#jiang cheng and wen ning both have to walk around as evidence of the horrors of their sibling's love

[waitineedaname]

thinking about the parallels between the golden core transfer and wen ning's revival makes me want to eat glass. wen qing and wei wuxian both helping each other save the other's younger brother, through a life-altering procedure that their brothers ultimately could not consent to. wen ning is seen as wei wuxian's masterpiece, the most impressive thing he ever pulled off with demonic cultivation -- though the secret was kept tightly, i can't help but wonder if the fact that jiang cheng survived was just as much of an accomplishment for wen qing, proof of her skill and talent as a doctor

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth

Summary: Following the return of Wen Ning's spiritual cognition, Wei WuXian doesn't pull away quickly enough to avoid Lan WangJi discovering his secret.

Notes: This isn’t connected to try to praise the mutilated world. I’m also not sure whether it’ll just be a one-shot or if it’ll insist on being more. This is more compliant with The Untamed series as opposed to the novel. The title is from a Chinese proverb.

AO3 link

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Wei Ying pulls away from him, but too late.

Lan WangJi had caught his wrist with the intent of giving him spiritual energy to help heal from the injury caused by Wen QiongLin’s unconscious fury.

He disregards Wei Ying’s protestations about not needing spiritual energy for such a small thing and turns toward him, feeling a growing sort of horror. He knows what he felt.

“Wei Ying.”

Lan WangJi lets his voice carry enough insistence that Wei Ying goes silent mid-sentence.

“What has happened to your golden core?”

He doesn’t expect the raw fear and grief and exhaustion in Wei Ying’s eyes, the way he stumbles back a few steps as though struck. His mouth opens, then shuts again, and he turns away.

Lan WangJi hears a sigh behind him, and turns to find Wen Qing, accompanied by Wen QiongLin. She advances and places a hand on Wei Ying’s arm.

“Wei WuXian, that no one realized before now is a miracle,” she tells him.

Which lets him know that somehow Wen Qing knew. He remembers, when Wei Ying interrupted the banquet at Koi Tower, his assertion that Wen Qing and Wen QiongLin helped him during the war, his absolute insistence that he owed them his protection… 

Wen Qing presses a finger to a meridian on Wei Ying’s back, and he coughs up bad blood from his injury, staggering.

Shockingly, she then turns to Lan WangJi and bows respectfully. “Hangaung-Jun, we have no tea to offer, only water. We will leave you to your conversation.”

Wen QiongLin sets down a tray with a teapot and two cups, and Wen Qing grabs him by the sleeve to yank him from the room.

This leaves them alone, Wei Ying still hunched from his position coughing up blood, as though frozen, his eyes distant. He looks vulnerable, more so than Lan WangJi has ever seen.

Lan WangJi had always had difficulty with words. He knows he has driven Wei Ying away through his words before, and does not want to do so again. So instead of speaking, he reaches out slowly, as though to one of his rabbits so as not to startle, and gently grasps Wei Ying’s elbow, leading him to a seat. He pours water into one of the small cups, presses it into Wei Ying’s hand when he doesn’t take it.

This is what finally snaps Wei Ying from his fugue, his eyes finally losing their distance as he eyes the cup, then looks up. He seems to be searching Lan WangJi’s face for something, wariness painted in his expression.

He stays still, letting him search; perhaps he will find what his words have failed to convey. Nearly a minute passes before Wei Ying looks away, curling in on himself just slightly. Lan WangJi sits across from him, pours his own cup of water as though it is tea.

Wei Ying’s entire posture is defensive, as though he expects to be attacked, and he can only feel regret that he has led him to believe he ever would. 

“Wei Ying, when did you lose your golden core?” he finally asks.

“I didn’t lose it,” Wei Ying mutters, almost petulant. “I know exactly where it is.”

It’s so cryptic, Lan WangJi can only stare at him, reminded of just a few hours ago when Wei Ying claimed to have given birth to Wen Yuan with such a deadpan expression and tone he had for a moment doubted reality. 

“Ah, your face.” A ghost of a smile flits over Wei Ying’s face, fleeting, but his tone is just tired.

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying seems to deflate, and sets down his untouched cup, running a finger around the rim. “I gave it to Jiang Cheng. He doesn’t know. Wen Zhuliu.”

Lan WangJi’s mind reels at the idea. Giving up one’s golden core—that it’s even possible. But he has no doubt that Wei Ying speaks the truth; he has always given so much of himself. The evidence of how much he would give, his lack of self-preservation, is both awe-inspiring and terrifying. 

“When? How?”

“After Lotus Pier…” he trails off as though finishing is too hard. “Wen Ning helped me get him back. Even managed to get Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu, their bodies, away so they could be put to rest.”

Wei Ying’s voice has grown detached and clinical, as though he’s emotionally disconnected himself from what occurred. 

“He took us to the Yiling Supervisory Office and hid us. Wen Qing let him. And when I found out she’d written a paper theorizing the possibility of core transfer, I insisted. Told Jiang Cheng I was taking him to BaoShan SanRen. He thinks it’s his own, restored. I won’t tell him otherwise.”

The last sentence is spoken more forcefully, as though he fears Lan WangJi will interfere with his wishes. But what Wei Ying decides to tell Jiang WanYin is not his business, though perhaps the latter would behave in a manner more befitting as a brother if he knew what Wei Ying had sacrificed on his behalf.

He falls silent for a while, and Lan WangJi waits, asking nothing, trusting Wei Ying will decide what he wishes to share. 

“Then Wen Chao caught me and threw me here.”

His throat tightens as he realizes just how helpless Wei Ying had been against Wen Chao, against the resentful energy of this place, how terrified and alone he must have been...

“I did what I had to, to survive.” 

It comes out a harsh whisper, and Lan WangJi realizes Wei Ying is shaking, sees the dark circles under his eyes that he suddenly realizes have been ever-present since the Sunshot Campaign, since he returned from being missing and presumed dead for three months.

Wei Ying smiles suddenly, but it’s a broken, self-loathing one. “And so I walk the crooked path. It’s the only path I can walk, to protect the weak and seek justice. Regardless of the weapon I was in wartime, I am reviled for it. Even you—”

“I do not revile Wei Ying,” he interrupts, ignoring the Lan rule against it, frustrated that Wei Ying has referred to himself as little more than a weapon, an object of power—further because that is exactly how he has been treated. “I have never reviled Wei Ying.”

“You wanted me to submit to punishment at the hands of your sect,” Wei Ying hisses.

Lan WangJi feels as though he has been slapped. Was that how Wei Ying had interpreted his request to come to Gusu? 

“No,” he whispers. “For protection. For healing. Never for punishment. Never.”

For a moment, Wei Ying looks flummoxed, more vulnerable than Lan WangJi has ever seen him. Then he hides it under derision.

“‘Reject the crooked path,’” Wei Ying recites. “‘Do not associate with evil.’ I copied the Lan principles enough to memorize them, you know. I recited them at Indoctrination, even, at least until Wen Chao interrupted me. So rude. Sometimes I wonder if I let him off too easy...”

Abruptly, Lan WangJi realizes he’s being pushed away, that this is how Wei Ying seeks to protect himself. But this time, he’s not willing to go.

“Wei Ying is not evil.”

The broken smile appears again. “Oh, didn’t you hear? I dig up graveyards and steal naughty children away in the night. Who knows, maybe I even sacrifice virgins. Honestly, I can’t be expected to remember these things; you know my memory.”

He’s heard those terrible rumors, most recently at a tea house in Yiling earlier today. He doesn’t wish to hear them again, particularly not from him as though he believes them. He knows Wei Ying is trying to derail away from the topic of his golden core, from anything serious, hiding behind flippancy, trying to draw him into a semantic argument.

“Wei Ying,” he pleads. 

Wei Ying’s face goes carefully blank. “Lan Zhan, I have no other path to walk. There is no righteous path for me, only the crooked one.”

“You do not walk it by choice.”

He laughs shortly, without humor. “Does that even matter?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. 

Wei Ying looks away at that, and Lan WangJi can see the way the muscles in his throat work, as though he’s fighting tears. There’s a long stretch of silence.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying finally says, very softly, his voice tight, almost regretful. “I can’t go to Gusu with you, Lan Zhan.”

Lan WangJi comes to a decision so quickly it almost leaves him reeling. ‘Do not act impulsively’ be damned; he’s caused enough pain to Wei Ying. It is easy to disregard that rule now. 

“Then I will stay here.”

The myriad of emotion that passed across Wei Ying’s face is astonishing and quick like his mind—alarm, fear, confusion, but more importantly a heartbreak mix of longing and vulnerable hope. 

Then it’s gone, replaced with a resolute set in his jaw, and Wei Ying stands. “No.”

Lan WangJi calmly finishes his cup of water and pours himself another before repeating. “I will stay here and help Wei Ying.”

“You can’t! You can’t stay. You have responsibilities—“

“Brother will understand.”

Wei Ying starts pacing, agitated. “No. Throwing in with the Yiling Patriarch will ruin your reputation.”

“I do not care about reputation.” He keeps his voice placid.

Wei Ying makes a frustrated sound and stops pacing in favor of glaring at him. “Why? Why would you throw it away?”

Lan WangJi stands, leaving Bichen leaning against the rickety table. In many cases this would be seen as disrespect of one’s cultivation levels, implying one sees them as no threat, but he means it as a sign of trust; he hopes Wei Ying understands that. He moves until he is within arm length. It takes him a moment to find the words. 

“Bi sheng zhi ji.” He frowns when Wei Ying flinches. “You once called me this. I should have come with you at Qiongpi Path. I failed you, then.”

“You didn’t,” Wei Ying insists. “I didn’t ask you to come, or expect you to. I knew how I’d be seen, how they’d talk. You deserve better.”

Lan WangJi remembers; Wei Ying had expected him to stop him, to fight against him; had asked that when it came to the fight he believed and probably still believes is inevitable, that Lan WangJi be the one to kill him. The memory still hurts. 

“As does Wei Ying,” he finally says, pushing the memory away. It won’t come to that; he won’t let it. 

He suddenly realizes that Wei Ying is shaking slightly, his posture deflated as though he knows he has lost the argument. His eyes are wet, his throat moving soundlessly again. 

“I can’t… I’ve already damned myself, Lan Zhan. I can’t damn you too.” Wei Ying grabs his arm. “Don’t you get it? I’ll just drag you down, too!”

For a moment, he’s speechless. This isn’t unusual, but rarely is it due to this much emotion. That Wei Ying thinks so poorly of himself shakes Lan WangJi to his core, and he can only wonder how long he has felt this way. 

But Wei Ying has never defended himself against jibes and insults, only ever stepping in to defend those he cares for—and sometimes even complete strangers. Does he truly believe he deserves to be treated poorly, to be reviled and left without protection or aid?

“No,” he says finally, when he finds the words. “Wei Ying could only ever lift me up.”

Lan WangJi isn’t prepared for Wei Ying’s tears; he’s brought back to Cloud Recesses, his concern that he was crying when he was really goofing off. He’s never seen him actually cry. 

He feels frozen, uncertain what to do, but when Wei Ying sways and his knees seem to buckle, he surges forward to draw him close, to ease him down to prevent injury.

Unlike everything else Wei Ying does, he cries silently, like he’s used to doing so alone and without burdening others, his face bowed against Lan WangJi’s chest, his breaths coming in short gasps, his shoulders shaking as they once had at Cloud Recesses—though not then from crying.

As the minutes pass, Lan WangJi wonders how much Wei Ying has kept hidden away, how much grief he has tamped down within himself and hidden under smiles and false cheer, whether his constant chatter is perhaps just a distraction from his pain.

Wei Ying eventually stills, his breathing deepening with only small hitches, and Lan WangJi realizes he’s fallen asleep—whether from the release of emotion, overall exhaustion, or a combination. For a moment, he’s at a loss on what to do, but during what he had dubbed ‘the grand tour,’ Wei Ying had shown him where he worked and slept in the cave.

What surprises Lan WangJi further is the ease he has in lifting him, even able to hook one arm at his knees; he knows he has not gained as much strength as that, leaving only the possibility that Wei Ying has lost weight—and not a little. Looking down at his face, smoothed now in sleep, he realizes just how gaunt Wei Ying looks, how haggard. How truly vulnerable.

Bi sheng zhi ji.

He will never leave Wei Ying again.