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“Lan Wangji, for the crimes you’ve committed against your own people you will be sentenced to thirty-three strikes of the discipline whip.”

“No.”

All heads turned around at the objection, the door sliding open to reveal Lan Xichen, who looked harried, his hair wind-blown and his robes in disarray, as if he had been running, of all things.

“I did not think my esteemed elders would exclude me from a meeting discussing my brother’s punishment,” Lan Xichen said icily, striding into the room, his robes billowing. He appeared to be clutching something in his arms, a dusty cloth-covered bundle of some sort that left streaks of grey on his sleeves

“Lan zongzhu with all due respect, we all know you would not have been impartial,” a bold elder called out and Lan Xichen’s eyes snapped towards him, the fury on his face so cold it should have frozen everything in its vicinity.

“Lan Wangji will not be punished,” he intoned and the entire assemble gasped. Even Lan Qiren looked stunned.

“Xichen, be reasonable. Wangji injured thirty-three of our elders, three of which were near fatal injuries–.”

“Lan Wangji will not be punished because he was not wrong,” Lan Xichen said, shocking the council once more by his interruption.

“Not wrong! How is he not wrong by sheltering the Yiling Laozhu? Who has committed countless crimes, not least of all the murder of Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun!”

The bundle in Lan Xichen’s arms stirred and Lan Xichen stroked over it almost tenderly, his expression twisting.

“The Yiling Laozhu would not have moved against us had we not believed Jin Guangshan’s lies,” he said softly, pulling away the dusty cloth to reveal the face of a sleeping child, smudged with dirt and grime. “There was no army in the Burial Mounds. Only a group of elderly and a child.”

The ensemble fell silent, broken only by Wangji’s feeble whisper.

“A-Yuan?”

He struggled to his feet, still weak from his battle against the thirty-three elders and a fresh wave of rage swept through Xichen’s chest. They had not even allowed him to recover before promising such a number of strikes from the discipline whip. A number that would most certainly kill him. Xichen’s heart shuddered at the mere thought of submitting his brother to the whip designed to scar and rend flesh from bones.

He caught Wangji when he staggered and the expression on Wangji’s face when he touched the child’s hot face was one of wonder and grief.

“We must take him to the infirmary,” Xichen said, gentling his voice. He touched Wangji’s elbow and Wangji allowed himself to be moved, to be steered out of the Ya shi and towards the healers, where they could both be looked at and Xichen’s heart could cease its incessant insistence at jumping out of his throat.

Xichen had not known fear like that, seeing his brother fall to his knees before them, crimson streaking down his arm, out his mouth. He would have tried to reach him, had the elders not held him back. The deliberation of their actions was not lost on him, and he grew ever more certain that he must govern his council with a stronger hand.

He was seated at his desk in the Han shi, absently working through his paperwork when there was a knock on the door and Lan Qiren entered at his call.

“Xichen. You have not eaten all day.”

Lan Qiren set down a tray and Xichen cleared his desk, carefully stacking the papers.

He watched dully as his Shufu heated the tea, reaching over to pour it the moment it was ready. Shufu was watching him closely, his eyes boring into Xichen’s skull.

“Do you truly intend not to submit Wangji to punishment?” he asked after a too long beat. “The elders have turned to asking for three years of seclusion.”

“No,” Xichen said immediately. “He will not receive any form of punishment, Shufu and if the council insists, they may visit that upon me.” And we all know how the Sect will fare without me, were the words left unspoken.

Lan Qiren sighed heavily, stroking his beard before he sipped his tea.

“The boy,” he started, setting down his cup. “Is he well?”

“He has a high fever that the healers say may wipe out his memory,” Xichen said, his eyes fixed on the table. “If he had been brought here any later, he would not have survived.”

Lan Qiren bowed his head.

“Then it is a good thing that you found him before he could perish.”

They both exchanged a glance, for they knew in their hearts that A-Yuan was the only thing that would keep Wangji from following Wei Wuxian’s path down that cliff. Xichen had only gone to the Burial Mounds desperate to find some way to salvage his brother’s heart and now he had never been more relieved.

Wangji sat by young A-Yuan for most of his days and Xichen did not have the heart to make him leave. Instead, he brought him his meals and let him have his silence, his time to grieve. It was not until A-Yuan was well again, did Wangji seek him out.

“Xiongzhang. This brother thanks you, for saving A-Yuan.”

“Wangji. There is no need for thanks between us. I was wrong. We were all wrong. Wei gongzi– should not have paid for our mistakes.” Xichen nearly swallowed his tongue at the expression that flitted across Wangji’s face. He knew what Wei Wuxian had meant to his brother, and if he had been less blind, less trusting of the Jins, perhaps his brother would not have lost–.

“Xiongzhang, Wangji intends to go to Yiling.”

“Go to Yiling?”

“And beyond,” Wangji confirmed, bowing his head. “Wangji wishes to be– worthy of the name Hanguangjun.”

Xichen’s heart lurched violently. Wangji wanted to leave. His little brother whom he had helped to raise wanted to leave the sect that had raised and sheltered and then turned on him. Just like it did their mother. Wangji’s eyes flicked down and Xichen realised that his knuckles had turned white from how tightly he was gripping Shuoyue.

“Will you– come back?” Xichen whispered, his ribs squeezing so tightly around his heart and lungs that he had forgotten how to breathe. Wangji did not answer and the weight of his non answer nearly crushed Xichen’s heart to pieces. He knew he could not stop Wangji in this, that any attempt to keep him would only breed resentment, and they were both all too familiar to the scenario of caging one’s love.

Xichen cleared his throat, looking down at his Liebing.

“What about A-Yuan?”

“He will be raised here,” Wangji said. “I have not abdicated my sect, Xiongzhang. I only wish to travel.”

For him. Were the words left unsaid. Xichen’s grip tightened on Shuoyue, and he dropped his head, jaw working.

“I will grant you this request, Wangji,” he said at last, after a long silence. “Only if you will do a favour for me.”

Wangji straightened, his expression apprehensive.

“Will you go to the Unclean Realm and play for Da ge every fortnight or so? He has been growing worse and A-Yao’s playing has not helped him in the slightest. Your skills are– stronger, perhaps in this regard and I do not have the time to visit as often as I’d like.”

It would mean that Wangji could not vanish as thoroughly as he hoped, and Xichen would always have a point of reference as to where he was. It would settle his poor heart, just knowing that his brother would not be unreachable.

-

Dear Wangji,

How are your travels? I have heard your name from the common people in good faith. You should be very proud of yourself. There are so many stories of your great exploits and I hope that you know I am very proud of you.

Winter has come to the Cloud Recesses and every day I catch some of the junior disciples flinging snowballs at each other when they think no one is looking. I have begun to find it endearing, this display of childishness. We never did have a snowball fight in our youth, did we?

It is a shame I feel, that we lost so much of our youth without doing the foolish things that children do.

I visit A-Niang’s house too often during the winter now, Didi, and it reminds me so much of your sheer stubbornness. A-Yao visited the other day, and we had a wonderful time taking tea, but I must confess, I still miss your remarks about our favourite poems. I have taken more time to compose lately. Perhaps this winter has made me melancholy.

It is unbearably lonely here.

Wangji, will you come to visit your poor brother? The Cloud Recesses is not the same without you.

Signed,

Lan Xichen

Xiongzhang,

Chifengzun fares better these days. Have you not informed Lianfangzun that he needs not come to play for him anymore? Chifengzun’s temper grows worse whenever he visits. I know you hold him dear and still hope your sworn brotherhood may be repaired, but each session with Lianfangzun seems to do more harm than good. My travels are as scintillating as they can be.

Give my love to A-Yuan and Shufu.

Lan Wangji

Dear Wangji,

How are you, Didi? You are right that I still wish our sworn brotherhood repaired and having A-Yao visit to play for Da ge is a way for them to bond. I am sorry to hear that he only makes Da ge’s temper worse, but please say nothing to him for now. Perhaps you could coach him a little? He did so enjoy our qin lessons and I regret that I do not have time now to give him anymore.

The winter chill still has not left the mountain and everyone seems to feel it, though I have seen several juniors venture to the Cold Springs. I shudder to think of what the water is like in this weather. Do you remember the summer Mingjue came to the Cloud Recesses for the lectures, and we spent a grand afternoon in the Cold Springs?

A-Yuan is doing well. Shufu enjoys teaching him very much, and A-Yuan learns so quickly and is so well behaved. He wished to enclose a drawing he did during Shufu’s painting lessons the other day of the rabbits of the meadow. The rabbits miss you, I think, as I do, Didi. Will you come during the new year and see your son? And I.

Do take care of your health, A-Zhan. And wish Mingjue well for me when you visit. I have not had the time to make a visit there in too long.

Signed,

Lan Xichen

Xiongzhang,

I am as well as I can be. Forgive this brother for being too forward but I do not believe Chifengzun can recover if he is so affected by Lianfangzun’s visits. It would be wise to inform Lianfangzun of our arrangement so that we might waste less of his time.

I am glad to hear that A-Yuan is doing well. His painting of the rabbits was very well done. I would be glad for A-Yuan to visit Qinghe during the new year. Chifengzun would welcome him warmly if he is permitted. He has already volunteered to fetch him if no one can be spared to bring him.

Dress warmly.

Lan Wangji

Xichen sighed as he read over the latest letter from Wangji. It was a short one, as all of Wangji’s letters were. He was as sparse with his words in text as he was in person, and it only made Xichen miss him all the more.

They had been inseparable since birth, and this loss pained him greatly. His only relief was the letters that reached him, no matter how short. The cultivation world was largely at peace, but Xichen still found himself so overwhelmed with work that he could never seem to find time to visit Mingjue xiong like he yearned to. Their letters had grown shorter too, the length of time between correspondence lengthening. Xichen missed his sworn brother fiercely, almost as much as he missed Wangji. A-Yao came to visit often, but Mingjue had ensconced himself within the Unclean Realm after a bad deviation and refused to set foot outside.

Xichen wondered if he could entice him with a night hunt. It had been too long since he had gone night hunting. He tried not to let the hurt show when the answer to his letters was a firm no, Mingjue fearing that he was still too unstable despite all of Wangji’s efforts. Perhaps if he visited. Decorum would demand that Mingjue allow him in for dinner at the very least.

Xichen allowed his gaze to stray to the wooden box that sat at the edge of his table. It was newly varnished, the wood glossy and smooth. The bull’s head carved into the latch was a little crooked but that was to be expected. Xichen was not so talented a wood carver. He had been seized by the urge to make it since their sworn brotherhood ceremony, no matter how foolish and how many hours it took him in the night, carefully chipping away the excess wood to create a box that embodied Qinghe ornamentation. It was a perfect courting gift for anyone from Qinghe. Wangji’s departure had thrown a wrench in his plans, and now the gift sat abandoned on his desk, holding his crushed hopes. He would never give such a thing now, not when his Sect needed him. Wangji would never return to the Lan sect fully, Xichen was sure. His brother had glossed over Xichen’s increasingly fervent invitations to visit, talking mostly of Mingjue’s health and a few interesting titbits from his journeys.

But if he wished to see A-Yuan, Xichen would allow it, of course. If it gave him an excuse to see Mingjue again after such a long separation, it was only right that he took advantage of it.

Dear Wangji,

Of course, A-Yuan may go to Qinghe. I would be glad to take him myself, but the paperwork piles never seem to grow any smaller. Please inform Mingjue that I will be expecting him to at least take dinner with me before taking my nephew. We have not had dinner together for too long. Will you not join him?

Shufu is disappointed that you will not be joining us for New Year’s but perhaps you will come to visit for his 50^th birthday? It would please him greatly.

Enclosed are some of your favourite candies from Caiyi. I hope you still like sesame candy. I have included some sour plum too, for Mingjue xiong and the haw flakes are for Huaisang. Take care of yourself, Didi, I hope to see you soon. I will be expecting Da ge.

Signed,

Lan Xichen

He would have been happier if Wangji had come with Mingjue, but Xichen had long learned to never be greedy. A-Yuan was fretting beside him, too excited by the celebrations. He had a little rabbit plush clutched in one arm, his other hand gripping Xichen’s long skirts.

“And this Chifengzun will bring me to see A-Die, Bobo?” he asked, peering up at Xichen. Xichen smiled, stroking over the top of his head gently.

“Yes, he will. But he must come in for dinner first. And then you will fly in the morning.”

“But we already had dinner,” A-Yuan said. “Bobo is going to break the rules?”

Shufu snorted from beside him and Xichen had to hide a smile.

“I will have tea,” he said, turning back to watch the speck on the horizon grow ever bigger. His heart leapt in his chest as the figure drew close enough for him to make out the hulking bulk that was Nie Mingjue.

“Xichen. Lan xiansheng.” Mingjue bowed twice, before his eyes were drawn immediately to A-Yuan, who had half hidden himself behind Xichen’s leg. “And you must be Lan Yuan.”

“A-Yuan. Greet Chifengzun properly,” Shufu said, and A-Yuan crept out from behind Xichen, bending into a bow with his rabbit still clutched in his arms.

“Chifengzun,” he said meekly and Xichen’s heart trembled when Mingjue’s smile widened.

“Oh, he’s a proper Lan disciple, isn’t he? You didn’t tell me he was going to be your spitting image, Xichen.”

Xichen hid a smile in his sleeve when A-Yuan beamed, reaching out to take his nephew’s hand.

“Come along now. I had the kitchens send food to my room, since you’ve missed dinner time.”

“I will take my leave then,” Shufu said, bowing once to Mingjue. He patted A-Yuan’s head. “And I will see you when you return, Lan Yuan. Behave while you are away.”

“Did something happen to Lan xiansheng?” Mingjue asked as they set off down the path, A-Yuan toddling along beside them. “I’m surprised he’s allowing A-Yuan to leave the Cloud Recesses without a caretaker.”

“Shufu has always been soft for children,” Xichen said, smiling when A-Yuan tugged on his sleeve. He bent, scooping the boy into his arms. “He has always wanted grandchildren.”

“Ah,” Mingjue chuckled when A-Yuan turned in Xichen’s arms to peer at him curiously as they approached the Han shi. “And you’re not likely to give him any soon.”

Xichen did not let his smile falter, setting A-Yuan down onto the floor. The food had already been set outside the door, and he brought it in, removing the warming talismans.

“Eat, Mingjue. It must have been a long flight. How is Baxia?”

“She doesn’t bother me as much now. Wangji’s skills are truly the best in all the cultivation world,” Mingjue praised as Xichen poured him tea.

Xichen smiled, pleased as he always was whenever someone complimented his brother. He took a sip of his own tea, shifting so that he could help A-Yuan with his cup.

“How is Wangji? He tells me almost nothing in his letters and he never– well, his letters are short. I’m afraid he is like you when it comes to letter writing,” Xichen said ruefully.

“Surely not,” Mingjue chuckled. “His calligraphy is much better than mine.”

“Ah, what is the use of beautiful calligraphy when he does not write often?” Xichen bemoaned. “I miss my little brother, Da ge.”

“I can tell. You’ve grown thinner, Xichen.”

“Have I? Well, tell Wangji I’m wasting away for want of him,” Xichen teased, though his heart throbbed. “Perhaps it will entice him to visit.”

Mingjue did not laugh, his brows knitting as he observed Xichen and Xichen straightened, sighing as he stroked a hand over A-Yuan’s hair.

“Did he tell you about A-Yao?” Mingjue asked as he set down his chopsticks, his bowl empty.

Xichen hesitated before nodding, chewing the inside of his cheek as he watched Mingjue frown.

“I have asked him to stop coming to play for me,” Mingjue said and Xichen’s sigh was so heavy it blew strands of hair away from A-Yuan’s face when he climbed into Xichen’s lap. A-Yuan patted at his cheek, as if he knew how Xichen was feeling before turning his attention back to his rabbit.

“Da ge.”

“No, listen. Wangji said he was playing wrongly,” Mingjue said, his expression serious.

“Wrongly? How can that be possible? I taught him myself, Da ge–.”

“He said, and I quote ‘that’s from the Book of Turmoil’ before he got very angry,” Mingjue said and Xichen went pale. “Wangji said that it was the most probable reason why I was getting worse so quickly.”

“The Book of Turmoil? How could Wangji– But A-Yao? I’ve never shown him to the Forbidden section of the library.  It’s not possible,” Xichen insisted, his fingers curling so hard around the teacup he swore he heard it crack. “When was this?”

“Just before I left yesterday. Jin Guangyao came to play for me and Wangji was listening. I think A-Sang put him up in one of the secret corridors but that’s not the point, Xichen.”

“You didn’t go after him,” Xichen said. He was reeling inside. The Book of Turmoil? A-Yao deliberately playing a song to speed up Mingjue’s deterioration? “Why didn’t you go after him?”

“I have no proof other than what Wangji heard,” Mingjue snapped. “Don’t you think I want to? If Wangji had not played Clarity for me before telling me this, I would have. I would have killed him, Xichen.”

“No. No, it’s not–. It’s not possible,” Xichen stuttered, and the teacup shattered in his hand.

“Bobo!” A-Yuan yelped, and his eyes grew red when he saw the blood begin to trickle down Xichen’s hand.

“I’m alright, Yuan-er,” Xichen said even as he set the broken pieces on the table. He felt strangely calm, as if he was watching himself outside of his body as he gathered A-Yuan into his arms. “It will heal in a minute.”

“Xichen?”

“I think it’s time for you to rest,” Xichen announced. “There is a spare bed here and A-Yuan’s cot is in the next room. It would be wise for the two of you to sleep before your flight tomorrow.”

“Xichen, your hand–.”

“I need– It’s time for bed,” Xichen said, withdrawing a handkerchief from his sleeve. He wrapped it around his bleeding palm and kissed A-Yuan’s forehead. “A-Yuan, will you go to bed please? I will tuck you in in a minute.”

“Bobo, what’s wrong?” A-Yuan asked as Xichen whisked the broken remains of the teacup away.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Xichen said, despite the thundering in his ears. He would have to punish himself later for lying, but for now, there were more important things to do.

Like finding that Book of Turmoil.

Settling A-Yuan was easier than settling Mingjue, who insisted on looking at Xichen’s hand even though it had already begun to heal.

“I am sorry I had to tell you like this,” he said as he rinsed Xichen’s hand for him. “I know how much you wanted us to reconcile.”

Wangji’s playing had clearly done wonders for Mingjue’s spirits and temperament, for he would have never said such a thing before, Xichen thought dully as he watched Mingjue slide into bed. He had entertained the idea of showing him the box, of giving him the letter of his heart before he left with A-Yuan but now, that was clearly impossible.

He blew out the lights in the Han shi and stepped out onto the pathways of the Cloud Recesses, his heart practically crawling out of his chest. The night was still cool from a spring breeze as he crossed the compound, sliding open the doors to the library. His hand trembled when he opened the door to the Forbidden section, fear clogging in his throat.

If he found the proof here, that Jin Guangyao had indeed managed to learn the songs from the Book of Turmoil, what did that make him? Xichen had taught him the Song of Clarity, had handed him the weapon with which he used to attempt to murder the only man Xichen had ever loved.

Xichen flicked through the shelves with unusual clumsiness, his lips numb as he pulled out the slim tome hidden beneath the other books. It was still here.

Slowly, he turned the pages, heartbeat hammering in his ears.

The world fell silent the moment he came upon the missing page.

It was half-heartedly done, as if the reader had done it in haste and Xichen could still see the jagged edges where the paper used to be. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as the floor seemed to have been swept out from under him.

Shaking, he sat down at the nearest desk and pulled Liebing from his belt. He had to test this, had to prove that the Songs of Turmoil could really be used to hasten qi deviation, no matter that he knew in his heart they could.

Xichen did not know what he was trying to prove anymore as he played the first strains of the song. He had found the book with the very page missing. Perhaps it was punishment, for having a hand in Mingjue’s would be murder. Perhaps it was for evidence so that he could attest to it and confess, so that his soul may be cleansed.

He did not get past the first two measures before he felt the bile rising in his throat combined with the metallic tang of blood. How strong must Mingjue be, to have endured so many days of this?

Granted, Jin Guangyao did not have Xichen’s golden core. Nor could he make it so obvious. He would have to play it slowly over time, poisoning Mingjue’s mind until he succumbed to the rage.

Xichen dropped his xiao with a clatter, swaying where he sat. He raised a trembling hand to his face and shuddered when his fingers came away wet with blood.

It was fortunate indeed, he thought dizzily, that he had sent Wangji to play before Mingjue could get worse. Fumbling, Xichen withdrew a handkerchief, dabbing away the blood. His mind reeled as he slid the book into his sleeve and returned to his room, feeling very much like a stranger in his skin.

To his surprise, Mingjue was awake, and tucked into his bed, rather than the spare one he had pointed out.

“Mingjue,” Xichen said, very aware of how his voice shook when he approached the bed, laying a careful hand upon Mingjue’s shoulder. “You’re in my bed.”

Mingjue rolled over and sighed.

“I know,” he said and Xichen’s heart throbbed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Xichen said. “Was there something wrong with the guest bed?”

Mingjue grunted, refusing to meet his eyes and Xichen leaned forward, peering at his face, a slow realization dawning upon him. His lips curled and Mingjue scowled.

“What.”

“There was a spider, wasn’t there?” Xichen teased and Mingjue scowled even harder, folding his arms over his chest, and rolling over so that Xichen had room to climb in beside him.

“Where did you go?” Mingjue asked when Xichen had situated himself beside him, his heart thumping at the lack of space between them.

“I had to check something,” Xichen murmured, folding his hands over his chest. “Mingjue, I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“About A-Yao. You’ve always warned me and I–.”

“I don’t blame you, Xichen.”

“I know.” Xichen closed his eyes. “Maybe you should.”

A warm weight nestled up against him, and fingers curled around his hand. Xichen shifted, his heart rising to his throat when he turned his head to see Mingjue caressing his hand like it was made of precious jade.

“These hands have never harmed a soul who didn’t deserve it before,” Mingjue said, his voice low and rumbling straight through Xichen’s chest.

“Exaggeration,” Xichen murmured, pulling his hand away. “Go to sleep, Mingjue.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry with you?” Xichen asked, pulling the covers over him like a shield. “It is I who has wronged you and yet you lie here.”

“You aren’t looking at me.”

Xichen’s heart throbbed, and he climbed out of bed without thinking.

“I’m going to sleep in the other bed,” he said, a little breathless. “It is not proper for us to share a bed anymore.”

“Anymore?” Mingjue echoed even as he sat up.

Xichen did not answer, crawling beneath the sheets and tugging them over his head as if he were a child. He half hoped that Mingjue would come after him, would climb into the too small bed and beg him to talk to him.

But there was no creaking of the floorboards, no weight sinking down on his other side. Xichen closed his eyes and let sleep claim him, half hoping that it was all a bad dream.

But Mingjue was quiet during breakfast, and A-Yuan seemed to sense that something was wrong too, for he had lost some of his exuberance.

“You must listen to Chifengzun, alright?” Xichen said, patting A-Yuan’s head. “And greet your A-Die for me.”

“Mn.” A-Yuan nodded, taking Mingjue’s hand.

“Xichen, about A-Yao–.”

“You cannot prove it,” Xichen said, raising his hand to stop Mingjue from continuing. Mingjue’s eyes darkened. “Not yet.”

“Then what shall we do? I cannot leave this. He tried to kill me.”

“Leave it to me,” Xichen said. “I know you no longer have a reason to trust me.”

“Xichen, that’s not–.”

“But if A-Yao was involved with not just this, but more, I will find out. And I will condemn him when the time comes.”

-

“Zongzhu!” The disciple that ran up to them was utterly bedraggled, soaked through from the rain outside. “Zongzhu, you have to come quickly!”

Mingjue frowned. The disciples knew better than to disturb him when Wangji had come to visit. For them to summon him otherwise, someone had better be dead or dying.

“What happened?” he asked. “I’m sorry, Wangji, I’m sure this will only take a moment.”

Wangji dipped his head as Mingjue rose to his feet.

“It is Zewu Jun, zongzhu! He has arrived at the gates.”

Wangji’s head shot up and swivelled towards them. Mingjue felt a pang of panic shoot through him. Lan Xichen would never arrive unannounced. Especially not since the day he had taken A-Yuan. Something seemed to have fractured between them, though Mingjue was not sure what, or how to fix it.

With Wangji’s playing, his head was clearer than it had been in years, and Mingjue found himself aching to see Xichen again. But after that display, he was unsure if he was welcome.

“Is something wrong with Xiongzhang?” Wangji asked and the disciple hesitated.

“It looks so, Hanguangjun. He is acting strangely. Perhaps you ought to come too. He is calling for you.”

“Calling for–?”

Wangji swept his guqin away and together, they hurried towards the room that the disciples must have brought him to. There were water trails on the floor as they walked, as if Xichen had been brought straight to the room. If he was this wet, then he must have been flying in the rain.

“A-Zhan!” The cry broke through the walls and Mingjue blinked. Lan Wangji flinched. Mingjue knew that no one had called him that, by his milk name since he came of age. Especially not his brother, who had respected Wangji’s wishes to be known henceforth by his courtesy name. No one until Wei Wuxian.

“Have you seen A-Zhan?” Xichen was still dripping wet, trembling as if he had caught a chill as he grasped onto Nie Zonghui’s arm. “Have you seen my A-Zhan?”

“Has he been acting like this since he got here?” Mingjue asked when Zonghui gently detached himself, shaking his head at Xichen and nodding at Mingjue’s question. Xichen’s expression fell, and he came staggering towards them.

“A-Zhan?”

“How did he get here like this?” Wangji asked, mildly horrified.

Xichen was a mess.

His hair was tangled with burrs and matted as if he had fought a battle with a bush and lost badly. His robes were soaked through, and there was blood on the hem, and a slash of red down his thigh. He was limping a little, his expression empty.

“A-Zhan? A-Zhan, where did you go?” Mingjue exchanged glances with Lan Wangji, worry filtering through him. The Lan Xichen before them seemed utterly changed. He moved strangely, like his body was no longer his own and he stared straight into Wangji’s eyes and called for his brother like he was not standing right there.

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji started and Xichen flinched, squirming away.

“Who’s your Xiongzhang?” he asked, his voice pitched higher, as if he were a young child. “You are too big for me to be your Xiongzhang.”

Too big?

“A-Zhan?” Xichen backed away from them and toddled back to the bed. “A-Zhan, come out, please. We’re going to see A-Niang.”

Mingjue felt rather than saw Lan Wangji freeze. Before either of them could react, Xichen turned around again and walked towards Wangji, his eyes wide. He tugged at Wangji’s sleeve gently and Wangji stared at him, still frozen.

“Have you seen my A-Niang, pretty Gege?”

“What does she look like?” Wangji asked, visibly stunned.

“You look kind of like her,” Xichen said patiently. “But she’s prettier and she smiles more! A-Zhan and I are supposed to visit her today, but I can’t find him. Have you seen my Didi?”

“Xichen,” Mingjue said carefully, reaching out to touch Xichen’s elbow and Xichen jerked.

“Who are you?” he asked, though not unkindly. “Do I know you?”

Mingjue blinked back at him, torn. Xichen visibly did not recognize any of them, and any attempt to convince him would only end in tears.

“Do you know where you are, Xichen?” he asked instead and Xichen cocked his head.

“Why do you call me that?”

Because it’s your name. Mingjue thought despairingly as he gazed at Xichen, who was watching him with an expression that would have more befitted a child.

“It doesn’t matter,” Wangji cut in, gently taking Xichen’s arm. “You are in the Unclean Realm.”

“The Unclean Realm?” Xichen’s eyes grew wide. “How did I get here? Shufu will be so upset and A-Zhan– we were supposed to visit A-Niang together!”

“It’s alright,” Wangji said, his tone gentling as he led Xichen to the bed. “You will see your– A-Zhan tomorrow.”

Mingjue bit down hard on his tongue when he heard the hitch in Wangji’s voice.

“But–.”

“It is past hai shi,” Wangji said, nudging Xichen gently until he was back in the room. Mingjue shut the door behind him and frowned as Xichen let himself be manoeuvred to the nearest table. “And you have made a mess of yourself.”

Xichen drooped visibly, like a sad rabbit as Wangji helped him out of his sopping robes. Mingjue hid a smile as he went to the wardrobe, pulling out robes that Xichen had left behind the last time he had stayed there.  

“He needs a bath,” Wangji said as he ushered his brother behind the screen. “Chifengzun, will you–?”

“They are preparing it as we speak. But Wangji, perhaps we should take him back to the Cloud Recesses. Qinghe has no way of telling what has happened to him.”

“When the rain stops,” Wangji said, emerging from behind the screen with a grim expression. “We will leave immediately.”

-

“Shufu.”

“Wangji?” Lan Qiren’s expression would have been comical had the situation not been as dire as it was. His eyes zeroed in on Xichen, cradled in Mingjue’s arms and his features twisted with fear. “Xichen? What happened to him?”

Xichen was dead asleep in Mingjue’s arms; they had put him to sleep as per the healer’s recommendation before flying so that he would not thrash or scream and endanger them both.

“We don’t know,” Mingjue said, hefting Xichen in his arms. “He appeared in the Unclean Realm, lost and drenched from the rain. My disciples saw him come in on foot. No one saw him land.”

“On foot?”

“He walked through the gates, calling for his brother,” Mingjue said, glancing at Wangji, who looked very ill at ease as Lan Qiren hurried them along. “And he did not seem to recognize us.”

“Has he lost his memory?”

“Not that we know of. He knows who he is and his brother,” Mingjue said as Lan Qiren slid open the door to the Han shi. He laid Xichen down gently and Xichen shifted, murmuring something incoherent as he dragged a blanket over him.

“This is very unusual,” Lan Qiren said as he gazed down at his nephew, his face drawn.

“Has he been unwell?” Wangji asked at last. “Has Xiongzhang acted strangely since Chifengzun last saw him?”

“No. He’s been perfectly fine. A bit pale and eating less but I thought it was the stress. It was why I allowed him to go night hunting in the first place when he asked.”

“Where was he headed?”

“He said he was going to Lanling,” Lan Qiren said. “He appeared distressed when he approached me for permission so I asked if he wanted escorts, but he said that he would go alone.”

“How did he get from Lanling to Qinghe in this state?” Mingjue asked in bewilderment. “He was injured in a fight.”

“Injured?” Lan Qiren asked, alarmed.

“Surface wound. It will heal quickly,” Wangji reassured him. “Why would Xiongzhang go to Lanling for a night hunt when he hasn’t been night hunting in years?”

“Jin Guangyao invited him, and he felt as if he could not say no. So he went,” Lan Qiren said, his frown deepening when Mingjue glanced at Wangji worriedly. “Should he not have gone?”

“Has Jin Guangyao come to visit recently?” Mingjue asked as they walked to the dining area, so as not to disturb Xichen’s rest. “And any time at all since I was here?”

“Once or twice,” Lan Qiren admitted. “But that is not unusual. Xichen gave him a token so that he might come to call.”

He stroked his beard and sighed when he looked at Wangji.

“He has been very lonely here and I must admit, I was relieved when Jin Guangyao came to visit. Xichen has been so withdrawn. He declined to see him several times, I’m told.”

“Xichen refused to see Jin Guangyao?” Mingjue blinked. He knew that Xichen held the man in very high regard, no matter what he said before they parted. Mingjue had feared that he would confront Jin Guangyao immediately and put himself in danger. Jin Guangyao adored Lan Xichen, but Mingjue did not know if his adoration would keep him from harming Xichen should his position be threatened.

“Mn, that is what I have heard.”

Mingjue looked at Wangji again, worry leeching into his face. If Jin Guangyao had any reason to suspect Xichen knew of his murderous intentions, he would have tried to silence him. Could this be the reason for Xichen’s sudden change in behaviour?

“Shufu, has Xiongzhang told you about the Book of Turmoil?”

“The Book of Turmoil?” Lan Qiren reeled back, eyes widening. “What would Xichen be doing with such a book?”

“We found it in his sleeve,” Wangji said, laying the slim volume on the table. “In the Unclean Realm when I helped him dress.”

“What?”

“Wangji suspects that Jin Guangyao has been trying to poison me with songs from the Book of Turmoil,” Mingjue said quietly, pushing the book across the table. “I told Xichen of our suspicions the night I came to collect A-Yuan. When we parted, he swore he would do everything he could to bring Jin Guangyao to light.”

“Jin Guangyao? But you are sworn brothers! Even so, why didn’t he tell me?” Lan Qiren exclaimed, wide eyed with shock.

Mingjue shrugged. They were asking questions they did not have answers to, for the only person who knew them was lying in bed not five paces from them, unable to recognize his own brother.

“Perhaps Jin Guangyao suspected he knew something,” Mingjue said after a beat. “Why else would he invite Xichen to Lanling?”

“They are sworn brothers,” Lan Qiren said but dully, as if he could tell how little weight those words held now, against Mingjue’s accusation of murder. “Xichen would have found nothing suspicious about an invitation like that.”

“The hour is late,” Wangji said quietly. “Nothing can be done tonight, Shufu. Xiongzhang has been seen by the Nie healers and they have deemed him whole and well, save for his mysterious ailment. We can discuss this in the morning.”

“Mn. Wangji, your Jingshi is available to you. Chifengzun, you may stay here tonight, if you wish. I know Xichen always had a bed made up for you in the other room.”

Mingjue nodded his thanks, watching them leave before making his way back over to Xichen. Xichen looked younger in sleep, his face devoid of the strain he carried when he was awake. He was smiling in his sleep, the soft gentle sort of smile that always tugged at Mingjue’s heart.

Mingjue smoothed a lock of hair behind his ear tenderly, before tucking the covers more securely under his chin. He crossed the room to his own bed, certain that Xichen would not like to wake up with him in his space if he woke up cognisant.

Nothing could possibly happen to Xichen in his sleep.

Right?

Mingjue awoke to find out that he was very wrong. He was woken by a rustling sound outside, as if someone was changing very loudly and little thuds on the floorboards.

Groaning, he crawled out of bed, stepping outside to find Xichen’s bed bare.

“Xichen!” Mingjue cried out, nearly yanking his hair out at the sight of the empty bed. They should have known better than to let Xichen sleep alone. The bed was unmade, messy, as if the sleeper had simply tossed aside the covers and left. Xichen’s inner robes were lying on the floor, rumpled and Mingjue startled when he heard a child cry out.

“A-Zhan! A-Zhan, where are you?”

A little blob shape came waddling towards him and if he squinted, Mingjue could just about make out a face hidden amidst all the layers of robes.

“Xichen?” he called, and the child paused.

“Who’s Xichen?” he asked, and Mingjue’s heart nearly stopped. Had Xichen truly lost his memory?

“Have you seen my Didi?” the child asked before Mingjue could say anything else. “He was supposed to be sleeping with me. I’ve lost him and Shufu– Shufu is going to be so upset!”

He looked so close to tears that Mingjue just wanted to pick him up and hold him, but the door to the Han shi slid open and Lan Wangji entered, his brows knitting at the sight of the mess.

“Q–qianbei,” the child stammered and shrank back. “Lan Huan is sorry! Lan Huan could not find clothes that fit me.”

“Lan Huan?” Mingjue mouthed and Lan Wangji’s lips twitched when Lan Qiren poked his head in and immediately paled.

“Shufu!” Lan Huan cried, hugging the too-big robes around him tightly. “Shufu, I can’t find A-Zhan. I’m sorry!”

“Lan Huan?” Lan Qiren called, stepping fully into the room. It was a comical sight, watching Lan Huan inch towards him wrapped up in adult robes that were too big for his tiny body.

“Shufu, my clothes are too big,” Lan Huan said, reaching for Lan Qiren’s skirts. He tugged gently; his expression mournful. “And I can’t find A-Zhan.”

“We will find clothes that fit you, A-Huan, don’t worry. Nie zongzhu, if you will go to the Mei shi, you will find a rosewood box on the third shelf in the back of the room. Bring that here.”

“Right away, sir,” Mingjue said, dashing off at once, grateful that he had slept in his clothes and looked only a little rumpled. He found the box quickly, thankful for the Lans’ absurd organization skills and ran back to the Han shi, belatedly remembering the rule about not running. Lan Qiren fixed him with a glare as he ran up, little Lan Huan safely ensconced in his arms.

“No running in the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Huan chirped, even as Mingjue skidded to a stop. He looked a lot less distressed now that he recognized Lan Qiren.

“Sorry, little Lan,” Mingjue said, hiding a smile.

Lan Huan looked at him and blushed before Lan Qiren set him down and let him toddle behind the screen to get changed.

“What happened to him?” Lan Qiren asked once Lan Huan had vanished behind the screen, careful to keep his voice low. “He was an adult last night!”

“Likely a delayed reaction to a de-ageing spell,” Wangji said. “Xiongzhang’s core is powerful. It must have slowed the spell.”

“Shufu, I’m done,” Lan Huan called, padding out with a wide grin. His forehead ribbon was a little crooked and far too long and Mingjue found his fingers itching to straighten it for him.

Wangji shifted and his expression fell for a millisecond when he reached forward and Lan Huan darted back, wide eyed.

“The ribbon is sacred!” he exclaimed. “Shufu said only family and spouses can touch it.”

“He is family, Lan Huan,” Lan Qiren said, grasping Lan Huan’s shoulder when he backed away. He straightened Lan Huan’s ribbon for him and clicked his tongue. “This one is too long for you. We’ll have to get you a new one.”

Lan Huan eyed Wangji cautiously before turning his gaze onto Lan Qiren. “He is family?”

“He is your Didi, Lan Huan,” Lan Qiren said, carefully scooping Lan Huan off the floor. Lan Huan peered at Wangji’s face in bewilderment.

“Didi?” he repeated. “But he’s so big!”

“Mn. He has grown up,” Lan Qiren said, patting Lan Huan’s hair. His expression had softened to a degree that Mingjue had never seen before as he held his nephew and for the first time, Mingjue wondered if Lan Qiren missed the time when his nephews were only children.

“Will I grow up too?” Lan Huan asked as Lan Qiren handed him over to Wangji. He was a little old to be carried at five, but so small that his age did not make much of a difference at all.

“You will.”

“Who’s that then, Shufu?” Lan Huan asked, pointing at Mingjue. His hand was so small compared to Lan Qiren’s when he wrapped his fingers around Lan Huan’s hand.

“Don’t point, Lan Huan, it’s very rude. Do you remember the Nie heir that I told you about? The one from Qinghe?” Lan Qiren asked, releasing Lan Huan’s hand. Lan Huan cocked his head and Lan Qiren sighed.

“His name is Nie Mingjue, Lan Huan. Wangji, Chifengzun. I still have matters to turn to for today. Will you watch him? We will get back to our discussion as soon as I finish the paperwork that needs to be done and can hand my classes over to someone else.”

“Mn,” Wangji bowed his head, smoothing a hand over Lan Huan’s hair.

Lan Qiren stroked Lan Huan’s cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture before pulling away.

“Be good now, Lan Huan.”

“Mn! Yes, Shufu.” Lan Huan waved as Lan Qiren strode away before turning his eyes onto Mingjue. He stared unabashedly for a long moment before abruptly turning pink.

“Gege is handsome,” Lan Huan whispered. Mingjue raised an eyebrow. He had heard him loud and clear.

“Do you want the handsome Gege to carry you?” Wangji asked, amused, and Lan Huan blushed redder.

“I don’t remember him being this shy,” Mingjue said when Lan Huan hid his face in Wangji’s collar. If Mingjue had not been watching, he would not have caught the tiny nod that Lan Huan gave.

“You met him when he was eight,” Wangji said, stroking his brother’s hair gently. “After our mother died. It changed us both. Xiongzhang did everything he could to protect me from grief.”

It was a sombre thought, that Lan Huan had learned to hide his own grief so early.

“Come here, little Lan,” Mingjue said instead, and Lan Huan lifted his head, happy to be transferred over into his arms. Mingjue bounced him gently and Lan Huan giggled, raising his hands to wrap tiny fingers around a strand of Mingjue’s braids.

“Pretty,” he declared. Mingjue was suddenly filled with the urge to kiss his little button nose. He restrained himself, allowing Lan Huan to touch his hair, the edges of his robes and revelled in his wide-eyed wonder.

“How old are you, xiao gongzi?” he asked, and Lan Huan looked up from poking his shoulder pads. He scrunched up his nose and thought, looking so much like a baby rabbit that Mingjue had to resist the urge to coo at him.

“I just turned five,” he said, at last, holding out his five fingers. “And A-Zhan is three! He is so very big for three.”

He peered at Wangji thoughtfully before turning back to Mingjue.

“Will I grow up taller than A-Zhan?” he wondered and Mingjue laughed aloud when Wangji’s expression twitched.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Xichen is very slightly taller than you are,” Mingjue said, smirking when Wangji’s eyes hardened, promising violence.

“Inconsequential,” Wangji intoned, clearly stung. “No difference.”

Mingjue chortled and Lan Huan giggled too, infected by his laughter.

“Rumbly!” he piped up, patting Mingjue’s chest.

“Do you want to go see the rabbits, Xiongzhang?”

To his surprise, Lan Huan wrinkled his nose.

“I’m not Xiongzhang,” he declared, squirming in Mingjue’s arms. “A-Zhan calls me Gege!”

Mingjue hid a smile when Wangji’s face spasmed before he bowed his head.

“Would you like to see the rabbits, Gege?”

“Yes please!” Lan Huan wiggled around in Mingjue’s arms until he set him down, but when Mingjue tried to step away, Lan Huan slipped tiny fingers into his palm and looked up at him pleadingly.

“Will you hold my hand, handsome Gege?”

“Of course,” Mingjue said, utterly charmed by Lan Huan’s little pout. Lan Huan stretched up and tugged lightly on Wangji’s sleeves until he could reach his hand.

“Didi holds my hand too!” he said happily, swinging both Mingjue’s and Wangji’s hand as they started down the path. Mingjue’s heart was just about ready to give out from the cuteness.

Lan Huan’s wonder only grew exponentially when they arrived at the rabbit fields and Wangji directed him to sit down. He did so and was rewarded immediately by a rabbit bounding over to sniff at his hand and his robes in search of treats.

“Gently,” Wangji said as he cupped Lan Huan’s hands in his own and showed him how to pick up the rabbit.

It was the cutest thing Mingjue had ever seen, and he had to look away to contain his urge to squeal.

“So soft,” Lan Huan said in wonder as he stroked a hand over the rabbit’s back. “Handsome Gege, feel!”

“It is soft,” Mingjue said. “Softest thing I’ve ever felt.”

Lan Huan giggled, tugging at his skirts until Mingjue sat down next to him and put his hand on the rabbit. With his other hand, he reached for Wangji’s sleeve. Wangji’s expression was the softest Mingjue had ever seen as he stroked Lan Huan’s hair, Lan Huan more preoccupied with petting the rabbit than anything else.

“Your hair is so long, xiao gongzi,” Mingjue said. “Want me to tie it up for you?”

“Mn! Want Gege’s braids!” Lan Huan said eagerly and Wangji’s eyes widened.

“Xiongzhang, the Nie braids are for the inner family only,” he said, and Lan Huan turned to him with big eyes.

“Like our ribbons?” he asked.

“Like our ribbons,” Wangji confirmed.

Lan Huan pouted, burying his hands into the rabbit’s fur.

“But they’re pretty,” he whispered.

“I can do them,” Mingjue said before he could stop himself. He had always wanted to, to put the braids into Xichen’s hair himself. Wanted them to mean something. “They don’t have to mean anything.”

“Chifengzun, you don’t have to–.”

“I want to. If Lan Huan wants them, I’ll do them,” Mingjue said firmly. Because this may be the only way he could ever mark Lan Huan as his.

“Can I?” Lan Huan asked, peering up at Wangji. “Please?”

“We will have to take them out before you return to the Han shi,” Wangji said and Lan Huan nodded, beaming as he set the rabbit onto the ground and crawled into Mingjue’s lap. He weighed less than Huaisang did as a child, slim and graceful and Mingjue acutely remembered doing Huaisang’s hair like this for him when they were younger.

“Feels nice,” Lan Huan murmured as Mingjue wove the braids into his hair. “Thank you, Handsome Gege.”

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji said. “Your Handsome Gege has a name.”

Lan Huan blinked sleepily and wiggled, just in time for Mingjue to finish the last braid. He twisted around in his lap, placing both hands on Mingjue’s chest.

“Mingjue Gege?” he said and Mingjue’s heart nearly gave out. He was such a cute kid.

“Mn. But you can call me anything you like,” Mingjue said, softly stroking a single braid in Lan Huan’s hair. Lan Huan beamed up at him, reaching up to touch the braids he had put in his hair.

“Pretty,” he said.

“Mn,” Wangji said, and Lan Huan turned to him, his smile widening. His little stomach growled and Mingjue realised belatedly that they had been so preoccupied with keeping little Lan Huan entertained that they had all forgotten about breakfast.

“Are you hungry, xiao gongzi?” he asked, poking Lan Huan’s stomach gently and Lan Huan giggled, the sound so happy that it even brought a tiny smile to Wangji’s lips.

Mingjue could not remember the last time he had heard Lan Huan laugh so truly. He hid so much behind his smiles when he was older that it was rare anyone saw him laugh without reservation. His heart skipped a beat as he watched Wangji stroke Lan Huan’s hair, hoisting his brother up into his arms.

“We should return to the Han shi. I will fetch us food from the kitchens.”

“Okay!” Lan Huan nodded and scrambled out of Wangji’s arms to take Mingjue’s hand. “Let’s go, Handsome gege!”

They returned to the Han shi at a sedate pace, Lan Huan stopping every few moments to exclaim over a butterfly or a pretty flower that had caught his attention. The braids were still in his hair, and no one had the heart to tell him they should be taken out. It made Mingjue’s heart happy, watching Lan Huan flit around the paths, never fast enough to be running but definitely faster than he should be moving.

He was worn out by the time they arrived at the Han shi and Mingjue suspected that it was only his Lan training that kept him from asking to be picked up. He stumbled on his way up the steps and Mingjue gave in, scooping him off the floor. Lan Huan was soft and warm in his arms as he leaned his head against his shoulder, already a little dozy.

“Don’t sleep now, xiao gongzi,” Mingjue said, shaking him gently when it looked as if Lan Huan was about to nod off. “You have to eat something first.”

“Mn,” Lan Huan yawned, cuddling up against him when Mingjue set him down beside the desk. He frowned at the table, at the papers that were scattered all over it. “Messy.”

Mingjue hid a smile. No one ever knew that Xichen was as messy as he was when he was working. All those papers must have been what he was working on before he left for Jinlingtai. Careful to avoid messing them up, he stacked them to the side, clearing the table for the impending breakfast tray.

In doing so, he nearly knocked off the object that had been sitting in the corner, catching it before it could fall.

“Oh, what is this?” Mingjue asked, setting the mahogany box back in its place at the edge of Lan Huan’s desk. Upon closer inspection, he realised with a start that it was carved in a Qinghe style, something that he did not remember Xichen owning. Xichen never usually bought things for himself and if this was Qinghe made, it could only have been Mingjue who had given it to him. But Mingjue did not recall ever making or buying such a box.

It was a beautiful piece, though covered in dust. He touched it gently and Lan Huan grabbed his hand.

“It’s important,” he said seriously, little fingers curled around Mingjue’s palm. “It’s important.”

“Oh, it is?” Mingjue asked, surprised. The box looked like it had only been made recently, not like one that might have been made when Lan Huan was five. He stroked over the bull’s head latch and blinked.

“Important,” Lan Huan insisted, making grabby hands until Mingjue lifted the box down to him. He opened it easily and fiddled with something under the lid. A lock clicked and Mingjue’s eyes widened when the inside of the lid dropped out, revealing a letter folded inside.

“I think– we’d better put that back,” he said slowly, even though it was a strange thing to say. The box looked handmade, as if whoever had made it had been new to the work, and Mingjue had a strong feeling that Xichen had made the box himself. 

“Mn, it’s important,” Lan Huan said, even as Mingjue reached for the letter. He would have put it back; had the name the letter was addressed to not caught his eye.

Mingjue xiong.

Mingjue stared at it, bewildered. Why would Xichen have hidden a letter to him in a box that he made? He stroked over the name carefully before tucking it back into the box.

“Alright, you sit nice now,” he said, “I’ll move this away, so we don’t break it accidentally.”

Lan Huan watched him take it with a serious expression that made Mingjue uneasy. He set it on the bedside table and returned to Lan Huan, just in time for the door to slide open. Wangji appeared with a tray of steaming buns and congee, setting it on the table.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when Lan Huan did not make a move to take the food, raising his head to glare at Mingjue.

“I’m not sure,” Mingjue said, as Lan Huan blinked at the food, slow and deliberate like a cat. “Lan Huan, are you alright?”

“Mn,” Lan Huan murmured sleepily. He twitched and his eyes widened. “Hungry.”

Just like that, he was back to his usual self. Mingjue exchanged a look with Wangji before they all dug into the food, maintaining silence until everyone’s bowls had been emptied. Lan Huan was practically listing to the side by the time he had eaten all of his congee, his eyes half closing.

Mingjue smiled himself as Wangji moved around the table to carry him to bed, Lan Huan curled up against him like a contented kitten.

“Nap time for little bunnies,” he said, and Lan Huan managed a sleepy smile for him before Wangji tucked him in. He was asleep in seconds.

“Have you seen this box before?” Mingjue asked when Lan Huan had been put down for his nap. He was comically small atop the mattress made for a grown man and it made Mingjue’s heart swell almost two sizes too big.

Wangji stared at the mahogany box and dipped his head.

“Mn.”

“There’s a letter inside,” Mingjue continued.

“You opened it?” Wangji’s eyes flashed and Mingjue shook his head.

“Lan Huan did. He said it was important. The letter was addressed to me.”

“Mn,” Wangji poured them both a cup of tea. “It’s yours.”

“Huh?” Mingjue blinked in confusion.

“The letter,” Wangji said, raising his head. He reached across the table, lifting the latch. Mingjue watched him feel around on the underside of the lid before he heard the same clicking sound and the letter fell out into the box. “Yours.”

“But if Xichen hid it–.”

“He was always too afraid to give it to you,” Wangji said quietly. “After I left, I presume he thought it pointless to give.”

Mingjue stared as Wangji set the letter into his hands.

“Are you sure you should be giving this to me?” he asked.

“Xiongzhang has never been good at asking for what he wants,” Wangji said. “Sometimes he needs a little push.”

He gestured at the letter.

“When you return to Qinghe, open it. You will understand then.”

Mingjue turned the letter over in his hands and tucked it carefully into his sleeve.

“I must return to Qinghe tonight,” he said ruefully. “But will you stay?”

Wangji had not returned to the Cloud Recesses in the two years that he had been gone and Mingjue knew that he had no plans to. But now Xichen was compromised, and they had no idea how to bring him back.

“Mn. I will. For Xiongzhang.” Wangji glanced towards the sleeping body curled up on the bed and dipped his head. “We must try to break the spell.”

Mingjue nodded, looking at Lan Huan, sleeping so peacefully on the bed. He should have written more often, he thought sadly. Lan Qiren had said Xichen was lonely, without his brother.

His thoughts were interrupted by a harried disciple knocking on the door, looking frantic.

“I apologize for the disturbance, Hanguangjun, but Lianfangzun has come to visit.”

The knocking had woken Lan Huan, who turned over, blinking sleepy eyes open.

“Where is he?”

“Coming this way, Hanguangjun.”

“I did not know Xiongzhang had given him so much freedom that he arrives unannounced,” Wangji said, his tone ice cold.

“Lianfangzun has always come to visit Zewu Jun,” the disciple said, fretting. “What shall I tell him, Hanguangjun?”

“Nothing,” Wangji said decidedly. He glanced at Mingjue, and Mingjue bowed his head. They had no reason to refuse Jin Guangyao, no one reason that could be valid and not raise suspicion. “Let him come.”

“Yes, Hanguangjun.”

The disciple hurried away and Mingjue turned back to see Lan Huan watching them from the bed, tucked under the blankets. He walked over, and Lan Huan reached up wordlessly.

“Are you still sleepy?” Mingjue asked as he picked Lan Huan up, settling on the bed with him in his lap. “I’m sorry we woke you.”

Lan Huan shook his head, nuzzling against Mingjue’s chest. He started when someone rapped sharply on the door, and abruptly went pale when Wangji called for the visitor to enter.

“Hanguangjun.” Jin Guangyao displayed visible surprise. The news of Hanguangjun leaving the Lan sect to wander the world had been widespread and Wangji had shown no sign of returning any time soon. “Da ge.”

Mingjue tried not to stiffen at the honorific, suddenly all too aware of the way Lan Huan was clinging to him, face mashed into his chest. He was shaking, Mingjue realised belatedly, little body trembling as he grabbed fistfuls of Mingjue’s robes.

“A-Yao,” he allowed.

“Where is Er ge? And why do you have a child?”

He paused, taking in Lan Huan clinging to Mingjue’s robes and Mingjue could see the revelation dawn upon him.

“Er ge?” he asked, wide eyed. Mingjue hated that expression. He hated that it always looked paper thin to him.

“He was in Lanling for a night hunt,” Wangji said, his tone so frosty he could have frozen the entire room. “And returned like this.”

“What?” Jin Guangyao gasped. “He was fine when he left.”

“He was night hunting with you,” Mingjue said, clutching Lan Huan tighter when Jin Guangyao stepped towards the bed. “How did you not notice anything was wrong? He flew all the way to Qinghe instead of Gusu! If he had been disoriented, he could have been hurt!”

Lan Huan made a whimpering sound and Mingjue realised he had raised his voice. He stroked a hand over Lan Huan’s hair and felt him tremble.

“Oh god. Er ge, is he alright?” Jin Guangyao asked and Mingjue tightened his grip, almost turning away when he crouched by the bed.

“It is a spell,” Wangji said quietly. “A spell that must have been placed on him in Lanling.”

He raised his chin, a muscle in his jaw jumping when Lan Huan scrambled out of Mingjue’s lap to hide behind him when Jin Guangyao tried to touch him. Jin Guangyao made a hurt noise, but Mingjue could care less.

Lan Huan pressed himself up against Mingjue’s back and hugged his neck.

“I don’t like him,” he whispered very quietly into Mingjue’s ear. “He smells funny.”

Mingjue inhaled, but there was nothing strange about the heady scent of peonies that emanated off Jin Guangyao. Still, he trusted Lan Huan.

“I think you should go back to Lanling,” he said, trying to keep his temper in check. “Help us search for a cure.”

“Of course,” Jin Guangyao said at once, Mingjue wished he could believe him. “Of course, Da ge. If you need to, you can always send Er ge to me.”

“Not necessary,” Wangji said. “He is safe here in Gusu. I will assume Xiongzhang’s duties until he can be restored.”

Lan Huan only returned to Mingjue’s lap after they had seen Jin Guangyao out, busying himself with Mingjue’s plaits. Mingjue watched Wangji walk over to the bed, laying a hand onto Lan Huan’s head gently.

“What was that about, Lan Huan?” Mingjue asked as Wangji slowly began to untangle the braids from Lan Huan’s hair. “You did not even greet him.”

“I don’t like that Gege,” Lan Huan muttered, giving Mingjue’s braid a sharp tug. “He hurt my friend.”

“Your friend?”

Lan Huan nodded as he followed Mingjue’s braid up, giggling when he nearly bumped into Mingjue’s chin.

“Do you want to tell us about your friend?” Mingjue asked carefully. Could this Lan Huan possibly remember things from his future? If so, why didn’t he remember Mingjue’s face at all?

Lan Huan made a squinty face before letting go of Mingjue’s braid.

“I don’t know much,” he confessed, settling back down, and leaning against Mingjue’s chest. “That Gege plays bad music.”

Mingjue would have questioned him further had the knocks not sounded on the door, and Lan Qiren came hurrying in, his expression concerned.

“I heard that Lianfangzun came to visit,” he said, straightening when Lan Huan lit up, climbing out of Mingjue’s lap to hug his knee. “Did he say anything?”

“No,” Wangji said before Mingjue could, his eyes fixed on Lan Huan. “He claimed that he has no idea how Xiongzhang became like this.”

“But Lan Huan remembers,” Mingjue said. “He remembers what I told him about Jin Guangyao’s playing. And he did not like him.”

“You think Jin Guangyao did this to him.”

“It is not an unfair assumption,” Wangji pointed out. “Xiongzhang was fine before he left and now, he is a child.”

They all looked at Lan Huan who was hugging Lan Qiren’s leg and humming a quiet song under his breath.

“I must return to Qinghe,” Mingjue said. “My sect needs me but if you need anything, Wangji, I would be happy to provide.”

They all trooped outside, Lan Qiren holding onto Lan Huan’s hand. Mingjue had to smile to himself at the sight of Lan Huan toddling beside his uncle, gripping his hand in a death grip.

“Handsome Gege.” Mingjue looked down when Lan Huan wrapped around his leg, his lips pushed out in a pout. “Do you have to go?”

Mingjue crouched, gently brushing a lock of hair away from Lan Huan’s face, careful to avoid the forehead ribbon. Lan Huan leaned into the touch, sniffling a little as he shuffled into Mingjue’s arms.

“I do, little one,” Mingjue said gently. “But I promise I’ll come back to see you, alright?”

“I don’t want you to go,” Lan Huan’s lower lip wobbled, and he wrapped his arms around Mingjue’s neck, clinging tightly.

“I know,” Mingjue sighed, stroking Lan Huan’s hair. “But I have responsibilities to my sect, just as you will.”

Lan Huan’s eyes grew shiny and Mingjue’s heart trembled for him. He patted Lan Huan’s cheek gently and let Lan Huan hug him for as long as he wanted.

“Be good for your Didi, okay? I promise I’ll come back.”

Lan Huan sniffed and Mingjue could not resist pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’ll miss you,” Lan Huan whispered, turning his head to kiss Mingjue’s cheek. “Come back soon.”

Mingjue’s ribs tightened around his lungs, and he squeezed Lan Huan gently before setting Baxia down and stepping on. Lan Huan waved at him until he was out of sight, cutting through the air towards Qinghe.

-

Wangji pored over the books and scrolls, careful to not wake Lan Huan. He was conflicted over the situation. Being in the Cloud Recesses again after so long felt strange, like he was stepping back into an old mould that he had left behind.

They had searched all of his brother’s papers for clues, particularly his correspondence with Lianfangzun, which had grown shorter in length and the tone curter than Xichen used to be.

Perhaps this was why Lianfangzun had suspicions, Wangji mused as he set aside the letters. Xichen’s letters to him were always overflowing with emotion and talked at length about his day. His brother really was a terrible liar. Nie Mingjue should not have allowed him to go about such an investigation alone.

“Shuoyue and Liebing,” Lan Qiren said, closing a book and Wangji straightened. “Did you find them? Did he have them when he entered the Unclean Realm?”

In the mess of finding his brother utterly lost and then de-aged into his five-year-old self, Wangji had not even thought to search for his brother’s sword.

If Xichen had truly gone night hunting, why were his sword and flute missing from his possession?

Lan Huan was sat quietly in Wangji’s lap, still dozing. He had been sleeping a lot lately, and it worried Wangji. Children slept often, but Lan Huan seemed to drop off very quickly in the middle of doing things. Wangji did not remember his brother being so sleepy before. 

He smoothed a hand over the top of Lan Huan’s head and Lan Huan jerked awake, gripping Wangji’s sleeve.

“They must be within Jinlingtai,” he said eventually. “Xiongzhang would never leave them behind.”

Shufu’s expression hardened.

“Then we must search Jinlingtai. Perhaps they hold the key to undoing this spell.”

He looked at Lan Huan, who seemed to have slipped back into a dozy state again.

“And we must hurry before the spell does more damage to him than we can undo.”

Wangji looked down, gently shaking Lan Huan back awake.

“Lan Huan, if you want to sleep, go to your own bed,” Shufu said and Lan Huan turned around, burying his face into Wangji’s chest. “It isn’t polite to sleep in someone’s lap.”

Lan Huan shook his head.

“M’ awake,” he mumbled and Wangji’s mouth twitched.

“It’s alright, Xiongzhang,” he said and Lan Huan opened one eye to glare.

“Gege,” he insisted. “I’m Lan Zhan’s gege.”

“Chifengzun will be returning here soon, I’m sure,” Wangji said instead of answering, stroking his hand over Lan Huan’s hair. Lan Huan had insisted on braiding his hair into one messy braid because he wanted to be just like his handsome Gege, but the Nie braids were beyond Wangji’s skill.

“Hm. Hopefully, he brings better news. Have you heard from Lianfangzun?” Shufu asked.

“Mn. He promises he is searching for a cure. I have not yet told him of Xiongzhang’s missing weapons.”

If he was careful, Jin Guangyao might slip up. He might reveal where the weapons are hidden or that this was his handiwork. He was sure that Nie Mingjue had already spoken to Nie Huaisang, who was sharp-witted and clever, despite his outward expression of being soft and lazy. If there was anyone who could unravel this plot, it was him.

Not two days later, he received a frantic message from Nie Huaisang, asking what on earth had he done to his Da ge. Wangji posited that Nie Mingjue had likely read Xichen’s letter and was on his way to the Cloud Recesses.

Carefully, he extracted Lan Huan from his lap, gently laying him onto the grass beside A-Yuan, who was weaving a flower crown diligently. A-Yuan looked up, grinning.

“A-Die, look,” he whispered, waving the flower crown in the air. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“Mn.” Wangji patted his head, reaching over to stroke Lan Huan’s hair as he turned over in his sleep.

“It’s for you, A-Die,” A-Yuan said and Wangji’s lips curled as he bowed his head, allowing his son to place the crown onto his hair. “I will make another for Huan Gege.”

It was strange to hear A-Yuan call Lan Huan Gege, when he was physically older than Lan Huan. But Wangji had no desire to discuss the semantics. He wanted his brother back, if only so they could stop hiding him from the others and making excuses for his absence.

A rabbit bounded over to nibble on the ends of Lan Huan’s braid and he awoke slowly, the rabbit’s fur having tickled him awake. He giggled, gently pushing the bunny’s face away and Wangji’s heart filled. Lan Huan sat up, smoothing his little hands over the rabbit’s back with a contented expression, leaning heavily against Wangji’s knee.

“When is Mingjue Gege coming back?” he asked, lifting the rabbit to his face. “I miss him.”

“He should be on his way,” Wangji said, patting Lan Huan’s head.

Lan Huan pouted at the rabbit and then yawned. A flash of fear sparked in Wangji’s belly when he listed to one side, nearly toppling over face first into the grass.

“Xiongzhang,” he said, catching him and Lan Huan made a face at the honorific before setting the bunny down.

“Sleepy,” he murmured, crawling into Wangji’s lap. Wangji stared down at him, taking his little wrist in his hand. His Xiongzhang’s qi was circulating more strongly now compared to the last time he checked.

Carefully, he lifted Lan Huan into his arms, settling him on his hip before sending a messenger butterfly to his Shufu. As the golden butterfly fluttered away, Wangji reached down to take A-Yuan’s hand.

“A-Yuan, let us return to the Han shi. Lan Huan is tired.”

A-Yuan nodded obediently, finishing off his second flower crown. He held onto it with one hand, grasping Wangji’s in his other as they walked the meandering path back to where Shufu was waiting for him, frowning.

“Shugong.” A-Yuan bowed and Lan Qiren nodded at him, his eyes more focused on Lan Huan, who was already fast asleep in Wangji’s arms.

“He’s asleep again?” he asked as he took Lan Huan. Lan Huan did not even stir as he was settled against Lan Qiren’s chest, his face pinching and squinting as he was shifted.

“The spell seems to be wearing off,” Wangji said. “His qi is stronger now.”

“Oh, thank god,” Shufu said, rocking Lan Huan gently. “That must be why he has been sleeping so much. His qi is trying to break the spell.”

Lan Huan twitched as he said so, brows creasing. He squirmed in Shufu’s arms, a soft whimper spilling from his lips.

“A-Huan?” Shufu called, touching Lan Huan’s hair and Wangji was by his side at once. Lan Huan made another noise, this one sounding as if he was in pain and Wangji gripped his hand.

“Xiongzhang?”

Lan Huan did not respond, but his whimpers only grew louder, his spasms growing more violent until Shufu had to put him down on the bed.

“Fetch a healer,” Wangji said as he knelt beside Lan Huan, Lan Yuan darting behind Shufu’s leg in terror. “Quickly!”

-

Xichen remembered pain. A bright flash of pain as the yao ripped across his thigh. He had stumbled, barely able to send Shuoyue through the yao’s skull before he fell against a tree, grasping his leg.

“A-Yao?” He remembered calling, his head spinning in a way that made his stomach pitch as if he were on a boat sailing on rough seas. Only the call of cicadas answered him.

Xichen remembered the way the rain soaked into his robes as he slid down, back against the tree trunk, the world dancing in and out of focus. He called once more for A-Yao, but the forest was eerily silent.

Xichen had closed his eyes, just for a moment, before the guilt swallowed him. He was lost in himself, trapped in a cage of guilt and fear and pain and he could find no way out. The notes of the Song of Turmoil rang in his ears and he dropped his sword, clapping his hands over his ears like a frightened child. Blood welled up in his throat and he was choking on it, the world spinning like a children’s top.

The last thing he remembered was the sickeningly sweet smell of peonies burrowing its way into his nostrils as wet seeped through his robes, the rustling of bushes and the grating sound of someone calling his name.

Xichen opened his eyes to the sound of rain pattering on wood. There was a hand gripping his own tightly, and when he turned, Wangji’s dark head was bowed over the edge of the bed.

“Wangji?” he whispered and Wangji looked up, relief shining in his eyes.

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji whispered back and Xichen closed his eyes when his brother squeezed his hand.

“What happened to me?” Xichen asked weakly.

“How much do you remember?” Wangji asked.

“I remember– A-Yao,” Xichen said, grimacing when his head throbbed. “We were supposed to be night hunting together but I lost him. I lost him somehow. I was injured and I–.”

He cut himself off when a flurry of images flitted into his mind, images that should have made no sense. He was being held by Wangji, cradled in his arms. Sitting in the meadow in Mingjue’s lap, having his hair braided. Mingjue touching the box–.

“My box!” he gasped. “Where–?”

“Still there,” Wangji said, pointing so that Xichen could see the edge of his desk. “Chifengzun has the letter.”

Xichen turned pale.

“What?” he whispered. “Did I give it to him? Wangji, was I a child?”

“You de-aged back to a five-year-old,” Wangji informed him. “When you appeared in the Unclean Realm, you were yourself, but your mind had been cast back to when you were five. Then we found you de-aged physically the next morning.”

“The Unclean Realm?”

“And the letter. I gave it to Chifengzun,” Wangji said, meeting his eyes steadily. “He needs to know.”

“What? Wangji, why?”

“Because Xiongzhang deserves good things sometimes,” Wangji said firmly.

“But I–.” There were too many thoughts swirling around in Xichen’s head and he could not process them. He felt as if there was a particularly large rabbit hopping around in there, bumping into the walls of his skull.

“Xiongzhang should rest,” Wangji said, tucking the blanket more firmly around Xichen’s body. “Chifengzun will be here in the morning.”

“How did I get here? What happened?”

“You found your way to Qinghe somehow after a spell was cast on you,” Wangji said, once he realised that there was no way Xichen was letting him go without an explanation. “Without your sword or Liebing.”

“I walked to Qinghe?’ Xichen asked, bewildered. “How did I–?”

“We do not know. But Jin Guangyao cast the spell. He took Liebing and Shuoyue in the hopes that he could contain you without them, but he lost you in the night. The Nie cultivators found you walking outside the Unclean Realm and we brought you here, to keep you safe.”

“How long ago was this?” Xichen breathed. His research. Had A-Yao known? Was that the reason why? He lurched forward, grabbing Wangji’s arm. “Wangji, Xue Yang is alive. I saw him at the night hunt– we have to–.”

“Everything is under control,” Wangji said, though visible anger had shown through his mask. “Jin Guangyao and Jin Guangshan will be dealt with. Chifengzun changed his course. He was supposed to be here a shichen ago but he went to Jinlingtai to confront them.”

“Wangji,” Xichen whispered, gripping Wangji’s hand. “It was Jin Guangyao. The Lan at Qiongqi Path. The second flute. Wei gongzi never killed Jin Zixuan. I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” Wangji’s eyes fluttered shut and Xichen’s heart seized in his chest when he saw the glitter of tears on the end of Wangji’s lashes. “I know, Xiongzhang.”

“I’m so sorry,” Xichen whispered. It was the only thing he knew to say, even if it brought his brother little to no comfort. Wei gongzi had died for his beliefs, beliefs that were just and fair, everything that the Gusu Lan had strived for and always fell short. Nothing in the world could bring him back now. Xichen’s apologies were empty.

Wangji shifted, his robes rustling as he turned away, hair falling in a curtain to shield his face.

“Xiongzhang must rest,” he said instead, pulling away. Xichen opened his mouth to stop him, to say something else but the words would not leave his mouth.

Wangji tucked the covers firmly over Xichen’s body and left, sliding the door shut behind him. Xichen did not think he could sleep anymore, burning up with guilt and anxiety like he was, but he slept anyway, falling into a void where he dreamt of Mingjue qi deviating before him, blood running down his cheeks from his eyes, bleeding from all his orifices, Wangji’s back split open from thirty three strikes of the discipline whip.

He woke up screaming Wangji’s name, near out of his mind with terror, to see Mingjue standing by his bed, still half dressed as if he had just gotten in.

“Mingjue,” Xichen murmured, his throat raw and painful.

“Xichen,” Mingjue breathed when he sank to his knees beside Xichen’s bed. “Oh, Xichen, you should have told me.”

Xichen flinched, ducking his head and Mingjue’s heart ached all the more for him. He reached for his hands, bringing them to his lips.

“I couldn’t have,” Xichen said, his eyes fixed on the blanket. “You were so angry all the time that I had made you swear brotherhood with A-Yao and then Wangji left and there was never a good time. We are both sect leaders, Mingjue. We both have responsibilities.”

Mingjue kissed his hands again, almost reverently.

“I put Nie braids in your hair, Xichen,” he said, gripping Xichen’s hands tightly. “I’ve wanted to claim you as mine for as long as I can remember but I always thought you– favoured Meng Yao.”

Xichen’s eyes widened and Mingjue set his hands down gently.

“I did not want to stand in your way if you loved him, Xichen,” he said and Xichen shook his head almost viciously.

“Mingjue, no! I’ve loved you– it was selfish of me. I wanted you and I could not think of any other way to keep you.”

“You could have asked me to marry you,” Mingjue said, thumbing over Xichen’s hands with a tenderness that Xichen had never seen before. “I would have said yes.”

“I dreamt of you,” Xichen said, seizing hold of Mingjue’s wrists. “I dreamt that you qi deviated. I could only watch–.”

He choked on a sob and Mingjue yanked him into a hug so tight that it snatched all the breath from his lungs. Mingjue laid his hand upon his chest and Xichen closed his eyes.

“Can you feel that?” Mingjue asked. “I’m here. I’m here, Xichen.”

A sob pushed its way out of Xichen’s chest and he collapsed into Mingjue’s arms, trembling. A heavy hand landed in his hair and Xichen buried his face into Mingjue’s shoulder, shaking as Mingjue held him and petted him until all the tears had been cried out of him.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” Mingjeu whispered, his lips pressed to Xichen’s hair. “Jin Guangyao has been arrested and Jin Guangshan is under interrogation by Jiang Wanyin.”

“Jiang zongzhu?”

“Mn. He was present at Jinlingtai visiting his nephew when I arrived. I would have stayed but I did not wish to delay seeing you any longer.”

Xichen gripped Mingjue’s robes tightly.

“We must go to Jinlingtai,” he said. “Jiang Wanyin is more than capable but this is not his mess to fix. It is mine.”

“I know. But my love.” The endearment snatched all the remaining breath from Xichen’s lungs and he could only stare as Mingjue cupped his cheek, his palms warm against his skin. “You have only just recovered. You should rest.”

“So should you,” Xichen managed. “You flew all this way to see me.”

He swallowed, pulling away to try and straighten himself at least a little.

“Sleep then,” Mingjue said, nudging him until Xichen shuffled away on his own accord, making room for him in his bed. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Xichen clung to him when Mingjue had laid down under the covers with him, one hand gripping the collar of Mingjue’s robes like he was still a small child. It was inappropriate, but Xichen was afraid that if he let go, if he closed his eyes, Mingjue would disappear.

Mingjue seemed to share the sentiment, as he turned over, slinging his arm over Xichen’s waist. Xichen cuddled closer, pressing his face into Mingjue’s chest. His heart expanded when he felt gentle pressure on the top of his head, followed by Mingjue’s hand stroking through his hair.

It was hard to leave his embrace when morning dawned, the sound of the gong sending shivers through Xichen’s body. His eyes opened against his will and he tried to move, freezing when he realised he was still wrapped up in Mingjue’s arms, his head pillowed on Mingjue’s chest. Xichen could not help but reach up, wrapping his fingers around Mingjue’s wrist and feeling for the major spiritual vein.

The roaring in his ears only ceased when he felt the steadiness of Mingjue’s qi thumping against his, so very unlike what it used to feel like, trembling and shaky as if it were ready to tear him apart from the inside out at any minute. Xichen breathed a sigh of relief, lifting Mingjue’s hand to his lips. He untangled himself, hiding a smile when Mingjue stirred, groaning.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “It is only mao shi.”

“You sleep,” Mingjue grumbled and Xichen was barely able to dart away in time.

Mingjue opened one eye to glower and Xichen’s heart lifted. Unable to help himself, he leaned down and brushed a lock of Mingjue’s hair behind his ear before pressing a kiss to his forehead. It was too forward of him, a Lan, and the gesture made his own ears burn. But Mingjue looked so quietly shocked that it made the embarrassment at his own sheer audacity worth it.

“I will see you at breakfast,” Xichen murmured, backing away before Mingjue could say another word. When he was certain that Mingjue had fallen asleep, he removed the ribbon from his forehead, looping it twice around Mingjue’s left wrist before securing it.

His heart thumping, Xichen replaced the ribbon around his forehead with a spare one and stepped outside into the morning sun.

Wangji was quiet when he appeared to take breakfast together, the mask of grief pulled over him once more and Xichen could not help the twinge of guilt that pulled in his chest. Here he was so delighted that his love was returned, when his brother’s heart was ripped away the moment Wei gongzi fell.

He did not know how else to comfort him, knowing now that Wei gongzi had been right all along. The Jins were to blame for most of this, but Xichen could not shake the thought that if only he had been more forthright, been more willing to listen to Mingjue xiong, to Wei gongzi, to Wangji. If he had been strong enough to oppose when Jin Guangshan demanded the Wen remnants, perhaps all those tragedies could have been avoided.

A-Yuan was watching him with big eyes as Xichen poured tea, leaning in to whisper something to Wangji. Xichen could not hear what he had said, but it made Wangji’s lips twitch into an almost smile and a knot in Xichen’s chest loosened.

Wei gongzi might be dead, but there was no denying whose son A-Yuan was. He would live on, and Xichen would make sure of it. A-Yuan would grow up well fed and spoilt by a family who loved him and cared nothing for his last name, as Wei gongzi no doubt would have wanted. If he had to, Xichen would spend the rest of his life making up for the mistakes, the horrors that A-Yuan had to experience at such a young age.

“Xichen.” The call made him blink and Xichen looked up to see Shufu watching him from across the table, his brows furrowed in concern. “Do you feel unwell?”

“No, Shufu,” Xichen said truthfully.

“You must still visit the infirmary later,” Shufu said. “To ensure the spell left no lasting damage.”

He frowned.

“Where is Chifengzun? I was told he arrived late last night. If he intends to join this family, then he must follow our rules!”

Xichen’s face heated and he ducked, biting down hard on his lower lip. Wangji must have told him of the letter of courtship that he had handed to Mingjue without Xichen’s express permission. While Xichen wished that he could have told his uncle in a better circumstance, he was relieved that there was no opposition from his uncle.

“I’m here! I fell back asleep after Lan Huan– Xichen–.”

“Sit down,” Shufu said, and his eyes narrowed on Mingjue’s arm but thankfully, he said nothing else. Mingjue shot Xichen a sheepish look before settling down beside him, close enough for their thighs to brush.

There was so much work to be done, but Xichen had never felt more at peace then, sitting at the breakfast table with all of his family.