Chapter Text
Lan Xichen’s spiritual energy is already diminished, but he still takes a moment to let the cool teal-colored light drip over his shaking palms. It’s practical, he tells himself, it’s not wasteful. There’s no way he can hold a sword with his hands like this.
The light flickers out a moment later. It’s not enough. There’s not enough, he needs to calm down.
But his head is swimming, all grief and smoke and quickly fading adrenaline. He knows he can't stay here - the Wens will surely find him - but when he tries to get up the whole world seems to shift and pitch under his feet, as if he were at sea rather than on land.
He only just has time to be annoyed with the ground for this betrayal before it comes up to introduce itself to him.
Elsewhere...
You blink the sleep from your eyes and sit up in your bed. With a groan you drag yourself to your feet and look around, searching for what could have woken you.
The small shelter here is a temporary one, a waystation more than a real home. It probably was someone's home once, but it's long been abandoned. Now, it's simply a place that travelers like yourself might rest at for a time before moving on.
You'll need to be moving on soon yourself. One more night here, then back to town, and off to chase the next rumor - hopefully not in the direction of the rapidly escalating conflict between the clans.
It's none of your business, being clanless yourself. But you fear that someone - most likely the Wens - will try and make it your business if you don't keep moving away from the fighting.
When you step outside to see the dimming red gleam from the mountains; the thick smoke trailing off to blend with the rest of the murky dark, obscuring the stars; and catch the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh mixing on the wind; you're only more certain.
Perhaps you shouldn't even wait another night, perhaps you should make yourself scarce at first light.
You're about to return to the shelter and try to catch a bit more rest when you hear the crunch and shuffle of someone walking through the woods... and then a soft thud.
Your thumb rests anxiously against the crossguard of your blade, rubbing against a particularly smooth spot in the design of the hilt as you move as quietly as you can, eyes scanning the area for any hint of motion. You don't hear anything else, only the gentle rush of the cool stream that runs not far from the shelter.
Passing by another copse of trees, there's a sudden blaze of stark white in the otherwise gloomy night.
A Lan?
You turn your head back toward the fire up on the mountain.
Did the Wen clan attack the Cloud Recesses? Surely even they couldn't be so brazen. Wen Ruohan has more ego than sense, but...
You look down at the man fallen in the dirt. His hands are burned beyond even blisters, the flesh so raw as to be glistening, nearly glowing.
And yet, despite that, he's collapsed while weakly clutching an enchanted satchel to his chest.
Taking a peek, it's full of books and scrolls. At a mere glance you know that some of these are incredibly rare and important documents.
Your mind returns to the fire on the mountain, though this time your eyes stay fixed on the man. With care and a fearful lump in your throat, you turn him over to reveal his face.
The eyes are obviously reddened and puffy even when closed. A weak and ragged cough escapes as you turn him, but he doesn't seem to wake, even so.
Your gaze lands upon his headband, the one so prized by all the disciples of the Lan clan. His bears the extra decor of pale blue clouds, a pattern repeated through his robes - at least in the places where it can be seen through the soot, mud, and dirt that covers much of the fabric.
There's only a couple people he could be.
You graze your fingers over the scabbard of the blade at his waist. Shuoyue.
Lan Xichen? Zewu-jun?
You stare in disbelief. Even a wanderer like yourself is well aware of the various young masters of the major clans. Lan Xichen is widely known as the best of them - the most charming, handsome, kind, caring, and of course the strongest in cultivation.
And he's lying in the dirt at your feet. If he hadn't coughed when you moved him, you might have thought he was--
Rustling. Something is coming.
Your hand flies to the hilt of your blade, thumb ready to unseal it.
More white robes slink out of the dark - but these bear harsh red flames on the edges. The Wen clan.
You swallow, stepping back cautiously, evaluating the group as they do the same for you.
There are five. The faces are universally cocky and arrogant, though you can tell from the softer features and the slight shuffle of their feet that all but one are juniors.
Their leader, the only one who carries himself with the weight of real experience, steps forward. "This man is wanted, by order of Wen Xu. We'll be taking him, sanren." His eyes narrow as he watches you. "Don't interfere."
You stare him down, hand still firmly gripping the sheath of your blade. You remind yourself that it's none of your business. You're not involved in this quarrel between the clans, you sit outside such petty power struggles.
But... didn't you take up cultivation to help others? Isn't that why you left Baoshan? Because you couldn't bear the thought of not using your gifts to defend people from the many dangers in the world?
Without taking your eyes off the Wen scouts, you consider the man lying on the ground between the six of you.
You can't imagine that this ends well for him, if he's taken into the custody of the Wens. At best, he's made into a bargaining chip to buy the fealty of the remaining Lans. At worst, they give him over to Wen Zhuliu and make an example of him.
Your hand tightens on your blade. All six of you collectively hold your breath, even as you all know how things are going to go - that this was never going to end without a fight.
Everyone is just waiting for someone else to make the first move.
A couple of the younger Wens swallow. Sweat decorates their brows.
Finally, it's one of them that snaps, drawing his blade and lunging at you. His footwork is reckless, he charges like a barbarian.
You take a simple, graceful sidestep, flicking the seal off your own sword and lifting two fingers on your other hand. Qi flows from you into the blade, and Jianfeng soars eagerly from its scabbard to clash with the foolish young Wen.
He stumbles, unprepared for the strength of your counterattack. Jianfeng sings through the air, twirling around and carving a deep red river across the young man's back.
The scrape of metal on metal rings out from the remaining four. Three run toward you with barely more grace than the first.
You tumble to the side and call your blade to follow. It catches on one of the enemy swords and wrenches the thing from his weak hands. While he scurries to reclaim the weapon, yours buries itself in his chest.
Another blade rips through the air, only barely leaving you time to duck. Your hair is tossed by the gust left in its passing.
There's a sick grin on the Wen leader's face, and he urges his two remaining subordinates onward.
It amuses you that they believe themselves to have an advantage.
When the Wen leader's sword flies at you again, Jianfeng clashes against it. In that same moment, you infuse more of your qi.
The Wen leader's blade falls to the ground, lifeless - if only temporarily.
All three of the Wens stagger, stunned. Their leader in particular has eyes wide with horror. It's a common reaction to your blade's special technique - the ability to briefly sever the bond of qi between a sword and its master.
You smile. Jianfeng hovers menacingly over them.
When the work is done, you swear you can feel a pleasant hum from Jianfeng as it slides back into its sheath. The spirit within it has always had an eagerness to fight, and in particular you know it absolutely relishes that terror when the enemy realizes they're outmatched.
You look over the aftermath. Five new bodies adorn the undergrowth.
The loss of life is regrettable, but you didn't have much choice - that is, if you weren't interested in dying or allowing them to do as they pleased with Zewu-jun.
You say a brief prayer for the dead. Enough to soothe their resentment for a time, you hope, as you haven't the means or time to perform any proper burials for them.
With that settled, you set to the more difficult task of moving Lan Xichen to the shelter.
You begin by taking the satchel of scrolls and slinging it over your shoulder. His hands reflexively try to curl around it as you pull the bag away, but the effort is weak - as a sleeping child clutching a stuffed tiger.
The next part takes a few attempts, trying to find a comfortable way to lift or drag him without aggravating his injuries further, but you eventually manage it. The most difficult thing ends up being hefting him onto the makeshift bed, as you're pretty thoroughly worn out from even getting him to the shelter in the first place.
He mumbles and groans a few times through the process, but he never truly seems to wake. You can't make out most of it, the words are largely slurred and his voice is hoarse, probably from smoke inhalation.
"No killing... Cloud Recesses..."
You flop down on the floor of the abandoned house to catch your breath. For a few minutes you consider just laying down here and passing out yourself - but you know that Xichen will need tending to. You have to at least see how injured he truly is.
You pull yourself up and examine him as well as you can while preserving his modesty. Though you're sure he wouldn't be upset knowing it was done to save his life, you can't help feeling painfully awkward even considering it. This is Zewu-jun after all.
Mercifully, it seems the injuries are contained largely to his hands and forearms. His hands have gotten the worst of it, the palms are red and raw and weepy, the remains of torn blisters hanging loose in places. He must have had to grab something hot or actively burning to cause such damage.
You cringe at the thought. It's hard to even imagine how much pain he must have been in. How desperate the situation had to be.
And yet there are places where you can see he made some effort to channel his qi into dampening the wounds. You shiver, realizing that it was likely even worse initially.
But despite that apparent effort, he's still in awful shape. His strength had to be greatly depleted by whatever fighting preceded his flight.
Shaking your head in sorrow, you dig into your supplies to find a small jar of ointment and some cloth scraps for bandaging. You regret not having better materials on hand, but it will have to do.
Over the course of several minutes, you gently smear the poultice over the worst of the wounds, then wrap them with the cloth strips. It's crude work, but it should serve to stave off infection at least.
Resting your hand over both of his, you channel what qi you can spare to ease his pain.
With a sigh, you find your way to the rickety stool by the wall and sit.
You've done all you can. All you can do now is wait.
Wait and hope.
You're not sure how long it's been when a sharp gasp draws you back to wakefulness. You think you've been drifting in and out for a while, exhausted after that impromptu rescue in the middle of the night.
Lan Xichen has jolted up in the bed, looking around frantically. He pats the area around him, probably looking for the satchel which you left near your own bag. Even the pain he must still be feeling doesn't slow his panic.
That is, until his swift and raspy breaths catch in his throat, and he flies into a coughing fit.
"Zewu-jun. It's alright. You're safe here." You offer. "Safe enough, anyway."
He continues hacking, each cough a deep and wet sound as if he's half choking on his own mucus.
You press another scrap of cloth against his mouth so he doesn't cough into his bandaged hands. Eventually he spits into the cloth, and it comes away grey.
Xichen sits there, shaking, focused on breathing calmly to keep himself from triggering another bout of coughing. Even so, you hear a harsh rattle and wheeze to each breath. His throat must be in awful shape.
You fetch your water skin and pour a cup of cool, clean water for him, holding it up to his lips. You wait for the subtle nod, and slowly tip the water into his mouth.
When the cup is empty, he makes his first true effort to speak.
"W-who..."
His voice is harsh, sharp, even the one word sounding like shards of glass being forced from his throat.
You introduce yourself with a bow, giving him your name. "I'm a simple wanderer. I happened to be nearby when you collapsed in the forest."
Eyes still red from the sting of bitter smoke now glitter with tears as the memories return to him. "Wangji... didi..."
You shake your head. "I'm sorry, Zewu-jun. I only found you. There's been no sign of others."
He slumps forward. You decide not to mention the Wen patrols that were obviously on orders to capture any fleeing Lan they found. He doesn't need to hear that right now.
A couple slight coughs escape him, and he tries to clutch at his chest. You refill the cup and hold it out for him again. He drinks it eagerly.
Afterward, he makes an awkward attempt to bow to you. "Th-thank you."
"Please, Zewu-jun. Don't strain yourself for me."
"The juniors... The library..."
Tears drip and run down his face. A moment later, the difficulty of speaking has set him coughing violently again.
"Shhh. Take it slowly."
Over the course of the day you sit by the bedside, helping him drink, and feeding him small doses of honey to further soothe his cough. You don't want to do too much, as he needs to clear the soot from his airways, but it pains you even just to hear his agonizing breaths.
It takes hours, but he slowly recovers enough to be able to speak more than a couple words at a time. He starts trying to push himself towards the edge of the bed, but you stop him with a simple hand held out in front of his chest - though you suspect the pain from his hands could have done just as much to stop him without your interference.
"I have to go." He insists, though he doesn't make any more effort to move. "Didi, Qingheng-jun, Lan Qiren... They need--"
You shake your head. "Respectfully, Zewu-jun, what could you possibly do for them in your condition?"
It comes out harsher than you intend. But it works to cow his determination to injure himself further.
You sit on the edge of the bed, leaving a bit of distance between you, and you try again, this time making an extra effort to soften your voice. "I am sorry. And I understand your pain... But your spiritual energy is still quite weak. There are still toxins in your system from the smoke. And even if there weren't - could you even hold a blade in those hands?"
His shoulders slump. He doesn't answer you out loud, but the silence is enough. He knows you're right.
"I'll do what I can for you, but some things simply require time to heal."
Xichen nods slowly.
You take a breath. "That being said... I don't think it wise to remain here much longer. Not if you hope to remain free of the Wens."
"The Unclean Realm." He says, apparently guessing where you were heading with that suggestion. He coughs lightly a couple times, wheezing between. "I have... allies there."
"Okay. Tomorrow."
He stares at you in surprise.
"I'll help you get there." You explain. "I was about to head away from this area. Your..." You stop yourself, realizing it might be rather insensitive, and start again. "The conflict brings work, stirring up corpses and Yao beasts - but between them and the hostile Wen patrols it becomes too risky for a lone cultivator."
He nods again. His expression is still sad and distant, containing little of that warmth he's so widely known for, but you believe he's willing to accept your plan.
"Try to get some rest." You pat the bed and get up, returning to the old stool where you'd been sitting before.
Xichen looks reluctant, staring longingly in the direction of the mountains, even though he can't see them through the shelter walls. But he does lie down.
Things are never allowed to be that easy, though.
Late into the evening, there's the obvious crunching of several people moving through the woods nearby. You peer out the window, though you know already what you'll see. Bright white robes marked with blazing red.
There's not much time.
You stride over to the bed and haul a confused Xichen up, dragging him to a hidden panel which you suspect means this shelter was once used for smuggling. Before he can even form any words of protest, you shove him into the hidden compartment.
He gasps in pain, fresh tears gleaming in the edges of his eyes.
You hold a finger to your lips and very deliberately mouth the word 'sun'.
His eyes widen. He nods and a spark of teal magic dances on his lips, sealing them shut.
You close him into the wall along with the satchel of scrolls, and go about your normal business, preparing to answer the questions you know must be coming.
Xichen closes his eyes. It's dark enough in this hole that he can't see anyway, so it's more to help him focus, to hold in the pain and the urge to cough and choke.
This space is thick with a strange smell, the lingering remnants of whatever spices and drugs were once being hidden here. Even without that, the dust would be enough to irritate his still aching throat.
It's a dangerous gamble he's taking, casting Silence on himself. But he can't trust his body not to betray him with an involuntary cough.
He hears the sharp impatient knocking on the door to the old house.
"Open up or we'll break it down!" A voice barks from outside.
The door creaks, and he hears his rescuer greet the Wens. Though it's proper for a disciple of Lan such as himself to show only grace and politeness even to the enemy, he's not sure he'd truly be able to manage it in this moment.
"Is there something I can help you with, daozhang?"
There's a quiet moment - Xichen imagines the Wens must be scanning the interior of the house.
"Searching for a fugitive. Someone killed five of our brothers last night."
He can practically hear the eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"I saw the bodies, but I'm afraid I don't know anything, daozhang. That smoke on the wind, though... Perhaps a fleeing Lan slew them?"
Despite his effort to take slow and cautious breaths, Xichen feels the dust grating against the back of his throat. His chest lurches, begging to cough, but with his lips sealed nothing happens. The tickle continues, even as he tries to swallow to soothe it. Tears force themselves out of his eyes the longer he holds back the reflex to cough.
He misses whatever the Wen says in response, he's so caught up in his own suffering.
"It's more likely that a cultivator of such high station and skill took out so many of you, wouldn't you say? Or do you have so little faith in your men that a clanless wanderer could have felled half a dozen of them?"
You chuckle softly at the end of that line. Though Xichen hasn't seen you fight, he senses that you're downplaying your skill.
"It was only five, sanren." The Wen's voice has turned icy.
"Ah, I only took a quick glance over the scene." You explain, taking an almost sheepish tone. "I was worried about possibly facing that many fierce corpses, considering their obviously violent deaths, so I left rather swiftly."
If Xichen wasn't so desperately trying to contain himself from coughing, from crying out in pain, he might have spared a thought to notice how clever your implicit flattery of the Wens is. But he can't pull his mind away from the intense focus on this task for long. Even with Silence in effect, he dares not push it. The last thing he'd need while still recovering from the fire would be further damage to his throat from accidentally breaking the spell by force.
"I see." The Wen leader says, though it doesn't feel like he's especially convinced. "But you wouldn't mind us having a look inside your house anyway."
"Of course, by all means. It isn't really mine, I'm simply borrowing it while in the area."
Xichen hears you step aside, welcoming many sets of footfalls into the old structure. They fan out, stomping around and searching through the small space. He hears one set stop right in front of the door to the compartment he's been stashed in.
Sweat beads up on his forehead. He holds his breath.
"Satisfied, daozhang?"
The Wen leader grunts and the many footsteps file back out of the house. "For now. But you should leave, before another of my... less understanding brothers happens upon you. Strangers can only find suspicion in times of war."
"Of course. I was planning to leave soon anyway. I fear the beasts roused by the recent conflict will be beyond my abilities to hunt."
The Wen makes a small sound of agreement and the crunching steps fade with distance from the house.
You don't come for Xichen immediately, wisely holding off until it can be absolutely certain the patrol has gotten well out of earshot.
When the door to the hidden compartment opens again, Xichen instantly dismisses the spell on himself and gasps for air as he collapses to his hands and knees on the floor - quickly descending into deep and agonizing coughs that wrack his entire body.
You kneel beside him and wait for the fit to end, preparing a cup of water and some honey for him. He takes both as soon as he's able to swallow again.
"I apologize for the rough treatment, Zewu-jun." You bow as deeply as you can manage, already resting on your knees. "We didn't have time, but..."
Xichen shakes his head. "No, thank you." He interrupts himself with a few more coughs, but these are weaker than before. After a few slow, wheezing breaths, he continues. "I must applaud your quick thinking."
"You honor me too highly." You insist, helping him to his feet, and walking him back to the bed.
He half falls onto it, again trying to clutch at his chest, but unable to do so with his still wounded hands. You frown, running through the practical considerations of what you'd promised him earlier. You'll need him to have a bit more strength if you're going to make it to town. From there it'll be easier, but...
You begin by fixing up a small pot of tea. You wait for the liquid to become suitably cool before offering any to Xichen, lest it aggravate his throat further.
"It's a brew made with herbs that will help to reduce inflammation and promote healing." You tell him as he sips from the cup.
"I know I've said as much already... But thank you. Truly. I don't know what would have..."
You silence that thought from him by offering another cup of tea. "Relax, Zewu-jun." You pause, considering. "May I ask what happened? I believe I know much of it, but if it's alright I'd like to know the rest."
His gaze falls to his wrapped hands, he flexes them what tiny amount he's able. "Wen Xu came. Declared we would be purged. He would not hear reason - said we should be honored, grateful, even - and ordered that they start with the library."
You nod, the details are new, but the broad strokes are what you expected.
"Lan Qiren insisted that I run. Insisted that I save what books could be saved." Xichen finds just enough strength to lightly squeeze handfuls of his robes - though he has to abandon that effort quickly. "I left them. I took what I could, and I left them."
His breath catches, and tears stream from his eyes. "Didi... bought me time. Left him too. He's so young..." His voice, already strained from injury, cracks. "It's my responsibility as the eldest, and I..."
You find another scrap of cloth and use it to dry his eyes. "I'm sorry."
You can't think of anything else to say.
As he continues to weep, you collect his ravaged hands and focus your qi into them. A soft glow forms around your hands and melds into his, passing through the bandaging. You're no expert in the healing arts like Baoshan, but you can manage this.
When you've done all you can, you begin gently unwrapping the makeshift bandages to see how the healing is progressing. The flesh appears tender, but no longer dangerously raw. He should soon be able to hold things on his own again - though the strain of a sword in battle might yet be too much.
He looks down at your efforts, gently flexing his fingers to test them, see how much pain each motion causes. He winces at the more extreme motions, but he seems able to touch things without recoiling.
You wipe up his tears for him again, even so, then fetch the last of the tea. It's quite cool now, so there will be little danger even if he drops the cup.
Carefully, you press it into his hands, helping him to mold his fingers to it. He lifts the cup in both hands, a slight tremble still in them, but he sips gingerly from the cup on his own.
Your smile at his progress is sad, as you feel uncomfortable being too cheerful given the situation.
When he finishes the tea, you take back the cup. "Rest now. You'll need all the strength you can find tomorrow."
Xichen nods. His eyes remain distant, as if he's in another place entirely - still back in the library, still trying to find a way to make things not turn out like this.
You fear this night won't be much more restful than the last.