights up in a gummy smile, things seem alright even if just for a moment.

He’s still smiling over the memory of the last time Lan Zhan had visited. Wei Wuxian has very little to his name now but memories, and he cherishes memories like the precious gold that the Jins hoard. He recalls Lan Zhan, his fuddy duddy Lan Zhan, buying toys from street vendors after A-Yuan set his pleading eyes on his Rich-gege. Wei Wuxian thinks about how Lan Zhan would be a surprisingly doting father. He doesn’t think his friend would have the heart to say no to a child if they asked for any material thing, especially if that child was as adorable as A-Yuan.

The warmth turns to a lukewarm feeling, as he wonders wistfully when Lan Zhan would visit them again. After all, Lan Zhan did promise to visit again!

Well, Lan Zhan had promised A-Yuan. But his eyes had flickered to Wei Wuxian’s when he made the promise, lips twitching in what Wei Wuxian knew to be a smile. Everyone knows that the great and honorable Hanguang-jun would not break a promise.

Wei Wuxian twirls the small bell between his thumb and forefinger. He had created it himself, carved it with charms and strong protections on it. He’s sure that it’ll be perfect for little Jin Ling, Jin Rulan. After all, only the best will suit his shijie’s first child! The invitation to his nephew’s one month celebration couldn’t have come at a better time. Living in the Burial Mounds could not be described as easy, even more so in the past few months. One of their radish crops had gotten infected, losing their main source of revenue for the days to come. As the Wen labored in the fields to clear out the damaged radishes and replant them, Wei Wuxian had been working day and night to develop new talismans to sell in lieu of vegetables.

Talismans made by the fearsome, wickedly genius Yiling Patriarch himself! Quite ingenious, he likes to think. He’s seen other vendors try to sell gimmicks under his name too, so technically his wares would come from a more ethical business, seeing as he is the authentic Yiling Patriarch. That is, if ethics could be associated with the Yiling Patriarch in any capacity.

Most of the talismans Wei Wuxian created were harmless, through and through: heating talismans, stasis talismans, warding talismans, the basics. He did have some more experimental ones in the works, but none he’s ready to sell yet. It was hard work, poring over talisman theory and creating a safe space to experiment, especially when his workplace was the Demon-Slaughtering cave, home to a blood pool and a steady supply of resentful energy.

But being invited to Jin Ling’s one month celebration has made it easier to get through the past few months. This was his proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, his reminder that even as Wei Wuxian continued to isolate himself from the Yunmeng Jiang, his roots have not completely forsaken him.

“Wei-gongzi, are you ready to go?” Wen Ning asks him.

Wei Wuxian dusts his robes off and gets up, clutching the bell tighter in his fist.

---

It’s too quiet.

Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning had made their way to Qiongqi Path with ease, but they stopped in their tracks at the desolate path. The silence is almost too inviting, not even the chirp of a cricket or the whistling of a bird to be heard. His fingers twitch reflexively, eyes darting down to his belt for an instant to make sure his flute is still tethered there. It’s an action he’s found himself repeating more and more often these days, as his stress mounts.

The silence is broken all too quickly. In an instant, he finds himself surrounded by three hundred Jin cultivators, facing him with arrows and swords at the ready.

It would seem that maybe the Jin didn’t want him to come to his first and only nephew’s one month celebration. Wei Wuxian finds this quite rude, yet altogether unsurprising. He squashes down the tiny sliver of red hot hurt that wells in his gut at this, because he knows better than to get his hopes up about these kinds of things. He’s known that ever since Madam Yu almost cut off his hand to give to Wang Lingjiao, since he realized that the Great Sects didn’t care about whether they killed civilians as long as they had the surname Wen, since he gave up his golden core and knew that he’d never be Lan Zhan’s equal again.

Knowing doesn’t lessen the blow.

“Wei Wuxian!”

An angry Jin cultivator with a pinched, reddening face screams his name and approaches him from the head of the group. He stalks forward, sword half unsheathed already.

Wei Wuxian regards him with uninterest, eyebrow raised a-la Hanguang-jun.

“And who the fuck are you?” he says, tone all but screaming that he doesn’t truly care for the answer.

The cultivator’s face goes from red to an astonishingly deep shade of purple. It’s almost fascinating, but then he pulls down his robes from the top, revealing his chest and some of his torso. His skin is littered with decaying, puckered holes, flesh rotting around the wounds. The Hundred Holes Curse. If the curse goes on, he’ll be more corpse than cultivator.

Wei Wuxian wrinkles his nose at the sight.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” he says. Really, he doesn’t envy Wen Qing’s profession as a doctor. If every patient accosted her, whipping their robes off their person and shoving their putrid wounds in her face, Wei Wuxian would understand why she’s so trigger-happy with her needles.

“I— you—”

Me, Wei Wuxian thinks tiredly.

The Jin cultivator continues to splutter, “I’m Jin Zixun!”

His chest heaves with exertion, as if his name is supposed to mean something to Wei Wuxian. Although, Wei Wuxian does vaguely recognize it. This is the arrogant Jin cultivator that tried to force Lan Zhan to drink alcohol at a Lanling Jin Clan banquet. Ah, just another reason that Jin clan banquets suck.

“Okay, and?” Wei Wuxian says.

His face scrunches up even more, resembling a rather particularly angry monkey. “I know it was you that cursed me! I demand that you remove the curse, or I will end your pathetic life to free myself!”

There it is. Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow.

“I didn’t curse you. I didn’t even know your name thirty seconds ago. Do you really expect me to have put a curse on you?”

He can feel the fury slowly building in him, red hot and volatile, as his fingers twitch, aching to wrap around Chenqing and rip it away from his belt.

“You’re lying!” Jin Zixun howls, “Only the Yiling Patriarch would dare place a curse this heinous on a prestigious member of the Jin sect!”

Wei Wuxian has to physically restrain himself from laughing at that.

“You must have quite the thick face to accuse me like that with no evidence,” he drawls, and adds, “if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already and easily. I could’ve snapped your neck with my bare hands months ago. You are nothing. Lesser than dirt. Now, tell me again why I would bother with placing a curse on you?”

He’s aware that his voice is dripping with poison, that he’s shifting more and more into the persona of the feared Yiling Patriarch. Wen Ning shifts nervously at his side as Jin Zixun’s indignation increases to a fever pitch.

“You! You are practically admitting to placing a curse on me—”

“No, I’m really not, but if a fight’s what you want, then—”

Wei Wuxian is about to grab Chenqing, but a blur of gold robes in front of him makes him stop.

It’s the Peacock. His face is ashen gray from exertion. Wei Wuxian thinks that Jin Zixun is very lucky that Jin Zixuan showed up when he did.

“Wei Wuxian,” Jin Zixuan says, holding a hand up to the Jin cultivators. They lower their weapons; if anything, Jin Zixun looks even more infuriated at that. “I apologize for the behavior of my cousin, on the behalf of the Jin sect. I personally have given you an invitation to attend my son’s one month celebration, and it is… unforgivable that you have been attacked by my own sect on your way to attending.”

A reluctant part of Wei Wuxian notes that the Peacock has grown from his bumbling days as a teen, unable to navigate any situation without running away in embarrassment or huffing and refusing to answer.

“Dishonorable,” Wei Wuxian agrees, just to see the way the Peacock’s shitty cousin spasms at that.

“I will not accuse you of anything, Wei Wuxian, brother of my wife,” Jin Zixuan says cautiously, “which is why I implore you to come back to Koi Tower with me for questioning.”

For questioning. Wei Wuxian thinks he feels something in his head shatter when hearing those words.

He does not have the capacity to express the sheer hypocrisy, the utter gall at being summoned to Koi Tower for interrogation, as if he were some sort of common criminal. As if he were already going to be persecuted for a crime he did not commit.

“Dishonorable,” Wei Wuxian spits, stalking towards Jin Zixuan, completely disregarding the way the hundreds of Jin cultivators around then tense at his every movement. Let them! No matter what he does, they’re all only looking for an excuse to kill him, just one single tiny excuse!

“I promise, we promise, to release you once we find you innocent.” Jin Zixuan says. His hands are raised up, as if he’s dealing with a feral dog. It takes all but the last vestiges of Wei Wuxian’s self-restraint to not snarl at him. Promises from Lan Zhan are like gold, but promises from any Jin are not worth the money even a single radish will sell for.

“Innocent? Like I fucking said, I don’t know who this eyesore is! Do you dare claim that every sorry person that finds themselves cursed is due to my existence?”

Wei Wuxian finds his vision reddening at the edges with his ire, resentful energy swirling where his core once resided. Jin Zixuan looks like he’s at a loss for words, and Wei Wuxian notices that Jin Zixun has his sword fully unsheathed. The other Jin cultivators are beginning to notch their arrows already.

It would seem that it’s a forgone conclusion.

He’s about to take Chenqing and play a tune that sings of the massacre of three hundred souls, when Wen Ning yells out.

“Wait!”

Wei Wuxian turns around to regard the fierce corpse. Wen Ning swallows as the eyes of the many cultivators turn on him, and he steps forward as meekly as he can.

“If we can prove Wei-gongzi’s innocence, will you let us go, Jin-gongzi?” Wen Ning asks.

“Innocence? As if he can be innocent,” Jin Zixun sneers. Jin Zixuan gives him an admonishing glare, before turning to Wen Ning. He seems hesitant to address a fierce corpse, but does so with the same level of respect he afforded Wei Wuxian.

“Yes, of course,” he says, “that is what I was trying to say in the first place.”

Wei Wuxian resists the urge to snort.

“Then,” Wen Ning says, pulling out something from his robes, “we can use this.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen as he realizes what Wen Ning has in his hands. And then his face breaks out into a grin.

“You left it in the Demon-Slaughtering Cave, Wei-gongzi. I found it while cleaning up, and meant to give it back to you,” Wen Ning admits sheepishly. Wei Wuxian thinks he could kiss him.

“What is that, Wen-gongzi?” Jin Zixuan asks politely.

“That,” Wei Wuxian says proudly, “is one of my many inventions. A talisman I developed myself. It’s purpose is to be able to track the caster of a curse.”

He takes the talisman paper from Wen Ning, handing it over to the Peacock. Jin Zixuan takes it.

“Just slap it on your cousin, and you’ll be able to track down who cursed him.” It’s still an experimental design, but Wei Wuxian is pretty sure it will work. At least ninety percent sure.

“An innovative piece of work,” Jin Zixuan acknowledges, as Jin Zixun narrows his eyes at the paper.

“I refuse! How are we to believe that Wei-dog’s words? That talisman could just as well kill me! Zixuan, don’t believe his lies!”

To Wei Wuxian’s surprise and utter delight. Jin Zixuan ignores his cousin. The heir to the Jin Sect, in a feat of decisiveness that even Wei Wuxian has to respect, turns to his cousin and slaps the talisman on Jin Zixuan’s arm with considerable speed.

Jin Zixun gapes at like an ugly trout. Wei Wuxian almost laments for a second that he won’t have the chance to gut him like the fish he is, but he supposes that being cleared of any guilt is an adequate price to pay for missing out on such an opportunity.

For a tension filled moment, nothing happens. Qiongqi Path is silent once more, as three hundred cultivators wait at the ready.

Then, a blue thread shimmers in the air. It materializes slowly, starting at the talisman from where it is connected to Jin Zixun, and grows outwards. It crawls in the air in the opposite direction of Wei Wuxian, until finally stopping somewhere on a ridge above the path.

Huh, Wei Wuxian thinks, a few things falling into place.

He whistles lowly. “It would seem that someone followed you here, Zixun. Someone’s really out to get you.”

The cultivators all turn towards the location of the blue glowing connection. Jin Zixun snarls in anger, his face going from red to purple to red again in a truly alarming show of colors, and he seems just a second away from ordering his small army to follow the thread and seize the culprit.

But before he can give the order, discordant notes whistle over the valley.

Ice fills Wei Wuxian’s veins as he recognizes the panicked notes of a flute.

Chenqing remains untouched at his belt.

“Shit. Shit,” he mutters, before yelling, “it’s not me!”

There’s a second demonic cultivator out there, or at least someone that’s familiar with manipulating resentful energy, and that’s bad news for all of them.

“Find out who’s playing, and capture them!” Jin Zixuan orders the panic-stricken cultivators. There’s a frantic shuffle as the cultivators retreat back out of Qiongqi Path and towards the direction of the flute playing, swords out and arrows switching trajectory from Wei Wuxian to the new, unknown threat.

But every precious second that they don’t find the demonic cultivator in question is another second that resentful energy is manipulated. Wei Wuxian whips his head around to see Wen Ning struggling under the control of the second flute player. The veins on his neck strain as his eyes blacken into beady, black pools.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach drops as he sees Wen Ning reel his arm backwards, aimed straight for his shijie’s husband.

His body moves before he can think. In an instant, he pushes Jin Zixuan out of the way, out of danger.

A soft gasp is punched from him, as Wen Ning’s fist runs straight through his abdomen.

The ringing in his ears grows until he can’t hear anything around him. Wen Ning’s hand slides out from his body and blood bubbles up his throat, dripping down his chin as he chokes on air. Wei Wuxian thinks that beyond the pain, beyond the feeling of drowning on dry land, it’s ironic how hollow he feels. He never thought he could feel more empty than when he lost his golden core, but it seems that having a gaping hole punched through him could do the trick.

He stumbles backwards as his knees buckle without his permission, his body no longer his own to control. Wei Wuxian falls to the ground with an unceremonious swaying motion, a thump that he barely hears.

The last thing he sees before the blinding pain steals his consciousness is the agitated Jin cultivators running in what seemed like slow-motion towards where the flute player had been hidden, and then Jin Zixuan’s horror-stricken face, yelling at him in shock.

He closes his eyes.

---

His throat feels raw, like he’s been screaming for hours. He cannot move; it feels like there are a thousand rocks weighing down his chest. His skin feels raw around the edges, as if it’s been peeled back and stitched back on.

There are hands in his stomach. He can feel air hitting a place that was never meant to be exposed. His vision is blurry, nonexistent, and all he knows is pain.

He thinks he hears someone gasp, but he can’t bother to figure out who it is.

His mind drifts aimlessly until it settles on one thing.

Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan said he would visit him and A-Yuan again. Lan Zhan. He wonders if Lan Zhan is here. Is that why the pain is starting to fade away? Is that why he feels like he’s slowly leaving his body, experiencing something happening to himself without truly experiencing it? He’s felt empty since the core removal, but with every moment he spends with Lan Zhan, he feels a little more human and less like the monster he was sure he became when he was first thrown into the Burial Mounds.

Wei Wuxian is tired.

He lets out a soft sigh as voices around him grow more and more alarmed. It fades away, eventually, and the stinging aches of his body slowly numb into pleasant warmth. Lethargy settles into his very bones, and he thinks it welcoming, like a well-needed embrace at the end of a difficult day. He knows that he’s been having a lot of those lately.

As the darkness is about to claim him, he tries to call out to Lan Zhan one more time.

Chapter Text

Wu Ming and Wu Xiang settled in a village on the edge of Tingshan. It is a civilian village, one that often receives visitors from the Tingshan He Sect. As such, the people of Tingshan are well protected. This was one of the factors that had brought the young couple to Tingshan, a respectable quaint village to lay down their roots in.

Being farmers, Wu Ming and Wu Xiang planted their seed, grew their crops, and harvested the precious fruits and vegetables. They built a home for themselves, creating a stable foundation for their small family ingrained in the very dirt of the land around them.

A year after they settled into their new home, Wu Ying was born.

He was a welcome surprise, and his parents tended to him with as much tenacity and meticulousness as they did their farmland. Wu Ying grows up slowly yet altogether too fast, living up to his surname— he’s loud and noisy all the time. Wu Ming delights in it. Every noise his little baobei makes is a gift, and when the first words his ever-smiling son utters is “baba!”, he is not ashamed to admit that he cries.

Wu Xiang just rolls her eyes. It’s harder to say “A-Niang” for a baby anyways, and she’s half certain that her son was just babbling nonsense, but she refrains from telling her husband that. She also denies spending the next months whispering, “A-Niang! Say A-Niang, baobei,” to a wide-eyed, drooling Wu Ying.

From the moment their son starts toddling, he gets his hands on anything he can reach. He tries to get involved with the farmwork, even if it’s just him running barefoot after his father in the dirt while his mother laughs at the sight. When Wu Ying’s father comes home to a hot meal courtesy of Wu Xiang, Wu Ying tries to help his mother serve the food, using clumsy chopsticks to place a carrot slice on Wu Ming’s plate. Wu Ming’s eyes widen at this, before he’s taking his son’s face in his calloused hands and kissing his chubby cheeks in thanks. Wu Ying squeals and pushes his father away as Wu Xiang says, “Aiyah! This filial child has had enough of his doting parents, hasn't he?”

Wu Ying shakes his head no vehemently, before continuing to place steamed vegetables on his parents’ plates one by one with his chopsticks. Wu Ming and Wu Xiang exchange a fond look, the one that means, we must have been truly pure souls in a previous life to have been blessed with such a son.

When Wu Ying is old enough, they start taking him to the village markets. Their town mainly specializes in agricultural products, but there are a few inns and fabric sellers too. As such, cultivators sometimes pass through the area and stay for the night, trading stories of the cultivation world with the locals, wide eyed village children listening from afar to the fantastical tales of such a world.

Wu Ying gets bits and pieces of cultivation history as he grows up. He thinks it’s all rather interesting, if not an awful fairy tale that he barely believes is true. He learns about the awful war with the Wen that took place a little over ten years ago, around the time Wu Ying himself was born. He learns about the Great Sects, and about how the Yiling Patriarch led the sects to victory during the Sunshot Campaign. The most exciting part about the tale isn’t the victory itself, but the fact that he did so all on his own without a golden core.

He remembers hearing this specific bit from a cultivator and his companion passing through their village. The cultivator looked burly, well-muscled, and had a thick sword that Wu Ying thinks could have cut down the tree in their backyard that was older than Wu Ying’s baba. Even so, the cultivator had a pale face as he put a trembling hand on his stomach, saying that he couldn’t imagine daring to fight without his golden core.

Wu Ying had put his own small hand on his stomach, wondering what it feels like to have something so magical and revered as a golden core there.

How the Yiling Patriarch had paved the way for the Sunshot Campaign to succeed without a golden core, he learned, was through the invention of his own type of cultivation: Demonic Cultivation. Wu Ying hears loud condemnations of Jin Guangshan, the greedy leader of the Jin, and his bastard son, and how they plotted together to become the next Wen Ruohan. They wanted to hurt the civilian Wens, the Dafan Wens who did not participate in the war, but the Yiling Patriarch, in true form to his heroic nature, saved the innocent.

Wu Ying learns about how a minor disciple from another Sect, Su Minshan, tried to kill the current Jin sect leader and pin the blame on the Yiling Patriarch. He learns how the Yiling Patriarch sacrificed his life to save the Jin sect leader, and how he became a hero in the cultivation world in his death.

Throughout the years, he hears many legends about the Yiling Patriarch. Generally, he finds it entertaining, and a good tale to recount to the other village kids when he finds the time. But Wu Ying doesn’t think about it much, no matter how incredible the things he hears about Wei Wuxian are.

In the end, it’s just a story.

---

“Radishes! Radishes, freshly plucked radishes,” Wu Ming calls out, holding out their wares with an inviting hand.

Wu Ying looks at his father, and picks up a radish himself, running out to the street.

“Radishes! The best radishes on this side of Tingshan! You don’t want to miss them!” Wu Ying yells, waving the radishes in an arc. He gets amused looks from the market-goers.

“A-Ying! Come back here,” Wu Ming says, waving him back behind their stall. He smiles at his son. “You are quite the little businessman, aren’t you? But don’t stand in people’s way! I wouldn’t want my son to be trampled over. You’d become a pancake, A-Ying! A pancake!”

His baba is ridiculous, Wu Ying thinks as he rolls his eyes. He’s about to tell his baba exactly what he thinks about becoming a pancake, when a cultivator dressed in the green robes of the Tingshan He stops in front of their stall. He gives Wu Ying a kind smile, which Wu Ying immediately returns tenfold.

“This young master is quite the salesman,” the cultivator says with a twinkle in his eye. He picks up a bundle of radishes and inspects them, before handing over a few coins.

“You are quite kind, gongzi,” Wu Ming says, taking the coins in his palm. “Our A-Ying is many things, but having an idle brain he does not.”

“I can see that,” the cultivator says, before bowing slightly and introducing himself. “My name is He Fai. I hope that your radishes truly are the best on this side of Tingshan. My wife quite enjoys them.”

Wu Ying nods, confident in his baba’s crops. “We’ll grow potatoes soon! He Xiangsheng, please come again!”

Wu Ming laughs, placing a fond hand on Wu Ying’s head. “My son has always wanted to grow potatoes for some reason. I’m not sure why.” He turns to He Fai, explaining, “we always tend to grow radishes and other such crops that can survive cold temperatures. Harsh winters have been hitting this part of Tingshan in recent years, but potatoes are more sensitive to freezing temperatures.”

“Every problem has a solution! That’s what A-Niang says,” Wu Ying responds stubbornly.

He Fai watches the exchange with a quirked eyebrow, smiling at Wu Ying’s bold response.

“If the young master ever grows potatoes, I will be the first to buy them,” He Fai declares, watching Wu Ying’s eyes widen.

The young boy grins at the cultivator, before declaring, “Mark your words!”

Wu Ming scolds him for his cheek, but He Fai just laughs, leaving with a spring in his step. Wu Ying takes it all as a personal challenge.

---

Wu Ying knows that as much as he thinks that the tales of the Yiling Patriarch are simply that, he also knows that the Yiling Patriarch was a real person. He was a real person that died around the time that Wu Ying had been born. If the Yiling Patriarch were still alive, he wouldn’t be that old at all, especially by cultivators’ standards. That’s why Wu Ying doesn’t completely dismiss the stories he hears about the cultivation world.

He knows how the Yiling Patriarch brought life to the Burial Mounds, a barren place devoid of life and fertile soil. Wu Ying knows that this means the Yiling Patriarch must have been, amongst other things, a master of agriculture.

So, when a traveling merchant comes to town, he doesn’t hesitate to buy a copy of one of the Yiling Patriarch’s writings on talismans, along with a few pieces of talisman paper. It’s one of his more expensive purchases if not his most expensive purchase that he’s made in his life. But, Wu Ying has never wanted much from his parents other than their love and attention, which Wu Ming and Wu Xiang were more than willing to give at a moment’s notice. So, when Wu Ying asked for the money to buy the texts, his parents were loath to deny him.

He’s slightly dismayed when he flips through the text. It’s filled with a lot of nonsense and scribbles, half-baked theories which turned into vague drafts of unfinished talismans. Oddly enough, through the nonsense, Wu Ying feels like the writings are familiar somehow. He shakes his head, scanning the pages until he sees a section with experimental talismans and their uses. It seems that the Yiling Patriarch created a few of his own, including ones that cultivators would find valuable, such as “spirit attracting flags”.

Those would never be useful to Wu Ying.

Instead, he focuses on the Yiling Patriarch’s modifications on basic warming talismans, and others which have been modified to serve a greater functionality.

Wu Ying finds himself engrossed in the text so much so that he doesn’t realize how late he’s stayed up reading it until the candle in his room is almost fully melted.

(Interestingly enough, there’s a doodle of a boy chewing on a flute on the corner of one of the pages. Wu Ying finds himself staring at the doodle for a second longer than he meant to.)

---

Throughout the year, Wu Ying studies the Yiling Patriarch’s text inside and out, until he feels like the thoughts written down on the paper could veritably be his own. Once he’s exhausted from reading and re-reading the writings, he begins his own experiments.

He fails and fails, sometimes succeeding, only to fail more.

The rough winter hits as usual, and passes.

A year later, He Fai stood in front of Wu Ming’s stall again. There’s a considerable crowd in front of the stall, and as he makes his way to the front, he realizes that most of the table is devoid of crops. A quick glance around him shows satisfied civilians walking away with Wu Ming’s produce. He looks up to see Wu Ying beaming as he takes coin from another eager customer. Wu Ying’s baba looks a little dazed at the situation, and a lot proud.

And then He Fai notices the wide variety of vegetables and fruit labeled on their stand compared to any of the others he had passed by today.

He Fai blinks. “Rice? Melons? Potatoes? I don’t even think my a-Chun has ever seen a melon. They don’t grow in this part of Tingshan.”

Wu Ying grins at him, one that is both excited and still slightly smug.

“It’s all thanks to our Wu Ying,” Wu Ming says proudly, his bag heavy with coin and his son flushing with pride. “He’s quite the burgeoning talismans maker! Heaven only knows where he got that talent from.”

He Fai gives Wu Ying a considerable look. “How old are you, young master Wu?”

“A-Ying is twelve, He Xiansheng!”

He Fai has an idea.

---

Wu Ming and Wu Xiang were reluctant to let go of their only son, but knew that He Fai was an honorable cultivator coming from a well-known sect. They made him promise to write weekly updates and permit monthly visits. It took quite a lot of convincing from He Fai, but the cultivator was prepared for this— he saw how despite holding the bag of coin from selling a fortune of crops, Wu Ming looked at Wu Ying as if he were the real treasure.

Within the next week, Wu Ying is packed and ready to travel to the heart of Tingshan with He Fai. The Tingshan He Sect cultivators live and train there, and although Wu Ying was not interested in cultivating, He Fai assured him that there were other avenues to learn cultivation techniques that were not limited simply to traditional cultivation with the purpose of strengthening one’s golden core.

Under He Fai’s glowing recommendation, Wu Ying studies under He Nuan, an older cultivator who lived through the war against the Wen and a war before that too.

If Wu Ying were a sapling before He Nuan’s tutelage, afterwards he blossomed.

Under her strict but fair discipline, he learns about the principles of cultivation and the basics of talismans crafting. He learns how to choose talisman paper of the highest quality, and how writing on talisman paper with different mediums ranging from cinnabar to ink to blood can change the intended effect of the talisman. Wu Ying drinks in the tutelage of his shifu, which earns him an approving nod and a satisfied smile from her every time he answers one of her questions correctly.

“The boy has incredible instinct,” He Nuan muses when He Fai comes to visit, “It’s almost uncanny how quickly talisman theory comes to him. Though he seems to have little interest in traditional cultivation.”

He Fai blinks. “I’ll be sure to let Wu Xiansheng and Wu-furen know of their son’s accomplishments.” With every update he wrote to the Wu family on their son’s progress, the more and more convinced He Fai is that Wu Ying is a true diamond in the rough.

When Wu Ying turns fourteen, his village has gone from a mediocre farming town that declines during the influx of harsh weather to a thriving agricultural community. The volume of crops output by his family and the surrounding farmers has improved exponentially when compared to the past years. Miraculously, crops are growing at all times of the year. Not only that, but also their harsh winters have brought fewer fevers to those living in talisman-insulated huts.

Almost everyone in Wu Ying’s hometown knows of the talented, loud young boy who can seemingly fix anything with a bit of paper and ink. To Wu Ying’s delight, he’s started to earn a steady income from sending and selling talismans to other villagers, enough to give back to his parents and keep a little for himself. He starts saving up, satisfied in the notion that he’s helping his parents live an easier life.

We’re so proud of you, A-Ying. But remember, your A-Niang and baba want the best for you, so do not overwork yourself. If you ever want to come home, we will always have a space ready for you here. We miss you, A-Ying. Stay safe and stay happy, our clever baobei.

He holds on to every single letter from his parents, marveling at their unconditional love. To Wu Ying’s chagrin, baba has even been talking about him to the other village kids— they’ve started writing him letters too, asking to learn about the “magical talismans” from him. From him! He knows he’s lightyears away from being anywhere close to as talented as his shifu, but the idea of teaching younger kids makes him feel warm. Maybe one day, he thinks. Until then, he will continue to help his parents live an easier life, and to help the people around him do the same.

Wu Ying has found that to solve some problems requires a significant amount of experimentation with the talisman creation process. He Nuan encourages a more wary, careful approach to the creation of new talismans. It’s a delicate process, as one’s intent needs to be intricately detailed through the use of a sparing amount of characters on spiritually charged talisman paper. Wu Ying, however, prefers to take a hands-on approach to this, much to He Nuan’s exasperation.

“Wu Ying! What do you think you’re doing, boy?” She yells at him one evening. To be fair, she’s rather justified, Wu Ying realizes. The weather that day is cold enough that Wu Ying can see his breath fog in the air when he exhales, yet he’s dripping water on the floor of his teacher’s residence, standing there with a dopey grin on his face in his under robes.

“Did you go for a swim in this freezing weather?” She seethes. “What were you thinking? What am I going to tell your poor mother—”

Before she can get further in her rant, Wu Ying pulls aside his inner robes to reveal a series of talismans he pasted on his bare skin. He Nuan’s voice trails away as her eyes narrow, the crows feet in her skin deepening as she focuses on the characters.

“You’ve modified the heating talisman,” she says. It’s not a question, but Wu Ying answers it anyway with a grin.

“I finally got the body heating talismans to work, shifu! It was tricky to get right at first, since I didn’t know how to regulate my own fluctuating body temperature without over or undershooting, but I think I figured it out. Did you know that there are some fish in the water at this time of the year? Even when it’s this cold? With this talisman, we can swim in the water and catch fish with our bare hands even in freezing temperatures!”

He rambles, watching his teacher’s face go through the usual stages of grief that she goes through whenever Wu Ying explains the logic behind his newest creation. He’s become accustomed to it at this point.

“So you’ve decided to test the talisman on yourself? On one of the coldest days in the Autumn season? Tell me, what would I tell your parents if you had come down with sickness because of a failed talisman?” He Nuan presses, and the grin falls off Wu Ying’s face. He doesn’t enjoy the thought of his parents being worried about him— knowing baba, they would drop everything and make the journey to the heart of Tingshan themselves, which would only worry Wu Ying.

“Forgive this one’s thoughtlessness, shifu,” Wu Ying murmurs.

He Nuan’s face softens. She produces a cloth and hands it to Wu Ying.

“Wipe yourself down and change, Wu Ying. I want to ask you an important question.”

Wu Ying perks up at this. He nods and shuffles into his room, emerging in dry clothes. He Nuan gives him an approving nod.

“Shifu?”

“Although you’ve got quite a ways to go in your talisman testing methods,” He Nuan says severely while Wu Ying tries not to cringe, “you are an exceptional student, Wu Ying. The most promising I’ve had in all my years as a cultivator.”

Warmth blossoms in his chest at the words, his eyes widening. It’s not that his shifu doesn’t encourage him, but praise like this is rare. He Nuan is honorable, sincere in her actions, and knowing that makes the satisfaction deepen across Wu Ying’s cheeks.

“I’ve taught you much, and you seem to absorb it like a cloth to water. But like the running water of a river, you never seem to stay stagnant, Wu Ying. You have a lot of room to grow, and I recognize that you will blossom no matter what environment you encounter. Therefore, I would like to ask you: how do you feel about traveling outside of Tingshan?”

Wu Ying blinks.

The idea takes root inside his head, and grows.

A smile slowly forms on his face.

---

That’s how Wu Ying started traveling at the age of sixteen.

He leaves with a plentitude of supplies that He Nuan provides him. He tries to refuse the abundance of talisman paper that He Nuan stuffed into his new Qiankun bag, the expense of the supplies daunting him. He Nuan simply ignores his vehement protests, instead putting more resources in the bag with a staunch stubbornness until Wu Ying finally ceases in his protests. He leaves his shifu with wet eyes, and makes his way to his parents’ village to say his goodbyes.

Wu Ying leaves with a donkey his parents bought for him with hard-earned money. Wu Ming names it Lil’ Potato, since it has an odd obsession with Wu Ying’s hard-earned potatoes. Wu Ying finds it endearing. On the night before he leaves for his travels, Wu Xiang cooks him a big dinner full of his favorites, as his baba produces a jar of chili oil and presses it into Wu Ying’s hands. Wu Xiang regales him with tales of her travels with Wu Ming throughout their youth. Though they weren’t cultivators, they searched for their place on this Earth together, and eventually settled down together.

Wu Xiang understands Wu Ying’s impending journey acutely. “You were born with adventure in your blood, baobei.”

Wu Ming adds with a croak, “You have to write to your parents, okay? If our A-Ying finds someone worth settling down for, you always have to remember your poor baba and A-Niang.”

Wu Ying lets the tears fall then, hugging his parents tightly, feeling the warmth of their embrace once more. He truly doesn’t know where they would be without their brand of love, an affection heartier than the soup A-Niang makes with the first harvest of the season.

Wu Ying leaves the next morning, at the crack of dawn.

He soon learns just how big the world is, how many different people inhabit the lands around him, and how one doesn’t need to practice cultivation to experience the exhilarations that life has to offer. He’s astonished at the new faces, the new cultures, and the new sects he runs into. He’s even more astonished at just how useful people outside of his hometown find his talismans to be.

Wu Ying slowly travels westwards with Lil’ Potato, making a small fortune selling his talismans to those who want them, and giving them for free to those who truly need them. He sends whatever excess money he has back home to his parents, who write him letters full of love and reminders that he can come back whenever he wants to. Wu Ying finds that he doesn’t feel lonely traveling like this, despite having lived with family or his shifu for the majority of his life.

People start to remember Wu Ying, and when people remember, they start to talk.

Slowly but surely, Wu Ying is surprised to learn that he’s starting to make a name for himself.

He finds that he quite likes that.

Around a year into his travels, he finds himself in Ezhou, a town close to the region of Yunmeng. Wu Ying has heard of Yunping, the small city in Yunmeng full of bustling vendors and cultivators. He had already been planning on visiting Yunping City, hoping to make a profit off of his new selection of talismans there, but decided to stop in Ezhou. There’s a smaller sect of cultivators residing in the town, which Wu Ying thanks his lucky stars for, as he carefully pockets away the coins he earned that day from selling his wares to some of the cultivators and civilian villagers.

He pats Lil’ Potato. The donkey pushes its nose into Wu Ying’s hand stubbornly, as if rooting for more potatoes to eat.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, pulling a potato from his Qiankun pouch and holding it enticingly in front of the donkey’s maw. It brays in approval before reaching out to chomp on it. Wu Ying laughs, before leaning on Lil’ Potato, pulling out a letter he had recently received from He Fai.

Xiao Ying,

Or should this one refer to you as Wu-qianbei? I jest, but do not be surprised if He Nuan summons you back to Tingshan one day. You might just find yourself becoming Tingshan’s next talismans expert, or so I hear.

But enough of that. I hope you are faring well, Xiao Ying. Your parents delight in every letter they receive from you, I’ll have you know. Don’t tell her I told you, but your shifu admitted that she misses having a ‘student as adept and reckless as Wu Ying’.

Wu Ying laughs at that, eliciting a grunt from Lil’ Potato. He knows that his shifu has lamented his recklessness many times, and he elated at the fact that the loud, impulsive part of himself has grown on her.

She’s quite smug about your success, even if she won’t admit it. Your knack for talisman creation is a source of pride for us all. Wu-furen claims she doesn’t know where your bright brain comes from, Wu Ming agreeing eagerly. They both say that they must have been incredibly righteous people in a previous life to deserve a son such as you.

Wu Ying feels giddy warmth flush through him. He misses his parents. He makes a mental note to send them a letter later that week.

I must say that I cannot disagree with them.

I have rambled enough. Xiao Ying, remember to keep up with your cultivation exercises, should you ever choose to become a serious cultivator. Come visit soon— my A-Chun has heard stories about you, and wants to meet you one day. In your last letter, you agreed to visit her, and trust me—my little one will not forget a promise freely made.

Stay well and stay sharp, Xiao Ying.

Wishing you safe travels,

He Fai

Wu Ying snorts, as he pulls out a fresh sheet of paper, knowing how enthusiastic He Fai was about teaching Wu Ying cultivation practices before He Nuan drilled talisman knowledge into his head. He hasn’t even gotten a sword made for himself; both He Nuan and He Fai offered, but Wu Ying found that he had no interest in creating a spiritual weapon to defend himself, at least not yet. For now, he took solace in his defensive talismans.

He Xiangsheng,

This one thanks you for your concern for your Xiao Ying. Speaking of becoming a serious cultivator, people have mistaken me for one, despite my lack of a sword and a mediocre spiritual energy base. Some days, I barely think I can feel my golden core, but it is still there, like a bird fluttering weakly in the confines of my ribs. I am rather grateful for it, though I have never felt inclined to continue cultivating.

Ah! That reminds me, let me tell you about the last town I was in…

He writes about how the previous town he visited before Ezhou had been a small agricultural town with amazing quality soil. In recent years, however, the townspeople had struggled with transporting water to aid in tending to crops. Wu Ying had taken the challenge with eager excitement. After much planning and talking to the farmers, he eventually introduced a hybrid irrigation system with the aid of water-redirecting talismans he specifically designed for the occasion. It had taken him months, longer than he had planned on staying in the village, but the town had been very grateful. They had sent him on his way with an abundance of crops and food, which currently resided in his Qiankun pouch, kept fresh with the aid of one of his stasis talismans.

It had been one of the most memorable parts of his travels thus far.

After penning the letter, he pulls out another shorter one from He Nuan. His shifu tells him the usual— to make sure he keeps a constant supply of the essential talismans needed for traveling, to remember to write to his parents, and to keep up with his health. She also had enclosed a small sum of money “just in case”, no matter how much Wu Ying had tried to refuse in the past.

Stay safe on your travels, Wu Ying.

Your shifu hopes that you find what you are looking for.

Wu Ying puts the letter away. He doesn’t truly understand what his shifu means when she says this. It’s not her first time telling him that; she had told Wu Ying the same thing right before he departed Tingshan. When he had asked her about it, she simply responded, “sometimes we don’t know we’re looking for something until we find it.”

Wu Ying resolves to thank her for the sentiment anyways.

Just as Lil’ Potato butts him for leaning so heavily on him, Wu Ying hears a harsh voice. It sounds vaguely familiar, which is impossible since he’s never traveled outside of Tingshan before now, and he finds his head turning towards the source of the noise.

“Where did you get this talisman?”

Wu Ying narrows his eyes at the scene. A man dressed in purple robes holds a crumpled talisman in his fist tightly, face contorted in a scowl. He’s talking to (or rather, growling at) a villager that Wu Ying recognizes as someone he had just recently donated a heat-insulating talisman to. The man has a bracelet in the shape of a cobra, violently coiled around his wrist. He’s followed by a few men and women wearing similar colors.

Ah. Wu Ying recognizes that this must be a Cultivation Thing.

“Did you make it?” the man (cultivator, Wu Ying corrects) grills the poor villager once more. Wu Ying takes pity on the villager and pats Lil’ Potato, whispering at him to be good, before he walks up to the cultivator with the least threatening stance he can exude.

“Ah, gongzi, this is my creation,” Wu Ying says, smiling neutrally as the villager gives him a look of relief. He bows low, just like how his shifu taught him, and then gets up.

The cultivator in purple and his handful of followers are staring at him. Some of them have their jaws dropped, as if in disbelief.

For a second, Wu Ying wonders if he’s offended the sect, broken some principle that he wasn’t aware of, and thinks that maybe he’ll have to leave Ezhou earlier than he planned. Then, the cultivator at the head of the group finally speaks.

“You… you’re…” he chokes out hoarsely, perplexing Wu Ying even more.

Even so, He Nuan has instilled enough of a sense of propriety within him to respond patiently.

“This humble one is Wu Ying, gongzi.” He wonders if he should bow again, but refrains from doing so.

In the end, one of the purple-clad disciples steps forward and introduces the man. “Wu gongzi, we are disciples of Yunmeng Jiang. Allow me to introduce our sect leader, Jiang-zongzhu.”

The sect leader’s entourage then bows, causing Wu Ying to blink, wide-eyed. A lance of surprise goes through Wu Ying— he’s never met a sect leader before, not even the leader of the Tingshan He sect.

“This one is honored to meet you, Jiang-zongzhu,” Wu Ying says levelly, wondering what qualms the leader had with his talisman.

As the sect leader finds his words, he catches Wu Ying off guard once more.

“I’ve heard of your talismans,” the man says, a scowl still firmly fixed on his face, “They’re impressive. Come to Lotus Pier.”

He’s heard of Wu Ying’s talismans. The implication that he’s personally tracked down the creator of said talismans settles like a flare in Wu Ying’s mind. He even went as far to invite Wu Ying to visit Yunmeng, to travel to Lotus Pier with him, extending the offer like a challenge.

“Okay.” Wu Ying startles himself by answering. The Sect Leader’s eyes flash before he nods curtly.

Wu Ying figures he was already planning on visiting Yunmeng, and he’s already been excited to check it out. Although the Jiang sect leader comes off as gruff, Wu Ying finds that he’s not quite all that intimidated by his bluster.

They set off for Lotus Pier within the hour.

Chapter Text

Lotus Pier is beautiful.

It seems that they’ve arrived at just the right season for the lotus flowers to be in bloom, because the laketop town is covered in pink petals. Young disciples run past Wu Ying, laughing as they chase after each other. Lotus Pier is alive, and Wu Ying has to bury the itch to run after those disciples into the heart of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan. It’s his first time here, but being here and standing on the docks is achingly familiar. He wonders if he’s just remembering the waterfronts of Tingshan, knowing that his parents had taken him there when he was a young child, too young to remember.

Focus, he chides himself. Although Wu Ying would love to spend hours running around and memorizing every single corner of Lotus Pier, he has a job to do. He sneaks a glance at Jiang-zongzhu, who has not yet outright asked what he wanted from Wu Ying. Wu Ying assumed that the sect leader had intended to commission Wu Ying for a bulk order of talismans, the thought sending a bolt of anticipation through the boy.

His parents were going to lose their minds once he tells them that a sect leader is personally commissioning him for his talismans. His shifu will be so proud!

“It’s quite beautiful, Jiang-zongzhu,” Wu Ying begins, noticing the sect leader slightly jolting as he’s addressed.

He nods gruffly. Wu Ying is starting to understand the rumors about how the Jiang leader has been blacklisted from all the local matchmakers; he’s awkward once you get past his initial threatening aura.

“Would Jiang-zonghu let this one know what kinds of talismans he’s interested in?” Wu Ying tries again, as he and the small entourage of disciples begin to enter the main buildings of Lotus Pier.

The Jiang sect leader frowns. “No, that’s not—” he cuts himself off before looking at Wu Ying with piercing eyes. Wu Ying blinks.

“I’ll take one of each,” the Sect Leader finally says. “Your most useful ones.”

Hm. Wu Ying finds himself a little intrigued at the vague commission details. Usefulness, of course, is relative. Would a cooling talisman be useful to those living in the cold mountains of Qishan? Therefore, Wu Ying would have to determine what exactly useful is by staying at Lotus Pier and observing.

“That may take some time,” Wu Ying admits, “I hope that Jiang-zongzhu would be willing to wait as I familiarize myself with Yunmeng.”

The Jiang sect leader does not look displeased at this. If anything, he seems satisfied with the response.

“Stay then,” Jiang-zongzhu says, “We will have a room set up for you.” He nods to the disciple at his right, who bows before she sets off ahead of them.

Wu Ying feels quite dazed by the prospect. The sect leader of one of the Great Sects having a room ready for him? Wu Ying had been ready to find a place at an inn or even camp outdoors with Lil’ Potato. He pats the donkey absentmindedly, thinking that this is the nicest place that they have ever stayed in. The donkey seemed to agree with the fact, as she was not even braying for more potatoes, instead letting out quiet chuffs, as if she were sharing Wu Ying’s awe.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice one of the younger disciples running towards him. The boy crashes into Wu Ying’s leg, causing him to stumble to the side. He drops what he was holding, and the thing lets out a surprised yelp as it hits the ground. As Wu Ying rights himself, he gets a better look at the creature.

He gasps.

Blood running cold, he steps backward from the barking puppy, grabbing blindly onto the first thing he can reach to ground himself. He’s shaking in his boots as the creature bares its teeth playfully, his heart rate ratcheting higher at an alarming pace. A distant part of Wu Ying realizes that he’s panicking, and he thinks he might pass out.

A purple sleeve curls around the back of his head and pulls him in, away from the small animal. Suddenly, Wu Ying finds himself tucked into a broad, strong chest, the world dark and calming once more. The arms band around him like a comforting vice, and he steadies his breathing slowly, trying to distract from the rush of blood in his ears. He hears voices, reprimanding, and the sound of small feet pattering away.

“Are you okay?” comes the low voice. It’s laced with guilt, and Wu Ying pulls away slowly to look up at light gray eyes. In the light of Lotus Pier, they almost shine purple.

He’s silent for a moment, before his cheeks burn with chagrin as he realizes he had grabbed onto Jiang-zongzhu in his panic.

Wu Ying immediately shoots backwards, falling into a low apologetic bow, the one he saves for when he really pisses off his shifu.

“This one apologies, Jiang-zongzhu,” he says shakily. The same arms that had wrapped around him are now on his shoulders, pulling him up gently. He marvels at it, wondering how such strong hands can touch him so tenderly.

Jiang-zongzhu’s frown only deepens. “Dogs are forbidden in Lotus Pier,” he says, “the disciples all know this. They will be reminded of it again.”

An odd rule for a sect to have, but one that Wu Ying finds he’s grateful for.

“Are you,” the leader hesitates for a beat before asking, “have you had a bad experience with one before?”

Wu Ying blinks. To be honest, he doesn’t quite understand his own response to the situation either. It was as if he had moved on pure instinct.

“I haven’t actually seen a dog before,” Wu Ying admits, “I didn’t realize I would react so strongly.”

Jiang-zongzhu simply nods, as if it makes sense. Wu Ying wonders what the older man understands, since Wu Ying certainly does not. The longer he stays there, the less he feels like he knows himself.

They walk into the main buildings of Lotus Pier, and Jiang-zongzhu gestures a servant forward.

“You will be shown to your room,” Jiang-zongzhu says as the servant bows to Wu Ying, “our library and the Lotus Pier training grounds are open to you for your stay here.”

It almost sounds too good to be true. Being granted access to a Great Sect’s libraries was huge for Wu Ying. He also knew vaguely of the Yiling Patriarch’s connection to the Yunmeng Jiang, though he wouldn’t dare voice it aloud here. If he’s lucky, he may be able to find more of the Patriarch’s texts on talismans, or simply just any writings from other experts on creating spiritual tools through talisman paper. And with that knowledge, he would be able to invent so many more talismans. If there was one thing that Wu Ying learned during his travels, it’s that there’s an abundance of problems and a shortage of solutions. He hoped to shorten that disparity for the common folk.

“This one is not worthy of Jiang-zongzhu’s magnanimity,” Wu Ying murmurs, “but I am very, very thankful.” He smiles, a wide, true grin of gratitude. Perhaps the first real smile he’s given Jiang-zonghzu.

The Jiang sect leader eyes him.

If Wu Ying didn’t know any better, he’d think that the sect leader looked sad. Wistful, even.

He didn’t have any right to ask about it, so he bowed once more, and left, led by a servant to his room.

---

The first night, Wu Ying all but collapses into bed. The room is quite spacious, one of the most luxurious rooms Wu Ying has ever stayed in his life. It looks like it’s frozen in time— well dusted, well taken care of, but nothing looks like it’s been moved before. As if it were a temple, being well taken care of. Wu Ying wonders why there’s a room this big near the sleeping quarters of the sect leader himself. He doesn’t think guest quarters would be this close to the leader, and wonders if this room once belonged to someone else in the Jiang sect.

He goes to sleep with those thoughts swirling in his mind.

Wu Ying wakes up to the sight of two stick-figure men kissing. He blinks, craning his head upwards to see the carving in the bedpost clearly, before grinning. Amusement courses through Wu Ying, banishing the last vestiges of sleep from his body. Whoever lived here before must have been an interesting person, that’s for sure.

For the rest of his first week at Lotus Pier, Wu Ying finds himself either in the library or walking the wooden decks of Lotus Pier. Some of the older disciples give him weird looks, as if they’re doing double takes. Wu Ying assumes that Lotus Pier doesn’t get that many outsiders, and it doesn’t bother him too much— they’re friendly, and a senior disciple even gave him a freshly plucked lotus pod, saying that he’s sure Wu Ying would enjoy it. He was right.

In the library, he peruses historical cultivation books. Wu Ying learns more in detail about the events leading up to the Sunshot Campaign, the Sunshot Campaign itself, and the aftermath. He learns that Jiang-zongzhu (Jiang Wanyin, Jiang Cheng) had lost his da shixiong not to the Wen, but rather to the Jin and their nefarious plot.

His older brother, the first disciple of Yunmeng Jiang.

Wei Wuxian. The Yiling Patriarch.

Suddenly, the legendary tales of the Yiling Patriarch became more than just legend. They felt more fleshed out, more raw, as Wu Ying read about the events leading to the Yiling Patriarch’s untimely demise. Though he was reviled at the time of his demise, he had become a hero posthumously. His name had become unbesmirched by the revelation of the Jin sect’s inner rot reaching all the way up to the then sect leader Jin Guangshan and his bastard son. Wei Wuxian had died saving his shijie’s beloved husband, while in the middle of protecting innocent civilian Wens from the cruelty of Jin Guangshan.

Wu Ying swallowed as he closed the book.

Later that night, as he returns to his rooms, he realizes that he must be staying in the Yiling Patriarch’s childhood room. He doesn’t know how to feel about this.

---

The next day, Wu Ying takes the liberty of leaving Lotus Pier to visit the vendors set just in front of the Pier’s entrance. They clamor at him, trying to sell him pastries and seed pods, water chestnuts and more.

He goes under the guise of learning more about Lotus Pier, asking questions to the townspeople about what would make their lives easier, what problems they find themselves facing that they wish they could fix, and what they think could improve the quality of life at Lotus Pier. Wu Ying does gather useful research for his talisman developing process, but he also doesn’t leave without a stomach full of lotus pods.

Before he heads back to Lotus Pier, he comes by a vendor selling accessories, from wooden combs to ribbons to full sets of robes. Wu Ying runs his hands over the selection of accessories, before his fingers entangle with a crimson red ribbon.

He purchases it without a second thought, using it to tie up his hair into a ponytail.

Wu Ying finds that he likes how the style looks, even if Jiang-zongzhu stares at him longer than usual over dinner that night.

---

Half a month into his stay at Lotus Pier, he’s already begun theorizing what talismans would be most useful, and began his design process. Wei Wuxian’s old room is becoming akin to a battlefield, filled to the brim with Wu Ying’s haphazardly strewn papers and ideas.

Wu Ying has a system, even if it looks like a disastrous mess to outsiders.

And because he has a system, he notices the notebook on the desk, amongst the scores of looseleaf paper, as he’s about to retire for the night.

The notebook most certainly was not there before today. Wu Ying approaches it cautiously. It looks well worn out and cheap, not an object one would expect to find amongst the affluence of a Great Sect. There are cracks along the spine, delicate and stained, and Wu Ying finds himself opening the notebook before he thinks about it for another second.

The scrawl is messy, familiar, and altogether very recognizable. Wu Ying’s mind spins back to the texts of the Yiling Patriarch that he had read all those years ago, texts he still has safely stored away, which had begun his journey into becoming a talismans crafter.

This, however, is not simply a text. It’s clearly a diary, one written by Wei Wuxian himself.

He barely breathes as he begins reading.

I think if I eat another radish, I will truly begin to live up to the moniker of the fearsome Yiling Patriarch. No one could blame me for that— forget spending three months in the Burial Mounds, try a month surviving off of radishes! It’s enough to drive any man crazy. I’m reserving a small plot of land to try to grow potatoes; I hope Uncle Four is discreet about it. If Wen Qing finds out, she’ll stab me with her needles.

—

Wen Qing yelled at me about trying to grow potatoes again. She didn’t pull out her needles, but it was a near thing. Boo! Radishes are boring, but the real shame here is that my Little Radish’s main diet consists of radishes. I wish I could buy him meat. Planting him in the ground will only help him grow so much after all. My little boy deserves to be chubby and fat, like the lazy rabbits in Gusu.

There are doodles of two bunnies with forehead ribbons after that entry, one dark and one white. Wu Ying finds himself staring at them for a second, tracing them with his fingers with a feather-light touch.

I’ve officially been disowned by the Jiang sect. It hurts (physically, too— Jiang Cheng never really learned how to pull his punches), but the Yunmeng Jiang will pull through. My shidi has been through worse. Though, as an older brother, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if things had gone better. If the Dafan Wen weren’t so closely associated with Wen Ruohan’s reign, would Wen Qing have become the eventual Madam Jiang? Ah, I can’t imagine Wen Qing giving up her surname, but she is one of the few I would approve of for my shidi. Maybe one day, in the future, when things settle down…

—

Wen Ning has woken up! It’s taken many, many days. Not only that, but the amount of talismans I’ve had to go through to aid in manipulating the resentful energy of the Demon Slaughtering Cave is obscene. We’re tighter than ever on money, but Wen Ning is awake, and that’s what matters most. He’s not quite truly dead nor quite truly alive. His consciousness is tethered to his corpse. I’m still able to control him with Chenqing, which Wen Qing isn’t pleased about in the slightest, but she’s happy to have her little brother back. Even A-Yuan was excited to see Ning-shushu again! Wen Ning was afraid that A-Yuan would be frightened of him, but of course, my wonderful Little Radish hugged his legs as soon as he saw his shushu awake again. Besides, I theorize that the longer Wen Ning lives as a fierce corpse, the more he will slowly build up his autonomy again. He’ll one day be able to resist the call of resentful energy, or so I believe. Only time will tell…

—

I took A-Yuan to Yiling for food today. Though we are woefully tight on money, my heart cannot bear seeing his little arms and legs losing their baby fat. It is far too early for that. To my surprise, I turned my head away from one moment, and in the next I found my Little Radish clinging onto none other than Lan Zhan! It turns out the esteemed Hanguang-jun has a weakness: children! A-Yuan successfully managed to wring not only toys, but also a free lunch out of his Rich-gege. The way Lan Zhan was so patient with A-Yuan, letting the little menace climb over his lap during lunch— ah, I’m sure he will become a great father one day. And to my surprise, when Lan Zhan told A-Yuan “no speaking during meals”, he listened! A-Yuan, your favorite gege has to be your Xian-gege, okay?

Before he left, we made Lan Zhan join us for dinner in the Burial Mounds. The Wens were throwing a celebration since Wen Ning had woken up. A-Yuan, my precious bun, made Rich-gege promise to visit again. And Lan Zhan did! He may be a fuddy-duddy, but does he forget that I know his heart? The great Hanguang-jun would never break a promise made, especially not one made to A-Yuan.

I can’t wait to see him again.

Wu Ying gasps, slamming the diary closed. There are tears welling up in his eyes, a flood of emotion overwhelming him. He shuts his eyes, but the words seem to visualize in front of him again. He doesn’t understand why it’s so frustrating— he’s heard of Hanguang-jun, knows that the great cultivator of the Lan sect always appears where the chaos is. He’s heard that Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch were friends, but reading it in a diary like this feels more intimate. Reading Wei Wuxian use Hanguang-jun’s given name, Lan Zhan, so casually seems to rend something in Wu Ying’s heart.

After his heart stops beating so hard, he opens his eyes and looks at the diary once more. He flips through the rest of the entries, before reaching the last one.

My dear nephew’s 100 days ceremony is tomorrow. Although I don’t want to see the rest of the Jin, I will do so for the sake of my precious Jin Rulan. Haha! I guess I really am living up to the Jiang motto of attempting the impossible, huh?

Wen Qing won’t let me go alone, so I’m bringing Wen Ning too. I’m sure the Jin will love to see a Fierce Corpse there.

Ah, but I’m so excited to meet my nephew.

Wu Ying closes the diary, a few tears having escaped and creating trails down his cheeks. He sniffs, knowing that Wei Wuxian had perished on his way to his nephew’s 100 days ceremony. Wu Ying has to chase sleep that night.

When Wu Ying wakes up the next morning, his eyes are not quite dry yet.

---

He finishes the last stroke of a character with a flourish, squinting at the finished talisman in his hand. Wu Ying has just about finished the designs of the talismans he was planning on giving Jiang-zongzhu. When he had asked the leader about an expected timeline, the leader simply told him to take however much time he felt was necessary. Wu Ying was into his second month staying at Lotus Pier, and he was in the testing phase of his talismans. If all went well, he could sell them to the Jiang Sect soon and be on his way. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go next, but a part of him wanted to visit Yiling, if not to sate his curiosity as to what happened to the town near the Burial Mounds where the Yiling Patriarch had carved a refuge out of with his sheer will.

But before then, he’ll have to finish these talismans. He gets up from his work desk, stretching, and notes the orange rays shining through his window. Wu Ying isn’t surprised that the evening sun has already arrived— he often loses himself in his work, something that his shifu had tried to train out of him to no avail.

He stretches his legs and gets up to take a walk around Lotus Pier. The sunset on the lakefront is a view paralleled by no other, Wu Ying had quickly discovered.

As he passes by the main hall, he notices that the doors are slightly ajar. He hears voices he hadn’t heard at Lotus Pier before coming through it.

“Are you sure?” A woman asks. She sounds quite worried, her voice as soft as the lotus petals in full bloom.

“His handwriting is the same. He even looks the same—”

Jiang-zongzhu’s voice is interrupted by a servant exiting the room, opening the doors to reveal Wu Ying standing there like a butterfly caught in the fingers of a child.

Wu Ying hears a gasp from them before he truly sees them.

A woman, dressed in regal gold, hair done in two intricate buns, the rest of it cascading down her back. She stood next to a man in matching gold, hair tied up in a high ponytail. He had a vermillion dot on his forehead. The two were standing next to Jiang-zongzhu, and they were clearly members of a high ranking family.

They’re looking at him as if they’ve seen a ghost, the woman holding up a delicate trembling hand to cover her open mouth. Wu Ying knows he should be bowing right now, but a part of him is choking up for a reason he doesn’t know.

“Wu Ying,” Jiang-zongzhu finally says, and Wu Ying’s legs pull him forward to acknowledge the sect leader’s call. “Let me introduce you to our guests. Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan of the Jin Sect.”

He feels the blood slightly rush out of his face as he recognizes the names. Peacock, the petty nickname comes to mind as he looks at the Jin sect leader, remembering Wei Wuxian’s diary. He flushes at his own unbidden thoughts, falling into a low bow. The Jin sect were one of the wealthiest, most influential sects, even after the whole Jin Guangshan disaster, according to He Nuan. Wu Ying wondered wildly why he was being introduced to the sect leader of another great clan. His experience at Lotus Pier was slowly transitioning from being a lucky one to a full blown fever dream.

A gentle hand is placed on his shoulder, and he is pulled up from his bow only for his eyes to meet gentle purple depths.

“Wu Ying, is it?” Jiang Yanli says softly. Wu Ying swallows.

“Yes, Madam Jin,” Wu Ying murmurs, “this one is honored to meet you.”

“The honor is ours,” she says, and Wu Ying thinks his heart is going to leap out of his throat. He thinks that maybe after this, he’ll avoid cultivators for a while, for his health. “I heard you’re doing our A-Cheng a great service with your talisman work.”

Wu Ying flushes at the compliment.

“Would you like to dine with us tonight?” Jiang Yanli asks him.

Wu Ying thinks he should be used to surprises by now. He sneaks a glance at Jin-zongzhu, who looks awfully pale but doesn’t take his eyes off of Wu Ying. Blinking, Wu Ying turns his focus back on the woman in front of him, inviting him to dine with them as if they hadn’t just met a few seconds ago. He thinks that he understands why the Yiling Patriarch was so fond of his shijie.

She looks at him with a painful hope in her smile.

Wu Ying finds he can’t do anything but accept.

---

Dinner is an interesting affair.

Wu Ying has had dinner with Jiang-zongzhu before. The man is not the most talkative, and sometimes he seems as if he doesn’t know what to say around Wu Ying. But there are times where he’ll snort at something Wu Ying says (“I made a talisman for detecting whether lotus pods are ripe or not— it was kind of an accident, though”) and the rare occasion where he’ll say something with an undercurrent of humor before looking surprised at himself. Wu Ying doesn’t fully understand the man, but his company is pleasant, and Wu Ying finds himself at ease with him.

Dinner with Madam Jin and Jin-zongzhu is a little different.

For starters, Jiang Yanli has graciously decided to make lotus root and pork soup, the pot steaming at the center of their table. The steam wafts off from it, and Wu Ying feels his stomach rumble from the sight. It tastes heavenly, like a childhood classic that he could never tire of, although this was most certainly the first time Wu Ying had tried it.

And isn’t that something? The wife of a sect leader, cooking? Wu Ying thinks that the next letter he sends his parents is going to sound absolutely hysterical.

Jin-zongzhu, on the other hand, seems to be doing his best to both stare at Wu Ying yet never make an attempt to interact with him. It was almost similar to how Jiang-zongzhu had first interacted with him, except he had thawed considerably since then. Wu Ying does his best to ignore it, since he feels a pang of something every time he looks at Jin-zongzhu.

“How is it?” Jiang Yanli asks him.

“It’s amazing,” Wu Ying responds honestly, “I’d love to learn how to make it one day. Really, thank you, Madam Jin.”

She positively beams at that. Warmth courses through Wu Ying.

“May I call you A-Ying?” Jiang Yanli asks, and Wu Ying thinks he’s going to die. The only other people who called him that were back home in Tingshan. He wonders if this is what it feels like to have an older, doting sibling.

“Yes, Madam Jin,” Wu Ying’s voice cracks, and his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Jiang-zongzhu seems amused by this, and Jiang Yanli’s smile just widens.

“Then, A-Ying, tell us about how you came to be at Lotus Pier. Don’t leave out a single detail,” Jiang Yanli asks him. Wu Ying has yet to deny her a request thus far, and it seems that the streak is ongoing.

“I met Jiang-zongzhu in Ezhou. He graciously invited me back to Lotus Pier, requesting my talismans crafting services.”

Jiang Yanli nods approvingly, almost like a proud mother. “I hear that you’re very talented at making talismans, A-Ying.”

Wu Ying brightens at this.

“Ah, I learned the talisman theory here and there. The ones I’ve been working on specifically for Jiang-zongzhu are almost complete!”

“Is that so? Will you tell us more about it?”

Wu Ying hesitates, before launching into the project he’s been poring over for the better part of two months. “I noticed that a lot of people swim around here, so I made an air bubble talisman that lets people hold their breath longer underwater. I also made an insulation talisman to keep swimmers warm underwater, and one for helping keep fish and other freshly caught game chilled so that it lasts longer.”

He can’t help but laugh as he remembers the insulation talisman.

“I tested the insulation talisman in the cold waters of the Tingshan waterfront, so I’m positive they’re effective. I almost gave my shifu a conniption when I did that!”

Jiang-zongzhu snorts at that, making Wu Ying grin even wider.

“Oh?” Jiang Yanli says, a twinkle in her eyes, “how old were you when you did that?”

“Fourteen,” Wu Ying says bashfully, as Jiang Yanli lets out a surprised noise.

“So young! And a prodigy at that. Your family must be proud,” she says. Wu Ying positively flushes at the praise.

“What do you plan on doing?” the Jiang sect leader suddenly says.

Wu Ying blinks, before Jiang-zongzhu clarifies.

“After you’re done here. What will you do, Wu Ying?”

“I… I’m not sure, Jiang-zongzhu. I’ve never had a concrete plan. I’ve just been enjoying traveling with my donkey and helping those in need as much as I can. I like traveling.” He says. The answer feels inadequate, but Wu Ying doesn’t have a better one; he doesn’t know what’s in store for him in the future. All he knows is that whatever he’s doing right now feels right.

He Nuan’s words echo in his mind.

Your shifu hopes that you find what you are looking for.

He wonders just what it is that he’s looking for. What it is that he’ll finally settle down for.

“Oh, A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli says, a tone so gentle that Wu Ying thinks he could cry, “that’s wonderful. You should be proud of yourself.” She nudges Jin Zixuan, who has been quiet this entire time. He jolts, before clearing his throat.

“Wuxian. If it so pleases you, you should visit Jinlintai when you can,” the Jin Sect Leader says stiffly, although his words are genuine.

However, it’s not the invitation that has Wu Ying’s blood running cold.

Wuxian.

There is silence at the dinner table for once. Jin-zongzhu pales as he realizes his slip up. Jiang Yanli and Jiang-zongzhu are frozen, looking at Wu Ying, as if to gauge his reaction.

Wu Ying slowly puts the soup spoon back into his bowl. He thinks carefully about his next words before speaking.

“I do… admire the Yiling Patriarch’s works a lot. But, I’m afraid I was born in Tingshan to Wu Xiang and Wu Ming. This is my first time anywhere near the Yunmeng Jiang Sect.”

Wu Ying’s eyes are firmly fixed on his soup, which settles in his stomach like ashes. He is not trying to replace the memory of a dead man, nor does he feel worthy to take the place of Jiang Yanli and Jiang Wanyin’s adopted brother.

In the end, Jiang Yanli breaks the silence, saying, “I apologize for A-Xuan’s words. We know you are yourself, A-Ying. It’s just, you remind us a lot of our brother, my didi.”

There are tears in her eyes now and Wu Ying thinks he would move mountains to keep them from falling.

“He died when he was going to visit my son for his 100 days celebration, and he saved my precious husband in the process. Forgive us for overstepping.” She stands up and makes to bow, which causes Wu Ying to stand up immediately as well.

“It’s alright!” he says, waving his arms frantically in a motion for Jiang Yanli to sit down. “Really, it’s fine.”

“I owe him my life,” Jin Zixuan finally says, “and I never got to tell him. However, that is not your responsibility to bear.” The words lay heavy in the air, and Wu Ying nods slowly. He himself doesn’t understand the grief of losing a loved one, especially not a loved one who had died to save him. So he just nods.

“We really would love it if you did visit us in Lanling, A-Ying. A clever and bright soul— I’m sure you would get along with my son, Jin Ling.”

Jin Rulan, Wu Ying thinks. Wei Wuxian’s precious nephew.

Wu Ying sits back down. “This one is honored by your offer, Madam Jin, Jin-zongzhu.”

He pauses for a beat before asking, “can you tell me more about him?”

Jiang Yanli blinks. And then she beams.

---

When Wu Ying falls asleep that night in the Yiling Patriarch’s childhood bedroom, his dreams are scattered and erratic.

He dreams of running along the alleyways of an unfamiliar town, feet bare and body cold, as he tries to escape the violent patter of dogs following him. They bark him up a tree, and then suddenly he finds himself in Lotus Pier. He’s small but he’s falling from the tree, falling into the arms of Jiang Yanli. She smiles at him and he feels safe again.

He dreams of eating lotus seeds and swimming in the lake. He rolls the lotus seeds in his hands, and thinks that there was someone who he wanted to share the lotus seeds with, but he can’t remember who. Just as he thinks he’s about to figure out who it is, he wakes up.

He feels rather bereft that morning, like he’s missing something.

---

Nearing the end of his stay at Lotus Pier, Wu Ying is standing in the main hall in front of Jiang-zongzhu. He bows as he presents his talisman designs.

“For Jiang-zongzhu and the residents and disciples of Lotus Pier. This one hopes that they will be of use,” Wu Ying says dutifully.

Jiang-zongzhu raises a brow at him. “I know just how well they work, Wu Ying,” he deadpanned.

Wu Ying tries to stifle a grin at that. A week ago, when he was testing out the air bubble talisman to see how long he could hold his breath underwater, apparently an observing well-meaning shidi had panicked when he hadn’t come up for air. He had rushed to tell Jiang-zongzhu, who had immediately dived into the water and lifted Wu Ying’s body back to the surface as if he were a helpless maiden. Wu Ying, who had been perfectly fine, looked at the image of Jiang-zongzhu scowling and absolutely dripping with water, and couldn’t help but burst into tear-inducing laughter. It’s a wonder that Jiang-zongzhu didn’t punish him after that, but his scowl weakened at the sound of Wu Ying’s carefree laughter.

Ah, he thinks he wouldn’t mind visiting Lotus Pier again.

Jiang-zongzhu produces a small bag, and places it in Wu Ying’s hands. It’s heavier than Wu Ying would have expected, and he knows that this bag contains enough coin to last his parents through at least twelve moon cycles. “Your payment,” he says gruffly, and Wu Ying thinks better than to argue against it. He bows in gratitude, but then Jiang-zongzhu nods to a servant.

The servant hurries out of the room, and returns moments later with a sword.

The sword is sheathed and looks befitting of a cultivator of high status.

Confusion stirs in Wu Ying, until Jiang-zongzhu takes the sword with both palms and holds it out towards Wu Ying.

Wu Ying’s eyes widened impossibly.

“I can’t,” he says immediately. There’s a significance to the sword, Wu Ying knows.

“Of course,” Jiang-zongzhu agrees, and Wu Ying feels relief for a brief moment until Jiang-zongzhu continues, “not until you’ve received basic sword training at Lotus Pier. The senior disciples have already offered to train you.”

Wu Ying’s mouth has dropped open, something he knows He Nuan would be scolding him endlessly for by now, but he can’t help it.

“I’m not a cultivator,” Wu Ying says weakly.

“You’re a traveler who sells wares to cultivators. You need to be able to defend yourself,” Jiang-zongzhu says readily. If Wu Ying didn’t know better, he’d say that the sect leader had prepared himself for an argument about this.

Wu Ying swallows as he gingerly takes the sword in his hand. He traces his fingers over the sheath, running into beautifully engraved characters.

Suibian.

“This belonged to your brother, didn’t it?” He says quietly.

The look on Jiang-zongzhu’s face borders on satisfaction. Wu Ying doesn’t understand.

“He would have wanted you to have it.”

Wu Ying really does not understand, but he finds that his life has always been entwined with the Yiling Patriarch’s since he began showing an interest in talismans. And, as he accepts the sword in his palms, he finds that he doesn’t want to let go of it.

Then Jiang-zongzhu hands him a letter.

Wu Ying takes it, knowing better than to refuse anything from the stubborn sect leader by now.

“You said you don’t know where you’re going next. Visit Yiling, and give the leader of their people this letter.” Jiang-zongzhu says. “She will welcome you.”

Wu Ying bows deeply.

“Thank you for everything, Jiang-zongzhu,” Wu Ying says solemnly.

He leaves a week and a half later, after having been taught and tested on basic sword techniques well into the night.

Wu Ying bows to Jiang-zongzhu when he leaves, and the sect leader puts a hand on his shoulder when he rises.

“Lotus Pier’s doors will always be open to you, Wu Ying.”

The words make Wu Ying’s eyes water, his heart feeling full.

He doesn’t let the tears fall until he’s well away from Lotus Pier.

Chapter Text

Wu Ying goes to Yiling next.

There’s a waterway between Lotus Pier and Yiling providing direct access to the city, but Wu Ying ends up walking with Lil’ Potato.

He shudders as he enters Yiling, sensing that he’s passed through a ward of some sort. They had wards around Lotus Pier, sure, but none were as strong as this one. This one felt familiar.

Wu Ying tugged along on Lil’ Potato, as the donkey stuck his head into various vendors’ wares. Yiling was quite the lively city with a lot of people selling wares from baubles to fresh vegetables. He finds a vendor who sells reliable talisman paper, and stocks up on it. Wu Ying makes a mental note later to set up shop here and sell some talismans— he thinks that he’d make a small fortune from the hustle and bustle of the city.

His stomach growls and he decides to eat at a restaurant. Wu Ying is delighted with the array of spicy dishes he finds and utterly enjoys himself. The waiter refers to him as daozhang, eyeing Wu Ying’s sword, and Wu Ying doesn’t refute him. He’s not exactly a cultivator, per se, but he feels that it would be disrespectful to stuff his sword into his Qiankun pouch unless it were absolutely necessary.

After his meal, he stops and asks one of the locals, “do you know where I can find the leader of the people of Yiling?”

The civilian considers his question, and says, “there is a small but growing sect of medical and agricultural cultivators here. The Yiling Wen’s leader lives closer to the border of town.”

Wu Ying bows in thanks, and heads in the direction the civilian had nodded towards.

As he walked, he saw what the civilian had been talking about. There’s a cluster of houses overseeing a small valley. The valley is full of farmland and some trees, and it looks to be alive. Wu Ying notes people working on small gardens outside the houses too.

He approaches one of the houses, where an old woman is sitting outside on a chair and reading to a small child. She looks up and her eyes widen at the sight of Wu Ying. The old woman shoos the child, who looks curiously at the newcomer, inside the house and smiles at Wu Ying. He finds himself walking towards the welcoming lady, and bowing in her presence.

“Welcome, young master,” the woman greets warmly, as if she’s welcoming a son returning home from a long journey.

“This one thanks you for your kind welcome,” Wu Ying says, “I am Wu Ying.”

The letter that Jiang-zongzhu had given him weighs heavy in his mind.

“I have a letter to give the leader of the Yiling Wen. I was sent by Jiang-zongzhu,” Wu Ying explains.

The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes crinkle as her smile deepens.

“I’m sure he did,” she says, her eyes twinkling, “the Yiling Wen will be delighted to have you with us, Young Master Wu. You may call me Popo.”

Wu Ying grins at the familiarity of the title. He bows once more, and says, “of course, Popo.”

Popo makes to get up, and Wu Ying immediately rushes forward, giving her a helping hand. The elderly woman pats Wu Ying softly on the head.

“Always such a sweet boy,” she says, and Wu Ying flushes, “It’s about time you’ve come to visit.”

He doesn’t quite understand what she means, but he follows her anyway. It’s almost like being in Lotus Pier again— some people stare at him as he walks by, but the younger ones seem to go about their own business. They stop in front of a house that’s no bigger than the others, and Popo knocks on the door.

The door opens, revealing a woman with a beautiful yet stern face. Her robes are dark in color, but have red accents throughout. She looks at Wu Ying and blinks. Her expression doesn’t change, but she doesn’t say anything for a solid ten seconds either.

“Wen Qing,” Popo admonishes, “Is that how we greet our friends?”

Wu Ying wants to cringe at Popo scolding the leader of the Yiling Wen for his sake, but he’s too distracted by the name. Wen Qing of the Dafan Wen, the Yiling Patriarch’s close friend during his stint in the Burial Mounds. Wen Qing, whose family Wei Wuxian had risked it all to save. The same Wen Qing that was looking at him right now with dark eyes that seemed to want to unravel him.

Wu Ying swallows and pulls out the letter that Jiang-zongzhu gave him, with the unbroken seal of the Yunmeng Jiang. He bows respectfully before holding the letter out to Wen Qing.

“Wen-zongzhu,” Wu Ying says carefully as Wen Qing’s eyes bore into him, “this is from Jiang-zongzhu. He wished for me to deliver it to you.”

Wen Qing took it without a word. She scanned through the letter, her face remaining expressionless save for the twitch of an eyebrow. Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at Wu Ying.

“What do you do?” she asks bluntly.

Wu Ying straightens up. “I make talismans. I travel. I try to help those in need.”

Wen Qing hmm’s. And then her eyes come to rest on the sword in his scabbard.

Wu Ying follows her gaze, and feels the need to explain, “Jiang-zongzhu gifted this to me in return for developing talismans for him and the residents of Lotus Pier.”

Wen Qing nods again. She hesitates, before asking, “You can use it?”

Wu Ying nods. “A little bit. I’m still a novice, though.”

Something like relief passes through her eyes before the emotion is cleared from her face. Finally, “We will have a room set up for you by the evening. You will stay as long as you wish to.”

Then, “You may call me Wen Qing. Zongzhu is unnecessary.”

Wu Ying’s head reels. “I— Wen-guniang— it’s too—”

Wen Qing silences him with a look and his protests die down. Popo huffs a laugh.

Wu Ying thinks despairingly that she and Jiang-zongzhu seem to be taking notes from each other, seeing as Jiang-zongzhu had also sprung the free boarding on him with no warning at all. At least Jiang-zongzhu hadn’t insisted that he call him Jiang Wanyin, or worse, Jiang Cheng.

“You can also call her Qing-jie. You are young yet,” Popo says, and Wu Ying flushes again, simply opting to bow again instead of calling her anything that familiar.

“I will notify you once your quarters are ready. Until then, feel free to explore,” Wen Qing says in a way that it sounds more like an order than a suggestion. Wu Ying bows again, and the woman nods firmly, before going back into her house.

Wu Ying stares a bit at the closed door before Lil’ Potato butts his side impatiently. He grumbles at the obstinate donkey, a habit he picked up from traveling alone with Lil’ Potato. At Popo’s subsequent chuckle, Wu Ying flushes.

“Let’s walk together, Young Master Wu,” Popo says, and Wu Ying follows.

They pass through rows of small but well-built houses. Wu Ying sees children playing under the watchful eyes of parents, but does not notice anything like the cultivator training grounds in Lotus Pier.

“Where are the cultivators?” Wu Ying asks before he can stop to assess whether the question would be rude or not.

Popo, however, just smiles. “Most of those in our sect with a golden core practice medicinal cultivation. Some of us decide to simply practice agriculture. Those who decide to study traditional cultivation may learn the basics here, but they leave to learn more.”

Wu Ying considered that. Just like me, he concludes, thinking that he too had left the Tingshan He Sect after studying under one of their members.

“Our doctors are renowned for their skill,” Popo states as if it were a fact rather than something to be proud of. Wu Ying recalls from the scrolls he read at Lotus Pier’s library that the Dafan Wen used to produce doctors with impressive healing prowess and unmatched skill, and he supposes the same reputation remained even after they had regrouped and formed the Yiling Wen Sect.

“Tell me, Young Master Wu: how did you find your way here?”

Wu Ying gets the feeling that she’s asking about more than just his invitation from Jiang-zongzhu.

“Ever since I left my family and my shifu, I’ve been traveling wherever I felt was right. I guess you could say I’ve been running on instinct,” Wu Ying responds.

“Good instincts are a powerful trait indeed,” Popo says. They start walking down a slope towards what looks to be a field of farmland below them. Wu Ying automatically offers his arm out to the elder woman for support, and Popo smiles sweetly as she takes his arm.

Wu Ying feels odd about the area they’re walking into. He isn’t a stranger to farmland, having worked and lived on his parents’ farm soon after old enough to. The air around them feels different, but Wu Ying doesn’t quite know how to describe it.

“Can you tell me more about the land here, Popo?” Wu Ying asks.

Popo nods. “This land used to be known as the Burial Mounds, a place inundated with resentful energy to its very core. A great cultivator once cleared it of most of the resentful energy and rot. After that initial purge, we have been able to slowly reduce the amount of resentful energy here. Now, it has become more suitable for farming.”

Wu Ying whistles lowly. He’s learned of the ancient Burial Mounds from tales before he’s even heard of the stories of the Great Sects. The Burial Mounds was the result of years of war and deaths, tragedy and grief. At one point, it was known as a place where vengeful ghosts and fearsome walking corpses would roam freely. He knows it must have taken quite the powerful man to clear the area of such concentrated resentful energy.

“Was that cultivator the Yiling Patriarch?” Wu Ying asks.

Popo lifts a bony hand to pinch Wu Ying’s cheek, as if he were a young toddler. “You are a smart boy.”

Wu Ying laughs while he thinks about the sheer amount of power the Yiling Patriarch had wielded in his short lifetime. Did he even know that he accomplished the impossible, or was it just normal for someone of his caliber?

He’s distracted from his thoughts as he catches sight of a man working on the fields quite nearby to him and Popo. He’s about to wave to the man in greeting, before he makes out the black tendrils sneaking up his neck and his hands.

A fierce corpse.

The man catches sight of him and freezes in turn.

They both stare at each other, wide eyed.

“Wen Ning! Come greet our guest,” Popo breaks the silent tension easily, waving the fierce corpse over. “This is Young Master Wu, Wu Ying.”

As the living corpse shuffles over, his eyes wide like a horse that’s easily spooked, Wu Ying replays the name over in his head. Wen Ning.

It clicks.

“Ah. You’re the Ghost General.” Wu Ying says, slapping his fist onto his palm as he recognizes the man before him.

Wen Ning looks as shocked as a corpse could. He just barely nods, dazed.

“That’s kinda cool,” Wu Ying responds before his mouth-to-brain filter could have a say in the matter. Wen Ning just stares at him, his mouth dropping open slightly. If fierce corpses could blush, he would bet that this one would be doing so, probably violently.

Wu Ying realizes that what he said could have been worded perhaps a bit more politely. He’s not really sure what the etiquette is for addressing a fierce corpse, but the guy was a human and a cultivator once. Maybe he should call him Wen-gongzi?

Before he has a chance to correct himself, however, Wen Ning’s eyes slide away from him. His body seems to hunch in on himself, making his body smaller. Wu Ying feels his stomach flop sideways as the fierce corpse shies away from him.

“I must attend to some matters,” Wen Ning mumbles, before turning away from them.

Wu Ying looks to Popo for guidance, but she just shakes her head, her seemingly ever-lasting smile fading away.

As they walk away from the farm fields, Wu Ying tentatively asks, “Popo, did I say something offensive? Is that why Wen-gongzi…”

He trails off, not knowing exactly how to describe Wen Ning’s reaction.

“Dear boy, you are not at fault,” Popo says gently but firmly. “A long time ago, Wen Ning accidentally hurt his dearest friend. Though he was not truly at fault, he has never forgiven himself for it. Perhaps you remind him of his friend, Young Master Wu.”

Wu Ying doesn’t know how to respond to that. He thinks about the shy fierce corpse who looked as if he could not harm a fly, let alone a living human being.

“I’m sure his friend doesn’t blame him, then,” Wu Ying says thoughtfully, “especially if you say Wen-gongzi was not truly at fault.”

Popo beams at him. “I’m glad you think so too, Young Master Wu.”

---

The Wens eat dinner together as a family. Even though they could eat indoors, they eat outside around a fire. It seems to be an unspoken tradition of sorts, and it reminds Wu Ying of his own small family back in Tingshan— no matter how hard his baba or a-Niang worked that day, they would always make sure to take a break and eat dinner together. During his time at Lotus Pier, he either ate with Jiang-zongzhu or some of the senior disciples of the Jiang sect. Jiang-zongzhu seemed to eat alone most days, and the disciples were friendly enough, but this felt like family sitting down to eat together.

As Uncle Four places a heap of rice and radishes in his bowl, Wu Ying notices that Wen Ning is nowhere to be seen at dinner. He feels a pang of guilt about it, wondering if he had startled the other man somehow and scared him away. And isn’t that just something, the very idea of scaring the awe-inspiring Ghost General himself?

“Eat, Wu Ying,” Wen Qing says sharply, looking at the portion of rice that Wu Ying had not yet touched in the throes of his own guilt.

“Yes, Wen-guniang,” Wu Ying said immediately, before shoveling a huge bite of rice into his mouth. He thinks he imagines the amused twitch of Wen Qing’s lips, but he’s not sure.

“Gege,” a small hand tugs at his sleeve. Wu Ying looks to his side where Popo had sat down, feeding a boy no older than four years old. The boy looks at him, wide-eyed and curious, standing on wobbly legs. He reminds Wu Ying of a newborn deer.

“This is A-Lian,” Popo says, before spooning a mouthful of soup into the boy’s mouth. Half of it makes it in, while the other half spills down his robes. Wu Ying laughs at the sight as the boy licks his lips. Popo just sighs and wipes his face with a rag.

“It is nice to meet you, A-Lian,” the boy perks up at his name leaving Wu Ying’s mouth, “I am Wu Ying.”

“Is Ying-gege from around here?” A-Lian asks, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Wu Ying desperately wants to poke at the skin between them, but he suppresses the urge.

“Ying-gege is from far away,” Wu Ying explains, “I walked for a long time to get here.”

“Ying-gege is a traveler?”

Wu Ying nods. “A-Lian is a smart boy!”

A-Lian giggles, bouncing on his feet, swaying forward in his excitement. Wu Ying steadies him before he can fall, and Popo pops another spoonful into his mouth.

He swallows, and then says, “Sizhui-ge travels too.”

“Is that your older brother?”

A-Lian just twists his face in concentration again, and Wu Ying smiles. The young boy turns beseechingly to Popo.

“Sizhui is one of our own, but he was adopted into the Gusu Lan Clan at a young age,” Popo explains. Wu Ying nods. He knew that those of the Wen who didn’t want to go into medicine or agriculture tended to leave the sect, so he wasn’t surprised to hear that. The adoption part was interesting, however.

“Sizhui-ge visits,” A-Lian butts in, “he helps people. Do you help people, Ying-ge?”

“Your Sizhui-ge sounds like a great person,” Wu Ying says, “I also try to help people whenever I can.”

“He brings me presents too,” A-Lian says eagerly, “will you bring me presents, Ying-ge?”

Wu Ying barks out a laugh as Wen Qing sighs at the toddler’s cheeky behavior. Popo pinches A-Lian’s cheek, causing the boy to whine.

“A present,” Wu Ying muses, “how about a story?”

“You will spoil him,” Wen Qing gripes, but there’s no real disapproval in her voice.

A-Lian’s face lights up with excitement and he nods. Wu Ying puts his empty bowl of rice astride and stretches out his legs before him, thinking about what story from his travels he could tell the child.

“Ah! I’ll tell you a tale about the time I ran into a group of bandits. Do you know what bandits are?”

“Thieves!” A-Lian says.

“Good job, A-Lian! You see, these bandits targeted travelers who did not cultivate. I travel alone with my donkey, and I was pretty young when I first started traveling, so I guess I looked like an easy target.”

A-Lian looked confused. “Ying-gege isn’t a cultivator like Sizhui-ge?”

Wu Ying shook his head. “I knew a little bit about cultivation, but I didn’t really learn more until a few months ago.” Wu Ying gestured to his sword, which Wen Qing followed with her eyes.

“Anyways, they were coming at me and Lil’ Potato from all angles. Some of them were even jumping down from the tree branches above me! I couldn’t fight all of them, so I had to run away, but Lil’ Potato is a very lazy donkey.”

A-Lian laughs at that.

“I ended up using a talisman that could make Lil’ Potato jump really high and trot really fast. Lil’ Potato hates it when I use those, of course, but what choice did I have? But he started jumping so high and running so fast that the bandits started yelling. You know what they were yelling?”

Wu Ying paused dramatically as A-Lian shook his head, enraptured.

“They said, ‘a flying donkey! It’s a flying donkey!’” In reality it had just been a simple modification to a weight lightening talisman, but Wu Ying kept that part to himself, enjoying the way A-Lian shrieked with laughter at the ridiculousness of the story. Of course, it had been much less funny when grown men were coming at him with knives and the intent to rob him blind, but in hindsight, it was quite ridiculous.

“They didn’t even realize he was just a regular donkey! But somehow, that made them want him even more,” Wu Ying explained. “Fortunately, we got away fast enough. Lil’ Potato didn’t let me ride him for the next week, he had gotten so sick from all the excitement.”

“Silly Ying-gege,” A-Lian giggles.

The others around the fire listened to his story with amused smiles. Uncle Four claps him on the shoulder good-naturedly and says, “you are a spirited boy. Don’t change.”

Through the night, Uncle Four lets Wu Ying try some of his home-made wine, which Wu Ying finds tasty if not very strong. Uncle Four says that his wine is well-known amongst the civilians of Yiling, and Popo laments, wondering if that’s really something to be proud of.

“The Yiling Wen have only the best!” Uncle Four lauds, more tipsy than not, “we have the best wine, the best doctors, and the best farmers!”

Wu Ying thinks about interrupting and saying that the Tingshan He probably has the best farmers and farmland after Wu Ying was done with it, but the thought leaves his mind as Uncle Four pours him another generous glass of wine. Wu Ying quite likes the buzz and the way that his chest feels warm after the drink has slid down his throat.

As dinner winds down and the fire gets smaller, Wu Ying helps with cleaning up. Popo takes a now-sleeping A-Lian back to her home. Before he leaves to the guest house that Wen Qing had set aside for him, Wen Qing catches his attention.

“Wu Ying,” the stern woman says.

Wu Ying turns to face her. She has an indiscernible expression on her face.

“Are you happy, Wu Ying?”

Wu Ying startles. He’s not sure what he was expecting her to say, but it wasn’t that.

He wonders for a moment if she means if he’s happy with his stay at Yiling, but with the way her gaze pierces into him, he thinks that her question might mean more than that. And then he thinks about the decision he made to leave home, to travel, to have all the experiences he’s had and meet the people he’s met. To help people in need, and to make a name for himself. To make his family proud by just existing the way he most excels at.

“Yeah,” the words leave his mouth before he can deliberate on it any more, “I think I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

Wen Qing blinks. Her shoulders relax minutely, a weight releasing that Wu Ying hadn’t even realized had been there before. Then she nods.

“One more thing,” Wen Qing says, a glint of something sharp and knowing in her eyes, “my brother likes spending his mornings watching the sunrise on the hill overseeing his farm.”

It’s Wu Ying’s turn to blink. Then understanding dawns on him.

Wu Ying smiles and bows.

---

Wu Ying thinks that if he were left to his own devices, he would wake up naturally when the sun was already high in the sky. He conditioned himself to do so otherwise from a young age, helping his parents out in the farm early in the mornings and then later getting up early to start the long day’s journey with Lil’ Potato.

So, it wasn’t too much of a hardship to rub the sleep out of his eyes at dawn and make his way to the hill Wen Qing had mentioned.

The Yiling Wen could not be described as a bustling sect, not like that of Lotus Pier, but there was still a soothing peace settling over the town just before the sun rose. A select few people were just now rising, Wu Ying waving courteously to them, but most were still asleep in their small houses.

Wu Ying enjoyed the walk to the top of the hill, and marveled at the sight, his breath hitching in his throat.

Wen Ning sat there in the grass, his legs crossed as if he were meditating. He was a dark silhouette against the slow rising of the sun against the horizon. The sight was infused with a calm that Wu Ying felt in his bones. He Nuan had always tried to get him to meditate, though with his constantly wandering mind, he never had gotten the hang of it. Wu Ying thinks that if he tried to do so here on top of this hill, with the breeze and the dirt around him being his only company, he would succeed in meditating.

He approaches the fierce corpse with a light tread, and finally sits next to him slowly.

Wen Ning doesn’t flinch this time at his presence, but he still looks at Wu Ying with a sorrowful look written over his face.

“It’s quite beautiful,” Wu Ying says thoughtfully, “I can see why you like to sit here. How early do you usually come?”

Wen Ning looks at the sunrise, before explaining quietly, “I do not sleep, Young Master Wu. Sometimes, I am here all night.”

Wu Ying nods. Then he stands up and bows to Wen Ning.

“I am sorry if I offended you in any way, Wen-gongzi,” Wu Ying says sincerely.

Wen Ning’s eyes widen and he shakes his head vehemently. His hands come up and shake as if he wants to take action but doesn’t quite know what to do.

“Young Master Wu, it’s not that! It’s not that, it’s— please, sit down,” Wen Ning says frantically, looking truly distraught at Wu Ying’s attempted apology.

Wu Ying releases his bowing posture and sits down again, facing Wen Ning.

The fierce corpse is quiet, his brows furrowed, before he says, “Young Master Wu—”

“Ah, Wen-gongzi, just call me Wu Ying!”

Wen Ning looks shocked at the words. He blinks.

Then, miraculously, a small smile forms on the fierce corpse’s pale face. Wu Ying drinks in the sight, thinking that the smile suits the shy man.

“Will Young Ma— will Wu Ying call me Wen Ning then?”

Wu Ying grins, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that’s in hysterics at the thought of calling the powerful Ghost General by his given name.

“Deal,” Wu Ying says cheerfully.

“I must apologize, Wu Ying,” Wen Ning says, sincerity clear in every word, “for I have given you the impression that you are not welcome here.”

“There’s no need to apologize! Really,” Wu Ying says. Somehow, that makes Wen Ning’s smile gain a sad edge to it, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” the fierce corpse acquiesces.

“Are you sad, Wen Ning?”

“Are you happy, Wu Ying?” Wen Qing’s question from dinner echoes in his head as he asks the fierce corpse the question.

The corpse frowns.

“It’s just that, you seem sad when you look at me,” Wu Ying explains.

Wen Ning is quiet again, and his expression becomes more sullen. He looks down at his hands, the black veins streaked through them like lightning.

“You remind me of someone I used to know,” Wen Ning finally says. “He was… important to me.”

“A friend?” Wu Ying asks.

“Like a brother,” Wen Ning says, his eyes glossy. “He’s gone now.”

Wu Ying stares. He knew only vaguely of the circumstances surrounding Wei Wuxian’s death, knowing that he had saved Jin Zixuan’s life and perished doing so. From Wei Wuxian’s diary, he knew that Wen Ning had not been fully in control of his own consciousness for very long, and that Wen Ning had come with him to Jin Rulan’s 100 days celebration which they had never actually made it to.

Wu Ying could draw a few conclusions from that.

Instead of voicing any of them, he instead says, “I haven’t lost anyone in my life, not yet. Sometimes I feel like I’m missing something in this life, sure. But all my loved ones are alive.”

Wen Ning looks at him seriously, then. “Wu Ying, I am very thankful you have not lost anyone in your life.”

Wu Ying smiles softly. “Thank you. And, I’m sorry about your friend.”

Wen Ning inclines his head in acknowledgement.

“But,” Wu Ying says, “you seem like a really nice guy, Wen Ning.”

He hesitates before his next words, not sure if he has the right to say them, but he says them anyway.

“I’m sure your friend wouldn’t have wanted you to worry about him.”

Wu Ying chances a look at the fierce corpse, and his stomach sinks. Wen Ning looks absolutely shattered, his already unmoving form utterly frozen.

He’s about to take back his words and apologize profusely for making such a heavy assumption, but then Wen Ning speaks, barely a whisper.

“Do you really mean that, Wu Ying?”

The question is hopeful, searching, seeking.

Wu Ying swallows.

“Yes, I do. And, y’know, maybe we can be friends too?” Wu Ying says, realizing that extending friendship to the Ghost General may be on the top of the list of the most bizarre things he’s ever done. But extending the promise of friendship to Wen Ning felt just right.

Remarkably, Wen Ning laughs. It’s a breathy, quiet huff more than anything, but the smile on his pale face convinces Wu Ying that he didn’t imagine it.

And when Wen Ning nods and his smile doesn’t fade, Wu Ying feels like he’s won.

---

Wu Ying doesn’t stay with the Yiling Wen for nearly as long as he stayed with the Yunmeng Jiang at Lotus Pier.

Even so, Wu Ying makes sure to press freshly made talismans into Popo’s and Uncle Four’s hands, asking them to distribute them to the rest of the Wens. Popo tries to refuse, but Wu Ying says that he owes it in repayment for room and board. Uncle Four takes them, but not before putting a large bottle of his own aged wine into Wu Ying’s palm. A-Lian wraps around Wu Ying’s torso like a monkey before he can be pried away from Wu Ying, and the older boy laughs as he promises to visit A-Lian again one day.

Wu Ying says bye to Wen Ning, who bows to him, looking happier and less burdened than he was when Wu Ying had first met him.

When Wu Ying tries to say goodbye to Wen Qing, the severe woman gives him a stony once-over, before pulling him by the shoulder into her work space.

“Wen-guniang?” Wu Ying questions, as he’s made to sit down on a bed, next to cabinets full of what seem to be bottles and herbs.

“I will be giving you a full checkup before you leave. Have you ever been looked over by a doctor?” Wen Qing asks as she gets to work.

“Not really,” Wu Ying admits. His parents have only ever called a doctor when he’s gotten sick, and that was mostly in his youth. He just assumed he grew out of getting sick, which sounds slightly silly when he really thinks about it. Instead of admitting that, he just grins. “I’ll be fine, Wen-guniang! I’m as fit as I’ve ever been.”

Wen Qing just glares at him. “As stubborn as ever. Some things never change,” she mutters under her breath as she arranges a few herbs and medical supplies. Wu Ying isn’t quite sure if he was meant to hear that, nor what to make of it, but the thought is forgotten as she pins him with another icy stare. “Open your mouth.”

Wu Ying complies.

After the ordeal is done, quickly and painlessly, Wen Qing gives him a clean bill of health. Wu Ying tries not to look too smug about it, because he told her so, but something about Wen Qing’s less than impressed demeanor says that he’s not as subtle as he likes to think.

As she walks him out the door, she gives him a small bag full of herbs and a few tonics.

“The green herbs are for brewing tea in case you feel feverish, and the yellow ones are for applying directly in paste form onto injuries. The tonics are fortifying drinks, and some will help in a pinch if you find yourself wounded and in trouble. Do not use those unless absolutely necessary.” Wen Qing instructs sternly.

Wu Ying nods, realizing that these are medicines that would have cost him a hefty sum to buy, especially the housemade tonics given to him by Wen Qing.

“Don’t be reckless, Wu Ying.”

Stay safe, is what Wu Ying hears.

“Yes, Wen-guniang,” he assures.

Wen Qing’s eyes narrow, before she finally says, “Wu Ying. I have a nephew adopted by the Gusu Lan Clan. I’m sure A-Lian has mentioned him before.”

Wu Ying nods, a little surprised at the non-sequitur. However, for all the time he has spent talking to Wen Qing, he knows that the woman does not say anything frivolously.

“Should you ever find yourself lacking in places to visit, consider Gusu.”

Wu Ying blinks. “Ah, are you telling me to visit Gusu, Wen-guniang?”

Wen Qing gives him a level gaze. “Do whatever you want. As long as it’s what you want.”

A streak of mischief rears its head in Wu Ying, and he grins.

“Thank you, Qing-jie!” He says, and bows low, before rising again.

To his delight, Wen Qing is blushing through her annoyed scowl.

“Cheeky brat,” she scolds, “be on your way, Wu Ying.”

Wu Ying laughs, waving goodbye to Wen Qing. He doesn’t miss the quirk of her lips, a small rare smile, as Wu Ying walks away.

Chapter Text

Wu Ying travels.

He and Lil’ Potato trek through the mountains of Qishan and the fields of Lanling. He doesn’t stop in any one place for too long, but makes sure to help those in need whenever he can. When he’s not doing that, he’s selling his wares and expanding his collection of talismans through careful experimentation. Wu Ying writes He Nuan letters, sending his shifu designs that he thinks can help the Tingshan He Sect, for which He Nuan is grateful for and proud of. He continues writing letters to his parents as well, who are aching to see him again. Wu Ying promises he’ll visit soon.

Wu Ying had even made his way back to visit Lotus Pier once more. Jiang-zongzhu nodded in approval when Wu Ying had told him that he learned how to fly on his sword. He had even given the sect leader a clumsy demonstration, which ended promptly with him losing balance and falling into the lake. The sect leader had fished him out of the water with smirk, and Wu Ying counted it as a win that he had made the normally scowling sect leader smile, even if it was at his own expense. Jiang-zongzhu’s humor was short-lived, turning into horror as he came to the conclusion that Wu Ying was dangerously inexperienced with flying. He had made Wu Ying stay the week at Lotus Pier for remedial lessons, ensuring that the boy would never fall off his sword at a lethal height.

Wu Ying didn’t have the heart to tell him that he preferred to travel with Lil’ Potato on foot anyways, so he stayed.

After that, he makes it back home to Tingshan to celebrate his eighteenth birthday with his parents. He helps them renovate their small house, happily endures their excessive doting, and hides a hefty sum of coins for them to find later. Wu Xiang makes him his favorite spicy rice and potato dish while Wu Ming tells Wu Ying that his parents are proud of him, and that he should visit home more often. Wu Ying soaks up their affection like a plant in the sunlight. He visits his shifu on that trip too.

After a quarter of a year, he sets off to travel again. Wu Ying is northwards-bound, having gone east the last time that he had left his family to travel the world.

He’s on the cusp of nineteen when he stumbles upon Mo Village.

“You ungrateful brat!” The shrill voice startles Lil’ Potato, who brays mournfully. Wu Ying rubs his side soothingly, earning him a glare from the donkey.

The source of the voice is a woman dressed in grey and eggplant colored robes, her face contorted in disgust. She’s glaring at a cultivator that looks to be around Wu Ying’s age. He’s wearing the gold of the Jin clan, Wu Ying recognizes, and seems completely exasperated. Wu Ying thinks his facial features are rather familiar. It reminds Wu Ying that he has yet to take up Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli’s offer to visit the Lanling Jin.

“Madam Mo—”

“You listen here, boy,” the woman seethes, “your mother, my half-sister, was the mere daughter of a servant. Just because she spread her legs open for your despicable father—”

“Madam Mo—”

“—and just because Jin-zongzhu decided to take pity on you doesn’t mean that you’re the esteemed cultivator you seem to parade around as. I know very well that you don’t practice normal cultivation! My Ziyuan would make a much better cultivator than you, you—”

“Madam Mo!” the Jin cultivator interrupts again, voice louder this time in his well-deserved anger. “I came here as a favor, in memory of my beloved mother. You send me a letter, demanding I help purge the area of the angry ghosts plaguing Mo Village, and then you besmirch my mother’s image to my face! Remember that I am not obligated to help you in any way. I’m sure Jin-zongzhu would agree,” he says coldly.

The older woman pales at the mention of Jin-zongzhu, but the disdain in her face doesn’t melt away. She growls, “you’re not the only one we asked for help! Don’t think yourself so high and mighty,” before stalking away.

The Jin cultivator watches her as she walks away. Once she is out of sight, he seems to deflate with a heavy sigh.

The cultivator then says without turning around, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Wu Ying jolts as he realizes he’s being spoken to. The Jin cultivator then looks at them.

“It’s fine,” Wu Ying says, “I’m sorry you had to bear her bitter words.”

The Jin cultivator just shakes his head.

Wu Ying decides to let it go for now, and instead bows in greeting. “This one is Wu Ying.”

The Jin cultivator bows in return, and says, “I am Jin Xuanyu.”

“Forgive me for overhearing, but you mentioned a problem in the village with angry ghosts?” Wu Ying asks

“That’s right,” he hesitates before explaining, “Madam Mo had contacted me, informing me of resentful ghosts that seemed to possess villagers at night. Of course, no one at the Mo Manor has been affected so far, but she seemed to think it would only be a matter of time.”

Wu Ying can read in between the lines— Madam Mo didn’t truly care for the other civilians of Mo Village, but rather those in the inner circle living in Mo Manor. Perhaps mainly herself, though Wu Ying didn’t voice the thought aloud.

“Maybe I can help?” Wu Ying says, fishing some talismans out of his Qiankun pouch. He had designed some spirit deflection talismans, an intricate modification of the Yiling Patriarch’s spirit-attraction flags. “These can keep spirits away from oneself and can prevent being possessed by angry spirits.”

Jin Xuanyu blinks, before leaning in to get a better look at the talisman.

“This is incredible work,” he says, interest piqued, “where did you get your hands on these?”

Wu Ying grins at the praise. “When I was young, I got my hands on one of the Yiling Patriarch’s works. After that, I learned from my shifu, He Nuan of the Tingshan He Sect. She is Tingshan’s greatest talismans master.”

“You’re saying you made them?” Jin Xuanyu’s eyes have a shining quality to them, awe clear on his face. “Are you a cultivator?”

Wu Ying shakes his head. “Not really. I know the basics, but I’ve only ever been interested in talismans.”

When he tells most cultivators this, they look rather perplexed. However, Jin Xuanyu takes it in stride, nodding.

“And yourself?”

“I practice a more… unorthodox form of cultivation,” Jin Xuanyu says.

Wu Ying frowns. “Unorthodox?”

The only unorthodox methods of cultivation he’s heard of had been demonic cultivation, invented by the Yiling Patriarch himself. The method of cultivation hadn’t been accepted by the Great Sects at large, but after it had been revealed that Wei Wuxian was fighting the war without a core, it was now considered more of a grey area. Not many people practiced it these days, to Wu Ying’s knowledge.

Jin Xuanyu shifted apprehensively, watching Wu Ying.

Wu Ying just smiles. “So you cultivate like the great Yiling Patriarch then? That’s pretty impressive.”

The Jin cultivator’s eyes widen for a moment, before a brilliant blush swims across his cheeks. Wu Ying thinks it matches quite well with the gold of his robes, though he doesn’t say it aloud.

“Wu Ying,” Jin Xuanyu finally says, not quite looking the other boy in the eye, “forgive this one for being presumptuous, but would you like to work together? I think that between the both of us, we can find a way to identify and eradicate the vicious ghosts.”

He hesitates before adding, “If you do not have lodging, you can stay with me in my quarters at Mo Manor.”

The offer is quite kind, and honestly ideal since Mo Village didn’t seem prosperous enough to have any sort of inn. Wu Ying didn’t mind sleeping outside at night, but he figured that in a village being plagued by angry spirits, it wouldn’t have been the best idea.

So, he beams at Jin Xuanyu, whose blush deepens.

“That would be wonderful, Jin Xuanyu. I’m sure we’ll make a great team,” Wu Ying says. Lil’ Potato butts Jin Xuanyu’s side as if he agreed, though Wu Ying was sure that the gremlin of a donkey just wanted some food.

Still, he laughs at Jin Xuanyu’s overwhelmed expression. He wondered if all Jin cultivators were this fun to tease.

---

As it turns out, they don’t have to wait until night hits.

By evening, the disciples from the Gusu Lan Clan have arrived, and Madam Mo’s demeanor has flipped entirely. It’s rather unnerving, how the woman who had once snarled like a street dog suddenly became the quintessential well-meaning host. She had invited them into Mo Manor for dinner, and introduced her son to them, heavily implying that her son was a bright fellow who would make a great cultivator. From what Wu Ying could see, there was nothing special about Mo Ziyuan, but he didn’t voice the thought aloud.

“Esteemed cultivators,” she said, causing Wu Ying to share a glance with Jin Xuanyu and roll his eyes, “please have your fill. We are very appreciative of your efforts to come, after all.”

The Lan cultivator with the kind eyes and calm demeanor bows in acknowledgement. The one next to him does too, though he looks more wary of Madam Mo.

The real chaos begins when night hits.

Two servants of the Mo household had barged into Jin Xuanyu and Wu Ying’s room, dragging the former outside. There stood Madam Mo, whose face is purpling. She screams accusations at him.

“You! You killed my Ziyuan, you filthy bastard,” Madam Mo all but howls. Jin Xuanyu looks absolutely dumbstruck as he notices the body in the courtyard.

It’s a dead Mo Ziyuan, and his figure is twisted, nails sharp and hands bony like something had sucked the very youth out of his body. His face is contorted in a frozen scream of horror, eyes rolled back to show the whites. It was a gruesome sight.

Wu Ying noticed a piece of paper poking out from underneath his belt, and he crouched near the body to pick it. He recognized the red markings of the talisman paper.

“This is a spirit-attracting flag,” Wu Ying stated, gaining the attention of both the Mo household and the Lan juniors.

Jin Xuanyu’s eyes widen in shock as he throws the servants holding him down off of him.

“That’s my spirit-attracting flag! The spoiled little master must have stolen it from me!”

Madam Mo looks furious at the accusation. “You expect me to believe such lies?”

“Who else would be stupid enough to hold onto a spirit-attracting flag when we are trying to avoid resentful spirits?” Jin Xuanyu seethed. Madam Mo raises her hand to slap him, but one of the juniors from the Lan Clan grabs her hand fluidly.

“Madam Mo, please refrain from assaulting Young Master Jin,” the Lan junior said placidly, though Wu Ying could tell that his grip was deceivingly strong.

“He caused his own death by stealing the flag from a reputable cultivator,” the other Lan said bluntly.

His partner lets go of Madam Mo’s hand and sighs. “I apologize for Lan Jingyi’s harsh words,” he says. “Right now, it is clear that there are resentful ghosts in Mo Manor. We must all be vigilant in the case that someone else gets possessed.”

Madam Mo pales at this, and she takes a step back, looking at the servants and other members of the Mo household frantically, as if just now realizing that anyone could be at risk.

A scream from another part of the courtyard strikes Wu Ying’s heart.

The juniors and Jin Xuanyu all look towards the source of the noise, some of the juniors immediately running. They open the door to find Madam Mo’s husband suffering a similar fate as his son.

“Shit,” the disciple named Jingyi curses, “this isn’t good. The ghosts are changing targets quickly.”

“We have to suppress them immediately,” Wu Ying says, and he hands out talismans to the juniors, sticking it on their robes with lithe precision.

Jingyi blinks. “What is this? Also, who are you?”

“These are spirit deflection talismans— they’ll prevent you from getting possessed, but I only have so many,” Wu Ying says, giving one to Jin Xuanyu who nods thankfully, “Jin Xuanyu and I know how to eliminate the ghosts. Come on!”

Without waiting for an answer, they run back to the courtyard. It’s clear that things have taken a turn for the worse, as they come face to face with a handful of the Mo household members and Madam Mo herself. Their skins are pale, paler than that of a living human, and their eyes have rolled back into their heads, while their nails have elongated into long black vicious weapons.

“They’re possessed,” the calm Lan junior warns, “be careful in your elimination of the spirits. We will hold them off for you.”

“Perfect,” Wu Ying says, and shares a look with Jin Xuanyu, who nods at him in a silent signal.

All in all, the exorcism takes around two hours. Wu Ying is sure he could have done it faster if he had any experience at all with using talismans to exorcise ghosts, but he appreciates the knowledge one gains from first-hand experience too. Jin Xuanyu whistles, using wisps of black concentrated resentful energy to sever the connection between the ghosts and the humans, while Wu Ying slaps spirit suppressing talismans on those who have been freed from possession. The Lan juniors use their swords to fight off the particularly raging possessed humans, protecting Wu Ying and Jin Xuanyu from their onslaught.

In the end, they are panting with exertion as Jin Xuanyu lays the last spirit to rest with demonic cultivation. Wu Ying wipes the sweat off his forehead, taking in the scene around him.

Madam Mo had perished, her body laying at a crooked angle, a particularly malignant ghost having possessed her. A few other servants had died as well, leaving the living ones shaking with fear and exhaustion. It could have been worse, Wu Ying concluded. Perhaps if Mo Ziyuan had not been carrying an activated spirit-attraction flag, the casualties could have been avoided, but Wu Ying doesn’t dwell too much on it.

Jin Xuanyu sighs, leaning on Wu Ying. “I’ll have to write to Jin-zongzhu to help clean up this mess,” he gripes. “Da-ge is not going to be happy about this.”

Wu Ying blinks. “Jin-zongzhu is your older brother?”

He thinks that Jin Xuanyu would be blushing now if it weren’t for the exertion that already made their faces a little redder. “Half-brother.”

Ah. Madam Mo’s words from earlier made sense now.

“I’ve met Jin-zongzhu and Madam Jin before,” Wu Ying says, “they invited me to visit.”

“Huh,” Jin Xuanyu says, surprised, “they must have really liked you then. When you come to visit, you have to remember to visit me as well.”

Wu Ying grins, though it’s a tired thing. “I promise.”

They both catch their breaths as the Lan juniors investigate the bodies around them, double checking that all the resentful spirits have been successfully suppressed.

“Your talismans are really impressive, Wu Ying,” Jin Xuanyu says.

“Thank you,” Wu Ying says, “I seem to have run through a fair bit of them tonight, but when I visit, I’ll bring you some.”

Jin Xuanyu smiles.

“Sizhui, I’ve sent out the signal flare,” Lan Jingyi says, “prominent members of the Mo family died tonight, and I’m not completely sure that there are no more resentful spirits lingering.”

Sizhui, Lan Sizhui, nods in agreement.

The name sounds familiar, and Wu Ying squints at the calm boy. His facial features look somewhat familiar too, though Wu Ying can’t quite place it.

A small voice echoes in his head, and his eyes widen.

“You’re Sizhui-ge?” He exclaims aloud.

Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi look at him, with expressions of surprise.

“Do we know each other?” Lan Sizhui asks politely, though his eyebrows are knitted in consternation, “You do look quite familiar.”

“Ah, not quite. My name is Wu Ying. I’ve traveled a fair amount, and a while back I stayed with the Yiling Wen.” He smiles as understanding dawns on Sizhui’s face. “I met young A-Lian. He told me a lot about his Sizhui-ge.”

“A-Lian is a spirited child,” Sizhui says fondly. The corners of Sizhui’s eyes crinkle as he allows himself a small smile, and Wu Ying is struck with who Sizhui reminds him of.

“You look just like Wen Ning,” Wu Ying breathes. Sizhui lets out a laugh at this.

“I’ve been told we share a resemblance,” Sizhui agrees, “he is my shushu.”

Wu Ying nods. Lan Sizhui bears a resemblance to Wen Ning, sure, but it seems to be through his smiles and his laughter rather than any prominent physical features.

“Maybe it’s fate that I’m meeting the disciples of the infamous Gusu Lan Clan now,” Wu Ying muses, “Wen-guniang did tell me to visit Gusu when I had the chance.”

Sizhui looks rather perplexed at that, but Lan Jingyi just smirks proudly.

“I’m not surprised! Gusu is gorgeous! When you’re in the Cloud Recesses, you will feel like you can touch the heavens,” he embellishes, earning a soft reprimand from Sizhui. Wu Ying finds that he quite likes Jingyi’s gusto, uncharacteristic of the rest of the Lan disciples.

“You seem to be quite the powerful talisman worker,” Jingyi continues, “are you a cultivator too?”

Wu Ying wonders sardonically if he should start charging for the answer of that question.

“Not quite,” is what he says instead.

Lan Jingyi gives his sword a pointed look, and raises an eyebrow. Oh, Wu Ying likes him; the disciples of the Jiang clan didn’t quite have the same thinly veiled obnoxiousness combined with just the right level of respect to toe the line between audacity and formality.

Then Jingyi narrows his eyes, flickering across the scabbard of his sword.

“Suibian?” He reads. His eyes widened with disbelief. “Did you name your sword after the Yiling Patriarch’s?”

This catches Jin Xuanyu’s attention. He looks over, neck craning to see Wu Ying’s sword.

“Huh. You must really admire him,” the Jin cultivator nods, not as surprised as Jingyi is at the revelation of the sword’s name.

Lan Sizhui remained silent throughout the entire exchange, instead staring at Wu Ying with a level of concentration that he hadn’t had directed onto him too often.

“It was a gift, actually,” Wu Ying tries to explain, wondering what the best way to do so was.

“What do you mean?” Lan Jingyi asks.

Wu Ying decides he might as well tell the facts as they were. “It was a gift from Jiang-zongzhu from when I stayed at Lotus Pier.” At the trio’s matching looks of disbelief, Wu Ying adds, “It’s a long story.”

“Are you saying you have the real Suibian? The original sword of the Yiling Patriarch himself?” Jingyi barks out a surprised laugh, “Are you even real? Oh man, who are you?”

Jin Xuanyu is starting to get more red in the face as he stares at Wu Ying’s sword.

“Can I— that is, may I—” the poor boy stutters out, clearly in awe over his historical hero’s very own sword being in such close proximity to himself.

“Never mind that,” Wu Ying cuts through the excitement, “tell me more about Gusu. I’m due for a visit soon.”

Jingyi huffs. “Well, now you have to come to Gusu! The Cloud Recesses are on top of a mountain protected by the most powerful wards cultivators can create. It’s the most beautiful place you’ll ever set foot in, from the waterfalls to the cold springs to the fields of grass and flowers.”

“Really? Such high praise!” Wu Ying marvels.

“Visit Koi Tower next,” Jin Xuanyu interjects, having recovered from his stuttering, though his eyes were still locked onto Suibian, “it’s literally a tower made of gold.”

“Wasteful,” Jingyi says.

“At least we don’t have three thousand rules!” Jin Xuanyu shoots back.

Wu Ying blinks, his mind coming to a halt. “Three thousand rules?”

Lan Jingyi just shrugs. “Yeah we have three thousand rules, but you get used to it.”

“I don’t think I’ll get used to it that easily,” Wu Ying responds. He laments the days when he had stayed in Lotus Pier, where the only rule was to attempt the impossible. A ridiculous rule, but one that Wu Ying liked all the same.

“There’s one more thing I haven’t mentioned yet!” Lan Jingyi says, a triumphant grin overtaking his face. “You could get the chance to meet the one and only Hanguang-Jun of the Gusu Lan Clan! He’s one of the greatest cultivators alive! He’s really cool, and he’s—”

“Right behind you,” comes Sizhui’s level voice.

Wu Ying and Lan Jingyi both whip around.

An ethereal angel clad in mourning whites stands tall and regal. The planes of his face are sharp, as if his very cheekbones were carved out of jade. Hanguang-Jun is truly magnificent, and Wu Ying finds himself wordless from his mere presence. When Wu Ying gasps, the cultivator’s golden eyes slide to make contact with Wu Ying’s.

Wu Ying’s heart clenches. He’s starting to feel a little dizzy, as if his blood is pumping too fast for his lungs to keep up with.

“Lan Zhan?” He barely feels the whisper of words leave his lips.

Those brilliant golden eyes widen impossibly.

He takes a step forward as the static in Wu Ying’s skull grows louder and more painful, demanding for him to listen, to pay attention.

Wu Ying desperately clutches at his head to alleviate the pain, dropping to his knees in agony. There are concerned voices around him, a strong pair of hands on his shoulders, but Wu Ying feels detached from it all.

The throbbing of his head finally gives way to blissful darkness.

Chapter Text

He’s at a restaurant for the first time in ages, his stomach growling with hunger. There’s an array of red-tinged dishes laid out in front of him, but he only has eyes for the man sitting across him and the little boy playing on the man’s lap.

A-Yuan balanced on his Rich-gege’s lap, before twisting around to look at Lan Zhan. After a calculating look, he stops squirming and settles, laying his head back on Lan Zhan’s solid chest.

Ah, Wei Ying thinks he’d never tire of the sight.

Grinning, he takes a perfectly charred piece of spicy tofu from his plate, and places it on Lan Zhan’s with his chopsticks. A mischievous part of him expects Lan Zhan to simply raise an eyebrow and ignore it, but the man never ceases to amuse him. Lan Zhan nods in thanks, before delicately eating the tofu.

He’s sure he gapes for a moment. And then elation fills his chest. “Lan Zhan, you like spicy food too? Lan Zhan, I can’t believe we have this in common!”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan says.

Amusement courses through Wei Wuxian as he wonders if that counts as breaking one of the Gusu Lan rules. Do not speak while eating. He laughs to himself, though Lan Zhan doesn’t question it.

A-Yuan watches the exchange with wide eyes, before opening his mouth and saying “ahh” like the plaintive cry of a baby chick to its mother. Lan Zhan carefully snags a piece of tofu that isn’t painted the violent red of the spices Wei Ying loved so, and holds it out to A-Yuan. A-Yuan chews it thoroughly before giving Lan Zhan a gummy grin.

The corner of Lan Zhan’s lips quirk in a way that Wei Ying knows is his version of a smile.

A pang of longing pierces Wei Ying’s heart. He wishes he could do this all the time, be with Lan Zhan and A-Yuan and watch them be happy like this, and not care about the rest of the world.

He tells himself to enjoy the little moments of reprieve while he can.

—

He’s standing on a dusty path with hundreds of cultivators donned in gold before him. There’s a cold fist inside his guts, a gaping hole in his abdomen, and blood steadily trailing down his chin. This can’t be right. He’s confused. He was going to see his family again. He was going to see his precious nephew for the first time. And when he came back, Lan Zhan would visit again. Lan Zhan said he would visit again.

Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan said he would…

Lan Zhan.

—

Wu Ying wakes up gasping, as if someone had coursed electricity through his veins.

His heart rate immediately ratchets and he starts sweating as he props himself up. He’s in a bed in a house that looks meticulously organized and peaceful, a sharp contrast to his inner turmoil. Wiping the sweat off of his brow, he looks to his side and sees him.

Hanguang-jun. Lan Zhan.

The ethereal man is sitting in lotus form, but his eyes open at Wu Ying’s movement. Piercing gold hooks at his very soul, and Wu Ying’s breath hitches in his throat. Then, in entrancingly fluid movements, the Lan cultivator gets up and goes to his side, kneeling down to come to Wu Ying’s eye level.

Wu Ying wonders if he’s still dreaming as concerned golden eyes roam over his being. He still feels feverish, and his body is trembling like he’d been standing in the rain for an hour. He feels like a great shift has occurred, and he cannot quite find his footing.

“How are you feeling?” Hanguang-jun asks. His voice is deep, soothing, and it makes Wu Ying yearn.

Wu Ying has trouble finding words. He blinks, his mouth open, lip trembling as he takes in the man donned in mourning whites before him. He has so much to say. He doesn’t understand it. His head still hurts terribly, but he can’t find it in himself to look away.

The dam breaks.

Deliriously, he blurts, “I wanted to see you again. I mean, back then, with A-Yuan, I was happy when you were there. I—”

Hanguang-jun’s eyes widen at A-Yuan’s name and Wu Ying fights the hysterical laugh bubbling within him. It only makes his headache worse.

“I don’t know how,” Wu Ying continues, “but I think I know you. I feel like I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

Hot tears are burning paths down Wu Ying’s cheeks now, streaming down his face. Hanguang-jun’s fists clench the sheets, and Wu Ying lets out a self-deprecating chuckle.

“I sound crazy, right? I haven’t even introduced myself, and here I am spouting this nonsense.”

Wu Ying thinks the shame alone could give him probable cause to throw himself off of a cliff, but then Hanguang-jun raises a large hand and cups his face. It’s gentle, warm, and grounding. He finds his headache ebbing away, leaving in its place a bone deep exhaustion.

“Wei Ying.”

Wu Ying’s eyes widen, but then Hanguang-jun’s capable arms are gently pushing him back down into the bed. Wu Ying is laid back down like a precious item, handled with care, and then he’s being wrapped in fluffy blankets. His eyes start fluttering as his fatigue increases.

“Rest,” Hanguang-jun says, and Wu Ying does.

---

Life doesn’t feel quite real after that.

Wu Ying isn’t as disoriented as he was on his first night in Gusu, but he feels like something has irrevocably changed within himself. Or rather, he feels like whatever innate unknown instinct he has been following his entire life has just revealed itself to him in a magnificent, glorious way that he could not yet comprehend.

It doesn’t help that every minute he spends with Hanguang-jun, he feels like he’s been cracked open further and further, exposed for the world to see.

He’s in the Cloud Recesses, he knows that now, and it’s beautiful, as gorgeous as Lan Jingyi had been describing. Still, he finds his eyes drifting to a certain Lan donned in the light blues and whites of his sect. He noticed very well that Hanguang-jun no longer wore mourning robes, and clearly it hadn’t been lost on the rest of the disciples of the Gusu Lan. The duo caused heads to turn wherever they went.

Wu Ying wonders if he’s causing any inconvenience to the older man, but he doesn’t bring himself to ask.

He eats with Hanguang-jun in the Jingshi, wrinkling his nose at the bland congee that the cultivator had placed on the table before them. Cloud Recesses may be beautiful, but he wasn’t a fan of the plain rice dishes they tended to serve— perhaps, if he was allowed to, he would show them how to farm chilis even this high up. Wu Ying was quite good at growing things. He wonders if Hanguang-jun would be opposed to that.

But then Hanguang-jun produces a bottle of chili oil from his sleeve and pours a liberal amount onto Wu Ying’s food.

The dish is now a vibrant red, he notes, as he sits across from Hanguang-jun. He thinks he can hear the echo of a child’s laughter and the bustle of a restaurant from a time long ago.

His eyes grow wet without his consent and he finds the lump in his throat hard to swallow around. Wu Ying wipes at the traitorous tears that fall from his eyes with his wrists and he inhales sharply.

“This one apologizes, Hanguang-jun,” Wu Ying rasps. The creases around the older man’s eyes tighten when Wu Ying says Hanguang-jun, but he doesn’t say anything. “Please forgive this one for being presumptuous, but I feel like my soul has known you for as long as I’ve lived.”

Silence rings in the Jingshi at his words. Wu Ying feels embarrassed at his own words, but it is overshadowed by the sheer relief coursing through his body at admitting his feelings.

“Wei Ying. If you feel comfortable to do so,” he says, looking at Wu Ying meaningfully, “please feel free to call me Lan Zhan once more.”

Once more. He vaguely remembers calling him Lan Zhan in shock at the sight of him back at the Mo Manor. Something he still can’t quite explain.

“That’s another thing,” Wu Ying says, “You keep calling me Wei Ying, but my surname is Wu. I’ve never met a Wei in my life before, but… ”

He swallows, and Hanguang-jun— Lan Zhan— waits for him to continue. Hanguang-jun hadn’t pushed him or asked him any questions since the first day Wu Ying had woken up crying and near hysterical in the Jingshi. It was as if he were waiting for Wu Ying to say something first, for Wu Ying to find proper footing.

“But I’m starting to remember things. Things that I don’t think are Wu Ying’s memories,” he says with a gasp of a sob. He’s trying to even his breathing, and he stills as Lan Zhan stands up abruptly.

“Come,” is all he says, the word ringing resolutely in the Jingshi.

Wu Ying blinks, confusion warring with the grief that has occupied his stomach. He finds himself following Lan Zhan out the door.

---

Wu Ying wasn’t sure what to expect as they walked up the spiraling paths of Cloud Recesses to the back hills, but a field of bunnies wasn’t it.

A delighted gasp leaves him. There were so many fat white bunnies, chewing lazily on leaves or hopping around.

“This way,” Lan Zhan prompted. The taller man led him into the field near a wide-trunked tree, and promptly sat down, leaning against the bark. He looked up at Wu Ying expectantly, and Wu Ying followed suit, crossing his legs as he settled into the gress.

Immediately, before Wu Ying can process it, Lan Zhan swiftly picks up a bunny and plops it gently onto Wu Ying’s lap.

Wu Ying draws in a silent breath, looking at the precious fluffy thing currently lazing in his lap. He squirms in delight, before Lan Zhan takes his hand and runs it gently down the bunny’s fur. It was so soft! He never wants to move his hand again.

Other bunnies begin to approach them inquisitively. Wu Ying is mesmerized by the way their small noses twitch before they bump their heads against his knees or jump into Lan Zhan’s lap. It would seem that a good amount of the creatures are at ease in the presence of the great Hanguang-jun, as he has a veritable crowd of bunnies nosing at him.

Wu Ying can’t help it. He laughs.

“Lan Zhan! They’re so cute! Ah, how come more are coming to you? Do they like you more than me? Won’t the great Hanguang-jun tell me his secrets, tell me how he became such a proficient bunny-whisperer?”

Lan Zhan gives him a dry look before placing another bunny into Wu Ying’s lap, which only prompts more laughter out of Wu Ying.

“They like Wu Ying too. Wu Ying just needs to sit still,” Lan Zhan says.

“Lan Zhan, did you know, this one has never stayed still his entire life?” Wu Ying smiles. It’s true— ever since he was old enough to walk, he was always moving, always learning and doing something new. Since he was old enough to take care of himself, he was always traveling, searching.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, though there’s unmistakable fondness in the acknowledgement.

Wu Ying’s fingers run through plush fur, and a thought comes to his mind.

“How did all these bunnies come to be here?”

Lan Zhan contemplates this for a moment, before he picks up another bunny. This one is different from the rest— it’s black, and Wu Ying doesn’t think he’s seen a single bunny in the field that wasn’t white until this one. Lan Zhan holds it with a careful, almost featherlight touch, before placing it down on Wu Ying’s lap next to the other ones. The bunny is less lively than the others, more content to laze around, which suits Wu Ying just fine.

“My dearest friend gifted them to me.”

Wu Ying blinks, before he remembers the tales of Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch. How they studied together in the Cloud Recesses. How they were both extraordinary young masters of the same generation. How in his dreams, he hears his own voice call “Lan Zhan!” and sees Lan Zhan’s features soften at his call.

“Wei Wuxian?” He asks, though he knows the answer already.

Lan Zhan nods.

“Lan Zhan,” Wu Ying asks, hesitant, “what was he to you?”

Golden eyes catch his.

“Wei Ying is my zhiyin. He is the one that knows the melody of my heart.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t waver in his answer.

“I had thought once that you were the one who knew me. My zhiji.”

“I still am.”

The familiar words echo in Wu Ying’s mind.

“He is the one I love dearly,” Lan Zhan says, “I regret that I had never told him so in our youth.”

Wu Ying flushes at the bold declaration, the unabashed affection in his words. He cannot look away from Lan Zhan, not when he’s baring his soul like this.

Ah. Lan Zhan really is too good.

---

Wu Ying spends days in the Cloud Recesses with Lan Zhan. He finds that every moment in Lan Zhan’s presence is like a balm on a wound that he didn’t know he had. He visits the bunny fields, teases Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui when he can, and even gets to sit in on some of the lectures the Lan disciples attend. They’re rather interesting, of course, but he finds that he’d rather sit with Lan Zhan than listen to a Lan teacher drone on about musical cultivation theory.

He eats lunch and dinner with Lan Zhan everyday, but he still can’t be bothered to wake up as early as Lan Zhan for breakfast. Wu Ying sleeps in the Jingshi. He knows that there are guest quarters, but Lan Zhan seems content with letting Wu Ying use his spare room, and Wu Ying doesn’t feel inclined to move.

Wu Ying still dreams of bits and pieces of an unfamiliar yet achingly intimate lifetime. He doesn’t know what to make of them yet.

One night, a storm engulfed the Cloud Recesses in its clutches. The normally placid area in the mountains was blanketed with a darkness that came with heavy rain. After having watched the tempestuous weather from the comfort of the Jingshi, Wu Ying said his good nights to Lan Zhan. Crawling into bed, he burrowed deeper into the plush blankets that Lan Zhan had provided him with. However, even with his belly warm and full with spicy congee, he finds that his rest is rather fitful. He just barely falls asleep.

Hours later, the storm is still raging outside. It’s pitch black outside his windows, and the constant rain is a soothing noise, pattering against the Jingshi.

Wu Ying wakes up with a violent gasp.

A fateful meeting on a rooftop, alcohol dripping down his throat as a boy clad in white held a blade up in warning. Laughter and wrists tied by a ribbon, his youth with Lan Zhan spent in the Cloud Recesses.

Then, the Wen Indoctrination. The war, the sacrifices he made, his shidi and shijie, his golden core—

The Burial Mounds. The Sunshot Campaign. The greed of the Jin, and the atrocities of the victors.

He had made a promise. He would help those who could not help themselves and seek righteousness above all. He would keep that promise.

The Burial Mounds again. A child, tugging on his robes and looking at him in awe. Stolen moments together in Yiling, and finally, dying at Qiongqi path—

The memories flood through him and he rips the blankets off of his body, stumbling to his feet. His legs are shaking like a newborn calf’s, but Wu Ying pays them no mind. He gasps a barely coherent name as the memories flood his mind, threatening to push him into hysteria. How could he have forgotten?

Wu Ying falls to his knees in the middle of the Jingshi, chest heaving. He was still calling out the name, the name he had called out to with his last breaths, and distantly, he hears footsteps over the road of blood in his ears.

Broad hands grip his shoulders, and Wu Ying snaps his head up.

Precious, golden eyes. His beloved.

Lan Zhan kneels in front of him in his sleeping robes, worry written clear across his face. How could he have ever thought that Hanguang-jun was not expressive? He spoke with his body, and Wu Ying was listening, had been listening ever since he laid eyes on him two weeks ago, twenty years ago, a lifetime ago.

“Lan Zhan,” Wu Ying breathes. It feels like the first breath of air he’s taken, like he’s being reborn again.

Lan Zhan knows him so well, has always known him so well, because his eyes widen like he knows.

“Lan Zhan, I remember. I remember. My zhiji, my best friend, ah, how could I have made you wait for this long?” His eyes are welling with tears, and he can’t stop his trembling arms from grasping at any part of Lan Zhan that he could reach. He reached for his forearms, his shoulders, and finally settled for looping them loosely around his neck. He felt like he couldn’t get close enough.

“How long has it been? Eighteen years? Twenty?”

Wu Ying chokes at the thought of his life-long confidant without him, waiting. Has Lan Zhan truly been alone this whole time?

He buries his head in Lan Zhan’s chest, unable to bear the shame.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry, Lan Zhan.”

He lets out a rush of air as strong arms come to wrap around his smaller body. He’s warm and Lan Zhan is all around him, his heartbeat is steady against Wu Ying’s forehead, and Wu Ying thinks he’d never leave if given the chance.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says his name like a benediction, “between us, there is no need for sorry and thank you.”

Wu Ying can’t help the wetness that escapes his eyes then. How can he, when Lan Zhan is saying things like that to his very face. It’s unfair. He struggles not to choke on the lump in his throat.

“He is the one I love dearly. I regret that I had never told him so in our youth.”

“I loved you too, Lan Zhan. I still do. I love you so much it hurts, and I think I never stopped loving you. I think my soul was reborn to find you again,” Wu Ying confesses in a rush.

He tilts his head up so he can look at Lan Zhan’s face. His heart stutters as he realizes that his beloved is crying. He unhooks his arms from Lan Zhan’s neck immediately, moving to wipe away the tears which sparkle like precious diamonds. Even in his sorrow, Lan Zhan is beautiful.

He cups Lan Zhan’s face and meets those golden depths.

“You’re my entire heart. I can’t believe it took me this long to find you again,” Wu Ying says breathlessly.

“Will always wait for Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, voice low and rough. Something in Wu Ying’s chest cracks open at that, and he wraps his arms around Lan Zhan once more, burying his face in the taller man’s neck this time. Lan Zhan shifts to accommodate for this, embracing Wu Ying with his strong arms, the two fitting together like puzzle pieces.

They stay like that, wrapped around each other and whispering overdue promises well into the morning.

---

As the first rays of light filter into the Jingshi, Wu Ying supposes he should feel bad for making Lan Zhan stay up, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He finds that he quite likes the feel of Hanguang-jun’s arms around him, and thinks that if he could carve a place for himself in Lan Zhan’s chest and live there forever, he would do so in a heartbeat.

The revelation of his past life is no trivial matter either. Now that he knows that Lan Zhan loves him, has always loved him, and that his family is alive and well, (he made a mental note to revisit Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, who were so very interested in him for a reason) he just feels calm. He feels at peace. The itch in his soul which had him traveling and exploring the world has finally been satiated.

He cranes his neck to look at Lan Zhan, head still lying on his broad chest. The two had shifted locations into Lan Zhan’s room sometime before the sun had risen, and they were currently laying on his bed under the comfort of the blankets.

When he sees Lan Zhan’s lovely face, there are fresh tears rolling down his cheeks, as if renewed by the sight of Wu Ying in his arms.

Wu Ying wipes them away, heart shattering at the sight of Lan Zhan’s sorrow.

“My zhiji, baobei, tell me what’s wrong?” Wu Ying coaxes.

“The last thing you remember,” is all Lan Zhan says, but there’s a tremor in his voice.

Wu Ying frowns. His recently developed memory is like a flowing river— it exists and it runs, but if he tries to catch it with his hands, the water tends to fall through his fingers. Especially so for the moments right before his death. But, nevertheless, he tries for Lan Zhan.

“I was at Qiongqi Path. And then things went… wrong,” his frown deepens at the recollection of that violent, doomed day. “Wen Ning attacked Jin Zixuan under someone else's control. I got in the way. And then—”

And then Wu Ying had remembered thinking about Lan Zhan. He remembered wondering when Lan Zhan was going to visit next. He can’t help but smile at that. Even in his death, he was reaching out to Lan Zhan. Isn’t that something?

Lan Zhan takes his silence as a cue to explain what had happened after that.

“Jin Zixuan brought you back to the Jin healers,” he says, and Wu Ying resists the urge to snort at that— no wonder he had died. If they really wanted him to live, they should have brought him back to Wen Qing, the brightest medical mind of their generation (and wasn’t that a thought? The Dafan Wen, no, the Yiling Wen were alive and well).

Lan Zhan continues, his brows furrowed and voice audibly strained. “I was later informed that you were calling my name. They told me too late. You were calling for me, and I wasn’t there. They told me you didn’t have a golden core, and I wasn’t there.”

Cold realization dawns on Wu Ying as he realizes the pain his beloved must have gone through. To discover not only Wei Ying’s death, but also his lack of a golden core. To discover just how weakened Wei Ying had been before he died, to know that Wei Ying had been calling his name with his last breaths. To have not been there.

He wraps his arms around Lan Zhan suddenly, rolling so that he’s on top of Lan Zhan. They’re chest to chest, as Wu Ying comforts him.

“You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault Lan Zhan, you didn’t know.”

Lan Zhan brings his arms up around Wu Ying, resting softly at the small of his back.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says seriously, “I will always be there. For as long as you’ll have me.”

It’s a promise of things to come. It’s said with all the sincerity that Lan Zhan had been saving up over the course of Wu Ying’s lifetime.

Wu Ying can’t not kiss him on his perfect face.

He starts with Lan Zhan’s cheeks, moving to the tip of his nose, the furrow between his brows, and of course, his pink ears. He doesn’t leave those without giving them a cheeky nibble, and he finally ends with a chaste slide of lips.

Lan Zhan’s grip around him tightens, and Wu Ying melts into his embrace.

They don’t get out of bed until the sun is high in the sky.

---

He walks through the Cloud Recesses with his arms wrapped around one of Lan Zhan’s, shamelessly hanging onto the other man with unbridled glee. To the eye of an outsider, it may look like the great Hanguang-jun was stoically tolerating the grasp of a particularly shameless guest disciple, but Wu Ying could feel the way Lan Zhan relaxed in his grasp.

Warmth filled his heart.

“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, we met here, didn’t we?” Wu Ying unravels one arm and points at the rooftops near the wall separating Cloud Recesses from the outside. “I remember, you were quite mad at me. You even— you fought me with your sword, didn’t you? Aah! That must have been a sight!”

“Mn.”

Wu Ying laughs, wondering if it’s possible to be jealous of a previous version of himself. That version had the pleasure of viewing a truly incensed, gorgeous young Lan Zhan.

“You know, back then, I thought you were beautiful too, even when you were trying to punish me.” A mischievous grin slides onto Wu Ying’s face, as he twirls his ponytail with one finger. “I wouldn’t mind if Lan-er-gege still wanted to punish me, in fact. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, look at me.”

Lan Zhan obliges, tilting his head down to meet Wu Ying’s interested gaze. Wu Ying’s smile widens. He still feels his breath catch in his throat when he has Lan Zhan’s full attention like this. He thinks that he’s been craving Lan Zhan’s focus, his full regard, since he was a teenager, and even now that he’s got it, it was overwhelming.

Wu Ying breathes, “I feel like I’ll die if you stop looking at me, Lan Zhan.”

“If that’s the case, then I will just have to keep looking at A-Ying.”

The younger boy can’t help but let out a loud squeal, taking his hands back to cover his blushing face. How can Lan Zhan be so shameless? He supposes a lifetime apart will do that to you, but still!

Lan Zhan, truly, no one can match you.

Gentle fingers slowly pry his hands away from his face. A baritone voice then says, “Don’t look away.”

Wu Ying has never been able to deny him this. Golden eyes have him in their heady thrall, and Wu Ying finds that he doesn’t want to look away.

Lan Zhan slowly brings his hands up to his head, and before Wu Ying realizes it, Lan Zhan’s forehead ribbon has been swiftly untied.

Lan Zhan takes Wu Ying’s wrist in one hand, and loops the band of white silken ribbon around it. He takes his time with it, until it’s wrapped firmly around Wu Ying’s slight wrist. Then, Lan Zhan ties the other end around his own wrist, all without breaking eye contact.

People are definitely staring at them now, but Wu Ying only has eyes for Lan Zhan. He feels his heartbeat throb at his wrist, under the ribbon, and he smiles.

“I won’t, Lan Zhan. Never again.”

He doesn’t think he could look away if he tried.

Lan Zhan smiles, a small precious thing, and squeezes his hand.

Wu Ying leans in to kiss his soulmate.

Chapter Text

1. Lan Sizhui

Wu Ying bawls, his arms looped around Lan Sizhui’s neck. Lan Sizhui, Lan Yuan, was his Little Radish from all those years ago.

His son.

“My son,” Wu Ying garbles, tears flowing down his cheeks, while the Lan disciple pats his back soothingly. That, of course, only serves to make him cry even harder, as he’s reminded about how filial of a son he has. He hadn’t doubted Lan Zhan’s parenting skills for even a moment.

“Xian-gege,” Sizhui says, “I knew you looked familiar.” Then, he smiles. “I’m glad you came back. Baba missed you.”

Then, shyer. “I missed you too.”

Wu Ying sniffs. He unlocks his arms from the death grip he had around his son’s neck, and takes a good look at his boy. He’s grown, come so far from that small child that Wei Wuxian had tried his best to take care of in the Burial Mounds.

He leans back against Lan Zhan, against his husband to be. He clutches at his chest, his heart throbbing in it’s confines.

Sizhui frowns at the motion. “Are you well, Xian-gege?”

“I feel like a piece of my heart has finally been restored,” Wu Ying says, “seeing my A-Yuan alive and well. It’s all I ever wanted for you, my Little Radish. My precious bao bun.”

Then there are tears in Sizhui’s eyes, and he’s thrown himself into Wu Ying’s open arms. Wu Ying rubs his back soothingly as sobs wrack through his son’s body. His heart is so full.

“You raised him so well, Lan Zhan,” Wu Ying says.

“Sizhui is a good boy,” Lan Zhan. “Always has been.”

Sizhui makes a choked noise at that. Wu Ying squeezes him tighter.

Later, Wu Ying thinks about how Lan Zhan had given Sizhui his courtesy name, and he sheds many tears over it.

2. Lan Xichen

“Wei-gongzi.”

Lan Xichen is not surprised to see him. It would seem that he had heard the rumors that Lan Zhan had handfasted with a guest of the Cloud Recesses. Wu Ying thinks about how observant Lan Xichen must have been to realize that the only person Lan Zhan would have done so with (had done so with, Wu Ying recalls the cave under the Cold Pond) would be Wei Wuxian.

He bows dutifully. “Zewu-jun.”

To his surprise, Lan Xichen bows lowly, lower than he should to a non-cultivator like Wu Ying is in this life.

“I hope you will accept my apology.”

Wu Ying blinks, perplexed. “Of course, but whatever could Zewu-jun be apologizing for?”

Lan Xichen looks surprised at Wu Ying’s response. “I supported A-Yao— the Jin until the very end. I didn’t pay attention to the rot that had been at the core of their rise to power.”

Oh. That.

Wu Ying shrugged. “You weren’t the only one, Zewu-jun. I don’t recall the Nie or the Jiang for that matter really jumping at the chance to help the Dafan Wen, nor were they even in the position to do so. I was the only one who did anything about it.”

Zewu-jun winces at the reminder.

“Then, if I can’t apologize, accept my thanks. Thank you for doing the right thing, even when the rest of us were too blind to see it.”

Wu Ying thinks he can accept that. He bows in acknowledgement.

“And, Wei-gongzi?”

“Yes, Zewu-jun?”

A slight twinkle appears in the Lan Sect Leader’s eyes, one that Wu Ying hadn’t seen in a while.

“If I may be so presumptuous to ask, please feel free to be more informal with me. After all, as I understand it, we are to be brother-in-laws soon.”

Wu Ying blinks. Then, he grins.

3. Lan Qiren

Wu Ying wasn’t sure what to expect when he saw his old teacher again. Especially since Lan Qiren was one of the most vocal advocates against demonic cultivation. However, Lan Zhan said that Lan Qiren had been in charge of teaching history to the older Lan disciples. History including the Sunshot Campaign, in which Wei Wuxian was depicted as a rather favorable character.

Of all things, however, he did not expect Lan Qiren to bow to him. It was a brief thing, but a sign of respect nonetheless.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren said, the serious tone of voice already having Wu Ying stand up straight, “you stood by justice even when you did not have a golden core.”

“Yes, shifu?” Wu Ying agrees but it comes out as more of a question than anything. He’s still reeling over the fact that Lan Qiren bowed to him out of respect.

“I am proud to have called you a disciple of the Gusu Lan. You will make an adequate cultivation partner to Wangji.”

Blunt, straight to the point. Wu Ying nodded dumbly. Lan Qiren, evidently satisfied, strokes his beard before walking away.

4. Jin Zixuan

When Wu Ying goes to Jinlantai to tell shijie and the Peacock of his returned memories, he’s gobsmacked when the Jin leader kowtows to him.

Wu Ying makes a strangled noise, while Jiang Yanli gasps.

He immediately darts forward to lift the sect leader from his stance. He thinks a servant might have fainted at the sight.

“Peacock, what the hell are you doing?” Wu Ying says once he’s gotten Jin Zixuan to stand up.

To his horror, the Peacock’s eyes are glassy.

“You saved me. You gave up your life for me. Wei Wuxian— Wu Ying,” Jin Zixuan says, “I owe you a life debt that I am not sure how to pay.”

He tries to bow again, but Wu Ying stops him.

“You can pay it, alright, you can pay it,” Wu Ying says, babbling anything to get the Peacock to stop from trying to prostrate himself before Wu Ying as if he were some sort of deity. He sort of missed the days where the Peacock was still an arrogant boy, and Wu Ying could get away with punching him in the face. But right now, with Jin Zixuan looking at him with those pitiful eyes, he had a feeling that his punching-Peacock-in-the-face days are long behind him.

“Anything. Anything,” Jin Zixuan says.

Wu Ying swallows. “Keep my shijie happy. Take care of your son. Lead your sect righteously. Be well.”

Jin Zixuan nods seriously. Shijie sheds a few tears and pulls them both into her embrace.

5. Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli

“So both of you knew who I was from the beginning?” Wu Ying says, taking a sip of the lotus rib soup that shijie had made. It tasted just as good as he remembered.

“It was A-Cheng who found out,” Jiang Yanli explained, pouring another heaping ladle of soup into Wu Ying’s bowl.

Wu Ying looked at Jiang Cheng, who had been quiet up to that point.

“Jiang Cheng? How’d you know?” Wu Ying.

“The talismans.” The answer is short, brusque. Wu Ying snorts.

“I’m glad you found me. I liked Lotus Pier in this life too,” Wu Ying says, and something softened in Jiang Cheng’s expression. “Will you tell me why you’re upset?”

Jiang Cheng glares at him. And then he takes Wu Ying’s hand, and places it over his dantian.

Wu Ying frowned at his shidi, before it clicked. There was a strong thrum of bright power under his abdomen. Wei Wuxian’s golden core.

Wu Ying can’t help but let his hand linger. Yes, he has a core in this lifetime, but he had developed his first core through painstaking years of training and hardship. It had kept him warm and alive through the threat of starvation when he was young and alone. He would never forget it. A part of him would never stop missing it.

“I don’t regret it,” is what he says instead. He looks Jiang Cheng in the eyes. “You were going to die without it. I would’ve ripped out my own heart and given it to you if it meant you’d be alright.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened. He makes a wounded noise and tries to get up from where they’re sitting, but Wu Ying grabs his arm. Jiang Cheng’s stronger than Wu Ying in this body, but he doesn’t rip away from his former da-shixiong.

“You’re my shidi, Jiang Cheng. Was there really anything you think I wouldn’t have done for you?” Wu Ying says.

It’s like a dam breaks.

“You didn’t— I didn’t ask you to, Wei Wuxian! You should’ve told me, instead of playing the hero! If you had told me, if you had just talked to me, then maybe I could’ve done something! I could’ve—”

And there are tears streaming down his shidi’s face now, angry tears. Wu Ying finds his heart breaking once more, and he pulls Jiang Cheng down so he can wrap his arms around him. He knows he could’ve done things differently back then, and if he were not incredibly traumatized from barely surviving three months in the Burial Mounds and if he had not seen first hand the brutal nature of both the Qishan Wen and the Jin, maybe he would have made better choices, less desperate choices. Maybe he’d have trusted that Jiang Cheng would have helped him, even if the Jiang were in no position to do so.

He refuses to torture himself by thinking about what-ifs.

“I’m sorry, Jiang Cheng. Your da-shixiong is sorry,” Wu Ying says instead, and Jiang Cheng buries his face in Wu Ying’s shoulder. They stay like that for a long time, Jiang Yanli joining them. They were the Yunmeng Jiang siblings, who had promised to always remain together, reunited at last.

6. Jin Ling and Jin Xuanyu

“So you’re really the Yiling Patriarch?” Jin Xuanyu says, his face going red.

Wu Ying stifles a bout of good natured laughter. Lan Jingyi had teased him about Jin Xuanyu’s hero worship— the boy was truly shameless, one of Wu Ying’s favorite Lans— but, Wu Ying still hadn’t been prepared for the extent of Jin Xuanyu’s awe. Nor had he been prepared for Jin Ling’s.

“You saved my father,” Jin Ling echoes, expression very similar to Jin Xuanyu’s.

“Yes to both of you,” Wu Ying says, chuckling at the gobsmacked look on both their faces.

“I have so many questions,” Jin Xuanyu breathes, “I mean, you were— are a genius! I just,” the boy works himself up, his words coming faster.

“Can I call you da-jiu?” Jin Ling says.

“Will you be my shifu?” Jin Xuanyu asks desperately.

Wu Ying wonders what Lan Zhan is going to say to him having become an uncle and a teacher all in one day.

7. Wen Qing, Wen Ning

“Wen Ning! Wen Qing! Wait, can I still call you Qing-jie?” Wu Ying says loudly, just to see Wen Qing narrow her eyes at him.

“Wu Ying,” Wen Qing says in lieu of a hello.

“So, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, I’ve gotta tell you guys something crazy.”

He looks at the two who both stare at him with neutral expressions.

“I’m the Yiling Patriarch! Reincarnated!” He holds his hands out in a ta-da! pose as if he’s just done a magic trick.

Wen Qing’s eyes sharpen. “You remember? How? You went to the Cloud Recesses, didn’t you? Was it Hanguang-jun? I knew that sometimes latent memories sometimes bled over in reincarnation cycles, but I’ve never heard of it happening first hand. Then again, Wei Wuxian, you’ve always taken attempt the impossible as a personal challenge.”

Wu Ying laughs at the barrage of questions. “I don’t know! I saw Lan Zhan, and everything fell into place after that.”

Wen Ning is looking firmly at the ground.

Wu Ying isn’t having any of that. He takes a step forward and deliberately wraps his arms around Wen Ning in a hug. Wen Ning stiffens, before relaxing minutely.

“I don’t blame you for any of it, Wen Ning,” he says, before taking a step back. “you did your best. I’m happy to call you my friend.”

“Wei-gongzi—”

“Ah! What did we say about the names?”

Wen Ning blinks, then frowns. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have died.”

Wen Qing looks like she’s about to interrupt, but Wu Ying gets there faster.

“If it weren’t for Su Minshan, Jin Guangshan, and the general awfulness of the Jin sect, maybe. If the other Great Sects had not turned a blind eye to the injustices weighed onto the Dafan Wen, then maybe. Never did I once think it was your fault, Wen Ning.”

Wu Ying raises a hand and puts it on Wen Ning’s cheek, a man who he’s come to view as a brother. “I only regret that I was not able to save you before you died.” Wu Ying still wishes he had been able to bring him back as a living human rather than a fierce corpse.

“No! You’ve done enough for me, Wei— Wu Ying,” Wen Ning insists. He looks as close as a fierce corpse could get to crying.

“Then will you do me a favor?” Wu Ying asks.

Wen Ning nods, his eyes wide and sincere. Wu Ying resists the urge to laugh. Wen Ning really is one of the best people he’s ever known.

“Shed your guilt. I know it’s hard, but do it for me. Live happily and be at ease,” Wu Ying says. A progression of emotions overcomes Wen Ning’s face, before he nods solemnly. Wu Ying smiles.

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing says, her voice serious now. “Are you happy?”

Wu Ying hears what’s unspoken. Are you happy, after all you’ve sacrificed for us? Have you finally shed all the burdens of your previous life?

He thinks about his parents, his shifu. He thinks about how he has no concrete ties to any sect, how he isn’t even a proper cultivator, and how that means he can go anywhere. He could do anything, but now he has his friends and family from his previous life. He thinks about how he’s no longer burdened by the war, burdened by the responsibilities Madam Yu had placed on him and the life debt that he had owed Wen Qing and Wen Ning. He thinks about how in this life, he’s free to live and to learn and to do whatever he wants.

He thinks about Lan Zhan.

Wu Ying nods. “I really am, Qing-jie.”

Wen Qing nods. “Good.”

The solemn mood is getting to Wu Ying, so he decides to break it.

“I’m going to get married, you know,” Wu Ying says, a seemingly innocent non-sequitur. Wen Qing narrows her eyes, while Wen Ning perks up.

“Hanguang-jun must be very happy,” Wen Ning says, a smile on his face.

Wen Qing snorts at the blush on Wu Ying’s face. “Were we really that obvious even back then?” he mutters mostly to himself.

“He came to the Burial Mounds just to see you again. He showered you and A-Yuan with food and presents whenever he could,” Wen Qing answers, deadpan.

“Anyways!” Wu Ying says, before the embarrassment at his past obliviousness could grow any more, “I was thinking, Qing-jie, that if you really were my jiejie, I wouldn’t be allowed to get married before you did.”

Wen Qing raises an eyebrow, while Wen Ning looks thoughtful.

“Although Wen-guniangsuits you, I think that Madam Jiang would suit you even better. How about it, Qing-jie?”

To Wu Ying’s delight, Wen Qing’s face reddens. “Are you— are you flirting on the behalf of Jiang-zongzhu?”

Wu Ying winces. When she puts it like that, it doesn't sound so great. But, he’s a little encouraged at the fact that Wen Ning doesn’t seem totally opposed to the idea. Plus, he’s seen the little wooden comb in Wen Qing’s study that she thinks she’s hidden away properly.

“Consider it! I heard he’s banned from most matchmakers. If anything, have pity on him! You might even find that you like him. You know, I overheard some maidens from the Ouyang Clan say that he’s easy on the eyes, not that I’d know—”

He yelps, jumping out of the way of a sharp needle.

“Wen Qing!”

“Be gone, you demon sent to harass me,” Wen Qing seethes, needles poised at the ready between her fingers. “I’m sure Jiang-zongzhu would have your hide if he heard the shameless words coming out of your mouth.”

She’s right, of course, but if things worked out like Wu Ying hoped they would, Jiang Cheng would be too distracted by his upcoming nuptials (and hopefully too grateful) that he would forgo (or at the least, postpone) executing Wu Ying.

“Two weddings?” Is what Wen Ning finally says, starry-eyed.

They both look at him, and then each other again.

Wu Ying can’t suppress his laughter then.

8. Wu Ming, Wu Xiang, He Nuan, He Fai

“A-Niang, baba, I want you to meet Lan Zhan, courtesy name Lan Wangji! I’m going to marry him,” Wu Ying says, stars in his eyes as he looks at Lan Zhan. They had come all the way to Tingshan to introduce Lan Zhan to his parents, his teacher, and He Fai.

Lan Zhan bows to them, and Wu Xiang stands up. She gives Lan Zhan a once over, before a big grin breaks out on her face.

“Our A-Ying, getting married? Oh, baobei, and you picked such a handsome one as well!” She gushes, and Wu Ying is delighted at the way Lan Zhan’s ears turn red. His mother turns to Wu Ming and winks at him. “Now you know our son takes after me.”

Now his baba is blushing too.

“A-Xiang,” he says, probably going for admonishing but falling more along the lines of exasperatingly fond. He then turns to Lan Zhan. “Lan Wangji, we are very pleased to make your acquaintance. How did you come to meet our A-Ying?”

“I met him at Cloud Recesses. Could not look away,” Lan Zhan says, sparing a fond glance towards his beloved. “I would like to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Ah, A-Ming, it’s just like when I met you! I couldn’t possibly look away,” Wu Xiang crows happily. “I understand your plight, Lan Wangji.” She winks at Lan Zhan this time and Wu Ying can’t help but laugh.

There’s a knock at their door as their final guests come in.

Wu Ying goes to answer. “Ah, shifu, He Xiansheng, please come in!”

“You’ve come to visit after so long, eh? What’s the important news you wanted to tell us?” He Nuan grouses.

He Fai doesn’t say a word, gaping at the Second Jade of Lan standing in Wu Ying’s parents house.

Wu Ying grins. “I wanted to introduce you to my beloved husband to-be!”

He Nuan’s eyes widen. “Husband?” She finally looks at Lan Zhan and squints. “A powerful cultivator nonetheless? You look quite familiar, young man.”

“That’s— you’re of the Gusu Lan sect, right?” He Fai says faintly. Lan Zhan nods, bowing to both He Nuan and He Fai, who bow in return.

“Hanguang-jun, is it?” He Nuan asks.

“En.”

To Wu Ying’s surprise, He Nuan laughs at that. “Our Wu Ying has always been interested in the story of the Yiling Patriarch. I should not be surprised that he fell in love with Wei Wuxian’s lover.”

“Hanguang-jun? From the war?” Wu Ming wonders aloud.

“Our A-Ying sure is marrying up,” Wu Xiang muses.

Wu Ying splutters. “Wait, hold on— what do you mean Wei Wuxian’s lover?”

He Nuan gives him an unimpressed look. “Oh, come now, boy. You’ve read the stories, heard the tales from the cultivators. You must have learned to read between the lines, haven’t you?”

Wu Ying gapes and then looks at Lan Zhan. The slight upturn of his lip betrays how absolutely delighted his beloved is with his shifu.

He Nuan’s eyes twinkle with mirth, before she says, “So, will it be a spring wedding, or a summer wedding?”

His awful, awful shifu is teasing him, he knows. Wu Ying pouts. And then he has an idea.

“There’s another thing I was going to tell you,” Wu Ying says.

“What is it, A-Ying?” Wu Xiang asks.

Wu Ying clings onto Lan Zhan’s arm, adding to the effect of a lovey-dovey couple.

“We have a son! His name is Lan Sizhui.”

His parents’ eyes widen as He Fai makes a choking noise.

“Also, I’m the reincarnation of the Yiling Patriarch. Surprise!”

Lan Zhan sighs. He Nuan doesn’t look too shocked, but Wu Ying’s parents seem to be going through several emotions together, looking at each other and having an entire unspoken conversation just in glances. It looks quite complicated, but it’s nothing Wu Ying hasn’t seen before. He Fai, on the other hand, seems just about ready to faint.

Wu Xiang reaches her hand out and places it on Wu Ying’s own hand, squeezing it. Wu Ying feels nervous all of a sudden, wondering how his parents would react to the fact that their son had lived another life already.

“You know A-Niang and baba will love you no matter what, right, A-Ying?”

Wu Ying nods, his heart in his throat.

“Even if you want to be the Yiling Patriarch, that’s fine with us.”

Wu Ying stops nodding. “A-Niang. I am the Yiling Patriarch. Or, at least, I was.”

Wu Xiang waves her hand as if to say semantics.

“What your A-Niang is trying to say is that you’re a blessing to us, whether you’re our A-Ying or whether you’re Wei Wuxian, or whoever.” Wu Ming smiles, pulling Wu Ying in closer so that he’s sandwiched between his parents. “We knew you were a blessing from the gods the moment you were born, and that’s still true.”

Wu Ying’s eyes water.

“That’s— thanks, baba, A-Niang,” he finally says, hugging his parents back.

“Will you take better care of him this time?” He Nuan asks Lan Zhan, steel in her voice.

“Shifu!” Wu Ying is scandalized.

Lan Zhan nods seriously, unoffended. “Will always take care of A-Ying. Will protect him with my life.”

He Nuan assesses him, before nodding in approval. Then, to Wu Ying— “Your shifu is happy you found what you were looking for.”

Wu Ying swallows. “Me too.”

“So!” Wu Xiang claps her hands, before ushering Wu Ying and Lan Zhan into sitting down. “Tell us more about our grandson, would you?”

Wu Ying shares a warm look with Lan Zhan and smiles.