Chapter Text
Yunmeng never really got harsh winters.
It was a warm place, surrounded by water despite being land-locked. With mountain ranges on almost all sides of the province and a good altitude, it was the summer's that were harsh. Wet and hot and long. It was summer in Yunmeng that could end a person's life if they weren't careful.
The winters were still colder, of course, but without the snow and the ice that stories told. Because that was what Wei Wuxian thought harsh winters were—stories.
Even during his year in Yiling, a city on the west side of Yunmeng, in the mountains, he hadn't experience such a cold. He'd seen snow once or twice, but it had never been particularly impressive.
He'd all but forgotten Jiang Cheng's horror story about the Cloud Recesses in the winter. Wei Wuxian had already been kicked out by the time winter came around, but Jiang Cheng had once complained about it to no end.
If only he'd remembered that before he set out on this nighthunt some days before it was said winter would announce itself.
It had been an easy nighthunt, and one he had wanted to do—there had been rumours of a landborne abyss.
In the end it hadn't been what he had hoped, but it had still been fulfilling to get rid of the crawling pit of corpses that had been dumped there.
What wasn't fulfilling, was the sudden, intense change in weather. It had been cold, of course, with it being the start of winter, but that cold suddenly turned freezing. Picking the nighthunt three days travel from his home had been a grave mistake.
Normally the cold wouldn't be a problem for a cultivator. However, one with a core as weak as Mo Xuanyu's would not be able to do everything at once. No, Wei Wuxian had to choose what to use his energy on—flying, or keeping warm.
Choosing to fly had been a mistake as well.
It had started with the freezing chill. It was always cold in the air, but never did the wind cut into the skin quite so. He wasn't used to this at all—
"Why are you making excuses, Wei Wuxian! Focus." Wei Wuxian told himself, pressing on as a particularly strong gust made Suibian unsteady.
As if the cold wasn't bad enough, he'd flown right into a storm. The snowflakes were tiny knives all thrown at him with no escape, cutting their freezing cold into his skin.
His self deprecation didn't help him focus, no matter how much he wished it to. Another heavy push against his side distracted him, unbalanced him, and his heart jumped the moment he felt Suibian give way to the air. The once steady platform under him was now nothing more than a sword falling alongside him.
"Argh!" Wei Wuxian hit a snowy slope, likely the only reason that fall didn't send him to his second grave.
He rolled down, snow clinging onto him from head to toe. When he came to a stop, he laid there for a moment, staring up at the dark, angry sky as white flung across it in spasmic, harsh movements. He'd missed Suibian when he's tried to grab it, so it was likely still at the top of the slope, but he could barely move an arm.
His body felt leaden, heavy and stuck. The cold had claimed him, and he was reminisced of the time he had been claimed much the same, by a similar cold that had resulted in his development of the ghostly path. He doubted this would result in anything similar, though.
"I should've stayed home…" He could have been in bed with his husband, cuddling and warm, the only concern on his mind whether the bunnies on the hill would be cold in this weather.
He was wearing winter robes, once he had thought far too stuffy when heading out. Now he bemoaned the loss of the cloak he had denied.
A laugh rattled up in his chest, but it came out a pained wheezed. The only benefit of the cold right now was that he didn't feel quite how badly the fall had messed him up. He /could/ still move, he thought, if he forced himself. At least he hadn't been so thoroughly broken that he'd have to drag himself somewhere. He never wanted to reprise that horrible experience.
With more effort than he wanted to admit, he pushed himself over, to lay on his front before managing to get his knees and arms under him. Looking up, he was surprised to see the long clatter he had made down this mountain. At least it had left a noticeable trail. He'd have to hurry if he wanted to find his sword with new snow coming down, though.
The climb was a torment. Every movement was a negotiation with limbs that felt like petrified wood. The wind had shifted, driving the snow directly into his face, blinding him. He kept his head down, following the ragged trough his body had carved, now slowly filling in with fresh, relentless white.
He found Suibian half-buried near the crest. The fall had damaged neither it nor its sheath, but Wei Wuxian's own connection to it felt frayed, his weak core sputtering like a damp candle when he called it to his hand. His core was weakened under the constant work. He couldn’t fly. Not now. The mere thought of channelling spiritual energy for flight made his bones ache with a deeper cold.
Shelter. Find shelter first.
The thought came with a voice not his own, but Lan Zhan’s. A quiet, firm voice in his head that cut through the panic. Lan Zhan, who had endured the Cloud Recesses winters since childhood, who likely thought nothing of them. Lan Zhan, who would be waiting.
“Ah… he’s going to be so mad,” Wei Wuxian mumbled to the blizzard, a ghost of a smile touching his blue-tinged lips. He was smiling, as always. One of the few memories he had of his mother was her calling him a happy child, one who'd smile through anything. He proved it to be true once more.
Going down the mountain was the only choice, so that's what he did. He hoped to find a cave or den, something he could hide in to wait the storm out. He found neither, not even after searching for half a shichen.
The light was leaching from the sky, turning the world a uniform, deadly grey. Wei Wuxian’s teeth had long since stopped chattering. That was a bad sign, he knew dimly. A very bad sign. The cold was inside him now, settling in his marrow, slowing his thoughts to a thick, sticky syrup.
He stumbled over something hidden under the snow—a root, a rock, he didn’t know—and went down hard on his knees. This time, the urge to get up was a distant, feeble thing, his body stone. It would be so easy to just… stop. The snow was a blanket. A heavy, cold, final blanket.
Wei Ying.
The voice in his head was sharper now, laced with a fear he rarely associated with his husband. His strong, handsome, perfect husband who was not there with him.
Get up.
“Trying…” he whispered, but the word was swallowed by the wind. He pushed with arms that had no strength, managed to get one foot under him, and lurched forward.
And then he saw it. A darker smudge against the grey-white of the mountain face. Not a cave, but an overhang of rock, wide enough to provide a meagre break from the wind and the direct onslaught of snow. It was nothing, but it would be enough.
With a new goal in sight, Wei Wuxian gathered what little strength he had left and crawled towards it—dragging his unresponsive body to the little spot the snow had not yet claimed.
He couldn't make a fire, he had neither the material nor the energy for it, and it would only get him wet and frozen faster. He only had himself and the extra pair of robes every cultivator carried. With stiff fingers he took the qiankun pouch and pulled the robes out, wrapping them around himself sloppily before curling in on himself.
He lost track of time and found himself thinking of the Jingshi—home. He would normally shiver at Lan Zhan's touch, his fingers never too warm. Now he could only imagine how that heat would sear into his skin, make him crave it all over. He longed to be held, tight and warm and comfortable. The fantasy made him smile, and it was with a smile that he lost consciousness.