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Chapter Text

Lan Sizhui remembered now. He'd remembered in pieces his life before he came to the cloud recesses. He remembered how his Wei-gege was crying when he last saw him. He remembered how he had planted him in the soil and watered him like a little radish. He remembered how frail his Wei-gege's leg had felt in his hold. 

And he remembered how his Wei-gege had smiled just moments ago: sweet, wide, unaffected. Bloody. 

He remembered how his Wei-gege had wheezed just moments ago. He remembered hearing Wei-gege's last breath. He remembered the light leaving his eyes, his A-die's eyes. At the same time. His Hanguang-Jun had survived one time of losing his Zhiji. But not the second time. Not again. Now all that remained was the shrivelled husk of what used to be his father; holding what used to be his gege.

His family. Dead. Again.

He remembered then, the rage that coursed through his very being. He remembered the Bichen in his hand. He remembered Sect Leader Jin's severed head. He remembered Sect Leader Lan's screams, his bo-bo's screams. He remembered feeling good about it.

Bichen felt cold and lifeless as it slipped from his fingers and clanged against the dirty temple floor. Now tainted with blood and the thousand sins of his bobo's sworn brother. Then he remembered how Jin Ling had tried shaking him. How Jin Ling's face looked. Jin Ling had never looked like that. He had never looked like he did now. He was never as quiet. Ever. 

Sizhui finally remembered now, everything. But he could only remember now. Everything was done. Irreversible.

And he couldn't bring himself to feel bad about it.

He slipped his headband off a minute too late. He'd already let go of restraint. But whatever. He was taking it off forever. Not just for now. So it was fine. In the grand scheme of things, he wasn't that late.

A-die would not be that disappointed.

Chapter Text

Lan Yuan barely remembered Wei-gege's funeral. All he remembers is feeling the loss of his headband. His forehead is weirdly colder, it's more windy. The balance is off. He itches to rub it to try and mitigate the tactile unease. He doesn’t. He deserves this pain too. Why not? He'd experienced far worse. This was just discomfort. 

No. It was grief. For things lost to the past. Like his gege. This time, forever. 

He doesn't remember going back to his room, but he suddenly finds himself sitting on his bed, with his shoes still on, his white robes dirty at the knees from when he kneeled before his father’s grave. But he finds that he is sitting on his bed, and Jingyi is there and so is Jin Ling. Jingyi sits at the table at the foot of his bed, and Jin Ling sits at the settee, all puffed up and angry, but Sizhui notices how unusually quiet he is and how his eyes are still swollen from how he cried at the funeral, clawing at his tears.

People were saying that Wei Wuxian’s own brother didn’t come to his funeral. That’s what people were saying about his Wei-gege when the Jiang Clan was rebuilding itself; that Wei Wuxian would rather harness war criminals and demonic cultivators and murderers than help the clan that raised him. Murderers like Sizhui himself, like Uncle Four and Grandma Wen. 

What people didn’t consider neither then nor now, was that they were brothers, that Wei-gege being a demonic cultivator didn’t affect Jiang-shushu’s love for him and that Jiang-shushu… feeling like he cannot attend Wei-gege’s funeral does not affect his love for him now. They thought Jiang-shushu didn’t attend out of disgust and hatred. The permanent grimace on Jin Ling’s face tells him it is because of guilt. Of things left unsaid, because of the bridge that he needs to cross before he can come.

What the people are saying is bullshit. But what Jiang-shushu is doing is also bullshit. That’s what Sizhui thinks. But he cannot think such things. They are against the rules. 

And so he goes back to the start of his circle of wondering why he lost his Wei-Gege, of how he was so blissfully unaware of his Gege being back. He’d found something he hadn’t even realised he’d lost until it was gone again. Then he’d shift to everything Jiang-zongzhu had done and get mad again.

It was during one of these circles that he heard the straight whip of Nie-qianbei’s fan open. He started, turning his gaze to the door where Nie-qianbei stood in his faded grey robes, simple and austere yet metallic, like the Nie clan itself. The only thing that stood out was his intricate fan. Though not very different in color, it was delicate in a way that did not go with the rest of his outfit. It did go with his person, that he carried as clandestinely as he could. Sizhui always found Nie-qianbei lurking, observing. There was a sureness to his ways that contrasted everything the world knew about him. 

Sizhui knew better than to slight him. Even though he couldn’t be bothered  with niceties now, he stood from his settee and joined his hands together in an ‘o’ in front of him, bowing deeply. “Nie zongzhu.” He prompted.

Nie-qianbei brought his fan closer to his face, hiding almost three-fourth of it, with just the eyes peeking, scanning. He nodded briefly, before Sizhui invited him to sit. Sizhui had barely processed Jin Ling and Jingyi getting up and possibly bowing, but they were standing when he turned. He couldn’t be bothered now. If his Wei-gege was here, maybe he’d be motivated to improve his observation skills, be a better cultivator…but he wasn’t.

Sizhui gathered his robes in a neat fold and sat facing across from Nie-qianbei as he poured him some tea. Jingyi remained standing, and Jin Ling was still sniffing largely as he took the other side of the table. Sizhui felt constricted, but he turned to Nie-qianbei anyway.

”Lan Yuan,” he started. Sizhui’s skin prickled at the familiar address, but Nie-qianbei had every right—he was the adult. “You have let yourself go these past few days. Is something the matter?”

Sizhui fisted his robes, groaning absently about how wrinkled they would be. “I’m fine, Nie-zongzhu. You are kind to be concerned.”

Nie-zongzhu chuckled lightly. “Of course, I’m your uncle, in a way. Your bofu is my Da-ge’s sworn brother.”

Was. Sizhui thinks absently, and suddenly he wants to slap himself. Because he knows what ‘was’ feels like. 

“Nie-zongzhu. I’m truly fine.”

”Where’s your forehead ribbon then?”

“That is…-“ Sizhui feels the urge to put it on right away, but it is on the topmost drawer of his cupboard, now several feet away. Sizhui suppresses the urge, clutching harder at his robes. 

“It’s fine.” Nie-zongzhu’s voice was oddly calm, flat. “It’s fine…that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to ask you a question.”

Sizhui glanced around the room at that. He did not know what the question could be, and Jingyi and Jin Ling didn’t seem to know either. Jingyi brows were set in a deep furrow as he listened quietly. 

“Wei-xiong dying,” Sizhui inhaled sharply, and he heard Jin Ling’s indignant huff. “Whose fault do you think that was?”

Jingyi’s head whipped around to face Nie-zongzhu and Sizhui felt like he was in a dream. Surely… Nie-zongzhu did not just-

“Nie-zongzhu!” Jin Ling was standing up now, “You- not even that Wei Wuxian was this shameless! His shamelessness was…fun. But you- You’re no better than Xiao-shushu!” Somewhere along the way, Jin Ling’s voice had gotten wobbly, his hands shaky as his father’s sword slipped out of his hands. He sat on his legs, squatting as he wrapped his arms around his knees. 

Sizhui understood him now. When he’d heard of what had happened at Koi tower, he’d still gotten why Jin Ling had done what he had, but he hadn’t understood him. He did now. He also thought back to his Wei-gege, to his A-die. If Sizhui couldn’t handle this right now, if Jin Ling couldn’t, how had the Sunshot Generation handled the war?

"It was no one's fault." Always be neutral. Do not let your emotions or others' rumours affect your thought process. Stand with justice and righteousness. "There were unfortunate circumstances that led...people to act in unforeseen ways." This felt right to say.

Jingyi turned to face Nie-qianbei. "It was that Jin Guangyao! Evil-" 

"Jingyi." Sizhui cut him off patiently. 

But then Jin Ling is speaking up too. "It was Xiao-shushu that- that..."

Nie-qianbei nodded behind his fan. "Sizhui. You don't seem to agree. You think Clan Leader Jin wasn't in the wrong?"

Sizhui's chest was muddled. He loathed when his words didn't sound the same to others than they did to him. He wished he could just convey feelings and not words. It had worked for him and Hanguang-Jun. It was not undoable. 

"It is not that Clan Leader Jin wasn't in the wrong. It's that it wasn't just him that made mistakes. People take actions according to their understanding and knowledge. That is what Clan Leader Jin did... It is what...Clan Leader Jiang did." 

Nie-qianbei stopped fanning himself, and Jin Ling stopped rocking. "What?...What has my shushu done?" 

He rallied the sects against Wei-gege even though he knew the truth. He was exempted from Jin Ling's 100 day ceremony, from Jin Ling's parents' wedding. He was ostracised and Jiang-shushu didn't do anything. In fact, he even led the people against him. And now, at the temple...to find out that his Wei-gege had given up his core, and all Jiang-shushu did in return was shout... 

But Sizhui didn't say that. 

"What? Finish your sentence. What has my shushu done?" Jin Ling was standing up now.

Sizhui stood up to face him. "Jin-gongzi- please, I-"

"But it is true that Jiang-zongzhu didn't support Wei Wuxian when he should have, and rallied against him when he shouldn't have. Despite being aware of the true nature of their relationship." Nie-qianbei's eyes were sharp; and observant, thought Sizhui absently. "Young Master Lan, what do you think?"

Sizhui's head shook 'no'. Because it should be a 'no'. He shouldn't have to think about this.

"I think what happened was unfortunate, but the Sunshot Campaign was such a difficult time, and-"

"No, no, no, no. I'm not talking about the Sunshot Campaign. I wouldn't dare. What happened was indeed unfortunate. It's just sad. It's just such an unhappy coincidence that keeps happening in the Jiang family. I'm just concerned for my dear juniors." The Jiang family? Wei-gege wasn't part of the Jiang family. That had been made clear enough.

"And what about you?" Jingyi towered over Nie-qianbei. "Nie-zongzhu. What exactly are you trying to achieve here? Why are you asking all this now? Why did you come in here today?"

It felt as if Sizhui's heart was off balance. A bit too much to the left.   

"Me?" Nie-zongzhu's eyes were wide and doe-like behind his fan. "I-"

"It’s because of Jiang-zongzhu.” Sizhui’s voice was small and quiet, and Jingyi was confused, as if he’d forgotten the question, but Jin Ling’s eyes were wide and red. 

“YOU!-“ He saw Jin Ling’s murderous eyes, and his flailing hands before he felt his pounce. Jin Ling was sitting on top of him and he was all spit and rage as he screamed about his dear shushu. 

Sizhui knew Jin Ling couldn’t face the truth, but this was it.

He was vaguely aware of Jingyi's surprisingly cold hands as he broke them apart, as he stood between him and Jin Ling, his back pressed into Sizhui's chest, arms out in defence. Jin Ling stepped back the way he always did. He wondered what he would do now without his dear Jiang-shushu to step in. What would they all do without Wei-gege to joke about this and wash away their fight like it didn't matter?

"Now, now," Nie-qianbei was suddenly grumbling. "You're young masters of the gentry. Behave yourselves. There's no use getting angry over this. What's done is done. There is no way to go back." 

There's no way to go back.

Time was the most powerful master. It bent to no one, cruel and punishing. But also healing. Sizhui knew this.

But he itched to consider...if he just knew what Jin Guangyao was thinking, if he just stopped the sword from piercing his gege's chest, if he'd just- if he'd just kept his Wei-gege in the Burial Mounds so that he'd never died in the first place. Oh...time. Sizhui couldn't take it. His insides squeezed around him. How had his A-die suffered the loss of his Zhiji once? 

And oh how he understood why his A-die couldn't take it now. But-There's no way to go back. 

"Then if you hate my shushu so much why don't you follow in the footsteps of that Wei Wuxian! Whatever Xiao-shushu had done, I haven't forgotten Wei Wuxian's role to play in it." Jin Ling was fuming. "Nie-zongzhu, isn't that what you mean too? All of you! I can feel it!" Tears rim his flushed face, and Sizhui finds it in himself to be uneasy. This is not what Sizhui...

"No, no! Meng Yao would do this...who knows what he could do to me when he walks on the heretic path. If he could, he would turn back time and kill me right in the Unclean Realm." 

...turn back time. Could demonic cultivation help him...turn back time? 

"Nie-zongzhu," Guilt enveloped Sizhui at the prospect of lying. Well, he wasn't really lying, he was asking a question. Questions couldn't be lies. He mentally tasked himself with copying down the chapter on Lan discipline virtues a fair few times. "If...if there was a demonic cultivator, I mean, that is- where did...where would a demonic cultivator learn his art?"

Nie-zongzhu tilted his head in confusion. "Cultivation? No, no, no. I was never really good at that. You'd better ask Hanguang-Jun or Jiang-zongzhu. All I know about the world is from books."

Books... yes, books. Wasn't that how Jin-zongzhu...

He closed his eyes. He knew everything he was about to do was against several thousand rules of the percept, but... he didn't have his forehead ribbon in his mind and his disciplines in his heart anymore. He only saw Wei-gege--alive; his Die alive.

Chapter Text

Sizhui didn't understand why Jin Ling and Ouyang Zhizhen were here. He also didn't get why Jingyi was here but he'd expected him at least; the others... he truly had no clue.

But Sizhui also couldn't understand why he was here. So, it was all subjective, it could be said. It was all subjective why they were all standing in the middle of a messily drawn array on a brownish mountain.

On the mountain. The Burial Mounds. His... home...?

He shuddered, facing the other three.

"So what exactly do we do now?" Jingyi was shivering. His usual laid-back flair had taken a hit in this freezing cold, his face made it harder to smile, and his mouth froze around his smile. Was this how Jin Ling felt all the time? Anyway, the real problem tonight was Sizhui.

Honestly, Jingyi couldn't comprehend why Sizhui was being all sad about this. He was finally letting his inner demons or the devil on his shoulder or whatever speak - and Sizhui definitely needed it. After everything, Jingyi was worried he would just retreat into his shell like he would when they were kids, but not only was he not retreating; he was expanding, even, one could say. And he was doing — and this was the real kicker — demonic cultivation, to try to bring Wei-qianbei back.

Jingyi thought they were all going to be dusty and tired by the end of this, and they were going to go to Caiyi town and eat pork, and even Sizhui would abandon his monk act and indulge, and Sizhui and Young Mistress Jin would start talking again. Just like the several other times. Because pork fixed everything. Ouyang Zizhen would know some good restaurant. 

He turned to meet Ouyang Zizhen's eyes, snorting a little at how delicate he looked. The poor fellow was clearly confused, shivering in the frigid mountain wind, shaking like a flag. Jingyi slipped off his own outer robe and threw it at him - Ouyang Zhizhen may have not been able to handle a breeze, but he could. Wei-qianbei had taken a brand to the chest - Jingyi could take the cold.

Sizhui was muttering to himself, lips thinned as he scanned over the array, trying to check for the thousandth time if it was correct.

"It's all there! You just don't want to do this." Jin Ling snapped from behind them. He hung back as Sizhui worked, eyes narrowed, expression oddly reminiscent of the Jiang clan head. Sizhui tried to meet his eyes, but he whipped his head the other way, hair accessories tinkling.

Sizhui pursed his lips as he glanced back at the array. After a few more moments, he nodded to himself and lifted his head to look over the three of them, his eyes were shadowed.

"Hm, Jin-gongzi is right. We should - start."

Jin Ling scoffed, which made Jingyi turn around to scowl at him. Not like he would understand what it meant to have a loved one-

Uh. Well.

Sizhui ignored them. He brought out a talisman from his sleeve, and his fingers were clenched so tight around it the paper wrinkled. Jingyi was half worried he would rip it as he brought his knife out with his other hand, slipping a swift cut across his thumb to draw blood.

"This is going to be so embarrassing if it fails," Ouyang Zhizhen mumbled, and it was almost enough to hide the whisper of leaves shifting from behind them.

But there was no wind.

"Who's there?!" Jingyi whipped around, drawing ZhenFeng. He could see the tail end of the intruder's robes disappearing into the bushes as he took off after him, ignoring the Young Mistress following him. Tch. Of course he'd decide to play hero again.

He lost the man somewhere among the trees and bushes, gritting his teeth as his feet hit the ground again in a small clearing not far from the array. He scanned the area around him, but even from below, there was no trace of him. Goddamnit.

"MOVE-"

He did not move, and was then sent tumbling as Jin Ling apparently chose Jingyi's back as the premier landing place. They crashed to the ground, and Jingyi hissed as the impact sent a harsh jolt from his knees to the rest of his body, enough that he didn't feel when his hands landed on the ground to keep his face from meeting the floor. He rolled his eyes, shoving Jin Ling away, harsh and careless. 

"You!-"

He turned away from Jin Ling's hissy fit - did he ever get tired? - and maybe sometimes his tantrums weren't completely useless because what was that on the ground?

Jingyi squinted and leaned closer, barely avoiding falling on his face (in front of the Young Mistress, too, he would never let that go), finally catching the silver glinting amongst the grass in the moonlight.

A... hairpin.

Jin Ling was still whining, so Jingyi ignored him and snatched the pin from the ground. It was wet from the dew of the grass, and cool under his palm as he turned it over, holding it up for the idiot to see. 

"Why are you going around picking up scrap?" Jin Ling huffed, and Jingyi smirked.

"Oh esteemed, learned scholar, do you see anyone else here besides you and me?"

"Yeah - I really see no one." Jin Ling turned his nose up, and Jingyi wanted to hit him. "And even if it is an intruder's, it's still scrap. How are you going to find them with this?"

Jingyi scowled, turning away. Honestly, and he was supposed to be the heir to the Jin. If he didn't want to use his brain-

"Wait!" Jin Ling's eyes widened. Finally. "Is that..." A silver hairpin carrying the Nie clan insignia.

Now this was something. Maybe finally Jingyi would have some experiences to brag about too.

He sent his sword into the bushes, sure of it now - they weren't alone. All he had to do was to draw out whoever it was, and no one liked a sword flying towards them in the middle of the night. The intruder was surely someone steely and firm, and so it might take a second, but-

There was a yelp, and a crashing sound of someone falling, snapping branches and crushing leaves as he did. Jingyi blinked, but before he could move, someone pushed through the bushes and into the moonlight.

Jingyi's face creased in a frown. "Nie-Zongzhu? What are you doing here?"

Nie-Zongzhu flicked his fan open in front of his face. From behind it, all they could see was the top of his face - his eyes were guileless and bright, and yet it sent a flicker of unease down Jingyi's spine. It looked too much like how he'd looked a few days ago, asking Sizhui innocent questions until his friend, who was usually diplomatic to a fault, had outright said Jiang-zongzhu was to blame for Wei-qianbei's death.

"You!" The man's voice was high-pitched and wailing, and Jingyi couldn't explain why it made him so wary. "You cultivators think you can bully anyone! What are you doing with my stuff?"

Jin Ling scoffed. "Your stuff? It was on the ground. How do we know it's yours?" He clicked his tongue and looked away, shaking his head. "Honestly. Lurking around in the dark - and without any bodyguards or anything."

"Eh! Jin-gongzi! Who's lurking? I'm here on sect leader business!"

"Oh yeah?" Jingyi raised a brow, trying to keep his voice even. From the look Jin Ling shot him, he wasn't doing a good job. "What business?"

"That-" Nie-zongzhu fanned himself frantically. "I don't know! I really don't know! I do what my Da-Ge's advisors tell me. Give me my stuff back!" He reached to grab it from Jingyi's hands, who tossed it to Jin Ling, keeping his eyes on the Nie clan head.

"Nie-zongzhu!" Jingyi scanned him, and pointed an accusatory finger at him. "What were you doing in the bushes?"

Nie Huaisang fanned himself quicker, tucking his hair behind his finger and sliding it down the strand. "You- I-"

A rustle from above made them all look up - just as Sizhui crested on a tree branch.

Haloed in the moonlight, his ever-somber demeanour seemed colder than usual. The curve of his features was as soft as it always was, the same as it had always looked since the first day Jingyi had met him in the Cloud Recesses, mist clinging to his otherwise spotless robes that never rid themselves of the wrinkles his clenched fists imprinted and his laughter soft, but even from so far away, his hard eyes were all that prevented Jingyi from thinking of Huanguang-Jun upon seeing him. 

"Jingyi." Jumping down, Sizhui bowed to the Nie Sect Leader quickly. Even after everything that had happened, it was still perfect. "Nie-zongzhu. What's going on?"

Jingyi snorted, eyes flicking back to Nie-zongzhu, who blinked above his fan. "We just caught Nie-zongzhu in the middle of something shady."

"Something shady? Me? Why, I-"

Jin Ling scoffed, grumbling under his breath. "You're in the middle of the woods at night, running away from us, alone."

"I'm lost!" Nie-zongzhu wailed. "Do you know how easy it is to get lost around here? Oh, it's so dark, too..."

Sizhui's expression was... strange. Jingyi blinked at him for a second, wondering what he was thinking.

"Nie-zongzhu," Jingyi started, "Wei-qianbei told us some crazy stories about you. Are you..."

"No! What did he tell you? I'm just!- What are you all doing here?"

"We're-" Jin Ling started, but was cut off as Sizhui stepped forward. Great, now they could get on with things that actually mattered.

"Nie-zongzhu. We need your help."

"Exactly." Jingyi furrowed his brows. "It's none of your busine- What?"

"Jingyi." Sizhui was looking at him in that earnest way of his, all even gaze and gentle reproach, that had (almost) prevented some of the many shenanigans he got up to that would invariably get him punished. "We need help. Who better than Nie-zongzhu?"

"Anyone!" yelped Jingyi.

Nie-zongzhu shook his head in time with the rapid flicking of his fan, back and forth. "Yes- anyone! Truly! Anyone could be better than me! In what way could I help you? In fact, you could help me, as I said, I'm quite lost-"

"Nie-zongzhu." Did Sizhui just interrupt someone? Had the sun risen from the west today? "We're drawing an array to go back in time, and I think something's wrong. We need a little help."

"..."

Nothing was said for exactly two minutes, and then Nie Huaisang burst out laughing. Jingyi wanted to join him, but his face felt like it was stuck in place, frozen in the same disbelieving expression, eyebrows furrowed and mouth parted.

"Ah, Lan-Gongzi - good one!" Jingyi did not think it was a good one, because his 'running-is-prohibited-in-Cloud-Recesses' friend did not make 'good ones'. 

Jingyi's mouth twisted in disbelief, but before he could make another move, Sizhui was stepping forward, hands extended and head bowed. "Nie-Zongzhu. I do not- that is- I assure you, I am entirely serious. If Wei-Qianbei could have done demonic cultivation and remained faultless, I can do it too. In principle, it can work-"

"Lan-Gongzi, do you not think there were other factors at play there? Like-"

"Faultless?" Jin Ling spat, scoffing. "Who says he's faultless? You might all treat him like he's some harbinger of justice, but I haven't forgotten all that he's..."

"What?" Jingyi demanded, raising a brow. "Why do you suddenly stop? What has he done that's so bad? Saving the Wens? Saving Sizhui? Defeating Wen Ruohan or helping the Sunshot Campaign? Which was it? Speaking hollow words, without any content-"

"Without any content? Who was the one that-"

"Young Masters!" Nie-Zongzhu was fanning himself at such a rapid pace, that Jingyi thought his hand would fall off. "As disciples of reputable sects, how could you make a... a riffraff like this?"

"Yeah, Jin Ling, as disciples of-"

"Jingyi," said Sizhui, delicately. Jingyi closed his mouth immediately.

Sizhui didn't often speak like that, which wasn't his patented 'Jingyi, shut up' voice that he'd gotten very good at ignoring or his 'Jingyi, please, you're about to get your ass kicked' voice he was less good at ignoring. This voice, there was a weight to it, and even Jin Ling stepped back at his tone, though his lips remained firmly pressed together, and he hung back, away from the rest of them.

Nie Huaisang studied Sizhui from behind his fan. His movements slowed, just a bit - just enough.

"I don't know what you want from me, Lan-gongzi, I really don't know."

"If you really don't know, give us an actual answer for why you're here," Jin Ling grumbled. Nie Huaisang gasped out something about respecting one's elders, but didn't answer the question.

What exactly did Sizhui think the Headshaker could tell them that was worth this much trouble? But Jingyi didn't voice that thought. No matter how tired he was, he knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't, but- 

"Come on, Sizhui. That fan's doing more talking than he is." Jingyi tried to guide Sizhui towards the array again, but he was firm in place, feet planted into the ground, like the pillars of the Guanyin temple that had withstood all that, and yet stood pristine as ever. 

The inside had collapsed, but the pillars remained. He'd always seen Sizhui that way too. He wouldn't cheat in tests, and he wouldn't break the rules if he could help it but for this? For this...stupid array that they all knew wasn't going to work? 

"Sizhui-" Jingyi started, but Ouyang Zizhen was faster. 

"Nie-zongzhu!" Big eyes and pouty lips, he was the picture of delicacy, but he could see it in the way Nie Huaisang’s previously firmly folded hands gave way to Ouyang Zizhen’s incessant whining, to his pulling grip, that was not harmless and playful. There was a force to it.

Jingyi couldn’t feel this on his own arms, but he could grasp how ushering his grip must be, because though not in this moment, Jingyi had felt it before; how when on even ground, in agreement with you, like a river he was calm, soft and slow, but that same tender current could surge downhill. 

He’d seen it on the pier with Jin Ling and the Ghost General, during summer classes and night hunts; he’d seen it in Yi City, and in Guanyin Temple. He knew the sharp pull of his voice, the charm of his words was firm in a way Ouyang Zizhen’s face didn’t show. 

And just like Jingyi in the past, Nie Huaisang was pulled, bashed under the gushing current of his pleas, unassuming but sharp. Maybe Jingyi was pulled too. Because they were all standing in front of the messily drawn array that Jingyi hated to admit still looked neater than what Jingyi would’ve drawn with his steadiest hand. 

“Nie-zongzhu! Please!” Ouyang Zizhen’s voice was like a fawn caught in a trap. Nie Huaisang’s hesitant gaze swept over him once as he gulped. 

“But Young Master! Whatever can I do? I just don’t understand why you guys are asking me? And from what I gather, even Lan-gongzi has spent more time in the burial mounds than me…” 

Jingyi’s forehead creased on impulse because honestly, what was this guy even talking about? But then Sizhui’s shoulders tensed and he pursed his lips in that way he did when he was overwhelmed and Jingyi stepped in front of him, facing the others. 

“Ah whatever! I don’t know why you guys need his help. Let’s do this. Now. Get inside. Let’s get this over with and climb down the hill with him. Yilling’s gotta have some good taverns.” 

Nie Huaisang clapped his hands together excitedly. “Ah, yes! Now, once we get off this hill, my skills could come quite handy! I have a nose for good restaurants, you see.” 

Before Jingyi could roll his eyes, Ouyang Zizhen was actually stepping into the circle. Wait. Really? Jingyi gulped. Well, he couldn’t be less manly than that guy who read romance novels for young maidens and dreamed about love all day. 

“Sizhui. Let’s go.” He straightened up, broadening his shoulders as he glanced back. Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so jolly about his array failing. “Plus! Nie-zongzhu’s here to supervise if we need it!” 

Jin Ling huffed, feet planted on the ground beside the array where he stood and just as Jingyi’s mouth soured at that, Ouyang Zizhen pulled at his hand. “Aiya, Jin Ling!” They both stumbled in, just as Jingyi and Sizhui took their places.

Jingyi gulped at their close quarters, where their long, flowy robes brushed against each other. The four of them were on each side of the four-sided array that had a strange resemblance to joss paper, sharp corners and lines as opposed to the usual circular shapes.

Sizhui raised his hand to start the incantation, hands flying in the air just like Wei-qianbei’s had in Yi city. Jingyi frowned to himself - when had Sizhui learned this? Why was he always good at everything, even things no one else knew about? He whipped his head to exchange a furtive glance with Ouyang Zizhen when he saw Jin Ling tapping his foot impatiently in his corner. 

Jingyi turned his nose up at Jin Ling’s frown. Sourface.

Why was he always so skeptical? Jingyi had been holding in his insults for a couple of days, considering the events in Guanyin temple, he’d given Jin Ling a bit of time to cope. It was a bad time for everyone, and he’d been trying to give Jin Ling a grace period while also supporting Sizhui. He hadn’t even bothered to ask the Young Mistress to hang out with them - well, usually Jingyi wouldn't be the one doing that anyway. It was just that Ouyang Zizhen would; and Jingyi simply wouldn’t stop him. 

But now the boy looked fine, did he not? He wore his usual scowl, eyes permanently twisted into a glare that was aimed at particularly nothing. He was so ungrateful about everyone’s efforts to be kind to him, and-

Why was it so quiet? The Burial Mounds were immersed in such a steep hush that Jingyi shivered.

Sizhui’s incantation hadn’t worked. His array hadn’t worked. Again. Sizhui’s hands still in the air frantically. He never gave up when he could work hard, did he?

But Jingyi shivered again. No. That wasn’t all. It wasn’t just a usual silence. It was the complete absence of the wind passing through the leaves just seconds ago, the scratchy chirps of the cicadas were gone, and he couldn’t even hear his own legs against the ground. It was completely still. 

It was like they were. Jingyi shuddered again, shaking his head at that. No, no. He’d read too many horror stories in the library. He was just-

“Young Masters-”

“Ahhh!” Jingyi shrieked, whipping around on his heel at the noise. He.. he… He was fine, and his heart was not racing a mile a minute and he was definitely not scared at the clueless visage of the Headshaker. 

Just- no. And no sooner had the color come back to the world. He breathed easy through his nose at the sight of a startled Nie Huaisang. He clutched his sleeves, wiping them against his brow as the first sound broke out. 

An obnoxious snort from Jin Ling. 

Jingyi whirled his head to glare at him properly. “What!” 

Jin Ling’s head jutted out like a peacock, his golden hair ornaments tinkling. “What!” He parroted back. Seriously, couldn’t this guy ever give Jingyi a challenge and come up with something new? He always made it so easy. Baby. Jingyi scoffed. 

“You-”

“Young Masters! Watch out!” Jingyi saw Nie Huaisang’s finger pointed at the array near their feet and jumped on instinct, catching Sizhui doing the same from his periphery. He pulled out his sword, ZhenFeng, at the flurry of movement on the ground, hackles raised, as he advanced towards it. Stepping slowly, he jabbed the ground near it experimentally. 

“Jingyi…” Sizhui’s voice was clipped and he could almost hear how his lips were probably pursed in worry. “You’re out of formation-”

“I’ll fix it!” Nie Huaisang’s voice was exceedingly cheery and grated on the back of Jingyi’s neck. 

He prodded the thing on the ground again, but, really, there was nothing there. They were all tired and probably making up something to fight at this point–be it a leaf or shadow or spirit or whatever thing had apparently entered the array–and Jingyi was just about done and ready to climb back down the mountain. 

Just as Jingyi wondered what new hell Nie Huaisang’s ‘fix’ would bring them, he saw the poorly drawn, brownish talisman Nie Huaisang had cast into the array, entering with a little shy flick of his hand. 

He cast a glance at Sizhui, making to step back into his place in the array, and then it all happened at once. 

The array lit up in the next moment, almost triggered by his foot on the drawing in the ground. And he found he missed that weird array, and the harsh burial mounds and he seemed to almost float in the air. 

He remembered feeling the gravelly soil digging into his feet under his heel, just like this place had felt since the beginning, but maybe it hadn’t been so bad. Maybe he preferred that over this new lightness that his body was suddenly engulfed in. 

No, actually, maybe he felt the ground under his feet, still; maybe he still tasted the bitter air of the Mounds that tasted faintly like death and rotten flesh. But all of that, he couldn’t say for sure. 

What he could say for sure, was that he could feel Sizhui’s warm hand, tight in his own, their fingers laced together. Always. Even now. 

Even now as the light engulfed them, separated them from Nie Huaisang’s annoying, smiling face, from his lips that formed strange words. He didn’t think he heard them. Or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he just needed to close his eyes. 

Yes… maybe that would help. He could close his eyes, and he’d still know Sizhui would be to his right when he opened them again. Yes, for now, he could close his eyes.

Chapter Text

Jingyi forced his eyes closed as the light wrapped around him like the alcohol had, the night he’d tried to sneak in Emperor’s Smile–like Wei-qianbei had when was in the Cloud Recesses–though that had turned out nothing like Wei-qianbei’s funny stories.  They’d all just ended up wrung-out like washed clothes left to dry by the next shi. He clutched at his stomach, doubling over.

He thought he might puke, and the intense light wasn’t helping. He reached for Sizhui, with both hands to his right. Sizhui was always right beside him. But, just as suddenly what hurt more was… the absence of light. He was acutely aware of his ears, that perceived no sound, his eyes, that were shut firmly against the abrasion, and his feet, that found no surface. 

Jingyi was nowhere and he was everywhere. 

“Ugh..” He moaned in distress. It was like his very being was being sucked out of existence, and belatedly, as his hand finally brushed against what could be nothing but Sizhui’s flowing cotton robes, he wondered if even in nothingness he would still have Sizhui on his right, and the Young Mistress to fight with and Ouyang Zizhen to mediate. 

But he didn’t have time to ponder on that, because just as suddenly, his heart jumped at the odd sensation of having all his senses filled all at once. 

He tasted the salt in his mouth, the wetness under his back, his legs were still trying to find solid ground, and his eyes, were still firmly shut against the once more brightness, and yet his hands were still steady, fingers gripping onto Sizhui’s robes so hard his fingers burned. 

“Ugh..” He groaned once again. They were going to be in so much trouble. With his free hand, he gripped at his spinning head, keeping his eyes forced shut still, and tried to wiggle his toes. What was going on? Was this a hangover? Was he-

“..yi!” That was Sizhui’s voice! “Jingyi! Open your eyes! Are you okay?” 

Well, if Sizhui was telling him to open his eyes, it must be safe. He blinked open his eyes, shielding them with an arm. 

“Jingyi!” 

He turned to see curved, gentle eyes of honey brown, blinking back at him, eyebrows knitted in worry. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He massaged his forehead, that felt like he was coming out of a bad fever. He shuddered at the thought, and turned his attention to his surroundings. Sap greens mixed with clear dew, the soft whisper of the wind that was just enough white noise to not be distracting. He was in the back hills of the Cloud Recesses. 

“Sizhui,” Jingyi suddenly remembered, “Where are Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen?”

Sizhui shook his head softly. “I don’t know. I felt really dizzy after a moment, and when I woke up, I was lying here, next to you.” 

Jingyi furrowed his brows. There was no way Sizhui drank. And even if he did, enough to blackout? So, it wasn’t because of a hangover that he was here but…the array? 

He tried to remember. Was it a teleportation talisman that that Headshaker had thrown in? They’d been in the Burial Mounds a few minutes ago; or, that is to say, what looked to be last night. So, how was it Wu Shi already? And, how were they here?

This place… was the Cloud Recesses. It looked quite a lot like the Cloud Recesses… but there was something that didn’t quite fit. It was like being in a delicate replica. 

The rippling grass, the cool mist that clung to the air, the rivulets that rested on soft petals. 

It was the same, very much the same. And yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

It wasn’t home. 

He glanced at Sizhui to see if he was thinking the same, but his eyes were fixed just a few feet away. He followed his gaze to the Library Pavillion and saw several figures in white cloud-motif robes, scrolls in hand. They must be heading to the lectures. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Except for one Young Master. 

He was lively and vivacious, and stood out above the rest. It wasn’t as if he was exceedingly handsome, or had extravagant robes, but Jingyi’s eyes naturally gravitated towards him once he’d laid eyes upon the other guy. He couldn’t look away. 

The Young Master seemed to be narrating some sort of heroic story to the other two guys, one of whom rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, and the other skipped in excitement. But neither turned their attention away. 

Maybe it was the way he twirled his sword in his hand, the beat to his steps as he walked, the way his hair shook animatedly, his eyes lit up, as if the story was a secret he was sharing with you.

But, maybe it was also the fact that he’d seen that face before. 

He’d seen it just a few days ago, at the mourning hall that was quiet in the way only the Cloud Recesses could be—soundless, yet not empty. Every breath, every shift of fabric, every footfall on the white stone courtyard felt magnified beneath the weight of shared grief. Grief in the Lan Clan was not shown in tears or trembling—it was worn in posture, in silence, in the exactness of one’s bow. 

And that day, even Lan-xiansheng had stood quiet. 

Now, beside him, Sizhui looked just as pale as he had that day.

Because in front of them, it was the face he’d seen smiling, it was the face he’d seen bleeding, it was the face he’d seen dead. 

It was Wei-qianbei. 

✩

Jin Ling was surrounded immediately by a hostile light. He blinked through it and tried to survey his surroundings. Lush grass on all four sides, flowing plains, the sound of steady water. 

Life. 

Something the Burial Mounds couldn’t possibly sustain. So where was he? And where were the others? 

His forehead scrunched in confusion at the strange dullness in the atmosphere; like the grass couldn't be too green, or the sun couldn’t quite reach this place fully, but enough that a grey chill hung in the air. Jin Ling rubbed his hands together to stay warm and decided to start walking. “Fairy…” He called. He had to find someone sooner or later. 

Someone… who wasn’t Sizhui, hopefully. If it was him - he didn’t know what he would do to him, for putting him in this fresh new hell. For killing his uncle. Maybe nothing at all. He didn’t want to know, and as he made his way forward, he decided that if it was Sizhui, he would just turn back around and find someone else.

He grumbled his way around what appeared to be a forest, as he neared some sort of clearing– and more importantly, a person. His heart skipped as he jogged over to the slight man dressed in red cotton robes, arms carrying a bow and arrow, raised in search for the perfect angle. He wore simple, flowing robes; there was nothing wrong, per se, it could have just been a civilian, but his guan indicated he was at least someone of importance, and who in the gentry would wear red after everything that had happened? 

Jin Ling squinted, trying to see if he recognized the bow. He didn’t look like a dangerous person. Jin Ling’s hands curled around Suihua’s carved hilt as he advanced slower now. The guy had his back to Jin Ling, and by the bow and arrow in his arms, looked to be practising his archery, but his stance was a tad off–his shoulders loose, his back unsure. 

Jin Ling smirked. Maybe he could help the poor guy. Show him a few tricks in exchange for some information.

“Hey! You there!.” He cleared his throat. “I-”

“Oh!-” The man turned on his heel, fumbling with his bow. “Young master! I-”

Jin Ling barely had time to dodge the arrow.

“I’m so sorry- oh, god, are you alright?!”

“Fine, fine,” Jin Ling said, mainly on instinct because nothing was fine right now. He shot a look at the arrow, lodged in a tree next to him, which he had narrowly avoided being lodged in his skull, and grimaced. The arrow had hit the tree hard and strong. That was good for an accidental launch. 

This guy seemed to be a bit more advanced than the commoners Jin Ling had come across before. He folded his hands across his chest. “Can’t you watch yourself? You could’ve hurt me!”

Jin Ling tried to stand up straighter - if it was possible - as the guy scoured his eyes over him, and probably by the exquisite jewels and clothes, he seemed to have come to the conclusion that Jin Ling was someone important. In thinking so, the guy would be right. 

After his Xiao-shushu… Carp Tower and the Jin sect was his responsibility. He would see to it that none of his cousins could snatch it. But for that, he’d have to get back as soon as possible, not stay stuck in whatever misguided adventure the Lan idiots had devised. And… it had clearly been half a day at least since then and they hadn’t even come looking for him. 

Jin Ling wasn’t hard of understanding. He could take a hint.

He fixed his gaze on the guy in front of him, who was clutching at his robes nervously, hands flitting around as much they could with the bow in his hands. “Well?” He demanded impatiently.

“I’m very sorry, Gongzi!” The guy did a bow so deep and meek that it could give Lan Sizhui a run for his money. “I shall pay for any damages, and- my- my Jie-jie, she… she-” 

Jin Ling narrowed his eyes to indicate he wanted silence. This guy… why would he bring up payment unless he could afford it…? This seemed to be a habit of the gentry. Jin Ling gulped. His robes held no obvious motif or mark to discern to which sect he belonged. 

Jin Ling cleared his throat again. “Pay? You think I’m lacking in money?”

“Of course not Gongzi!” Jin Ling could practically feel the nervous energy bouncing off of him in waves. “You… then.. Then you- you can punish me as you see fit!” 

Jin Ling’s eyes lit up at that, as he tried to hold off a smirk. “Okay-”

“Absolutely not!” The voice that spoke this was cold and sharp; sure of itself. 

It definitely had not come from the guy. Jin Ling turned his head to see a young maiden walking towards them in matching robes, but her expression couldn’t be more different. She levelled Jin Ling with a frosty glare, eyeing him until she turned towards the guy. “A-Ning! Don’t let others bully you like this!” 

The guy smiled sweetly, eyes still curved with nervous energy as he shook his head. “No, A-jie- this- it- this gongzi was accidentally hit by me as I was practising, so I-”

“How dare you call me a bully.” Jin Ling found himself saying. There was a weird amusement in riling him up. How could Jingyi say Jin Ling couldn’t make any friends? “He’s the one at fault! You should be scolding him instead!”

“That’s right A-Jie.” The ‘Ning’ guy also nodded sheepishly at this, turning to Jin Ling once again. “I- I accidentally hit this gongzi with my arrow while I was practising. So, I-”

She gave him a sharp look, before turning back to Jin Ling, “I heard that. So will you extort my brother over that now? I apologize on his behalf, but you don’t see to be hurt, and-”

 “Gongzi, this is my A-Jie! She’s the best medic in all of QishanWen! So there-s no need to-” 

Jin Ling’s blood went cold. 

Did that guy… just say Qishan… “Wen?!” Jin Ling shouted, pulling out Suihua, tall and strong and beautiful in his hands. His brain ran a mile a minute, trying to understand. “Are you some damn Wen dogs?” Were there Wens left that Wei Ying hadn’t protected?

The pair went silent, the medic coming to stand in front of her brother. Her eyes were fierce and undaunted; thin, fragile needles held like weapons between her slim fingers. Jin Ling wanted to snort at that, but something told him she knew how to use them. He shifted his grip on Suihua, sizing them up. Who were they? He didn’t think he’d ever seen the woman before, but the man…

“I wouldn’t recommend that, Gongzi,” The woman's voice was sharp and purposeful. Confident. Eyes vigilant like a fox. And the man scrambled sheepishly. What had he said his name was?

“Wen.” Jin Ling spat, his mind scrambling to connect, hadn’t the women called him…“Wen…Ning?”

Wen Ning’s small round eyes effused the need to mitigate. “Yes, gongzi. Wen Qionglin, Wen Ning. But gongzi, about the Wen Clan, we-”

“Ghost General!” Jin Ling scanned the slight young man in front of him, the fiddling hands, the shifting feet, and the expression of a kicked puppy despite having committed mistakes—they were all the same. But that was where the similarity ended. The youthful skin devoid of any cracks, the bright demeanour untouched by the greying rot of resentment. Jin Ling shuddered at the comparison. “What sort of trickery is this? How do you look like that?” 

The Ghost General furrowed his brow, and Jin Ling’s back crawled. The image of Ghost General’s greying face bled into the youthful, if somewhat rosy skin. Since when could his corpse of a face do that? 

“Gongzi-”

“Stay. Away!” Jin Ling extended Suihua out again, straight and proud, it gleamed under the sun and Jin Ling didn’t miss how their gazes swept over it warily, how their steps faltered. “My jiujiu told you to stay! Away! Don’t think that because of that strife in Guanyin temple, that I think I owe you. We’re not close to even. And if you don’t want to die, don’t take another step!” 

It was an empty threat. From what he’d seen on Dafan mountain, the Ghost General could more than handle Jin Ling. And before he decided to act on it, Jin Ling had to get out of here. 

“Lunatic! What sort of nonsense is he talking about?” It was the woman who spoke. “What clan did you say you’re from?” 

Jin Ling snorted. There was no one in the Jianghu that didn’t know what his gold-yellow robes and motifs stood for. And even so, to not recognize Suihua? 

“What are you doing on Lan grounds?!” What. Lan grounds? Jin Ling’s head whipped to the flowing waters,the sunlight filtering through the sap green leaves. It was all a little too harsh to be the Cloud Recesses. 

Brows furrowed,Jin Ling turned to the duo in front of him. “And,” He asked, gesturing with his sword. “What are you doing on Lan grounds? Are you even allowed here? That idio-” Oh. Jin Ling gulped the tightness in his throat away, clearing his throat. “I mean that Wei Wuxian isn’t here to protect you anymore. Who let you in here. And… come to think of it, why have you trapped me here?”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “A-Ning! Did that Wei Wuxian help you? What is he saying?” 

A-Ning? Jin Ling gulped. Who was this woman, calling the Ghost General so affectionately? She must be his lover. Was she a demonic cultivator as well? 

It would make sense, then, how they brought Jin Ling here without his knowledge, and how she must have probably made Wen Ning look younger according to her fashions. Jin Ling’s skin crawled. Whatever admiration he’d felt for Wei Wuxian’s skills, whatever reconsideration he’d given to demonic cultivators; at the end of the day, they made his skin crawl. 

Wen Ning scrambled. “No, Jie. I never met anyone, like you said, I kept to myself. This is the first gongzi I’ve run into.” Wen Ning’s… Jie?

“That’s it.” She levelled her gaze, needles raised. “Who are you? You-” 

“Stop right there!” All three of them whipped their heads simultaneously at the loud abrasion of a noise. That annoying tone could only belong to one person. 

“Lan Jingyi!” Jin Ling called. For once, he was happy to see the other. Finally, something that made sense. A Lan–in the Cloud Recesses. 

But,what happened to the funeral? 

☆

Ouyang Zhizhen woke up with the cool grass in his face. It was almost too cool.

Grass wasn’t supposed to be this gentle, fresh with dew still from the morning, even as he felt the sun beat down on his back. He yawned lazily, feeling a strange likeness to Lil’ Apple. He could understand why, as a poor donkey, made to carry people and goods on one’s back throughout the day by Wei-Qianbei, said donkey would prefer fresh, cool blades of grass a treat. 

But well, no one would make her work anymore. Ouyang Zhizhen straightened up at the thought of Wei-Qianbei. Blinking the haziness out of his eyes, he gulped his dry throat for some relief. 

Where was he? 

Going by the vast stretch of green all around him, he was still on the hill of the Burial Mounds somewhere… or maybe not on the Burial Mounds, but some mountain of some kind. So somewhere close to the Mounds. 

He tried to remember where he’d been last. Scratching his head, he did another spin around his surroundings. No matter how he looked at it, he was lost. He couldn’t see or hear Sizhui, the Young Mistress or Jingyi, and he couldn’t find his way back to the array. 

“Hello?” He tried. “Jingyi! Jin Ling! Can someone hear me? I-”

“Who goes there!” The voice was stern and straight, spoken like a quick lash of a whip. Straight and effective. He recognised the voice that could only belong to one person, that had terrorised him quite some. 

“La- Lan Xiansheng!” He dusted off his robes, turning around just in time for the firm, bearded visage of the elder to come before him. Hmm. There was something about him that was a bit… Ouyang Zhizhen couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Lan Xiansheng! This disciple bows to you!” He joined his hands together, executing a deep bow. What was happening right now. Was it perhaps that they had gone to a tavern after the array didn’t work and in a drunken stupor, entered Cloud Recesses and slept right here? That would explain running into Lan-Xiansheng. 

But, did Ouyang Zhizhen then probably reek of booze? And even if he didn’t, Lan-Xiansheng had the instincts of an oracle when it came to breaking the Lan precepts. Ouyang Zhizhen winced pre-emptively, waiting for the strike…. Which never came. 

Instead, came Lan-Xiansheng’s booming voice… somewhat- unsure? He hadn’t heard that tone before. “Rise.” Ouyang Zhizhen saw Lan-Xiansheng search his face. No way… he didn’t recognize him? Sure, Ouyang Zhizhen didn’t belong to the big 5 sects, but he was still gentry! Outrageous. 

Lan-Xiansheng must’ve read his face, because he added a scolding for good measure: “Ahem. Disciple, it is forbidden to raise your voice. Now tell me. What business do you have in the private back hills of the Cloud Recesses?”

Ouyang Zhizhen gulped. “Xiansheng- I- it was Sizhui, that-” Oh no, he looked angry. “No, I mean, I- I come here! To practice my sword forms.” Xiansheng still looked baffled. “Sometimes.” Ouyang Zhizhen added helpfully. 

He averted his gaze, as Lan-Xiansheng stroked his beard. “Have you mastered what is being taught in class already?" 

Ouyang Zhizhen gulped. He had not. “Umm- I-”

“Then there is no need for this.” 

An uncomfortable beat passed, in which Ouyang Zizhen wished Sizhui was here to mitigate the situation, or Jingyi to talk their way out of this. “Is that the sword?” 

Ouyang Zhizhen followed Xiansheng's gaze to his sword, Xinyue. He gripped her tighter. “Yes, I-” 

“Excellent craftsmanship. And seems to have a strong breath of spiritual energy.” He stroked his beard slowly. “I don’t believe I’m familiar.”

Now Ouyang Zizhen was getting a really funny feeling. Because, it is not as though his sword was particularly famous or renowned in the cultivation world, it was well-known in the gentry. It was a gift to his father by Jin Ling’s grandfather, in return for Baling’s support. 

A thought entered Ouyang Zizhen’s mind. “Her name is Xinyue. She…” He searched Xiansheng’s face for recognition. Strange. Very strange. “I made her!” He finished smoothly. “The truth is, I do not understand sword fighting, but she deserves to be honed well.”

Lan Xiansheng’s eyes came to an understanding. 

It was utter bullshit. Ouyang Zizhen hadn’t been near a sword-crafter, let alone ever came close to making one. And Lan-Xiansheng would know this. 

So, either this wasn’t Lan-Xiansheng, or… 

“Boy, what delegation are you with?”

What delegation? …For the funeral? Well, they’d flown in with Jin Ling’s uncle. 

Ouyang Zizhen tilted his head in confusion at the sudden change of topic. “Xiangsheng, the Jiang Delegation, Xiansheng!” Did that really matter, right now? Ouyang Zizhen didn’t understand one bit, the conversation Xiansheng was trying to have. 

“Hmm.” Lan-Xiansheng stroked his beard once again. Did he feel embarrassed about not remembering his name? 

“Ahem.” Ouyang Zizhen cleared his throat. “Xiansheng. What happened, was indeed very sorry.” 

“That Wei Wuxian has caused trouble at Cloud Recesses, it is true.”

Ouyang Zizhen’s eyes softened. “Yes, he did.”

Lan-Xiansheng’s eyes widened. “You’re with the Jiang Delegation, you said? Well, no matter, either way, as right as you might be, but one mustn’t talk behind another’s back. That’s the hundred and fifty-fifth discipline.”

Ouyang Zizhen smiled. Was this Xiansheng’s way of saying he missed Wei-Qianbei? He shook his head slightly, bowing. Lan-Xiansheng simply nodded, watching him leave. “Tell Wei Wuxian to stop kneeling for today.”

“...” Ouyang Zizhen’s brows scrunched, trying to riddle out his words, as he made his way to the Jingshi.

✩

“Sizhui. Do you see-” Jingyi turned to Sizhui, lips turned up. There was no way. “Sizhui-” 

Jingyi inhaled quietly at the sight in front of him. His friend was frozen like the icy rivers behind the Jingshi they’d secretly explored. Like the quiet forest in the backhills that stood and watched. Watched all of them, held all their secrets, and stayed still under the weight of it all. 

Sizhui… 

He followed Sizhui’s gaze to the lively young man in front of them, watching as a lone year slid down Sizhui’s pale face. It was like he’d seen a ghost. Maybe he had. Maybe that’s what they were looking at. Maybe the Burial Mounds had swallowed them whole, and in its sentient belly, it forced you to watch your loved ones, relive your fondest memories just so you could feel their loss. 

Jingyi pursed his lips. 

He didn’t know where they were. But he was with Sizhui. And they would find the Young Mistress, and Ouyang Zizhen, and they would leave it. Because Jingyi had already lost someone. Because that someone had taught them that if they stuck together, even poison on their tongues could be a story to tell. And he would make sure this was just a story to tell in a lazy tavern after a night hunt. 

That’s all it would be. That’s all. 

When he gripped Sizhui’s robes again, his hands were shaky. Strange. He hadn’t even noticed. He gulped, forcing the tremors to calm down. “Sizhui!”

Sizhui angled his head slowly towards Jingyi. 

“Hanguang Jun would want us to keep going. We have to figure a way out of here! We have to-”

“IDIOTS!” 

Jingyi and Sizhui turned simultaneously. And instantaneously. Because that voice was Jin Ling! 

The young master came bounding down the hills, his golden robes catching the sunlight in a way that hurt Jingyi’s eyes. Did he always have to look so… shiny?

“You’re here now! The picture of health. I thought the array must’ve left you dead in a ditch!” Jingyi rolled his eyes at the way his lips turned up into a pout, and his ruby hair clips jingled as he whipped his head. 

“Jin Ling. Where have you been? And where’s Ouyang Zizhen?” Jingyi scanned Jin Ling’s person as if Ouyang Zizhen might hop out of his sleeve. 

“As if I keep him on me! I thought you three might’ve absconded to Gusu without me!” 

“To Gusu? I thought we were in Gusu?”

“No, we-"

Jin Ling’s gaze lingered on the man, and his entire demeanour changed. Eyes wide and glossy, he forced out a strangled breath. 

Jingyi started to speak out of pity: “Wei-”

“Ying!” Jin Ling finished. “Wei Ying! That- that- he’s…demonic cultivation!” Jin Ling turned on his heel, as if snapped out of his trance. “He- brought himself back again! He-  Wei Ying!” He called, marching towards the man. Jingyi’s blood rushed to his head.

“Wei Yi- mmph.” Before Jingyi could do anything, there was a hand clamped on Jin Ling’s mouth, another locked around the crook of his elbow to stop him leaving. 

Ouyang Zizhen. 

“Mmmh!” Jin Ling screeched furiously, his eyes red. 

“Jin Ling! Stop! This isn’t real!”

Chapter Text

Ouyang Zizhen’s grip was grounding. And it was annoying. Jin Ling shrugged it off, his nose turned up. “What are you talking about?”

Ouyang Zizhen looked around, as if to make sure no one was watching. “Just trust me, guys!” 

“About what?!” Jingyi rolled his eyes. And for once, Jin Ling agreed with him. 

“I don’t know!” Ouyang Zizhen scrambled. “I don’t know, but something’s not right here. For example, I just ran into Lan-Xiansheng, but… it’s like he didn’t recognize who I was. And-”

“Yes.” It was final and it wasn’t in the annoying all-knowing way Sizhui usually had. Now, his eyes were unfocused, as if he wasn’t quite there. 

 It wasn’t even just his demeanour. It was also the fact that… did he just interrupt Ouyang Zizhen? 

“Sizhui.” Jingyi gulped.

“Wei-Qianbei.” The words were spoken quietly, like a hushed whisper. Where Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen didn’t know what to make of it, Jingyi froze up. His eyes were the same… as that day in the temple. 

“Sizhui- just.” Shit. Jingyi wasn’t good at this. He didn’t know what to do. 

“Sizhui!” Ouyang Zizhen was on his other side, shaking him from his shoulders. Holding onto them with both hands, he pulled Sizhui into his embrace. Sizhui was stiff as a stick on a tanghulu, eyes hazy, and yet trained on one person. 

Someone who resembled Wei-qianbei so much it was uncanny. 

“Wei-qianbei.” Sizhui’s voice cracked, his whole body shaking, and Jin Ling scrunched his brows, his lips in a thin line. “Wei-gege…” 

“What is that you’re always telling me about being a young mistress, Jingyi?” Jin Ling quipped, but there wasn't that edge to it, and Jingyi simply sighed. 

“Guys. We need to figure out where we are, and how we’re going to get back.”

“We’re in the Cloud Recesses!” Ouyang Zizhen provided readily, and Jingyi shook his head instinctively. 

“No, it may look like it, but we’re still in the Burial Mounds. We have to be. There are things here there shouldn’t be, like…-” He gestured vaguely in the general direction of the Wei-qianbei impersonator. 

Ouyang Zizhen furrowed his brows. “But I ran into Lan-Xiansheng! What would he be doing in the Burial Mounds!”

“I saw Wen Ning.” Jin Ling said curtly. “He was… young. Not a crack on his face. Didn’t recognize me.” 

Ouyang Zizhen watched Jingyi’s eyes widen and he was pretty sure he looked the same. The Ghost General meeting Jin Ling… the entire cultivation world tried not to think of that happening. It hadn’t happened. Since Guanyin Temple. 

He gulped. 

“But last time I checked,” Jingyi folded his hands. “The Burial Mounds didn’t come with the Jingshi and waterfalls. It had rotting bodies, and the resentment of the dead. You could feel it in the air.”

“But.” Ouyang Zizhen said, “The Burial Mounds wasn’t dry and dead. It was also sentient with the spirits of all those people. This could be a vision of some sort- or a haze!”

Jin Ling stomped his foot. “It may look like the Cloud Recesses, but there are things that would never co-exist in the Cloud Recesses that we know! So we should rule that possibility out!”

“They could.” Sizhui’s voice was subdued and dull. But he pushed out of Ouyang Zizhen’s hold as he spoke, as if he raised something. As if that something breathed just a little bit of life into him. As if it made everything easier to handle. It was painful to watch. “All of these things. Could happen in Cloud Recesses. Just not now. But… sixteen years ago.” 

“...”

For a long moment, no one spoke. You could hear the mindless chatter of passersby and the wind rustling through the leaves. 

“You are assuming the array failed. But… what if it came to fruition?” 

“You mean to say,” Jin Ling snorted after a beat. “That we are in the past? That your stupid array worked?” 

“Jin Ling!” Jingyi warned. 

“What?” Jin Ling. “What can you say to me? That you believe someone so stupid in grief that decided to try a time-travelling array and now thinks it worked?” 

Jingyi bit back his words. Because… he had his doubts as well. 

Jin Ling scoffed. “Of course we assume the array failed! Do you think it’s the painted lady’s summoning again? This is time travel we’re talking about! No matter how much you believe demonic cultivation can achieve; it cannot bring back the time.” 

Sizhui turned his head slowly, bringing up his bloodshot eyes to meet Jin Ling’s. “What!” Jin Ling hissed like a woman scorned. “You’re not the only one who’s lost someone. But some of us can’t afford to spend our days wasting away for it. I’m going to try and figure out where we are. Follow if you’re coming.” 

“Can I come too?” The voice was teasing, and yet there was a sureness to it. Jin Ling turned to the shink of a blade being drawn. The blade at his neck gleamed white and sturdy, yet there was a flexibility to it, a playfulness. 

Jin Ling froze. It was Suibian. 

The man tilted his head. “What do you think, Jiang Cheng? Didn’t old man Qiren just tell us our dear disciples were practising without permission? A good sect heir ought to at least accompany his disciples in this case, wouldn’t you say?”  

Jin Ling took in the half smirk, the roguish set of his lips, the untamed hair gathered in a ponytail. Wei… Ying. 

“Right.” Sect Leader Jiang spoke indignantly. “I didn’t know I had such capable disciples.” 

“Cat got your tongue?” Wei Ying narrowed his eyes in that annoying way of his. 

“Wei Ying…” The name slipped from Jin Ling’s mouth. 

“So you know your Head Disciple’s name! You-”

“Wei-qianbei…” Sizhui stumbled forward, undeterred by Suibian. “Wei-gege. You’re here.” He whispered. 

Wei Ying’s eyes widened. “Qianbei…? So you claim to be my disciples, still? But I always remember my disciples’ names.” He frowned, mockingly petulant. “How come I do not remember ones that are clearly, so devoted?”

“Wei-gege!” Sizhui seemed to be unaware of the situation they were in, engulfed in a world of his own feelings. He jumped into Wei Ying’s arms, embracing him as a smile surfaced on his face for the first time in days. “Wei-gege!”

Wei Ying’s hold on the sword faltered, and Jin Ling could see the gears in his head turning. He was trying to figure out what was going on. Jin Ling felt a kin with him on that front. 

“How am I your qianbei? …Who are you?” His eyes swept over Sizhui’s white and blue robes. “Where are you from?” 

“Wei-” Sizhui started.

But Ouyang Zizhen jumped in, “We were just, in the mountains. We- we just-” 

“The mountains?” Wei Wuxian glanced at all of them again, taking in their disheveled hair, and tired eyes and slid his sword back into her sheath. “Did.... Did Baoshan-Qianbei send you?” 

“...”

All four of them froze. 

A beat.

The playfulness had left Wei Wuxian’s eyes now as he jerked Sizhui by the shoulder, his fingers clenching onto already rumpled robes. “Were you looking for me?”

Jin Ling gritted his teeth, glancing at his Jiu-jiu standing behind Wei Wuxian with a pained expression, and he bit his lip. His Jiu-jiu was always more worried about Wei Wuxian than the other man cared. 

“Wei-gege-” Sizhui started shaking his head. “We actually came here to-”

“Yes!” Jingyi cut in and Wei Wuxian whirled his head in his direction. “Yes! We- we were looking for you, Wei-qianbei. We… came here to- learn from you.” 

Upon Wei Wuxian’s quizzical expression, Jingyi cleared his throat. “That- is why you’re our Qianbei! We might outrank you under the Master, but you outrank us in skill. Baoshan Sanren told us all about you! We’re here to learn from you, Wei-qianbei.” 

He added in a 90 degree bow to show sincerity. He was sweating as he straightened up. He didn’t know exactly why he’d lied, or exactly what this place was, and what was happening, but he knew it in the moment that this was probably their best option.

The four of them held their breath for a long moment. It could work. It should. Whatever place this was, they didn’t seem to recognize their faces, and their insignia was taken care of, by the fact that for the funeral at Gusu, they’d all dressed in simple, flowy robes that didn’t indicate to any one sect. 

Wei Wuxian worried his lip between his teeth, searching Jingyi’s eyes. Finally, he turned to Jiang-Zongzhu, who folded his hands. 

“Wei Wuxian. What are you thinking of doing now?”

“Jiang Cheng! Baoshan-Qianbei sent them. They knew who I was…and who my parents were, logically.” He glanced back at the group furtively, as if to prove his point, but Jiang Cheng’s eyes only took in their disheveled robes and their colorless faces. He didn’t buy it. 

“Wei Wuxian.” He turned back to the other man, and based on all of the past interactions the group had seen with the brothers, they half expected Jiang-Zingzhu to shout, to pull out Zidian and call him an idiot. 

But all Jiang-Zongzhu did was sigh after a long beat. For that moment, the two just exchanged a look, as the group waited with bated breath. 

Something twisted in Jin Ling’s stomach, rude and uncomfortable. His Jiu-jiu had always hidden behind the facade of loud reprimands that made you flinch, and empty threats that sounded terrifying if you didn’t know Jiu-Jiu; but Jin Ling knew Jiu-jiu. He was the only one that knew Jiu-jiu. So since when had his Jiu-jiu spoken to someone like that? To someone, who was not Jin Ling? 

“Wei Wuxian-”

“Alright!” Wei-Qianbei ignored Jiang-Zongzhu. “What are my dear disciples’ names?” He smiled from ear-to-ear. 

“Wei-Qianbei,” Sizhui started. “We-”

“Oh, uh-uh! Don’t call me that! Makes me sound so old! Hmm. Let’s see.” He skipped toward them. “Since you’re Jiang disciples now, why don’t you call me Da-shixiong?”

“Da-shixiong.” Jingyi repeated in a haze. 

“Yes, yes, my dear shidi. It is-”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang-Zongzhu expectedly cried. “Die will know!”

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng!” Wei-Qianbei reasoned, “You’re the future Sect Leader! You choose your own disciples to better your sect. And finding prestigious ones who studied under Baoshan Sanren is almost impossible! But they’ve walked right to you! This is great. Wouldn’t you say so, dear shidis?” He turned to them. “Attempt the impossible, hmm? That’s the sect's motto. Learn it well.” 

“Yeah.” Jiang-Zingzhu rolled his eyes, turning on his heel. “You always knew it better than me.” 

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng!” Wei-Qianbei tried to stop him as he left, but after getting rebuffed a couple times, he scratched his head, turning back to the juniors. “Ahh, Jiang Cheng will be fine. Don’t worry. So,” His eyes sparkled. “Tell me more about Baoshan-Qianbei!”

“...”

Chapter Text

Jin Ling crossed his arms as they walked back to the backhills of the Cloud Recesses. Which is where they truly were, apparently. 

“And then, I leapt over the fence, because they said I couldn’t enter the door without an invitation, not that I couldn’t climb over the walls!” Wei Wuxian explained with great amusement his twisted logic. 

Jin Ling watched as Sizhui listened avidly, nodding at the appropriate moments, eyes sparkling. He rolled his eyes at that. 

“And then, what happened, Wei-Qianbei?” 

“Aiya, I told you to call me Da-shixiong!” He chuckled. “And then, as I climbed over, in the dead of night, balancing the two jars of Emperor's Smile, I happened to see the moon out of the corner of my eye, magnificent, and milky white. Was I not supposed to watch? It was a beautiful sky, with stars and fresh air. So, of course, I pulled out the stopper on the Emperor’s Smile.” Of course. Jin Ling rolled his eyes. “ And just then…I felt a menacing presence. I wasn’t alone!”

Sizhui’s eyes widened, his hands clenching his nondescript robes, and with his hair frazzled, and missing his headband, you’d never connect him to Lan Sizhui, apple of Hanguang-Jun’s eye. 

Ouyang Zizhen sighed. “Wei-Qian- I mean, Da-Shixiong! Don’t leave us hanging. What happened next, who was it?” 

But Wei Wuxian was focused on the sight in front of them, weaving through trees, shrouded in mist; the Cold Springs. 

Jingyi breathed softly. There was something different about them. The water flowed the same crystal clear, the same fog arose from the chilling stream, but… there was an unfamiliarity. The trees didn’t look right, the leaves didn’t sway the same, the sun didn’t shine in the same angles. 

Jingyi furrowed his brows, exchanging a glance with Sizhui, who carried a matching expression. 

“This, my dear disciples, is the Cold Springs! I discovered it after a little altercation with some alcohol involved.” He winked. 

Ouyang Zizhen snickered, as Wei Wuxian started taking his shoes off. “Race you there! Last one buys the Emperors’ Smile next time!” He sprinted towards the Springs. 

Jingyi blinked for a second, and then ran towards the Springs with a start. He didn’t have the money or the patience for that. The Young Mistress could take that one. 

Ouyang Zizhen and Jin Ling followed, the latter with an air of disbelief. 

So, as the last one standing, Sizhui was left on the edge, watching the others splash around, and freeze, as their teeth chattered. 

“What’s so fun about this?” Jin Ling clattered angrily, rubbing his palms across his forearms to have some semblance of warmth. 

“Aiya! A-Ling; that’s your name right?-”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Don’t call you by your name?” Wei Wuxian exaggeratedly asked. 

To be safe, they had just mentioned their given names, not their family names. 

“Just. Ling.” Jin Ling grumbled. 

Wei Wuxian chuckled warmly, “Dear Ling, as men, if we train ourselves early on, to take up-”

“What are you talking about?” Jin Ling shouted. “What sort of nonsense-”

“Sizhui?” Jingyi questioned, alarmed. 

Sizhui blinked, as a shiver ran down his back. 

“Sizhui.” Wei-Qianbei’s eyes bore into his. “Are you okay? Is the water really that cold? You don’t have to come in, it’s okay, I can just steal some Emperors’ Smile, and-”

“Ah,” Sizhui sniffed, feeling the salty tears run down his face, the tightness in his throat. “No, no. I’m fine, Da-shixiong. It’s just-”

“What is happening here?”  The voice cracked down on the chatter like a whip, leaving silence in its wake. 

The five of them turned around just in time to watch Hanguang Jun crest the small bridge that overlaid the Springs. His nose turned up, he inspected the group. 

“Wei Wuxian.” His voice was sharp and unkind in ways Sizhui hadn’t seen towards Wei-Qianbei. This could only mean one thing. “What is the meaning of this?” 

“Hanguang Jun,” Jingyi started, but Wei-Qianbei cut him off. 

“Lan-er-gongzi,” He beamed. “You must join us! Lan Zhan! You like the Springs, right. I was just showing my disciples some- mmm! Mm! Mmpf-Mmm!...”

Wei-Qianbei continued protesting through the silencing spell, but his lips remained firmly shut. Jin Ling snickered not very subtly, and Wei-Qianbei furrowed his brows at Jin Ling in mock offense, before folding his hands. 

“Now.” Hanguang Jun spoke calmly. “You will all follow me to the Library Pavilion to mete out your punishment.”

“Mmm!” Wei-Qianbei tried again, to which Hanguang Jun specified: 

“Quietly.”

☆

When they were all dry and changed into the Lan disciple robes, they faced Hanguang Jun on the floor of the Library Pavilion, sitting like perfect gentlemen. It didn’t help with their case. 

Sizhui noticed Hanguang Jun’s slight body, devoid of the bulk of grief, of the hardness of time on his face, and grew more certain with every minute. He watched as Hanguang Jun, crossed the room to place several copies of the Lan Code of Conduct in front of them, and Jingyi groaned. 

As a veteran at copying the rules several times, Jingyi boasted how he didn’t even need to read the rules before copying them. But Sizhui suspected he still didn’t like doing it. Sizhui chuckled softly behind his sleeve, glancing at Hanguang Jun’s rounded face. There was something so… juvenile about it. 

“Aiya, Lan Zhan!” Wei-Qianbei whined. “Copying 3000 rules again! I just finished copying them! It’s unfair! It’s torture!”

“3000? Haven’t you been flaking, Wei- Da-shixiong? There’s 4000.”

“Incorrect.” Hanguang Jun replied swiftly. “There are 3000.” 

Sizhui breathed a little too quickly at that. Now, there was almost no doubt in his mind. 

“Understood, Lan-er-gongzi.” Sizhui saluted, turning to the Code of Conduct. He flipped to the first page. 

“Sizhui, what is it?”

“Jingyi…” He pointed to the date at the very first page of the manuscript, which wasn’t very surprising in the day, but the year…

Jingyi’s eyes widened, mouth agape. Jin Ling snatched the document from Sizhui’s hands, furiously checking over it. 

Ouyang Zizhen scrambled at seeing it, rifling through the other copies. All of them, carried the same year: 16 years before the year they knew. 

By now, Wei Wuxian and Hanguang Jun were watching the group with a keen confusion. 

“This!” Ouyang Zizhen yelped. “This says, that the year is… Eh, what year-mm” Jingyi clamped a hand over his mouth, pulling him back into his chest. 

Wei-Qianbei raised a quizzical brow, leaning over to read the manuscript for himself. Jingyi gave a nervous smile, “Just, I didn’t know that there were just 3000 rules! Very strange indeed, I’d heard that there were 4000.” 

“How did you find out the number of rules from the first page, oh great master?” Wei-Qianbei smirked. And Sizhui really looked at him. He wasn’t their qianbei anymore. He wasn’t older than them in a professional or age capacity. In fact, this young man was younger than Sizhui! 

Sizhui cleared his throat. “Zizhen has many faults in his character, of them overreaction and folly.” Sizhui laid his eyes on Jingyi, who still kept Ouyang Zizhen close, as if keeping a pet in check. Sizhui chuckled, signaling Jingyi to let him go. 

And Ouyang Zizhen straightened up. “Ahem. Yes. I was wondering about the fine calligraphy, Wei-Qian- er- Da-shixiong. It is surprising! It is like a woodblock print!”

“It has been faithfully transcribed by me.” Hanguang-Jun’s word was final and silencing. “Now; begin.” Sizhui picked up a brush and parchment like the others, and sat down to write. Over the years, growing up in the Cloud Recesses, and being Jingyi’s friend, this was not his first time copying down the precepts. But this time, he found himself unable to concentrate. 

His gaze wandered over to Hanguang-Jun. No, he wasn't called that yet. The young man in front of him must be his age, or his… Da-Shi-xiong’s age. He was fresh, and naïve, and untouched by the war that gave him his name. A war so dark, that required his Hanguang-Jun’s everyday actions such a prestigious name. Sizhui shuddered as he glanced over at his new Da-Shixiong again, and he couldn’t help the tears that sprung to his eyes. 

He looked at Wei-Qianbei who still smiled just as big, just as wide, but there was something so… carefree about it. He looked at Hanguang-Jun, whose stern gaze looked the same, but it didn’t carry the same flavour of jagged carefulness that came from the fear of losing Wei-Qiambei again. They were so… untouched by war. 

Ever since Sizhui could remember having thoughts, he could remember the dark shadow that cast over the heads of all the adults in his life, dwarfing their mirth, their happiness, at every step. It was such an integral part of how they reacted, of who they were, that Sizhui didn’t know who they were without it. 

Who was Wei-Qianbei without his seemingly shameless words that actually teetered a dangerous line of unfamiliarity. Who was Hanguang-Jun without the gentle sternness that hated nothing more than to cross boundaries, that had learned to stay within one’s limits. That, your own family was to be kept at a distance. 

Even though Hanguang-Jun still must appear to keep everyone at an arms length, Sizhui could tell the difference. It was… lighter, more out of genuine belief, than out of regard for the whips, for the scars that told him everyday of his place among his own family in the Cloud Recesses. An artefact of a time he was not perfect, of which Sizhui was a part. And who was Hanguang-Jun, if not pristine and perfect?

When Sizhui breathed next, it was a tremble. Jingyi frowned, placing his hand on Sizhui’s back, and Wei-Qianbei tilted his ead, concerned, and he shifted his gaze to Hanguang-Jun, who, bless his young miind, was absolutely out of his league here. 

Sizhui chuckled through his sobbing, thinking about how Hanguang-Jun had only dealt with people like We-Qianbei who stuck their tongue out and you and aughed when they got punished, or people who hung their head in shame, but accepted their punishment, but here Sizhui was, crying like a baby. It was all so embarrassing… it was all so… relieving. 

“You may continue your punishment tomorrow.” Hanguang-Jun wasn’t even looking at him, probably out of guilt. Oh, his A-die was so young and so sweet. 

Sizhui bowed quickly, hurrying out, as he felt the sting of the tears clamped in his throat. He tried to breathe around the tears, as he ran with quick, short steps into the clearing. 

He could hear footfalls behind him, quiet and yet so loud. So many. His friends. Why were they here now. Sizhui paused abruptly, turning around, as the others scrambled to stop as well. 

“Sizhui…” Jingyi gulped through panting. 

Sizhui hadn’t realised he was panting himself. He huffed through his mouth, trying to reel his breath back in. 

“Sizhui. Slow down.” Ouyang Zizhen ran a hand down Sizhui’s back gently, and Sizhui wanted to cry. 

He glanced over at Jin Ling, who was huddled in the corner, turned away from the whole affair, as if unaffected. Sizhui knew he wasn’t. None of them were. How could they be? 

But he knew Jin Ling wouldn’t ask for help. 

Sizhui swallowed, trudging towards Jin Ling, hand settling on his back. “Jin-” 

“Don’t!” Jin Ling shouted so hard, Sizhui almost flinched, but he stood his ground, just existing beside the other. “Don’t” He repeated again. 

“Jin-gongzi. Please, we-”

“I said.” Jin Ling’s eyes were red. “Don’t! Leave me alone. All of you! I can see the pity in your eyes! Shut up! Shut up! So what, you think that Wei Ying is just yours? You think I forgive him just because he hasn’t done it yet?!” He grasped at Sizhui’s collar, and Sizhui let him. “I don’t forgive him! I won’t forgive him! He killed my parents! If he shows even a single sign of demonic cultivation, there is nothing any of you can do to stop me from killing him!” He screamed in frustration, turning on his heel and dashing away. 

He was a little unsteady on his feet, and his lungs burned for air in the thin atmosphere up here, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The crybaby himself patronizing Jin Ling?! 

He panted and screamed and ran and ran until his legs gave out under him. 

He rolled over in the dirt and grass, full of dew and shivered. Both at the cold, and the aspect of laundry. For a while, he just lay there, his breaths the only thing he could hear. 

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. 

Until they got smaller, and more manageable. Until they weren’t too big for his lungs, and too big for the Cloud Recesses air to handle. 

He sat up, grasping Suihua to make sure he still had her, when he heard the shink of a blade, close enough that he barely had time to dodge. 

“What?” His jiu-jiu smirked mirthlessly, his eyes sharp. “Too pathetic to copy a few rules? I hope they at least taught you something on that mountain.” He raised his sword at Jin Ling. 

And Jin Ling gulped. His Jiu-jiu was testing him.

Chapter Text

Jin Ling pulled out Suihua swiftly, their blades clanging as they met. Jin Ling furrowed his brows, facing his Jiu-jiu, who wore the deep blue Jiang robes, his hair loose at the base, and neatly tied up into a small bun at the top half. 

With his filled out cheeks, his big eyes, he looked so… innocent. 

Jin Ling couldn’t hold in the chuckle, but it morphed into a cough when Jiu-jiu gave him a glare, charging with Sandu. 

Jin Ling jumped away, about to retaliate with Suihua, when he realised…. Everyone knew it in the Jianghu, especially his Jiu-jiu! If this was truly sixteen years ago, everyone knew it as… his father’s sword. 

He cleared his throat, hiding Suihua behind him. 

His Jiu-jiu bristled at that. “What’s the meaning of this?!” He advanced, sword still raised. “What? Let me guess. You’re too good for me. You’ll only spar with that Wei Wuxian!”

Jin Ling snorted at that. As if. 

“Sandu is known all over the Jianghu! How could my sword-” 

“Stop spouting nonsense!” Sandu was dangerously close to Jin Ling’s throat. “What is your name?” 

“Ji- Uhm. Ling!” 

“Ling?”

“Just Ling!” Jin Ling dropped Suihua in the grass behind him, raising both hands in mock surrender, only to kick his way out of the chokehold. “I already told you it’s just Ling!” He shouted. 

“...” His Jiu-jiu’s eyes sharpened as he took in Jin Ling, clutching at his chest where he’d been kicked. His eyes narrowed further as he put Sandu back in his shield after a long moment. 

His mouth twisted as he huffed. “So Wei Wuxian is your sect leader, isn't it? Your actual sect leader tells you to spar, and you disobey!”

His jiu-jiu was… a child. Jin Ling couldn’t hold in the snicker. He clutched at his mouth, trying to maintain decorum. 

He joined his hands together in a salute, bowing in a 90 degree angle. He forgot the last time he’d bowed like this in front of his Jiu-jiu, all formal. 

He cleared his throat, rising again as Jiu-jiu observed him, skeptical. He noticed how much bigger Jiu-jiu’s eyes looked when he didn’t squint in anger, how much smoother his skin was when he wasn’t angry about Wei Wuxian. 

“Zongzhu. I’m going to take my leave.” Jin Ling huffed, turning to pick up Suihua, when Jiu-jiu’s stern voice interrupted him, and he had flashbacks of when his Jiu-jiu would scold him about this and that. 

“Where do you think you’re going?! Your sect leader hasn’t dismissed you yet! Or do you think you’re too good to have to obey?!”

Jin Ling’s lips twitched as he took in the sight in front of him. It wasn’t the usual way his uncle would scold him—harsh, but also correct. Now, the young sect leader- no sect heir in front of him just ordered Jin Ling because he could. 

Jin Ling scoffed. “What?! Dismiss me? You’re not my family member! Why should I waste my time waiting to be dismissed by you when we’re done talking?!” 

“Look at this- spewing nonsense! Is that why you came to Wei Wuxian?! To learn how to rubbish your way out of things?!” 

… and Jin Ling was truly aghast at that. Was his Jiu-jiu suggesting that there was something worth following in that idiot Wei Ying? 

“You-”

“Jiang-Gongzi.” A voice broke out, and the two of them simultaneously turned their heads to see a young master arriving with a posse of people around him, all decked in exquisite jewelry and a pride worn so shamelessly it would put the Jin sect to shame. 

Jin Ling scrunched his brows at being interrupted and was about to speak, when his Jiu-jiu bowed shallowly. “Jin-gongzi.” He spat. 

Jin Ling took in the man again, who now stood in front of them, saluting his Jiu-jiu back. Though he wasn't strikingly handsome like Hanguang-Jun or that idiot Wei Ying, this young master was regal and pretty. He wore a vermillion mark on his forehead, and carried not a wrinkle on his radiant face. His eyes were curved downwards a slight bit, giving them an effect of kindness, and yet, he curved them in such a way that would suggest you had been wasting his time for decades. 

While he was thinking all this, he didn’t realize that the two men were now looking at him, as if waiting for something, his Jiu-jiu giving him a pointed look, and Jin Ling startled, remembering to salute. “Jin-gongzi…” He bowed, his eyes staying on the other. 

The young master in front of him, though looked serene at first glance, carried an air of superiority, as if he was the best thing to happen since the dawn of humanity, and though he understood he was Jiu-jiu’s respectable peer, he couldn’t stop the scowl that reached his face. 

Jiu-jiu’s eyes widened at him in admonition, but it was half-hearted. Jin Ling snickered quietly at that, keeping quiet for the rest of the conversation. 

He could still feel his Jiu-jiu’s scowl on him as they watched the young master walk away. “What?” Jin Ling half-snapped. 

“You don’t like him?” Jiu-jiu scoffed. 

“Do you like him?” He added: “Jiang-zongzhu?”

Jiang Cheng harrumphed–but didn’t answer, Jin Ling noticed. He smirked, pointing. “Jiu- ah. Jiang-gongzi. Who was that? Jin Zixun?”

“A little better than that. But still insufferable. That was Jin-gongzi, Jin Zixuan. He might not be as bad as Jin Zixun. Pompous peacock.” Jiu-jiu frowned exaggeratedly. But Jin Ling could feel the ground slipping from beneath his feet as he watched their backs fade away. His throat was suddenly a little too dry, and he dug his sword in the ground, anchoring it to use as support as his knees buckled under him. 

Jin Ling had seen paintings of his father, but they had never matched what he’d seen now. He didn’t see a sect leader decked in royal gold and jewelry that weighed him down, but a young man, regal and poised and yet a bit odd-footed, as if nothing in life was worth more than even his robes. Was this man really… his father?

“Jin Zixuan…?” Jin Ling choked. “That was- Jin Zixuan…? The one that is… my- to Jiang-guniang…” 

Jiu-jiu’s face turned sour, if not a bit concerned, as he folded his arms. “Yeah.” He sized Jin Ling up before answering, his words clanging in Jin Ling’s ears. “My Jie’s betrothed.”

Jin Ling felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him. His blood rushed to his ears, deafening over any words his Jiu-jiu said after that. His clothes were too warm and scratchy, and his feet weren’t firm under his body. When his Jiu-jiu grabbed him, it felt like a vice-grip. 

He blinked, startled, and stumbled back. His throat was dry as he swallowed, watching his Jiu-jiu trying to say something to him, but it was all too loud, and too bright, and there was just one word in Jin Ling’s mind: run. 

He turned on his heel, bounding down the same clearing he came, or maybe it was a different one. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. He wasn’t watching at all. He ran and ran and ran as far as his legs took him, as far as his calves burned and buckled under him and he couldn’t run anymore. 

The ground hit his face with no warning, and the dewy grass slammed into his face. The grass that Lil’ Apple would consider a delicacy and a luxury was muddy and wet on his face, and he gagged, turning over so he was laying on the ground. For very long moments, the only thing with him was his thoughts, the sounds in his brain, until it all quieted down. 

He heard the long gasps with which his chest heaved up and down, his shoes that were definitely torn, and Suihua, that was still tightly in his grasp. He let go of her in the grass slowly, and found a bitter laugh leaving his chest. Maybe it wasn’t bitter, maybe the grass really was that funny, because soon he couldn’t understand why he’d done anything other than laugh, and he was chuckling like a madman in the field. 

Jin Ling was aware that anything he’d done today wasn’t remotely normal, but anything that has happened to him since he’d came with Sizhui to the Burial Mounds hadn’t been. No, it had begun before that. Anything ever since his.. That… Ever since Wei Ying had- in Guanyin Temple, ever since they’d met that Headshaker. No, actually it was ever since they’d gone to Yi city, or ever since Wei Ying had come back, and his Jiu-jiu couldn’t get a grip of himself. 

Or maybe it was the sixteen useless years of his life, or maybe it was his birth at all. Why was he born to live such a sorry life? He wondered that a lot, though he’d never tell Jiu-jiu. But today, he wondered something else. Was it because he was born, was it because his Fu-Mu and married? Was it because they’d met at all? What was it? Where had everything…. Gone- this way. 

He didn’t realise he was crying until his throat clamped around his breath and he had to breathe through his mouth, until his eyes stung with tears at the bottom, his lashes wet with them. Until pathetic whimpers left his mouth, and all he could do was cry. Quietly, loudly, he didn’t know. All he knew was that when he looked around him next, it was already nightfall and he didn’t know where he was. 

Well. 

What was the point anyway. Not like anyone was looking for him anyway.

Chapter Text

Jin Ling was nowhere to be found and all Sizhui could do was chew on his lips, his legs shaking with worry as they searched the perimeter. As Wei-Qianbei… Wei Wuxian. Wei-gege. As Wei-gege helped them look, as Hanguang-Jun led the party with a lamp. 

It was all his fault. He knew Jin Ling wouldn’t be able to handle… the place they were in. What it meant. 

Sizhui glanced back at Wei-gege and Hanguang-Jun. If just to make sure they were real. Hanguang-Jun pursed his lips, eyes mellow and on the path. Sizhui knew this look, there was something he wanted to say, but the time wasn't right. 

Sizhui thought now was a time as good as any. He was about to walk over to Hanguang-Jun when Wei-gege hopped over, bumping shoulders with him. Hanguang-Jun gave no reaction to that, which seemed to amuse We-gege even more. “Aiya Lan Zhan!” He pouted. “Will you stop glaring daggers at me? I know you want to say something. You should just say it. That’s how it is. Men shouldn’t keep anything in their hearts. That’s for forlorn maidens, and strangers. Surely, you and I are past that?” He smiled, leaning in as if to check Huangang-Jun’s reaction at a close range, and Sizhui felt an amused smile reach his lips. 

How did anyone miss what Hanguang-Jun and Wei-Qianbei had? 

“Wei Ying.” Hanguang-Jun frowned, meeting Wei-gege’s gaze, who faltered in his steps, but caught up. 

“Lan Zhan!” He smiled wider. 

“Wei Ying.” Hanguang-Jun sighed, glancing down at his own robes. “The- it is acting up.” 

Wei-gege straightened up at that. “You mean… that, right? From the cave-” Wei-gege looked around to make sure no one was listening and Sizhui turned forward, training his ears on their conversation still. “From when we went to the Cold Springs?”

He heard Hanguang-Jun clear his throat, but he presumably nodded his head, because Wei-gege said: “So do you think Ling’s disappearance has something to do with it?” 

Wei-gege whispered again, “I agree. There is too much coincidence. The Springs, the Abyss, and now Ling’s disappearance. All after a certain someone’s arrival.”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang-zongzhu hissed from ahead Sizhui. “Stop troubling Lan-er-Gongzi!” 

Wei-gege cleared his throat, chuckling loudly for the benefit of the others. “Aiya Jiang Cheng! Just say you missed me!” 

“Wei Wuxian!”

Sizhui smiled at the pair from Yunmeng in front of him, trudging along the clearing.

He glanced back by chance and caught Hanguang-Jun’s eyes already on him, who averted them quickly, focusing on the trail again, and Sizhui couldn’t help the uneasy shiver that crawled down his back. 

“I’m going to look there." Sizhui walked in the first arbitrary direction he could find, as Jingyi scrambled after him with Ouyang Zizhen in tow. 

“Wait up, Sizhui!”

☆

Jin Ling was sitting in wet Cloud Recesses grass, sixteen years before he was born, with Suihua in his hand, and no idea what to do. Great. Amazing. Life was great. 

He had some semblance of what shi it was, but he didn’t know for sure. He sighed as his stomach grumbled loudly. He dug Suihua into the ground a bit to use as a stand for getting up and dusted himself off. The moment that he straightened up, he felt his hairs rise up on his neck. 

He wasn’t alone. He spun on his feet, pulling Suihua out in a flash to come face-to-face with… Hanguang-Jun. 

“Hangua- Er, Lan-er-Gongzi.” He pushed Suihua back, saluting as best he cared after the day he had. Lan-er-gongzi turned his nose up at him, advancing. He didn’t say anything, just walked towards him, slowly, deliberately. As if sizing him up. He adjusted his robes; he knew he looked a little bit like an idiot, but he didn’t deserve this. And if anything, the idiocy was because of the bland Lan disciple robes.  

He scoffed. “Lan-er-Gongzi. Do you have anything to say?” 

He still didn’t say anything, gulping softly. “Ling-gongzi. Are you well?”

Jin Ling narrowed his eyes but responded cordially, “I’m fine. Just lost my way. I’m lucky I ran into you, Lan-er-Gongzi.”

“Not luck.” Hanguang-Jun inclined his head. “Everyone is looking for you.” 

Jin Ling bristled, color reaching his cheeks as he played with his robes to calm himself. 

“Ling-Gongzi. In the library…”

“JinLing! Mmpf-” Came Ouyang Zizhen’s hurried voice, followed by Sizhui and Jingyi. 

“Ling! Are you fine? What is it?”

Jin Ling rolled his eyes as the exaggerated correcting. Hanguang-Jun wasn’t stupid. He clearly knew something was up. 

Hanguang-Jun eyed the quartet, clearing his throat to stop their scrambling. He turned to Jin Ling again, an unsaid question on his face. Sizhui frowned, bowing. “Thank you for your help, Lan-er-Gongzi.”

“Mm.” He conceded and turned. “Let us return.”

Sizhui breathed a sigh of relief and turned to face Jin Ling, pity written all over it. Just as he opened his mouth, Jin Ling rolled his eyes, jogging to catch up to Hanguang-Jun. He really didn’t want to be on the Sizhui show today. 

After they walked a good distance, almost at the disciple lodgings, they could hear a loud commotion a ways away. All of them looked around for its source, settling to a path on their right, and followed Hanguang-Jun, no doubt on his way to stop them as the head disciplinarian. But Sizhui watched him frown as they got closer and the muffled shouts became angry words. 

“Wei Ying…” He whispered, hurrying up his pace as much as was acceptable. 

“Jiang Cheng let me go! You might be the sect leader, but I’m just a disciple. I don’t have any restrictions!”

“Wei Wuxian!” The admonishment was half-hearted, as he held Wei-gege back along with five other disciples, facing another young master in the same position. The both of them had matching bruises on their faces and were screaming their heads off at each other. 

“Wei Wuxian! Is it that hard to understand?” He scoffed, shaking off his disciples. “Don’t mention it again.” 

Wei-gege spat on the ground in anger, charging towards him and clocked in straight in the jaw, his fist sure to leave a bruise. 

Sizhui hissed preemptively as Hanguang-Jun rushed to stop Wei-gege. 

“Wei Ying! Stop.”

“Lan Zhan, let me go.”

“Wei Ying!”

“Wei-Gongzi picked a fight with Jin-Gongzi!” Someone told them as a means of explanation. 

“But was it not fair?” A Jiang disciple spoke up. “Jin-Gongzi had insulted Jiang-Guniang. He wants to break the troth. Wei-DaShixiong was only defending his shijie!”

Hanguang-Jun frowned deeply, turning to the both of them with an air of finality. “This is over. We must report to shufu.” 

He sighed softy, as he glanced at Wei-gege. 

Meanwhile, Jin-Gongzi started speaking: “Lan-er-Gongnzi! What kind of- mmpf. Mmpf!”

Silencing spell. 

Sizhui noticed he didn’t place it on Wei-gege.

Chapter Text

Seven Years Later....

Lan Wangji breathed through his nose, A-Yuan’s little body warm in his arms. It was the only thing that kept him from falling over in the harsh wind. The snow cut at his cheeks viciously, light as a knife one moment, and heavy as a [weapon the next moment, latching onto his legs. He trudged through several thick inches of snow, pulling the flimsy robe that he’d made into a makeshift shawl over A-Yuan. He’d always loved the snow. Even when he waited outside his mothers house for hours upon hours, and he shivered and his knees bruised, he’d blamed the wood, he’d blamed the rules, he’d blamed himself. He’d never faulted the snow. 

But now as A-Yuan curled into him deeper, he wished the snow would disappear, he wished it would stop being so… harsh on him. So harsh. 

He was prepared for the consequences. He was. But…

So harsh. So unforgiving. A-Yuan was just a child. And yet, Lan Wangji’s throat constricted at the revulsive eyes his Shufu had given the kid. 

So harsh. 

So that’s what Lan Wangji would be against the world. He would be an rigid, unmoving wall against the frigid world. Against the fact that he’d lost Wei Ying forever, that he’d failed so resoundingly. Against the fact that he’d lost everything. His home, his Ge, his… family. 

His rabbits… that Wei Ying had gifted. 

Nothing lasted anymore.