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Chapter Text

Since his youth, Lan Xichen had imagined his wedding.

If pressed, he would probably attribute it to his mother; one evening, as a story she offered during one of the rare evenings he’d been permitted to stay at her home overnight, she told him the story of the most elaborate wedding she’d ever attended, sparing no details. He dreamt of it that evening, his imagination spinning a story of such grandeur that he’d woken himself up with his own excitement. He’d detailed all his ideas for his own wedding to his indulgent mother that morning, escalating in volume and speed until he’d nearly lost consciousness from his failure to take a breath. In ensuant years, he’d mitigated some of his more fanciful ideas, if not his enthusiasm, and now only found himself waiting for one of his two potential bridegrooms to come to their senses.

Wangji, however, had never seemed interested in either marriage as a concept of weddings in particular. Which made it very odd when, one morning while walking through Caiyi Town, he came to a halt to watch a procession the next street over.

Lan Xichen had, until recently, enjoyed the distinguishment of being one of very few people who could confidently interpret the various silences of his brother’s mood and expressions. Surprised that he only caught the barest glimpse of Wangji’s feelings, what struck him was a deep sense of desperate longing.

He supposed it wasn’t much of a secret for whom his brother’s heart longed.

“Wangji?” he said, balancing gentle and curious as best he could. If Wangji perceived him as condescending or pushy, he’d shut down and any hope Lan Xichen had of having a real conversation.

Wangji’s attention briefly flickered his way. “Mn?”

“Is…” He paused. “Do you think this might be something you want?”

Wangji looked momentarily pained, then stood his head and strode away. Cursing himself silently, Lan Xichen hurried to follow.

The moment, despite passing quickly, stuck with him throughout the remainder of the day and well into the evening, past curfew and his usual easy slip into sleep. For far too long, he’d worried over his brother’s happiness. Wangji armoured himself with stoicism, unwilling to obviously show any small satisfaction for fear of it being stripped away like every other joy in his life. Had it started when Cloud Recesses burned? Or long before, on his knees outside their mother’s door, destined to never again open?

Too much.

More than his own happiness, Lan Xichen wished for Wangji to be content. Actual happiness seemed too much of a stretch, for all he’d sacrifice quite a bit for Wangji to be happy, but contentment surely wasn’t beyond reach?

He thought again to the wedding. To the split-second moment when Wangji had allowed himself to be vulnerable, and then to the last moment Lan Xichen saw his brother looking at something with such naked want, and the man who’d inspired it. He'd always suspected that Wei Wuxian meant more to Wangji than his brother admitted, but Lan Xichen had begun willfully overlooking such things since Wei Wuxian's attack on the Qiongqi Pass encampment. He hoped, rather than expected, his brother to see the particular evils of Wei-gongzi as a potential cultivation partner, but now that he thought of it, his brother's rare expressions of joy had faded away entirely since Wei Wuxian's retreat to the Burial Mounds.

Lan Xichen stood and began pacing his room.

What could be done? While the Wen cultivators he'd freed were almost certainly capable of looking after themselves, it didn't change the fact that Wei Wuxian had sided against righteousness by releasing them in the first place. Without some means of, of, of... redeeming him--or at least bringing him and his unorthodox to heel--he certainly wasn't the sort of man who would be a suitable partner for Wangji. And how did one go about doing such a thing?

He came to an abrupt standstill. Because, of course, the most logical way of doing so neatly solved both problems.

He decided, with a smile curving his lips, perhaps ‘happiness’ wasn’t nearly as far out of reach as he feared.

He left the next morning for Lotus Pier and arrived with only moments to spare before Sect Leader Jiang left. His dress suggested a serious matter—he’d only seen Jiang Wanyin so attired during formal events, though he wore scuffed boots hidden by the drape of his robes which seemed to indicate that, wherever he was going had a deficit of decent flooring.

He frankly looked more relieved than irritated to have his departure interrupted.

"Zewu-jun," he greeted, ushering Lan Xichen into a small side parlour off the main hall. "What brings you to Lotus Pier?"

Lan Xichen, calmly and succinctly, described both his problem and his solution, watching with morbid fascination as Jiang Wanyin’s facial expression morphed from incredulous to bewildered to outraged.

“Your brother, all this time, hasn’t been trying to take Wei Wuxian back to Cloud Recesses to punish him?”

Lan Xichen didn’t know why that was so hard to conceive. “Of course not." He did not want to go so far as to declare Wangji's love of Wei Wuxian, but only Wangji deserved to be the first one to say the words aloud.

“Unbelievable,” Jiang Wayin muttered under his breath. “Just. Fuck." He looked up. "So he’s an idiot.”

Lan Xichen would have loved to defend his brother, but the more he thought of Wangji's general approached to such things—and how they might be perceived from someone already inclined to think ungenerously of Wangji, themselves, and the world at large—found no recourse to do so.

“You see the problem?” Jiang Wanyin continued. “Your brother is an idiot. My brother is an idiot. And we think that it’s to the benefit of the world at large for them to get married and subject us all to their joint idiocy?”

“Perhaps not,” Lan Xichen said slowly. Jiang Wanyin looked disappointed, apparently hopeful that Lan Xichen would disagree, but the expression eased when he continued, “But it is to the benefit of the two of them.”

Jiang Wanyin sat back and considered this closely. Occasionally, Zidian sparked upon his wrist, though idly.

“Jiang Ping!” he finally hollered. One of his disciples immediately stuck his head in the door. “Go to Yiling and tell your Da-Shixiong that I won’t be available to attend to his bullshit today.”

Jiang Ping looked, in a word, gleeful. “Yes, zongzhu!”

After a moment, Jiang Wanyin said, “And stop by the treasury and take out three months’ worth of Da-Shixiong’s stipend. Tell him that as long as he’s a member of this sect, he’s not allowed to shame us by looking like a pauper.”

Some of the glee faded, “Ah, but zongzhu—”

“And tell him,” Jiang Wanyin interrupted, “That until I say he’s not, then he’s a fucking member and the only reason I’m letting him get away with slacking is because I am busy doing his fucking job for him.”

The glee returned. Jiang Ping bowed and took off at a run, possibly afraid of Jiang Wanyin changing his mind.

Lan Xichen, sure he'd missed something important but unwilling to be distracted from his main purpose, continued, “I’m sure the particulars can be arranged in time now that we’re both in agreement.”

“Fuck no they cannot.” Lan Xichen frowned and Jiang Wanyin rolled his eyes. “My sister is still waiting for a formal offer of marriage from LanlingJin, because Jin Zixuan is somehow managing to be a bigger idiot than our brothers combined. But he, at least, is within speaking distance of her and has his mother pushing him to start a formal courtship. We need to get this negotiated as soon as possible or we’re going to be running up against planning for my sister’s wedding and that Will. Not. Happen.”

“Understood,” Lan Xichen said faintly.

“Furthermore, unless we get them married quickly, Jin Guangshan is going to continue with his bullshit about the Yin Tiger Tally and try to make a point of demanding it as part of the marriage negotiations, something we’re only going to be able to avoid if it’s already technically part of the arrangements between YunmengJiang and GusuLan.”

“Wouldn’t that have been a problem before I suggested this?” Lan Xichen asked.

Jiang Wanyin’s fist clenched, a few sparks of purple light dancing around Zidian. “Let’s just say that, today, you had excellent timing.”

Blood still humming with the strength of his relief, Jiang Cheng expected the betrothal agreement to be relatively straight forward. Wei Wuxian and, ugh, Lan Wangji would marry out of and spend the rest of their lives together in Lotus Pier being sickening and competent and infuriating.

The first stumbling block came when Lan Xichen suggested otherwise, only a few minutes into the conversation.

“Obviously they will be married out of Gusu and reside in Cloud Recesses.”

“Like hell!” Jiang Cheng snapped, a relatively mild reaction compared to what he wanted to say, which involved punctuating his points with Sandu. Sheathed, given that he and Zewu-jun were apparently going to be brothers. Hopefully this one would be less frustrating than Wei Wuxian.

“Jiang-zongzhu—”

“Lan-zongzhu—” Jiang Cheng interrupted in a falsetto tone. “Fuck off with that. If we’re going to be family, you can call me by name and then explain what the fuck you’re thinking. I’ll just be getting Wei Wuxian back. Why would I agree to let him marry into GusuLan?”

“Wangji is my heir,” Lan Xichen stated simply.

"And who exactly do you think mine is?"

"Your sister, presumably." Lan Xichen smiled beatifically. "I am not suited to marrying a woman, and he will therefore remain my heir.”

"I am also not planning to marry a woman." He'd spent far too long terrorizing every matchmaker between here and Moling to let that effort go to waste now. "And unless my sister is made to be very, very unhappy, she will eventually marry out." And woebetide Jin Zixuan and his entire fucking plague of gold-robed shitheads if his sister was made to be even in the least bit unhappy because he would salt the fucking earth where Koi Tower once stood.

“Does that not put us both on equal footing?”

Jiang Cheng’s lips narrowed into a line. This was going to be more complicated than he’d expected, given the stubborn set to Lan Xichen’s jaw. Jiang Cheng had spent a year with Lan Wangji during the guest lectures, and then a million years three months fighting side by side with him while they’d looked for Wei Wuxian. He knew exactly how stubborn men from their family could be.

“I’m going to ask my sister to join us for future negotiations.”

“Very well,” Lan Xichen said. “I will begin drafting the agreement for your approval in the meantime.”

If Lan Xichen wanted to put his time into something that his sister would doubtless devastate during the proceedings, Jiang Cheng was willing to allow it. A-Jie only allowed her ruthless side to come out when it came to things involving either him and Wei Wuxian.

“Let’s reconvene next week, then,” he said.

“Agreed.” Lan Xichen collected the scant notes they’d put together and then stood. Before he turned to leave, though, his expression softened. “I know we’re both arguing in good faith for the happiness of our brothers, Jiang Wanyin.”

Ugh, this level of sincerity gave him hives. This was why he needed A-Jie around. “Yeah, well. You’ve made it so that I don’t have to do something drastic. So. Thanks.”

They bowed to one another, and Lan Xichen left the room.

Shufu did Lan Xichen the very great honour of listening to the entire plan without interrupting, despite the way his face grew increasingly stormy with every word.

“What you are saying,” he said once Lan Xichen had presented the entire plan, “Is that I have spent countless hours since they were both seventeen trying to keep them apart and you’ve taken it upon yourself to utterly confound my efforts?”

Lan Xichen blinked slowly. “I did not realize it had been an intentional campaign on your part, Shufu.”

Lan Qiren, had he been a less seasoned instructor and sect leader, would have probably sighed hard enough to shake the walls. Lan Xichen saw it in his eyes. Instead, he merely crossed his arms over his chest.

“Your brother,” he said slowly, “Reminds me of your father in his youth.” Lan Xichen felt a wash of cold. “I wanted to prevent them from suffering the same tragedy as your parents.”

Was there not a single person besides himself who understood Wangji? He’d begun to suspect that his was a singular skill.

“Wangji wouldn’t—”

“Perhaps not, but I thought the same of your father. And when Wei Wuxian began his foray into demonic cultivation, I could see Wangji’s desire to take drastic action and speculated with regards to where those drastic actions would have led.” His lips twitched unhappily. “It has been my personal experience that absence is the most effective means of avoiding tragedy in our family.”

Lan Xichen’s mind flitted, briefly, to A-Yao and Mingjue before he ruthlessly tamped down the thought. “They would be entering this marriage as equals, Shufu. The head disciple and family member of YunmengJiang and the head disciple and sect heir of GusuLan. It won’t be the same.”

His uncle stroked his chin before his shoulders dropped and he inclined his head. “Please recite discipline one hundred and twenty-one.”

“Alcohol is prohibited in Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen obediently recited. Was this, perhaps, a last ditch effort on his uncle’s part to remind him of why Wei Wuxian would not be a decent partner? More than once guest disciple had broken that particular rule, after all, a fact of which Lan Xichen prepared himself to remind Shufu.

“And the punishment for its countervention?”

“Eighteen strokes with the discipline ruler.”

His uncle leaned over and pried up one of his floorboards, revealing a small jar of wine nestled amongst a trove of tiny treasures. Before Lan Qiren closed it back up, he caught a brief glimpse of a small line drawing of his uncle looking furious, his goatee lying at his feet.

He uncapped the wine. “Tell the elders to prepare the bastinadoes.”

Lan Xichen scrambled to obey.

Wangji himself sought him out later that evening, looking pensive as usual.

“Xiongzhang,” he greeted. I wish to discuss a concern.”

“Oh?” Xichen blinked up owlishly from his correspondence. “Are you well?”

“Mn. I have been considering the matter of Wei Wuxian."

"Oh, good!" Obviously Wangji had heard of his trip to Yunmeng. Wanting to circumvent any possible chance of misunderstanding, Lan Xichen held out his first draft of the marriage agreement. "What do you think of this?"

Wangji looked it over. "It is... a reasonable start to negotiations.” He sounded unconvinced. Of course, he’d likely be willing to make an unreasonable number of concessions to Lotus Pier for the (dubious) privilege of marrying Wei Wuxian, but while Lan Xichen did want the best for his younger brother, he had to make sure the interests of GusuLan were protected.

"You see no concerns?"

Wangji’s lips tightened. "It seems incomplete."

“It,” Lan Xichen murmured, accepting it when Wangji passed the document back to him. Of course. There were too many angles to consider, especially considering the statuses of the parties involved. Little wonder Jiang Wanyin had called upon his sister for aid. "It does seem incomplete.” Well, since Jiang Wanyin had the benefit of additional insight by way of Jiang Yanli… “Perhaps I might have A-Yao take a look at it."

Wangji nodded in approval and left him to pen his message to Lanling.

Twin messages arrived at Koi Tower at the same time; one for Maiden Jiang and one for Guangyao. Jin Zixuan met the servant on the way to the main hall and, hoping to do Maiden Jiang a kindness without having to go out of his way to figure one out, agreed to take them both.

The one for Maiden Jiang wasn’t unusual, save for its timing. Jiang Wanyin habitually wrote to her once a week to complain about Wei Wuxian, the other Jiang disciples, Wei Wuxian, the state of Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian, the lotus harvest, Wei Wuxian, whatever else had recently offended him, and Wei Wuxian. His last letter had been curiously absent references to their brother, which had worried both Jin Zixuan and A-Li more than a little (although she was the only one willing to admit it), but she’d barely had a moment to sit down and draft a reply before this new one came in. Hopefully whatever new and egregious offense Wei Wuxian had advertently caused simply merited its own letter.

The one addressed to Guangyao had such exquisite calligraphy that Jin Zixuan assumed it had come from Zewu-jun. Letters addressed directly to Guangyao only came in rarely, although he somehow always managed to end up with more than his fair share anyway. He’d been rather unsettled by a letter from Yunping a few days ago; while he’d immediately requested an audience with their father after reading it over, their father had claimed to be far too busy and instead put Guangyao off indefinitely. Jin Zixuan couldn’t recall if his half-brother had asked again. Hopefully whatever Zewu-jun had to say would merit a bit more understanding.

This early, they were both taking breakfast in the main hall, a typical morning overseen by his father and mother. While he still hadn’t found a natural way to request the honour of Maiden Jiang’s hand in marriage (he’d started wondering if he shouldn’t consider digging up a pond and planting some lotuses), her presence in Koi Tower made everything more pleasant. His mother was happier. His father appreciated the political sway their union would offer and had thus been aggressively courteous around her. Even Guangyao seemed to enjoy her company and as far as Jin Zixuan knew, the only other things Guangyao legitimately enjoyed were paperwork and Zewu-jun.

(Perhaps he needed to make more of an effort to get to know his half-brother.)

He delivered the letters and took the seat next to his mother, angling his shoulders just enough to get the best view of Maiden Jiang as she rolled out the letter. Her mouth opened slightly, a smile curving across her lips; sunrise over a picturesque horizon.

Jin Zixuan picked up his bowl and took a much larger bite of his meal than he intended. His mother tutted at his distended cheeks. To avoid further instances of it and save himself from her ire, he turned to look at Guangyao. His half-brother’s expression looked the exact inversion to Maiden Jiang’s, although his eyes were a bit wider, horror in place of joy. His dimples disappeared when he frowned. Jin Zixuan wasn’t sure why he found that troubling.

“Please excuse me,” Maiden Jiang and Guangyao said nearly at the same time. Their eyes met across the room and they smiled at one another in odd kinship. Jin Zixuan’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. He took another oversized bite, only for his mother to hiss at him and prod his side in irritation.

“Oh? What could be so important as to pull my honoured guest away from breakfast?” Jin Guangshan asked. “And you, Guangyao.”

“I will have to return to Lotus Pier,” Maiden Jiang said. The sinking feeling in Jin Zixuan’s gut intensified. “It appears I am needed for marriage negotiations for my didi.”

“Oh, Wanyin has finally found a woman willing to take him, has he?” Jin Guangshan laughed.

Jin Zixuan winced, both over the informal address and the tone of his father’s voice. His father tried his best when Jin Zixuan’s mother was present, but sometimes forgot that not everyone had the same… relaxed sense of humour.

Hopefully Maiden Jiang wouldn’t be offended.

A quick look confirmed that yes, she was offended. He could tell by the way her smile flattened and her eyes lost their warmth. Oh no.

“Forgive me, Jin-zongzhu, but it is A-Xian for whom we will be conducting negotiations,” she said.

His father’s face lost all humour.

“Guangyao!” Jin Zixuan choked, hoping to avoid what would surely be disaster. “I suppose your letter was also interesting?”

Guangyao’s smile hastily snapped back into place when the room’s attention turned his way. “Ah, forgive me Jin-gongzi—” He really hated how Guangyao referred to him as ‘Jin-gongzi.’ He needed to do something about that. Somewhere outside of his mother’s hearing. “—But I have also been asked to assist with this delicate matter.”

Oh no.

“No one in this room will be involved in anything to do with that bastard Wei unless it is to see him brought to justice for his crimes!” Jin Zixuan’s father thundered.

Guangyao clutched Zewu-jun’s letter in his hands, obviously hoping to be forgotten.

Winter brought with it less chill than the icy glare than Maiden Jiang aimed at his father. “Forgive me, Jin-zongzhu,” she said in devastating quiet. The whole room strained to hear her, gentry and servants alike, “But I have not married into this family and you are not within your rights to dictate my movements. I will be returning to Yunmeng. Should I ever return—” Here she cut a very brief glance at Jin Zixuan, and he despaired that her eyes held no kindness for him, “—Then it will be as Wei Wuxian’s sister or not at all.”

She bowed, stiff but polite, and left without another word.

“Guangshan, do something,” Jin Zixuan’s mother hissed.

“I will do something. I will see that bastard dead before he can further upset things,” Jin Guangshan growled.

“Not if you wish for our son to marry Jiang-guniang.”

“Well perhaps I shouldn’t wish it!” (Jin Zixuan had often not wished it himself, but had mercifully come to his senses and his heart clenched at the idea of now marrying anyone else.) “Perhaps we should remind YunmengJiang how much they owe us for our kindness!”

If those sentiments ever got back to Jiang Wanyin, Jin Zixuan thought, that would truly be the end of any hopes he might have for marrying Jiang Yanli.

“Father,” Guangyao said, low and conciliatory, “Please, allow me to go and assist Zewu-jun. This may very well be nothing more than a quickly-resolved act of poor judgement on behalf of our allies. A gentle reminder of what’s at stake should they see this through may return everyone to their senses.”

His father sniffed. “Fine. Go. But if you return without results then you may consider that matter in Yunping to be beneath my notice.”

Jin Zixuan had never seen anyone pale that quickly. He nearly stood to be ready in case Guangyao fainted. Instead, his half-brother merely bowed with the same picture-perfect precision as Maiden Jiang, and followed her out of the room.

He passed Zixun as their cousin walked into the room, yawning and rubbing his eyes, casting his gaze about for tea. “Did I miss something?” he asked.

Jin Zixuan dropped his head into his hands.

A-Jie arrived before Lan Xichen did, thankfully, looking harried from the carriage ride between Lanling and Yunmeng, but unwilling to rest before speaking with him. He greeted her with a tight embrace, relieved beyond words to have her back at home.

“We’re stuck,” he admitted once they’d settled into his private receiving room. Jiang Cheng had waited nearly a week to talk to her about it, and wanted nothing more than to get his sister’s input.

(Lies. He very truly wanted both his brother and sister home, in Lotus Pier, to stay.)

“I can see that,” she said, looking over everything Jiang Cheng had hastily scribbled down after the fact, since Lan Xichen had taken the original notes. “He does have a point about Hanguang-jun. The status of sect heir, even presumptive, is important when it comes to such negotiations.”

He knew that. He just didn’t always believe it. Maybe because he’d never felt all that important when it came to his own place as sect heir back when his parents had still been alive. To his father, Wei Wuxian had always been front and centre. For his mother, she’d been so obsessed with the failings of the world around her that the only reason she ever bothered acknowledging him was to make a point to his father. Usually a point about Wei Wuxian.

Unfilial as it might be, he'd thought all this would be easier when he’d stepped in as Jiang-zongzhu. His mother would say that Wei Wuxian made it harder, but he knew his brother: he wanted to make it easier for him. It’s why he’d taken off to the fucking Burial Mounds instead of brining the Wen back to Lotus Pier. It was why he’d come up with the idea of the fake fucking fight and asked to be kicked out of YunmengJiang. All to make things easier. Since he felt like a burden. Had always been made to feel like a burden. Because Jiang Cheng never had the words to contradict such bullshit.

Fuck.

“Zewu-jun is bringing Lianfang-zun to assist with his portion of the negotiations,” A-Jie said.

“That’s even worse!” Jiang Cheng yelled. She quelled him with a pointed look and he sighed and forced out, more quietly, “That’s even worse! Shit.”

“A-Cheng,” A-Jie chided gently. “Profanity is not going to get us anywhere.”

(Maybe cursing wouldn’t get them anywhere, but it certainly made him feel better.)

“With Jin Guangyao involved, I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up giving them everything in Lotus Pier, up to and including the algae on the south pier!” A-Jie didn’t argue and Jiang Cheng’s stomach fell.

“I will admit that Jin Guangyao has a very sharp mind,” A-Jie said. He squinted incredulously her way at the enormity of the understatement. “Is there anyone we know who might be similarly helpful?”

Not in Lotus Pier. They didn’t even have any elders left to help them along after the Wen attack. He’d been mostly muddling his way through things, recently without A-Jie and Wei Wuxian; he barely had time to train the disciples—which should have been the job of his fucking absent head disciple—and deal with all the other bullshit sect leaders apparently dealt with on the daily. No one he knew could match wits with Lianfang-zun, except maybe…

Huh. Except maybe the one person he knew who’d spent years matching wits with Lianfang-zun, even if he’d never admit to being any good at it.

“I have an idea.”

When Jiang Cheng’s letter arrived at the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang pondered over it for only a few minutes before ordering his travel arrangements.

He then went in search of Da-ge.

Nie Huaisang was keenly aware that his brother, for all he loved him, sometimes came across as somewhat unyielding—

(He refused to acknowledge the voice in the back of his mind, the one which sounded like Jiang Cheng, which did not speak so much as very loudly roll its eyes.)

—And Meng Yao had gone about the matter of their deceased captain entirely wrong. Had he just mentioned something to Nie Huaisang, it would have been dealt with. Nie Huaisang (probably) wouldn’t have murdered the man, but he’d have taken great pains to prevent Meng Yao from having any further issues. But Meng Yao had been raised to be completely self-sufficient, to the extent that he believed that he had to deal with matters on his own. And, when backed into a corner, injured animals tended to bite.

Despite the unfortunate sequence of events, Nie Huaisang had never fully given up on the hope of Meng Yao eventually becoming his brother-in-law (much in the same way he’d entertained the same hope about Lan Xichen since he’d been six years old and read his first romantic poem, which his mother had accidentally left out. At the time, he hadn’t been quite sure what about clouds and rain merited an entire poem, but he’d liked the idea of it. Rain had always been vital in the Unclean Realm, after all.) He liked Meng Yao. Jin Guangyao was still an unknown element; he didn’t think anyone ever really went into Koi Tower and came out the same, but he hoped that Jin Guangshan hadn’t completely ruined his San-ge yet.

He found Da-ge hunched over his desk. He spent far too much time hunched over his desk lately. One way or another, he needed someone to help deal with sect business or he’d drive himself into an early grave. How fortunate this entire affair had given Nie Huaisang such an excellent chance to do something about it.

“Da-ge, I’ve been asked to help with marriage negotiations. I’ll give San-ge your best wishes.”

He turned to flutter back out of the room and only paused in step when he heard Da-ge’s strangled cough behind him.

“A-Ya—Jin Guangyao is getting married?”

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know the details yet,” Nie Huaisang simpered, coaching his voice into the tone he’d designed for deliberate irritation (Da-ge never thought clearly when irritated), “But my presence has been requested in Lotus Pier. I suppose that Sect Leader Jin won’t bother himself with attending such an important event.”

His brother knew all his tells well enough to know he was lying, thus Nie Huaisang found the very best way to address this incredible inconvenience was to avoid lying at all costs.

“Jin Guangshan isn’t even going?” Da-ge asked first, followed quickly by, “Lotus Pier?!”

Nie Huaisang whipped out his fan and proceeded to wave it at his face. “It’s all very sudden. I’ve been wondering about whether San-ge is truly happy in Koi Tower. I’m not sure how he could be, when they treat him little better than a servant.”

Meng Yao had never been a servant in the Unclean Realm. He’d been a deputy. He’d been important. So important that Da-ge hadn’t managed to replace him in the years since he’d been gone. Da-ge insisted he didn’t need the help. Nie Huaisang, being much more polite than his brother, didn’t call out the lie.

“So he’s going to marry into Yunmeng?” Da-ge stood as he spoke, Baxia rattling in her stand. “Who?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Da-ge, but with Wei-xiong missing—” ‘Missing’ until Sect Leader Jiang told the world otherwise, which Nie Huaisang imagined had now been indefinitely delayed due to aforementioned wedding negotiations, “—and Jiang Yanli obviously still besotted with Jin-xiong—” Nie Huaisang saw the appeal, but only in the same way he saw the appeal of keeping red-crowned crane, which were lovely birds, but also wholly stupid, “—I guess that leaves—”

“Jiang Wanyin?!” Da-ge barked. “A-Yao cannot marry Jiang Wanyin.”

Nie Huaisang blinked in what he hoped was an artless fashion. Not that it mattered, Da-ge was far too agitated to notice even the most obvious lack of sincerity. “Why not? He’d be such an asset as a sect leader’s spouse. He’s clever. He knows all there is about political nuance. He’s excellent at hosting…” He’d mentioned attractive, too, but Da-ge would definitely catch on if he laid it on too thick and, frankly, probably didn’t need the reminder. “Truly, the ideal match for any sect leader.” Oh, too thick?

No. Da-ge only looked more outraged. “But Jiang Wanyin?”

“What’s wrong with Jiang-xiong?” Nie Huaisang demanded. Even if this entire conversation was supposed to rile Da-ge up, it didn’t mean he had to be rude.

“He’s… not right. For A-Yao.”

“Hmm,” Nie Huaisang waved his fan. “I suppose they are very different.” He loved Jiang Cheng, but San-ge would eat him for breakfast and still have room for seconds. “But only another sect leader might stand a chance of protecting him from his father. If he’s truly desperate, he might see it as his only chance—”

Baxia shook harder.

Time to land the killing blow. “—Unless Er-ge steps in.”

Within the hour, Nie Mingjue had made arrangements for Nie Zonghui to deal with matters in his absence and they’d set out for Yunmeng together.

Meng Yao—he supposed he should truly start thinking of himself as Jin Guangyao, given how long he’d desperately wanted the recognition, but in the past few months it had become abundantly obvious to him that he’d been legitimized for political reasons instead of personal ones, and it was challenging to not to continue thinking of himself as a bastard when multiple persons, including the man who’d supposedly legitimized him, reminded of it every day—expected that he’d be able to neatly deal with this entire affair in a reasonably short amount of time.

He bore Wei Wuxian no grudge. In many ways, he admired the other man. No one else of Meng Yao’s acquaintance managed such disconcerting goodness and untamed morality. If he’d been slightly cleverer about it, Meng Yao would consider him a true threat.

However, as tended to be the way with heroes, his goodness made him stupid. As he’d proven by absconding with the Wen remnants after making a spectacle of himself in the middle of Jin Guangshan’s banquet hall. Leaving a poor impression upon important people and then behaving in a way that made no sense to selfish people—for Meng Yao doubted all but a handful of the attendees could conceive of rescuing the downtrodden for no reward, and he’d sworn brotherhood with most of them—only served to earn him enemies.

Meng Yao did not like to think of himself as anyone’s enemy. He wanted to be respected and well thought of. But the more time he spent in Koi Tower, the more he’d begun to realize that in its own way, such a philosophy was similarly stupid and he’d likely have to start being more ruthless if he meant to stay in his father’s favour. At least until he’d secured something more of a stable position, in which case he’d already entertained more than one idea of how he might help his father along to his next life.

(Possibly Jin Zixun, too, though that would be less of a necessity and more a genuine pleasure.)

He did his best to calculate the arrival of Lan Xichen and tried to aim for roughly the same time, hoping to avoid being left alone with the Jiang siblings. Their unbearable genuinity troubled him in ways little else did. Jiang Wanyin was reliable in his temper and dedication to his family. Jiang Yanli in her kindness and the same. Meng Yao did not know what to do with people who wore their hearts so openly, save fall in love, and he’d already quite neatly fucked himself over on that account. Twice.

When his boat pulled up to the sect seat—he found riding the sword more efficient but less dignified—he alighted upon the dock and cast a look around, his gaze immediately drawn to the broad-shouldered and familiar shape of Nie Mingjue, stood just inside the gates, speaking furiously with Nie Huaisang.

They both noticed him at the same time.

“San-ge!” Nie Huaisang called in greeting. He swept over, poised to launch himself into Meng Yao’s arms. “Jiang-zongzhu was called away on a night hunt, but they’re expecting him back late tonight. One of the disciples has just gone to look for Jiang-guniang. I’m afraid negotiations will have to wait until tomorrow.” He tapped Meng Yao’s arm with his fan. “You must be so excited!”

“I…” Excited? When he now had to convince not only Jiang Wanyin and Lan Xichen about how terrible their scheme was, but now do so with Nie Mingjue breathing down his neck and watching for any sign of deception? “Yes. Very excited.”

…Had Nie Mingjue. Just. Growled?

“Such a good opportunity for you to showcase your abilities!”

Ah, Nie Huaisang was plotting something. Meng Yao didn’t consider him a particularly effective schemer, but he supposed being the spoiled Second Young Master of the most stubbornly honourable sect didn’t provide much chance for honing such skills.

Jiang Yanli arrived before Nie Mingjue could do more than simmer in his direction. Meng Yao wondered how he’d been able to antagonize his elder brother before doing more than offering a smile of greeting.

“A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue finally forced out.

“Da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue’s moustache twitched. “You don’t need to do this.”

Meng Yao did not betray his confusion; helping Er-ge would always be his top priority. “On the contrary, Da-ge. I have no other options.”

Suddenly afraid that he’d inadvertently brought about a qi deviation based on the swell of flabbergasted outrage on Da-ge’s face, Meng Yao hid a sigh of relief when Jiang Yanli arrived to greet them all. He’d always appreciated her effortless ability to put others at ease. Unfailingly kind, at least to those she considered worthy of her kindness, which seemed to encompass everyone save Jin Zixun to the best of his knowledge, she swept them all up with the simple power of her smile and ushered them to the guest wing.

She lingered just outside his door once she’d walked with him to his room, a well-appointed suite suited to a man of much higher station than a mere second son, barely accorded the respect of being called ‘young master.’

“Jin-er-gongzi,” she said with a neat little courtesy, “I know you’ve come to side with Zewu-jun, but I do hope you know that you are welcome to stay as long as you wish, even once our negotiations are concluded.”

He blinked at her. “Why would I stay?”

She offered him no pity, thankfully. He would not have been able to stand pity from anyone. “Why wouldn’t you?”

While his father had always behaved gallantly in her presence, he’d also made no secret of his disdain for Meng Yao. Jiang Yanli had always been perceptive.

“We have no official ties, Jiang-guniang. There is nothing formally in place to keep me here.”

“Such things can change,” she said.

With that, she reiterated the time for the evening meal, and disappeared back out the door, leaving Meng Yao alone to shoulder the considerable weight of her words.

Lan Xichen met him in the hall outside his room that evening on the way to dinner, and greeted him with a soft, “A-Yao,” and a stubborn insistence of catching his elbows before he could bow too low.

Meng Yao’s heart swelled, as it did whenever Lan Xichen touched him.

“I am very grateful,” Lan Xichen said. “I know your very presence will make these proceedings far more pleasant, not to mention easier for GusuLan.”

An uncomfortable sensation twisted up his guts. He wasn’t here to make things easier. He was here to confound every good intention Lan Xichen had at trying to make Lan Wangji happy. Instead of saying as much, he merely plastered on a smile and followed him to the dining hall, where Jiang Yanli waited with Da-ge and Nie Huaisang.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Jiang Yanli said with a sweet smile. “It means the world to my brothers and I.” She lifted her cup to toast them and they all quickly followed suit. “When A-Cheng returns tomorrow, I know we’ll all do our very best to make sure this benefits all of us.”

Nie Mingjue’s hand tightened dangerously around his cup; Meng Yao feared for the porcelain.

Of everyone Meng Yao had met, only Jiang Yanli’s skill at hosting compared to his own. The meal passed smoothly, not a single hiccough or uncomfortable stall in the conversation, although only himself, Nie Huaisang, and Jiang Yanli carried it. Er-ge ate with his usual serenity. Nie Mingjue seemed oddly quiet. Once or twice, Meng Yao thought he felt the other man’s eyes on him, but whenever he looked Da-ge’s way, his plate commanded his full attention.

Destroying these people’s dreams would be uncomfortable, he realized abruptly. They all had hopes this would work for them; that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji would marry and the ensuing union presumably solve all the problems of the world. They were all counting on him to help facilitate this, one way or another.

And he could not help. Needed, in fact, to prematurely deadhead this romance to make space for his father’s growing ambitions. His father, who looked at him and only saw an abacus; someone from whom he could demand a solution to whatever petty inconveniences troubled him. This marriage, for example. Or Jin Zixun’s poorly-concealed impulse control issues, barely mollified by allowing him access to the camps they’d set up across Lanling in hopes of taking advantage of an enslaved people no one would bother to check upon.

“A-Yao?” Lan Xichen whispered at his side.

Meng Yao looked up in surprise. Lan Xichen nodded towards his hands and Meng Yao abruptly realized that he’d held the chopsticks tight enough they were close to snapping. They were not delicate pieces, either. How embarrassing.

He eased his grip and returned to eating, conspicuously aware that now both his sworn brothers were watching him.

Once dinner came to an end, Jiang Yanli had servants show them back to their guest quarters. Before Lan Xichen could do much more than offer his thanks, Nie Huaisang jumped into his space with calls for his assistance with preparations for tomorrow.

Nie Mingjue looked at his brother, betrayed. Meng Yao could not puzzle out why. Instead, he made his way to his own door.

Nie Mingjue caught up with him before he could step inside.

“A-Yao.”

It had been many years since he’d heard Nie Mingjue refer to him with any sort of warmth, let alone call him ‘A-Yao.’ “Hmm?”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Do…?” Had Nie Mingjue discovered that he’d come here to sabotage Er-ge’s efforts? Meng Yao would have thought Da-ge would be outraged by it, but instead he appeared terribly torn.

“This. Just. Come back to Qinghe.” Meng Yao’s eyes widened. “Come back with me. Stay with me. What could your father possibly be holding over you?”

Startled by the insight, impossibly so, Meng Yao blurted out the truth before he thought better of it. “My mother.”

Nie Mingjue leaned back, out of his space. Meng Yao missed the warmth immediately. “Your mother.”

“She’s still in the brothel. He’s said that… He won’t pay out her contract unless I…” Meng Yao’s shoulders heaved. “You can’t ask me to abandon her.”

“Do you think your father is the only sect leader with money? Or Jiang Wanyin?” Nie Mingjue grabbed his hands. Meng Yao’s eyes widened. “Did you think I wouldn’t have helped if I’d known she was still alive?”

All those years, Meng Yao had left his mother to suffer because he hadn’t even considered that Nie Mingjue would stoop to purchasing a prostitute to help a lowly deputy? No. No, he couldn’t bear it. His head fell forward, the brim of his hat pressing into Nie Mingjue’s collarbone. Nie Mingjue took a shaky breath, and then a broad arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“Say the word and we’ll go tonight,” Nie Mingjue promised. “Right now. I have enough money with me to do it.”

Meng Yao shook his head back and forth, pushing his hat higher up to rub his forehead against Nie Mingjue’s chest. Here, fate seemed to say, Have everything you’ve ever wanted. Damn your father.

He did not recognize his choked and heavy voice. “You’ll lose so much face.”

“What does it matter, if I have you?”

Meng Yao’s eyes squeezed shut in hopes of alleviating some of the burning in them. It didn’t help. A few treasonous tears managed to slip free regardless. “You hate me,” he gasped.

“I hate what you’re turning into,” Nie Mingjue said. Meng Yao wanted to pull away, to howl at the injustice and scratch at Nie Mingjue like an injured cat fighting for his last breath. He did not. He hated what he was turning into, as well. “I hate that you lied to me. Not only over Nie Beiou, but about what he’d put you through and your pain. That you had to debase yourself and get blood on your hands because you didn’t trust me.”

“I trust you,” Meng Yao protested. “I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

“Never,” Nie Mingjue said.

Slowly, tentatively, Meng Yao lifted his arms to wrap around Nie Mingjue. He had to lower them slightly to fit them all the way around Nie Mingjue’s torso. He squeezed as tight as he could, gratified when Nie Mingjue’s breath hitched. Not weak.

At least, not anymore.

“To Yunping, then,” he whispered. He pulled back and dashed the tears away from his eyes.

“And then to Qinghe.”

“No, I have to come back for tomorrow’s negotiations.” Nie Mingjue’s brow furrowed. And for all Meng Yao desperately wanted their lives together to start as soon as possible, he’d promised. “I have to help Er-ge with the contract for Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, otherwise Jiang Yanli is going to take Cloud Recesses for everything including the mountain it sits on.”

Nie Mingjue blinked, face twisting into confusion. “What.”

On the one hand, Jiang Yanli thought it was lovely that Nie Mingjue had stepped in to remove Jin Guangyao’s mother from her situation. She greeted them at the gates late that evening, shortly after a sentry arrived at her door to inform her that Chifeng-zun and Lianfang-jun had returned from an unexpected outing with a woman of questionable character. Unsure what to expect, Jiang Yanli had quickly re-dressed and followed the sentry back to the gates.

Meng Shi, as she was introduced, seemed nonplussed by her abrupt change in circumstances. She nevertheless smiled sweetly and greeted Jiang Yanli with the same perfect manners Jiang Yanli had come to expect from Jin Guangyao.

“You are very welcome to Lotus Pier,” Jiang Yanli said with a bow.

Jin Guangyao looked staggered by the courtesy, as he did every other time Jiang Yanli had been kind to him. She had hoped he’d consider her offer—A-Cheng could use someone with such a clever mind to assist in the daily running of the sect—but she suspected that Nie Mingjue had now neatly confounded such wishes.

“It might be more appropriate for us to stay in the inn,” Jin Guangyao said, looking over his shoulder towards the village.

“It is quite late. I insist you all stay here.” Jiang Yanli turned to Meng Shi. “Would Madam Meng prefer her own room?”

Meng Shi’s mouth twisted just slightly at the corners. “I’m sure there is room enough in the servant’s quarters for me.”

“Oh, no. You’re part of A-Yao’s family. Of course you must stay in the proper accommodations.” She smiled and offered her arm. “Please, the room next to mine is available. I see you don’t have many things with you. I’ll make sure you have everything you need for your present comfort.”

Her mother’s voice, never far from her thoughts, came to the forefront of her mind. A-Li! A prostitute! IN MY HOUSE?!

Yes, mother. Jiang Yanli felt much braver addressing the memory of her mother than she ever had speaking to Yu Ziyuan while she lived. All in the name of helping A-Xian and making sure he is happy and cared for.

The wind howled over the river. Jiang Yanli did not fear its rage; she’d spent far too long cowering before much worse.

She woke before any of their guests the following morning, save Lan Xichen, to make arrangements for the day’s first meal. When she left the kitchen to make her way to the dining hall, she found A-Cheng returning from his night hunt. After a brief hug, she looked him over for any injuries, relieved to find none. She followed him to his room. He didn’t have enough time for a proper soak, but she took the time to help him dress and order his hair, acquainting him with the events of the previous day.

“He’s going to find this so fucking funny,” A-Cheng said as she finished putting the guan in his hair. “Do…” He paused and clenched his fists, Zidian sparking. “Do you think if this works, Lan Wangji might make him happy? Really happy? Enough to…”

To, perhaps, finally tell them what was going on? If this drinking and shirking from responsibilities he’d been performing flawlessly since his fourteenth birthday were due to something other than the haunting memories of the war?

She hoped so. She wanted A-Xian to remember that they were family; at some point—she thought it probably had to do with her parents and their last words to him—he’d forgotten. Perhaps they’d asked too much of him during the war. Or, she feared, something truly terrible had happened during those unending three months he’d vanished.

When the war ended and they’d returned to Lotus Pier, she found herself in an uncomfortable, awkward place. Wanting A-Xian to come to her with his troubles, unwilling to push him but desperate to do so. Her parents had never shown her how to approach such a thing; she knew how to keep a sect running, entertain other leaders, cook… things that would make her a good wife and mother. Everything she’d learned about how to be a good sister she’d taught herself and in this instance she was woefully unprepared.

She kissed the back of A-Cheng’s head, but had no answer.

Lan Xichen had already been seated in the dining hall when she arrived and smiled genially when she took the seat next to him.

Jin Guangyao arrived to breakfast shortly after she did. While still dressed in gold, she caught the barest sliver of an olive-coloured underrobe. He’d forewent his hat, showing off hair which had been carefully arranged in the complicated Nie style. Interestingly, she noted, the crimson mark had not been reapplied.

Lan Xichen looked momentarily devastated, an expression quickly hidden behind a welcoming smile. He waved Jin Guangyao over. Jiang Yanli went to pour him tea, but Lan Xichen intercepted the attempt and poured a cup for all three of them.

“I sent word to your mother to invite her for breakfast, but she preferred to take it in her room this morning,” Jiang Yanli told him. Lan Xichen blinked in wide-eyed confusion. “She may join us this afternoon, depending on how the conversation goes. I understand she has strong opinions regarding silk.”

Jin Guangyao’s face lit up with a sincere smile; far truer than anything she’d seen in the last few weeks they’d lived together in Koi Tower. “Thank you, Jiang-gunian. I hope I shall be able to repay your kindness someday.”

She shook her head. “I’m sure anyone would do the same.”

“If that were true it would be a much better world.” He slanted a fond look towards Lan Xichen. “As I am here at Er-ge’s request, I cannot, of course, do less than my utmost to represent the interests of GusuLan during proceedings.”

Jiang Yanli hid a laugh behind her sleeve. “Of course, Jin-gongzi.”

“But I will find a way to repay you,” he promised, suddenly looking very serious.

She believed him.

“To properly honour my mother, I have decided to retake my mother’s family name. I hope you will oblige such an unorthodox eccentricity.”

Jiang Yanli inclined her head.

“Er-ge,” he said, “Da-ge and I were hoping to speak with you privately this evening. I’d like to spend some time with my mother, but after, perhaps?”

Lan Xichen’s shoulders relaxed from where they’d been perched, up close to his ears, since Meng Yao had walked into the room. “I would like that very much, A-Yao.”

A-Cheng, and the Nie brothers joined them shortly thereafter. Nie Huaisang looked suspiciously pleased with himself as he passed his gaze back and forth between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao; Jiang Yanli suspected that her brother’s choice of advocate would prove wise, indeed.

Once the meal finished, they elected to remain in the dining hall instead of squeezing into one of the formal meeting spaces. It felt good. Like a family coming together instead of a formal meeting. And while she’d never disrespect A-Xian or Lan Wangji by not considering the exercise with due decorum, she also liked the idea of tying them all closer together very much.

Jiang Yanli always imagined having a large family; a husband—Zixuan since her childhood, though in recent years the figure in her daydreams had become less defined—and at least three children. Children who could be children. She loved and honoured her parents and their memory, but she’d be lying if she didn’t wish that her mother had been a little kinder and her father a bit more assertive. She wanted her children to grow and thrive and carry on the proud traditions with which she’d been raised, without the burdens that came along with them.

Having this many people around her, who she could all reasonably call ‘brother’ in the future, made her heart sing.

Conversations began much as A-Cheng had described to her earlier, with the tricky prospect of how to wed the YunmengJiang Head Disciple with the GusuLan Sect Heir without taking away from either sect.

“I think you’re all focusing on the wrong things,” Nie Mingjue huffed after they’d gone back and forth for well over an hour. He’d sat back, content to be present but uninvolved until now. “Before you decide anything for them, you’re going to have to figure out what to do about all the Wen dogs Wei Wuxian made off with. Because I will tell you that no marriage, however planned or important, is going to hold up as a reason to forgive him for that.”

“Ah, Da-ge,” Meng Yao said quietly. “Perhaps… perhaps we should discuss that.” He cast a worried look at Nie Mingjue across the table. “At length.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “Discuss what? Your father made it clear what happened.”

Meng Yao’s usual smile disappeared.

Dear Jin-gongzi,

You would have doubtless heard by now, likely at great volume, of my decision to return to Qinghe once I have assisted in the completion of the marriage negotiations between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. It has become apparent that much of the situation was misunderstood, partly due to my own efforts, for which I feel our father and Jin Zixun may be held to account. While there has been no mention of your name in conjunction with the affair, I did want to advise you in advance, as there may be some discomfort to follow.

The negotiations have been very heated. Despite this, Lan Xichen has been very solicitous to Jiang-guniang. They seem exceedingly comfortable with one another, given that their temperaments are very complementary. Dare I suggest that more than one marriage might result due to this series of meetings? I’m sure your mother would agree that Jiang-guniang deserves every happiness.

Best,

Meng Yao.

“This is impressively evil, San-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, reading over his shoulder as he finished the letter.

“‘Evil’ is such a subjective notion,” Meng Yao said, handing the letter over to a servant for delivery.

Nie Huaisang hummed and slumped down across the table from him. “Did I see Xichen-ge leaving your bedroom this morning?”

Meng Yao cut a look his way. “You may have. It depends on whether or not you’d like me to begin speculating on why, exactly, Da-ge thought that I was the one over whom these negotiations were being conducted. If I thought there had been any chance of him being deliberately misled, I would have an obligation to share the fact.”

Nie Huaisang snapped his fan open with a huff. “Withdrawn.”

“I thought so.”

Jin Zixuan arrived early the next morning.

No one except Lan Xichen had managed to pull themselves out of bed; the previous day’s discussion had lasted well into the early morning and had been mostly sidetracked by the topic of flower arranging, a matter over which a surprising number of people had equally surprisingly heated opinions. Lan Xichen had left Mingjue and A-Yao sleeping, sore and perfect, to meditate and go through his usual sword forms to wake himself for the day.

Shortly after sunrise, one of the servants nervously came to fetch him, as the highest-ranked individual currently conscious. He gamely followed them to the gates to find Jin Zixuan standing just outside, looking uncomfortable and awkward only until he caught sight of Lan Xichen, at which case his spine stiffened and his eyes narrowed.

He greeted Lan Xichen coolly. Not abrupt enough to be called rude, but not far off it either. Lan Xichen might have been offended, had he not seen A-Yao and Huaisang poring over a letter the night before and sending it off to Lanling.

His suspicions regarding the contents of the aforementioned letter were confirmed a few uncomfortable hours later, once the rest of their party had awakened, and Jiang Yanli fixed A-Yao with a fond yet exasperated glare.

As per the last few mornings, he took his place beside Jiang Yanli. Being the two earliest risers, he’d enjoyed her company; genial and accommodating, as long as the matter of the wedding was not discussed. Jin Zixuan sat across from them, chewing resentfully but apparently unwilling to engage any of them in conversation.

After breakfast, Jin Zixuan invited himself to the day’s proceedings. He twitched towards the seat next to Jiang Yanli, but deferred at the last moment to take a place next to Mingjue against the far wall, glaring the entire while but unwilling to vocally express the exact cause for his discontent.

The matter of the Wen remnants, with A-Yao having come forward with the truth of the matter, no longer encumbered their efforts. With the Jiang, Nie, and Lan willing to offer clemency based on A-Yao’s testimony, they felt Wei Wuxian would agree with their proposal of offering the remaining Wen a small town in Yunmeng in which to live, with the understanding that any children would be absorbed into the Jiang to help rebuild their numbers. Although LanlingJin still controlled a vast amount of political power and territory, Jin Guangshan would be hard pressed to stand against all of them. Or so A-Yao said. And with his superior understanding of his father, Lan Xichen trusted they would have the advantage if he attempted to move against them.

With that decided, they were still stuck on the subject of succession.

No matter their decisions, Wangji remained Lan Xichen’s heir. He trusted his brother. He loved his brother. And while Lan Xichen had no desire for children, even considering his new assignation(s), he knew Wangji desperately wanted a family. One he might nurture and love, who needn’t worry about kneeling before a door which refused to open. He wanted that for his brother, desperately.

The problem was that Jiang Wanyin wanted the same.

And, with both of them already prepared to compete for the role of beloved and favoured uncle, no other heirs within sight, this presented a rather particular issue.

‘Succession’ as it turned out, was proving harder than any other part of the affair.

“I’m not planning to strike him from the Jiang family records,” Jiang Cheng stated. Anymore he added, privately, with the irrational fear that A-Jie would suddenly learn how to read minds and figure out what they’d been planning. “Which means that if A-Jie marries out—” They all deliberately avoided looking at Jin Zixuan, which seemed to ourtage him further, “—Wei Wuxian is my heir. I’m not—” Ever, “—getting married.”

Neither, he assumed from the besotted looks Lan Xichen kept trading with Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao, was the First Jade of Lan.

Finally, when it seemed like this—this one stupid fucking thing—was going to derail anything, Jin Zixuan of all people spoke up, “Just tell them they need to have a few kids and make them the heirs.”

Conversation ground to a halt.

Jiang Cheng had been largely ignoring the presence of Jin Zixuan since his arrival. Mostly because he didn’t want to think about why the asshole kept glaring at Lan Xichen the same way Lan Wangji used to glare at Mianmian. His sanity would not stand for it.

This, though. This he could admit wasn’t a terrible idea.

“Children,” Lan Xichen said, looking starry-eyed at the prospect of becoming an uncle, like Jiang Cheng wasn’t going to make sure he was the absolute favourite uncle of any kids Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian brought home. “Oh, I hadn’t even considered the prospect of them having children.”

Huh, and here Jiang Cheng had thought the Lans had rules against lying. From the sceptical looks everyone else passed him, they all felt the same way.

“We’ll compromise on the silver situation—” Jiang Cheng began. A-Jie blinked at him in surprise; he’d been absolutely insistent on using Yunmeng merchants for any silver ornamentation at the wedding, but Jiang Cheng suspected that unless he put in dibs, Wen Yuan was going to end up becoming the sect heir of GusuLan, “—if you agree that their first child can become my heir.”

Lan Xichen nodded, still obviously distracted by the thought of babies. “I feel that’s a reasonable compromise.”

Ha! That meant that little A-Yuan—whether he ended up being Wen, Wei, or Lan—was going to end up wearing purple.

“Thank you for the suggestion, Jin-gongzi,” Meng Yao said.

Jin Zixuan frowned down at his hands. “I suppose that, since you’re leaving Lanling, there’s not much chance of you ever calling me ‘brother’ now.”

Meng Yao blinked. “I hadn’t thought that to be something you’d want.”

Jin Zixuan’s face flushed. Before he could say anything (all probably stupid and hurtful), A-Jie pinned him with a warning look. He obviously hadn’t been on the receiving end of such a glare before, given how quickly he seemed to shrink from it. A-Jie had been far too concerned about winning him over in the past; with higher stakes than her own happiness—as far as A-Jie thought, anyway—she had less time for it.

“I thought the same,” Jin Zixuan mumbled.

Meng Yao glanced at Nie Mingjue, who tilted up his shoulders in a subtle shrug. “I suppose, one cannot have too many brothers.”

Or uncles, Jiang Cheng thought. A-Yuan seemed like he was going to have one for every day of the week.

It took another four days before they managed to complete the negotiations. Although overcoming the matter of succession had helped move things along, there were still far too many nuances and careful plans that needed to be arranged.

“Shufu will demand the destruction of the Yin Tiger Seal,” Lan Xichen pointed out.

“A-Xian won’t fight that,” Jiang Yanli said. She suspected, to the contrary, that he’d be overjoyed to have such a burden taken off his shoulders.

“Not as long as the Wens are safe,” Jiang Cheng agreed. “And better to have it destroyed than make it a target for theft.”

“I recommend having it done so immediately, symbolic of the Yiling Patriarch’s redemption and wish for peace,” Meng Yao said. “Preferably in a very public forum in front of many witnesses, though I would recommend delaying the delivery of Jin Guangshan’s invitation until it is too late for him to attend.”

“I’ll stand in for my father,” Jin Zixuan said. “The honour of the Jin will be satisfied.”

“You know he’ll—” Meng Yao paused.

“Disowning me would make Zixun his only viable heir,” Jin Zixuan said.

“And he would prefer someone competent,” Meng Yao continued.

“I was going to say even-tempered.”

“Of course you were.”After a beat, “Brother.”

Jin Zixuan, pleased to distraction, apparently took no insult.

“Then…” Jiang Yanli paused, face lighting up, “Everything is settled?”

Lan Xichen took another few moments to read over the agreement, before nodding, a slow-spreading smile crawling across his face. “I believe so.”

The sudden swell of relief inaudibly filled the room, solemn nods and happy grins passed between all parties.

“I suppose, then, all that’s left is to travel to Yiling and make sure this is what they truly want,” Jiang Yanli said.

Jin Zixuan hopped to his feet immediately. “Please, Lady Jiang, I would be honoured if you’d allow me to take you by sword.”

Jiang Yanli nodded and offered Jin Zixuan her hand.

“You can fuc—ow, Huaisang, that was my foot!” A-Cheng ground out behind her.

Jiang Yanli cheerfully ignored her brother and accompanied Jin Zixuan out to the courtyard.

Had any of them travelled alone—as sect leaders, sect heirs, or important members of the gentry—they would have drawn attention by adhering to the dignity required of them for official movements and visits. Travelling together, all astride swords and heading for one of the most ignominious towns in the known world, they enjoyed the odd anonymity of being looked upon as a nighthunting party and nothing more. No one expected such a distinguished party to be moving without the trappings of respect, and Jiang Yanli relished how this worked in their favour. A-Yao rode along with Lan Xichen, albeit over gentle protests that he could fly of his own volition, all gamely ignored to his blushing pleasure. Nie Huaisang clung to his brother’s back.

And Jiang Yanli. Well. She couldn’t really protest at Jin Zixuan’s arm around her waist, helpfully keeping her balanced. Despite not requiring the assistance, she decided to allow the liberty. Mostly because of the high flush she saw in his cheeks every time she glanced over her shoulder at him.

They reached Yiling in short order, and the warded entrance to A-Xian’s home in the Burial Mounds quickly thereafter.

Zidian sparked on A-Cheng’s wrist, but Jiang Yanli reached out to halt him. With this many powerful cultivators, no matter their good intentions, would certainly cause panic among those A-Xian wished to protect if they all entered without warning.

This became evident when Wen Qionglin came to greet them. While she hadn’t seen him restored before now—A-Cheng had acquainted her with A-Xian’s decision to coax him back from death—A-Xian’s careful and loving hand had summoned back far more than merely his life; despite the pallour of his skin, she easily saw the real humanity in his eyes.

Under the panic.

Wen Qionglin’s gaze darted between them all while he stammered out a brief and uncertain greeting. While she wasn’t sure if Wen Qionglin’s face could form subtle expressions, his features unnaturally stiff, his eyes were nonetheless expressive enough for anyone who cared to look.

“Are—are you here to see Lan-er-gongzi?” he asked.

“Wangji is here? Oh, that will make things far easier,” Lan Xichen said. “Please, if you could bring us to him.”

Wen Qionglin turned a conflicted look back and forth between the Venerated Triad, Zixuan, and A-Cheng.

Jiang Yanli smiled gently. “I think I see the problem. Wen-gongzi, I assure you that we mean no harm. We merely wish to see our brothers.”

“You could bring them here,” A-Cheng sniffed, “Save us the walk.”

“Uh,” Wen Qionglin shook his head wildly. “They’re… busy. I’ll bring you to my sister.”

He lowered the wards to let them all in. They followed him up the tangled trail, emerging from the tree line in the midst of a small farmstead, surely not large enough to sustain even the meagre occupants.

Nie Mingjue looked around the area, brow furrowing. “Is this it?” Baxia, Jiang Yanli had noted, shook all the way up the trail, but now settled still against his back.

“It is,” a firm voice said nearby. Wen Qing moved away from where a small group of people were trying to unearth dead roots from poor soil. “What was Nie-zongzhu expecting?”

“That I lied, perhaps?” A-Yao asked mildly.

“No. That you’d been deceived.”

A-Yao favoured him with a look that suggested he found Nie Mingjue’s notion terribly endearing.

“We’ve come to see A-Xian and Lan Wangji,” Jiang Yanli said. Wen Qing’s expression shifted towards guarded curiosity.

“We’ve made arrangements for their marriage,” Lan Xichen offered.

Wen Qing stared at him. “Really.”

Lan Xichen nodded.

“Well, I’m afraid you’re too late,” she told them. “They got married three days ago.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian was having a very odd week.

Sometimes, looking out across the barebones settlement to which he’d consigned himself and his new family, he wished for the days when an ‘odd week’ meant an unexpected development during a night hunt and Madam Yu being kind to him. Not… whatever this was.

It started with Jiang Ping showing up where Wei Wuxian was bracing himself for the staged fight which Jiang Cheng would use to formally oust him from YunmengJiang. He’d spent the entire night awake and agonizing over it, telling himself over and over again that it was worth it. That his principles couldn’t be reconciled with his duties. He’d always thought he’d manage to figure something out with the Wen and then get to return to Lotus Pier, but the longer this dragged out the less likely it became. Severing ties now, before he dragged Jiang Cheng and Shijie into it, was the best course of action. Jiang Cheng even agreed!

So when Jiang Ping told him Jiang Cheng wouldn’t be coming, albeit with fewer expletives than Jiang Cheng would’ve employed, called him ‘Da-shixiong,’ then shoved a purse into his hands before bowing and taking off, Wei Wuxian found himself standing alone and trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened.

The purse had a not-insubstantial amount in it. Before they’d relocated to the Burial Mounds, he wouldn’t have called it very much, but now? With Wen Qing’s savviness, they could make this last for a year! More if they invested some of it in seeds and some of the equipment they needed to try and make the Burial Mounds actually livable.

Wen Qing took charge of the money with single-minded efficiency. She rattled off a shopping list so long that Wei Wuxian had to grab a piece of wood and a sharp stick to scratch everything down, afraid of forgetting it. Mostly it was simple necessities; warmer blankets, rice, jugs to fill with clean water, proper cooking supplies, dried meat. All things that seemed like oppulent luxuries after a month of eking out a bare existence in the Burial Mounds.

She gave him just enough that he might be able to get everything from the cheapest merchants in Lotus Pier.

“Haggle,” she told him strictly.

(Wei Wuxian had to go to Popo for tips on haggling; in Lotus Pier, people just sort of gave him a discount either due to his position as head disciple or because they’d known him when he was small and still considered him cute. The merchants in Yiling had also known him when he was small, but regardless of cuteness had never been swayed to kindness.)

He returned with almost more than he could carry, along with a few coins to spare, over which Wen Qing nodded over approvingly.

Their meal that evening felt like a feast. They had real tea! After a month of gagging down the sad bark water that barely passed for civilized. More than once, while choking it down, Wei Wuxian thought that he’d trade a life’s supply of Emperor’s Smile for a proper cup. A month of poverty-enforced sobriety made the vow a lot easier.

“I thought you were cutting ties with them,” Wen Qing murmured as they ate their fill that evening; Wei Wuxian for the first time since they’d arrived, and the others since much longer before then.

“Me too,” Wei Wuxian said. “I don’t know why Jiang Cheng changed his mind. We had it all planned out.”

She pressed her lips together thoughtfully and then placed another piece of pork onto his plate.

The next day she gave him some more money and another list. This one was shorter. She directed him to the local apothecary for odds and ends she needed to make them all more comfortable, including medicine for Popo’s arthritis. Popo tried to demur, insisting that she’d done fine so far, but even she seemed to know better than to argue with Wen Qing when she got That Look in her eye.

This time, Wei Wuxian took A-Yuan with him. His little radish looked a fair bit better after even a few decent meals, bright-eyed and even sweeter than usual. Wei Wuxian, similarly invigorated, hoisted A-Yuan up on his shoulders and they bounced their way down the mountain together.

The trip started off well enough; the apothecary had everything Wen Qing needed—and despite his pleas, eventually accepted Wei Wuxian’s insistence that whatever accomplished doctor in need of such a expansive order was not currently available for consultation—and the tailor happily parted with decent thread and a few needles for a pittance, and even threw in a ribbon for A-Yuan’s hair, cooing over him and squeezing his cheeks.

None of this, though, compared to looking down the street and seeing Lan Zhan.

The last time Wei Wuxian had seen Lan Zhan had been in the pouring rain, looking tragic and beautiful. Wei Wuxian often thought he’d left his heart behind with Lan Zhan, driving their stolen horses out into the darkness and leaving behind any hope of a future with him.

(Then again, maybe he’d left behind any hope of a future at all when he’d followed Jiang Cheng up the mountain.)

A smile curved across Wei Wuxian’s mouth, even though he tried to stop it. When they’d parted, Wei Wuxian thought it would be the last time he saw Lan Zhan. Between getting the new settlement in order, trying to revive Wen Ning, and dealing with the fallout from, well, everything, he’d silently spent his precious little free time quietly mourning what would never be. Giving Lan Zhan up had been something to which he’d reconciled himself long ago; the moment he’d found the scroll on the golden core transfer, he’d known that any hopes of keeping Lan Zhan in his life were forfeit. How could he, when he’d never be able to keep up with him again? Wei Wuxian could deal with a lot, but he hated the thought of being a burden. Especially to Lan Zhan, who deserved so much better. Finding a way to justify leaving everything behind had felt more like a relief than anything. Or, at least, it had until the first night when the fully tally of all his losses had come crashing down on him.

Wei Wuxian shoved the thoughts away and knelt down beside A-Yuan.

“Do you see that gege in blue, radish?” A-Yuan nodded. “He looks like he could use a hug.”

Lan Zhan actually looked happier than Wei Wuxian remembered seeing him since before the start of the war, but he had no idea why.

A-Yuan’s lips pursed in a determined moue and he started to march forward, quickly breaking into a run and slamming into Lan Zhan’s leg and clinging tight. Lan Zhan’s attention whipped down to A-Yuan with wide eyes, his mouth dropping open in a look torn between wonder and terror.

Wei Wuxian laughed and decided to take pity on him.

“Lan Zhan!” He waved to accompany his shout. Lan Zhan looked up, his expression melting into one of relief. Wei Wuxian wove through the people between them. As soon as he reached their side, A-Yuan let go of Lan Zhan’s legs and reached for Wei Wuxian, who hoisted him up into his arms. “Did you come to the market to buy radishes?”

“Radishes?” Lan Zhan repeated, a small line forming between his eyebrows to betray his deep confusion. Wei Wuxian wanted to smooth it out with his thumb. He settled for bouncing A-Yuan in his arms.

“This is A-Yuan, my radish. Radish, this is Hanguang-jun.” He coached A-Yuan through the pronunciation.

The work camp had stolen A-Yuan’s words for a long time. He’d been devastatingly quiet after their arrival in the Burial Mounds, only just beginning to speak again. Popo told Wei Wuxian, one night when A-Yuan had fallen asleep in his lap, that she’d constantly had to shush him while they’d been in the camp, to help him avoid the attention of the guards. There’d been three other children at the beginning of their imprisonment, she’d said. Wei Wuxian’s heart broke for them.

“Hello, A-Yuan,” Lan Zhan said, looking them both over with an intensity matched by his tone. He offered nothing more, his silence stretched into and out of awkwardness quickly enough to make Wei Wuxian’s head spin. He’d given up on feeling uncomfortable with Lan Zhan’s silence long before now.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I have permission to visit Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said. “But—”

Wei Wuxian absolutely did not want to hear what ‘but’ entailed. “I’m glad!” he shouted, surprising Lan Zhan enough with the volume of the interruption that Lan Zhan took a half-step backwards. Jiang Cheng deciding against their (very reasonable) plan was one thing, but Lan Zhan receiving approval to come to Yiling? Wei Wuxian suddenly wondered if the Burial Mounds had somehow prevented him from noticing the world turning upside down. “You…” Wei Wuxian shook his head. “You’re really…” What? What could he even say?

“Really,” Lan Zhan repeated. “I wished to come before, but was forbidden until now.” His brow furrowed slightly, just between his eyes, there and gone again in a heartbeat.

For a second, Wei Wuxian allowed himself to think that, maybe, he hadn’t irrevocably fucked up his entire life. Not that he’d ever tell anyone that’s how he’d come to think of it. He’d given everything he had, but maybe he didn’t have to give more. Maybe he and Lan Zhan could just… be.

“You wanted to see me?” Wei Wuxian asked. Lan Zhan nodded but did not clarify. Wei Wuxian swallowed, nervous. “Is it… did you still want me to go back to Cloud Recesses with you?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said immediately.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach dropped to his feet. Of course. Why had he thought otherwise?

“But if Wei Ying does not wish to join me, I will instead stay,” Lan Zhan finished.

“Stay?” Wei Ying repeated. Stay? In Yiling? In the Burial Mounds?! It was hard enough for Wei Wuxian to deal with it, let alone someone as righteous and wonderful as Lan Zhan!

“Mn. If you will allow it. I am not expected back immediately.”

“Allow it? Lan Zhan, I can hardly stop you.”

The look Lan Zhan levelled at him reminded him of long hours in the library, when he’d done everything in his power to wheedle and distract Lan Zhan, all for nought. Lan Zhan was the most single-minded man Wei Wuxian had ever met. If he’d made a decision, the Immortals would have a better chance of plucking the stars from the sky than anyone changing his mind.

But what did it mean?

Helpfully saving from himself, A-Yuan tugged on Wei Wuxian’s collar and Wei Wuxian ducked his head down to listen to his tiny voice. “What a good idea! Lan Zhan, A-Yuan says you should come for dinner. We even have tea now!”

Nonplussed as to what excited him about tea, Lan Zhan nodded, shoulders easing down from where they’d been inexplicably hovering near his ears. “Mn.”

A nagging itch at the back of his mind started as soon as they reached the wards. What was Lan Zhan expecting? He’d seen them all leave the prison camp at Qiongqi Pass, but with the dark and the rain, did he know it had been innocents Wei Wuxian freed? Had he bought into whatever story Jin Guangshan had likely spun after Wei Wuxian’s escape? Wei Wuxian knew Lan Zhan well enough to know he wasn’t here to make trouble, or to spy, but that didn’t mean he was prepared to see the desperate circumstances to which they’d subjected themselves in the name of safety.

Well, Wei Wuxian thought as he slipped past the wards, at least he arrived after Jiang Cheng had changed his mind. Assuming he didn’t run screaming back down the path, they’d at least be able to feed him.

They made it to the plateau near the Demon Slaughtering Cave, a host of greetings flying their way as soon as they came into view. Lan Zhan shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Wei Wuxian smiled and passed A-Yuan into his arms.

“I told you to come back with medicine,” Wen Qing said sternly, eyeing Lan Zhan up and down with a calculating eye.

“I did,” Wei Wuxian insisted, retrieving the bag from his sleeve and passing it her way. It didn’t seem to improve her mood. A quick look around their small settlement confirmed that everyone was either deliberately ignoring Lan Zhan or casting him furtive, fearful looks. Wei Wuxian didn’t remember seeing any Lan cultivators in the camp, but he wondered.

“Come on, Lan Zhan. Let’s give A-Yuan to Popo and you can come with me to check on Wen Ning.”

Lan Zhan frowned. “Wen Ning is alive?”

“Well.”

Lan Zhan, like Jiang Cheng, seemed horrified at Wei Wuxian’s efforts to revive Wen Ning. He stared at the talismans strung across the room and hanging from Wen Ning’s limbs, his face going cold as stone.

Wei Wuxian babbled out an abbreviated explanation as quick as he could, every word coming quicker until he wasn’t sure if he made any sense. “…And, Lan Zhan, you don’t understand, I owe him and Wen Qing so much, I couldn’t just let him die, not when—”

“He is not dead?” Lan Zhan asked, thankfully pausing Wei Wuxian’s verbal onslaught with an uncharacteristic interruption before he inadvertently revealed the truth of the debt he owed them.

“No. His body still had breath. This is just to call back his spiritual cognition.”

Lan Zhan studied the talismans closer, eyes narrowing in thought. “Very well.” He sat down and pulled out his guqin. “There are songs which may help. I will play.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth dropped open, a shaky little breath dragging itself up out of his lungs to leave the taste of hope on his tongue.

That night, they feasted in a double celebration: being joined by the venerated Hanguang-jun, and toasting the return of Wen Ning, who sat wide-eyed and disoriented, but nevertheless obviously pleased to be surrounded by his family.

Wei Wuxian figured, after a night sleeping on a bare mat on a cave floor, that Lan Zhan would leave at sunrise the next morning, if he even made it through the night. Wei Wuxian blinked back to consciousness alone in the Demon Slaughtering Palace, turning his head towards where Lan Zhan had slept the night before—despite Wei Wuxian’s protests and attempts to make him take the thin mattress—and sighed to see the space cleared of his presence.

Unsurprised, Wei Wuxian indulged in a moment of melancholy, slinging his arm up to cover his eyes with his elbow. Yesterday would be a pleasant memory, one to tuck away and trod out every now and then as a nice memory when things got terrible. And they would, he knew. Whatever had kept Jiang Cheng from their duel wouldn’t last and he’d officially be stricken from the YunmengJiang ledgers, officially a rogue cultivator. A rogue demonic cultivator, which everyone in the civilized world knew never lasted terribly long. Usually, they were either murdered by someone they’d terrorized (inadvertently or otherwise) or succumbed to the very real damages resentful energy wreaked upon the body.

Ah, well. As long as he got Wen Qing, Wen Ning, A-Yuan, and their family all settled, he supposed whatever happened thereafter didn’t really matter much.

Tired despite a decent night’s rest, more of a spiritual exhaustion than a physical one, he finally hauled himself out of bed and went to join the others.

Blinking at the onslaught of daylight, it took him a moment to realize that the blazing bastion of white standing beside Popo wasn’t a ghost, but Lan Zhan, still present, helping her make breakfast.

Wei Wuxian’s heart, a careworn and bruised thing these days, sputtered out a dusty cough.

Throughout the day, Lan Zhan took it upon himself to help around the settlement. Between him and Wen Ning, they tackled the jobs that had fallen to the wayside, overtaxing for the elderly and malnourished, or too much for Wei Wuxian’s recent… limitations. Over the course of a single afternoon, they fixed three roofs and put up a pen for livestock which Wen Qing had begun musing over purchasing with more of Jiang Cheng’s money.

Wei Wuxian helped where he could, gently prodded away every time by Wen Ning, earning himself more than one curious look from Lan Zhan.

(Honestly, Wei Wuxian had spent a lot of waking hours worried about Wen Ning waking up without true cognizance returned, another fierce corpse among many. Being subjected to Wen Ning’s neutral-faced worry felt head and shoulders preferable to the alternative.)

At some point during the afternoon, Popo stuck A-Yuan in his lap. They distracted one another right through until dinner.

Wen Qing rationed out their recent bounty, thinning out their soup a bit more than necessary. Wei Wuxian idly moved most of his meat into A-Yuan’s bowl. Lan Zhan caught him at it and, with a stern look, then split up his own portion between Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan, forbidding him to comment with little more than an uptick of his eyebrow.

“You know there’s something I’ve been meaning to look into.” Wei Wuxian studied the bottom of his bowl. “With Wen Ning awake and the wards in place, it’s probably all right for me to leave for a day or two. There’s a dry riverbed to the east, but it looks like it might have been fed by a waterfall at some point. I thought it might be worthwhile to follow it, see if there’s a better fresh water source. The one we have isn’t ideal.” At Wen Qing’s insistence, they had to boil the water three times before using it for anything, including laundry. There wasn’t a guarantee this source would be any better, but it never hurt to check. Anything that might help them long term had to be thoroughly investigated. “If you wanted to stay. If you could spare the time, I mean.”

“I will stay,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Wuxian chanced a look at him, indulged in a momentary admiration over the softness in his gaze, then turned his attention back to A-Yuan.

They started out early the next morning.

“A-Yuan, you’re in charge!” Wei Wuxian called over his shoulder.

“Yay!”

He caught a glimpse of Lan Zhan sidelong, nearly tripping over his feet when he saw the soft curl trying to hide away in the corner of his mouth. He urged the other man along to avoid Wen Qing's reaction.

"Shall we ride the sword?" Lan Zhan asked once they'd reached the riverbed. It stretched up towards a nearby mountain, at a decent incline.

Wei Wuxian pressed his lips together before offering up a cheerful (empty) laugh. "You can miss too much in the sky, Lan Zhan." Not to mention that, even if he could fly, the thought of flying over the Burial Mounds filled him with such feral dread that he wanted to bare his teeth.

Instead, he repressed the memories and led Lan Zhan down the slope to walk along the riverbed.

Tired of the silence after only a short while, Wei Wuxian drew out Chengqing and began idly playing, a mishmash of random notes which he forced together into something resembling a melody.

Walking felt harder than he remembered. A hike like this, across uneven ground on an unforgiving gradual incline, hadn't bothered him before losing his golden core. It would've been little more than a causal morning stroll. Now he found his chest burning whenever they reached a particularly steep patch of the trail, forcing him to lower his dizi and focus on breathing through his nose, desperately trying to keep Lan Zhan from noticing his discomfort. He thought he did an okay job of it; Lan Zhan never noticed, anyway.

Halfway up the mountain, dealing with the warring burning agony in his lungs and legs, he waved Lan Zhan to a halt and pulled out the package of bread Popo had prepared for them before they'd left the settlement.

Lan Zhan turned down the bread with a tilt of his chin, but offered Wei Wuxian the water he'd brought; clean and delicious, sourced from the Cloud Recesses springs. Wei Wuxian didn't think he'd tasted anything as good since he'd studied there as a guest disciple. He dropped down onto a nearby rock and looked up the intimidatingly steep trail. For a moment, he thought about suggesting they stop for the evening. He'd probably be able to spin it as wanting to spend more time with Lan Zhan but. Well. When had Lan Zhan ever wanted to waste time on him?

Once his chest stopped heaving, he took another swig of water and gestured for Lan Zhan to keep moving.

They reached the bottom of the dry falls, too sharp an incline to continue walking. Wei Wuxian glared at it and then turned his attention to the craggy rock face to either side, debating whether or not he'd be able to scale it, hiding the heaving of his shoulders as he tried to suck in enough air through his nose.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan said. He offered his hand. "I do not believe we will miss any salient details if we fly from here."

Wei Wuxian swallowed down his nerves. "I forgot my sword."

Lan Zhan did not deride him for it, nor betray any surprise. "I can take us both."

Heart beating double time, Wei Wuxian placed his hand in Lan Zhan's and allowed him to carry them both up the cliffside on Bichen.

At the top, a rockslide had stoppered up the natural flow of an impressive river, redirecting it to the other side of the slope and away from their settlement. The water, while still not as clean and clear as water outside the Burial Mounds, still looked (and smelled) a far sight better than the stagnant well they’d been relying upon.

Lan Zhan set them down as close to the small natural reservoir as he could. Wei Wuxian immediately missed the warmth where their bodies had been pressed together.

“There aren’t too many to move,” Wei Wuxian said thoughtfully. “But the biggest ones there at the bottom might be a problem.”

Lan Zhan regarded him closely, then swung Bichen out in the direction of the wall of stone. A burst of spiritual power knocked the smallest ones out and away, allowing the first trickle of water to flood over the top of the newly-cleared area. A few more carefully-coordinated swings and Lan Zhan knocked away all but the largest of the stones.

With a laugh, and not wanting to be outdone, Wei Wuxian hurried drew up a talisman and threw it towards the water now rushing over the cliffside. A simple talisman Jiang-shushu had taught him in his youth to encourage waves, he modified it to increase the water pressure. A thunderous wave drew itself up and powered through the last of the stones, the full reservoir emptying over the cliffside.

The spray from the restored waterfall, determined to reclaim every rock it once touched, immediately misted in the air around them with a roar. Wei Wuxian shivered as it slipped effortlessly through his thin robes, bringing cold along with it and soaking him within moments.

He started when Lan Zhan stepped close and draped his heavy outer robe over Wei Wuxian’s shoulders.

“Lan Zhan! This is against discipline two hundred and six!”

Either the roaring of the falls drowned out his words or Lan Zhan merely ignored him. He stepped away when Wei Wuxian began to tug the layer off his shoulders. With a sigh—or an attempt at one, given he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face—he huddled into the extra warmth, surrounded by the smell of sandalwood.

Lan Zhan said something, but the sound of the water swallowed it up. Instead of fruitlessly repeating himself, Lan Zhan stepped onto Bichen, grabbed Wei Wuxian around the waist, and lifted them further up the cliffside, to a covered outcropping halfway up the mountain. It gave them an excellent vantage point of the falls and the valley beyond.

“You know,” Wei Wuxian said, still holding the extra layer tight around him. “It’s not all bad here. There are… there are bad places—” Wei Wuxian, do you want revenge?—“But parts of it are beautiful.” The way the bottom of a droughty riverbed looked beautiful. Or a tree struck by lightning. Arresting in their horror and the destruction which left them cracked open.

“We should remain here overnight,” Lan Zhan said, looking towards the setting sun. The walk had taken far longer than Wei Wuxian had anticipated. “And return in the morning.”

Wei Wuxian nodded.

Without handy wood or camping essentials, Wei Wuxian found the extra layer insufficient to protect him from the quickly-cooling evening air. He didn’t think Lan Zhan noticed, until he fished another light blue robe from his qiankun pouch and draped it across Wei Wuxian’s lap.

“Wei Ying is cold,” Lan Zhan said slowly. Wei Wuxian started to argue, but paused when Lan Zhan lifted a hand. “Wei Ying no longer uses his sword.” Suddenly, the chill was no longer due to the frigid air. “Wei Ying was captured by the Wen.”

“Lan Zhan—”

Lan Zhan looked at him and held out his hand, expectant but not demanding.

Wei Wuxian stared at his open palm. If he took Lan Zhan’s hand, that would be it. He’d Know. And any hope Wei Wuxian had of more nights like this would be gone forever. Lan Zhan would see him as he truly was: a mediocre son of a servant who’d thrown away every opportunity offered to him, unworthy of even being called friend, let alone zhiji.

But maybe that would be for the best after all. The last few days had been just that: a last few days. Lan Zhan didn’t belong in the Burial Mounds, among the dead and destitute. The Second Jade of Lan had always deserved better.

With a low churning swoop of his stomach, he thrust out his hand. Lan Zhan’s warm fingers wrapped around his wrist. Wei Wuxian closed his eyes against the warm flood of spiritual power slipping through his meridians, unwilling to see the look in Lan Zhan’s eyes once he’d confirmed his suspicions. He felt it instead in the way Lan Zhan’s hold on him tightened.

Jiang Cheng would’ve raged at him, concealing his agony and fear with fury. Shijie would have allowed herself a moment to weep and then try to ply him with food, the preparation of it soothing her own nerves away. Wei Wuxian looked warily up at Lan Zhan and felt his heart shatter at the tears in Lan Zhan’s eyes, silently slipping down his cheeks. Wei Wuxian’s laughter, a poor attempt at humour to diffuse the suffocating silence, froze in his throat at the sight of them.

He wanted to try and offer reassurances, but what were there to be had?

Wei Wuxian slowly began pulling his arm back. Lan Zhan’s hold tightened further.

“There are… people,” Lan Zhan slowly whispered, “…In my clan who can no longer sleep without the interruption of nightmares. Who see the horrors of war whenever they close their eyes. This, I thought, explained Wei Ying’s recent behaviour. This Wangji should have paid more attention.” For a horrifying moment, Wei Ying thought Lan Zhan might bow in apology. He quickly grabbed Lan Zhan’s arm with his free hand and clutched it hard enough that his knuckles ached.

“I didn’t want you to know,” Wei Wuxian said. “I didn’t want anyone to know. No one. Not a single person.”

“Am I a single person to Wei Ying?”

Lan Zhan was the only person to him. Or he had been, once. Wei Wuxian had, once, imagined a life together. On the road, following in the footsteps of his shishu and cultivation partner. Or in Yunmeng. Even in Gusu, though he doubted he’d be welcome even back before Wen Qing had helped him carve out all his hopes and give them to Jiang Cheng.

“I can’t offer you anything, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, pained. He finally succeeded in pulling away from Lan Zhan and raised his palms for his inspection. “My hands are empty.”

Lan Zhan considered them with a frown and then placed his own atop Wei Wuxian’s. “They are empty no longer,” he said simply.

Wei Wuxian’s body shook with a barely-restrained sob. He dropped forward, crashing against Lan Zhan’s strong chest to breathe him in. Lan Zhan wrapped a draping sleeve around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and tugged him closer.

He spent the night curled up against Lan Zhan, breathing him in and trying not to dread everything that waited for them at the bottom of the mountain. What if Lan Zhan came to his senses and left, never to be seen again? What if he’d merely overlooked the implications of Wei Wuxian’s new limitations and decided they weren’t worth the burden? What if—

Each time Wei Wuxian began working himself up into a fit, Lan Wangji smoothed a hand down his back, his broad palm impossibly warm, and Wei Wuxian found himself relaxing again.

Early the next morning, Lan Zhan carried them both back down the mountain to the river below. Maybe Wei Wuxian was fooling himself, but the Burial Mounds seemed a bit brighter with the sunshine reflecting off the running water.

Back at the settlement, A-Yuan crowed in joy when he saw them and launched himself at Lan Zhan’s legs to welcome them back.

“Can you stay another night?” Wei Wuxian asked, hoisting A-Yuan into his arms when the kid turned to try and do the same to him.

Lan Zhan gave him an indecipherable look, then nodded.

They spent most of the day working with Uncle Four to rig up a basic irrigation system. With better seeds and a decent water source, they had a chance to really grow something. Still not enough to get them through the winter, probably, but supplemented by the remaining money Jiang Cheng had sent along, Wei Wuxian bet they could eke out a decent existence until they got their feet under them.

Lan Zhan spent the evening sleeping in his bed, wrapped around Wei Wuxian.

The next morning, he remained curled up against Wei Wuxian long past his usual waking hour.

“I must return to Cloud Recesses,” he whispered against Wei Wuxian’s neck.

Disappointed, but unwilling to betray how much, Wei Wuxian nodded. “…but, will you come back?” Wei Wuxian asked quietly.

“I will always return to and for Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan promised.

All the same, it felt a little bit like his golden core was being ripped out a second time as he watched Lan Zhan walk back down towards Yiling proper.

Prior to his visit to Yiling, Lan Wangji had been having a very odd week.

An otherwise unremarkable visit to Caiyi had somehow unsettled his brother. Xichen had gently teased him over the sight of a young boy holding a rabbit lantern in an alley connect the street they were on with one hosting a wedding procession, then left Cloud Recesses on some urgent errand he had not deemed necessary to share. Lan Wangji sat in his house, plucking at the strings of his guqin and trying to remember if he’d ever learned any songs besides ‘Wangxian’ and failing to recall a single one.

He ached to see Wei Ying.

He brought the problem to his brother the next morning, who had seemed unusually haggard upon his return from the day’s unexpected outing, some new project undoubtedly keeping him up at night.

“Xiongzhang,” he said, “I wish to discuss a concern.”

“Oh?” Xichen blinked up owlishly from his correspondence. “Are you well?”

“Mn.” ‘Conflicted’ did not constitute ‘unwell.’ "I have been considering the matter of Wei Wuxian."

"Oh, good!" Barely looking up, he offered Wangji one of the innumerable documents before him. "What do you think of this?"

A marriage proposal, it seemed, though much had been left vague or omitted.

"It is... a reasonable start to negotiations," Lan Wangji concluded after a quick examination.

"You see no concerns?"

Irritated, Wangji glanced over it again. A fairly standard contract, it neglected to name the parties involved. "It is incomplete," he said, dryly.

"It," Xichen said, mostly to himself, taking it back and staring at it. "It does seem incomplete,” he repeated. After a moment’s consideration, he brightened. “Perhaps I might have A-Yao take look at it. Thank you."

Stung at the clear dismissal, but unwilling to further burden his brother when there was obviously too much on his mind already, Wangji bowed and left him to his work. He did stop a servant on the way back to the jingshi to request someone bring Xichen a meal. From the state of things, he doubted his brother had eaten.

With his brother unavailable to offer counsel, Lan Wangji returned to his home to meditate

He had, mostly, made up his mind to ignore his uncle’s decision to forbid him visiting Yiling. If he went on a nighthunt nearby, he reasoned, it would not be directly seeking out Wei Ying, but instead merely place him in a situation during which they might accidentally encounter one another. Surely his uncle could not mean for Lan Wangji to be accountable to happenstance?

He ventured the offer to look into a nighthunt which had been brought to their attention recently. He passed Xichen on his way towards the gates, looking self-congratulatory and elated, with a smile plastered across his face which seemed even more egregious than usual.

Deciding to ignore such an expression for the sake of his sanity, Lan Wangji sought out his uncle’s approval for the nighthunt.

Shufu sniffed, looking pained and moving concerningly stiffly as he paced his room. “That will bring you quite close to Yiling.”

In this, too, was Lan Wangji destined to be confounded? “Mn.”

“And I imagine you’ll want to see The Boy.” He sighed. “I suppose it’s unavoidable at this point.”

Lan Wangji did not betray his surprise past a long, slow blink. “You approve.”

Lan Qiren sighed and, for some reason, glanced at his floor wistfully, before shaking his head. “I believe, in such circumstances, my approval is unnecessary.”

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji said, gravely, “Of course I wish for your approval.” He did not require it, but he did want it.

His uncle looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Off you go, then.”

Substantially heartened, Lan Wangji concluded his night hunt and spent several days in the Burial Mounds with Wei Ying, constantly torn between being terribly impressed by Wei Ying’s progress and heartbroken at every unexpected revelation. His impressions of the settlement were of a place which suited the occupants in their need to hide undisturbed, but little else. A-Yuan, especially, would not thrive if forced to remain. It behooved him to find a solution, given it was the only way he’d be able to truly be with Wei Ying.

Once he’d confirmed his brother had left Gusu yet again, Lan Wangji returned to his home to meditate upon his problems.

First: Wei Ying.

Not a problem, despite what others might believe (and led him to believe of himself).

Lan Wangji castigated himself yet again for failing to notice the enormous disparity of Wei Ying’s actions before and after his three-month disappearance. He should have looked closer instead of dismissing the differences as an effect of the war. Too late to change his past actions, he merely needed to move forward and do better in the future. Walk Wei Ying’s path alongside him, carrying him when needed.

Second: the Dafan Wen.

A problem only because of their blood ties to Wen Ruohan and the dogged way the world had pursued them. If provided with appropriate resources, they might be able to find elsewhere to harbour themselves, outside the Burial Mounds. But who would offer such a thing, considering the atrocities committed under the weight of their name?

There seemed no way to neatly resolve all his problems.

Not unless…

Lan Wangji left early the next morning with a full qiankun pouch.

The flight to Yiling took a thousand years and lasted only the blink of an eye. He arrived outside the wards and waited to be allowed within, a full body shiver curling down from the crown of his head to his toes when Wen Ning appeared and escorted him inside their protective boundary.

Wei Ying met them halfway to the settlement, wide-eyed and winsome. Lan Wangji wanted to push him against the nearest tree and devastate him. Instead, he asked to be shown to Popo.

Calling such a venerated elder ‘Popo’ galled, but Lan Wangji did his best to honour her request. Once he’d been seated in her meagre home, he offered up the first of the items from his qiankun pouch: a very fine tea sold by only a single merchant in Caiyi, arguably one of the best blends anywhere.

“Thank you, young man,” Popo said. She took the offering and called Wen Ning to prepare it for them. Apparently performing familiar tasks would help the full return of his cognizance.

Wei Ying settled down at Lan Wangji’s side, looking bemused.

“Wen Popo,” Lan Wangji said as he reached once more into the qiankun pouch.

He began drawing out the items one after another; a purse filled with as much money as he could arguably lay claim to as second heir of GusuLan, more tea, wine, cakes, candles, and a few pieces of jewelry. More than enough to leave the Burial Mounds and begin anew, elsewhere, away from the persecution to which they’d been subjected. Enough money to buy the silence of wagging tongues and avert curious eyes.

“You must forgive me,” he said as Wei Ying ogled over the excess. “That I was unable to procure chickens.”

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying whispered, choked.

Popo, he noticed, seemed unsurprised. “Well,” she said. “You should probably be married at once, then.”

Satisfied, Lan Wangji inclined his head.

Lan Wangji woke several mornings later to the sound of commotion outside the Demon Slaughtering Cave. He thought he heard his brother's voice, but quickly forgot about it when Wei Ying snored in his sleep beside him, a gentle wheeze of breath.

Unable to help himself from smiling, Lan Wangji settled back down at his husband’s side.