#'my name is Lan Wangji this is my guqin Wangji and my horse Wangji and my bunnies Wangjis 1-25 you can follow me on social media as Wangji'

[ruusverd-fandom-blog]

I just had to block a spambot with the name furiousbiterdragon and it was so Lan Wangji core I had to stare into the distance for a while before blocking it.

[flautistsandpeonies]

Dust, Ash, & Bones

Read my prompt [here]

Word Length: 11,272

Time to Read: 1 Hour

You can also read this on my Wordpress.

Tags: Not for JC Fans, JC Canon Characteristics, Canon Divergence, Missing Person(s) fic, Non-Linear Story Telling, Sizhui gets a different courtesy name, Probably won’t end in WangXian

Tw: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Implied Sexual Assault

It started with a hand.

It was a small, fragile ball of crooked, cracked fingers. Its connected arm wound around the similarly small ribcage that was intertwined with the much larger bodies haphazardly thrown into the pit with it. The skull, detached, yet miraculously still close enough to be reunited with its body was no more larger than a bouncing toy the child would have played with when they were still alive.

“How ghastly,“ a junior disciple muttered while helping move what seemed to be endless corpses on carts.

“Depraved” is the word Lan Qiren wanted to use.

When he arrived at the path, he hadn't expected it to be this bad. If there were going to be bodies, he expected ones numbers the tens instead of what he feared were hundreds if not thousands lying underneath his feet.

A few meters away from him, a disciple was pulling another body from a different hole. The once white silks were dyed brown- either from the earth or dried blood was anyone's guess- and the brilliant red and gold sun embroidery that had once been used to denote the disciple's status was in ruins, threads pulled apart and falling away from the tattered layers and battered body. The head, surprisingly attached, lolled back, and the Lan elder was immediately aware of the corpse's glasgow smile.

As he shoveled another load of rocked filled earth up and out of the way, a servant wearing short sleeved baby blue robes shuffled over and bowed towards his back.

“Lan-laoshi,“ they started before rising up from their bow, “Hanguang-jun has finally arrived and is wondering were he should set up.”

The neighing of a horse followed after the servants words just as Lan Qiren started to turn around. Two stark white nancheng pulled along an elegant cart filled to the brim with papers, scrolls, and inks. Sitting atop one of the steeds was a very familiar face.

“Wangji,“ Lan Qiren greeted and stabbed his shovel into the ground. “Just in time.”

Lan Wangji nodded at his uncle. “Shufu,” he greeted as he dismounted.

The servant moved backwards to give the two Lan clan members their space. The Lan elder dusted his hands, brown earth falling into the open ground, before taking a step closer to his white clad relative.

“Wangji, while I wanted you to help with the digging,“ Qiren paused, turning his head to look out at the disciples carrying multiple bodies towards servants who held cloths for corpse transferal in their grasps. “I believe it would be best if you started with Inquiry as soon as possible.”

The Light Bearing Lord followed his uncle's line of sight, his golden eyes falling upon the carts full of yet unidentified bodies still being stacked up high upon one another. Many of the deads' flesh had either rotted off entirely or was still being eaten away by maggots. Somes' skin had even started slipping off the bone as their bodies were moved into the bright, warm sun and fresh air.

Lan Wangji's lips thinned as he continued to take in the sight. “Understood.”

“Set Wangji's tent up there." Lan Qiren turned to the servant while pointing at a grass laden spot along the path. “It's the only place where no bodies have been found yet.”

“Yes, laoshi,“ the servant replied while bowing again, and then moving towards the cart, a couple other servants ready and wanting to set up for the Lan heir's indefinite stay on Qiongqi Path.

As Lan Qiren went back to his shovel, Lan Wangji walked towards the grassy ground ahead. Not wanting to wait for his tent to be made, the young man sat crossed legged on the grass and brought his guqin before him. The sunlight reflected off the white, lacquered wood of the Wangjiqin, the shimmering sun rays making the painted blue clouds of the instrument seem as if they were drifting along like the ones in the sky above him.

Lan Wangji smoothed his hand over the guqin's strings, closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, he immediately saw on the other side of the path a new cart being brought in to be filled with more bodies. It was the fifth of many.

“Hanguang-jun,“ looking to his left, a servant knelt to deliver him a small table with papers and a pot of freshly prepared ink.

“Mn,“ Wangji nodded at them before turning back to what was in front,

With a flick of his fingers, the sound of Inquiry rang throughout the path, muffling out the sounds of grunts, groans, and gagging from the Lan sect members working around the area. As he played on, the Light bearing Lord's wispy, light blue spiritual energy rose up around him like rain drops falling in reverse. With another twang, the energy shifted around him before morphing into lime green orbs, the unrestful spirits of the path connecting and desperate to voice their resentments.

Disciples still digging for bodies were compelled to stop their work as the sight of so many spirits rising up from the rocky grounds all around them made their eyes widen in shock.

Another twang sounded from the guqin. “Who is there?” Wangji asked while dipping his brush in ink.

More than one orb moved towards the zither; all wanted to be the first to talk.

Moving the tip of the brush to his paper, Lan Wangji started to write as the dead began to speak.

Wen Yuze...Wen Shi...Wen Ping...Wen Lin...Wen Gang...Wen Da...Wen Bowen.....

On and on, the names seemed endless, the orbs jumping up and down on the zither's strings, each little reverberation a new voice, another lost life, when suddenly, Hanguang-jun placed a calloused hand on the strings, halting the Wangjiqin's melody.

Many of the orbs flew back; some even seemed to shiver in fear. The Second Jade of Lan simply started to play a soft tune in reply.

“What happened here?" Wangji asked softly as he moved his hands back.

A single, lime green spirit took a tentative move forward. Slowly, it crept down towards the zither and another light twang was released.

Hanguang-jun muttered while writing, “A massacre.”

A pluck of the strings. “Who killed you?”

A soft twang and the sound of a brush on paper. “The guards.”

Swiping his entire hand across the zither, Hanguang-jun asked,

“Can you show me?”

All the spirits seemed to still then. Quiet echoed out over the path as everyone waited for a reply. Minutes went by before the spirits gave another reaction.

“Ah!“ Some of the Lan disciples gasped as the air around them started to chill.

“What in the-urgh,“ a man gagged as the smell of rot and dried mud abruptly settled on his tongue.

Many of the disciples followed suit, some even beginning to dry heave into their hands. Those closest to the carts full of bodies felt their stomach's begin to turn even more as a feeling of bugs, mealy maggots, crawled up and down their arms, winding along their legs and torsos. Their throats burned along with a taste of hot iron- no, no, fresh blood- accumulating in their mouths.

The resentment in the area started to rise out of the ground and from the unearthed bodies. The Lan disciples tensed, some even reaching towards their blades, as tendrils of black and red energy molded together into humanoid shapes. Some were mishapened, missing limps, heads, chucks of flesh gouged out similar to the bodies on the transports; they wobbled to and fro like puppets dangling from their strings in the wind.

The spirit orbs started to expand. The bright cloudy sky was covered in dark grey, storm clouds. Lightning flashed and thunder roared as the sky opened up above them and rain started to blanket the earth. The rain passed right through them, their clothes staying as dry as the real ground underneath their feet.

Hanguang-jun played a couple of notes. “What happened on this path?”

An elderly man, “Wen Ping” whispered a disembodied voice into everyone’s ears, kowtowed before men clad in various shades of yellow and gold. Words of flattery dripped from his tongue, just as rain dripped from his ragged robes, but his tone was drenched in fear and exhaustion. “Please, good sirs, give the children more food,“ he begged the Jin guard while nearly shoving his forehead into the muddy ground. The Jin disciple in question sneered, kicking at the man. “Think you deserve more than your worth, Wen-dog?” “No, not for me, the children. The children please.“ Wen Ping stood quickly as another sharp kick hit him in the ribs. A sword was quickly pointed at the man as the overseer shouted, “Get back to work, you scum!” Wen Ping cowered, raising his hands and continued to plead, “Please, food, for the children.” “Worthless dog!” The spiritual blade struck straight through Wen Ping's chest. Screams sounded from the other prisoners as the man collapsed to the ground and the sword was wrenched out of his body. “Gah!“ Blood spurted out of the chest wound and Wen Ping’s mouth. Raising a hand to his chest, a wide-eyed look on his face, he gasped for air as blood filled his lungs. Wen Ping’s blood was washed away by the rain as the light faded from his eyes.

All of the Lan sect members on the path could only stare, mouths open wide, as another scene was displayed before them.

“You sons of bitches! You think you can treat us any way you want. Trash! Scum of the earth! Curse your generations for years to come!“ another Wen prisoner hollered at their captors as they were backed into a wall.

“Learn to obey your betters, Wen-dog!” One of the guards crowding the man growled as they brandished a discipline whip.

“Get away! Get your hands off me! I said get-”

And another.

“A-niang, A-niang!“ a small child cried as she was wrenched from her mother’s arm and thrown into the grasp of another Jin guard.

“A-Qing! A-Qing!” A woman in robes so tattered they barely covered her body lunged forward but was quickly grabbed by two female Jin guards.

“A-niang!” the child wailed harder as the woman was dragged in the other direction.

“Quiet, you brat!“ The guards wrangling the child shook them roughly.

“Please, please don’t take her. I’ll do more. I’ll do more, I promise, please! A-Qing!”

Sitting on the ground. Lan Wangji continued to play Inquiry, his spindly fingers flying rapidly across the silver strings. His golden eyes blazed ahead.

And another.

“Please, we’ll all work to pay for Wen Ruohan’s sins. Just please spare the women and children.” A man and three others stood arms stretched out in defense of the weak behind them.

“Shut up, scum! You think you can make demands of us?”

A harsh shove sent the already weakened man tumbling to the ground. His compatriots ran to his side while the guards advanced, unsheathing their swords.

One of the women started to scream. “Please, I’m begging you. Please don’t- Please!”

The memories dragged on. Child upon child was thrust before them, their little eyes alight with fear as the stone cold gazes of men and women stood above them, their swords raised high. Their high pitched wails echoed through everyone's minds along with the begging of their parents. Around them, the humanoid figures writhed around, mouths agape as if they were screaming in agony.

And another.

“Don’t touch my son!” A brunette woman spit at the Jin guard's outstreched hand.

“You bitch!“ the woman snarled grabbing at the woman’s hair while the infant began to holler.

“Stay away from me! Get away from my a-Yuan!” the woman struggled.

“Wen-whore. I’ll string you up!” The guard reached for her blade.

The mother kicked at her. “No, get away! Get off! a-Huan! a-Huan!”

“A-Bao!" A man tumbled from his station, throwing down the rocks he was being forced to carry, running for his wife.

Another guard quickly stood in his way. “Stupid Wen-dog! Get back to work!”

Wen Huan snarled and lunged forward. “No, you move! Get away from them! a-Bao! a-Yuan!”

The black and red figures jerked violently; bodies bloating and collapsing in on themselves. Puddles of resentment soaked the grounds while tendrils grew from the ripples. They waved around like lashing tongues, tips sharp like gnashing teeth. The sound of scratched throats echoed louder. Some cultivators grasped their pounding heads; others trembled as they were shrouded in dark energy, choking on the smell of fresh organs, warm, human blood coating their skin.

And another.

And old, battered woman sat slumped panting on the muddy ground. A small, shivering infant was strapped to the back of her small frame with what looked to the tattered remains of someone else's inner robes. The babe had no protection from the elements, his little face drenched from the downpour.

A defaced Wen set flag was held within the old woman's shaking arms. She tried to use the pole to stand back up, but her thin legs did not want to respond.

A stern-faced guard approached her and shouted, “Get back to work!”

The elder flinched, her breath coming out clipped and ragged. The rainwater made her few hairs stick to her wrinkly, scuffed face.

“Please,“ she mumbled raising a shaking, bony hand. “Mercy, a break. At least for the child.”

The man snarled, “I said get back to work, Wen-dog.”

The man held out his hand, and his weapon, towards the old woman's face. He clasped a branding iron, the Sparks Amidst Snow prominent against its red, hot edge.

Sweat dripped down Lan Qiren's forehead; his fists clenched and teeth creaked. His body trembled, fast breaths flowing from his burning nose. He took a step closer to the memory despite knowing there was nothing he could do to prevent it. 

The old woman’s eyes widened in fear. Throwing a hand out, she spoke in a creaky voice.

“Please,“ she begged, sounding utterly tired. “Please, spare the child.”

The guard growled and thrust the iron out. The Wen woman tried to back away but slipped, falling on her side, eliciting a wail from her ward.

She threw her hands around the boy and screamed. "Ahh!"

Just as the iron was inches away from her skin, a black mass wrapped around the torture weapon.

Cultivators watched as a large black and red figure surged into the guard, sending him and the branding iron flying back head first into the sludge like mud, covering them entirely.

The cultivators watched with wide eyes as the figure took the form of a shape that was familiar to some of them.

Hanguang-jun's playing came to a stop; the path was covered in an uneasy silence. His fingers quivered over the strings of his instrument as he gazed at the face of the man before him.

“Wei Ying,“ he whispered.

“Wei Ying”, dressed in robes darker than the stormy skies above, walked around the sloppy grounds; his silver eyed stare roaming across the path, taking in all the drenched to the bone prisoners, his muddy shoes gliding atop the unstable earth as his dark powers refused to let him sink down into the muck.

Around him, guards and Wen alike shifted on their feet, some even looking ready to run at a moment's notice. Behind him, the old woman got to her knees and brought her ward to her front, shushing him fearfully as she looked up at the man's black-clad back.

After a few minutes, “Wei Ying” turned his attention to the groaning guard.

“You, where is Wen Ning?“ he demanded tersely.

The guard startled at the question as they scrambling to their feet, almost slipping onto their face as they watched "Wei Ying" help the elderly woman and infant up, steadying them when they almost tripped.

He stuttered, "T-th-there is no here named Wen Ning!”

“That’s impossible!”

The shade around “Wei Ying” split, and a new figure formed. Black turned into dingy, dirt-stained white silks, the sun embroidery ripped from its sleeves. Brown locks sprouted from a bald, amorphous head, thin trembling limbs reached forward into existence. Soon, a distressed, haggard looking young woman stood a couple of feet behind "Wei Ying", fists clenched and eyes wide, shimmering with unspent tears.

“Wen Qing,“ Lan Qiren found himself muttering as the former respected doctor walk a bit closer to the guard.

“Please, he has to be here!“ She clenched at her lapels, fabric wrinkling under her grip. “The only place he could have been taken was here!”

The guard took a step towards the woman, and then another three back when "Wei Ying"'s eyes crackled with red sparks.

“N-no, no one here is named Wen Ning. No one!”

“Wei Ying” raised a disbelieving brow at the man. “No one?” The guard nodded rapidly. “That’s right. No one working here is named Wen Ning.” Giving him a sardonic smile, “Wei Ying” replied, “And the dead?”

The guard jumped at the question, gritting his teeth at the other man. Looking towards his fellow guards, they too looked a bit unnerved.

“The..the dead?“ the guard started off slowly, “not too many people die here, but I'm sure there isn't a Wen Ning among them!”

“Wei Ying's” smile grew even wider before he burst into laughter. All the guards reached for their blades, polished blades reaching out from their sheaths.

“Fine then," “Wei Ying” chuckled. “It's not like I actually need you.”

Reaching into his sleeve, “Wei Ying” pulled out a plain black flute, a simple red tassel swinging back and forth from the end of it. Raising it to his lips, he played a couple of notes.

“Eep!“ one of the outer Lan disciples screamed as they watched resentment rise once again, flowing into the muddy earth of the memory.

“Eahh!“ one of the guards squealed as a hand shot out of the ground, sharp nails digging into their ankle and pulling.

“Heavens, no!“ another shouted as they jumped back, slashing at a few of the corpses' hands.

Like vines sprouting from the ground, dirty hands creeped steadily out of the earth, their bent back fingers clawing for purchase. Soon, heaps of hair matted with mud and more popped up. Noses and split lips, tongueless maws, protruding bones, and eviscerated stomachs.

A choked gasp rang out from Wen Qing's throat. “a-Ning!”

The woman bounded through the rain; the hems of her robes soaked through with brown water as she dashed up and nearly slammed against the firm chest of the corpse.

“a-Ning,“ Wen Wing mumbled as her hands reached down and pressed against his sternum.

Deft hands pressed against her little brothers ribcage, trembling in horror as she felt the crushed, concave bones pressed into his inner organs.

“a-Ning,“ she started to stammer. “a-a-Ning. I-I...I can fix this. I can....I can-”

All at once, Wen Qing fell to her knees, wailing.

“a-Ning!“ she cried. “a-Ning! A-Ning!”

The corpse of Wen Qionglin stared forward, his clouded over eyes unfocused on anything and everything, unable to notice his crumbled sister pulling on the hems of his tattered, bloody robes.

Taking in the two siblings, all manner of aloofness was lost from “Wei Ying's” face, almost as white as the corpse of his friend before him, as he took uneven steps forward.

“Wen Ning,“ the words were barely heard from his lips. His teeth clenched and a red spark flitted from his eyes; hand tightening around ChenQing, resentment from the corpses started to swirl around the man. “Wei Ying” turned and snapped at the guards. “Which one of you killed him?!”

They all pointed their blades at the man.

“C-Calm down,“ one of the women said. “It-it wasn't our fault he died!”

As “Wei Ying” glowered at the woman, another guard piped up. “That's right! Uh, he-he got himself killed. We...we told him to stay away from the ledge but he wouldn’t listen!” another shouted.

The fear alone in their voices was enough to belay the falsities in their statement, but anyone could tell that the fatal injuries done to Wen Qionglin's body were inflicted by the hands of man. “He was being an arrogant Wen-dog and got what he deserved!” a man hollered. “Mhmm, it wasn’t us! It’s his own fault!” many of the other guards agreed.

Growling, Wei Wuxian lifted ChenQing to his lips once again. A quick, sharp tune echoed from the dark wood.

Chills ran up the spines of the cultivators as a familiar war song rang through their minds.

“Everyone, here and now, take your revenge on those who have slaughtered you!”

Screams echoed throughout the path. The corpses howled and charged forth, sharped teeth gnashing at the cultivators as they hopped on their blades, trying to take to the skies as they were surrounded. Meanwhile, the prisoners ran away as fast as their weak and downtrodden bodies would let them, tripping and falling to the ground in their fear.

“Fuck! Fuck!!“ one of the guards cried as a corpse's gnarled fingers wrapped around the hilt of their blade.

“Stop this! Stop it!“ another growled towards the black clad cultivator while slicing through one of charging foe.

“Damn you, Wei Wuxian!” yet another shouted, throwing a flame talisman at the man, only to have it deflected.

“Eahh!”

“Heavens! Gods no, not like this!”

“Damn it! Damn it all!”

The corpses closed in on their targets, pushing them and and striking the life from each one unlucky enough to get within their grasps. Those with the grace of speed, however, were able to take to the skies quickly enough to avoid the hissing and sharp nails of the dead.

“Quickly,“ a man with a vermillion mark on his forehead shouted over the desperate cries of their dying compatriots. “Back to Koi Tower; we have to warn Jin-zongzhu!”

As the camp's guards flew away from the growing mass of fresh carnarge wrought by the dead, some of the corpses locked onto them and attempted to give chase. However, a quick whistle stopped them in their tracks. Wei Wuxian watched as the sword fliers disappeared into the distance, the anger clouding his face slowly washing away as the screams of the dying gave way to the tears of Wen Qing. Turning back to his friend, he listened to her cries.

“A-Ning!“ She babbled against his broken leg. “A-Ning! A-Ning! A-”

Suddenly, Wen Qing toppled over into the muck. With a gasp, Wei Wuxian hurried over and took the woman into his arms. Staring at Wen Qing’s muddy face, Wei Wuxian sighed sadly and wiped at her face with his sleeve.

“Can you walk?“ Wei Wuxian shuffled over to a Wen prisoner who hadn’t been able to run far.

The man jumped and trembled at the question, taking a few steps back from the demonic cultivator, he licked his lips and nodded.

Y-yes. I-I can walk,“ he stuttered.

Wei Wuxian shifted Wen Qing in his arms and muttered, “Gather the others. I'll get the horses. We're leaving.”

The man's eyes widened in shock. Before he could utter another word, Wei Wuxian turned around and began to hum; the corpses started to move again. A bit scared at the action, the prisoner moved to do as he was requested.

Standing in the rain, Wei Wuxian hummed a soft tune. The corpses moved about, less like unstoppable forces of destruction, and more like everyday men, taking the guards' horses straight to him and lined them up along the path.

Switching to a whistle, the corpses all started laying on the ground, one by one, except for Wen Qionglin who walked to a horse drawn cart and laid down on it.

“We're here!“ Wei Wuxian gave a quick look behind himself, the prisoners were shivering both from the cold, unending rain and his own presence.

“Everyone, try and fit as many of you as you can on a horse. I know it’s not much, but I’ll watch over you,“ he said.

Faces drenched in water and anxiety alike stared at the young cultivator in blatant distrust; however, terrified as they were, hurried to obey. Fitting three to a horse, they were all more than ready to leave the path behind.

Walking over to Wen Qionglin’s cart, Wei Wuxian placed Wen Qing right beside him. Shucking off his outer robe, he threw it over the two siblings.

Snap

Wei Wuxian whipped around wildly as the sound of a fan snapping closed resonated in his ears. Looking up into the mountain ledges, he lifted ChenQing in defense.

The Lan cultivators looked up as well; the simulated ledges of the mountain's cliffs were stuffed to the brim with golden clad cultivators.

Standing there in the center of them all was Jin Guangshan and his right hand Jin Guangyao.

“Wei Wuxian, what do you think you’re doing?“ the Jin Sect Leader raised an eyebrow at the younger man. “I don't believe YunmengJiang has any authority in these lands.”

Glowering, Wei Wuxian replied, “Jin Guangshan, do you believe just because QishanWen is gone, LanlingJin has the right to replace them?”

Jin Guangshan laughed, his voice louder than even the roaring thunders of the skies, “Wei Wuxian, you truly are as arrogant as they say.”

The demonic cultivator replied with his own derisive laugh. “Do you really think no one would defy you? Jin gold can only go so far.”

Snapping open his fan, the Jin Sect Leader started to fan his face, “The Jin sect is the largest and most influential sect as of late. I think…we can do whatever we want. Besides, who cares what happens to a few Wen-dogs?”

Stepping forward, Jin Guangyao bowed to his father before giving Wei Wuxian his signature smile. “Wei Wuxian, it does no one any good to throw insults back and forth. We will forgive this transgression if you reimburse us for the lives you’ve taken.”

Wei Wuxian raised a brow. “Reimburse? You think the lives of a couple of guards are more than the hundreds they’ve slaughtered?”

“Is the name Wen not taboo? These people are only paying their penance. Weren’t you someone who advocated for the death of Wens yourself?“ Guangyao question.

A fierce look returned to Wei Wuxian’s face and his eyes bled red. “I killed Wen Ruohan’s soldiers! You dare consider my actions during the war to be like yours?!”

Shaking his head, Guangyao continued, “Never-the-less, blood between our allied sects has been spilled. Wei Wuxian, if you give us the Stygian Tiger Seal, we won’t have to go to Jiang-zongzhu for this.”

Wei Wuxian snarled, “I’ll die before I give you this seal.”

A wave of resentment bubbled together. Commanded by ChenQing, It was aimed towards the cliff’s edge.

“These people...are under my protection now. Come for them, come for us, and you will only have yourself to blame for your own death!”

The dark energy charged into the cliff. The Jins quickly retreated in fear of falling into the waters below. By the time, the dust has cleared, both Wei Wuxian and his charges were long gone.

Suddenly, the memory faded away, the plentiful spirits following suit as they ran out of strength. The bright sun returned and shined on the path, warming the faces of all the horrified Lan Sect members present.

Shovels had long ago found themselves thrown to the ground. People shook in anger; others had fallen to their knees with tears streaming down their cheeks.

Lan Qiren sucked in deep breaths of air and he struggled to compose his rapidly beating heart. His ears rang with screams and cries of all the spirits around him.

With a low hiss, he looked towards his nephew. Lan Wangji's was facing forward, his fists clenched tightly to the edges of his guqin. Though the man was normally hard to read, even he could tell that the Light Bearing Lord was enraged.

Before, Lan Qiren wanted to call this situation “depraved”. However, now, no one could say anything. No one wanted to say anything. The visions they were shown flashed repeatedly through their minds.

But they all knew for certain…

they were going to act.

---

3 Days Ago

The unhallowed winds sung to them as they marched up the untended, dark gray paths. They breathed in the stale mountain air, their noses tingling with the smell of burning wood and flesh alike, destruction trailing after them and clinging to their finely spun robes. On either sides, the sight of unfinished garden plots, long overgrown with sickly looking, barbed weeds and skeleton parts poking out of the rotten soil beseeched their eyes.

“Is this supposed to be the palace?“ one of the cultivators muttered as he took in brambles climbing up the trunk of a withered looking plum tree. “It looks like an abandoned village.”

“Could this be...where the servants are supposed to live?“ one of his companions added.

In front, the Nie Sect Leader grunted and raised his hand, stopping his men short.

“Look around,“ he ordered, his eyes searching the tree lines for any sudden movements. “Any Wen-dogs are to be eliminated, but Wei Wuxian is mine.”

“Yes, zongzhu!” the soldiers all shouted at once before taking off in different directions.

Nie Mingjue unsheathed his saber, his eyes narrowing at the sight before him.

All around, dilapidated shacks, no more fit to house goats and donkeys than that of any human being, barely stood along the paths, woods molded from lack of care, smelling both earthy and sick. On one, a roof had caved in while another had become the habitat of an army of black and green spiders with eerie pink and orange eyes. A third that still maintained its thatches held a murder upon it, the crows cawing sounding like laughter to the war general, as if his very presence upon the land was humorous to the scavenging creatures.

An irritated growl rumbled in his chest, the bird's unending tithering pulling at the man's already frayed nerves.

“Hrah!“ Mingjue shouted and threw his saber with all his might. The blade collided with one of the rotten beams of the closest shack, and the structure toppled over with a crackling thunk.

The startled crows screeched and took off, stray, black feathers falling to the ground like tainted rain drops.

Summoning Baxia back to his hand, the Nie Sect Leader's eyes trailed over the landscape again, searching for humanoid figures. The tell-tale groaning of walking corpses was absent, as was the eardrum-shattering shrill of ferocious ghosts. Despite the darkness all around him, choking the air with its nauseating influence, the young leader of the Nie could feel no danger in his immediate vicinity.

'There's really nothing here,' he thought before continuing forward up the mountain.

Many of the same things greeted the sect leader as he walked, but no hint of his adversaries were to be found. With the minutes passing, and the soon lessening of broken down buildings to greet him, his brows were pinched tighter than that of the hand holding onto the hilt of his blade.

After long, the Nie Sect Leader came upon the mouth of a cave. Large masses of brown moss hung from the top of it, creating a curtain into the unknown cavern. Slicing through it, Mingjue quickly threw a fire talisman into the darkness and stormed inside as the area abruptly sprung to life. Around him, old candles, some burnt down to the smallest nubs and some slighty melted, all exploded with light.

“The hell?“ the man questioned, before taking a closer look.

All of them held a strange carving upon them, the white wax covered in bright orange sigils not unlike that of the flames atop them.

Quickly, he understood. “Wei Wuxian.”

Raising his saber high to defend against a sneak attack, the man searched around the demonic cultivator's den. He quickly became aggrieved, however, when all he saw were old, soaked papers and an old, moth-bitten, brown-stained blanket.

“Nothing!“ the Nie Sect Leader snarled. “How can there be nothing?!”

Snatching one of the yellowed papers from the walls, he became even more incensed. A childish doodle, a stick figure with a red squiggly line and a thick black line for a hand stood tall next a small round ball with black lines sticking out on top in what looked to be a garden, stared back at him.

“Fucking hell!“ Mingjue cursed. “Is this some sort of joke? Wei Wuxian, show yourself!”

“Nie-zongzhu!“ one of the sect leader's men rushed into the cave, panting hard as they went into a shakey bow. “We've searched all around. There's nothing to be found.”

A tick formed on the sect leader's forehead. “Impossible.”

Swallowing thickly at his leaders clenched teeth and reddening face, the disciple hastily continued.“ Jin-zongzhu and the other sects are retreating for now. Jiang-zongzhu is hosting everyone in Lotus Pier.”

Nie Mingjue turned away from his disciple, taking in the wet cave and the near nothingness that inhabited it.

“That's impossible,“ he muttered. “Absolutely impossible.”

Crumbling the child's drawing in his hands, Nie Mingjue let out another curse as he threw it to the ground. “Son of a bitch!”

'How could he have escaped?' he thought. 'How could he have snuck all those Wens out of Yiling?'

Mingjue rounded on his disciple. “Gather the others and make a course for Lotus Pier.”

'It's impossible!'

“Yes, zongzhu!”

Mounting his saber, the Nie Sect Leader flew from the cave and took to the skies. His vision filtered through the overcast clouds before the gloom of the mountains broke and gave way to bright, blue skies and a shimmering golden sun. Ahead of him, silks of all colors and makes flew on their swords further south.

'There's nothing there.' These words rang throughout Mingjue's mind as he caught up with the rest of the sects. The cool winds made his eyes water, and he ground his teeth harder.

'There’s nothing there.' These words repeated as the cultivators touched down in Lotus Pier. The staunch, wooden gates opened slowly, giving way to wooden corridors and the swishing robes of servants hurrying to finish tasks.

'There's nothing there.'

'There's nothing there.'

Almost like a funeral procession, cultivator after cultivator marched through the lacquered gates of the Jiang Sect Manor and piled into the discussion hall. For once in a lifetime, the hall was silent, muddled. Many eyes shifted towards one another, silently nudging their companions and peers to start up a topic of discussion, but it was as if all of their tongues had been bitten by snakes. Swollen, and the atmosphere utterly suffocating, almost no one felt brave enough to speak.

“Ahem!”

A loud, fake cough suddenly had everyone narrowing their eyes on the lithe and loudly colored figure of the Jin Sect Leader. Jin Guangshan smiled effusively while fanning himself, the pink tassel on his fan catching somes' eyes like moths to a flame.

“I must say,“ Guangshan started, “the Yiling Patriarch is far craftier than I think any of us could have imagined.”

A rogue cultivator frowned at the man's words. “Jin-zongzhu?”

“I say, the man must have spies within our sects! Truly, for him to move his entire army before we got there, he must have known for months that we were coming.” The Jin Sect Leader let out an aggravated sigh, snapping his fan shut with a sharp click.

Like a needle full of anti-venom, a few people found their voices, quickly agreeing with the golden-robed man.

“Yes, yes, absolutely!” one man cried out. “How dastardly, that Wei-dog!”

“What a fiend!”

“Unscrupulous bastard!”

“You shouldn't expect less from the son of a servant!”

Many cultivators nodded along with this reasoning. Why not? It made plenty sense and explained their current predicament well enough. Wei Wuxian was known to be quite charming back in the day. Perhaps he had seduced some of their female disciples with his wiles, or, maybe, he had seduced some of the men with promises of treasure and gold. It was unsettling to think that any of their compatriots could be a spy for a heretical cultivator, but at least now they knew so-

“Do you expect me to believe that, Jin Guangshan?“ a growling voice broke through the effervescent chatting.

Eyes turned to the Nie Sect Leader who sat restlessly on the other side of the room. Nie disciples watched warily as their leader tapped his fingers against the table in front of him with one hand and gripped his saber's hilt on and off with the other as if he was contemplating striking someone with it. The man's purple spiritual energy was phasing in and out, circling him in ragged waves, as close to lashing out as the man who controlled it.

The cultivators from before found themselves gulping at the display from the robust sect leader as they stared at his stone hard eyes and his twitching brow.

Jin Guangshan continued to smile as if the situation wasn’t life-threatening. “Nie-zongzhu?”

Nie Mingjue gritted his teeth, his decorum teetering off the precipice of a high cliff. “This…all these years…everything has been a lie!”

Hopping from his seat, the Nie Sect leader started to shout. “Three years! Three years of listening to absolute bullshit about the Yiling Laozu and you have the arrogance to sit there and pretend that you haven’t been leading us astray this whole time!”

Cocking his head to the side, Jin Guangshan replied, “I think you might be...exaggerating, Nie-zongzhu.”

Nie Mingjue laughed, knuckles cracking as he balled his fists. “Exaggerating? Who was the one who sent reports on the Yiling Laozu to all the sects? Who organized the Nightless City pledge? Who helped lead the siege? Tell me Guangshan…who?!”

The answer to that demand was already known by everyone in the room, but the accusation was quite damning.

Jin Guangshan himself was rendered, for once, speechless. It wasn't as if he could deny his own actions. The entire cultivation world relied on the Jin Sect for reliable information on Wei Wuxian and his Wen-dogs, and now that information...

“Nie-zongzhu, aren’t you just playing into Yiling Laozu’s hands?“ Sect Leader Yao quickly stood and butted in. “To say that Jin-zongzhu has deceived us, he’s trying to turn us against one another! If you keep talking extremities, we will only find more confusion and chaos!”

Nie Mingjue turned all his anger on the minor sect leader. “Three years I’ve read countless reports of merchants and cultivators racing with treasures, desperate to become demonic disciples. I’ve read of servants and concubines strolling the halls of a great stone palace. I’ve read of an army filled with Wen Ruohan’s most favored disciples, and the second I set foot on the mountain I don’t see a damn thing. Not a servant, not a soldier, not even a damn chamber pot!“ His eyes were turning bloodshot. “Yao-zongzhu, you dare sit there and try to tell me I’m being extreme?”

With such an impassioned speech, the other side was struck silent. Murmurs of other cultivators erupted across the discussion hall. Many were in agreement with Nie Mingjue, voices mixing with one another in discontent about wasted time and resources.

“All I saw were corpses and crows.”

“It really didn't look like anyone had been there in months.”

“It didn't. But didn't we get missives about a caravan going up the mountain just a couple months ago?”

“We did! But you didn't see any hoof prints or wheel tracks, did you?”

“Aha, Yao-zongzhu, I do believe you've made Nie-zongzhu even more stressed.“ A tense smile formed on Guangshan's lips.

The Yao Sect Leader felt himself shiver as a few disapproving stares were sent his way. Usually, during discussion conferences, he could be quite inventive with his words. He used his advantage as an ally of the Jin sect to give his words more credibility and thus more people readily believed him and decided to follow what he said. However, in a situation like this, if he continued to hug the Jin Sect’s legs he’d only be kicked from all sides!

With another shiver the man spoke, “Today has been stressful, hasn't it? I suppose your words do have some merit, Nie-zongzhu,“ and sat down.

Nie Mingjue snorted at the man’s cowardliness. “A show of hands. Who really believes that Wei Wuxian had spies and disappeared his settlement?”

A hand or two rose at the question but the outcome was almost unanimous. The thought that ‘if Wei Wuxian had spies this whole time, he would’ve conquered us already!’ rooted itself in their minds.

“It's impossible!”

“Surely any co-conspirators would have been found out?”

“Disappearing an entire palace without a trace? Not even Wei Wuxian could accomplish that!”

Pleased, Nie Mingjue returned to his seat, plopping down with a loud thump. “That's what I thought.”

With that, a new type of silence quickly found itself encompassing the hall. Eyes shifted all around once more, but not to get someone to start a discussion. Theories bounced through their heads; inquiries desired to be filled. Suspicions and accusations were on the tips of almost everyone's tongues.

Wei Wuxian was no where to be found.

The Jins had given them questionable information.

After a while, some people started to whisper to their neighbors. Soft, mindless chatter filled the room.

Hearing a few disparaging words towards his sect in the commotion, Jin Guangshan quickly thought, ideas turning through his head, wanting to turn the discussion back in his favor. Looking to Lianfang-zun, the man mused; he could use both of their influence to manipulate the lessers in the room.

As if sensing his father's intentions, Jin Guangyao opened his mouth to speak up; however, before he could, a sharp knock had everyone jumping.

Turning heads once again, everyone eyed Lan Qiren. The man was sharing a looking with his oldest nephew, both seeming to be communicating without needing to use their words. The Lan Sect Leader nodded at his uncle, and the man stood quickly, yet quietly.

“This situation is truly appalling,“ Qiren started. “The Lan agree with Nie-zongzhu. Jin-zongzhu, it can be said that the only crime Wei Wuxian has committed is killing your guards at the path; however, the validity of his actions after comes into question. It is your sect that delivered information to all other sects over these years; we trusted you to give us accurate reports, but that trust is questionable now.”

Putting a cordial smile on his face, Jin Guangshan replied, “Lan-Xiansheng, I honestly don’t know what to say. I can promise you that every bit of information that we sent to the sects was genuine. I even put Guangyao in charge to make sure that everyone would get the same reports. How this situation came to pass, I have no idea.”

“Is that true?“ Lan Xichen looked towards his sworn brother.

“It is,“ an amicable smile was painted on Jin Guangyao’s face. “Everyone, I have personally vetted all the information given to us and fact-checked all that was assembled. For Wei Wuxian to not be there, and for our information to be amiss, it has to be his demonic power and craftiness at work.”

Nie Mingjue snorted at him. “Because you couldn’t have possibly lied.”

“Da-ge.“ Xichen frowned at the older man.

“No.“ A fiery look ignited on Mingjue’s face. “Xichen, you can’t possibly believe this farce.”

Standing, Sect Leader Lan surprised them all. “I do not.”

“Er-ge?“ Lianfang-zun had acquired a shocked, put-upon look.

A sad smile crossed Zewu-jun’s face while he glanced at Lianfang-zun. His sworn brother had faced strifes that few among them, if any, could relate to. In his quest for legitimacy, he had done deeds that some- their Da-ge in particular- looked unfavorably at. And while Xichen would usually come to his defence or aid, this was something that could not be easily explained away.

"I do not believe that Wei Wuxian could have escaped so easily," he started. "While planning the siege, we kept meticulous watch on the Burial Mounds, did we not? It was a joint effort, and none of our sentries indicated that anyone had even left the mountain in that time."

Turning to a servant, Lan Xichen requested paper and ink. "However, I also do not believe that my sworn brother would simply lie to us all about Wei Wuxian's location. There would be no purpose in planning a siege for a place they knew occupied no one. Furthermore, LanlingJin bore the brunt of producing the nets and talismans for the siege, an expense they wouldn't have made had they knew their information was false."

Xichen let the people aroud him chew on his words for a couple of minutes before speaking again. "There is no doubt that there is something or someone interfering in this matter, so I offer a solution. An investigation into Qionqi Path, Wei Wuxian, and the Jin Sect."

“Eh,“ a minor sect's disciple gasped. “Why Qionqi Path?”

“Qionqi Path is the start of this, is it not?“ Zewu-jun nodded towards the disciple. “The start of the Yiling Laozu, and the start of LanlingJin’s reports.”

The servant returned, shuffling over with the paper and freshly prepared ink. Taking up a brush, the Lan Sect Leader started to write while saying,

"If we're to find the culprit behind this, we should start from the very beginning. The surviving guards of Qionqi Path should be re-questioned. Lan disciples will use Inquiry to question any and all spirits on the path. The people of Yiling should be questioned and all their personal accounts should be taken, man, woman, and child. The team that worked on the reports to the sects should be extensively questioned, as will the couriers." Lan Xichen spoke with a finality in his voice.

The type of investigation Zewu-jun was proposing would be extremely meticulous...and costly. A few minor sects blanched at the thought of their coffers, already having had a chunk taken out of it in preparation for this siege. If they were expected to contribute, it would not be a measly sum. However, disciples from the major sects nodded along with the Lan's words. While no doubt intensive, an investigation would help weed out any secret diabolists and Patriarch sympathizers.

Xichen put his brush down for a moment to smile at everyone. "With this, we should be able to find the interlopers and free the Jin Sect from any accused wrongdoing. During so, we can also regulate some of our disciples and resources into finding Wei Wuxian so we can punish him properly."

Finished, the Lan Sect Leader took to his seat, and the room was overfilled with raucous chattering.

"Heh, we'll find that Wei-dog yet!"

"Do you think the people in Yiling will even help? What if they all worship him?"

"Jin-shao-furen favored Wei Wuxian quite a bit. Maybe she had something to do with this? Maybe one of her maids?"

"Wasn't there a woman that defended Wei Wuxan at the Flower Banquet too?"

"There was! Where did she go?!"

"Didn't she throw a tantrum and storm out?"

"We shouldn't have let her leave! She probably went off to become one of his whores!"

"Wasn't Nie-er-gongzi his friend as well? They always hung around each other when we studied at the Cloud Recesses."

"Eh, you really think he has something to do with this?"

Turning away from the mindless blather, Lan Qiren landed his gaze on the Jiang Sect Leader. "Jiang-zongzhu, you need to answer us as well."

Jiang Wanyin had been silent the entire time, having been, while not content in the slightest, leant back in his lotus throne. At the Lan teacher's words, however, he scoffed, bracing his head against his balled hand. "And what am I supposed to say? Is YunmengJiang suddenly responsible for Wei Wuxian again?"

Lan Qiren smoothed out his sleeve. "No, but please inform us of the situation on the Burial Mounds when you went there three years ago. You fought with Wei Wuxian not long after."

People around the room let out a few inquisitive sounds. Some had forgotten that the Jiang Sect Leader had seen Wei Wuxian's encampment and had been the ony person from the sects allowed on the mountain before the barrier locked everyone out and Wanyin declared his former head disciple the cultivation world's enemy.

“I saw Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian chattering and the Wen-dogs building.“ Wanyin crossed his arms while glowering from his raised dias.

“What were they talking about? And what were they building?“ Lan Xichen asked.

“Does it matter? Have you forgotten what he did to my sister, to her husband and his cousin? Has GusuLan and QinqheNie suddenly gone softhearted for a demonic cultivator?“ he spat harshly.

Lan Xichen's face pinched. "Jiang-zongzhu, I assure you that Jin-shao-furen, Jin Zixuan, and Jin Zixun will all be avenged. However, at this moment, we can't even be certain if it was Wei Wuxian who was responsible for the attack."

Jiang Wanyin sneered. “Wei Wuxian controls corpses! Fierce corpses attacked my sister! What more do I need to know?!”

As always, Jiang Wanyin’s temper flare. “Wei Wuxian created the demonic path! He hated Jin Zixuan! Who else would want to kill him?!"

Used the the man's smoldering disposition, the Lan Sect Leader replied, "I know that Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixuan have had a difficult past, and thus he would be the obvious suspect. However, Jiang-zongzhu, you have crucial information that can help us clear the Jin's name. If we work diligently, we can find Wei Wuxian and the Wens he took. If he is responsible for Jin-shao-furen's injury, then he will be punished for it.”

Jiang Wanyin simply shook his head in return, grunting.

The Nie Sect Leader huffed in the younger man’s direction “Why are you so against an investigation? Shouldn't any evidence against Wei Wuxian be in favor of YunmengJiang?”

“We already know the man's a heretic.“ Wanyin countered. “He's guilty of disrespecting the dead and forcing them to do his bidding. That alone is worth death. If you want to find out if he had any little spies working for him, it can be done after we've found him.”

Nie Mingjue turned his nose up. “Perhaps we should add you and your sect to the list of inquiries.”

Jiang Wanyin glared at Mingjue; Zidian crackled against his clenched palm. “What are you trying to say?”

Never one to cower, Nie Mingjue leaned forward in his seat and replied, “I’m saying it’s suspicious why you refuse to tell us what you saw on the Burial Mounds. You say you saw Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing talking, but not about what. You say you saw the Wens building, but give no adept description of what you saw. How can I not think you’re not hiding something? You lived with Wei Wuxian for ten years; you should know him best out of anyone in this room. For all we know, you helped him escape!”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes darkened as others in the room hollered in agreement with the Nie Sect Leader's words. Some even demanded Jiang Wanyin answer the room immediately. Bristling at the disrespect in his own home, Zidian started to crackle again, purple lightning running up his finger, threatening to transform into its whip state before he rubbed his other palm against it.

“Tch,“ disdain filled Wanyin's face. “How about this? If you find some spy within your ranks, I'll happily deal with them in exchange for information. What little I know about those Wen-dogs and their handler is pittance compared your sects being compromised."

Tension rose at the man's words. Several older minor sect leaders grumbled at his tone.

Jin Guangshan spoke up. “I must say, Lan-zongzhu, you are very bold.“ He smirked. “Are Jiang-zongzhu and I supposed to just let you question our disciples at your leisure? Should the inner workings of our sects be free for all to see?”

Lan Xichen smiled, but there was nothing polite about it. “Jin-zongzhu, if you have been telling the truth all these years, you have nothing to worry about. If Jiang-zongzhu has nothing to hide, then he has nothing to worry about.”

“And what are you trying to say, Lan-zongzhu?“ Jiang Wanyin growled. “YunmengJiang cut ties with Wei Wuxian a long time ago. I’m not responsible for what he does anymore.”

“I’m not holding you responsible for Wei Wuxian, his actions are his own, but I am telling you that if you have information that you are withholding, information that, whether it makes Wei Wuxian innocent or guilty, whether it makes LanlingJin innocent or guilty, and you choose here and now not to say anything, that myself, Chifeng-zun, my sect, the Nie sect, and minor sects will hold you responsible for your actions,” Zewu-jun’s voice was steel against Jiang Wanyin’s sharp tongue.

Sect Leader Jiang growled deep in his chest. “Is that a threat, Lan-zongzhu?”

“It’s a promise, Jiang-zongzhu,” the words were cold.

“Hold on, hold on now, do Jiang-zongzhu and I not have a say in this?“Jin Guangshan waved his hand in the air. “Who would even lead an investigation like this?”

The question had many people speculating. The head investigator would have little ties to YunmengJiang, LanlingJin, and Wei Wuxian. They would have to have a good reputation and many merits to their name for people to believe their findings.

“How about Hanguang-jun?” a minor sect leader suggested.

“Yes, yes, while he dislikes Wei Wuxian greatly, he is a man of renown and is unbiased in all his actions. He is the pinnacle of his clan’s rules and wouldn’t lie in any report sent to any sect,” another agreed.

The man in question did not reply. Hanguang-jun did not participate in the siege and only joined the discussion after passing the cultivation world on their way to Yunmeng by chance. He rarely joined discussion conferences and preferred night-hunting, but today he sat diligently beside his sect leader reading the notes his brother had written for the investigation.

“I agree,“ Lan Xichen smiled. “Wangji will lead the Lans to use Inquiry at Qionqi. I will also delegate my uncle and seven elders to the Lan contingent.”

“The Nie will appoint nine elders who have never been in contact with Wei Wuxian to assist with the investigation.“ Nie Mingjue nodded along in agreement with Zewu-jun’s words.

“Is that acceptable to everyone else?“ The Nie Sect Leader looked to his fellow sect heads. “Will you stand with us? Or do you stand with the Jin and Jiang sects?”

Voices rang out.

“TingshanHe stands with Lan and Nie!”

“YueyangChang stands with Lan and Nie!”

“BalingOuyang stands with Lan and Nie!”

“PingyangYao stands with Lan and Nie!”

“RunanWang stands with Lan and Nie!”

“LaolingQin stands with Lan and Nie!”

One by one, the sect leaders in the room stood and announced their allegiance to the investigation. An enraged look had formed on Jiang Wanyin’s and Jin Guangshan’s faces as even their subsidiary sects stood against them.

Another pleased smile found its way onto Nie Mingjue's face.

“It’s settled then.”

---

6 Months Later

"This is outrageous. You can't do this!"

In the center of the Lan Sect's discussion hall, Jin Guangshan, Jin Guangyao, Jiang Wanyin, multiple Jin disciples, and some from the minor sects sat chained in an array with their spiritual powers sealed away. All around them leaders of the various sects sat silently. In front, on a raised dais, were the leaders of the major sects, Madam Jin, a few Jin elders, and the investigation team.

A Lan elder stood in front of the restrained cultivators. "We will begin with the accounts from Yiling." they said.

It started with a scroll.

It was a small thing, lime green and bound with a bit of twine. It probably held no more words than that of a children's book, yet held a hefty accusation.

“From a Hou Caiyi, a resident of Yiling. has asserted that there had been no influx of merchants in the past three years and that his business had been the same. He also asserts that the Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian, never made an appearance in the city.”

A simple bit of hearsay, some might claim, but along with these words came ledgers spanning back years.

The rest of the trial was much like this, books and scrolls, ledgers, witnesses and victims, landlords and farmers. An entire week was taken up with barely any sleep, skipped meals, and unearthed truths.

“From a Lu An, a resident of Yiling has asserted that no person that traveled to Yiling to become the Yiling Patriarch’s disciples were allowed up the mountain.”

“From a Hu Jiming, a civilian from Yueyang region has asserted that Jin Guangyao, with permission from his father, gave him two taels to spread rumors around his area that Yiling Laozu had cursed him with misfortune.”

“From a Song Jingyi, a civilian of Laoling has asserted that Jin Guangyao, with permission from his father, gave him three taels to spread rumors that Yiling Laozu had kidnapped his ex-wife and children.”

“From a Jin Lan, daughter of Jin elder Qiuyue and sitting here today for trial, has asserted that Jin Guangshan tasked her with spreading rumors that the Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian, kidnapped children to commit cannibalism to every region that she night-hunted.”

“From a Jin Lei, daughter of Jin elder Qiuyue, and sitting here today for trial, has asserted that Jin Guangshan tasked her with spreading the rumors that the Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian, had a harem of witches to every region in which she night-hunted.”

“From a Jin Zihan, sitting here today for trial has asserted that Jin Guangyao ordered him to refuse the prisoners of Qionqi Path new clothing and to limit their food to once every few weeks.”

“From a Zhu Huang, sitting here today for trial has asserted that Jin Guangshan ordered him to separate the child prisoners from their parents so that the parents would “work harder”.

“From a Jin He, sitting here today for trial has asserted that Jin Guangyao tasked him with carving Stygian Lure Flags into Young Madam Jin’s carriage”

“From Qin-zongzhu ’s wife, she has asserted that Jin Guangshan assaulted her and such resulted in the conception of her daughter Qin Su.”

“Jiang-zongzhu himself asserted that he saw the victims of Qionqi Path. Instead of reporting to the sects that the Jin sect had committed crimes against non-combatants, he instead battled Wei Wuxian and declared the man and his charges enemies of the cultivation world. Jiang Wanyin also helped plan and then led the siege on the burial mounds to execute what he knew were of little iniquity.”

Throughout these denunciations, the accused were given a chance to defend themselves.

Jin Guangshan roared at his right hand. spittle flying from his lips,  “You son of a whore! You dare kill my son? Just wait, I’ll have you strung up for all of Lanling to see your worthless corpse!”

Guangshan gasped at the LaolingQin Sect Leader's boot collided with his chest, leaving a brown stain right above his heart. Another kick was aimed straight for his jaw, and his head snapped to the side; he spat blood onto the pristine stone floors. “Qin Cangye, aren’t we good pals? I would never harm your wife. I know how much she means to you; I was there for your wedding after all! Xiao-Su is your heir through and through, can't you see? What could I possibly gain from debasing you?”

A simpering smile was aimed at the entire room, his split lip tearing more at the baring of his teeth. “Hadn’t we all agreed that those surnamed Wen were nefarious, no better than dung beneath our shoes? I was only acting on our collective thoughts; their labor was crucial in rebuilding after the Sunshot Campaign! Wouldnt you agree Yao-zongzhu, Wang-zongzhu, Fu-zongzhu?”

Jiang Wanyin's voice mixed with the Jin Sect Leader's. “You sewer-rat! How dare you? I’ll kill you! I’ll rip you to shreds! Just wait and see! Just wait!”

The red-faced Jiang Sect Leader shouted out into the expansive room. his young voice sounding shrill and underdeveloped to the older, dark-faced men surrounding him. “Since when were Wen-dogs considered people anymore, huh!? Am I just suppose to forgive the slaughter of my clan!? The disrespect of my parents corpses?! The destruction of my sect?! How long will you continue to kiss Wen ass?! Wei Wuxian created the demonic path! If someone uses it to do harm, then he’s at fault just as much as they are! All diabolists deserve to die! Anyone who chooses to cultivate the demonic path deserves to die!”

Jin Guangyao looked out into the room with watery eyes. He gave everyone a small smile, flush, dimpled cheeks on display. “I will admit that I was ambitious, and my ambitions caused my actions. I wanted to become a great cultivator of the Jin sect, as was my mother’s wish. I could only be a good filial son and try and live out her wish through any means necessary.” He spared a glance at his sworn brothers; both avoided his gaze. “Er-ge, Da-ge, I wouldn’t have done such deeds without great reason. The three of us have known one another for so long, you both must know the type of person I am.”

Others were not given as much time as the sect leaders and their heirs, but they fought for themselves none-the-less.

Jin Lan rambled, “It was Jin-zongzhu ’s idea! I didn’t know it would lead to this. I believed the other rumors as well. I’m not in much fault as the others!”

Jin Lei cried, “I was only doing what I was ordered! a-Niang? a-Niang, you believe us don’t you?”

Jin Zihan begged, ���Please, I was only following orders. I couldn’t refuse an order from my sect. One should always stay loyal to their sect leaders should they not?“

Zhu Huang pleaded. “I was only following orders! I’m an outer disciple. If I don’t do what they tell me, I’ll be kicked from the sect! My family relies on me; I had no other choice!”

Jin He screamed, “It was that whore's son's plan! I shouldn’t be blamed for something he came up with! I had no idea that carving would kill Zixuan; I thought it was cosmetic!”

After a while, their words all started to blend in to one indiscipherable screech, so the Lan's used their sect's silencing technique, and had the defendants taken away. Soon after, the deliberations started, and only two hours later, the sects had decided on their verdicts.

"Guilty!"

"Guilty!"

"Guilty!"

The defendants were dragged out and forced to kneel once more. Each sect leader stood, glowering down at them.

The Lan elder spoke, "Jin Guangshan, we find you guilty on multiple counts of rape, disrespect of the dead, terrorizing civilians with corpses, yao, and spirits, using non-cultivators in labor camps, bribery, and the defamation of character and attempted murder of the Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian, and the victims of Qionqi Path. For your crimes, your sect strips you of your position as sect leader. As the next in line, Jin Ling, has not reached an age of succession, the clan elders will lead the sect along with Madam Jin until he does. Your spiritual powers will be sealed permanently, and you will be sent into seclusion indefinitely. A small portion of Jin treasures will be made into reparations for the Qionqi Victims and Wei Wuxian, while another will be used to reimburse the allied sects.”

“Jin Guangyao, we find you guilty of disrespect of the dead, terrorizing civilians with corpses, yao, and spirits, using non-cultivators in labor camps, bribery, and the defamation of character and attempted murder of the Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian, and the victims of Qionqi Path. We also find you guilty of the murder of Jin Zixuan and the attempted murder of Young Madam Jin and sect heir Jin Ling. For your crimes, your spiritual powers will be sealed permanently, and you will be sent into seclusion indefinitely. “

“Jiang Wanyin, we find you guilty of the defamation of character and attempted murder of the Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian, and the victims of Qionqi Path. For your crimes, as there is no one to depose you, two-thirds of the land that YunmengJiang is responsible for will be distributed between your subsidiary sects. The Jiang Sect will also be subject to routine evaluation by the Lan and Nie sects. A portion of Jiang treasures will be made into reparations for the Qionqi Victims and Wei Wuxian and reimbursent for the allied sects.”

“For the guards of Qionqi Path, We find you all guilty of the torture and murder of civilians numbering the hundreds and disrespect of the dead. For your crimes, we sentence you to death by hanging”

“For Jin Lan and Jin Lei, we find you guilty of the defamation of character and attempted murder of the Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian and the victims of Qionqi Path. For your crimes, we sentence you to death by hanging”

“For Jin He, we find you guilty of the murder of Jin Zixuan and the attempted murder of Jin-shao-furen and sect heir Jin Ling. For your crimes, we sentence you to death by hanging”

The guilty parties thrashed against their restraints. Tears flowed down the faces of the Qionqi guards as they tried to fight the silencing technique to plead for their lives once more. Sect Leader Jiang ripped his lips open, and started shouting, blood dripping down his lips and voice hoarse,

“You can’t do this, you hear me! I won’t stand for this! I won’t let you do this! You hear me! You won’t get away with this!”

---

4 Months Later

A inn’s dining hall was bustling with travelers, rogue cultivators, and a multitude of farmers tired from a long day’s work.

“Hey, hey, hey, did you hear? Yiling Laozu’s still missing!” one traveler chatted up a party of five.

“Eh, they haven’t found him yet?” one of the men raised their brow as he sipped at his wine.

“Nope, not a hair has been found.” The traveler shook his head. “It’s like he's disappeared from existence.”

“Well, can you blame him? Those cultivators were ready to kill the poor man!” a woman having a meal with her husband called out to the group.

“If I were him, I'd hide under a rock for the rest of my life,“ her husband added, “Really, have you heard all the insane rumors those sects made up about him? I'd be too scared to show my face at a funeral with all the slander they made up!”

“He’s probably too scared to get killed for something he didn’t do,“ a waiter said as he brought a tray of drinks to a few customers.

“I don’t blame him, that’s for sure,” the traveler smiled in their direction.

A man stood from the corner of the room and walked over to sit at a table closer to the conversation. Everyone eyed them; their robes weren't ostentatious, but they were built for travel and hard work. A plain sword sat at their side, and a qiankun bag on the other.

A rogue cultivator spoke. “Lan-zongzhu issued a statement that the Lan will continue to search for Wei Wuxian in the hopes he'll rejoin polite society.”

The group 'aah"ed at the rogue's words.

“With how everything is, we’ll probably never hear from him again.” one of the dining men filled a cup of wine for the rogue cultivator and passed it over.

The man smiled as he took the drink, tipping his head at the other. “Probably.”

[trensu]

crack tangled au that nobody asked for

i saw a pic of wang yibo with blond hair and decided that lan wangji needed to be rapunzel. idk what else to tell you guys. there’s literally no other reason this exists.

so lwj has lived in his tower for as long as he can remember. his father says he’s not allowed to leave it ever bc the outside is Dangerous. There’s all sorts of unsavory folk that want to take his magic blond hair and use it for Nefarious Purposes. 

lwj is not all that interested in going outside. he trusts and loves his father. his father only wants what’s best for him. the outside world sounds scary anyway. besides, his father gave him a friend a few years back in the form of a small, surprisingly intelligent lizard named huaisang so he’s not lonely. And his father brings him books and other things for his hobbies. he hopes his father visits again soon bc his guqin’s strings snapped and now he can’t play.

lwj would have lived his whole life quite content with his little huaisang in the tower. except one day someone crawled in through his window. a STRANGER found his tower!! a DANGEROUS STRANGER was in his tower for NEFARIOUS PURPOSES. Probably. His father warned him about these guys. so he does the sensible thing and whacks the STRANGER over the head with his stringless guqin.

he stares blankly at the unconscious stranger and then looks at huaisang. 

“what are we supposed to do with him now?” lwj murmurs to his little lizard. huaisang makes a little growly sound. lwj nods. “But I don’t think we have any rope.”

lwj decides to use his hair.

--

look, wwx is not having a great day. he got chased by royal guards after he and jc were caught trying to steal from rich ppl (hey, he and his brother and sister were orphans without a penny to their name!! and sure, jyl brings in some income playing nursemaid to a fairly well to-do family and he and his brother find odd jobs here and there, but thats hardly what you’d call stable income...so maybe sometimes they help themselves to extra gold from the lordly families like the Jins; nbd, right? it’s not like they’d even notice the loss and also they’re all Assholes so they deserve to get robbed) bc maybe, MAYBE jc had a point when he said they’d be overreaching trying to steal from the royal Lan family.

he eventually loses the guards which is good! but then he loses track of his brother, which was bad. and then he somehow acquired a Very Angry Horse that won’t stop following him which is weird. also mildly inconvenient but an angry horse is still a step up from angry guards. then there was this tower he climbs up, ignoring the angry horse’s whinnies.

and now? Now he’s slowly regaining consciousness and finding himself tied to a chair by golden rope...hey, wwx is up for some bondage every now and again but, like, he’s gotta go through all the kink negotiation and safeword confirmation and sort out all the consent stuff before he gives the go ahead. he’s pretty sure none of that has happened.  So this is the UN-fun type of bondage and...wait a minute...this isn’t rope...is this--?

“who are you and what are your Nefarious Plans for my hair?”

wwx looks up and sees the most beautiful face he’s ever seen in his entire life. if jc were here he’d be shouting up a storm, demanding they be freed this instant. jc is about 90% of wwx’s impulse control and 20% of his common sense (the other 80% of his common sense resides with jyl at all times for safekeeping). So instead of demanding to be released, wwx puts on his most charming smile and leans forward towards the prettiest man in the world who’s hovering not nearly close enough in his space.

“well, hello. you can call me your future husband and the only plans i have for your hair involve a bed, you, and--”

He really should have expected the next hit to the head.

--

as far as meet-cutes go...it could’ve gone worse.

--

“i can’t believe you’ve been stuck in that tower all your life. don’t you get bored??”

“No.”

“don’t you ever want to stretch your legs and enjoy the sunshine?? go for a swim maybe?”

“No.”

“well why are you making me take you to through this awful forest and go to the palace??”

“Huaisang.”

“umm...bless you?”

The pretty man known as lwj sighs. “No. Huaisang is my lizard. It’s not fair for him to stay cooped up with me all the time.”

The lizard perched on lwj’s shoulder wiggles its disconcerting little lizard hand at him and, like, smiles at him. can lizards smile? they shouldn’t. it looks creepy. lwj cups a hand over the little lizards head and whispers to wwx.

“he thinks he’s a dragon. i want him to see what a real dragon looks like so he can figure out for himself that he isn’t one.”

“oh, so that’s why you wanna go to the palace. yeah, i wish someone had told me before that they had a dragon guarding the royal coffers.”

lwj narrows his eyes suspiciously at him. “why.”

“uh, no reason,” wwx winces and discreetly tugs the burnt edges of his robes out of view.

an awkward silence lingers for a painfully long time. the Angry Horse makes a sound. wwx suspects that he’s laughing at him. wwx sighs. at least he gets to enjoy the view, he thinks as lwj marches confidently ahead and subsequently gets them all lost.

--

lwj was just trying to be nice. that’s all. he wanted his little lizard friend to be happy. that’s it. his life was just fine before that!

but in the course of 48 hours, he finds out huaisang really IS a dragon, and is actually the little brother of nie mingjue, the dragon that guards the royal coffers. he falls in love with a roguish, penniless thief whose smile outshines the sun and carries a heart as golden as lwj’s hair. Said thief is now being held hostage by the man he calls his father but is in reality Meng Yao, the lan’s royal adviser who kidnapped him as an infant in order to use his magical hair for Nefarious Purposes. Oh, and apparently lwj is the long lost lan prince.

...he knew he should’ve stayed in the tower.

--

lwj feels his lips quirk up slightly as wwx runs his fingers through his now very black, very shortly cropped hair. wwx beams at him.

“didn’t i say i was gonna be your husband?”

“Hm,” lwj gives a small nod. “but having a horse at the wedding is a surprise.”

“yeah well, apparently we’re a package deal bc he won’t quit following me.”

wen qing, the witch officiating their wedding, scoffs. “seriously?? you haven’t figured it out yet??”

she taps the horse angrily chewing at wwx’s robes and suddenly there’s a man in purple robes shouting at the top of his lungs.

“A WEEK. I’VE BEEN CURSED INTO A HORSE FOR A WEEK, WEI WUXIAN, YOU IDIOT. HOW GODDAMN STUPID ARE YOU THAT YOU DIDN’T REALIZE---”

“Oh, jiang cheng! you’re just in time for the wedding!!”

The shouting lost all coherency at that point. but that’s okay. lwj is very happy he finally left his tower anyway.

[tanoraqui]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] Epilogue 

[now all on AO3!]

The real tragedy is that, while Nie Huaisang got to attend Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan’s wedding, and of course it was lovely and everything it could have been, he had to miss the subsequent banquet, which was the event of the century. A week later he’s already heard a song about it; two weeks and he’s heard four, and more rumors than usually circulate in a year, and even they mostly pale to the reality as reported from the horse’s mouth

“ - I was just going to run around dodging until some ghosts got through, but then Lan Zhan leapt to my defense, catching Sandu with Bichen!” Wei Wuxian grinned at Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang with equal glee, though his smile for the former was much softer. “Jiang Cheng struck back, of course, and they were off - two of the greatest cultivators of our generation, leaping from table to table right there in Glamour Hall, fighting blade to blade - and whip to guqin!”

He gestured dramatically, recreating the moment and nearly smacking Lan Wangji, seated beside him, in the face. Lan Wangji simply ducked, expressionless except maybe for the faintest crinkle of his eyes. Nie Huaisang sipped his wine and watched in delight

they’d come under cover of darkness, sneaking up old side-stairs they’d all used during the Sunshot Campaign. Perhaps excessive, but a little caution never hurt anyone

drinking together in Nie Huaisang’s bedroom when everyone was supposed to be asleep felt ridiculously nostalgic, though

“But Jiang Cheng - don’t tell him I said this - is just the tiniest bit much less impressive than Lan Zhan, so I had to leap in in turn - Lan Zhan didn’t realize we were just play-acting, nobody had thought to bring him in on it, he just defended me because it was the honorable thing to do.”

The stars in his eyes put the clear night sky to shame.

“I will not allow harm to come to Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said calmly

holy shit. Holy shit. How had Nie Huaisang missed this one, when he prided himself on keeping up with all the juiciest gossip about his friends.

He refilled Wei Wuxian’s cup. “And that’s when you started the food fight? I heard there was a food fight.”

“Yes!” Wei Wuxian clapped. “I couldn’t exactly use my sword - I’d already boasted that I didn’t need it! But Lan Zhan was going to kick my shidi’s ass, and I had to step in - so I tipped a bowl of soup right in his face!” He ran a hand down Lan Wangji’s chest and frowned dramatically. “It ruined all his beautiful robes - I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan.” 

“Mn. It was no trouble.” 

Now that Nie Huaisang was looking for it, he recognized the slight stiffening of a man absolutely desperate to grab that hand and pull its bearer into his lap and then some. Holy fucking shit.

Wei Wuxian cackled. “It wasn’t! You just kept fighting with Jiang Cheng - so I kept throwing food! At both of you, because sometimes Jiang Cheng kept trying to hit me, too - until not just ghosts arrived but some corpses, too, coming up from the dungeons.” That broken-glass edge to his smile again. “It seems Jin Guangshan had been quite a bad boy, or at least one of his guest disciples had - a man named Xue Yang got called out, I heard? But he disappeared?” He turned to Lan Wangji. “We heard people talking on the road.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji confirmed

“I heard the same,” Nie Huaisang said. “Creepy weirdo. Jin Guangshan is saying the corpses were yours, of course, but it’s a little hard since Zewu-jun found all those notes on demonic cultivation in Xue Yang’s room - and some of them with Jin Guangyao’s handwriting on them.” 

“We heard about that - kind of,” said Wei Wuxian. “Is he really in the dungeon himself now?”

“Yes.” Nie Huaisang smiled, and topped off his own glass. “Between that and having reason to believe he’d just given all the Wen prisoners to Nie Sect on a whim,  Jin Guangshan is quite displeased with Lianfang-zun.”

he felt a little bad for Lan Xichen, but the man would get over it. He still had one respectable, far superior sworn brother

Wei Wuxian raised his glass in toast and Nie Huaisang met it gladly, and leaned forward again. “So what happened next?”

“Oh, you know.” Wei Wuxian leaned back and waved one hand. “Lots of shouting. The peacock got shijie out of there, so I guess maybe he’s okay for her. A lot more fighting - Jiang Cheng kept doing a really good impression of trying to kill me, Lan Zhan kept stopping him, and I kept stopping Lan Zhan from hitting Jiang Cheng too hard. Jiang Cheng shouted again about how I’d better destroy the Tiger Seal or leave YunmengJiang forever, just like we’d planned, so I threw half of it in the air and broke it with Suibian - and good thing I wasn’t holding it, because even just half of it exploded so hard it blew up half of Glamour Hall! I was nearly knocked out - Lan Zhan had to carry me out on Bichen!”

he spoke airily, except for the last part which he spoke with hearts in his eyes, but there was a weight like a brick to it. Nie Huaisang wondered how much of the supposedly pre-planned drama had come down to split-second decisions about what mattered most

though it was also hilarious to think that anyone believed it wasn’t choreographed, on the part of Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng at least. For one thing, Qinghe had strength; Lanling, appearance and secrets; and the spirit of Yunmeng, true to its motto, was sheer bloody-minded perseverance in the face of overwhelming odds, preferably with as much drama as possible. If Sandu Sengshou and the Yiling Patriarch truly fought to the death, even Huangang-jun wouldn’t be able to stop it, and a mere wedding banquet couldn’t contain the battle - it would be on the edge of a cliff before the entire cultivation world, possibly with the earth on fire around them

it was even more hilarious to think that even if emotions ran that furiously high, either of them would do a single thing to ruin their beloved sister’s wedding day, without her explicit permission and encouragement

“I can’t believe you destroyed a major sect hall without me” Nie Huaisang shook his head mournfully. “Remember when we set off firecrackers in the Cloud Recesses?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said firmly, while Wei Wuxian burst into laughter.

“Ah, Huaisang-gongzi,” he said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I promise I’ll invite you next time.”

"You’d better!” Nie Huaisang cried. “I mean, you still have half the Tiger Seal to destroy...”

Wei Wuxian shot him a wink that said, that’s true, and you’re my friend, but I’m not biting that hook you’re using to fish for information. Nie Huaisang shrugged, can you blame me? and lifted the wine jug again

“More? You know, you’re welcome to stay more than one night. This is so fun, just catching up - and I know A-Yuan will be delighted to see you again!”

“He really is a cute kid, isn’t he?” Wei Wuxian smiled wistfully, then shook his head. “But no - maybe we’ll say hi to Wen Qing and Wen Ning, but we’ve given Jin Guangshan about four different things to worry about, when he used to have just one or two, but it’s still probably better not to consolidate them.”

Nie Huaisang had to nod to the wisdom of that. (It was a pity the whole tower hadn’t come down on the man’s head, really.) He savored the last few sips of his own glass. “So you’ll be gone in the morning - do you know where?”

“I’ve heard that there’s a shidi of my mother’s starting to make a name for himself as a rogue cultivator - another disciple of Baoshan Sanren. I thought I might find him and, you know, say hello at least.”

His smile was touched with mournful longing, but his eyes held the particular glint that said someone was about to be befriended, or possibly adopted into YunmengJiang on authority of the Head Disciple, whether they liked it or not. It was a very Wei Wuxian expression, and Nie Huaisang didn’t think he’d seen it since they were all young and stupid at the Cloud Recesses

“I am going with him,” stated Lan Wangji, Victim Example #1 of that expression

“Aw, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian, for lack of a better word, snuggled up against him, before turning back to Nie Huaisang and saying with exaggerated disappointment. “He’s finally accepted that I’m not going to go back to Gusu to be cleansed within an inch of my life, so he’s following me around and keeping me out of trouble day by day instead. So righteous! So boring!”

good god, did he not know...?

Nie Huaisang met Lan Wangji’s eyes and found there a well a patience deeper than the sea, and affection just a great Well, he had to toast to that

He raised his last mouthful of wine, to clink against Wei Wuxian’s glass and the cup of tea Lan Wangji had been politely nursing. “Well, good luck to both of you!”

That’s all, folks! Thanks for reading!

[imaginaryelle]

Thanks to @morphia-writes​ for beta help, and to @miyuki4s for all the brainstorming help that went into this chapter!

An excerpt:

There are some things Lan Wangji cannot doubt: Wei Ying’s love for his sister, and her children. His affection for Jiang Wanyin, and the Wens. His dedication to ensuring that Lan Wangji himself does not succumb to the curse he carries.

Every evening, he creates a fresh talisman to replaces the one on Lan Wangji’s arm. He brews one of three different medicinal teas from Wen Qing, in sequence, and serves it, sometimes drinking a portion or two himself. He invites Lan Wangji to play Rest as a duet for the suppressed, resentful souls they carry, and then other, less spiritually charged music, and asks after his core, after their evening meditations.

Every morning, Lan Wangji takes longer than he needs to to comb his hair, and tie it up, and dress. Wei Ying looks younger in the diffused dawnlight inside the tent. Softer, sprawled carelessly under blankets with his sleep robe twisted out of place to reveal the hollow of his elbow and the line of his collar bones.

It’s an indulgence Lan Wangji shouldn’t permit himself. A few moments, watching Wei Ying breathe and concentrating on the steady warmth of the soulbond under his own skin.

Read on tumblr under the cut!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 |

*

It takes more than one day for a sect leader to prepare for the sort of journey they’re planning. Not because of the journey itself, Wei Ying is quick to point out, but because of all the things he has to make sure are done beforehand.

“Wen Qing is locking me in my study today,” he says over breakfast on the first day, “but Sizhui, Xiuying and Weixin are meeting with a tailor for new clothes and you should go.”

As he has been wearing borrowed or stolen clothes for several days now, Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to protest. He has no desire to wear extra infirmary underlayers while traveling, and the plain black outer layer Wen Qionglin had brought to his door was clearly intended to fit as many people as possible. Commissioning something new, or at least something altered to fit properly, is only reasonable.

Wei Ying insists that he’s already paid for the service, which Lan Wangji can only thank him for; he has no funds of his own, or reputation to call on.

“Get something you like,” Wei Ying tells him, even as Wen Qing looms over his shoulder. “Anything you want is fine.”

Lan Wangji assumes this event will take place within Yiling-Wei’s walls, as was generally the case in Cloud Recesses, but instead he finds himself following Wen Sizhui, Zhou Xiuying and Liu Weixin through a town that looks much more prosperous than the Yiling he visited thirteen years ago, and is almost certainly louder and more crowded than he remembers.

That impression may be influenced by his company. Certainly he had felt there were entirely too many people in the street when he was surrounded by onlookers with a toddler clutching at his leg, but if anything their small group draws even more attention now.

Everyone seems to know Wen Sizhui. There are street hawkers and shop owners who greet him by name, and press freshly steamed baozi and sticks of hawthorn candy into his hands, and it is clear from their comments that the townspeople of Yiling are close to their Sect in a way that is certainly not true of Cloud Recesses and Caiyi, or Jinlingtai and Lanling. One merchant is so insistent on thanking them for some past service that all four of them end up holding packages of lotus root, despite the fact that Lan Wangji can have had nothing to do with solving the woman’s problems.

The pattern continues inside the tailor’s shop—the young Wei cultivators are being fitted with new black outer yi and trousers designed to the Jiang Clan’s specifications for the upcoming archery tournament, but they are all clearly well-known to the staff. And Lan Wangji has come with the Sect Leader’s express instructions. And also the offer of his purse.

“Wei-zongzhu said you might prefer these,” one of the tailor’s assistants says, his hands full of fine-woven cream and blue fabrics, “but we do have other colors, of course.”

None of the fabrics on display are the shining, pure white of Gusu-Lan, but there is sun-bleached silk and cloud-white cotton and pale wool woven thinner than paper. It doesn’t seem to matter what he says, or how he responds: he is fussed over, and measured, and prodded. Silk and wool and brocade are draped over his shoulders and held up to his face for comparisons of shade and texture, and he leaves the shop—it is much later in the afternoon than he expected—with the black robe he arrived in newly altered and a sash of summerweight wool dyed the blue of a pale spring morning tied around his waist. Travel clothes, he is assured, will be delivered in the next few days.

He could not bring himself to commission a forehead ribbon, in any color; he is already quite certain these new robes will exceed any budget or social standing Liang Feihong could expect to claim. Wei Ying seems unconcerned.

“It’s a gift,” he insists after dinner. “Besides, you’re still a cultivator, and you’re traveling with a sect leader. It’d be weird if you looked like a fisherman.”

Lan Wangji is certain there are several measures of difference between the dress of a fisherman, a rogue cultivator, and the fabrics that were held before his face today.

“Look at this map with me,” Wei Ying says, the topic apparently closed. “I’m trying to figure out which roads are least likely to be blocked by mudslides. Wen Qing says if I get on a boat during the spring rains she’ll kill me now to save herself the trouble of burying me later.”

Lan Wangji may not have any formal responsibilities at Yiling-Wei, but Wen Qing makes it clear that she expects marked improvement in his spiritual power before he leaves her area of influence. He is given a list of meditation exercises and a schedule of daily training sessions for sword and unarmed work with her apprentices on hand to monitor his condition.

This is not a hardship. He had already planned to dedicate most of his time to this task, and the Wei cultivators have a unique style—not quite Yunmeng-Jiang, but not Qishan-Wen either. Wei Ying, of course, is the most practiced in it, and his version does not even involve a sword; Suibian is distinctly absent from their training sessions, but this does not seem to affect Wei Ying’s efficacy. Twice Lan Wangji is not fast enough to avoid the touch of a talisman to his shoulder, or his core.

He takes no actual damage from them—Wei Ying is careful in his craft, and these were written specifically for this purpose, but the failure drives him to train harder, even against other sparring opponents, until whatever apprentice is observing him steps in and orders a rest.

He spends this enforced downtime reading theory texts from Wen Qing’s library or at his guqin, picking out simple practice scores and more complex Lan melodies in the hope of re-training both his fingers and his core in the delicate language required for performing Inquiry. He works outside, in the scattered gardens, whenever the weather allows. A few hours spent alone in his shuttered room during a sudden storm proves detrimental to his focus, no matter how many handstands he does, or what other meditation techniques he tries. It is better to be out in the open air, where he can breathe more easily.

“Lan Zhan!” On the afternoon of the third day Wei Ying leans around the mulberry tree on the other side of a plot dedicated largely to cooking herbs. He looks around as if he thinks they’re being watched, and then all but runs over to crouch next to Lan Wangji. “I want to show you something,” he whispers. He tugs on Lan Wangji’s sleeve. “Come on, quick!”

“Something” turns out to be the paddock, where a 2-day-old foal is taking in the outside world for the first time under his mother’s watchful eyes. Wei Ying drapes himself over the fence and watches them both with a rapt expression Lan Wangji has never seen him wear before. Zhou Xiuying is also in attendance, alongside her wife—Feng Xinyi—who he learns is the one of the Wei Sect’s grooms.

“Xiaoying and Heitu are just one pasture over, if you wanted to meet them,” she says, which is how Lan Wangji learns that Wei Ying intends to travel by mule.

“Do you know how hard it is to feed a horse?” he says as they walk through tall grass flushed green with the rains. “Have you ever tried to train a horse for night hunting? In a Yunmeng summer? The heat is terrible for them. I think the only reason Jiang Cheng still has horses is his grandmother sent a whole caravan of grooms and breeding stock from Meishan when the war ended.” He produces two apples from his sleeve and holds one out to the nearest mule and the other to Lan Wangji. “Mules are better,” he says, his tone flippant as he pets Xiaoying’s long nose. “And almost as impressive.”

Xiaoying and Heitu are undeniably beautiful animals; good conformation, clearly healthy, and their dark bay coats shine red in the sunlight. And Lan Wangji knows that he will not be able to travel by sword for some time yet. Not alone. He cannot expect Wei Ying to transport them both, and walking will be too slow. Riding makes sense.

“Little Shadow?” he asks, of Wei Ying’s mount. “And … Black Rabbit?” They are hardly the sorts of names he is accustomed to hearing for a cultivator’s steed. There is little sense of speed, or power, or even luck in these names. Wei Ying shrugs.

“Xiaoying used to lie in the grass and pretend to be dead. Sizhui tripped over her all the time, and then she’d follow him for hours. And Heitu likes to jump, she hopped all over the place as a filly--ah! Lan Zhan!” He grins, gleeful, mischief in his face. “Do you remember the rabbits I gave you, all those years ago? And now I can give you another one! A bigger one!” Wei Ying laughs, just as he had laughed in Cloud Recesses, depositing two rabbits on the floor of the library, some sort of gift and joke and torment all in one, Lan Wangji had been sure.

Lan Wangji hadn’t known what to do then, with the boy who refused to leave him alone, who insisted on teasing him at every opportunity. Now, he stares at Wei Ying’s hands, at long sleeves pulled back to reveal his wrists, at his lips, and he knows what he wants to do.

He steps closer to Heitu, offers her his hands in a bowl instead of reaching out beyond her.

“I remember,” he says. It’s possible that his brother allowed his pets to stay, after his death.

Unlikely. But possible.

Heitu snuffles at his hands, all warm breath and soft nose in a way that is, in some small semblance, reminiscent of the soft warmth of his rabbits. She bears nothing like their fragility, but she takes the apple he offers delicately, and he keeps his fingers well clear of her teeth. Wei Ying strokes Xiaoying’s face and talks sweetly at her until she takes his sleeve in her mouth, at which point he switches over to annoyed admonishments. Lan Wangji has just stepped nearer to help him when Wen Qionglin appears at Wei Ying’s shoulder.

“Qing-jie wants to know if you finished that letter to Ouyang-zongzhu yet,” he says.

Wei Ying jerks, and there’s a sound of tearing cloth. He sighs.

“Feng-shimei told you to stop keeping food in your sleeves,” Wen Qionglin notes, even as he distracts Xiaoying with a hand on her neck. She drops Wei Ying’s sleeve and nudges her nose into Wen Qionglin’s chest. Both animals seem accustomed to his presence.

“I took it out as soon as we got here,” Wei Ying grumbles. “I wouldn’t have torn anything if I wasn’t surprised.” He sticks his fingers through the tear in his sleeve and wiggles them. The look on his face can only be described as a pout.

“I can fix it for you—” Wen Qionglin actually looks worried. Wei Ying just sighs and flaps his sleeve.

“I’ll fix it,” he says. “Why should you fix it? It’s fine.” He frowns at Xiaoying for a moment, then leans into Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“I really can’t recommend becoming a sect leader,” he says, low-voiced, as if this will affect Wen Qionglin’s hearing. “The number of letters you have to respond to is too much work. I don’t think Ouyang-zongzhu even reads them, he just sends some new complaint every few weeks, as if I can control the weather, or the river, or how sleepy his cultivators get when they’re on tower duty.”

Lan Wangji has never heard his brother or his uncle make similar complaints, but they are Lans; they would not say such a thing even if it were true.

“Did you not choose the position?” he asks.

Wei Ying’s face scrunches up with displeasure. He shakes his head, though whether it is denial or dismissal is impossible to determine.

“I better get back to it,” he says instead of answering the question. “Before Wen Qing tells the kitchens to put radish in my food again.”

He sighs, and waves aside Lan Wangji’s bow. “I’ll see you both at dinner,” he says, and Wen Qionglin nods. Lan Wangji watches Wei Ying walk back up the hill towards the main compound until Heitu seems to take offense to his distraction and knocks her head against his shoulder, huffing at him.

“Does Liang-gongzi know how to ride?” Wen Qionglin asks. It’s a fair question: Lan Wangji does not actually know if Liang Feihong was trained in riding. He prevaricates. What is true for him is just as likely to be true for Liang Feihong as not.

“It has been a long time.”

“Would you like to practice?” Wen Qionglin asks, and Lan Wangji agrees without hesitation. Practice, and especially practice in caring for his mount without servants to help, can only improve the upcoming journey.

Wen Qionglin shows him to the tack room, and he manages to brush and saddle Heitu with a minimum of fuss. The main difference between outfitting a horse and a mule, he finds, is that Heitu’s tack includes two belly cinches, there is an extra strap that goes under her tail to stop the saddle moving too far forward, and he has to be especially gentle with her long ears while placing the bridle. Xiaoying is the more mischievous of the pair, Wen Qionglin tells him, and has to be watched carefully so she doesn’t puff out her stomach and make the cinches too loose.

Riding is initially awkward, but after a few slow circuits of the paddock he finds his seat and is able to push Heitu faster without losing his balance too badly. She takes direction well, has a steady, comfortable gait, and doesn’t startle as easily as some horses he’s ridden. He will almost certainly be sore later, especially without a dependable supply of spiritual power to speed healing, but the wind in his face and the simple pleasures of riding are more than worth that discomfort. He turns back toward the stables when they have both worked up a light sweat and sees Feng Xinyi speaking with Wen Qionglin. She smiles as he approaches, but doesn’t stay.

“I should get back to the little one,” she says. “But I’m glad to know Heitu will have a rider who knows what he’s doing.”

Wen Qionglin leads Heitu to a water trough and pets her cheek until Feng Xinyi is out of earshot.

“Wei-zongzhu trusts you,” he says. As if this is a fact.

Lan Wangji stares back at him. Wen Qionglin does not breathe, and he does not blink. He stands perfectly, unnaturally still, and waits. Apparently some response is required.

He settles on, “I trust him, also.”

Wen Qionglin watches him for a moment longer, and then nods. Then he says, “If he truly needs help, I will know. No matter where he is. And I am very fast.”

Oh.

This is probably intended as a threat.

Lan Wangji slides off Heitu’s back, so that they are eye to eye.

“I mean him no harm,” he says. In his current state of spiritual power it’s almost reassuring to know that someone else is concerned for Wei Ying's welfare. It should not be at all surprising, but he finds he is often surprised by Wen Qionglin, who has continued to move and talk and physically reside with his family for over a decade when everything Lan Wangji has been taught says he should not even exist.

Those same teachings would object to his own new existence as well; they are, both of them, supposed to be long dead.

“I will not let him come to harm,” he says, “if I can help it.”

He worries for a moment that this will be too revealing, but Wen Qionglin does not question him further. Perhaps he doesn’t need to. They are both well aware of the loyalty Wei Ying can inspire, under the right circumstances.

“I will show you where to find the saddle bags and travel rations,” Wen Qionglin decides, and he doesn’t speak of anything but Xiaoying and Heitu’s care and habits for the rest of the afternoon.

The evening before their planned departure, Wen Qing summons Lan Wangji once more to her study. Wei Ying arrives partway through her examination of his meridians and, surprisingly, sits quietly beside her desk until she’s finished. When she nods he joins them both behind the privacy screen and produces two cloth-wrapped packages—in one, two coiled lengths of red silk string, and in the other a pale jade carving of an endless panchang knot.

“Our hope is to give your spiritual power a new path through your meridians,” Wen Qing tells him as she inspects the strings. “One that minimizes the curse’s influence.” She blocks the meridians at his shoulder with her needles, and then ties one string to his arm, above the curse mark, and the other below it, each secured with a cloverleaf knot and sealed with a touch of spiritual power.

Wei Ying leans in close and presses two fingers to the talisman over the curse mark, but doesn’t touch either the silk or the jade. He keeps his silence. Lan Wangji watches his face and cannot read his thoughts.

“Just making sure this doesn’t interrupt us,” he says when he sees Lan Wangji watching. He holds up a second talisman in his other hand. “Wouldn’t want to have to start over in the middle.”

It’s a reasonable precaution: Tying the new charm is a long process, a progression of knots that covers most of his forearm. The jade panchang knot is tied in just above the curse mark, and another panchang knot of red silk tied below the wound. Wen Qing and Wei Ying both study it closely, and then she removes her needles and takes his wrist again, walking him through a slow meditation, cycling spiritual power through his body.

The flow of power is smoother, though it does perhaps take a little more time than he expects.

Wei Ying removes his fingers with a nod and a sigh. Wen Qing smiles, satisfied.

“The talisman will still need to be reapplied regularly,” she says, “but these charms together should be enough to minimize the curse’s effect on your meridians, so your core can begin to heal.”

It has already begun. He can feel the difference.

“Thank you.” The words seem inadequate, but he has little else to offer. Even this, she waves aside.

“I’m sure you don’t need my guidance for the proper exercises, but I do have many more theory texts, if you wish to read them.”

“We can bring some along,” Wei Ying promises. “Most of the best ones, we have more than one copy.”

Lan Wangji thinks of the library—of the many books that bear the same hand. Some copied by Wen Qing. Some by Wei Ying. Others in a clear, steady hand he doesn’t recognize. Of the single bound copy of the Lan Clan rules he’d found next to a copy of the Wen principles, and the books that he doubts his brother knows exist, copies of texts that were available to guest disciples studying at Cloud Recesses.

He wonders if his brother knew, when he was rebuilding the Library Pavilion, just how exact Wei Ying’s memory can be.

“Thank you,” he says again.

“Get some sleep,” Wen Qing says. “Both of you.” She stares hard at Wei Ying. “I’m not going to be the one dragging you out of your rooms in the morning. It’s no matter to me if you miss traveling during the coolest part of the day.”

Traveling with Wei Ying, and only with Wei Ying, is different from traveling alone, or with other Lan disciples, and different again from his memories of travel during the Sunshot Campaign. Then, Wei Ying had shifted through moods like ripples in water, sometimes predictable but more often not. A laugh like a clash of swords, a glare that pierced like needles. More than once Lan Wangji had found him alone but for the poor company the dead might provide, brooding under a shadow that seemed to cling to him even on the clearest of days. And then he would turn and ask if Lan Wangji knew this or that song, or if he wanted to spar, or if he’d eaten because surely it must be time for the next meal by now, and Lan Wangji would push aside his concern until hours later, when Wei Ying was just as likely to pull a prank as get in a fight with an ally. A fight with Lan Wangji himself, more often than not.

But that was the war. Decades ago, now, for everyone but Lan Wangji himself.

Now, Wei Ying laughs with more humor, and the cant of his eyes is merely sly rather than cutting. He grumbles through his breakfast and morning tea. He bickers with Xiaoying while saddling her and slouches through the morning hours until some unknown precondition is met, and then he begins talking aloud about whatever is on his mind at the moment: the weather, which continues to be wet, with cool mornings and steamy afternoons, or theories on their two investigations, or tales of past night hunts, which quickly shift into stories of Wen Sizhui, or Jiang Wanyin and Jin Rulan, and from there to the other members of Yiling-Wei, and Yunmeng-Jiang, and Lanling-Jin. Once, when they stop and take shelter under a half-repaired watchtower to wait out a storm, Wei Ying says, “Ah, Lan Zhan, do you remember that week we had rain every day, in Gusu?” and he speaks of Lan Xichen, and the Lan Sect, and what little he knows of its current status.

Cloud Recesses has been rebuilt, reportedly exactly as it was before the Wens attacked. Lan Qiren still teaches, and Lan Wangji feels a swell of relief to know his uncle still breathes. The Sect still hosts a year-long seminar for young disciples of any sect, every few years. Wen Sizhui, Liu Weixin and Zhou Xiuying have attended it, and returned with reports of young Lan cultivators who Wen Sizhui described as friendly, Liu Weixin called unbearably rigid, and Zhou Xiuying pronounced worthy sparring opponents. Lan Xichen has, unsurprisingly, built a widely-spoken reputation for even-mindedness that Lan Wangji knows he himself could never hope to match.

There is no bitterness to any of Wei Ying’s tales. No mention of hardship or enmity, over a span of more than a decade that Lan Wangji knows cannot have been easy, especially near its start. But then, Lan Wangji has long known that Wei Ying lies more easily than he tells the truth, omits more than he ever says openly. Even when he was living among the Mass Graves, quite obviously short on food, the only hardship Wei Ying would admit to was a lack of visitors, and news.

Still, there are some things he cannot doubt: Wei Ying’s love for his sister, and her children. His affection for Jiang Wanyin, and the Wens. His dedication to ensuring that Lan Wangji himself does not succumb to the curse he carries.

Every evening, he creates a fresh talisman to replaces the one on Lan Wangji’s arm. He brews one of three different medicinal teas from Wen Qing, in sequence, and serves it, sometimes drinking a portion or two himself. He invites Lan Wangji to play Rest as a duet for the suppressed, resentful souls they carry, and then other, less spiritually charged music, and asks after his core, after their evening meditations.

Every morning, Lan Wangji takes longer than he needs to to comb his hair, and tie it up, and dress. Wei Ying looks younger in the diffused dawnlight inside the tent. Softer, sprawled carelessly under blankets with his sleep robe twisted out of place to reveal the hollow of his elbow and the line of his collar bones.

It’s an indulgence Lan Wangji shouldn’t permit himself. A few moments, watching Wei Ying breathe and concentrating on the steady warmth of the soulbond under his own skin.

He turns away. Steps outside. Rekindles the fire for breakfast.

During the long afternoon of the fourth day, after they have shared a quick lunch beside a clear-flowing stream and are letting Xiaoying and Heitu forage their own meal, Wei Ying draws out Chenqing and plays songs that seem to be purely for personal entertainment; there is no spiritual power behind them at all. Some, Lan Wangji recognizes as common to drinking houses and inns. Others he doesn’t recognize at all. He is considering unwrapping the guqin when Wei Ying’s somewhat random little melodies turn suddenly familiar.

Not just familiar.

Every note is etched into Lan Wangji’s soul.

Wei Ying catches him staring. He’s not certain what expression his own face is making, but Wei Ying looks suddenly defensive. His hands drop to his lap, wrapping around Chenqing as if Lan Wangji will try to tear the flute away from him.

“What?”

“You remember.” Lan Wangji shouldn’t be surprised—Wei Ying has remembered enough of his brief time at Cloud Recesses to reproduce the Lan Sect’s rules and three different treatises, and that’s only what Lan Wangji found. But it had been only once, in the Xuanwu’s cave. That song has only ever had an audience of one.

Wei Ying frowns at him.

“What ...” his eyebrows rise high on his forehead, his mouth forming a perfect circle. “Lan Zhan.” He leans forward, suddenly eager. “Lan Zhan, you know this song?”

Of course he knows it. How could he not?

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying continues. “No one knows this song. How do you know it? Is it a Lan Clan song? What’s its name?”

Words stick in Lan Wangji’s throat. Wei Ying doesn’t remember. Not really. He looks away. At the play of light on water. The swirl of shadowy fish, underneath.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says again, moving closer. “I can never remember where I heard it, and no one ever recognizes it. How do you know it?”

No one ever recognizes it, he says. Which means Wei Ying has been playing it. For other people. For thirteen years. And he doesn’t know.

Lan Wangji swallows back his foolish hopes. The words he might have said.

“I wrote it,” he admits, to the low rush of the spring and the whisper of reeds in the light breeze.

“What?”

When he risks a glance back, Wei Ying is staring. He looks utterly shocked.

“What do you mean, you wrote it?”

Lan Wangji does not want to have this conversation. Not now. Not if Wei Ying doesn’t remember something so important.

At least, it had been important to Lan Wangji.

“We should keep moving,” he says, and stands. Heitu is drinking from the stream, but she only flicks her ears when he touches her shoulder, and doesn’t offer any more protest than a shift of her weight as he unties her hobble and mounts.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying is frowning at him.

“We are wasting daylight,” Lan Wangji tells him. It’s true enough. This break is no shorter than any other.

Wei Ying grumbles. Retrieves his things.

“What’s its name?” he asks as he settles on Xiaoying.

I have already told you. Lan Wangji locks the words behind his teeth. Wei Ying does not speak of the soul bond, never broaches the topic of their battle with the Xuanwu or anything else from their lives that occurred after he left Cloud Recesses months before any other disciple, does not remember this, despite Lan Wangji telling him, despite his clear memory of the music itself and his perfect recall of texts long burnt to ashes.

“Think about it.” He says instead, and urges Heitu into a quicker pace, too fast for easy conversation.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls after him, but Lan Wangji does not look back.

When Wei Ying catches up he speaks of other things, and does not mention the song again.

Notes:        

For the curious, Xiaoying and Heitu are named as references to famous horses from Romance of the Three Kingdoms. 絶影 (sometimes translated as "Suppressing Shadow" or "Shadow Runner") was one of the horses of Cao Cao, head of the state of Wei. He famously kept running despite taking three arrows, and thus saved his rider from enemies. 赤兔 (Red Hare) was described as "the best of horses" and within the tale people considered him to be too good for his original master. After that master died he was given to a new, more virtuous hero (Guan Yu, sometimes described as an ideal incarnation of loyalty and righteousness), who he was extremely loyal to.

(on to part 11)

[needtherapy]

A Time and Place For Us (pt 1)

It’s Xichen’s birthday, and what a coincidence, the Qinghe Nie sect leader is taking a tour that just happens to take him to Cloud Recesses.

Unsurprisingly, it’s an exciting few days.

In this story you will find: Mingjue breaking things; Sword fighting; Xichen’s issues; Mingjue’s birth name; Embarrassed younger brothers; Monsters; Birthday presents; Kissing...and more

This is a little bit of a longer story so it is in pieces. Also because there is explicit content later on.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 (Explicit) / Part 4

A follow-up to Mingjue Falls and Xichen Remembers.

Chapter 1: Mingjue & Xichen

The closer they got to Cloud Recesses, the less certain Nie Mingjue was that this was a good idea.

He hadn’t wanted to visit with excessive ceremony, but his zongguan had assured him that as a new sect leader, it was expected. Mingjue would not shame his sect with any hint of deficiency, so here he was, riding at the front of a full company of disciples, his hands as numb and sweaty as...he thought about it...had he ever been this nervous? He grinned suddenly. Just once, on a cloudy day by a lake. And that had turned out so much better than even he had imagined. This would too.

They rounded the corner of the narrow path and he saw the gates of Cloud Recesses. He hadn’t been here since he was a child. The small part of him that was always aware of his surroundings admired the vibrant colors beginning to glimmer in the trees on either side of the elegantly carved white pillars.

The rest of him, however, was looking at Xichen.

/////

Xichen was used to standing still, particularly when his uncle was next to him, but he was finding it difficult to stop his fingers from twitching today.

They had twitched when he got dressed this morning. It was worse when he smoothed the first sheer robe over his silk undershirt. Still noticeable when he pulled on the last layer, a heavy coat to block the autumn wind.

They had twitched when he had played the guqin for morning meditation. Even his brother had shot him a curious sideways glance, which forced Xichen to slow down and focus.

And now they flexed involuntarily against his leg, fortunately on the other side of his body from shufu.

“Xichen, there is no need to be embarrassed.” His uncle’s deep voice interrupted his thoughts, and Xichen blinked at him, confused and a little horrified. Could his uncle possibly know what he was thinking about?

“Your father means no insult by not greeting the Nie zongzhu today. He is…” Shufu paused, clearing his throat. “He is at a critical juncture of his composition and can not be disturbed. As heir, you are a perfectly suitable representative of Gusu Lan.”

Xichen had tried to forget that Qingheng-Jun had decided not to join them today, but at this reminder, he felt a flush of anger rising across the back of his neck. Even for the first visit of a new sect leader, his father could not be bothered to leave his house. Even though Xichen had asked.

Then the Qinghe Nie rode into view and Xichen‘s mind went blank.

Mingjue rarely looked uncomfortable doing anything, but he looked most at home in the saddle, moving with his horse’s bouncing gait as though they were one creature. His hair swept back from broad shoulders in the light breeze, and even from behind the Cloud Recesses gate, Xichen saw the wide smile he loved so much spread across Mingjue’s face.

Xichen folded his fingers into a fist and gripped Shuoyue tightly so his hands would not betray him, so they would not touch Mingjue the minute his feet were on the ground.

Chapter 2: Mingjue

Mingjue dropped gracefully off his horse and strode through the gate when Lan-xiansheng released the wards. He bowed deeply to the elder Lan and then turned to Xichen, bowing with equal solemnity. He wondered briefly where the zongzhu was, but he didn’t really care. That was not why he had come.

“Chifeng-Zun, it is an honor to welcome you to Cloud Recesses,” Xichen said graciously, his expression aloof and calm. “Qingheng-Jun was unable to join us but sends his regards and hopes he will meet you during your visit.”

“Lan-xiansheng, Zewu-Jun, it is a privilege to be invited. Gusu Lan has always been a valuable friend and ally of the Qinghe Nie sect,” Mingjue responded politely, addressing Lan-xiansheng, the person he needed to impress if this visit was going to mean anything for the future.

To his surprise, Lan-xiansheng responded.

“We thought very highly of your father, and from what we have heard, you are a credit to the Nie family.”

At that, Mingjue flashed the man a quick smile, pleased by the compliment. It wasn’t only for selfish reasons that he wanted Lan-xiansheng to approve of him.

Mingjue missed his father. He hadn’t expected to be made sect leader before he was twenty, and he still didn’t feel like he was making the right decisions. Over the last few years, there had been more turmoil in the smaller sects, and his father had suspected that the Qishan Wen sect was stirring up trouble. Lately it seemed his fears were not unfounded, and it worried Mingjue. He had a feeling he would need Gusu Lan in the future.

A group of Lan servants appeared, taking the horses and leading the Qinghe Nie disciples to guest quarters. Lan-xiansheng beckoned Mingjue to follow him and Xichen down a path through the center of Cloud Recesses.The little house they led him to was set at the edge of the great forest under the shade of a sprawling wutong tree. Mingjue glanced curiously at Xichen, but Xichen only smiled blandly.

“The former Nie zongzhu and his wife preferred to be quartered away from their disciples. They said it gave their people more opportunity to enjoy bonding with each other,” Lan-xiansheng explained, clearly disapproving of such a lack of discipline.

Remembering the loud and boisterous affections between his father and step-mother, Mingjue strongly doubted that they had any such reason, but he didn’t argue.

Xichen followed him into the main room to point out a pair of curved plates on the wall. “Chifeng-Zun, there is a spell here for the lights, and one here if there is anything you require to make you more comfortable.”

Mingjue tried to bite his tongue, but the words came out anyway.

“Anything I require?”

The faintest hint of a smile grazed the corners of Xichen’s eyes, but his voice was carefully neutral.

“We desire Nie-zongzhu’s first visit to Cloud Recesses to be pleasant. Of course, we will do anything in our power to make your visit enjoyable.”

Mingjue shifted, turning in a circle as though admiring the room, which was open and calming. Appealing, although everything was a touch more breakable than he preferred. When his back was to the door where Lan-xiansheng still stood, he winked at Xichen.

“It is my understanding that the Qinghe Nie visit has coincided with Zewu-Jun’s birthday,” Mingjue said, not bothering to keep the slow suggestive smile from curving his mouth. “I have brought gifts from my sect, and would look forward to presenting them.”

And, he did not add, gifts that are only from me.

“We will celebrate Zewu-Jun’s birthday tomorrow evening,” Lan-xiansheng said behind him. “When you have settled in, you will be shown around Cloud Recesses.”

Mingjue raised his eyebrows at Xichen, and grinned at the light pink that dusted his cheeks.

Chapter 3: Xichen

For five glorious minutes, Xichen was alone with Mingjue, inasmuch as he was ever alone in Cloud Recesses. Still mindful of the disciples and servants all around, he could at least stand next to Mingjue, brush his shoulder, and look him directly in the eyes for as long as he wanted.

“What would you like to see, Chifeng-Zun?” Xichen asked, tilting the corner of his mouth in a smile.

Mingjue leaned toward him slightly, enough that Xichen caught the familiar scent of pine.

“Anything you want to show me, Zewu-Jun.”

A voice interrupted them, and they both jumped.

“Xiongzhang?”

His fifteen-year-old brother stood behind Xichen, eyebrows raised, and Xichen fervently hoped he had taken the words at face value.

“Wangji, this is Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-Zun, Nie-zongzhu.”

Xichen retreated into the safety of courtesy, hoping it would calm the burning embarrassment in his ears. Wangji bowed respectfully, but with no more interest than he ever showed in people.

“Chifeng-Zun, this is my brother, Lan Zhan, given name Wangji.”

Mingjue bowed, before saying, “One of the Twin Jades of Gusu. I am pleased to meet you, Lan-er-gongzi.”

Xichen couldn’t help the smile at his brother’s flush. The title was an embarrassment to Wangji, but Xichen was so proud that the elders of the five sects had seen in Wangji what Xichen did. His brother had often been overlooked when they were growing up because he was quiet and because he was not the heir. But Xichen knew that he was intelligent and strong, with a just heart and formidable cultivation skills, and it pleased Xichen that other people had begun to recognize it.

Xichen wasn’t sure why his brother had sought him out, but he wanted Wangji to like Mingjue and he had a sudden inspiration.

“We are going to the sword-training courts. Would you like to join us?”

His brother hesitated, but eventually nodded and followed them.

Cut into the rock of the mountain, the sword courts maintained much of their original rugged nature, with boulders and trees occasionally interrupting the flat, sandy circles. They were not crowded this time of day. Only a few junior and senior disciples and a small group of children were sparring in the arenas.

To Xichen’s surprise, Mingjue turned to Wangji.

“Lan-er-gongzi, I have heard of your skill from your brother. Would you like to spar?”

The change on Wangji’s face was so slight, Xichen thought no one else would have noticed the widening of his eyes and relaxing of his mouth. Mingjue certainly didn’t recognize the acquiescence until Wangji nodded. Mingjue flashed him a broad smile and pulled Baxia from his back. At that, Wangji’s eyebrows raised, and he looked to Xichen. Normally sparring was done with blunted training blades, and both Wangji and Xichen rarely used their own swords with less skilled opponents.

Xichen nodded, hiding a smile at the idea that his brother thought Mingjue might not be up to his level. He knew of no finer swordsman than Mingjue, and he trusted that they would both be safe.

With a shrug, Wangji drew Bichen, handing the scabbard to Xichen. After observing the traditional bow, he set his feet and arms in the familiar half-turn he favored. Mingjue lifted his dao, blade turned up, and nodded, giving Wangji the first move. Xichen knew he wouldn’t hesitate, and he did not, pulling his arm back and thrusting forward toward Mingjue’s middle with ferocious intensity.

Xichen was glad he wasn’t going to hold back. He didn’t get a chance to fight with his full capability against very many opponents.

Mingjue swept his arm down, blocking Bichen and turning Wangji’s fast parry with a hard sweep that pushed Wangji’s arm wide. In three quick steps, Mingjue spun around, bringing Baxia in a full circle and pushing the flat of the blade against Wangji’s chest. The look on Wangji’s face was one of the greatest moments of Xichen’s life. No one ever expected Mingjue to be fast and no one ever surprised his brother.

But Wangji was undaunted as usual. He let the momentum of the touch push him back, but he swung his body sideways, twisting to the far side of MIngjue’s blade, returning the attack with a series of breathtakingly fast upward strikes, the final one ending with a twisting downward press.

Mingjue turned sideways, hauling Baxia up with sheer force and shifting the sword midair to hack downward from overhead, his strongest position. Wangji lifted Bichen in a high two-handed intercept, and although the momentum of the heavy dao staggered him slightly, Xichen nodded in approval at how strong Wangji had gotten.

Wangji continued to lash out with quick strikes and Mingjue blocked them almost thoughtlessly, occasionally springing forward with devastating speed and strength. But Wangji was unnaturally fast and evaded him easily, more relaxed in fighting than any other time.

A crowd was starting to form around the court. Xichen noticed children mimicking the strikes, and some of the older disciples were watching with wide-eyed awe. He couldn’t blame them. It was one of the best fights he had ever watched.

Mingjue’s eyes narrowed in consideration as Wangji brushed Baxia to the side in a low arc before raising Bichen to chop down toward Mingjue’s unprotected arm. Mingjue only barely had time to sidestep, turning his back to Wangji, who tried to make use of the momentary advantage by switching his hack into a curving swipe. Mingjue was forced to swing Baxia back awkwardly to clash against Bichen, and Wangji spun away, whirling his sword through the air and stepping forward into Mingjue’s guard space. Xichen saw Mingjue grin, appreciating the skillful reverse, but he was back on balance and met Bichen’s attack, sliding Baxia’s edge toward Bichen’s hilt.

It had been a clever gambit on Wangji’s part, but not one without risk. Despite the immense length of the dao, Mingjue preferred fighting up close, and he pressed forward gleefully, driving Wangji back in a series of left and right slashes that a weaker man would not have been able to control. But Xichen knew that the set of Wangji’s face meant he was patiently waiting for an opening.

After the fourth sweeping cut, Wangji planted his feet and, instead of merely blocking, swung with all his strength up into the stroke, throwing Mingjue’s arm high into the air. He swiftly pulled Bichen back and slashed forward diagonally, aiming for Mingjue’s shoulder. Xichen sucked in his breath, knowing Mingjue wasn’t going to be able to intercept the blow from his position. But instead of trying, Mingjue dropped all the way to the ground into a crouching spin that ended with him just managing to get Baxia under Wangji’s blade, inches from contact.

With a quick flip of his hands, Mingjue used Baxia to twist Bichen around and down, slamming the blade into the ground and dragging Wangji forward. Mingjue stepped on Bichen’s tip and lifted Baxia’s blade to Wangji’s neck, stopping well before he got close to the skin.

“Do you yield, Lan-er-gongzi?” Mingjue asked with a smile, and Xichen was stunned to see his brother return the smile. At least, what passed for a smile from Wangji, the slightest lift of the corners of his mouth and a slow blink.

“I do,” he answered softly.

Their small crowd cheered the end of a good battle, and Mingjue acknowledged Wangji with a bow before waving cheerfully to the onlookers.

“Lan-er-gongzi, you are a formidable opponent. I will not make such a hasty offer to spar in the future.”

Xichen saw something like disappointment cross Wangji’s face, so he stepped forward to soften Mingjue’s teasing.

“Chifeng-Zun, a great master always welcomes a challenge.”

Mingjue laughed, as Xichen knew he would.

“Whichever of us you are referring to, I am humbled by your words. Lan-er-gongzi, it would be my honor to lose to you in the future.”

On their way back, Wangji left them at the library--hardly a surprise--and then they were alone again.

It was nearly time for dinner, so Xichen led Mingjue back to the guest house. He wanted so badly to follow Mingjue inside. His hands were aching to caress the face of his beloved and welcome him to Cloud Recesses in a very different way, but there were still so many people around.

Instead, he stood in the doorway and watched Mingjue splash his face with cold water before digging in a heavy leather bag. He pulled out a box and came back over to Xichen.

“I brought you a gift, Xichen.”

“You’re supposed to present these at my birthday dinner, Shi-ge,” Xichen teased, daring to use Mingjue’s birth name where no one could hear them, and Mingjue’s eyes darkened.

“I brought gifts from Qinghe Nie as well, but this is from me.”

The flock of sparrows fluttering in Xichen’s heart whenever he was around Mingjue turned into the flight of dragons. He opened the box and found a delicate jade hair stick, the end carved in a circle. Xichen looked at it closer and saw that the curve was the tail of a phoenix, and the point was the bird’s beak. He touched it gently and looked up to find that Mingjue was watching him intently.

“Do you like it?” he asked, sounding a little uncertain, and Xichen wanted to throw him on the floor and do wicked, delicious, delightful things to properly express how much he liked it.

“Shi-ge, it is beautiful. It is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me.”

Xichen felt the hot sting of tears and wiped them away before they could spill across his cheeks. Gifts from his family usually included books, music, weapons, and even plants. Thoughtful, useful gifts he appreciated. But no one had ever given him something with no practical value other than aesthetic.

Mingjue looked startled and lifted his hand as though he was going to pull Xichen to him, but settled for resting it against his chest, hidden from the view of anyone who might be walking by. Xichen was reconsidering his commitment to propriety when the dinner gong sounded. Regretfully, he squeezed Mingjue’s hand and turned to leave. He had only made it down two stairs before Mingjue was behind him.

“Xichen,” Mingjue said, boldly laying his hand on Xichen’s where it rested on the stair railing. “I am glad to be here.”

With a slow turn of his wrist, Xichen brushed his fingers against Mingjue’s palm and relished the way Mingjue inhaled, eyes closing.

“I am so glad you came,” he murmured, running his thumb across the top of Mingjue’s knuckles right before Mingjue’s hand clenched, accidentally breaking the carved railing.

Chapter 4: Mingjue

Xichen had assured him that Lan-er-gongzi had been pleased by the bout, but Mingjue wasn’t sure how he could tell. The boy was unnervingly quiet. Still, Mingjue couldn’t doubt his sword skill, unlike his own brother.

In some ways, it would be so much easier if Huaisang was a bit more like Lan Wangji. Mingjue might even be willing to trade some of Huaisang’s effusive affection for a little more interest in seriously studying cultivation. Then he thought of his brother’s never-ending chatter when Huaisang braided his hair, and grinned. Maybe not.

Dinner had been mostly uneventful, although Mingjue had managed to break a teapot. He wasn’t exactly sure how it had happened.

He had been seated at a low table and had tried to rise when Lan-xiansheng and Xichen had come into the dining hall. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to where his knees were, possibly because Xichen was wearing the jade hair stick and had met Mingjue’s eyes before briefly biting his lip. Mingjue had stood up so fast, the table, teapot, plates, bowls, and cups had shot across the floor. On its own, he wouldn’t have cared, but after the incident with the stair railing, it was a little embarrassing.

Mingjue was startled to learn that dinner was followed immediately by meditation and sleep. Evenings in Qinghe Nie were rarely so docile, sometimes involving meditation, but more often ending in drinks or storytelling. Or brawling. Or all three. At least he had been promised that the next evening would have a night hunt.

But at least the early bedtime meant he was already fully awake and dressed when the knock came on his door at dawn. Xichen was on the other side, and Mingjue thought he would never get tired of opening his door to Xichen. There was a mischievous look on his face, and Mingjue instantly forgot whatever he had been planning to say.

“I have come to show you the rest of Cloud Recesses, Chifeng-Zun. Will you follow me?”

Of course he would. Anywhere.

Xichen led him down a narrow path, barely lit by the early morning light, but his feet were sure and confident. Through a grove of tall bamboo, they came to a pond set in a ring of smooth grey stones. He furrowed his brow at Xichen in puzzlement and Xichen laughed.

“It’s a healing pool, Mingjue. After your long ride and fight with Wangji, I thought you might like to relax.”

“Xichen,” Mingjue protested. “It’s dawn. And autumn. Do you want me to turn to ice?”

“The water is always the same temperature. In summer, it feels cool and refreshing. In autumn, it feels...well...also cool. But it never feels cold. See,” he gestured, pulling off his outer robe and starting to undo his belt. “I’ll join you and prove it.”

Ah, that was the reason for the mischief. Mingjue was not going to turn down a chance to be undressed with Xichen, and he hastily pulled off his robes and boots, leaving his pants as Xichen did. He couldn’t hear or see anyone around them, so he let himself openly admire Xichen as he stepped into the water, his eyes roving over the shape of his arms, the tight stretch of muscle on his stomach, the curve of his back. Xichen shook his head, amused at Mingjue’s leering and gestured for Mingjue to join him.

The water still felt cold, but Xichen had been right. It did not chill him the way he expected. He sat on a rock next to Xichen and closed his eyes, finding that the water loosened muscles he hadn’t realized were tight. He opened them quickly, though, when he felt Xichen’s hands on his knees under the water. Xichen was kneeling in front of him, probably far enough away to satisfy Lan propriety, but definitely close enough to make Mingjue’s stomach flop wildly.

Xichen’s lips quirked in a thoroughly unrepentant smile as he drew circles on the inside of Mingjue’s thighs with his thumbs. As his hands slid higher, Mingjue’s body reacted as it always did when Xichen touched him. He stretched out his long legs and squeezed them around Xichen’s waist, trying to tug him closer. Xichen didn’t move, but he let out a small hum of contentment, eyes half closing.

“Xichen, this is not fair,” Mingjue complained but only got a tilted smile in response.

Still, Xichen’s hands moved closer, stroking Mingjue’s legs in a very indecent way. Mingjue sat forward, reaching for the waist of Xichen’s pants, but Xichen evaded him.

“There are rules, Chifeng-Zun,” he said lightly, smoothing his hands along the top of Mingjue’s thighs.

Mingjue chuckled, catching Xichen’s hand under the water and pulling it closer to where he hoped it was headed.

“I am nearly certain you’re breaking them right now,” he retorted, his voice low and husky and he let Xichen hear how much desire was in him.

“Which rules are you breaking?”

The voice came from Mingjue’s right side, and Xichen’s face paled. He dropped back on his heels and Mingjue released his hand.

“Wangji,” Xichen breathed out a quavering laugh. “Only that I am showing a stranger the cold pond.”

He sounded much more reasonable than Mingjue felt.

After a pause, Lan-er-gongzi pointed out, in much the same reasonable tone Xichen had used, “That is not a rule.”

“Is it not? My mind must have slipped. Thank you for the reminder, Wangji. Did you come to find me? Or…” Xichen let the words trail off, and Mingjue finally looked over to see the boy nod.

“Qingheng-Jun would like to meet our guest. For lunch.”

Xichen’s eyes widened and snapped back to meet Mingjue’s. He looked panicked for a moment before he shaped his features back to relaxed and measured.

“Wangji, please have tea and lunch sent to Hanshi. We will be there shortly.”

But Lan-er-gongzi didn’t leave, peering at Xichen as though he expected them to follow him immediately. There was absolutely no chance Mingjue was going to get up from the dark safety of the water. Instead he rested his arms on the bank, and sighed deeply.

“This healing pool of yours is a marvel, Zewu-Jun.” Mingjue closed his eyes and tipped his head back, aiming for casual indifference. “I’m sure I’ll be fully recovered in a few more minutes, Lan-er-gongzi. I look forward to meeting Qingheng-Jun.”

Mingjue only realized the boy was gone when he felt lips pressed to his, so quickly he might have imagined it. He reached out to empty air and grunted in disappointment when he heard the sound of Xichen getting out of the water before he even had a chance to open his eyes.

“Chifeng-Zun, we can not keep my father waiting,” Xichen said in a tense voice that made Mingjue uneasy.

“Lunch is hours away, isn’t it?” he asked cautiously.

But Xichen shook his head, pulling on his robes. “Just get dressed.”

Mingjue did, but he did not like anyone making Xichen so agitated.

Jump to Part 2

Note: Thanks to @wangxianbunnydoodles​ for Mingjue’s clever birth name, 奭, Shì which means majestic manner, red, angry.

It sounds like nieshi, which means to gnaw, and can also mean "torment," as in 悲痛啮噬着他的心 (bēitòng nièshì zhe tā de xīn), grief gnaws his heart.

Since Mingjue and Huaisang are half brothers, I imagined that Mingjue’s mother died in childbirth, because I am a cheerful person like that.

[needtherapy]

soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 3 / 4

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

The story continues...

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / ...  HOME

It’s on AO3 here if that’s easier to read.

NOTES: This story starts out G but will eventually be E for Explicit.

Chapter 3

The boy accompanies him through the encampment, talking non-stop the entire way, but Xichen isn’t listening. He’s observing this army with a commander’s eye. It helps him to pretend that he’s a spy, not a slave. He notes the neat lines of tents, the clean smell despite hundreds of horses, the smiles on the faces of the soldiers—men and women. This is not the bloodthirsty and chaotic rabble he had expected.

Who hasn’t heard stories of the Beifeng? They have devastated even the strongest clans, whose swords and magic were no match for the Beifeng archers and cavalry, not to mention their own unknown power. Some of the clans retreated into the hills, some sought sanctuary in the Cloud Recesses. And the man Xichen has just met—just kissed—is the demon they fear the most. 

Xichen can’t believe all the stories. No man can disappear and reappear at will, nor fly to the top of a building, nor drive an arrow through the heart of a soldier a full li away. He does not have wings or fangs. He is certainly tall enough to be fearsome, Xichen thinks with irritation, if less hideous than reported. His broad shoulders must make him as dangerous with a sword as he is known to be with a bow, but surely no more deadly than Xichen himself.

They reach a tent larger than the rest, hung with colorful panels of embroidered linen. Despite his churning fear, Xichen evaluates the workmanship and the cost of the dyes with favor. He sees purple and gold mixed with blue and less expensive yellows and greens, yet somehow the riot of color is pleasing. It is a far cry from the grey and white serenity of Xichen’s home. 

Not his home anymore.

“This will be your home while you are here,” the boy announces, gesturing to an exquisitely embellished panel hiding a doorway, stitched in a beaded pattern of clouds that almost seem to be drifting in the wind.

Xichen’s stomach clenches at this small reminder of the Cloud Recesses, and he’s instantly nauseated. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe away the bile, flinching when he feels a touch on his arm.

“Zewu-Jun, please come inside,” the boy implores, and Xichen lets himself be led through the tent flap.

“If you need to throw up, there’s a basin in the corner.”

Xichen’s eyes fly open, staring at the boy, whose eyes are dancing with repressed laughter. It makes Xichen furious that this child can find his distress so hilarious, and some of his feelings must be evident on his face, because the boy takes a step backward, hands up.

“I meant no harm, Zewu-Jun. The negotiations with your family ensured your safety, but you would be treasured regardless. Whatever comforts you need, please ask.” “Ask who?” Xichen snorts, more acerbic than he intends.

The boy’s grin turns his face into a dancing butterfly, light and carefree, and again, Xichen wonders who he is to the warlord.

“Me, of course. In your language, you can call me Huaisang. I will see you daily, whenever I can, but you can always ask your guards for me. Just say my name. They’ve been informed.”

Xichen looks around him. He has been given every luxury as far as he can see. The tent is warm, thanks to a covered brazier sitting on a ring of stone tiles. There are overstuffed cushions to lounge on, light blankets for summer, heavy wool blankets for the approaching autumn chill, paintings hanging from the tent ribs, a small but sufficient desk stocked with paper, ink, and brushes, and a table he assumes must be for meals, because it holds a pale blue tea service, plates, and bowls. Furthest from the door, next to the thing he will not yet acknowledge, is a wash basin, pitcher, and an unnecessarily large copper bathtub. 

It is all exquisitely made: the wood masterfully carved, the pottery glazed to a mirror shine, the artwork elegant and refined. The finest prison Xichen has ever seen.

He looks in a trunk near the tub, and surprise escapes him in an involuntary gasp. It is filled with books. He hadn’t realized what they were at first because they are wrapped in dark leather with no identifying marks on the bindings. He touches them reverently, opening some of their covers to reveal histories, books of folklore, even musical notations. Some he knows, some he doesn’t, but they are all beautiful. Tears sting his eyes and he inhales, rolling his eyes upward just enough to stop any drops from escaping.

“There’s a guqin too,” the boy—Huaisang—offers, pointing to a wooden case in the corner. “We understand your clan values music and learning. Elder Brother wants you to be comfortable.”

As comfortable as any concubine or sex slave, Xichen’s harsh inner voice reminds him, and he finally looks at the bed that dominates the tent. At home, this bed would be an extravagance. Even in the emperor’s palace, Xichen guesses, although he’s never been there, this bed would be excessive. It looks easily big enough for four people to lay in and never touch, and the thought heats his cheeks. The bed sits low on the ground, but its tall, carved posts are draped with silks thin enough to see through, and the mattress that looks soft enough to sink into is covered with a creamy blanket woven in a blue pattern Xichen would know anywhere: the graceful, curving seal of the Cloud Recesses.

This has all been made for him.

No, he remembers. Wangji. 

It was made for Wangji.

Chapter 4

In his twenty-two years, Xichen had never knowingly broken the rules of his clan. It had been something he was proud of, that obedience and propriety came so effortlessly to him. It made his life uncomplicated, and it allowed him to protect his brother’s small, secret rebellions from notice.

Now, it made it easy for him to deceive without being questioned.

He asked to see the letter his father was sending to the Beifeng warlord, to check it for errors, because there could be no mistakes to disgrace Wangji. His father was grateful for the assistance. He even apologized awkwardly to Xichen for not telling him what they were planning.

“We knew you would resist, Zewu-Jun, and there was too much at stake for your soft heart to interfere.”

Soft heart. As though that was all Xichen was. As though he did not earn his military title at the age of fourteen, two years before his father did. As though he had not defended the Cloud Recesses successfully until he reached his majority and switched his focus to preparing to lead his clan. As though his kindness and integrity were not regularly praised by all his family’s allies. 

What his father meant was, you would have told us we were wrong, and we did not want to hear it.

His father would have been right. He would not have agreed to give away his brother—Wangji, who did not like to be touched even by people he was acquainted with—to be what? A warlord’s concubine? A servant? Xichen was filled with a rage he had never known before, and it blazed like a funeral pyre.

No, Xichen would not be ashamed of his soft heart, no matter how it sounded in his father’s stern voice. 

It was far too simple to imitate his father’s hand and rewrite the letter accepting the warlord’s terms, changing the names and some of the details like his age and accomplishments. Truly, the warlord was getting a better bargain than he intended, Xichen thought. The first jade instead of the second. The heir instead of the spare. In light of the trade, he altered the letter to ask for Yunmeng’s safety as well, rationalizing that it would be suspicious to give a greater tribute than had been asked for.

He gave the letter back to his father, rolled in leather, scented with jasmine, and placed in a bamboo tube, already prepared for travel. His father accepted without suspicion. Xichen hid his smile with practiced ease. Perhaps there was some value to living a life above reproach.

The only thing Xichen regretted was that he could not tell his brother. He knew Wangji’s stubborn pride too well, and his brother would never let Xichen sacrifice himself, even if it was for Wangji’s own happiness.

Under the plum tree, he had wiped the tears from his brother’s cheeks and reassured him that he would tell Wei-gongzi anything Wangji wished. He could deliver a letter to the Yunmeng camp, if that would make it easier, and it strengthened Xichen’s resolve when his brother’s usually impassive face lit up.

The letter Wangji gave him the day before he was scheduled to leave was heavy, several pages thick. Xichen wondered what you told your soulmate when you had been sold in marriage to save your clan and maybe even your region from being overrun and destroyed.

Xichen had no way of knowing. Now, he never would.

He added Wangji’s letter to one he had written and hid them both under a floorboard in their mother’s empty home on the edge of the great forest. She had laughingly explained that as a healer, she needed to be closer to nature, so it had not been a scandal when she had moved away from their father so many years ago. But Xichen remembered the difference in her smiles before and after and the way she seemed to take fuller breaths here in this little house. It was a place he knew Wangji visited regularly, and the only place he could think of where his letter explaining what he had done and why, would be safe.

And then he prepared to get his brother drunk.

Xichen hated to lie to him, but by now, it was just one more promise he couldn’t regret breaking. His brother would leave at dawn in a caravan of horses, mules, and guards that would convey him and his dowry north to the Beifeng camp on the southern border of Lanling. The night before, Xichen invited Wangji to his rooms to share a hot pot of aged white tea, one of the oldest their family possessed.

“If there was ever a time to drink the best tea,” Xichen said, the misery in his voice unfeigned, “Today is the day.”

It was a family joke, Wangji’s intolerance for alcohol. Xichen had put in just enough so the taste would be masked by the sweet, rich honey flavor of the tea, but it would still put his brother to sleep. He was developing a talent for subterfuge, he thought, staring down at the limp form of his brother, sprawled across the table. Wangji’s face had lost the hard planes that masked his emotions, and he looked exactly his age.

It was easier than he expected to disguise his brother as himself, undressing Wangji down to the silk underclothes they both wore, switching their hair ornaments, and turning his face away from the door. Xichen pulled the blankets high around his head, and reinforced his brother’s sleep with a brush of magic. He felt a twinge of sadness to leave his beloved Shuoyue behind, but he couldn’t very well take the sword. Someone would definitely recognize it by his side, and he didn’t want to deprive his brother of Bichen. What would he do with a sword where he was going anyway? 

He put a note on his door with a single angry word—no—and hoped it would be enough to keep anyone from entering for a while.

“I am sorry, and I love you,” Xichen whispered before he left. He told himself it didn’t matter if Wangji didn’t hear him.

The last thing he did, a risk he couldn’t help but take, was to visit the library. His library, as he always thought of it. He breathed in the smell of leather and ink, touched the bindings of books he loved and scrolls of poetry he would never see again. He tried not to think about the music he had not yet committed to memory. Some of these books were ones he had bought himself, when he used to travel to other clans to contract and trade. Some had belonged to his family for generations. Next to his brother, this library was the thing he would miss the most.

Xichen was ready to leave at dawn, waiting on his horse before anyone else was awake to see him off. It felt strange to be riding again. He had not left his city in years, not since he had traveled to Qishan for the grand wedding of the Wen clan chief mere months before the Beifeng invaded. After they invaded, of course, he was too valuable to send into battle, despite his experience.

“You are too valuable to risk being ambushed and lost,” his father had said, but what Xichen heard was, your life only has value inside these gates. 

He wore a heavy riding coat with a tall collar and a plush scarf—too warm for late summer— that covered most of his face. He refused to look at any of his family, disdaining them as he knew Wangji would have done. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or offended that no one, not even his father, noticed the change.

Notes: This story is about 40k words, so if you want to follow along, it’ll be on my pinned post, and tagged with #soaring au. It’s also on AO3 (same title).

[needtherapy]

soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 6

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

The story continues...

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / … HOME

It’s on AO3 here if that’s easier to read.

NOTES: This story starts out G but will eventually be E for Explicit.

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr!

Chapter 6

Huaisang returns the next morning, the next afternoon, and brings Xichen his dinner, but he seems distracted and only asks if Xichen is well before leaving. Truthfully, Xichen is relieved to be left alone, and quite glad not to be reminded of the warlord’s existence—or his kisses—any more than necessary.

He writes letters to Wangji—I am safe, don’t worry, please be happy—but each time he tries to ask Huaisang if they can be sent, the words stick on his tongue. If Huaisang says no, Xichen will be disappointed, and if Huaisang says yes, Xichen will be afraid it is only for the chance to read his words. He doesn’t want anyone to see his apologies.

But after three days alone, after reading two long histories, playing every song he knows, hours of meditation, and trying to practice sword forms with a calligraphy brush, he wonders if he’s been forgotten. He is so bored, he considers making an escape attempt just for something to do.

When Huaisang asks Xichen if he would like to ride one morning, Xichen is tempted to hug him with relief. There are already horses waiting outside the door, and it’s almost funny that Huaisang was so certain of his answer.

If Mingjue is younger than he first appeared, Huaisang is older, perhaps even older than Wangji. He’s small, nearly a full head shorter than Xichen, and dresses more frivolously than anyone else Xichen has seen—loose, colorful layers, thick silver rings on three fingers, a bahnzir on his thumb, several gold hoops in his ears, and a bright scarf, ends fluttering behind him as they ride. It is not the wardrobe of a soldier. But although these two masters of the Beifeng army are not as obviously brothers as Xichen and Wangji, with a thick wool hat disguising his light brown hair, it’s easier to see Huaisang’s resemblance to Mingjue, especially around the eyes and mouth. Rather than many braids, though, Huaisang wears only one that reaches the middle of his back. 

Huaisang is also something more than merely a translator. He sings loudly as they ride and jokes with nearly everyone they pass, sometimes translating them, sometimes telling Xichen laughing stories about the men and women they see. But Xichen is an expert at reading minute facial changes, and he sees the deferential nods and glances the soldiers give Huaisang as they ride through the camp. At least twice, a warrior in full armor stops them and has a whispered conversation with the young man.

Xichen notes the looks people give him as well: sly, curious, and occasionally lingering, but not necessarily censorious. 

“They think you’re interesting looking. You’re very pale,” Huaisang mentions after one young woman’s open admiration flusters Xichen. “Don’t worry. No one will ever touch you here. They would invite Ipira’orhew Ikira’s wrath, and not one of the Beifeng would be so stupid.”

Xichen tries the words. “Ipira...Orhew...Ikira? What does it mean?”

Huaisang hums thoughtfully. “Vermillion Sword Master. Or maybe Crimson Sword Lord. It doesn’t exactly translate. In your language, you might call him Chifeng-Zun. It’s his title, not his name.”

“What is his name in your tongue?” Xichen asks.

”Etikuntiga,” Huaisang answers. “Etikuntiga means ‘visualizing success,’ and that just didn’t have a very pretty sound in your language, so I chose something more poetic, as your people like to do.”

“How did you learn my language so thoroughly?” Xichen wonders aloud. Huaisang is right, Xichen’s native tongue, Yuyan, often chooses metaphor and poetics over practicality, but it is a nuance many of his countrymen don’t even notice.

Huaisang laughs, a shout of mirth that turns a few heads toward him. “Zewu-Jun, I fear it would horrify you. There’s no better way to learn a language than in the arms of a willing teacher. Or two,” he grins.

Xichen can feel the red heat creeping up his neck, and he distracts himself by turning to watch a pair of birds circling overhead. Hawks, he thinks, and then is surprised when one of the birds folds its wings and plunges down as though it will crash into the ground only to pull up and land on a man’s waiting arm. Xichen has heard of hunting birds before, but he’s never actually seen one.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I actually have shocked you,” Huaisang apologizes, sounding entirely unremorseful, the amusement still in the back of his throat. “It is true, but it’s also true that I am just very good at other tongues. Zewu-Jun, do you require anyone to assist you? On a daily basis?”

The change in topic is abrupt and startles a laugh from Xichen. “I do not have anything for anyone to assist me with,” he says, and Huaisang purses his lips.

“Would you like me to find something for you to do?”

Xichen counters with his own question. “Am I allowed to leave my tent?”

Huaisang looks genuinely distressed. “Of course! Of course you are. Zewu-Jun, I apologize if that wasn’t clear. You are not a prisoner. You are Ahora'ipa. You may go anywhere.”

He says the word like it is also a title, and Xichen is too embarrassed to ask what it means. 

“Then yes, I would like something to do. I can…” He thinks. What can he do? He has been trained as a musician, as a mediator, and with all the practical knowledge necessary to lead his clan, but only in his own language. His skills do not seem like assets here. 

“I can heal,” he finally decides, and Huaisang beams at him.

“Healing is always valuable, Zewu-Jun. Thank you.”

They eat lunch together in Xichen’s tent and Huaisang leaves, promising to return for dinner. He could never be a replacement for Wangji, but he seems like he could almost be a friend one day. It gives Xichen the courage to unpack one trunk. It does not feel as much like a chain as he thought it would.

Xichen is entirely nonplussed when Mingjue arrives for dinner with a bird riding on his shoulder.

“I saw you watching the munaku today, and I thought you might like to meet one,” Huaisang says, not quite laughing at Xichen’s expression. “Her name is Kitingi. She is technically mine, but she is rather fond of my brother. Probably because he’s taller.”

The bird is barely bigger than one hand span and her feathers are a dark grey, speckled with dabs of white and orange. She tilts her head to peer at Xichen, and he has to resist the urge to tilt his head back at her. 

“Will she be joining us for dinner?” he finally manages to ask, and Huaisang laughs so hard, the bird flutters her wings in annoyance.

“If you don’t mind, Zewu-Jun. She is a very polite dinner guest,” he answers, and indeed, the little bird doesn’t move from Mingjue’s shoulder throughout dinner, occasionally accepting small pieces of meat he hands her, her hooked beak surprisingly gentle.

As with their last meal together, Mingjue has a never-ending stream of questions for Xichen to answer and Huaisang to translate. He asks if Xichen has horses, and Xichen has to admit that he does not ride often, which seems to alarm and concern the man. He launches into a defense of horses and horsemanship that Huaisang can barely keep up with and at least once, rolls his eyes at. Mingjue catches him and pokes him in the arm, but Huaisang is undeterred, smirking at his brother’s grumbling. Their easy and affectionate relationship is so at odds with what Xichen expected from the Beifeng, at odds, even, from his own family.

Something occurs to Mingjue, and he cocks his head curiously like the hawk on his arm, asking a question that Huaisang hesitates to translate. The brothers have a silent conversation about it before Huaisang sighs and apparently gives in.

“What do you love so much, if not horses, Zewu-Jun.”

How can he possibly answer that question? The part of him that is still angry with his father, angry with his clan, and angry with this man for forcing him into a life with no choices thinks that he loved his freedom most of all. He doesn’t know what he has left to love anymore. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back.

“I love the sunrise on the mountain,” he says softly. “I love my brother, and I love playing the guqin. I love the feeling of bones knitting together under my hand, of learning something I did not know yesterday, of magic flowing through me. I love to win sword fights. I love to read books and listen to the wind at night, rustling through the jasmine...”

He stops. He’s said too much, and he can’t finish the sentence. He won’t ever hear the rustle of the heavy jasmine leaves behind his house again, or smell their thick, sweet perfume in summer. It is pointless to even think of it. The tent is utterly silent when Huaisang finishes the translation.

Abruptly, Mingjue stands and barks something at Huaisang who shakes his head, not a refusal—more like a reprimand. The look he gives his brother is indecipherable to Xichen, but Mingjue narrows his eyes as though he knows exactly what the younger man is thinking. He repeats his order, and with pursed lips, Huaisang reaches out a hand to Kitingi. She hops gracefully to his fingers, and they leave.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Xichen begins, but he isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for. Being honest? Missing his home? It doesn’t seem like the warlord is angry, but Xichen can’t tell. It’s so frustrating to know every tiny shift in his father’s or brother’s faces, but feel so lost at understanding the huge, sweeping expressions that animate this man.

Xichen hadn’t realized he was within Mingjue’s reach until the warlord pulls him into his arms, his mouth hard and bruising against Xichen’s. Mingjue’s hands burn like hot irons, and Xichen is vividly aware of every single place he is being touched, places he had never once thought were flammable now feel like they will consume him—the nape of his neck, the inside of his knee, the ridge of his hip. 

His legs are suddenly weak, and he braces his hands against Mingue’s chest, clutching his shirt. When he touches Mingjue, the man groans against his mouth, slipping his tongue between Xichen’s lips but...oh...oh, the hand on his back, sliding over his buttocks...it is...the tightening clench in his gut is suddenly more than Xichen can take. He is a traitor to his people as his body is a traitor to his mind.

“No, stop,” he whispers, shoving away the chest he had so easily, so shamefully, fallen against. He’s suddenly afraid that Mingjue won’t understand him or won’t let go even if he does.  

He panics.

He fills his hands with power, the heat familiar like resolve.

He pushes at the same time Mingjue lets go.

Xichen’s gift is a strong one, and although he tries to curtail it in time, it is effective enough. He does not throw Mingjue sprawling across the tent, as he’s capable of, but the man rocks back nearly a full body length, knocking over a chair and dropping to one knee with a grunt. Mingjue looks up at Xichen, blinking dazedly.

Xichen gapes at him and looks at his hands.

What has he done?

Xichen searches Mingjue’s expression frantically, examining the lines of his face for anger or retaliation. He thinks of his uncle clipping leaves from orchid stems. His nephew who has just begun to swing a sword. His brother. His brother. In only a few days, has he managed to destroy the treaty that protects his family? 

Xichen’s hands are shaking and, in fact, his whole body is trembling. A white cloud is filling his eyes and he needs to sit. Regardless of whether or not he killed the man, or even injured him, he just attacked his captor. What warlord would stand for that?

Mingjue touches his chest gingerly and tilts the corner of his lips. He cocks his head at Xichen and takes a half step toward him looking almost...intrigued? Xichen can’t tell. He can’t tell. 

Xichen sways and Mingjue’s expression shifts to concern, which Xichen does recognize. He catches Xichen before he falls, lifting him effortlessly and carrying him to the bed. Laying Xichen down, Mingjue pulls the blanket over him in a movement so smooth, Xichen wonders wildly if this isn’t the first time he’s soothed a violent lover. And then, thinking of himself as anyone’s lover, much less the Beifeng warlord’s, makes him gasp, suddenly unable to breathe.

Efficiently and with no signs of his earlier overtures, Mingjue loosens Xichen’s belt and robes and starts to remove the silk ribbon from Xichen’s forehead. Xichen bats his fingers away instinctively and then remembers that he should have already removed it, acknowledged that his body—his life—belongs to someone else now, even if they aren’t truly married. He tries to turn away, and his lungs protest, struggling painfully for air. Mingjue rests his hand against Xichen’s chest and pulls the dark smoke of Beifeng magic to his palm. It warms Xichen, opens his lungs, and immediately, he can breathe again. His first full lungful of air catches in a sob, and he covers his mouth.

“Aitapaho, aitapaho,” Mingjue croons, smoothing a hand over the top of Xichen’s head. “Aurum auha, et sika pida auha.” (1)

He says other words that sound remorseful and affectionate, still touching Xichen’s hair, but whatever magic he’s using is swiftly putting Xichen to sleep, and he can’t focus on them. Before he loses grasp with consciousness entirely, he covers the hand still resting against his chest with his own.

“Not your fault,” he says, the words blurring together. “Thank you.”

Xichen doesn’t know why Mingjue is being so kind, and the gratitude muddles with regret and self-recrimination. He is not a child. He chose this, knowing what it would mean. He has a duty to make every effort to ensure the warlord—Mingjue—is happy, and his family is safe. A duty. Only a duty.

Tomorrow, he will ask Huaisang for a language instructor. The traditional kind, not Huaisang’s kind.

 Translation Notes:

Aitapaho, aitapaho. Aurum auha, et sika pida auha / Treasured one, treasured one. Forgive me, I was too hasty.

[tilapia-goulash]

#mdzs#do yall think he would have named the horse wangji too#my name is lan wangji. this is my horse wangji jr and my guqin wangji jr the second

Lan Wangji actually isn't a perfect character because he doesn't have an equine companion despite his rampant rich horse girl energy. Give him his own horse goddamn it

[piosplayhouse]

#do yall think he would have named the horse wangji too #my name is lan wangji. this is my horse wangji jr and my guqin wangji jr the second #immediately ran to my gallery to find this horse

You're literally a genius Mira and I agree completely. Also you've given me the perfect opportunity to post my collection of all the times lan wangji has been on a horse (if I'm missing one ... You can always submit to my mdzs canon equine collection)

Lan Wangji actually isn't a perfect character because he doesn't have an equine companion despite his rampant rich horse girl energy. Give him his own horse goddamn it