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"Twenty-two thousand going once!" The auctioneer pointed to a member of the crowd. "Twenty-two thousand going twice!"
Lan Wangji raised his bidding number. A loud curse came from the front as the auctioneer grinned in Lan Wangji's direction. "Twenty-three thousand to the gentleman in white! Going once, twice, sold!"
He stood quietly as the next object was brought out. Lan Wangji had seen the catalogue, and among all the rare artefacts, none interested Lan Wangji. Only the painting—beautiful and horrible and ultimately one of a kind.
And it belonged to Lan Wangji at the mere cost of the majority of his inheritance. He left the auction hall with his head held high and made straight to the back, ignoring the pointed stare of the other bidder. It was not Lan Wangji's problem that the other man had lost; he was now the proud owner of the rarest art piece in history.
"I will take the painting now." Lan Wangji presented his bidding number and reached into his briefcase, ignoring the cashier's wide eyes as he pulled out stacks of crisp bills. It took the cashier a few minutes to count the piles, but once everything was in order, she handed him the proof of purchase and authenticity.
With a stiff thank you, he turned to the back, where the auction items were held until the end of the sale period. The man carefully wrapping the painting jumped at the sound of his voice. "Sir, this area is off-limits to the public."
"I am aware. I have come to collect the painting . " He presented the proof of ownership. A thick layer of brown paper hid the painting from view, and he longed to rip it off just to look up close.
"Apologies, I wasn't aware you were the buyer. I’ll just finish wrapping it up so it won’t be damaged. Would you like a hand transporting it?" the man stammered, unable to muster the courage to look Lan Wangji in the eye.
"No need."
The man didn't try speaking with him again and finished making sure that the painting would be safe during transport with record speed. Within fifteen minutes, Lan Wangji hoisted the artwork and loaded it into the car he ordered, and was on his way home with a precious piece of history. They arrived at the house that once belonged to his mother, and Lan Wangji tipped the driver well, ignoring the curious gaze of the driver as Lan Wangji gently extracted the painting from the car.
One of the few pre-marital assets she possessed, the house had been something her father couldn't take from her. Lan Wangji only learned of it after both his parents' passing, when Lan Xichen asked if he wanted it as part of his inheritance. When he pointed out that would create an unequal division of the estate, Xiongzhang only smiled and claimed their father's house—which he promptly tore down and rebuilt even to the foundation.
Placing his shoes by the door and switching into an indoor pair, Lan Wangji headed up the three floors to his study. As much as he would have liked to tear into the wrapping, Lan Wangji gingerly started at the corners, folding the pieces back with surgical precision. Damaging a rare piece of history for impatient behaviour would be a tragedy of unmeasurable proportions. Eventually, though, his patience brought forth the artwork in full glory.
The Death of the Yiling Laozu .
He had spent his entire career searching for it. It was the only depiction of the figure known as the Yiling Laozu that scholars suspected to hold any accuracy. The painting was thought to be from centuries ago and created quite a stir. Everyone from private collectors to museums from around the world came hoping to own such a piece of history.
It appeared nearly untouched by the trials of time. The Yiling Laozu’s face twisted in a smile that spoke of unimaginable agony as undead hands ripped and tore with a terrible, violent hunger. Shadows lurked in the corners, watching the bloodbath and eager to consume the remaining scraps. A primal terror was inked into the canvas, and in all his research, Lan Wangji had never felt like a witness to such horror. An observer, yes, but only as a scholar tasked to write down impartial facts.
Now, Lan Wangji wanted to rush in and spirit the figure away, to save the young man who met his death over a millennium ago. Of course, it was a highly illogical thought. "Ridiculous." The word slipped like a long-lost habit as Lan Wangji placed the painting on the empty wall, then wrestled his desk away from the window.
Here, he could look at The Death of the Yiling Laozu and examine the canvas day after day as Lan Wangji worked on constructing his thesis about the tortured figure within.
Lan Wangji prepared the ink and set blank pages to his right; later, he would transcribe it on his typewriter for an official first draft. For now, however, he set out to list all the details the painting had to offer, including how, in the soft light of his study, the Yiling Laozu no longer glared with a burning crimson.
Lan Wangji was ashamed he did not notice immediately, not at first.
In his defence, it started with small things that were easily explained. Doors opened and closed, and Lan Wangji left the window open. Logic told him that it had been the wind. Papers were marked with ink, and when his brush remained dry, Lan Wangji supposed he could have spilled ink unnoticed as he stared at the painting. A light bulb that flickered in the middle of the night, likely the wiring, which had not been serviced since he took ownership of the house, was a careless oversight. The sound of a dizi playing in the middle of the night, an annoying new neighbour.
Ghosts were not a rational deduction.
Until it happened. For all the excuses, Lan Wangji could not explain how Lan er-gege was messily written on the study’s window. The characters dripped in the steam, making them nearly illegible.
No one was in the house. Of that, he was certain.
That was before Lan Wangji walked up the steps to his study and saw a man standing in the middle of his desk—right in the middle. The man seemed very unbothered by the fact that a solid piece of wood divided his upper and lower body as he examined the page in front of him.
Black, inky robes pooled and wavered as the man turned, and Lan Wangji nearly took a step back. The man was beautiful. Blood rushed to his ears, and Lan Wangji tried to curb his thoughts. He failed.The second the man's silver eyes caught sight of Lan Wangji, they blinked wide like a startled rabbit.
"No way, Lan Zhan!" The man bounded over, slipping through both the desk and chair, completely ignoring them, and stopping inches away from Lan Wangji's face. Startled he took a step back, Lan Wangji was quite sure he had never met a ghost, but the spector clearly knew him. How many years had it been since anyone called him Lan Zhan? But the name filled with a sense of warmth that was both completely foreign and achingly familiar. He wanted nothing more than to hear that name come of the ghost's again and again. "Wow! I don't know why I'm surprised; of course, it's you!"
The man smiled wide with pure joy, scanning him up and down with hungry eyes. Until, like clouds before a storm, that grin dimmed when Lan Wangji didn't respond. "You're not my Lan Zhan, are you?"
"No." It was the truth, but Lan Wangji had the odd feeling he had just spoken a terrible lie.
The man stepped back, his smile back at full force, if slightly strained at the edges. "Aiya, so silly of me." He raised his hands in an old-fashioned bow. His words lilted with a strong accent that Lan Wangji faintly recognized as one from Wuhan but tinged by a dialect he couldn't pinpoint. "My name is Wei Ying, courtesy Wuxian, but you don't need to use it. Wei Ying is fine!"
“Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji.” He replicated the bow and was grateful Shufu had taught him and Xiongzhang the ancient courtesy rules of the Gusu Lan. “Pardon, but are you a spirit?”
Wei Ying rubbed the tip of his nose with a sheepish smile and hummed. “Yup! Dead gone, your local spector!”
“Ridiculous.”
The ghost laughed, the sound light like the purest bell. Lan Wangji couldn’t believe he had been the cause of that. Other than his brother, he could barely even get people to smile. Bewildered, he could only stare as Wei Ying snorted at his confusion.
“You’re so funny, Lan Zhan!”
He wasn’t. Why did Wei Ying think that? His brain whirled with muddled thoughts and emotions. Lan Wangji just hoped the tips of his ears didn’t give anything away. It took him a second to find his words. “Why is your soul trapped in this painting?”
“Oh! I don’t know,” Wei Ying shrugged with a smile. “I’ve been stuck in there for a while. I was hoping maybe you could tell me?”
“I cannot.” Up until that moment he had been unaware a soul in a painting was a possibility.
Wei Ying moved closer, standing on the balls of his feet, hands behind his back and sticking out his tongue. “Boo. Here I thought Lan er-gege came back to let me out.”
Shameless. Ridiculous. Wei Ying did not act how a legend of old should act at all. The Yiling Laozu haunted in between the lines of all texts involving the mythology of cultivation. Never explicitly mentioned, but it was the absence that first drew Lan Wangji further into the mystery. Yet here was the spirit of the legend Lan Wangji had hunted his entire academic career.
And Wei Ying was even more of an intriguing mystery.
“I will discover why you are trapped. Will you tell me more about yourself?”
A translucent hand stuck out, and grasped his. Immediately his hand felt like it had suddenly been plunged into icy water, the tips of his fingers tingling from the cold. But he didn't hate it. Unlike with most people, Wei Ying's touch didn't make it feel like a thousand ants had crawled until his skin. The ghost smiled when he didn't pull away, and Lan Wangji had to tear his eyes away for the curve of Wei Ying's lips. He stayed holding hands with Wei Ying and hoped the chill would stop the burning blush on his ears.
Days passed, Wei Ying's company erasing the bridge between Lan Wangji and the outside world. He stayed inside, working on his thesis, and listened to Wei Ying speak. The ghost didn’t need to sleep or eat, and had no issues chattering away about his time for hours. After the first night Lan Wangji ended up moving his bed to the study.
And Lan Wangji quickly discovered he could spend his whole life listening.
"I mean, I learned cultivation first from my mom, and before she died, Jiang-shushu took me and taught me Jiang methods." Wei Ying rubbed his nose, and Lan Wangji found himself more interested in watching Wei Ying than trying to figure out what historical implications had just been revealed. "Then I developed my core and became the Jiang clan's first disciple."
"Mm." He jotted that down and waited for Wei Ying to continue speaking. But a glassy, faraway look entered Wei Ying's eyes. "Wei Ying?"
Startled as if he just noticed his audience, Wei Ying pushed himself up and laughed awkwardly. "Sorry!" An odd expression lingered on Wei Ying's face as he paced the room. "I forget the rest. What do your books say about it?"
Nothing.
So few records existed from Wei Ying's time and fewer from before the Sunshot Campaign. There had been a detailed page from a diary belonging to a young woman that outlined the destruction of Lotus Pier, and her brothers were among very few survivors. Idly, he wondered if Wei Ying had known her. Next time he called Xiongzhang, he would ask if Meng Yao—the chief curator of the Jin family museum, and his brother's long time roommate—could send a photograph of the page.
Wei Ying whistled as he leaned on his heels, examining his portrait, and pulling Lan Wangji from his thoughts. "Glad I don't remember that!"
"Mm." As a scholar, he should have hated that, but selfishly, Lan Wangji thanked whatever gods existed that Wei Ying did not. The painting was gruesome enough already.
"You're not curious? Not going to ask how the mighty Yiling Laozu kicked the bucket?"
Lan Wangji shook his head, staring at the painting where Wei Ying was forever frozen, seconds away from what was must have been a horrible demise. "Wei Ying did not deserve that."
"How do you know that? Aiya Lan Zhan, you fuddy-duddy, not even the least bit curious."
He ignored that. It wasn't true — it was the opposite, actually. Lan Wangji wanted to know everything about Wei Ying, to hoard the information close to his chest and never let go. Wei Ying's death, though, was not the first thing he wanted to learn. It was like skipping to the novel's last page and knowing the outcome before starting the first chapter.
There were so many more important things to a good story than the ending.
Instead, Lan Wangji started writing, the words spilling from his pen without effort. Writing about Wei Ying was almost too easy; there was so much he wanted to say, but didn't dare. There were so many things that would never make it into his thesis. How, when Wei Ying laughed, he did so with his whole body, head thrown back and face alight with joy. How Wei Ying could never sit still—he was always either telling Wangji stories or bouncing around the study. Like now, Wei Ying moved around the room, hips swaying, and Lan Wangji's hand clenched around his pen to try and centre his thoughts.
Wei Ying was oblivious to Lan Wangji's fragile hold on his self-control, made harder by Wei Ying deciding to drape himself over his shoulder to read what he had written.
Throughout history, a figure has seldom been so criticized and erased as the Yiling Laozu. Few primary sources survive to the 20th century providing evidence that the Yiling Laozu was indeed a person and not merely a figure used to combat the social, political, and economic crisis faced between 222 AD and 589 AD. However, the unknown artist's painting 'The Death of the Yiling Laozu' gives insight into the legend’s potential identity.
"But Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying rested his chin against him, and Lan Wangji resisted shivering as a wave of cold washed over him, like someone had put an ice cube down his shirt. "I did exist!"
He was painfully aware as Wei Ying moved to sit on top of his desk. Wei Ying peerched above him, reading over his shoulder. From this angle, Lan Wangji noticed every curve of his body. “Wei Ying is real.”
"You better write that I was very handsome." Wei Ying laughed, bright and cheery, even as he pouted. "Maybe then people will stop painting me as some kind of monster."
"Wei Ying is not a monster."
"How do you know?" Wei Ying raised his arms in an exaggerated shrug and sighed, peeking one eye open to watch Lan Wangji's reaction. "For all you know, I could be a baby-eating demon that sacrificed the souls of beautiful maidens."
"Ridiculous."
From his spot on the desk, Wei Ying crossed his legs and rested his elbow on his knee. Slender fingers moved with a flourish when he spoke, doing all sorts of things to Lan Wangji's poor heart. " It was! Lan Zhan, my cave had a whole section just for all the horrible things said about me! You should have seen all the ugly posters. At least this artist made me pretty."
"Wei Ying is very pretty." Lan Wangji could feel the tips of his ears growing hot. He had to fight to his face, neutral of emotions, even as he wished he could bury it in his hands and hide from his words.
"Thank you! I was the fourth most eligible bachelor for a reason." Wei Ying made a fanning gesture with his hand. Slender fingers arching gracefully, and he found it difficult to concentrate. "All the girls wanted me back then!"
It was a joke. It was supposed to be funny. But the casual words were like a knife had buried itself in Lan Wangji's heart.
The artist whose name has been lost to history paid close attention to the expression of the Yiling Laozu. The image captures a unique and tragic beauty absent from other renditions of the Yiling Laozu.
Wei Ying giggled, his face animated with joy when he read the correction.
How someone could depict Wei Ying as anything but beautiful baffled him. The Lotus Library in Wuhan had a section of the hideous caricatures of the Yiling Laozu, which they displayed during the last week of October. Lan Wangji would have to provide samples in his thesis if only to showcase how inaccurate they were.
He reached for the book Lotus Pier: A History of the Yunmeng Jiang from 600 AD to 1500 AD and turned to a chapter on the early history of the Jiang Sect. Scanning through on the off-chance there would be a mention of Wei Ying. It wasn't surprising that there wasn't, but disappointment still reared its bitter head.
The Sandu Shengshou is a figure of legend who, evidence shows, existed in the same generation with Hanguang-jun and the Venerated Triad. While little is known about the Sandu Shengshou's early years, more information survived about the near-mythical Jiang leader through slips of trade agreements and transcripts, which detailed how Yunmeng experienced a tremendous economic boom after an unknown catastrophic event described only as the Sunshot Campaign.
He was about to flip the page when a burst of excitement stopped him.
"Jiang Cheng!" Wei Ying leaned over his shoulder, his long black hair creating cold shivers down his spine when the strands passed through. "Lan Zhan, you never told me my little shidi grew up to be a historical figure!"
"You knew the Sandu Shengshou?" His brain whirled with possibilities. If that was true, then Lan Wangji could pinpoint the exact time in which Wei Ying had lived, and the Sandu Shengshou's real identity. That alone was a thesis that could send the field of ancient studies into an uproar. But to know that the Yiling Laozu and the Sandu Shengshou had interacted? Revolutionary.
“Of course, he was my shidi! Shijie and I always said he would be a great Sect Leader, and we were right!” Wei Ying made a gesture as if to turn the page, but his fingers passed right through. He laughed it off, but his smile wavered, fragile like breaking glass. "I guess they're all dead."
Lan Wangji didn't know how to comfort him. Was there something that could be said or done to console a loss over a millennium old? He was never the most socially competent on the best of days. Panic swelled as Wei Ying looked longingly at the description of the Sandu Shengshou. "I will find more information."
Wei Ying blinked, his head jerking upwards to look at him. "You would do that for me?"
“Wei Ying, I am a researcher."
"Does Lotus Pier still exist?" Wei Ying grinned, and he felt his heart flutter. Lan Wangji never made anyone smile like that, as if he had presented Wei Ying with all the treasure in the world with only a sentence.
Oh no. His traitorous ears burned, red hot.
After several calls to his brother and the train station, Lan Wangji had a ticket to leave for Wuhan the following day. Quietly, he packed an overnight bag with enough clothes to last a few days. A small smile lingered on his lips as Wei Ying lounged on his bed, animatedly telling him the stories he remembered growing up in Lotus Pier. On the train, he would transcribe them later — his brain was still trying to catch up with the wealth of information Wei Ying casually tossed about. But for now, he was content to listen.
The train ride went smoothly—more difficult had been the prolonged goodbye to Wei Ying. The other made him promise to return with news of Lotus Pier and bring back lots of spicy sauces that sounded painful.
Walking down his cobbled driveway, Lan Wangji had seen a silhouette watching him from his study. It had taken everything in him to avoid dropping the bag, telling the driver he was no longer needed, and running back to Wei Ying.
But they both agreed it wouldn’t make sense to bring Wei Ying along, and the ghost made a comment that he shouldn’t go back without an invitation anyways. So Lan Zhan sent off alone, already hating how silent the world was without Wei Ying next to him. But he had promised, and Wei Ying had been tentatively hopeful. Wei Ying could ask for the moon, and Lan Wangji would find a way. A trip to Wuhan and the ancient city of Lotus Pier to find information about his long-dead family was a small thing in comparison.
Still, the second he stepped off the train, and the heavy, humid air engulfed him, Lan Wangji wished he was back in Gusu. In his little house with fresh, crisp mountain air, and Wei Ying. Only a few days. He only had to bear it for a few days.
Xiongzhang had been kind enough to organize a hotel for him. He would check in later, but instead, he made a beeline to the library. Lotus Library was a centre of rare and ancient texts that dated as far back as Wei Ying's painting. The back rooms were fiercely guarded by the Jiang family, and the academic field could only speculate on what relics lay hidden behind those locked doors.
Lan Wangji had submitted his own request to access the back room but had been sent back a very clear 'no'. However, the library's main area was still open to the public, and he hoped that there would be some books or journals that discussed the Sandu Shengshou, or, better yet, Wei Ying.
Gathering a few books that looked promising, he had just settled at an empty desk before a loud shout rudely interrupted the peace and quiet of the library.
"What the hell are you doing here?" A man in a dark purple blazer scowled as if Lan Wangji had personally offended him. Striding over in quick, furious steps, until he stood right over the desk, his fists hitting the wood with a loud bang that reverberated across the library.
"I am reading," Lan Wangji said coolly.
"I can see that." The man's lip curled in a livid snarl, and Lan Wangji could have sworn he saw a lick of purple light come from the ring on the man's right forefinger. "How are you here?"
Calmly, Lan Wangji closed the book. Around them, the room had gone deadly quiet as everyone stared wide-eyed at them. A few of them even attempted to come closer, but the man stopped their attempt instantly with a quick glare in their direction. "I entered through the door, and now I will leave through it."
"Sit the fuck down, Lan Wangji." How did this stranger know his name? He regarded the man with a new sense of caution. "Actually, come with me, and all of you get back to work!" the man barked to the onlookers, and to Lan Wangji's surprise, they all did with barely concealed laughter.
Curiosity got the better of him as Lan Wangji got up to follow.
Xiongzhang was aware of his location and the time when Lan Wangji was supposed to arrive back in Gusu. He let that thought reassure him as he followed the deranged man further into Lotus Pier and passed a sign with large bold characters of 'No Trespassing.' Inwardly, he could picture Shufu's lecture on kidnapping, a favourite during Lan Wangji's childhood, when he had the habit of leaving in the middle of the night to return to his childhood home and wait for his mother.
Further inside, Lotus Pier's modernity vanished, replaced by antique wood and silk tapestries depicting events that Lan Wangji realized, with growing wonder, dated back to the sixth century. If he wasn't being led by this incensed man, Lan Wangji could spend days studying each one.
But the one at the end of the hall caught his eye and stopped Lan Wangji dead in his tracks.
Before him stood Wei Ying. Adorned in purple robes with a black sword sheathed at his waist, a red ribbon flowing behind him, he grinned widely with his arms animated as he spoke to the beautiful young woman beside him. Her features bright with soft laughter as she listened to Wei Ying. Another young man stood with his arms crossed and his own reluctant smile.
There was a flush to Wei Ying's cheeks that Lan Wangji had never seen from the ghost. Dressed in the rich purple that identified him as one of the Yunmeng Jiang, it brought out his sun-kissed skin. Wei Ying. Gorgeous Wei Ying, yet somewhere in his mind, a mutinous thought murmured he would look better in blue.
He was almost grateful for the man's stomp of annoyance as he pointedly held open the door. After taking a last look at the tapestry, he went through and nearly took a step back out. The great hall of Lotus Pier. Lan Wangji had read about the Jiang Clan's hidden treasures, including relics of Lotus Pier, but it was another thing to see them in person.
Teak wood carved with intricate lotuses surrounded him from floor to ceiling. Near the entrance, a golden statue of a dog bearing the ancient Jin crest sat regal and loyal. A broken hairpiece encrusted with clouded amethyst was encased in glass, its only company a tiny cracked bell. Next to an enormous lotus throne sat the same sword that had been on Wei Ying's waist in the tapestry.
"So you're back. Lan Wangji"
Lan Wangji looked at the blatant disrespect with which the man sat on the antique and hated him. This man had no regard for the relic, and that was unforgivable. Lan Wangji had no time to waste on people like him, but he would tolerate it to get more information about Wei Ying. "Have we met?"
"Fuck, I hate having this conversation." The man twisted the ring on his finger, the light hitting against the silver with an ominous glint.
"Have you heard of cultivation?" Lan Wangji nodded and waited for the man to continue. "Great. My name is Jiang Cheng, and my courtesy name is Wanyin. You might have read about me under the title Sandu Shengshou."
Deranged indeed.
"That would make you over a thousand years old." Jiang Wanyin didn't look a day over thirty, much less a millennium. Clearly, he was in the presence of the insane. "Ridiculous."
"You can blame my idiot brother for that. Trust me, immortality is overrated." Jiang Wanyin rolled his eyes as if that would explain things and not just make him sound more insane. "Watch this and then call me a liar." He stood and took two steps away from the lotus throne and flicked his wrist.
The effect was immediate as a cracking violet whip burst from the ring.
Lan Wangji stared at what could only be described as the embodiment of lightening shaped to be contained in the form of a whip. The harsh purple energy lashed out at anything that got too close. That was neither scientifically rational, and no trick of the light could justify it. "Cultivation is not mythology?"
"You used to be quicker on the uptake. Death made you stupid." Jiang Wanyin twisted the whip with a sharp flick of his wrist, and the purple lightning vanished, returning to the unassuming ring on Jiang Wanyin's finger. "All right, now that you see sense, tell me about the painting you bought out from under me."
"You did not value Wei Ying's painting as much as I do." An old anger, one that twinged with the same familiarity as when he first saw Wei Ying, rose. "I do not owe you an explanation."
"Petty and stubborn in every form, aren't you?" The words tapered off with a sneer. Lan Wangji resented that statement but kept his mouth shut. Jiang Wanyin, full of hot air and emotions, was more likely to let crucial information slip. And then Lan Wangji would leave. Back to Wei Ying, still waiting alone in his house. "I have reason to believe that Wei Wuxian is trapped in that thing, and I'm not letting you hoard his spirit in some creepy shrine to your long lost love."
Lan Wangji recoiled at his words. If he could free Wei Ying’s spirit he would do so in a second. The idea of trapping someone like Wei Ying repulsed him. "What do you know about Wei Ying?"
"So I am right." Jiang Wanyin spoke more to himself, a smug undercurrent to his words. "Everything. He's my brother."
'A brother doesn't leave his brother's soul trapped inside a painting for over a thousand years.' It was a petty, bitter thought. But Lan Wangji glared at Jiang Wanyin and hoped he heard it. "Wei Ying is safe, and that is all you need to know."
"Wei Wuxian is anything but safe. This would be so much easier if you remembered, but Hanguang-jun made that same mistake and it killed him." Jiang Wanyin pointed to him, waiting expectantly for Lan Wangji to agree or confirm that ‘surprise he was also an immortal and he knew everything all along.’
"You believe I am Hanguang-jun, I am not. But Wei Ying could never be a mistake."
"Heaven's dammit, it's like I'm having this conversation with a brick wall… again! Wei Wuxian has been stuck for nearly two millennia battling the remaining resentful energy from a dangerous artefact." Jiang Wanyin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply like he had to keep from hitting something. "He might seem okay, but fuck, after going through all the shit he went through, he's not. And it's only a matter of time until he snaps and does something he will regret… again."
"If I take you to Wei Ying, do you swear not to hurt him? That you are going with his best interests in mind?" Immortal or not, whether this man claimed to be Wei Ying's brother didn't matter. Lan Wangji would never allow harm to come to Wei Ying. And there was something inside that fundamentally didn't trust Jiang Wanyin.
"I swear on my sister's grave and my sect I will not harm your precious Wei Ying."
There was a weight to those words, even if the meaning was somewhat lost to him. "Very well."
"Great, get up. We're leaving."
At least I never checked into my hotel, he thought dryly. Jiang Wanyin stormed out of the hall as quickly as he had dragged Lan Wangji in. A group of people, all dressed in purple uniforms, bowed as they exited, and Jiang Wanyin barked a series of orders in a Wuhan accent so thick, Lan Wangji barely caught half of what was said.
It was a whirlwind of chaotic energy, and before he knew it, they were back at the train station barely a few hours after he arrived. At least Jiang Wanyin booked them a private first-class cabin.
Once Lan Wangji settled into his side of the cabin, Jiang Wanyin addressed him for the first time since leaving the library. "There is a chance he will attack me if we're in the same room again."
"Why?"
"I was there at his death." Jiang Wanyin twisted the ring on his finger, the silver catching the light of the setting sun. Lan Wangji watched it carefully, now aware what the unassuming jewellery really was. "Stop with the judgement. I didn't kill the idiot, if that's what you're wondering. He did that all by himself."
The air was heavy between them as Lan Wangji tried to process Jiang Wanyin's words. He did that all by himself . Not Wei Ying. A man filled with contagious energy, who laughed at everything, including the jokes Lan Wangji didn't know that he was making. For such a person to be pushed to do what Jiang Wanyin implied was unthinkable. Unfathomable, wrong.
Jiang Wanyin stared out the train window with such intense, mournful longing that Lan Wangji's anger cooled briefly. "Still, if his memory is as bad as it used to, Wei Wuxian might have forgotten that."
They didn't speak for the remainder of the trip. Lan Wangji took the time to continue writing down sections that would never make it to his thesis, trying to picture Wei Ying in every new sentence. Jiang Wanyin, at some point, dozed, his head resting on the pane of glass. Occasionally, his face would twitch into a frown, and he'd blink awake, stare confusedly at Lan Wangji, and then nod back to sleep. The setting sun cast the sect leader in a soft golden glow.
It was a very odd train ride.
But at long last, they arrived in Gusu. A driver that Jiang Wanyin coordinated was already waiting for them at the station. Thankfully, the car ride did not take long. As the Jingshi came into view, Jiang Wanyin instructed the driver to drop his belongings off at a nearby hotel. At least there was that small joy.
They made their way up the flight of stairs before he paused. "Remember your promise," Lan Wangji said, holding the door firmly closed until Jiang Wanyin huffed in agreement.
The doorknob creaked under his grip. The door opened, and relief flooded over him as he saw that his study was unchanged and Wei Ying's portrait still hanging, exactly as he had left it.
Jiang Wanyin reached for a small bell at his belt and rang it twice before crossing his arms, staring expectantly at the image of Wei Ying. "So this is where you have been, you asshole."
"Awe Chengcheng, did you miss me?" Wei Ying stepped down from the painting, standing half bent so he could look up at the other man, and stuck out his tongue. Lightning quick, Jiang Wanyin jerked his knee up in an attempt to land it squarely in Wei Ying's stomach; it, of course, went right through him. The man let out a series of curses, slipping into the same Yunmeng accent as Wei Ying, as he righted himself and attempted another hit. Red-hot anger coursed through Lan Wangji like he had never felt before as he yanked Jiang Wanyin's shoulder.
The movement did little, but it caused Jiang Wanyin to take a step back. "Do not hurt Wei Ying."
"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying laughed brightly, but it wasn't enough to cool Lan Wangji's growing hatred of the Jiang leader. "Jiang Cheng has always been like this!"
"Wei Wuxian, I am going to break your legs!" Jiang Wanyin pulled Lan Wangji's hand off with alarming strength. A crackle of energy made the hair rise on the back of his neck, and a harsh purple light radiated from the ring on Jiang Wanyin's finger. "Fuck off, Lan Wangji, or my next punch will be at your face. This is Yunmeng Jiang’s business."
At Jiang Wanyin's words, the room dropped in temperature, his breath coming out in visible puffs. Gold met grey as Lan Wangji made brief eye contact before turning to Wei Ying. Inky shadows flowed from the painting, wrapping Wei Ying in black tendrils.
"Calm down!" Jiang Wanyin placed a hand on the sword strapped to his belt, standing wary, ready for a fight. "I'm not going to hurt your precious Lan Zhan."
"I remember." Wei Ying's silver eyes, usually bright like a midsummer moon, were filmed in crimson. More shadows spilled from the middle of the painting. Lan Wangji tried to get closer to do something about the lines of pain twisting Wei Ying's face, but the shadows reached and grabbed his legs, anchoring him in place. "They killed them. All of them."
"Wei Ying."
Lan Wangji's voice was drowned out by the chaos of energy, but still Wei Ying turned. "Lan Zhan." The building anger seemed to die down as their eyes met. "I'm dead."
It had been on the the first things he noticed, the living tended not to phase through solid wooden tables. But ghost, or not, Wei Ying was so much more alive than any other person Lan Wangji had ever met. “Wei Ying is Wei Ying.”
Throwing his head back, Wei Ying let out a bitter laugh. "I'm having a mental breakdown, and that's your answer? Just accepting it? You wouldn't say that if you knew all the things I did."
He couldn't think of anything Wei Ying could do to make Lan Wangji love him less. But that thought would stay locked behind sealed lips.
Wei Ying's whole body heaved as if he still had lungs that needed to breathe. Lan Wangji wanted to scoop Wei Ying in his arms and hide him in a place where the world could not hurt him again. But even if he could, Lan Wangji wouldn't dare, no Wei Ying should never be trapped again. Jiang Wanyin watched them with an odd expression that Lan Wangji did not care to puzzle out.
"Done with the dramatics? Good, we have things to discuss." Jiang Wanyin crossed his arms and strode to the painting, examining it closely. "What the fuck did you do to it?"
"Huh?" Wei Ying went to stand beside his brother, leaning forward to perch on his toes like a bird about to take flight. "It's always been like this?"
"If you think this is how Hanguang-jun would have painted you, you're even stupider than I thought." Jiang Wanyin tried to push Wei Ying forward,but his hand went right through, sending the immortal stumbling sideways into a table.
Lan Wangji glared at the sect leader, even as Wei Ying laughed at his brother's expense. "Wei Ying is not stupid."
"Wei Wuxian is the definition of an idiot." Jiang Wanyin scoffed and rolled his eyes. "But he is also the smartest person I know."
"Awww, Jiang Cheng only took a thousand years to admit it."
"But seriously, what the hell did you do? There's so much resentful energy in that thing I'm surprised —" the words died on Jiang Wanyin's tongue. The sect leader stood still, like a bowstring ready to snap.
The smile faded from Wei Ying's face as he stood straight at attention, watching Jiang Wanyin closely. A harsh, sharp grey replaced the normally cheerful silver. This Wei Ying was as foreign as the Yiling Laozu had been, a soldier ready for his next order. "What did I do this time?"
Jiang Wanyin didn't answer immediately, still transfixed by the painting. Before Lan Wangji could ask him not to, Jiang Wanyin brushed his fingers against where Wei Ying's heart would be — with the same hand that hosted the deadly, destructive silver ring. Without a second thought, he made to take a step and rip Jiang Wanyin's hand away from Wei Ying, but words spoken with barely concealed grief stopped him. "You sealed yourself into a painting. And all the resentful energy of the other half of the fucking amulet."
"What? I didn't seal myself, Hanguang-jun did."
"Oh my god, please tell me you're joking." Jiang Wanyin turned and stared dumbfounded at Wei Ying, searching for a punchline to a joke that didn't exist. "You actually believe your precious Hanguang-jun sealed you in there. Why, for a second, would you think that?"
" Come back to Gusu ." Wei Ying's voice turned icy in its cruel mockery. A threat of red flickered in his eyes. Tiny shadows licked at his feet as Wei Ying stalked towards Jiang Wanyin, a transparent finger jamming against the sect leader's chest— and Lan Wangji knew from experience that he would feel like an icicle had lodged in his chest. "For punishment, obviously. He hated me and wanted to make sure I paid for my crimes."
"That's what you think? Wei Wuxian, he died playing Inquiry. A man who hated you wouldn't have done that." Jiang Wanyin dragged his hands down his, and grimaced like the situation had become physically painful "Twenty-four years. He played and scared the shit out of Zewu-jun. Because other than raising your kid, that's all he cared about!"
"A-Yuan? He survived?"
"Better than that, best cultivator of his generation. Along with A-Ling." Jiang Wanyin didn't stop his verbal rampage, ignoring the stricken look on Wei Ying's face. "A man who hated you wouldn't spend his whole life raising your kid and trying so hard to piece together your soul that it killed him."
"That's not true." Wei Ying backpedalled as if he could escape the reality of Jiang Wanyin's words. The lights flickered to the rhythm of a wildly beating heart, and darkness blurred Wei Ying at the edges. "Lan Zhan was too good to die that way."
He wasn't.
Neither of them had said it, but they didn't need to. From the moment Wei Ying came out of the painting to when Jiang Wanyin recognized Lan Wangji in the library, both of them had known him. Reincarnation wasn't a discountable theory; many cultures throughout history had a similar concept. Lan Wangji just never thought it would apply to him.
Yet it was the only thing that explained how familiar Wei Ying was initially. Since the moment Lan Wangji first saw Wei Ying’s painting, everything felt right.
It was why, with absolute certainty, Lan Wangji knew that for Hanguang-jun, there was no other way he would rather die than for Wei Ying.
"Wei Ying."
The ghost turned to face him, fear inscribed on his features. "Lan Zhan, please say you didn't."
"I did not." It was not a lie. He may have been Hanguang-jun in the past, but now he was Lan Wangji and he was alive. Whatever had happened in the past, Wei Ying had brought him nothing but joy, and Lan Wangji would not change a second of their time together.
Wei Ying took shaky steps forward, walking straight through Jiang Wanyin, and he had the pleasure of watching the other man shiver violently. It was unpleasant to have a phase through, like the sudden shock of ice water. Still, Lan Wangji wanted to grab Wei Ying and kiss all his fears away.
As it was, Lan Wangji raised his hands, cupping them around Wei Ying's cheeks. His palms stung from the sudden chill, but he paid no mind to the discomfort as he tilted his head, pressing his forehead as close to Wei Ying's as he could before phasing through.
"I'm still here! Can you not?" Jiang Wanyin's voice cut through the moment. "I have to get something. I'll be here tomorrow night. We're going to deal with his stupid amulet right this time. Afterwards, you better come to Lotus Pier and I'll fill you in on all the shit you left me to deal with alone!" He slammed the door on the way out. Rude. For an immortal, it seemed Jiang Wanyin had yet to learn manners.
"Lan Zhan." Wei Ying sounded drained of all energy. Dark circles lined his eyes, his hair more like shadowy ink, as if it remembered the form it was supposed to take but couldn't find the strength to do it. "Welcome home!"
Wei Ying was not well. Now was not the time to ask Lan Wangji the burning questions about Wei Ying's interaction with Jiang Wanyin. Tomorrow, they would have to deal with the aftermath. Not bothering to change, Lan Wangji plopped onto the bed. "Wei Ying."
Not needing to be told twice, Wei Ying scooted as close as he could. It was like hugging the winter wind, but Lan Wangji didn't care as he held his arm over Wei Ying's waist. His arm would be stiff and sore tomorrow from having it like this all night. But he could convince himself that Wei Ying was still warm in the realm of dreams.
True to his word, Jiang Wanyin returned, his arms full as he yelled to be let in from the other side of the door.
"You two leave your shit everywhere!" Jiang Wanyin huffed, laying down a large case. "I can't believe Hanguang-jun carried this fucking thing everywhere."
"Aw Jiang Cheng, do your old man muscles hurt from Wangji ?" Wei Ying snickered, poking his brother in the arm and laughing louder when the hand Jiang Wanyin raised to swat at him went right through.
"Fuck you! I've been holding on to this thing since Zewu-jun died." Jiang Wanyin pointed an angry finger at Lan Wangji, using the other to open the case. "You know how to play a guqin, right?" Lan Wangji nodded as he looked at the beautiful guqin before him. The lacquered wood was still gorgeous and gleaming, inviting him to play. The instrument was the finest he had ever seen. "Whatever you do, don't stop playing."
Assured, Jiang Wanyin went back to ignoring him and turned to Wei Ying. With a casual ease, he tossed an ebony dizi at Wei Ying. Opening his mouth, Lan Wangji was about to berate Jiang Wanyin, but surprise shut his jaw. Instead of passing through the ghost, Wei Ying caught it, looking as shocked as Lan Wangji felt.
Wei Ying turned the dizi in his hand, the red tassel twisting through the air. "You kept Chenqing?"
Jiang Wanyin huffed but with a soft smile. It looked like it was fighting to be freed. "Like I said, stop leaving your stuff everywhere."
"Jiang Cheng, I—"
"Don't." The sect leader raised his hand to cut Wei Ying off. "Let's deal with the other thing you left behind, and then we can get sappy."
Gingerly, Lan Wangji pulled the instrument from the case, the guqin humming with stores of energy that Lan Wangji didn't even know was possible. His fingers itched to play, and scores of music he had never heard flashed before his eyes, like the guqin had a mind of its own and already knew what needed to be played.
Jiang Wanyin gripped a deadly-looking purple blade, and Wei Ying raised his flute.
It was time.
In the painting, Yiling Laozu held the amulet between his hands, face contorted in anguish. Now, his Wei Ying stood tall and determined, black flute in hand.
Jiang Wanyin moved with a lethal grace, centuries of experience colouring every move. A purple blur of furious lightening eliminating the shadows nearly faster thanhe could keep track.
The two of them moved in seamless unison. Never missing a beat. If a skeletal hand moved in on Jiang Wanyin, Wei Ying would play a shrill note on Chenqing, evaporating the bones to nothing but dust. The same for Jiang Wanyin, his violet sword slicing anything that dared get close to Wei Ying.
A millennium apart and yet they knew each other's thoughts like they were their own.
But the amulet wasn't done yet.
Dark tendrils whipped out quicker than his brain could process, one of them lashing Jiang Wanyin and slicing an angry long slash from hip to shoulder.
A crimson shower burst from his chest, and Jiang Wanyin landed hard on the ground, kneeling on his sword.
"Jiang Cheng!" Wei Ying shouted, the dizi falling silent.
Lan Wangji didn't stop, his fingers bleeding on the ancient strings. In Wei Ying's moment of distraction, the darkness took shape. Dozens of skeletal, shadowy hands reached for Wei Ying.
No! He would not let that happen.
Lan Wangji would rather be dragged to the depths of hell than let even one of those creatures touch Wei Ying. With a spur of energy he didn't know he had, Lan Wangji let the sound of the guqin burst forth.
"I'm fine!" Jiang Wanyin grunted, a trickle of blood running down the corner of his mouth. Yet the sect leader stood tall as Zidian severed the hands with particular vengeance.
With a vicious smile, Wei Ying resumed his playing—beautiful and lethal, the notes flowed from Chenqing. His eyes burned with a feverish red as Wei Ying's fingers danced across the flute.
Lan Wangji felt the notes buried in his chest, awe and admiration giving him the energy to speed up his own playing. The notes from Wangji sang in perfect, eerie harmony with Chenqing. Like two lost lovers reunited, the instruments sang their notes to each other.
Zidian cut through the air as it battled anything that took physical form, but a battle of flute and guqin dissipated the host of resentful energy.
Until Wei Ying played a particularly shrill note, the music deafening as even the shadows screamed. And an object emerged from the painting, wreathed in darkness, and millions of haunted voices cried out in unison.
Then, silence, as the amulet snapped with a wave of resentful energy.
The force of the explosion reached Wei Ying first, going right through the ghost and hitting Lan Wangji squarely in the chest. The air rushed from his lungs as his back crashed into the wall behind him. Tiny starbursts bloomed in his vision as a shearing pain crawled up his ribs.
Several moments passed before Lan Wangji, with ears ringing, could take a deep enough breath to stop his head from spinning and quiet his need for air. Dimly he noticed the blast destroyed the mirror, tiny pieces of glass covered the study floor.
"Lan Zhan." They did it, they made it. The Stygian Tiger Amulet lay across the room, shattered in a million pieces. Even Jiang Wanyin rose to his feet, his face contorted in a grimace but alive. Lan Wangji turned to Wei Ying.
And the world ceased spinning.
Wei Ying stood staring at him, aflame with a silver glow. Already, his legs were quickly becoming translucent before vanishing entirely. But it didn't stop. Lan Wangji felt his brain trying to process what was happening, but his heart pounding with the beat of a thousand drums erased the possibility of thought.
Because thinking about it would make it a reality.
"Wei Ying." His voice broke in the middle, half a question and half a plea.
"Hey now, don't look so sad." Wei Ying cupped his cheek, cool fingers holding him together, even as more of him shimmered into nothingness. Silver eyes scanned his, committing every detail to memory just as Lan Wangji did the same. The light didn't stop. Why didn't it stop? When his soul begged it to? When he pleaded with every silent might not to take his Wei Ying? Soft lips pressed against his forehead, the sweetest of farewells. "We'll meet again."
"Wei Ying."
He smiled, and it was beautiful.
Then Wei Ying was gone.
Lan Wangji's knees sunk to the ground, little bits of glass burying under his skin, leaving pinpricks of red dotted the leg of his pants. But it was nothing compared to the sorrow, the raw grief that ripped at his heart.
Tears blurred his vision as he raised his head to stare at the ceiling. Wei Ying—his Wei Ying— was good and kind and more alive than anyone Lan Wangji had ever known. In the short, precious time Lan Wangji had the privilege of knowing him, Wei Ying had transformed his world, and he had never left the room.
What was the point now? When the world had lost its colour?
His fingers curled, even as they shook. Wei Ying. His name played in his mind like the most tragic of symphonies. Lan Wangji wanted him back, here with him. There was so much he never got to say.
Vaguely, he registered Jiang Wanyin letting out a string of curses, raw grief in his voice. The sect leader managed to stumble to his feet, before letting out a wet anguished sound somewhere in between a laugh and sob, rambling about how dare Wei Ying leave him again.
As much the words angered him it gave Lan Wangji the wherewithal to get his lungs to heave with tremendous shutter, and his head fell forward as his body lost the will to keep itself upright.
But for the briefest of seconds, as the darkness threatened to creep in, he saw it.
The painting had changed.
No longer was it a field of death but one of flowers. Tiny blue, pink, and yellow dots littered a canvas that seemed to be soaked in sunlight. And in the middle, with a rabbit cradled in his hands, sat Wei Ying, with a smile wide on his lips, tilted as if about to shout out in a joyful greeting.
With enormous force, Lan Wangji managed to get his legs to stand. Gingerly, as if touching it would cause the painting to vanish, Lan Wangji let his fingers brush over that smile that lit up the world.
"Until we meet again, Wei Ying."
"Lan Zhan! Look at the paintings." Wei Ying's hand pulled against his, and his boyfriend radiated joy as he dragged Lan Zhan to the special section Lotus Library had brought in for the month of October.
Poorly done caricatures of an old folk legend lined the walls, which Wei Ying found incredibly amusing, and stopped to take selfies with the worst ones. The hall tapered as they reached the end and the final enormous, gruesome painting of the Yiling Laozu .
A wealth of emotion welled inside him as Lan Wangji stood before it, and Wei Ying, too, fell silent as they beheld the ending of a legend. The bitter thought of it was unfair to have a violent, terrible ending to an exhibit that Wei Ying had found so funny. But perhaps that was the point, to know the guilt of laughing when you didn't know how the joke ended.
His eyes drifted to the tiny plaque at the foot of the painting:
Renowned scholar Lan Wangji (1923- 1998)spent the remainder of his life studying the painting of the Yiling Laozu. His works are considered foremost in the academic field regarding the Yiling Laozu's role in ancient history. While the original painting has been lost, a replica from the Jiang Institute of Historical Research has been donated for the museum's display. For more information, please inquire at the library.
"Lan Zhan, look, isn't it crazy that he spent all those years studying someone. I don't know how he had the attention span for that! Hey, want to go get a coffee?" Lan Wangji wrapped his arms around Wei Ying and hummed. He knew precisely what it was like to want to spend your entire life knowing one person.
Because once he saw Wei Ying, Lan Wangji never wanted to look away.