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“I’ve waited a hundred years, but I’d wait a million more for you.” — Sleeping at Last
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The night air smelled of rain and pine. The forest was darker than usual. The moon was half hidden behind drifting clouds and shadows were tangled between tall, old trees.
Wei Wuxian walked ahead, a talisman glowing faintly in his hand, humming softly under his breath. It was an old tune, something he may have remembered from his days at Yunmeng.
Lan Wangji followed a few steps behind. His guqin was strapped across his back as he watched the faint sway of Wei Wuxian’s ponytail in the dim light with a faint smile.
They had been married for three years now, Life was peaceful and they were content. Neither of them had suspected they could achieve such happiness in their life after Wei Wuxian's death.
But tonight, something in the air felt wrong.
Wei Wuxian stopped suddenly, tilting his head. “Lan Zhan, Do you feel that?”
Lan Wangji nodded. “Mn. Resentment. Strong.”
A yao had been preying on travelers near the foot of the mountain. It wasn’t supposed to be a difficult hunt, just cleansing and sealing.
The sound came before they saw it. A low growl, sharp and wet, like a sword grinding against flesh. Then it burst out of the shadows. A large, deformed beast with its fur matted and eyes glowing with hatred. Wei Wuxian lifted chenqing before Lan Wangji could even draw Bichen.
“Lan Zhan, cover the left!”
He played and his notes cut through the air like blades. Lan Wangji moved in perfect rhythm, sword light flashing, the yao shrieking. But as the yao's resentful energy twisted and thickened, the ground under them split. The beast lunged faster than expected.
And then a sound, a thud.
“—Wei Ying!”
The music stopped and Lan Wangji turned, his heart jolting, to see Wei Wuxian on the ground. The yao’s claw was buried deep in his side and for a moment, everything stopped.
Lan Wangji moved without thought. He couldn't bear to lose his Wei Ying again. Bichen’s blade cut through the yao with a final, blinding strike. The creature dissolved, leaving behind the smell of ash and blood.
Wei Wuxian was still conscious, trying to laugh, “Aiya Lan-er-gege! What's with that look on your face! I'm fine.”, but his hand was pressed to his wound, red blooming between his fingers.
Lan Wangji knelt beside him, pressing his own hand over the wound. His voice was low but shaking. “Do not speak.”
Wei Wuxian blinked up at him, his smile faint, tired, and not quite reaching his eyes. “Lan Zhan… it’s not— it’s not that bad. You’ve seen worse.”
Lan Wangji’s throat tightened. “Do not speak,” he said again.
Lan Wangji carried Wei Wuxian through the rain. His steps were fast but steady, every drop of water soaking into their robes, every heartbeat loud in his ears. Wei Wuxian had gone quiet now, having realised the need to conserve his energy, half-conscious against his shoulder.
They reached a small inn at the edge of the foothills. It was the only one with its lamps still lit despite the weather. Lan Wangji pushed the door open with his shoulder. The innkeeper gasped when she saw the blood.
“A room, and hot water,” Lan Wangji said. His voice was calm, but his tone left no room for refusal. “And any medicinal herbs, bring them immediately.” Wei Wuxian quietly thought to himself that this was probably the most words he'd ever heard Lan Wangji say.
The woman nodded quickly, running off. Lan Wangji laid Wei Wuxian on the low bed in the nearest room. The candles flickered, throwing soft light across his pale face.
Wei Wuxian stirred, eyes barely open. “Lan-er-gege!… I can still walk, you know,” he mumbled weakly.
Lan Wangji met his gaze for a moment — and without a word, brushed damp hair away from his forehead. “No,” he said simply.
The innkeeper returned with a small bundle of dried herbs and a steaming bowl of water. Lan Wangji bowed towards her quietly in gratitude, then set to work.
He ground the herbs himself, his movements controlled but fast. His hands were steady, though the pulse in his neck betrayed the tension underneath. He mixed the paste with warm water, testing the temperature on his own wrist before applying it.
When Wei Wuxian's robes came off, the wound was worse than he had allowed himself to believe — deep, angry red, blood still seeping through the torn fabric.
Wei Wuxian hissed softly when the medicine touched his skin. “Ah, cold!”
Lan Wangji’s brows drew together. “Mn. Endure.”
Wei Wuxian tried to grin, though his lips trembled. “You sound like an old man, er-gege.”
Lan Wangji didn’t respond. He only pressed a clean strip of cloth over the wound, wrapping it carefully, his fingers precise but gentle. Every time he adjusted the bandage, his thumb brushed faintly against Wei Wuxian’s skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel that he was still warm. Still here.
When it was done, he rinsed his hands in the bowl of water, the clear surface clouding pink. Wei Wuxian watched him, half-asleep but smiling faintly.
“You’re good at this,” he murmured. “Who knew someone like Hanguang-Jun knows such great bedside care. Everything about you is perfect, gege!” He smiled faintly.
Lan Wangji sat back, eyes fixed on him. “Mn”
Wei Wuxian chuckled weakly, then winced, pressing a hand to his side. Lan Wangji immediately moved closer, his hand steadying him by the shoulder.
“Do not move,” he said quietly.
Wei Wuxian let out a soft hum, closing his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere, right?”
“No.”
“Good,” he whispered. “Then I’ll sleep.”
Lan Wangji adjusted the blanket around him, tucking it gently beneath his chin. He stayed there, watching until Wei Wuxian’s breathing evened out.
Outside, the rain kept falling, soft against the roof. Inside, the faint scent of herbs and blood lingered in the air.
Lan Wangji sat beside the bed, the faintest tremor in his fingers finally easing as he rested one hand near Wei Wuxian’s. Not touching but just close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. Thirteen years ago, he had lost him once. He had, mourned him, lived in silence for over a decade. And now that he finally had him again, the thought of losing him again tore through his chest like a blade.
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By the time dawn came, the rain had stopped. A weak ray of sunlight slipped through the window and fell across the bed. Wei Wuxian stirred, a soft sound escaping his lips.
Lan Wangji was at his side instantly. “Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian opened his eyes slowly. “Lan Zhan…?” His voice was dry, but the corners of his lips curved up faintly. “Aiyahh, you look terrible. Did you stay up all night?”
Lan Wangji’s breath left him in a quiet, shuddering sigh. "Mn" He said. Not bothering to elaborate further. Wei Wuxian knew it was fruitless to argue as if it had been Lan Wangji who was hurt, he too would have done the same.
When Wei Wuxian was strong enough to sit outside, Lan Wangji joined him under the blooming magnolia tree near the inn. The sky was clear again.
Wei Wuxian rested his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “You were scared, weren’t you?”
Lan Wangji didn’t deny it. “Yes.”
Wei Wuxian looked up at him, “I’m sorry.”
Lan Wangji shook his head. “Never do that again” he said simply. “That is enough.”
Wei Wuxian smiled, small and bright. “I'll try my best, er-gege. But no promises! Besides, I have you here to take care of me don't I?”
They sat there for a long time, just the sound of wind through leaves..
And in that silence, Lan Wangji finally breathed freely again.
Because Wei Wuxian was here.
And he was okay.