#venerable zewu-jun would never

[whumpbby]

I don't mind them fucking like professionals gunning for a raise. It's the writers job to make me believe they can do it.

What I do mind is the "he would not fucking say that" when it comes to dirty talk - that comes out of nowhere in a long-awaited sex scene of a slow-burn, adding nothing to it, and, most importantly, drops out of the mouth of a character who doesn't even fucking swear!

Authors, please, there's time and place for "you're such a slut for my cock" but it's pretty much never when you want to use it. This requires a PhD in writing sex, you're not ready.

i think one thing that will really invariably get me to click out of a fic immediately, if i even get as far as opening it in the first place, is He Would Not Fucking Say That’s hornier cousin “he would not fucking fuck that hard or that prolifically”. like when regardless of canon personality a character enters the bedroom and immediately becomes this almost christian grey parody ultra suave dom with dubious bdsm practices and it’s like. i’m very sorry but i truly hand on heart do not think he knows how to use his dick like that

[threejadesoflan]

she never expected to see her little brother in red and gold. 

jiang cheng was very particular. he wasn’t interested in just anyone - the perfect person that checked every item on his list. but the way she saw it, he was looking for the one. he wanted someone worthy of him (which certainly sounds self-absorbed but at the same time, she knew where it came from). he was a difficult person, and struggled to open up to people, let alone show affection. the perfect spouse for jiang-zongzhu would have to be someone special, who could understand him and support him. someone who could deal with him and walk him through his traumas. someone who could make him happy.

to say jiang yanli was surprised when he finally admitted his engagement would be an understatement. 

she knew he had made a friend in the cloud recesses - she would forever be grateful to young zhao xiang for being so accepting of her younger brother and bringing a certain light to his life. she always knew that zhao xiang was important to him, but that he would wed her to protect her?

she knew jiang cheng never does things by halves. he would never have offered such a life-altering step if he didn’t truly believe in it. that was not her worry.

well, worry was a strong term. she knew zhao xiang would never do anything to harm jiang cheng or lotus pier. the short time jiang yanli knew her was enough to make a good judge of character. she knew, too, that there would be numerous complex feelings as this was the first major event held in the reconstructed lotus pier. there were faces that would be missing (the disciples they grew up with, jiang fengmian, yu ziyuan). her only hope for him was….

❝ a-cheng, ❞ jiang yanli adjusted the draping of his marriage attire, satisfied that he would look his best during the ceremony. there was a small smile on her face as she regarded his features with a familiar thoughtfulness, as though he were an open book to her. wei wuxian would no doubt barrel in soon, buzzing with excitement that his shidi was actually getting married (against all odds! who would have thought!), so putting everything to rest would be best now, in the temporary quiet.

❝ are you happy? ❞ those three words hid another question: does zhao xiang make him happy? 

Looking in the body-length mirror, the first thing to Jiang Cheng's mind is red and gold do not look good on me.

Still, these things have to be done properly if he is to protect Zhao Xiang; if that is her real name. It has occurred to Jiang Cheng that everything he knows about his bride could be a lie. She's already mired in so many scandals, not the least of which is Zewu-Jun and Chifeng-Zun's involvement in the concealment of her true gender and origins- but as no one would dare to go up against two thirds of the Venerated Triad, it's Zhao Xiang who's bearing the brunt of the cultivation world's outrage.

It's such... preposterous nonsense. Zhao Xiang is still Zhao Xiang. It's not like she's suddenly stopped carrying her weapon and turned to weird, uncomfortable cultivation instead. Unlike someone Jiang Cheng could name, he thinks as the doors are pushed open and the bane of his existence walks in, black-robed and with his ghoul flute tucked into his belt. "Chengcheng is getting married! I never thought I'd see the day, but then again you and Xiang-er were always close." Wei Wuxian leans heavily into Jiang Cheng's personal space, one arm draped over his shoulder as he rests his full weight on him. "Aiya, I didn't think she'd made it halfway down The List, but then we also thought she was a he. My head still hasn't fully wrapped around it-"

"Get off!" Jiang Cheng ducks out from under his shixiong's arm and shoves him away. "Are you already drunk?"

"Am not!"

"Well, don't make a scene at my wedding! Or I'll hang you from the tallest pole in Lotus Pier! With Zidian!"

"Whaaaa, Shijieeee! Chengcheng is being mean to three-year-old Xianxian!"

With a deep sigh, it's all Jiang Cheng can do to compose himself. Letting Yanli straighten the robes that got messed up from Wei Wuxian's leaning on him, he places a hand on her shoulder. "Jie. I want this. Her. There's no need to worry about me; I did ask her, not the other way around."

[robininthelabyrinth]

Alternate headcanons: JZX is actually a military and political genius, hiding his genius because then his dad would see him as a threat and replace him with that half-brother who was stupid enough to come in person and get thrown down the stairs.

Nie Huaisang would be the key, Jin Zixuan thought.

His brand-new recognized half-brother Jin Guangyao had made a good play for power, getting their father to recognize him to take advantage of his war record and swearing brotherhood as one of the Venerated Triad. The first had been pretty easy to counter – even with a proper name and recognition, Jin Guangyao still had to live in Jinlin Tower, and the iron-fisted mistress of Jinlin Tower was Jin Zixuan’s mother; she wasn’t making it easy for him. The second…

See, the thing was, their father was wholly self-absorbed. He was as vicious as a viper, hating anyone who challenged his dominion – Jin Zixuan wouldn’t have been hiding his light under a bushel for years and years if he wasn’t – but he respected power. Jin Guangyao had, however belatedly, figured that that out, and he’d eeled his way in with two Great Sect leaders, the fearsome and righteous Chifeng-zun and the noble and gracious Zewu-jun…maybe not enough for an actually good relationship, given Chifeng-zun’s dire scowl, but good enough that they’d been willing to swear to brotherhood with him in front of the whole world. It was a good play, really, it was!

Unfortunately for Jin Guangyao, Jin Zixuan was better than him at this game.

He’d proposed to Jiang Yanli and she’d accepted; that was the up-and-coming Jiang sect firmly and squarely on his side – and all the more so once they were married and she was bearing him children, little nephews and nieces that Jiang Cheng, starved as he was for living family, would do anything for. Really, it was amazing what Jiang Cheng had made of his sect, which had been bloated and rotten under Jiang Fengmian, a Great Sect only by virtue of its history and size; if it had been back then what it was now, Jin Zixuan would never have found a pretext to break his engagement. Luckily he’d been able to fix that once the time was right to do so…

Well, that was one Great Sect on Jin Zixuan’s side, and through Jiang Yanli he could get the Lan sect too. Oh, to be sure, Lan Xichen was the sect leader, but he had a weak character. He preferred to go with the flow, to yield to others, and no one did he yield to more than his little brother, Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji, who was madly in love with Wei Wuxian – Wei Wuxian, who adored his shijie and would listen to her every word. Who would insist on her approval for any relationship he might enter…

No, sworn brotherhood or no, the Lan sect was going to belong to Jin Zixuan, not his half-brother.

That brought them back to Nie Huaisang.

If they were talking about people who yielded to their little brothers, well, if Chifeng-zun was second, no one would dare claim to be first. Everyone with eyes knew who the real power in Qinghe was.

If Jin Zixuan swore brotherhood with Nie Huaisang… Jin Guangyao wouldn’t stand a chance.

[drwcn]

ok but for fem!wwx au does lan zhan believe the rumours? and if so what does that mean for the whole 'i birthed him with my own body!' cause lan zhan did the maths and was like 'no it was just the once and this child is too old' but if he thinks he was just one in a line does he go back to bm after nightless city to rescue a kid he thinks is wei ying's but with another man? does he spend the three years in seclusion cursing every jin whose name he remembers as cowards only to step out, take one look at sizhui, and have an 'oh. i know why wei ying was so determined to save wen qionglin' moment???

Answer:  Haha, nah, Lan Wangji was fairly sure Sizhui wasn’t Wei Ying’s, for several reasons. One, Wen Yuan was born before the wen remnants even went to the Burial Mount. Lan Wangji saw the small child amongst the escape party that rainy night at the  concentration camp. Also, Wen Ning was several years younger than them, which would make it kind of weird if he were the dad. Before Wen Ning became the Ghost General, everyone just knew him as Wen Qing’s kid brother.  Lan Wangji, however, absolutely believed Jiang Yan to be Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian’s child even before Wei Wuxian was resurrected... 

《the midnight sun》 — 

[original], snippets [x] [x] [x] [x], other posts found under #lanyan or #midnight sun

midnight sun [snippet 7]

When Yan’er turned ten, Jiang Cheng decided it was time for her to accompany him to Cultivation Conferences. Most sect heirs began their training this way; Jiang Cheng still remembered his first time, trailing nervously in Jiang Fengmian’s wake. 

Heiresses, in comparison, were few and far between. Even head disciples were rarely girls. Jiang Wanyin had no children. His head disciple was his heiress, and his heiress was Jiang Yueqian (江月千). 

长烟一空 - when the smoke clears; 皓月千里 - the moon casts a thousand miles of light 浮光跃金 - which dances upon the water, golden 静影沉壁 - the shadow of the moon itself like jade underwater*

A jade underwater indeed.

“Shifu.”

Speaking of the devil, here she comes, walking measuredly down the long stairs of Jinlintai towards Jiang Cheng, the epitome of an obedient, filial disciple. It had only been a day and Jiang Yan already had the world fooled. Only Jiang Cheng knew how impossibly obstinate and utterly uncontrollable she was when her mind was fixed.

"Ah, Jiang-zongzhu, this is..." Spotting her, Lan Xichen glanced beyond his shoulder, the question dangling in the sentence he did not deem necessary to finish.

Unbeknownst to Lan Xichen, the child that made her way over was his niece by blood. Jiang Cheng was acutely aware that Yan'er actually resembled Lan Wangji a great deal, and despite having weighed the risks and gains against each other repeatedly before deciding to bring Jiang Yan along, now he was no longer so certain in his calculations. Lan Xichen was not a simple peasant; what if he detected a trace or a hint of her heritage between the furrow of her brows or the curve of her eyes? What if...

Jiang Cheng turned, raising an arm towards Jiang Yan, an introduction ready, but whatever words he had prepared in advance died on on his tongue when he laid eyes on the girl. Suddenly, he was no longer worried that others would suspect her to be Lan Wangji's child.

There was a red ribbon in her hair.

Yan'er stopped at a polite distance from the two older men and bowed in perfect form.

Jiang Cheng's heart stuttered violently in his chest at the sight of that red ribbon falling sideway over her small shoulder. If souls could travel, his would have left him in an instant. He stood in disincorporated panic, wrestling with the nauseating sensation of being ripped from his reality and tossed so far into the distant past that he felt whole again.

"Shifu, Lan-zongzhu." Yan'er greeted.

Shifu. Lan-zongzhu. In another world, another life, she would not need to be so formal. She could easily bound up to them, carefree, cooing jiujiu and bobo and ask to be bailed out from whatever trouble she caused.

Instead, he was only her shifu, and Lan Xichen, a stranger in her life. It would be laughable, if fate had not dealt them each such a wretched hand.

Jiang Cheng stepped towards her. “Where did you get this?” 

Jiang Yan looked up in surprise, her hand reaching up and making an aborted motion to touch the red ribbon in her hair.

“Qin-shenshen gave it to me. Is it not nice?” 

Qin Su. Jiang swallowed down a sigh of relief. Earlier, the Jin servants had sent word that Jin-fu'ren had baked treats for Jin Ling, and the boy had wasted no time dragging his favourite person - his Yan'er jiejie - to his aunt's place with him. Clearly, Qin Su had seized the opportunity to dote on the girl in place of the daughter she never had. Qin Su meant well. She couldn't have known. She's never even met Wei Wuxian.

In this state, Jiang Cheng could barely bring himself to look at his disciple, but he forced himself nonetheless to kneel and tuck an errant strand of baby hair behind her ear. “Very pretty.” 

Yan'er smiled.

Jiang Cheng could cry.

They'd been lucky thus far. Yunmeng's Jiang-xiao-guniang was born a taciturn girl who did not like to smile or laugh, not even when she was expected to for polite society. Whether she was happy or sad, one would be hard pressed to tell. Only in front of her master Jiang Cheng or her Jin Ling-didi did she elect to reveal the full expanse of her emotions. Yet, whenever Jiang Cheng bore witness to that smile as warm and incandescent as sunlight, he could not help but shudder somewhere deep. Recalling the radiant days of years gone by, he could still see - every time he closed his eyes - his er-shijie smiling at him in the very same fashion.

Aiyo, Jiang Cheng ~

So...they'd been very lucky thus far, that Yan'er was not so like her mother in that way, not so free and generous with her smiles. Or else this devastating secret —Wei Wuxian's only wish — would not be able to withstand the test of time.

"Very pretty, Yan'er." He reaffirmed. "Did you thank Jin-furen?"

"I did."

Jiang Cheng stood and turned back to face Lan Xichen, and realized they were being joined by two others: Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji. The latter of two stared directly down at Jiang Yan, visibly stricken and unblinking, as though he'd just seen a ghost. After all, he had often been on the receiving end of that signature smile once upon a time. It was probably not a smile he'd ever expected to see again in this life.

In hindsight, perhaps Jiang Cheng should have made Yan'er wear her uniform like all the other disciples instead of her favourite indigo robes.

“Ah, Wangji, shufu -” Lan Xichen was quick to react, sensing animosity brewing in the disquiet that stretched taut between his younger brother and his fellow sect master. "Jiang-zongzhu, perhaps you would introduce us?"

The First Jade smiled kindly down at Yan'er. She returned his kindness with a polite nod.

Lan Wangji finally dragged his gaze up to meet Jiang Cheng's, a rarity since their violent parting at Nevernight. The venerated Hanguang-jun had developed a habit of pretending that Jiang Wanyin of Lotus Pier did not exist at all. He probably preferred, dreamed of it even, if Jiang Cheng had been one to fall of the cliff that day. He probably hated himself for not shoving him into the molten abyss when he could to avenge the love of his life.

Love. What did Lan Wangji know of love? Jiang Cheng sneered inwardly. One did not compromise one's love and abandon her, ill and with child, to bleed out alone in a cave tainted by demonic spirits.

One did not watch idly as one's love and her people are reduced to ashes for the power and greed of men either....

Jiang Cheng buried the offending thought, too familiar with Wen Qing's ghost that still haunted him in his moments of weakness. Without breaking gaze, he laid a hand on the crown of Jiang Yan's head and said, "This is my first disciple, Jiang Yan, Jiang Yueqian."

"Yueqian greets Zewu-jun, Lan-lao-xiansheng, Hanguang-jun."

Jiang Cheng watched as the icy fire within Lan Wangji's eyes flicker, fizzle, and extinguish entirely. Jiang Cheng's vague silence had allowed him the space to make his assumptions, and he had assumed the most insane explanation.

Is it so difficult for you, wondered Jiang Cheng. To believe that she could be yours? So impossible, that you would choose to doubt Wei Wuxian instead?

Fine.

Hanguang-jun. The venerated Second Jade of Gusu. That's all you'll ever be. Yan'er will never call you Father.

Jiang Cheng decided he had spent enough time today making nice. "Zewu-jun, it's getting late. If nothing else, I will be taking my leave. The conference continues tomorrow. I will see you then. Yan'er, come."

Yan'er bowed again to the senior cultivators, perfectly well-mannered. A dash of surprise crossed those bright eyes, however, when Jiang Cheng took her hand to lead her away. She followed wordlessly, trusting him, and did not look back once at the Lans she left behind.

Now that Yan'er was out in society, there would surely be rumours. No matter. Rumours were nothing Jiang Wanyin could not withstand. How ironic, indeed, that this was to be his lot in life.

For the first time, Jiang Cheng felt he could understand his father.

Note:

The poem is from the Song dynasty, by poet 范仲淹 from his work 《岳阳楼记》

Jiang Cheng of course is also working off a lot of assumptions about Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji's relationship. He has his reasons for hating and blaming Lan Wangji, but not all the blame is deserved.

[songofclarity]

What do you think would happen if WRH discovered MY was a spy earlier? Would he kill him or would he pretend he has no idea of MY's truth while using him and feeding him information that will give the Wen an advantage against the SSC if leaked?

An excellent question, Anon!

Wen RuoHan would of course be fully justified to kill Meng Yao. While he also had the right to kill Nie MingJue and didn't take it, Meng Yao is betraying the Wen and has the arrogance to spy on them in their own home. I can honestly see it going either way, however, depending on the circumstances and just how Meng Yao pleads his case.

As for using Meng Yao themselves...

For one thing, Wen RuoHan doesn't strike me as conniving. From the guest cultivator to Meng Yao, we see him listening to others and following their lead. When given the opportunity to pave his own path, such as when the Sunshot Campaign is declared and the Wen could stomp on everyone, his response was, basically, for them all to do nothing and wait for the Sunshot Campaign to simply blow over. Wen RuoHan doesn't want the other sects to be destroyed, he wants everything to go back to normal (with the Wen Sect back on top, yay!). By all means then, what Meng Yao's spying would have to win them is peace. That's not something Meng Yao of all people could help them achieve.

For another thing, Meng Yao was, by all means, a terrible spy on purpose. One reason there is not even a hint of any great final battles in the Sunshot Campaign was because Meng Yao did not want this to be a team effort. No one is winning ANY grand battles with Meng Yao behind enemy lines because how do you give credit to an invisible hand? He did not want the sects to win the Sunshot Campaign with or without his information, but he did not want them defeated, either, otherwise his efforts would be wasted. Depending on what was happening at the time and what information he was passing along, it might just look like he was already feeding information to the Sunshot Campaign himself to help the Wen. How loyal he would have appeared!

I haven't seen it talked about before, but let's look at what Meng Yao's spy information actually did and how it would have looked to the Wen.

During the Sunshot Campaign, stories were told about all three of the Venerated Triad. The ones of ChiFeng-Zun were about how he swept over all obstacles, leaving not even a trace of the Wen-dogs after he finished. (ch. 48, ERS)

Whatever information Meng Yao provided Nie MingJue would have been tenuous at best because otherwise Nie MingJue would have swept all the way to Nightless City and won the whole damn thing himself. Give Nie MingJue an opening and he is busting through. Even when critically injured and barely on his feet, he cut through all of Wen cultivators who tried to protect Wen RuoHan in the Sun Palace. Only Wen RuoHan was strong enough to take him down (and did so 2x).

Even before the false information regarding Yangquan, Meng Yao was likely providing information which hindered Nie MingJue and the Nie's advancement toward Nightless City in order to keep Nie MingJue at bay--and keep him alive, which Lan XiChen would appreciate and continue to give faith in Meng Yao. Remember that after Meng Yao betrayed Nie MingJue and the Jin at Langya, there was no way he would be accepted back with open arms. That Nie MingJue's most loyal subordinates are killed and Nie MingJue is dragged out of the Sun Palace owing Meng Yao a life debt is no happy coincidence. Meng Yao played Nie MingJue in the worst way to ensure Nie MingJue would NOT be able to stop Meng Yao's return to Koi Tower. But to let Nie MingJue die would ruin relations with Lan XiChen and the Nie. Nie MingJue had to be defeated to let Meng Yao come out on top, but he had to live so as to not reflect badly on Meng Yao.

If Wen RuoHan and the Wens came across Meng Yao's information to the Nie early on, it might just look like Meng Yao is already feeding bad information to the Sunshot Campaign himself! After all, the only ones who knew what happened in Langya are Meng Yao, Nie MingJue, and Lan XiChen, and none of them are broadcasting it. Therefore Meng Yao could pretend to still be on good terms with Sect Leader Nie, tell Wen RuoHan he is deceiving the Nie for him, and actually look even more loyal to the Wen in the end.

The way Wen RuoHan asks Meng Yao if Nie MingJue is the one who killed Wen Xu followed by Meng Yao's ready confirmation suggests to me that Meng Yao had everything from Yangquan to the Sun Palace planned. He had informed Wen RuoHan of what to expect already: Wen Xu's killer, and thus Wen RuoHan inquires. Meng Yao didn't wait for the Wens to use him and freely gave them what they wanted since it's what he wanted, too.

ZeWu-Jun--Lan XiChen--however, was different from [ChiFeng-Zun]. After the situation of the Gusu area had settled down, Lan QiRen was able to defend it with great tenacity. Thus, Lan XiChen often traveled to aid others, saving lives from danger. In all of the Sunshot Campaign, he had countless times recovered lost territory and assisted narrow escapes. This was why people were ecstatic whenever they heard his name, as though they gained a ray of hope, a powerful trump card. (ch. 48)

Lan XiChen is different because he not a fighter who can win the Sunshot Campaign. I know CQL and the donghua show him fighting in all his fierce glory with Shuoyue in hand, but that is not the kind of person he is in the novel. He is gentle and picks Liebing, who pacifies, over Shuoyue, who slices through, every time until the last scene. He is the only person who could have ever stabbed Jin GuangYao, because he is the only person Jin GuangYao would never suspect harming him since Lan XiChen never harmed anyone.

So to anyone who wonders why Lan XiChen believed so much in Meng Yao being a good person despite Nie MingJue's testimonies: it's because Meng Yao was providing information to Lan XiChen to help regain territory, aid others, and save lives from danger. Any murder and torture Meng Yao did in the Nightless City was thought to be minor compared to all the good his overall spying did for the Sunshot Campaign. Lan XiChen saw firsthand the GOOD that Meng Yao's spying could achieve and thus had faith in Meng Yao being fundamentally a good person. (Sadly, he was misled.)

But Lan XiChen was different from Nie MingJue. Lan XiChen couldn't win the war himself whereas Nie MingJue just might. Lan XiChen got the good information while Nie MingJue got the mediocre and, at the end, the information which threw him to the Wen-dogs.

Compared to Meng Yao's spy information directed to Nie MingJue, the information given to Lan XiChen would look suspect by the Wen. Lan XiChen is undoing whatever advances the Wen are achieving. This is part of why the Sunshot Campaign is in a stalemate for those last ~2 years: it's just back and forth with gains and losses in equal measure. It's what Meng Yao wants until he can ensure all the credit for his efforts go to him and no one else.

If Wen RuoHan and the Wens came across Meng Yao's information to Lan XiChen early on, that would look like Meng Yao is betraying them. This would look like a killing offense! The arrogance to think he could spy on the Wen! The Qishan Wen accepted Meng Yao in good faith when his own father gave him the cold shoulder, and he's still picking that father over Sect Leader Wen!?

But I hesitate to say Wen RuoHan would kill him because when do we ever see or hear about Wen RuoHan killing anyone!? He doesn't kill his enemies and the one ally he killed was that cultivator who was thrown at him in the midst of a fight. Yes, the novel tells us per rumors that Wen RuoHan sometimes enjoys torturing people who offend him, but that still doesn't mean they die in the end.

So I turn our attention to Wen ZhuLiu, our most reliable Wen RuoHan character reference. When deciding whether to follow orders or go completely against them, Wen ZhuLiu makes an interesting observation about what might happen to him:

Yet, there were no worst circumstances, but only worse circumstances...

Yet, in such a situation, the woman [Wang LingJiao] was on the verge of losing her life. If he did nothing, Wen Chao would definitely fly into a rage and refuse to let him go. And if he refused to let him go, then Wen RouHan wouldn't leave the matter at that either. (Ch. 58, ERS)

The worst circumstance is, of course, death. But Wen ZhuLiu reveals that, in this case, betraying Wen Chao, who had given orders to protect Wang LingJiao, does not make him afraid for his life. Acting against the Wen would make a mess of a situation for sure, but he is not afraid that he would end up dead. Life will become worse for him, but not the worst.

Meng Yao would be punished if he were caught, because how could he not, but it's rather unlikely his life was ever in danger. He was already acting as a reverse spy for the Wen of his own accord, so he was not truly at risk of being used or mislead by them.

Also a key aspect of Meng Yao's character is that he does not put his own life on the line. He hides behind others. He does not sacrifice himself for any cause or any person. (I'm sorry CQL lied to everyone by showing him use his body to protect someone else. Nothing could be further from the truth.)

Nie MingJue, "Then why don't you sacrifice yourself? Are you any nobler than them? Are you any different from them?"

Jin GuangYao stared at him. A moment later, as though he had finally either decided on something or given up on something, he replied calmly, "Yes." He looked up. In his expression were some of pride, some of calmness, and some of a faint insanity, "I and they, of course we are different!" (ch. 49)

If being with the Wen or working under Wen RuoHan was ever dangerous to him, personally, Meng Yao would have been gone long ago. If there was any risk that Meng Yao would find himself on the receiving end of his own torture devices, he would have killed Wen RuoHan already and fled out the door immediately. Instead, he stayed until the very end and did as he pleased and got everything he wanted at Wen RuoHan's expense.

I dare say Wen RuoHan is much more like Lan XiChen and Nie MingJue than we all give him credit for. Jumping to murder is actually not the norm. Meng Yao is simply an outlier who does too much murder and should not be counted.

[xiyao-feels]

jin ling! wen qing! mo xuanyu! lan qiren! or pick any of them, if four is too many

Omg—okay, let's see. I've done JL on his own, and MXY is a difficult subject for a few reasons, but...

Wen Qing

-WWX has no idea that WN is WQ's younger brother until she discovers them and JC in her supervisory office in Yiling, shortly after their arrival there

-She was very high-ranking in the Wen Clan—the same rank as Wen Chao!

-WN tells LWJ that though WQ had written on core transfers, it was all conjectural, because "Nobody at all would let her experiment on them, so the conjectures stayed conjectures. All of the seniors said that she was letting her imagination run wild."

-WWX tells WN that be set up a cenotaph for him and WQ back at the Burial Mounds, but that they were burnt down.

Lan Qiren

-'Sir' (先生, xiansheng) is what all the Lan clan disciples and cultivators call him.

-During Sunshot, he defended Gusu, enabling LXC to travel around and help people

-He led the Lan forces during the first siege

-He saves OYZZ during the second siege, impressing the heck out of him him with his skill at the sword in the process

Sources

Wen Qing:

WWX having no idea WN is her younger brother: Exiled Rebels, ch. 60:

The people outside answered and followed her away. Wen Ning let out a breath of relief, explaining to Wei WuXian, “My… My elder sister.”

Wei WuXian, “Wen Qing is your elder sister?”

Wen Ning nodded, somewhat embarrassed, “My sister. She’s really powerful.”

[...]

Wei WuXian exclaimed, “You really are the younger brother of Wen Qing?”

Same rank as WC: Exiled Rebels, ch. 60:

Frozen, the two stared at the woman standing before the entrance. Or, one could call her a maiden. Her skin was on the dark side. Although her features were sweet, her expression was with utmost arrogance. The sun robe that she wore glowed red, its flames almost dancing around her sleeves and her collar.

The rank was extremely high, the same level as Wen Chao!

WN on WQ's work on core tranfers: Exiled Rebels, ch. 89:

Wen Ning, “After all, in the past, nobody had ever actually tried transferring golden cores before. Although my sister had written an essay on core transfer, she’d only made some conjectures. Nobody at all would let her experiment on them, so the conjectures stayed conjectures. All of the seniors said that she was letting her imagination run wild. On top of that, it was unrealistic. Everyone knew that nobody would willingly give their golden core to someone else, for if this really happened, they themselves would become absolutely useless, never able to reach the pinnacle or go anywhere in life at all. And so, when Young Master Wei first came back for us, my sister refused to do it. She warned him that the article and actually conducting the experiment were two different things. She was not even half confident.

WWX on the cenotaph, Exiled Rebels, ch 111:

Wen Ning, “Didn’t you ask me what I wanted to do when everything ended? I’ve talked to A-Yuan about it. We’ll be going to Qishan first to bury the ashes of our people. I also wanted to look around there to see if I could find the things from when my sister was still alive, to build her a cenotaph.”

Wei WuXian, “A cenotaph. I built one for you and her back on Burial Mound, but they were burned down. We can go to Qishan too.”

Lan Qiren:

Lan disciples and cultivators calling him 'sir': Exiled Rebels, ch. 116:

‘Sir’ was the honorific by which all disciples and cultivators of the GusuLan Sect referred to Lan QiRen. Any mention of ‘Sir’ meant him and only him.

-Activities during Sunshot: Exiled Rebels, ch. 48:

During the Sunshot Campaign, stories of praise were told about all three of the Venerated Triad. The ones of ChiFeng-Zun were about how he swept over all obstacles, leaving not even a trace of the Wen-dogs after he finished. ZeWu-Jun—Lan XiChen—however, was different from him. After the situation of the Gusu area had settled down, Lan QiRen was able to defend it with great tenacity. Thus, Lan XiChen often travelled to aid others, saving lives from danger. In all of the Sunshot Campaign, he had countless times recovered lost territory and assisted narrow escapes. This was why people were ecstatic whenever they heard his name, as though they gained a ray of hope, a powerful trump card.

Leading the Lan forces during the first siege: Exiled Rebels, ch. 68

Back then, during the first siege of Burial Mound, Jin GuangShan led the LanlingJin Sect, while Jiang Cheng led the YunmengJiang Sect; Lan QiRen led the GusuLan Sect, while Nie MingJue led the QingheNie Sect. The former two were the main forces, the latter two could’ve gone without.

Saving (and impressing) OYZZ: Exiled Rebels, ch. 81:

OuYang ZiZhen brandished his sword fiercely as he turned around, “Don’t worry, Dad! I’ll protect you!”

Yet, just as he turned around, a withered hand stretched toward his throat. Sect Leader OuYang was almost scared to death as he wailed, “ZiZhen!!!”

At that precise moment, a blade severed the hand. Lan QiRen grabbed OuYang ZiZhen and threw him back into the pile of people. He himself, leading a group of sword cultivators from the GusuLan Sect, charged into battle. He’d been resting for quite a while, so his stamina had recovered. Many people were astonished by the force of his sword.

[...]

OuYang ZiZhen disappeared for a while after being caught by his father, but he rushed over nonetheless, “Wow, this is the first time I knew that Mr. Lan QiRen knows the sword and his swordsmanship is so good!”

Lan JingYi’s voice was as loud as always, “Of course, who did you think was HanGuang-Jun and ZeWu-Jun’s teacher of swordsmanship before they reached sixteen?!”

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 16

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wēn Qíng, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin (OC), Fourth Uncle, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations, Self-Sacrifice, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi

Summary: The Jiang siblings visit the Burial Mounds. Feels are had.

Warning: Involves bugs as food. For Notes, see end.

AO3 link

Chapters:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

------------------

Lan Wangji is unsurprised, and somewhat relieved, when Wen Qing takes one look at Wei Ying upon their return to the Burial Mounds and tells him to go take a nap with A-Yuan.

His husband had already been swaying dangerously in the Yiling market when they had bought supplies, and had tried to insist Jiang Yanli ride in the cart while he walk, though he had quickly been overruled when Wen Ning, of all people, pointed out they could both ride comfortably if someone had a qiankun pouch for their purchases. Jiang Wanyin had pulled one from his sleeve, one that seemed oddly full, and Wen Ning helped place their purchases in it.

“Get in the damn cart, moron,” the Jiang sect leader said when Wei Ying hesitated.

“A-Xian, come ride with me,” Jiang Yanli coaxed, taking his arm and steering him to it herself.

Wei Ying was exhausted enough to fall asleep on her shoulder, despite the bumpy ride, on the way back, A-Yuan snuggled in his sister’s arms. He doesn’t look particularly refreshed when they have to wake him.

Despite his exhaustion, Wei Ying still tries to argue against a nap, eying his siblings, clearly considering their visit more important than his health. Lan Wangji finds his disregard for his own well-being concerning, but is well aware it isn’t unusual, just something they need to break him of. 

“I told them,” he says. “In town. I bet they have questions, and���”

“I can answer their questions, Wei Wuxian!” she cuts in. “I performed the surgery, after all. You’re delegating the task to me and going to take a nap before I bring out the needles—don’t think I won’t knock you out.”

The mention of her needles clearly cows him, but he still seems hesitant. 

“It’s our turn to take care of things,” Jiang Wanyin says, not looking at him. “You’ve done enough, Wei Wuxian.”

“More than enough,” Jiang Yanli murmurs, and reaches forward to pull him into a gentle hug. “Let us take care of our A-Xian, hm?”

Wei Ying seems frozen for a moment in the embrace, but relaxes into it. Lan Wangji can see him tremble as he hugs her back, and he knows, for the moment, they’ve won. It’s a small triumph, but at this point he’ll take it. 

“Okay, shijie,” he says finally. “Xianxian will take a nap with Yuanyuan.”

She lets him go and pats his cheek in a way that reminds Lan Wangji of his mother when he was very young. 

A-Yuan insists on giving his guma a hug before he lets Wei Ying take his hand and lead him toward the cave. 

“Go with him,” Wen Qing insists, to his surprise. 

It must show somehow, because she sighs. 

“I told you when you came: you take care of him. That’s your job. I’ll take care of this—I wrote Jiang-guniang, after all.”

Lan Wangji nods, privately relieved his presence isn’t required for this conversation. He bows to each of them before leaving, including Wen Qing as a thank you even though it makes her huff in embarrassment. 

As he takes longer strides to catch up with Wei Ying, he can hear Jiang Yanli speak to Wen Qing in a sweet voice that is likely terrifying up close in how it utterly fails to hide her ferocious protectiveness of her beloved adoptive brother—he mentally wishes Wen Qing luck. 

He picks up A-Yuan and gets a startled glance from Wei Ying, who is not quite to the point of barely standing, but close enough that Lan Wangji wraps his free arm around him to steady him as they make their way to the cave. 

A-Yuan babbles sleepily about having a new aunt and uncle, having been largely unaffected by the tension in town, and before long they’re both tucked in. Wei Ying doesn’t bother removing his boots, so Lan Wangji does it for him. 

Before he can rise, Wei Ying reaches out for him, his eyes half-lidded as he’s already being pulled toward sleep, in what Lan Wangji recognizes as a plea for him to stay, to sit on the bed and let him be close as he sleeps. After the stress of the afternoon on his husband, he is happy to oblige, happy Wei Ying would ask, even silently, for his support. 

“I will stay,” he tells him, settling beside him on the bed, letting Wei Ying tuck close and use his thigh as a pillow. 

Not to be left out, A-Yuan clambers over them and settles curled between them against Wei Ying’s stomach, his face pressed into the front of his robe as he falls asleep. Lan Wangji draws the blanket up over both of them.

He has used the table near the bed both as a desk and to play the guqin, so it is no trouble to carefully stack the papers next to the bed and slide the inkstone back so he can pull out Wangji.

Wei Ying lets out a soft sigh, the tension leaving his body, as he starts ‘WuJi.’ The song has been a comfort to his husband, he knows, when he himself failed to be, and he hopes to soon work on a new song, something that will capture the joy he finds in their marriage. The circumstances in which they and the people Wei Ying rescued live are less than ideal, and he wishes he could take him from this place of darkness and the memories of the horror he still cannot speak of, but they are together, and that is much preferable to being alone in the Cloud Recesses. 

Before long, Wei Ying is asleep, and he segues into songs of cleansing and healing. Without a golden core, without Wen Qing’s needles, the latter has little impact—but little isn’t none, and he is still recovering. Every little bit helps, and after the stress of the day, he helps the only way he can, aside from serving as Wei Ying’s pillow. 

He loses himself in the music, coming close to a meditative state as he plays. Time passes like sand through fingers before he hears hesitant steps enter the cave. 

Lan Wangji pauses in his playing, recognizing two sets of footsteps, one the shuffling gait of Wen Ning, and the other softer. He is unsurprised when Jiang Yanli is the second set. 

He is also unsurprised to see her face wet with tears. 

Wen Ning offers her a short bow, then hefts the bathtub from their alcove as he does daily, kindly bringing fresh water and herbs for Wei Ying to use at night. He nods to him in thanks. 

Jiang Yanli returns Wen Ning’s bow, and his esteem of her rises—many failed to give that respect to him in life, and more would likely refuse to now that he is a corpse, spiritual conscious or not. But Wei Ying’s sister recognizes him as he is: family. 

Though the reverberation of the strings has ceased, the motion of stilling them is a comfort to Lan Wangji as he waits for her to speak. She watches her brother sleep for a while. 

“Wen-guniang… She said he’s in pain,” she finally says. 

Lan Wangji nods to confirm. 

“That he’s been in pain since— since the war, and we didn’t…”

More tears spill down her cheeks, and he knows if Wei Ying were awake he would spring to comfort her. 

“He hid it,” he tells her softly. “You could not have known.”

She makes a sound that is almost pained. 

“I raised him. I knew something was wrong, and I didn’t—“

Jiang Yanli presses her fist against her mouth. 

“I led him to believe I disdained him and wished for him to be punished,” Lan Wangji says.

His failure to communicate had led to the strain of their relationship, to the point where Wei Ying had questioned whether he was still his zhiji, and he will forever regret letting him walk away into the darkness and rain even after that. He empathizes with her completely.

She is silent for a while before she nods.

“Wen-guniang has an idea,” she says. “She said Zewu-Jun pointed out that there is a life debt among our generation. The six of us, A-Xuan, and Nie Huaisang. An auspicious eight. Swearing brotherhood… It could protect A-Xian, and the people here.”

Xiongzhang had hinted at it, and Lan Wangji is glad Wen Qing is furthering the possibility.

“It would tie together the four sects, and the remnants of the Dafan Wen,” he adds, thinking aloud. 

“A-Cheng pointed out that the lotus blossom has eight petals,” she says, smiling wistfully. “He and A-Xian used to talk about being the Twin Prides of Yunmeng. It seems almost like a sign.”

Lan Wangji is struck silent at the idea; the eight auspicious signs are almost sacred, and the imagery would be iconic. The imagery was prevalent at temples—the eternal wheel of life, the endless knot, the conch, the parasol, the lotus… 

The noble eightfold path, an expansion of the threefold way.

Almost implying an expansion of the Venerated Triad, and associating Wei Ying with the noble path regardless of his cultivation.

“Apt,” he says when he finally finds his voice.

“I’ll talk to A-Xuan,” she says, her voice distant. “I know he and A-Xian didn’t get off on the right foot, but he knows I love my didi.”

“Xiongzhang is bringing Chifeng-Zun and Nie Huaisang to see the settlement after your wedding,” Lan Wangji tells her. “I am certain Wen Qing will broach the topic of a sworn brotherhood with them then.”

Jiang Yanli sways slightly, and he panics for a moment; if he needs to move to catch her, it will jostle and wake Wei Ying, and he needs the rest. But she steadies herself, and he is able to gesture to a chair instead, and she takes a seat.

“Hanguang-Jun, since you are my brother’s husband, I wondered if I might call you A-Zhan.”

The request to use his birth name surprises him—xiongzhang had only requested to call Wei Ying by his courtesy name—but she seems earnest about wanting to welcome him to the family. 

“Of course. May I call you… A-Li?”

A smile blossoms across her face, and she nods, looking pleased. 

Then Wei Ying murmurs in his sleep and their attention snaps to him. Lan Wangji strokes his hair gently, letting his fingers brush his scalp in a way he knows soothes him. He settles almost instantly, but he doesn’t stop his ministrations. 

Jiang Yanli, when he next looks up, is watching with a bittersweet look on her face. 

“I used to do that for him,” she says softly, “when he had nightmares. Until he started hiding them.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say, so only nods. He understands her sense of helplessness, knowing Wei Ying is adept at hiding his pain, would still be hiding it if not for having pulled his wrist away a second too late. 

“I wish he was coming to my wedding,” she confesses, her voice breaking. “He belongs there. But they’d try to kill him.”

He cannot disagree with either statement. Wei Ying should be there, as one of her last remaining family members, even if he did not share her blood, but it would never be permitted. Not now. Not until the plan xiongzhang implied to Wen Qing is put into motion.

But by then she will be married, the wedding over, and Wei Ying will not have been permitted to attend.

“You have done what you can to include him,” he tells her, hoping to soothe her. “He did not expect this much.”

It seems to have the opposite effect, tears lining her cheeks again.

“He never expects anything of us,” she whispers. “Mother made him feel undeserving, like he should feel grateful for any scrap. I try not to hate her for it, but…”

Lan Wangji can understand how she feels, has seen the marks from Zidian on Wei Ying, still healing when he gave his core to his brother, something he has probably hidden from his sister even through everything. And he knows Wei Ying feels he deserves those marks, believing the fall of Lotus Pier to be of his doing. The emotional damage goes far deeper. 

“We can only assure him he deserves more,” he says after a moment. “And be sure to give it to him.”

He has been trying to do so, but it never feels like enough to make up for abandoning him at Qiongqi Path, for failing to join him on the righteous path, even if it is the single-plank one, for making his zhiji believe he reviled him. He understands how Jiang Yanli feels—though perhaps she feels it more deeply, or at least differently, as the person who basically raised him. 

Footsteps approach from the cave entrance, Wen Ning with the tub filled with fresh water, something he has insisted upon doing since it was purchased. At some point during each day, he cleans and fills it, even preparing a fresh sachet of herbs to help Wei Ying recover. Truthfully, even with Lan Wangji’s arm strength he doubts he could lift it as easily as the fierce corpse is able, and he is grateful for his thoughtfulness. 

“Than—thank you for waiting, Jiang-guniang,” he says after setting it down. “Popo is waiting to help us in the k-kitchen with preparing dinner.”

Jiang Yanli favors him with a smile. 

“Thank you, Wen-gongzi.”

“Ah, you c-can just call me Wen Ning,” he says, looking flustered as he often does when people offer respect to him. 

“Then you must call me Jiang Yanli.”

Wen Ning looks like he might protest, but she turns to Lan Wangji before he can, dipping into a proper and respectful bow. 

“A-Zhan, thank you for taking care of A-Xian. It is…”

Her voice cracks, emotions nearly overcoming her again. It takes her a moment to recover. 

“It is a relief to know someone else is here for him when I cannot be. I entrust him to your care.”

The formality, Lan Wangji realizes, is her approval of their union. Warmth spreads through him at her acceptance. 

“However,” she says, a slight smile on her face that is also somehow fierce. “I think you will agree with me that A-Xian deserves a real wedding, at Lotus Pier, as soon as it is possible.”

The image of Wei Ying sitting on a bed in Nightless City in his red underrobes, the joy of his waking mixing with the wish they were wedding robes… that Jiang Yanli wants to ensure they receive that, that their union can be celebrated, if belatedly, in the way Wei Ying deserves to be honored. 

“Yes,” he says softly. “I agree.”

She nods, clearly pleased.

“It will happen, A-Zhan; I’ll make sure of it.”

Lan Wangji has absolutely no doubt she will. 

She leaves with Wen Ning, and he remembers her intention to cool the soup Wei Ying so loves for the settlement. It will be a welcome meal for them all.

Though he could resume playing, Lan Wangji opts to sink into a meditative state instead, waiting. He doesn’t need to wait long, as footsteps that are almost stomps approach and enter the cave.

He is ready to stare at Jiang Wanyin disapprovingly, but the steps hesitate, becoming uncertain, on the way to the alcove. 

“He’s still resting,” Lan Wangji says before he can speak. 

Jiang Wanyin’s face does something strange, going soft for a moment as he gazes at his brother and nephew, the top of A-Yuan’s head just visible poking out from beneath the blanket. Then his expression shutters.

“He needs the rest, then?” he asks.

“Mn. He is recovering. He also was giving most of his food to A-Yuan before I arrived. He is finally eating properly.”

The muscles in the Jiang sect leader’s jaw clench, working as though he’s stopping himself from saying something—or, more likely, yelling.

“He always gives too much,” Jiang Wanyin says finally. 

Lan Wangji nods; he agrees with that assessment. 

“I want to bring him back to Lotus Pier.”

The announcement is unexpected, and he reconsiders his assessment of the man. 

“He will not leave these people.”

“I know that. The Wens too, of course.”

“They do not wish to be known as Wens,” Lan Wangji tells him, and watches Wei Ying sleep for a moment to be certain he won’t hear before continuing. “I believe they hope to take on Wei as a family name. They have not broached the subject with Wei Ying yet.”

Jiang Wanyin sits heavily in the chair his sister vacated, sighing. 

“He’ll do that thing. Where he belittles himself,” he says, his voice rough. “It’s like he believes all the awful things a-niang said about him.”

Because he does believe them, Lan Wangji is well aware. His anger at a dead woman is unbecoming, but it will likely never fade. She trained Wei Ying to see himself as worthless, as a charity case, when he was one of the best cultivators of their generation. Even without his core, he was still inventing tools to help the cultivation world that slanders and wishes him dead. 

“Not that I’m much better. He’s my brother and I fucking abandoned him,” Jiang Wanyin mutters. “And I accused him of abandoning me, on top of it. When—when he left a big piece of himself with me to protect me.”

It occurs to Lan Wangji that perhaps both Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli suffered their own childhood traumas associated with bad parenting, that this is perhaps just a variation of that which has led Wei Ying down his path of self-destruction through giving too much, through not valuing himself. His own troubled upbringing led him to value his clan and the Lan rules over his zhiji, to believe his identity must be tied up in being a perceived paragon of Lan virtue above all else. Theirs led to Wei Ying’s isolation as well. 

“You had no way of knowing,” he says. “Now that you know, you are trying to help him.”

What they do now does not absolve them of their wrongs, but it is a start. 

Jiang Wanyin’s jaw clenches again, then releases when he sighs. 

“I can’t undo the shitty stuff I said to him. You’ll come to Lotus Pier with him, right?”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says, surprised that’s in question. “He’s my husband.”

He receives a nod in response.

“He’ll need bigger quarters, then, for you and A-Yuan. I could give him a-niang’s old quarters, but I don’t know if he’d want to live where she did. He deserves them as my head disciple, so maybe if I remodel them…”

Jiang Wanyin seems to be thinking out loud. 

“Wei Ying is still your head disciple?” he asks, having not realized. 

“Yeah,” Jiang Wanyin says, then grimaces. “I never took him off the register. Kicking him out was for show, because he insisted. He never stopped being head disciple, but he probably doesn’t realize that.”

He likely doesn’t, knowing Wei Ying. Wei Ying, who still believes himself responsible for the fall of Lotus Pier, for the deaths that were a part of it. Even being head disciple, there will be much he cannot do, lacking a golden core. 

“I can help with his duties,” Lan Wangji offers impulsively. 

Jiang Wanyin blinks at him, startled, then smiles in a way that makes him look painfully young.

“Appreciated. He’ll… Well, he’ll need help with some of it. At least until Wen Qing figures out a way to help him.”

Lan Wangji realizes the Jiang sect leader is still hoping there’s a solution, that Wei Ying will again achieve the impossible. 

“She’s going to make a list of things she’ll need to get started,” Jiang Wanyin continues. “And I’ll work to get ahold of them.”

A-Yuan stirs before Lan Wangji can reply. 

“Loud,” he murmurs. “A-Die sleeping, shhhh.”

He wriggles his way out from under the blanket, somehow managing not to disturb Wei Ying as he does, then crawls off the bed.

“Jiang-shushu loud.” 

His voice is pitched in an almost theatrical whisper, and Jiang Wanyin snorts in amusement. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, also theatrical. “Let’s leave your a-die to sleep and go find guma, then.”

A-Yuan glances back at Wei Ying, then at Lan Wangji, who nods encouragingly. Then he turns back to Jiang Wanyin and holds his arms up expectantly. 

Jiang Wanyin stands, pulling A-Yuan into his arms as he does. 

“I’ll watch the kid. It looks like everyone else is busy right now.”

Lan Wangji simply nods in response. A-Yuan chatters softly to his uncle as they make their way out of the cave, leaving him alone with Wei Ying.

Jiang Wanyin’s absence is a relief. He finds it difficult still not to resent him for his choice to abandon Wei Ying, for the fact that Wei Ying’s core now rests within him, even for his desperate hope that his brother will somehow heal enough to form a new one. In far too many ways, it’s not enough, just as anything Lan Wangji does now cannot make up for his own failures.

He reminds him of Wei Ying’s mortality, as unfair as that may be.

Resentment will help nothing, may even be exacerbated now by the Burial Mounds, so Lan Wangji works to focus instead on the sensation of Wei Ying’s hair against his fingers, the weight of his head on his thigh, his soft breaths, and he is eventually able to fall into a sort of meditation until Wen Qing comes to fetch them.

“Jiang-zongzhu set up the tablets for the adoption rites, so we can start with those,” she tells Wei Ying once he’s awake.

Wei Ying stares at her blearily for a moment.

“Adopting A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji prompts gently. 

Wen Qing gives him a disapproving look. 

“He’s very excited, and your siblings can serve as witnesses.”

“Right. Sorry. Been a long day,” Wei Ying murmurs, then glances at Lan Wangji. “It’s still today, right?”

Lan Wangji brushes a lock of hair back from his face. 

“Mm. You slept only a few hours.”

Wei Ying melts into his touch, and he leans forward to brush his lips against his forehead. Wen Qing clears her throat and drops a bundle on the bed.

“Your sister also made Jiang-zongzhu go back into town and buy nice clothing for you and A-Yuan for the adoption rites.”

She indicates the bundle.

“So hurry up and get changed. She cooked up a feast, and everyone’s hungry. I think she’s determined to give you a proper wedding banquet.”

Wen Qing, ever brusque, turns on her heel and leaves before either of them can respond.

Wei Ying opens the bundle on the bed, blinking at the high quality clothing. The fabric, at a glance, looks black, but has threadwork in a deep blue and purple. It sends a message from Jiang Wanyin: Wei Ying is of the Jiang sect still. A red underrobe, new zhong yi, a red silk hair ribbon embroidered with little pink lotuses, and even new boots complete the package.

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng… How can I wear these?”

“You were not removed from the sect registry. He insists you are still his head disciple. 

“Oh,” Wei Ying breathes, taking a heavy seat on the bed, clearly overwhelmed. 

Lan Wangji wonders if he should tell Wei Ying the rest—that Jiang Wanyin intends to bring everyone at Burial Mounds to Lotus Pier permanently when it is feasible. But he will leave that to the Jiang sect leader. 

Instead he opens his qiankun pouch and pulls out the light blue robes he arrived wearing, which he hasn’t worn in days. If dinner is in part for them, he should dress appropriately, as well.

Changing takes little time, though Lan Wangji has Wei Ying sit for his hair to be combed and put back in its crown, as it came loose as he slept. 

The entire settlement is waiting for them in the hall when they enter, and though only Wen Qing has seen an official adoption rite, she demurs from describing it. 

“It was Wen Zhuliu’s, so it feels like bad luck to copy it,” she says when pressed. 

None of them argue. 

“We should have seen an adoption rite,” Jiang Wanyin mutters. 

Wei Ying seems not to have heard, focused on A-Yuan. He takes the child’s hand and leads him to the space where someone has set up an altar with his parents’ tablets, complete with sticks of incense and food offerings: three cups holding tea, water, and Jifu’s fruit wine, plates with small stacks of oranges and sweets. A fire burns in a small brazier in front of the altar, a stack of joss paper set nearby. 

For a moment, Wei Ying is completely silent, looking at the altar as though struck. 

Jiang Yanli breaks the silence. 

“You’ve never been able to venerate them,” she murmurs.

Lan Wangji understands suddenly: there was no place set for Wei Ying’s parents’ tablets at Lotus Pier, and so his husband has never been able to properly pay them respects—cruel, given their bodies were never found to begin with. 

“Thank you, shijie.”

His voice is heavy with emotion, and he kneels and gestures to A-Yuan to do the same. 

Wei Ying keeps it simple, first apologizing for being unable to do his filial duty for them, kowtowing before them. A-Yuan copies him dutifully, and this receives smiles from the others. 

“A-Die, a-niang, I want to introduce my son to you, Wei Yuan. He may not share my blood, but he is your sunzi. I ask you to help me protect and guide him, if you are able. This one will do a better job honoring you in the future.”

He murmurs something to A-Yuan, who bows as best he can.

“Wei Yuan greets yeye and nainai. A-Yuan will burn joss and incense and clean your altar. A-Yuan promises to be filial.”

They light the incense using the brazier, then burn joss together, letting the paper fall into the flame piece by piece.

Lan Wangji longs to join them, to thank Wei Ying’s parents for bringing him into the world, and Wei Ying turns to him as though hearing those thoughts. When his husband gestures, he steps forward to take his place kneeling beside him. 

“A-Die, a-niang, I also want to introduce you to my husband,” Wei Ying says, blushing as though they’ve not been wed over a week. “We completed our bows, but not before your tablets.”

They bow together, three times again.

“Fuqin, muqin, thank you for Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, bowing one last time alone. “I promise to honor him, and to protect him and Wei Yuan.”

They burn the remaining joss together, as a family, before standing. 

Jiang Yanli rushes forward to hug Wei Ying, who pulls Lan Wangji and A-Yuan into it. There’s a warmth to it that he isn’t used to, his own family reserved, and it surprises him as much as xiongzhang’s hug did. 

“Ah, I have a new didi and an adorable zizhi!” she says happily, then pulls at their arms as she releases them from the embrace. “We prepared a nice meal to celebrate, come!”

The tables are covered in dishes, the serving bowls and platters clearly heated by talismans to keep the food at an ideal temperature. 

“The guests of honor fill their plates first,” popo says insistently, clicking her tongue when Wei Ying gestures for her to go ahead. “A-Xian is still too thin!”

Wei Ying startles at the affectionate address and she smiles and pats his arm. 

Lan Wangji steps forward first, recognizing the futility of refusing popo’s demand. There is a bowl with chili sauce on the table, likely Wei Ying’s favorite kind. The dishes range from the familiar—the lotus root and pork rib soup he was introduced to earlier in a huge tureen, braised pork belly with mushrooms and bok choy, tea eggs, fried radish cakes, baozi, cucumber salad, sautéed dock root and millet with Sichuan peppercorns that would make his mouth numb—to the unfamiliar. He recognizes noodles cooked with what looks like water spinach and shaved carrot, mixed with, upon closer look, crisp-fried silkworm pupae. 

He doesn’t realize Wei Ying is beside him until he makes an intrigued noise. 

“Where did we get those? Shijie, did you bring them?”

“A-Ning found a copse of mulberry a few nights ago,” Wen Qing tells them. “He brought the silkworm cocoons to the aunties to unwind so we can sell the silk. He harvested the berries, too.”

“We—we cooked them with d-dessert,” Wen Ning adds. 

Though he is aware that silkworm pupae are commonly sold at market when silk is harvested, Lan Wangji has never had occasion to try them. Despite the fact that silk is harvested by the GusuLan weavers and used in robes for the clan, the production is kept out of the Cloud Recesses because the cocoons are boiled to extract the intact silk, killing the pupae in the process, and killing any creature, even an insect, is prohibited within the bounds of the Cloud Recesses. Presumably the pupae are sold in Caiyi, but meat is not a staple in his home. 

But he was raised not to be a picky eater, and insects are a viable source of protein, something sorely needed by the people living here. Wei Ying seems content to serve himself and A-Yuan a large helping, so Lan Wangji does the same, placing a wide variety of dishes on his own plate to sample, but avoiding the chili sauce for the sake of his palate. 

“I put in fewer peppercorns than I usually do,” Jiang Yanli murmurs to him. “I know you like milder dishes.”

He nods his thanks, and lets her press a bowl of soup into his free hand. 

She follows him with two more to place before Wei Ying and A-Yuan, then pinches her brother’s cheek as though he’s a child. 

“Eat the whole plate, Xianxian, and then you’ll get dessert.”

He is quietly pleased when Wei Ying plays along with a bright smile. 

“But what if Xianxian wants more?”

She leans forward and kisses his brow like a mother might. 

“Xianxian can have as much as he wants. Popo and Wen Ning helped me cook plenty. And dessert is mulberry millet pudding sweetened with honey, so I know you’ll like it.”

Then she turns to A-Yuan and favors him with the same treatment. 

“You too. Eat plenty so you can grow big and strong.”

“A-Die plants me with the radishes so I will!” A-Yuan says proudly, and those within earshot laugh. 

Jiang Yanli’s laughter is not unlike the gentle ringing of the bells the Jiang sect wears at their belts. She turns to him, patting his shoulder affectionately. 

“A-Zhan as well. Your strength is important. More than three bowls if you want.”

The reference to the rules of the Cloud Recesses is nostalgic, but not in a painful way. It is more a reminder that he will now uphold the rules as he sees fit, now that his home is Wei Ying. 

They are surrounded by familiar chatter, the smell of food of a more quality fare than any at the Burial Mounds have had in some time, and the warmth of family. 

He hopes this can be the sort of happiness that awaits them for some time.

----------------

In my culture, generally we don’t eat insects/bugs and often find it intrinsically disgusting. I’ve never eaten insects/bugs. However, my biases are not applicable to the culture I am writing into. My understanding from friends is that there are many insects and arachnids commonly eaten in China. A close friend of mine has eaten ant eggs, grasshoppers, and other insects. Another has mentioned tacos that involve insects as a common ingredient in Mexico. In China, markets often have fried scorpions on a stick, grasshoppers, and many other insects as street food for purchase.

Given life on the Burial Mounds involves a lot of scraping by, I’d imagine some of their meals involve insects, which culturally wouldn’t be unusual. Likely if there were insects in the Burial Mounds, eating them helped Wei Wuxian survive them. They’d be an important source of protein.

While silkworm pupae are often fried in peanut oil and eaten on skewers or like nuts, from my research, my friend believed the dish I concocted in here was believable. (I also researched what the taste and texture is, but decided not to include it.) She also said the dessert of mulberry millet pudding is something eaten in southern China, which I didn’t know—I just knew it sounded like it’d be delicious.

In terms of the millet, meta discussions of MDZS have involved the fact that millet was likely more common (and less expensive) than rice at rough time of the setting, so I included that.

My friend was kind enough to read for cultural sensitivity regarding the auspicious eight, adoption rites, and ancestor veneration, so I hope they read well. This is a chapter I was particularly worried about because of the cultural aspects, and I hope it reads well.

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Fractured Ice - Ch. 5/7

Xue Yang whisks a nihilistic Lan Xichen off on a murder roadtrip to raise Xiao Xingchen and Meng Yao from the grave. Because that will solve all of their problems, right? AU where Wei Wuxian never came to Yi City and Xue Yang is still running around post-canon disguised as Xiao Xingchen.

Lan Xichen in an agony of suspense, hands shaking as he pulls Liebing from his qiankun pouch and puts it to his lips.

Xue Yang bites his finger and traces symbols on the sarcophagus in blood, breaking the seals.

Lan Xichen holds his breath.

Nothing happens.

XueXiao & XiYao - Rated M - Read on AO3! Tumblr: Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3  Ch. 4 Ch. 6

Ch. 5: damn right, you should be scared of me

Lan Xichen feels dull and heavy as they pass through the gates of the Unclean Realm.

“We were not expecting Zewu-jun!” babbles the Nie chamberlain as they arrive. “Please excuse the lack of reception; we received no notice of the Clan Leader’s arrival—”

Lan Xichen glances at him dispassionately, then dredges up a small smile and ducks his head at the chamberlain, almost overbalancing and falling forward thanks to the weight of his forehead ribbon.

A-Yao never would have been unprepared like this when he served in the same role. Never would have shown it, at the very least. Would have made the guests feel welcome, his quick mind adjusting to the new circumstances with alacrity and grace—

“My name is Xiao Xingchen,” says Xue Yang. He puts his hands together and bows deeply at the chamberlain. He’s fully back in his Xiao Xingchen role, all gentle refinement and forceful softness and slight _ otherness _, as if he’d learned social graces somewhere outside of normal society. “Zewu-jun and I have come to see Clan Leader Nie on matters of grave urgency. Our visit is to be kept secret.”

The man glances at Lan Xichen for confirmation. Lan Xichen nods.

Another bow. “Please follow me, then, Zewu-jun. This way. Thank you.”

Xue Yang winks at Lan Xichen as they follow the chamberlain through a series of side passages to the reception hall. Lan Xichen gets the idea that he’s hugely enjoying this farce. In another life, he feels, Xue Yang, might have been an actor.

Lan Xichen, on the other hand, feels his sense of dread growing as they near the hall.

Any hint of color in the Unclean Realm is swallowed by the overwhelming sense of grayness. Slate gray walls. Slate gray floors. Gray ornaments, gray ceilings, gray fixtures and furniture and sconces and statues and carvings.

Exactly like a tomb.

Lan Xichen keeps one hand out, just in case the stifling walls begin to move, to crush him, as he’s convinced they will at any second.

“One moment, please.” The chamberlain bows low at Lan Xichen and disappears through a door. Slate gray, with black accents, set in a dark gray frame.

He returns a few minutes later. “I regret to inform Zewu-jun that Clan Leader Nie is in an important conference, but he would be happy to meet with you tomorrow, or perhaps the day after tomorrow—”

Lan Xichen backhands him into the wall with his full Lan strength and pushes open the door, locking it behind him and Xue Yang.

Nie Huaisang hops to his feet, dropping his paint brush. “Zewu-jun! What a pleasant surprise—”

“Some conference,” says Xue Yang, glancing around at the empty chamber.

Nie Huaisang gulps visibly. Lan Xichen can almost hear the ropes and pulleys creaking in his head as he decides whether to fall back on his old Headshaker routine or acknowledge the fact that Lan Xichen is onto him.

He goes with the former.

“What can I do for Zewu-jun?” he asks, bowing deeply and seating himself on his throne-like seat. He seems to make himself smaller as he does so, as if well aware of how the seat dwarfs him and wanting to play up the impression of smallness, of helplessness, of innocence and vulnerability. “And, of course, our venerated cultivator friend.” He rises again, bows at Xue Yang with a flap of expensive silver sleeve. “It is a true privilege to meet Xiao Xingchen once again.”

That’s right; Nie Huaisang met Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen at the same time A-Yao and Wangji did. Lan Xichen hopes that Xue Yang, remembering this, will reign in the theatrics.

Xue Yang bows a bit too low. “The honor is all mine, Clan Leader.”

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Nie Huaisang is wearing one of his after-all-it’s-not-as-if-_ I- _ can-be-of-any-help-to- _ you _ looks, and Lan Xichen is seized by the sudden urge to rip his quivering little face off—

He blinks the thought away, a bit unnerved at the idea that Xue Yang might be having more of an influence on him than he’s thought.

Nie Huaisang, in turn, looks even more nervous than usual, as if he’s aware Lan Xichen is not quite himself.

_ Good. You should be afraid of me, you murderer— _

Lan Xichen looks away from Nie Huaisang, eyes roaming over the familiar room. He’d spent many hours here visiting with Nie Mingjue, and then, later, playing guqin opposite A-Yao—

Had A-Yao truly killed Nie Mingjue?

Nie Mingjue had tried to kill A-Yao more than once as his mind deteriorated, but Lan Xichen doubts A-Yao could have done such a terrible thing to their sworn brother in return. If there was one thing A-Yao had proven, it was that he could bear up under repeated slights. He can’t remember if A-Yao confessed to Nie Mingjue's murder at Guanyin Temple, but it doesn't matter. He’d confessed to killing Qin Su, and Lan Xichen himself had watched her commit suicide, witnessed A-Yao’s grief. A-Yao’s guilt and self-loathing, it seemed, was all-encompassing at the end, smothering him, choking all rational thought and pushing him to shoulder every impossible sin in the face of the united wall of hatred that faced him in Guanyin Temple.

_ Not me, _ Lan Xichen wants to say. Will be able to say, soon enough, if all went well. I _ never hated you— _

“Brother Xichen?”

Lan Xichen pulls himself out his thoughts. “We have come to pay our respects to Chifeng-zun,” he says.

Nie Huaisang looks alarmed. “Mingjue?”

“It has been a year since his entombment. I thought it only proper to pay my respects now that I am able to travel again.”

Nie Huaisang picks up the fan he’s painting, using it to hide the lower half of his face. “I’m—I’m afraid that’s not possible, Brother Xichen.”

Xue Yang bows low. “And why not, Clan Leader? Zewu-jun has traveled long to get here.”

“I—er—”

Lan Xichen wonders if Nie Huaisang received a message from Lan Qiren, something about keeping Lan Xichen in the Unclean Realm until the Lan cultivators could arrive. For all that he doubts his uncle would have taken Nie Huaisang into his confidence, the signal could have gone out the second he’d stepped inside the fortress’s gates. Or perhaps Nie Huaisang simply sensed something wrong on his own.

“It’s like this,” says Nie Huaisang, emitting a nervous little laugh from behind the silk fan. “Er—you see—Da-ge is resting in the eastern family tomb.”

“Meaning?”

“Er—well—that’s where we keep our more—how should I put it?—problematic dead.” His eyes dart over to Xue Yang, as if he’d rather not air clan laundry in front of a near-stranger, no matter how distinguished. “There are many seals on the tomb, many—er—dangerous areas—”

“The tomb is booby-trapped,” translates Xue Yang bluntly.

“It’s perhaps not as safe as one might have liked—”

“Like the sabers’ Stone Castles?” asks Lan Xichen. Even before Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s little adventure, he’d heard stories from Nie Mingjue.

Nie Huaisang blanches. “Nothing like that! These spirits aren’t dangerous—it’s simply a precaution—”

Lan Xichen can almost see the calculations in Xue Yang’s head—how fast the cultivator could pounce at the clan leader, snatch his stupid fan away, grab him, _ force _ him to help them—

Lan Xichen shakes his head at Xue Yang warningly. “Your brother was my friend, Huaisang. I have a right to pay my respects, as I was in no condition to do so when he was entombed.”

Nie Huaisang’s tone changes to one of pathetic flattery. “You won’t hold this against me, will you, Brother Xichen? Please understand, Brother Xichen. You know how I value our clans’ friendship, Brother Xichen; but I just simply cannot. Nobody in a hundred years has stepped foot inside the tomb unless it’s to bury a body; even I pay my respects from outside the tomb—but not _ too _ close—”

Xue Yang smiles as if about to make a comment about there being one more Nie body to bury if Nie Huaisang keeps this up, but for once his mouth remains shut.

Nie Huaisang hops off his oversized seat and scurries over to a side door in a funny little trot. “I’ll call the chamberlain; make sure you have comfortable rooms made up!” he says, and he darts out.

Xue Yang smirks. “He certainly lives up to his reputation.”

But Lan Xichen shakes his head. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

By request, Lan Xichen and Xue Yang eat alone together in Lan Xichen’s quarters, the same ones he used to stay in when he was a frequent guest here.

“This food is as bad as the Lan junk,” says Xue Yang in disgust. “What did they put in here? Haven’t they ever heard of salt? Meat? Chicken? Honey? Are these raw carrots and leaves stewed in fucking barley water?”

“They prepare it specially for me,” says Lan Xichen absently. He can’t bring himself to eat. He paces the room, trying to ground himself with the firmness of the hard gray stone beneath his feet, the solid smoothness of the walls under his palms, but he’s drifting and he knows it.

“So we can blame you for this inedible garbage? At least at the Cloud Recesses they know how to prepare the stewed leaves properly; this, however—” Xue Yang frowns suddenly. “You don’t look so good, my friend.”

Lan Xichen has sunk to the bed, leaning forward on his knees.

“Zewu-jun?”

“I’m fine.”

“Not worrying about the Lan popping in? I'd say we should get moving, but you don't look great. ”

Lan Xichen glances up. He'd forgotten about the Lan since leaving Nie Huaisang. “I thought we decided my uncle would never trust Nie Huaisang with the truth, and you told me you asked around and were told no Lan cultivators were seen heading here—”

Xue Yang shrugs. “I’ll admit, I half expected to be arrested the second we stepped foot in this metal box. Glad we got an opportunity to eat instead, if you can call this food. I'd figured you could fight us out, maybe take out the Headshaker in the confusion, do the Nie Clan a favor while getting a bit of your own back—”

“I wouldn’t hurt Nie Huisang, no matter how much I wanted to.”

Xue Yang raises an eyebrow. “Never?”

“I am not a murderer.”

“Murderer, killer, same thing.”

“We’ve been through this. It is not at all the same thing.”

Xue Yang makes a face and puts down his chopsticks. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll be right back.” He slips out of the room. Through the door Lan Xichen hears him sending the chamberlain out for different food, but he doesn’t pay attention to the actual words. He’s been here many times before, he knows this guest chamber like the back of his hand, but suddenly the room is unfamiliar. A flash of alarm, as if he can’t remember how he got here even though he can clearly remember the past two hours.

At least he thinks he does.

He lies down on the bed, taking deep, meditative breaths. Stares up at the ceiling. Familiar gray ceiling with familiar stone carvings, but the memory of when he last saw this ceiling is hazy. Hard thin mattress—was it always so hard?—“a warrior’s bed”—who had told him that?

A faint brush of memory: a shared meal—a war conference—a blade flashing beside his—but all that stands out is the sound of guqin music, played in duet.

A sensation of floating, of expanding, of being outside himself, reaching through the walls, feeling the wetness of the rain that has begun to fall—

He opens his eyes. He hadn’t realized they were closed. Xue Yang is just finishing up his meal, watching Lan Xichen with an almost worried expression he just manages to hide as Lan Xichen sits up.

“We leave in five minutes,” he tells him.

Xue Yang grins. “To the tomb?”

“To the tomb.”

* * * * * *

They fly out over the fortress walls.

“I counted a dozen sentries on the parapets,” says Xue Yang as they land. He returns Jiangzai to his qiankun sleeve. “They definitely saw us, despite the rain.”

“Your knocking out the chamberlain did not help matters.”

“He was in our way.”

“He was bringing the dessert you ordered.”

“He had it coming.” There’s a new bounce in Xue Yang’s step, as if he’s happy to be _ doing _ something, _ after _ something. If Lan Xichen didn’t know that there had been nothing but vinegar-water at supper, he’d think the delinquent cultivator had been bending the elbow too freely. “You should have seen the look on his face when I asked for extra honey for my dumplings. As if none of these musclebound Nie ever—”

“Xue Yang, we haven’t the time.”

They hadn’t flown very far, needing to preserve their spiritual energy for the booby-traps and ritual at the tomb. They hurry down the road, expecting guards to be following them at any moment, but the night is quiet save for the pattering rain.

“You do know the way, right?”

Lan Xichen nods. He knows where all the many Nie tombs are thanks to the many internments during and after the Sunshot Campaign, but he hadn’t known which one contained Nie Mingjue and A-Yao or he could have spared them the afternoon’s charade.

“The Headshaker, I feel, is someone I could get on with,” says Xue Yang, who seems to feel it his duty to fill any silence with conversation despite the fact that silence would serve them far better. “Squirrely little bastard, isn’t he? Never boring around him, I’d guess. Always something to laugh at.”

Lan Xichen ignores him. Barely even hears him. He’s outside himself again. He tries to bring himself back into his body, focusing on the drenching wetness chilling every inch of his skin and the muddy squelch beneath his feet as they cut through a hardscrabble little farm, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s bobbing above his body, watching a tall blue figure and smaller green-and-black figure slog side-by-side though the rain.

Without consciously deciding to, he embraces the feeling.

He’d spent the better part of a year like this. It’s familiar. Welcome. A cushioning cocoon of numbness.

And yet, still somehow sharp. Focused. Clear.

A part of him somehow knows that it’s a blessing, how a few hours in the Unclean Realm undid all of the changes of the past month. Knows that he needs the old version of himself to do the things that will need to be done to bring A-Yao back.

Besides, he’s happier this way, on some level.

It’s almost dawn when they arrive, drenched and shivering, at the tomb.

Outside the tomb are seven Nie guards, which explains why nobody has come after them.

“You!” Three of the guards converge at the sight of the intruders. “Oh, it is—begging your pardon, Zewu-jun—”

Lan Xichen reaches inside his qiankun pouch, removes his guqin, and blasts them into the tomb’s outer wall with a single arc of blue light that illuminates the falling rain like lightning.

Xue Yang nods approvingly at the three bodies lying prone at unsettling angles. “You tore through them like rice paper.”

“Captain! We heard—” Four more guards run up.

Four more guards flung into the wall with such force Lan Xichen has Xue Yang check to make sure none are dead.

Not that he cares. Nothing is real. Nothing matters.

But just in case.

“All breathing,” says Xue Yang. “Do you think you could teach me that technique? No?” He glances at the tomb door. “How about using it to open the door, then? Preferably without the blue light giving everyone and their great-aunt our location.”

Lan Xichen’s heart is pounding so hard it’s a miracle the countryside isn’t roused by its thunderous beat.

This is it. Inside is A-Yao.

His A-Yao.

Waiting for him to rescue him—

He summons the awful, wonderful energy swelling within him, focuses it, releases it through his guqin in an explosive blast of energy, rocking the thick stone door off its hinges.

Xue Yang grins delightedly. “I was wrong about you Lan,” he says. “What you lack in pizzazz you make up for in power.”

Lan Xichen strides in. Xue Yang follows, Jiangzai out and resting across both shoulders in a way that, if he’s not careful, might result in his severing the tendons in his shoulder.

Xue Yang takes a torch from a wrought-iron sconce on the wall and lights it with a touch of his finger, a trick he’d learned from the Wens. The light and warmth are welcome, but Lan Xichen is still soaking wet and chilled to the bone. The chill goes deeper than mere autumn coolness. It’s a chill he thought he’d gotten rid of but had in fact just burrowed deeper, to be excavated in the Unclean Realm.

That’s fine, though. He likes the cold. It keeps him awake. Keeps him on his toes, despite his detachment.

Sharp. Focused. Clear.

“No booby traps,” says Xue Yang as they step into a chamber a bit bigger than the Nie reception hall. “Do you think the little chipmunk lied to keep us out?”

“Undoubtedly. Lying is his specialty.”

“Same decorator as the Unclean Realm, I see. All gray stone and ugly monster carvings. At least the Unclean Realm doesn’t reek.”

Lan Xichen ignores the overwhelming musty smell. “There. This one.” He rests both hands on the lid of the sarcophagus. A faint hum can be felt through the thick stone. They had sealed off Nie Mingjue’s ghost, immobilized it, but he can still sense the power of the two spirits, locked in eternal battle. How metaphorical of a battle still remains to be seen. “What next?”

Xue Yang is pulling materials out of his qiankun sleeve. “First of all, we have to be prepared to fight a ghost once we open that coffin—”

“We are not fighting Nie Mingjue!”

“He’s not exactly going to want to sit down to tea, though if we had tea it might we worth a shot—”

“We immediately suppress him.”

“Not liberate? Xiao Xingchen was always keen on setting them at rest.” His tone is dismissive, but Lan Xichen senses the effort it takes to mention Xiao Xingchen so casually.

“His spirit is too far gone for that. The kindest thing would be to put it out of its misery.”

Xue Yang shrugs. “You’re the boss, Zewu-jun. Don’t mind me. I’ll work around you. Actually—” He bows, suddenly deferential “—I will need a drop or two of your blood.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t bother asking him what it’s for. Doesn’t matter at this point, as long as it can help.

With surprising delicacy, Xue Yang pricks Lan Xichen’s finger where it won’t interfere with using his flute, guqin, or sword.

“And now,” he says, removing something from his qiankun sleeve with a flourish, “we prepare the accommodations for our guest of honor.”

It’s the spirit-trapping pouch he’d given to Lan Xichen and long since taken back, its brown sides smooth and blank. As Lan Xichen watches, riveted, Xue Yang uses Lan Xichen’s blood to cover the bag in intricate, entirely foreign symbols.

Xue Yang hands it to Lan Xichen when he’s finished. “Just one moment; I need some...grass from outside. I’ll be back in a second.”

He lights another torch and leaves, returning soon with a handful of grass. He scatters it on the coffin and sets up the rest of the ritual, humming to himself, drawing an intricate array around the sarcophagus in red from a jar he has with him. Red paint, Lan Xichen would have assumed had he been paying even the slightest bit of attention to anything but the spirit-trapping pouch. After all, where would Xue Yang have found so much fresh blood?

“All right, then,” says Xue Yang, straightening up and rinsing his reddened hands off with water from his canteen. “Step away from the sarcophagus, Zewu-jun, if you please. We have work to do. I’ll need the pouch back, please. Thank you.” He waits until Lan Xichen is a safe distance away before putting his hands on the side of the sarcophagus lid. “Sword out,” he reminds Lan Xichen. “Or flute, or guqin, but don’t just stand there.”

Lan Xichen shakes himself out of his reverie. “Do you truly think he might attack?”

“I just know that that fan-waving little prick would rather torment your friend’s spirit than set his own brother’s spirit at rest. After a year of being confined in there like that—”

“It wasn’t that simple,” Lan Xichen has to admit. It had been explained to him once, the rationale for leaving both spirits like this, but he can’t remember the details right now.

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “I’m sure it isn’t. Now, places, everyone.”

Lan Xichen in an agony of suspense, hands shaking as he pulls Liebing from his qiankun pouch and puts it to his lips.

Xue Yang bites his finger and traces symbols on the sarcophagus in blood, breaking the seals.

Lan Xichen holds his breath.

Nothing happens.

Frowning, Xue Yang pushes the heavy stone lid off the sarcophagus.

Black smoke roars up from the sarcophagus, spinning furiously in a tight vortex. It rushes Xue Yang, flinging him into the wall before he can react.

Lan Xichen begins to play battle music.

Nie Mingjue is one of the angriest spirits he’s ever encountered. But though Lan Xichen is not the man he used to be, tonight he’s committed.

Sharp. Focused. Clear.

Xue Yang is back on his feet, Jiangzai drawn, but he’s smart enough to stay put as Lan Xichen plays.

He channels all of his remaining spiritual energy into Liebing, channels the affection he bears for the man the spirit had once been, channels his feelings for the man whose spirit this man is tormenting, and with the sense of something rupturing, Nie Mingjue’s spirit dissipates.

“I told you it was sheer spite, keeping him in there,” says Xue Yang, spitting blood. “If you could do it, anyone could.”

“Not everyone can do what I can.” Lan Xichen isn’t bragging; it’s simple fact. He glances over anxiously at Xue Yang, who stands looking down into the sarcophagus. “What now?”

Xue Yang turns away and draws unfamiliar symbols in the air.

The array glows red.

At the sight, Lan Xichen goes entirely numb. He’d swear he’s as faded as Nie Mingjue, as vague and amorphous as his birth name, Huan—“to dissipate”—a handful of vapor, a human-shaped patch of nothing so focused on Xue Yang’s next words that it’s lost all sense of self.

Xue Yang turns back to Lan Xichen. In his hand is the spirit pouch.

The symbols on the sides are glowing with a touch of the array’s eerie red light.

Grinning, he tosses it to Lan Xichen.

“He’s all yours,” he says.

* * * * *

Up Next: Xue Yang and Lan Xichen pay Chang Ping a friendly visit in a desperate bid to bring A-Yao back.

Or: Don’t try this at home, kids.

Chapter 6

[sssrha]

The Long Way ‘Round

Both Sects announced that they’d be holding funerals. That is, separate funerals. Ouyang Zizhen wasn’t impulsive; he put a great deal of thought into his next actions. The Lan Sect was such a mess that sneaking into the Cloud Recesses was concerningly easy. Koi Tower had been a bit harder, but Ouyang Zizhen wasn’t the third-ranked cultivator for nothing.

He placed their bodies right next to each other, and he smiled at them both. “Soon,” he promised, “you can rest. Just hang in there for a bit, alright?”

Neither of them answered.

Or: After the deaths of his two best friends whose only crime was daring to love each other, Ouyang Zizhen takes their bodies and goes in search of a proper resting place. He meets a little ghost boy and a somewhat insane Sect Leader, and nothing seems to get better.

Read it below or on AO3.

-

Ouyang Zizhen’s first memory is of his father calling him a disgrace. “Unholy child!” the Sect Leader of the BalingOuyang spat. “Smearing our honor! Look at what you’ve done!” Ouyang Zizhen looked to his mother, begging her to speak up for him, but she ignored him. At least she wasn’t yelling, too.

The doctor, however, didn’t have any reservations about speaking against the Sect Leader. “He has no control over it,” the woman insisted. “He didn’t choose to be allergic to spiritual grass.”

“I’m no idiot—but we’re cultivators! If he can’t handle spiritual grass, what does that mean for us? He’s my only offspring!”

“He can cultivate,” the doctor assured. “Just have him stay away from spiritual grass.” She paused before repeating, “It won’t affect his cultivation.” She said it insistently. Sect Leader Ouyang finally stood down, leaving the room in a flourish of robes after throwing a quick glare at his son.

Ouyang Zizhen was four. “No spiritual grass?” he asked the doctor quietly.

She nodded. “Don’t go near them, Young Master Ouyang. They’ll hurt you very badly.”

Later, he learns that contact with them is deadly for him. Later, he remembers his father taking him to a garden after that conversation. He doesn’t remember what happened in that garden, but he remembers his mother’s barely-hidden devastation when he woke up in the infirmary, and the silent rage on the doctor’s face.

He thinks he knows what happened in the garden, and he realizes that his so-called “elders” are all too set in their ways to be kind and compassionate—to be decent human beings. He isn’t shocked when someone else suffers from their narrow-mindedness. Instead, he bows his head and cries. 

***

Ouyang Zizhen’s eyes are drooping with exhaustion, but he keeps on going. In the morning, he’ll find somewhere to rest—somewhere where no one will find him or his carriage. Somewhere safe from their mindless hatred and violence.

His carriage is plain and unimpressive, as are his clothes, and his horse is not one from the BalingOuyang’s stables. He gathered all of these in secret, on his own, and no one knows anything of them. In his head, he thinks, ‘Who would I be, if this were a play?’ The role of the star-crossed lovers is already taken and he certainly isn’t the main character. He wonders if he’s even anyone of note, or if he’s just someone who shows up at the last minute to do a nice thing. He wonders if he’d be in the play at all. Maybe, the writers would just leave it at the tragic ending—Ouyang Zizhen certainly isn’t going to add anything of value to it.

Oh, but he so desperately believes that he will. He wishes he was sure that he’s doing the right thing, but after a week of travel, being hunted like a criminal by those who’d once been his allies, he can’t help but think that he’s made a mistake.

No. He’s doing the right thing—this is what they would have wanted. There is no way they would have been okay with the arrangement their Sects had made. “Honor,” one venerated elder had said, “is very important. It must be done for their honor to stay intact.”

Honor? What honor? They didn’t do anything wrong—of that, Ouyang Zizhen is sure. The only crime they’d ever committed was loving each other.

He keeps on going down the road.

***

“Have you heard?” someone whispers the next morning in the inn he stops at. 

“What?” the man’s friend replies.

“The bodies of Jin Rulan and Lan Jingyi have gone missing!”

“Gone missing?” the friend scoffs. “Please, everyone knows that Ouyang Zizhen stole the bodies! The nerve of that man—just because he was once their friend, he thinks that he has the right to do something like this? How will they ever rest in peace?”

Ouyang Zizhen bows his head farther. His bamboo hat hides his face, but nothing can stop those whispers from reaching his ears, and he is livid. Resting in peace? How could either of his friends rest in peace in the situation they were left in? And, he soothes himself, he was Jin Ling 

and Jingyi’s friend right up until the end. Even now, in their death, he won’t let them be disrespected.

He just needs to bury their bodies, and he’ll bury them together, just like they deserved. Star-crossed lovers deserve to stay together. That privilege was ripped away from them in life, but Ouyang Zizhen will see to it that they’re not denied it in death.

***

Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling’s world had shattered the moment Lan Xichen’s edict was announced. No one else knew what to make of it, either. After all, who would have thought that the virtuous Zewu-Jun had an illegitimate child? And who would have thought the child was Lan Jingyi?

However, the strokes on the edict Lan Xichen wrote were steady and confident, unlike the ones of Lan Jingyi’s note when he wrote to Ouyang Zizhen. “I’ve never even met him,” Lan Jingyi had written. “He’s been in seclusion my entire life, and now I’m suddenly going to meet him as his son and heir.” The panic was evident through the paper. “Zizhen, what am I supposed to do? I don’t know how A-Ling feels. How can we be together now? Before, we could have tried, Zizhen, but now he’s Sect Leader Jin and one day I’ll be Sect Leader Lan.

“Zizhen, is it bad that I’m resenting Zewu-Jun this much?” 

“No,” Ouyang Zizhen had replied. “It’s perfectly natural.” He understood why Zewu-Jun had done it, though. The death of Lan Wangji and his wife two months prior had shocked the entire cultivational world—no, the entire kingdom. After all, Lan Wangji was the brother of Sect Leader Lan, and his wife was the grandniece of the Emperor. (Everyone handily ignored the whispered words that crawled through every Sect and village—the ones that said that their deaths weren’t an accident. The ones that said people could hear the screams from the Jingshi. The ones that said the demure princess had murdered her husband before killing herself. None of it was Ouyang Zizhen’s problem.)

Zewu-Jun had made it clear that he wasn’t going to leave seclusion, not even to get married and produce an heir, seeing as Lan Wangji and his wife had been childless. So, of course, he’d legitimized his child born out of wedlock and named him his heir without even leaving the Hanshi. 

For a man such as Lan Xichen, it made sense. It didn’t mean that Ouyang Zizhen supported him, though. 

After some time, Lan Jingyi wrote to him again. “I met Zewu-Jun,” he said. “He apologized for springing this on me. He said that I was smart and that I could handle it. He didn’t ask me to call him ‘Father.’ I asked about my mother and he looked angry—he said that she didn’t matter. Wasn’t Zewu-Jun supposed to be kind and virtuous?”

“Jingyi,” Ouyang Zizhen had replied, “maybe Zewu-Jun and your mother didn’t marry for a reason. Maybe they didn’t like each other that much.” That, of course, begged the question about why they were together in the first place. But no one dared to ask about Lan Jingyi’s mother, or her relationship with his newly-revealed father, so he’d never know for sure.

“Zizhen, A-Ling and I still meet as often as we can,” Jingyi said when they managed to cross paths on a night hunt. “I don’t know how long we can keep this up.”

“One day,” Ouyang Zizhen promised, “the world will be ready for you.”

That day didn’t come fast enough.

***

“The Lan Sect is in chaos,” someone whispers the next village over. “No clear heir and all the factions that banded together to overthrow Lan Jingyi are now fighting each other.”

She receives a bored yawn. “How long before the Lan Sect disintegrates, do you think?”

“Three years.”

“Hm, I’d give it five.”

“The two of you have too much faith in cultivational Sects,” someone else butts in. “The Lan Sect is supposed to be the most virtuous of all, and yet look at the carnage! They’re falling apart at the seams—I’d be surprised if they made it through the year.”

Ouyang Zizhen keeps his head down. He gives it six months at best. Even before everything went wrong, Lan Jingyi had been trying to hold together a dying Sect. The only thing that most every Lan could agree on was that Lan Jingyi had no business being Sect Leader when he was an illegitimate child. Of course, no one batted an eye when Jin Guangyao smoothly stepped into the role of Sect Leader Jin when Jin Ling had been found dead. He was older and more proven, not to mention the man who had killed Wen Ruohan—the perfect choice, much better than Jin Ling had ever been!

Ouyang Zizhen wonders if the “venerated elders” will ever wake up and realize that they’ve ruined the lives of the next generation. He doubts it.

***

Jin Ling ran into him during a night hunt in the forests of Yiling, Lan Jingyi right by his side. Ouyang Zizhen offered them both a weak smile. “I heard the news,” he said. “It looks like all of us are Sect Leaders now.”

Lan Xichen had died a day earlier, and now Lan Jingyi had to go back and perform the proper mourning rituals before taking up the mantle of Sect Leader Lan. Lan Jingyi looked down and Jin Ling wrapped an arm around him. “Nothing will happen,” Jin Ling assured his lover quietly. “Everything will be fine—we can stay together. Right, Zizhen?”

“Right,” Ouyang Zizhen confirmed. “One day, I’ll be sitting front and center at your wedding.”

Lan Jingyi finally looked up, and he gave them both a pale imitation of his usual manic grin. “We’d look good in red.”

“Jin Ling would look good in red,” Ouyang Zizhen said. “I’m sorry Jingyi, but red is just not your color.”

Instead of making Lan Jingyi laugh, it made him cry, and Ouyang Zizhen and Jin Ling had to catch him when his knees buckled. He sobbed for what seemed like hours, Jin Ling whispering comforting words into his ear while Ouyang Zizhen gave him his most comforting smile. Eventually, the soon-to-be Sect Leader Lan fell asleep, and the bags under his eyes seemed more pronounced than ever.

“Zizhen,” Jin Ling said, “is it bad that the only reason I wish Zewu-Jun hadn’t died was so that A-Yi and I could be just a bit happier?”

“No,” he whispered back. “I wish the same thing, Jin Ling.”

They were not ready.

***

Before entering the next village, Ouyang Zizhen is stopped by guards. “Open the carriage,” they say. “Let us see what’s inside.” All they find is a carriage full of fruits, all of which are being kept fresh through Ouyang Zizhen’s spiritual powers—just like the bodies of Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi, which sit under the floorboards. The fruits’ scent covers up whatever smell the bodies may have been giving off, and Ouyang Zizhen is let inside the village easily.

Stopping here had been a bit of a gamble—the village is larger than the others had been, just barely missing the threshold of “town.” Here, there are more people, which means both an easier way to blend in and a higher chance of running into someone he doesn’t want to. Luckily, he experiences no further complications.

However, he does hear gossip, and a lot of it. “To think,” someone says, “that Lan Jingyi and Jin Rulan turned out to be cut-sleeves—how scandalous!”

“They’re too young and naive,” another gruffs, “and a passing passion ruined their lives. This is why you wait until marriage; look at how they turned out. The Lan Sect doesn’t like cut-sleeves, and the Jin Sect only barely tolerates them. I’m not surprised that Lan Jingyi was overthrown or that Jin Rulan was driven to suicide.”

Ouyang Zizhen nearly punches him in the face. Young and naive? Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling were well into their twenties. A passing passion? They’d been in love for years—all of Ouyang Zizhen’s romance books combined paled in comparison to their soft touches and sweet remarks. However, the man is right on one account: the Lan Sect doesn’t like cut-sleeves. Everyone that hated Lan Jingyi had used the scandal as an excuse to depose him—to murder him. 

The Lan Sect is falling apart, and Ouyang Zizhen is glad.

As for Jin Ling…Ouyang Zizhen truly doesn’t know. He’d been head-over-heels, completely invested, but had he really been so overwhelmed that he committed suicide? Jin Ling was strong and fierce—Ouyang Zizhen had expected to find him in a rage and ready to storm the Cloud Recesses when he arrived at Koi Tower. Instead, Jin Guangyao gently informed him that Jin Ling had been so overcome with despair that he’d taken his own life. He’d been hanging from the ceiling, the servants had said. 

Jin Ling had smiled so proudly when they were seventeen and he’d defeated hundreds of fierce corpses all on his own. Jin Ling wore his robes and vermillion mark with pride. Jin Ling was talented and good-looking and the first-ranked cultivator. How could he hang himself?

Then again, how could the righteous Lan Sect murder its own Sect Leader in cold blood? Ouyang Zizhen knows only one thing: the world is a cruel, confusing place. 

He continues on.

***

Ouyang Zizhen learned about it through the whispers of his servants. “What happened?” he’d demanded.

Eye downcast, he received a chilling answer. “Sect Leader, someone revealed a series of love letters sent between Sect Leader Lan and Sect Leader Jin.” 

His heart immediately stopped. He’d seen a few of those letters—either Jin Ling or Lan Jingyi would bashfully show them to him, blushes covering their faces—and they left no room for guesswork. Each stroke was lovingly crafted, and each letter contained such deep affection that Ouyang Zizhen swooned. “A true romance, right before my eyes!” he’d said once upon a time.

Now their own happiness was going to be used against them.

He left immediately to the Lan Sect, but when he arrived a week later, it was already too late. A coup had taken place and Lan Jingyi was killed. The Sect Leader position was wide open, and there was obvious tension over who would inherit it. Before he left, he pulled aside one of Lan Jingyi’s servants that had managed to survive. “His last words?” he’d asked.

She shook her head. She hadn’t heard over the cries of victory.

It took him another week to get to Koi Tower, where he’d intended to comfort Jin Ling, but all he was met with was Jin Guangyao’s tired smile. “I’m sorry, Sect Leader Ouyang, but…A-Ling was overcome by grief. He couldn’t handle the news of Sect Leader Lan’s death.” He shook his head. “They really did love each other like a man would a woman.”

Ouyang Zizhen had cried when he finally got himself alone—his two closest friends (his two only friends) were dead, and it hurt.

Then both Sects announced that they’d be holding funerals. That is, separate funerals. Ouyang Zizhen wasn’t impulsive; he put a great deal of thought into his next actions. He bought a carriage, a horse, a change of clothes, and a cartful of fruit. The Lan Sect was such a mess that sneaking into the Cloud Recesses was concerningly easy. Koi Tower had been a bit harder, but Ouyang Zizhen wasn’t the third-ranked cultivator for nothing.

He placed their bodies right next to each other, and he smiled at them both. “Soon,” he promised, “you can rest. Just hang in there for a bit, alright?”

Neither of them answered.

***

Eventually, Ouyang Zizhen’s luck runs out. Some Jin cultivators are hot on his trail—merely a few hours behind. He doesn’t dare stop to rest, to eat, nor to relieve himself. The news of the Jin cultivators has already traveled past Ouyang Zizhen, so he’s in real danger. Staying ahead of rumors is always the goal, but it seems that he’s lost.

A sudden shout of, “Sir, stop the cart!” startles him. He follows on instinct, only to find a child, an early teen at best, standing in front of him, seemingly having appeared out of thin air. “You almost ran me over,” the boy says. He wears dark, tattered robes, but his smile is sweet and calming.

“I’m sorry,” Ouyang Zizhen replies. “Please move aside now.” He needs to keep moving.

The boy says, “Sir, you’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got two bodies in the carriage, sir.”

Ouyang Zizhen’s eyes narrow. “Who are you?”

The boy stares at him, apparently happy that Ouyang Zizhen has asked. “You can call me A-Yuan.” That tells him absolutely nothing. Ouyang Zizhen is just about ready to run the kid over—no one can know about this, not ever—when the boy asks, “Are you heading to Xihe?”

He scowls. “What’s it to you?” Sweet Guanyin, Ouyang Zizhen is—or, rather, was—an accomplished Sect Leader and one of the most powerful men of his generation, and yet he’s already on edge from the calm, consistent stare of A-Yuan. 

A-Yuan shakes his head softly. “Sir, they’re tracking you this easily—they’re expecting you to go to Xihe.”

“Well, this is the only road leading away from them, so I don’t have much of a choice in the matter, do I?”

“You could,” A-Yuan says, “head that way.” He raises his hand and points off to the side, into the foliage that lines the road. That is, he points off the road. 

Ouyang Zizhen wonders if the boy is kidding, wonders if A-Yuan is taking some sick, twisted pleasure in making him feel more and more helpless with each passing second. However, A-Yuan’s face holds nothing but sincerity. “I can’t take a carriage through there,” Ouyang Zizhen says slowly. “It could break.”

“But if you stay on the road, you’ll definitely be caught,” A-Yuan points out softly. “Going into the woods is your best option, isn’t it?”

The worst part is, the little boy is right. Ouyang Zizhen has been trying to ignore it the entire time, but the truth is that he’s not going to be able to avoid the cultivators for much longer. Maybe this boy is a demon of some sort, trying to lure him into his den—but wouldn’t he be better off dying that way than with those wretched Jin? After all, no one would be able to separate Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s bodies. Death is a small price to pay. Resigning himself, Ouyang Zizhen lowers his head until his bamboo hat blocks the boy from view. “Sit with me,” he says.

He can’t see the look on A-Yuan’s face, but he knows that the boy complies. Faster than possible, he ends up sitting next to Ouyang Zizhen, who immediately grips the reins tighter as he turns the carriage. They head right into the woods.

They keep on like that for a few hours, neither of them saying a word as they weave through trees and over streams. By some miracle, nothing happens to the carriage, and nothing goes horribly wrong. Ouyang Zizhen wonders if A-Yuan isn’t a demon. What if A-Yuan is a god that has decided to pity him? He’s too unsure of himself to bring it up.

Then, when the sun starts to rise, A-Yuan starts humming. It’s an absolutely beautiful melody that has Ouyang Zizhen’s heart stuttering as he immediately pulls back on the reins, making the horses grind to a stop. For the first time since he’d climbed on the carriage, he looks at A-Yuan and says, “Where did you learn that song?”

A-Yuan looks back at him, a vaguely pleased expression on his face. “You recognize it, then?”

How could he not? He’d heard it from Lan Jingyi, after all.

***

“Where did you learn that song from?” Jin Ling asked Lan Jingyi. The other boy’s legs were draped over Jin Ling’s lap, and Ouyang Zizhen had a hard time concentrating on the book in his hands when such an adorable, domestic scene was playing out right in front of him. And, he had to admit, the melody Lan Jingyi had been humming was enthralling.

The young boy sighed and rested his head on Jin Ling’s shoulder. “You can’t tell a soul,” he said.

“We won’t,” Ouyang Zizhen promised. Jin Ling just pressed a kiss to Lan Jingyi’s forehead, long ago having gotten comfortable with performing such blatant displays of affection and intimacy in the presence of their friend. 

Lan Jingyi smiled. “I heard it coming from the Jingshi. Hanguang-Jun has been playing it a lot ever since he got back from Heizhu-Gong’s marriage.”

“Why do you think he’s doing that?” Ouyang Zizhen asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe he just likes it. Maybe the princess complimented him and he decided to make it his life’s work to perfect the song. It could be anything.”

“I can’t imagine Hanguang-Jun actually caring about anyone’s opinion about his music,” Jin Ling muttered. 

Lan Jingyi shrugged. “Who knows?”

Jin Ling chuckled, this time pressing a kiss to Lan Jingyi’s lips. Ouyang Zizhen, recognizing that things were going to start going places he didn’t care for, stood and said, “I’ll be at that nice restaurant where we had breakfast. Find me when you’re done, yeah?” He didn’t wait to hear their responses before scurrying off, a smug look on his face. Those two were shameless with each other, and it was nice to know that they trusted him so much.

(According to Lan Jingyi, Lan Wangji had stopped playing that wonderful melody after he married a princess himself—the woman who was the sister of Wei Wuxian’s wife, and who was one of the two grandnieces of the Emperor.) 

(Well, stopped wasn’t exactly the right word. He played it one more time: early in the morning on the day that he died.)

***

Ouyang Zizhen repeats, “Where did you hear that song?”

A-Yuan replies, “Look out for that branch.”

Ouyang Zizhen has to yank back on the reins to keep the horse from tripping. Gritting his teeth, he says, “You’re not going to tell me.” A-Yuan resumes his humming and Ouyang Zizhen keeps his mouth shut, just in case the boy really is a god. 

As the days continue, Ouyang Zizhen becomes convinced that A-Yuan is a deity of some sort, because, even though they never go to a village, A-Yuan always seems to know which direction to point him in for an animal he can catch for food, or a safe stream that he can drink from. He considers asking him how he knows all of this, but then decides better of it. If A-Yuan hasn’t revealed it, then he must prefer his own mysteriousness.

However, while Ouyang Zizhen is technically still unsure of what A-Yuan is, he knows for certain that the boy is desperate to share a conversation with him. He’ll bring up anything—the weird marks on a specific tree, the stars that are barely visible through the canopy, even the consistent beat of the horse’s hooves against the forest floor. If it exists, then A-Yuan tries to bring him into a conversation about it. Ouyang Zizhen always answers as politely as possible. As wary as he is, he’s not quite ready enough to discuss dirt at length just yet.

One day, Ouyang Zizhen suddenly realizes something. He says, “I think I know where you want me to go.”

“You do?”

“Did you point me toward Qinghe?”

“I did,” A-Yuan confirms. “Are you alright with it?”

Well, the Nie Sect isn’t all that invested in the disappearance of Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s bodies—in fact, Ouyang Zizhen doubts that Nie Huaisang spared it even a moment of thought—so it’s not the worst place he could have gone. Originally, Ouyang Zizhen had been heading toward the lawless lands of Qishan—and had gotten rather close, actually—but Qinghe seems to be where A-Yuan wants him to go. After only a moment of hesitation, he nods. “If it’s safe,” he says, “I’ll go there.”

“Thank you for believing in me,” A-Yuan replies and, for a moment, he stops looking like some strange god shoved into the body of a child, and instead looks like a child who’s just been told that they’ve done a good job. He’s practically glowing under Ouyang Zizhen’s gaze, and the older man has to look away to properly identify the feeling that’s squirming in his stomach.

It takes him a second, but he eventually realizes that it’s pity. He pities A-Yuan for being able to draw so much happiness from the trust of a stranger. And they are strangers—despite traveling together for two weeks, they barely know each other. (Or, at least, Ouyang Zizhen barely knows A-Yuan. He has the sneaking suspicion that it’s not necessarily the same the other way around.)

After another day, A-Yuan says, “Stop.” His eyes are narrowed onto the space in front of them. Ouyang Zizhen obeys, but is confused about what has the boy so riled up until he hears it: the consistent steps of another horse. 

Whoever else is there is already too close—with how big his carriage is, Ouyang Zizhen will never be able to outrun them. So, gritting his teeth, he rests his hand on his sword, which is still tied to his waist; a cloth now covers its majestic sheath, but it must be done to keep his identity a secret. A-Yuan doesn’t untense, even when a figure makes itself clear in the darkness. 

Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t know whether he should be scared or relieved that it’s Nie Huaisang who sits upon the midnight mare. The older man observes Ouyang Zizhen, giving him an appraising once-over, before saying, “Sect Leader Ouyang, what a surprise. I didn’t think that you’d show up here.”

The Ouyang Sect had long since named another Sect Leader, so Nie Huaisang is just trying to be polite. It only succeeds in putting him more on edge. “Why are you here?” he asks.

Nie Huaisang stares at him. “You’re asking the Sect Leader of the QingheNie why he’s in his own forest?”

Immediately, Ouyang Zizhen ducks his head and mutters out an apology. He needs to remember the position he’s in—he has no Sect backing, he’s a wanted criminal, and he’s completely at Nie Huaisang’s mercy. Nie Huaisang’s eyes sweep over the carriage he’s drawing behind him. “You’re dragging the bodies of the previous leaders of two presitigous Sects with you in a fruit cart?” he asks. He sounds bitter, as if he’s not surprised. 

Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t answer.

Nie Huaisang sighs. “What are you planning to do with the bodies?”

It’s a test. Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t have any proof of it, but he’s been in politics long enough to recognize that the Nie Sect Leader is trying to figure out if he’s worth helping. In the face of such a powerful man, Ouyang Zizhen can’t quite lie. So, he tells the truth. “I want to bury them together in a place where they’ll never be disturbed,” he says. “They deserve it.”

“You three were friends, weren’t you?”

“We were.”

After a bit of silence, Nie Huaisang asks, “Why didn’t you bury them somewhere along the way to here? No one would find them.”

Ouyang Zizhen glances away. He doesn’t know if he has a thick enough face to say that he’s been waiting to find somewhere worthy of being Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s resting place. He can’t bear to leave them in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately, Nie Huaisang seems to gather whatever information he needs by staring at his face. 

“Well,” Nie Huaisang says, “where are you heading now?”

Imperceptibly, Ouyang Zizhen glances toward A-Yuan, who says, “The Liuning Forest.”

For some reason, Nie Huaisang doesn’t seem to hear him, and that’s when Ouyang Zizhen realizes that the man hasn’t even looked at A-Yuan in all of the time since they’ve met. A-Yuan must not be showing himself to him. So, Ouyang Zizhen repeats, “The Liuning Forest.”

“It’s a nice place,” Nie Huaisang replies. “Get some rest. I’ll drive the carriage there for you.”

“What about your horse?”

“She’s well-trained,” Nie Huaisang promises, running his hand through the mare’s inky hair. “She’ll stay right with us.”

Realizing that he’s not in a position to refute the other man, Ouyang Zizhen complies. He piles into the carriage, moving a few piles of fruit away so that he can sit inside—and he does his best to ignore the fact that he’s sitting right about Lan Jingyi’s legs. A-Yuan gets in right after him, and after Nie Huaisang starts the journey, A-Yuan says, “Why did you do that?”

“What?”

“Sect Leader Nie is famous for his lack of sword skills. You were the third-ranked cultivator of your generation. Why didn’t you fight him?”

“We’re in the middle of Qinghe, A-Yuan. Killing, or even harming, Sect Leader Nie isn’t ideal. Besides, Sect Leaders don’t just wander around alone—I will be legitimately surprised if there aren’t people watching over him.”

A-Yuan hums. “You say that, but I think that you’re just scared of him.” There’s nothing mocking in his tone, just a plain observation.

Ouyang Zizhen’s stomach churns uncomfortably. Who wouldn’t be scared of Nie Huaisang? After the death of his brother, they say that he went crazy. They say that, for a short period of time, he had nearly starved himself to death and dismissed all of his servants. They say that he nearly Qi Deviated merely six months after Nie Mingjue did. Now, they say that he never gets into any problem—no matter what it is, he doesn’t let it affect him. And when someone causes him a problem…well, they’re never heard from again.

Nie Huaisang is scary, even with a fan in his hand instead of a sword—or, perhaps, he’s scarier that way. (Those blood-brown eyes peeking over that ornately-decorated fan will forever haunt his dreams.)

“I am,” he eventually admits. It’s painful to say it out loud, to finally completely acknowledge that he’s at the other man’s mercy. Deciding that he doesn’t like it, he moves on to a different topic. “Sect Leader Nie can’t see you.”

A-Yuan nods in agreement. “Most people can’t.”

“Why?” Finally, he’s worked up the courage to ask. 

A-Yuan stares at him, looking oddly vulnerable. “Sir, you won’t get mad at me, right?”

“No,” Ouyang Zizhen promises. As if he’d get mad at a deity.

Accepting his answer, A-Yuan nods before whispering, “I’m dead.”

That…is not what Ouyang Zizhen had been expecting. “What?”

“I’m dead. I’m a ghost. That’s why he couldn’t see me.”

“Then why can I see you?” Ouyang Zizhen demands. If A-Yuan is a ghost, then he’s a completely harmless one. He’s not giving off any energy of any sort—resentful or otherwise—and his presence is so stable and even Ouyang Zizhen, a well-accomplished cultivator, didn’t recognize his lack of life. Even now, A-Yuan seems so alive: his cheeks have a healthy flush, his eyes sparkle with intelligence, and his breathing is calm and soothing. How can it all be fake?

A-Yuan says, “Because I want you to.”

“Why do you want me to?”

“I promised that I would help you.”

“When?”

“When they asked me.” He pats the wooden floor of the carriage, and Ouyang Zizhen is reminded of the two bodies underneath the fake floor.

He lets out a strangled gasp. “They…”

“Asked me to take care of you. They were worried about you—you abandoned your Sect and put yourself in danger for them, sir.”

“Is that how you knew the song?” Ouyang Zizhen asks weakly.

A-Yuan nods. “Previous Sect Leader Lan was fond of it.”

“Are…are they still here?”

“No,” A-Yuan replies quietly. “They’ve moved on and are about to enter the cycle of reincarnation.”

Ouyang Zizhen squeezes his eyes shut. A single tear runs down his cheek. “Are they happy?” he asks. “Are they entering it together?” Because if so, then half of Ouyang Zizhen’s worries will be put to rest. The other half will simmer down once he’s buried their bodies.

A-Yuan says, “They’re happy. They’re waiting a bit before entering reincarnation, last time I heard.”

Yes, that makes sense—staying together in bliss for a while before reentering this horrible, chaotic world is a good idea. More tears slip down Ouyang Zizhen’s face, and this time, he’s not sad. A-Yuan’s words echo through his head: ‘They’re happy.’ He’ll treasure it for the rest of his life. 

They stay like that for a few hours. Eventually, Nie Huaisang stops the carriage and opens the door. “We’re here,” he says. He seems unsurprised at the dry tear tracks streaking down Ouyang Zizhen’s face. “Why did you want to come here, anyway? Don’t get me wrong, it’s gorgeous—I’ll definitely have to paint the scenery—but most people don’t care that much about this forest.”

Ouyang Zizhen looks around and, slowly, memories start to resurface.

***

Ouyang Zizhen stared at the scene in front of him. “Who are you?”

Two boys, both around the same age as him, stood far apart from each other—the Lan’s hands moved quickly as he desperately tried to tie his forehead ribbon back on, and the Jin was doing his best to look anywhere but at the two other boys. When he didn’t receive an answer, Ouyang Zizhen repeated, “I said, who are you? What are you two doing?”

The truth was that Ouyang Zizhen knew exactly what was going on—look at their blushes, their secret glances, their swollen lips—but he’d long ago learned that acting on his knowledge without confirmation would only get him into trouble. Their continued silence was incriminating enough, however, so Ouyang Zizhen decided to power through. “You’re in a relationship, aren’t you?” They froze, wide eyes staring at him in horror, and it was only then that Ouyang Zizhen decided to let out his delighted grin. “No, no, please continue! Secret trysts in the middle of a night hunt are the stuff of romance novels! So romantic! I’ll go, I’ll go—”

Quick as lightning, the Jin dashed forward and snatched up his arm. “Don’t tell anyone,” he hissed, and wow, his glare was wildly uncalled for. Ouyang Zizhen was nice about it and everything—he hadn’t even brought up the fact that they were both men!

A bit miffed, he shoved the other boy off of him, only for his mood to improve drastically when the Lan immediately rushed to his lover’s aid. “Don’t shove him!” he yelled. (Well, maybe he wasn’t a Lan, then.)

Ouyang Zizhen barely held in his swoon. “Actual lovers!” he exclaimed. “A romance right in front of my eyes!”

The anger and fear in the faces of the other boys finally melted into confusion. “You’re…okay with this?”

“Okay? This is wonderful! A Lan, a Jin, both men, having to meet in secret—a secret affair!” he declared. “If you two finally end up together and I’m there to witness it, then my life will be complete!” Ouyang Zizhen grabbed the Jin’s right arm and the Lan’s left and forced them both to hold hands. “Lovely,” he breathed. “The righteous Lan and the noble Jin—Sparks Amidst Snow, dancing in the clouds! This humble servant pledges that, from now on, he will do his best to protect your love!” Ah, the words—they flowed right out of his mouth. 

The other two seemed to appreciate it, which is more Ouyang Zizhen could ever say about his father. “Thank you,” the Jin said slowly. He pulled his lover away from Ouyang Zizhen—protective and possessive at the same time, how marvelous—and they both sat a bit away from him.

Ouyang Zizhen sat down too. “So,” he said, “who are you two?”

They glanced at each other before shifting a wary look to him. “You won’t tell anyone?” the Lan asked.

“Never,” he promised. “Not unless you two ever want to dramatically reveal it to the entirety of the cultivational world. If you do, I actually have some good ideas—”

“Give us your word,” the Lan interrupted.

Ouyang Zizhen held up three fingers. “I, Ouyang Heng, courtesy Zizhen, will not reveal your relationship to the public without both of you giving me permission!” He’d read the books where only one person wanted to reveal the relationship—those always caused a mess. (But then again, wasn’t the mess the fun part?)

The Jin’s eyes widened, “You’re the Young Master Ouyang?”

“That I am! And you two…” He really wanted to know their names.

After another silent conversation between the two of them, the Lan stood up and bowed. “I’m Lan Fan, courtesy Jingyi, and this is Jin Ling, courtesy Rulan.”

For a second, Ouyang Zizhen didn’t process the names, and nothing changed. The moment he did, however, he immediately stood up straight. Lan Jingyi’s name wasn’t particularly special, but the other one… “You’re the Young Master Jin!” he exclaimed, pointing his right index finger at said man.

Jin Ling stared at him. “I am,” he admitted.

Ouyang Zizhen smiled wider. “Oh my, you’re the heir to one of the Great Sects!” he exclaimed. “That’s even better! Layer upon layer to this forbidden love! I don’t know if my heart can handle it!”

“Young Master Ouyang, please calm—”

“None of that! From now on, you will call this humble servant of yours ‘Zizhen’!”

Lan Jingyi’s eyes narrowed and the corner of his lips twitched downward, hinting at a hidden scowl. Jin Ling didn’t hide it, though. “Zizhen?” he asked. “We barely know you.”

“And yet I’ve fallen to the force of your romance!”

Lan Jingyi, apparently deciding to look at the bright side, finally huffed out a laugh. “Fine, Zizhen. In that case, call me Jingyi.”

“Jingyi,” Ouyang Zizhen repeated obediently. He then turned toward a red-faced Jin Ling.

“What are you looking at me for?” he snapped, turning away.

Lan Jingyi trailed his arm up to his lover’s shoulders, where he traced lazy little circles. Jin Ling shuddered slightly as Lan Jingyi whispered, “A-Ling, why are you being so mean to him?”

Such casual intimacy! In front of others, too! The sheer amount of sway that Lan Jingyi displayed over Jin Ling, who immediately caved and turned to their third-wheel, was astounding! Clearing his throat, Jin Ling said, “Call me Jin Ling. Not by my courtesy name.”

“He hates it,” Lan Jingyi supplied, pulling his arm away. Jin Ling leaned toward Lan Jingyi. However, he immediately leaned back with Lan Jingyi continued, “He thinks that it’s girly.”

“It is,” Jin Ling muttered. “That uncle of mine really went and screwed me over.”

“I rather like it,” Lan Jingyi teased. “Maybe when everyone regroups, I’ll thank Heizhu-Gong for connecting you to the Lan Sect in such a way.”

“It means ‘orchid’,” Jin Ling muttered.

Ouyang Zizhen seriously doubted that Lan Jingyi would dare talk to the famed Wei Wuxian, much less say something so scandalous, but it was so domestic that he actually let out a sigh. “I,” he said, “am here for you two! If you ever need anything—anything at all—I’ll do my best to help! I’ll cover for you, I promise!”

They both looked skeptical, but they accepted it. “Thank you, Zizhen,” they chorused, and Ouyang Zizhen smiled.

They stayed there for nearly the entire night hunt, chatting, until Jin Ling suddenly stood up and screeched, “Uncle’s going to kill me if I don’t get some more kills!” The thought of either Wei Wuxian’s or Jiang Wanyin’s—or even Jin Guangyao’s, really—rage, the three of them collectively shuddered and promptly spent the next hour frantically hunting the various monsters. Luckily, none of Jin Ling’s uncles had seemed particularly upset—and, as expected, Lan Jingyi never got within view of Wei Wuxian—and thus, all disaster had been averted.

They left after they all formally thanked Nie Huaisang for giving permission to night hunt in one of Qinghe’s forests, but Ouyang Zizhen, Lan Jingyi, and Jin Ling all kept in touch. Their first meeting was forever burned into their minds.

***

Nie Huaisang continues to stare at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, so Ouyang Zizhen replies, “This is where we first met.” And, as he’d found out later, this is where Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi had confessed to each other and had their first kiss…possibly even their first time if Ouyang Zizhen hadn’t snuck up on them.

Nie Huaisang smiles, looking somewhat thoughtful. “I remember that night hunt. It was rather uneventful—or at least, that’s what I thought. Apparently not, though.” He holds out his hand and helps Ouyang Zizhen out of the carriage. “I’ll get someone to help you bury them,” he says.

Ouyang Zizhen immediately shakes his head. “I’ll do it,” he insists. “No one else.”

“Fine,” Nie Huaisang replies. “And I apologize for the uncomfortability of it, but you’ll have to sleep in the carriage tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll have a cabin built for you.”

“What?” Ouyang Zizhen asks, eyes wide. “Sect Leader Nie, I can’t—”

“You can,” Nie Huaisang replies, “and you will. Where else can you go, Ouyang Zizhen?” He stops using his title—the one that no longer exists. Ouyang Zizhen realizes that he has nowhere else to go. His Sect has moved one, nearly every other Sect is hunting him down, and his only skill is cultivation. Well, he thinks, half-hysterical, maybe he can write romance novels for a living. Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi used to tease him about it—he can make it a reality. But then his mind comes back to reality and he bows his head. Nie Huaisang smiles. “I’ll be heading off now. If you decide you need help with the bodies, I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning with some men. Rest assured, no one will get you as long as I’m Sect Leader Nie.”

Before he can stop himself, Ouyang Zizhen asks, “Why are you helping me?”

At this, the older man falls silent. A chilly breeze runs over them, and Ouyang Zizhen shivers even under all of his robes. Finally, Nie Huaisang decides to respond. “Two Sect Leaders are dead. There doesn’t need to be a third.” Ouyang Zizhen isn’t sure if Nie Huaisang’s talking about him or himself.

He leaves. Ouyang Zizhen finds a very specific tree that he remembers resting his back on while the three of them had chatted, way back when, and decides that it is the spot. He starts digging, and A-Yuan stands off to the side. “Do you want some help?” the boy asks.

“Are you able to help?” Ouyang Zizhen asks.

A-Yuan hesitates. Then, slowly, he crouches to the ground and tries to dig his fingers into the dirt. His hand slips right through as if the ground is a mirage. “No,” he says, sounding vaguely distraught, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He continues digging. It’s a mindless task and his thoughts wander. “A-Yuan,” he says, “how old are you?”

A-Yuan hums. “As in how old was I when I died or how old I would be if I were still alive?”

Ouyang Zizhen pauses. “Both, I guess.”

“Well,” A-Yuan says, “I died when I was eleven. I was one of the last ones left. If I were still alive…I think I’d be around your age, actually. Maybe a few months older than you.”

A chill settles on Ouyang Zizhen’s spine. A-Yuan is the same age as him. They could have been friends. Shakily, he asks, “Who killed you?”

“Jin Guiren.” He doesn’t hesitate, and he says the name like it’s a random bug—no hate or fear, just simple neutrality.

Ouyang Zizhen wonders if he should ask how he died, or maybe why, but he decides against it. When the hole seems large enough, he climbs out and heads to the carriage. The bodies of Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi are both perfectly preserved, just like the fruit, and they both wear a sort of serene smile that they never would have in life. Their hands are curled into one another’s, though, so Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t let himself hate too much. Carefully, he picks them both up—both of their bodies are too cold, and it makes him shiver with sorrow.

He has no casket, so he buries them as they are. He scoops one pile of dirt back onto them, and he can almost hear Lan Jingyi say, “Look at you, all dirtied up—take a bath before you start stinking.” After another, he almost sees Jin Ling’s eyes flutter open as he says, “You’re going to pass out from exhaustion—take a break.” He keeps going and going, every time he buries them a bit more, they whisper his worries in his ears and ask him to please sit down and take some rest. He doesn’t listen to them—he’s their humble servant, and if he can’t do at least this much then what good is he? 

When they’re buried, he punches a tree—not on a whim, but to get some of its bark. Then, letting some qi light into a phantom flame on his finger, he carves their names into the wood. Not their real names, of course—if someone finds this grave, they might ransack it upon realizing who’s buried here. Instead he carefully, lovingly, carves “A-Ling” and “A-Yi” into the bark.

When he sets it above their burial site, he swears that he can hear each of them whisper in one of his ears, “Thank you, Zizhen.”

He doesn’t think that he’s ever cried harder, and A-Yuan trying and failing to place a comforting hand on his shoulder doesn’t help.

The next morning, he’s nudged awake by a fan. When he opens his eyes, Nie Huaisang is standing over him, concerned. “Are you alright?” he asks. “You should have slept in the carriage. Come on, I’ve brought you something to eat.”

Breakfast passes with Nie Huaisang attempting to make friendly conversation, only for Ouyang Zizhen to deal out clipped replies. Eventually, though, the younger man says, “Sect Leader Nie?”

“Yes?”

“I should have waited for you. Would you have gotten them a casket if I asked?”

“I would have,” Nie Huaisang agrees, “but you seemed to be in a hurry to bury them, so I decided to not mention it.”

“They deserved a casket. No, they deserved more than a casket—they deserved an entire temple, just for them. I should have built them a temple, Sect Leader Nie.”

There’s something bitter in Nie Huaisang’s gaze. “What’s the point?” he asks. “They’re dead either way. They’ll have new bodies soon enough, if they reincarnate. If they’re freed from the cycle, they won’t have to worry about such worldly things. What does it matter if they’re buried in an unmarked grave or a temple?”

Ouyang Zizhen scowls. “Sect Leader Nie,” he hisses, livid, “they’ve done nothing wrong. Why should their bodies suffer from abuse that they don’t deserve? Their souls may be gone, but their bodies are gifts to the earth. Disrespecting them is unfair.”

“What good will respecting their bodies do?”

“It will give them and us peace,” Ouyang Zizhen says. “Is that not good enough of a reason?”

Nie Huaisang stares at him, uncomprehending, and then his expression shifts. For a moment, Ouyang Zizhen thinks that he’s gone too far, that Nie Huaisang will wave his fan and an arrow will come out and pierce through his neck. Ouyang Zizhen can stop it, of course, but what’s the point of delaying his inevitable death? But then, the older man just sighs. “It seems we have very different views on death.” He stands, snapping his fan shut. “I’ve eaten my fill, and the cabin has been built and has enough food to last for a while. Feel free to do what you need to. I’ll be back next week.”

He leaves in a flurry of robes, his servants leaving with him, and Ouyang Zizhen is left behind. A-Yuan smoothly slides into the seat across from him in the newly-constructed cabin. “Look, sir,” he says, “I’ve been practicing.” Before Ouyang Zizhen can ask what he means, A-Yuan slowly picks up a cup from the tea set. 

“You can touch things now?”

“Just barely. It’s hard.” He sets the tea cup back down. “What’s your plan now, sir?”

That is a good question. In all honesty, Ouyang Zizhen hadn’t thought this far ahead. His only goal had been burying Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling’s bodies in an appropriate place, and now that it’s been accomplished, he feels…empty. “I can consider this secluded cultivation,” he mutters, then winces. Lan Xichen had also been in secluded cultivation, hadn’t he? And Lan Xichen was one of the reasons that his two best friends are dead. “Or not. I can continue to cultivate, in any case.” He pats the sword at his hip.

A-Yuan hums. “You’re a good cultivator, right?”

“Third-ranked in my age group,” Ouyang Zizhen nods.

“How about in all age groups?”

At this, he shakes his head. “They say that I’m impressive,” he says, “but the previous generation—it’s full of beasts. Lianfang-Zun, Jin Guangyao; the River God, Jiang Wanyin; Heizhu-Gong, Wei Wuxian…each is more terrifying than the last. And even though they both died pretty early in their lives, Zewu-Jun and Hanguang-Jun are said to have been extremely powerful—they say that together with Chifeng-Zun, the three of them had a body count nearly as high as Heizhu-Gong’s. My generation can’t live up to that.”

A-Yuan considers this. “The River God and Heizhu-Gong were Jin Rulan’s uncles, right? You’re lucky they haven’t come searching for you.”

The thought makes him shudder. “If Heizhu-Gong hadn’t been visiting the Capital, I don’t know if I’d still be alive right now. As for the River God…I don’t know why he hasn’t been searching for me.”

“He probably has his reasons.”

Ouyang Zizhen makes a vague sound of agreement.

They sit like that for a while, just basking in the silence, before Ouyang Zizhen asks, “A-Yuan, did you say that you were killed by a Jin?”

“Jin Guiren,” A-Yuan agrees.

“You also said that you were ‘one of the last ones left.’ What did you mean?”

“I was one of the last six people left at the work camp.”

“Did they work you to death?”

“No.” He reaches over and taps his nail against the ceramic of Ouyang Zizhen’s tea cup. “Watch me, sir,” he instructs, and then he morphs. His healthy skin turns sickly pale, some of his hair is pulled off—nauseating crimson spills into his vision. He has one black eye, and the other has considerable bags under it. His lip is split but, even more alarming, his lips are blue. Across his necks, there are ugly black bruises in the shape of hands. When he taps the tea cup again to pull Ouyang Zizhen’s attention to his hands, he finds A-Yuan’s nails chipped and broken—a few nails are missing entirely. A-Yuan says, “I’m going to tell you something, sir. Please don’t be mad at me.”

How can Ouyang Zizhen be mad at this child that has so obviously died in agony? He says, “I won’t.”

A-Yuan leans closer and then, so softly that Ouyang Zizhen barely hears him, he whispers, “Sir, my name is Wen Yuan.”

Wen. A boy that died in a work camp. Died at the hands of the Jin Sect. Vaguely, he remembers Jin Ling talking to him in private, shaking violently from head-to-toe. He remembers Jin Ling saying, “Zizhen, I don’t think my family is made up of good people.” He remembers Jin Ling saying, “I can’t tell you what it is, but I’ve found something terrible.” He remembers Jin Ling saying, “I can’t believe that something like this was allowed to happen.” He remembers sobbing and having to comfort his dear friend about a matter that he thought he’ll never know about.

Is this what he’d meant, back then? Or is the Jin Sect even more rotten than this? Seeing Wen Yuan’s increasing anxiety at his lack of reply, Ouyang Zizhen says, “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Wen Yuan leans back, relieved, and lets his appearance morph back into that of a healthy young boy. “I could have looked like this,” he explains. “I like this better than how I really was.”

He shouldn’t have been beaten and strangled to death. Lan Jingyi shouldn’t have been thrust into the role of Sect Leader only to get killed in a coup. Jin Ling shouldn’t have had to consider suicide his only option. Ouyang Zizhen shouldn’t have had to take care of his friends because no one else would. “A-Yuan,” he says, “I think I hate them.”

“The Jin Sect?”

“Everyone. Every single person who fought in that god forsaken war and then thought that it gave them the right to ruin the lives of the next generation.”

“They suffered,” Wen Yuan points out. “More than we can imagine.”

“That’s not an excuse to cause even more suffering. Look at you—look at how you died. A-Yuan, are you trying to tell me that they deserved to do that to you?”

At this, Wen Yuan quiets down. “They did what they thought was right.”

“And they’ve done nothing but hurt others. Don’t try to justify it.”

Wen Yuan doesn’t answer.

Neither of them says a thing until lunch. “A-Yuan,” Ouyang Zizhen says, “why haven’t you moved on?”

The boy goes rigid. He whispers, “There’s something I still want to do.”

“I can help.” It’ll give him a goal, a reason to continue on. “Do you want Jin Guiren dead?”

“He died of illness already. I have something else in mind.”

“What is it?”

The boy bites his lip, once again looking so terribly vulnerable. “Sir,” he says, “I want to have a friend.”

Ouyang Zizhen thinks, ‘If things were different, we could have been friends.’ But, the more he thinks about it, he can be the boy’s friend. For right now, at least. “I’ll be your friend.” (After all, Ouyang Zizhen knows that, after Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s death, he’s had a distinct shortage of those.)

“Why do you want to be my friend?”

“Why not?” Well, there are a few valid reasons not to: Wen Yuan is a ghost, Wen Yuan is currently over a decade younger than him, Wen Yuan will probably move on at some point soon and Ouyang Zizhen may not be able to handle it very well—but he’s desperate, so he doesn’t let himself consider any of these.

“You…really want to be my friend?” He sounds vaguely disbelieving.

“I do.” Ouyang Zizhen stands and says, “What do you want to do?”

“What?”

“We can try to do some hunting,” he says. “Or we can explore the forest.”

“Why?”

“For fun. To get to know each other better. It’s a good bonding experience.” Hunting and exploring had been what he had done with Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi when they first met. “You’ll like it.”

Wen Yuan stares at him—vulnerable, nearly shaking—before nodding. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s explore the forest.”

***

It takes three days for Ouyang Zizhen to figure it out, but when he does finally notice, he can’t get his mind off of it. “A-Yuan,” he says, “you still call me ‘sir’.”

They’re foraging for berries in the forest, using a few baskets that Nie Huaisang had left behind for them. Wen Yuan is…not good at it, but he’s getting better. He just needs to concentrate. Ouyang Zizhen’s question startles him enough to let the berry fall right through his hands. He looks flighty, uncomfortable. “Ah, sir—do you want me to call you something else?”

“I’m your friend, right?”

“…right,” Wen Yuan agrees. Ouyang Zizhen hates how much he hesitates before he says that.

“I call you A-Yuan, and you said you were born before me, anyway. Call me…call me Zizhen.”

“Is that what they called you?”

There’s no question as to who “they” are; it’s quite obvious. “Yes,” he agrees. “All my friends call me that.” As if he still has any friends other than Wen Yuan.

Once upon a time, he’d had many. Somehow, he’d forsaken most of them after meeting Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi. He’d left the rest after he obtained their bodies and went on the run. But, as far as he can remember, the friends he used to have all called him by his courtesy name. Wen Yuan should, as well, shouldn’t he?

“Then…then I’ll call you Zizhen. Because we’re friends.” He says it with a little more confidence.

Ouyang Zizhen wonders if Wen Yuan will ever truly consider himself his friend. He hopes so. After all, Ouyang Zizhen has only ever seemed to exist for his friends, so if he doesn’t have any, then what will become of him? He’s useless as it is—only managing to safely bury Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi with the quite possibly insane Nie Huaisang’s help. 

…wanting validation is a selfish reason for wanting a friend. Ouyang Zizhen does his best to shut that thought down. He offers Wen Yuan his best smile and hopes that it helps. It doesn’t.

They go back to picking berries.

Later, Ouyang Zizhen finds out that Wen Yuan doesn’t need to sleep. Ouyang Zizhen wonders what it feels like to be a ghost—to never need to be unconscious for several hours to regain energy. He can’t seem to regain energy even if he sleeps from sunset to noon—he can’t get himself out of bed for hours afterward. Wen Yuan always tries to coax him out—to eat, to bathe, to play—and sometimes it works.

The one thing that Ouyang Zizhen makes himself do is pick berries with Wen Yuan every day before sunset. It's a habit, and it’s…enjoyable. Calming. It soothes his soul in a way that his hours staring at the cabin ceiling don’t.

Today, Wen Yuan doesn’t go berry picking with him. Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t understand why until he gets a look at his own bony wrist.

“I…got skinnier?”

“Sect Leader Nie mentioned it in his visit, Zizhen.”

Nie Huaisang visited? He tries to get himself to remember, but his memory fails him. The best he can come up with is three weeks ago, when Nie Huaisang brightly asked for some of his berries so he could make pastries to give him.

Ouyang Zizhen frowns and pulls open a cabinet. Oh. The pastries are in there, stale and moldy. He closes the cabinet. “I forgot.”

“You haven’t been cultivating, either…”

He hasn’t been. It’s one thing to know that you need to do something, but it’s a different matter entirely to actually do it. And he can’t do it. His legs are too wobbly and his arms can’t hold any stances, and his chest can never take in a deep enough breath. He’s…he’s fallen out of order. Complete disarray. It’s his own kind way of accepting that he’s failed his own body.

Now, Wen Yuan can’t pick berries with him anymore, because Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, and Wen Yuan doesn’t want him to die of starvation. Wen Yuan, brows knit in concentration, is trying to make him some food.

Ouyang Zizhen bypasses the dining table and collapses onto the floor in the bedroom—quiet enough for Wen Yuan not to notice.

There is a good chance he falls asleep, because suddenly Wen Yuan is hauling him upright and dragging him to the table. “Eat,” he says.

Ouyang Zizhen is not hungry, but he eats so much that he throws up, anyway.

But—sometimes, Ouyang Zizhen has a good day. One time, it falls on the day Nie Huaisang visits. The older man brightens considerably. “You’re doing better than usual.”

Ouyang Zizhen wants to go back to bed, but he knows he can’t. The fact that he manages to sit still is enough to prove that today is a good day. “I guess I am.”

They chat over everything and nothing, and Nie Huaisang tells him some of the latest gossip in the cultivation world. Ouyang Zizhen pretends he cares. Eventually, when he leaves, Nie Huaisang gifts him a romance novel. Initially, Ouyang Zizhen is hopeful to read it and get lost in the pages.

He can’t manage to get through the first five. None of it interests him, no information managing to truly sit in his head. He gets to the bottom of a page and realizes he doesn’t remember a bit of what he’s just read.

He sets the book in the cabinet, right next to the forgotten pastries. Snippets of what he could have been, if he’d just tried harder. Done better.

Wen Yuan notices. “Zizhen, how about I read it to you?” he offers, already picking the book up. “All you have to do is listen. You’ll probably enjoy it more that way.” 

Ouyang Zizhen agrees and Wen Yuan flips open the book, only to stare at its contents blankly. He quickly snaps it shut. Ouyang Zizhen frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I…the characters are too hard for me. I don’t know how to read this.” He sounds frustrated, ashamed, absolutely furious with himself.

Ouyang Zizhen debates with himself, then offers, “I’ll teach you.”

He taught sword forms to children, so he should be able to teach reading. Wen Yuan readily agrees.

Ouyang Zizhen is a very bad teacher—he can feel it in his bones. Wen Yuan, too brilliant for his own good, understands anyway. He goes through with a mind of steel, and soon he’s able to read the book with no problem. Ouyang Zizhen is unsure of when it happens—the days have been blending together now that the date doesn’t matter.

Wen Yuan is smiling more often. Ouyang Zizhen makes sure to smile back.

And…it might take days or it might take months, but one day Ouyang Zizhen manages to make his own dinner, so he and Wen Yuan go berry picking again. There’s anticipation running thick through Ouyang Zizhen’s veins, waiting to feel the same soothing he’d felt before they’d stopped.

It never comes. His neck is aching and his fingers are spasming and he pushes himself to just pick a few more berries. After a few hours, Wen Yuan manages a basketful. Ouyang Zizhen manages to get twenty-seven. He stares down at them, confused and upset because he thought he’d done better, thought he could do better—

He needs to stop overestimating himself.

Wen Yuan doesn’t mention it, just scoops some of his own berries into Ouyang Zizhen’s basket with a chuckle. That night, Ouyang Zizhen eats all of it, then throws up. Wen Yuan gently leads him back to bed and sits by his side, humming the song that Lan Jingyi used to hum way back when.

Ouyang Zizhen whispers, “A-Yuan, I think I’m broken.”

Wen Yuan hesitates for less than a moment before smiling and saying, “You’re not. You’re in a tough spot and…and it’s going to be really hard to get out of it. But I’ll help. I’m right here.”

“You’re my friend.”

“I’m your friend,” Wen Yuan agrees, this time with no hesitation. “Sleep. I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

Ouyang Zizhen sleeps until noon the next day. When he wakes up, Wen Yuan is gone.

Wen Yuan’s only wish, the one thing keeping him from moving on, had been wanting a friend. Ouyang Zizhen became his friend—he helped a lost soul move on. He should be proud. Instead, he cries until his throat is parched, and then he just lies there. He doesn’t know how long. Eventually, Nie Huaisang comes and finds him—so maybe not that long at all.

Nie Huaisang forces him to drink water and eat food, and draws him a bath which Ouyang Zizhen just sits in until he’s all wrinkled like a prune, and then Nie Huaisang has to drag him out and make him dry himself and wear some clothes.

After it all, they sit at the dining table and Nie Huaisang says, “You’re a mess, you know that?”

Ouyang Zizhen has known that for a very long time. “Mn,” he agrees.

“You need to feed yourself or you might collapse again.”

Ouyang Zizhen didn’t collapse…or maybe he did. He’d experienced quite a few sensations during his meltdown, so maybe he really had collapsed. He dips his head. “Okay.”

Satisfied, Nie Huaisang leaves. Ouyang Zizhen stays in his bed.

Three days later, he decides that it has probably been a good while since he visited Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s grave, because now there is spiritual grass growing over it. He’s not surprised—they were both exceptional cultivators, so of course their bodies would provide the nourishment to grow the plants.

Ouyang Zizhen stands five steps away from it and wishes he could get closer. And—he could. He really could. But there are reasons he shouldn’t.

He does not think about the reasons. He simply turns around and walks away.

When Nie Huaisang next comes to visit, he expresses his concern over Ouyang Zizhen’s continually declining health. “Winter is coming soon,” he says, “and I was going to let this continue on but…I can’t trust you to take care of yourself enough to stay alive. I’ll be bringing you to the Unclean Realms in a few weeks, okay?”

“Okay.” Ouyang Zizhen does not want to go anywhere near the Unclean Realms. He never would, if he had the choice. Nie Huaisang is not giving him a choice.

Nie Huaisang squints at him. “You…take care of yourself. I know you may not have noticed, but you’re going to experience serious health problems at this rate. Like…like death.” His eyes are far away as he says it.

Ouyang Zizhen knows. He just doesn’t particularly care, and—that’s the first time he’s admitted it to himself. I don’t care if I die. As he glances around the cabin, finding it empty, devoid of Wen Yuan’s warmth and any real indication that an actual person lives in it, he realizes…would anyone care? The only person he can think of would be Nie Huaisang, and he’s a Sect Leader who almost definitely has better things to do.

Things Ouyang Zizhen is keeping him from. He really has screwed up, hasn’t he?

He lets himself agree with Nie Huaisang, and then promptly stops listening to anything the man has to say. Either their time is up or Nie Huaisang gives up because he eventually leaves. 

Ouyang Zizhen does not want to go to the Unclean Realms. He has four weeks to stop that from happening.

Two weeks in, he finds Wen Yuan sitting on Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s grave. He knows that it’s not the real Wen Yuan, just a figment of his imagination, because the real Wen Yuan is much too kind to give him a look of such disdain, even if he deserves it.

Ouyang Zizhen stands four steps away from the grave, and wishes he could get closer. “I’m insane,” he says.

Wen Yuan frowns at him. “You’re only realizing that now?”

“No.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

Talking to a figment of his imagination because there’s no one else left. “Watching over the grave.”

“You think you have the right, even after you couldn’t get them a coffin?”

Ouyang Zizhen sits down, scowling. “No one’s gonna stop me.” He hates this Wen Yuan with a burning passion, but this Wen Yuan is actually just Ouyang Zizhen, so basically it’s a roundabout way of saying he hates himself. He needs to start getting to the point quicker.

“Yeah—you’ve gotten rid of anyone who could.”

Ouyang Zizhen looks away. “Don’t tell me things I already know.”

“Then accept them.”

This Wen Yuan is mean and irritable and unwieldy—nothing like the real Wen Yuan. This Wen Yuan even has Ouyang Zizhen’s voice. Ouyang Zizhen wants to shove him into the spiritual grass until he stops being terrible. 

He can’t get closer. Wen Yuan laughs.

Three weeks in, Ouyang Zizhen realizes he’s running out of time. Nie Huaisang is going to drag him to the Unclean Realms soon. He needs to stop procrastinating.

He manages to get out of bed at sunrise, cook himself a meal, and pick some berries. It is a good day. Tomorrow, he foresees himself being unable to move at all. It happens in patterns. Ever since he decided that he can’t go to the Unclean Realms, his bouts of having no energy and staring at the ceiling have lessened to two days at a time. Or maybe not. It gets hard to tell sometimes.

He decides to be proactive. He sits two steps away from the grave instead of three. He gets a lot done that day.

***

Ouyang Zizhen’s first companion was a cat named Mimi. Back then he didn’t have any friends, still hiding behind his mother’s robes when faced with those he didn’t know, so when his father got him a pet cat, it became his life.

Mimi was a tiny, tenacious thing that would fill Ouyang Zizhen’s days with laughter.

One night, he slipped Mimi some beef from his own dinner. The next morning, Mimi was dead. She was just as allergic to beef as he was to spiritual plants, and she’d died while no one had noticed.

He himself was very small back then, so he was just sad. He didn’t look into Mimi’s death. Now, he thinks about it more thoroughly. Her throat closed up, her skin got little red bumps, and she died in agonizing asphyxiation. It does not look fun.

But still, he can’t think of anything else. When he stands one step away from the grave, he feels dizzy with adrenalin. Wen Yuan stands right next to him. “So, you’ve made up your mind, huh?”

Ouyang Zizhen ignores him. Wen Yuan continues, “Are you going to leave any problems behind? Sect Leader Nie has been awfully kind to you. Will you become a headache for him? Become a resentful ghost of some sort?”

“No.” He’s absolutely sure of it. There’s not a bit of resentment left in him. He’s empty.

He wonders if Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi would be proud of him for everything that he’s done. Wen Yuan says, “Probably not. Now, go on.”

Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t need to be told twice. He lies down on Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s grave, face-down, waiting. Waiting for them to accept him, even if they aren’t proud of him. Waiting for the whispers in his years, like the ones he’d heard while burying them.

Ouyang Zizhen wanted to help them move on. Ouyang Zizhen is too good at his job. Slowly, he can’t breathe, and he feels even emptier than before, because Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi aren’t here for him when he needs them. He really, really wants to see them in his next life. He wants to be their friends again.

When they don’t respond, he tries Wen Yuan, who has also moved on. The ugly caricature that Ouyang Zizhan has created, though, is smiling at him for once. Ouyang Zizhen thinks that he can afford to be selfish for once, and Wen Yuan must agree because he sits down right next to him, and when Ouyang Zizhen is finally no longer able to breathe, he can pretend he has a friend right next to him.

He’s not very good at pretending.

(Maybe this is what Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling and Wen Yuan and Mimi felt like when they died: alone. Empty. Unloved. 

Ouyang Zizhen really has screwed up.)

[khazadspoon]

oooh, how about Wide awake, unable to sleep without me for chengyao?

I had the urge to make this a lil angsty so hopefully you enjoy it. Set in the sort of fix it canon divergent AU I made for them (because why not) so there are hints of possible 3zun alongside established Chengyao. I cant help myself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another year, another conference. Sect leaders and emissaries from across the Cultivation world gathered in the towns surrounding the Cloud Recesses for nearly a week before the talks were set to begin, the Jiang Sect delegation arriving just a day before the Jin Sect. 

Jiang Yanli met her brothers in a large embrace, the three of them laughing and joking as siblings do, with the addition of Wei Wuxian teasing his brother until they had a half-hearted fist fight. Jin Zixuan took their ribbing with good natured poise and offered a careful tease in return; Wei Wuxian nodded once in approval, Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes and huffed dismissively. 

On the outside it was just that, a dismissal. But Jin Guangyao had grown to understand the small shifts in the Jiang Sect leader's moods. He saw the acceptance and happiness there, the desire for closeness and familiarity. Each encounter led to more understanding. Each encounter led to a deeper need to know more in Jin Guangyao's stomach. He pushed the swirl of emotions aside as he bowed to the siblings. They inquired after his health, after little Jin Rulan's progress with his literacy, and after Mo Xuanyu's ability at settling in with his family. All was well and the day passed. 

Then the climb to the Cloud Recesses. 

Jin Guangyao felt his nerves spike as they entered the gate. He felt eyes on him as he greeted Zewu-Jun in the main courtyard. He felt Jiang Cheng's eyes on him and felt guilty for something he couldn't quite name. At his bow, Lan Xichen lifted his arms, the same gesture that had become a marker of their relationship. 

“Welcome,” Lan Xichen said to the two sects, “the day is almost done, so please make yourselves comfortable; the Cloud Recesses are your home as long as you are here.” He bowed his head, the epitome of grace and elegance, and everything Jin Guangyao had wanted (and wanted to be) once upon a time. He saw Jiang Cheng lead his people away and felt his heart tugged in the same direction. 

“Da-ge will be here shortly, if you would care to take tea with us?” Lan Xichen asked him quietly, head tilted to the side in a knowing way that made Jin Guangyao feel seen through like clear water.

He smiled, honestly as he could only smile at Lan Xichen. “Of course. It feels like an age since we could just sit and talk,” he said. 

Lan Xichen hummed and touched his arm. “You have been busy. We all have. How is the construction of the watchtowers progressing?”

“Smoothly,” he let Lan Xichen lead him through the pavillion and towards a side room they often sat in together. “It would have been slower without Chifeng-zun's help, but the smaller sects are grateful for any protection at the moment.” 

They lapsed into a discussion about their positions, comforting and familiar, well trodden ground filled with simple affection that both soothed and stung at Jin Guangyao's heart. He wondered if Jiang Cheng would expect him later. He wondered if Jiang Cheng would want him later. 

Nie Mingjue arrived in a way only a man of his size and position could - he half-burst into the room and gave warm greetings, his hands warm as they touched both Lan Xichen's arms and Jin Guangyao's shoulders. 

The afternoon continued with tea and more talk. If he was honest, Jin Guangyao would say he hardly heard most of the conversation. He was sat with two of the most important people in the world to him and his mind would drift to Jiang Cheng. He thought of the way those stormy eyes caught his own, the softening of his ever-present frown as he bowed his head and walked with him through Caiyi Town, the press of a hand to his back like a secret declaration. 

“A-Yao, is everything alright?” Lan Xichen asked in concern. He touched Jin Guangyao's hand and a shock went through him. 

“Yes, yes of course, I...”

A look passed between his sworn brothers. “You're distracted. You're never distracted,” Nie Mingjue said in a quiet tone. He poured a cup of tea and passed it carefully across the table, his fingers brushing Jin Guangyao's and sending another of those treacherous shocks through him. 

He bowed his head and let the maelstrom of his heart rise. “I have a matter to discuss with you.”

“You can talk to us, Meng Yao, you know that,” Nie Mingjue offered with a furrowed brow. 

“Is it about Jiang Wanyin?” Lan Xichen said softly, his tone quiet and his expression unreadable. 

Meng Yao lowered his gaze and nodded. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Being a member of the Venerated Triad did not exempt one from the rules set by the Lan Sect. It did, however, allow Jin Guangyao to skirt around impropriety and slip into Jiang Cheng's guest room without being seen. 

What he saw made him pause. 

Jiang Cheng was sat up in the bed, his hair loose in dark waves about his shoulders, his gaze half-lidded as he looked up at the night's sky through the window. 

“I didn't think you would be awake,” Jin Guanyao said under his breath as he approached, kneeling by the bed. 

Jiang Cheng turned his head a fraction and held out a hand, his fingers catching the shoulder of Jin Guangyao's robe. “I didnt think I would see you tonight, but I couldn't sleep until I knew for sure.”

Warmth spread through Jin Guangyao at the words. He stood, let the golden robes fall from his shoulders, and climbed into the bed beside the Sect Leader. Jiang Cheng wrapped his arms around him and let out a slow breath. Lips pressed warm kisses to his brow, the crown of his head, calloused fingers raised his hand and more kisses found his knuckles and fingertips. 

"They want me to be happy,” Jin Guangyao uttered between hitched breaths. “I don't know how to be happy.”

Jiang Cheng stilled. He brushed hair from Jin Guangyao's face and looked down at him with stern features. He looked as though he wanted to speak, as though he wanted to offer something as ridiculous as he had when he had confessed his feelings months ago. Jin Guangyao pushed him back, a sudden urgency in his body as he sat astride Jiang Cheng's lap and kissed him hard. 

He bit down, drank the confused moan the man let out, and dragged Jiang Cheng's arms around him.

"Teach me how,” he half whispered, half begged. “Help me, Wanyin.”

Jiang Cheng looked up at him with fire in his eyes. He didn't speak, but kissed him. He took Jin Guangyao and held him, took him apart piece by gilded piece until there was nothing but Meng Yao shivering and gasping, sweat-slick and near-hysterical in his arms as their bodies came together in bliss.  

“Love me,” Meng Yao gasped with a voice he could hardly recognise, hoarse and thick with desire and emotions battling to burst from him like a firework.

Jiang Cheng did. And for a moment that seemed to stretch beyond itself, Meng Yao thought he could love him back. 

[llaevateinn]

Lan XiChen knew he had a type.

After all, he had been in love with Nie MingJue for the majority of his life, and he had never had any illusions as to his sworn brother’s personality and temper.

What he didn’t know is whether he was just drawn to this certain type, or if he liked what it did to him. Being cherished by men like that.

With Chifeng-Zun it was something special. He knew of XiChen’s affections, and though he didn’t return them, he never treated him any differently. He never refused XiChen’s touch or closeness, never denied him to show his admiration and devotion in what little ways he could. Chifeng-Zun was XiChen’s friend, first and foremost. He loved him romantically second, though it by no means lessened the intensity of his feelings.

Nie MingJue was a taifun of a man. Pure, raw power and emotion somehow condensed and wrapped in human flesh. Tormented by his own power. It humbled XiChen, that he was one of the few people, one of the few things that gave Chinfeng-Zun a reprieve from his suffering. He was able to love him, and give him peace, just for the duration of their companionship at least.

Even if it mattered not in the end. He lost him. Because of his own blindness.

Had he really loved him? Should he not have seen it? Protected the one he cherished in his heart?

It tormented XiChen for a very long time, after Nie MingJue’s death. Even more so after their sworn brother’s involvement was uncovered, years later.

XiChen shut down. Shut himself away in seclusion, closing his eyes and ears and heart to anything and everything. Was it wrong? Perhaps. He was a Sect Leader, he had responsibilities. The crippling fear of turning into his father hung over him like the weight of a mountain. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t face a world not just without Nie MingJue in it - he had done that, braved it for years - but also a world in which the happiness he had derived from being of service to Chifeng-Zun, being his lightning rod … a world in which this happiness was a lie. He’d never helped at all. Had he perhaps even been his downfall? Had he hurt his love?

Eventually he re-emerged from his seclusion, feeling that it did not let him move on. It stagnated him, in a way that scared him. Cut off from the outside world, his fears mounted instead of abating. So he threw open his doors and let it all back in.

Everything rushed back into what he now knew had been an empty shell for years. Family. Duty. Pride. Responsibility.

Love.

He didn’t know what changed. He’d known about Jiang WanYin for decades by now. He’d known him for almost equally as long. Known who he was - son and heir of the YunmengJiang Sect Leader Jiang FengMian, son of the Violet Spider, promising cultivator, quieter shadow of one Wei WuXian - and known who he was. Stoic, steadfast and determined. Stubborn, sometimes, deeply loyal to a fault, always. They had worked closely together before, during and after the Sunshot Campaign. He’d been there when they laid siege to the Burial Mounds where Jiang WanYin marched in, but Sandu Shengshou returned.

The Jiang WanYin who met him when XiChen exited his state of seclusion was not truly different. He was still reserved and a little bull-headed. Still sharp and determined. Still quick to draw Zidian and threaten anyone he disliked with purple lightning.

Jiang WanYin was a taifun of a man. And XiChen realized two things: that he was apparently weak for men brimming with, overflowing with so much power (and anger) they couldn’t contain it. And that it would not be fair to Jiang WanYin to love him like he had loved Nie MingJue.

Was his heart so weak that it sought to replace one man with another? No. He couldn’t allow that to happen. His weakness was his own, and it had led to disaster once. He was not going to let that happen again. Jiang WanYin was a righteous man, a proud man. He was going to let him live his life. He’d rebuilt YunmengJiang from the ground up, with his own two hands, all on his own. That man deserved better than the consolation prize of XiChen’s broken heart, the secondhand affections he held, which only served to poison their recipient.

So Lan XiChen smiled at Jiang WanYin, greeting him cordially and with the warmth people attributed to the great ZeWu-Jun. Honored Sect Leader of GusuLan. Last of the Venerated Triad.

But deep in his heart he struggled not to let the love blooming there sour into bitterness. Sect rule number three hundred and fourteen: “covet not that which does not belong to you”. He could not let anyone see what he hid there. For his beloved’s sake.

He couldn’t lose anyone else like that. He couldn’t have their blood on his hands again.

EDIT: part 2

[abraxos-the-phantom]

I think I probably have! Gosh - the list is so long back when I would A03 Scum Villain fics that I honestly have trouble recalling exactly since this was during the peak (hah) of the SVSSS high (donghua releaseeee) at the moment I'm on a merthur binge but if (when) I get back into reading Scum Villain again I will very likely be running into your stuff again.

YESS ngl when I wrote that I had a very vivid type of image in my mind where people are like - super tense when they find out that MF is MF of Cang Qiong Peak, actually there are several iterations of The Meeting(tm) that were written with parallel to the story, I think I remember I had one meeting type where it was during Wangxian wedding and the venerated trio proposed a courtship to Wei Ming and SQQ and CO revealed themselves with outrage despite the fact that MF had already discussed with him that they weren't going to reveal he was MF just yet. It was a fun short crack I quickly typed out but idk where that small snippet is since I just moved laptops.

Idk if I mentioned but Scum Disciple was originally written with LXC/MF in mind because I thought it would be funny as hell. It only became NMJ/MF because I liked the chemistry I made in the 3rd itteration, but the 1st n 2nd ver were pretty fun interactions that directly inspired how i wrote it in the final for ex:

I'll make a separate post with all my favorite scenes that i wrote the 1st time that ended up either getting thrown out or reworked because i had a proper outline lol

“You said what?”

Lan Xichen widened his eyes slightly at Nie Mingjue’s outrage, “I thought you had given your approval when you told me he would ask to stay for some time.”

“Sure- I didn’t expect you to steal my disciple,” hissing, Nie Mingjue huffed under his breath and crossed his arms over his chest. Acting all shocked as he liked, he knew for a damn fact that Lan Xichen was amused.

“Oh?” Lan Xichen played the ‘oh i’m sorry I didn’t know’ card, much to Nie Mingjue’s amusement and irritation. “I was under the impression from Huaisang and Young Master Wei that your disciple was quite feared in your Sect, I had only thought to give yourself and the other Qinghe Nie disciples a brief moment of reprieve.”

Nie Mingjue twitched, “I expect him back Xichen. You steal him for Gusu Lan and I will never stop hearing it from Huaisang and the other disciples that I allowed Zewu-jun to steal their Da-shixiong away.”

“I’m quite sure we will return him to you in due time,” Lan Xichen was thoroughly amused, perhaps Wei Ming had found something indeed when it came to teasing others in a roundabout way, Nie Mingjue’s reactions were quite funny. “And you do have Young Master Wei as well.”

“You snatch one, you take the other.” Nie Mingjue’s expression grew even more severe if possible. “And then you won’t have just me to contend with but the entirety of Qinghe Nie.”

While Lan Xichen thought that the meaning behind it was quite heart warming, he couldn’t help but mutely shudder at the implications of that statement.

Lan Xichen quickly discovered that he was in big trouble.

As soon as word spread among the disciples that the infamous Head Disciple of Qinghe Nie would be teaching them for a time, there was a mixture of giddiness and apprehension that stayed in the atmosphere for quite some time. To the point where even Lan Qiren couldn’t find much to comment on when everyone seemed to fall into line by default.

Including Wei Wuxian.

Unlike others, Wei Wuxian wasn’t apprehensive nor giddy- but calm. So was Jiang Wanyin and Nie Huaisang for that matter, or any member of Qinghe Nie sect and some members of Yunmeng Jiang who had came. It was more than a little alarming as they swiftly switched from given Gusu Lan uniform to more appropriate ones for physical work and lined up in one of Gusu’s courtyards used for dueling.

Lan Xichen, being sect leader, stood next to Lan Qiren and some other Gusu elders to watch the man-at-work so to speak.

“Some of you have already acquainted with me and my style of teaching, so for those of you who I have yet to meet formally- I am Wei Ming, Eldest Son of Wei Changze and Head Disciple of the Qinghe Nie Sect.” To this, Wei Ming bowed respectfully. “I have been asked to teach you fighting styles, and we will start immediately. During this time, I will tell you no lies, nor will I butter you with words of false praise. If you make a mistake, I will correct you. If you have a question, I will answer. If you wish to improve upon your skills, you will heed my words. In this field no one is better than the other, for there is always a way to one-up an enemy in a battlefield. Students who’ve had me teach them, stay to the right side and pair up to spar. Students who have yet to have me as their instructor, to the left. Jin Zixuan, meet me in the center and draw your blade.”

With a militaristic precision, everyone sorted themselves out without much of a fuss. Those who had gone through Wei Ming’s teachings before slid away without comment and relaxed into the usual motions. Those who were not kept the air of apprehension with them as they line up to the side of the left courtyard, Jin Zixuan in the middle with Suihua drawn.

With the ease of a well-practiced motion, Wei Ming drew his blade.

Eyes were drawn to the odd sword that hadn’t been seen earlier during Sect Leader Nie’s visit to Gusu Lan. It was an odd sword for cultivators at least, resembling the saber with it’s single side blade and yet slimmer with a slightly curved handle that arched upward towards the spine. It was roughly the size of it’s wielder's arm from shoulder to fingertip and was stored in a black sheath with silver embezzles. The sword’s handle was wrapped in a greenish turquoise fabric that ended at the subtle silver hilt. The tunkou disc that sat snuggly between the handle and the blade glinted the same silver with a rather simple design. Chiyiqian inscribed neatly on the side of the blade, slick with steel that mirrored Wei Wuxian’s Suibian.

“Liuyedao,” Lan Qiren hummed with concealed interest. “An interesting choice of weapon.”

“He does come from the Saber sect,” Lan Xichen agreed- though he couldn’t help but wonder, was the sword glowing?

Wei Ming kept his attention forward and fell into a stance, “Attack me.”

It seemed to last mere seconds, but the reality was that Wei Ming had dragged the fight out for five minutes long. By that time, Jin Zixuan was already heaving hard while Wei Ming swung his blade in place.

“You have a strong foundation but you’re rather rigid and it’s easy to tip your balance,” Wei Ming said easily. “Fall into a starting stance.”

Tired, but compliant- Jin Zuxuan moved as he was required.

“Here,” Wei Ming pointed out his foot placement. “Too close together, Lanling Jin sects style tends to make use of forward thrusts in their swordsmanship since they’re more known for archery. However there’s a habit that commonly develops where you will start with a stance that uses your upper body instead of your lower body because of the nature of the Lanling Jin style.”

Using a foot, Wei Ming nudged one of Jin Zuxuan’s feet forward and twisted the other’s body to the side, “There- try to thrust.”

When he did, Jin Zuxuan couldn’t help but be surprised at how easy it was to pull back.

“Good,” Wei Ming seemed to nod absent mindedly before motioning Jin Zuxuan to the side. “We’ll work on it. Next.”

This went on for quite some time, weedling through every disciple- making small fixes and heading to the next. Each spar really only going for a few minutes before ending- until it was Lan Wangji that was the final student.

Everyone seemed to take a breath as Lan Wangji raised Bichen- as Second Master of Gusu and one of Lan Qiren’s best students, he was the equal to Lan Xichen’s considerable ability in the Lan Sect technique. Essentially making this into a fight between Gusu Lan’s best and Qinghe Nie’s.

“Strike.”

The fight lasted for a considerable amount of time in comparison to others, even as swords clashed and sparks flew. Lan Wangji weaved through each attack while Wei Ming fended it off with basic use of blocks and parries.

Then it all changed in a beat.

Without word or warning, Wei Ming twirled his saber in a reverse grip and flattened it across his forearm. Twisting his body to match the direction where Lan Wangji had chosen to strike and pushing off the blade with more force than the younger had been prepared for, even regardless of the famous Lan arm strength. In a show of flexibility, Wei Ming shifted his weight and twisted the leg away from Lan Wangji to aim for the neck with a swing- and stopped.

Silence.

“Mn, thought so.” Wei Ming twisted his body back to plant both feet on the ground, sheathing his saber. “Gusu Lan sect has a rather rigid style that uses weaving slashes rather than thrusts like Lanling Jin or the heavy swings of Qinghe Nie. You’re well learned in your Sect’s style but it leaves you vulnerable to improvisation. Sparring against Wei Wuxian will be a challenge for you and will help you get used to adjusting accordingly in a moments notice against uncommon moves such as the one I did.”

“Your move. How would I fend it off?”

“Mn, Wei Wuxian.”

Like an eager rabbit, Wei Wuxian shot up from where he had briefly sat to observe the fight, “By ducking! You can tell when your opponent might do it because you can see when they shift their weight. It’s a flashy move so the early signs are equally as flashy.”

Wei Ming nodded, “You can either drop to a kneeling position or bend out of the way, but unless you have a position where you can retain balance I wouldn’t recommend the latter. Kneeling is easier and gives you the option to create distance but it tends to be overlooked because of perceived inelegance of rolling out of the way. A third option could be using Qi to pull yourself back, like so: Jiang Wanyin.”

WIth a nod, Jiang Wanyin approached to perform a similar move- and Wei Ming did just as he said. Shifting his weight to his heels and willing his Qi to pull him back out of the area, as if someone had grabbed on to his nape and started walking the opposite direction he was facing, effectively pulling him out from Jiang Wanyin’s arc. Straightening himself, Wei Ming continued as if he had never paused in the first place, “You’ll find that cultivators would often use this for convenience more than anything, such as getting down from a high area quickly or crossing a battlefield in a mere moment rather than long strides, however with careful manipulation- one could also use this as an alternative movement in a fight. Otherwise-”

Wei Ming quickly widened his stance, bending his knees to the point where they almost touched the ground as his back arched backwards. A trick he learned from some of the dancers in Huan Hua during the aftermath of the war, many- including Yingying and some of the other females from Cang Qiong had taken a shine to using this version of a dodging technique rather than others since it utilized their flexibility and natural leg strength. It was flashy and took an impressive strength in the thighs and legs to lift come back up with little else.

There seemed to be a fever that overtook all of the disciples at the same time, silence tinged with anticipation. Which seemed to be planned if Wei Ming’s smirk was to be read correctly. “Work hard.”

“Yes Teacher!”

The earnest eagerness and exclamation were almost enough to have Lan Xichen regret his decision to have Nie Sect’s most feared and respected teacher be in Gusu- he wasn’t sure what the disciples might do if it gets out that the man is only a temporary installment.

He internally sighed at the stars in Lan disciples’ eyes.

Sneak peak: Incident Report: Submitted by Ming Fan – Head Disciple of Qing Jing Peak

The demon sniffed, offended, “well it’s not as if I’d made an effort to make a ruckus in your all aspects of your life Xiao-Fan. I can’t be expected to know everything about you.”

Ming Fan merely eyed Tianlang-jun with equal parts exasperation and annoyance, “you bother me when I am trying to make a dent in work.”

“Yes?”

“You damned- Playboy, work is all aspects of my life! You leave me little time to have anything else!”

@vodkassassin pspspsps

[plan-d-to-i]

When I first read the novel, I got the impression LQR was the unreasonable type until I got through the second siege. I was pleasantly surprised he was willing to listen, and was actually attentively listening, to what WWX had to say about the situation. WWX even tries to refer to him before LQR points out in a kind of huffy way he can just ask LWJ instead.

By the end of the novel and the extras, I was left thinking while LQR can be petty and has his own flaws, he’s not totally unreasonable like a lot of people try to make him out to be.

True the second siege tells us so much about LQR. First of all we find out he's not just a stick in the mud w the rules he's a good fighter.

ZiZhen wielded his sword as he turned his head and shouted, “Don’t worry, Dad! I’ll protect you!”

Just as he was turning his head, a skeletal hand reached for his throat. Sect Leader OuYang’s innards churned, screaming, “ZiZhen!!!”

In the brink of the moment, a sword sliced off the skeletal hand. With a firm grip on OuYang ZiZhen, Lan QiRen threw the boy back in the crowd, and led a group of swordsman from the Gusu Lan Sect into battle. After the short rest, he had already recovered much of his strength, astonishing many with his merciless and austere swordsmanship. (81)

OuYang ZiZhen escaped his father grip and rejoined the fight, “Wow, I never knew Mister Lan QiRen knew how to wield a sword! He’s terrifyingly good!”

Lan JingYi, “Of course! Who else did you think taught HanGuang-Jun and ZeWu-Jun the foundation of swordsmanship before they were sixteen?” (81)

Which shouldn't be a surprise bc after all his fighting protecting CR from the Wens is what enabled his nephews to go help others during the War:

During the Sunshot Campaign, stories of praise were told about all three of the Venerated Triad. The ones of ChiFeng-Zun were about how he swept over all obstacles, leaving not even a trace of the Wen-dogs after he finished. ZeWu-Jun—Lan XiChen—however, was different from him. After the situation of the Gusu area had settled down, Lan QiRen was able to defend it with great tenacity. Thus, Lan XiChen often travelled to aid others, saving lives from danger. In all of the Sunshot Campaign, he had countless times recovered lost territory and assisted narrow escapes. This was why people were ecstatic whenever they heard his name, as though they gained a ray of hope, a powerful trump card.

Side note, this also is what makes all those takes that are like: "LXC didn't care for anyone >:-/" fucking absurd.

Back to the second siege we get LQR petty King :

A moment ago, the Demon-Crouching Cave had been buzzing with noises. Now that it was finally quiet again, Lan WangJi turned to Wei WuXian, “Continue.”

The anger in Su She’s eyes could shoot through the sky, but with his lips sealed and his throat dry, he had no means to unleash it. What made his heart churn much more than the utter frustration of being unable to talk back at Wei WuXian was the sheer humiliation he was suffering at Lan WangJi’s hands. He gestured at his own throat repetitively, trying and failing to undo the spell. Unable to help himself, he looked toward Lan QiRen, only to find the latter not even bothering to spare him a glance. Lan QiRen could have easily helped him, not to mention that if he stepped in to Su She’s aid, Lan WangJi would not recast his spell again out of respect for his uncle. However, due to the bumpy history between the Moling Su Sect and the the Gusu Lan Sect, Lan QiRen currently had no desire to help. (80)

LQR is like - I do not see it (⌐■_■)... and as you said, aside from not undermining LWJ (and WWX) by un-silencing Su She he does listen to WWX (even if it kills him):

He turned to Lan QiRen, “Senior-Lan, I want to ask you about something.”

Lan QiRen glanced at Lan WangJi and said, “If you have questions, why don’t you ask him instead to me?”

Lan QiRan might be old-fashioned and stubborn, but he wasn’t obtuse or ignorant. Having already sensed that something fishy was going on, he had been quietly listening with all the patience he could muster. His face, though, was still quite dark. But Wei WuXian was familiar with his temper ever since he was young, and after that, he’d seen the tempers of countless more people. He had long since stopped caring. Moreover, remembering that this was the uncle who had raised Lan WangJi, there was even less reasons for him to be upset.

(;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`). Lastly we know how much LQR loves LWJ (enough to agree to having WWX in the Lan Clan and Cloud Recesses for the rest of his days lol) but he doesn't try to object when LWJ goes to help WWX so they can aid everyone in getting out of the cave, even if it's a suicide mission, because he too believes in the rules & motto of the Clan no matter the cost. He doesn't use them just to bash others.

Lan SiZhui’s group still wanted to object. Lan WangJi cut them off, “Listen to him.”

He then turned to Lan QiRen and gave him a bow, low and proper. Lan QiRen’s eyes widened, but did not speak. Lan SiZhui, “Mister Lan! HanGuang-Jun he…… he……”

Lan QiRen replied quietly, “As it should be.”

[khazadspoon]

Right I have a headcanon that is close to my heart at the moment and finally got round to dealing with it. Here is something that is sort of inspired by something in Sense and Sensibility and hurts but feels right.

It was every day implied, but never declared.

———————————————————————

They had never even kissed.

Not once.

For all their years of friendship, of venerated brotherhood, of long nights and heartfelt discussion, they had never acted. The seed of affection had stayed dormant in cold and unforgiving earth, buried where no one could see it, but he felt it shift as though it were trying to grow each day. He had felt its blossom begging to be free with each meeting and shared cup of fragrant tea. Some days he had wanted to reach out and force it to germinate. He had pleaded with himself to forgo decorum or diplomacy and to seek happiness for himself. But he had not.

Instead he had lain awake at night and ached with the weight of that tiny seed for years. Twin Jade, Sect Leader Lan, Lan Xichen, Zewu-Jun... So many names and yet none were as sweet as the quiet “A-Huan” from those duplicitous lips.

Lips he had never tasted.

Lips that were now blue and cold, dead like that rotten seed they had corrupted.

There had been moments Xichen had thought that maybe, just maybe, it might have happened. When he had been allowed to rest his eyes while leaning against his friend, when he had allowed himself to touch those rosy cheeks, when he had whispered his friend’s name after a cup of wine...

Now there was no gentle “A-Huan” to ease his worry or sorrow. Now there were no delicate smiles or offers of company past suitable hours.

There were only wires that wrapped tightly around the seed in his chest, wires that cut through and let in the damp and the cold until the seed could only wither and die. There was only the question that haunted his every waking moment; was any of it real?

The traitorous part of his heart that tried to nourish the seed said yes. It presented evidence, gave testimony to the truth of words and quiet actions. It said those words were not a lie - he had not been harmed, would not have ever been harmed.

Until the end.

So the world would have to sit aside for a while as he dug that seed out of his chest with shaking, blood stained fingers. He would carve it out and flood the hole with his tears, leave it void if the tears would not come, and let no seed plant itself there again.

His heart would be barren, it’s earth salted by a single careless seed.