Something Good

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/25186609.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)
Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn
Character: Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán
Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī,
Lán Jǐngyí, Wēn Qíng, Bunch of OCs
Additional Tags: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Teaching, Sound of Music
AU
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2020-07-10 Completed: 2020-09-27 Chapters: 20/20 Words:
43066

Something Good
by boxoftheskyking

Summary

"That Wei Wuxian, you know he used to be such a promising cultivator. Head Disciple of
the Jiang Clan, can you believe it? You see, juniors, the punishment for traveling the path
of demonic cultivation. No golden core, not so much as a whisper of spiritual power."

As a punishment for real and imagined crimes, Wei Wuxian is sentenced to work at Cloud
Recesses as the lowest of servants. When a surprising reassignment lands him with eleven
children to care for, everything changes again.

A Sound of Music AU

Notes

This has been posted a chapter at a time on Tumblr as I write it.

Because of this, I cannot vouch for narrative structure.

In this story, the Wen attack on Lotus Pier happened much earlier and Wei Wuxian's life as
a demonic cultivator was cut short by his arrest. Wen Ruohan is Chief Cultivator, though
he's a shady mofo.
 Chapter 1

It’s meant to be redemption, or at least a chance in that direction. This is what mercy looks like, for
someone like him.

There’s a crack in the skin between his left thumb and forefinger, not bleeding now, but it will as
soon as his hands dry again. He beats the flat paddle against another set of identical white and pale
blue robes, keeping his distance from the fire below. Of course, he has to keep the fire going to boil
the water. Simple things like this he forgets, a phantom ache inside him as his instincts tell him to
just turn energy into heat.

It will be better, he tells himself, once he charms some of the other house servants. After nearly
three months, he’s worn the younger ones down to at least talk to him at meals, even smile at him
in passing sometimes. It’s meant to be an extra punishment, a lesson, sticking him with laundry,
dishes, scrubbing down the floors. The most menial labor, mostly performed by women. Well,
lucky for him, women love him. Or they will, once his status as a cautionary tale wears off. It’s not
cautionary for them, anyway.

That Wei Wuxian, you know he used to be such a promising cultivator. Head Disciple of the Jiang
Clan, can you believe it? You see, juniors, the punishment for traveling the path of demonic
cultivation. No golden core, not so much as a whisper of spiritual power.

He scratches his nose and sighs, a little rueful. Right events , he thinks to himself, wrong order .
But no one needs to hear the real story; decisions were made, judgments handed down, and no one
had been there to speak for him. Sometimes that’s the way of it. He’s been abandoned before, and
he turned out fine. Well, he laughs at himself, maybe not entirely fine, in the eyes of the world.

It’s not the drudgery of the work that bothers him. He still remembers enough of his childhood on
the streets in Yunmeng, trading a day of cleaning the corners of an inn that only his tiny hands
could reach in exchange for a place to sleep and a bowl of cold congee. It’s that he’s really not
good at it. They could have assigned him elsewhere—there are servants that tidy up the library
pavilion, that run messages into town and back. Even polishing the wall of Lan Sect rules would be
closer to his actual skillset. But that’s both more public and less demeaning, so here he is on
laundry duty. Heavens forbid any of his former peers see him and recognize the once-great Wei
Wuxian, perhaps give a polite nod or a hello. Even without a golden core, his demonic influence
may leap out and corrupt the innocent young Lan disciples. Wei Wuxian laughs at the thought, and
it’s only a little bit bitter.

He’ll find himself again, eventually. The common version of Wei Wuxian. The servant version. He
can still smile, after all, and whistle, and offer to carry the heavy cookpots to save old Madam Xiao
the trouble. And at night, while his roommates snore and hog the blankets, he can work up new
talismans to hide under the bed. He’s technically not allowed paper or ink, but there are rags
aplenty that no one will miss, and it’s not like he hasn’t written in blood before.

Mediocre , Jiang Cheng’s voice echoes in his brain, half horrified, half disgusted. The cultivation
classes all agreed, it’s what he deserves.

He whistles as he hangs the robes out to dry. There’s no power to these songs, no wicked tricks, but
he’s forbidden from doing it anyway. You can’t forbid music, he thinks to himself, laughing at the
memory of Wen Ruohan, so superior, so righteous as he spoke on behalf of all the sect leaders,
laying down all that is now forbidden. Music is just around. It’s a living thing, and it always has
been. It doesn’t give a damn what the mighty cultivators think.
“Wei Ying!” Madam Xiao snaps from behind him. “Finish that laundry and get in here to attend to
these dishes. Breakfast ended thirty minutes ago!”

So he hasn’t charmed her yet, but he will. Eventually, someone will call him “Wei Ying” and mean
it as affection, not as an insult.

“Yes, Madam, of course! Just making sure the robes are perfect, you know. Nothing but the best
for the Gusu Lan Sect!” He notices a hem that he must have scorched in the fire while hauling
everything out of the cauldron and scoots subtly in front of it. “See, perfect!”

Madam Xiao mumbles something irritated and moves on.

He gives the hanging robes a last pat, remembering fondly the days when he used to wear
something so similar, those months of study before everything went to shit. They never suited him.
He always felt like he was dressing up as someone, like a child at a festival, pretending to be the
great Zewu Jun. Or maybe Hanguang Jun. He has one great memory of Lan Wangji, the last time
he actually used his sword, the feeling of recognizing a skill even greater than his own as they
clashed on the rooftop.

And then word had come from Lotus Pier. And then he had lost the only parents he truly
remembers. And then Wen Zhuliu had come out of the shadows, slow and deliberate, like a coming
storm, and Jiang Cheng had passed out and—

Well. It doesn’t matter now. He goes into the kitchen and starts scouring out the wok. He thinks
one of the cooks is purposely leaving it on the stove too long, letting food cook on to it so he has to
practically hack at it with a chisel to get it clean. There’s no way they’re actually serving burnt
food to Lan Qiren.

When still he had a golden core, he had such a strong sense of things. The emptiness inside him is
still an ache, an infected wound, but he’s learning how to read his new feelings. His instincts. His
gut—that’s what the other servants say. A gut feeling. He knows one of the cooks has it out for
him, just as he knows that Wen Zhuliu was not acting alone.

Of course, the Wen Clan disowned him, said he had gone rogue. Not a true Wen, after all. But Wei
Wuxian knows in his bones that it wasn’t true. But Jiang Cheng remembers nothing. Jiang Yanli
wasn’t there. And Wei Wuxian will die before he tells the cultivation classes what really happened.
It wouldn’t change anything for the better, and would be worse for Jiang Cheng, for Wen Qing, for
anyone he truly cares about.

So he works. He is pleasant, he is polite, and he says nothing. What would Lan Qiren say, or Lan
Wangji, if they knew he doesn’t even need a Silencing Spell anymore. Who would have thought
Wei Wuxian’s greatest talent would be saying nothing?

“Wei Wuxian!” Lin Biming hurries into the kitchen in a swirl of robes and papers just as Wei
Wuxian sets the last pot against the wall to dry.

“Master Lin! A pleasure to see you, sir!” He quite likes Lin Biming, mostly for his constantly
overwhelmed expression and his comically red face. In another clan, his close confidence with Lan
Qiren would be accompanied by some rumor about his parentage, but the Gusu Lan hold
themselves above such matters. Wei Wuxian secretly wonders if any Lan are born at all, or if they
just rise up out of the Cold Spring as fully formed sixteen-year-olds, blood running clear and icy
through their veins.

“Wei Wuxian, you have a new assignment, starting tomorrow. Don’t ask questions, just report to
Sect Leader Lan first thing in the morning.” He makes a pained expression. “That means five
o’clock. Please do not be late.”

“Master—” but before he can even ask the question, Lin Biming is gone.

A new assignment? Surely they can’t have found something more degrading, more menial than
dishes and laundry? Perhaps they need a new gravedigger, or someone in town needs someone to
muck out their stables. If there’s anything he hates worse than bad news, it’s bad news on a delay.
If he knows it’s coming, he’d rather just get it over with. But of course, there’s a full day of
cleaning, scouring, and scrubbing ahead of him, and none of his tasks are consuming enough to
calm his racing brain. Maybe the council has changed their mind and he is to be killed after all.
Maybe Jiang Cheng has found a backbone or a sense of brotherly love and has come to take him
home. Maybe someone noticed the scorched robes and he’s just going to be reprimanded for his
carelessness.

He’s too distracted to work on his talisman at night—a variation on a protection charm that’s
meant to respond to a person’s voice, something a person can set and then arm with a certain word
or a tone. Instead he stares up at the ceiling of the servants quarters, listening to the soft breathing
of his companions, his peers, and builds within himself a spine of steel. Whatever it is that is
coming, he will take it as he always has. There will probably be some whining, but his back will
not bend.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Summary

In which Wei Wuxian gets a new assignment

Chapter Notes

I don't know how magic works okay.

The way that Wei Wuxian looks at it, he’s lived ten lives. A few years that he likes to imagine
were happy while his parents were alive. A few months as a beggar. Ten years as an adopted son.
Three months as a student in Cloud Recesses. Fifteen glorious minutes as the focus of Lan
Wangji’s irritated attention. A month that felt like a year as an orphan, again, hauling a comatose
Jiang Cheng from one hideout to another. Two months recovering from a surgery no one can ever
know about. A year and a half of wandering, too scared to face Jiang Cheng and the rest of the
world, losing himself in the hills above Yiling, something in the mountain pulling him higher,
deeper, calling to the void inside him and then spitting him back out. Two months in the prison at
Qishan and then on trial for a couple things he did and a dozen things that had nothing to do with
him—the ambush on the Lan hunting party chief among them. And now as a servant, mediocre
and common and doing penance to a sect he’s never actually wronged. Unless you count breaking
two hundred and seven of their rules in three months as a teenager. In his defense, three months is a
long time, and Emperor’s Smile is really very good.

He’s early, which is truly unusual for him, but he’d been too nervous to sleep. He’s just approached
the instruction pavilion when he hears raised voices from inside. Well, raised as much as they ever
are in Cloud Recesses.

“—I the Sect Leader, or am I not?” That sounds like Lan Xichen, though Wei Wuxian has never
heard his voice be anything other than cool and placid as a mountain lake.

There is a long pause, or at least a moment where Wei Wuxian can’t hear what’s happening.

“—boy is a problem, Xichen, and I caution you against your own optimism—” Lan Qiren’s voice
fades out into an irritated mumble.

“—less there is proof, and if you recall, Wen Ruohan produced no—”

They must be approaching the door, as Wei Wuxian can hear much more clearly now.
Eavesdropping is forbidden in Cloud Recesses, but hey, they’re the ones that ordered him here at
the ass crack of dawn.

No proof, he says there was no proof , he lets himself think for just a moment before shoving the
hope back down. Doesn’t matter.

“With or without proof, it’s not a risk that should be taken. Certainly not with the children. Even if
your faith is not misplaced, in the best case scenario, the boy is loud, he is flighty, he is unsuitable,
and he is a problem. ”

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen sounds calm as ever, but there is a surprising amount of steel in his tone. “I
am the leader of this sect. I will always value your input and I am grateful for all of the education
I’ve received at your hands, but you have to let me lead. And you have to let me disagree with you
on some things. You turned down the role of sect leader for a reason, didn’t you?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows shoot up. After the former sect leader and numerous high ranking
members were killed in the ambush, it seemed only natural that the title should pass to his oldest
son, the great Zewu-jun, despite his relatively young age. To hear that the first choice had been the
Grand Master is certainly a surprise.

There is a very long pause, and the door opens just a crack. Wei Wuxian tucks himself away
around the corner of the building.

“Very well,” Lan Qiren says. “Just make sure he is supervised.”

“I trust Wangji,” the Sect Leader says, and his voice sounds like a book being closed, tied, and
slotted back onto the shelf. Final.

It’s a lucky thing that the Grand Master isn’t coming back his way, or Wei Wuxian isn’t sure how
he’d stay unnoticed. He waits a moment before yawning loudly and stamping his feet a few times,
then coming around the corner hopefully looking like someone who just rolled out of bed five
minutes ago.

“Zewu-jun,” he says respectfully, executing a neat bow. He’s always liked the Sect Leader, and the
little ember of hope tries valiantly to rekindle itself at the kindness in his expression. How long has
it been since someone looked at him with actual kindness?

“Young Master Wei.”

No one calls him that anymore, either.

“Please come inside.”

The room seems smaller than he remembers even without the crowd of white-clad students. Lan
Xichen does not sit, so Wei Wuxian keeps a respectful distance and waits.

“How are your quarters?”

Wei Wuxian can’t keep the surprise off his face at the question. “Um. Fine? Yes, they’re fine,
thank you for inquiring.”

Lan Xichen nods thoughtfully. “Lin Biming has informed you that you are to be reassigned?”

“Yes, Zewu-jun.”

There’s an awkward pause. Am I supposed to ask? Wei Wuxian wonders.

“How much do you know about the ambush that claimed the life of the former Sect Leader?”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth goes completely dry. “It— I mean, I, uh—”

“I’m quite certain you were not involved.”

He feels himself list to the side, almost stumbling in shock. No sect leader, no one had ever said
they believed him. Not even Jiang Cheng.

“Forgive me, I am not asking for information that you do not have. I am merely attempting to
provide context for your new position. As you know, the former Sect Leader was killed in the
ambush, but so were a good number of our senior disciples and experienced instructors. My
brother, Lan Wangji, was meant to be on the night hunt as well, but as luck would have it he had
stayed in Cloud Recesses to help tend to one of the children who had fallen ill.”

“I know who your brother is.” For some reason that’s the only thing that comes out of his mouth.

Lan Xichen smiles just slightly. “Of course. In the aftermath of the attack, as you know, I assumed
the role of Sect Leader. My brother has taken over the training of our younger disciples. Other
instructors and caregivers have come to Gusu assist over the past few months, but none have stayed
for very long.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t feel like he can ask Why not , but he really, really wants to.

“I am assigning you to care for the young disciples. Lan Wangji will be in charge of their training
and education, but other duties will fall to you. Making sure they are fed, clean, sleeping and
waking at the appropriate time. Approved recreation activities, memorization of the rules. My
brother is a very capable teacher,” a warmer smile flickers across Lan Xichen’s face, “but they are
children. That is what we need help with. Not someone to train a generation of cultivators;
someone to raise children.”

“But I—” Wei Wuxian can’t help himself. “I’ve never raised children. I mean I have no— I’m not
a—”

“And you were never taught demonic cultivation techniques. But in less than a year you could raise
and control an army of thirty-plus puppets, repress a soul-eater with a single talisman when it
usually takes at least three, and transfer a curse from one victim to another without physical touch
or spiritual power.”

“I—” He’s not sure if this list is meant to inspire confidence or to remind him why he’s earned this
punishment. “It’s really not that hard if you think about the curse as its own entity. I mean, instead
of a thing that takes energy to target and release, you see it as, I don’t know, not a being, but
something with a want or a desire. And then it’s just making your intended target into something
more attractive to the curse than whoever’s got it in the first place. It’s not, like, a genius thing.”

Lan Xichen blinks at him, and Wei Wuxian can’t quite read his expression. “You are not to teach
that to the children.”

Wei Wuxian laughs. “I may be a fool and a demon, but I’m not interested in trying to control a
bunch of twelve-year-olds with the ability to curse each other.”

He waits, but Lan Xichen says nothing further.

“So I’m a quick study,” Wei Wuxian says carefully. “That doesn’t make me— That doesn’t
answer my question.”

“I remember you,” the Sect Leader says simply. “From before.”

“I was a terror.”

Lan Xichen inclines his head just slightly. “So you’ll understand them, particularly the difficult
ones.”

He can’t help a snort of laughter at that. He supposes it’s true. He remembers being a kid. He still
feels like a kid, though he’s nineteen now. Sometimes he thinks he’s just been switching from one
type of kid to another. So many lives, never a chance to grow up.

“Do you agree to the position?” Lan Xichen asks.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No, not really.”

Wei Wuxian gives him his most winning smile. “Great. When do I start?”
 Chapter 3
Chapter Summary

Wei Wuxian meets the little ones

I am not afraid of children . Wei Wuxian puts it to a little melody inside his head, but obediently
does not sing aloud. I am not, not, not afraid of children.

Sect Leader Lan wasted no time. Wei Wuxian is to gather the children after their morning lessons
and take them to eat their lunch, followed by quiet study while their instructor attends an important
summit.

Their instructor, Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian has tried not to think about him too much during his
time at Cloud Recesses. It’s too easy to fixate, to wonder which of the robes belong to him (surely
none of the muddied and torn ones), which dishes he’d eaten from (obviously leaving not a crumb
behind), which door he might be just behind. His younger self would laugh at this hesitation, would
do anything he could for just a sliver of that solemn-eyed attention.

But now . . . he’s not sure what would be worse. The look of disgust, hatred, distrust that seems to
follow him wherever he goes. Or nothing. A complete lack of recognition. Eyes skittering over his
face like light against water, never piercing the surface. Just another servant.

There’s nothing wrong with being a servant, he chides himself. There’s more nobility in Madam
Xiao’s bad left knee than in all the Wen gentry put together. And if Second Master Lan doesn’t see
that, then he’s just like everybody else. You know who you are, and that’s all that matters. The
confidence is false, but at least it feels loud inside his head.

When he reaches the pavilion where the children are finishing their lessons, he’s relieved to find
some of them slouching, others chatting, a little one drawing on a scrap of paper. Straight lines of
silent children would just be too creepy to handle.

Lan Wangji appears to be waiting for him in the doorway, face as tightly-controlled as ever. He
doesn’t bow, of course he doesn’t, but he does incline his head a fraction when Wei Wuxian
approaches. It’s not the blank stare he’d dreaded, so he tells himself to be grateful.

“So!” he says as he comes into the door, wrapping his old bravado around his shoulders like a
cloak. “What are we dealing with here? How many?”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth for a moment, closes it. Then he seems to remember himself and
says, “Eleven.”

“Eleven?” It’s both better and worse than he expected. He’d been dreading an army of tiny Lans,
but in practice eleven is quite a lot of children. From what he can see, the oldest looks about
fourteen and the youngest maybe four.

“Disciples,” Lan Wangji says, and the children fall silent and sit up straight as they can. The little
one looks like he might tip over from tensing his shoulders up to his ears. “This is your new
caretaker. You will address him as Wei-qianbei. You will behave in a manner befitting disciples of
the Lan Clan of Gusu.”

Wei Wuxian steps to the front of the room, flashing them his usual winning smile. “Thank you,
Second Master Lan. Will you introduce me to my new charges?”

“They are perfectly capable of telling you their own names,” Lan Wangji says dismissively. “I will
be back to collect them for afternoon lessons. Wei Wuxian, a word.”

He follows Lan Wangji’s lead, turning his back on the children, and barely manages to lurch
backward as Lan Wangji reaches out for his arm.

“What are you doing?”

Lan Wangji glares. “Just give me your wrist.”

“No! Why? No.” He folds his arms across his chest. It’s foolish, and he knows it. Lan Wangji
knows as well as anyone that he has no golden core, that he won’t feel anything when he checks
his dantians. But Lan Wangji is all nobility and righteousness , he thinks, a muddled swirl of
admiration and anger. He doesn’t deserve to know what emptiness feels like.

“I need to check your resentful energy.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “That’s not how it works, Second Master Lan. If I were to call upon
resentful energy it would just come, and then it would be gone when I was done with it. Look, I
promise not to do anything evil. And the kids will tell you, right?” He turns back to the waiting
room, noticing the older children who are pretending very hard not to eavesdrop. “You’ll tell
Hanguang Jun if I do anything evil, right?” He points at a kid who looks around eleven. “You look
like a snitch. Hanguang Jun, you can count on this kid.”

The kid is young enough not to look offended. The oldest looking boy raises his hand nervously.
Wei Wuxian points at him without waiting for Lan Wangji.

“Are you going to do something evil?”

“What’s your name, kid?”

The kid’s eyes dart around, but the others won’t look at him. “Wen- Wen Qionglin, sir.”

“Wen Qionglin, you trust your sect leader and Second Master Lan, right? They wouldn’t let
someone evil look after you. No, you’ve got nothing to worry about. We’ll all be great friends!
We’ll have plenty of adventures, learn all kinds of—”

This time he doesn’t manage to dodge Lan Wangji’s grip on his arm. He whirls him back around.

“You are not to teach them anything,” he hisses.

Wei Wuxian laughs in his face. “They are children .”

Lan Wangji tightens his grip on Wei Wuxian’s forearm.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “You teach them every time you talk to them. You show them how to dress
and what to wash and what not to say, and you teach them. You walk ahead of them through the
woods—”

“Then you are not to speak to them. You will not show them what to do or what to say. You will
walk behind them.”

It stings, bouncing around the empty place inside him like a stone down a well. It’s not vitriol,
exactly, but there’s a fire in Lan Wangji’s eyes that makes half of him want to cower and the other
half want to call up an army of spirits and tear down the walls of Cloud Recesses. He lets his eyes
close and takes a long, slow breath.

When he opens his eyes, Lan Wangji has leaned in closer, barely a foot away from his face. He
slides his hand down Wei Wuxian’s forearm until he reaches his pulse point and watches Wei
Wuxian flinch. He doesn’t pull away in horror the way Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue did so many
months ago, but a furrow appears between his brows and his lips part just slightly on a shaky
inhale. Wei Wuxian images he can hear it echo from deep inside his abdomen.

“I—” Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what to say, so he lets his mouth run away with him as usual.
“I’m not afraid of you.”

That serves the purpose of bringing the familiar glare back into place.

“And you don’t mean that, anyway. That’s ridiculous, not talking to the children. If I can’t talk,
then I need at least a flute to keep them in order, but that’s officially forbidden. Unless you’d rather
I—” he purses his lips and lets out a high, trilling whistle.

Lan Wangji’s eyes go wide and he slaps a hand over Wei Wuxian’s mouth. Wei Wuxian raises
both eyebrows as high as they can go. A giggle comes from behind them, and Lan Wangji pulls
away sharply, wiping his hand on his sleeve.

Wei Wuxian turns back around, pointedly ignoring the man beside him.

“Okay, charges. First thing to do is learn all your names. It will be difficult, but I’m a confident
man. That’s lesson number one—even if you’re not sure what you’re doing, do it with confidence.”
He doesn’t turn to watch Lan Wangji storm out of the pavilion.

“Little one, here, you start.”

The littlest child lets his straight-backed posture droop. “I don’t want to be the little one. Jingyi is
smaller than me! I’m not the littlest!”

Wei Wuxian holds up his hands. “Whoa, okay. You’re not the littlest. What’s your name, oh big
and mighty warrior?”

The girl sitting next to him giggles and the little boy shoots her a glare that he clearly learned from
Lan Wangji. “My name is Lan Sizhui. And you are making fun of me.”

“I apologize, Sizhui, I’m just having a little fun. It’s not bad to be small, anyway. You should
always know what you are—if you don’t, then how will you become the best version of yourself?
You must know your own qualities so that you can use them all to your advantage.”

Seemingly despite himself, little Sizhui leans in a bit. Wei Wuxian continues, encouraged.

“If a tiny frog tries to be a powerful ox and pull a plow through the field, he will only be
disappointed. But if he tries to be the very best frog—to hop the highest and croak the loudest and
hide so well in the green leaves—well, then he can excel and be satisfied, right?”

There are some murmurs of agreement. “And,” Wei Wuxian continues, “being small can be very
useful. It means you’ll be underestimated.”
“Is that a good thing?” the kid he’d dubbed a snitch interrupts.

“Oh yes! In fact—” Before he can finish, there’s a commotion from the corner where an even tinier
child scrambles out from behind a curtain.

“I want to be underestimated too!” He crows and promptly trips over his own robes to tumble into
Wei Wuxian’s knees. Wei Wuxian gives in to the urge to pick him up and set him on his hip.

“And I’m very sure you will be. Now, young masters and ladies, it’s off to lunch. You can
introduce yourselves on the way.”
 Chapter 4
Chapter Summary

A chat with Wen Ning

The first week is not a disaster. He learns the children’s names; they mostly mind him. He finds
excuses to take them around the back hill, let them run around with the rabbits, get a little messy.
They know that when he stretches out his arm and says, “Let’s see here,” it means someone is
coming and they need to act like proper Lan disciples.

He has never felt this way before. He’s open to the idea of a new, eleventh life—Wei Ying, the
caretaker. Not the parent, not exactly, but it’s closer than he’s ever thought he’d come. It makes
him laugh, sometimes, that this is meant to be his punishment. Sure, they can be irritating, and the
older ones lose patience with the little ones, and they aren’t nearly as wild as he thinks they ought
to be. But they are fascinating, and sweet, and clever, and so very odd. Yesterday the three ten-
year-olds—the Trio of Terror, he calls them—spent the whole day playing a strange and
complicated game involving saying specific words at specific times. They kept cheering and
groaning at odd moments during lessons. Even though Wei Wuxian didn’t know what on earth was
happening, he was thoroughly entertained by Lan Wangji’s looks of confused irritation.

He’s taken to staying in the back of the room for their lessons. Really, he has nothing else to do
during this time, and he’d rather not make himself useful back at the kitchens. He’s just as happy
watching the children learning and asking questions as he is watching Lan Wangji. It’s surprising,
how good he is with them. He’s firm but patient, clear in his instructions and open to questions.
And he entertains ideas that would have had Lan Qiren sending a student running for the hills. As
the week goes on, Wei Wuxian starts to find a rhythm and moments of real happiness. Part of that
is, unexpectedly, Lan Wangji, but most is the children.

He’s patched up skinned knees, ruffled hair, and given more hugs in one week than in his whole
life put together. With every sticky hand on his arm, tugging for attention, and every gap-toothed
smile, he feels something sore and sour down in the core of him start to heal.

On the evening that marks the end of his first week, he finds the oldest child, Wen Qionglin,
practicing archery on the back hill all alone. His form is good, if stiff, brow furrowed in
concentration.

“Wen Ning!” he calls, waving, as he steps around the last tree. The boy turns to him in surprise,
and time seems to slow as he releases the arrow directly at Wei Wuxian’s chest. Luckily, he’s
spent the last week sneaking scraps of paper and creating a helpful stack of simple talismans that
he keeps inside his robes. Easy things for when children fall off mountains or set things on fire. He
reaches in and feels for the right thrum of energy before throwing it up in front of his face. The
arrow deflects, just barely in time, and catches the side of his face and his hair as it flies past.

“Powerful, ah!” he cries out, running forward to grab the boy’s shoulders. Wen Ning is white-
faced and listing to the side, tears in his eyes and one hand clamped over his mouth.

“Wei- qianbei !” He cries, wringing his hands together. “I’m so sorry! Please forgive this careless
disciple!”
He falls to his knees and is about to bow when Wei Wuxian hauls him up by the elbows.

“Hey, hey, hey, no harm done. A-Ning, come on, it’s fine! That’s what the talismans are for, eh?”
He pulls the kid in for a hug and holds on until he feels the trembling subside.

“I could have killed you!” Wen Ning wails, and Wei Wuxian pulls back and holds him by the
shoulders.

“And you didn’t! It’s fine! And you’ll never be careless when letting go of an arrow again, will
you?”

“Never!”

“There! We learned! Come sit down with me, ah? Drink some water.”

They sit on a level stone that juts out over the water, watching the waterfall. Wei Wuxian passes
him his water skin.

“Wei-qianbei,” Wen Ning says, softly, and when Wei Wuxian turns to him he’s reaching out with
his white sleeve gathered in one hand. “You’re bleeding.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t move as the boy wets his sleeve with the water and gently wipes off his
cheek. It reminds him, suddenly and painfully, of Yanli, and he has to look away to swallow down
the lump in his throat.

“Your form is good,” he says quickly, gathering himself together. “But you need to remember to
breathe. The more relaxed your back shoulder, the better.”

Wen Ning nods seriously, then looks away, chewing his lip nervously.

“A-Ning, I’m really not mad.”

“No, it’s not that. I just— What was the talisman you used? To deflect the arrow, I mean?”

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian pulls out his stack and rifles through them for a duplicate. “I’m technically not
supposed to show you these things, but here—you said it, it’s just deflection. Do you know much
about talismans?”

“A bit. I—” he looks down at his hands. “His Excellency has told me I should learn as much as I
can about cultivation aids. He says I don’t have the constitution for— I won’t be a strong
cultivator.”

Wei Wuxian has to bite his tongue. “All due respect to His Excellency,” he very carefully doesn’t
spit on the ground. “But I don’t see how he could possibly know that. You’re, what, fourteen?”

“I’m sixteen. I’ll be seventeen soon.”

Wei Wuxian looks at him again—his cheeks are still full of baby fat, eyes wide and innocent.

“Shouldn’t you be with the older disciples?” It’s the wrong thing to say, and he kicks himself as
soon as he sees the blush spread over Wen Ning’s face. “Ah, forget I asked. I’d just ask them to
send you back to me, anyway.” He slings an arm over the boy’s shoulder. “You’re a great example
for the young ones. I’m glad you’re here. Why are you here, anyway? In Cloud Recesses? I didn’t
think the Wens usually sent disciples away from Qishan.”

“I’m part of the alliance with Gusu,” he says, flatly, like he’s reciting something he’s heard. “I’m
the one they could spare, since I’m not of any use.”

You’re a hostage , Wei Wuxian thinks, darkly.

“More fool them! Won’t they be disappointed when you become a great man and a great cultivator
here, and they missed it all.”

Wen Ning gives him a little smile. “I like it here. People are more calm than back at home. I miss
my jiejie, but she sends me letters.”

“I have a shijie I miss, too.” He lets them sit in the loneliness of it for a minute, watching the water.

“Wei-qianbei,” Wen Ning says shyly. “Why did you have to use a talisman to deflect my arrow?
Why don’t you have a sword?”

Wei Wuxian chews his cheek for a moment. “I’m not allowed to carry a weapon.”

“Because you aren’t a cultivator? But that isn’t fair! What if servants need to defend themselves,
and no cultivators are around to help them?”

Wei Wuxian smiles and squeezes his shoulder. “It’s complicated. I admire your sense of justice,
though. You’d be surprised how many powerful and famous cultivators don’t spare a thought for
whether or not a servant could defend themselves.”

“My sister says that spiritual power comes from being lucky in our birth, not because we are better
than other people. And it is our duty to help and protect those who don’t have such power. That’s
why she’s a doctor.” He sighs. “She’s amazing.”

Wei Wuxian feels his heart suddenly stop. He pulls his arm back and takes his time tucking away
his talismans. “Your sister is a doctor?”

“The best doctor in all of Qishan. Probably all the world.” Wen Ning smiles proudly up at the
sunset, swinging his feet off the edge of the rock.

Wei Wuxian clasps and unclasps his hands, not sure exactly what to say. He’s about to leave it,
change the subject, but he looks over at the kid and sees a bit of Wen Qing in the shape of his jaw,
his wide eyes. This is the closest he’s been to a real friend in… too long.

“I know your sister,” he says finally, carefully. Wen Ning stares at him, delighted. “She really is
the greatest doctor I’ve ever met.”

“How do you know her?”

“She was a dear friend of mine, for a time.”

“But how? You’re a servant here in Cloud Recesses.”

Wei Wuxian smiles at him, deflecting the familiar sting as he deflected the arrow. “She attended a
lecture here, years ago. That’s when we met.” That much is true, anyway.

Wen Ning doesn’t push the matter, settling into a comfortable silence. “I really miss her,” he says
after a moment.

“I do, too.”
 Chapter 5
Chapter Summary

There are water ghouls in Caiyi Town

Chapter Notes

no I don't know how magic works, just go with it

There are water ghouls in Caiyi Town. This is apparently not a new phenomenon, and dealing with
them is common enough that the senior disciples can use it as a test of sorts. Lan Wangji has also
decided it will be an educational experience for the junior disciples to observe. In reality this is an
end-of-the-first-month test for Wei Wuxian called “Herd eleven children down a mountain for two
hours.”

They are tired. They are thirsty. Lan Feifei has lost her shoes. Ouyang Zizhen got an extra turn on
Wen Ning’s back and it’s not fair. Lan Ting is allergic to some kind of leaves, but will not stop
touching all of the leaves. Lan Jingyi is… consistently Jingyi.

Wei Wuxian does not believe in having favorite children—he and his siblings suffered enough
under their parents’ favoritism and expectations. And, anyway, these children are far too different
to compare. Zizhen is sweet and asks for adventure stories every night and looks at Wei Wuxian
like he created the heavens and earth. Lan Feifei has her head in the clouds and the cutest little
dreamy smile right before she falls asleep. But Jingyi is truly a child after Wei Wuxian’s own
heart.

He’s not the only orphan left after the ambush that Wei Wuxian was blamed for, but he’s the
youngest by far and still wakes up crying in the middle of the night. Wei Wuxian rearranged the
dormitory so Jingyi now sleeps cuddled up with Lan Sizhui, which seems to help a bit. Wei
Wuxian isn’t sure what Sizhui’s story is—he assumes the kid is also an orphan, but occasionally he
spends extra time with Lan Wangji that’s never been explained. Perhaps he’s a close nephew or
cousin.

But Jingyi is the most un-Lan Lan child of the bunch, and Wei Wuxian is very invested in keeping
him that way. He doesn’t remember being four—his memories are fuzzy before life on the streets
of Yunmeng, and even that is more images and impressions than any full events. Except for the
dogs. But he thinks that four-year-old Wei Ying must have been like this child—excited, curious,
incapable of looking before he leaps (off a table, off a step, into the underbrush, into a puddle),
only taking a break from asking “Why?” in order to ask “Why not?”

Wei Wuxian loves it, and it drives him nearly off the ledge. Knowing Lan Jingyi as he knows
himself, he spent an evening hand stitching extra ribbons into the back of Jingyi’s robes, reinforced
around the waist so it doesn’t tear or pull or pinch when he grabs them. Far from being offended or
annoyed the first time Wei Wuxian yanked him back on track by his handy leash, Jingyi simply
crowed “I’m a horse!” and threw his whole weight forward against Wei Wuxian’s grip, little boots
scuffing uselessly against the dirt.

Without a golden core and after months in the Qishan prison he’s felt weak, scrawny and
uncentered in his body. But lately, arms full of laundry and children, hands calloused from work
instead of swordplay and more often than not tucked into scruffs of necks or latching onto
misbehaving elbows, he’s starting to feel like a person again. Something solid, ground for building
on.

Right now, Sizhui is on his shoulders, absently patting little fingers along his hairline, and Jingyi is
being dragged along behind him like a dead fish.

“A-Yi, are you going to walk at any point today?” Wei Wuxian sighs.

Jingyi holds on to the leashes and flips himself around so he can look upwards. “Can I run?”

“No, you cannot.”

“Then no.”

“Lan Jingyi!” Sizhui calls down from his perch, swatting a low-hanging branch out of his face.
“You should behave better. You’ll be all dirty when we get to town and you will get in trouble!”

Wei Wuxian squeezes his chubby knees and turns around to wave the older kids forward.

“Wen Ning! Come here my friend, take this bag of turnips into Caiyi Town. Try to get a good price
for it.” He swings Jingyi over and Wen Ning hauls him over his shoulder.

Jingyi smiles as he bounces along upside down, singing, “Turnip turnip turnip” to himself all the
way down the mountain.

Before they enter the town proper Wei Wuxian does his best to line them up properly and pick
stray leaves out of hair.

“Now, young masters and ladies, remember you are representing the GusuLan Sect. Yes? Heads
up, hands to yourselves.” The kids shuffle mostly into position. “The Lan Sect is very important to
Caiyi Town. You understand? The town depends upon Lan cultivators to take care of problems like
these water ghouls. So when the people see you, you want them to be confident in your abilities,
yes? We are proud of where we come from. Lan Hua! Eyes front. You’re not just representing your
humble Wei-qianbei, you know. You are representing our Hanguang Jun!” At that, shoulders snap
back and grumbling ceases. Wei Wuxian feels a rush of fondness and gives them a grinning salute.
“Very good! We want Hanguang Jun to be proud of us, yes?”

“Yes, Wei-qianbei!”

“Very good! On we go!”

Wei Wuxian feels like a mother goose, wrapped in grey servants’ robes and leading his white flock
through the streets, Wen Ning bringing up the rear. Sizhui holds onto his hand, hopping every third
step to keep up. Normally, Wei Wuxian would happily pick him up, but today is about being
dignified. He’s glad for the firm little grip on his fingers, though. It’s been a lifetime since he’s
been out of Cloud Recesses, and part of him expects the townspeople to spit at his feet. No one
recognizes him, though. Passersby stop to watch the procession pass, bowing respectfully to the
disciples. Wei Wuxian feels an odd warm pride unfurl in his chest, and when a mother in the crowd
meets his eyes and gives him a knowing eyebrow raise, he lets himself laugh. Feast your eyes,
everyone! Eleven children!
By the time they reach the edge of the lake, the senior disciples are already out on their boats near
the center with Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, having flown down on their swords earlier. Nothing
exciting seems to be happening so far, but there’s a tense hush in the air that can be felt even at the
shoreline. It’s just Wei Wuxian and the children at the water’s edge, townsfolk having decided it’s
not worth the risk even to get a good look at cultivators in action. Wei Wuxian arranges the
children around an ancient tree, roots and branches gnarled and grasping towards the water, so they
can rest their tired legs and still have a decent view. Sizhui tugs on his robes until he lifts him back
up on his shoulders.

“What’s happening, Wei-qianbei?” Lan Feifei pipes up from beside him.

“Hmm. It looks like Hanguang Jun and the senior disciples are waiting for the water ghouls to
appear. Perhaps they’re seeing something moving in the water.” He wiggles his fingers and puts on
his most dramatic voice, and Feifei gasps appropriately.

When it happens, it’s sudden and almost anticlimactic. A boat flips, tossing one of the senior
disciples into the air and the other straight into the water. Lan Wangji flies over immediately,
hauling the first into a waiting boat and grabbing onto the other’s arms before he’s pulled
completely under the surface. Almost immediately there’s a great rumbling sound and the surface
of the lake starts to roil.

Wen Ning runs to the edge of the water. “Wei-qianbei! Someone needs to help Hanguang Jun!”

“This isn’t just ghouls,” Wei Wuxian mutters to himself, though he can see some of the creatures
moving, just breaking the surface like sentient seaweed, swirling closer and closer to Lan Wangji’s
hovering form. “It’s an Abyss.”

If he’s seen it, then certainly the two Jades have as well. He can’t tell what they’re doing from
here, but the remaining boats seem to be regrouping, pulling away from the forming whirlpool.
Lan Wangji and the drowning disciple are swept up in the tide, pulling closer to the shore where
the juniors stand frozen, hands over tiny, terrified mouths. Bit by bit, Lan Wangji is starting to rise
from the water, arm now locked around the disciple’s chest. His normally pristine hair and robes
swirl around him, soaked nearly all the way through. The walls of water rise and fall around their
bodies as the whirlpool increases in size and intensity. Suddenly, a dark tendrilous form rises from
the wall of water, reaching towards the men from behind. Before it can make contact, the water
whisks it away, but others begin to rise in its place.

“Wei-qianbei!” Wen Ning calls. “The ghouls!”

Wei Wuxian sets Sizhui down and hurries to the water’s edge. “Hanguang Jun!” he yells, cupping
his hands around his mouth. “Lan Wangji, get your sword up!”

Whether he’s unheard or ignored, he’s not sure, but Lan Wangji does not react.

“Lan Zhan !” he shouts, and he can feel the children behind him gasp as Lan Wangji’s head whips
around towards him, just in time to duck another ghoul. There appears to be three of them whirling
around, closing in little by little as the whirlpool increases in ferocity. From the corner of his eye,
Wei Wuxian can see action from the other boats, Zewu Jun leading the disciples in a spell that
makes energy crackle across the misty air. But he only has eyes for Lan Wangji and the ghouls.

“Wei-qianbei, do something!” Yao Hualing cries, grabbing onto his sleeve.

Wei Wuxian shakes her off and grabs his talismans out of his robe. Time doesn’t slow, exactly, but
he feels his brain sharpen and focus. He bites at a hangnail on his thumb, ripping into the skin, and
brushes a few hurried characters of negation in blood along two of the talismans—one meant to
repair broken objects and one to put out fires. If he had his golden core he’d only need a few
gestures—or, better yet, he’d have a sword and could fly into the fray—but this will have to do.

Lan Wangji ducks another ghoul, and Wei Wuxian rethinks his plan. He rips his talismans into
three and opens his cut further, drawing out more blood to repeat his characters on each torn piece.
Then he pushes them away from him in a burst of energy, directed at the low-hanging tree branch
to his right.

With a great crack the branch shatters into three pieces, all of which burst into flame and arc
through the air to collide with each ghoul. There is a series of terrible screams and a smell of burnt
grasses, and the ghouls sink below the surface. Lan Wangji rises up out of the water, the now-
unconscious disciple wrapped in his arms. As he hovers, the whirlpool suddenly moves back
across the lake, seeming to be pulled by a great force.

Wei Wuxian misses whatever Zewu Jun is doing to address the Abyss. He probably should be
paying attention to explain it to the children, but the gaping emptiness in his gut feels no smaller
than the whirlpool Abyss itself. He finds himself on the ground, hands holding his body up,
gasping in the wake of spiritual power. All humans have a reserve of some power naturally, but
without a golden core to focus and grow it, it’s like a spark that never catches tinder.

He feels a collection of little hands on his back, in his hair, a buzz of worry surrounding him as he
coughs up blood. He’s just getting his breath back when one of the children screams, then another,
then there’s a mighty roar that shakes the ground and almost forces out the rest of his breath. He
shoves himself back onto his heels to see a wall of black-green water, taller than the tree beside
him and advancing like a storm.

“RUN!” he screams, shoving whoever he can reach behind him, picking up Sizhui by the back of
his robes and throwing him at Ouyang Zizhen. He manages a step forward, arms held out in front
of him, but there’s nothing inside him. No power, no fire, no anything. Even if he could get a spare
talisman out, it’s nothing against the mass of water. He reaches instinctively for any resentful
energy in the area, whistling out a tune of power and spitting out blood. But it’s not enough. Not
even close.

Every town has a certain amount of latent energy—both spiritual and resentful—due to generations
of living and dying on the same patch of land. But it’s not enough, barely anything, a few wisps of
black smoke that he desperately weaves into the thinnest barrier, a blanket unable to keep out the
cold. It’s not enough.

If this is how it happens , he thinks, his mind sinking into calm, at least I tried.

The last time he almost died, his mind was shrieking, desperate, clawing at the world and trying to
hold on. But now, all he thinks about is the children. Run, please, run. And then, from nowhere,
Lan Zhan, I’m sorry, I tried.

He closes his eyes and braces for impact.

It doesn’t come.

He feels a cold spray against his face and the skin of his chest where his robes have pulled open.
When he opens his eyes, the water has subsided and Lan Wangji is standing in front of him, guqin
hovering in the air before him and humming with an undeniable power.

“ Lan Zhan ,” Wei Wuxian breathes, struggling to his feet.

Lan Wangji turns to him. “What did you call me?”

“Hanguang Jun. I—”

“How dare you summon resentful energy in Gusu.”

Wei Wuxian’s hero worship dies down as his hackles raise. “What was I supposed to do? Let the
children drown? Not even try?”

Lan Wangji glares at him, a muscle in his jaw twitching so violently Wei Wuxian is reminded of
Jiang Cheng.

“I don’t think anyone saw,” Lan Wangji says, finally, turning back to the lake.

“What?”

“My brother and the others. I don’t think they saw you.”

“I—”

But he’s gone, sailing out over the lake to the boats at the center, white robes flapping behind him
like the wings of a swan.

“Fucking—” Wei Wuxian mutters, but he cuts himself off and wipes his face on his sleeve before
turning back to the children.

“My disciples!” he shouts cheerfully, pasting on a smile and holding out his arms. “How brave you
all are!”

---

They commandeer an entire inn for the night. It’s been a long day; the children are exhausted, and
a storm has been gathering at the edge of the horizon that promises lightning and torrential rain.
The children packed into a few rooms upstairs, senior disciples on the ground floor, and Wei
Wuxian has ended up with his own small pallet in what was probably once a storage closet. After
the children are fed and sent to sleep, he wanders back down to the dining room.

He won’t sleep tonight. He’s tossed between so many emotions—thrill from the adventure, fear for
the children, triumph at his successful talismans. But above all, the ache, the emptiness.

Useless, useless, useless echoes inside him, screams into the dark canyon under his ribs.
Completely useless .

It’s one thing to give up puppet armies, raising spirits and casting bolts of dark energy into a battle.
It’s another to encounter himself at the moment of crisis, the moment he is truly needed , and to
find himself just another man. To face the imminent death of the children he’s grown to adore so
entirely. To stand with empty hands before the deluge.

I’m completely useless .

The innkeeper is leaning against the bar, absently reading over a scroll.

“Sir?” Wei Wuxian asks politely. “Can I trouble you for some wine?”

“Indeed, young master!” the man crows, jumping to attention. “Some Emperor’s Smile? The finest
liquor in all of Gusu. No, in all the world!”
Wei Wuxian smiles slightly, not quite bitterly, remembering a night on a roof under a clear moonlit
sky. The taste of sweet liquor and the smell of sandalwood.

“Ah, I’m just a simple servant. Whatever you have that is cheap will do me just fine.”

The innkeeper narrows his eyes, looks over his damp and rumpled appearance. “Were you with
those cultivators that banished our water ghouls today?”

“I was— Yes, I was with them.”

The innkeeper grins, showing three shining gold teeth. “In that case, the drink is on the house.
Please, enjoy with our gratitude.” He holds out two delicate white jugs tied with lace ribbon.

I don’t deserve it. I did nothing.

Wei Wuxian grins. “Your generosity will not be forgotten!” He bows and takes the wine back to
his closet.

Useless.

With a rumble of thunder that shakes the foundation of the inn, the sky opens above him.
 Chapter 6
Chapter Summary

Kids get scared

Liquor doesn’t technically bring him peace—he supposes Yanli and Wen Qing were always right
about that. But it certainly doesn’t upset him, and the buzz is helping him focus on the little doses
of pleasantness in this tiny closet room. A storm outside always helps remind him of warmth
inside, and while there is a leak in the corner that drips against the floor, the mattress is dry, the
blankets are scratchy but warm, and there’s a calm yellow glow visible in the cracks in the floor,
rise and fall of tipsy conversation from the late night crowd downstairs.

He doesn’t think he’ll sleep tonight, but he’s letting his mind wander when a huge crack of thunder
jostles him out of his daydream. The rain intensifies, the drip in the corner shifting from a two-step
to a hurried run of triplets. He almost misses the tiny knock on his door.

“W-Wei-qianbei?” a hesitant voice floats in from the hall. Wei Wuxian tucks away his empty
bottles and sits up, wiping over his face and schooling it into a sober and attentive expression.

He cracks open the door to find little Lan Sizhui, ghostly in his white sleeping robes and chewing
on the edge of his sleeve. He looks uncertain, eyes flitting from the open door to back down the
hallway. He looks almost about to leave when lightning splits the air around them, followed by a
mighty crash, and he closes his eyes and dives into Wei Wuxian’s arms.

“Oh, A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, laughing lightly into the faceful of bed-hair. “It’s okay. It’s
just a storm.”

Sizhui mutters something inaudible into his neck but refuses to let go when Wei Wuxian tries to
shift him away. He hauls the child up into his lap and settles back on the mattress, leaning against
the wall and away from the insistent drip of the rain.

“What’s the matter, little one?”

Sizhui wipes at his red face with his sleeve, and Wei Wuxian leans in closer to hear.

“There’s so much water,” Sizhui cries. “What if the ghouls come back in the water?”

“They won’t. They can’t live in the rain, only in big bodies of water that stay in one place, like a
lake. You see this drip in the corner here? Give me your hand.”

He gently pulls Sizhui over to the leaky corner, holding his hand into the path of the water. Sizhui
flinches away, but Wei Wuxian insists, tucking his fingers into the stream.

“You feel this? All the little drops? Even big rain is made of tiny drops that are far too small for a
ghoul to live in.”

Sizhui’s brow furrows and he pulls his hand back and forth, in and out of the water. “What— what
if you’re wrong?” he asks, looking up at Wei Wuxian with big round eyes.
“A-Yuan, I promise you are safe here. I will always protect you, and so will Hanguang Jun and
Zewu Jun.”

“But what if—” Sizhui trails off, chewing on his lip and resting his forehead on Wei Wuxian’s
collarbone. “What if something gets you? Or Baba?”

That answers that , Wei Wuxian things, stamping down on the curiosity. If Lan Wangji is your
father, then who… But he’s not going to ask a four-year-old to recite his lineage.

“Even if the water ghouls came here, they’re no match for us!”

“But you… “ Sizhui looks down at his hands. “Hanguang Jun had to save you.”

Isn’t it just like children—so sweet, so kind, so accurate with the knives they don’t even know
they’re holding.

“And he’s here. And if he needs help, there’s a whole class of seniors right downstairs. And if they
need help, Wen Ning is here, and all your friends. And we’ll all take care of each other. Yes?”

Sizhui nods and leans in for another hug. Wei Wuxian is just settling in for a long term cuddle
when another crack of thunder makes Sizhui bury his face in Wei Wuxian’s middle. Wei Wuxian
is rubbing circles into his back when he hears another knock on the door.

“Come in,” he sing-songs, and Ouyang Zizhen pokes his head in. “Scared of the storm?” Wei
Wuxian asks.

“Of course not!” Zizhen’s eyes dart around the room before finding Sizhui’s huddled form. “I was
— I was checking on A-Yuan. I thought he might be scared.”

Wei Wuxian grins and claps him on the shoulder. “Of course you did. Tell me, how many other
disciples are up worried about A-Yuan?”

Zizhen chews on his lip. “Everyone?”

Wei Wuxian grins wider and tugs on Zizhen’s ear. “Well, we’d better go reassure them all.”

He bundles Sizhui into his arms and nods at Zizhen to lead the way.

I may be useless in battle , he thinks, the sting of it fading with each step they take. But this I can
do.

As expected, all the juniors are awake, some still lying top-to-toe and others bundled into blanket
piles on the floor. When the door opens, nine little faces turn to him like a cluster of round, startled
moons.

“Ah, disciples!” he says cheerily. “Your poor Wei-qianbei has a leak in his room. Will you allow
this humble servant to join you in this nice dry room for the night?”

“Yay!” Lan Feifei shouts, popping up from the end of the farthest bed and immediately toppling
over onto Lan Ting. Wei Wuxian wonders if spending so much time with the bunnies is teaching
them more than he and Lan Wangji combined.

The children make room for him in the middle of the room, huddling in close around him on all
sides.

“What, no one is tired? After that long walk down the mountain?”
Wen Ning wrinkles his nose, looking around at the younger kids like he’s responsible for their
wakefulness. Thunder shakes the walls and the little ones cover their ears.

“It’s pretty loud, huh?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“It’s loud like the big wave was,” Lan Ting pipes up, worried little eyes shining in the lamplight
like polished river stones.

“Ah, yes, that was scary, wasn’t it?”

Nods all around. The best thing about children , he thinks to himself, reaching out to work a tangle
out of Su Meiling’s hair, is that they aren’t yet ashamed to be afraid. He smiles a little sadly to
himself, thinking about Jiang Cheng. Remember when he used to come to his big brother, say he
was scared?

“Do you know what I like to do when I’m scared?”

Lan Yixian gasps from over his shoulder. “Wei-qianbei, you get scared too?” She’s seven, she
maybe hasn’t ever heard that from an adult before. Knowing the Lans, their stoic nobility, he
wouldn’t be surprised.

“Yes, Xian-Xian, I get scared just like you. And I’ll tell you a secret.” He lowers his voice,
relishing in their held breath, leaning in. “Hanguang Jun gets scared, too.”

“No he doesn’t!” Su Ming declares.

“Sure he does. Ask him sometime.”

The gasp of horror that whooshes around the room threatens to put out the lamps. Wei Wuxian
laughs in delight.

“Scarier than the storm, huh?”

“What do you do when you are scared, Wei-qianbei?” Lan Ting asks.

“I’ll tell you. Sometimes I feel scared, and when I feel scared it’s usually because I don’t feel very
strong or powerful. After all, I am not a mighty cultivator like all of you!” It hurts slightly less to
say it to children. The more he says it, the easier it goes down, like building up a tolerance to
straight strong liquor.

“So what I like to do is think about all the things that keep me safe. Here, I’ll show you.” He sets
Sizhui down beside him and holds his hands flat up on his knees, just like Uncle Jiang taught him
when he was small and still had screaming nightmares. “Let’s see, to begin, I am glad for my
strong legs that help me run and my strong arms that help me carry lazy disciples.” He raises one
hand on an inhale and pushes his palm outward on the exhale. Focus on your breath , Uncle Jiang
says in his head, kind and patient and dead.

“I am glad for my strong lungs which help me yell for help when I need it.” He lifts and pushes his
other hand, and a few of the children start to mimic him. “Good job, breathe nice and slow. I am
glad for my talismans, which help keep me safe.”

“Will you teach us talismans?” Lan Bin asks, perking up like a rabbit smelling sweet grass.

“If you are very good and very quiet. Here, Wen Ning, you try one.”
Wen Ning looks around, embarrassed, but seeing most of the children’s eyes closed he says, “I am
glad for my jiejie who taught me medicine to help when I am sick.” The room breathes together.

“Yao Hualing?” Wei Wuxian prompts.

“I am— I don’t know. I am glad for my Mama who taught me how to punch really hard.”

“Very good. Zizhen?”

“I am glad for Wei-qianbei who takes care of us and feeds us.”

“Ah, sweet boy. Jingyi?”

“I am glad for being small so I can hide from a monster.”

A crack of thunder, but only a few jump.

“Very good everyone. Now we can all say at the same time, nice and quiet. You can say whatever
you like, no one is listening.”

Wei Wuxian looks around at all of them, eyes closed and breath stirring loose locks of hair. He
listens to the breathy chorus of gratitude: “My gege who protects…” “Hanguang Jun who…” “...
because I am good at…” “...who taught me to…” “Wei-qianbei who cares for me…”

He is suddenly glad their eyes are closed, because his throat goes tight and tears start pricking the
corners of his eyes. He raises his right hand on the proper inhale and wipes at his cheeks quickly.

When he looks up again, the door is cracked and Lan Wangji is staring at him from the darkness of
the hallway. His hair is down from it’s customary ornament, falling softly along his cheeks, his
neck. Wei Wuxian sniffs and tries to school his expression into something professional without
stopping the gentle inhale exhale. Lan Wangji is staring through to the back of his skull, it feels
like, unblinking , before he looks around at the room of murmuring, meditating children. His lips
part as if to say something— disciples should be sleeping! You are not to teach them anything!
Meditation is practiced in silence! —when Lan Sizhui’s little voice carries over the room.

“I am glad for my Baba who loves me and teaches me to be strong and for my Wei-qianbei who
loves me and teaches me to be clever.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth stays slightly open but his eyes snap to his son, watching his calm breath, his
tiny wrists sticking out of his sleeves on every exhaled push. When he looks back to Wei Wuxian
there is something broken open in his expression and Wei Wuxian almost wants to close his eyes
against the shine of it. Almost.

He’s not sure what his face is doing, but something about it must be right because Lan Wangji
holds his gaze for a long, long moment before nodding once and sliding the door closed. Wei
Wuxian buries his face in his hands for a minute, shaking for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

“Wei-qianbei?” Lan Ting says, louder than the rest. “I’m out of things to be glad for.”

“Me too!” comes another voice from somewhere.

“Very well. Good job everyone, I think we beat the storm. Now your humble Wei-qianbei is very
sleepy, and it’s going to be morning soon. And then we need to climb all the way back up the
mountain together. Let’s all try to sleep, can we?”
With a gentle rustles of cloth and a couple of sleepy hums, Wei Wuxian is surrounded by a circle
of black-and-white mounds. He feels like he’s sitting on the top of Gusu Mountain, a few dark
rocks peeking through the snow. But, like in a dream of winter, it’s warm, quiet, the only wind to
be felt is as soft as breath.
 Chapter 7
Chapter Summary

In which Wei Wuxian gets yanked around like a fish on a hook

Wei Wuxian always gets a little cocky after a month of anything. A month into life at Lotus Pier he
talked back to Madam Yu for the first time and met the back of her hand. He may have started
getting in trouble on his first day of indoctrination at Cloud Recesses, but after the first month he
really started his campaign to bother Lan Wangji into giving him a decent fight. Or at least a
minute of his time.

So he recognizes this pattern as he sits among the rabbits, watching the disciples roll around in the
grass and play fight with crooked little sticks. The children all wear white, every day. As an
aesthetic choice, it’s quite striking—it also appears to give some validity to Su Ming’s claim that
misbehaving Lans are turned into rabbits. But as a practical choice, it leaves Wei Wuxian up
nearly every night scrubbing out grass and mud and tea and berry stains.

He lets his idea percolate for a bit before acting on it, watching Madam Xiao carefully every time
she measures a quickly-growing junior for a new set of robes.

On a sunny afternoon the youngest juniors—those under ten—are held back by Lan Wangji for a
lesson in sect and clan history. Wen Ning tells him it’s a regular occurrence, certain lessons and
stories that the older ones heard back when multiple teachers covered different material. It feels
private, Lan-Sect-only, so Wei Wuxian takes the older six fishing in the river.

“Your poor Wei-qianbei never gets to hear secret Lan stories,” he whines as they scramble down
the hillside towards the water. The juniors tumble over each other to tell their favorite stories in a
fragmented rush—this Lan elder who invented a new path of healing, that student who famously
saved a young Lan Qiren from a fierce ghost, litanies of born and adopted cultivators to make one’s
head spin. He always enjoys the children’s enthusiasm, but part of him regrets missing Lan
Wangji’s calm and steady storytelling. He imagines him sitting down on the floor with the children
gathered around him, elegant hands gesturing just enough to clarify, no movements wasted. His
patient nod as little Jingyi bounces on his heels to ask a question—not a smile on his face, per se,
but not a frown either.

He’s interrupted from his ill-advised reverie by a giant splash as Su Ming slips and falls face first
into the water.

“A-Ming! For heaven’s sake, I’m trying to teach you to fish! Please do not scare every living
creature away right at the beginning.”

He makes them stand knee-deep in the water, still as they can, until the fish return. With all eyes on
him, he manages to grab a carp on the first try. Still got it , he thinks to himself, preening for the
applause around him.

Remember when it was swordplay that brought you praise? Your incredible skill, your shining
golden core?
But the cheers of little ones is the best he’ll get now. And it’s enough. It is. It’s enough.

If a ritual doesn’t take the first time, repeat it.

Wen Ning, kind heart that he is, has placed himself on the shoreline to collect caught fish in
gathered-up skirts of his robe. As the others dive and wait and dive again, Wei Wuxian watches
him solemnly wrap the wriggling fish in cloth, holding each firmly but gently in his hands until
they stop moving. His face is set, lips pulled in, and he nods to himself after each death, setting the
fish aside in a delicate row on the shore. Wei Wuxian wants to wade over and hold him, pet his
hair and tell him it’s all right, death is hard, but he recognizes the moment of growing and lets it
happen.

All in all, they end up with eight fish. Five may have been from Wei Wuxian himself, but he
praises the juniors at length as they shake off their feet and try to find their own shoes. Su Ming, as
always, is precariously balanced on a rock and engaged in a shoving match with Lan Ting. He’s
about to fall, and Wei Wuxian has a flash of the walk back to class with his wet, squelching shoes,
so he reaches out and grabs him by the neck of his robes, nearly wrenched off his feet himself.
Everyone laughs uproariously and Su Ming apologizes in a mumble, Wei Wuxian tugging on his
hair and clicking his tongue in admonishment.

It’s not until they get back to the main compound that Wei Wuxian notices the pain in his shoulder
and neck from yanking Su Ming out of danger. He sends the children to clean up for dinner under
the direction of Wen Ning and heads to the kitchen to do something with the fish. Gutting and
cleaning fish is second nature, and he tosses chunks of meat into a pan and hopes for the best.

He’s glad he’s not the primary cook for the juniors. It’s shameful that he’s so haphazard in the
kitchen, given that he’d grown up watching Yanli, so tidy and deliberate, every action perfectly
timed. He’d stopped watching after a while, around when he was thirteen. Madam Yu hated her
behaving like a servant, so she’d get word from her little spies and swoop in in a swirl of purple
and crackling energy to berate them both. It was always Wei Wuxian’s fault, in the end, as most
things were. But no matter how much blame he accepted, demanded, it was never enough to make
her leave Yanli alone. Eventually, he just stopped going to the kitchens at all. Had he known what
was going to happen, that the last time eating lotus root and pork soup would truly be his last time,
he would have gone back and watched her, he’d have written down every step and asked her to
explain each technique, let him taste every ingredient as she added them. But there’s no use
wishing for things already past.

He does grin to himself as he remembers her working, tiny and delicate but steadfast, while Madam
Yu scolded and paced and Zidian crackled around her. She never left a dish unfinished. Perhaps he
did learn more from watching her than he thought. Maybe she’ll be proud of me. Maybe someday.

He shakes the fish around in the pan, throwing in a dozen odd dashes of chili oil, and grunts out in
pain as a spasm goes down his neck to his shoulder. He drops the pan down with more force than
intended, grabbing at the muscle and twisting his head around, seeking relief.

“Wei Wuxian.”

Startling and whipping around certainly doesn’t help with the pain, so he faces Lan Wangji with an
unpleasant grimace. The bow he makes is sincere but crooked, and when he looks back up, Lan
Wangji has come closer, brow furrowed.

“Why are you cooking?”

“The older children caught fish. Well, they tried. So I said I’d cook it up for them. Well, I said I’d
try.”

“The fish is sticking to the pan.”

“Damn it!” Wei Wuxian spins back around to take the pan off the heat, but freezes midway to jerk
back around and bow. “My apologies, Second Master.”

“You’ve injured your shoulder.” It’s not a question.

Wei Wuxian rolls his neck again. “Just a bit. One of the children fell and I should have used two
hands to grab him. I forget sometimes, how slow I am to heal without a golden—” He bites the
inside of his cheek, looking down at his hands. “Pardon me, Hanguang Jun.”

He turns back to the fish and takes the pan off the heat, hacking at the chunks of skin that have
adhered to the surface. He assumes Lan Wangji has left, but after less than a minute he feels an
unexpected hand on his injured shoulder. He spins around and strikes out with the wooden spatula,
nearly missing the side of Lan Wangji’s face.

“What are you doing?” He doesn’t think Lan Wangji would attack him in the kitchens, but it hasn’t
been so long since we was hunted by all the clans together. Is that why he’s here? My sentence has
changed?

Lan Wangji glares at him. “Helping.”

“Helping what?”

“Your shoulder. Turn around.”

Wei Wuxian stares at him and does not move. Lan Wangji sighs, sounding so much like his uncle,
and pulls Wei Wuxian back around. He’s beginning to feel dizzy. Before he can open his mouth to
protest, one big hand covers the side of his head and presses it to the side while the other digs into
his pulled muscle. Instead of yelling “What are you doing?” again, he can only make a loud
choking sound and clap his hands over his mouth.

“Stop. Moving.” Lan Wangji demands, so Wei Wuxian folds his hands primly at his waist and
waits for whatever it is to be over.

Lan Wangji’s hands are not just warm, they’re hot , and not just long but big , broad across the
knuckles and palms. Wei Wuxian hasn’t really noticed this before, but he certainly does now. First
Lan Wangji pinches the muscle hard between thumb and forefinger, sliding his hand down from
the base of his skull to his shoulder. After about a minute of this he works his knuckles in, rolling
them as he goes. It hurts, more than he expects it to, but underneath the pain is a deep relief. The
massage stops suddenly, and Wei Wuxian is just about to turn around when he hears an impatient
tsk sound from behind him. It’s his only warning before Lan Wangji tugs his robe over his
shoulder, baring his skin.

“Lan Wangji!”

“Wei Wuxian. Stand still.”

Wei Wuxian can’t help the nervous giggle that bursts out as the massage continues. “You know,”
he begins, while his brain very loudly tell him Stop this right now, Wei Wuxian, don’t say anything
more . “You should just call me Wei Ying.”

The massage stops for a moment, then resumes.

“That would not be appropriate,” Lan Wangji says stiffly.

Wei Wuxian laughs louder. He’s starting to feel a little drunk as Lan Wangji’s hands move to the
back of his neck and lower down to his shoulderblade. “ That’s inappropriate. I see.”

“Hm.”

“But I am a servant, you know. There’s no reason for me to have a courtesy name.”

The hands pause again.

“Not just a servant.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. “Well, no. None of us are. None of us are just servants.”

Lan Wangji says nothing and tugs the robe back into place. He doesn’t let go, though, big hands
radiating warmth into him through the fabric. There’s a long moment of held breath and the smell
of burnt fish.

“Wangji,” a voice comes from the doorway, and Wei Wuxian feels him step back. He feels better
than he did, but oddly cold.

“Brother.”

Lan Xichen inclines his head politely as he steps inside the kitchen. “I apologize, am I
interrupting?”

Wei Wuxian turns and bows, trying to assemble a polite smile. He thinks it’s coming off a bit
manic. “Not at all, Sect Leader. Hanguang Jun was graciously helping this humble servant with a
pulled muscle. Thank you, Hanguang Jun.” He bows again.

“Ah, the new techniques you learned?”

Lan Wangji’s ears turn pink, but he nods, looking away from Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian is
fascinated. Like a kid watching a new game, he has to stamp down on the loud internal I want to do
that. How do I do that?

“See, Wangji, there is no need to worry. She will be glad to hear you’ve practiced. You will make
a fine husband.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t drop anything, but only because he’s not holding anything. He’s sure his jaw
is somewhere around his belt but there’s nothing to be done about that. Lan Xichen, ever the noble,
doesn’t comment on it.

“Wei Wuxian, I was looking for you.”

Somehow this afternoon in the kitchen has become like a drunken dream, pulling him from the
warmth of pleasure and comfort into terrifying waves where nothing makes sense. It’s not a
reassignment , he tells himself, but his stomach still sinks to his knees. There’s a smear of chili oil
on his left wrist, curving around and disappearing under his sleeve like blood.

“What can I do for you, Sect Leader?”

“I wanted to check in on the children. I know that the incident with the water ghouls was
frightening for them, particularly the younger ones.”
Wei Wuxian laughs nervously. “Yes, we were lucky Hanguang Jun is so quick.”

Lan Wangji still doesn’t look at him.

Husband. A fine husband. Stop it.

“How are they holding up?”

Wei Wuxian chews on his lip. Lan Xichen has always had a quality that inspired complete honesty,
but the last thing he wants is to accidentally talk himself back to laundry duty. “Some nightmares.
A little nervousness walking by Cold Spring, for the younger ones, but we’ve talked about where
the ghouls live and how the Abyss is formed. They’re pretty resilient.”

“But do they feel safe? Here, I mean?”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “In Cloud Recesses? Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t they?”

“After the ambush, things were a bit chaotic. And they haven’t had a guardian for this long in,
well, a number of years now. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the older children expect you to
leave.”

Lan Wangji’s head snaps up, looking between the two of them.

“Leave?” Wei Wuxian spreads his hands, aiming for casual. “But where would I go?”

Lan Xichen smiles at him. “Indeed. Thank you for this update, it is helpful for me to know how
the children are feeling. Wangji, if you are finished here, I would speak with you further.”

As they turn to leave, Lan Xichen pauses in the doorway. “By the way, how did you do what you
did with the talismans?”

“Sorry?”

“At the lake. Your talismans were stronger than any I’ve seen created by a non-cultivator, but I did
not sense any resentful energy when you used them.”

Wei Wuxian feels another set of eyes on him, strong and burning like his hands, but he doesn’t turn
to look. He tries a shrug. “It’s not too difficult. Just a little extra blood, extra intention characters.
We common men do the best we can.”

Lan Wangji leaves the kitchen without another word, and Lan Xichen gives him an odd smile
before he follows.

Wei Wuxian finds a stool and collapses on it, wiping his sweating palms over and over on his
thighs. The chili oil smears down in a sin-bright line. He’s about to rise and figure out what to do
with burnt fish when a teetering pile of midnight blue fabric stumbles past the door.

He manages to catch the pile before it falls entirely and catches a glimpse of Lin Biming beneath
it, red-faced and panting.

“Master Lin! Here, let me help you.”

“Wei Wuxian, what are you doing in the kitchen?”

“Why is everyone so shocked? Here, Master Lin, what is all this?”

“New curtains are going in to the library pavilion, so I’m taking these old ones to—”

“Can I take them?”

Lin Biming glares at him, but the top half of the pile slides directly into Wei Wuxian’s arms.

“Please? Unless they have some important place to be.”

Lin Biming sighs and dumps the rest at his feet. “Fine. Take them. What’s burning?”

Wei Wuxian sighs and hauls the curtains into the kitchen. “Don’t worry about it, Master Lin. I’ll
clean it all up.”

Lin Biming tuts and bustles off, leaving Wei Wuxian with a pile of dusty, discolored fabric, a pan
of half-burnt fish, and the hole in his gut churning like a storm.
 Chapter 8
Chapter Summary

In which a lesson is interrupted

Chapter Notes

listen i have a thing for wwx's knees, it's fine.

Wei Wuxian lights three lamps and spreads his discarded curtains on the wooden walkway outside
the servants quarters. The cultivators at Cloud Recesses retire at nine, leaving a good three hours
for servants to work in the main areas, cleaning and mending and tidying with no bothersome
children or late meetings to interrupt them. It’s actually a little fun—the laundry yard is far enough
from the sleeping quarters so they can be a bit loud, singing and laughing while they work. The
servants try to sleep by midnight if they can in order to grab three or four hours to rest before fires
need to be lit and breakfast started.

The Lan Clan rules have quite a lot to say about setting aside the proper number of hours to sleep.
These rules don’t seem to apply to the servants. Wei Wuxian wonders sometimes who knows what
actually goes into running a place like Cloud Recesses. Does Lan Xichen? Lan Qiren? Has Lan
Wangji ever stayed up late and seen the flurry of work in his beloved library? But they are all such
diligent students, they’d never stay up so late. Cultivators. So studious in topics of importance, so
clueless about everything else.

Sometimes—though he tries to avoid it—he thinks about the servants back at Lotus Pier. Yunmeng
has no such rules about sleeping and waking hours, and Wei Wuxian remembers many late nights
entertaining guests, holding silly sword tournaments in the training yards after a few jugs of wine,
even Jiang Fengmian holding discussions with other sect leaders that ran long into the morning.
When had their servants cleaned, swept, repaired the things broken by careless bursts of spiritual
energy? He’d always thought Madam Yu’s servants to be so cruel, extensions of her fury and
rigidity. But maybe they were just tired.

In any event, he hasn’t slept a full night since he lost his golden core, so he doesn’t mind much.

After a lot of thought, he’s decided that the children’s play clothes won’t be robes but rather a
version of a laborer’s shirt and trousers. He’s only got one full set of clothes himself, but he’s
picked apart the seams and laid out the pieces as a pattern. If he can figure out how to make
children’s versions, then he’ll be able to stitch his own back together. If not, well, Madam Xiao
likes him now. He can come up with some story to justify running up to her in just his sleeping
robe. He’s kneeling in it now, bony knees sticking out at odd angles and night breeze raising
gooseflesh on all his exposed skin.

He doesn’t think of warm hands on his neck as he bends to his work. He traces around each piece
with charcoal before cutting them out. By the time the sky turns purply-grey with sunrise, he has a
neat little stack of various sized patterns, each set rolled into a dusty blue cylinder.
It takes another week and a half of spare hours during lessons and after dark to make a full set of
clothes and another week to improvise adjustments to hems and inseams. He finds himself saved
by the addition of drawstring belts, and while they hardly look tidy, he ends up with an army of
midnight colored miscreants that he’s quite proud of.

The little ones are the most delighted—only a few months or years out of shirts and trousers
themselves. The older children are uncomfortable initially, so used to the many layers of robes and
sashes that they’ve been wearing. Wei Wuxian asked Wen Ning whether he wanted a set of play
clothes, as he’s practically an adult himself. Wen Ning’s deep bow and “It would be an honor to
wear clothes made by Wei-qianbei” made Wei Wuxian blush and threaten to dump him over the
waterfall.

He’s a bit disappointed that Lan Wangji leaves for an important council before he’s finished—he’d
rather have liked to show off his new skills. But politics are politics, and the rumor among the
servants is that he’s visiting with the family of his betrothed.

“But who is it?” Wei Wuxian whines at Madam Xiao as he helps her fold a set of bedsheets.
“Surely if anyone knows it’s you.”

Madam clicks her tongue and takes a swipe at his head. “I don’t bother myself with the noble
family trees. At my age you’ve seen so many cultivators come and go, so many weddings and
funerals, it hardly pays to keep track of it all. Sure, won’t she need to eat and sleep and relieve
herself just like the rest of them? We’ll all get to know her better than Young Master Lan himself
does before too long.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, though there’s something inside him that flinches, like picking off a scab
when you haven’t finished healing beneath.

With Lan Wangji gone, the juniors have fewer classes. Lan Xichen teaches a few here and there,
which is surprisingly enjoyable to watch. Wei Wuxian can tell he doesn’t spend much time with
children so young, and he finds his delighted smile and swallowed laughter somehow gratifying.
It’s not right, and it’s dangerous to start thinking yes, these are my children. Aren’t they clever,
aren’t they funny? My children. But his command over his own mind has always been tenuous at
best.

The result of all this means that Wei Wuxian has many extra hours with the kids in their new play
clothes. He’s taken a few day trips down to Caiyi Town, not bothered by the impropriety of junior
disciples running about in trousers. As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing shameful about being
dressed like a farmer or a laborer. One day he found himself exhausted from hustling them all
down the mountain, so he asked a few of his new friends in the Caiyi market if they’d mind taking
on apprentices. The day turned into a highlight for the children—some learned to make delicately
spiced pork dumplings, some wrapped sticky pastries in paper for customers, some sanded down
slats of wood for chair building, and some tried their hand at painting cleverly stitched kites. Su
Meiling has declared she is going to be a carpenter when she grows up, and Wei Wuxian finds
himself hoping that she will.

He wonders if his new life would have been less jarring if he’d been allowed to learn more as a kid
—to truly befriend the townsfolk of Yunmeng instead of drifting in and out as the benevolent
gentry. On darker days he almost wishes Jiang Fengmian had never found him and that he’d grown
up as he deserved on the streets of Yunping City. It hurts to imagine never knowing Jiang Yanli or
Jiang Cheng, but if he’d never had that artificial sense of nobility, his fall from grace would have
truly meant nothing. He'd have nowhere to fall from.

The walk from Cloud Recesses to town and back is unsupervised by anyone but him, so he takes
the risk and teaches his charges little songs as they march. He makes up funny tunes about rabbits
and sets his favorite Lan Sect rules to music. When the clothes are done he stays up at night
figuring out rhymes for “silence” and “forbidden” and “floppy-ears.”

“ Little, little rabbit, oh!

Up the mountain you must go
Grass is sweeter up the hill
Salty seaweed makes you ill!

Rabbits, rabbits, time to run

Up the mountain one by one
Quick, before the sunlight ends
Run and run to meet your friends!”

After Lan Wangji has been away for a full week, Wei Wuxian gets a bit bolder. He’s had a number
of days now running the children around the back hill, teaching songs and some basic hand-to-hand
combat.

“But Wei-qianbei,” Ouyang Zizhen had said. “Once we are fully grown cultivators we will have
swords. Why would we need to know how to fight without them?”

“Ah, Zizhen, but what if some clever demon takes your sword from you? What if you are cursed
and your spiritual power is locked away? Don’t you want to be prepared, so you are not caught off
guard? And after all, your Wei-qianbei has neither a sword nor spiritual power. Don’t you want to
know how I can protect you if something dangerous comes?”

Zizhen had hung his head and nodded, embarrassed, but after a hug and a one-on-one lesson in
punching his good nature had returned.

Today, Wei Wuxian decides to push more boundaries. He’s created a stack of talisman paper
woven through with spells. First, a spell that imbues the whole paper with the same qualities so it
can be cut into smaller pieces without disrupting its power. Second, he’s added what he calls a
safety lock, which prevents the paper from being used for anything overly powerful or damaging.
The last character he’s added makes all of the power of this stack of talisman paper subservient to
one specific piece—a piece he keeps in preparation for any coming problems.

The activity of the day is to make papermen. He passes out the paper and lets each of them cut a
little stack of figures in whatever shape they like. Some are standard—one round head, two stubby
arms and two legs—while some have long hair or funny pointed feet. Lan Jingyi’s have rabbit ears.

“All right, juniors. Now take your brush and ink. You are going to take one paperman and give him
an action. This might be to walk or to run or to do a somersault or anything else. Do not command
him to hurt anyone—I don’t need to tell you that! Make your command simple and write it in the
middle of your paper.”

He goes around to help the younger ones with their characters. Lan Sizhui has chosen “Dance,”
while Lan Jingyi has chosen “Climb.”

“All right! Now you have your commands ready. Focus your energy and take some full, deep
breaths. What you are going to do is think very hard and clearly about your paperman. Imagine that
he is you. Imagine what it feels like to be as small as he is, as thin. Imagine that you are your
paperman, and imagine standing up.”

At first, nothing happens. Then Wen Ning’s paperman stands up from the ground. Everyone
around him gasps and cheers, and as he blushes and hides his face, his paperman falls back to the
dirt.

“Very good, Wen Ning! But you all must focus on your own papermen. Come now, quietly,
focus.”

One by one, a few little cutouts rise to stand. When about seven of the eleven look at least partially
alert, Wei Wuxian instructs them to focus on their commands.

“This is your first time making papermen, so it may help to perform the action along with them.
Try to imagine yourself as a little piece of paper, running or climbing or stretching as you’ve
instructed.”

At first, only two are moving. Wen Ning’s paperman bends into one perfect kowtow after another.
Surprisingly, little Sizhui is the next most successful, his little man rising to spin and dance around
the clearing. Over the next fifteen minutes more stand and begin to move. Those who are
unsuccessful are frustrated, but Wei Wuxian gives them each a squeeze on the shoulder and lets
them play with the others who are running and jumping and dancing along with their paper avatars.

“Yes, well done! Look at them go!” he cheers, swinging Jingyi around as his little man climbs the
nearest tree. It falls back to the ground after about a minute, but nothing can discourage Jingyi’s
grin.

“It feels so odd, Wei-qianbei!” Yao Hualing cries as her paperman does a series of stretches. “I feel
like I’m in two different places at the same time!”

“Yes, that means you are successful, A-Ling!” he cries and drops a kiss on the top of her hair.

He has an armful of two ten-year-olds when the rest of the children suddenly fall silent and stand
at attention, papermen falling to the ground. He spins back around, dropping Zizhen and Lan Ting
to the grass. He looks at the ground, following Jingyi’s paperman as it finds and begins to climb a
set of luxurious red robes. He sees another familiar set of boots leading to white and sky blue
robes, though he hesitates to look Lan Wangji in the face.

When he finally does, he’s almost gratified to see red in his cheeks and down his neck, his fists
clenched at his side. And next to him, elegant face turned to the children, eyes wide and lips parted
in surprise—

“Jiejie!” Wen Ning cries.

Wei Wuxian feels all the breath leave him as he sways on the spot. He reaches out for Lan Ting’s
shoulder to steady himself, his other hand flying to his abdomen, down low where the scar tissues
sits, twisted and ugly and still sore.

Wen Qing looks over the crowd of messy children dressed as servants and then, finally, meets his
eyes.
 Chapter 9
Chapter Summary

In which there is a bit of a reunion

Chapter Notes

there is surgery talk here that might be unpleasant

The process of removing one’s golden core is not something Wen Qing described in depth ahead of
time. When he’d asked—after she’d finally consented to helping him, after hours of argument, her
wide eyes haunted, her small mouth pinched, lips bitten raw with all the reasons it’s a terrible,
terrible idea—she’d just shaken her head and changed the subject.

Wei Wuxian was, honestly, expecting something much more ethereal. Possibly psychological.
Maybe a meditation that brought him face to face with his greatest fear, the feeling of his soul
being ripped apart, a litany of all the reasons he never deserved a golden core in the first place.

When Wen Qing tucked a cushion under his head on the rocky ground and unrolled a set of sharp
and polished knives, he’d suddenly found himself unable to swallow.

She did have him meditate, trying to lower his heart rate, which took the better part of an hour.

“I feel like you’re lulling me into a false sense of security,” he’d murmured as she rubbed little
circles into his temples.

“It’s not a false sense of security if you know what’s coming,” she’d said, blunt and gentle as
always.

He never had a high opinion of his own stoicism or elegance. He’s no Lan, after all. But if Wei
Wuxian has any strength it should be a tolerance for pain. Sure, as a child he’d cried when a street
dog tore through his calf—the scar long since worn soft, a patch of numbness on his leg now. But
when the hunger pangs ripped through him and the rain soaked him through to shivering, even as a
child he knew he’d get more scraps with a smile and a laugh than by looking pathetic and weeping
out his fear. And there were moments, later, after a slap or an ear twist from Madam Yu, when she
watched him closely and waited for him to cry out. And when he didn’t, she’d meet his eyes and
there was something complicated there, something that looked almost like respect. He was
probably imagining it, his mind trying to mold his world into a soft woolen nest around him. But it
felt real.

So he was cocky. If he could swagger while lying prone on the ground with his shirt off, trousers
rolled down almost to the point of immodesty, he would have. He let Wen Qing bind him down
—”If it makes you feel better, sure,” he’d drawled, winking at her.

“I’m about to move your intestines around with my hands. Do you really want to tease me right
now?” She’d glared, but when he’d paled and clenched his fists she’d brushed his hair back from
his cheeks like a mother.

He remembers the Before so clearly. That nest again, warm and fluffy and smelling like the clean
earth beneath him.

He was awake, technically, for all of it. But it’s only flashes in his memory. Pain, of course, pain,
pain, so much pain it almost ended up boring. But above all of it was the wrongness. Hands—
beloved as they may be—in places no hands should be, pulling at things he never knew could be
pulled. The final severing—so physical, so intimate, but also a rending of his mind, his soul, all his
feelings of strength, comfort, completeness sliced out of him. It was like his body was a book, thin
as paper, and each word meaning wholeness , meaning power , meaning family , meaning Wei Ying
is cut out, one by one. Delicate, precise, irreversible.

It leaked, long after he was sewn up. Puddles trailing behind him everywhere he went. Little bits of
Wei Ying, soaking into the dirt.

All of it runs through Wei Wuxian’s mind as he sees his friend, finally, after two years. She presses
her fingers to her mouth, lips trembling even as Wen Ning runs up to her and hugs her around the
middle. If he could feel more than one thing in this moment he’d be endeared by the normally shy
and formal boy grinning from ear to ear and bending to rest his head on his sister’s shoulder.

“Wei Ying,” she breathes after a long moment, and Lan Wangji’s head snaps to her so quickly Wei
Wuxian is surprised he can’t hear it.

“Wen— Lady Wen.” Wei Wuxian bows.

“Wei— Are you well?” She absentmindedly sets Wen Ning upright, who is looking between them
now with concern on his face.

“Yes, thank you.”

She takes a step down off the path toward him, ignoring Lan Wangji completely. “Were you—
They wouldn’t tell me where you’d gone. I didn’t know if you were—”

“I am well, Lady Wen. I’m here, working in Cloud Recesses. The Lan Sect of Gusu is honorable
and I am privileged to serve them.”

Lan Wangji stares at him, sword clenched in his long fingers. The three adults stare at each other,
the air between them ready to snap. And then Lan Jingyi’s paperman reaches Wen Qing’s shoulder
and begins to climb her hair.

“Ai!” she cries and swipes at it, but the paperman grabs onto her hand and continues his mission to
Climb.

Wei Wuxian grabs for his master talisman and in a few quick strokes knocks the paperman to the
ground. Lan Jingyi turns to him, pouting.

“Lady Wen,” Lan Sizhui pipes up. “Are you going to marry Ba— Hanguang Jun?”

Wei Wuxian can’t look at them, either of them, any of them. He uses Jingyi’s pout as an excuse to
go to him, sit down and pull him into his lap.

“It’s all right, A-Yi. You did so well! Did you see how well he climbed?”
Jingyi tucks his head under Wei Wuxian’s chin.

“Ah, she’s so pretty,” Yao Hualing whispers to Su Meiling.

“Wen Qionglin,” Lan Wangji commands, even as always. “Will you and the other junior disciples
please show Lady Wen to the dining pavilion?”

“Yes, Hanguang Jun!” Wen Ning says brightly, and Wei Wuxian hears the children gather up their
papers and scramble up to the path. He gives Jingyi one last squeeze before letting the squirming
boy go.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji says. “May I have a word?”

Wei Wuxan says nothing, but he rises, slowly, brushing off his legs. By the time he turns around,
they are alone.

“How—” Lan Wangji cuts off, glaring off to the side and blowing out an angry breath. “What are
they wearing?”

“Who?”

“The children. What. Are they. Wearing.”

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian pastes on a smile and scrambles up to the path. “Yes, Second Master Lan. I
made them play clothes!”

“Play clothes.”

“Well, yes. You can’t expect them to play in those stuffy white robes. I’m the one that has to do
the laundry, after all.”

“Where did you get the fabric?”

“Curtains! Old curtains from the library pavilion. Isn’t it clever?”

Lan Wangji closes his eyes for a moment. “The junior disciples. Of the Gusu Lan Sect. Are
running around. In old curtains.”

“Yep!”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth, closes it. After a moment, during which Wei Wuxian brushes more
dirt off his trousers, he finally speaks again. “You know Lady Wen.”

“Yes. You remember, we met during lectures here in Cloud Recesses.”

“But you—”

“You are a lucky man, Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says cheerily, walking past him up the path.
“Wen Qing is a fine doctor, and a fine cultivator. She will make a fine wife for the Second Master
of Gusu.”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian freezes.

“You know her well.”

Wei Wuxian inhales, exhales. “She was a friend of mine. I did have friends, Lan Wangji, before
everything. Maybe it’s hard to imagine, the wicked Wei Wuxian. But I did.”

Lan Wangji says nothing. Wei Wuxian continues up the path, alone, scrubbing his eyes dry with
his sleeve.
 Chapter 10
Chapter Summary

A conversation. In which Wen Qing says Fuck.

Chapter Notes

hi, I do not Describe things.

Wen Qing finds him beating out rugs in the laundry yard. It’s not technically his job, but he can’t
sit still after the day he’s had so he’d volunteered. He’s having a nice chat with Wang Xiaolu, but
she suddenly stops in the middle of a story and stares over his shoulder, bowing deeply and
scurrying out of the courtyard. He’s half expecting Lan Xichen until he turns around, grinning in
surprise.

“Isn’t it after curfew?”

“I’m not a Lan,” she says dryly.

“Not yet.”

She surprises him by stepping forward and hugging him tightly around the waist.

“Ah, Wen Qing,” he sighs, leaning his cheek against her hair.

“I thought you’d died for so long. And then you were back but I wasn’t allowed in the dungeon or
in the trial, and they had A-Ning and I couldn’t—”

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I promise, it’s okay.”

She sniffs but doesn’t let go.

“They said so much, so many horrible things about what you’d done. Everyone, my uncles, all the
disciples, the Sect Leader. And it was all fucking lies , and I knew it—”

“Whoa, Wen Qing!”

“—but I said nothing and I did nothing , and—”

“Wen Qing, please. It’s okay. Let go now, or I’ll get in trouble.”

She pulls back, wiping at her eyes. “I never thought you’d be here. They wouldn’t tell me anything,
and it would be suspicious if I’d asked too much.”

“I know, it’s a surprise, isn’t it? Poor Gusu Lan, what did they ever do?”

She doesn’t smile. “The same as the rest of us. Didn’t stand up to Wen Ruohan. Playing for power,
like everyone else. Why else do you think I’m engaged to Lan Wangji?”

“Because you’re the two most beautiful humans on the planet, and it just makes sense?”

That at least gets him an eye roll.

“You know,” he leads her to a bench, rolling his stick between his hands, “I used to talk about
marrying you.”

She snorts.

“It’s true! I did. Mostly to piss off Jiang Cheng, but it still counts.”

That gets a bit of a smile, fond. “He’s doing well.”

Wei Wuxian taps his stick on the stone. “Good. And Shijie?”

“Also well. Lanling took them in; Jin Guangshan is helping finance the rebuild of Lotus Pier. Of
course Wen Ruohan praises him for it.”

“Is she going to marry that peacock?”

Wen Qing nudges his shoulder. “Jin Zixuan has been good to her. After everything with you, it was
a risky move for the sect. He spoke for her and for Jiang Cheng.”

Wei Wuxian taps his stick harder. “Jiang Cheng’s core?”

“Healthy. Strong.”

“Do you see him often?”

“Now and then. He’s kind, always polite.”

He laughs. “Jiang Cheng? He must really like you.”

“He misses you. And Yanli—”

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. “Tell me more about the big world. Two minutes. What’s happening
with the clans?”

Wen Qing grabs the stick out of his hands. “They say that outlaw, Xue Yang, has attacked some of
the lesser clans. It’s Wen Zhuliu all over again. Wen Ruohan gloats when he thinks no one is
listening, weeps tears of vinegar in public. But Lanling is growing restless—they’ve always been
power hungry. Jin Guangshan is not going to be told what to do for much longer, and everyone
knows it. And if Yunmeng comes back in any meaningful way, that’s an alliance that can’t be
ignored. Nie is staying out of it for the moment, but Wen Ruohan needs this union with Gusu Lan.
Just fostering A-Ning isn’t enough. So here I am.”

“And then they’ll move on Lanling.”

“I’d start with Qinghe, but yes, then they move.”

Wei Wuxian chews a hangnail. “Who else knows?”

“They all must suspect. But no one’s saying anything, at least not where they can be heard. It’s
suicide to speak against His Excellency. Literally, these days.”
“Do you think—Ah, no. that’s two minutes.”

“Wei Ying—”

“It’s not my place. It’s better if I don’t— I can keep an eye on Wen Ning for you, when you’re
gone. That’s what I can do.”

“Wei Ying.”

“He’s wonderful.”

“Wei— Yes, of course he is. He’s always been wonderful.”

“Ah, you are soft.”

“Wei Ying.”

He sighs and leans against her. “It’s a good life here. It is, Wen Qing, I’m not lying. It may not be
significant, but it’s a good life.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“I think it’s significant.”

“Well, yes, the dishes must be done. No rats in the Cloud Recesses! Just rabbits, ha!”

“Hmm.”

“ Hmm, hmm , you sound like your intended. So contemplative you’ve become!”

Wen Qing gives him a little glare. “I just mean, when I had dinner with Lan Wangji and Lan
Xichen, they had quite a bit to say about you.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, elbowing her in the ribs. “You didn’t think I’d completely stopped causing
trouble, did you?”

“That’s not what they said. They were quite complimentary about your work with the young ones.
Especially Lan Wangji.”

“Complimentary? You’re hilarious.”

“I don’t lie, Wei Ying. You’ve impressed them. And taking care of children is never insignificant.
Caring for my didi is not insignificant.”

“Hmm.”

“ Hmm, hmm ,” she teases.

“It's good for me, I think.”

“Wei Ying, you don’t have to be noble. I’m not actually Lan Wangji.”

“No, I mean it. And I don't mean good for me like it makes me happy. Although I am, I think,
happy. Happier than I deserve. And I don't mean good for me like it gives me status, advances me
in the world. The things that used to matter. But I am better here. Not here in Cloud Recesses.
Here, in this courtyard, with this stick and these rugs. You see?”

She rolls the stick between her fingers and hands it back to him. “What’s your greatest fear? No
thinking.”

It's a game they used to play. The mysterious “Baoshan Sanren” had told Jiang Cheng he must stay
on the sacred mountain while he healed, giving Wei Wuxian time to heal himself down in town
before his brother saw him. Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian spent those weeks shut up together in an
inn, with Wen Qing stealthily leaving supplies up the mountain where they’d be easily discovered.

You know me more intimately than anyone ever will , Wei Wuxian had said, weak and feverish and
flirting a little. You could at least tell me a secret. No thinking.

“Worst fear?”

She nods. “I know what it used to be, but I haven't seen you in two years.”

“Fear of something to happen to me or fear of something I'll become?”

“ Stalling .”

He clicks his tongue. “To be useless. Knife with no blade, stove with no fire, bucket with no
bottom. Scrap heap.” He laughs, with effort. “I’m too old to be back on the scrap heap.”

“Hmm.”

“What about you? Worst fear, no thinking.”

“Watching the world burn. No hands, no tongue, just eyes.”

“Do you think that will happen?”

Wen Qing sets her jaw. “I’ll burn first. I may burn anyway, but I know I won’t watch.”

Wei Wuxian has to look away. You already burn , he doesn’t say. You’re the only true Sun in
Qishan.

He rises and goes back to his rug. “I’m glad you’re here, anyway. Not just because it’s nice to see
you. Though it is.” He tosses a grin over his shoulder.

“It’s safe here, I mean, and Lan Wangi will stand by you. Alliance or no alliance, you can trust
him. Whatever happens.”

“Wei Ying, will you . . .” She trails off.

“I’ve got a few more hours of work here, Lady Wen. I’ll most likely see you in the morning.”

He doesn’t hear her rise, step close to him, but he feels her whisper ghost over his neck as he shifts
the rug along the line. “Good night, A-Ying.”

When he turns back, she is gone.

 Chapter 11
Chapter Summary

In which we make up things about plants

After morning lessons, the children are taken to the infirmary. They file in, a little row kneeling
and a row standing in a half-circle around the bench where Wen Qing stands, holding onto a mortar
and pestle like her life depends on it. From his position in the corner, Wei Wuxian gives her a
bright encouraging smile. Lan Wangji sweeps in and joins Wen Qing at the front, giving the
children his typical not-smile—it strikes Wei Wuxian suddenly that this particular warmth in his
face, a loosening of tension around his eyes, maybe, his mouth still neutral but not so set, is
something that only comes out around the children. Lan Wangji, he’s starting to realize, exists in
the space between things. Not warm, not really, but not entirely cold either.

Wei Wuxian’s good mood is slightly spoiled by the arrival of Lan Qiren. After acknowledging the
respectful bows of greeting he remains in the doorway and gestures to Wen Qing.

“Disciples,” Lan Wangi says, standing up a bit straighter, if that’s possible. “Lady Wen is a very
accomplished doctor, and she is going to give you all a lesson today. Let us thank her.”

“Thank you, Lady Wen,” the children chorus.

Wen Qing inclines her head. “Today I am going to show you a simple dressing, which helps to heal
a cut or scrape. The first thing we do is to clean the wound with fresh water.”

She’s clearly uncomfortable with all of the attention focused on her, but she patiently talks the
children through chopping herbs and measuring out oils, which type of cloth is best for binding.
She lets them each come up to smell the ingredients separately and the concoction together,
looking a bit thrown at their starry-eyed adoration with every question. The children are very well
behaved—Wei Wuxian only has to tap the Trio of Terror on the shoulder a few times and raise his
eyebrows before they stop fidgeting.

“Now I can show you how to apply the dressing,” Wen Qing says. She turns to Lan Wangji and
blushes, looking between him and Lan Qiren awkwardly.

“Here, Lady Wen!” Wei Wuxian pipes up. “I volunteer to be your patient!”

He winds his way around the kids and squeezes in between her and Lan Wangji, rolling up his
sleeve. Wen Qing picks up a small knife and the smaller children gasp.

“ Wei-qianbei!” Lan Sizhui cries out, covering his eyes.

“Don’t worry, friends! Lady Wen is a very talented doctor and will fix me right up.”

Wen Qing sets the knife against his forearm, but before she can break the skin another hand closes
gently around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, pulling him away.

“That is not necessary,” Lan Wangji rumbles, fingers warm and firm and circling Wei Wuxian’s
forearm completely.
“It’s alright, Lan Wangji,” he says quietly. “Lady Wen has healed worse than a little cut.”

“It is not necessary,” he says again. He keeps a hold of Wei Wuxian’s arm and picks up a brush,
dipping it lightly in ink and drawing a thin line across his skin. “There. That will do.”

“I don’t think—”

“A-Yuan is frightened,” Lan Wangji says quietly, not looking up from the drying ink for a long
moment.

When his wits have regathered, Wei Wuxian pulls gently out of his grasp and turns a smile on the
children. Lan Qiren is glowering from the doorway.

“We can imagine that this is a little cut. Nothing to worry about! Lady Wen, will you show us how
to apply the dressing?”

It’s a bit silly; Wen Qing dabs around the ink with a cloth and ties the fragrant bundle around his
arm.

“It feels better already!” he says, striking a strong pose to make the children laugh.

“Yes,” Wen Qing says, fussing with her ingredients. “So that’s how the medicine works. You can
add other ingredients as well, if there is swelling or infection.”

The children look at her. She looks at Lan Qiren. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji look at each other.

“Thank you, Lady Wen,” Lan Wangji says, bowing graciously to her. The children mimic him.

Lan Qiren stays in the doorway, watching.

“Hanguang Jun!” Ouyan Zizhen calls out suddenly. “When are you and Lady Wen getting
married?”

Little romantic .

“Very soon,” Lan Qiren says from the doorway.

The children buzz with excitement until Lan Qiren clears his throat, frightening them all back to
attention. Wei Wuxian stands between the couple, very carefully looking at no one.

Unable to stand another second of silence, Wei Wuxian cries out, “Disciples! Should we show
Lady Wen what we learned in the garden?”

There’s a great cheer, and when Lan Wangji gives a nod the children file out of the infirmary.

“Everyone check on your favorite plants and make sure there are no weeds!” Wei Wuxian calls
after them.

“Here, let me take this off,” Wen Qing says, reaching for the dressing, but Wei Wuxian pulls back.

“Oh no!” he pouts. “This was a gift from the great Lady Wen. Lan Wangji, don’t let her take it
away from me. After all, I may need it one day!”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes and starts out of the room, only to be stopped by Lan Qiren. Wei Wuxian
tries to overhear, but catches Lan Wangji looking thoughtfully at the bandage. He reaches out and
rubs his thumb over the smear of ink that peeks out from beneath the cloth.
“It would have been fine, Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says softly. “I’ve had worse than a little cut
from a friend.”

“I know.”

There’s nothing else to say, and in the silence Wen Qing’s voice carries through the room.

“—I don’t understand, Teacher.”

“Don’t worry, it will become easier as they get to know you. They respect you, and that is what
matters. Between you and Lan Wangji, the junior disciples will have everything they need.”

“Uncle,” Lan Wangji says, moving away from Wei Wuxian. “I don’t understand your meaning.”

Lan Qiren waves a dismissive hand. “Certainly you do. After the wedding, when Lady Wen moves
to Cloud Recesses permanently, she will take over caring for the children.”

Wei Wuxian digs his thumbnail into the wood of the table.

“Uncle,” Lan Wangji says again, stubbornly polite, “Lady Wen is an accomplished doctor. Surely
her talents are more suited for the infirmary. There is no reason Wei Wuxian should not stay as
caretaker.”

It looks very wrong for Lan Qiren’s glare to focus on Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian almost wants to
dive between them, as if he could take the force of it like a lightning bolt to the chest.

“Wangji, we will be in a stronger negotiating position after the marriage. The Gusu Lan Sect has
borne this shame long enough.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. Wei Wuxian might almost think he’s been forgotten, but Lan Qiren
casts him a brief disdainful glance on his way out the door. He digs his nail deeper into the table,
then yanks his hand back as a splinter starts to draw blood.

“Come on, Master and Lady,” he says, aiming for cheerful. “The kids are excited.”

They reach the garden just as Lan Yixian hits Su Meiling in the back of the head with a clump of
dirt. Before she can start yelping about it, Wei Wuxian rushes over to brush off her hair, waving
the others around him with one hand.

“Here, here, come on. Let’s show Lady Wen and Hanguang Jun what we learned about the garden.
Do you remember?”

“Yes, Wei-qianbei!” they crow.

I’m going to miss that , he thinks.

He lines them up in a scraggly, muddy row, silently wishing he could change them into their play
clothes, and says, “You know the song, so sing when I direct you! Licorice first!”

He taps Wen Ning on the shoulder and sings quietly along with him.

“ In a sandy bed in bright light

Here is licorice, growing strong!”

Wei Wuxian taps Yao Hauling on the head, and she sings, “ Soothes your stomach with one small
bite! ”

“Everybody!”

“ Sun and rain we sing our song! ”

Wei Wuxian spins along behind them, tapping heads between each line.

“ In the shade with lots of water—”

“Here is ginseng, growing strong! ”

“ Helps revive a sleepy daughter.”

“Sun and rain we sing our song!”

“Winding up the poles in sunshine—”

“Lei gong teng is growing strong!”

“Fixes swelling—clever green vine!”

“Sun and rain we sing our song!”

“ Here in shadow, where it’s soggy— ”

“ Pink rhodora growing strong! ”

“ Take when mountains make you groggy. ”

“ Sun and rain we sing our song! ”

“Excellent, excellent!” Wei Wuxian shouts, tousling hair and pinching cheeks. Lan Wangji and
Wen Qing clap, and Wen Qing leans over to give her brother a squeeze.

“I knew they couldn’t take your music away,” she murmurs to him, smiling over Wen Ning’s
shoulder.

“I don’t get in trouble if someone else sings it,” he replies, tapping his nose.

“I am very impressed by your memorization,” Lan Wangji says. Lan Sizhui looks like he’s about
to lift off the ground with pride. “And the medicine garden is very well-tended. You have all been
very attentive to the plants and also to the rabbits on the back hill. The Lan sect and I thank you for
your dedication.” He bows very formally, and the children bow in return, struggling to keep their
grins under control.

“Now, my clever, muddy rascals,” Wei Wuxian says, “off to lunch! Go on, wash the dirt off your
hands. It may be medicinal, but it tastes bad on rice. Go, go!”

“Dirt is not medicinal,” Wen Qing says as they run ahead of him.

“It’s a medicine garden, Wen Qing.” He winks at her. “Walk! Don’t run! Walk! Come on—”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji says. “A word.”

It’s not a question, but it’s not a command either. Somewhere in between.
Wen Qing nods to them both and hurries off after the children.

“She’ll get the hang of it,” Wei Wuxian says. Stop. Shut up. “They’ll love her. So will you, of
course. If you don’t already.” Shut. Up.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji frowns, “about what Lan Qiren said.”

“Don’t worry about it. Never mind! Naturally, nothing lasts forever. Naturally!”

“Wei Wuxian—”

“Although I do agree with you, Wen Qing is wasted outside the infirmary. Not wasted, obviously!
What do I know? Lan Qiren is so old fashioned. But! Above my pay grade, clearly. Actually, I
don’t get paid—”

“Wei Wuxian—”

“ Wei Ying . Please.” He swallows and looks down at his hands, picking at his bandage. “Once.
Once more.”

“Wei Ying.”

He hates how it thrills him.

“You work hard. What you do—I can’t do what you do.”

“You sell yourself short, Second Master Lan.”

“Lan Zhan.” He looks very much like he wants to break eye contact, but he doesn’t.

“ Aiyah ,” Wei Wuxian breathes.

“Only when the children aren’t around.”

“Obviously.”

Lan Wangji nods, turns, hesitates, and leaves.

“ Aiyah. ” Somehow, haltingly, Wei Wuxian smiles.

 Chapter 12
Chapter Summary

In which there is a Party

(Also self-worth doesn’t come from rich people)

Chapter Notes

Look there are only like three sets in this piece because of Budgets, take it up with the
Finance Department. Back to the laundry yard!

Engagement celebrations are not traditional in Gusu, but they are in Qishan, and the husband’s
family are responsible.

“So, basically, His Excellency is demanding the Lan Sect throw him a party,” Wei Wuxian says.
“That sounds like Wen Ruohan.”

“Oh, yes, Wei Ying,” Wang Xiaolu teases, flicking water at him from where she’s kneeling on the
paving stones. “You know everything about the noble houses! You are so worldly !”

“ Aiyah , Lulu!” Wei Wuxian starts chasing after her with his broom.

“Children!” Madam Xiao shouts, wagging a gnarled finger at them. “You will have plenty of time
for nonsense once the celebration has come and gone. I may not know everything about the noble
houses, but I will not be the housekeeper that lets dust collect on His Excellency’s hem.”

All of the disciples are practicing a demonstration for the honored guests, so their lessons stretch
late into the evening. The little ones seem delighted to be in classes with their older cousins and
siblings, taking their roles very seriously even though they’re mainly tasked with holding supplies
and staying out of the way.

Wei Wuxian tries to steal time here and there to watch them practice, giving them giant smiles and
exuberant applause for every skill performed. Lan Wangji stands next to him, and Wei Wuxian
could swear he sees the corner of his mouth twitch. Every time it happens he cheers louder.

But the result of all the cleaning, cooking, and other preparations is that Wei Wuxian barely has
any time with the children. He makes sure they’re fed, washed, and in bed by nine, but there’s very
little play time.

He’s hemming some new robes for the Sect Leader—he’s still quite proud of his new sewing
skills, so he’d begged Lin Biming for the job—when Lan Wangji stops by the laundry yard.

“Wei Wuxian.”

“Hey, Master Lan! Check out these stitches. Have you seen anything straighter?”
Lan Wangji actually comes over to crouch next to Wei Wuxian where he’s spread out on the
ground, carefully lifting the fabric and looking intently at the fresh hem.

“It is very fine work.”

“Thank you!”

Lan Wangji stays crouched next to him for a moment, saying nothing. Wei Wuxian carefully ties
off his thread and folds up the robes before turning to him.

“Well?”

“Well?”

“Are you just visiting the laundry yard to get away from the preparations? I imagine Lan Qiren is
as demanding as ever.”

“Uncle is— This is the first major event held at the Cloud Recesses since the ambush. The first
under Lan Xichen’s leadership. Everyone is taking it very seriously.”

Wei Wuxian salutes him, the effect somewhat ruined by the way his trousers are riding up on his
legs, his knobby knees sticking out.

“I wonder, if you have time, if you could take the junior disciples to the back hill for a while this
afternoon.”

“To see the bunnies? Of course! Are they finished with rehearsal?”

“Uncle would like to continue working with everyone, but I think it would be best if the younger
ones departed for a short while.”

“They need a break, huh?”

Lan Wangji nods.

“I’d be delighted! Just let me get these robes to Master Lin and I’ll be over.”

Lan Wangji is, as usual, correct. As soon as they leave the main compound, half of the kids go
absolutely wild, running and screaming and rolling down the hill.

“Hey, watch it! You’re not wearing your play clothes today, and the Grandmaster will have all the
hair off my head if you get grass stains on your nice robes!”

Lan Ting flops down into the grass. “Wei-qianbei, will you please cover me with rabbits? I am so
tired and my brain is so confused, I just need to be covered with rabbits.”

Wei Wuxian laughs and straightens the boy’s robes over his legs. “Feifei, Yixian, come help me
catch some rabbits to bury your cousin.”

He sits down in the midst of them all and lets himself enjoy the shift in energy. He likes the other
servants quite a bit, and they like him more than they used to, but it’s nothing like being in this
crowd of wild, chubby-cheeked troublemakers.

Lan Jingyi comes up behind him and leans against his shoulder. “I miss you, Wei-qianbei,” he says
and he tucks his arms around Wei Wuxian’s neck.
“Ah, Jingyi, I still see you every day.”

“But not all of the day.”

“No, because I have work to do. Don’t you want to be proud of the Cloud Recesses when all the
other clans come to visit? It must be sparkling clean! It should be as shining in the sun as if a fresh
layer of snow has fallen over the whole mountain!”

“But you’re my Wei-qianbei, and I need you to play with me.”

Wei Wuxian hauls him over into his lap. “How about a nice cuddle now instead?”

“Okay. Can you cuddle me and I cuddle a rabbit?”

“Yes, of course.”

All in all, it’s the nicest day he’s had all week.

The day before the other sects are to arrive, Lan Wangji comes back to find him in the laundry yard
where he’s wolfing down dinner, grateful for ten minutes of quiet. It’s going to rain, which makes
him rather resent the time he’d spent mopping down the entry stairs. Half of his hair is falling out
of his topknot and whipping around his face, getting into his bowl, striping chili oil across his
cheek.

It seems unreal that the day is almost upon them. He has been carefully not thinking about what
will happen when the sects begin arriving, trying to keep his thoughts blank and focus on cleaning
this stone, chopping this turnip, carrying this child. Nothing beyond.

“Wei Wuxian.”

“There’s no one else here,” he says, with his mouth full.

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.”

Surprisingly, Lan Wangji comes over and sits next to him on the bench. He’s warm, noticeably so
in the chill. On a normal day, he thinks that would hold his attention; he’d be hyper aware of the
solidness of Lan Wangji’s shoulder, how he warms Wei Wuxian’s arm down to the elbow. But
today his mind is empty, wind whistling through.

“Wei Ying. Tomorrow the sects arrive. It will not be the largest gathering, but all of the leaders
will attend. That means Wen Ruohan. And also Jiang Wanyin.”

Wei Wuxian shovels in another mouthful, nodding.

“Are you—” Lan Wangji sighs, frustrated. Wei Wuxian chews and lets him think.

“Is there an assignment,” Lan Wangji says, slowly, “that would make the next few days easier for
you?”

Wei Wuxian swallows, wipes his mouth. “How do you mean?”

Lan Wangji glares, slightly. “It will be best for everyone if you are out of the way of Wen Ruohan,
to avoid any unnecessary disruption. But if you’d like to see Jiang Wanyin, you could—I don’t
know—tidy the guest rooms where he is staying.”
“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“If I want to see him. If I can see him.” Wei Wuxian puts down his bowl. “Is— Do you know if
my sister . . .”

“I don’t. I haven’t heard who is attending.”

Wei Wuxian nods, looks up at the sky. It starts to rain, spitting down on him.

“I will instruct Lin Biming to assign you wherever is easiest,” Lan Wangji says.

“Probably best if I keep out of the way, don’t you think?” Wei Wuxian closes his eyes against the
rain. When he opens them, Lan Wangji is gone.

---

He ends up on dish duty, which is fine. He’s only crossed paths with visiting servants so far, and
most of them don’t give him a second glance.

He’s clearing the tea service from a private meeting room when he sees Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian
is inside, and his brother walks by the open door. He’s in his customary purple, but with a golden
sash which seems to pay homage to Lanling Jin. Wei Wuxian sets his tray down silently and
moves to the door, watching him as he turns into another pavilion.

He seems thinner than Wei Wuxian remembers, his jaw possibly sharper. My, Jiang Cheng, is
Shijie not feeding you?

When he’s out of sight, Wei Wuxian sinks down onto his heels, leaning against the wall with his
arms wrapped around his knees. I thought I’d feel it , he thinks to himself, trying to drown out the
buzzing in his ears. Shouldn’t I be able to feel it when he’s near? Shouldn’t he feel me?

But he doesn’t rise, chase after him, call his name. He breathes until his hands quit shaking, then
he gathers up the tea tray and goes back to the kitchens.

He manages to stay safely out of the way for the first two days, but on the third he decides to risk
discovery to watch the children perform their demonstration. He sneaks in the back of the crowd,
head tucked down and hands occupied with the small kettle of tea that is his excuse for being there
in the first place. He can’t quite relax without being in danger of burning himself, but it’s helpful to
remain alert.

Wen Qing is seated near Wen Ruohan, shimmering gold headpiece and even more intricately
embroidered robes than usual. Jiang Cheng is at the side of the room farthest away from the door,
seated with Jin Zixuan and Jin Guangshan. Jin Guangshan leans over and says something to him,
and a polite smile flashes across his face. It looks unnatural. Wei Wuxian shifts so that he’s
blocked by another servant. Yanli is not there.

Wen Qing looks around as the disciples enter and catches his eye. She’s made up in a way he’s
never seen before, looking more like a delicate flower than the solid oak he knows her to be. She
gives him a little smile before turning back to watch the children.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t honestly pay a lot of attention to the demonstration. It’s not that it hurts, he
tells himself, to watch young people reveling in their spiritual power, tossing it around like it’s
nothing, like it’s never-ending. It’s just that he’d rather watch his children, see who stands properly
still, who’s fidgeting, who misses their cue and has to scramble across the stage. Normally he’d
cheer and whoop and shout out each name, but he just claps politely and grins at the ones who spot
him.

After the demonstration, it’s time to serve more tea. He tries to be clever and serve some low
ranking member of a minor sect who may not recognize him, but he gets turned around in the
shuffle and ends up standing beside Wen Chao. After the first pour he doesn’t look up, but Wei
Wuxian feels himself begin to sweat, like an animal stuck inside a trap in the moment before the
net pulls tight. They’ll need to pour at least three more cups to cover all of the toasts.

The first toast, proposed by Wen Ruohan, is dedicated to the hosts in Gusu Lan. The second—Wei
Wuxian’s hands only shake a bit as he pours—goes to the happy couple, Lan Wangji and Wen
Qing. Lan Wangji has taken his place with the other members of his sect following the
demonstration, so all eyes scan across the room between him and Wen Qing. Wei Wuxian braces
himself, but their gazes just slide over him.

For the next toast, Jin Guangshan speaks up.

“Honored sects, it is Lanling Jin’s great happiness to announce the engagement of my son and heir,
Jin Zixuan, and the sister of our loyal ally, Jiang Wanyin. The wedding will take place in one year,
and will bind Lanling Jin and Yunmeng Jiang together in the bonds of family.”

He nods to Jiang Cheng, who straightens. “Yunmeng Jiang is honored to join with Lanling Jin, and
my sister is blessed with a fine husband-to-be.” He looks around, awkwardly, then finishes with
“We are very happy.” He even smiles.

The handle of the kettle creaks in Wei Wuxian’s grip. How dare he , he thinks. They won’t even
say her name, like she’s just an object, or an animal changing ownership. Like she’s a treaty to be
signed.

He pours the last cup, and his hands shake, sloshing tea over the side.

“ Aiyah , you fool!” Wen Chao yells. He yanks back his sleeve and glares up at him. So does
everyone else.

Wei Wuxian freezes and stares down at the ground, hoping they just see the grey uniform and
topknot, no one worth noticing.

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Chao says at top volume, anger transforming into delight in an instant. “Of
course it would be you. Look, this demon tried to burn me.”

The room explodes into noise, murmurs and scoffs and whispers and even a few bursts of laughter.
Wei Wuxian can’t help himself, he looks up directly at Jiang Cheng. His brother’s eyes are fiery,
jaw clenched and hand on the hilt of his sword. For a moment the rest of the room fades away and
Wei Wuxian almost speaks, almost says his name. Jiang Cheng looks away.

Wei Wuxian feels an insistent hand on his elbow and lets himself be tugged backward.

“Come on, Wei Ying,” Lin Biming says in his ear. “Give the kettle to Xiaolu and go.”

The kettle is gone—he doesn’t notice it happening, just the sudden absence of weight, and then
suddenly he is outside under grey sky with his hands pressed hard against his middle. He doesn’t
realize he’s not alone until he feels hands on his shoulders.

“That’s it, breathe. You’re all right, boy, just breathe.” Lin Biming tugs him gently down the
walkway until the uproar from inside fades into nothing more than rising and falling tones.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian forces out, all air.

“No, don’t worry. It’s all right.”

“I just wanted to see . . . I wanted to . . .”

“I know, it’s all right. I should have protected you.”

Wei Wuxian looks up, startled. Lin Biming’s red face is all concern, and though his features aren’t
the same, he looks so much like Uncle Jiang it’s difficult not to lean in and rest his cheek against
the man’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my job, to protect you all.”

Wei Wuxian gives in and hugs him, earning a small grunt of surprise. It’s like hugging a tree trunk,
but eventually he feels a gentle pat in the center of his back. Despite everything, it does actually
make him feel better.

Lin Biming leaves, flustered, and Wei Wuxian wanders somewhat aimlessly back to the kitchen.
He feels naked, like he’s been stripped in the middle of Caiyi Town, left standing on his own with
nothing between him and the wind.

Time passes, somehow. People move around him, shifting him gently into a corner so they can
clean the dishes, start preparing dinner. A few folks pat his cheek, tuck a strand of hair behind his
ear, squeeze his shoulder. Part of him—most of him—feels it like embers inside him, like
something that will become a warm and comforting fire when he can pull the lid off and expose it
to air.

Dinner is served without him. He stays in the laundry yard, grateful to find a torn bedsheet on the
line that’s been left for later. He stitches as the sun goes down, slow, deliberate, each stitch exact in
length and straightness. It’s almost becoming hard to see when Wen Qing finds him.

“Jiang Wanyin asked me if I knew where you were,” she says, evenly.

Wei Wuxian tucks the needle into the fabric and joins her where she’s leaning against the stone
wall.

“To make sure I stay out of sight, I suppose. Out of trouble.”

“He wants to see you.”

“What are you doing, talking to strange men at your own engagement party? Have some shame,
Lady Wen.”

“Wei Ying.”

He turns and rests his forehead on her shoulder. “I can’t. I can’t see him. I can’t.”

“How long has it been?”

“He was at the trial. I can’t face him after that. You don’t know what it’s like, watching him just
sit there—”
“Watching the people who are supposed to be my family sit in silence while Wen Ruohan decides
my future for me, separates me from my brother and everyone I know to fill a role I never wanted
and don’t belong in? Clearly I have no idea what that is like.”

Wei Wuxian groans. “I know. I know. I just can’t. The way he sat there and talked about Shijie,
like she’s nothing. I expect it from Wen Ruohan, not from Jiang Cheng. Before— When we were
together he hated Jin Zixuan as much as I did. Now, he announces their engagement and he smiles?
Truly, anyone can be bought.”

“He does what he has to do.”

“So do you, but you don’t smile about it.”

Wen Qing shoves him off her shoulder. “I’m clearly not performing as well as I thought. Wei Ying,
you have to understand. Wanyin and Yanli had nothing when the Jins took them in. Jiang Wanyin
approves of Jin Zixuan because he protects her.”

“ He doesn’t protect her. Jin Guangshan and his money protect her.”

“He protects her from Jin Guangshan.”

It takes a moment to hit him, then he hits the wall. He doesn’t notice he’s done it until the skin on
his knuckle splits.

“Fuck!” he punches again, smearing a line of blood across the stone. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” As he
strikes again and again, a thin stream of black smoke emerges from between his fingers.

Wen Qing grabs his arms. “Stop it!”

“Fuck!” he shouts again, fighting her. But he’s not strong enough; he couldn’t overpower her if he
wanted to. Not without Chenqing, not without summoning more than he can handle. “Fucking
useless,” he breathes, dropping his forehead against the wall, hard.

“It’s all right. She’s under Jin Zixuan’s protection, no one will touch her.”

He whirls on her. “What about those that aren’t? Would I be protected in Lanling? Someone like
me?”

“You’re not really Jin Guangshan’s taste.”

“ Wen Qing .”

“There’s nothing to be done. Someday Jin Zixuan will take over and things will be better.”

“That’s not good enough. I hate this. I hate this . I didn’t know it would be like this. I never
thought the power mattered, but to just sit and watch— ”

“I know.”

“You don’t .”

“Wei Ying, what’s my fucking name? Of course I know what it’s like to be powerless, to sit and
watch. But we don’t sacrifice ourselves if there’s no chance of success. We don’t waste our lives on
battles we can’t win. When it’s time to burn, we’ll burn, but not before.”

“ Fuck. ”
“Calm down, all right? Sit down, come on.”

Wei Wuxian leans against her side and breathes, eyes closed. Lifts one hand on an inhale, breathes
out, pushing away. I am glad for . . . I am grateful for . . . I have . . . I . . .

It takes a few minutes, but his heart rate slows, the red recedes from the corners of his vision. His
hands are clear, no black smoke.

“It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

“She shouldn’t have to marry him just for that. That shouldn’t be enough.”

“Everyone pays for protection, Wei Ying. Even you.”

“You mean serving the Lans? That’s not payment.”

“Not just to people. Are you saying there wasn’t a cost, for you? For what you found in the Burial
Mounds? For feeling powerful again, feeling whole?”

Wei Wuxian nods. “It never felt whole. It just wasn’t empty.”

Wen Qing pulls a jar of salve and roll of bandages out of her back and starts treating his hand.

“Even in your engagement robes, you’re always ready.”

“Wen Ruohan can make me what he wants on the outside, he has no power over anything else.”

Wei Wuxian grins at her, then hisses at the sting. “Ah, Wen Qing, it may not be your first choice,
but I am so glad you are here. And that if you have to marry someone you don’t want to, it’s
someone in Cloud Recesses.”

Wen Qing ties off the bandage but keeps a hold of his hand. “It could be worse.”

Wei Wuxian gasps in mock indignation. “You’re marrying Lan Wangji, and that’s the best you’ve
got? It could be worse?”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes, but stays with him and watches the shadows lengthen.

“I need to go back,” she says finally, rising and brushing off her robes. “Lan Wangji and Lan
Xichen will be playing music tonight. You’ll be able to hear from outside. It may do you some
good.”

“I do miss music,” he says, walking her to the entryway. “I really could play. Remember? Those
weeks we were together, you’d work and I would play?”

“You’ll play again.” She gives him half a smile and leaves.

He goes back to his torn sheet, folding it neatly until he begins to hear a guqin—faint, but pure,
calling him out of the yard, pulling him along like a tide.
 Chapter 13
Chapter Summary

In which there is a Moment

Chapter Notes

I'm posting more quickly because I'm close to being done writing the thing on Tumblr
and I'm hoping to conclude in both places at the same time. So sorry for the weird
schedule!

Sometimes, Wei Wuxian imagines what it would be like to tell Lan Wangji everything. What really
happened when Wen Zhuliu attacked Lotus Pier, the sight of Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu lying in
their own blood, hands clasped. Core Melting Hand catching Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian and Jiang
Yanli watching, helpless, staying quiet to stay alive. The running, the surgery, the recovery. The
voices from the Burial Mounds, the pull inside him, how it felt to see a whole path opening before
him—a single-plank bridge heading into the yawning darkness. Cornered, like a rat, small and
scrambling but alive, alive, alive.

Lan Wangji would walk away. No, he’d reprimand, lay out every wrong choice Wei Wuxian had
made. No, he’d weep. He’d smile. He’d faint. He’d say, How noble. He’d say, How brave. Oh, Wei
Ying, how wrong we’ve all been!

He’d sweep Wei Wuxian up in his arms—Wei Wuxian is a bit smaller in these daydreams, he
realizes—and onto Bichen, and he would fly him to Lotus Pier and explain everything to Jiang
Cheng and Jiang Yanli. And they’d believe him, because he is Hanguang Jun. And Jiang Cheng
would fall to his knees and forgive everything— Come home, my brother! —and he’d be
surprisingly calm about everything and would not be destroyed by the truth.

And then the whole cultivation world would learn the truth, and beg forgiveness. Oh, Wei Wuxian!
What have we done? And he would smile benevolently down on them all like a god. And
somehow he’d get a new golden core, more powerful than the last, and he’d be stronger than all of
them, and he would smite down Wen Ruohan with a gesture, and then he would be His Excellency,
and—

He snorts at himself. He doesn’t actually want to be Chief Cultivator. It’s the music, the
daydreams, this awful day. He pulls another weed and scratches his nose, leaving a smear of dirt
there.

He’s found himself under a few waning lamps in the medicine garden—close enough to hear the
music but far out of anyone’s way. The xiao and guqin weave together like a well-made tapestry,
elegant and restrained but still shimmering. There’s something hopeful in the sound.

Be careful of your pride, A-Xian , Yanli had said to ten-year-old Wei Wuxian, tweaking his nose. It
must always be balanced by humility. How she would laugh to hear about his dreams. He’d
embellish, of course, when he told her. Shijie, I’d grow wings from my back like a crane, and with
a snap of my fingers, all the Wen’s disciples would turn into cockroaches.

Cockroaches! She’d cry out, laughing. At least make them something useful, like pigs we can eat.
He wonders who she has to joke with, now, stuck as a proper lady in Lanling. He tries to imagine
Jin Zixuan saying anything remotely clever, but can’t quite manage it.

A lamp gutters out. He can’t tell the weeds from the true plants now, but he keeps his hands in the
dirt, cool and calming. It occurs to him that it must be nearly nine—typical of Wen Ruohan to
command a concert in defiance of the Lan Sect’s sleeping hours.

This song sounds like sunrise. Low and gentle with surprising high notes jumping out like rays of
sun bursting over hills and through leaves. When he closes his eyes, it’s brighter than keeping them
open. His fingers twitch in the dirt, sounding imaginary notes. His breath matches Lan Xichen’s,
following each phrase.

The music comes to an end almost at the moment the last lamp goes out, as if it was planned. The
dark clouds have cleared from yesterday’s rain and the white walls and stone glow in the
moonlight like replicas of the thing itself.

Wei Wuxian listens to the bustle of guests going to their quarters, servants turning down lamps and
bringing hot water and extra blankets from pavilion to pavilion. When the activity calms down
enough that he can avoid being seen, he rises and wipes his hands off on his trousers, deciding to
take the long way back to his sleeping rooms, keeping to the outer walkways.

Had he taken a more direct route, he’d have missed the faint sounds of the guqin coming from the
other side of the compound. He hasn’t been in the area much at all since coming back to Cloud
Recesses—he’s never assigned to clean or serve the quarters of actual nobility. At first it sounds
like idle plucking, a note here and an arpeggio there, but then it becomes a sweetly sad melody,
like a lullaby. He couldn’t stop himself from finding the source if he wanted to, and isn’t surprised
at all to find Lan Wangji kneeling in the open door of his sleeping quarters, the Jingshi.

His face is in shadow, lit from behind by the warmth of lamps within the room. He isn’t watching
his hands as they play, staring out into the space in front of him with a faraway expression.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t intend to announce his presence, but his shoes on the gravel give him away.
Lan Wangji starts, head snapping up until he sees who interrupted him.

“Wei Ying.”

“I’m sorry, Hanguang Jun. Forgive this humble servant for the interruption.”

“No interruption.”

“You play beautifully.”

Lan Wangji looks away and shifts uncomfortably.

“I heard your duet with your brother. It was truly—” To his surprise, Wei Wuxian finds his voice
cracking. He laughs to cover it. “It makes me miss my flute, you know. That evil thing, ha!”

There is a long and awkward pause. Lan Wangji runs his hands over the strings but doesn’t pluck a
note.

“You can—” Wei Wuxian starts.

“Do you—” Lan Wangji shuts his mouth and looks away.

“Please, Hanguang Jun.”

“You can come here and sit. If you like.” His face isn’t exactly inviting, but then it never is.

Wei Wuxian crosses the yard, darting a look around for someone to yell at him. He settles down
next to Lan Wangji, legs at crooked angles, and grins over at him. “Are you going to play for me,
Lan Zhan?”

“If you would like.” He tilts his head slightly, almost like shaking out his neck before a fight, then
begins to play. It’s something low, gentle, rolling. After a minute, Wei Wuxian recognizes it as the
sunrise song he’d played earlier. It’s different without the xiao, calmer, more like an early dawn
painted in greys and pinks.

Suddenly, Lan Wangji stops on a suspended, unresolved chord. “It is better with Brother.”

“Ah, if I had a flute I could join you. If that was allowed. What a scandal, eh, Lan Zhan?” Wei
Wuxian cackles lightly to himself at the thought of some high and mighty sect leader catching a
glimpse of the demon Wei Ying playing music with the Second Jade of Lan.

Lan Wangji rises without a word and goes into the Jingshi.

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian calls after him. “I’m only teasing. I know you wouldn’t—”

But there he is, framed by golden lamplight, holding Chenqing.

There is no response to be made, because there is no way this is happening. In all the crazy
daydreams he’s had, all the imagined moments, nothing like this has happened.

“You. You have it.” What a stupid thing to say.

“I do.”

“How. Why? And how?”

Lan Wangji gracefully sinks back down behind the guqin. He holds Chenqing carefully, one could
almost say respectfully, but he doesn’t look afraid or disgusted.

“Wen Ruohan,” he says, and that’s just about answer enough. “The Lan Sect libraries are the most
respected, and our scholars the most rigorous. Well, at least before the ambush. We were
commanded to study the powers of the flute, but I—”

“You kept it.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t destroy it.”

“It’s just a flute.”

“It isn’t.”

Lan Wangji glares at him. It’s the glare that says, you’re not understanding me . “It can be. Just a
flute. Right? You can let it just be a flute.”
Wei Wuxian swallows, hard. “Is this a test?”

“I— No. No, not a test. I just—” Lan Wangji exhales, hard, nostrils almost flaring. It’s endearing
how angry he looks when he’s being gentle. “The song is better with a flute.”

He finally holds it out. Wei Wuxian pretends his hand isn’t shaking as he takes it. Maybe there’s a
call to the darkness, slight, a whisper in the corner of his mind. But mostly it’s the smooth curve of
it fitting into his palm, the well-known weight of it. He spins it a few times, backwards and
forwards, flicking it over his knuckles. He doesn’t realize he’s grinning until he looks up to Lan
Wangji, whose lips are pressed together in the way that says I could smile if I wanted to .

“Well, go on, Lan Zhan. Start from the top.”

He can’t be constrained like Lan Xichen. Not now. Instead of gentle rays of sunlight, he’s the first
bird awake in the morning, joyful and mischievous, poking the rabbits awake, tickling the stems of
flowers to make them squirm towards the sun. He may be a little rusty, his trills and ornaments
slower than usual, a few off notes shrieking around the corners of Lan Wangji’s chords. But the
thrill within him makes up for all of it. He’d almost believe his golden core was back with how
good it feels to breathe like this again.

Lan Wangji changes the song. It’s subtle, but Wei Wuxian knows enough to feel the chord pattern
shift, the resolution now a few measures further off, the couple of tricky suspensions that he can
slide down like oil down the side of a pan. He feels less like a bird now. It’s like the guqin is a
calm and cool mountain stream, minor chords giving unexpected depth in brief moments, like
when you walk along a rocky river bottom and suddenly find yourself swept away. And Wei
Wuxian is a fish, dancing, darting through and over and around the current. It is how he breathes,
where he lives. The music douses him, soaks through his skin and into his bones. They’ve been
dried, bared to the sun for so long, and now they are brought back to life with every turn of the
melody.

It’s a long time before the song ends. He lets Chenqing fall from his lips but keeps it held tight in
both hands, like someone is going to tear it away from him. He can sense Lan Wangji turning to
him, shifting the guqin aside, but he can’t quite look over, still basking in the rush of the water, the
trickle down his spine. He doesn’t even notice that his face is wet until there’s a hand there, hot,
still, and big enough to cover the whole side of his face.

“Sorry,” he gasps out. “It’s been— Sorry.”

Lan Wangji’s thumb slides across his cheek, up to the corner of his eye and then back. Wei
Wuxian stops breathing, at some point, quite content to suffocate if it means the warmth and
tenderness will stay pressed against his jaw. A tear slides down over his nose, inelegant and messy,
making him sniff. Lan Wangji’s thumb follows it, a bit awkward but not shy. Wei Wuxian meets
his eyes, just as he runs out of air and has to take a shuddering breath, just as Lan Wangi’s thumb
lands on his lower lip.

His brain flickers out like a lamp, and all he can do is taste salt on the tip of his tongue.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, no voice to it, just air. He’s leaning forward, he realizes, teetering, all his
weight held up by one thumb against his mouth.

“Ahem.”

Lan Wangji pulls back, sudden, and Wei Wuxian nearly overbalances. He drops Chenqing to the
gravel with a clatter, pressing the backs of his hands to his burning cheeks before wiping his whole
face against his muddy sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Wen Qing says from the archway. “Lan Wangji, your brother is asking for you.”

“It’s all right, Wen Qing.” Lan Wangji rises. “Wei Ying, I—”

“Go,” he says, not looking up. His ears are ringing, like he’s been hit by an attacking chord he
never saw coming. The courtyard spins around him, and it feels like he’s drunk three jugs of
Emperor’s Smile in half an hour.

“Wei Ying.” Wen Qing is suddenly beside him, a cool hand taking one of his.

“I want to tell him,” he blurts out. I can’t. “I want— I—” But Jiang Cheng . “I want to tell him.
Wen Qing, I want —” He wouldn’t believe me. It would change everything . “I want him to know.”

The cool mountain stream has turned to rapids, casting his helpless body against rock after rock,
holding him under until he can’t breathe. He presses his hands against his racing heart and stares
into Wen Qing’s worried eyes, pleading. “I want him to know.”

“Oh, Wei Ying,” she says, cupping his face in her hands. “He knows.”

Silence. Empty. Echo.

The lamps don’t sputter out, Lan servants are far too attentive, but they might as well. Darkness
closes in around the edges of his vision, a black and red tunnel leading him down, down, back to
the darkness.

He knows . It screams inside his mind like an army of corpses demanding restitution. He knows
everything and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything. He knows. He knows.

He’s across the yard in less than a moment, stumbling against the stone archway.

“No. No, no, he can’t, he— No.” It’s an explanation, the best he can give her before he runs—not
towards the sleeping quarters but away, out into the darkness where the mountain waits for him.
 Chapter 14
Chapter Summary

In which Wei Wuxian experiences a Reckoning

Chapter Notes

you know how sometimes you have depression or whatever and the point isn't to get
rid of it the point is to pick it up and keep climbing the mountain

Wei Wuxian sits in the dark, under a tree, and tries to meditate. Inhale ( he knows, he knows, he
knows ). Exhale (a low buzzing, a rushing like wind through the Burial Mounds).

There must be order. He cannot shake apart, he cannot be driven mad, he’s not that wounded,
starving boy anymore. He will approach it like a complicated talisman he wants to recreate. Break
things down.

Lan Wangji knows. It stands to reason that the rest of Gusu Lan knows—or at least the Sect Leader
and Grandmaster. And they agreed to sentence, bore him as a shame to the sect. Made him a
commoner.

You made yourself a commoner. A cultivator without a core is no cultivator, therefore not nobility,
therefore common. That’s the mathematics of it. Who took your core away? You did.

So what’s the problem, really? The Lan Sect has broken nothing, betrayed nothing. They have
treated Wei Wuxian as a villain, deemed him a villain based on all the information possible.

The Lan clan are learned, virtuous, just. Lan Wangji is learned, virtuous, just. And if Lan Wangji
sees him as a villain, then…

Then he’s a villain. Fine. He doesn’t mind being the villain. It doesn’t mean he’s evil, it means—

It means you were wrong .

A night bird screams somewhere behind him, and he flinches.

There it is. There’s the nerve.

Under everything, every laugh, every tease, every clever sidestep, the root of it all is this
unshakeable belief that he is right. He can play anyone, because he knows something they don’t—
that Wei Wuxian is always right. Even after everything he’s been through, he hasn’t had any
regrets, because what he did was right. He saved his brother, he defended himself. That was right.

And raising an army of corpses, and cultivating as far down the dark path as you could before they
caught you, all of that was right?
He never needed to be a hero, a genius, a beauty. Anytime someone flattered and admired him
when he was younger, it never felt right, felt like an itchy shirt in the wrong size. It wasn’t flattery
you wanted. You never needed anything from outside. You’ve just always needed to be right.

And be honest —the voice inside him spits it at him like venom— the whole time you’ve worked
here, lived as a servant, it’s not the dishonor or the work that hurts you. They want you shamed,
but you aren’t, not really. It’s that it wasn’t your idea. If you’d just decided to walk away, gone to
live as a farmer somewhere, wouldn’t you have been proud of yourself? Wei Wuxian, who fooled
them all. Wei Wuxian who walked away.

His hackles raise, his mind springing so typically to its own defense. ( What else was I to do? What
would they do, if they were in my place? ) But the root of that defense, the “what else could I
do”—it still comes back to his fucking pride.

He doesn’t like to look at that inner spine of pride. Never has. ( I never needed anything from
anyone. ) The defensive voice is small, but stronger, finding its feet. ( How can I be proud if I never
needed anything from anyone? )

That makes it worse , the venom leaks from between his teeth, over his lip, staining his skin with
invisible truth. So proud that you never valued anything outside your own mind. The only
standards that matter are your own.

( It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t have a choice. Things just happened to me. )

It takes pride to be a martyr too, Wei Ying.

He’s been telling himself that all the ugliness inside him came from the Burial Mounds, came as
the result of his sacrifice, but what if he’s been wrong? It was there earlier, the whole time. That
horrible, vicious pride. The pride that made him take an extra beating, even though he knew it hurt
Yanli and Jiang Cheng to watch. The pride that never let Jiang Cheng win, even when he clearly
needed it. The pride that only ever let him tease Lan Wangji during that perfect summer, made him
push and push and push beyond what any reasonable person could take but never ask for what he
wanted, never offer anything true. The pride that drove him to the edge of his abilities, raising
corpses without provocation, testing the boundaries of resentful power, just because he can. Just to
see what’s possible. It’s a blade without a handle, this pride; it cuts him too.

( Attempt the impossible .) The defending voice is a child, learning the motto for the first time. ( I
didn’t have a choice, it’s how they raised me. )

Poor Wei Ying. Nothing is his fault. Nothing is ever, ever his fault.

The whirlpool opens up inside him, an Abyss leading him down, down, howling in his ears.
Creatures move around him in the dark woods, snapping branches, breathing in the dark. The
venom voice grows like a dog inside his mind, and the child shrinks back, desperate for something
to hide behind. He can’t breathe; his lungs are stone, his bones are iron, he’s going to sink into the
earth and leave no trace behind, and no one will miss him.

Get up.

It’s not the defender, and it’s not the accuser. It’s familiar. It’s—

Get up, Wei Ying.

It’s Madam Xiao.

Get up, Wei Ying. There’s work to be done.

No, it’s Madam Yu.

Get up, Wei Ying. You’re no good to anyone crying in the dark.

It’s Cangse Sanren.

Get up, Wei Ying. You’re still alive, aren’t you? You survived the ghost mountain, you climbed
your way with bleeding feet to the top of a pile of corpses and conquered them all. And this is
where you give up? What, will you be chewed to death by rabbits? Get up, you silly boy.

Wei Wuxian gets up.

--

He is rolling up his one spare shirt and pair of trousers when Lin Biming finds him. If he’s
surprised to see the bag on the bed in front of him, he doesn’t show it.

“Where will you go?” he asks, and in the half-light of the empty sleeping quarters he looks old,
sad.

“Wherever you like. Send me anywhere, sell me off, trade me for someone competent. Someone
who doesn’t scorch the laundry, eh, Master Lin?”

Lin Biming doesn’t smile back.

“Surely another sect would take me. It’s not fair that Gusu bears this shame alone. The
Grandmaster was right about that.”

Lin Biming goes to a chest in the corner and pulls out an extra blanket. He rolls it neatly and holds
it out. Wei Wuxian takes it and turns to pack it away, blinking hard against the sweetness of it.

“I—” he starts, but he’s cut off.

“I’ll need to speak to the Sect Leader. If I just let you go, that’s a diplomatic issue.”

“Of course.” There is so much more to say, to apologize for. The man deserves an explanation, but
Wei Wuxian can’t think of where to begin.

“Get yourself some leftover dinner from the kitchen. I’m not sure how long your trip will be.”

Wei Wuxian slings the bag over his shoulder and follows him out the door. He tries not to think
about the weight of little Lan Sizhui on his back as he ducks away towards the kitchen. Before he
can enter, a hand grabs his elbow.

“Wei-qianbei?”

“Wen Ning? What are you doing here?”

“The little ones can’t sleep, so I wanted to find you. Why do you have a bag?”

Wei Wuxian looks around, but can’t find a way to stall. Take the pain, you’ve earned it.

“I have to leave.”
Wen Ning’s eyes go wide and round, his dear little mouth falling open. “Why? Did we— What did
we do wrong?”

Wei Wuxian throws his arms around him. “Nothing, nothing at all. Never, ever, ever. It’s all big
world things, nothing to do with you.”

“But we need you.” Wen Ning’s hands grasp the back of his shirt. “Please, you can’t leave.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s like being cut open again, things removed from inside his chest. “Wen Ning, I—”

“You have to say goodbye to them.” Wen Ning lets him go and steps back, jaw set.

“I can’t.”

“You have to. None of the others ever said goodbye. But you’re different, right? You have to be
different. For the little ones, at least. They won’t understand.”

“They’ll forget soon enough. And you have your jiejie. Isn’t that better? She’ll take care of you,
and you’ll forget all about this one servant. It’ll be better with her. Aren’t you glad she’s here
now?”

I’m right, I’m right, agree with me .

“I am, but . . .” Wen Ning’s brow is furrowed, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t think, when she
got here, I didn’t think I’d have to choose.”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Wen Ning nods once, growing a year in that
one gesture, and leaves. Wei Wuxian is numb, no feeling in his fingers, no heartbeat.

He stumbles away from the kitchen ( away, away, away echoing in his mind), heading for the main
path down the mountain. Lin Biming can find him here, or they can send guards to capture him, he
just needs to keep walking. His skin is nailed to the wall of the kitchen, and every step pulls
another inch of it away.

He’s just stepped out under the trees when he hears “ WEI WUXIAN ” shouted with a full burst of
spiritual energy, echoing and reverberating off the stone beneath him. Sparks fly past his ears and
he freezes, shocked out of his despair.

He turns around gingerly to find Wen Qing staring him down, hair loose and one red robe hurriedly
thrown over her sleeping clothes. A few white clad figures are hurrying down the path behind her,
but Wei Wuxian can’t look away from the fury on her face.

“Wen Qing?”

“You’re leaving ?”

“I have to. After what you said. They know, and I can’t stay here if they know and it makes no
difference.”

“What difference is it supposed to make? What does it matter?” He’s never heard her so angry, and
the part of him that isn’t legitimately frightened is downright proud.

He can see the figures behind her now, Lin Biming, Lan Xichen, and Lan Wangji.

“Just let me go, Wen Qing. It’s fine. I was only ever going to get in the way—”
“You made my little brother cry! ” she bellows, and a hot wind blows his hair back from his face.

Lan Xichen reaches out to touch her arm gently.

“Lady Wen, if I may?” He turns to Wei Wuxian, looking tired but patient. “Wei Wuxian, I
understand that today was difficult. Wen Chao’s reaction was . . . regrettable. And if you cannot
stay in Cloud Recesses, we respect your wishes. You have more than earned that.”

Wei Wuxian stares at him, confused. “It’s not about today.”

“It’s not?”

“All this time, I—” Wei Wuxian looks around at all of them, at a loss for words. “All this time I
thought you didn’t know the truth. About my golden core. I thought if you did, then you might—
but I was wrong. And I don’t know what that means; I don’t know what I am anymore; I don’t
know what I’m good for, and I can’t figure that out here.”

“Why not?” It’s Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian covers his face and groans into his hands. Because of
you, and the way you’re looking at me right now, because your hands are so big and warm and
your eyes are so soft, and none of it means anything, and I can’t handle it.

“We all know you lost your golden core,” Lan Xichen says gently.

“You can’t tell Jiang Cheng.” He’s a moment away from falling to his knees. “Please, you owe me
nothing, but please. It will destroy him.”

“I don’t understand,” Lan Xichen sounds like he is really, truly trying. “What does Jiang Wanyin
have to do with—”

"He’s the one who has it!”

“Wei Ying,” Wen Qing says, grabbing his hands. “I’ve told no one. I swore to you I wouldn’t.”

“But you said—”

“I swore to you.”

“You said he knows. You told me that Lan Zhan knows.” His hands are the only real part of him,
tethered by hers. The rest of him is smoke, looking for a shape, a container, floating around as
nothing. His vision is blurry, like the moment before fainting.

“Wei Ying.” She grabs his face and shakes him a little. “I meant that he knows how you feel about
him. I thought that’s what you were saying. Everyone knows. You’d have to be a blind fool not
to.”

The complete reversal of Wei Wuxian’s entire life is interrupted by a quiet gasp to his right.

“How Wei Ying feels . . . about me?” Lan Wangji is staring at him, eyebrows furrowed.

Wen Qing sighs. “And clearly I was wrong.”

“And clearly,” Lan Xichen says, “there is information we are lacking.”

Wen Qing looks over at him for a long moment, then nods. “Wei Ying, it’s time to tell them.”

“Can I sit down?” He doesn’t wait for a response before he drops down into the dirt, legs kicked
out like a half-crushed spider. Lan Wangji rushes over to kneel beside him, one hand hovering an
inch away from his forehead.

“Are you all right?”

“You’re not the doctor,” Wei Wuxian says faintly. “She is.”

“Is he sick?” Lan Wangji asks the others.

Wen Qing smacks Wei Wuxian’s face gently. “He’ll be fine. Wei Ying, I’m going to talk to Lan
Xichen. You talk to Wangji.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You invented a new type of cultivation while living off corpse potatoes and carrion. You’ll figure
it out.”

Without another word, she turns to Lan Xichen and nods, gesturing him back up the path. Lin
Biming, looking as stressed as ever, grabs Wei Wuxian’s bag and hurries after them.

“I guess I’m staying,” Wei Wuxian says, and somehow that sets him off laughing. “I think I’m
going mad.”

“What did you mean. Wei Ying. When you said ‘he has it.’ What did you mean?”

Finally, Wei Wuxian’s eyes focus, and he can’t stop a smile at Lan Wangji’s worried face. How
strange that he used to think he had no expression.

“I don’t think I can stand up right now, Lan Zhan. Will you sit by me?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t hesitate, he sits down in the dirt, white robes and all. They must make an
absurd picture, white and grey sprawled out on the path like piles of cast off clothing.

“Lan Zhan, I’m going to tell you a story. But you have to promise—”

“I promise.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan! You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“It doesn’t matter. I promise.”

The promise is a building. A house for him to live in. He stops drifting and feels the ground
underneath him, and then he begins.
 Chapter 15
Chapter Summary

The Tale of Wei Ying

Chapter Notes

The second of the very difficult chapters. Look, I don’t know shit about mythical
ancient China, but I feel some kind of way about any society with a noble class, and
you know what so does Wei Ying

Once there was a family, like many families. Mother, father, son, daughter, and somebody else.
Don’t sigh like that, Lan Zhan, I’m telling the story. The children could either do nothing wrong or
nothing right, depending on who you asked. One year they spent a summer on top of a mountain to
learn from the wisest and most beautiful scholars in the world. I’m talking about you and your
brother, not your uncle. Are you blushing, Lan Zhan?

Fine, fine, I’ll skip what you already know. We heard there was an attack, and we left. Did you
notice we’d gone? Of course you’d say that now. Fine, fine.

Uncle was dead when we got there. Madam Yu nearly dead. Jiang Cheng ran out— We tried to
stop him, but he’s always so reckless. He’s all heart, Jiang Cheng. People don’t realize that, but he
is.

It was Wen Zhuliu, and some others—I didn’t recognize them. Everything was burning, and Wen
Zhuliu came out of the dark . . . Have you seen him? Have you ever seen what Core Melting Hand
can do? It’s like he drained the life out of him. I never thought Jiang Cheng was some glowing,
ethereal beauty, ha! But the light was gone. He was a corpse, a breathing corpse. Skin like paper.
And Yanli and I stayed out of sight, and they left him for dead and Lotus Pier in flames. So we ran.

You know Wen Ruohan was behind it, right? All of these attacks on smaller sects, these rogue
agents—I’d bet anything I used to own that the Lan Sect ambush was them as well. Oh, your father
was there, wasn’t he? I’m sorry, Lan Zhan.

Right.

It took a month, I think. Jiang Cheng kept trying to die. Yanli was barely holding on. Every time
he’d try something, she’d break down. It was just me, trying to keep us hidden, trying to keep them
alive. They’re so— They feel everything, you know? They feel it so strongly. They can’t help it.
They were born without skin.

So I wrote to Wen Qing. In code, of course, but she’s clever. She got Yanli safe somewhere with
some old aunt or another. I don’t know where. I suppose if I asked—

Ah, I’m stalling. You can tell, can’t you?

Lan Zhan, have you ever heard of a core transfer?

Just legends, right? That poem about Yao Ling and Yao Xiulan that romantics like to recite.

You can hold my hand, but not so tight, okay? Don’t be upset. Everyone is fine.

We told Jiang Cheng to meet the mysterious Baoshan Sanren on a mountain and then knocked him
out. Wen Qing loves her needles. That’s something you should know about her.

And so . . . Ah, it’s hard to say. Why is it so hard to say? So Wen Qing did surgery and gave my
golden core to Jiang Cheng. Hey, not so tight. I’m just a poor common man after all. No, I didn’t
mean let go!

I don’t know where she learned it. I think she made some of it up, because she’s a genius. I don’t
think anyone else could have done it. No one appreciates Wen Qing the way they should. No one
but us, now, Lan Zhan.

So we recovered, and I ran. I couldn’t let him find out. It would destroy him. You know—well, you
don’t know him very well, do you? Trust me. Maybe someday, far in the future when he’s been a
mighty sect leader for years and nothing like this could threaten his position, who he thinks he is.
Maybe then I’ll find a way back to Lotus Pier. See Shijie again.

Because I can’t lie to her. And she can’t lie to Jiang Cheng. I couldn’t— can’t risk her seeing me.
She’d look me in the eyes for a moment and she’d know. She’s kind of like you in that way, the way
she can look into your soul.

Lan Zhan, you’re shaking. Are you cold? Look, it’s almost dawn.

You know the rest, anyway. I didn’t know how to be mediocre, and the resentful spirits in the
Burial Mounds felt it, knew it, filled me up.

What? Yes, I’m all healed. I can show you the scar if you don’t think it’s too shameless.

It— Two days, I think. I—

I’m not going to tell you about that, Lan Zhan.

--

The sky is a glowing grey, turning everything monochromatic. Here in the dirt Wei Wuxian can’t
see much difference between the white and grey of their clothing. Lan Wangji is leaning a bit
towards him, still holding his hand. His eyes are distant, aimed somewhere at the ground but not
focused on anything. For his part, Wei Wuxian feels like laundry. Boiled and scrubbed and rung
out, now swinging in the early morning breeze. He’s as light as a bed sheet, and just as pale.

“You gave your golden core voluntarily,” Lan Wangji says quietly, frowning. “Because of Jiang
Wanyin.”

“ For Jiang Cheng. Not because of him. It wasn’t his fault.”

“You gave it to him. All of it.”

“You would too, for Zewu Jun.”

“You couldn’t keep any? You had to give it all to him.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. “I— You know what, Lan Zhan? I didn’t actually think of that. Wen
Qing probably did. I don’t know how she’d split a core, anyway. Huh. I really never even thought
to ask. I wish you’d been there!”

Lan Wangji looks up at him, his face twisting painfully

“You didn’t ask. You just gave it—”

“Yes, yes, don’t keep saying that. Now I feel silly.”

“That’s not—” he glares at their joined hands. “Who knows? Who else knows?”

“You. Wen Qing. Zewu Jun now, I suppose. That’s it. You can never tell him, you can never tell
Jiang Cheng. You promised.”

Lan Wangji’s glare grows stronger, and Wei Wuxian imagines he can see it drilling into the dirt.

“The transfer. Transplant. How did Wen Qing know—”

Wei Wuxian waves his free hand. “I don’t know. I already told you; I don’t know how she figured
it out. It worked though. Aiyah , that’s the worst part of this whole thing! She’s done something no
one in the world has dared to try, and it worked! And no one knows.”

Lan Wangji’s head snaps over to him.

“Lan Zhan, she’s so talented. You have no idea, she’s the most— It’s really the worst part of it, not
being able to tell anyone. I’d yell it from the top of the mountain if I could! She deserves far
greater praise than mine. She’s incredible, your wife.”

“She’s not my wife.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes and gets stiffly to his feet, brushing off his trousers. “Come on, Lan
Zhan. If I’m staying then I need to get breakfast for the children.”

“That is the worst part?” Lan Wangji asks, suddenly. He rises in one smooth movement, not a
wrinkle in his robes.

“What?”

“Not being able to praise Wen Qing publicly. That is the worst part for you?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Yeah. It’s not fair.”

“ That’s not fair.”

“Are you just going to repeat—” he cuts off with a squeak as Lan Wangji grabs onto his collar and
doesn’t let go. “Lan Zhan—”

He’s silenced by Lan Wangji’s mouth, firm and unmoving on his and so incredibly warm. He
chokes, with dignity, stumbles closer. Lan Wangji is as still and solid as a statue, until Wei Wuxian
shifts and lets a hysterical giggle slip out between their lips. It’s like sunlight melting ice, and his
hands come up to hold Wei Wuxian’s neck, his head tilts, and his lips soften into a true and sincere,
heart-wrenching kiss.

Wei Wuxian wonders, for a moment, if he is the statute and life is breathing into him, animating
his body and calling his spirit back from the dark, cold place it’s been hiding. He’s kissed people
before, but it’s never been like this. It’s always felt like a give and take, but this is giving and
giving and falling and rising at the same time.

When Lan Wangji pulls back, Wei Wuxian realizes his eyes are closed and his hands are pressed to
the broad chest in front of him, which feels startlingly intimate

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji says seriously, and he freezes at the sudden formality. Oh no. No, no,
no — “You have been wronged.”

Ah. He melts back to a watery smile and meets Lan Wangji’s eyes.

“Not by you, Lan Zhan.”

“Yes, by me. By all of us, the whole cultivation world. It was wrong. What can—” he cuts off,
frustrated, eyes darting to the side and back. “What do you need?”

“What?”

“It has to be made right. What do you need me to do?”

Bow. Weep. Marry me. Fight Wen Ruohan in single combat. Give me land and a donkey and make
everyone leave me alone. Give me your core.

“Just—” he looks down at his hands against the white fabric. They’re rougher than they used to be,
callused, scarred, nails dirty and a little ragged. He turns them, runs his thumb over his fingertips.
They don’t hurt. They haven’t hurt for weeks. “Let me stay.”

“You were the one leaving. I was going to ask you to stay. To try and make you stay.”

“Good.”

He back looks up at Lan Wangji, who doesn’t look satisfied. He sighs.

“Look, Lan Zhan, I’ve spent a long time thinking about what could happen if people knew the
truth. That’s why it— well, it broke me a little when I thought you did. But nothing I imagined
ever felt right. And I think I figured it out today. Nothing can go back to the way it was. Not for
any of us. There’s going to be a war, whether Qishan or Lanling starts it, and even if I’m pardoned
that doesn’t give me my core back. I still did bad things. Whatever my reasons, I did reckless things
that hurt people. When I was cultivating the dark path, I used people, hurt people, ruined graves to
wake corpse puppets without even a thought that they had families, that they mattered. I took down
soldiers that came to capture me, and I didn't care who they were. I deserve punishment for that.
But it’s made me think. How many cultivators would you say there are in each province compared
to common people?”

Lan Zhan furrows his brow. “I would need to research.”

“Sure. But who makes the laws for all of these people? Who negotiates trade routes and tariffs?
Who starts wars?”

“Hmm.”

“Do any of the people setting a price for grain know how to harvest it? How to tell by touch if the
soil is fertile? How to prevent pests, or rot, or any other disaster? What does a bad year mean to the
men negotiating the trade of that grain to a province with none? And compared to the common
men who pack it, haul it, grind it? When war breaks out, who gives the command to burn the
field?”

“I understand.”

“You don’t, but I don’t think I do either. Not exactly. I just— I have questions that I’ve never had
before. I think I’ve been telling myself my whole life that there are two options. You can be a
cultivator or you can be nothing. That’s how we were raised. But that’s not true. That’s just
arrogance. My own pride brought me down, but the problem wasn’t that I was proud, arrogant,
entitled. I was just the wrong kind of arrogant for this world.”

Lan Wangji takes both of his hands. “What do you need me to do?”

Wei Wuxian laughs, and the sound startles a tree full of birds into startled song. “Dear Lan Zhan,
we’re not going to solve the world this morning. Come help me get breakfast for the kids.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. Well, kiss me again first. Then—”

Lan Wangji huffs. “Wei Ying, you don’t need to work in Cloud Recesses. I don’t believe the
sentence was just, and Brother won’t either. You can live here, and we can find someone—”

“No. I’m staying, and I’m taking care of the kids. Not someone else, and not Wen Qing. Me.
Deal?”

“If that’s truly what you want.”

“It is. For now. What I really want right now, more than anything else, is to go home with you and
get breakfast for the kids.”

Lan Wangji nods solemnly, a final judgement. “Then that is what we will do.”
 Chapter 16
Chapter Summary

In which there is music, and Wei Ying is awkward

Lan Wangji kicks him out of the kitchen, but kindly.

“The children will be worried,” he says, nudging Wei Wuxian towards the door. “They didn’t see
you last night. I will prepare breakfast, and you should wake them.”

So Wei Wuxian wakes them, just as he always does. It’s one of his favorite moments of the day
and is the only thing that makes rising before five worthwhile. Sizhui and Jingyi always stumble
over to him where he kneels, rubbing sleep out of their eyes and tumbling into his arms. He holds
them for a long few seconds, feeling their warm little faces against his neck, their messy hair
tickling his nose, their tiny fists pressed against his chest and shoulders.

“Are you dreaming, little ones?” he always whispers before picking them up and spinning them
awake.

This morning he stays down on the floor with them for a long time. Jingyi starts snoring, a little
whistling hum, which makes him laugh, which makes him cry.

“Wei-qianbei,” Sizhui says when he lets them go. “Are you sad?”

“No, A-Yuan. No, I’m not sad.” He wipes his eyes. “Ha! Come on now, everyone. Breakfast!
Breakfast! And I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Ouyang Zizhen hops over, grinning down at him.

“Yes! Yes, come on. Up! Up! Hanguang Jun is making breakfast today!”

“Hanguang Jun can cook?” Su Meiling asks with her undershirt stuck over her head.

“Hanguang Jun can do everything,” Lan Ting says.

“Clothes! Clothes, now, come on.” Wei Wuxian gets Su Meiling sorted out and darts around tying
sashes and pulling up boots.

Wen Ning stays back in his corner, dressing silently and staring at him, blank. Wei Wuxian, still a
coward, sends all the children out before approaching him.

“Are you going to leave?” Wen Ning asks.

“No.”

“Are you going to change your mind?”

“I’m not going to leave unless they send me away. Unless you all want me to leave.”

Wen Ning nods.

“Do you—” Wei Wuxian scratches his nose. They’re really only a few years apart. He suddenly
feels like the young one, desperately seeking approval. “Do you want me to leave?”

There is a very, very long silence. Three years at least. Then Wen Ning throws himself forward,
wrapping his arms around Wei Wuxian’s waist and pressing his forehead into his shoulder.

“No, no, please don’t go. Don’t go.”

“ Aiyah , Wen Ning. They’ll have to fight me off.”

Wen Ning mumbles something into his shirt.

“What? Here, I can’t hear you.” He pulls the boy back by the shoulders.

“Why were you going to leave?”

Wei Wuxian chews on his lip. “I was wrong about something. I thought something had happened
that would mean I couldn’t stay, but I was wrong. Now I know where I’m supposed to be and what
I’m supposed to do.

“And what’s that?” He’s shrewd, this kid, gentle but iron underneath.

“Look after you. For as long as you need it.”

“And Jiejie?”

“What Wen Qing does is her business. The junior disciples are mine.”

Wen Ning makes him wait for it, but finally a sunrise smile takes over his face.

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Wen Ning salutes him and dashes out the door to catch up with the others.

--

In the afternoon, the children quietly practice their brushwork. Lan Wangji doesn’t look like he’s
been up all night, but he’s passed on teaching lessons and set them busy work instead. Wei Wuxian
is leaning against the doorway and keeps jerking himself awake. They’re mostly very attentive,
focused on their writing with furrowed brows, tips of tongues poking out from serious faces. Wei
Wuxian doesn’t notice that Lan Wangji has left until he comes back with Lan Xichen and Lan
Qiren.

That wakes him up, trying to stand at attention and look responsible. The look Lan Xichen gives
him is so kind and almost proud, it reminds him of Yanli and makes it very hard to not do
something ridiculous like hug him. Lan Qiren is impossible to read. He doesn’t look completely
furious or disgusted, so Wei Wuxian assumes he’s been told the whole story.

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to say something, can’t think of anything, and bows instead.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren says. Wei Wuxian bows again. “I’m told you will be staying in Cloud
Recesses.”

“If allowed by the Grandmaster, of course,” he says diplomatically.

“Hmf,” is all the response he gets.

“We are honored by your continued service to our sect,” Lan Xichen says. Wei Wuxian scratches
the back of his neck and barely stops himself from scuffing the toe of his boot against the floor.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says suddenly. Lan Xichen’s eyebrows raise and his lip curls up in
surprise. Now Lan Qiren looks furious.

“Yes, Hanguang Jun?” Better to play it safe.

Lan Wangji says nothing more, just reaches into his sleeve and pulls out Chenqing, holding it out
to him with his jaw set and shoulders straight. Wei Wuxian looks hastily around the room,
wondering if a set of guards or angry villagers might burst through the windows. Nothing happens.
The Sect Leader and Grandmaster also do nothing, though Lan Qiren’s face is nearly as red as Lin
Biming’s. Wei Wuxian takes the flute from him, giving an awkward little half-smile, and then
tucks it quickly away inside his shirt.

“Wei-qianbei!” Lan Feifei pipes up. “Is that a flute?”

“Yes, Feifei, just a flute. Just a normal flute, for a normal man. To play normal music.”

“Will you teach us?”

“Oh, yes, teach us!” Lan Hua and Su Ming shout from the back of the room.

“Uh. I, uh . . . We’ll see.”

Lan Qiren storms out of the room. Lan Xichen smiles, bows to them, and follows, graceful as a
summer breeze.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian hisses to him. “He may not be able to send me away, but he can still kill
me with his mind. ”

“Who?”

“Your uncle!”

“He can’t—”

“Never mind!” Wei Wuxian waves him off, suddenly feeling restless. “All right, disciples! You’ve
all worked very diligently today, and you behaved so well during the festivities this week, how
about we spend the rest of the day with the rabbits? Good, yes?”

Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow at him.

“Really, Lan Zhan, get your face under control,” Wei Wuxian mutters to him before heading out
the door.

“I will see you this evening,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian spins back around to him and pouts. “No bunnies for you?”

He shakes his head. “There is work to be done now that the guests have all left. But I will ask
Madam Xiao to supervise dinner and bedtime tonight. Come to the Jingshi.”

Wei Wuxian looks at him for a long moment, waiting for some crack in his expression. “All right,”
he says finally. “Deal.”
--

He spends the afternoon playing Chenqing for the children and the rabbits. When the children ask
him, “What song is that? Is it about something?” he makes up fantastical stories about cranes that
turn into old women and children that grow in place of radish bulbs.

He’s hit the point of being awake for so long—and he’s realizing how little he’s been sleeping all
week—that he’s tapped into a kind of manic energy. Part of it surely is being able to play music,
freely, as much and as loud as he likes, for the first time in years. He lines the children up and tries
to assign them each a little melody.

“Now, Yao Hualing, when I play this figure—” he blows a little trill— “then that means I’m
calling you. Ready?”

He plays it again, and she hops up. Su Meiling hops up too.

“No, A-Ling, this is you.” He plays a slightly different trill, and she frowns at him.

“I can’t tell the difference, Wei-qianbei.”

“Me neither!” Lan Yixian yells, hanging upside down from a tree branch.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Well, we’ll call that a failed experiment. Who knows a song to teach to
everyone?”

After a number of favorite songs sung too many times, and an intense argument over how many
children Mother Chaochong has in the “real” version, it’s time to eat. He turns the children over to
Madam Xiao and apologizes for the inconvenience. She just pinches his cheek, which makes the
children scream with laughter.

When he gets to the Jingshi, the door is closed, and he’s not certain if Lan Wangji is around. He
kicks some stones around on the pathway, nerves bubbling up inside his ribcage, until the door
opens and Lan Wangji looks around, face worried.

“Lan Zhan!” he calls with completely false confidence. “Here I am! Are you going to play the gu
—”

He loses his voice and his mouth goes completely dry when he gets to the doorway. Lan Wangji is
dressed for bed, only wearing one layer of robes, hair down around his shoulders. It’s an odd sight
when the sun hasn’t even started to go down yet.

“What—” he can’t think of what to ask, so he takes his boots off and holds them. Lan Wangji sits
down on the bed, and Wei Wuxian is quite sure the skin on his cheeks is about to melt away.

“You haven’t slept.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head.

“You should sleep.”

Wei Wuxian coughs. “I have a— I have a bed.”

“There are other people there, in the servants quarters. You won’t sleep well.”

“There’s other people here. I mean, you’re here.”

Lan Wangji’s brow furrows. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No!” Wei Wuxian shouts and drops his boots. “I mean. Unless you want to. But you’re not
dressed, so that would be a scandal. What would everyone say? Wen Qing might see you, and then
where would we be? Not—”

“Wei Ying.”

“Yes, Lan Zhan?”

“Come here. And sleep.”

He has some kind of hypnotizing powers. That’s the only explanation for how Wei Wuxian is
suddenly next to him, one knee up on the bed.

“And what about you?”

“I will also sleep,” Lan Wangji says, as if it’s that simple. He rises and closes the door, then crawls
onto the bed, settling near the wall. There is plenty of space.

“There’s no way I’m going to sleep,” Wei Wuxian breathes. Lan Wangji just looks at him, a
challenge, and far be it from Wei Wuxian to not meet a challenge.

He lays down on his side and stares over at Lan Wangji. “I mean it, there’s no way—”

“Shh.”

Wei Wuxian glares at him, then squeezes his eyes shut with a pout.

He’s asleep before he can take another breath.

 Chapter 17
Chapter Summary

In which we get to the Title

Chapter Notes

Finally!

also now I know there will be 20 chapters in total. Hopefully the last 3 will be posted
in the next few days, but life is Rough here in the us of a so we shall see what happens.

When Wei Wuxian wakes up, the sun is going down, and he is alone. For a few comfortable
minutes he stretches and luxuriates in having a whole bed to himself. The bedclothes are far better
quality than he’s become used to—it reminds him of Lotus Pier. It feels like he’s been asleep for
ages, but based on the light it must have only been an hour, if that.

His stomach growls, startling him more awake. He’s likely missed dinner, but there’s sure to be
some left over in the kitchen. Perhaps he’ll grab Lan Wangji something as well, to repay his
kindness.

When he gets to the kitchen, Wang Xiaolu is there scrubbing out a wok.

“Ah, Wei Ying! How was your day off?”

“Day off?” he darts around her to grab a steamed bun. It’s not hot, but not unpleasantly cold yet,
either. “I had the little ones all day.”

“Lady Wen has had the little ones all day in the medicine garden. Madam Xiao said you were
sleeping in.”

Wei Wuxian drops the bun onto the bench. “I slept through an entire day?”

“Is that what you did with your day off? Ha, Wei Ying, what a lazy bones. It’s been a gorgeous
day, you could at least have taken a walk up the mountain.”

“I don’t get days off, anyway.”

Wang Xiaolu tchs at him. “Servants in the Cloud Recesses get a day off after every ten days.
Surely you know that.”

“I never— I’ve never had a day off before.”

She puts down the wok and spins around to face him. “Are you serious? You need to talk to Lin
Biming! It must have been a mistake! If they skip your days off, then you’re entitled to them later,
you know. You need to count up how many you’ve missed! Always keep records. You might have
a whole week saved up!”

Wei Wuxian laughs, feeling awkward. “I don’t think prisoners get days off.”

Wang Xiaolu goes back to work. “Everyone gets days off. If anyone tells you different, then we’ll
all go to Master Lin together, and if he doesn’t listen then we go to the Sect Leader. It’s happened
before, you know. We’re stronger together—they forget how many of us there are until we all
show up together. Anyway, Wei Ying, Master Lin told us this morning that today was your day off,
so I did breakfast and Madam Xiao just did dinner, and Lady Wen has been in the garden all day.
Even Second Master Lan was gone today. Must have been exhausted from all the guests. Nobles
do get tired easily.”

“I’m not a noble!” he cries out, feeling defensive.

“Of course not!” she flicks soapy water at him. “You certainly earned your rest day. Go on, take
another bun. They can’t make you work again until the morning, but stay out of the way just in
case. You know when Madam gets on a tear she’ll grab anyone by the ear. And between us, the
Wen guests wrecked the guest quarters. Liquor soaked all the way through the mattress, tch. ”

“Wen Chao, I bet,” he says darkly.

“Makes no difference to me who it is, I just hope they aren’t invited to the wedding.”

Wei Wuxian sticks another bun in his pocket and wanders back to the Jingshi, detouring into the
forest to play a few scales on Chenqing. When he returns to the room, Lan Wangji is still gone.
Wei Wuxian tries to sit politely, but the shadows lengthen and his restlessness grows, so he starts
poking around. Surely if Lan Wangji worried about him looking around the room he wouldn’t have
left him alone here for the entire day.

The books on the shelves aren’t very surprising—a few political treatises, transcripts of cultivation
lectures, a pocket version of the Lan Sect rules (as if Lan Wangji needs the reminder) and some
bland classic poetry. No adventure stories or romances, just descriptions of peonies and snowdrifts.
He reads a few poems over, wondering if perhaps there are metaphors he’s missing, then sets them
back on the shelf.

There’s a nice wardrobe with identical sets of white and blue robes. Wei Wuxian considers trying
one on, but imagines being caught with his shabby self in the perfect white silk and decides to err
on the side of caution. He’s examining some musical scores on the floor when the door finally
opens and Lan Wangji comes in.

“Lan Zhan!” He scrambles upright. “I’m sorry for prying, but in my defense you did leave me here
for an entire day. Why didn’t you wake me? I must have really been deep asleep. You know, I
think I could play this piece. I can see there’s an interval that would make a nice harmony at the
bridge here. What do you think, Lan Zhan? Oh, I brought you a steamed bun from the kitchen. It’s
probably cold by now, and a little squished, but—”

He finally looks at Lan Wangji and his voice cuts off in his throat. Lan Wangji’s eyes are red,
swollen, and when Wei Wuxian manages to take in all of him together he looks wrecked, stricken,
leaning against the door as if unable to hold himself upright. If he wasn't looking at it before his
eyes, he'd never be able to imagine Lan Wangji showing so much raw emotion.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathes, dropping the score to the ground. “What’s happened? Is it Wen
Ruohan? Who’s dead? Zewu Jun? Lan Zhan, what can I do?"
Lan Wangji says nothing, just keeps staring at him.

“Is it— Not the children, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian runs to him and grabs his arms, desperate.
“What’s happened? Tell me, tell me, please!”

Lan Wangji wraps his arms around him and pulls him tightly against his chest. Wei Wuxian can
feel his damp face against the skin of his neck, and worries that he might faint from fear.

“Please, Lan Zhan, you’re scaring me. What’s happened?”

“I spoke to Wen Qing,” is all Lan Wangji says.

“What? Wen Qing? Is she all right? Has something—”

“She told me about the core transfer.”

Wei Wuxian pulls back, fighting against Lan Wangji’s arms.

“What?”

“She told me.”

“That’s it? She just told you about— Aiyah! Lan Zhan, you are really terrible. Feel my heart!” He
presses Lan Wangji’s hand against his chest. “You nearly killed me! I thought something terrible
had happened!”

He pulls away, shaking off Lan Wangji’s hands and collapsing down on the bed.

“The surgery—” Lan Wangji’s voice breaks off. Wei Wuxian crosses his arms over his chest.

“There’s no reason to cry about that old thing.”

Lan Wangji stays by the door, still looking destroyed.

“Two days. She told me you—”

“Yes, yes,” Wei Wuxian waves his hand. “I know, I was there.”

“How did you— How could you stand it?”

Wei Wuxian sits up, embarrassed and more than a little angry. “You don’t know what you can
stand until you have to stand it. There’s no reason to dwell on it. What, do you want to see it? Will
that calm you down?”

He pulls his shirt over his head, throws it on the ground, and leans back against the pillows.
“There, are you happy? It’s ugly, but it’s closed. Everything is fine.”

Lan Wangji looks at him for a long time. Wei Wuxian’s skin starts to spring up in gooseflesh, but
he fights down the shiver. Last night Lan Wangji had challenged him, so he’s challenging back.
He’s a second away from giving in, saying something ridiculous to break the tension, when Lan
Wangji comes over and sits next to him on the bed. He reaches out and hovers one finger over the
scar, twisted and ugly and pink as raw meat. His gaze is so intense Wei Wuxian feels it like a
blade, opening him back up.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers. What do you want? he doesn’t ask. What is it you need?
Slowly, but still suddenly, Lan Wangji bends at the waist and presses his cheek to Wei Wuxian’s
stomach. Wei Wuxian gasps but doesn’t move. He can feel Lan Wangji’s head move up and down
with each shaky breath he takes. A tear slides down his side, soaks into the band of his trousers.

“Don’t cry, Lan Zhan. Please don’t cry.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head, smearing tears across his stomach.

“So contrary, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Wuxian reaches out tentatively to smooth a hand over his hair. He’s not sure why touching
Lan Wangji’s hair seems more intimate than anything that’s happened between them so far.

“Kiss me, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji sits up and wipes his face on his sleeve. Wei Wuxian wants to offer his shirt,
something rough and durable and meant for soaking up messes. But before he can think anymore,
Lan Wangji is leaning forward and kissing him, open and wet. Wei Wuxian takes a risk and pulls
him down on top of himself, the weight of him calming down every shiver, every howling voice
inside of him relaxing into a satisfied purr.

Lan Wangji pulls back, holding himself up with his elbows. Wei Wuxian pouts at him.

“What do you want, Wei Ying?” He’s looking through Wei Wuxian’s eyes into his brain, into his
marrow, into the place his core used to be.

“This. I just want this, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian runs a finger over Lan Wangji’s lower lip. “Just
keep me.” He leans up to kiss him again.

Wei Wuxian has both arms wrapped around Lan Wangji’s neck when he’s released, left back on
the pillow with Lan Wangji hovering over him and worrying his lip in his teeth.

“What is it, Lan Zhan?”

“I won’t keep you.”

Wei Wuxian’s stomach drops through the mattress. Why would anyone want you? You’re empty.
(I’m not.)

Lan Wangji rolls off him to lay by his side. Wei Wuxian crosses his arms and holds onto his bare
shoulders, suddenly feeling very cold.

“Has anyone told you about my father and my mother?” Lan Wangji asks.

“This is a very strange time to talk about your parents,” Wei Wuxian says, aiming for a joke but
missing by a mile.

“My father loved my mother. Or that’s what everyone said. My mother committed a crime. She
killed someone. Everyone said she was guilty, but I never heard her version of events. And my
father married her, to protect her. I don’t know that she had a choice.”

Wei Wuxian turns to him and watches him swallow.

“She was a rogue cultivator when they met. The Lan Sect— There is a lot of power held by the
Lan Sect, especially here in Gusu. They married, and she became a prisoner. Xichen and I were
born, but we only saw her once every month. She remained locked in her room, serving a sentence
with no trial.

“She was powerful, I think. My father—he was the Sect Leader, but I don’t believe he had
exceptional spiritual power. And Xichen and I— It only makes sense that she was powerful. She
could have broken out, left, gone off into the world. But she didn’t, because we were here. Not
because of my father, not because of the laws or the rules. Because of us.

“I was just a child, I didn’t know what I was doing at the time. But I was her cage. We were her
cage. And she died a very small woman. We made her small.”

“Lan Zhan.”

“I won’t do that to you. I will not be your cage, Wei Ying, even if you love me.”

“Lan—”

“I love you, but I will not keep you.”

Wei Wuxian leans up on an elbow. “You love me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

Lan Wangji glares at him. “Obviously.”

Wei Wuxian huffs out a laugh and rests his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your
mother, Lan Zhan.”

“That wasn’t the point.”

“I know. I’m still sorry though.”

“Wei Ying.”

“I do love you. Also.”

Lan Wangji relaxes and turns toward him, tucking an arm around his bare waist. “I’m glad.”

“How long?”

“Hm?”

“Have you loved me?”

“Caiyi Town.”

“That long?”

“Hmm.”

Wei Wuxian kisses his chin. “I don’t know how long I’ve loved you. I’ve only just been allowed
to, after all. Oh, don’t argue. Just kiss me again.”

He does, again and again, and his robes disappear, and Wei Wuxian’s trousers, and night falls, and
everything turns warm and honey-sweet.
Hours, years later, when Wei Wuxian comes back to himself, he’s laying on Lan Wangji’s chest
with fingers tangled in his hair.

“I’ve done terrible things,” he says, but it’s not heavy, not guilty.

Lan Wangji grunts unhappily.

“No, I have. I’ve been wicked, miserable. Taken lives, whether they deserved it or not. I’ve been
proud and arrogant and irresponsible. Since I was a kid, honestly, and I’ve only gotten worse. I’ve
been nothing but a problem, and I’ve enjoyed it.”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian pinches his side. “Yes, I have. But here you are.”

“Hmm.”

“I may not be the demon everyone thinks I am, but I’m not innocent. And you know that. And still,
here you are.”

“Always.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his forehead against the warm, smooth skin beneath him. “You shouldn’t, you
know. But you don’t care. All those rules, Lan Zhan, and you don’t care.”

“You are good.”

“I must have done something. It’s the only thing that makes sense. You’re here, and you love me,
in spite of everything. I must have done something so good to deserve it. Maybe when I was little, a
long time ago. Something so, so good.” He leans up and traces a finger around Lan Wangji’s
serious face. “Oh, look at you. It must have been something wonderful.”

Lan Wangji leans up and captures his mouth again, big hands sliding up over his back.

“I don’t know what I did,” Lan Wangji breathes into his ear. “But surely I’ve done something
wonderful too.”

“Look at us,” Wei Wuxian laughs, shifting back on top of him. “We must be amazing.”

Lan Wangji smiles at him, wide and bright and shining like a waterfall in the sun, and the force of
it knocks the breath out of Wei Wuxian. “We must.”
 Chapter 18
Chapter Summary

In which a decision is reached

Chapter Notes

I'm currently working on the last chapter, which will come in a few days

this chapter is such obvious projection, i'm not even going to apologize for it

Lan Wangji wakes him up before five.

“Nooo, Lan Zhan, have pity,” Wei Wuxian whines, covering his face with the pillow.

Lan Wangji pauses in dressing and sits next to him, removing the pillow. “Would you like Wen
Qing to take the children again today?”

“ Ugh , no, that defeats the whole point.”

Lan Wangji yanks the covers off of Wei Wuxian, who yelps.

“But Lan Zhan, growing children need their sleep. Let them sleep. It’s better for their temperament.
Surely waking up so early every day is the reason your uncle is the way he is. Come on, kiss me
some more before we get up.”

Lan Wangji thinks for a second, then leans in. Wei Wuxian makes sure the kiss isn’t the quick
peck he intended, wrapping as many limbs as possible around him.

“My uncle was right about you,” Lan Wangji murmurs into his ear. Wei Wuxian shoves him off.

“Ew! What?”

“You are a problem.” Satisfied, and looking far too smug, Lan Wangji continues dressing.

Wei Wuxian sighs and finds his clothes on the ground. Pulling up his trousers, he feels something
in his pocket.

“Ooh, my bun!” It’s cold, but still tasty, so he munches as he gets himself together. He’s got half
the bun shoved in his mouth and is tying up his hair with both hands when he notices Lan Wangji
watching him. “What?” he tries to say, but it mostly comes out “Mmpf?”

Lan Wangji says nothing, just wrinkles his nose.

Wei Wuxian swallows a giant mouthful. “Too good for pocket buns, are you, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji does not dignify that with a response.

“It’s too late.” Wei Wuxian cackles around the next bite. “You already love me.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t sound particularly happy about it.

Life is almost back to normal in the Cloud Recesses—no one else seems to have noticed the
massive shift in the universe that has taken place. Wei Wuxian would like to stay and watch Lan
Wangji teach, but he’s hardly been useful for the past few days so he helps with repairs and deep
cleaning the guest quarters.

It’s not a punishment. It’s honest work. It’s annoying, just because he knows Wen Chao is
responsible, but helping Wang Xiaolu scrub the floors and rigging a way to air out the soiled
mattresses makes him happy. These are his friends, and helping them could never be shameful.
Sure, maybe he used to create clever spells and melodies to control bodies, call down thunder, but
this is still creative. There are new ways to clean, domestic tasks that could be faster, more
efficient, more fun. In fact, if he’s no longer a prisoner, then perhaps he can create some useful
talismans. He could teach the other servants—

“Uh, Wei Ying?” one of the younger servants says, teetering under the weight of the mattress.

“Sorry, Chen Shu! I was just thinking.” He puts the idea to the back of his mind and turns back to
work.

Lan Wangji and Wen Qing join the disciples for dinner, which is cause for much delight. It’s
incredibly difficult for Wei Wuxian. Wen Qing keeps giving him significant eyebrow raises and
half-smiles, and he can’t knock her soup into her lap because he must set an example for the
children. Lan Wangji is listening to Lan Sizhui tell him a very repetitive story about a frog he saw,
and the combination of his patient attention and his broth-wet lips, red and ready and unbelievably
distracting, is tying Wei Wuxian in knots.

Wen Qing pokes his arm with her spoon. Get ahold of yourself , she mouths at him.

He means to mouth back Fuck you , but Ouyang Zizhen has a question for him about how long
silkworms live, so he has to settle for a glare.

Perhaps Lan Wangji’s glare will rub off on him, then he'll be unstoppable.

After the children are put to bed, he and Lan Wangji walk down to the Cold Spring.

“I will not marry Wen Qing,” Lan Wangji says, like it’s nothing, like he’s commenting on the
weather, and Wei Wuxian runs into a tree branch.

“ What? ”

“Obviously, I cannot marry her.”

“Are you insane? ”

Lan Wangji looks confused. “I love you. I cannot marry someone else knowing that you are the
one I love.”

“Lan Zhan, what does love have to do with anything? You didn’t love her before and you were still
ready to marry her. What’s changed?”
“It is dishonest. Before, I loved you but never thought it could happen—”

“It still can’t happen! Lan Zhan, my dear, I adore you, but you can’t marry me.”

Lan Wangji gets that look that says he’s digging in his heels.

“I don’t need to marry you. But it would be dishonorable to marry Wen Qing.”

Wei Wuxian groans in frustration. “You can’t betray her! Lan Zhan, there is about to be a war.
This is bigger than us three fools, and if you don’t marry Wen Qing then she’ll have no protection.
She’ll have no option but to go back to Qishan or go rogue, and any alliance between the Wen sect
and Lan sect will be compromised. Not to mention Wen Ning. Look, this marriage might not
protect everyone from Wen Ruohan, but if you go back on your word then you are asking for
Cloud Recesses to be the first attack. Please, I know what it’s like to watch my home burn. Do not
underestimate them.”

Lan Wangji stays quiet for a long time, looking out over the water. “I cannot be her husband,” he
says, finally.

Wei Wuxian leans against his side. “You don’t need to be her husband. You just need to, you
know, be her husband.”

Lan Wangji gives him an exasperated look out of the corner of his eye.

“You know what I mean. Look, just marry her, and then we’ll cross whatever bridge comes next.
And if you need an heir, a blood heir for whatever reason, then we’ll figure it out. The three of us.”

“Do you love her?” Lan Wangji asks, not looking at him.

“Of course I do. She’s the dearest friend I’ve ever had. Surely you know that.”

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean. I’m thinking.” He plucks a leaf and spins it between his fingers. “Maybe,
in a world where I never met you. Where none of this had happened. And where Jiang Cheng
wasn’t smitten with her, of course. Maybe in that world I’d love her the way I love you. But in this
world—we’re too similar. And we know each other far too well. She's literally been inside me, and
not in such a nice way. What’s romance without a bit of mystery, eh?”

“Please do not tease me.”

Wei Wuxian tucks his arm around Lan Wangji’s waist. “I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I’m just trying to be
honest. My life is better for knowing her, and yours will be too. I am loyal to her. Devoted. I will
not stand by and watch her hurt.”

“Neither will I.”

“Well, that’s that then. And who knows what will happen. The three of us together, Lan Zhan? The
cultivation world won’t know what hit it.”

Lan Wangji leans farther into him, just a bit closer than is proper, and it feels like acceptance. “Are
you saying we should burn it all down?”

“What would you do if I did?”

“Hmm.” The water rushes, the wind picks up the ends of Lan Wangji’s hair, brushing it against
Wei Wuxian’s cheek. “I would agree.”

“Really?”

“The world that took so much from you, that hurt you, hurt Jiang Wanyin. That forces women into
marriages to stay alive. Wen Qing, my mother. Jiang Yanli. The world that turns honest people into
puppets, pulled apart by wicked men with power for their amusement, for their pride. That world
doesn’t deserve to stand.”

“So.”

“Burn it all down.”

Wei Wuxian smiles. “It’s going to burn anyway. Whatever we do, the fire has started, it’s just
waiting to spread.”

“So we let it?”

“We can’t stop it. No, our job is harder than that. We have to build what comes next.”

“Is that pride, Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian laughs. Yes , says the voice. “You know, I was about to ask the same thing. Maybe.
Probably. But you know what?”

“Hmm.”

“Someone’s got to do it, so it might as well be us. And if we go wrong, the little ones will burn us
down when it’s their time.”

“Yes, the little ones.”

Wei Wuxian grins, letting the leaf go. “Plant them in the ground. Let ‘em grow.”

“Hmm.”

“You like that. I can see you smiling.”

“I do like that.”

The sun goes down, the reds and golds dancing off the water like the reflection of flames.
 Chapter 19
Chapter Summary

In which the Wens make their move

Chapter Notes

last chapter goes up tomorrow!

The next two weeks are strange. Good, but strange. Wei Wuxian is happy in a way he’s never been
before. It’s not the thrill of being brilliant and young and powerful that he was used to as a
teenager, before everything. The time he’d been dreaming of going back to. But this kind of
happiness feels rooted, nourished, covered with dirt, but surprisingly nice because of it. Not the
flash of a firework in the dark, magical and startling, but something that knows from the inside out
because he’s built it with his own hands. Maybe not beautiful, or particularly unique, but solid at
the corners so the rain stays out.

He spends his nights in the Jingshi wrapped around Lan Wangji, which he doubts he’ll ever get
used to. It’s something the other servants have clearly noticed and very significantly don’t
comment on. Wang Xiaolu has almost asked him about twenty times but always changes tack at
the very last second.

The children have been working on their papermen, and by now they can all at least get them
standing upright. Lan Wangji taught them a simple warming charm, the kind of thing used to boil a
pot of tea, which only ended up setting a few bushes on fire. Lan Sizhui has an astonishing level of
spiritual power for his age, and Lan Jingyi’s hair is a few inches shorter as a result. Jingyi has told
the story about seventy times in the week since it happened—by the fiftieth time he has Sizhui
breathing fire out his nose like a dragon. It still stings Wei Wuxian a bit to watch them work on
developing their power, not being able to do something so simple himself, but at meal times now
the children squabble over who gets to reheat Wei-qianbei’s food.

On his second day off ever, he eats dinner in the Jingshi with Lan Wangji. He chatters on about the
day, silly things the little ones said, ideas for new activities to try out, while Lan Wangji eats
silently. After they are pleasantly full, Wei Wuxian leans back on his elbows while Lan Wangji
takes the tray and sets it outside the door.

“What are you doing?” Wei Wuxian asks on a yawn.

“Putting the dishes out for—” Lan Wangji cuts off, looking awkward.

“It takes, what, five minute to walk to the kitchen?”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth, closes it. Wei Wuxian gets up.

“Here, I’ll take it.”

“Someone is coming for it.”

“Yeah, but it’s out of the way for everyone. It’s no problem, I’ll—”

“No, sit down. I’ll take it.”

After that night, everyone has been bringing their own dishes back to the kitchen. Madam Xiao has
had to set up a counter outside the door, sick of useless people in her kitchen. Wei Wuxian finds it
all hilarious. He even caught Lan Qiren dropping a tray off once.

All in all, it’s felt a little like a holiday—one of those festival weeks when real life takes a step back
and things seem lighter, free of consequences, magical by virtue of being temporary. He’s not
pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist, but it’s hard not to just cover his head in Lan
Wangji’s soft sheets and wish to never leave.

In the end it’s not a surprise when messengers from the Wen Sect arrive to ruin everything. Wei
Wuxian is lucky enough to catch them at the gates while walking the children back from a day trip
to Caiyi Town.

The messengers are no one he recognizes, though the way Wen Ning freezes for a moment tells
him they aren’t simply minor disciples. They carry with them a huge banner bearing the Wen sun
symbol, and Wei Wuxian snorts at the splendor of it all.

He sends Wen Ning to get the kids cleaned up and joins the heated argument between the lead two
messengers and the Lan guards.

“We can’t just let you in,” the older guard is insisting. “You have no passes, no invitation, and no
authorization to enter Cloud Recesses.”

“Here, here, what’s the problem?” Wei Wuxian shoves his way into the middle, tossing a
paperman out behind him directed to Lan Wangji.

“We have an urgent message from His Excellency that must be delivered to Sect Leader Lan
immediately.”

“Oh, well this is awful!” Wei Wuxian slings a comradely arm over one of the messenger’s
shoulders, which is furiously shoved off. “What a tragedy for Qishan!”

“What are you talking about, boy?” the messenger snaps at him. Wei Wuxian winks at the Lan
guards and turns a concerned face to the visitors.

“Why, His Excellency failed to send a single letter informing the Lan Sect of your impending
arrival. Surely he would never have committed such a breach of etiquette willingly, which can only
mean something terrible has happened to the supply of paper in Qishan. A warehouse fire,
perhaps? All of the paper producers are on strike? Or is it ink that’s dried up entirely?”

The younger Lan guard covers a laugh with a cough, and the messengers look about ready to draw
swords. He takes a step back just to be safe.

“Shall I fetch a few reams for you to take back? Perhaps the loan of a few scribes as well, if writing
itself has fallen out of fashion—”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian turns with a grin. “Ah, Hanguang Jun, I was just telling these fine gentlemen—”
Lan Wangji cuts him off with a look.

“Right.” Wei Wuxian steps back with the guards.

“State your business,” Lan Wangji commands, and Wei Wuxian is surprised that the messengers
don’t end up with frostbite from his tone alone.

“We are here to speak to the Sect Leader.”

The older Lan guard huffs at the disrespectful tone, and Wei Wuxian imagines how satisfying it
would be to chase these interlopers down the hill with a few fierce corpses. Nothing excessive. A
dozen, perhaps.

“Whatever message you have for the Sect Leader will be given to me. State your business before I
decide it’s not worth my time.”

The Wen messengers dart worried looks at each other. One shrugs, then pulls a scroll out of his
sleeve.

“Oh look! Paper!”

The older Lan guard elbows him in the side.

“Sect Leader Lan.” The messenger looks up from the scroll, coughs, and restarts. “Second Master
Lan. His Excellency has commanded that all Lan Sect disciples shall attend indoctrination in
Qishan. Second Master Lan will also attend a compulsory conference in Qishan. Furthermore, the
Cloud Recesses are officially declared the Gusu Supervisory Outpost of Qishan Wen. This flag is
to hang at your gate, and all sect governance decisions henceforth will require authorization from
His Excellency. The Wen Sect will appoint a supervisor from Qishan as a representative of His
Excellency, who will be housed in the Gusu Supervisory Outpost of Qishan Wen and assist the
Sect Leader in the governance of Gusu.”

Each sentence is like a kick to Wei Wuxian’s stomach, but Lan Wangji just stares, impassive.

“When will this supervisor arrive?” he asks flatly.

“Within the week. He will be accompanied by a company of soldiers to escort the disciples to
Qishan, as well as a company who will be stationed in Gusu to assist with defense of the Gusu
Supervisory Outpost of Qishan Wen. His Excellency is aware that the Lan Sect lacks able
warriors.”

Wei Wuxian only manages to avoid shouting by not knowing what to yell first. Who do you think
you’re speaking to? seems about right, but so is You fucking butchered them all!

Lan Wangji just nods once. The messenger rolls up the scroll and hands it to him.

“Your message has been delivered. You may leave the Cloud Recesses.”

“It’s late,” a younger messenger pipes up. “We could use a meal and place to stay for the night.”

“There are inns in Caiyi Town,” Lan Wangji says.

The messengers last about a minute of silent staring before they step back, muttering. The flag is
passed to the younger guard, who holds it in front of his face to mask his furious expression. They
watch the Wens walk back down the path in silence, then step through the entrance, which seals
invisibly behind them.

“Lan Zhan—” Wei Wuxian starts, but can’t think where to begin.

“Lan Zhuohan, give me the flag. Please.”

The guard hands it over, frowning. “I suppose I’ll fetch a ladder, Hanguang Jun.”

“You will not.” Lan Wangji looks at the flag for a moment, then snaps the pole over his knee. He
throws the broken pieces to the ground and then rips the flag in half with a growl.

“Oh, good,” Wei Wuxian breathes. It’s very difficult not to jump on him in front of the guards, but
he manages it. “I’ve got a fire talisman here, if you—”

“No. Need to show Brother.” His jaw is clenched and his eyes are burning, ice turned to fire.

They leave the guards at the gate and drag the flag behind them up to the library pavilion where
Lan Xichen is writing. He listens calmly, which almost sends Wei Wuxian into a rage. It’s
happening, it’s happening, it’s finally happening, why is no one yelling?

But then he looks down and sees Lan Xichen’s knuckles white around his brush, the tip soaking
ink into the paper, smearing his words, and Wei Wuxian can breathe again.

“What are we going to do?” Wei Wuxian blurts out. “I’ve killed people before, I’ll do it again.
Gladly, this time.”

“We have time.” Lan Xichen lays down his brush and delicately wipes off his fingertips on the
inside of his sleeve. “A few days at least. We need to get the children somewhere safe.”

“What about the older disciples?” Lan Wangji asks. “Can we stall?”

“We run, right?” Wei Wuxian asks. “They can come back and there’ll be no one here, just empty
rooms and rabbits.”

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “There’s too many people in Cloud Recesses. If the Wens are clever,
which they are, they’ll already have people stationed around Gusu. I wouldn’t be surprised if the
messengers from today are still on the mountain, waiting for us to move.”

Wei Wuxian feels lighting shoot up his spine, like a hit from Zidian, setting all of him vibrating.
It’s happening, it’s happening. “I’ll die before they touch the children,” he says, and Lan Wangji
glares at him.

“You will not.”

“I will—”

“If we are careful, that will not be necessary. But I appreciate the sentiment, Wei Wuxian.” Lan
Xichen rises, rolling his papers and tucking them away. “I need to speak to Uncle. Wangji, Wei
Wuxian, if you could check the perimeter, make sure there are no unwelcome guests. Wen Qing
will be helpful.”

It takes two full hours to check the woods, all of the hidden paths, caves, and shadowed places. By
the time the three of them return to the Jingshi, Wei Wuxian is about to crawl out of his skin.

“Do you want to spar, Lan Zhan? Can we spar?”

“He’ll kill you,” Wen Qing says mildly, blowing on her cup of tea. “By accident, but he’ll kill
you.”

“How about you, then?”

“I’ll kill you, too.”

“Ugh, I’ll find a six-year-old, then.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says softly. “Sit down.”

“Don’t tell me to sit down, Lan Zhan, I want to hit something.”

“I can’t tell if you’re scared or excited,” Wen Qing says.

“I can’t either.” He flops down on the ground next to her. “I just want it to be over. Or, no, I don’t.
I just want something to do.”

“We need to pretend everything is normal,” Lan Wangji says. “If Wen Qing is correct, and she is,
they’ll be sending the Dire Owl to watch us. We can’t give them reason to send forces any sooner.”

“I don’t know how I’ll sleep. I should stay outside the kids’ quarters, shouldn’t I? Just in case? Or,
no, that’s suspicious. Can I sharpen Bichen, Lan Zhan? Or maybe—”

“Go run around the mountain, would you? Then maybe you’ll calm down,” Wen Qing drops a
hand on his bouncing knee.

“Lan Zhan, you’re really going to have to wear me out tonight.”

“And that’s my cue,” Wen Qing rises, flicking his ear as she passes him. “We have a few days, and
then who knows. I’m going to see my brother. You two get some rest while we still can.”

After she leaves, Wei Wuxian gets up and starts pacing again.

“Wei Ying, come here.”

“If I stop moving I’ll die.”

“No, you won’t. Sit here.”

Wei Wuxian groans but sits down on the bed. Lan Wangji sits next to him and wraps his arms
around him.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whines. Lan Wangji pulls him over so they’re laying sideways on the
bed.

“If we have to run,” Lan Wangji says. “We won’t have a bed for a while. If we have to take the
children, we won’t be alone for a while.”

“Hmm, what are you suggesting?”

“You know what I’m suggesting.”

“I suppose we do have to act like everything is normal. If we didn’t, it would be suspicious.”

“Please do not imply that Wen spies are watching us make love.”
Wei Wuxian turns in his arms and pulls a face. “What if they are, though?”

Lan Wangji kisses him. “Stop talking.”

“But Lan Zhan—”

He kisses him again. “Stop. Talking.”

“I like the way you ripped that banner, Lan Zhan.”

“Hmm.”

“Think you could rip my shirt like that?”

“How many shirts do you have?”

“Clothes are overrated. If we have to escape, maybe I should be naked, then I’ll startle people and
the rest of you can run.”

Lan Wangji rolls over on top of him. “Please stop talking.”

“I thought you liked me.”

Lan Wangji sighs and leans up on his elbow. “I love you very much. Now will you please be
quiet.”

“Hmm.”

It’s a good night. Wei Wuxian keeps pausing to memorize the look on Lan Wangji’s face, the feel
of his mouth, the weight of him, the angle of his neck on the pillow, the smell of gentians outside
the window. He wraps both arms and legs around Lan Wangji above him, trying to feel their
breathing together like one body, blood pulsing through all their veins together. It almost feels like
having a core again, being so close.

Lan Wangji falls asleep on his chest, and he stays awake for a long time, braiding and combing and
re-braiding his hair. Remember this, remember this his brain shouts, hammering against his skull.
Shut it away somewhere no one can find it.

He breathes in the smell of Lan Wangji’s hair and shuts his eyes against the first rays of dawn. A
few more days. Hold on to how this feels, keep it for yourself, be selfish.

In the end, they don’t have a few days. The Wen advance party arrives at noon.
 Chapter 20
Chapter Summary

The End

(there's a bit of blood here)

Chapter Notes

I don't know how cultivation or magic works and I'm not about to learn it now

--

This is one of the longest things I've ever written and definitely the fastest, and there's
no way it would have been finished without all of y'all reading and commenting,
rec'ing, kudosing, etc, so thank you very much. I'll miss this world.

If you want to hang out on Tumblr, I'd love to see you there. Occasional little one-
shots end up there at boxoftheskyking.tumblr.com
--

On the last morning of peace, Lan Wangji wakes up in Wei Wuxian’s arms. He smiles before
opening his eyes, small and instinctive, and Wei Wuxian can’t not kiss him for it.

“Did you sleep?” Lan Wangji’s voice is rough, soft as raw cotton.

“No.”

“Hmm.” He presses his face back into Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“What are you thinking?”

“It’s foolish,” he mutters against his collarbone.

“Tell me.”

“I am afraid.”

Wei Wuxian holds him tighter. “That’s not foolish.”

“I keep waiting for someone to come and fix everything," Lan Wangji says, still hiding his face.
"Wen Ruohan shouldn’t be allowed to do all of this. I want someone bigger than him to come put
him in his place. I feel young and stupid and weak and I want someone else to be in charge.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s foolish.”
Wei Wuxian kisses his hair. “If we get all the sects together. Maybe all the sects and the citizens as
well, we’ll be bigger than the Wens.”

Lan Wangji looks up at him. “What if we’re not?”

“I don’t know.” Wei Wuxian runs his thumb lightly under Lan Wangji’s eye, over his cheekbone,
over his ear. “I don’t know, Lan Zhan.”

The Wens come as the children are changing into their play clothes after lunch. Wei Wuxian is
waiting at the door when the older disciples come running to their room, eyes wide and confused.
Lan Xichen follows.

“The Wens are here.”

“Fuck!”

“They’re commanding the disciples to leave today, now; they’ve got at least thirty armed men. We
can’t fight and win.”

“Fuck, fuck, what do we do?”

Three Wen soldiers come up behind the running teenagers. “Hurry up! You should be packed
already. Didn’t the Sect Leader tell you you’re going for indoctrination?”

Lan Wangji joins them, jaw so tight it looks like his bones are about to crack.

“Brother. What do we—”

“I can get the little ones out,” Wei Wuxian whispers, brain spinning faster and faster like a wheel
heading down a hill. “I don’t know about the older kids.”

“We’ll have no choice; we have to send them.” Lan Xichen watches the flurry of activity with such
profound regret that Wei Wuxian grabs his arm and turns him away, hiding his face from the
soldiers.

“They’ll be all right. They’ll be hostages, right? Technically you still have an alliance, so there’s no
reason to harm them.”

“We can’t just—” Lan Wangji cuts off as a little hand tugs on Wei Wuxian’s shirt.

“Wei-qianbei, what’s happening?” Lan Feifei asks, big round eyes tracking everything.

“Shhh, here, come back inside. Lan Zhan, I’ll get them to the back hill, okay? Just meet us there,
with food if you can.”

Lan Wangji grabs his wrist, a question on his face, but he shakes him off and goes back inside.
With luck, the teenagers will take a bit of time getting organized, but knowing the Lans it won’t be
much.

“Disciples!” he says in a stage whisper, waving them all over. “Come here, we’re going to play a
game.”

“A game?” Lan Ting asks, doubtfully.

“Yes, yes, gather around everyone. Now we have some visitors, and they want us all to go on a
trip. So everyone will grab your bag and pack up everything you can. Clothes, blankets, whatever
you have. Wen Ning, Lan Bin, Yao Hualing, help the little ones.”

“How is that a game?” Hualing asks.

“I’m getting to that part. What I want you all to do while you pack is to pretend to be the most
badly behaved children in the world. I want you to whine and cry and yell and stamp your feet.
Make a mess. When I ask you to do something, I want you to say that all you want is to see your
bunnies. Can you do that?”

“I still don’t see how this is a game.”

“It’s a trick. We’re playing a trick on the visitors.”

“But how is it—”

“Then when I say the word, you’ll be your wonderful obedient selves again. It will be so funny!
They’ll be so surprised.”

“That’s funny?” Lan Bin says, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes, yes!” Wei Wuxian tries not to seem desperate. “They’re very strange men, very strange
sense of humor. Trust me.”

“Isn’t that lying?” Su Meiling asks. “Lying is forbidden.”

“Not lying, no, it’s a joke, just a joke. Hanguang Jun says it’s fine, okay? Trust me. When I give
the signal, start crying, okay?”

The children look around at each other, still not convinced, but Wen Ning says, “Okay, Wei-
qianbei,” and that seems to be good enough for them.

“Okay, go!”

It’s silent for a long moment. Then Ouyang Zizhen gives a tentative, “No, I don’t want to?”

“Good, good, louder,” Wei Wuxian whispers.

“No!” Su Ming yells, stamping her feet. “I want my bunnies!”

“Yes, the bunnies!”

“I won’t go! No! No! No!”

“Beautiful, excellent! More!” Wei Wuxian lets the racket build, encouraging them, before messing
up his hair and running to the door.

“Ah, Zewu Jun!” he says, loud enough for the soldier to notice. “These children are so willful! I
can’t get them to pack their things.”

One of the soldiers comes over. “What’s the problem?”

“No, no, no, NO!” the kids yell from inside, and someone throws something against the wall.

Yes, perfect! He thinks.

“Oh, sir, I’m so sorry. These children, they won’t travel without their bunnies.”

“That’s ridiculous,” the man sniffs. “Just get them packed.”

“I mean, I’m trying, sir. You’re welcome to try.”

The soldier grunts impatiently and pushes past him to the door. He opens it to utter chaos—
someone has flipped their mattress, half of the kids are lying on the floor and wailing, and Lan
Jingyi has no clothes on. I guess this is what’s hiding behind three thousand rules. Behind the
soldier’s back, Wei Wuxian gives an encouraging smile and conducts them louder and louder. The
soldier turns and he schools his expression back to overwhelmed as he runs over to wrangle Jingyi
into his pants.

“What is wrong with these children?” the soldier demands.

“It’s the bunnies, sir, they never travel without them. They’ve got cages and everything.”

“Well, go get the damn bunnies then.”

“You know, I would,” he says, shoving a shirt over Jingyi’s screaming head. “But I can’t tell them
apart. These children, they’re very particular. You know some bunnies are more energetic than
others, some have favorite foods, or special—”

“Shut up, fool, just take the children and get them. I won’t listen to whining all the way to Qishan.”

“Right away, sir!”

Wei Wuxian shuts the door in his face and waves the children over. “Good job everyone! We
almost have them fooled. Bags all packed? Excellent. Now we’re going to go to the back hill, so
just keep crying and yelling until we get there. Okay? Good work.”

He leads them out, wailing and sobbing, and the older disciples freeze, staring at them.

“Oh no!” Wei Wuxian yells over the racket. “Such willful children! Shame on you all! A disgrace
to the Lan Sect! We’ll be right back, sir!”

They pass the infirmary, where Wen Qing is waiting in the doorway.

“What the fuck, Wei Ying?” she hisses at him.

“Ah, Lady Wen!” he yells. “The most gifted rabbit catcher in Gusu! Please come, help us!”

She glares at him, but then sees the soldiers behind him and her face goes carefully blank. She
follows.

When they reach the back hill, he gestures them all quiet and close.

“Excellent work, everyone! A-Ning, I need you to keep an eye on the path, let me know if
someone is coming.”

“That was fun, Wei-qianbei!” Jingyi shouts. “I want to misbehave all the time!”

“Yes, you’re a prodigy, but it’s time to be quiet now. We’re going to go on an adventure, okay?”

“With the soldiers?” Lan Yixian asks.

“No, we’re going somewhere else. Okay? But we need to be quiet and fast.”

“Wei Ying,” Wen Qing murmurs. “You’d better have a plan. There’s no way we can outrun them
through the forest on foot.”

“I need your knife.” He holds out his hand. She looks doubtful, but gives it to him. He cuts a long
strip from the bottom of his shirt, leaving his stomach bare.

“Wei-qianbei, your belly!” Zizhen yells, pointing at the scar.

“Shh, Zizhen, it’s okay.” He spreads the cloth on the ground and makes a deep cut in his finger,
starting to write.

“It’s a talisman?” Sizhui asks, leaning over his shoulder.

“Yes, A-Yuan, but it’s very complicated, so please be quiet.”

“Wei Ying,” Wen Qing says, one hand on his back. “I can’t power this kind of—”

“It’s not for you, it’s for me.”

“You’re not strong enough.”

“I have Chenqing. It’ll help.”

“It’s too risky.”

“Wen Qing, unless you have a better plan right now , let me work. I need you to go through first,
make sure they land okay. Will you do that?”

She’s quiet for a long time while he writes. “Don’t make me watch you die,” she finally whispers.

“If I do, you won’t be here to see it.”

He finishes, rises, and holds the talisman in his hands, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He’s
been shutting off the pull towards resentful energy for so long, it takes a moment to find it again, to
open himself up to it. Chenqing isn’t a source of energy, but it’s a good conductor, so once he
attunes himself to it the rush begins. It’s harder to feel the pit inside of him—he’s been too happy,
too content, but if he pushes it’s there. He thinks about Wen Zhuliu, Wen Ruohan. He imagines
Jiang Cheng’s face, Jiang Yanli’s, feels the pain of missing them. He sees the frightened eyes of
the older disciples being marched away from home, Lan Xichen’s clenched fist, Lan Wangji’s
rough voice saying I am afraid . He feels Wen Qing’s solid hand at his back. He opens his eyes
and sees the children gathered around him, thinks Mine, mine, mine .

He flings the talisman out in front of him with a burst of flame, and it explodes into a swirling
black portal a few feet off the ground.

“Go. Wen Qing. Go,” he grits out, already feeling his reserves of energy running thin.

Wen Qing takes a breath, nods once, then runs and leaps through the opening.

“Lady Wen!” Lan Bin cries. “Where did she go?”

“We’re all going,” Wei Wuxian says, fighting to get the words out and hold the opening. “Help the
little ones.”
He has a vague idea of where the portal might lead, an open field in another part of Gusu, but he’s
trusting Wen Qing to make a plan from there. He may have sent her off the side of a cliff or into
the middle of a lake, but he has to believe it will work. It has to work.

Lan Bin looks doubtful.

“Please,” is all Wei Wuxian can say. The portal shimmers for a moment, losing stability, and Wei
Wuxian shuts his eyes to focus again. He feels his feet root into the soil and deeper, into the
mountain, the stone, veins of power eons old, power that sees all of human life come and go like a
single drop of rain against a roof tile. Resentment grown centuries before there was a word for it,
before there was reason, a time before logic.

It hurts. He’d forgotten how much it hurts.

When he opens his eyes again, Lan Bin is passing Jingyi through the opening.

“Wei-qianbei, I’m scared,” Yao Hualing says.

“I know. Me too. Just.” He groans through another burst of energy. “Get them through.”

Something rips inside him, a sail ripped from the mast in the middle of a hurricane, and resentful
energy floods him. He feels it in the spaces between his heart and lungs, the invisible gaps between
each drop of blood, his pores yawning open like canyons. He can’t see, can’t hear over the
whispering, roaring, wailing that’s tearing through him. Hold on, just hold on he repeats in his
mind, and the darkness answers give, give, give .

“Wei-qianbei!” Wen Ning cries, running from the road.

He forces himself to see, in flashes like a series of paintings. The last child’s foot disappearing
through the portal. Wen Ning, appearing at his side. Lan Wangji coming down the path, followed
by two soldiers. Sizhui, turning from the portal and running for his father with arms outstretched.

“A-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian screams, but it’s too late. A soldier grabs him around the middle and holds
him, sword unsheathed and held to his wailing throat.

“No!” Lan Wangji shouts, but as he takes a step closer, the soldier tightens his hold.

“Baba!”

“What do I do, what do I do?” Wen Ning gasps, crying, hands clenching.

“Go. Through.” Wei Wuxian manages.

“I can’t, I have to—”

“A-Ning. Go. Now.”

With a last look over his shoulder, Wen Ning dives through the portal. Wei Wuxian plants his feet
and shifts his focus, transferring the current of power into his left hand, holding the portal open.

“Let him go,” he growls.

“Close the portal now, or I swear I will kill him.”

“Last chance.”
The soldier nicks Sizhui’s neck and his screaming cuts off with a tiny gasp that hits Wei Wuxian
like a thunderclap. His vision goes red, dark at the edges, and his mind snaps.

MINE roars the darkness, and for once it’s in unison with the rest of him.

He lashes out his right hand and a cord of darkness, thin and strong as a whip, shoots out from his
palm, curls around the soldier’s arm, and slices through. The man screams and tumbles backward,
sword and arm together falling to the ground, blood spurting out of the stump and soaking Sizhui’s
blue shirt to black. Sizhui shuts his eyes and freezes where he stands, little hands clenched at his
sides.

The second soldier lunges forward, but Wei Wuxian flicks the whip back the other direction and
catches him across the face, slicing open his cheek until half of his jaw and teeth are exposed.

“ This is mine ,” he says—it feels like nothing, just like breathing, but it echoes through the forest,
shaking the trees and frightening the rabbits to run around them like a river current, screaming like
ghosts. “ You dare touch what is mine .”

The soldier stumbles upright and holds his face, half raising his sword, and Wei Wuxian pulls the
whip back into the air, hovering in front of him. The blood soaking into the ground rushes up
through him, the soldier’s pain. Sizhui’s terror hurtles through him, making him stronger. He feels
hot blood against his neck, in his hair, as clearly as if he were in the boy’s place.

“ Give me a reason. I dare you. I beg you. Give me a reason. ”

Before the soldier can move, the tip of Bichen bursts through the center of his chest. Lan Wangji
shoves him off the blade to flop onto the ground. Wei Wuxian watches his life wink out like a
lamp and drinks it in, spinning it into darkness. Lan Wangji doesn’t wait to sheathe the sword, just
grabs Sizhui up with his free arm.

“Wei Ying,” he says urgently, which shakes Wei Wuxian back to the moment. The fear, the death,
it all gives him a burst of energy, but he can feel the end of it coming near, like stitching a torn
cloth back together with the last few inches of thread. Hold, just hold, please just be enough to hold
. He pulls the whip back into himself, dissolving harmlessly into smoke, and throws his right hand
back to the portal.

“ Go. ” It’s still not his voice. He tries to get his voice back. “ Lan Zhan , ple ase, hurry.”

“Wangji!” Lan Xichen runs down the path behind them, taking in everything, the portal, the
bodies, the bloody sword. “Wei Ying, your face—”

“Go!” Sweat is rolling down his cheeks, or maybe tears, or blood, or maybe all three. Lan Wangji
looks back at his brother for a long moment, then steps through the portal.

“Zewu Jun, hurry, jump through.”

“No, I— Wei Ying, I can’t, the soldiers. They’ll burn it all down, they’ll kill everyone.”

Wei Wuxian groans and the portal starts to shrink.

“We’ll find you. We’ll go—”

“Go to Yunmeng.” Lan Xichen grabs Wei Wuxian’s wrist and forces a current of clean energy
through him. He’s nothing but a conduit, hollow, but it holds the portal in place, blue light weaving
in between tendrils of black smoke. “The rebuild has begun. Jin soldiers are there for defense.
Lanling is preparing for war, and they will protect you. Stay off the roads.”

“You’ll meet us there? The older children—”

“I’ll look after them. I’ll make some excuse for you—”

“Tell everyone I took them. Demon Wei Wuxian. Tell them I tricked you, all of you, I stole them
away. I’m an unknown, I’m on no one’s side. Say I killed them. The worst things you can think of,
tell them, they’ll believe you.”

Lan Xichen nods once, face going tight with pain. “We’ll clear your name, after—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll hold the portal. You go.”

Wei Wuxian takes a halting step towards it, legs heavy as through iron chains were wrapped
around them.

“Wait,” Lan Xichen says. “I”ll need— It needs to look like we fought. If I use my own sword—”

Wei Wuxian nods. “I’m sorry.” He lashes out—the whip is smaller this time, weaker, but it cuts up
the side of Lan Xichen’s face and down across his shoulder, red blooming on his white robes. He
winces, but his energy doesn’t falter. Shouts ring out through the forest, the sound of dozens of
men crashing towards them through the trees.

“Take care of them,” Lan Xichen pleads.

“They’re mine.”

Wei Wuxian takes a step and throws himself at the portal, just as it begins to close. He hears Lan
Xichen shout “Wei Wuxian!” behind him, then feels himself pulled in all directions, torn into
pieces and slammed back together. His lungs are flattened, his stomach is missing, his eyes are
backwards, his hands are multiplying like a flock of crows around him, choking—

And then, in an instant, it’s over. He hits the ground and lays flat on his back, gasping.

“Wei-qianbei!”

“Wei Ying!”

“Wei-qianbei!"

“Wei-qianbei!”

He’s surrounded by a flickering, moving mass that half blocks out the sunlight. He can’t see
shapes, can’t see colors. Little hands on his face, his body, pulling at his clothes.

“I—” his mouth is dry, his tongue thick and heavy. “I—”

“Back, back, step back.” He knows this voice, these hands on his forehead. They feel his neck, his
stomach.

“W— W— Wen—”

“Shh, shh, don’t talk.”

“ ‘vryone? Ev— ‘ryone?”

“Yes, yes, shh.”

“Where?”

“Other side of the mountain. Miles away.”

He relaxes into her hold. Time flickers, disappears, and reforms around him. He sits up, coughs,
spits blood onto the ground.

The figures around him are still blurry, but he recognizes them. The children. Wen Qing and Wen
Ning at his sides, propping him up. Lan Wangji is standing, staring at him, holding Sizhui. Wei
Wuxian squints. Sizhui’s blue shirt is gone and he’s wrapped in red. Wen Qing’s outer robe, he
realizes. His hair is soaked, drying stiff against his back, and there’s blood smeared across his
cheek. His eyes are still closed and Wei Wuxian can see him shivering in Lan Wangji’s arms.

“A-Yuan,” he breathes, reaching out one hand.

“Wei-qianbei,” it’s little Lan Feifei. She reaches out and touches his cheek with one tentative
finger. “Your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“They’re not . . . right.”

“Oh.” He touches his face as well, as if he could feel the difference. “What do they look like?”

“They’re red. And your face, it’s so white. There’s black, here.” She traces uneven lines up his
neck, across his temples, his cheeks.

“Is it scary, Feifei?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, sweet one. You’re being very brave. You’re all so—” he’s suddenly finding it hard to
talk, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “So brave.”

“We need to move,” Lan Wangji says, not unkindly. “It’s too open here.”

Wei Wuxian struggles upright, a dozen little hands reaching out to hold him. They look wary,
staring at his face, but they aren’t scared to touch him. He loves them so much he’s about to
dissolve in it. Mine rumbles through him, not violent this time, but low and satisfied like a purr.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, and reaches out for his hand.

Sizhui suddenly turns his face and opens his eyes, staring over at Wei Wuxian. His face is blank,
and Wei Wuxian wishes he had a scarf, a mask, something to hide his appearance.

“A-Yuan,” he starts, “I’m so—”

But then Sizhui reaches out and grabs his shirt, pulling hard enough to make him stumble. He
crashes into father and son and wraps his arms around both while Sizhui hides his face in his neck.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian breathes, sweeping a hand over his hair and kissing the side of his face over
and over. “I’m so sorry. You’re okay. It’s all okay now.”
It isn’t. It’s not okay now. But for a brief moment, as Lan Wangji holds all of them upright, they
can breathe.

“We have a lot of traveling to do,” Wen Qing says. “It’s going to be difficult, and we’re going to
have to be very sneaky. Can we do that?”

“Yes, Lady Wen,” a few children chorus.

“Where are we going?” asks Ouyang Zizhen.

“It’s a surprise,” Wei Wuxian answers at the same time Lan Wangji says, “It’s a secret.”

“But where—”

“How would you like to see your Wei-qianbei’s family?” Wei Wuxian says, meeting Wen Qing’s
eyes. She smiles slightly and nods. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Your family?” Jingyi pipes up. “I want to go!”

“Good. Then we will. It’ll be a surprise for everyone.”

“What about my brother?” Lan Hua asks.

“Yeah, and my cousin?”

“My brother too!”

Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Wangji, unsure.

“They will join us later,” Lan Wangji announces, the voice that allows for no doubts and no
arguments. “We have to go our own way for now, but we’ll see them again soon. For now, we
need to stay together and take care of each other. We are a family, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Hanguang Jun.”

“Yes, Baba,” Sizhui whispers. Wei Wuxian kisses his cheek again.

“Let’s get moving,” Wen Qing says. “At least down to the tree line, then we'll figure out which
way to go. We should be able to go a few miles before dark.”

“If we find a graveyard for the night, I can—” he stops himself, looking at the children. ”We can
be safe in a graveyard.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Wen Qing warns.

“I never overdo it. Come on, everyone. Gather your things.”

He presses his forehead into Lan Wangji’s shoulder for a last moment, then lets him go and bends
to pick up Jingyi. The weight is too much for him, and he ends up back on his knees in the dirt.

“I’ve got him.” Wen Ning comes up and hauls Jingyi up on his hip. “It’s okay, Wei-qianbei, let me
help.”

Wen Qing gets him upright again and they move off through the grass towards the trees.

They will walk for as long as the children can stand it tonight, and Wei Wuxian will call corpse
puppets to watch over them through the night. He can see it all in front of him. It’s like reading a
score and hearing the song come together in his mind. There will be rivers to cross, mountains to
climb, caves and ditches to hide in night after night. They will be frightened and exhausted and
starving. But they will arrive in Yunmeng, at Lotus Pier. He will row them all across the lake, and
they will lean out of the boat to pluck lotus blossoms. Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli will meet them
at the gate, and Wei Wuxian will fall into their arms. Jiang Cheng will protest, will yell, but he’ll
catch him. And Yanli will take his ruined face in her cool hands and tell him that he’s home.

He tightens his arm around Wen Qing’s shoulders and gets an answering squeeze around the waist.
As if he can hear their thoughts, Lan Wangji turns back and catches his eye. Wei Wuxian looks at
him, singing the song in his mind, showing him the way. Lan Wangji nods, and Wei Wuxian
smiles.

The End.

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