Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian was born into a world that counted words.
Everyone could feel them at the throat, a faint warmth that dimmed with every spoken syllable. When the count reached zero, the voice shut off completely. No whisper would form, no song could be sung. Even writing failed. Brush strokes left trails of wet ink that vanished into the page as though language itself refused to exist. There was no pain and no warning. Just silence until dawn.
For most people, it hardly mattered. Their daily counts ran into the thousands, which is more than enough to fill every waking hour with conversation and still leave room for laughter at night.
Wei Wuxian had barely above five hundred. Which, in his opinion, was still plenty.
He quickly learned how fast five hundred and twenty could vanish. A joke cost fifteen words. An apology, twelve. Anger was expensive. Defending himself could eat half a day’s allotment. And once it ran out, that was it. No words, spoken or written could form. Not even thoughts could travel silently to another’s mind.
When Wei Wuxian first learned this system as a child, he burst out laughing.
“What happens if I waste them all?” he had asked.
Jiang Cheng had stared at him like he was an idiot. “Then you shut up.”
Wei Wuxian grinned. “So nothing changes?”
He spent them freely after that.
What was the point of saving them? The count reset every dawn anyway. Words were meant to be used, thrown around and spun into stories. If they ran out, fine. Silence wasn’t death.
He lived his life the way he did everything else: boldly, brightly, recklessly.
A few hundred words were enough.
Until it wasn't.
By the time he was old enough to enter the Cloud Recesses, he still hadn't learned restraint.
The rules of the Cloud Recesses should have suited him, in a way. Silence was expected. Speech was rationed by discipline as much as by destiny. Still, this didn't stop Wei Wuxian. Where others conserved, Wei Wuxian spent.
The first lecture at Cloud Recesses began predictably. Rows of white-robed disciples sat in perfect order, brush and paper laid neatly before them, and Lan Qiren’s voice filled the hall with solemn authority.
Wei Wuxian sat at his desk, already bored and already planning mischief. Three minutes in, he whispered to Jiang Cheng, “This place is boring.” Four words gone.
Jiang Cheng elbowed him sharply. “Focus!”
Wei Wuxian only grinned.
By the time Lan Qiren began discussing unorthodox cultivation methods, Wei Wuxian’s hand shot up. “If a technique saves lives but violates doctrine, is it still wrong?”
Everyone in the hall, including Lan Wangji, froze.
Lan Qiren’s brow furrowed. “Orthodox cultivation exists for a reason.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes lit up.
“But what if the situation requires something different? If a technique works—”
“Unorthodox paths often lead to corruption.”
“But not always.”
The discussion escalated quickly.
Wei Wuxian argued with bright intensity, sketching out hypothetical scenarios where unconventional techniques might save lives in desperate situations. His hands moved animatedly as he spoke, brush waving through the air as if conducting the argument itself.
Lan Qiren responded with sharp precision, citing centuries of cultivation history.
The rest of the disciples watched in stunned silence.
Wei Wuxian burned through his word count without noticing.
“And how would you control such dangerous methods?” Lan Qiren asked.
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to argue—
Nothing came out.
He blinked, momentarily confused at how he’d used up all his words this early. Then he blinked again. His daily word limit had run out.
A faint rustle of suppressed amusement passed through the room as Wei Wuxian waved his brush wildly, gesturing in frantic shapes. He pointed at Lan Qiren, then at the ceiling, then mimed an explosion before clutching his heart dramatically.
Lan Qiren’s patience thinned. “If you have nothing further to say,” he said, “then you should spend the remainder of the lecture reflecting.”
Wei Wuxian slumped dramatically.
Still, he didn’t regret it. The debate was fun while it lasted. And really, if the price for that entertainment was copying rules in the company of the Second Jade of Lan, Wei Wuxian considered it a rather fair trade.
Ah. Lan Wangji. The gorgeous young master he had crossed swords with the night before. The very same one now assigned to escort and supervise him.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes brightened mischievously.
The walk to the pavilion was quiet. When they reached the library, Lan Wangji gestured toward the desk. “Copy the rules.”
Wei Wuxian leaned casually against the railing, eyes flicking toward him. “La—” He opened his mouth to speak, momentarily forgetting that he’d just run out so no words came out. Somehow, this irritated him more than the unfinished debate with Lan Qiren. He sighed dramatically instead, then pushed himself off the railing and obeyed, dropping into the seat and picking up a brush.
After some time, Wei Wuxian finished his punishment with a sly grin and slid the sheet across the desk to Lan Wangji. The ink depicted two figures beneath a wide, pale moon. One stood straight and composed, robes flowing neatly around him, sword held with disciplined precision. The other leaned forward mid-strike, hair loose, stance wild and fluid.
Even in quick ink lines, the moment was unmistakable.
Lan Wangji glanced down, and for the briefest moment, a warmth flickered across his usually unreadable face. Then he straightened. “Boring.”
Wei Wuxian only grinned wider. We’ll see about that, he thought. Challenge accepted.
At first, Lan Wangji barely gave him a thought. Wei Wuxian is handsome and skilled, sure. But also, too loud, too mischievous, and too disruptive.
Still, Wei Wuxian was impossible to ignore. Not his words themselves, but the way he moved, the way his eyes shone brightly when he smiled even faintly, even more so when he laughed. The way he captured their fight under the moonlight beautifully in a drawing. It was impressive, but he called it boring instead. Not willing to give it any more thought at the time.
That should have been the end of it.
Except Wei Wuxian did not seem discouraged.
The boy had a way of appearing everywhere. On rooftops, sometimes after curfew. In the library. In the training grounds, where Wei Wuxian’s grin widened every time he managed to force Lan Wangji to take a step back.
Over the next few days, he tried to talk to Lan Wangji, only to be thwarted by his word limit at the worst possible moments. Lan Wangji ignored him. Or tried to.
He told himself it meant nothing. Wei Wuxian was merely… energetic. A worthy sparring partner.
Nothing more.
Still, the first time he realized he was beginning to expect those rooftop encounters, he frowned at himself.
“You seem preoccupied lately,” Lan Xichen observed one afternoon, gaze drifting meaningfully toward the courtyard where Wei Wuxian was laughing loudly.
Lan Wangji did not respond.
Lan Xichen only smiled.
Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian was beginning to find his word limit more troublesome than he ever had before. For most of his life he had never cared. Words ran out, the day ended, and tomorrow would bring more. Simple.
But recently, every time he tried to have a proper conversation with Lan Wangji, his words would vanish. Just when he was about to land a joke, or tell a story, or finally coax a smile out of that impossibly composed face—silence. Completely unfair.
And yet, despite that, they fell into a rhythm.
Sparring beneath the moonlight became almost routine, neither of them acknowledging who had started it. One evening Lan Wangji caught him sneaking Emperor Smile, and somehow Wei Wuxian managed to trick him into drinking a cup, resulting in them being punished by Lan Qiren. To his surprise, Lan Wangji had knelt and taken the punishment with them as well.
Wei Wuxian thought Lan Wangji was the most fascinating person he had ever met.
Lan Wangji thought Wei Wuxian was exhausting.
Yet whenever Wei Wuxian sought him out, Lan Wangji found himself unable to walk away anyway.
And when Wei Wuxian woke each morning, carefully counting the precious few words he had for the day, he discovered most of them were already reserved.
For Lan Wangji.
In the days that followed, their quiet rhythm continued.
Wei Wuxian had learned obviously that arguing with Lan Qiren was a terrible investment of words. That man could burn through all of his daily allowance in minutes.
Since then, Wei Wuxian had been.. mindful. He still burned all his words before sunset, as was his nature, but lately he’d started speaking cautiously during lectures so he can save the rest of his precious words for midnight adventures, and for far more interesting pursuits. Which was why, that afternoon, he found himself wandering toward the library pavilion.
Wei Wuxian paused in the doorway.
Lan Wangji sat by the window, pale light falling across the table where a stack of texts lay open before him. His posture was perfectly straight, his expression composed, one slender finger resting lightly against the edge of the page as he read.
For a moment, Wei Wuxian simply watched.
The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of turning pages. Lan Wangji did not seem to notice him at all.
Wei Wuxian leaned lightly against the doorframe, studying the calm line of Lan Wangji’s shoulders, the way the light caught in the dark silk of his hair. Sometimes he wondered if Lan Wangji knew how he looked when he concentrated like that. So still and so serious it almost felt like looking at a painting.
It was unfair, Wei Wuxian thought suddenly.
Not the silence of the library, nor the endless rules of Cloud Recesses. And definitely not Lan Wangji's beauty.
The words.
He remembered, suddenly, the rare moment weeks ago when he had managed to make Lan Wangji smile. It had been small, just the faintest lift at the corner of his mouth, but it had been enough to leave Wei Wuxian absurdly pleased with himself for the rest of the day.
Wei Wuxian had spent half his words that day on nonsense.
So worth it.
If the world were fair, he thought, he would have enough words to do it again tomorrow. And the day after that.
Enough to tease him. Enough to argue with him. Enough to hear Lan Zhan say his name in that quiet voice again.
Instead he had… what? A few hundred words a day, rationed like rice.
So unfair.
Wei Wuxian pushed away from the doorway. If he was going to spend them, he might as well spend them here.
He crossed the room and leaned one shoulder against the table.
“Lan Zhan,” he greeted.
Lan Wangji looked up.
“Wei Ying.”
“I–I–” Wei Wuxian started, words fluttering on his tongue. I really like the sound of my name in your voice, he wanted to say, but the thought dissolved into a grin instead.
He pulled out the seat across from Lan Wangji and dropped into it, resting his elbows on the table, trying to look casual.
“Do you ever think it’s uneven?”
Lan Wangji did not look up from his book. “What is?”
“The distribution.” Wei Wuxian tapped his own throat. “ I bet you have enough words for five debates and use maybe a tenth. I have enough for a decent quarrel and get told I lack virtue.”
Lan Wangji turned a page. “Words are not meant to be exhausted daily.”
“That sounds like something someone wealthy would say.”
That earned him a glance.
“How many words do you actually have?” Wei Wuxian continued.
“Several thousand,” Lan Wangji said simply.
Wei Wuxian blinked. He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling beams as he processed it.
“Wow,” he said slowly. “You must have been really good in your past life. Not that you’re not good now, obviously. Because you are. Really. The best.” His words tumbled out too fast, briefly aware that he may be running out.
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed.
Wei Wuxian lowered his gaze, drumming his fingers against the table, suddenly aware he might have overstepped.
“They say the number of words you’re born with depends on the kind of person you were before,” he said lightly, lifting his eyes toward Lan Wangji. “Saints and heroes… get thousands.”
His gaze flicked toward Lan Wangji with obvious implication.
“And troublemakers… get a few hundred.”
He tapped a finger against his own chest, grinning sheepishly. “So I must’ve been a terrible person in my last life.”
Lan Wangji set his book down and lifted his gaze. He studied Wei Wuxian quietly for a long moment, then said, softly but firmly, “Ridiculous.”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Aaah?”
Lan Wangji looked at him directly now, his gaze steady and intent, so piercing that Wei Wuxian felt his chest tighten and his breath catch for a moment.
“Wei Ying is a good person.”
For a rare moment, Wei Wuxian looked genuinely caught off guard.
Then, slowly, the familiar crooked grin returned. “Well,” he said, rising from the chair, “if the paragon of virtue says—”
Wei Wuxian froze, mid-sentence. Of course, he sighed.
But despite running out of words, and feeling the unfairness of the system, Wei Wuxian found he still didn’t mind. Even with nothing left to say, simply existing by Lan Wangji’s side was enough. He had long discovered a strange comfort in companionable silence with him. Sitting across from Lan Wangji, he could watch his calm, composed face and feel content. The quiet of the library, the soft light falling across his features, everything about him was enough.
He may not have been able to speak now, but the presence, the quiet, and the way Lan Wangji’s eyes followed him, taking in the tiniest gestures and the smallest shifts, was enough to make him feel seen.
Words were limited, rules were strict, but it did not stop their bond from growing. If Wei Wuxian ran out halfway through a sentence, Lan Wangji simply continued the conversation as though nothing unusual had happened. Days and nights filled with quiet teasing, playful arguments, and shared silences had lulled Wei Wuxian into a sense of ease. His word limit was merely an inconvenience, a quirk he could outwit.
Until he couldn't.
It happened during a night hunt. The case seemed simple enough at first. Strange disturbances had been reported just outside Gusu. No student was allowed to go because the elders deemed it dangerous. Except, Lan Wangji, of course. Their precious Second Jade could manage such things without question.
Wei Wuxian ignored that entirely. He had spent the day conserving and saving his words for something far more worthwhile today: a night hunt with the Second Jade. Sneaking out had never felt so thrilling.
The night was quiet and the air was heavy and cold. Wei Wuxian’s heart raced in anticipation. This was the first night hunt he and Lan Wangji will be doing together, and though danger lurked, he couldn’t help feeling a thrill that had nothing to do with the guai.
He stepped lightly over the reeds, expecting a scolding word or a reprimanding glance for being here despite the elders’ prohibition. None came.
Wei Wuxian took the silence as permission, or at least, that’s how he chose to read it, and grinned. He followed, moving with easy, teasing steps, voice bubbling with laughter and chatter. “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan, I will surely protect you,” he teased, twirling his sword and flicking talismans toward the shadows along the riverbank to lure the guai out. “Oh, don’t look so serious! Where’s that famous grin I’ve been hunting all day?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed slightly.
A rustle from the reeds made Wei Wuxian freeze mid-step. “Ah, there you are,” he murmured, a mischievous edge in his voice, “hiding in the dark like a proper villain.” He flicked his sword in a flourish, ready for anything, half expecting the guai to strike and half hoping for a challenge.
Lan Wangji moved beside him, sword in hand. The guai lunged, and both of them reacted at once.
Wei Wuxian darted forward, blades flashing, weaving playful taunts into his strikes. “Try to keep up, Lan Zhan, or are you getting tired already?!”
Lan Wangji gave a brief, incredulous glance and continued, slicing clean arcs through the air.
Wei Wuxian mirrored him, spinning and leaping with daring moves designed to draw Lan Wangji’s attention, teasing and testing him at every step. He wanted to draw a reaction, a crack in that stoic mask, anything at all. He was having too much fun.
“Wei Ying, focus!” Lan Wangji’s voice cut through the chaos.
Wei Wuxian’s grin only widened. Words still flowed freely, and he poured them all out. He mocked the guai, quipped about the mud squelching in their boots, and commented on Lan Wangji’s flawless footwork, adding a playful twist. “Come on, Lan Zhan, you’re too serious! A little fun won’t kill you—well, maybe me if I misstep, but that’s part of the excitement!”
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed again, sharper this time. “Wei Ying, be careful–”
“I am careful!” Wei Wuxian cut in, flashing a grin as he spun his sword in a quick, showy arc, glancing toward Lan Wangji. “And today, I’ll show you how it’s done!”
Just then, in a heartbeat, the misstep happened.
The guai, clever and patient, seized the split second Wei Wuxian’s attention flicked away and lunged. Wei Wuxian turned to meet it at once, sword flashing as he struck but the creature slipped sideways with unnatural speed so that suibian cut through an empty air instead.
In the same instant the guai lunged again, claws driving straight for him.
Lan Wangji stepped in quickly without hesitation, Bichen rising to intercept. Steel met claw—but the angle was wrong, the strike too close. Even as he blocked, the creature’s claws tore across his chest.
The blow meant for Wei Wuxian landed on Lan Wangji instead.
“Lan Zhan—!” Wei Wuxian screamed, the words tumbling out in horror.
Two words.
The last two.
As if the universe had timed it perfectly, his throat locked, and the world went silent around him.
Lan Wangji stumbled, a deep gash blooming bright red across his pale robes. Wei Wuxian’s chest seized. He lunged, catching him just before he fell, fingers trembling as he pressed against the wound, trying to hold him steady.
Fury, fear, regret and a storm of emotions coiled inside Wei Wuxian at once, and for the first time in the fight, he snapped. He tore his gaze from Lan Wangji’s pale, blood-streaked face for just a moment, planting him carefully on the ground, and launched himself at the guai.
The fight that followed was nothing like the one before.
Wei Wuxian did not laugh again. He did not speak.
Every movement became frighteningly precise, his talismans snapping through the air with ruthless efficiency. Without the distraction of his own voice, his focus sharpened into something cold and terrifying.
The guai never had a chance.
When it finally collapsed into the ground with a heavy splash, Wei Wuxian barely glanced at the corpse.
His entire world had narrowed to the pale figure that is now in his arms again.
“Lan—” Wei Wuxian opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. No words. No warning. The silence hit him like a physical blow. Panic threatened to choke him. He shook Lan Wangji gently, willing him to respond, willing him to be alive, willing him to forgive him even without words.
Lan Wangji met his gaze, faint blood on his lips, eyes steady, and managed a single syllable: “W…Wei…”
Wei Wuxian forced himself to speak, ignoring the sharp ache in his throat. I’m sorry Lan Zhan. I was careless and you got hurt and it's my fault. I’m sorry… Please don’t leave me…
Still, no words would come.
He tried again and again, until his lips split, blood mingling with tears, but still nothing escaped. Desperately, he pressed closer to Lan Wangji, trembling, aching to comfort him, to apologize and to make him understand. I won’t let this happen again… I can’t… stay with me… stay with me… Please…
His throat burned from the effort, yet his voice remained locked away. Only silent tears spilled down his cheeks as he clung to Lan Wangji, helpless, frantic, and full of regret.
The cold night pressed in, and suddenly another wave of horror hit Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji’s chest barely rose. For a heartbeat, he thought he had stopped breathing. Panic flared hotter than any fear he’d ever known.
What am I doing, crying like he’s gone?! He’s not dead! He needs healers!
The thought struck like lightning, snapping him into action. Swiftly, and despite his depleting energy, Wei Wuxian hoisted Lan Wangji into his arms and began the trip back to Cloud Recesses.
Every step was agony. His arms shook under Lan Wangji’s weight, legs threatening to buckle with exhaustion, but he forced himself onward. Sweat and blood mingled, heart hammering, every nerve screaming.
Hang on, Lan Zhan. Please. We’re almost there.
By the time Wei Wuxian staggered through the gates of Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji pressed against his chest, pale and unmoving but still alive, barely. A handful of attendants rushed forward to take him into safety. Wei Wuxian’s arms shook from exhaustion and adrenaline, but he didn’t release him, not yet.
He wanted to speak. He needed to speak. Words spilled in his mind: I’m sorry. I'm sorry. Forgive me, Lan Zhan.
Nothing came out.
The attendants’ hands touched him lightly, trying to pull him away, but he ignored them, leaning closer to Lan Wangji, willing his eyes, his touch, his very presence to convey all he could not say.
Lan Qiren arrived quickly, his gaze sharpening at the sight of Lan Wangji. His expression darkened instantly with a mixture of anger and fear, while nearby, Lan Xichen stood silently, posture calm but face betraying quiet, piercing disappointment. Wei Wuxian felt it like a dagger, sharper even than any scolding.
“What did you do?” Lan Qiren demanded.
Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened, desperate to answer, but no sound came.
Grasping for anything to communicate, Wei Wuxian snatched a brush and paper, scrawling frantically. The ink soaked in, then vanished. He pressed again, but the strokes faded the instant they touched the page.
“You cannot even explain?” Lan Qiren’s voice cut like steel.
Wei Wuxian shook his head frantically, gesturing wildly, useless movements that could convey nothing.
“You were not supposed to be there,” Lan Xichen said, coldly.
Wei Wuxian flinched violently. The guilt that had been clawing at him for hours now crushed him. Lan Wangji remained motionless, while the healers worked urgently, trying to stabilize him. Wei Wuxian stood at the edge of the room, fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached, powerless, overwhelmed by the barrier that kept his voice from reaching them.
He had words—apologies, explanations, pleas—but they were locked behind an unbreakable wall.
The cruel irony of the system hit him with full force. He had always burned his words carelessly, teasing and taunting, trusting the reset of the next day. But now, when it mattered most, they were gone.
Once again, he forced himself to speak, straining with all his might against the invisible seal. Every attempt was answered with searing pain. His lungs burned, his chest ached, qi flaring uncontrollably through his body, but he pushed harder, willing himself to break through. Desperation flared into reckless determination, and suddenly the world tilted violently. The last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him entirely was Lan Wangji’s pale, unmoving face.
And when Wei Wuxian awoke the next morning, the quiet in his throat was different. He drew a shuddering breath, expecting the return of his voice with the new day’s count. Silence answered him instead. No words. Zero count. Nothing.
Wei Wuxian has completely lost his words.