#bc I realise I'd written a lot of intensely sad lxc and maybe it'd be good to balance it out with something lighter

[ibijau]

A second part for that fic where lxc died in seclusion and nhs, through mourning him, realised how much he felt for his Er-ge  / Also on AO3

Warning for themes of suicide, depression, and self-hatred (but this is angst with a happy, or at least hopeful ending)

Lan Xichen had been staring at the ribbon in his hands for only a short while when his uncle entered the room and gently took it from him.

That was when he realised that many hours had passed, and night had fallen. Time, once again, had moved around him without touching him. His uncle felt his distress and said nothing, instead pushing a glass of cool tea in his hand and presenting some light food to him.

Eating was difficult some days, but Lan Xichen always made an effort for his uncle who would look so sad otherwise. After everything else, it would have been unbearable to cause Lan Qiren yet more pain. Of course if Lan Xichen hadn’t lost his nerve that morning, if he’d done what he intended to do instead of hesitating… If he'd succeeded it would have hurt his uncle, his brother as well, but only in the same way that removing a splinter always hurt, and then they would have been free and relieved of their burden.

“It cannot go on like this,” Lan Qiren said when Lan Xichen found himself unable to swallow anything more.

Lan Xichen dejectedly stared at the rice he could not finish. Do not waste food. But then, wasn’t it wasted too if someone as useless as him ate it?

“Seclusion is meant to be a cultivation tool,” his uncle continued, “or a way to reflect on one’s conduct. You cannot continue using it as a way to hurt yourself.”

An argument that would have held more weight, had their family not had a long history of doing exactly that.

“Xichen, you cannot stay in this house.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes snapped up from his bowl of rice to gaze at his uncle in terror. He thought he would find judgement, or anger, or worst of all disappointment on his uncle’s face, but instead saw only a pity so great it made him feel ashamed.

“Shufu, I cannot leave,” he said.

Not ‘do not want”, not ‘will not’, but ‘cannot’.

He knew his affliction, though he had never found a suitable name for it. He usually merely called it melancholy, so it wouldn’t worry those who did not already know the truth… which was to say, anyone besides his uncle and brother. He’d never dared to fully explain this to Nie Mingjue, whose own illness was so much more serious than his little bouts of misery, but he had thought sometimes with Jin Guangyao he might… yet he hadn’t wanted to seem weak in front of a man who had fought so hard for everything he had, and changed his mind about that confidence. One secret, against all those his sworn brother had kept from him.

Lan Xichen knew what he suffered from, and how he suffered from it. It had been a constant companion all his life, even before his mother’s death, though that had certainly been the first time it had become noticeable to others. He’d become quite good at functioning through minor attacks, at disguising major ones.

This one was something different. This one, he knew, he would not recover from.

“This house is not good for you,” Lan Qiren said. “The Cloud Recesses are not good for you. Not anymore. Perhaps they never were, but we all trained you too well, and we did not see what it had done to you. You need to rejoin the world”

“I cannot,” Lan Xichen whispered, lowering his eyes.

The mere thought was intolerable. To stand again in front of others, pretending that things were fine, that he could be strong, that he could lead, that there was any wisdom to be found in him…

A warm hand came to rest on his own, while Lan Qiren tried his best to smile at him, even when they both knew it did not come to him easily.

“I am not asking you to resume your position as sect leader,” Lan Qiren said, and his weak smile dropped. “It would kill you even quicker than staying here alone could. This should never have been your responsibility to bear in the first place, but with the Wens preparing for war…”

Guilt and shame flooded over Lan Xichen. He knew this already. They had discussed it, right after Qingheng-Jun had died. Lan Qiren had been of the opinion that his nephew was too young to bear the responsibility of an entire sect, while himself had age and experience on his side. Had times not been so desperate, Lan Xichen would gladly have let his uncle rise to the honour of sect leader. But there had been a war on the horizon, and while Lan Qiren would have been more competent, neither of them could have denied that Lan Xichen was the more charismatic of the two, and they’d needed a leader who would garner good will among potential allies.

It ought to have been a temporary situation. Lan Xichen was meant the abdicate in favour of his uncle once the crisis had passed… but the Sunshot Campaign’s aftermath had created a tense political situation that allowed no apparent weakness, then there had been the need to avoiding bringing attention to Lan Wangji’s seclusion after the death of Wei Wuxian, and later that new political mess between the Nie and the Jin, and… and the time had just never been right, with always something to make them fear their sect would suffer from a change in leadership. So Lan Qiren had waited and done his best to help, while his nephew endured and tried to ignore his ever declining health, until one last crisis broke him for good.

“I don’t think it will be enough,” Lan Xichen whispered. “Even if I’m no longer a sect leader, people will still want to ask about…”

He drew in a shaky breath, drowning in guilt so thick it nearly made him sick. The things he had done he could almost live with. But what he had allowed others to do, the crimes he had left unchecked, the accusations a dying Jin Guangyao had thrown at him, the cold hatred Nie Huaisang had spewed at his brother’s second funeral… This haunted him, and he could not bear to imagine how much worse it would get for him if he faced the world.

Lan Qiren said nothing for a long while, silently holding his hands while watching his face as if searching for something in it. What he hoped to find, Lan Xichen could not imagine. He had only grown more and more empty these past two years alone in his house, until nothing but a shell remained that he hoped to make disappear as well.

“Lying is forbidden,” Lan Qiren said at last, speaking in the slow manner he used to teach younger children. “And yet in certain circumstances, it will be excused. I hope you will forgive me for the lie I am about to suggest.”

“Shufu?”

“You cannot live hidden in this house,” Lan Qiren stated, his grip on Lan Xichen’s hands tightening. “You cannot live as a sect leader, either. And I agree that it would harm you just as much to merely retire and remain among cultivators.”

“So I must die,” Lan Xichen said, terrified and hopeful at once. He only lived because others had not allowed him to take his own life. If his uncle and brother promised they would no longer attempt to rescue him…

“You cannot live on like this, and I cannot allow you to die,” Lan Qiren replied, his grasp now painful. “But I am willing to let the world believe that you have, and to never see you again, if that might help you.”

Lan Xichen blinked, surprised by the emotion on his uncle’s usually stern face, the unspilled tears that made his eyes shine. More pain that he had caused, more guilt to weigh down his soul.

“I’m not sure I understand, shufu.”

“We are going to lie,” Lan Qiren explained. “And doing so, we are going to save you.”

-

Back when he was young and had time for idle purposes, Lan Xichen had sometimes paused for portraits. Lan Wangji had needed a model patient enough, and Nie Huaisang had never taken no for an answer when he had a caprice in mind.

This, however, was quite different from pausing for a painting.

“No, no, don’t look!” Wei Wuxian scolded. “Keep your eyes closed! And don’t breathe so deeply. You���re dead, remember?”

“Nobody will look that closely,” Lan Xichen mildly complained, even though he’d been informed a little earlier that he wasn’t allowed to speak either. He’d almost laughed. If there was one person who didn’t get to demand that the dead be silent, it was Wei Wuxian. 

“The entire Lan sect is going to see what they need to think is your corpse,” Wei Wuxian said. “We need to fool them.”

“They haven’t seen me in two years, it will be fine.”

“Probably. But Nie Huaisang has sent word that he’s coming to your funeral, and we’ll need to fool him too.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen just said, and fell silent. 

He hadn’t thought Nie Huaisang would come at all, but of course he was too clever not to pay his respects, if only to maintain whatever alliance remained between Qinghe Nie and Gusu lan.

He wondered if Nie Huaisang would be fooled by this fake corpse Wei Wuxian was crafting. Wei Wuxian was a man of rare talent, but Nie Huaisang had proven to be quite good at seeing through lies. If he realised the truth, would he denounce the subterfuge? Or would he be too satisfied to find that the last of his brother’s murderer had died to even bother looking at his corpse?

He wondered if Nie Huaisang would cry for him. They had almost been friends, once. And if Nie Mingjue hadn’t died when he had, maybe they would have…

But Nie Mingjue had died, and the manner of his death could not be forgotten.

Lan Xichen knew that Nie Huaisang would not shed a single tear for him.

He hadn’t earned the right to be mourned by him.

-

Lan Xichen did not linger to see his own funeral, but heard later that it had been a very sober affair, and that people said many good things about him.

It would have comforted him about his own value, if he hadn’t remembered that people did the same at Jin Guangshan’s funeral.

-

It had not been Lan Xichen’s own choice to have Wen Ning as a travelling companion. His family, or at least the part of it that knew he wasn’t dead, had just decided that his current health wasn’t good enough to let him wander on his own. As Wei Wuxian so pragmatically put it, they hadn’t faked his suicide just so he could go kill himself ten li away, so he needed someone to keep an eye on him.

It couldn’t be Lan Qiren, who was under so much attention as a new sect leader. It also couldn’t be Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, who were a little too noticeable everywhere they went. They’d thought about Lan Sizhui, but in the end the young man hadn’t even been told at all that his uncle still lived, because Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian felt it would be cruel to force him to keep that secret from his friends.

Meanwhile, Wen Ning had no official duties to conduct, and he was good at staying hidden. He had agreed to keeping an eye on Lan Xichen, even though they’d hardly exchanged two words in their lives. Not only that, but Lan Xichen had been there when Wen Qing’s ashes were scattered, he had been among those who swore to destroy the Wens who survived in the Burial Mounds of Yiling. Lan Xichen had thought then that the place had turned into a den of demonic cultivators, filled with an army of fierce corpses all as dangerous as Wen Ning, who had slaughtered so many already.

It was not the travel companion Lan Xichen would have preferred, not that he’d given the question much thought.

Yet when he thought of protesting, Wen Ning had looked at him and given him that odd grimace which passed as a smile for him.

“Two dead men, I think it’s fitting,” he’d said.

That had settled the issue. Lan Xichen just did not have the strength to object any further. In fact, he quickly decided that it might be for the best that Wen Ning, of all people, would be travelling with him. After the lies Lan Xichen had allowed himself to be fed about the Wens of the Burial Mounds, it was doubtful that Wen Ning would do too much to protect him from himself, next time that melancholy seized him.

-

The first few months of travel weren't unpleasant. Lan Xichen found himself thinking that his uncle had been right, that he had only needed a little change to allow for recovery. Most of the time he appeared to be alone, as Wen Ning was reluctant to show himself to common people. Well, nearly alone: he had been given a horse by his uncle, an even-tempered animal that matched his own personality, and proved to be quite enough company for him. During the day he travelled without clear goal except for the enjoyment of the journey itself, sometimes stopping to admire a beautiful landscape, once or twice even painting something quick that he might show to…

But there was no one left to admire his work, supposing there ever was. Perhaps Jin Guangyao had only ever been polite whenever he professed that he thought the world of Lan Xichen’s latest work. As for Nie Huaisang, whose taste had always been excellent, whose praise had been so hard to obtain… certainly he must have lied, whenever he said something pleasant about Lan Xichen’s paintings. Surely it must have cost him to praise the man who had failed to prevent his brother’s murder.

Surely he must have hated Lan Xichen as much as Lan Xichen hated himself.

His thoughts started spiralling on that subject one night. He’d done a quick sketch of some mountains that afternoon, only to be struck first by the thought that Nie Huaisang would have loved to see such a place, then by the remembrance that he actually did not know Nie Huaisang at all, that the only certainty he could have was the other man hated him, having said as much when they re-buried Nie Mingjue.

Normally, Lan Xichen never stayed alone for long at night. Whether he had to sleep in the wild or could find an inn, Wen Ning would join him and check on him. But for whatever reason Wen Ning was late that night. He never really had the chance to explain, either, because when Wen Ning finally made his way to the room Lan Xichen had paid for, it was to find him preparing a knot with his ribbon.

Wen Ning did not say anything. Lan Xichen just smoothed out that knot, and politely asked about the Ghost General’s day, as he always did. It was easy to fall into their normal routine and pretend nothing had happened. Lan Xichen had always been particularly good at that sort of deception. He had his dinner, did some meditation, and went to bed as if nothing were amiss.

All that time Wen Ning stared at him as only a dead man could stare, patient and unrelenting.

Even with his back turned to him, and in the darkness of that room, Lan Xichen could still feel the strength of that stare as sleep eluded him.

“You must despise me,” he said at last, his own eyes closed as if he still thought he would sleep that night.

There was silence for a while.

“Is that an order, or a conclusion you’ve reached?” Wen Ning asked.

More silence, as Lan Xichen considered that question.

“A conclusion. I have no rights to give you orders. I have allowed so much to happen… Your family in the Burial Mounds, and…”

“A-Yuan is a happy young man,” Wen Ning interrupted. “He is well adjusted, he has friends, he’s been taught well. He told me you often took care of him when he was very young.”

Lan Xichen hesitated.

“Do not think me kinder than I am. I just couldn’t let anyone… He’d been very sick and didn’t seem to remember his life before coming to us, but if his memories returned and he said something wrong…” Lan Xichen paused, and sighed deeply. “At the time, I thought he might have been the love child of your sister and Wei Wuxian. It seemed to make sense? Wei Wuxian had abandoned everything to protect your family.”

Wen Ning was silent.

And silent.

And silent so long that Lan Xichen feared he had offended him, especially when the fierce corpse started making an odd, wheezing sound. 

Laughter, he then realised.

“Jiejie would be so insulted that anyone could think she had that relationship with Wei Wuxian,” Wen Ning said with surprising good humour, as if the idea delighted him. “I think uncle four suggested it once, and she scared him so bad he avoided her for a week. She said nobody should have such bad taste. No offence to your brother,” Wen Ning added after reflection.

"It's fine. I’ve also expressed doubts regarding his choices,” Lan Xichen said with a weak smile.

It had been such a long while since he’d smiled.

He was more grateful to Wen Ning for making him smile again than for saving his life.

-

When he’d left the Cloud Recesses, Lan Xichen hadn’t had any particular destination in mind. If he were honest, he hadn’t particularly expected his uncle’s plan to work, and had thought he’d just wander for a little while until his self-hatred became too strong and he took his own life. Since Wen Ning had now made it clear he would not allow this to happen, Lan Xichen was forced to start planning.

He tried, first of all, to ask Wen Ning if he had preferences. To this the fierce corpse replied that there was nowhere he wished to revisit that wouldn’t remind him of darker times, so while he had a list of places he’d rather avoid, he otherwise didn’t care where they went. Lan Xichen was thus left alone to decide where to go, when he still did not trust himself to make decisions of any sorts.

After a long, painful week of consideration, Lan Xichen settled for Baidi as a destination. It was a city that exiles had visited and immortalised in poetry, which he thought was fitting for his own situation, unlikely as he was to ever see his home again. On a more practical note, there was no longer a cultivation sect around Baidi, the old one having allied itself with Qishan Wen and been slaughtered during the course of the Sunshot Campaign. That meant it was less likely for anyone but rogue cultivators to be in that area, and only in case of crisis, so Lan Xichen would be in less danger to be recognised.

But there was also…

It was a very silly thing, all things considered. But Lan Xichen remembered talking about Baidi with Nie Huaisang once or twice, and how nice it would be to go there together. Back then, things had been easy. They’d been friends, and he’d thought he knew Nie Huaisang. He’d even thought sometimes that they shared a special bond, Nie Huaisang with his many fears, Lan Xichen with his deadly melancholy. Nie Huaisang had been the only person in whom he’d felt he could confide that particular weakness, the only person who seemed like he might have understood what it was like to be constantly betrayed by one’s own mind. He’d seemed very sympathetic to Lan Xichen’s plight at the time, and started writing to him out of the blue if they didn’t see for a while, just to get some news. Lan Xichen had taken to doing the same in return, and he’d thought, he’d truly thought…

But in the end, he hadn’t known Nie Huaisang as well as he’d thought, and there had probably never been any unspoken understanding of a shared plight, no secret affection that couldn’t be acted upon. Lan Xichen had been wrong about this, just as he was always wrong about everything.

He’d been wrong, and he was enough of a fool to still hold dear memories of a lie.

Wen Ning offered no objection to the prospect of going to Baidi. But when after a few days of travelling in that direction Lan Xichen wondered if he should warn his uncle of his decision, Wen Ning guiltily confessed that he’d already sent word about that, just as he’d made sure to keep Lan Qiren updated about most things they did.

“Even…” Lan Xichen started asking, before shame overcame him.

“I did not mention that you briefly relapsed,” Wen Ning replied, and Lan Xichen instantly relaxed. “It was only one time, and you haven’t tried again since. I saw no reason to worry him when you’re doing better.”

It felt odd to Lan Xichen that anyone might think his health improved. He wasn’t sure he felt any particular difference, save for the fact that he was now hiding among crowds instead of inside his house. Perhaps Wen Ning was just trying to be kind, then.

“I suppose it’s better if you’re the one writing to him,” Lan Xichen said. “After all, I’m supposed to be dead.”

“So am I,” Wen Ning reminded him. “It’d probably please him to have news directly from you.”

Lan Xichen doubted that anything he’d done since becoming sect leader had ever much pleased his uncle, even if he sometimes said otherwise. 

But no, that was just the melancholy speaking. His uncle had always scolded him when he needed to be scolded, praised him when he deserved to be praised. It would be unfair to Lan Qiren to accuse him of insincerity, and so he had to mean those occasional compliments he’d given.

That night, when he stopped at an inn, Lan Xichen wrote a brief letter to his uncle, which Wen Ning promised would reach Lan Qiren in a discreet manner.

Some days later, Lan Qiren sent a letter. Even though his prose was as stern as ever, there was something joyful in that short missive, in his remarks that Baidi seemed like a wise hiding place. Perhaps he really was happy to have received news from his nephew. And perhaps Lan Xichen being able to acknowledge that he could give joy to those he loved was a sign that he really was improving.

-

A slow correspondence started between Lan Xichen and his uncle, which became a steadier one once he had reached Baidi. At first Lan Xichen had very little to talk about, save to say how much distance they’d travelled since the previous letter. But as time passed, he found more and more to say. He would describe the villages they’d passed through, the sights they’d seen. He shared some of the sketches he’d made, and a haunting he’d had to help with, once people of a certain manor near Baidi realised he was a cultivator, after which the master of the house had invited him to stay at another home he owned in Baidi as an honoured guest.

It had felt good to be useful, to be helpful, to deal with a situation where right and wrong were easy to distinguish.

It made it easier when Lan Qiren, in his own letters, started mentioning that Nie Huaisang had announced he would be stepping down as sect leader.

At first nothing more than that was known, and Lan Xichen could only wonder at how little he knew Nie Huaisang. He’d imagined that Nie Huaisang would now show his true colour, perhaps even that he would try to seize power and become Chief Cultivator.  Why not? He was smart enough for it. Lan Xichen had long thought that Nie Huaisang’s problem arose from a lack of ambition and motivation rather than from being stupid as some would have said. Having proven he could be motivated after all, who knew if he hadn’t also hidden that he was power hungry? Even his stepping down could have been a mere part of a complicated plan.

When Lan Xichen expressed those thoughts in a letter, Lan Qiren replied that he did not think Nie Huaisang held such dark designs. On the contrary, it had been widely observed that he’d been growing depressed and indifferent in the past year, delegating more and more of his duties to his first disciple, now his future replacement, while he personally tried to amuse himself with other pursuits. If this was merely part of a scheme, then it had to be a very complex one indeed because one of the few topics on which Nie Huaisang could be bothered to take position was that a Chief Cultivator was not something anyone needed anymore.

That did sound more like the Nie Huaisang who Lan Xichen had thought he knew. It sounded like the man he’d been friends with for well over a decade, and gave him hope that not everything had been a lie, that he’d only been fooled at a few key moments rather than a majority of time. There was a comfort to be found in the thought that perhaps both Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao had truly liked him, that the affection and friendship had been genuine, regardless of the betrayal and the lies.

When more news filtered out, when Lan Qiren learned from Nie Huaisang himself that his intention was merely to withdraw from public life and wander to admire the beauty of the world, Lan Xichen only felt more peaceful. Being idle and aimless was exactly what Nie Huaisang had always dreamed of doing, before his brother’s untimely death had forced a different fate upon his shoulders.

In his next letter, Lan Xichen felt nostalgic enough to wonder if there was any chance that Nie Huaisang and him might meet again. He did not think that Nie Huaisang would ever forgive him his role in Nie Mingjue’s death, nor would he likely approve of Lan Xichen’s escape from his duties out of mere sadness, but for his part Lan Xichen couldn’t help but wish he could get a chance to find out what sort of a man Nie Huaisang truly was. He’d had so few friends in his life, and Nie Huaisang was the last one still alive. 

It would have been pleasant if they could have had another chance to be friends, this time without any secrets left between them, his letter concluded.

After this Lan Qiren’s letters never mentioned Nie Huaisang again, except to mention that he’d stepped down as planned. Lan Xichen felt silly for having burdened his uncle with his regrets, and dropped the subject as well.

In truth, while Nie Huaisang, Jin Guangyao, and even Nie Mingjue were often in his thoughts, Lan Xichen also had much else to keep him busy.

Without quite meaning to, Lan Xichen had gathered around him some disciples, children of Baidi who were eager to learn cultivation and had shown some promise. First it had been only the daughter and the son of the man whose house he lived in, and that hadn’t been so bad. But of course the two children had told some of their friends, while their parents had boasted of their luck to a few relatives. Soon enough Lan Xichen had been forced to explain that he could only teach children who had the right disposition, and that he wouldn’t be able to go beyond a few basic principles since it was not his intention to establish himself there. Even like that, Lan Xichen found himself with a dozen students, mostly boys but a few girls as well, listening to his every words as if he were a well of wisdom.

It was terrifying at first. A few times, Lan Xichen thought of dying to escape this new responsibility he’d never asked for, but Wen Ning’s constant presence made that impossible. He still wanted to escape then, and one night even told Wen Ning about wishing to leave Baidi behind.

“It’s just teaching,” Wen Ning pointed out. “You like teaching, no?”

The question startled Lan Xichen out of his rising panic.

“I do. I did. But that was when I still thought I had a right to it. I’m not sure I’m fit to be a teacher anymore, considering…”

“Well, you probably shouldn’t be teaching children how to spot evil people in their lives,” Wen Ning agreed with a wry smile. “But what happened doesn’t change the fact you’re a good cultivator, and you know how to show others what they need to start cultivating, according to Sizhui. You like that part, right?”

“I do. I’m just not sure I’m the right person to do this.”

Wen Ning shrugged. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Sometimes, there’s no right person. There’s just the person who’s there when it’s needed.”

Lan Xichen fell silent for a moment. He wondered if that was what Nie Mingjue had thought when his father had died, Nie Huaisang when he’d lost his brother. If nobody else was left, someone had to do the job.

“Fine, I’m staying in Baidi,” Lan Xichen agreed. “But I think you should help me teach these children.”

Wen Ning grimaced, always a frightful sight on his stiff face. “That’s a terrible idea, for so many reasons I can’t list them all.”

"You were trained in the methods of Qishan Wen, and you are probably the last person to remember that training." 

"That's one of the reasons why it'd be a terrible idea, yes." 

Lan Xichen smiled weakly. "I meant that as a reason why you should do it," he corrected. "Qishan Wen was not always what it had become. Its knowledge should not be lost." 

"I was a very poor cultivator when I was alive," Wen Ning countered. "I wouldn't be the right person to… ah. I can guess your next argument."

"Good. I don't want to do this alone. I think I don't like being on my own."

Two years with only himself for company had proven that. And the fact that he still missed Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao proved well enough that he craved friendship and closeness. Lan Xichen wasn't sure Wen Ning was his friend, but after nearly a year together, he wouldn't mind if the other man owned him as one. 

In the end, Wen Ning agreed to help him teach. 

The children were scared of him at first, not realising that he was equally terrified. But over time everyone relaxed, and Wen Ning appeared to find real joy in this new task. He seemed to really like children, perhaps because he'd not quite been an adult when he died, and he was clearly proud to share the knowledge he'd gotten from his sect with people who didn't instantly treat any Wen teachings with disgust. 

How odd, to find pride in anything. 

But as weeks passed, Lan Xichen realised that he too was proud of his work in Baidi, of his student's progress, of his own healing even. These days he rarely thought of dying more than once or twice a week, when it used to be a constant noise in the back of his mind. And unless he was having a truly awful day, it was getting easier to tell himself that death wouldn't really solve his problems. 

Even bad days were a little easier to handle. Lan Xichen could not control his moods nor the speed at which small things made him take a turn for the worse, but he was starting to recognise it when those shifts happened, and so did Wen Ning. The fierce corpse would cancel lessons for the day, and let Lan Xichen rest, keeping him company in silence. Or if the dark mood lasted too long, he would convince Lan Xichen to leave the house and wander on the banks of the Yangtze River, to watch passing boats and diving birds, or just to meditate somewhere different. It usually worked in getting Lan Xichen out of his own head.

-

That particular day was a bad one almost from the start. Lan Xichen’s host had proudly announced over breakfast that another cultivator had just arrived in town, and instantly Lan Xichen’s mood had turned sour. Even when his host told him that the newcomer claimed no affiliation to any sect, and didn't appear to be anyone famous, dread settled deep inside Lan Xichen’s bones. Wen Ning noticed, as he always did, and immediately said that they had some business out of town that day which they could not delay. They might be gone a day or two, he said, before shoving a large bamboo hat on Lan Xichen's head and dragging him outside. They left the city behind, walking silently for a long while until they were perfectly alone on the road.

"It might not even be a real cultivator," Wen Ning quietly remarked. "There are plenty of people out there who lie to get gifts from those who don't know better. And if it's an impostor, he'll avoid us." 

"But a real cultivator will seek our company," Lan Xichen replied. He looked around, admiring the river, and sighed. "I don't want to leave. I like this place. I like our students." 

Wen Ning nodded. "I can scare away that person," he offered. "I am the terrifying Ghost General."

That remark got a weak smile out of Lan Xichen, and almost a chuckle as well. It surprised him sometimes that they’d all ever thought Wen Ning was a terrifying thing to be destroyed. It certainly was hard to remember that he’d done terrible things in the past to justify his reputation, when he was so gentle with the children they were teaching.

“Let’s not advertise your presence here more than necessary,” Lan Xichen said. “We’re lucky enough the people here could be convinced that you’re merely the victim of a curse. If cultivators hear that the Ghost General is here, it’ll draw them to Baidi rather than away from it.”

“Then what do we do? Just wait?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything else we can do,” Lan Xichen sighed, though the idea made him uncomfortable.

Waiting to see, waiting for proof, waiting in case things got better, that was how he’d gotten in this situation in the first place. He’d done so much waiting all his life. He’d done nothing but wait and hope that others would take action first, willing to react but never to act. Waiting hadn’t worked out so well for him this far, and yet he couldn’t push himself to do anything differently even after he should have learned better.

As every time he encountered a problem these days, death offered itself as a solution. It felt like a more tempting option than it had in a long while when faced with the threat of discovery. Everyone who'd been forced to pity him over his early death would be furious. His brother and his uncle would see their reputation tarnished for having been complicit in that lie. And Lan Xichen himself would have to face the consequences of his actions, or rather of his inaction. He would be made to explain why he never doubted Jin Guangyao's true intentions, why he never saw past Nie Huaisang's comedy, why he never suspected that the world could be so cruel, or that most of its cruelty came from the people he loved the most. 

Death would be easier. 

But Lan Xichen did not want to die. 

That thought was so shocking that Lan Xichen felt guilty. After all the wrong he'd done, after causing so much trouble for his loved ones, what right did he have to live? 

Still, he did not want to die, not even when life felt so terrifying. 

After such an intense realisation, it was a relief when Wen Ning agreed that they should just wait and see what would come of that supposed cultivator's arrival. He also did not protest when Lan Xichen expressed the wish to go meditate in a quiet place he liked, by the river. It was what Lan Xichen often did when bad days struck, and he desperately needed that chance to calm his mind. 

Lan Xichen's favourite place was a particularly picturesque one. There was a large tree by the river, which in that season was covered in pale flowers, while in its branches birds sang to their mates. Petals fell on Lan Xichen's hat like colourful snow. On the other side of the water, there was a clear view of high mountains, a peaceful and steady sight which never failed to make Lan Xichen feel a little more grounded. He sat there under the tree until the shadows grew long around him, until his heart could make peace with the fantastically novel idea that he might enjoy being alive, now that he was removed from the title of sect leader which had so weighed him down. 

As darkness started to tint the horizon, Lan Xichen felt a presence near him and opened his eyes, expecting to see that Wen Ning had come back from wherever he went while Lan Xichen meditated. Instead, glancing from under his bamboo hat, he saw shoes and robes that belonged to a stranger.

“Please don’t be alarmed,” the stranger said in a voice less foreign than it should have been. “I hope you will forgive me for being so rude, but earlier as I was wandering alongside the river I saw you sitting here and was overcome with the need to paint you. It might seem odd, but something about you reminded me of a friend who passed away some months ago.”

For a brief moment, Lan Xichen felt breathless. Even if the hem of his hat hid the man’s face from him, and his own face from the man’s sight, that voice was so familiar that it made his heart ache. It had to be a coincidence, though, because while that sounded like Nie Huaisang, he would never have called Lan Xichen a friend, not after everything that had passed between them.

“As an apology for behaving this way, I actually made a second painting to give to you,” the stranger insisted, bending over to hand him a piece of paper. Lan Xichen lowered his head to keep his face hidden, but took the painting offered to him.

It was one thing to doubt a voice, but there was no doubting the skill in those brushstrokes. Every line was clear and precise, a few expert touches of colour bringing the scene to life. Lan Xichen had seen enough of Nie Huaisang’s art that he could have recognised his pieces anywhere.

“Thank you,” Lan Xichen said, which startled Nie Huaisang so badly that he took a step behind. “I am honoured that you would mistake me for a friend.”

In the silence that followed, Lan Xichen heard the doubt that had to cross Nie Huaisang’s mind, the disbelief that would be stronger than his own, having believed Lan Xichen to be dead.

“It was a very dear friend of mine,” Nie Huaisang said carefully, as if he feared to be mistaken. “Dearer than I realised when he was alive. I will always regret that I wasn’t able to tell him what he was to me before it was too late.”

“I’m sure he would have many things to tell you as well, if he could.”

Nie Huaisang took a step forward, then stepped back again.

“Please remove your hat,” he said in a tone that was both an order and a desperate plea.

Lan Xichen obeyed, lifting the hem of his hat and letting it fall behind him. Looking up, he saw emotions openly displayed on Nie Huaisang’s face. Shock first, then fear. Disbelief quickly followed, before he settled for a shining smile and happy tears and he fell to his knees, reaching out for Lan Xichen’s hands and holding them tight.

“Er-ge, I have so much to tell you,” Nie Huaisang sobbed, his smile growing wider.

Lan Xichen could only smile back, too choked up by emotion to say anything, clutching Nie Huaisang’s hands tightly.

Staying alive really wasn’t a bad thing, if he could get second chances like this.