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Before there was Wei Ying, there was Muqin and A-Huan and Shushu. Before there was Wei Ying, there had been Xiongzhang and Shufu. Before there was Wei Ying, there was satisfaction.
Wei Ying had brought joy with him—joy that lit his world with splendour, fireworks of new experiences and tastes and loved.
Their first meeting had been on the walls of Gusu, where Lan Wangji could only look on helplessly as he broke past ancient defences and rules, taking swigs from a wine bottle all the while.
He’ll be trouble, his head whispered.
It’ll be worth it, his heart replied.
In the end, who was to say who was right?
Emperor’s smile—I’ll give you a sip if you let me go!
Wei Ying’s smile was seared into Lan Wangji’s mind, even now. It was the expression he had sported the most, the sort of reckless smile that warned everyone that this was a troublemaker, that his happiness would break everyone near him.
It was a sort of dreadful irony that Lan Wangji’s muttered prophecies had come true, like the heavens had heard those first few curses—curses that he had never, ever meant, not even then, for who could curse an angel when their smile shone so damn bright—and smiled upon Lan Wangji.
His words had come true.
Wei Ying had died while pushing his brother away from a monster, a smile on his face as he assured A-Cheng that it was really alright and it didn’t hurt that bad and it wasn’t your fault and to tell Lan Zhan I love him and that I wish I had gotten more time more love more more more—
Wei Ying had never finished that sentence. His last words laid unspoken in his dying breath, unable to be propelled by that throat that had once spit fire, jabbering nonsense at Lan Wangji nonstop.
Not for the first time, Lan Wangji mourned his coldness in his youth. He would do anything, anything at all, to just be able to have the chance to hear that ridiculousness again.
But in his foolishness, he had turned Wei Wuxian—his zhiji, his love, his life—away from him, and had only heard his confession from his mourning brother.
Wei Ying, won’t you come back and tell me your new ideas? I won’t push you away again, I swear to the Heavenly Emperor, I will never again dare to speak even a modicum of harshness in your direction. Please, Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji was not a man that liked to beg.
Lan Zhan would do anything to hear Wei Ying one last time.
That ghost had been smart—its poisonous talons were destined to drive a soul into torment, resentment wielded to a singular point that could take someone out of the cycle of reincarnation entirely.
Wei Ying would not be left to suffer such a fate, screaming for the rest of his eternities. Lan Zhan wouldn’t dare dream of giving up, even in his next lifetimes, no matter what he looked like or what he sounded like.
Wei Ying would always be Wei Ying, and Lan Zhan Lan Zhan. It took him much longer than needed to understand that fact.
And he wouldn’t erase that understanding no matter how many times his brother knocked at his door and begged to see him, no matter how many times his uncle shouted at a door that would never answer or open.
Lan Zhan tore his fingers apart playing Inquiry, asking spirit after spirit if they had heard of a Wei Wuxian, or perhaps a Wei Ying, or any restless spirit donning red and a signature smile?
The spirits grew responsive, but every time, without fail, Lan Zhan’s spirits rose to the heavens only to come crashing down after the spirit apologised.
…I’m sorry…
…I don’t know…
…Sorry….
…I haven’t heard…
…Maybe my friend…
…You could ask Ghost City?
The spirit made Lan Wangji’s playing finally cease, hope rising in him for what felt like the thousandth time.
“Ghost City?” Lan Wangji rasped, his voice hoarse with disuse. His eyes stared carefully at the space above him, containing a spirit with an answer—finally, someone with a damned answer.
Hua Chengzhu’s domain. Crimson Rain Sought Flower has grown kind since his husband’s coronation, perhaps he would see fit to help you? The spirit suggested, flickering as it spoke names the mortal realm shivered at.
Crimson Rain Sought Flower. The Ghost King that had married the Heavenly Emperor, bound to each other with a sacred string.
The Second Jade of Lan had been raised to slay ghosts, not ally with them. He had grown up with blood on his blade and calluses formed over his fingers.
But there was no end to the things he would do for Wei Ying.
(Sometimes, Lan Zhan looked in the mirror and saw his father staring back at him.)
Ghost City was exactly the kind of place Wei Ying would have loved: loud and bustling, with vendors yelling at him to try this meat and that meat, ghosts selling their goods at every stall and daring him to try their spices.
Lan Wangji tucked the memory away in a little vase in his mind, leaving it to grow in the water he left it with, slowly blossoming for the time when he would pluck it for Wei Ying and tell him of the stories behind each petal.
“I’m looking for Hua Chengzhu,” Lan Wangji asked. “Where is the master of this city?”
After asking the hawker, he was subsequently forced to buy three items from the ghost’s stall before receiving his answer.
“I’m feeling nice since our master’s had such a good year—you know, with his marriage and all.”
Seeing Lan Wangji’s unimpressed look, the ghost tutted. “Ah, no patience for your elders. Take a right and keep walking ‘till you see a big gambling hall. Just go in and you’ll find him front and center.”
The ghost cackled, counting the gold in his palm. They clinked, shining like stars in the night sky. Lan Wangji had undoubtedly just been scammed for ten times what that information was worth.
Compared to Wei Ying, the gold was a raindrop in an ocean, useful only in what it could provide for Wei Ying. He didn’t regret a single piece of what he had spent for that information.
Lan Wangji nodded in thanks and headed to the building. The roads twisted and turned until left was right and right was left. It took all he had to keep walking, and indeed, he was at the gambling hall.
Pushing open the doors, Lan Wangji was greeted with noise louder than even the loudest of Caiyi crowds, bursting at the seams and almost rupturing his poor eardrums.
“HUA CHENGZHU! HUA CHENGZHU! HUA CHENGZHU!” The crowd screamed, the sound bouncing from wall to wall like an errant child throwing a tantrum.
In the middle of the crowd, raised on a dais that was barely covered by sheer red gauze, the master of the city looked up at Lan Wangji and smirked.
“Alright, settle down you damn ruffians,” Hua Cheng smiled, his talons scraping the armrests of his throne as he rose to meet Lan Wangji. “Looks like we have company.”
With just those words, the crowd grew silent, parting for Lan Wangji like a sea, leaving a narrow path for him to walk towards Hua Cheng.
Lan Wangji ignored the stiffness in his chest and his blaring instincts and started walking, feeling a sense of deja vu like never before.
Have I been here before? He wondered. Surely I would remember…
As if reading his mind, Hua Cheng snorted.
“Lan Wangji, aren’t you tired of challenging me every week?” The ghost king stretched lazily, his back cracking as he pushed his shoulders back in a confident fashion.
“…Every week?” Lan Wangji questioned.
Hua Cheng groaned, and rolled his eyes again. “Every fucking time, you come down here and demand to play a game to win back Wei Wuxian’s soul and offer your memory as a stake. Every time, you lose and I win the rapidly diminishing hope that you’ve had enough and won’t come back.”
The knowledge that he had been here before sent shocks down Lan Wangji’s spine. Quickly, he tried to process the bits of information Hua Cheng had so carelessly given him.
The past him had challenged Hua Cheng to a game. Hua Cheng was willing to take his memory as a stake, even though Lan Wangji had been warned that the stakes at the gambling hall were incredibly high, with only Hua Cheng’s now husband as an exception.
Lan Wangji had been prepared to stake his hands for Wei Ying—his ability to play the guqin was unparalleled throughout the sects, and it had brought him joy in the darkest of times. Had channeled his all-emcompassing grief for Wei Ying into something resembling action, at the very least.
His hands were his most beloved part of him, and yet he would give them up in a heartbeat for Wei Ying.
Why would Hua Cheng accept his memory in the game? It was nowhere near as valuable as his skills with the guqin, and the ghost king likely knew that Lan Wangji would give away any part of himself in the hopes of bringing Wei Wuxian back.
The answer came to mind slowly, and he cursed himself for not thinking of it before. Hadn’t the vendors reminded him of it just moments ago?
His marriage.
The Heavenly Emperor must be a good husband, for his lover to remain incredibly soft even a year after their union.
Not a small part of Lan Wangji grew green in envy, wondering if he would do the same if Wei Ying had lived to be his husband.
But Hua Cheng was dead, and Xie Lian a god.
Why couldn’t Wei Ying and him do the same?
By his logic, it would be obvious to assume that Hua Cheng had taken pity on his quest for love, and permitted him to challenge him even as he put up stakes that were of no value to a Ghost King.
But pity wouldn’t win Wei Ying back. And now that he looked around—really looked, his past selves had been presumptuous to think that they could win against a ghost born under a cursed star in a game of luck.
No, another game wouldn’t work. Lan Zhan had to try something different.
“Well?” Hua Cheng provoked, staring at him with something similar to pity in his eye.
“If you’re tired of my challenges, I have a proposition for you.” Lan Zhan steeled himself for the words he would say next.
“Oh?” A dangerous sound from a dangerous man.
Lan Zhan soldiered on, his face remaining impassive and unreadable. “I take Wei Ying’s soul with me outside, but you can do whatever you want to me to try and keep me in.”
Hua Cheng snorted. “And why would I want you in my lands any longer? If anything, I should be pleased to see you go. No, no, for a wager to be fair—“ And his smile sharpened to a point here, turning into something truly wicked.
“—I will try to keep only Wei Wuxian’s soul here. His Majesty’s grown fond of nursing poor souls, and I’d hate to rip him away from the task.”
His Majesty could be no one other than Xie Lian, the new Heavenly Emperor of barely a decade’s reign.
Despite his reservation, something in Lan Zhan softened when he heard Wei Ying would be taken care of no matter what. Even if he failed, even if Wei Ying would never live again…
Well, Lan Wangji could at least rest in peace knowing that he would join his beloved on the other side.
“I agree to your terms.” Lan Zhan stared at Hua Cheng, watching the way his expressions shifted. The Ghost King would try to make it easier on him, but he still had expectations to live up to.
It would be a miracle if Lan Zhan would pass the challenge—but Wei Ying had so often preached of miracles that the positivity was possible that it had rubbed off on Lan Zhan.
Attempt the impossible.
Hua Cheng nodded and let his smile tilt to the side. “Then let me lay out the terms for our little deal. One, Wei Wuxian will be tied to you with a string and he’ll walk behind you. Two, he won’t be able to say a word. And lastly—“
Lan Zhan braced himself for the term that would undoubtedly be the hardest to overcome.
“—You can’t look back until both of you are out of the ghost realm. I’ll be watching you, so if any of the terms are broken…” Hua Cheng let his words trail off, a dangerous glint in his eye.
In the silence, a ghost suddenly erupted, clapping like, well, a ghost had possessed him.
“Our Hua Chengzhu is the smartest!” He praised, an almost reverent expression on his face.
Like clockwork, the rest of the ghosts began to applaud as well, filling the room with claps that nearly sent Lan Zhan to his knees.
“I accept.” He rasped, staring at the floor like Wei Ying would spring from it.
Hua Cheng’s smile turned melancholic, and with one snap of his fingers, a bright light appeared.
Without a doubt, Lan Zhan knew that light was Wei Ying’s soul. It was too bright to be anything but.
“This is your beloved’s soul. I’ll give him a clone of his mortal body, and tie your hands together with this piece of string.” Hua Cheng took a piece of string from beside him and tapped it lightly, causing it to light up in glorious scarlett.
The string flew to Lan Zhan’s finger, tying a neat bow around his middle digit and settling down.
“Wei Wuxian is behind you. Any attempt to look behind you will be met with extreme, and I do mean extreme, prejudice.” Hua Cheng’s grin left nothing to the imagination.
Lan Wangji nodded, and started moving. He only made it a few footsteps before he realised that the string was much looser than expected.
If Wei Ying was truly behind him, wouldn’t the string be pulled taut? Had Hua Cheng tricked him?
Lan Zhan resisted the temptation to just look behind him and check. It would do no good to do so, he knew that logically.
But there was an almost insatiable hunger to look upon Wei Ying’s face again, a face he could only shape in the best of dreams and grasp at in the worst of nightmares.
In the night, he would be lucky to see a mere facade of Wei Ying. In the day, he could do nothing but imagine his face, and wish that he could bring his coffin to Gusu to stare at his face for the rest of his days.
That was a fantasy he had told not even his own reflection, keeping it sealed shut so no one could wonder at his perverse nature.
But now, it came roaring back with a passion, demanding that Lan Zhan simply turn back and look.
Surely, Hua Cheng would let him see him just once. Surely, Hua Cheng wouldn’t know. Surely, he could just—
Before it was too late, Lan Zhan caught himself and squeezed his eyes shut.
No. He would not compromise his chances of letting Wei Ying have another chance at life just for his own selfish desires.
As if he was truly blind and not the pale facsimile of it that he had felt in the days after his beloved’s passing, Lan Zhan’s hands pulled his clan ribbon off in a panic, clumsy in a way they hadn’t been in years, and tied it around his head.
Though they were still in the gambling hall, and supervised by Hua Cheng himself, the ghost king said nothing of it.
Lan Zhan stumbled on, repeating his steps in a sense of urgency. His feet struck the ground and sent pebbles flying; his shoulders accidentally hitting countless stalls and ghosts.
Still, all he could muster up was apologies and promises of reparations. Lan Zhan couldn’t bear to take off his ribbon, not until they were both out of the realm and he could tie it around Wei Ying’s hand.
Road by road, the path seemed to become less and less crowded. It took Lan Zhan moments to realise that he hadn’t bumped into anyone for the last few minutes, and to wordlessly thank Hua Cheng for his kindness with a quick prayer.
His breaths seemed to be coming faster now, like the mere presence of Wei Ying behind his back was bringing him back to life. Perhaps they could both relearn how to live in the aftermath of such a tragedy.
Lan Zhan continued walking on and on until he finally reached a wall that felt oddly familiar.
He pressed on its nooks and crannys until he remembered the talisman hidden from view, the only way he could let himself out to leave.
Still, there was no way he could reach it without taking off his blindfold. With a heavy heart, he pulled his ribbon off and tied it back onto his forehead, reading the wall for the talisman he had left behind.
And lo and behold, there it was, dangling from the wall only inches above his head. A quick tap made the walls shift, and broke them open.
Sighing with relief, Lan Zhan stepped into the mortal lands again. If he remembered, they were just north of Gusu, at the far reaches of even the Great Sects.
“Wei Ying? I crossed the line, you can talk now—“ Just as Lan Wangji uttered the words, turning around to finally, finally see his beloved—
He saw Wei Ying, one foot in mortal land and one foot in the ghost realm.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying looked at Lan Zhan with confused eyes, staring at him like he had never seen him before.
Before Lan Zhan could answer him, Wei Ying faded away to the same bright light he had been just hours ago.
Lan Zhan cried out, leaping for the light but never making contact, stopped by a wave of silver butterflies.
“I did tell you both to get onto mortal land before looking at each other,” Hua Cheng reminded. While the gleam in his eye was still mildly apologetic, Lan Zhan found himself struggling not to hit him for his mirthful tone.
“Still, he was halfway through…”
Hua Cheng pondered the issue again, staring at the light with a complicated expression.
“I suppose I’ll give you another chance. I’m feeling especially merciful today.”
At those words, Lan Wangji froze in his spot, a crescendo of hope thrown at him with the force of a mountain avalanche.
“But you’ll have to wait, or it’ll look like I’m giving you another undeserved chance. And if that happens, I’ll lose face and then my citizens might even protest! We wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?” Hua Cheng’s lazy smile sent rage shaking through Lan Zhan’s very soul.
Still, he managed a begrudging nod.
“Good, good. How about twenty years?” Hua Cheng suggested.
Lan Wangji’s head snapped up and he glared, unable to discern if the ghost king was serious.
Unfortunately, his face was the exact same as it had been in that gambling hall, filled with nothing but amusement save for the occasional glimpse of guilt.
“Five.” Lan Wangji gritted out.
“Fifteen,” Hua Cheng glared.
“Thirteen.” Lan Wangji looked at Hua Cheng, and Hua Cheng must have known that Lan Wangji would have rather taken his sword and died trying to cut him down instead of waiting one more moment.
“Thirteen it is. You know, you really are lucky I’m so reasonable,” Hua Cheng added. Upon seeing the incredulous look on Lan Zhan’s face, he continued on. “No, really, I had to wait eight hundred years, and you’re protesting twenty?”
Lan Zhan winced at the mere thought, and Hua Cheng must have taken it for agreement, nodding at him with thinly veiled approval.
“Exactly! Imagine just how painful it was for me. So really, you should be thanking me here, Hanguang-jun.” Though his name was thrown around in a mocking manner, Lan Zhan found no anger in him to dispute it.
Hua Cheng rolled his eye, and closed his palm.
With it, Wei Ying’s soul left as well, blinking once as if it was saying goodbye.
Lan Zhan blinked once as well, trying to stop the tears from running down his face.
“I’ll see you in thirteen years,” Hua Cheng finally said, a strange look on his face as he looked Lan Zhan up and down.
Like looking in a mirror… Hua Cheng grimaced.
Lan Zhan nodded once, slow and sluggish. He wanted to collapse in the mud and dust and perish like the worms on the ground, but he wouldn’t make it long enough to see Wei Ying alive again.
This was a crueler punishment than he realised. To force him to survive in a world without Wei Ying, all for the sake of a mere chance to bring him back…
Ghost City hadn’t been lying about its master’s cruelties. It truly did know no bounds.
Without another word, Hua Cheng dissolved in a wave of silver butterflies, flapping back into the city walls, which closed with a loud thud.
And there was one.
Lan Zhan looked at the setting sun and wondered how many of these he would have to endure before he could finally enjoy one with his beloved.
Nearly five thousand, if his calculations were correct. The number was too big for him to imagine, and he finally gave into his urges to collapse onto the floor, uncaring of the filth that quickly stained his white robes.
“I’ll wait, Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan promised the sun. “I’ll wait for you.”
As if in response, the sun grew a little brighter before fully dipping below the horizon, leaving only wisps of yellow-pink-tangerine behind.
13 years later
Two souls leapt across the boundary across worlds, and finally embraced.
Behind them, a butterfly flickered, and reported back to its master.
“Fucking finally.” Its master laughed. “Took them long enough.”