Chapter Text
The moon hung low over the frozen forest mountain-top, its silver light casting sharp shadows over its denizens. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian walked in companionable silence, their breath puffing in soft clouds in the winter air.
After everything that happened with their son, they both decided that they needed to take a break from their duties in Cloud Recess. To just wander together, aiding the common people with their yao issues on the way.
It had gone well—until they reached this accursed mountain. Strong traces of resentful energy had lured them here, faint but insistent.
They had lost track of their path after an unexpected snowfall erased their tracks, leaving them to wander aimlessly.
Wei Wuxian was not one to lose hope easily, but this mountain was testing his patience. He is two seconds away from flattening it.
“By the officials,” Wei Wuxian muttered, hugging his shivering arms closer to himself. “If we find the being that lured us here, this Wei Ying swears on his name that he will make it into a-a soup!”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji replied, his usually boundless patience also stretched thin.
Even his husband agreed—a testament to how dire their situation had become.
“Aiyah ,” Wei Wuxian pouted dramatically, sliding closer to his beloved, the warmth he was emitting tantalizingly. “All I wanted to do is show-off to my er-gege, and have him ravish me as a reward. Alas, this Wei Ying does not think that we will have the bits necessary to work in this freezing cold. ”
The arm around him tightened, almost unbearably so. Lan Wangji’s low, commanding voice cut through the cold. “Mark your words.”
Wei Wuxian bit back a delighted squeal. As soon as they escaped this wretched mountain, he’ll finally have his husband in his arms-he was determined to test just how serious his husband was.
A glint of something caught his eye—red, shiny, and unmistakably steeped in resentful energy.
He nudged Lan Wangji, nodding toward it. Lan Wangji inclined his head, and together, they moved toward the disturbance.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whispered, pausing to crouch by a small, broken sapling. His finger traced the edge of a claw mark gouged into the wood. “These marks are fresh. Not demonic, but definitely from a predator.”
He looks at his husband with excited eyes, a brilliant smile blooming on his face.
Suspense and anticipation thrum under his skin, they are getting somewhere with this, finally.
Lan Wangji, standing tall but a bit dazed beside him, nodded. “North.”
Wei Wuxian grinned. “You’re no fun, you fuddy-duddy. Can’t we just enjoy a little suspense before you point us the way?”
Lan Wangji gave him a look that, to anyone else, would have seemed impassive. Wei Wuxian, however, could see the faintest flicker of amusement and indulgence in his husband’s golden eyes.
“Fine, fine. Lead the way, Hanguang-jun .”
They moved silently, the snow crunching faintly under their boots. The marks became more frequent—snapped branches, patches of disturbed snow—and the air grew colder, biting even through Wei Wuxian’s thick cloak.
Then they heard it: a high-pitched, pitiful cry that pierced the stillness of the night.
Startled, both of them looked at the other.
Wei Wuxian’s heart clenched. “Lan Zhan, did you hear—”
Lan Wangji was already moving, his pace quick but careful. Wei Wuxian followed, and they soon came upon the source of the sound: a tiny fox kit, its fur as white as the snow around it, tangled in a cruel snare. Its amber eyes were wide with terror, and it whimpered weakly as it struggled. His eyes zeroed in to where the snare was tied, straining the poor kit.
Wei Wuxian knelt immediately. “You poor thing,” he murmured, his voice as gentle as if he were soothing a frightened child. He examined the snare and clicked his tongue. “Cheap and poorly made, but still cruel. Hunters these days have no shame.”
Lan Wangji stood close, guqin at the ready, his piercing gaze scanning their surroundings for signs of trouble. The snow was too quiet now, as if the mountain itself was holding its breath.
With deft fingers, Wei Wuxian untangled the snare, careful not to hurt the tiny creature further. The kit whimpered but didn’t bite, as if it sensed that this human meant no harm. When it was free, Wei Wuxian cradled it gently in his arms.
“There you go,” he said softly, stroking its fur. “Safe and sound. You’re going to be just fine.”
The kit blinked up at him, its amber eyes gleaming with gratitude. It whimpered and nestled into his stomach, as if to burrow deep.
“You’re such a cute little thing,” Wei Wuxian cooed, scratching its tiny head. “Who would’ve thought a second ago I was ready to turn you into soup, huh? Aha!”
He turned to his husband, holding the kit up in front of him with a playful grin. “It’s too cute to be made into soup, right, husband? Even though all I want to do is take a bite out of your adorable little face, aiyah!”
Lan Wangji just huffs, a tiny amused smile appearing as he gazed at his beloved. All tellingly though, he sets aside Wangji-qin and strokes the kits head tenderly.
Ah, this silly man.
But before Wei Wuxian could say more, the air around them grew heavy, the temperature dropping sharply. Snowflakes began to fall, swirling in a sudden gust of wind.
Lan Wangji moved closer, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Bichen. Wei Wuxian, still holding the kit, looked up to see a figure emerging from the shadows.
She was tall and regal, her long white robe trimmed with silver and her hair cascading like a waterfall of snow. Behind her, eight shimmering tails swayed gently, their movement hypnotic. Her amber eyes glowed with an ancient power that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of their beings.
The fox kit in Wei Wuxian’s arms chirped and wriggled free, scampering to the woman’s side.
It cooed and squealed, nestling into the clawed hand extended toward it.
“You have my gratitude,” the woman said, her voice smooth and resonant, carrying a weight that commanded respect. “I am Ying-niangniang, a winter fox on the cusp of my ninth tail. This child is my youngest, my heart. You have saved him.”
Her eyes hadn’t left the kit–her child–until she said the last words. Now those eyes are staring dead on to both of them, unblinkingly.
Wei Wuxian scrambled to his feet, brushing snow off his knees. He shot Lan Wangji a quick glance but found his husband’s expression as calm and respectful as ever. Lan Wangji inclined his head toward the fox spirit, his hands clasped neatly at his sides.
Her eyes were the same shade of amber as her child, cat slits visible. The vivid red of her huadian and matching xiaoye standing out against her fair skin.
She truly looks the part of the mythical huli jing Wei Wuxian has read about, elegance and sensuality pouring off of her every move.
A terrifying beauty.
Wei Wuxian straightened his back, adopting a similarly formal stance. “Great Mother,” he began, the words tasting unfamiliar on his tongue. “We only did what anyone else would have done.”
Ying-niangniang’s gaze shifted to him, and Wei Wuxian felt the weight of her eyes, sharp and assessing. “Do not diminish your actions, son of Cangse- Sanren ,” she said, her voice tinged with something close to amusement. “You were not compelled by duty or greed. You acted with a pure heart, and for that, I owe you a debt.”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to protest, but the Great Mother raised a hand, silencing him.
“Whatever your heart desires,” she continued, “if it lies within my power, I shall grant it. Think wisely, for many would kill to stand where you are now.”
The air grew still, the snowflakes hanging suspended as if time itself held its breath.
Wei Wuxian blinked, his mind racing. Before he could say anything, Lan Wangji stepped forward.
“Thank you, Great Mother,” he said, his voice steady and reverent. “My husband and I shall think and return with our decision.”
The Great Mother inclined her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Very well. Take your time, though I suspect your hearts already know what they seek.”
Her amber eyes gleamed, and for a moment, Wei Wuxian felt as though she could see straight through him, through every layer of grief, longing, and guilt that he carried.
The warmth of the fire they managed to light did little to ease the chill in the air between them. Wei Wuxian sat cross-legged on the floor, his chin resting on his hands. Lan Wangji stood by the entrance of the cave they dwell in, his silhouette framed by the flames of the fire.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said finally, breaking the heavy silence. “Do you think... maybe we could ask her?”
Lan Wangji didn’t turn, but Wei Wuxian could see the tension in his shoulders.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said softly, “the dead cannot be brought back. No matter our intentions, A-Yuan has been laid to rest.”
Wei Wuxian’s heart twisted painfully. He stared at the fire, his fingers clenching into fists. “But why not?! Wasn’t I the one who brought Wen Ning back? Wasn’t I the one who created an entire branch of cultivation? If there’s even the slightest chance—”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s voice was firm, though there was no anger in it. He turned to face his husband, his golden eyes filled with sorrow. “What you brought back was not life but a shadow of it. Would you wish the same for our son? To not be able to breathe the fresh air of our land, nor eat the spoils of our farming?”
Lan Wangji put his hands on his shoulders, hands blisteringly hot. “I will not damn our son to a life of wretched passivity. He will only be met with hatred and prejudice.”
Wei Wuxian flinched, the words cutting deeper than any blade. Because…Lan Wangji is right . He will be only turning their beloved child to a husk of himself.
There isn’t a day where he doesn’t regret returning Wen Ning to life, as he himself, in the small corner of his mind, despises Mo Xuanyu for the same reason. While he wasn’t reborn as the living undead, he was still ripped from the peacefulness of death.
He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. He really is the most selfish .
“Lan Zhan,” he whispered, his voice raw, “I just... I just want to see him again. To hold him. To tell him that he was loved...”
I just want him to have the life he deserves goes unsaid.
Lan Wangji crossed the room in a few strides and knelt before Wei Wuxian, taking his hands in his own. “I understand,” he said quietly. “But we must tread carefully. The Great Mother’s power is immense, but even she may have limits.”
Wei Wuxian opened his eyes, meeting Lan Wangji’s steady gaze. “It doesn’t hurt to ask, husband. If there is any way of returning our son in our arms-” here he pauses and then adds,”- without cursing him to an un-feeling body, then we should take it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
Lan Wangji held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Together, then.”
When they returned to the forest, the Great Mother was waiting, her eight tails shimmering faintly in the moonlight. The little kit is seen sleeping next to where she is, softly snoring.
“You have made your decision,” she said, more a statement than a question.
Wei Wuxian stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. “Great Mother, we wish to ask for the return of our son. He... he died too young. If there’s any way to bring him back, we—”
Ying-niangniang raised a hand, and Wei Wuxian fell silent.
“I cannot overrule the natural order of reincarnation,” she said, her voice tinged with regret. “Once a soul has moved on, it cannot be recalled. However...”
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught. “However?”
The Great Mother’s gaze turned piercing. “There is another way. I can send you both to a new reality—one unbound by the laws of this world. There, you will have the chance to start anew, to create the family you long for. But the price will be steep.”
His brows furrowed, and an uneasy expression crossed Lan Wangji's face. “What price?” he asked, his voice laced with both concern and uncertainty.
Ying-niangniang’s expression grew grave. “Your bodies in this reality will be sacrificed, ensuring the blood bond necessary for what you desire. Your souls will remain intact, but you will leave everything behind. This reality will be paused indefinitely. All that has happened here—and all that might happen—will become obsolete.”
Ah.
The howling wind rushed past him, leaving him cold and numb.
The words hung in the air, thick with a weight that made his chest tighten. The world around him seemed to blur and distort, the edges of everything growing hazy, as though reality itself was slipping through his fingers.
He tried to speak, to ask her how this was possible, but his throat was dry, constricted, as though the air itself had turned to cement. His breath came in shallow gasps.
His thoughts scrambled, caught between disbelief and terror, the horrifying realization that the life he knew, every person he loved, everything he had fought for—would be erased, just like that. Gone. As though it never existed. Only him and his husband would remember, forever carrying the weight of such a burden.
He clutched at the air, his fingers curling into fists, wanting to scream but unable to. His eyes flicked toward Ying-niangniang, as if she could offer some explanation, some sliver of mercy. But there was nothing in her gaze except cold certainty, as though this was a fate already sealed.
"Is this… is this truly the only way?" The words left his lips before he could stop them, a whisper carried away by the wind. But even as they left him, he knew they wouldn’t be enough to change what was coming.
Wei Wuxian cleared his dry throat. “Great Mother, while this one is neither ungrateful nor unwilling to accept such a gracious gift,” he faltered, searching for the right words, his mind in turmoil. He glanced toward his husband, who nodded in encouragement, his expression a silent plea for clarity.
“Is it necessary to sacrifice the unwilling? Must we halt the lives of others, stop their destinies, as the cost of our own?”
The Great Mother took a long, thoughtful pause, her gaze distant, as though weighing his words in the balance of fate. Finally, she spoke. “Your words hold merit, young one.”
However, she quickly dashed his relief with her next words. “More's the pity, this is the only way this Ying-naingnaing can grant your request.”
Ah.
His heart sank, the air around him thickening, suffocating. Each word she spoke felt like a chain tightening around his chest, suffusing his limbs with a growing numbness. What kind of choice was this? How could it be that the lives of so many—his, his loved ones, all they had known—could be so easily dismissed? What kind of gods made bargains like this? The thought swirled in his mind, spinning faster and faster, until his head ached, and nausea rose in his throat.
“Wei Ying, we do not have to go through with it if you do not wish it,” his husband spoke in a hushed and reassuring whisper, caressing his face tenderly.
Wei Wuxian felt a sharp pang of sorrow at the thought of leaving Lan Jingyi, Wen Ning, and the others behind—those who had become like family, who had fought alongside him through thick and thin. But when his gaze shifted to Lan Wangji, to his husband, standing steadfast beside him, he knew the choice had already been made.
In Lan Wangji’s eyes, there was a silent understanding, an unspoken promise that whatever they faced, they would face it together. Despite the heartache, despite the sacrifice, Wei Wuxian knew that this was the path they had to walk. For their son, if not for themselves.
Taking a shuddering breath, he lowered his head in acceptance. “So be it, then.”
Lan Wangji stepped forward, his presence radiating a protective calm as he positioned himself between Wei Wuxian and the Great Mother, as though to shield him from the crushing weight of the decision. His voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable edge of raw urgency in his words. “What will become of our son?”
The Great Mother’s amber eyes gleamed, depths swirling like molten gold under the dying light of the heavens. In her hand, a pearl of great light began to form—a luminous orb that seemed to pull the essence of stars and moonlight into its opalescent core. It shimmered and rippled, its glow casting faint, shifting shadows on the snow beneath her feet. As her lips moved in an unspoken incantation, the pearl grew brighter, its surface undulating like the tide’s crest under a harvest moon. And then, as if exhaling the universe’s secrets, the pearl vanished, dissolving into faint, glittering motes that lingered in the air like fireflies before winking out.
“The pearl I shall gift you,” the Great Mother began, her voice echoing like the layered harmonies of wind chimes in a storm, “will birth him, but only under conditions as precise as the weave of destiny itself.” She held her hand aloft, a faint flicker of light coalescing into a shimmering, iridescent sphere that seemed to hum with the resonance of a distant song.
Her amber eyes glowed brighter as she stepped forward, the pearl’s light dancing like ripples across their solemn faces. “Wei Wuxian must incubate it, cradling its fragile essence against the tides of the world until the moment is right. It will slumber in his care, feeding on the energy of his spirit, the rhythm of his pulse.”
Her gaze shifted, as if piercing the veil of time itself. “Whether it takes a day, a month, or even countless years matters not. The pearl will know when it is ready, and until that time, it must never leave your person.”
The pearl pulsed faintly in her palm, as though alive, its glow rippling through the surrounding air. “Fail in this,” she warned, her tone dropping into a weighty stillness, “and its life will extinguish before it begins, unraveling threads you cannot see, yet cannot afford to sever.”
“The pearl must have both of your spiritual energy flowing through it,” the Great Mother continued, her voice steady yet laden with an ancient gravitas. The air around them seemed to hum faintly, resonating with her words. “Only then will it take root and awaken as it should.”
She paused, her amber eyes gleaming with a knowing light as if gauging the weight of her instructions on them. “Do not underestimate how much power it can store. That seemingly fragile pearl, small as it is, can withstand the weight of years—no, decades—of cultivated qi dwelling within its core. It is not merely a vessel, but a forge for what lies beyond your understanding.”
The faint glow of the pearl in her hand pulsed rhythmically now, almost as if mirroring the beating of a heart. “Feed it well,” she murmured, the words like a whispered edict from the heavens. “It will ask much of you both, but in return, it will become something worthy of the heavens themselves.”
She turned her gaze to Lan Wangji, her expression softening ever so slightly. “Wei Wuxian must also find a place where he feels total security and safety,” she said, her voice unwavering. “Without this, the pearl will not hatch. Its essence is too delicate to endure uncertainty or fear.”
Lan Wangji inclined his head solemnly, his voice a low murmur. “En.”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to protest, only to hesitate, a flicker of self-awareness crossing his features. He couldn’t deny the truth in her words. Reflecting on his past—a trail of chaotic, dangerous choices—he sighed inwardly. “Fair enough,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Not like I’ve been the poster child for good judgment.”
Her eyes suddenly sharpened, their amber depths hardening into a flinty glare that felt like the weight of a blade poised at his heart. “The pearl cannot withstand the touch of those who would harm or covet it,” she intoned, her words ringing with finality. “You must leave behind the Jiang clan. Their presence is a poison to the pearl; their intent, no matter how veiled, will destroy it. And once destroyed, it shall never return—not in this life nor any other.”
Wei Wuxian’s brows furrowed in puzzlement as he met her piercing gaze. “Great Mother,” he asked carefully, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips in an attempt to mask his unease, “how did you know what clan I was affiliated with in the past?”
For a moment, the air between them seemed to grow heavier-heady-, as if her knowledge reached far beyond what mortal minds could comprehend. She tilted her head, a faint smile curling at the corners of her lips, though it carried no warmth. “Wei Wuxian,” she replied, her voice as soft as a whisper yet as firm as the bedrock of the world, “there is little that escapes the sight of the Great Mother. The threads of your life, of all lives, are written in the stars themselves. Your past, your choices, your burdens—they ripple outward, and I... read the waves.”
Ying-naingnaing hides her mouth with her wide sleeves.
He lowered his head in acknowledgment, aware of what his actions have caused. Even now, many still fear his power and plot against him. No matter how much his husband has tried to clear his name, it still lingers on the tongues of scared commoners and clan leaders alike.
She starts walking towards them, the jingle of bells following behind her. “Worry not of imaginary debts and the words of jealous wives. Do not make it who you are, rather make it the burdens you unleash from your back.”
She reaches her warm hand to lovingly caress his face, eyes softening at him. “You will have your chance to change the past, but do not dwell in it nor let it define you.”
She leans down, pressing a burning kiss on his forehead reminiscent of his mother. “You must learn to take care of yourself, son of Xiao Mei and Wei Changze. Learn to be more selfish. ”
Her burning gaze shifts to his husband. “As you should, son of Zhang Yinuo. Not all that is written in the stars must be followed, nor should chaos be sown in its place. Seek the middle path, and hold to it, young one."
As she had done before, she tilts her head up and places a motherly kiss on Lan Wangji's forehead. He sees his beloved’s eyes well with tears, his breath hitching in his chest. Taking his husband’s hand gently, he presses a soothing kiss to it, a silent promise that he is there for him.
She stepped back, and with her retreat, her gentle demeanor faded. Her expression, now sculpted into cold neutrality, held no trace of warmth. “Listen well, descendants of man, for I will not repeat. I shall grant you a boon, but only under this condition: upon your return to your time, the land you call home will cease the hunting of foxes—for meat, for coat, or for greed—for fifty years. Let no weapon be raised against my children."
She raises her hand, her voice laced with quiet authority. “Should a fox strike unprovoked, you have my blessing to defend. From one guardian to another, this Great Mother understands what must be done—though not all would see the path so clearly.”
Wei Wuxian met his husband’s gaze, searching his eyes before giving a firm nod of agreement. Together, they would do their best.
Her gaze remains unyielding, her voice sharp with conviction. “Will you bear the weight of countless souls, son of Cangse-sanren? Dozens upon dozens, their cries forever etched into the fabric of your being?”
She turns her unyielding gaze upon his husband. “Or will you turn your face to the heavens and uphold the righteousness demanded of you, son of Zhang Yinuo?”
He felt his husband's hand interlock with his own and tighten, a sure finality in his actions.
“We agree,” Wei Wuxian said finally, his voice steady.
Lan Wangji nodded, his hand tightening around Wei Wuxian’s. “We agree.”
Ying-niangniang’s lips curved into a faint, bloody fanged smile. “So be it.”
The Great Mother extended her hand, and from the shimmering void between her fingers, a necklace began to take form. The pearl at its center glowed softly with an otherworldly light, its surface shifting with swirling hues of crimson and azure as if holding the fire of a dawn sky and the depths of an endless ocean. She stepped closer and, with a deliberate grace, placed it gently around Wei Wuxian’s neck.
“This is your child,” she said, her voice reverberating with both tenderness and authority. “Take heed to protect it well, for its fate and yours are now intertwined.”
Wei Wuxian raised a hand to touch the pearl. It radiated warmth, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat, the swirls of red and blue flickering in patterns that felt alive. His fingers lingered, a strange blend of awe and apprehension settling over him.
Her gaze softened for a moment as she regarded them both. “Be well, descendants of fox and dragon,” she said, her tone carrying the weight of an ancient blessing. “And take care, for the threads of your lives are now woven into something far greater than you understand.”
Before either of them could utter a word, her expression sharpened, her amber eyes burning with an intensity that felt like the heart of a dying star. Her claws extended with an otherworldly speed, piercing their hearts in one fluid motion.
A blinding white light exploded outward, consuming them in its brilliance. Wei Wuxian felt the searing heat of it, but it was not pain—it was as though his very soul was being unraveled and remade. The world around them dissolved into darkness, leaving only the faint echo of the Great Mother’s voice lingering in the void:
When Wei Wuxian awoke, it was to the soft sound of birds chirping outside the window. The faint scent of lotus flowers filled the air, and sunlight streamed through the wooden slats, painting the room in warm, golden hues.
He blinked, his mind sluggish and disoriented. The room was achingly familiar: the small wooden desk piled with old scrolls, the window overlooking the shimmering lake, the neatly folded blankets at the foot of the bed.
It was his childhood bedroom in Lotus Pier.
The realization hit him like a thunderclap. Wei Wuxian sat up abruptly, clutching the pearl necklace around his neck. It was warm against his palm, pulsing faintly, a reminder of the life it contained.
A sob tore from his throat as memories flooded back—of the sacrifices made, of the family left behind, of the child they had yet to meet. The weight of it all crushed him, and he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with uncontrollable grief.
For the first time in years, Wei Wuxian allowed himself to cry openly, the tears soaking into his sleeves. He cried for what was lost, for what could never be reclaimed, and for the fragile hope that this new reality offered.
Somewhere in the distance, the sound of footsteps echoed through the halls, growing closer. But for now, Wei Wuxian was alone with his sorrow and the pearl that held the promise of a new beginning.