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Chapter Text

The world dripped with a thick, syrupy substance. It draped over Wei Wuxian’s body like a thick blanket, crushing his breaths into slow, shallow pants. It slid over his eyelids and pressing them down against his cheek. His tongue lay thick in his mouth, swollen, useless. He swallowed, once, but even that movement felt sluggish.

Fingers combed through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, adjusting his aching head, settling it back against a soft pillow. The sensation sent a tingling wave down his spine—not quite pain, not quite comfort, just there.

A faint twitch of his eyelids, a sliver of light. His fingers trembled, nails scratching over soft wood. A bed. He dragged in another breath, tasting sandalwood.

Lan Zhan?

The fingers slid down to his cheek, gently tapping against ridge of the bone.

“Wei-gongzi.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. The golden eyes that looked back at him were too gentle—softened at the edges, so unlike Lan Wangji’s.

“Ah, there you are, Wei-gongzi. I was beginning to wonder if you would wake up at all.”

Wei Wuxian’s lips parted in response, but all that came out of his throat was a soft groan. He swallowed, then tried again, his brows furrowing. “Jin… Guangyao…”

Dimples deepened as lips pulled into a smile. “Wei Wuxian, please. Call me Jin-zongzhu.”

His voice had regained its silken cadence—so unlike the raw, broken wails from earlier, when he had clutched his dying wife and sobbed that this was all Mo Xuanyu’s fault.

And then—

And then…

Wei Wuxian tried to lift his head, but it only rolled to the side, giving him a glimpse of the room he was in. It appeared to be some sort of guest chamber, furnished in the warm golds and soft cream of Jin sect. Moonlight painted long stripes into the floor, and the slight brush of warm summer air drifted over his skin, crushing his body beneath its weight.

The doors, barely visible beyond the lacquered screens, stood perfectly still—too still. No shifting shadows of passing servants, no flicker of movement beneath the paper panels. A talisman shimmered softly from where it was pressed up against the split between the two doors.

A concealment array.

“You should thank me, really,” Jin Guangyao murmured. His fingers swept over Wei Wuxian’s forehead, brushing away disheveled hair with a sort of gentleness that felt almost more disconcerting than a slap. “Nearly the entire cultivation world is searching for you right now, and I decided to be kind enough to tuck you away out of their sight.”

He paused for a moment, then took Wei Wuxian’s hand in his own, rubbing his fingers over the numbed joints.

“I must admit I am quite curious about how you ended up taking over my little brother’s body.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t answer. His head swam, vision smeared like ink bleeding through paper. The air itself felt thick, pressing down on him like soaked fabric. But beneath it all, his thoughts began to sharpen—slowly, painfully—a knife dragged across stone.

But his body remained numb.

Wei Wuxian took a shuddering breath and slid his attention to his fingers. They twitched sluggishly—barely more than a tremor—but it was enough to make his lips curled up, lazy and deliberate.

“San-ge…” The word slithered sluggishly out of his throat. “So bold. If you wanted to get your hands on me like this… you… should have just asked.”

His half-lidded gaze flickered to the doors. Maybe four or five paces away.

Back to Jin Guangyao.

“You do realize who’s going to be looking for me, don’t you? I don’t think Hanguang-Jun will take this very well.”

Jin Guangyao let out a soft huff of breath, almost a snort. He picked up Wei Wuxian’s wrist, holding it delicately between two fingers.

“I have a different proposal,” Jin Guangyao said, lifting Wei Wuxian’s wrist with patient, practiced care. He pressed Wei Wuxian's fingers up against his throat—skin against skin, pulse against pulse—until Wei Wuxian could feel the slow, steady rhythm beneath his fingers. Unhurried. Certain. A heartbeat unbothered by fear. “Let’s play a game. You see, I haven’t had much chance to test this particular drug, and I’m quite curious to see how well it works.”

His head dipped closer, breath ghosting over Wei Wuxian’s lips.

“Go on. Strangle me.”

Wei Wuxian’s lips twitched. “Mn, I didn’t know you were into that sort of th—”

The shift was instantaneous.

One moment, his fingers were still resting lightly against Jin Guangyao’s throat. The next, his own throat was caught, a sharp pressure cutting him off mid-word, his windpipe collapsing under the weight of Jin Guangyao’s hand.

Wei Wuxian’s body jerked away. Or rather, he tried to. His own hand fell uselessly to his side, refusing the scream of every instinct to reach up and push the other man away, grab his arm, claw at his wrist, fight back, fight back, fight back.

“Enough,” Jin Guangyao said.

A small choking sound escaped. Then another. They began to overlap with one another as Wei Wuxian’s chest began to heave up and down, fingers curling uselessly against thin air.

“You see, Wei-gongzi, you are a means to an end, nothing more. Hanguang-Jun will come for you. And when he does, he will do exactly what I need him to.”

The crushing weight against his throat lifted, and Wei Wuxian dragged in a breath. His eyes squeezed shut as he began to cough, trying to roll over on his side. The edges of his vision darkened, curling inward like burnt paper.

Lan Zhan.

“We both know he’d betray the entire Lan Sect, his family, his brother—just for you, don’t we?”

Wei Wuxian's brows furrowed in spite of himself, his slowly dimming gaze flickering towards Jin Guangyao. The weight on his throat had released, but a different weight was starting to press down on his chest, leaving each breath a little shallower.

Not now…

“Wh… what?”

That didn’t make sense.

Lan Wangji tolerated him. Protected him. Perhaps even enjoyed his company, despite how Wei Wuxian pushed and prodded, testing the limits of his patience. A small, wistful part of him even entertained the thought of rescue—Lan Zhan, bursting through those doors, sweeping him up in his arms, shielding him from the world that wanted him dead.

But blatantly betraying his sect?

“I wonder…” Jin Guangyao’s voice was almost thoughtful. “If he had to choose... his sect, his uncle, his beloved brother… or you.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t understand. But he didn’t have time to puzzle it out. His body was shutting down. The last thread of awareness frayed, then snapped. Darkness swallowed him.

His head dropped to the side.

But Jin Guangyao was already there.

A hand, gentle—so gentle—caught him before his head before it could slump awkwardly against his shoulder. Fingers, steady and light, cradled his jaw and tilted it back with the careful precision of a concerned caretaker ensuring his charge was comfortable, just a slight adjustment to clear his airway.

Jin Guangyao looked down at the unconscious man, his thumb brushing over the corner of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. A slight tug at the skin, a brief pull against muscle, before letting go.

Letting it relax back into place.

“…But are you truly?” Jin Guangyao murmured.

Once more, his hand encircled Wei Wuxian’s wrist. He lifted it.

And let go.

The arm dropped limply, landing against Wei Wuxian’s stomach before sliding off the edge of the bed, fingers barely brushing the floor.

Jin Guangyao let out a soft sound of amusement. He reached up for Wei Wuxian’s face, fingers gliding over the curve of his cheekbone before slipping toward his eyelid. He held it gently, tilting Wei Wuxian’s head just slightly to get a better angle. Then, with careful precision, he pulled the lid back, exposing the dilated pupil beneath.

The light from the lantern glinted off black in a sea of gray and white. Jin Guangyao shifted his fingers, waiting for any sign of life in the vacant gaze. But the glassy, unfocused eye remained unresponsive, staring vacantly at nothing, completely detached from the world around it.

Jin Guangyao withdrew his hand with a touch so delicate it could almost be mistaken for reverence. His thumb ghosted along the ridge of Wei Wuxian’s cheekbone, just beneath the dark lashes.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice smooth and soft, like the hum of a lullaby. “I suppose you really are unconscious.” His thumb traced a slow arc across the bone. “I hope you won’t mind me taking precautions. It's just always so difficult to tell with you.”

Jin Guangyao straightened, smoothing away the smirk that had begun to form.

“Now,” he said, “let’s see how long you stay that way.”

Chapter Text

The world swayed beneath him, twisting in slow, drunken circles.  

Wei Wuxian’s eyelids fluttered, and for a long, disoriented moment, he wasn’t sure if he was actually awake or just floating in some strange, fevered dream. His shoulder gave a tired throb, the muscles in it stretched sore from where it had hung over the edge of the bed.  

He tried to move it, to drag it out of the uncomfortable position, but his body felt like it wasn’t quite his own. His hand remained still, weighted down something thick and numbing. His fingers barely twitched.  

Where… where had Jin Guangyao gone?  

Wei Wuxian let his eyes slip closed again, then forced them open.  

Lan Wangji.  

Lan Zhan.  

He had been gone for too long.  

Lan Wangji would be so worried.  

Lan Wangji was too pretty to worry.  

A hazy, slurred laugh dragged itself from Wei Wuxian’s throat before he could stop it.   

Mm… so pretty.  

Never mind that whole “he’d betray the entire Lan Sect for you” stuff.  

He just...  

No worrying.  

Too pretty.  

Yeah.  

Wei Wuxian clenched his teeth, bracing himself, then shoved his limp, useless body off the low, wooden bed. The floor smacked into his side a mere half-breath later, driving the breath from his lungs in one sharp gasp. The room around him spun again, and Wei Wuxian nearly gagged.  

His forehead pressed against the cool floor for just a second, then he was back to struggling. Clumsy fingers scrabbled at the ground, pulling—dragging—until, somehow, he managed to get his elbows beneath him. His legs refused to cooperate at first, but after several miserable attempts, he found himself on his hands and knees, trembling, but upright.  

He could see the hazy outline of a talisman plastered to the inside of the door, glimmering softly with spiritual energy. Probably easy enough to break but ugh, his head.  

Besides, even if he wasn’t suffering from a massive headache, there was a good chance someone was just standing guard outside. No, he'd have a better chance just going out the window.   

Footsteps echoed through the corridor. Faint. Fading.  

Wei Wuxian braced against the bedframe, pressing his forehead against the cool wood for a moment before forcing himself upright. His knees buckled almost immediately, and he had to grip the wood for support, fingers trembling violently. The floor rocked beneath him, shifting like an unsteady boat.  

But he was standing.  

Wei Wuxian took a step forward.  

Stumbled.  

Another step.  

Let out a quiet, breathless laugh.  

Something about this was funny. It felt like he was drunk—no... not drunk.  

It was like walking through a dream. Like sludge was collecting in his mind, pressing against the back of his eyes, leaving his body trembling. The light from the candles smeared like paint.  

Wei Wuxian practically collapsed against the window frame, pain snapping through his shoulder as it clipped the edge. A moment later he hauled his leg over the sill, straddling it as he glanced down at the courtyard below.  

Hm. A little farther down than he’d hoped.  

He blinked, shifting his weight just slightly—  

—then the courtyard flagstones came flying up to catch him.  

The heel of his shoe hit the ground first, but then his ankle rolled, and his arm crashed into stone, wrenching the shoulder out of its socket with a sickening crack.  

Then stillness. His body sprawled on the ground, breath stuttering in and out.  

Ah...  

Fuck.  

Another stuttering breath. He wasn’t sure if he’d jumped or just slipped forward, if he’d blacked out or blinked too long.  

Wei Wuxian pushed himself up on his good arm with a groan, gingerly prodding at the now-dislocated shoulder.  

This body is so breakable.   

He let out another shaky laugh. Not even from the pain—just the absurdity of it all. A blocked door, a two-story drop, a dislocated shoulder, and he still wasn’t free.  

But he was moving. Barely.  

He blinked, squinting through the heavy night air. A small set of stairs led down into… it didn’t matter where. Down meant away from Golden Carp Tower.  

Wei Wuxian took a stumbling few steps forward. His foot hit the first step.  

His ankle gave out almost immediately, and he pitched forward, his good arm flying out to try and catch himself—  

Time fractured.  

His already-dislocated shoulder slammed against the sharp edge of a step and he cried out. Another impact—a burst of white-hot agony tore through his wrist as it folded the wrong way beneath him. The corner of a stair bit into his temple like a blade. Pain bloomed, sharp and searing, then faded into something frighteningly cold, as he tumbled down the remainder of the steps, landing hard in a crumpled heap at the bottom.  

A small whimper. Cold. His breath shuddered, the world around him flickering in and out of focus. Blood leaked warm and sticky from the gash at his temple, pooling beneath his cheek.  

No... Get up… can’t… can’t let Lan Zhan…  

Cold.  

It took far too long before the darkness settled around him.  

…

Jingyi was not supposed to be here. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be at Golden Carp Tower at all. Neither was Sizhui—but at least he hadn’t been specifically told not to come to the banquet at Golden Carp Tower.  

As such, they’d taken to what Sizhui called “staying out of the way” and what Jingyi called “definitely not sneaking around” in order to find Jin Ling. The three of them had made plans to meet up, since Jin Ling would not stop complaining about how much he hated these events.  

Besides, Jin Ling was the heir to the Jin sect, so if he said it was okay, they probably weren’t going to get in trouble, even if there was a supposedly crazy demonic cultivator on the loose. Which was why Jingyi kept searching every long shadow and jumping at the slightest of sounds. Which resulted in him accidentally slamming face-first into Sizhui’s back.  

He stumbled back, clutching at his nose and letting out a whine.  

“Ow, what—”  

Jingyi’s voice died away in his throat. He stared at the figure crumpled onto the hard stone. Blood pooled under his head, his face pale as rice paper under the moonlight. One shoulder hung at an awkward angle, and several fingers were dark and swollen.  

Wei Wuxian, the aforementioned crazy demonic cultivator.  

Sizhui was already moving before Jingyi had even started to make sense of what he was seeing. He dropped the lantern he’d been carrying and fell to his knees. His hand reached out, then jerked back. He glanced at Jingyi, expression uncertain.  

“What do we do?”  

And then Jingyi felt himself really beginning to freak out, because Sizhui always knew what to do, and now he was asking Jingyi?  

Jingyi swallowed. “Well. Uh. I mean—” He gestured vaguely at Wei Wuxian. “We should probably help him! Like, everyone’s probably trying to kill him right now, which obviously isn’t good because, you know, he’s been cool, and saved our lives like—four times—”  

He dropped to his knees beside Sizhui, robes billowing out around him. His hand reached out and tapped Wei Wuxian’s cheek.   

“Hey—Hey, wake up.”  

At first, Wei Wuxian didn’t respond. His eyes remained closed, lashes fluttering against skin that had faded to a nearly ashen shade. Then the smallest whisper of a groan slipped out from his barely parted lips.  

Sizhui, ever the put-together one, pulled out a handkerchief from his sleeve and carefully slipped it beneath the sluggishly bleeding gash at Wei Wuxian’s temple. The cloth stained almost immediately, red blooming into the white like ink in water.  

“Mo—I mean, Wei-qianbei, can you hear us?”  

Wei Wuxian didn’t respond. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. His face looked so pale—almost gray—and for a terrible second, Jingyi was sure he wasn’t going to wake up at all.  

Then, finally, the smallest flicker. His eyelashes twitched against skin gone cool. A second later, his eyes cracked open, dark and glassy. Wide black pupils nearly glittered under the light of Sizhui’s lantern.  

“Mnnn…?”  

The noise was barely audible, more breath than sound.  

Then Wei Wuxian shifted, obviously trying to push himself up. Like a total idiot who wasn’t already half dead—  

“Whoa—wait, wait, no—” Jingyi scrambled forward as Wei Wuxian braced one hand against the stone, trying to push himself up. His arm gave out almost immediately, and he crumpled back, limp.  

His head tilted toward the stone again, and Sizhui moved fast, catching him just before it connected. One arm hooked behind Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, the other pressing lightly against his chest to hold him still.  

“Wei-qianbei, please,” Sizhui said, his voice steadier than Jingyi thought possible, “don’t try to move. Your injuries are… they’re severe.”  

“Mm.” Wei Wuxian blinked up as Sizhui, as if struggling to process what he was seeing. Then a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Such a good… kid. Good on… your parents.” His breath hitched, one hand raised to clutch at his head. “Ugh.”  

He looked like he was trying to focus, but his gaze kept drifting, like he was seeing something far away—or nothing at all.  

Jingyi glanced at Sizhui, then back down at Wei Wuxian, panic scratching at the inside of his throat.  

“We should—should we get help? What if someone sees us? What if—what if he passes out again? What if he—what if he stops breathing and dies?!”  

“He’s not going to die,” Sizhui said, too quickly. Then, quieter, “He’s not.”  

“So, what should we do? Should we try and move him?”  

Sizhui’s lips pressed into a thin line. His fingers hovered uncertainly above Wei Wuxian’s temple, brushing through blood-matted strands of hair like he wasn’t sure whether to soothe or check for another injury. Wei Wuxian just made a soft noise, like a groan that died out halfway up his throat.  

“N-no...” Sizhui said finally. “I don’t think we should move him. I—I’ll stay with him. You should get Hanguang-Jun.”  

“Me?” Jingyi said. “But you’re the one he likes! H-he’s going to make me—he’s gonna kill me if he finds out I snuck in here—”  

Later, when Jingyi thought back on it, he never quite remembered how he ended up being the one stuck running up the path to get Lan Wangji.  

“Hanguang-jun!”  

 He only saw Lan Wangji when he turned a corner—and nearly crashed straight into him. Thankfully, Lan Wangji was alone. And Jingyi managed to skid to a stop before actually crashing into him.  

Lan Wangji glared. Well, he didn’t so much as glare, but his gaze did frost over, sending shivers shooting all up and down Jingyi’s back.  

“Hanguang-jun, it’s Wei-qianbei—” This time his voice came out in a squeak. “He—he’s hurt—I don’t know how bad, but—”  

And later, when Jingyi looked back on it, he wasn’t sure why Hanguang-Jun hadn’t scolded him. He hadn’t even paused to ask what Jingyi had been doing there. He just turned and ran.  

But when he looked back—really thought about it—what he remembered most was the way Lan Wangji had gathered Wei Wuxian into his arms, so careful, like he was afraid he’d break what was left of him. He held Wei Wuxian against his chest, silent and steady, even as Wei Wuxian whimpered faintly at the movement. Then Wei Wuxian's head tilted, his nose pressing against Lan Wangji’s collar, burrowing close.  

And part of it started to make sense.  

…

The room had settled into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint rustle of robes and the soft, shallow rhythm of Wei Wuxian’s breathing.  

Lan Wangji sat at the edge of the bed, his hand still resting lightly on Wei Wuxian’s wrist, afraid to move—afraid that any shift might break whatever fragile thread tethered Wei Wuxian to the living world.  

But that quiet did little to ease the storm inside him.  

His gaze lingered on the bandage wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s temple, stark against pale, clammy skin. The memory of blood smearing across delicate features clawed at him— too much blood . The wet, sickening pop when the shoulder had been put back in place still echoed in Lan Wangji’s ears.   

Wei Wuxian had barely stirred.   

And that was what worried him the most.  

Lan Xichen had examined him after they returned. He’d taken Wei Wuxian’s pulse, checked his breathing, asked careful questions that didn’t pry to deeply into the why, only the what . His conclusion had been simple but unsatisfying: drugged. The specific substance was unknown, but unlikely to be poison.   

Still, Lan Wangji worried.  

His fingers curled, digging into the fabric draped over his legs, eyes sweeping over Wei Wuxian’s unusually still body. What happened to you?  

A quiet sound at the door made Lan Wangji lift his head. Then he relaxed.  

“Xiongzhang.” He inclined his head but didn’t rise.  

“Wangji.” Lan Xichen’s voice was steady, though his eyes flicked immediately to the bed. “No change?”  

Lan Wangji shook his head.  

Lan Xichen’s brows furrowed. “I’m worried about his head injury,” he said. “I’d like to see if we can wake him. Depending on how alert he is, we may need to get one of the healers.”   

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his tired eyes. “Didi, don’t look at me like that. You know I won’t let any harm come to Wei-gongzi while he is here.”  

Lan Wangji looked away. His fingers twitched on the blanket, then slowly uncurled. He reached out and stroked the soft, cool skin of Wei Wuxian’s cheek, until the man began to stir. Dark lashes fluttered, then lifted, revealing dark, unfocused pupils that looked towards Lan Wangji but didn’t appear to see him.  

“Wei Ying.”  

At first, nothing. The tiniest flicker. A faint crease formed between Wei Wuxian’s brows, and his gaze flickered from the younger Lan to the elder.  

“That’s it,” Lan Xichen said, his voice warm. “Just a little more.”  

A strained breath escaped Wei Wuxian’s lips, rough and weak. His eyelids fluttered once more, as if keeping them open was an entire battle on its own.  

“I know you’re tired,” Lan Xichen continued, “but I need to check a few things. Is that alright, Wei-gongzi?”  

Wei Wuxian crinkled his nose, eyes squinting against the light. Then he gave the tiniest jerk of his head—Lan Wangji wasn’t sure if it was a nod or a spasm, but Lan Xichen accepted it with quiet ease.  

“Do you know where you are?”  

Wei Wuxian hummed softly, his gaze flickering around the room, then to Lan Xichen’s forehead ribbon.  

“S… Cloud… Re…” His voice was a breath, barely formed. His eyes closed for a moment, before he blinked them open again. “Recesses.”  

“Very good. Do you know who I am?”  

“…nice Lan… nnn… ge.”  

Lan Xichen’s lips pressed together for a long moment. When he spoke next, only the slightest tremor under his words betrayed how hard he was trying not to smile.  

“And what day is it?”  

Wei Wuxian blinked slowly, as if trying to dig the answer somewhere from his sluggish mind. But instead of replying, his fingers tightened suddenly in Lan Wangji’s sleeve, and he buried his face into the white fabric.  

“L’n Zhan …” he slurred. “S… he’s… bullying me.”  

“He is merely checking to see if you are alright,” Lan Wangji said, voice even—but far softer than usual.  

“Mm.” Wei Wuxian buried his face even deeper into the sleeve. “Bullying.”  

Lan Wangji let out a long, silent breath, almost a sigh, though it never made it past his throat. His gaze drifted toward the open window, the sky beyond it pale with early morning light. The knot in his chest began to loosen—just a little.  

He was here. He was speaking. Even if the words made no sense.  

Even if he was calling Lan Xichen a bully.  

As such, the touch on his hand caught him off guard. Wei Wuxian’s fingers slid down, found his own, and wrapped around them. Slowly, he turned Lan Wangji’s hand over, resting his nose and lips the open palm and exhaling a soft, satisfied breath.  

“Soft,” he said.  

Lan Wangji’s ears went pink.  

Lan Xichen coughed lightly into his hand. “I think I will go and fetch one of the healers to examine him… further.”  

The last word came out just slightly strangled. Lan Wangji resisted the urge to glare, reminding himself that even if Lan Xichen had decided to act childish didn’t mean he had to respond in kind.  

The door slid closed with a soft thud. Lan Wangji looked down at the hand still holding his.  

Wei Wuxian’s breathing had evened out. His head still rested against Lan Wangji’s palm, like it belonged there.  

Then, slowly, his eyes cracked open again—just a sliver. He blinked once, gaze drifting from the curtains, to the furniture, then finally up to Lan Wangji.  

“…Cl'd Recesses?” he murmured. The syllables were slurred, but more aware this time.  

Lan Wangji inclined his head. Something twitched at the corner of his mouth.  

“Mn. You are safe here.”  

In a moment, in a day, in a week, he would have to face the consequences. Wei Wuxian’s identity had been revealed. There would be questions, outrage, threats.  

But one thing was certain.  

Thirteen years prior, he had failed Wei Wuxian.  

He would not fail him again.