Chapter Text
Lan Wangji is unsure how he is getting enough air to beg, but somehow, he is.
The whip cracks down along his spine like a line of fire, of lightning. He can feel his skin give way, and the horror mixes with the pain until Lan Wangji is dizzy with it, until his pleas turn to gasping breaths, until his mind is fuzzy and the only thing he knows is fear.
He knows this is not something he can survive. Surely they will not make him survive this, they could not be so cruel.
A hand drags over his back, fingers catching in the cuts and smearing blood as it goes. Lan Wangji, curled over on the ground, stares at the backs of his own hands, knuckles white and fingers shaking.
There is blood seeping out from under them. Why is there blood on his hands?
"It's mine," a familiar voice says, and, no. Lan Wangji will not survive this.
"Wei Ying?" he whispers and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping it is not so.
"Don't do this, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying begs. "Don't do this. You'll kill me!"
At the desperation in Wei Ying's voice, Lan Wangji cannot help but open his eyes.
His palms are bloody, staining the handle of the whip. Wei Ying kneels before him, arms bound, back a mess of blood and flesh.
"Please," he gasps, "stop–"
Lan Wangji brings the whip down.
"Do not consort with evil," he can hear his voice saying. Beneath the lash, Wei Ying screams, pain and fear familiar, but never before something that Lan Wangji caused.
"Lan Zhan!" The scream is cracked and raw, and it tears into Lan Wangji's heart worse than any weapon. He's gasping for air, hands shaking, but he brings the whip down again. And again, and again.
Wei Ying's wordless screams linger with him as he jolts into the waking world, tears starting to fall from his eyes.
He is in bed, alone.
Wei Ying is dead, doomed to death by Lan Wangji's failure.
Lan Wangji will never hold him again. He had only ever done so a few times, but he feels the loss of it keenly now.
The visual of him bringing the whip down still pulses in his mind, overwhelming and revolting and impossible.
It would not have happened. Lan Wangji would not have let it happen.
…But he let Wei Ying die. Let him be isolated from the clans, did not speak up, did not stand with him–
Lan Wangji is not supposed to sob. He is supposed to be strong, carved from jade. Righteous and true.
Look where that has gotten him.
There is a tiny pitter-patter of steps before a shape flops onto Lan Wangji's bed. "A-die?"
He can do nothing but stare at his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks. He can do nothing.
He has already done more than enough.
Another sob tears through him like a whip through skin, but he doesn't dare bring his bloody hands to his face.
"A-die, are you lost?"
He has lost his way, lost his light. Lost Wei Ying.
The small shape, the voice, should stay far away from him. Lan Wangji is a death knell, is doom to those he loves.
Do not consort with evil. Do not consort with evil.
Lan Wangji knows what he is.
"A-die is lost. A-Yuan will get shushu. Wait here, a-die!"
Lan Wangji gasps, chokes on remorse and horror. It feels like he's drowning in blood, in the blood of those he has hurt. He doesn't even know where he is, just that he is lost.
He should not be found.
He should be left to rot.
Do not consort with evil.
…He wants Wei Ying.
More than he deserves, but in his last moments, he would like to be held. Before he extinguishes himself, before he is blown out like a weak candle, before they dispose of him.
What can he do but cry and wait for the end?
Faintly, distantly, he thinks he can hear it. The susurrus of wind in his ears, or the quiet echo of water dripping into the cold pond. Gentle. Peaceful. Coaxing him closer and emptying his mind of the pain, the grief, the horrible, aching emptiness.
What can Lan Wangji do but follow it?
The rhythmic sound leads him onwards, and his pain falls away like old robes. He is shaky and weak, but he is alive. He is…
Awake.
He is awake.
It was a dream.
Lan Wangji gasps in a large breath of air, hands shaking suddenly as he comes back to himself, back to his body. He trembles with the force of the realization, under the knowledge that although he got Wei Ying killed, he did not torture him.
"There you are," a voice says. "Keep breathing, Hanguang Jun. In–" the sound chimes thrice, slowly, "hold," twice, "and out." Thrice more. "Hold for two, then repeat."
Breathing is difficult, his body forgetting the work Lan Wangji has put into it to keep it under his control, but following the chimes seems to help it remember. Lan Wangji listens to the voice and the bright ringing and breathes.
After some amount of time that he does not understand and can not count, Lan Wangji opens his eyes.
His hands, although not steady, have stopped actively shaking. He presses them to the bedding to smother their trembling.
Across from him, Jiang Wanyin leans back, sitting on his heels. "Back in reality?" he asks. His voice sounds… odd, almost lilting and rhythmic, as if he is reciting poetry. It takes Lan Wangji an embarrassingly long time to realize that he's shaping his words with the pattern of the bell chiming in his hand.
"Yes," Lan Wangji says, turn between embarassment and relief. If Jiang Wanyin is here, then… "A-Yuan?"
A head covered in sleep-rumpled hair pokes out from behind Jiang Wanyin. "Hi, a-die!"
Lan Wangji can't help but smile, fragile as it is. Against all odds, a-Yuan is safe. Is here.
"Hello," he responds, adding, "hello, Jiang-zongzhu," as well.
"You look terrible," Jiang Wanyin tells him, lowering his Clarity Bell as a-Yuan scrambles around him to clamber up next to Lan Wangji. "Has this been happening every night?"
"Not often this badly," Lan Wangji says, feeling illogically defensive. "I am usually more aware of myself." He's sorry that a-Yuan had to deal with that, had to see him in such a state.
Muttering something that sounds like "Aren't we all" under his breath, Jiang Wanyin looks at him assessingly. "Can you usually get back to sleep after these ones?"
Lan Wangji hesitates, unwilling to admit weakness.
Then he remembers a different night, waking to find a-Yuan talking to Jiang Wanyin, freshly out of his own nightmare.
Jiang Wanyin understands. He came here in the middle of the night, used his Clarity Bell for who knows how long to rouse Lan Wangji from his panic.
"I don't think I will be able to tonight," Lan Wangji admits.
Jiang Wanyin nods. "Want company?" It's asked lightly, easily. As if spending the rest of his evening awake to talk with or simply exist next to Lan Wangji is no hassle or imposition to offer.
"I will be reading," Lan Wangji tells him, a partial truth. "You should rest, Jiang-zongzhu. I can entertain myself."
Staring at him for a long moment, the other man raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "It's the middle of the night, Lan Wangji," he says, sounding long-suffering. "Would it kill you to give me a yes or no answer?"
"No, I will be alright," Lan Wangji says, hoping it doesn't sound as awkward as it feels. He is already taking up Jiang-zongzhu's time, he doesn't want to be an annoyance on top of that.
"Keep an eye on your father until you fall asleep, a-Yuan," is all the response he gets before Jiang Wanyin is rising and sweeping out of the rooms. Lan Wangji's son bows almost perfectly to the sect leader at his words, then launches himself into Lan Wangji's arms.
"A-die!" he whisper-yells, hugging as much as he can around Lan Wangji's waist. "Shushu said I was brave and smart!"
Lan Wangji nods. "He is right. Thank you for going to get him." His son is wonderful, and Lan Wangji is glad a-Yuan is not too scared to go to Jiang Wanyin, or too concerned about Lan Wangji's nightmare.
A-Yuan wiggles until he is lying mostly in Lan Wangji's lap. "Will you read me your story?"
Lan Wangji had been planning to write a letter, but that is not what he had said out loud, so he decides that it will have to wait. "I will. Get comfortable, a-Yuan, I will get the book."
"Mn!" His son pulls and shifts blankets until he has made a proper mess of Lan Wangji's neat sheets, but he looks comfortable and content, which is what matters more.
Retrieving a book of myths, Lan Wangji settles down next to a-Yuan and reads until his son is asleep before carefully extricating himself from the bed.
After putting the book away, Lan Wangji retrieves paper and an ink stick and sits at his desk.
Wei Ying, he writes, I miss you.
It cannot possibly convey how much, but nobody will ever read this letter, so Lan Wangji lets it be. Either Wei Ying knows or he does not.
Lan Wangji hopes he does.
He writes enough to fill two pieces of paper, telling Wei Ying about Lotus Pier, and a-Yuan, and all of the ways Lan Wangji is doing better. About Jiang Wanyin too, his kindness and the kindness Lan Wangji tries to give in turn.
Hesitating for a second before finishing, Lan Wangji decides to be bold.
He signs the letter, your Lan Zhan.
As the sun rises over the lake, Lan Wangji goes out to the dock. He carefully drops the letter in between two lotus leaves and watches it sink.
Then, he goes back to their son.