Death of a Ghost

by Gotcocomilk

Summary:

There was a ghost that haunted the decks of Lotus Pier, it was said. If you stepped across the wooden planks at night, walked along the endless docks and flying purple banners, he would appear.

He was always in darkest black, dressed as specter and shadow. In the emptiness where a face should be was a thick fog, features washed away and leaving behind only glimmering red eyes.

He looked ferocious as a ghoul, it was said.

Jin Ling thought he looked sad.

 

----

 

Chinese Translation

Notes:

• Translation into Русский available: Смерть призрака by melamoryblack

Hello and welcome to Ghost! Enjoy the ride :D

Chapter 1: A Ghost Appears

There was a ghost that haunted the decks of Lotus Pier, it was said. If you stepped across the wooden planks at night, walked along the endless docks and flying purple banners, he would appear.

 

He was always in darkest black, dressed as specter and shadow. In the emptiness where a face should be was a thick fog, features washed away and leaving behind only glimmering red eyes.

 

He looked ferocious as a ghoul, it was said.

 

Jin Ling thought he looked sad.

 

He stood on the curving corner of the pier, far from the bustling center of the complex. Here, past the midnight hour, the only things in sight were the peerless lilies and the clear stretch of water.

 

The ghost sat at the end of the wooden dock, and though his face was a blur his shoulders were hunched forward into weariness.

 

Before this night, Jin Ling had never sought out a ghost, not to hunt and not to see. He certainly hadn’t believed the rumors, listening with scorn to the whispers of the servants and murmurs of the disciples.

 

This was Lotus Pier, seat of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect and place of power throughout the land. Here the water was crisp and the cities flourished with trade, growing beneath the strength of the Jiang Clan.

 

Here, Jin Ling was the lonely nephew of the Sect Leader. His uncle would not have stood for a ghost in his own complex, not with the slight it represented on the clan’s honor.

 

So it couldn’t possibly exist, and the whispers were wrong beyond measure. And yet.

 

And yet, here Jin Ling stood, in the dark of night and on a lonely pier.

 

And the ghost sat before him, shadows creeping like fog from his face.

 

He took a step forward, feet moving slow and heart hardened. He would cleanse the ghost from this place and report it back to Uncle.

 

Then, maybe, he would be called failureno longer. He may not have slain the Xuanwu of Slaughter at fifteen or led the Sunshot Campaign against the ruthless Wen at sixteen. But here and now he could catch a malevolent spirit and make the land a brighter place.

 

Ten years old and lonely, that felt like enough.

 

The ghost watched his approach, watched him draw his father’s sword, watched him move shaking arms forward in a stabbing motion.

 

But the sword was far too heavy for him, and oh how his hands trembled before this creature, and down tumbled the sword.

 

A slender hand caught it, flickering and pale in the moonlight. It balanced the blade across a fingertip, lifting it gentle and slow back into its sheath.

 

It slid back inside with a low swish, metal ringing into place. The sound carried out, echoing over the gentle waters around them and out past the pier.

 

In the silence of night, it was louder than the roar of a tiger.

 

Jin Ling colored, shame crawling up his face. Not only had he failed to draw the sword properly— his father’s, it was his father’s, and he had taken it from the armory without permission for this— but he had almost dropped it.

 

Dropped it like it was a common sword, like it didn’t represent everything he had lost, like it didn’t bear his soul and life.

 

The ghost had saved his honor, and Jin Ling felt only shame.

 

By the Heavens, he had only needed to do one thing, only needed to slay one beast. He had to make his Uncle proud, had to live up to the legacy of his parents. He had to, but here he was, tears catching at his eyes and failing again.

 

He always failed.

 

“Why can’t you just go away? I just need to do one thing right, and I couldn’t even…” He took a breath, a hiccupping sob, felt his eyes burn and break into tears.

 

How could he lead a clan when he failed even at this?

 

His hands were shaking, sobs wracking his small body, but he couldn’t stop them, he couldn’t—

 

A hand fell on his shoulder, warm in the chill of night, strong and comforting over the stretch of his robes. It squeezed, ever-patient, heavy but so kind.

 

This was what he imagined a father’s hand would feel like.

 

Startled, Jin Ling looked up, tears clouding his eyes. All he could see was a black blur, shadows curling around him and spilling out into the night like ink on canvas.

 

Burning red eyes stared down at him, searing into his skin but—

 

Lonely.

 

The ghost was comforting him, shimmering robes of black spread around them as cloth to blot his tears.

 

In another moment, in the stark light of day and with his Uncle’s harsh eyes boring into his back, Jin Ling would have raised his sword and fought. His hands would have trembled on the blade, too weak to bear his family’s honor but too stubborn to let it fall.

 

He would have failed, that day.

 

But now, with a peerless moon overhead and the shadows surrounding him, with the first kind hand offered without bait or deeds done, with a ghost wearing such sad eyes, the lonely heart of Jin Ling cracked in two.

 

He threw himself into the body of the ghost, felt warm hands pull him close and sooth away his tears, fingers gentle on his cheeks.

 

There he stayed, for long minutes, until the harsh sobs had left his body and his eyes shut from exhaustion.

 

He woke the next morning in his own bed, the sun’s light streaming through the screen door before him.

 

There was a ghost in Lotus Pier, it was said, and now Jin Ling knew it to be true.

 

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

For two long years, Jin Ling traveled to and from Lotus Pier, arms growing strong enough to bear his father’s sword.

 

He grew thorns of sharp words, but they could never hide his soft heart. But, sitting on the edge of a lonely pier late at night, with a ghost beside him and playful shadows dancing in the air at his command, he didn’t need to hide his soft heart at all.

 

There danced a rabbit, here a goose. Watch the shadows play!

 

The ghost drew the creatures into the air with a long finger, a master calligrapher breathing life into shadow.

 

Jin Ling watched them with delight, long past the age where he had any right to toys. Stories played out before them, echoing into the air and making him smile and laugh. The ghost never spoke, but Jin Ling learned to read the twisting shadows of his face, the narrowing of his eyes.

 

If the ghost had a mouth, Jin Ling imagined he would be always smiling.

 

At the end of a joyful hour, the ghost would stand and pull him up, strong arms supporting his weary body.

 

On the nights when he was sore with training, exhausted from a thousand sword strokes, Jin Ling would fall asleep then and there, let his head crash into comforting arms.

 

Each time, he awoke in his bed.

 

But when he had energy in his bones they would walk to the edge of the main complex, and the ghost would raise a single pale hand in goodbye.

 

Who are you?Jin Ling wanted to ask, each and every time.

 

And each and every time he swallowed those words down and held only silence. Here he was a coward, here on this lonely pier was where he could be. The moments of his life passed him by and called him failure, but here he could be child.

 

Here, he wasn’t lonely.

 

So he held his peace and left the pier with a smile.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

Jin Ling took quick steps through the grass, sword at his waist and trees singing with the wind overhead. He was light on the ground, fear and readiness curling across his bones.

 

The forests around Lotus Pier were dense with life, moss hanging on every branch and streams curling between every other tree. Star-dust flowers littered the ground, snow-white blossoms small and delicate in the shadowed light.

 

It was beautiful, but beauty was not why Jin Ling was here. He was here for prey.

 

Faster and faster he moved, dashing over fallen branches and into the thick of the forest. The walls closed in around him, great trees trapping him in, but he would not show fear.

 

He had to prove himself, had to show Uncle he wasn’t a failure. The man had raised his voice again, harsh and unyielding, A-ling have discipline for heaven’s sake, you are twelve. The words had carved their way into Jin Ling’s heart and made him heavy, a terrible sadness curving into his chest. He had failed again and again, but he wouldn’t now. This forest would be his until he had taken down a resentful corpse and laid its spirit to rest.

 

And then, through the underbrush, there—

 

A shambling form, skin dry with the pallor of death and eyes unseeing. A restless corpse, here to meet his sword.

 

Jin Ling pushed down the fear, the shaking of his fingers. He had to.

 

The steel of his sword sang as he unsheathed it, flicking into the air before him and held fast. Its tip did not shift, steady as a rock in his hand.

 

He had learned to bear the weight of his legacy.

 

With a push of spiritual energy, he leapt up, landing behind the corpse with a punch of noise. His sword flickered forward to cut flesh, slicing the corpse in two. The monster fell to the ground, torso sliding free of a shorn waist to collapse on the ground in a pile of white bone and reddish-brown gore.

 

There was so much blood.

 

Jin Ling felt his hands begin to shake, muscles trembling and the stink of blood creeping into his nose. The thing was dead, slain by divine steel, but all he could see was the red stains across the grass.

 

He had never seen so much blood before.

 

A rustling made him turn, but he was too late, arms still caught in shock, stomach still roiling. The corpse behind him— when had that come, why hadn’t he seen it, how could he have not seen it?— lunged, mouth open in hunger.

 

Its teeth flashed white in the light of the forest, and Jin Ling saw only death.  

 

Would he die here, alone and foolish? Would he make his uncle call him failure yet again?

 

Shaking hands pulled at his sword, but the steel moved too slow, he moved too slow. There was nothing he could do.

 

He braced himself for pain.

 

But it never came. A torrent of shadows roared to life before him, majestic and dark as a moonless night. They caught on the branches overhead, swirling around the green grass as ink and leaving it only black.

 

The ghost of Lotus Pier stood before him, gleaming light shining from red eyes and bathing the forest in crimson. A long hand curled around the neck of the restless corpse with the bone-white teeth and held it still, powerful and unstoppable. In the silence, the corpse screamed, struggling, but its motions grew weaker and weaker.

 

In turn, the shadows grew darker and darker, curling around the corpse to absorb all the hostile energy streaming from it.

 

After a breath, ten heartbeats and four terrible screams, the corpse dissolved to mist and blew away, caught on the wind.

 

Trembling, Jin Ling sunk to his knees, fine robes soaking up the blood below him and stained red with victory and red with shame.

 

The ghost that painted stories into the air, the ghost that kept him company on lonely nights, the ghost that messed up his hair and hugged him tight through his tears—

 

It was deadly.

 

He shook on the ground, fingers clasped around his blade.

 

Like a whirlwind of shadow, the ghost turned towards him. For the first time in four years, Jin Ling could see its face, shadows coalescing into handsome features and pale skin.

 

Malicious energy was trembling off the ghost, but it had never looked more human.

 

It took a step towards him, long hand extended. Reactive and trembling, he lifted the edge of his sword, held the divine steel in the air.

 

Oh how it shook.

 

“Don’t-don’t come any closer!”

 

The hand stopped, and an expression like betrayal crossed the ghost’s face, flickering over peerless skin.

 

He looked hurt.

 

Jin Ling shook and shook and shook some more, sword dipping like it was tied down. That hand had brushed his tears away and given him praise and helped him stand tall.

 

He couldn’t bring his blade up again, couldn’t point divine steel at the heart of the shadows. He couldn’t.

 

“A-ling.” The name echoed around him, deep and resonant, twirling from the shadows to paint its way into the air.

 

Jin Ling’s eyes went wide with shock and wider with awe, and for a moment he forgot the blood staining his golden robes.

 

“You can talk?”

 

For a moment, there was silence, born on a hummingbird’s wings and the tension floating between them.

 

Jin Ling colored, face growing crimson with his outburst, but the ghost-who-was-a-man just threw back his head and laughed.

 

The sound echoed out like the chiming of bells, deep and lustrous with mirth.

 

“I can. How kind of you to notice!” A smile burst over his face and Jin Ling found himself smiling back, the familiar crinkle of red eyes sparking a happiness in his cheeks.

 

He had never seen that smile before, but he had seen it a thousand times in those eyes and the curve of shadows.

 

“What, did you imagine a voice for me? Am I not gruff enough?” The ghost drew together his brows, puffed out his chest. In a deeper voice he spoke, the words playfully menacing, “Oh, the big bad ghost, come to steal your children.”

 

It was a ridiculous look on a creature made of shadow, and Jin Ling couldn’t help the laugh that tore out of him.

 

The ghost’s face broke into a smile, dazzling as the sun and inviting joy in return. “See? Wouldn’t have suited my fine features.”

 

“But you were.” Jin Ling stopped, took a breath. His knees were stained red with blood and he didn’t know what stood before him. There was a corpse at his feet and another behind the man who was not a man.  This was not normal. “Aren’t you a ghost?”

 

Shadow surged around them as shadows crossed the ghost’s face. A terrible sadness crept over his eyes, and suddenly Jin Ling regretted the question and his haste. 

 

Always, always a failure.

 

“No and yes. I lived. I died. Do I live now?” A shadowed head shook, the ghost pensive. “No. But I am not quite dead either.”

 

Frustration built in his chest, driving him to his feet, driving him to demanding words. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

 

His lonely heart had befriended a ghost, knowing it was a thing eternal and unreal. He hadn’t expected the man to come to life, to talk.

 

A scowl broke across the man’s face, relentless as a storm. “You’ll have to suffer through without understanding. I cannot explain it more.”

 

He stepped forward, trembling, his hands were trembling. “But you have to know more!”

 

“Stop.” The word was short and ruthless, echoing with a general’s command. Jin Ling felt shame crawl across his neck, make his fists clench.

 

His swordtip was on the ground and he had proven himself failure yet again.  

 

“How can I?” How could he stop, when his only friend was a ghost? How could he stop when the kindest hand he had ever known had sucked resentful energy out of the air like it was plucking lotus seeds from their shell?

 

How could he stop?

 

The harsh lines of the ghosts’ face gentled, moving to sympathy. He took a step forward, and when Jin Ling didn’t shy away he placed gentle hands on his shoulders and sunk to his knees.

 

The red couldn’t stain the shadow robes he wore, and he looked so much more than human.

 

“I’m still here, A-ling.”

 

“But what if you won’t be?” The words ripped from his chest before he could stop their shame, their anger. Tears were building at his eyes again, but he was far too old to cry.

 

The man broke into a smile that made him feel peace. One hand lifted off Jin Ling to pull the divine sword from the ground. “I have no right to touch this, A-ling. But I swear on your father’s sword and the debt I owe him that I will not leave you.”

 

His eyes were serious as the dawn, as the red staining Jin Ling’s fine robes. “I will be here for as long as you need me.”

 

Jin Ling wanted to question, wanted to ask for his oath and his reasons.

 

What ghost owed a dead man a debt of blood?

 

But he did none of these things. Desperate fingers clenched at his side, and oh how the tears burned his eyes.

 

In a voice quiet and vulnerable, barely above a whisper and just as fragile, Jin Ling spoke. “You swear?”

 

A smile, as ever, was his answer. “I swear.”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

The ghost kept his promise.

 

For three long years, Jin Ling returned to the lonely stretch of the pier at night and met a man made of shadows.

 

But it wasn’t lonely anymore, not with five years friendship and the laughter that broke the air into happiness. The water would ebb and sway around their conversation, across the smiles they shared. For the first time, he felt confidence grow in his bones, make his back straight and gaze firm.

 

He had a friend here, a friend who understood him. No, the man was more than a friend.

 

He was a mentor, brilliant as the moon for all his shadow.

 

Jiang Cheng had never raised his voice in praise, and Jin Ling had no father to teach him the sword, no mother to sooth his bruises. But the ghost with the sad eyes and bright laughter was a master swordsman, patient and guiding Jin Ling to excellence.

 

After long hours of practice, with sweat dripping down his face and exhaustion pulling at his arms, Jin Ling would raise his sword again.

 

The ghost would smile, pride clear on his face. “Good job!”

 

And that was all Jin Ling had ever needed to hear.

 

For three years they carried on like this, Jin Ling learning by leaps and bounds at the hand of a careful teacher.

 

Each time, he asked the ghost for his name, and each time the man smiled like a thousand tragedies lined his bones.

 

“I can’t tell you,” he would say, voice tight with a tension Jin Ling couldn’t understand.

 

Laoshi, Jin Ling called him, the title slipping from his lips without his control. Stubborn and relentless, he did not back it down, staring at his only friend with as much steel as he could muster.

 

But his teacher only laughed, delight bright in red eyes.

 

Chapter 2: The Petals Shine So

Notes:

I'm sorry about this ending, I really am. Also, I will answer comments after posting things today, so if I haven't gotten to yours yet expect a response sooooon. :D

Remember, eventually happy ending. Just chant that to yourselves and come scream at me on twitter.

The air curled across his skin like an old friend, teased the banners flying high overhead and sent them streaming across the sky. Here, the purple lotus of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, lovely as the moon on a cloudy day. There, the white peony of first snowfall, painted by the careful hand of the Lanling Jin Sect.

 

Countless others crossed the skies, and countless others bore the pride of the clan that had carrier their banners here.

 

It was the yearly meeting of the Clans, and cultivators from far and wide journeyed to Koi Tower for four days of festivals and battles of skill. Jin Ling had attended them since he was young, brought forward at by one or both of his uncle’s.

 

The glory of a Young Master, doomed to watch the battles for years beyond memory and long before he could raise his father’s sword.

 

But now, now he could fight. Now he could prove himself.It was a day for tests and broken boundaries, and Jin Ling refused to disappoint. Tension had curled over his bones and left him brittle, but he stepped forward anyway, nerves pressed to the side. He took a breath, meditative and restless and beyond hope.

 

This moment was what he had trained for, what he had poured his whole self into. This was where he proved himself worthy of his father’s gleaming sword.

 

Here, before the clans and his uncle, he would not be called failure.

 

He took a breath, and another and another. The fabric of his robes brushed over his skin, and he remembered them stained red with blood. He remembered Laoshi, kneeing before him with shadows for a smile and kindness in his eyes.

 

The shaking in his bones calmed, and he was ready.

 

His opponent— a boy from the Lan clan, well trained and disciplined as a monk, with a face boring and calm as snow— rose to face him.

 

Jin Ling took a final breath, and raised his sword.

 

Their match was short and endlessly brutal. With ten years training at the hands of his uncle and six before the dedicated smile of Laoshi, Jin Ling had been turned into a force to be reckoned with. He had power in his arms, skill honed into the fibers of his muscles, and determination drilled into his marrow.

 

In six quick moves and one leaping twist— Laoshi’s favorite, a jump that turned into a spinning kick that was never expected— Jin Ling had disarmed his enemy.

 

For a moment, there was the stunned ring of silence. The unexpected and untried had won with such speed. Then murmurs mixed with polite clapping behind him, the sound of a civilized celebration of his victory. The claps turned into a roar, and he felt a swell of happiness.

 

The smile that grew on his face was unstoppable as the sunrise. He had done it.

 

Arms shaking with the aftermath of tension, Jin Ling looked at his opponent. The Lan disciple was laying on the ground and blinking up at him, face blank and clearly breathless.

 

It was a position of utter defeat and confusion. Jin Ling didn’t know what to do.

 

Laoshi would have rushed over to help the disciple up with teasing words and kind hands. Uncle would have left without a backwards glance. The defeated were of no use to him.

 

Jin Ling had never wanted to let his teacher down.

 

Imperious, he stepped forward, thrusting his hand out and looking away. The air teased around his bare fingers, brushing over his callouses and making his robe flutter like a living thing. He fought the flush crawling over his face, the shame and worry clogging his veins.

 

He had never offered to help an opponent before. What was the point? He was Young Master of two clans, wearer of two high banners. He had never lowered himself before, and why should he now?

 

But it seemed right.

 

For a beat, there was only silence, the Lan disciple blinking up at him with blue eyes peerless as the ocean. The white of his robes gleamed across the ground, shimmering like carved ivory and sweet dreams.

 

But he didn’t move.

 

Was… was the boy ignoring him? Jin Ling spoke quickly, fast and demanding as a sharp blade. The humiliation was crawling across his neck again, and now he couldn’t stop it. “Well? Are you going to take my hand or not?”

 

There was a blink, a beat, and then the clouds broke across the disciple’s face, leaving him with a smile. “Of course, Young Master Jin.”

 

The disciple’s voice was endlessly polite, the touch of his hand cool and calloused. Jin Ling pulled him to his feet in a single motion, felt his arm strain a touch at the weight. The Lan disciples looked delicate as flower petals, but that weight spoke of hidden steel.

 

Belatedly, it occurred to Jin Ling he didn’t even know his opponent’s name. The flush grew up his face, mixing with a new wave of embarrassment.

 

He couldn’t ask now.

 

“A-ling.” The words were in a dangerous tone, the sound of his uncle’s anger familiar as the warmth of the sun. Jin Ling felt his heart sink, dragging at his bones and making his arms heavy.

 

He had thought at last he would have earned praise, a voice of pride or happiness.

 

He should have known.

 

The Lan disciple bowed away, leaving on quick feet and endless grace.  Jin Ling wished he could go with him, wished he could float away like a cloud and leave.

 

He was never enough.

 

With all the courage he could muster, Jin Ling turned to face his uncle with a bow.

 

The Sect Leader’s face was still as stone, but something indescribable lurked in his eyes. Was it disappointment, curving on Jiang Cheng’s lips and making their shape a frown? Or was it apathy? Did he even care if Jin Ling was victorious as long as he didn’t bring shame?

 

Jin Ling did not know.

 

Bitterness crept up his bones, and while he knew it wasn’t fair, the uncharitable thoughts swirled in his gut, relentless. He wished his uncle would offer him a single kind word, but he knew it wasn’t his way.

 

“Uncle,” he said, the word respectful as he could make it. All his training felt useless as driftwood, and he was left too long in the water to know the difference. He was angry.

 

“Where did you learn that move, A-ling?” The words were demanding, cutting to the quick and unstopping. Uncle’s eyes glimmered in the sunlight like cut gems, harsh and unforgiving.

 

He offered no congratulations.

 

Jin Ling felt tension crawl up his spine, make him stiff and resentful. He couldn’t sell his teacher out, not even at the command of his uncle.

 

For six long years Laoshi had kept him company and been his only friend, had offered him kind smiles and teasing laughs. Jin Ling could not betray that. He curled his hands at his sides, twisted them in the rich silks and brocade flowers. The ground beneath his feet was not stained in blood but in victory, and Jin Ling could not speak against that.

 

“I taught myself, Uncle.” Lies, lies, lies, but worthy ones.

 

Sharp eyes narrowed all the more, that temper catching and growing into a wildfire. Jiang Cheng’s hand went bone-white and taut, purple lightning catching over his fingers.

 

But no blow came, and no punishment.

 

“We are going back to Lotus Pier.” He said, with the finality of a decision long made. The sun shone in his hair but did not ease his fury, and Jin Ling looked away with clenched fists and a tight jaw.

 

The festivities and meeting of the cultivators was to go on for another two days.

 

Jin Ling shuddered, quiet and pale and angry. How had his victory won him only regret? Uncle was supposed to be pleased.

 

“But Uncle—”

 

Hard words cut him off. “No, A-ling. You and I will return, and the rest of the clan will stay.”

 

And so it was.

 

 

 

 

The air around Lotus Pier was tense with unspoken thoughts and a fury Jin Ling couldn’t understand. His uncle hadn’t spoken a word to him the entire journey home, lips sealed into disapproval and a scowl fixed on his face like it had been cut in.

 

Jin Ling hated it. He had won, he had brought honor to his clan, to his uncle, and yet—

 

And yet he was still a failure.

 

He had stayed away from his Uncle’s fury for two days, sticking to the outskirts of the compound and hiding his hurt away like he always tried to.

 

It never worked— Jin Ling was cursed with a flurry of never-ending emotion and little control, passionate as the sun. He couldn’t stop the pain that flashed over his face, the shame curving his shoulders forward.

 

He knew his Uncle noticed. The Sect Leader was sharp eyed and observant as a fox, lethal as a viper. He had to know. But he said nothing, an eerie quiet clinging to him since the sword match.

 

So Jin Ling hid and stewed, let bitter emotion clog his veins. What did it matter, after all? All that he did was fail.

 

On the third night it all became too much, and as tears collected across his eyes he rushed to that lonely pier, legs moving without thought.

 

If he was to cry, he wanted a father’s hand to hold him.

 

His feet fell hard on the worn wood, fell into the familiar grooves of the planks. They shifted beneath his weight but did not creak, tamed by polishing hands and gentle care.

 

The water swirling around him was clear and beautiful, moonlight casting shadows with the curve of lotus petals. Jin Ling took quick steps through the beauty, quick steps through time.

 

Frustration bubbled up, but he could not cry, not yet.

 

As he took the final step forward, foot landing on precisely the second to last plank, the shadows across the water coalesced, pulled out of the darkness like ink floating into life.

 

Under the light of the moon, they became a man.

 

Laoshi smiled, red eyes kind, and Jin Ling had never felt such relief. He took the last step forward, flinging himself into the arms of his teacher without a thought for shame.

 

Tears ran freely down his cheeks, and sobs shook his shoulders, but he didn’t care. How could he, when Laoshi held him up and made him feel safe? How could he, when strong arms curled around his back like shield and sanctum?

 

Here, Jin Ling could cry as freely as he wanted without fear of judgment. Here, he was a failure and it was okay.

 

“Hey hey, why the sad face? Did you lose the match? You’ll just have to work harder—”

 

Jin Ling shook his head into the robes before him, shadows curving out to blot at his face. They felt cool as the wind, light a summer’s breeze, and though resentful energy clung to the edges Jin Ling didn’t flinch back.

 

“I won.” The words were whispered into the chest in front of him, broken and small from tears and hiccupping sobs.

 

Laoshi heard them anyway. His hands tightened across Jin Ling’s shoulders for a moment, a heartbeat, and then gentled.

 

“It was your uncle again, huh?” The words began soft and ended harsh and furious. “I’m going to kick his ass.”

 

Jin Ling shook his head, shook his shoulders. The tears were slowing now, settling into exhaustion. He felt drained,weak with the emotions bubbling out of his skin.

 

A gentle hand curled over his hair, twirled the length of his ponytail playfully. “Come now, A-ling! Congratulations are in order! You fought well, and I’m so proud of you.”

 

The words echoed through his bones, echoed through the trained strength in his arms and the weakness in his heart.

 

Proud, Laoshi was proudof him. Here, on the end of this place that had once been a lonely pier, Jin Ling was no failure.

 

The smile that broke across his face was unstoppable, growing from the word proudand watered to blooming by the teasing laughter of Laoshi’s voice.

 

Crack. 

 

A crackle of lightning echoed through the night, fast and furious as a storm. Jin Ling felt his heart sink, felt terror creep into his bones. He knew that sound, had heard it a thousand times, had seen Zidian’s wrath spark the air to life. 

 

His uncle was here, and Jin Ling knew him to be furious. He shifted, twisting out of Laoshi’s arms. He had to stop his uncle, couldn’t let this happen.

 

Cra— ack.

 

He was too slow, couldn’t pull his sword in time. The edge of Zidian snapped above Jin Ling’s head, whipping into the space where Laoshi’s face had been.

 

But the shadows had long since reacted, faster than a weapon could ever be.

 

In a move quick and graceful, Laoshi danced away to float above the water, feet light but red eyes flashing with blackened coals. The swirl of his robes spread out around him, shadows blanketing the lotus and curling out across the lake.

 

He looked like death, like a beautiful and terrible specter of the night come to reign terror on the land. He looked like Jin Ling’s Laoshi, the teacher who laughed and teased, who’s hands were so warm. 

 

For the first time in years, those red eyes looked sad.

 

“You.” 

 

Never had Jin Ling heard his uncle speak with more fury, with more hatred. The Sect Leader’s face was beyond description, trembling into the darkest parts of emotion and pulling out only rage. Jin Ling saw that face and shuddered, divine sword at his waist but fear crawling up his spine. He felt like an ant caught between titans, small and defenseless in the face of their skill.

 

He hoped he wouldn’t be crushed.

 

His uncle spoke again, in that terrible voice. “I saw that move, and knew it had to be you. Only you were ever so dramatic.”

 

“Jiang Cheng.” Laoshi’s voice caught, painful in the silence. Wind moved the surface of the water, but he did not shift, shadows keeping him steady as a reed in a storm. Jin Ling had never seen Laoshi at a loss for words before, and he did not like the sight.

 

He used Uncle’s name.

 

“What? Do you have nothing to say? Nothing to say to me?” Jiang Cheng laughed, the sound ugly and broken as a shattered sword. “You’ve always been a fool.”

 

Jin Ling looked to Laoshi, looked to him to speak, to use his clever tongue to defend himself.  But the ghost just clenched his jaw, red eyes heavy with a sadness breaking into the darkness around him.

 

His Laoshi was not defending himself, but it didn’t matter— Jin Ling would. Heart thundering in his chest, he leapt forward, shifting to stand before the ghost on the water. It took everything in him to stare down the glare of his uncle, to gaze into the anger there and not run.

 

But for the last five years Laoshi had been Jin Ling’s support and shield from the world, given him comfort and friendship in equal measure. Jin Ling hardened his spine and spoke quickly. “No, Uncle, stop, you can’t hurt him.”

 

The Sect Leader’s face burned into him, incredulous and dark as the shadows around them. “You defend him. You?”

 

Jin Ling heard the bitterness in his voice and felt dread curl up his spine. But he didn’t back down, couldn’t, not for Laoshi.

 

He poured his soul into his words, poured all the confidence he had grown at his teacher’s hands. He poured it all in and hoped it would be enough to make Unclesee.

 

“He has been teaching me, Uncle, the sword and cultivation. For years, I have come to this pier and he hasn’t ever hurt me. He may be a ghost, but he saved me from resentful corpses!”

 

He taught me to pick lotus seeds, and the sound a dragonfly makes across the water. He taught me what a father’s hand feels like, what pride sounds like.

 

He taught me more than you ever did, uncle.

 

“I would be dead, Uncle, without him!” His breath was heaving as he finished, the words ripped out of him and desperate.

 

In the silence that followed, the shadows stilled, and the water went quiet. Jin Ling looked into his Uncle’s eyes and saw only pain.

 

What?

 

A cruel laugh broke the air, somehow all the angrier. “You don’t know who he is, do you? You coward, you probably never said a word, content to leach into his life like this.”

 

“Don’t do this, Jiang Cheng.” There was a note of pleading in Laoshi’s voice, desperate and trembling. The shadows around him moved like a storm, shaking across the clear stretch of the lake.

 

Dread, Jin Ling felt only dread.

 

“But this isn’t a surprise, is it? You couldn’t speak to him like you couldn’t speak to me, couldn’t face me after what you had done. You’ve always been a coward, Wei Ying.”

 

The name echoed out over the water and brought silence. It echoed into Jin Ling’s bones and brought betrayal.

 

Wei Ying, the fabled Yiling Patriarch, the man who had destroyed the world and made the cultivation sects quake before him. The man reviled above all others, doomed to an early death for his crimes.

 

The man who had killed Jin Ling’s parents.

 

And somehow, the man who had grown into the only parent Jin Ling had ever known. He turned, turned towards the shadows, turned to face Laoshi. The ghost’s eyes were a glimmering crimson, sad and bottomless as the greatest well.

 

“Is it…” He stopped, took a breath, felt the pier beneath his life shake to pieces. The only man he had ever made proud, the only kind hand he had felt—

 

It couldn’t be.

 

“Is it true?”

 

The look across Laoshi’s face was all the answer he needed. Jin Ling felt bitter betrayal crawl over his bones, quake into his skin, and oh how his hands shook.

 

He should have reached for his sword, should have taken his revenge. It was what his uncle would have done, without a second’s hesitation and with a serpent’s speed.

 

Jin Ling didn’t know for sure, but he thought his father would have done the same, a noble warrior to the very end.

 

But he was neither of them, had his mother’s gentle heart. He turned and fled past his uncle, past the hatred in the air, past the beating of his heart and out of the lonely pier.

 

He couldn’t outrun the betrayal.

 

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

Wei Wuxian watched Jin Ling run and could do nothing. In a chest made of shadows, a heart he didn’t have was breaking. But he deserved this pain, every ounce and so much more.

 

Six years ago, he had been barely conscious, a vague thought and form haunting this pier and moving through time like it was air. The days blurred together, and his self was washed into oblivion, lost to the shadows over his skin and the bitter loss coating his hands.

 

He had not been Wei Wuxian until Jin Ling came.

 

Even broken and scattered to shadow and the dark corners of the night, something in him had recognized the boy. Perhaps it was the proud curve of his back, so like how Jiang Cheng carried himself, all bitter ego and endless resolve. Perhaps it was the glimmer in those wide eyes, loving and innocent and weak with emotion.

 

Those were his mother’s eyes, and Wei Wuxian would not forget them for as long as he breathed, be it alive or dead.

 

Or perhaps it was his father’s sword, strapped to his waist like a mark of honor and shame.  

 

The broken shards of Wei Wuxian recognized Jin Ling, the boy he had never held but helped name, and so it sought only to protect.

 

For two years, he faded in and out of strength, waxing and waning with the setting of the sun and the shifting pattern of the months. But ever had Wei Wuxian been made to do the impossible, and as time passed, he clawed himself back into being.

 

He painted clever shadows in the air for Jin Ling’s delight, and each smile helped him glue together the shards of his soul a little more firmly. After he had stripped the family from this boy, he would do anything to earn that smile.

 

And then a corpse had dared to attack his nephew, and all the scraps of his soul had coalesced with one terrible purpose: destroy.

 

So he had. With the skill of demonic cultivation and all his terrible genius, Wei Wuxian had curled his fingers into the resentful energy there and devoured it, pulled it into himself and made his soul whole.

 

That was the first time in ten years that he had been truly aware. It was only fitting that the first name to come to his mind and lips was A-ling.

 

From that day on he had only sought to protect his nephew.

 

If he died by Jiang Cheng’s sword today, Wei Wuxian would have lived that promise as well as he could.

 

His sworn brother stood before him, lightning cast in fury around him like fine robes and terrible purpose.

 

Jiang Cheng had always been a creature of anger, letting it spark in his blood and across his face. But now he wore it as armor. Wei Wuxian had known this for every minute of his life, but he had never felt it like now.

 

With heavy heart, he stepped onto the pier, shadows collecting around his ankles like blackened clouds.

 

“It’s not A-ling’s fault.” He said, weary and desperate to take the blame. He could not let A-ling pay for his crimes, not again.

 

He’d already lost a father to Wei Wuxian’s folly. He shouldn’t lose an uncle too.

 

The words just made Jiang Cheng snarl, face going dark and savage. “Don’t call him that, you don’t have the right.”

 

Wei Wuxian felt outrage course up his skin, and the shadows twirled around him, restless.

 

“I don’t have the right? Look to yourself, Jiang Cheng— the kid was so lonely he sought out a ghost for comfort. You should have been there!” He couldn’t help the words— something in Jiang Cheng made him fight back, made him lash out.

 

They had always spoken best through their swords.

 

Whipcord quick and furious, the man responded. “He’s lonely because his parents are dead!”

 

Wei Wuxian froze, ice crawling up his veins and leaving him brittle. He had never forgotten this, not for a moment.

 

But still the words hurt.

 

“You dared to return. You could never do anything by halves, always had to attempt the impossible.” Jiang Cheng continued into the silence, relentless as a storm cloud. The water shifted around them, and oh how the shadows of the lotus petals spread like a benediction and sacrifice. 

 

Wei Wuxian found them lovely beyond measure. Years and lifetimes ago, he had made a habit of plucking them from the lake to give to Shijie.

 

She had always looked radiant with flowers decorating her hair.

 

They gave him not rest now.

 

“It’s what I was taught. You used to do the same.” He was so tired, the betrayal on Jin Ling’s face carving wounds into his ghostly skin.

 

He had lived and died and now he was a ghost on broken water.

 

“You dare.” Jiang Cheng’s face shook with rage, as Wei Wuxian had known it would. Ever had they squabbled like children— with the water beneath them and the past close to the surface, how could they not fight now?

 

In a smooth motion, Jiang Cheng raised his hand, snapped a crackle of electricity through the air. It rent the silence in two, but Wei Wuxian just stood his ground, red eyes sad and regret lining his bones.

 

He deserved this rage.

 

The shadows of the lotus petals danced so beautifully, he thought, as Zidian carved through his stomach.

 

What lovely shadows were these, to kiss the water so.

Chapter 3: Lightning on Water

Notes:

See look, here is me making the last chapter better (but its still gonna hurt a little). Enjoy!

He did not expect to feel pain.  Zidian was made from the hair of a god, and it would send spirits to peace with a single devastating hit.

 

Here and now, Wei Wuxian was but a spirit, and Zidian should have sent him careening out of what he was possessing, out of this world and into the cycle of death.

 

He should have just been gone.

 

Instead, he screamed. Lightning wracked his body, trembling across the shadows lining his skin and making him shudder and shake. He fell to his knees there, panted on the pier and knew only pain.

 

It took him a moment to realize there was a second set of screams mirroring his.

 

As quickly as it begun it ended, Zidian sealing itself with a crackling bang.  Wei Wuxian dragged himself up, pushed past the pain that he shouldn’t have felt.

 

He had once taken a blade to the stomach and laughed, fighting with blood flooding out of him. He would not let this bring him down, not with Jiang Cheng’s voice panting with pain beside him.

 

His sworn brother, his once leader, his enemy could not be allowed to scream so. Jiang Cheng was on the ground, one hand braced against the smooth wood of the pier. His teeth were barred, breath coming quickly and shallow.

 

He looked like fury given form, but unease lingered in his eyes.

 

“What did you do?”

 

Wei Wuxian almost sighed, would have if it wouldn’t have shaken him to pieces. The shadows danced over his skin, brushing away the marks of Zidian’s lightning like they had never been, ghostly body hardening into uninjured skin.

 

Of course, Jiang Cheng thought this was his doing.

 

“I haven’t done a damn thing. Look at Zidian— it sealed itself. No matter how great my skill, I can’t interfere with who that whip chooses as master.”

 

His words were sound, logical and frustrated. Jiang Cheng shoved himself to his feet, pulled his sword free and sent it glimmering forward.

 

This time, Wei Wuxian did not stand still to take the blow. He twirled away, shadows carrying him high and fast, collecting beneath his feet like a stormcloud.

 

If hurting him hurt Jiang Cheng, he could not let the blows land.

 

“Are you a fool? If you hit me, you are going to just injure yourself again!”

 

Jiang Cheng snarled, fury and the deep pain of betrayal clear. “Then so be it.”

 

He stabbed forward again, sword fast as a river-fish. Again, the shadows danced away. Wei Wuxian snarled, angry for Jiang Cheng’s stupidity. Did the man only think with his rage?

“Are you going to let the clan go without a leader again? Are you going to leave A-ling without an uncle too?”

 

A lightning strike in motion, Jiang Cheng froze, the muscles of his jaw clenching into tension. After a fraught moment, after the fury in his eyes broke into frustration, the man lowered his sword.

 

For a moment, there was only silence and heavy thoughts, the broken trust between brothers hanging around them.

 

The shadows carried Wei Wuxian down to the pier, set him onto the smooth wood and spread out to curl into the eddies of the water.

 

He did not approach Jiang Cheng, but his mind was whirling.

 

Zidian could erase spirits from being, wipe them from their host and shred them. No matter his skill, Wei Wuxian could not have stopped that fate.

 

Whatever held him here had to be his, and his alone. And hurting Wei Wuxian damaged Jiang Cheng, made him feel the same soul-ripping pain.

 

There was only one thing it could be. Red eyes fixed on the center of Jiang Cheng’s chest, seeming to bore through bone to see the golden core spinning inside.

 

It was a lovely thing, brilliant and large as a fist, growing as it always did— unstoppably.

 

It was Wei Wuxian’s core.

 

The shadows caught on his ankles, curled around him gentle and comforting. He leaned into the touch, leaned into the resentful energy that came to his call like a loyal beast.

 

He could never tell Jiang Cheng, but god did he not know what to say. 

 

Slowly, Jiang Cheng pulled himself together, rage still shining in his eyes but a resigned twist to his mouth. They stood like that, two brothers on a lonely pier, two brothers made enemies who could not raise a hand against each other.

 

Finally, like the words were ripped from his throat, Jiang Cheng spoke. “Whatever holds you here, I will find and destroy it. And then I’ll rip your spirit to shreds and make sure you never see the light again.”

 

He took a breath, and Wei Wuxian felt each of those words hit his ghostly heart and leave a scar.

 

“Do not approach Jin Ling again. If I see you, I’ll—” The words were vicious as poison, but he couldn’t voice the threat.

 

They both knew the man could not follow through.

 

With that, Jiang Cheng turned and left, back straight and fury crackling like thunder. Wei Wuxian watched him go and felt the shadows curl across his back and settle into a thick robe, woven from stars and hostility.

 

As night ended, he stood on that lonely pier, and thought of a thousand regrets, eyes fixed on the lotus petals shimmering in the water.

 

How lovely they looked.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

For three long days, Jin Ling stayed away from the pier. As each sunset approached, the darkness crawling across the sky like the fingers of a beast, he turned to the water and stared out.

 

But he did not walk over the wooden planks of that lonely path. It was too much to bear, the emotions swirling in his chest. His teacher, his betrayer, his truest friend— how could Jin Ling see him now, with all this weight on his heart?

 

The polished wood of the main complex kept him safe, kept him lonely, and there he stayed. And he wasn’t the only one; Uncle hadn’t spoken in days, storming from room to room with an expression too terrible to bear. The entirety of Lotus Pier trembled before his mood, and every door swung open with care and hushed words.

 

The Sect Leader was angry, but only one soul knew why. Jin Ling saw the rage, saw the fury, and asked only one question.

 

“Did you banish him?”

 

His uncle did not answer, and that was answer enough. 

 

Jin Ling clenched a fist around his father’s sword, the divine steel heavy in his hand. He had trained for countless days, in the heat and sun and through the summer rains. He had trained to keep a clear mind and relentless blade, but now his mind gave him no rest.

 

Each swing of his sword whispered of delighted laughter, each block with a father’s praise. He remembered kind hands and a teasing smile, and the knuckles on his hilt went bone-white with strain.

 

Jin Ling had hated Wei Wuxian with every ounce of his eternal spirit, but he had loved his Laoshi.

 

On the third day, his father’s sword fell from exhausted hands, fingers trembling with over-training. On the third day, he knew he needed to ask why.

 

Why did you kill them? Why did you train me? Why were you so kind?

 

In the wake of his uncle’s anger, it was easy to slip away, to move through the night and towards the lonely pier. He took hesitant steps onto the polished wood, felt it shift below him.

 

The moon was full and the shadows were strong, and oh how he wanted answers. And he would demand them of the man standing at the far end of the pier, face turned towards the sky like it held a thousand secrets.

 

Red eyes opened as Jin Ling approached, flashing through emotions as quickly as the North wind. He couldn’t name what he saw there.

 

The resentful energy of Wei Wuxian glimmered in the light of high-night, shadows bleeding red onto the water. Lin Jing saw it stain the lotus petals and remembered the crimson that had marked his fine robes, three years and a lifetime ago.

 

He had been afraid then too.

 

The smile of his Laoshi greeted him, sad as a new dawn.

 

“I—” He stopped, took a breath, felt it tremble and quake. Tears collected at his eyes but he did not let them fall. “Why did you do it?”

 

He meant a thousand things, a hundred moments, every action in the world.

 

As he always did, Laoshi seemed to understand. “I failed. I made countless mistakes, and each one brought on their deaths. And mine. I have no excuses, A-ling.”

 

The words shattered in the air like ice, unstoppable and cold as winter. Jin Ling heard the confirmation there, heard the acceptance.

 

His greatest teacher was his greatest enemy, but he needed to know more than this, needed to understand how these figures fit together.

 

“Why?” His voice was desperate and trembling, furious and demanding and hurt.

 

The man named Wei Wuxian laughed, the sound bitter in the silence and dancing through the shadows.

 

“Do you want to hear the story, A-ling?”

 

All he could do was nod, lest the tears begin to fall.

 

“When I was four, I was taken in by Jiang Fengmian…”

 

Jin Ling left the pier with all his questions answered and a terrible understanding quaking in his bones. 

 

Wei Wuxian was a demon, he had been told all his life, hatred growing like a weed in his heart.

 

I killed your parents with my mistakes, Wei Wuxian had said, sorrow painting his face black.

 

But Jin Ling had heard more than this. He had heard a life of tragedy and bloodshed, of achieving the impossible and reaching for the heavens.

 

He had heard loss and regret and foolish mistakes. He had heard the voice of a man who cared too much and stood before the weak.

 

Jin Ling had heard his Laoshi.

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

The next day Jin Ling took his sword to that lonely pier and sat there, dangling his feet off the edge. Wei Laoshi didn’t appear, the harsh light of the sun too strong for even a ghost of his caliber, but Jin Ling paid it no mind.

 

He brought fine brushes and scrolls with him, and there he sat, practicing calligraphy until the night rolled in like thunder.

 

Laoshi trembled to being like a god, emerging out of shadow and water to walk dancing steps onto the pier. For a moment he paused, caught in candlelight like he hadn’t expected Jin Ling to come.

 

The lack of faith stung but Jin Ling could understand. He almost hadn’t, before he realized he cared more for a teacher than dead parents and the cruel twists of faith. “What took you so long, Laoshi? I’ve been here for hours.”

 

Red eyes look down at the pile of scrolls laid out, at the gentle swaying fire of two long candles, at Jin Ling settled into the middle of the chaos with a brush caught in his mouth.

 

Wei Laoshi laughed like the first bloom of summer. “So disciplined, copying scrolls! When I was your age, I couldn’t be caught dead at work like this.”

 

He folded his legs beneath him, collapsing into a sloppy lotus pose straight from an instructor’s nightmare, all disorderly robes and lazy posture. Shadows curled around him like he was the stars in the night sky, the center of a swirl of black.

 

He looked ridiculous, and Jin Ling snorted.

 

“Laoshi, you wouldn’t be caught dead doing this now.”

 

The man threw back his head and laughed, joyous. Jin Ling felt an answering smile crawl over his face.

 

“You aren’t wrong! I avoided paperwork at all costs, always. Drove Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng mad.”

 

Jin Ling felt a flutter of interest at the esteemed names. Laoshi had lived with these cultivators, grown strong with them and fought by their side. He had fought against them, too.

 

Had he known father, too?

 

Jin Ling ruthlessly suppressed the thought, though his hands shook across the scroll before him. He inked in another neat line, careful and meticulous strokes of black carving their way across the scroll.

 

It was one thing to hear the story and see Laoshi as a man of flaws and faults. It was another to ask his father’s murderer to tell tales about him.

 

No, not murderer. It was an accident, and he believed that.

 

“What were they like, back then?”

 

Laoshi smiled, tracing idle fingers across the wood of the pier. Shadows crept after his nails like eager dogs come to greet their master. “Jiang Cheng was as much of a hot head as he is now, but half as irritable. He never liked when I got into trouble, but,” a laugh, clever and fond and sad, “there was nothing much he could do about it. Usually he was dragged along!”

 

“Lan Zhan—” Laoshi’s face curled into memories, crinkling red eyes at the corners. “Stuck up and righteous. A great cultivator though, with a fine face, and so easy to tease. The Gusu Lan Sect he is from, it has three thousand laws written on the walls of the Cloud Recesses! I had to live there!”

 

He shuddered, as if the mere thought of discipline was horrific. Jin Ling felt his mouth creep into a smile, even as he tucked the words away. 

 

“It’s four thousand now, and you wouldn’t fare any better. Have you ever been restrained at all?” He asked, tone dry and eager in equal parts.

 

Red eyes glimmering, Wei Laoshi spoke. “Never have I suffered from such a curse.”

 

Jin Ling didn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, caught in the night sky. Two hours later he was shooed away by Laoshi’s shadows, sent to bed like a child.

 

He should have resented the treatment, but all he felt was warmth.

 

The next day he left his rooms prepared to do the same, books of honorable names and techniques gathered in his hands and ready for memorizing.

 

But before he had taken more than a few steps, the fine hairs across his neck stood straight and fearful. The crackle of electricity told him who stood behind him.

 

“I told you not to go to the pier.” The thunderclap of his uncle’s voice was unstoppable. Jin Ling felt his spine go taut, but he whirled to face Jiang Cheng with determination lining his face.

 

“I can’t do that, Uncle.” The words were quiet with disobedience, and he said them through shaking teeth.

 

He had never disregarded a direct command before, not from his uncle. His skin was shaking like a leaf caught in water.

 

But there was no crackle of electricity, Zidian’s purple glow fading away.

 

“He killed your parents.”

 

The tone was harsh, bitter, and Jin Ling flinched from it but did not step down. He may only be a boy of fifteen, but he knew his path and could give his own forgiveness.

 

“And he was one, to me! Uncle, I won’t abandon my teacher. He—” Jin Ling stopped, looked to the floor, mutinous. “He has only ever been kind, and he told me the truth.”

 

The weight of his father’s sword hung heavy at his waist, but he could bear it for eternity. He owed that strength to Laoshi. “I know how my parents died, he told me. And I’ve, I’ve—”

 

Let it go wasn’t right, but it was near enough, close to the forgiveness he was feeling in his bones.

 

For a moment, there was silence, held between them like a knife. Jin Ling felt it tip forward, cut into his skin and leave him trembling with nerves. He chanced a glance up at the Sect Leader and felt his eyes go wide.

 

His uncle looked tired, exhaustion clinging to the lines of his face to mirror the rage. Deep shadows had carved into his face, marking him as harrowed and bitter. For three days the man had been ripping the compound to pieces in search of something. Jin Ling saw the tired curl of his lips but the proud line of his neck and felt his stomach sink.

 

The Sect Leader’s eyes felt like disapproval, but all he had ever wanted was to be called success.

 

“You’ll disobey an order, won’t you.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement, spat out and bitter. He didn’t respond, jaw clenching with strain.

 

Uncle laughed, and the sound was so different from the chiming bells of Laoshi’s that Jin Ling almost flinched.

 

“How does he always inspire such loyalty? Go to your teacher, A-ling. I don’t want to see your face again.”

 

With a swirl of regal purple robes and lips twisted into an expression beyond the range of mere anger, his uncle swept from the room.

 

Jin Ling felt only guilt.

  

For two weeks, Jin Ling saw no trace of his uncle. Each day he dashed to the pier, legs trembling with his betrayal but heart light and happy. Each day Laoshi greeted him with a smile and glimmering red eyes, appearing earlier and earlier until he rose from shadow at the first hint of sunset.

 

But guilt was a powerful force, and though they had fought, Jin Ling loved his uncle dearly. The man may have never shown him traditional love, but he had trained him in the sword for days endless.

 

He had been there, but not gently.

 

On the seventh day, the guilt ate at him until Jin Ling couldn’t bear it. He searched the entire complex for his uncle, from wooden piers to silken rooms. But he found nothing, and the servants averted their eyes at his questions and answered only the Sect Leader has forbidden it.

 

Jin Ling’s mouth tasted of the ash of betrayal. With a heavy heart and a scowl, he turned away from everyone, turned to the company of Laoshi.

 

He didn’t need anyone else, didn’t need any friends. It didn’t matter if the disciples held their tongue around him or if the laughter of the servants stilled at his arrival. It didn’t matter if his uncle didn’t want to see his face.

 

He would be fine.

 

On the fifteenth day, Jin Ling arrived late at the pier to see his uncle standing at the edge of its lonely precipice. The curve of water spread out before him, the royal purple of his robes spread across the fading light of the sun.

 

He looked like a lotus suspended above water, though the flickering glare of his eyes made him look deadly more than delicate.

 

Jin Ling slowed at the sight, steps growing hesitant on the polished wood.

 

His uncle was here again, and Jin Ling didn’t know what to say.

 

But Jiang Cheng just shot him a dark look and didn’t speak. Shadows crossed that face like thunderclouds, again and again, swirling into emotion he couldn’t read.

 

Jin Ling sat down on the pier and held in the sigh of frustration. He had learned not to speak when the Clan Leader held this silence.

 

For long minutes they held vigil there, restlessness catching in Jin Ling’s bones. He wanted to turn to his uncle and demand answers, wanted to spill out endless apologies, wanted to speak up in his teacher’s defense.

 

He wanted so much.

 

And then the shadows crept onto the wood and from darkness stepped Wei Laoshi, long black hair dripping into the water and sending it spinning into whorls.

 

Jin Ling took one look, saw the face haunting his teacher, and scrambled back a few steps. No one could evoke more emotion than family, and no fights were crueler.

 

There was a beat of fraught silence, and then the Sect Leader broke it like a thunderclap.  

 

“It’s me, isn’t it? You are haunting me. You…” His uncle stopped, swallowed his words into a snarl. The dying sun cast shadows across his face, painting it in stark and unforgiving lines.

 

He looked broken.

 

“You lied to me, again and again and again! I tore this palace to pieces in search of your energy and only found it in one place.”

 

An angry hand clenched across purple robes, uncle twisting strained fingers into the fine silk like it had wronged him.

 

Jin Ling felt his heart sink. Somehow, he knew he didn’t want to hear the words that came next.

 

“It was in me the whole time. You were in me the whole time, in this damned golden core.” That bitter laugh came again, echoing and echoing into the sunset and past the horizon. “The only thing keeping your tainted soul on the land is in me.”

 

Jin Ling blinked at the words, eyes going wide in shock. A golden core, the most important thing a cultivator had in their flesh, the key to immortality and success, the only thing that separated their esteemed ranks from the common man. Jin Ling felt his turn in his chest, shimmering power beating to the rhythm of his heart, and felt only horror.

 

Laoshi had given his away.

 

It was beyond understanding. Jin Ling took a breath, but the two were still talking, harsh words pouring into the air.

 

“Jiang Cheng—"

 

“Were you ever going to tell me? Didn’t I have a right to know, Wei Wuxian!” Jin Ling had never heard such a broken cry, and the way it ripped from his uncle’s throat was terrifying beyond measure.

 

“Didn’t I have a right?” was screamed into the silence and shadows, screamed and screamed, and just as Jin Ling thought his ears would burst his uncle fell into a breathless silence.

 

“No, I wasn’t going to tell you.” Laoshi’s face was twisted, lips that so often smiled curved into breaking. “It wasn’t a thing to brag about, Jiang Cheng, and I didn’t want you to think you owed me. I wanted you to live, and that’s what it took.”

 

There was a pause, broken and tearful, and then, “I promised your parents I’d protect you.”

 

Jin Ling had never seen his teacher cry before, and he never wanted to see it again. Tears ran down a ghostly face and glimmered in the dying light of the sun.

 

His uncle stood with shaking shoulders, and Jin Ling couldn’t bring himself to look at that face. He could not see two sets of tears, not now.

 

“The dark path you walked, the insistence on not bringing Suiban. It was this, wasn’t it?”

 

Laoshi nodded, the motion shifting everything around them and moving light into shadow. “I couldn’t use it anymore. Resentful energy was the only path left to me.”

 

“You—” His uncle’s words stopped, broke, and stopped again.

 

Laoshi turned kind eyes on Jin Ling, glimmering red looking so sad. Tear tracks stained the shadows to sparkles, and Jin Ling couldn’t bear that expression, couldn’t bear those tears.

 

Laoshi was the one who comforted him as he cried, who brushed away his tears with laughter.

 

Jin Ling didn’t know how to offer the same in return.

 

“A-ling, run off. Jiang Cheng and I need to talk, and I don’t think you want to hear two old men reminisce.”

 

A crack hardened over his heart, set it rolling into the pit of his stomach. He was grateful for the reprieve, didn’t know how to cope with the situation but—

 

But here he was, being sent away like a petulant child.

 

“Fine, see if I care.” Frustration made his voice sharp, but he turned down the pier fast, fast enough to not see either man’s face.

 

He’d seen enough tears for one day.

Chapter 4: A Smile

Notes:

Bit of a short chapter here, but enjoy! This one won't even make you cry (probably).

On a different note, there have been some IRL issues and so there is a chance next week's chapters of Ghost and Grave will go up late. It could also delay the update on the new fic that will replace Grave in the update schedule so fair warning.

I will try my hardest to make that not happen though!

The sunset faded into the lake with the grace of a dying soldier, light spilled like blood into the water. Wood creaked and dragonflies flew, and secrets were open and raw on that lonely pier.

 

Two men that had once been brothers stood there, caught in a painful silence. They didn’t speak, not really. There was too much tension between them for words, too much old hate and painful betrayal. A-Ling had left, but that had made it worse, somehow, turning a painful new wound into the puss-stain of infection.

 

In the glimmering light of the rising moon, Wei Wuxian wrapped himself in shadow and stared at Jiang Cheng until neither had words.

 

The lotus blooms watched them, gentle and graceful across the lake.

 

Still, still, they said nothing. As the last light died into the water, the tension broke his ghostly skin. He laughed, the sound ugly in the silence.

 

They had never been able to talk, not when it truly mattered. They had ever spoken with swords and harsh words, and in all the years between them that had never changed. Now they had exhausted both, and so silence ate at him like fish nibbling at a corpse.

 

Gold gilt spun in his chest and tied him to Jiang Cheng, and he could feel that tether with his whole soul. God, he just wanted to scream, to fade into the shadows, to hold his brother tight.

 

The water swirled with his frustration, shadows dancing beneath the surface and making all dark.

 

He had died for his faults, and he had spent five years protecting Jin Ling in repentance.

 

It didn’t feel like enough.

 

“What a pair we make, huh Jiang Cheng? You are still as much of a crybaby as ever.” The words were wry and broken, but he was so tired they held no sting.

 

What could they do, now? Their lives were tied together, and Jin Ling’s smile could not be washed away by loss again.

 

They would live and die together, and Wei Wuxian could not let his brother die.

 

The Sect Leader of all Lotus Pier, peerless cultivator and feared warrior, snarled like a boy.

 

“I never cry you damn fool. At least I’m not peacocking in shadows.” He waved a sharp hand at the darkness cloaking Wei Wuxian and threading into the water, fine weaves of shadows glimmering like silk.

 

“Do you always have to be so dramatic?” The words were spat out and meant to be bitter, but they just sounded petty.

 

Wei Wuxian heard their meaning, heard their brother’s teasing. Do you have to, do you always have to go this far?

 

Do you always have to leave?

 

He laughed, the sound breaking over the lotus petals, curling into the water and yet echoing out. Here they were, brothers at the last and at the first.

 

Here they were, with the silence broken between them. Could they drain the wound between them, leave it clean?

 

God, he hoped so.

 

This was the first step in the long road to forgiveness, and he would take a thousand lashes of Zidian’s lightning to make that come true.

 

“What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

Jiang Cheng didn’t return for two days. It made Wei Wuxian shift restless fingers across the boards of the pier, made his shadows twirl like they were teased by the wind. Even as he guided Jin Ling through sword work, even as he laughed and smiled, worry ate at his skin.

 

Once, long ago, he would have taken the silence as normal. Jiang Cheng was a man of sharp tempers and silent apologies. There had been long days where he vanished from Lotus Pier in their youth after a fight that had grown too bitter and fraught. Sometimes, he would return with angry eyes and a bowl of pork rib soup from shijie. Sometimes, he would pull Wei Wuxian out for a night hunt with jerky fingers.

 

If the man needed time to cool off, so be it.

 

But this Jiang Cheng was weathered by his betrayal, by fourteen years of responsibilities and the silence of family graves.

 

Did Wei Wuxian really know him at all?

 

“Laoshi, you aren’t paying any attention at all! I just did that move wrong four times. Four times!”

 

Jin Ling’s voice crashed through his distraction, and Wei Wuxian lifted lazy eyes to look at the kid. In the chill of night and the light of the moon, he looked tired but happy. Sweat covered his brow, smearing the red dot adorning his forehead and leaving his hair disheveled.

 

Pride and wrath mixed with a young master’s command across his face, shadows making his jaw sharper than it should be.

 

With that sword and those eyes, he looked like his father.

 

Wei Wuxian waved a hand in the air, chuckled out a response. Here he was on this lonely pier, worried and seeing ghosts in living boys.

 

There were too many gold threads pulling at his soul, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret them.

 

“Ah, can you blame me? I don’t even get any sleep anymore, how am I supposed to focus? I haven’t had wine in years.”

 

Through gritted teeth and endless annoyance, Jin Ling ground out. “You are a ghost. You don’t even need sleep!”

 

He opened his mouth to respond, defenses light and playful across his tongue. But another beat him to it.

 

“It’s no use, A-ling. Wei Wuxian has always been a child.” The voice echoed from behind him, weary with a lifetime of experience and heavy sighs.

 

It was a voice he knew with a brother’s familiarity, and his heart clenched in the shifting light of the moon. No shadows could hide him from the glimmering lightning of Jiang Cheng.  

 

In quick and graceful steps, the man settled down on the pier beside Wei Wuxian, falling into a lotus pose like it was the only thing that would save his sanity.

 

Fine purple robes brushed over the shadows curling around Wei Wuxian, and on a whim, he sent the darkness out, let it inch over the edge of fabric. Jiang Cheng slapped it away with a burst of static electricity and a glare.

 

The worry in his chest evaporated like smoke. He knew this man.

 

He laughed into the moonlight, the horrified expression on Jin Ling’s face making his lips crack into a smile. “Lies and slander, Jiang Cheng, lies and slander. I am an innocent.”

 

A snort was his only response, his once-brother too fed up to even speak against him. For a moment, they sat in peace, the gentle brush of water over his ghostly feet soothing.

 

He edged forward to let his heels slap into the water. They went in soundlessly, shadows swirling out from the touch. Here, in the dark of night and with the power of resentful energy in his skin, he could touch and feel.

 

Here, he was as real as a man, and with forgiveness in the air, there was no better feeling. Jiang Cheng was glaring at him again, shifting his robes to pull them away from the splash of water.

 

He looked affronted as a cat, and Wei Wuxian knew him.

 

Jin Ling looked between the two men, confusion obvious across his face. The boy expected them to fight, to speak harsh words and use harsher blades. Under this moonlight night, on this lonely pier that held so many new memories and old regrets, Wei Wuxian knew A-ling had expected anger.

 

He didn’t understand, yet.

 

“Well, A-ling? Are you going to stand there gawking or learn to use that sword?” Jiang Cheng’s words were sharp as the crackle of lightning. The regal set of a Sect Leader settled across his shoulders like a jade crown come to make him furious, but his eyes were a shade softer than anger.

 

Wei Wuxian would follow him to the ends of the world, in this life.

 

A-ling spluttered, loud and offended in the night air. Color rushed up a youthful face, flashes of shame and outrage all too clear. “I was—”

 

Wei Wuxian shook his head, scolding painted into the lines of his shadows. “Ah, A-ling, procrastinating again, and in front of your uncle this time! How shameful.”

 

A snort, darkly amused, came from Jiang Cheng. “Clearly, he has an awful teacher.”

 

“Hey.”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The sky was bare of clouds and fog, stars lighting the darkness as jewels thrown across silk. The moon was bright with the swell of night, and Wei Wuxian basked in its glow as spectar and ghost.

 

It was long past the hour Jin Ling had been shooed away, but his scowl and the ringing sound of his sword remained, leaving Wei Wuxian warm. There was a drop of ink staining the wooden docks, dropped from the careless strokes of A-ling’s brush.

 

He hadn’t had the heart to wash it away.

 

The water around him shifted with shadows, lotus flowers cradled gently in the grip of darkness.

 

This section of the lake had not lost a bloom in three years, fragile stems and pale petals curving up untouched.

 

It was blessed into luck, said some, watching the lotus roots flourish and picking the seeds with joy.

 

It was simply good tending, said most, sensible minds thinking sensible thoughts. Why chalk it up to fate when the Master of Lotus Pier was known to love flowers?

 

Both answers were true, though only two people knew how.

 

And here one sat, on a lonely pier where three siblings had once danced joyous. He had no reason to speak the truth, and he knew Jiang Cheng would rather be tortured than speak about the flowers.

 

Shijie had always looked so very lovely, with these lotus blooms pressed into her hair. He had brought them to her for days on end, fingers dripping with lake water and eyelashes matted with rain, but so proud.

 

She had laughed at him, then, the sound joyous as the chirping song of birds. Gentle fingers had threaded the blooms into her hair, black scattered with pale white petals blushing into pink.

 

She had looked so lovely. She had always looked lovely to the bitter end.

 

Heavy footsteps echoed down the pier, but Wei Wuxian didn’t need to rise to know their owner. There was the scent of lightning in the air and a crackling of thunder, and the pull of golden threads.

 

Silence echoed out across the water for a moment out of time. Then his brother and his enemy and his oldest friend settled beside him with the clank of pottery on wood.

 

Wei Wuxian looked up at the sound, eyes catching on familiar jugs.

 

For the long stretch of his short life, he had loved Emperor’s Smile like little else, had gone through hell and heaven to drink it at every opportunity. Now it sat beside him, red ink marking it as liquor of the finest caliber.

 

It was an offering and an apology and peace.

 

He looked across the water, let an idle smile curve up his face. Silver light caught on his shadows but he could not the curiosity kindling in his chest. “I’ve never tried drinking as a ghost. I wonder if I can?”

 

Jiang Cheng pulled out two shallow cups, peerless china glinting in the moonlight. They were of fine make, marked by the lines of a purple lotus and the touch of careful paint. A hint of silver ran across their edge, shimmering like molten metal.

 

They were the Jiang Clan cups, and Wei Wuxian had never seen them outside the old Sect Leader’s hands. His eyes widened, but he said nothing, shadows swirling restless around him.

 

Was this the moment he earned back a brother?

 

“Fool. Who says any is for you?” But even as he spoke, Jiang Cheng poured two full cups, the clear rush of liquor flowing strong and poignant. “And you aren’t really a ghost, are you? You never truly died, not wholly.”

 

“I died,” he said, the words light but painful, catching on the still night air around them and leaving Jiang Cheng quiet. “I died, but enough of me was alive for my spirit to attach to.”

 

Enough so that he could still feel and burn, enough so that he could still hurt.

 

He raised one of the cups, watched it cast shadows across the wood of the pier. Thoughtful, he took a gentle sip. It tasted like smooth poison and the smell of petrichor, like stones and the bitter touch of liquor.

 

It tasted like Emperor’s Smile. But he felt no substance, the liquid seeming to vanish into the shadows of his throat.

 

And it was gone, swept into shadows and made nothing. He had no flesh to feel the tingling touch of liquor, no head to muddle with alcohol.

 

In one long swallow, he downed the rest of the cup, felt the bitter sting of liquor swirl on his tongue. Hell, he could taste it; there was no point in not taking the offering, not when this was an offer of forgiveness.  

 

Then it was gone, and he was left as shadow.

 

Jiang Cheng snorted, taking savoring sips of the fine cups laced with his family’s honor. “You never change.”

 

Wei Wuxian just laughed, bitter and blurry. He had changed so much in all these years. He had broken his soul to pieces, had given himself to blood and fury to protect those he loved.

 

He had given his all, and in the end, it had been too much.

 

They fell into silence again, shattered only by the gentle clink of fine cups and old regrets. Shadows swirled over the pier and across the water, and he made no move to stop their spiral.

 

Eventually, Jiang Cheng broke the peace, brow furrowed into heavy thoughts.

 

“You should be able to appear during the day.” Sharp eyes looked at Wei Wuxian, and the perceptiveness there made him smile. “You should be able to appear anywhere around me, in fact. At any time. Given that you are possessing a golden core, you might even be able to manifest spiritual energy.”

 

They were all thoughts Wei Wuxian had toyed with, in the space between sunsets and the restless shadow he dwelled in. He had even tried, once, sending his shadows creeping out of the lake during the day.

 

He could do it, he thought, if he hunted down more corpses to absorb their energy. But he hadn’t wanted to, not with Jiang Cheng pacing the decks of Lotus Pier and bitter with betrayal.

 

Now maybe he would let himself try.

 

The spiritual energy though, this he had not attempted. “I thought you’d be able to feel it,” was his only response, but it said more than he ever could.

 

You’d find me, you’d punish Jin Ling, you’d discover the golden core.

 

You would know.

 

“Stupid,” Jiang Cheng muttered, breath caught on emotions neither of them would name. The moonlight hit on the lines of his face and made Wei Wuxian’s breath catch. He looked regal, in noble purple robes with a fine white cup cradled in strong fingers.

 

The man looked so much like Jiang Fengmian in that moment that it made him want to cry. Silence stretched between them, caught in the gentle sips of Emperor’s Smile and thirteen years of estrangement.

 

At last, as the sun began to creak over the horizon, Jiang Cheng stood from the pier with a crackle of stiff bones.

 

The man looked down at Wei Wuxian, and for the first time in a long time, those eyes were unreadable.

 

What was his brother thinking, standing there? What thoughts swirled in his anger?

 

Jiang Cheng stretched out an impatient hand, curling commanding fingers towards him. That had was strong, calloused by sword work and the burdens of a Sect Leader.

 

“Well? Are you coming?”

 

In the creak of dawning light, that hand cast shadows longer than the depths of the ocean. Wei Wuxian watched it and couldn’t bring himself to speak, for a moment that fractured across the lake.

 

He was being asked to come home.

 

“Won’t they—” He stopped, took a breath he didn’t need. The shadows around him felt as heavy as the hope teasing his chest. “This face is too beautiful to be mistaken, Jiang Cheng. I’ll be recognized.”

 

A snort was his only answer, loud and mocking out across the clear water. It shook the lotus petals with how it made his shadows tremble, but it did their delicate petals no damage.

 

Nothing could damage them, now.

 

“For a genius, you are awfully stupid. You are a ghost, Wei Ying. Change. Your. Face.”

 

Wei Wuxian blinked, watched the sun bathe the once-lonely pier in golden light. He blinked again.

 

“Oh.”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

That day, the Sect Leader returned from the pier with a new clan member at his side. The man was loud with laughter and cheer, practically dancing across the wooden decks of Lotus Pier. The sound of his voice echoed out through the compound like the chiming of bells, unescapable and bright as the moon. He spoke with an earthly happiness, and the set of his jaw was mischievous.

 

He caused endless trouble, but was far too quick for any disciple to catch.

 

Sect Leader, please restrain him, was the plea from harried servants, eyes wide and frantic from the pranks plaguing the compound.

 

Sect Leader, please let him teach us, was the plea from the purple-robed disciples, inspired to awe by the man’s effortless fighting and gravity-defying acrobatics. He wore a sword of black metal at his belt, so dark that it seemed to absorb shadow and light alike, but it could meet divine steel and fight it back.

 

He was dark and mysterious and light and joyful, and the center of the entire compound’s attention.

 

Laoshi has vanished again uncle, avoiding training! Please, tell him to come back, was the plea from Jin Ling, when he discovered the true fickle nature of his finest teacher.

 

But Jiang Cheng ignored all the pleas, narrowing sharp eyes.

 

He will do as he wills, was all he said, frustration pouring from his face.

 

No one dared question what that meant, but by the end of a year everyone understood.

 

There was no commanding a man like Jiang Ying.

Chapter 5: Bruises in the Garden

Notes:

By some unholy miracle, I managed to get everything edited this week. Enjoy! :D

Noise resonated triumphant across smooth stone, echoing over the high walls and spacious courtyards as a shout and call to celebration. Across the vast spread of Koi Tower sound spread like smoke, louder than the march of an army and more joyous than wedding bells. In the streets of the great palace and the city surrounding it, a thousand footsteps and low murmurs whispered into being, delighted and excited.

 

A year had passed, and it was time for the meeting of the Sects again. A year had passed, and it was time for revelry and endless festivities. Call out the succulent meats and fine sweets, bring forth the beautiful music and liquid dancing!

 

It was time to celebrate.

 

But most importantly for Jin Ling, it was time for the competitions. His sword was vibrating in its sheath, happiness making his core turn fast and relentless. Golden robes fit him to perfection, red paint marking his forehead and a small bell hanging at his waist.

 

It rung with every step he took, and he couldn’t suppress the smile creeping up his face.

 

It was time to show he was no failure, time to win before the Sects and earn his uncle’s official praise.

 

He couldn’t have been more ready.

 

He walked between the great walls of the Head Cultivator’s palace, of his father’s home, restless and craving battle. With permission from both great Sects whose blood he bore, he had spent the last year in Lotus Pier, training under the watchful gaze of Laoshi and Uncle.

 

It had been brutal, learning at the hands of two exacting masters of their craft. He had paid for every ounce of skill with bruises on his skin and long hours of training. But he knew how to raise his blade, how to jump high and dance higher, how to fight and speak and move.

 

It had hurt but he had never been happier. And now he was ready.

 

Wandering aimlessly, he walked across the compound, feet light and back imperious. He had a day before any of the junior matches began, and for once, free time to spend. Laoshi had waved him off that morning with a lazy hand and a, “You’re sixteen, go have some fun.”

 

But Jin Ling hardly wanted to have fun, didn’t want to waste time. He wanted to fight. He took restless steps forward and out, the long hallways of Koi tower stretching before him. His fingers twitched at his side, brushing the fine silk of his robes but finding no calm.

 

What was he supposed to do with free time?

 

Jin Ling didn’t know, irritated and a tiny sliver of shame creeping into his heart. He had no friends his age to tussle with, no boys to cross swords with and no girls to flatter.

 

Uncle and Laoshi had sent him away, and in their absence Jin Ling had remembered his loneliness.

 

Angry with himself, Jin Ling took a sharp left, walking out into the well-kept gardens of the northern spire.

 

It should have been an empty place, bare of people and bearing only the gentle sway of flowers and the sweet smell of summer. He wanted to curl into the frustration in his chest, let it sit heavy over his heart until he felt better, surrounded by soft petals and cultivated shoots of bamboo.

 

Instead, he walked into a scene of violence. There was a boy thrown to the ground, a purple bruise blooming high on one cheek and a vicious expression curling his lips. He looked angry and devastated in equal measure, fingers clenching on the ground as if to rip it in two.

 

It was a look Jin Ling recognized, though he had not felt the cruel strike of a bully before; he may have never felt their fists, but he knew the sting of their words.

 

Four boys surrounded him, caught mid-kick by Jin Ling’s entrance. All of them wore the fine robes of the Lanling Jin Sect and all of them looked startled.

 

Jin Ling thought they should have looked ashamed.

 

“What’s going on here?” His words were demanding, imperious. He may have spent a full year away from Koi Tower, but he was the Young Master here, and when he spoke they should listen.

 

The bullies looked among themselves for a moment, uncertain. A gentle wind tickled across the flowers behind them, sending blossoms swaying in the wind, and Jin Ling found himself furious they had disrupted his quiet.

 

He just wanted to mope.

 

“He’s a damn cut-sleeve is what is going on.” One of the boys spat out, face cast in anger. The others nodded behind him, shifting restless and sickened.

 

A cut-sleeve. Jin Ling felt a curl of unease creep up his spine and pour into his blood. An unnatural way to live, he had been taught, and he couldn’t help the disgust that flooded him.

 

But. But the boy’s eyes looked so hurt, pained in a way Jin Ling recognized. There was a bruise blooming across that pale cheek, and so much bitterness in that expression.

 

He lived with the ghost of the man who had caused his parent’s deaths; was being a cut-sleeve any worse than that?

 

Jin Ling didn’t know, didn’t know if it was acceptable.

 

But he also didn’t think kicking a weaker man when he was down was a thing of honor. Laoshi would never have stood for this.

 

“So you bring four others to fight for you?” He laughed, the sound hot with anger. “You don’t deserve to wear that crest.”

 

His words echoed in the leader’s face, painted his eyes with insult and shame. The boy took a threatening step forward, paused, catching a full look of the finer cut of Jin Ling’s robes, of the white peony made royal on his chest.

 

He finally saw the Young Master of Koi Tower, and finally felt fear. Good.

 

Jin Ling smirked, the expression smug and taunting. He would show them what waited for bullies at his hands. “Come on, what are you scared of?”

 

The group shifted, uncertainty making them slow. They didn’t want to attack him, he could tell. But he had challenged their honor and if they were even half-disciplined, that would mean something.

 

He didn’t want to wait for their indecision. Restlessness had clogged his veins, and he was quick to act, snapping out a fist towards the leader’s face.

 

But it never landed.

 

Laoshi twirled into being between them, shadowed robes curling out like darkest night and a bright smile caught on his lips. A strong hand curled around Jin Ling’s fist, stopping its force like it was the push of the gentlest breeze.

 

The other hand shoved the leader of the way, making him careen none-too-gracefully to the ground.

 

“A-ling, I can’t leave you alone for a moment. What would you uncle say, hmm?”

 

Jin Ling felt his face darken into a flush, shame catching at his eyes. His teacher’s tone was teasing but there was a sharp undercurrent that made his spine straighten. He never wanted to hear disappointment in that voice, and he feared the hints of it in the air.

 

But he spoke anyway, righteous. He had been in the right, had acted as he thought Laoshi would. He was here to stop the spread of bruises on the boy’s face. Surely Laoshi would understand that.

 

These damned disciples had no right to abuse, not in this tower.

 

“They were hurting him, Laoshi! What, should I have stood aside while they beat him?”

 

Red eyes trailed to the boy on the ground, traced across the bruise on his face and went dark as the back of the moon and twice as mysterious.

 

“Leave,” was all he said, but from the black sword at his hip to the glimmering crimson eyes, he looked terrifying. The gentle push of wind shifted the flowers beside them, but the fluttering blossoms shook more at Laoshi’s voice.

 

The boys left, shooting disgruntled looks back but taking quick steps out of the garden.

 

For a moment, Jin Ling paused, fingers twitching to reach out but a sliver of disquiet still clinging to his bones. He should help the boy up, should reach down a friendly hand.

 

It’s what Laoshi would have done, if he was not staring at Jin Ling in expectation. A smile and teasing expression crossed his face, and he tilted an elegant chin at the boy on the ground.

 

Jin Ling reached out to pull him up. But the boy slapped his hand away, stumbling to his feet with a pained grimace.

 

“I don’t need your help.” The man spat out, vicious and bitter through clenched teeth. Jin Ling felt his hackles rise.

 

He had stepped out of his way to save this cut-sleeve, and this was the only gratitude he received? He was the young master of the Lanling Jin Sect and he demanded respect. “What was that, damned cut-sleeve? I saved—”

 

Laoshi’s voice interrupted him, sharp and light but unforgiving. “That is uncalled for, A-ling. Let the boy be. You think he needs our judgement too?”

 

Jin Ling looked at the bruises lining the boy’s face, at the shaking of his shoulders, at the hatred masking fear.

 

He shut up.

 

Laoshi stepped towards the boy, a swirl of golden energy collecting at his fingers. The boy flinched back, but Laoshi was fast as a whirlwind and stabbed a quick hand forward toward his face. The bruise glowed a gentle golden for a breath, two, and then faded away, leaving unmarred skin.

 

“You walk a hard path, don’t you?” His voice was quiet even as he smiled, something deeply sad shifting beneath it. Jin Ling shifted in the sudden silence, watching the flower petals shine in the sun.

 

He didn’t like hearing his Laoshi sound so mournful.

 

“You think I chose this?” A snarl met the words, but it was weaker, disbelieving. The boy looked like he had been shocked into the next life and beyond by this small kindness, a kicked dog feeling a gentle hand for the first time. Jin Ling saw that expression and felt regret.

 

He wouldn’t apologize though. He wouldn’t.  

 

There was a quiet laugh, not bitter but understanding, and Laoshi turned towards the road, turned to leave.

 

“Hey, what’s your name?” Laoshi’s voice was casual, tossed across one shoulder as he walked away, ever impetuous as a cloud. Jin Ling rushed to follow, to leave this garden and its fake promise of peace behind.

 

He had just wanted to stew, and now he was—

 

He clicked his tongue, restless and impatient. The cut sleeve seemed to share his fury.

 

“What does it matter to you?” Came the man’s response, vicious and hurt. Jin Ling nearly growled, shifting his weight forward like a striking tiger.

 

“Why you…”

 

How dare he be so disrespectful to Laoshi?

 

Long fingers caught on his collar and pulled him to a stop, Laoshi holding him still with a casual strength. They hadn’t even left the garden yet, hadn’t left the well-tended greenery and gentle flowers behind.

 

It wasn’t fair.

 

“I like remembering people who are interesting! Besides, with my fine face, you couldn’t help but fall for me, no? I should know your name, if you’ve fallen for me.” The words were teasing and light as the wind, and no one could stand before their cheer.

 

Not even this kicked-dog of a boy.

 

He flushed a colorful red, humiliation and anger painting his face. Jin Ling imagined he looked much the same at Laoshi’s shameless words.

 

But after a long moment, he cracked open spiteful lips and spoke a name.

 

“Mo Xuanyu.”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

Night had caught in the air, making a hundred lanterns come to light across Koi Tower. They sparkled as if fireflies had come to roost on the long hallways and open courtyards, beautiful and bright as the dawn.

 

Even tucked away into Jiang Cheng’s rooms, Wei Wuxian could see their shine. Again and again his eyes were drawn to the light, to the beauty.

 

They looked like lotus blooms floating on moonlit water and he loved them for it.

 

The festivities were still going, noise leaking into even this corner of the great complex. But between two brothers there was peace and silence.

 

“You were using spiritual energy earlier.” Jiang Cheng’s words were interested but unimportant, casual in the space between them. He was sitting at a lacquered table made fine by white peonies and careful paint. Tea steamed before him, but he had yet to touch the delicate cup.

 

Wei Wuxian hummed, knife moving in quick and careful motions. The bamboo in his hands wasn’t ready yet, but it was getting close. Small wooden shavings scattered the ground before him, falling on to the fine floor of the fine room with its fine jade.

 

He wished for a long pier and the sound of water splashing in moonlight.

 

The guest rooms of the Lanling Jin Sect were as richly decorated as a king’s palace, and this one was no exception, gilt and polished wood tastefully arranged across the space.

 

Wei Wuxian paid it no mind, littering the ground with his carvings and the scattered scraps of a madman’s thoughts. He really was close to a break through on this, the bamboo moving to his will.

 

Just one more touch, he thought, smile dancing across his lips and leaving him buoyant. Just one more, and it would be perfect.

 

A snort came from Jiang Cheng, aggravated as only a brother could sound. “Fine fine, don’t respond. As always, you play the cryptic asshole when it suits you.”

 

He just laughed, fingers moving the small knife in his hands deft and quick. There was no need for Jiang Cheng to know, and so little to tell.

 

He knew his brother’s quick judgements and duties, and he would not let that sway this decision. Like a monkey leaping between trees, he switched topics.

 

“Hey, Jiang Cheng, can you request a disciple of the Lanling Jin clan to take back to Lotus Pier?”

 

His sworn brother gave him a long and wary look, eyes narrowed in thought. The lantern light filtered in behind him, making him look regal as a king and twice as stern. Wei Wuxian thought he looked happy.

 

“And why, exactly, do I want to do this?”

 

He laughed, the sound roughly fond. The noise outside was loud and jubilant but inside was a quiet contemplation. “A-ling’s not exactly charming. He needs a friend.”

 

There was a silence from the other side of the room, broken only by gentle rasps of his knife. It was tense, fraught and furious. The lanterns made the lacquered table glow crimson as the dawn, but his brother’s face was shadowed. Jiang Cheng was quiet only when he was angry as a storm or when he felt guilt deeper than the sea.

 

Wei Wuxian didn’t need to guess which this was.

 

“Fine. What’s their name?” The words were said with a sigh, too tight and too bitter. There was a scowl twisting Jiang Cheng’s lips to hide what Wei Wuxian knew dwelt beneath.

 

He didn’t comment, left the past lie dead as it should be. Jiang Cheng had left A-ling alone for so long, until the boy was driven to the lonely pier he had haunted. His brother had done so much wrong, caught in his hate and grief.

 

His brother had hurt so much, in the last thirteen years. Now he was correcting his mistakes, in a gruff voice and with endless angry devotion.

 

Jiang Cheng was learning, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t have been happier.  

 

“Mo Xuanyu,” He said, the name falling into the night air with a casual cheer. For a moment and a heartbeat, there was silence between them, filled by the festivities leaking through the screens.

 

For a moment, they sat as brothers with their fragile forgiveness. Then Wei Wuxian flicked his knife a final time, watched the last flake of bamboo drift to the ground.

 

The carving was complete, the fine floor covered with wood shavings and his knife dull with use.

 

He smiled, something precious creeping into his heart. Jin Ling would like it, he thought. The boy had left Fairy at Koi Tower, after seeing his fear, had given away the dog for safe keeping.

 

Jin Ling was a kind child, and Wei Wuxian wanted to give him the world.

 

“It’s done!”

 

Jiang Cheng twisted from his seat, body bending into an elegant motion. Wei Wuxian had not let him see the carving until it was finished, and for a long hour he had been held in suspense under the glow of lanterns.

His brother had never been good at waiting for surprises, and Wei Wuxian laughed at his impatience. Jiang Cheng blinked down, for a breath, and then another.

 

“Is that… a demon?”

 

Wei Wuxian pursed his lips, affront making his brows draw together. “It’s a dog, Jiang Cheng, how can you not recognize it?”

 

There was a beat of silence, a long stare, and then, “It has fangs the size of its body, Wei Wuxian.”

 

“And?”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The wind whistled through Koi Tower, strong as the first rush of clouds in the morning and borne by the air like a lost lover. It twirled across the fine threads of his hair, lifting them up and teasing at his face.

 

Lan Zhan paid it no mind. No matter how it pulled, it could not free his hair from the forehead ribbon of embroidered clouds and fine silk.

 

Let the wind dance; he would stand to behold its beauty, unmoved.

 

It shifted from his face, across the gaudy seating and blowing into the arena below. It twisted at the robes of the competitors, making them into flags of color in the clear fighting ground.

 

It was a day for fighting, and the wind seemed to taste the anticipation in the air.

 

Lan Sizhui stood there, back straight with his discipline and eyes calm as a cloudless sky.

 

A tiny whorl of pride burst into Lan Zhen’s heart, gentle and immutable as the wind. He let it be. A-yuan deserved his pride and quiet praise, and never would he deny it.

 

How could he, with the memories the boy represented? How could he, with the love Lan Zhan had grown for him?

 

How could he, when the boy had once been held in Wei Ying’s arms? He could still see a clever smile and relentless soul hovering in Lan Yuan’s gentle smile, a dream and a hope and a memory.

 

Steady and meditative, Lan Zhan turned his eyes to the opponent across the well-kept grass, to the man A-yuan would be fighting.

 

It was the young master of the Lanling Jin Sect, face set in resolve and hand twitching for his sword. The cut of his robes was fine, but the set of his face was impatient and rushed.

 

A man stood at his side, dressed in inky-black silk with the purple lotus and small silver bell of the Jiang Clan decorating his robes. He was laughing, carefree as the dawn, and the child— Jin Ling, he may have spent many years in isolation, but he knew the child that had been hurt most at Wei Ying’s hands— smiled in response, scowl washing away at the sound.

 

That laugh: it rang like music, with a resonant tenor and the barest hint of trouble. Even here, high above among the spectators, Lan Zhan could hear its delighted sound. It seemed to whisper secrets of joy and a careless happiness, of warm days and cloudless nights.

 

It hurt.

 

With a serene face and heavy heart, Lan Zhan took in all the details gold eyes could bear, staring at the man with a laugh like his love. Shadows seemed to paint the man’s every movement, and a sword of dark steel hung at his waist, menacing.

 

But the man’s smile was like the sun after a cloudy year. He would find out more after the match, he decided, the weight of Bichen in its sheath calming and gentling.

 

He would know as much as he needed to.

 

Despite Lan Sizhui’s skill, the match was over quickly, the flashes of Jin Ling’s sword unstoppable. The child was skilled beyond his years, equipped with a terrifying recklessness that had been tempered into the fury of a hurricane.

 

He fought like Wei Wuxian, when he still raised a sword and not a flute, all endless chaos and whirling strikes.

 

It was beautiful and painful to behold. Lan Zhan had no patience left to wait. As the winner was called, he took graceful steps down, walking to stand beside Lan Sizhui with the endless tide of winter in his wake.

 

The disciple bowed, polite, but Lan Zhan could see a hint of disappointment staining his eyes.

 

“You fought well,” was all he said, quiet and clear. It made A-yuan’s face light up, and the disappointment washed away in a tide of careful happiness.

 

“Thank you, Hanguang-jun!” The voice was so bright, calm and polite but so bright. For a moment, Lan Zhan lost himself in that, felt a father’s pride burst across his chest.

 

What would Wei Wuxian think of A-yuan now, he wondered?

 

The thought brought him back to Jin Ling, to the match, to the man with a bright laugh and brighter smile.

 

He turned toward the other edge of the arena. But the man in black had vanished, and the boy with him.

Chapter 6: Shame

Notes:

I was dared to see how many fics I could update in a week. The answer is 6 (almost seven, curse u sleep) and that I hate myself for all this editing.

Hope you enjoy!

The sky overhead was dark and clear, the moon brighter than a noonday sun. Light filtered through the open pavilion to bathe Wei Wuxian in its eerie glow, but it was no match for the torchlight surrounding him. He basked in it, felt shadows curl against his skin and tug playfully at his hair.

 

Had he been in Lotus Pier, he would have leapt to the highest roof to perch. He would have stood high as a mountain and reached for the stars, would have plucked them free and floated like a ghostly cloud through the sky.

 

He would have laughed.

 

But here, in this bright pavilion with careful elegance and civilized laughter, that sound would not have ended well.

 

From his seat behind Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian could see the stretch of noble faces laid out, the jaws of skilled cultivators, the eyes of beautiful women and handsome men.

 

He could see everything, from his lazy lotus pose, and he couldn’t care less. Peerless liquor poured into expensive porcelain, and Wei Wuxian was bored beyond measure.

 

Here he played the dutiful clan member, sitting two steps behind Jiang Cheng and at a smaller table. Here he whispered quiet remarks and observations, smile bright but words whiny. His running commentary had Jiang Cheng snorting into a fine porcelain cup too often for civility, but neither of them particularly cared.

 

It was so dull. Wei Wuxian had hated these events with a fiery passion, had for the entire span of his twice-life. He had been bribed into coming, bribed into behaving, only by the wheedling of Jin Ling.

 

The boy had won his match, and this had been his request. Attend, Laoshi! I want my teacher there!

 

Before those pleading eyes, Wei Wuxian had been helpless to say no.

 

So the adopted Jiang Clan member Jiang Ying sat behind the Sect Leader with careless posture and restless gaze.

 

 

At the very least, the Lanling Jin Sect knew the importance of good food and better entertainment. Unlike the Gusu Lan Sect, he thought, with no little bitterness. He still remembered those long months in the Cloud Recesses, where bread was the height of flavor and there wasn’t a drop of spice to be found for a thousand day's journey.

 

That had been a rough year, though a joyous one. He sat up, pulled from memories by the sensation of eyes trailing up his ghostly skin. The hairs across the back of his neck stirred, shadows whispering in his ear and sending his spine stiff.

 

Someone was looking at him. He cast smiling eyes around the pavilion, but there was no luck— too many people were staring at him, the newest addition of the lonely Jiang Clan was the gossip of the decade.

 

For thirteen years, Jiang Cheng had been the only direct clan member. For thirteen years, the man had never made any effort to change that, no moves to marry or adopt children.

 

The end of the Clan, many had thought, words hidden behind delicate folding fans and spoken into cups of tea. After long years of solitude, the gossip had died down to shaking heads and deep sighs.

 

The young Sect Leader was dooming Lotus Pier to an early grave, but a fool would be a fool.

 

But now, a thousand curious eyes clung to Wei Wuxian’s skin, traced over the elegant purple robes and the silver bell ringing at his waist. A thousand eyes wondered.

 

Wei Wuxian met the gazes with a smile, shameless, and watched each one turn away.

 

Except for one.

 

Golden eyes caught his and held, boring into his skin with endless grace and relentless energy. A familiar gaze for a familiar face, and the shadows crept up his robes and pressed into his skin.

 

It had been so long since he had seen that face, but it still held all its beauty.

 

Lan Zhan was a man beyond par, truly. Wei Wuxian wanted to throw flowers at him and watch those golden eyes go rigid.

 

The man did not look away, long past what was proper. The moonlight shone especially bright between them, fading past the lantern light and leaving them silver-touched. That light was a good look on Lan Zhan, on those robes of glimmering white and face of polished stone.

 

Wei Wuxian smiled wider, a devilish tremor creeping onto his lips. Lan Zhan didn’t react, face still and peerless as jade. The moon shone overhead with a breathless elegance. 

 

What would it take, he thought, with all his mischievous spirit, to make Lan Zhan break from this look? He wanted to know, wanted to crack into golden eyes and ask.

 

He was about to find about, about to stretch the limits of propriety, to start the kind of trouble Jiang Cheng had warned him against. What good was a warning if he didn’t break it, after all?

 

But his brother stood with a rustle of fine purple fabric and a sharp look, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

 

“Come on, let’s go collect your stray,” he said, a Sect Leader’s command in his voice.

 

Wei Wuxian grinned, eyes bright guileless. A brother’s instinct was a hard thing to fool, and no matter his practice and skill, no matter the pranks he had pulled for long years, he had never fooled Jiang Cheng. The man just snorted, the sound rough and out of keeping with his fine robes and careful bearing.

 

Wei Wuxian was glad to hear the sound, glad to hear the true humor in it. His brother had not had enough to laugh over, in so many years.

 

Even the creaking docks of a lonely pier had only helped to sooth the wound closed, not erase it.

 

Laughter was a precious thing.

 

He let offense crawl onto his face, felt the warm light of lanterns wash away golden eyes.

 

“My stray, well Jiang Cheng, now my honor is at stake.”

 

The eye roll was nearly audible in Jiang Cheng’s tone, and the man stepped away from the table with a casual comment thrown across a shoulder. “You don’t have any honor.”

 

Wei Wuxian made a sound of wordless protest and scrambled to his feet, dancing steps following in his brother’s wake. Happiness boiled beneath his ghostly skin, even in the stilted air of this lavish banquet.

 

He could leave those eyes behind now and bask in the company of a brother.

 

Their steps took them to Jin Guangyao’s table, and quiet words had attendants and family scurrying away, had them all stepping to a secluded corner.

 

Soon enough, it was just three cultivators standing beneath the glowing lanterns of a great feast. To the outside, it would have looked like a meeting to shake the world, between great men with unshakable power.

 

To Wei Wuxian, it looked like a favor asked and given.

 

“Clan Leader Jiang, how can I help you? I hope your needs are being met.” The voice was polite, gentle and cheery in a way that still spoke of grace. Jin Guangyao was a short man, with a diplomat’s smile and a face that didn’t let out the power he held.

 

The Head Cultivator was a kind man, with a strong heart and a reputation for good deeds. But he too was a veteran of the Sunshot Campaign, and not a man to be underestimated.

 

“Sect Leader.” Jiang Cheng’s nod was short, respectful but not scraping the ground. It was appropriate, and Wei Wuxian felt his spine straighten at its tone.

 

His brother sounded so like Madam Yu, when he spoke with that tiger’s pride. It made Wei Wuxian think of long days in the sun, of hard training and the swirling taste of pork rib soup.

 

It made him think of home, as it had once been.

 

“I’d like to request one of your disciples come to Lotus Pier.”

 

Jin Guangyao looked surprised, soft emotion flashing across quiet eyes. But still that pleasant smile remained on his face, as they stood beneath the burn of merry lanterns.

 

Wei Wuxian though that smile looked very gentle.

 

“An unusual request, Sect Leader. May I ask why?”

 

Jiang Cheng paused, a moment’s hesitation and a brief lull. But Wei Wuxian had told him the truth— or most of it— and he knew the words.

 

“My clan member found him being struck by younger disciples. He now feels responsible for him.”

 

The words were sharp, like lightning in the air, with all of a Sect Leader’s judgement. They were an insult as much as a favor, and the lantern light did nothing to hide the shadows across the Head Cultivator’s face.

 

“Ah, they will be disciplined properly. I thank you for bringing this to my attention,” he said, and meant I am sorry you saw this shame in my own house. 

 

Jiang Cheng nodded, polite but dismissive. The man seemed to read more even than he did, fierce eyes narrowing.

 

What did his brother hear in that tone, in the tenor of those words? Wei Wuxian didn’t know, and had never been more grateful to not bear the burden of diplomacy.

 

In the silence, Jin Guangyao’s gaze shifted to Wei Wuxian, and he sent him a look of gentle hospitality.

 

“I do not think we have been introduced,” he said, and Wei Wuxian heard the gentle rebuke. 

 

He sketched out a bow, clasping his hands together and giving proper respect. Shadows twisted at his ankles, restless in the warmth of lantern light. He had been an orphan boy and had a troublemaker’s soul; he hated this fake civility with every ounce of his ghostly body.

 

But he had a favor to ask and a boy to save. “Jiang Ying, Chief Cultivator.”

 

Jin Guangyao smiled in return, face so very polite and voice so very probing. In the space of this feast hall, with gilt coating the walls in elegant carvings, the man’s eyes looked very gentle.

 

Wei Wuxian only felt the threat of discovery.

 

“You must be very skilled, for Sect Leader Jiang to adopt you so suddenly,” the man said, admiration soft in his voice.

 

You must be too skilled, Wei Wuxian heard, and shifted in response. The smile across his face was growing brittle, and he wondered if his teeth would shine through too soon. He wore a different face and a different voice, but so much of him was the same, was unchangeable. 

 

Would this man recognize him as Wei Ying, given the thousand hints? They couldn't take that chance, Wei Wuxian couldn't bring that justice down on Jiang Cheng's head. It didn't matter how kind Jin Guangyao was-- no one would leave the Yiling Patriarch in peace. 

 

“The matter at hand, Chief Cultivator.” Jiang Cheng cut in, tone sharp and obvious. His purple robes shifted with a long stretch, silk rustling below the sound of polite laughter. Wei Wuxian would have kicked him for the words, had he not been so grateful.

 

Jin Guangyao turned on short legs, polite smile growing serious. “Ah, yes yes, do excuse me. Which disciple does your Senior Jiang feel responsible for?”

 

“His name is Mo Xuanyu.”

 

It was like water had been poured across sand, washing that smile from the Head Cultivator’s face for a heartbeat before it grew anew. He looked at Wei Wuxian, and it was like a good man with a soft heart was readying his blade.

 

People so often forgot this man had been the man to kill Wen Ruohan. Looking into those eyes, Wei Wuxian wondered how anyone could miss that kind steel. Jiang Cheng had told him of the change this man had wrought, of the peace he had brought.

 

That polite smile held so much strength.

 

“Did the other disciples say anything in their defense?” The question was cold as ice, gentle but heavy with a readiness to serve justice.

 

Wei Wuxian would not bend before its weight. He spoke up, spine straight as an arrow and face set into a merciless smile in return.

 

“They did, and I found it lacking.”

 

There was a pause, a moment of fraught tension. The ice melted from Jin Guangyao’s face, lips gentling back into a warm smile like the man had heard unexpected truth.  

 

His eyes went soft and genial, and he spoke with clarity. “If it would foster further relations between our two clans, how am I to refuse?”

 

And that was all that needed to be said. After a few moments of polite conversation, Jin Guangyao waved them away, turning beneath the lanterns to curl back into the embrace of the party.

 

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng walked away, moving far from the lively banquet. The halls met them and greeted them anew, gilt making their path shine in lantern light.

 

Wei Wuxian wished for moonlight, wanted that gentle silver to wash across his ghostly skin. He couldn’t have it, not now, not with Jiang Cheng tense and crackling like lightning beside him.

 

After a moment of taut silence, the man spoke, voice low and frustrated. “What didn’t you tell me?”

 

Wei Wuxian smiled a tight smile, anger filling his bones and twirling into his shadows. The truth was such a painful thing.

 

“The boys were bullying him for being a cut-sleeve.”

 

Jiang Cheng looked furious and disgusted in equal measure, emotions flashing across his face and leaving his brow stained dark with outrage. “What? You fool, you had me invite a cut-sleeve into my own home?”

 

His tone was sharp, but Wei Wuxian felt none of its sting. He whirled on Jiang Cheng then, a protective fury collecting inside his skin and pressing out with the shadows. Did the man not see? Did he not understand?

 

“No, Jiang Cheng, I had you invite a lonely boy who was being beaten. Are you so lost in honor that you wouldn’t extend a hand?”

 

Red light washed Jiang Cheng’s skin sallow, and it took Wei Wuxian a moment to realize it came from his own eyes. He was glowing, radiating the anger like resentful energy. 

 

Jiang Cheng pulled him into an alcove, fingers tight on the shadows of his arm. “Control yourself, brother, and answer me now, or I swear by the heavens I will leave Mo Xuanyu here.”

 

Like paint fading from a canvas, the glimmering crimson reigned itself in, light fading from Wei Wuxian’s eyes to leave him stained only black.

 

He took a breath, felt the anger calm from his bones, collected his shadows like erstwhile ghosts.

 

Mo Xuanyu had such sad eyes, and he couldn’t let that stand.

 

“You’ve always cared too much, Wei Ying.” The voice was tight, coiled into the stretch of Jiang Cheng’s throat and made furious. “You could never leave well enough alone, and it cost us everything.”

 

Wei Wuxian did not snarl or rage, did not let red collect across his pupils again. He stood his ground and held his body calm, but he spoke without hesitation.

 

“I’ve regretted many things, Jiang Cheng, but I won’t ever regret standing up for them. And I won’t regret standing up for Mo Xuanyu.”

 

He didn’t have to say who them was. Between them flashed a thousand images of Wen Ning, of the fifty estranged Wen remnants Wei Wuxian had taken in and protected.

 

Between them was a history neither could bear, and so they both fell into silence beneath too-warm lanterns.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

Wei Wuxian stepped into Lotus Pier with a light heart and lighter laugh. The wood greeted his leap, creaked with each spinning step across the dock. He ran like a child and didn’t give a damn, shadows giving each jump extra kick.

 

He had come home again, and these clear waters would never grow old.

 

Behind him came two storm clouds and the strike of dark lightning. The mood on the journey had been taut with tension, and had Wei Wuxian wished to, he could have cut it with shadows.

 

Instead he ignored it, needling A-ling into fuming and trying to pull Mo Xuanyu out of his snarling cocoon.

 

It hadn’t worked yet, but no one had ever been able to resist Wei Wuxian before, and he doubted this child would yet. There was so much pain beaten into those bowed shoulders and bitter eyes, so much hate.

 

It would take a long time to tease it to spite, but Wei Wuxian was a ghost with a shadow’s lifespan. He had time.

 

For now, Mo Xuanyu walked with distrust and Jin Ling with petulance. They trailed in his wake as petals swirling on water, and he watched them move with no little exasperation.

 

That said nothing of Jiang Cheng, walking like there was lightning racing up his spine and twisting his face into a frown. The tension between them had not gentled, in the last few days.

 

Wei Wuxian knew his brother well enough not to let it fester, even though he dearly wanted to with all his fierce pride.

 

He had let it fester as the patriarch, and that had not ended well.

 

A day later, he walked into his brother’s fine study where fine purple silks hung from the walls and spoke a fine proposal.

 

“Brother, care for a spar?” He said it carelessly, tossing the idea out into the air like an idle thought.

 

But it was far more than that, and they both knew it.

 

For years before his death, Wei Wuxian hadn’t raised a blade, content to his flute and his skill at demonic cultivation. He knew his brother had resented this, felt it a slight to their honor and a piece of bravado.

 

The man didn’t now, and that still stung Wei Wuxian’s ghostly heart.

 

For years after, he had been a haunting specter, wandering lonely piers and soaking in lake water. Why raise a blade when shadows came at your call and resentful energy curled over your fingertips like a tame beast?

 

But they had been brothers for their entire lives, and always spoken best with their fists and blades.

 

This was an offer of peace, and Jiang Cheng smiled a deadly smile as he accepted it.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The Sect Leader is having a duel, went the whispers around the compound, lighting up Lotus Pier like a bonfire. Every disciple crowded into the great practice ground, shaking with excitement and curiosity.

 

Jin Ling heard the words and came with them, shoving his way to the front with irritation lining his bones. Sharp elbows dug into the bodies beside him, and he heard yelps of complaint but paid them no mind; he would not take a back seat to a fight between Laoshi and Uncle, not when they had never met blades before.

 

He stepped into free air, pushing past a thousand servants and disciples, and found himself on the edge of a tension so thick he could cut it with the sound of his bell.

 

Two figures stood alone in the courtyard, sentinels facing off under the noon-day sun. Their hands rested on their swords on, one black and the other glimmering divine.

 

Uncle and Laoshi looked so very different, standing on the packed earth of combat.

 

The Sect Leader looked regal as a lotus bloom, purple robes stark against sun and reflecting back shimmering light. There was not a hair out of place on his head, the long lines of his body standing straight and proud.

 

But his face bore a vicious smirk that sent shivers down Jin Ling’s spine.

 

Mere steps away stood Laoshi, and for once the man wasn’t laughing. The smile on his lips was deadly as a storm, dark as the shadows that seemed to collect in his eyes.

 

He looked like the ghost Jin Ling knew him to be, and so all the more terrifying. He remembered blood leaking into his robes, remembered the first time he had seen those red eyes go stormy.

 

He had been scared then, but now all he felt was anticipation.

 

After a moment that was held in a thousand lungs, two swords raised.

 

And then, two swords shot forward. 

 

Jin Ling was shaking. He had known the strength of his uncle, known the power of the Yiling Patriarch. How could he not, when the stories rang through every village and every corner of the world? Laoshi had known his power, known the resentful energy at his control.

 

But he had never understood. It had always been in an abstract way, like knowing the ocean stretches beyond the bounds of sight but not standing on the sea floor.

 

Here and now he learned the limits of that knowledge. He had been thrown into the sea and now he opened wide eyes into its depths. He saw the tides that would sweep him away, and he saw the great monsters that protected him.

 

Their scales shone with shadows and lotus petals, and now he saw. This was a clash of titans, each move faster than lightning, each blow powerful enough to shake the heavens.

 

Dark steel met divine, and again and again they danced. Shockwaves of air trembled from their clashes, and the ground shook beneath their leaps.

 

They did not speak, but somehow, words passed between their blades.

 

Jin Ling had been learning from gods, and he had stained their shoulders with tears and shame.

 

How had he not understood?

 

The match lasted for twenty minutes, twenty bone-shaking minutes. As one force, both men lowered their swords in unison. In the silence of awe and fear and every emotion that could send shivers down the spine and still a thousand voices, Jiang Cheng spoke.

 

“You fool, you could have just said that. I wouldn’t have hated you for it.”

 

Laoshi laughed, bright and somehow lighter. “Would you have listened, Jiang Cheng? Would you have understood?”

 

A frustrated click of the tongue was his only answer. “The boy can stay. And any word spoken against him will not be tolerated.”

 

The last words were directed to the crowd, stern eyes passing across a thousand faces and leaving only shaking bodies.

 

In that moment, Jin Ling understood, and yet he understood nothing at all. 

 

They had been fighting over Mo Xuanyu.

 

They had been fighting over Mo Xuanyu, over the sullen and vicious man brought back from Koi Tower, over the cut-sleeve who had hardly shown his face in days, over the man with bruises and the painful eyes of a kicked dog.

 

Why?

 

The question haunted his steps out of the courtyard, haunted him across the compound.

 

It haunted him until he sought out Laoshi to ask, long hours later.

 

The man was lounging against the wood of the once-lonely pier, settled in to sleep the afternoon away. As a member of the Jiang Clan, he had duties to attend to. As Jin Ling’s teacher, he had lessons to give. As a ghost, he had no need for sleep of any kind.

 

But here he was, pale face set to peace and arms stretched beneath him as a pillow.

 

Jin Ling felt his brow itch with irritation, and for a moment, he forgot the clash of titans he had watched.

 

Here there was only Laoshi.

 

He kicked out gently, but his boot met only shadows that twisted and turned until he tripped forward and landed against the wood.

 

The steady planks tasted like clear water and boat-polish, and he never wanted to taste one again.

 

From his side rang a laugh like bells. “Kicking a man when he’s down? How cruel, A-ling. Your teacher really should have taught you better manners.”

 

He growled against the flush crawling up his cheeks, against the fond embarrassment in his chest. “Cut it out, Laoshi!”

 

As always, laughter was his only response, but the shadows faded away from his ankles, letting him lift to his knees. The wood brushed roughly against his legs as he sat, but at least the taste wasn’t in his mouth.

 

Laoshi was just smiling, eyes bright and crimson as a sunset. “Ah, but you started it.”

 

Lin Jing nearly growled, but color crawled up his neck at that truth. He had kicked first. But Laoshi had deserved it, sleeping when they could be training.

 

He had definitely deserved it.

 

After a moment of silence, he opened his mouth to speak out into the air, to speak over the lonely pier. But the words wouldn’t come, trapped in the vice of his throat and frustration. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what questions to ask.

 

All he knew is that he wanted to understand.

 

“Why the long face, A-ling? You’ll ruin your good looks if you keep making that face.” From his lounging pose, Laoshi’s voice rang out quiet and teasing, light as the wind and just as pleasant.

 

At the words, Jin Ling relaxed, tension curving out of his spine. He may not understand, but this was Laoshi— here, on this pier, he could ask any question.

 

The wood was rough beneath his robes, but he had never cared less.

 

“Why did you take that damned Mo Xuanyu in? Why do you…” He stopped, took a choppy breath. His lungs were tight but his questions endless.

 

“Why do you act like being a cut-sleeve isn’t bad? Isn’t it shameful?” His tone ended on demanding, sharp with confusion. He didn’t understand.

 

Laoshi just hummed, the sound thoughtful. “There is no shame in love, A-ling. A pretty face is a pretty face is a pretty face— be it man or women, why should I care? All the more people to compliment and woo.”

 

Something in the tone of Laoshi’s words made him pause, shift across the wood. The docks shifted over the water and he swayed with them, swayed into answers.

 

Was this what Uncle had said he understood?

 

“Laoshi are you—” He stopped, swallowing the words, shame creeping up his spine at the thought and question, making his hackles rise against the feeling. Would this insult his teacher? Would it make him angry?

 

Jin Ling didn’t think so, but he had never asked a question like this before.

 

“Are you a cut-sleeve too?”

 

Laoshi’s face settled into seriousness, judgement curling into red eyes. Only the hint of a smile could be seen around his lips, and he looked fierce.

 

Jin Ling had been learning from gods.

 

“Nothing so black and white as that. I find men as attractive as I find women, and that is all. Do you think less of me, A-ling?”

 

There was trap and test in that question, as there ever was with Laoshi’s serious questions. But it didn’t matter.

 

If the man wanted to be a damn cut-sleeve, he could be. He was still Jin Ling’s Laoshi, had still held him through his tears and given him a father’s praise.

 

He clicked his tongue, looked away across the water. The lotus blooms floated like fog across skin, made beautiful in their lightness.

 

If Laoshi was a cut-sleeve, how shameful could it truly be?

 

“I don’t give a damn, Laoshi, so long as you stop napping and teach me the sword,” he said, words annoyed and sharp. He shifted across the wood and felt it catch on his robes.

 

He understood.

 

A laugh rung across the water, loud with happiness. Laoshi always laughed.

 

“So impatient! I better get to it, then, hmm? Go fetch Mo Xuanyu. He’ll be practicing with us.”

 

This time, with something like understanding in his veins, Jin Ling just snorted and walked away, the curl of jealousy and disgust pushed aside. “What am I, an errand boy? Hurry up, Laoshi, we are wasting hours.”

Chapter 7: A Black Gift

Notes:

I am very behind on answering comments I am so sorry, will get to those v soon my lovely readers, have patience with me plz.

For months, a routine blossomed across the long docks of Lotus Pier.

 

Once a week, without fail, the Sect Leader and the newest clan member would raise their swords against each other and shake the ground with spars. The air rumbled with a symphony of clashing blades and happy laughter, carried the cursing between old friends and older comrades. Each time, they lowered their swords without a clear winner, at the same time, as if they thought with one mind.

 

No one missed these matches.

 

After, in the great courtyard, the disciples began to reenact the battles, dissecting the moves and practicing the fine sword tricks. As dust settled in the air and words filled the afternoon light, the disciples learned.

 

Mo Xuanyu proved himself to have a keen eye for detail and a keener tongue. Though his core was weak, he was at the center of these hours, sharp words at the ready to correct inaccuracy. Jiang Ying smiled with a particular pride, on those days. 

 

The Sect Leader’s famous temper ebbed as well, and the servants took to sending Jiang Ying extra bowls of pork-rib soup in thanks. The bowls were returned empty and with grateful smiles, but no one ever saw him eat.

 

The sun shone over long piers and washed the fog away, and there was the beginning of peace creeping into Lotus Pier.

 

It was disturbed by only one thing.

 

Every day, without fail, Mo Xuanyu and Jin Ling sought out Jiang Ying for training. For long weeks, tempers met tempers and clashed, the two breaking into fighting more often than not.

 

But Jiang Ying just pulled them apart, time and again, with a laugh and a smile and more sword work.

 

The first day they spoke without fighting was tense as taut string, new as the first brush of spring.

 

The second day was somehow sharper, but both held their tongues and practiced flowed flawlessly.

 

By the tenth day, servants no longer held their breath when passing the practice areas.

 

By the fifteen, the laughter of children echoed through the halls, bright as bells and three times as joyous.

 

By the thirtieth, Jin Ling and Mo Xuanyu could hardly be found apart, one haughty and sharp, the other bitter and prickly. Together, they hunted down their teacher, and together, they trained.

 

Together, they became fierce. For the first time in decades, the halls of Lotus Pier were filled with the gentle press of a family, and every disciple walked with quicker steps and lighter hearts.

 

The Yunmeng Jiang Sect was recovering, servants whispered beside the gentle swell of water. There was a breathless and hopeful happiness on their faces. The heart of Lotus Pier was recovering on the backs of children, and their thorny Sect Leader had never looked happier.

 

It all fell apart on the forty-fifth day.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

The sun was shining with the burning light of afternoon, bright and hot as fire. It was a sunny day, with no fog to catch the light and no buffer to that terrible heat.

 

Wei Wuxian’s ghostly skin met it and felt no warmth. The sun broke across his shadows and was defeated, scattering into a thousand beams to pierce the ground at his feet. He looked up at the sky and laughed a teasing laugh.

 

It was a lovely day for training, clear and relentlessly cheerful. He had always loved rain more than sun, but today he could accept the harsh afternoon light and smile into its gleam. There was a dust training ground beneath his fee and a swaying pier at his side. The deep-green of lotus pads floating on gentle water looked so very beautiful, and he watched them swirl with fond memories.

 

Life had settled into happiness, and he didn’t dare wish for more than a harsh sun and a family around him.

 

It was a lovely day, but one of his students was late.

 

A-ling stood to one side, back too straight and shoulders tight with worry. The red dot on his forehead was smeared with sweat, and the set of his jaw as far too strained for a day of training and laughter.

 

He had come back alone from the midday break, all thorny masks and buried hurt. After long years laughing at this boy’s side and guiding him through training and the painful moments of life, Wei Wuxian had known something was wrong in an instant.

 

He had sent shadows to pull at A-ling’s ankles and tug at the fine fabric of his robes, had lifted lotus seed-pods from the lake and offered them up with a lazy teasing.

 

But the boy had refused to speak, jaw clenched around a thousand unsaid words. A-ling’s eyes were hurt and his face was furious as a storm.

 

He looked so much like Jiang Cheng, when his face was set to petulance.

 

Wei Wuxian shifted in the sun, felt it glimmer off his shadows and disappear into dust. He did not like this silence, did not care for the stony set of A-ling’s jaw.

 

He did not care for A-yu’s absence either.  

 

The swirl of water was quiet, but it echoed loud and deafening in the strained air before Jin Ling. Wei Wuxian wanted to brush that stress away with laughter and smiles, wanted to make shadows dance in the air with gentle stories.

 

What had Mo Xuanyu said, to make those A-ling’s eyes shine with hurt?

 

It was only moments later, held on an awkward and furious silence, that Wei Wuxian understood.

 

Mo Xuanyu walked onto the practice field with shoulders tight and face crackling with tension, sharp eyes made into flint. There was a hunched set to the man’s body, like he expected to be struck and was prepared to bite for it.

 

The harsh sun shone into that face and made it look broken.

 

The annoyance in Wei Wuxian’s gut shifted to worry in a heartbeat. He had spent long months teasing A-yu into relaxation, working to make him comfortable in his own skin and happy with his whole self, from cut-sleeve heart to feeble core.

 

The man would never sit among the peaks of the most esteemed cultivators, but he had the grit to become decent. In a world where immortality came with a golden core and hard work, that was enough.

 

Wei Wuxian would help him get there, would walk at his back and press a protective hand between those hunched shoulder blades. He would be the wind beneath A-yu’s wings and the teacher to show him how those feathers caught the breeze.

 

Wei Wuxian had stretched out his hands to help, Mo Xuanyu had begun to understand. Across the polished wood docks of Lotus Piet, A-yu had crawled from a protective shell of anger to emerge a beast of discipline. He was willing to learn if someone was willing to teach him, and oh, with a laughing smile was Wei Wuxian willing to teach him.

 

They had become Laoshi and disciple, across the dust of a practice field and over long weeks. Mo Xuanyu learned to move quickly and think quicker, and soon he walked with an earned confidence.

 

The warmth that swelled in Wei Wuxian’s ghostly heart at that thought was matched only by the shining light of the afternoon sun.

 

But those shoulders were hunched forwards and brittle, today. But the spitting viper of a man was quiet and furious, today.

 

Wei Wuxian needed to know why.

 

He smiled into the sun, took dancing steps forwards. The practice grounds breathed out puffs of dirt with the motion, and he watched it swirl into the hot air and shadow him.

 

A-yu had stopped an arm’s length away, face tilted down and jaw clenched. A-ling stood on his other side, arms crossed across gilded robes and lips set to furious pouting.

 

He laughed at the expressions, watched offense creep up their spines. Ah, to only be young and full of foolish pride.

 

“What have the two of you done today, hmm?” The question was light and casual, but it held steel beneath. From the way both students looked at their feet, Wei Wuxian knew they could feel it.

 

What had they done, and what harsh words had they exchanged? He sighed, deep and with a teacher’s patience. They were fools twice over, to keep their mouths shut now. He almost wanted to laugh again; had he trained them so well they had become as rebellious as him?

 

But this was not the silence of cooperation between troublemakers— that sound Wei Wuxian was very familiar with, from long days at the Cloud Recesses. Oh, he had never stayed silent long enough to let it grace his tongue, not when there was Lan Zhan to rile up and Lan Qiren to annoy. He really could never stop talking.

 

That had been a quiet held in the elegant spread of Nie Huaisang’s fan and the clenched jaw of Jiang Cheng.

 

This was the silence of bitter words.

 

“Really? Neither of you want to talk? Months with me and you can't say a word? How shameful, your teacher must be truly terrible.” He turned to Mo Xuanyu, watched the kicked dog look grow feral.

 

His laugh gentled into a smile, teasing but quieter.

 

“Come on A-yu, explain what’s going on in that head of yours before I have to start guessing. What’s wrong?” The words brushed dust off Mo Xuanyu’s jaw, made it grow hesitant. But still the man didn’t look up, didn’t lift clever eyes to meet his.

 

The anger was clear and sharp but directed at the ground. What did that mean for those hunched shoulders, he wondered?

 

A bitter twist of the lips came before bitter words. A-yu looked as broken as he once had, in a garden long months ago.

 

Wei Wuxian hated to see that anger almost as much as he hated how familiar it was.

 

“Just leave it be, Jiang Laoshi. You—” The man stopped, sound biting off in the snap of teeth.

 

Wei Wuxian didn’t need to hear the unspoken words to guess at their sound. You’ve done enough already, and you won’t help me with this and I am not worth it all twisted up into one broken man with bitter eyes.

 

It was far too familiar, and far too much. Those words made the memory of corpse blood leech into his skin, made his finger nails look crimson and filthy.

 

It made him itch, and he sent a thousand shadows over his skin to press away the feeling.

 

“I’d what, A-yu? Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll decide for myself if it is worth my time.” He spoke from a place of sympathy. Let A-yu hear that. 

 

It didn’t stop the tightness in his chest. Dust collected between them, floated on silence and old anger.

 

Eventually, slowly, as if ripped from the depths of his chest, Mo Xuanyu spoke. “I got a letter from my Aunt.”

 

From the curve of his shoulders and the set of his jaw, Wei Wuxian guessed that the history there was far from pleasant.

 

An angry cut-sleeve, born out of wedlock, and with no ability to keep his mouth shut. It would not have been a happy childhood.

 

He smiled, and it was tight with a growing anger. His laugh was kinder, brighter, ready to tease the strain from A-yu’s shoulders.

 

Wei Wuxian had worked too hard to see those shoulder’s hunch forward again.

 

“And? I know my face is pretty, A-yu, but I can’t read minds.”

 

Mo Xuanyu went red and spluttered, as always. The man’s eyes snapped up, and for a moment, the tension faded from his jaw. “Damn it, Jiang Laoshi, this is serious.”

 

Wei Wuxian grinned into the harsh sun and tasted dust on a ghostly tongue.  

 

“So is my face.” He laughed, bright and airy. A-yu had stopped glowering, and that was worth any teasing.

 

A-ling’s splutter made it all the sweeter in the glimmering afternoon light.

 

“What did she say?” He asked, and watched A-yu’s face shut down into tension.

 

The man looked so delicate, with hunched shoulders and a tight jaw. Wei Wuxian hated it.

 

“There has been an unusual rash of fierce corpse attacks recently. She is asking for my help.” A broken sound echoed from the man’s throat, bitter and dark. “It would have to be serious for her to ask.”

 

Wei Wuxian hummed, the sound loud in the space between them. Dust collected in the air and glimmered like gold in the harsh sun, but A-yu just looked washed out. The set of his shoulders spoke of the storm of emotions in him, of the old pain and older insecurity.

 

Mo Xuanyu would regret it, if he didn’t go.

 

Wei Wuxian turned on his heel, and began to walk towards the complex, the dust of the training grounds wafting behind him like a cloak. “We will have to pack enough food, with how much A-ling has been eating, but we should be able to set off by tomorrow.”

 

There was a hopeful silence behind him, for a long moment and a helpless heartbeat.

 

“Jiang Laoshi…” A-yu sounded lost as a child, voice trembling out and into the air.

 

Wei Wuxian just reached back, catching Mo Xuanyu’s nose in a casual flick of his finger. He sent shadows into the movement to make it sting, but there was no blood dying his nails crimson, today.

 

He was the ghost of Lotus Pier, today. Long years spent dangling shadowed feet into the water and laughing with A-ling had long since washed him clean of corpse-dust.

 

The dust of the training grounds was harder to be rid of, but he welcomed it with a smile and quick words. The afternoon sun was so bright, and he let it cast extra shadows on his eyes.

 

“What? If you want to leave earlier, you’ll have to pack things yourself.”

 

Mo Xuanyu didn’t speak in response, but A-ling did, voice sharp and petulant.

 

“Why are we helping them, Laoshi? They are—” The boy’s voice cut off, angry as a wet cat. A-ling sounded so offended, furious as a storm and caught flame.

 

Ah, thought Wei Wuxian, understanding trickling in like water. This is what the two had fought over.

 

“It’s the job of cultivators to go where the chaos is, A-ling. The village needs our help, even if the people deserve a kick in the ass.”

 

Nothing more needed to be said, and so nothing was.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

The pier was quiet with the dark of night and the shadowed moment beyond midnight. Water swirled around them, clear and brilliant in the moonlight. The only sounds were the swirl of currents beneath lotus blooms, the trembling of dragonfly wings, and the clink of fine porcelain cups on smooth wood.

 

It was a calm night between brothers, and Wei Wuxian savored every moment.  

 

He lifted his cup and drew the flavor of Emperor’s Smile onto his tongue, let it curl there for a moment and two. It tasted like smoke and the sweet sap of pine trees, like bitter burn and smooth honey.

 

It was delicious, for a breathless moment. Then the shadows that were his bones took the liquid into nothingness, and he was left a ghost again.

 

It was only in these moments, late at night when fine liquor only stayed for a moment and the taste of pork-rib soup didn’t linger on his tongue, that Wei Wuxian couldn’t bear this specter’s body.

 

He wanted to keep warmth in him, wanted to feel a full stomach and the exhaustion that came before sleep.

 

He wanted to be human, in these moments of weakness. But here he was, possessing a golden core that beat in his brother’s chest.

 

Here he was, a man made of shadows and dancing laughs and nothing else.

 

He was alive, given form and strength enough to protect A-ling. For the sake of this precious chance, for the sake of Jin Ling, Wei Wuxian could not bring himself to regret it.

 

There was an irritated sigh from beside him, Jiang Cheng setting his cup against the wood with careless fingers. The porcelain clicked with a harsh finality, the sound shaking over the water and making the lotus blooms tremble.

 

“You are leaving, then.” It was not a question, spoken into darkness with a tight fury. Wei Wuxian could hear the hurt lingering beneath that anger, as only a brother could.

 

It sounded like old memories.

 

"Ah, you know me too well, Jiang Cheng! How could I hope to trick you."

  

Jiang Cheng was worried, and that strain echoed across the waters of the moonlit lake and shook the lotus blooms.

 

“We don’t even know how far from me you can journey without risking yourself. Have you thought of this?” Wei Wuxian hated hearing that voice, but it was so familiar. He had earned his brother’s furious worry a thousand times over, and all he could do before it was smile.

 

Wei Wuxian had thought of the possession, too much and not enough. In the long hours after midnight he had bent his genius to the problem and found nothing but answers. Now he had a litany of talismans written in the ink of shadows.

 

But he couldn't break from his brother's golden core. 

 

“I’ll manage, don’t worry. I have some ideas on that front, and plenty of practice solving these problems. Are you doubting my skill, Jiang Cheng?” His voice was teasing as much as it was challenging, but his brother barely seemed to register the words.

 

Jiang Cheng was staring out at the lake like it held a thousand answers. Finally, a snort echoed over the water, sharp as lightning. Instead of speaking, Jiang Cheng lifted a wooden box from his sleeve, holding it in tense fingers like it was a snake ready to strike.

 

It was a plain thing, worn by the press of long years and unmarked by fine engravings or the subtle spread of polish. In the moonlight it did not gleam or shine, absorbing the light as a dull brown.

 

It was a simple box, but Wei Wuxian doubted it held simple things.

 

“A gift for me, Jiang Cheng? You shouldn’t have.” He let his words float out into the air, teasing and playful as the wind. He expected another snort, the sound of derisive laughter or an irritable scowl.

 

He did not expect the serious set of Jiang Cheng’s face, but his brother looked cold as stone. He moved to hand the box over, but as Wei Wuxian reached for the worn wood, Jiang Cheng clamped strong fingers down.

 

His brother’s fingers were white-knuckled across his, and so very warm.

 

“Promise me you won’t lose control. Swear it.”

 

The shadows around them rustled in a wind that didn’t blow, hiding beneath the curves of lotus petals.

 

But Wei Wuxian did not hide from this, would never think of hiding again. He looked with all his soul at his brother, and let every regret shine from his eyes.

 

They glimmered over the water in a thousand fractals of red light, bright and painful. He thought of Shijie, broken and bloody but smiling so beautifully. He thought of Jin Zixuan, annoying and loving, bleeding out before him.

 

He thought of all the lives his lack of control had cost, of all the moments that could have been reforged. He spoke with every ounce of sincerity in his ghostly body.

 

“I swear to you, Jiang Cheng. I will never let myself lose control again.” He took a breath, felt the oath catch on his lungs and curl across a body made of shadow and smoke. It felt heavy, binding in a way that was soul-deep.

 

He thought of lotus blooms decorating Shijie’s hair and knew a mere oath could never be enough.

 

“But that’s not good enough, not after—”

 

A breath, take a breath, feel air rush into shadowed lungs. He didn’t need to breath with this ghostly body, but he felt calmer after the motion.

 

“I’ll even go to the Cloud Recesses. Not to stay," he shuddered at the thought, at the endless rules and stifling mountain air, "but to learn their songs.”

 

He met Jiang Cheng’s eyes, let the glistening red in his veins show across his pupils. His brother’s skin looked strained and sallow in the crimson light, twisted with old pain.

 

But he didn’t look away.

 

“Even if it is dull as the Lan principles, I will listen to the Calming once a day.”

 

And that was enough. With a shuddering breath and barred teeth, Jiang Cheng shoved the box at Wei Wuxian and turned towards the pier. His brother’s eyes fixed on the lake like it could speak all its secrets and drown out all noise.

 

Wei Wuxian opened the box with trembling fingers, but he already knew what lay inside.

 

Only one thing would make Jiang Cheng force out such a promise, and the black lacquer of Chenqing was too unique to mistake.

Chapter 8: Petulant Memories

Notes:

have this food because this chapter was a bitch to me

There were hard paths to walk, in any life, places where each choice branded skin red and crackly, where where death was the most merciful kindness. Pain could be food and tears water, on these lonely paths where briars feared to grow.

 

Wei Wuxian had walked along them and laughed. Beneath the brutal sun and the burning light of the Qishan Wen Sect, he had learned to take pain and break it between his teeth, to grind it as the dust of war.

 

He had felt bones crack and shatter under the weight of his responsibilities, had watched his life splinter just as easily. He had burned so much, to become a weapon for his brother. It had cost him so very dearly, in blood and sweat and terrible losses of control.

 

Now he walked a shadowed path along the bed of a gentle lake and thanked everything in the world for a second chance. Now he had sworn an oath he longed to keep.

 

Wei Wuxian knew hard paths, had felt their sting and the touch of their steely knives. Mo Xuanyu walked one now, even if this road was softer than corpse-nails and dead sisters.

 

The journey was shorter than Wei Wuxian had expected, a quick three days that seemed to drag into a thousand. They passed them in laughter and training, in lessons and games of sword-tag. He did his everything to draw A-yu’s mind from the destination, from the memories of childhood. The air was breathless with his teasing, but he couldn’t fully break the tension.

 

Even his endless energy could only do so much, and this was a hard path to walk. With each step down the curving roads and through the dappled shade of forests, A-yu’s shoulders coiled tighter. There was a bitter edge to the man’s mouth, like the very wind tasted foul.

 

With each step, the man looked younger, more petulant. Wei Wuxian just laughed more, brushed his shoulders against A-yu’s and dragged A-ling’s smile out into the daylight. The sun could shine all it wanted, could brush the way before them in light and cast away shadows.

 

Wei Wuxian would still be here.

 

On the afternoon of the third day, they stepped into a modest village. It was alive with the gentle bustle of markets and the tiled roofs of mild prosperity. The careful road leading into the village was well tended and wide, packed earth speaking of wealth and good weather.

 

It was an unremarkable village to hold bad memories, and Wei Wuxian had walked through a thousand just like it in his two lives. He had burned down even more, in the war.

 

What did that make him, he wondered, and smiled against the thought.

 

Mo Xuanyu lead them through the roads with a surety that spoke of long memory and longer experience. With each step over beaten dirt, his mouth tightened, coiling like a spring set to explode.

 

Wei Wuxian watched the tension, watched the insecurity creep back into the man’s eyes. The man looked so like A-ling, in that moment, bearing a child’s gentle scars.

 

A-yu was a prickly boy with a frightened heart, hidden behind layers of bitter rage and the beginnings of insanity. Here lay the roots of that pain.

 

This was a hard path, Wei Wuxian thought, but it still had some give.

 

Once, it might have been too much for the man. Once returning to this village would have broken him. Now, Wei Wuxian threw a lazy arm across A-yu’s shoulders and tugged him close.

 

He would be shepherd and shield from the dingy memories, if he must.  

 

Jin Ling glared out over the packed earth, drawing closer to A-yu and looking like a guard-dog sent to snarl people away. There was a protective rage lining the boy’s shoulders, making him stand strong and proud. Golden fabric glittered in the sun but not as much as the glimmer of bared teeth.

 

Wei Wuxian didn’t both to hide his smile. There was nothing the boy wouldn’t do for a friend, and he had precious few of those.

 

Just like his father, Wei Wuxian thought, and couldn’t help the broken laugh that shook from ghostly lungs, the wince that tugged at his cheeks. Jin Zixuan could have had many more friends, had Wei Wuxian stopped to think.

 

But he had never been very good at that, in both his lives. With a dancing step, he shook off the cloud on his shoulders, wrapped shadows on his smile and walked forward.

 

Wei Wuxian wasn’t here to let his thoughts linger on old mistakes.

 

At the end of a long road lay a manor, and it was there Mo Xuanyu led them, reluctant guide and petulant child.

 

“Can we not just kill the creatures and be done with it?” The boy’s voice was tight, annoyed and ruthless as a snapping turtle.

 

Wei Wuxian just laughed, taking light steps forward and knocking a heavy hand across the gate. It echoed with a resonance it shouldn’t have, like drumbeats pounded through a darkened cave. After spent long days trapped underground, Wei Wuxian knew the sound too well for comfort. 

 

He smiled and knocked again, felt the tremors race out again. He didn’t have the energy to rein in his shadows, today, and so the wood shook beneath his hand.

 

This was the end of a hard path that was yet soft.

 

“Ah, we don’t even know what the creatures are, A-yu. How can we fight blind? Besides, I’d like a decent place to stay while we destroy the source.” His words were quick and airy, more teasing than they should be.

 

I’d like to meet the family that made you so petulant, he didn’t say, but the meaning crept from his tone and made it a shade too heavy. It sounded out like drumbeats, like the sound of his knuckles striking across the door. 

 

Mo Xuanyu didn’t hear it, but that was fine— Wei Wuxian would show the boy there were people who cared for that bitter heart if it killed him.

 

And Wei Wuxian, ghost and Patriarch of the Demonic Arts, was difficult to kill.

 

A servant answered quickly, eyes going wide at the sight of three peerless cultivators and wider still at A-yu. There was a moment of awkward silence, of a blurted name and blinking eyes, before the man sketched a bow.

 

“Follow me,” he said, leading them into the great house with surprised glances at Mo Xuanyu. Wei Wuxian watched the man carefully, cataloging the reactions with all the skill of a war general. If there was anything battle taught well, it was to read intent in the set of a mouth, hostility in the eyes. Those looks were not angry, not with the servant’s open eyes and relaxed shoulders.

 

But they held a wary curiosity, a learned disdain. It showed in the tilt of the chin and uncareful smile, in the way the man walked a shade too fast.

 

Wei Wuxian had felt similar looks in his childhood, under Madam Yu’s crackling gaze. The halls felt similar too, with their neat lines and careful gardens.

 

But this place had none of the soul of Lotus Pier, none of the gentle shadows and laughing memories. There had been a family there, once. The footsteps of children still shook through the creak of docks over water, ghostly and warm.

 

Now they were forging a new one, with living children and the swirl of a calm lake. 

 

He swept forward with a cheery smile and eyes just a shade too sharp, let the careful stone click beneath his feet. They walked the fine manor with its fine halls, and he felt a fine impatience chase his laughter.

 

A modest hall greeted them, at the end of their path. Tea, too, served with a quickness that spoke of haste. There was no place set out for guests in the broad room, no mats laid out over the polished wood of the floor.

 

They were not expected, today, and it showed in the flustered faces of the servants. Wei Wuxian wondered at that, and the letter Mo Xuanyu had clearly never sent. 

 

He took a smiling sip of tea and let the taste cling to his tongue, waited a few moments for the head of house to stride into the room.

 

A-yu had gone dark as a storm cloud, at his side. A-ling didn’t look much better, a creature of rage and snapping jaws.

 

He took another sip of tea. It was expensive, with a thick feel and clinging taste. He really wished it were wine, really wished it tasted like fog and the clouds of Gusu.

 

What he wouldn’t give for wine and old company, he thought, and took another sip. The porcelain was fine too, and couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of careful paintings and elegant white curves. They had brought out the fine cups, and all for him.

 

He wanted to snicker, but he wanted to make trouble so much more.

 

Madam Mo was something else, the sharpness of her eyes speaking of intelligence and the speed at which she praised Mo Xuanyu speaking of cunning. Wrinkles lined her face but did nothing to hide her steel.

 

A social climber with teeth, if Wei Wuxian had ever seen one. A good thing then, that he had never cared for niceties.

 

He smiled and it was such a careless thing.

 

“Ah, Cultivator Jiang, we were not expecting someone from your distinguished Sect to come with our little Mo Xuanyu. We are far too unfitting of such a guest, proper tea will be brought out immediately, where is that servant—”

 

Wei Wuxian just laughed, the sound cutting and quick. The wood beneath his legs was polished to a sheen but he wanted to scuff it to pieces.

 

“Ah, Madam Mo, no need for any of that! A-yu was raised here, after all. The aunt of my treasured student need not be so formal.”

 

The words were kind, but the threat was clear. He smiled a lazy viper’s smile, let the steel show in his teeth. He was made of shadow and the resentful energy of a thousand corpses, collected over thirteen years.

 

He was deadly, and it showed in the kindness of his smile.

 

In the gentle light of afternoon, Madam Mo winced, and it was a look Wei Wuxian treasured. The wrinkles of her face would bear deeper lines, if he was half the troublemaker he had been.

 

And the shadows lining his bones had made him twice that.

 

He looked across the room, over the tight shoulders of his disciples, over the strained eyes of their hosts.

 

Wei Wuxian looked through the open door and into the smooth light of day and smiled a shadow’s grin.

 

It was a good day for mischief.

 

“The nearby hills look like they’d make for a lovely night hunt,” he said, voice light like he’d had an epiphany. He tapped an idle finger on his teacup, traced a nail over its fine rim. Paint scraped off at his touch, the imperfection left by a casual smirk tracing through the porcelain.

 

“I’ll be sure to tell my brother.” The words rung like they held a laughing weight, like they were so very unimportant. Everyone in the room knew what they meant, and he could see it in their eyes and held breaths.

 

The favor of a great clan mentioned in such a casual gesture was hard to miss.

 

There was nothing more satisfying than watching Madam Mo incline her head forward. The wrinkles at her eyes sparkled with the cobwebs of opportunity.

 

“We would be honored to host the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, even if for a short time.”

 

The sun couldn’t stop his shadows now, not on this day. He turned a lazy head to A-yu, caught the man’s wide eyes and smiled. This time, the kindness was real.

 

“Ah, but only if A-yu wants to come back! He’s done so well, you know. I’m surprised you haven’t sent more letters encouraging him. So few, for such a good disciple. I’d almost think you were neglecting him,” he spoke with a smile, always with a smile.

 

Mischief was so much more effective when he grinned as if he knew all the heavy meanings of his own words.

 

She colored gently as a ripe apple, her face thin before his words. “I can assure you Mo Xuanyu felt only kindness at our hands. We will… work to remedy the situation.”

 

He smiled and felt his teeth glint in the dazzling light of afternoon. The sun threaded through the open door like a living thing, come to spread over the floor and make it gleam. This hall shimmered with it, modest but well decorated. Fine silks hung on the walls like stories come to life, and the polished wood smooth beneath his feet.

 

He had half a mind to lounge across its surface and stain it with mud.

 

“I certainly hope so. I’d hate to have to tell the Sect Leader his prize disciple was mistreated.”

 

The woman’s face went pale beneath the powder coating it, and he smiled a little wider. She looked so very furious, the jaw of a leader clenching under wrinkled skin.

 

He got the impression she cared very deeply for those that met her approval. He imagined she equally deeply scorned those who did not.

 

Mo Xuanyu belonged in the second class, and that made the mischief in his bones creep free.

 

It was a good day to drink tea and insult a stranger.

 

“This family is very grateful to hear he is so treasured, Senior Jiang. I will pass along the wishes to his mother,” the woman managed at last, just on the wrong edge of polite. Beside him, A-yu twitched, the motion small and helpless. 

 

Wei Wuxian noticed, and tucked away the reaction. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled to his lips, the playful smile that lurked in the corners of his mouth. He took a sip of tea and watched those wrinkles grow and spread.

 

The afternoon light was so very warm, and the flavor on his tongue expensive.

 

It was a good day. He turned to Mo Xuanyu, caught the man’s wide eyes and couldn’t help but smile. A-yu looked like he had been shocked by the sting of Zidian and left gasping and gaping. Bitter eyes darted between Wei Wuxian and Madam Mo like he was watching his reality break, like he hadn’t ever thought to see polished wood and feel anything but the sting of a poor childhood.

 

Wei Wuxian smiled a little wider, against the too-strong sympathy. Had the man not realized he was appreciated? Had he not learned his own worth, in the long days in Lotus Pier?

 

Months of A-ling’s slow-earned friendship and Wei Wuxian’s training should have fixed that. But Wei Wuxian knew insecurities and doubts could run deeper than a chasm and thicker than blood.

 

He had learned that so well, in the Burial Mounds.

 

He let his lips curve into teasing, into true happiness. He would insult the old woman a thousand times, if it meant proving Mo Xuanyu’s worth to her. The shifting from his side seemed to agree, A-ling looking angrier than a riled tiger.

 

Had Mo Xuanyu not realized he came with guards and friends, he wondered, and laughed again.

 

“Ah, let’s not waste any more time. Tell me about the corpses,” he commanded, and settled in to listen to her speak. The afternoon sun crept over his skin to warm him, as she began to speak efficient and bloody words.

 

The floor smooth and polished beneath his legs, but he leaned back in a lazy slouch regardless. He may stand for the Jiang Clan and bear its honor, but he stood for a casual dismissal of the Mo family even more.

 

It was a good thing he could turn his deadly genius to multitasking.

 

It took long moments to recount the tale, from shocked beginning to bloody middle. After the end of the story, Wei Wuxian swirled the tea across the curve of his cup, watched it dance and spin.

 

His mind was whirling, all traces of mischief gone in place of curiosity. The facts collected across his tongue like liquor and fed his thinking mind well and wholly. A gruesome body found once a week, for the better part of a month, the corpses drained of strength and age, made pale with some dark arts. Skin was left sallow and hands missing from a few of the bodies, as if they had been chopped off by a sword or saber.

 

A monster had come a-knocking on the doors of this modest village, and Wei Wuxian wondered how long it would take to turn devourous.

 

He wondered at the timing too, and the strange descriptions of the victims. It could be the fear mongering of the untrained, but ghostly pale skin and aged faces sounded beyond the skill of a restless spirit.

 

What would they encounter here, in this plain village with its petulant memories?

 

A gentle clink echoed through the room, demur and quiet as only trained movements could be. It was a pot of fresh tea, teapot glimmering with the wet of a washed glaze. The servant placed it down, a careful smile and a deep bow following the motion. Wei Wuxian smiled back, let his grin go bright and generous.

 

It was a kinder smile than he had given to anyone else here, and it showed.

 

The students at his sides shifted, like fish swimming through shadowed water. They were growing restless in the light of afternoon, with this conversation laced by knives and laughing threats.

 

There was tea before them but neither had touched their fine cups, sitting still and furious. He could feel the tension building in the squirming petulance of A-yu, in the stone-still face of A-ling.

 

They wouldn’t last the hour, in this fake hospitality.

 

He could have laughed, wanted to let loose a thousand chuckles. He had never been able to bear it either, couldn’t take the ceremony and the stupidity. Respect was to be earned, and formality was a fool’s attempt at demanding it.

 

But there was no better way to lord Mo Xuanyu’s importance over this family than with gentle words and a sharp smile. So Wei Wuxian spent another long moment there, lounging back like he owned this polished floor, like it was his to command and dirty. He took a sip of the new tea, let it flow from a fine cup and touch the corners of his mouth.

 

It was much more expensive, singing songs of imperial gardens and lush shade on his tongue. He smiled, and it was a mischievous thing borne from a life hard lived, kept in the cracks of lotus petals.

 

It would be more of an insult to leave after sipping this tea.

 

“Ah, excuse us, Madam Mo.” With the afternoon sunlight dripping across the polished floor, he spoke lazy words. “I’d rather not stay locked up in a dreary house on a lovely day like this.”

 

He smiled with the insult, bright and so very cheery. The tea was fine, the cups were finer, and he had Chenqing resting against the ghostly skin under his robes. 

 

It was a good day to face demons, he thought, and stood. Shadows trailed behind his robes and made him darker than the night, dancing careful and subtle at the edge of his ankles. A-ling and A-yu scrambled to their feet, looking for all the world like he had just saved them from an early death.

 

 

Those cobweb-wrinkles went taut and furious, but he paid them no mind, attention caught on the faces of his disciples. A-ling looked furious and angry, righteous superiority clinging to his face as he looked at Madam Mo.

 

A-yu looked shocked, bitter, petulant and so very childish. The expression was poorly hidden, time spent with untouched tea making him look so very young. After an afternoon of cataloging those reactions, of watching the careful glances of servants and the disdainful ones of Madam Mo, Wei Wuxian had a better idea of why.

 

A picture was painting itself in his mind, in hesitant brush strokes and a child’s anger. He would tease out the colors to line this drawing from A-yu soon enough. But now it was time to leave, in a final, perfect, insult. 

 

Wei Wuxian waved cheery fingers at the servant with the kind smile, felt the afternoon sun glimmer across his skin. His shadows were strong enough to bear this light and so much more, and today he welcomed it.

 

“We will return at nightfall. Make sure to keep everyone inside then, unless you have a few lives you want to lose,” he said, and turned on a dancing heel.

 

The air held the kind of awkward silence he lived for, curling in his wake with the frustration of propriety. He didn’t bother to hide his smile as they walked out of a house with petulant memories and into the light of day.

 

Ah, it really was the small victories in life.

Chapter 9: A Second Meeting

Notes:

good news for you: Ghost is now 75k
bad news for me: Ghost is now 75k

Sun caught across the road, shading the well-worn tables of the wine shop into shadow, into light. There were only a few customers scattered across the room like ink on paper, oil spilled across a dusty river.

 

The afternoon was waning, but the light still looked bright enough to cut. Wei Wuxian just stared out at the road outside, watched the motions and breaths of this modest village. The dust of a road well-traveled caught on his cup and stained it tan, but Wei Wuxian just wiped it away and drank deeply.

 

He had sat here for long hours, waiting for nightfall. He had laughed and teased, watched liquor swirl in his porcelain cup and sighed at the furious quiet echoing across the table.

 

He had tried to keep his students light and cheerful, but there was a cloud hanging across them like afternoon shadows. A-ling and A-yu were sitting beside each other, one quiet with memories and the other with a young lord’s righteous fury.

 

They both looked bitter, shoulders hunched forward and mouths set to pouting frowns. They both looked so young, sitting there like the world would end at sunset.

 

He could only laugh, before those faces.

 

Wei Wuxian pressed lazy fingers into the cup before him, twirling the fine porcelain and watching liquor brush the sides. The wine in his cup was no Emperor’s Smile, didn’t sing the songs of Gusu on his tongue.

 

It tasted ever so slightly of ash and road dust, like it had cured in rotten wood. He threw it back anyway, tasted sharp pine and the harsh burn of a wine drunk too early.

 

Once, with the training of Lotus Pier and a favored disciple's sheltered life, he had been proud of his good taste. There wasn’t a wine he didn’t know, not a liquor he couldn’t tell at a sniff.

 

The Burial Mounds had broken that quickly, along with so many other things. Now he could drink swill and laugh at the taste.

 

He smiled, letting his eyes fall across the table and onto his students' shoulders.

 

“Come on you two, tonight we get a night hunt. Enemies to defeat, swords to swing. Aren’t you excited?”  His tone was teasing and light, bright in the quiet drinking hall.

 

A-ling was fuming, jaw tight and shoulders back. Gold gilt lined his spine and made him proud, but the set of his teeth made him petulant. The boy opened his mouth to speak, and Wei Wuxian waved him to quiet. He had spent long years teaching the boy with laughter and shadows, on gentle piers that swayed with the wind.

 

He knew when A-ling was going to say foolish things, and this time the words would do no good but harm.

 

“Ah, speak of other things, A-ling. No need to dwell on fools.”

 

They both flinched at that, in the dusty air of late afternoon, with decent wine held in decent cups. But the jolting line of A-ling’s shoulders was angry.

 

Mo Xuanyu’s just looked tired.

 

“Why did we have to—” the man stopped, took a bitter and petulant breath. There was dust collecting across his face but he didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to care.

 

“Thank you, Laoshi,” he said at last, quiet and uncertain. He looked small, sitting hunched and jagged in the evening light.

 

Wei Wuxian waved it off, felt his robes shake and tremble at the motion. There was a heavy weight in his sleeve, and it was gave him comfort and made him tremble.

 

Black lacquer blended into the ink stain of his shadows so well, but it was painful with old memories.

 

He smiled all the same.

 

“A-yu, don’t you want to go visit your mother?”

 

The woman was still alive, he knew, from vague mentions through the past few months.

 

But the boy just hunched further into himself and spoke a quiet, “No.”

 

“No?” The tone was light, questioning. There was a tale of insecurity and foolish thoughts in that response, but Wei Wuxian could only feel a strange dissonance.

 

He would have given the world, to meet the woman who had given him life. But the hopes of an orphan were so very different than the hopes of a bastard child.

 

Wei Wuxian would try not to forget that.

 

“She’ll be proud of me,” the boy said, like it was the greatest curse in the world.

 

There was a poignant silence, but Wei Wuxian just turned his head to his sky and laughed.

 

Oh, to be young and stupid.

 

Mo Xuanyu looked at him, a wary shock playing on bitter eyes. The hunch of his shoulders had eased into confusion, but it wasn’t relaxed enough.

 

The man would learn.

 

Wei Wuxian leaned back into a lazy slouch, let the dust collect on his robes for a heartbeat before the shadows swallowed it whole.

 

“Ah, it doesn’t matter does it, A-yu? You are wasted in a backwater village like this. No need to ever come back.”

 

Understanding was a beautiful look to see dawning in his student’s eyes. It was even better shared in a wine shop and between family. He looked down at his cup, swirled it once and twice before downing the last dregs of liquor.

 

Pine and smoke and all the good things in life made cheap touched his tongue.

 

“I don’t ever have to come back,” Mo Xuanyu said in the silence, like he was learning the weight of those words.

 

“Nope,” Wei Wuxian replied and sounded far too cheerful.

 

A-ling just snorted, arms crossed before his chest and looking for all the world like a spoiled princess. Light glittered off his gold robes as if they were spun from sunlight. “I don’t understand why we are even here. Let the damn villagers hire someone else or die. What do we care, this is far below our station.”

 

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow and smiled a sharp smile. “Just because they are fools doesn’t mean we should let them die. Reserve that for your enemies, A-ling.”

 

His eyes caught on the stain of white on the street, on a parade of fine robes and neat disciples. Mourning robes, he had always thought they looked like, and the way they glistened in the sun did nothing to wipe away that thought.

 

He nodded up from the table, and watched two sets of unruly eyes snap to where he pointed.

 

“Looks like they hired someone after all, huh?” He smiled, pulled the jug closer, downing it in a single long swallow.

 

It still tasted like ash, but he couldn’t help but grin a little wider.

 

The weight in his sleeve didn’t feel quite so heavy, when the sun drifted down towards the horizon and mourning robes walked a dusty road.

 

“We should go say hello, A-ling, or we’d be rude to your old friend.”

 

A-ling’s eyes went wide and startled impressively fast, whipping around to crane his neck further towards the street. 

 

Wei Wuxian almost laughed. The reaction was as predictable as it was cute.

 

Walking at the front of the group was the boy from his student’s match, all those long months ago. The child had a gentle face but a strong jaw, fine white ribbon sitting proud on his forehead. At the sight of A-ling, the boy’s face lit up, eyes sparking in the fading sunlight. He crossed the dusty road in quick steps, and bowed low with respect. The others followed suit, a cascade of formalities Wei Wuxian sighed at.

 

They taught a thousand things at the Cloud Recesses, but it had always seemed that bullshit was the top priority.

 

“Seniors, Jin Ling. It is good to see you again.” The boy spoke quietly, respectfully. His face was gentle, speaking of firm opinions but careful strength.

 

Wei Wuxian approved of that face. He thought he would approve of the boy too, with his careful bows and quiet smiles.

 

He was nothing at all like Lan Zhan.

 

A-ling sniffed, turning his head ever so slightly to the side. Like the words pained him, he spoke, “And you, I guess.”

 

Wei Wuxian pushed down a laugh, watching the awkward air around A-ling with long humor. The boy didn’t know how to greet politeness, how to speak to someone his own age.

 

In this, even A-yu hadn’t helped; that friendship had moved from screaming and spars to sniping words and loyalty too quickly to allow for kind words.

 

A-ling had much to learn, before he could truly make friends. Wei Wuxian thought the gentle Lan disciple with a soft smile would be a good first step indeed.

 

The boy turned to him and bowed a second time, low and respectful. “I am Lan Sizhui, Senior.”

 

It was a good name for a polite child.

 

Wei Wuxian approved.

 

“Were you summoned to deal with the fierce corpses too?” He asked, words light and airy. The boy nodded, and the dying sun glinted off that Lan ribbon and made it gleam.

 

He had always loved touching Lan Zhan’s ribbon and watching the man snarl. It had been the only thing that broke through that peerless face, and Wei Wuxian had treasured it for that.

 

His fingers twitched against the longing, against the weight in his sleeve. 

 

“Apologies, Senior, we did not know you had been called for as well. We will gladly step out, from respect.”

 

Wei Wuxian just smiled.

 

“Madam Mo didn’t believe even ten cultivators worthy then, huh? Why don’t you join us? No loss on our parts, and less work for me.” His grin turned sharp and daring. “Besides, this spirit seems to be especially vicious. It will be good practice for you too.”

 

The disciple looked torn between a flush and a small smile, between clan orders and respect for a senior. He eventually nodded, and the motion was soft in the dying light. “We will follow your lead, Senior Jiang.”

 

A thousand years could pass and Wei Wuxian would never grow tired of hearing that title.

 

“Good good, it is decided then. Now come drink. Does Gusu still have bans against drink in the Cloud Recesses?” The question was idle and nostalgic, paid for by lingering thoughts of an intense gaze. Seeing Lan Zhan at that banquet had woken up so many memories, and seeing the Lan ribbons now just stirred more.

 

Wei Wuxian had never been a man to linger on the past, but tonight, with the name Jiang decorating his skin and Lan Zhan’s golden eyes lingering in his thoughts, he would allow it.

 

Lan Sizhui looked gave him a wide gaze, robes rustling in surprise. The dying sun glimmered on his white ribbon and made his face look so young. It was a fine face, soft and full of gentle promise. It looked a little like Wen Ning’s, on a sideways glance.

 

Another friend lost to Wei Wuxian's lack of control. But he had made his brother an oath now, and he would stick to those words with all his relentless soul. The weight in his sleeve was unbearable, for a long moment and a shifting breath.

 

He pressed ghostly fingers to the bamboo and felt its deadly energy quake. It had grown from corpse-bones and blood, and been by his side for so very long.

 

He loved it with his whole soul, but this flute had seen and borne the worst of him. There was an oath carved into it now, made stronger by a brother’s glittering eyes and the swirl of water beneath lotus petals.

 

Wei Wuxian would not use Chenqing, if he could help it. And with two lifetimes of earned skill and a thousand shimmering shadows, he would not need it.

 

It would take a threat to his family to make him draw that flute again.

 

Now a boy with familiar eyes looked at him and blinked, and Wei Wuxian pushed away the dark past.

 

There were fond memories a-plenty to pull out, and even more teasing ones.

 

 

“Yes, Senior,” Lan Sizhui said, polite and calm in the face of the unexpected. The boy settled down beside him, dropping to a graceful kneeling pose. He looked so proper it made Wei Wuxian want to tease laughter from him. “Have you been there?”

 

Wei Wuxian chuckled, and the sound echoed strangely over low tables and cups of mediocre wine. Oh how he wished it was Emperor’s Smile, swirling in the jug on his table and of peerless flavor.

 

He would drink with Jiang Cheng again, when he returned. Even if the liquor vanished off his tongue and into his shadows, he would enjoy it.

 

“Once, but it was a long time ago. So many rules, so painful to recite! The Cloud Recesses couldn’t handle me, and I haven’t been invited back since.”

 

He smiled again, tasted old memories on his tongue like ink made liquor. In a stage whisper loud enough to be heard by all, he spoke, voice inviting laughter. “Rules and I, we don’t get along.”

 

And that was all he said.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The sun was setting across the horizon, the wine shop beginning to go bright and cheery with evening lanterns. They glimmered across the wooden tables, made the world go soft from shadow.

 

Jin Ling wanted the sun to set in a rush of light, wanted to be free of this cursed village with its dusty road. He wanted night to never come, wanted the sun to stay caught in the time before dusk.

 

If the sun never set, he never had to watch Mo Xuanyu step foot into that damned manor again.

 

He didn’t want to see that, didn’t want to watch his uncle’s shoulders hunch and grow bitter.

 

All his life, Jin Ling had only ever wanted a friend. He had won one, across a training field and over the docks of Lotus Pier.

 

Now he would protect this boy with every ounce of the rage in his bones, with every piece of his father’s pride. It didn’t matter that this was a small offense, that these damned villagers had only used words and snide glances, only whispered whore’s son in the spaces between houses.

 

It didn’t matter that Mo Xuanyu had told him to stop. Jin Ling had watched him open a neat letter and grow unhappy, and that was enough. 

 

His mother had been forgiving, Laoshi had told him once. She had been a creature of lotus flowers and gentle smiles, of furious skill and furious kindness.

 

She had been beautiful, or so he’d been told.

 

Jin Ling might have her eyes, but he didn’t have it in him to forgive right now. So he was petulant, so he was petty— so what?

 

They deserved it, he thought, and dug an angry nail into the table before him. There was a nervous energy floating beneath his skin, trembling on gold robes and making his jaw go tight and furious.

 

Jin Ling hated it, as he hated many things this day.

 

The sound of quiet shuffling echoed beside him, and he looked up to Laoshi’s smiling face, to a grin lined with shadows and a furious kindness of his own.

 

Laoshi was drinking like the sun would never set, the light caught in his cup and held captive. But his fingers kept twitching towards the shadows of his sleeve, and the grin on his lips was distracted and far away.

 

Jin Ling hated seeing that look almost as much as he hated the bitter acid creeping up Mo Xuanyu’s lips. He clenched his hands, felt the strength of his knuckles go taut and furious. He had long learned to bear his father’s sword, but he couldn’t bear that expression.

 

Maybe if he had his mother’s strength, it would be an easier thing to carry. But that look locked a vice around his gilded heart and wouldn’t let go.

 

It was a look Laoshi only got on the darker nights, when the moon shone like spun silver across lotus petals. It was a look that crept into the silence of the pier, into the creaking of wood and over the trembling currents to echo loud in the quiet.

 

It was a look that his uncle got too, and so often his teachers shared that silence between them deep and heavy as a river. It was impenetrable, and only on those bitter sunsets did Jin Ling truly feel alone.  

 

He didn’t like it when they left him.

 

Staring into the depths of his cup and laughing now, Laoshi had left his student far behind.

 

Jin Ling twitched, glared down at the table before him. Its wood bore old whorls and plain polish, made smooth by a thousand drunk hands and the weight of a hundred cups.

 

It was a decent enough table, but Jin Ling wanted it to burn.

 

“Excuse me,” came a voice to his right, quiet and ever so polite. He looked up, into gentle eyes and a kind smile, into the fine face of Lan Sizhui.

 

He had a name to put to the boy he’d bested all those long months ago, in a dusty arena with the world watching. He had a name for the boy he had pulled up, on the day he proved himself to his teachers.

 

He didn’t need it, could have lived the entirety of his immortal life without the name. There was a white peony embroidered across his chest, and he could bear it with a young master's untouchable pride.

 

He didn’t need a name. But now he had it, so he might as well remember.

 

“What,” he asked, voice snapping like a knife to the quick. Regret followed after the irritation, but he didn’t pull back the sharp words. There was a tiger’s petulant rage in his bones, and he was not built to hold it. He could lift his father’s sword and raise it high, but he couldn’t yet fight back the bitterness in his friend’s face.

 

What good was he, before he could touch that emotion?

 

“I mean—” he cut off his words, blinked angry eyes. How could he speak softly? How could he apologize without speaking words?

 

Jin Ling had never needed to do this before.

 

“What is it?” He said at last, and the words cost him so much.

 

The boy just smiled, and it was gentle as the touch of fog before the dawn. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we were matched at the last festival.”

 

Jin Ling felt heat creep up his neck, felt the fabric of his robes go stiff and uncomfortable. This boy thought he wouldn’t remember? Did the Lan disciple think he had a memory held in loose sand?

 

“Of course, I remember, I’m no fool.” The words were too sharp again, but he said them with a sniff and a huff. The dust was collecting across the table again, but he was too distracted to wipe it off.

 

Lan Sizhui didn’t look angry, and Jin Ling felt a curl of warmth run through his chest.

 

“Ah, I am glad then. Perhaps we could spar again soon? Your skills were extraordinary.” The boy smiled, clever and bright as cut grass. The warmth of the lighting lanterns made it all the more gentle.

 

Jin Ling didn’t know how to handle such polite words, such a strong kindness. He was used to snide comments, to laughing teasing, to harsh commands.

 

He was used to his family, and this dignified boy was so far from that.

 

The heat on his neck was real and terrible, crawling past gold silk and up his cheeks. He wanted to stutter, wanted to curse.

 

He looked away instead, out over the dusty road. The sun was dipping below the horizon and casting everything into shadow.

 

It was comforting as nothing else could ever be.

 

“Yours….”

 

Why were words so difficult, in the light of sunset? Jin Ling had spoken many times before, he was sure. He had spoken in tension and peace, in sharp words and furious ones.

 

But children his age were rare, in Lotus Pier. And rarer still were those who could speak to him as equals.

 

“Yours were good too, I guess,” he forced out through grit teeth and the flush crawling up his neck as relentless fire.

 

The boy smiled again, and Jin Ling stared down at the damn table like it was a lifeline. The swirls looked like whirlpools, and he wanted to drown his mind in the waterborne abyss curling through the wood-grain.

 

Lan Sizhui just smiled like they shared a secret and thanked him with kind words, expression soft and bright.

 

In the light of that smile, all Jin Ling’s tension was drained away.

 

Laoshi was still looking so far away, still caught in the curve of his cup and thoughts Jin Ling couldn’t touch. Mo Xuanyu was glaring into his hands, bitter and small from hunched shoulders.

 

But somehow, with Lan Sizhui pulling him into begrudging conversation, Jin Ling didn’t feel so lonely.

 

Was this what it felt like to make friends, he wondered, and felt the tiniest glimmer of a smile crack across his glare.

 

He had only ever made one before, across a sparring ring and under the laughing eyes of Laoshi. He and Mo Xuanyu had come together like oil and lightning, made to make fire until the fuel was burned away.

 

Their friendship was made of thorns; Lan Sizhui was so… gentle.

 

“Excuse me, Jin Ling.” That polite voice broke his eyes from the table, dragged him up and into the dusty world again.

 

“What,” he snapped, and the sound was so much softer than he’d meant it to be. The whirlpool made of polished wood wasn’t dragging him down anymore, wasn’t consuming him.

 

He didn’t know if he should be grateful.

 

“Where does your Shizun come from?” Lan Sizhui asked, and the words were heavier than they should have been.

 

Jin Ling didn’t know what to make of that, with the flush crawling up his neck and the protective thorns growing on his skin.

 

“Why do you care?”

 

There was a pause, held on the curves of Lan Sizhui’s gentle cheeks, in the crinkle of kind eyes. Jin Ling could grow impatient crops, waiting for the boy to respond.

 

“His laugh, it… it seems familiar,” came the response at last, and Jin Ling forced the tension that wanted to crawl up his spine down and into the dusty air.

 

There were a thousand reason’s Laoshi’s laugh could ring a bell, and only a few of them were threatening.

 

But he had worked too hard over the long years to lose his teacher to an idle question. His thorny heart didn’t grow Jiang Yanli’s furious kindness for everyone, but for Laoshi he had her forgiveness.

 

“Don’t be a fool,” he snapped out, and this time it truly held a viper’s anger. Lan Sizhui looked surprised, looked exasperated.

 

There could be no hurt there if Jin Ling refused to see it.

 

“How could he possibly be familiar to you?”

Chapter 10: The Best of Men

Notes:

A few notes:

I have gone back and edited the JGY interaction, reread for change of tone if you want to.
Don't worry if I don't get to your comment for a few days-- I adore them all, it just takes me a bit sometimes :D

True night came soon enough, and with the buzz of wine trembling under his skin but doing no damage, Wei Wuxian stood. A dozen disciples stood with him, fine robes swooshing around them and marking the air with color.

 

The night sky was so very beautiful, Wei Wuxian thought, as he glanced up and saw only stars. The dust had settled with nightfall, and the shadows had come out to play.

 

The perfect time for hunting corpses. It was made all the better by the moon bright and brilliant above.

 

It was made better by the wine on his tongue and the flute in his sleeve, by the brother’s trust lining his spine.

 

It was a good night.

 

The return to Mo Manor was quick, with fast feet and the cores of cultivators. The Lan Disciples collected behind him like white ducklings to a blackened and ghostly duck. He led them forwards with a smile on his lips and laughter crinkling the corner of his mouth.

 

They looked younger than Lan Zhan ever had, and that made Wei Wuxian smirk into the night air. Wine tasted fine on his tongue, but Emperor’s Smile had tasted so much sweeter.

 

Madam Mo took one look at him, in robes made of inky darkness and a fine sword tied at his hip, and bent her neck enough to let them pass.

 

They swarmed the main courtyard of the complex, feet light and eyes wary. The manor was sealed by talismans and locked away, polished wood shut and screens slammed closed. The air spoke of tension and the fear of the untrained, but Wei Wuxian didn’t mind.

 

He just stood in the center of the courtyard and smiled. So long as no fool ordered a servant out or took incautious steps into the night air, no one would die today.

 

He stood in the dark of night and felt shadows curl up his ankles to greet him.

 

He stood and was made strong.

 

Resentful energy was gathering at the edges of his tongue, a bitter taste that he knew too well. It was swelling through the air, made heavier by the setting sun.

 

It would only grow with what he was about to do.

 

Were he any other cultivator, Wei Wuxian would have told the disciples to pull out demon summoning flags and pepper the area with them. They would have been laid into a careful array, a trap build to lure and catch resentful spirits.

 

It would have worked, but the vigil they’d keep was long and annoying.

 

It was a good thing then, that Wei Wuxian was not just any cultivator. Why use the tools when he had the knowledge?

 

He stood in the lonely courtyard, Mo Xuanyu at one side and Jin Ling at the other. Both had their swords out and ready, eagerness clear in their shoulders. The Lan disciples spread out behind them, peerless white robes glimmering in the moonlight.

 

Wei Wuxian’s sword of shadows was firmly in its sheath, and it should remain there for the night.

 

His students were skilled, and this was a good test of their skill.

 

Lifting his voice to the sky, he sent out an eerie whistle, the note clinging to the air and shaking the clouds high above. It echoed through the great house, across wooden walls and over the cultivated gardens.

 

Madam Mo and her childish son shivered, blanketed behind talismans and the best protection their money could buy. Lan Sizhui’s grip on his sword went tight with something like memory and something like mourning, white robes shuddering before that eerie call. The other disciples shifted and shivered too, but Jin Ling didn’t move an inch.

 

He knew what manner of demon made that call, and had already given his forgiveness.

 

The sound rung further, loud beyond its voice. It echoed out past the village, twirling into the ears of all who heard it and leaving them nervous and wondering.

 

It echoed into a deep chamber of stone and iron. In that cold place it bounced as summons and death knell, waking the loyalty of a restless corpse chained down and bound.

 

It made him roar.

 

It echoed into the forest around the dusty village with its modest buildings, past the hills and across a gentle stream. There, it stopped the graceful hands of a cultivator mid-motion, made his golden eyes turn eastward and the sword at his side tremble.

 

It did all this, and more, for it was the whistle of death come a-knocking, and no soul could unhear it.

 

Like he had not just broken and bent every ear within hearing, Wei Wuxian pulled his fingers from his mouth with a sigh. There was no sound in the echo of his call, no words to whisper into the space and no breath to fill the silence.

 

There was no animal to call out either, but he payed none of that any mind. Like a fox waiting for prey, he sunk to the ground, legs folding into a sloppy lotus pose. He was sure the earth was cold from the touch of night, but ghostly skin felt no chill.

 

There was a weight in his sleeve he did feel, and it pulled his shoulders down and made him lean back. He waved a lazy hand at the students, subtle shadows collecting around his nails and twirling free. This night was a playful one, with resentful energy so close to the surface he could feel it thrum in the air.

 

“Now we just have to wait. Wake me up if a corpse comes by.”

 

And with that, he lay back over the ground and stared up at the stars. They truly looked beautiful tonight, but they would have looked better with a bottle of Emperor’s Smile.

 

Another time, he would lure it out of Gusu and drink with Jiang Cheng again. But today, he relaxed into the ground that was surely cold and smiled to greet the moon.  

 

Twin notes of outrage sounded into the child night air, annoyed and petulant Laoshi come to pull him off the ground. Wei Wuxian just laughed a delighted laugh, and let his shadows tickle Jin Ling’s ankles until the boy stepped away.

 

“With such good disciples as you two, how can I worry? Now be ready, be ready. I want to sleep, so you should make sure not to let me die.”

 

They both colored with the praise, both looking pleased beneath their fury. They really were so very alike. The inky darkness of night clung to their skin but he knew it to be protective.

 

Those were his shadows, after all, and even as they fought with their own swords, he would protect them.

 

They just didn’t need to know that.

 

A rustling in the bushes made the noise stop, made the laughter fade away to attention. Wei Wuxian stilled on the ground, inky darkness collecting around his fingers and beneath the balls of his feet.

 

He looked indolent and relaxed, but he could move in an instant.

 

In the star-shimmer of night, a man struggled forward like string shifted his legs. Dirt collected across loose hair, and the modest robes of a servant were stained with soot and mud, the marks clean in the light of the moon.

 

Wei Wuxian blinked and felt a heavy resignation settle in his stomach. It was one of the servants from earlier, with a gentle smile and kind hands. The man had poured tea with careful fingers and no glances at Mo Xuanyu.

 

But the pallor of his skin spoke of death, and those struggling movements were the steps of a dead man.

 

Ah, thought Wei Wuxian, sitting up from the ground. Shadows moved with him, cloaking his shoulders and blending into the black of night.

 

The stars above were bright and tingling, but he couldn’t stare up at them now.

 

There was something possessing this damned soul, and it was vicious too, if the energy pouring into the courtyard was to be believed.

 

This was no man but a corpse, come to kill and devour. It was so very familiar that Wei Wuxian almost relaxed, tension leaking from his spine.

 

He had lived among the dead for so long that their bone-songs were comforting.

 

“At the ready,” was all he said, but his students knew the rules and had trained for long hours on Lotus Pier.

 

They knew what that tone meant, and the smile on his lips spoke of action.

 

With the ease of long practice, they dashed forward as one unit, swords up and feet light. Lan Sizhui and another disciple— a boy with a temper, from what Wei Wuxian had seen— were not far behind, blades glimmering in the moonlight.

 

They looked fast and fierce, and Wei Wuxian felt such pride, in that moment.

 

But the creature struck with a hand made of iron and energy, twisting unnaturally in the light of the moon. It knocked aside one sword, moving like every bone had been broken and reshaped to kill. Ghastly green skin shifted like it was putrid, twisting up and around to flick out at the disciples.

 

Jin Ling barely got his blade up in time, and this was what had Wei Wuxian rising to his feet, fear driving him to action. 

 

The energy of this thing was undeniable, far above the strength of a corpse or the fury of a ghost. He lifted his hand, called on the shadows across the courtyard. In the light of moon they glimmered with strength and answered to the flick of his fingers.

 

Darkness rose up like a tide to tie the corpse down, curving over dead arms and the unnatural stretch of its jaw. Thick and unmovable, the shadows flowed forward, until the ground writhed with them and strong legs were trapped and bound.

 

Wei Wuxian summoned the darkness that made his robes and it had answered, but still this creature fought. The muscles writhed and moved, struggling against his control as no corpse could. He stared as it bent bone backwards, arms twisting unnaturally in the moonlight.

 

The servant’s broken arms were made pale with death and strong with fury. It was wrong.

 

He clicked his tongue, tasted corpse-dust in the air. The weight in his sleeve felt heavy and comforting, but he couldn’t afford to need it now.

 

There were stars glimmering overhead, and he had a thousand shadows at his call. They had grown with him under the shade of lotus petals and in the currents of a gentle lake.

 

They were his, and a greater gift than any weapon.

 

“We caught such a lively fish in our net.” He walked closer with his words, let a small smile crawl up his face.

 

The disciples gathered around him like chicklings. He nearly laughed, as they collected at his back, keeping the set of his shoulders between them and the corpse.

 

It wasn’t fear but caution on their faces. Even now, A-ling knew he would be protected behind his Laoshi’s smile.

 

The boy was far from wrong.

 

There was a sound like a dying monster, torn from a human throat and made beastly. Wei Wuxian focused in on the corpse before him, leaned close enough to taste dead breath and stare into unfocused eyes.

 

It snapped at him, and he smiled back, bright and cheery.

 

“So bitey. What did I do to deserve that hate, huh?”

 

The corpse snarled again, twisting against the strength of his shadows, but it couldn’t move a hairsbreadth he didn’t allow. Even with all the resentful energy leaking from pale eyes, it could not win.

 

Here Wei Wuxian was the master, and here he laughed.

 

“How the hell are you keeping it bound? Shouldn’t you—” A boy’s voice broke and cracked, tiny tremors of fear creeping into the tone and making it shake. It was the proud disciple from earlier, with the strong jaw and soft eyes.

 

Wei Wuxian just waved a lazy hand, mind caught on the strange color of the corpse-hand.

 

“Shut up, don’t disturb Laoshi. He’s keeping it bound with skill, fool.” A-ling’s words were sharp, but his motions were sharper, cutting into the moonlight and casting it bright and golden.

 

Wei Wuxian ignored those too.

 

He was close enough to examine what had once been a servant, and so he did. Life had drained from the skin and left it thin and sallow. The hand was twisted unnaturally, fingers strong and calloused.

 

It was a strange hand, for a servant. Stranger still for someone with no sword training, from the marks across the fingers.  

 

“This isn’t the hand of a servant,” he said at last, using shadows to move the fingers closer. They twitched at the motion, like a beast had been rolled onto its belly and made vulnerable.

 

Beasts bit hardest when scared, Wei Wuxian knew. The fearless blood of corpses was so very different from a beast, and so he reached out curious fingers, pressed the shadows of his palm against the corpse-skin.

 

He could absorb energy with a thought and a smile, and he was ready to devour the spirit before him. The ghost of Lotus Pier would protect his own, and if he needed power to stand protective and tall before Jin Ling, power he would take.

 

Anger, this betrayal, anger, this fury, what he wouldn’t give to rip him to—

 

With a gasp like a drowning man hoping for air, Wei Wuxian tore his hand away, lifted his fingers from the cold skin of the dead. He watched them tremble, in the air, shake like they had no form and no substance. His nails were surging shadows, forming and reforming with the speed of a hurricane.

 

He felt like he was going to shake out of his fake skin, dissolve into smoke and dust. It took everything he had to force himself to steadiness, every ounce of his self to converge to a ghost again.

 

The corpse on the ground was still thrashing, alive with dead energy that Wei Wuxian had a sudden thrill of cautious respect for.  

 

The weight in his sleeve was heavy as molten gold, wearing at his will. His skin was still trembling, the echoes of his soul screaming above his robes and fading into shadows. That one touch had almost dissolved him, in this modest manor that he didn’t care for.

 

He couldn’t think about that, but he could risk Jiang Cheng even less. Gentle and soft as a spring breeze, he began to hum a calming melody. The tenor of his voice was eerie with too much depth, the voice of a monster who had tamed himself.

 

It was weak, compared to the clean notes of Chenqing.

 

But he did not call for fierce corpses but whispered a song of careful memories and iron-clad power. Wei Wuxian sang a song of lotus petals and the swirl of water beside a lonely pier, and that made all the difference.

 

This was not meant to Awake but to Calm.

 

After a long and fraught moment, the servant slumped forward, not stopped but gentled.

 

It would not last, not when he had merely hummed a melody.

 

“A-ling, cut the hand off.” He spoke quick and efficient, spoke through the strange echo in his voice. He still felt so very unreal, as if he could fade to dust in a moment.

 

It was how he’d felt for long years on the docks of Lotus Pier, before Jin Ling had come to give him purpose.

 

Wei Wuxian had not thought to feel this again, but the cold skin of a corpse had changed that. Would he dissolve more, on this good night with its star-spun light?

 

He didn’t know and wouldn’t risk finding out. A-ling didn’t hesitate, his father’s sword steady and glimmering as only divine steel could. It flashed out like a snake, separating strong arm from the servant’s body.

 

It fell to the ground with a dull thump, twitching against the shadows pinning it down. White bone stuck out sickly and broken, covered in long stretches of grey flesh. It was an arm long dead, and skin long since soaked in resentful energy.

 

In the pale light of the moon it was too familiar a sight. Wei Wuxian had seen more death and dying than any other man, and he dug his hands into the guts of a thousand corpses to craft them into weapons.

 

He knew this sight like no other.

 

 

“Evil sealing pouch, come on, quick,” he said, shadows struggling against the arm. It would wake soon, if they were not fast, if they were not careful.

 

The weight in his sleeve was so very heavy. The students scrambled for their tools, lost and shaken by the arm. Lan Sizhui open his palm and summoned a swirl of blue energy to swallow the arm whole.

 

There was a moment of cautious silence, as the bag shook and settled into calm. But the array had done its work and the traces of resentful energy faded into nothingness in the air.

 

He finally had a moment to feel lungs he didn’t have, to breathe air he didn’t need.  Wei Wuxian looked at the decorated bag with its gentle blue embroidery and wondered at his shaking hands.

 

Had he screamed, when he had touched a ghostly hand to dead flesh?

 

“Laoshi?” The call was so quiet and so worried, A-ling looking at him like the world had begun to collapse. Two steps behind, with bitter face made pale by the glimmering red light of his eyes, A-yu didn’t look any better.

 

The moon shone overhead and made them look so small. There was light cast over the clouds too, making them shine like starbursts given to the heavens. It was an artificial light, registering in his sight as a vague and indistinct blue.

 

But his eyes were fixed on his students, fixed on the fear in their faces. The sky was beautiful, but Wei Wuxian just felt like a failure.

 

He had never faltered before them, had he? He had always been strong and laughing for them, had always been the protector.

 

Laughter was truly the greatest lie.

 

Now his hands were trembling, and his skin was shaking. On this moonlit night with so many stars glimmering above, Wei Wuxian might have even screamed.

 

He forced a smile up his face, watched the crimson light fade and a familiar blue creep across A-ling’s cheeks. The boy still looked so scared, eyes wide and unblinking.

 

Wei Wuxian just smiled all the softer. Today he was a tame ghost, today he was a protector. Today he was whole and healthy and needed no worry. He tucked an arm at his side to hide the shaking of his fingers.

 

“Ah, that was exhilarating.”

 

In this body of shadows and ghostly strength, he had no protection from the malicious energy of a soul that angry. It was forceful as a maelstrom, and even his relentless spirit couldn’t stand before that rage untouched.

 

Could he absorb it, given the chance? With moonlit flickering above him and the weight in his sleeve cataclysmic, he didn’t know. But he couldn’t try again now, not with two shaking children before him and a herd of worried disciples.

 

They couldn’t see that again.

 

He laughed instead and watched them look at him like he was mad. He laughed and watched tension melt out of the air. Relief dropped into their shoulders and made them soft again, made long-suffering sighs pull from their lungs.

 

Success, he thought, with a grin sharp as moonlight.

 

He looked at the Lan Disciples and found them staring at him too, eyes nearly as wide as A-ling’s. None dared to meet his eyes, and he didn’t wonder at why; shadows swirled so strangely, in the night air and beneath fading starbursts.

 

They swirled stranger still across his shoulders. The disciples looked like the rabbits of Gusu, come to graze on a field of corpse-grass and the practice of night hunts.

 

They looked so young.

 

“Senior Jiang,” Lan Sizhui began, voice hesitant and yet thoughtful. The boy looked shocked but calmer than the rest, even if there was a skittish edge to his eyes.

 

Wei Wuxian approved.

 

He did not approve of the fireworks fading away overhead, their light blue and bright as the moon itself.

 

“You called your senior,” he said, watching the flare spark and catch on the stars. “Any, uh, particular seniors nearby?”

 

The memories that light stirred were bittersweet and dear, of a lighter time spun across rooftops in Gusu. Wei Wuxian had never fit in well at the Cloud Recesses, and no matter which fine senior in mourning robes was headed their way, this would not end well.

 

It would end even worse if it was Lan Zhan, but he couldn’t help the thrill up his spine at the thought. It had been long months since the banquet, and he had not fed his troublemaker’s soul in so very long.

 

The moonlight was bright and calming, on the trembling of his skin. He smiled. In the still air of the courtyard, it felt like it cost so much.

 

Maybe, in a way, it did. Laughter truly was the greatest lie.

 

“Well, guess we see what those fireworks will bring,” he said with a grin and careful steps forward. Who would those fireworks summon, he wondered, and pressed down any worry.

 

Here he was Jiang Ying, adopted brother of the Sect Leader. There was no weight in his sleeve and no shadows dancing across ghostly skin.

 

Here, he had no terrible secret to hide.

 

He held that thought close, as the Lan disciples swarmed around the corpse to cleanse it. He held it closer, as he leaned forward to close the servant’s milky eyes.

 

The man had smiled far too warmly to not be given a dignified burial.

 

It took only a few moments more for quiet footsteps to echo from behind him, and he turned from death to see glimmering white robes and golden eyes.

 

He should have known, he thought, and smiled a bright and pained smile. The best of cultivators followed chaos like moths to flame, come to extinguish the coals of resentful energy. The best of people reached out to those in need and helped them on the path of life.

 

Lan Zhan had always been the best of men.

Chapter 11: White Robes

Lan Zhan hadn’t changed, since Wei Wuxian had seen him last. He looked like snow come to rest on stone, with white robes flowing around him and the shining gleam of Bichen at his waist.

 

He looked beautiful, as he stepped graceful feet into the courtyard. The man’s eyes gleamed gold in the moonlight, brighter than any star.

 

Lan Zhan hadn’t changed; not in the few months since Wei Wuxian had stared across a feast in Lanling, and not in the decade since they had stood side by side.

 

The man was made of carved jade, and that stone was untouched by time. Was Lan Zhan’s heart the same?

 

Wei Wuxian wanted to know.

 

He watched those eyes take in swirling shadows and wondered at what they saw. The stars made the stone shine like dancing flame, but he could only be glad the last glimmers of red energy had faded away.

 

Lan Zhan knew his eyes too well not to recognize the crimson light of the Burial Mounds. Lan Zhan knew him too well to not recognize the flute in his sleeve and the smile on his face.

 

The man couldn’t know.

 

With a smirk made to tease, Wei Wuxian took quick steps forward. He sauntered up, a bubbling excitement beneath his skin and caution lurking under his nails. Clever fingers tucked into his sleeve and felt for the flute there, pressed it deeper into shadow and mist.  

 

There was nothing like a threat and an old enemy to get ghostly blood racing.  

 

“Why, if it isn’t Hanguang-jun! Do you recognize me?” He smiled as he spoke, leaning in to make the tease more potent.

 

He was the adopted and pitied brother of Jiang Cheng, of low birth and no renown. The blood that ran through his veins was said to be dirty and stained, and there were no great deeds to his name.

 

He was, in this time, unimportant. No fine man like Lan Zhan needed to recognize him now, and it was impudent that he even asked.

 

So he made sure to ask.

 

Lan Zhan just stared at him with eyes forged from steel and gilded into beauty. The man nodded, small and polite, and it was like the very air had thickened into a chocking fog.

 

“Cultivator Jiang,” he said, with no prompting. Wei Wuxian was shocked to silence for a heartbeat, for a long flutter of his ghostly heart.

 

The man remembered. They had exchanged one look and watched their disciples spar nearly a year ago, and the man remembered.

 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop smiling.

 

“Is there a threat?” Lan Zhan’s words were polite, quiet and civil as always. They were sharp too, laced with a warrior’s readiness. The reputation of Hanguang-jun was well earned and founded on endless skill.

 

Wei Wuxian had similar skill, once. He had walked bright paths and been called great, had danced the wide roads of the golden path of cultivation. But rumors of his talent had long since been buried beneath hate and stigma. He resisted the urge to smile too brightly, the urge to laugh and cry and twist away.

 

Lan Zhan was here, and he looked as peerless as finest jade. Somehow, in the year since he had seen the man, Wei Wuxian had forgotten his beauty.

 

The man really had no right being so handsome.

 

Fingers curling into the evil sealing pouch on the ground, Wei Wuxian tossed it into the air, watched the fine silk catch the shadows of the moon. It held a darkness it shouldn’t have, threads of inky black curling across the edge of the seal. This silk was forged well and painted with the careful brushes of Gusu, but even it couldn’t keep all of the resentful energy at bay.

 

The corpse arm held the furies of a maelstrom, caught in dead skin.

 

The disciples looked horrified at his disrespect, but he just caught the bag with a laugh and a sly smile. It twirled around his finger so cleanly, and he couldn’t help but rattle it in the air. He ignored the shaking in his fingers, the way his shadows wouldn’t quite steady.

 

He could not falter.

 

“Ah, not anymore not anymore! Nothing we couldn’t handle,” he said, and let his grin grow playful. In the light of an unearthly moon, with shadows pooling from his robes, he imagined it looked strange.

 

It was not the smile of a stranger, but he couldn’t help it; Lan Zhan had always brought out the worst in him, from teasing happiness to snarling fights.

 

Always, had they been like oil and water. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but prod, couldn’t help but laugh and grin and hope for a reaction.

 

Under the light of a thousand stars and standing as strangers, that was a dangerous impulse.

 

“But you disciples are quite good, Hanguang-jun! Was it you who trained them this well?”

 

That earned him a look like cold stone, like warm gold. What did the man see, he wondered, and smiled a little wider. Here he was in black robes crafted from shadow, with the face of Jiang Ying. Here he was of no importance.

 

And yet Lan Zhan was looking at him still, with eyes that searched too deep.

 

Wei Wuxian twirled the sealing pouch around his finger again, but Lan Zhan did not look away. He took a step forward too, into the man’s space.

 

Lan Zhan did not look away. That peerless face was still effortlessly calm, effortlessly handsome.

 

He did not look away. Wei Wuxian could not bear that and never wanted those eyes to leave him. They had fought side by side and against each other for so long, and Lan Zhan had always seen him as human when others did not.

 

He had forgotten how much he missed that.

 

After the moonlit birth of a thousand new shadows, Lan Zhan looked away.

 

Wei Wuxian felt like weight had been lifted from his shoulders, like he had been left lonely and abandoned. The moonlight caught his unease and held it in shadows, stripped him bare and gave him a smile. He turned with Lan Zhan, watched the man face the neat line of Lan disciples as inspector and teacher.

 

Wei Wuxian thought he caught a hint of something quietly proud in the man’s face, as he looked over the students. They looked back like the sun had risen to greet them, all shifting nerves and absolute trust.

 

“Well done,” was all the man said, and yet they looked like they had been given the world, bright blushes blooming on their faces. 

 

The mark of a good teacher, to inspire his students to happiness. When had Lan Zhan learned how to mentor, he wondered, with the quiet nostalgia of long years dead.

 

When had he grown as Wei Wuxian had?

 

Dancing steps took him before those eyes again, took him into view. The moon caught on the curve of Lan Zhan’s cheek and made it look like polished jade.

 

But Wei Wuxian spoke teasing words, and smirked all the same.

 

“You arrived too late to help, Hanguang-jun. The problem is fixed, I’m afraid. Nothing for your fine self to worry over.”

 

“What was it?” The question was directed at the pouch swirling across his fingers, but Wei Wuxian didn’t have time to answer.

 

“A demonic hand, Hanguang-jun!” It was the boy with the quick eyes again, speaking fast and earnest. In the silence of moonlight, with breath held in disciplined throats, that voice sounded so loud.

 

Wei Wuxian didn’t ignore him this time, but he did wince. The words were sure to catch Lan Zhan’s interest, and despite how much he loved feeling golden eyes focused on him, that was the last thing he needed.

 

If there was anyone in this land who could spot out Wei Wuxian, it was his old enemy and sometimes friend.

 

He raised laughing hands, smiled as bright and teasing as he could. Let the man see Jiang Ying, let the man see but another cultivator.

 

As much as it stung, he could not be recognized here today.

 

“But, it was no problem,” he said, and smirked his skill into the air. Lan Zhan looked unmoved, but the disciples around them twitched and rustled their robes. Wei Wuxian ignored the shaking edge of his nails, the way his shadows wouldn’t settle.

 

Lan Zhan didn’t need to know.

 

“Trust me on this one, Hanguang-jun, and let me take it away, huh? I promised the Sect Leader to return quickly, and he would want this to be studied.” The moon caught his words as it caught on the edge of the pouch, making silk shine silver in the light.

 

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, like a faint breeze had caught on his eyelashes and pulled them down.

 

He looked immovable as jade. It was a captivating look, and it would have been beautiful, if it did not cost Wei Wuxian so much.

 

“I will accompany you,” came the reply, quiet and decisive. Wei Wuxian had to hold back a wince, a smile. He had to hold back disbelief, too, and painful laughter.

 

Lan Zhan was truly unstoppable, to follow a stranger.

 

“No need, no need. I’m no wilting maiden to require an escort. Use your fine face and skills on another cultivator.”

 

His words were quick and sharp, on the smiling edge of rude. He said them too fast, and they echoed out with the swirl of his shadows.

 

He thought they would be enough. He thought wrong. Lan Zhan was every relentless, and ever unpredictable as the snows.

 

The man stepped with him as he moved from the courtyard, long white robes shifting in the moonlight and breaking the shadows. A dozen disciples followed in their wake, and the manor was left behind with no fanfare.

 

He did not look back, but A-yu did.

 

Wry amusement lingered in his ghostly bones, but he smiled through it, smiled through the irony. All he had ever wanted to do was tease the man before him, and now he needed glittering gold eyes gone.

 

And only now would Lan Zhan stay.

 

“You aren’t going to listen to me, eh? That’s fine that’s fine, now let’s walk up to the village over the mountains and find a wine shop.” He had drunk as much as he wanted to of dust and A-yu’s petulant memories. They could journey to another place, drink in another village.

 

They took steps through a dusty village and he swallowed the traces of their footsteps into his shadows.

 

Lan Zhan just looked like the moon had come to walk packed earth, in his shimmering white robes.

 

How could the man be driven away?

 

Wei Wuxian paused, tapped a thoughtful finger to his lips. Idle words teased into the air, carefully planned and calculated to disgust.  “Maybe a brothel is better? Has Hanguang-jun been to a brothel before?”

 

“Laoshi!” A-ling’s voice sounded scandalized and furious as only a young master’s could. A glance told him the child was flushed up to his ears, bright cheeks standing proud from gold robes.

 

The students behind him were squirming and red-faced too, a dozen disciples embarrassed into silence. Wei Wuxian couldn't help his smile. 

 

But Lan Zhan just looked at him and said nothing. There was no blush creeping into the man’s face, no trace of the principled and uptight disciple of old.

 

That boy would have raised his sword in anger for the comment. That boy had flushed at mere drawings of erotica, had snapped and snarled at Wei Wuxian’s pranks.

 

This man said nothing and looked like polished jade.

 

Wei Wuxian kept walking forward, and Lan Zhan kept following. They stepped through the dusty road and into the space of wilderness, through the mountain paths and across gurgling rivers. They could have flown, on shining swords and blades of shadow.

 

Neither of them made any move to stop walking, and Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to make of that. But he couldn't let himself relax; the path to Lotus Pier was long and dotted with villages, and he would do his best to lose Lan Zhan at each one.

 

Would it work, he wondered, with the man’s stubbornness? Would it work with how golden eyes were fixed on his face?

 

Did Wei Wuxian even want to drive Lan Zhan away?

 

He didn't know. 

 

They walked for long hours, side by side, Wei Wuxian teasing and trembling the entire journey.

 

He was laughing too, keeping up a constant stream of commentary into the night air. It was so very painful to have this. In the short years before his death, with corpse bile staining his nails and hunger clawing at his belly, they had walked side by side once before. The paths of Yiling had risen to meet their feet, and their steps had been confident and resonant.

 

They had not been alone, then. In the dark of night, that thought stung more than all the others. He stopped speaking for a heartbeat, long enough to catch a look of quiet concern.

 

With a laugh forced out through a tight throat and teasing eyes, he kept walking. A-yuan would have liked this, he thought, and smiled at the stars above. The glimmering night burned his eyes and seared into his ghostly skin, marking him as mourning.

 

Those stars were strong, to make his heart sting so.

 

A-yuan had truly loved Lan Zhan and his supply of toys. He had loved good food too, and the spice of a well-made meal.

 

He had been a good child.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

For all his short years, Mo Xuanyu had lived a long life. He had worn the stain of cutsleeve and the mark of a bastard child. He had slept on silk and in servant’s quarters, taken happy steps into his mother’s arms and slow ones into a golden hall.

 

He had been less. He had been more too, valued for his father’s blood. His shoulders had hunched forward for the years of his childhood and stood straight for long months in Koi Tower.

 

Then they had bent forward again, under the strain of a cursed heart and his failure. Spite grew like a weed in the soil of bitter love, and oh how he watered it well.

 

Then came a fateful day in a garden. Then came A-ling with his spiny kindness.

 

Then came Laoshi.

 

Now Mo Xuanyu watched the spite in his heart and wanted to pull it free. Could he pluck this weed, he wondered, and still remain whole?

 

He didn’t know. He sat at a low table, the wood before him worn by a thousand hands and cups of tea.

 

There was noise splattered around him like spilled wine, but he couldn’t see it now. They had stopped for the night at a nearby village, tucked into the base of Mount Dafan. Children must rest, Laoshi had said with a laugh and tight eyes.

 

His teacher looked strained, standing beside the peerless Hanguang-jun. Mo Xuanyu had felt only worry, over the bitter stain of his thoughts.

 

It had been a long day, with the memories of a bastard’s childhood swimming free. Those thoughts fertilized his spite, made terrible weeds grow taller.

 

He hurt, with the thoughts.

 

The inn around him was bustling with activity, the Lan disciples spread out across tables like flowers sprinkled across earth. They were chatting in this warm space with its cheery torchlight.

 

Low murmurs of rumor spilled free, from petty things like the harvest to hushed whispers of monsters in the mountains.

 

It was so very vibrant.

 

A few months ago, Mo Xuanyu would have felt alone. He would have stared out at bonds of friendship and coveted them, would have looked over the smooth wood of a dozen tables and wanted to burn them.

 

He had been alone for so long, raised by a servant mother. Then he had been a disciple, but his core was as weak as his heart. Hopes of friendship and recognition had faded quickly, before his own weakness.

 

Finally, he had lived an outcast allowed to sit at his father's table, fed scraps and kicked.

 

He had been in love, too, and still felt the cruel sting of that beast. But that was a different monster, and a different obsession.

 

In this warm inn with its gentle light, he saw the smiles of friendship. Even Jin Ling was being dragged into conversation, though with all his thorny pride it was halting and strained. But the Lan disciple with the gentle eyes smiled, and Jin Ling followed, and Mo Xuanyu felt alone.

 

He watched the tables fill with voices and felt a piece of his spiteful heart crack. Friendship had been something he coveted for so long.

 

Here, he was alone in the crowd, outcast as he had long grown used to. Here, he had no energy to pull the weeds from his heart. He chanced a glance at Laoshi, caught the man's glimmering eyes across the room. His teacher was lounging across a table and smirking at Hanguang-jun, but he spared Mo Xuanyu a smile.

 

The weeds in his heart withered, for a quiet moment. He did not have this new friendship grown on worn tables, but perhaps he had earned a mentor instead.

 

He didn't dare hope for a family.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

Rumors whispered out like the gleam of lantern light, flickering and quick. Across the moonlit glow of wide rivers they danced, and through the teacups of a hundred voices they echoed. They trembled between the tables of an inn, too, and into the ears of a dozen willing swords.

 

Rumors danced so well, in the darkness.

 

A monster lived in the mountain, it was said. The fine cultivators in their fine robes heard this and narrowed fine eyes. Their swords were hungry for dead blood and the thrill of night hunts, and their minds keen.

 

The monster devoured souls, it was said. Gold eyes glimmered against the rumors and went thoughtful. Black-into-red-into-black went from teasing to concerned. Then they narrowed and went smirking.

 

In a lonely tavern in a small town, nestled into the base of a deadly mountain, Wei Wuxian watched Lan Zhan and hatched a plan.

Chapter 12: Jade Shadows

Notes:

As you read this, I need you to remember two things.

1- eventual happy ending

2- I am on twitter if you want to come scream at me for this

Enjoy :D

(also a side note, sorry for the delay on comment answering! I'll be responding after updates go up today, this week was just hectic enough I didn't have time to do anything but read and love them)

 “It sounds like they need a cultivator’s help, up on that mountain.”

 

The words were spoken like idle thoughts into the air of an idle land. The voice was sharp and lilting, lacing mountain air with the sound of water running across lotus petals.

 

It was a voice made for mischief, and it spread that message across the winds.

 

Lan Wangji heard the words and did not respond, letting his feet move across packed earth. The day was beautiful, with the sun glinting through a lush forest and dappling the path before him. It was a winding road, dancing between trees and skirting the edge of a glimmering river.

 

He saw it and thought of the path he walked, high and above so many others. His path was lined in the fogs of Gusu, in the careful strokes of a brush and the silence of deep thought.

 

He saw it and remembered the path Wei Ying had not walked.

 

“A shame Jiang Cheng insisted I journey straight back,” came the next words, said in a tone near-teasing and so very obvious.

 

Lan Wangji did not respond, but the words pierced his skin and crawled inside.  He was made of the clouds of Gusu, and he bore their mark across his steady hands. Fog filled his marrow and pressed shadows into his lungs, just as mountain jade made his skin peerless.

 

He was of Gusu, but his heart had ever been of Yunmeng.

 

Now he walked the paths of Dafan Mountain, but he could taste the happy laughter of Lotus Pier across his tongue.

 

This was all too familiar.

 

“A shame there is no one else here to handle the situation,” came the next line, said with such fake dejection that Lan Wangji couldn’t help the dry humor curling up his skin.

 

He almost laughed, on this curving forest path. Jiang Ying may not hold the soul of the man he loved, but those lips certainly spoke like he did.

 

It was a bittersweet thought, when responsibilities called at Lan Wangji’s spirit. He wanted nothing more than to throw aside every duty he had, to stare deep into this man’s skin and see if that soul was truly Wei Ying.

 

But the swirl of whispers couldn’t be escaped, not when words came from desolate mouths and slumped shoulders. The village they had slept in was suffering, and Lan Wangji could never look away from that.

 

A girl danced a strange and eerie pattern, across the street. Her mother sobbed and wept after her, desolation painted on a worn face. A man died too young, and another lost his soul too old.

 

There is a monster on Mount Dafan, went the whispers, and Lan Wangji heard them clear as bells. They were a cry for help, spoken in sad eyes and frantic energy.

 

There is a monster eating at us, said the desperate villagers to the hem of Lan Wangji's robes. Their suffering was clear as day, and so very bright.

 

Never had he been willing to ignore a call for aid, and he wouldn't start now.

 

For Wei Ying he might have. For Wei Ying he stood against his elders and raised his sword. For Wei Ying, he would have done so much.

 

But there was only a laugh and clouded memories on this path, and no evidence. Wei Ying was not here. Lan Wangji could not turn away the villagers, not now. Jiang Ying, with smiling eyes and a dancing laugh, seemed to know that.

 

“I will go,” he said, and felt the words echo into the air like resonant bells. They sounded firm even to his own ears, and his disciples rustled with anticipation at the promised hunt.

 

He had thought they would sound like heartbreak, but ever had he been stronger than that. Ever had his composure been sure.

 

"I'll leave this to you and your capable skill, Hanguang-jun. We'll be back at Lotus Pier if you still insist on seeing the hand."

 

The man smiled and the forest shifted its leaves behind him, shadows moving beneath a thousand beams of light. It was a look that whispered of tiled roofs in the Cloud Recesses, of memories Lan Wangji treasured even as they pained him.

 

He could only nod, before that smile.

 

The man left, and Lan Wangji felt like the shadows left with those dancing steps.

 

What would happen, he wondered, when he brought his body of Gusu into the docks of Lotus Pier?

 

He didn’t know.

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The monster at Dafan Mountain was easy to defeat, for it was no monster but a god. The notes of his zither faded into the night air as the rock tumbled and fell to pieces, broken by the chords of a song too strong for rage to defeat.

 

It had been a quick fight, for Lan Wangji. He glanced at the ground and watched shadows writhe more than they should, like living things fading into the night of a sunny day.

 

It had been quicker than it should have been, and he did not know what to make of that. Why had shadows come to bind the goddess’s feet? Why had they been strong enough to give stone pause?

 

He did not know, but as the strings of his zither trembled into silence, he knew he needed to find out. There was a pattern emerging, beautiful and carefully placed as river-rock before the current. Lan Wangji would trace it through, methodical as he ever was.

 

How had the stones fallen, when pushed by shadows? How had the currents changed, when a clever hand shifted them?

 

He did not know.

 

But he knew one thing and knew it to be painfully true; somehow, this all traced back to Jiang Ying.  

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

They moved faster, on the journey home. Impatience and the embroidered pouch at his waist made Wei Wuxian jump like fire catching on dry bones. He took relentless steps forward on the paths of Dafan as they turned to the paths of Yunmeng.

 

He laughed too, as he smiled into the sun. A-yu and A-ling raced to catch up, unkind words muttered under their breath and worried glances tracing his shoulders.

 

Wei Wuxian ignored it all, and stepped dancing steps onto a lonely pier.

 

Lotus Pier greeted him as friend and shelter, the polished wood cradling his shadows and holding him close. Jiang Cheng greeted him too, with a Sect Leader's pride and lightning striking sharp eyes. Purple robes looked like lotus petals, in the light of an evening sun, and Jiang Cheng looked strong as divine steel on a battlefield.

 

He looked like Madam Yu, powerful as thunder. The sight made Wei Wuxian’s ghostly breath catch for a heartbeat too long, the promise he had made so many years ago boiling through his shadows.

 

He had failed her then, but he would not fail her now.

 

Jiang Cheng’s fury melted into irritated fondness, at the sight of them. It was an expression forged by a brother’s bond, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the smile creeping up his face.

 

Now Jiang Cheng only looked like Jiang Cheng, powerful Sect Leader turned exasperated uncle.

 

It was a good look, Wei Wuxian decided.

 

"Well?" The man spoke with imperious demand, voice sharp and eyes soft. "Have you done enough good deeds for the day?"

 

Wei Wuxian laughed, and the sound echoed between them like the swirl of water currents. Lotus blooms trembled and sang, as his shadows rushed to greet them.

 

He was home.

 

He smiled and spoke, words dancing over polished docks and into happiness. It didn’t matter what waited for them outside these walls, or what mysteries he brought in a sealed pouch. A-ling and A-yu were standing beside him with calm shoulders and no fear in their eyes. Jiang Cheng looked like he might even smile, if prodded enough.

 

Wei Wuxian was home.

 

"We've done plenty. But we found something interesting, Jiang Cheng. I think you and I need to take a look at this."

 

The truth was easy to tell, and with each word Jiang Cheng’s face grew all the stormier. It was impressive, considering the lightning that always lingered in those eyes.

 

At the end, they settled into the study of the sect leader. The tea kept the air between them warm and comforting as they settled into a brothers' quiet. Family cups looked all the more precious, when Jiang Cheng brought them out with no ceremony.

 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but smile. This was a place of such gentle comfort from a thorny brother.

 

He had not thought he would ever have this again.

 

Jiang Cheng lifted a fine cup and took a sip, looking down into the tea. Steam fogged his face and made it hard to see, but Wei Wuxian saw the gentle curves of happiness washed away.

 

He saw his brother go tense and waited for what came next.

 

“Did you use it?” The voice was tight with the history they shared, threading through the air hotter than steam. It held the fury of a lightning storm and the weakness of a broken man.

 

Wei Wuxian could only hope that his brother healed with him, in this place they could call home. He would laugh the man into happiness, if he must, dance across the docks and tug at his brother’s hair with playful shadows.

 

They would spar a thousand times, if it made Jiang Cheng smile.

 

“With my skill Jiang Cheng? I could have handled it with a single finger. No flute needed, this day.”

 

It had been far closer than that, far more dangerous. Wei Wuxian had the power of a thousand shadows at his call and knowledge beyond any other living man.

 

Even Yiling Laozu had vulnerabilities, and oh had the arm struck them true. There was no barrier to the harsh emotions of a resentful spirit when he was one himself. In that modest courtyard, ghostly skin had given no protection.   

 

But Jiang Cheng would understand the bluster, just as he would understand the words that went unsaid.

 

I have not broken your trust, brother. I have control.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

This is the fastest way, Jiang Cheng, he had said, words logical and light as the wind. They had been spoken with a dancing smile, and Jiang Cheng had rolled sharp eyes at them.

 

Wei Wuxian could never simply speak quick words; no, the man had to laugh them into being, had to speak with shadows swirling across his tongue.

 

The man was drama made ghost, and Jiang Cheng bore it with sharp exasperation.

 

I’ve spoken to more spirits than you can even name, Wei Wuxian had said, the words meant to tease and annoy.

 

And annoy they had, when Jiang Cheng had a Sect Leader’s experience lining purple robes. Wei Wuxian had been dead and gone for a decade; Jiang Cheng had lived and worked and earned those years.

 

Wei Wuxian had no right to speak so, but of course he still did. The man had always been relentless.

 

Jiang Cheng hated that as much as he admired it.

 

Trust me, Wei Wuxian had said, and so Jiang Cheng had. He had stepped into the back of the ritual chamber, Zidian out and crackling.

 

Here he stood now, with qi channeling a lightning current across his skin. It was a brilliant purple, like the far edge of lotus petals stained by moonlight.

 

But it was no match for the darkness swirling inside these walls, and even with all his furious pride he could admit it.

 

Ever had his damned brother done the impossible.

 

Shadows layered the small room like spilled ink, swirling out to cover every surface in a protective fog. Even the fine jade inlay on the floor couldn’t be seen beneath the smog, hidden away with all its clear grace. The room was blanketed in darkness that came from ghostly fingers, and oh how the air trembled before it.

 

Wei Wuxian stood on hidden ground with the red eyes and smile of a god.

 

He looked so unapproachable, when shadows danced across his hands. Jiang Cheng ignored it, settling against the wall with arms folded in front of his chest. Purple lightning crept over his fingertips, and he shoved down the curls of dark memories.

 

Here he was guard and guardian. Here he saw no deadly god but a brother. Wei Wuxian needed his support and that genius mind needed his rage to keep it in check.

 

His brother had promised to stay in control, days ago on a lonely pier. The weight of Chenqing had pressed his fingers down, but Wei Wuxian took it with a steady hand.

 

His brother promised, and today Jiang Cheng stood beside him and chose to believe in that moonlit promise.

 

It was time.

 

“Do it, Wei Wuxian.” His voice was snappy and impatient, but his brother only laughed.

 

The man only ever laughed, he thought, with a snarling irritation in his skin. He did not label it fear, for he was not afraid.

 

Wei Wuxian had promised.

 

With efficient hands and shadows twirling around the edge of long fingers, Wei Ying reached forward.

 

The corpse arm lying on the floor twitched in response, as if sensing the pulse of ghostly power. It was kept still by a thousand tendrils of darkness and the jade array on the floor, bound but not broken.

 

The thing had too much power to be merely broken, and that made Jiang Cheng’s skin itch. It was dangerous, and he wanted none of them near its resentful energy.

 

But it was a mystery they needed solved for the strange events at Mo Village to be explained. No single shredded corpse should have so much power, let alone not be found earlier. The thing could have eradicated the village in a moment, with how it thirsted for living flesh.  

 

Wei Wuxian’s smile had been bright when he spoke of it, alive with laughter and a teasing ease. But his eyes were grim with the touch of death Jiang Cheng knew so well from the war. That look had told Jiang Cheng everything he needed to know.

 

The arm couldn’t be left untouched.

 

What better way to find its secrets than to live them, Jiang Cheng?

 

Wei Wuxian had said that with a smile, and Jiang Cheng had granted his trust with an angry snarl. If there was one true expert in death, it was his brother. That didn’t mean he had to like it.  

 

So, he leaned against a wall covered in purple banners and let purple lightning rage across his skin.

 

So, Jiang Cheng watched his brother reach out slow but sure. A ghostly hand laid across corpse fingers, and for a moment, there was only the silence of anticipation.

 

He couldn’t see the jade inlay into the floor, but he felt the flood of power sweep along its fine patterns and pale stone, pulled out of his core and channeled through Wei Wuxian.

 

If shadows did not hide away that pale stone, he imagined it would be glowing with a Sect Leader’s strength.

 

The darkness held its breath, and Jiang Cheng let Zidian crackle in his hand, ready with the furies of a beast.

 

For a moment, there was only quiet. A pulse of power lit the hidden ground, and then another, strong and shimmering like gilt painted in moonlight. Energy broke through the shadows, the channels of an old array made new and brilliant by use.

 

For a moment, Jiang Cheng thought it was working.

 

Then the screams began.

 

They tore out of Wei Ying like the howls of the tortured, desperate and cutting into a place beyond the human ear. Louder and louder they spiraled, until his brother’s mouth was open but soundless.

 

He could not bear those screams.

 

He took a step but did not move. He took a breath but did not hear. He snarled but could not shift. Black energy curled around his legs and pulled him to a forceful stop, trapping and binding him. He was left to watch his brother break apart, and he could do nothing.

 

He roared but his voice was lost in the screams, in his brother’s screams, he would not stand for this. Fury rose in his bones as thunder, and Jiang Cheng called on all his strength.

 

He would not allow this.

 

Zidian whipped out, quick as lightning and far too fast for the shadows. It cut a thunderous path across Wei Ying’s hand, marking a harsh line over ghostly skin.

 

It hit hard enough to sting, he was sure, but that wasn’t important. It hit hard enough to make that corpse-arm drop, dead bone cracking on a jade floor.

 

It hit hard enough to make his brother stumble away, and that was so much more important.

 

A screaming mouth fell shut, but the resentful energy swirling around a ghostly body didn’t stop. It was creeping into Wei Wuxian’s skin and making the edges of hair blur into dust. The glow of his eyes set the room ablaze, shadows turning to weapons and knives of rage.

 

All around was fire and crimson, and all around was broken trust.

 

Jiang Cheng felt dread as he had only felt twice before. Golden core pulsing, he ripped himself free of the shadows and took their blows, took their fury. Cuts carved into his skin but he didn’t care, quick steps carrying him to Wei Wuxian and quicker hands pulling the man up.

 

He would not allow this. 

 

But ghostly skin melted like snow in his grip, shadows slipping by and reforming away from his fingers. He was reaching for mist, and this mist wanted to burn him alive. The dark energy curled higher, a torrent bound only by the jade inlay on the floor.

 

Wei Wuxian’s body shook. Jiang Cheng’s shook too, as desperation sunk into his bones. Darkness cracked away from Wei Wuxian and into him, and his very shape seemed to fade, no, he couldn’t fade away, not now—

 

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng felt helpless, when his hands couldn’t even carry a brother to safety. His voice sounded just as broken, echoing into the wrath of a deadly ghost only to burn away.

 

The shadows fluttered in response.

 

“Jiang Cheng, I need…” Wei Wuxian took a breath, shook, the darkness forming and reforming around him. His eyes burned a terrible red, even now, even as he spoke quiet words.

 

Crimson light looked eerie, piercing through the black of resentful energy. Jiang Cheng hated the sight as he hated nothing else.

 

“I need to get out of here.”

 

If Jiang Cheng could have done that, he would have done that long ago.

 

Fear made his fingers grip again into mist. Despair made try the time after that, only to fail again. He needed to force Wei Ying into substance, needed to pull him out of the pit of resentful energy. He needed his hands to have purchase on ghostly skin,

 

He needed to use the most precious thing his brother had given him.

 

It took every ounce of hard-earned control to pull spiritual energy down his arm, golden threads twining in the air and leaving it breathlessly light.

 

It took every ounce of control not to force himself into a qi deviation, with all the energy pouring from his fingers.

 

Dangerous, this was so dangerous, but Jiang Cheng didn’t dare let himself stop to think. How could he, when the core in his chest was Wei Wuxian’s?

 

He pressed his hand to the shadows where a core should be, channeled all the energy he could muster into hold him, make him steady, please please make him steady.

 

“Don’t you dare leave, Wei Wuxian,” he said, with golden light washing away the red. The darkness pulsed and reformed into the man he called brother, at his command.

 

Relief had never felt sweeter.

 

“Jiang—”

 

He didn’t listen to the rest of the words, pulling Wei Wuxian to stumbling feet and shadowed robes as he hauled him out of the room.

 

The light and sun met them there, and they collapsed across wooden planks, both breathing hard and trembling.

 

The resentful energy stayed, trapped in the gilded lines of pale jade. Jiang Cheng would order ten more arrays, if they bought them such a blessing again.

 

But Wei Wuxian was still shaking.

 

Jiang Cheng pressed his hand down harder, golden energy pouring from his core in a never-ending stream.

 

A ghostly chest didn’t rise, a dead heart didn’t beat, and yet crimson light shone from fluttering eyes.

 

The man was disintegrating to fine ash under his hands. Jiang Cheng couldn’t bear this, not now. He had just given his trust, just learned what it meant to not be alone among in a home.

 

He didn’t ever want that irritating laugh to fade.

 

Trembling fingers clenched into the shadow below his palm and channeled a thousand more threads of his energy into ghostly skin. He ripped everything he could from his heart and core, relentless and with his lightning pride.

 

His brother would not die here, not for a second time. He would hold this as long as he needed to, even if it left him a husk of a man.

 

But he also knew he couldn’t hold this forever.

 

Voice sharp and fierce and so very desperate, he yelled for a servant, summoned everyone he could. He couldn’t care that shadows leaked from Wei Wuxian’s body, that the man looked barely human.

 

There was no time to waste for appearances, now. Jiang Cheng knew of only one thing that could stabilize a ghost, and he didn’t have the skill to do it.

 

Sharp words summoned his fastest messenger, even as his hand wept golden light. Sharper eyes had the woman moving like lightning through the air, headed for the Cloud Recesses.

 

At the rate energy was being sucked away, Wei Wuxian might not last two days.

 

The journey to Gusu usually took three. Jiang Cheng clenched a grim jaw and kept his hands steady.

 

He would drag his brother back with sharp teeth dug into a ghostly soul, if he must.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

He kicked the snake down and felt regret. He called him whore’s son and felt regret.

 

He raised Baxia on a battlefield and felt rage. He spilled blood and cut a head from its shoulders and felt righteous. The sun would fall, this day. The sun would fall and never rise again, replaced by law and order.

 

He was anger and fury, and all was as it should be. He trained to strength, fought to triumph, and led a clan to victory.

 

He was harsh, and watched fans burn and fall. His brother had to learn, or the Unclean Realm would wither and die. His brother would learn, if it cost him everything to beat the lesson in. Gentle music soothed him for faint heartbeats, before the rage claimed his marrow as its own.

 

He was a leader. He was a warrior. He was a man. Then he was dead, and restless as he ever could be.

 

Jin Guangyao would pay.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

The sword beneath her feet was shaking with gilded exhaustion, but she pressed on, relentless. There was no time to waste and no breath to spare.

 

There was a mission entrusted to her and never would this messenger fail her sect. Nothing was more important than the message she carried now. Never had she not given it her all, and never had her speed or loyalty been doubted.

 

But now she pushed even faster.  

 

The Sect Leader’s face had looked so pale, when he called for her. There had been shadows curling up his arms and golden energy washing the scene eerie and unreal. She couldn’t look at the body before him, not when it danced like a demon.

 

But Sect Leader Jiang’s face had looked scared.

 

So, she ignored the aching in her bones and urged divine steel faster, watched the ground flicker and fade below her feet. There was a village below, and then the roots of a mountain covered in thick forest. Nimble and quick she weaved above the trees, darting along the banks of a wide river to follow it forward.

 

She had two days, according to the Sect Leader. The journey to the Cloud Recesses took a normal cultivator at least three.

 

She would try to make it one.

 

Her swords shimmered forward like a silverfish, and she rode the currents to increase her speed. This was Dafan, if her scout’s eyes didn’t deceive her, and they had been well-trained during the war, honed into a weapon and asset.

 

She had seen many Wen dogs before they could see her. She had saved countless lives with that knowledge and bore the rewards to mark those victories.

 

And now those sharp eyes caught on a flash of white far below, glimmering and beautiful. She pivoted in a neat circle, sword tip diving towards the ground like a swallow come to roost.

 

Her heart was beating with a frantic hope, and she could feel a smile break over her face. Fate had decided to give her a precious gift, on this day.

 

And what better gift was there than Hanguang-jun, walking elegant feet along the riverbank.

Chapter 13: Awaken, Ghost

Notes:

You all survived the last chapter! Have some LWJ as a thanks :D

Time washed into something beyond understanding, then. Jiang Cheng knew he had lifted his brother off the lonely pier and carried him into a room, that old room from so many years ago, where memories had been shared and tears had been shed. He knew Jin Ling and Mo Xuanyu had come to sit vigil behind him, restless and tense. He knew they had demanded answers, and he knew he hadn’t bothered to respond. 

 

He had work to do, and words couldn’t be involved. His brother’s skin was dissolving beneath his hands like mist before the sun. 

 

Jiang Cheng didn’t have space for words before that threat. 

 

He breathed familiar air. He clenched pained hands. He did not let go. 

 

A day passed without movement, because a ghostly chest did not breathe. Jiang Cheng sat on polished wood and felt none of its texture, none of its unforgiving strength. 

 

He sat and channeled endless energy into the brother that dissolved beneath him, shaking hands beyond thought. 

 

He could not think but he did know. 

 

He knew Mo Xuanyu caught sight of the shadows curling under Wei Wuxian’s nails like an ink stain. He knew the golden core in his chest was slowing, flutters turning to the death throes of a grounded bird. He felt it fade on the second day and clenched his hands all the tighter, dragging out more energy than before. 

 

He knew pain, but he didn’t care. There were lotus blossoms swirling on the waters outside and familiar rooms greeting his every angry breath. 

 

Wei Wuxian had been raised in these rooms. Jiang Cheng had sat beside him and watched him heal, in this very spot. That had been two decades ago, in a time when the Wen clan was alive and too well. He had laid here himself, in the days before Wei Wuxian had given him the greatest and most terrible gift. 

 

Jiang Cheng would not let his brother leave again, even if it cost him everything. But he didn’t need to fight this alone.

 

Hope came on the wings of a gentle melody.  

 

Like the first breeze of spring, catching on the scent of green grass and new hope, the strums of a zither rang through the air. They trembled across his skin and left him soothed, cold against the fever-pitch of his heart. The frantic turns of his core slowed and gentled before that sound, and Jiang Cheng could only sigh in relief. 

 

The Settling had never sounded so beautiful.

 

For the first time in two days, Jiang Cheng took his hand off Wei Wuxian’s chest. Shadows did not writhe as he pulled away, and he did not feel worry. He stood with a weak body, taking a single shaking step before his legs betrayed him.

 

He fell, but Jin Ling rushed to catch him, steadying him with strong arms and a face blotchy with tears. 

 

He has grown so much, Jiang Cheng thought, a haze of spiritual exhaustion creeping up his bones. The polished wood of the floor called to him, smooth from the feet of his family and the history they carried. 

 

It called to him, but A-ling would not let him fall. 

 

On and on the zither played, until shadows crept back into a man and the room grew light and calm. 

 

For a moment, Jiang Cheng could only breathe slow breaths, relief clenching at his gut and leaving his spinning heart weak. Wei Wuxian looked whole, sleeping and sallow with death but whole. His brother wasn’t disintegrating to pieces before him and for the first time in two days, he could blink weak eyes. 

 

Wei Wuxian was as alive as a ghost could be, and Jiang Cheng had never felt such painful happiness.

 

Then he looked at the bed again, remembered the unparalleled melody of the zither, and realized his mistake. Only one man played with such perfect skill. 

 

Lan Wangji sat with unblinking eyes and hands that never stopped moving, staring at the bed like it held every answer. White robes looked foreign as the moon, in this place of lotus blossoms and rich purple. 

 

But Jiang Cheng didn’t have it in himself to care. He bared his teeth in a trembling snarl, feeling a defensive panic rush through his veins. 

 

Lan Wangji was here, and the man spread out across the silk sheets could only ever be recognized as Wei Wuxian. 

 

Jiang Cheng turned, stumbling, caught by Jin Ling yet again. 

 

“Uncle, it’s okay, you need to rest—” 

 

The tone was bright with worry, but Jiang Cheng just limped before the bed. He took broken steps to put himself between it and the man with the lovely zither, as shield and sword. He had no lightning left to crackle across his skin but he would not be moved. 

 

He would not let his brother be taken again.  

 

Lan Wangji did not shift, eyes lingering on the bed for a moment and a heartbeat. The fingers across the zither did not stop their melody, and the lilting tune settled Jiang Cheng’s rage even as it soothed him. 

 

What was racing through that head of the fine Hanguang-jun? Did the man feel hate? Jiang Cheng didn’t know, but he would ever step before his brother. He met golden eyes like a tiger defending its cubs, rife with fury and the pain of a thousand wounds. 

 

All the protective rage and anger that boiled beneath his skin— let it be seen. 

 

But Lan Wangji did not back down, gaze unmoving from the shadows settling into place on fine silks. With white robes splayed around him and the severe set of his face, the man looked like a mourner come to pay respects. 

 

Jiang Cheng hated that thought like he hated the weak tremors of a core that wasn’t his. 

 

“I will not hurt him.” Lan Wangji said, the words calm as the depths of a peerless lake. Those words stirred the air to match a lilting melody, the clouds of Gusu fading into the fog of Lotus Pier.

 

They left him with a clenched jaw and painful memories.

 

He remembered, like vision of years long past, that this man had loved his brother. Lan Wangji had borne the shame of the cut-sleeve and hurt his own clan for Wei Wuxian. Thirty three elders had shed blood on Bichen at the hands of their prized pupil. When even Jiang Cheng had raised his blade against his brother, this man had been there, breaking and breathless but there.

 

Jiang Cheng clenched his jaw for a long moment, felt the terrible weakness collect across his fingers like water on lotus petals. 

 

Did he even have the right to step between them?

 

With a sigh that shook his bones, Jiang Cheng fell against Jin Ling, let his nephew catch his weight. There was a squawk and a shifting of young shoulders, but A-ling caught him still.  

 

The boy had grown so. 

 

“Come on, A-ling, I need to sleep.”

 

The words were quiet over the polished wood of an old room, and barely sharp. Jiang Cheng felt too drained to make them sting, not when A-ling was holding him up and Wei Wuxian was sleeping a ghostly sleep on the bed.  

 

The boy looked frustrated, and even Mo Xuanyu had risen from his vigil to step up. “But we can’t just—”

 

Jiang Cheng snorted, the sound quiet from exhaustion. He had no energy left in him, golden core drained and fear leaving him empty as a broken bell. 

 

“Lan Wangji isn’t going to hurt Wei Ying. Move, children, before I make you.” 

 

Quiet and resentful in the silence, Mo Xuanyu’s words were clear as rushing water. “Like you even could, in that state.” 

 

“Want to say that again, impudent brat?"

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

 

In air that tasted like fog and sung to his fingers, he sat and did not dare breathe. Wood creaked beneath his legs, moved to the beat of the swirling water far below. 

 

Lotus Pier greeted him, but Lan Wangji did not know its curving flowers, for he had never stepped foot here before. Wei Wuxian had invited him once, long years ago with a teasing voice. Righteous with the principles drilled into his skin, Lan Wangji had turned him down. 

 

He had been a fool, then.  

 

Now he sat with white robes holding him steady and was no fool. 

 

Wei Wuxian was here, in shadowed robes and the sleep of a restless spirit. Darkness collected at the edge of fine silks and across sleeping hands, malicious and dancing as only resentful energy could. 

 

Lan Wangji was wary of it, but he could not begrudge it. Nothing in his calm and steady soul could ever hate that energy, when it kept Wei Wuxian in this world. 

 

For that, he would pay any price. 

 

He stared down at the bed, knees folded beneath him and fingers moving relentless across his zither. The weight of Jiang Cheng’s gaze had been felt and its message understood, but the man had no need to worry. 

 

Lan Wangji would take a thousand blades to the gut before he hurt Wei Ying. He would wield a thousand more if it protected that dancing laugh. His core would be ash and his skin canvas for knives, if either won him the chance to see Wei Wuxian smile again. 

 

His heart laid on this bed with a ghostly body and the same unstoppable soul; Lan Wangji had never felt such relief.

 

His fingers trembled as they danced graceful steps over the final notes of the Settling. Still, Lan Wangji just raised his hands again. He would play as he had never had the chance to, for Wei Ying and all the love held in his heart of jade. 

 

He would play forever, if he could. The Calming came to him easily, twirling into the air like wind and flower petals floating across a river. 

 

It sounded like the bubbling streams of Gusu, but he let it carry the roots of lotus blossoms on every note.

 

He played for Wei Ying.  

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

 

 

The slow blink to awareness took a year and a second and a memory. Each shift brought him awake but not alive, each motion pulled him into his shadows and let him breath their miasma. Darkness twitched at his call and he remembered memories not his own. 

 

Wake. 

 

In a flash, Wei Wuxian was blinking ghostly eyes at a ceiling he remembered too well. Polished wood greeted him with the warmth of sunrise, glimmering like living plants growing in the soil of Lotus Pier. 

 

This had been his room, so many years ago, when he needed sleep and wasn’t made of shadow. He had laid back on this bed and dreamed a thousand pleasant thoughts, wasted long hours in afternoon daydreams and long sleep. Before the world had spiraled into chaos, this had been his home. 

 

Now he blinked dead eyes and remembered. 

 

He had pressed his hand to the corpse-arm, cast empathy, and broken his spirit. The anger had almost made him lose control, in the center of a jade array designed to trap him. 

 

He had almost dissolved to nothingness. He had almost gone rampant with shadow and resentful energy. He had almost known regret again. 

 

But now he knew the truth. 

 

In corpse skin and fury, he had lived the life of Nie Mingjue, felt the man’s battle rage with every fiber of his shadowy being. It wouldn’t have been possible with the body of a cultivator, and not without every ounce of his skill and the malleability of his shadows. 

 

He had almost destroyed himself for knowledge, but now he knew.

 

Motions slow and trembling, he lifted himself off the bed. Silk felt smooth beneath his skin, and he felt whole. 

 

Why did he feel whole, after that? Should he not be dissolving into mist and rage still? Wei Wuxian knew himself to be talented beyond measure, but his mind could not have stopped that. 

 

Ghostly skin had no defenses against that level of rage. He should have become a creature of malice. 

 

He should not be sitting in the bed of his childhood with steady hands. 

 

Restless, he turned to the room, let his eyes scan over familiar purple banners and polished wood. He expected the quiet of an empty room, but found someone familiar instead.

 

Sitting before a zither was a man Wei Wuxian knew too well. 

 

Lan Zhan had always been beautiful beyond compare, but golden eyes glimmered with intensity now. The man sat in a lotus pose, face carved from jade and lips still. The white sheen of his robes glimmered in the room, a flash of snow across a field of purple and shadow. 

 

Wei Wuxian looked at him and felt his breath catch. Then he laughed, the sound too loud over the notes of a calming melody. He felt weak. 

 

Why was Lan Zhan here?

 

“Ah, the glorious Hanguang-jun, what have I done to deserve you by my bedside?” He spoke without thought, without pause, his shadows forced to still and his ghostly heart beating a terrible tempo. 

 

Here he was Jiang Ying and not Wei Wuxian. Here he didn’t have the right to speak to Lan Zhan casually, and here there was no bloody water under their bridge. This room was gentle with history, and it cradled him so. 

 

He should be silent and polite, but never would he do that. What he had the right to do had never stopped him before, and Lan Zhan had followed him to Lotus Pier; there would be no getting rid of the man now.

 

Wei Wuxian might as well annoy the man into leaving.   

 

For a moment, Lan Zhan did not speak, staring into Wei Wuxian’s face like it held a thousand answers. He squirmed on the bed, unease rippling the subtle bend of his shadows. 

 

He was newly awake in a room that held so many memories, but that stare felt stranger than anything else. The man shouldn’t be at all interested in him, but then again— Lan Zhan had always been mysterious beyond measure. 

 

“Sect Leader Jiang summoned me to play the Settling.”

 

Wei Wuxian froze, ice settling down his spine and holding him still and terrible. The room suddenly felt too small for his realization, polished wood trapping him and leaving him vulnerable. 

 

The Settling was a song meant to collect the broken fragments of a soul and stabilize them, meant to bring a mind together and forge it whole. Jiang Cheng would not have asked for such a song if it wasn’t dire. How long had he been unconscious? How long had he made his brother worry?

 

How long had he broken his promise?

 

Drifting down like fog at sunrise, a second realization hit him, loud and restless as the first. It made him clench ghostly fingers in fine silk and smile a terrible smile. 

 

If Lan Zhan had played the Settling, the man would have seen the scope of his soul laid bare. Clever fingers would have played a melody to mend a ghost, soothing yet staccato. 

 

Lan Zhan knew who he was talking to, and at who’s bedside he sat vigil. 

 

He knew. 

 

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught for a moment and a heartbeat too long. He smiled again, and it tasted bitter and trembling on his lips, stained with the clouds of Gusu and the memory of happier times. Lan Zhan knew, and there was only one thing he could say.  

 

“Lan Zhan, it’s been a while, no? Your face is still as fine as ever.”

 

The man didn’t respond, pulling the strings of his zither into neatness. Golden eyes didn’t move from him, fixed like a lodestone on his face. Wei Wuxian shifted before them, smiled wider until he showed grinning teeth. 

 

There was something beyond understanding about that gaze. 

 

“Wei Ying,” the man said, and he felt his heart crack around that name. No one had called him that in so many years, and never so gently. 

 

He felt bare, before that name. So he laughed, bright and teasing in this familiar room. Laughter had always been the best defense. 

 

“What, nothing more to say to me? Last time we spoke was at that dinner in Yiling, so many years ago. That was delicious food, but shame on you for not having more to say!”

 

It had been a lovely dinner, he remembered, with good food spread across a table. A-yuan had eaten his fill for the first time in a long time, and Wei Wuxian could never forget that. 

 

It had been a good day, but glimmering eyes went dark at his words and graceful hands stilled. For a trembling moment, Lan Zhan’s eyes looked hurt. 

 

There was silence caught between them like a pinned butterfly, held on polished wood and purple banners. 

 

For once, Wei Wuxian didn’t know what he’d said. How had he offended Lan Zhan? Did the man hate him still? Why had he raised healing hands and played the Settling? 

 

He didn’t understand, and it ate at his skin and burrowed deep into his shadows. But he had no time to fret, and none to worry; Lan Zhan spoke, short and efficient. 

 

“You don’t remember.”

 

“What?” The question tore out of him, and he blinked tired eyes at the cultivator, watched his face for a change. 

 

But the man was as unreadable as ever, and his eyes were like gilded stone at moonlight. Wei Wuxian could better understand the movement of the stars than Lan Zhan’s mind. 

 

“It is no matter,” was all Lan Zhan said, and no matter Wei Wuxian’s teasing, he refused to speak more. 

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

 

 

Three days spent breaking into shadow. Three days flickering on the edge of death with only Jiang Cheng and a golden core as anchor. 

 

Three days spent in Nie Mingjue’s head. 

 

Lan Zhan had spoken of the matter in quiet words and with a calm face, but the edges of his hands had clenched across fine white robes. 

 

That alone told Wei Wuxian it had been serious. He settled into a sloppy lotus pose on the bed of his youth and felt a terrible dread fill his belly. 

 

Had he broken his promise yet again? Purple banners shifted in the wind and said maybe, even as the clench of his heart said yes. 

 

Now Wei Wuxian paid the price in his family’s tears. 

 

Jin Ling had run into the room with face puffy from crying and jaw tight with pride. The boy fell against Wei Wuxian’s chest quick as lightning and just as furious, and oh did that young body shake in his arms. Mo Xuanyu was two steps behind, irritation and the first hints of fear curling up a pale face. 

 

Their words were far less reserved than Lan Zhan’s. 

 

Guilt, Wei Wuxian felt guilt deep and dark as the ravines of the Burial Mounds. He was made of shadows and ghostly laughter and had already died a mortal death. But somehow, he had made them worry all the same. He had done so much damage, with his folly and confidence. 

 

And yet he would do it again, for the chance to protect them all. There were lotus blooms floating across the lake and a delicate happiness growing through the clan; Wei Wuxian would do anything to defend that. He had left it unprotected twice before, and with all his dancing fury he could not let that happen again.  

 

His first act on that third day was to see Jiang Cheng, stepping light and healthy steps across polished wood. The piers creaked beneath his ghostly weight, and shadows danced at his heels playful and obedient once more. 

 

Wei Wuxian could feel no relief. 

 

His brother was laid out in a bed of his own, healers surrounding him like flies before honey and a scowl fixed on a sharp face. The man looked so angry, spread on fine silks. The loose robes of healing draped across his shoulders as shield and furious protection. He looked as a Sect Leader should, pride cut into the line of his spine and steel in his eyes. 

 

But there was a trembling weakness spreading across pale skin. There were too many healers for this to be nothing. 

 

Wei Wuxian took quick steps inside and could not make them dance. 

 

“Jiang Cheng,” he said, forcing a small smile onto his face. He couldn’t afford more now, not with those eyes coring into him and the threat of a broken oath staining his heart. He felt weak. 

 

“You look awful, why are you lying around like that, huh?” 

 

He tried for a teasing tone, light as the morning sun around them. He failed. 

 

Jiang Cheng just dismissed the healers around him with sharp words and a terrible fury. Alone, they stayed in a cold silence, held on the purple banners and fine silks of healing. 

 

It was a painful quiet, and Wei Wuxian could only shift before its weight. 

 

“You made me a promise. You made me a promise you wouldn’t lose control.”

 

The words hit like knives to the gut, each one striking deeper and digging into the marrow of his bones. Would his blood spill on this floor tonight with his heart, he wondered?

 

Did it count as loss of control when he had been pulled in by a relentless spirit? Did it count when the ghost of a man murdered had gripped him tight and given him rage?

 

Did it count, he begged himself, because he didn’t want to break another oath to his brother. 

 

He didn’t know.

 

“Jiang Cheng,” he said, the beginnings of a plea on his tongue. But he had no excuses, nothing to say in his defense. 

 

All he could do was as he ever did; speak teasing words with the painful edge of laughter. 

 

“Ah, you should know not to regret a decision. You are the Sect Leader now— you made a hard choice, and it was the right one. I am the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, remember? No ghost stands a chance against me.” 

 

He said it with a grin, with a smirk, with the confidence he had earned over long months in the Burial Grounds. 

 

And it was truth, spun into the air like one of his shadows. He had the fury and fire to break anyone who stood in his way, if he wished it and if they did not feed him rage. Given time he might have devoured Nie Mingjue too— what he would become with the anger of that spirit was a painful thought. 

 

Ghosts trembled like leaves in his path and corpses danced at his fingertips. This duty could only have fallen to him. 

 

“I am the best person to risk, and you know it Jiang Cheng.”

 

It was truth, spoken over smooth docks and the gentle trickle of water. And yet. 

 

“Shut up.” The words were snarled out, tight and furious. Wei Wuxian stared at his brother, stared at the hands clenched in soft silk. 

 

He stared at the tears streaming down Jiang Cheng’s face and the anger glinting like lightning in the man’s eyes. 

 

He stared and didn’t know what to do. 

 

“Don’t ever,” the man began, speaking like each word stung his throat and burned him. “Do not ever call yourself the best person to risk.”

 

Zidian crackled weakly in the silence, purple lightning sparking like the beginnings of a storm. Jiang Cheng looked like he was in pain, like every motion cost him something precious. 

 

A sect leader’s hands trembled, in the silence between brothers. 

 

Wei Wuxian wanted to shove him back onto the bed and make him rest. He wanted to bring him lotus root soup and make jokes at his expense until Jiang Cheng’s face was purple with rage. 

 

He wanted to do anything he could to make that trembling stop. But he would never lie to this man, not unless it was vital. 

 

The room was basked in the light of morning, dancing across clenched fingers and shining tears. It surely danced across the lotus blooms outside too, painting them white and pink and lovely.

 

Wei Wuxian wished he was on his lonely pier, whispering nonsense into the curves of each petal. He wished he was teasing A-ling and A-yu into angry blushes and dedicated training. 

 

He wished for Lan Zhan. 

 

“I can’t promise that,” he said, and heard the sharp inhale echo between them. It sounded like anger made into pain at the hands of a broken man. 

 

It was a sound Wei Wuxian hadn’t heard from his brother in years, not since they first sat on a lonely pier and he had earned a shaky forgiveness. 

 

It was a sound he had never wanted to hear again.

 

“You are no fool, Jiang Cheng. Between the two of us, I am the expendable one and always have been.”

Chapter 14: Moon on Black Water

Notes:

Big chapter ahead! Enjoy! :D

There was an icy calm painting the docks of Lotus Pier. It crept across still waters and made them cold, pressed over lotus blooms to make them shiver and shake. It did not make them wilt, but it held that promise.

 

Wei Wuxian watched it spread and felt every creeping chill on ghostly bones. He stood outside his brother’s study and stared at a polished door.

 

It looked heavy with silence and unspoken hurt, and oh how Wei Wuxian wanted to run from it. He did not want to stand here, with silence infecting the darkness around him. 

 

But he could not run again. He grit his teeth and smiled, let shadows dance across his arms. He felt healthy, made powerful and secure by Lan Zhan’s melodies.

 

Before this door he felt weak.

 

There were delicate stems floating beneath the lake, and oh how the docks swayed with the currents. Wei Wuxian felt the most delicate of all, through all his laughter.

 

Jiang Cheng hadn’t spoken to him in two days.

 

In the wake of that his words there had been only the coldest rage. Get out, his brother had said, but Wei Wuxian hadn’t left. Ever had he been a relentless soul, and never had he let Jiang Cheng stew in hard feelings.

 

Always he had laughed and teased it out, with a smile made from duty and love. His little brother would never be hurt, not when Wei Wuxian could tease it away.

 

He had made a promise, after all, and broken oaths stung so dearly.

 

Get out, Jiang Cheng had cried, cold as snow and with a pain held in healing sheets. It had sounded broken. 

 

Before those tears, Wei Wuxian had left.

 

Now he stood before his brother’s door and knocked, two days’ silence broken to pieces at the sound.

 

“Enter,” Jiang Cheng commanded, in the voice of a Sect Leader, and so Wei Wuxian did. He took dancing steps into the room and watching angry eyes go cold. They went tight with hurt too, but Jiang Cheng only nodded.

 

Purple banners shook in a wind that came from his shadows and fluttering heart, but Wei Wuxian smiled.

 

His brother had not thrown him out, and that was the first step. He couldn’t take the silence floating icy across Lotus Pier, but he could not regret his words.

 

He had only spoken the truth.

 

For each frantic beat of a ghostly heart, he would give up his life. For every quiet scoff Jiang Cheng let out into cups of tea, he would give his soul.

 

There was nothing Wei Wuxian would not do for his family. Sitting at a desk that had once been Jiang Fengmian’s, Jiang Cheng should understand that.

 

Wei Wuxian wasted no time on soft words or pleasantries, dropping into a sloppy lotus pose before his brother.

 

The man didn’t even flinch, face set stony and cold. Another day, Wei Wuxian would have teased out a snarl, would have made sharp eyes go soft and annoyed.

 

Another day, his brother would have been happy to see him. That was not this day.

 

“Well Jiang Cheng, don’t you want to know who’s arm it was?”

 

There was a breath, harsh and painful between brothers. For a long moment caught on purple banners and the gentle breath of old wood, there was only silence. Jiang Cheng was glaring down at the brush held in his hand, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but watch dark ink drip from it.

 

It hit the paper of a scroll and stained it dark as shadows, spilling unstoppable and gentle. It looked like hours of work had been ruined with a single drop, but still Jiang Cheng didn’t look up.

 

They were trapped in this moment, in the tension made by the love between brothers.

 

Caring was truly a curse, Wei Wuxian thought. But he’d never be rid of it; he would love and give all of himself for his family.

 

“Why do I feel like I’m not going to like this?” Jiang Cheng asked at last, pale in healing silks and a loose robe. The desk before him was strong with age and history, but the man pressed fingers into the wood like it might break.

 

Jiang Cheng looked up, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t be anything but happy. He smiled at the tone, laughed at the sigh. Then he told the whole tale, from quiet beginnings to bitter end.

 

He told Nie Mingjue’s tale, and each word felt like his own memory spilling into the air. He breathed and felt a saber fading into his palm, he laughed and felt battle rage in ghostly skin.

 

For long moments, he had lived as Nie Mingjue, and those emotions still gripped him so closely. Anger fluttered across his skin but he laughed it away, let it fade into the shadows and resentful energy fluttering around him. This was not war, this was not treachery, this was not a dark time.

 

He was speaking to his brother now, and anger had no place here.

 

So they talked, without swords and with only a tired fury. At the end, with silence settling across old wood and new family, Jiang Cheng spoke.

 

“Damn,” he said, voice tight and tense with the betrayal of Jin Guangyao. 

 

With Nie Mingjue’s rage pressing at his memories, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but agree.

 

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

Time passed on the worry of his family, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel each moment etched into his bones. There were pained faces at every turn, and he had made each shed angry tears. He couldn’t bear that thought, even though he would have done it all again to protect them.

 

So he laughed. He smiled. He walked dancing steps over the lonely pier and watched the lotus blooms shake at his shadows.

 

He did not let the pain cross his face, for it only belonged in his heart. No one else needed to see it, just like no one needed to feel the burn of the anger that was not his.

 

He lived a dead life, and his family orbited ever closer.

 

The children were hovering at his sides, stuck to him like burrs for long days. Lan Zhan was attached to him too, though with more grace and shining white robes. It was as if he suddenly was a mother duck with three too-old ducklings. It didn’t help that Jiang Cheng seemed to appear at intervals, scanning over Wei Wuxian for injuries and instability. The man’s own hands were trembling, weak and shaky in a way that made his heart quake and fear crawl up his spine.

 

But his brother did not truly speak to him but to argue, and his students spent their every minute at his elbows like they could cling to his shadowed robes and stay forever.

 

Even Lan Zhan didn’t leave, never more than a few steps behind him or standing by his side in silk that seemed to shimmer and shake with every motion of the wind. With each turn Wei Wuxian’s eyes caught on the strings of a fine zither and a finer man, peerless and beautiful in the sunlight or eerie in the sheen of the moon.

 

The man needed sleep, right? Even a master cultivator would need sleep after days of endless vigil. He asked once, voice light and lilting. It sounded strange over the icy tension, spilling across the docks of Lotus Pier to shake flower petals.

 

He spoke anyway. The only way to earn trust was to wash away broken promises.

 

If only he could erase harsh words as easily.

 

“Lan Zhan, are you too perfect to need even sleep? Why haven’t you retired to a room?” He laughed, let his lips curl into a tease. It felt like truth, on these lonely docks. “Do you need company?”

 

The words echoed over the water and returned with the light of the moon, for Lan Zhan only ever looked beautiful.

 

“Yes.”

 

Wei Wuxian felt himself still, the clench of his chest painful. The word were short and sweet, spoken without flair. And yet it made his shadows tremble and quake like the earth was shaking beneath him.

 

Why Lan Zhan had spoken it, he did not know.

 

He laughed, smirking across still water.

 

“I am a ghost, Lan Zhan, I have no need for sleep. But I’ll tuck you into bed if you wish it.”

 

The man only nodded, effortless as the slice of a sword through air. Golden eyes did not look away, and oh how their depths sung melodies.

 

Even the shadows could not conceal the flush creeping up Wei Wuxian’s neck.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The pier spread before him was like a sacrifice given to his health, and Wei Wuxian stepped across it with a light heart and a happy smile.

 

This was a precious place. So many good memories had spun into life above these docks, made of the laughter of new and old families. He couldn’t care that Lan Zhan was still tracing his steps, that the man shadowed him into the pier even now, zither on his back and grace hanging from the strands of his hair.

 

Wei Wuxian just settled down on the worn wood and let his shadows dance across the water. After a moment, Lan Zhan settled beside him, folding into a lotus pose like it came easy as breathing.

 

The man looked peaceful, and Wei Wuxian wanted to tease that peerless composure away. Quick steps from behind took that chance and burned it like fog before sun.

 

Mo Xuanyu walked down the pier, worry lurking in the cracks of tight lips. The boy was trembling, and Wei Wuxian swept aside a stretch of his shadows in welcome. A-yu looked down at the space, eyes skipping over the darkness and tracing the edges of Wei Wuxian’s inky robes.

 

They could have only been a ghost’s silk, with how the shadows trembled. But A-yu didn’t look afraid.

 

“Are you truly the ghost of the Yiling Patriarch?” The words were short and breathless, punched out from a growing chest. They sounded irritable with nerves and quick with worry, but Wei Wuxian just smiled in response.

 

“Yes, with the fine looks to match but none of the sharp teeth. I steal children from their beds, didn’t you hear?”

 

He smiled as he spoke, let teasing dance across his shadows and over the water.

 

Let A-yu not be afraid. Let the man understand. Let the body of a ghost not lose him a student.

 

After a long moment, A-yu spoke, mouth trembling over a lonely pier.

 

“I will never be a great cultivator like A-ling.” The boy gripped the front of fine robes, hand clenching across the space over his core. He wore the purple lotus like he belonged, but he looked so very nervous.

 

Wei Wuxian wanted those nervous hands to calm. 

 

“My body is too weak for it, and I don’t—” A-yu stopped, took a trembling breath. Each moment looked like it cost something precious, and Wei Wuxian knew it did.

 

Weakness cost so much.

 

He felt his heart ache in painful sympathy, and he smiled against the old memories.

 

He knew what was coming next.

 

“I don’t have the skill for it. But I could have the skill for demonic cultivation.” Mo Xuanyu dropped into a bow, filled with a respect Wei Wuxian knew was given to no one else.

 

“Please, Wei Laoshi, teach me this.”

 

For a moment, there was only the gentle brush of water across the pier, the lotus petals shifting across a clear surface. The flowers were helpless to the rush of current and wind, but still they struggled and grew, ever reaching for the sun.

 

Some died in the fight upwards through water, and some were swallowed by a fish and beasts of the lake. But a precious few made it to the surface, and in their victory they were beautiful.

 

Why should he not give Mo Xuanyu the chance to struggle to the top?

 

“It will cost a lot, you know. If you think you have been outcast for being a cut-sleeve, well. Prepare to bear a worse stigma.”

 

Beside him, Lan Zhan shifted, restless for the first time in days.

 

He hardened his heart. Ever had the man been judgmental of demonic cultivation, and ever had golden eyes and calloused fingers tried to pull Wei Wuxian to the broad and well-lit path.

 

But that path had been lost on the day he cut out his own core, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t regret it. He walked a path of brambles and deep waters, and ever would he walk it with a smile and dancing steps.

 

Lan Zhan must think Wei Wuxian a monster, to tempt another down this path. But he knew the pain of weakness, the bitter taste of failure. He would not wish that on anyone.

 

Mo Xuanyu’s face shifted from anger to fear, settling into the hard lines of determination.

 

“I don’t care, Wei Laoshi. You were the only one that saw me as a person, in Koi Tower. A-ling and Sect Leader Jiang, the other disciples here, they see me now, but only because of you.”

 

A breath, taken furious and quick across still waters. A-yu looked afraid.

 

“And you were dying, and I was useless.”

 

Ah. Understanding finally dawned, and Wei Wuxian smiled against the warmth in his chest. Mo Xuanyu feared the loss of his teacher.

 

How could Wei Wuxian deny the boy anything, when all A-yu wanted to do was protect?

 

“Fine, if you want to learn, who am I to stop you? But!” He raised a hand against the joy rising on his student’s face, raised a hand in command.

 

“The demonic path can affect your temperament and health. You will learn to play the Calming, or have another play it for you, at least once a week.”

 

The words felt familiar as he spoke them, heavy with the folly of youth and pride.

 

What would have changed, if he had listened to Lan Zhan’s pleas so many years ago? Would he have been a trapped bird, locked away in Gusu and made tame? Would Shijie still be alive?

 

It was impossible to know, but he would not repeat old mistakes. He wondered what Lan Zhan, sitting beside him in silence and grace, thought of his words now.

 

He spoke them anyway.

 

A-yu bowed quick and eager before him, bitter spite washed into determination. “Of course, Wei Laoshi.”

 

Wei Wuxian waved a lazy hand, finger curling through the air and sending shadows dancing. “Alright, now get out of here. The old men want to reminisce.”

 

A snort was his answer, and a bow of distinctly less respect. “As long as you know you are old, Wei Laoshi.”

 

“You little—”

 

But Mo Xuanyu was gone, dashing down the dock with the pretense of dignity.

 

“Little shit,” Wei Wuxian finished, with fondness coating his voice like fog. There was no response, but he had hardly expected one— Lan Zhan wasn’t one for idle words.

 

He turned to the man sitting beside him, the man who had not left him for a moment since he had awoken on healing sheets, and spoke a less idle question.

 

“Lan Zhan, are you afraid I’ll fade away?”

 

There was no response, but Wei Wuxian had spent long days in this man’s constant company. He may not be as easy to tease as he was at fifteen, but the core of a man didn’t change.

 

The wind shifted elegant hair and Wei Wuxian knew the answer to be yes.

 

“I thought you hated me, you know. I was the rascal child, come to break all your rules and follow the demonic path. Why are you worried for my health, I wonder?”

 

There was no answer for a beat, a breathless moment, one long gleam of eyes like gold-shine in moonlight.

 

Then Lan Zhan spoke, and Wei Wuxian felt ghostly skin tremble.

 

“I never hated you.”

 

Wei Wuxian laughed, but his mind was still caught on those eyes. They could see past the shadows cloaking him and into his deepest soul, and the thought made him shiver.

 

Those were dangerous eyes, but that was fine— he was a dangerous man too.

 

“Really? Even when I showered you in ghoulish flowers and broke your precious rules? Even when I slipped erotica into your fine poetry and teased you for days? Even then?”

 

He was playing with fire, stirring up old anger, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to understand the man behind the peerless face before him, wanted to know what drove Lan Zhan to worry over the ghost of his once-enemy-never-friend.

 

But Lan Zhan’s expression didn’t change a fraction, and he stared at Wei Wuxian without shifting.

 

“Even then,” was all he said, and no event Wei Wuxian recounted could change the set of a peerless face.

 

Wei Wuxian didn’t understand.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

It had been two long weeks and still they had no solution to the hand and the corpse it belonged to.

 

The Lanling Jin Sect held power over all, with an army of cultivators and wealth beyond measure. To challenge them without proof would be the end of the Jiang Clan, and nothing in Wei Wuxian could allow that.

 

But he could not sit back and watch a murderer walk across gilded stone unstopped either. Not with the memory of the terrible ambush lurking beneath his skin, and not with Nie Mingjue’s rage and life coating ghostly bones.

 

They had to do something.

 

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian had argued long into the night, uneasy and undecided, trying to come to something like a solution. They had no ideas between them, but they sat in the silence of thought anyway.

 

A creaking door came before shimmering white robes, Lan Zhan stepping elegant feet into the room. In the light of the hour past midnight, the man looked ethereal and lovely as the moon. 

 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel lighter, with the man standing beside him. He couldn’t help but want to tease and laugh too, with all the ghostly mischief in his veins.

 

He didn’t think Jiang Cheng would like that.

 

“I didn’t invite you in, Hanguang-jun.” The voice was sharp with lightning but quiet with healing, spoken into the space of purple banners. Jiang Cheng looked cold but not angry, sitting before the desk of Jiang Fengmian.

 

He looked regal as Madam Yu, but the pale tinge to his face was impossible to ignore. Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh it away, 

 

Face peerless as polished jade, Lan Zhan just stared his brother down. Golden eyes glimmered in moonlight like precious gems, made to steal the air from the room. Wei Wuxian wanted to drown in those eyes, just as he wanted to see them tight with annoyance.

 

He shifted between the two men instead, raising hands made of resentful energy and the shadows of lotus petals.

 

“Ah Jiang Cheng, but I did,” he said, the lie tasting like honey on his tongue.

 

Jiang Cheng snorted, but his eyes were still so hard. The man had been trembling for days, from weakness and from pain.

 

Wei Wuxian watched his brother’s hands shake and knew this was his fault. Again, he had brought pain to those he loved. Lotus Pier would never recover from him, he thought, and wanted to run into the lake and fade into shadow.

 

He smiled instead, and felt the room shift with his ghostly breath. They had an enemy to defeat, and problem to solve. Now was not the time to run. 

 

“We need a plan, brother, to get evidence. We have an arm but nothing else.” He raised three fingers, into the air, felt the teacher’s habit make his voice smooth into lecture.

 

“As I see it, we have three options. One. Gather the pieces of the body and put them back together. The full corpse will tell the tale even better and be better evidence.”

 

He put his finger down and watched Jiang Cheng’s face go dark and stormy, watched the trembling turn to rage.

 

He watched his brother look scared.

 

“You aren’t going anywhere near that body again, Wei Wuxian,” the man snarled, rage making his words hit on Wei Wuxian’s ghostly skin and stick, light burning into shadow.

 

It was fear that made them sting.

 

“Ah, calm down Jiang Cheng. You know I can take care of myself, no need to worry.”

 

He knew as soon as he spoke the words were wrong to say. But it was far too late, when they had threaded into the air and sounded carefree. It was far too late when Jiang Cheng’s eyes went dark with anger and darker with a terrible hurt.

 

A brother’s protective fear was a sight to behold, in this fine study with familiar tables and lacquered wood. It was a beautiful room, fit to hold the duties of a sect leader and all the late nights too.

 

These walls held so many memories old and new, pressed into family teacups and gentle laughter. They held pain too, and the discipline of a crackling whip.

 

This was a room to feel regret for his words.

 

“I didn’t—”

 

Wei Wuxian started speaking, quick and pained. But Jiang Cheng cut him off with a sharp hand that shook and a glare like lightning.

 

“Enough, Wei Wuxian. You’ve done enough damage. What is option two?”

 

The words were damning, and there was nothing to be said against them.

 

His brother was right.

 

He laughed, bitter and sharp and too broken. Lan Zhan shifted behind him, not speaking but close enough to give comfort.

 

The man had been standing so close, since he’d awoken. It was strange to look over his shoulder and see a man he thought hated him. It was strange, to hear that it had never been hate.

 

With his ghostly heart and all the shadows in his bones, Wei Wuxian couldn’t bring himself to mind. He put down another finger, the motion loud in the silence of expectation.

 

“Two, we find another way to expose him. There has to be another person who knows about this, even with all Jin Guangyao’s care.”

 

That brought a thoughtful silence, held on the tips of tongues and across the lacquered wood of old tables.

 

There were so many memories kept precious, in those tables. Wei Wuxian wanted to run smooth hands over them, wanted to put his fingers down and put away the need to handle this mess.

 

But he had never been able to step away from disaster, and long years as a ghost had not changed that.

 

“Xue Yang,” Lan Zhan said, breaking through the stiff air and giving it life. “He would have evidence against Jin Guangyao.”

 

The name was unfamiliar to Wei Wuxian, but from the way Jiang Cheng’s face went dark and wrathful, it was not unknown.

 

“That scum would, wouldn’t he.” Jiang Cheng spat out the words like poison, and they echoed loud and furious as a lightning.

 

They sounded hateful. Wei Wuxian shifted before them, lounging back into a careless relaxation. He smiled too, filled with the exasperation of long years a ghost. His brother's rage was no new beast. 

 

“Please, share for the poor dead man Jiang Cheng.”

 

His brother twitched at that, but spoke low words anyway, fingers trembling into the table. Wei Wuxian wished those fingers didn’t shake so.  

 

“A demonic cultivator. Jin Guangshan sheltered him after your death, trying to find your secrets.”

 

Ah, he thought, watching the tense set of Jiang Cheng’s jaw. Demonic cultivation explained so much of that vitriol.

 

It did not explain the shaking hands, but Wei Wuxian knew what had done that.

 

“He caused much death.” Lan Zhan said, the words quiet and low. In the light of a brilliant moon, they sounded like cold as a verdict. 

 

Jiang Cheng laughed, the sound dark and mocking. “He killed off entire minor clans, is what he did. The man was mad and unchecked, too given to raising corpses and slaughtering families. Good cultivators were lost to him.”

 

Before those words, Wei Wuxian couldn’t smile. Had the same things been said about him, not so long ago? He had the blood of so many staining his fingers, ink across the canvas of his skin. He had dug into old graves and summoned armies of the undead just to slaughter more.

 

It had been for war, something in him whispered. It sounded small and gentle, like the touch of lotus petals and gentle hands.

 

Excuses, he whispered back, with a grim smirk.

 

Now he protected Jin Ling and was a tame ghost on a lonely pier. Now he taught students and laughed across shadowed water.

 

But did that wash away the blood?

 

Wei Wuxian tucked the pain away with laughter and the problem before him. He had stained himself dark for his family before.

 

He would do it again, if it was needed.

 

“But he is dead.” Jiang Cheng said, eyes fixed on Lan Zhan. “Can you play your zither for answers?”

 

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said with a nod. The motion graceful as a great stag of the forest, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but see the shadow of silver horns come to pierce the sky. “Inquiry can force truth and answers, when played with enough skill.”

 

The implication behind that was clear: if it was Lan Zhan playing, the spirit would be forced to speak.

 

“It might work,” came the judgement from Jiang Cheng, sharp and firm. Wei Wuxian shifted, and the shadows in the room shifted with him, light bouncing off the cracks of his robes. The trembling in his brother’s hands was fading, still present but so very quiet now.

 

Wei Wuxian felt the first glimmers of hope.

 

“In the meantime, we must begin consolidating power and allies.” Jiang Cheng’s voice rang with command, the tone of the old war general leaking through. “We cannot do this alone, and if the clans realize you are still alive, they will be on our doorstep calling for war.”

 

Wei Wuxian thought for a moment and two, and then smiled. It felt dangerous, in the gentle walls of this room.

 

Perhaps it was. 

 

“Why attack when we can trap?”

 

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed with a strategist’s intelligence, shifting in healing robes and with trembling fingers. “What are you thinking?”

 

“Who would Jin Guangyao leave his golden tower for?”

 

Understanding dawned, and understand made Jiang Cheng’s eyes look vicious. But a voice of calm and clouds stopped Wei Wuxian from grinning back, stopped him from feeling Nie Mingjue’s righteousness.

 

“Is this justice or revenge?” Lan Zhan asked, and the swirl of golden eyes was painfully sharp.

 

The question was heavy, lying across the docks with a weight all its own. He had taken so much revenge, over the long years, pulled it from the mangled body of Wen Chao and cracked the bones of a thousand Wen. Wei Wuxian did not regret that.

 

Nie Mingjue was a man who deserved justice. The Lord and Lady of Lotus Pier had too, but Jiang Cheng and Shijie had deserved the vicious bite of revenge.

 

Jiang Cheng clenched his jaw, looking for all the world like lightning and fury given skin.

 

“No, Hanguang-jun, it is neither. This is overthrowing a murderer who has threatened my family without risking it. Wei Wuxian cannot be discovered, and A-ling can’t be stained by this.”

 

A trembling hand moved through the air, sharp and decisive. He looked so very like his mother, standing there with a purple ring and sharp eyes.

 

“We will do this in secret, or not at all. Go get the evidence we need.”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

There was a new face in walking the docks of Lotus Pier, peerless as the first light of the dawn and just as unstoppable. White fabric cloaked him, and the moon seeming to shine from his robes and the curve of his cheek.

 

Hanguang-jun was surely the most beautiful of all men, it was whispered by the servants of Lotus Pier. Hanguang-jun was surely the most talented of his generation, it was whispered by the disciples.

 

The man followed Senior Jiang as guard and guardian, speaking little and moving with a gentle purpose. But that was no matter, for everyone knew Senior Jiang could fill the silence with his brilliant laughter.

 

The junior disciples looked on the pair and remarked on their dichotomy; the dancing steps of Senior Jiang, smile on his face and robes darker than the depths of night, were a stark contrast to the reserved stillness and bone-white beauty of Lan Wangji.

 

Ever were they shadows and the gentle kiss of the moon, and what a fierce pair of warriors did they make.

 

The senior disciples looked on the pair and felt a hundred memories that they could not speak. They looked on and knew.

 

But loyalty had been fostered deep in their bones, and they kept their mouths shut and the knowledge safe.

 

No one needed to know what ghosts danced on Lotus Pier.

Chapter 15: A Lake with no Shadows

Notes:

Alright this is the chapter Ghost earns a new rating! :DDDD

If sex isn't your thing just skip to the author's note at the bottom, I'll include a brief summary of the key events. If it is your thing, enjoy!

(Also I've had some questions about this-- I am more than fine with any fan works to do with ghost! Art is lovely but fic is okay too, just give me a heads up :D )

The gentle notes of Inquiry rang out like thunder, echoing across Lotus Pier and shaking the very air with power. The sounded clear as silver bells, made to ring through the night and into the space beyond death.

 

They sounded beautiful.

 

Wei Wuxian felt them tremble across his skin and shadows, water running through every piece of his body. He shivered at that sound, quaked as only a ghost would.

 

Lan Zhan was truly unparalleled, and those notes broke no argument from spirits or beast. This was the second playing. The first had offered no response, a clear sign Xue Yang was far from dead.

 

Now the notes hummed out, hunting for a different spirit. There was a trembling in the air, shaking leaves and the hint of something light as the dawn.

 

But no soul answered Lan Zhan’s call.

 

Wei Wuxian clenched his fist, felt the shadows gather around him, ever loyal beasts on his knuckles. Lotus blooms shook as he smiled out frustration, but he just shifted on a lonely pier.

 

No leads, no hope for a path forward.

 

He stared down into the water, watched it tremble and weave with the last notes of Lan Zhan’s zither. It faded to silence, and so did their plans.

 

“Xue Yang was last seen in a small village to the east, before his disappearance.” The words were calm as the moon, and a place to start, but Wei Wuxian narrowed thoughtful eyes against the easy path.

 

There had been an edge of uncertainty to those last notes, and never had he backed down from a challenge.

 

He laughed, and turned to stare at Lan Zhan. From the crimson wash to lovely skin, his eyes were red as blood.

 

Lan Zhan did not look away.

 

“Hey, Lan Zhan, your song can summon spirits and force them to answer honestly, yeah?”

 

A nod, hair shifting forward to spill in elegant lines on the dock. Wei Wuxian wondered if it was as soft as it looked, drifting over the strings of a zither.

 

He laughed and curled twitching fingers and playful shadows away.

 

“If I brought you the spirit, would you be able to trap it into questions?”

 

The pause was longer this time, golden eyes staring into Wei Wuxian as if to see his mind and soul. He felt so very bare before those eyes, but he grinned anyway. There were shadows dancing beneath the moonlight, and they made him so very strong.

 

“Do not risk yourself,” was all Lan Zhan said, and Wei Wuxian knew it for a yes.

 

He laughed, the sound joyous and teasing, but all he felt was that curl of warmth across his chest. Worried, the man was worried for him.

 

What had he done, he wondered, to earn this worry? What had he done to not be hated?

 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know, but he wanted to; he wanted to earn that worry for long years, and match it with laughter and teasing smirks. Something in Lan Zhan had always made him want to push the boundaries.

 

He wanted that peerless face to smile.

 

“When have I ever been one to take risks, huh? I’m the picture of restraint.”

 

There was no response but a twitch at the corner of Lan Zhan’s lips, not ever close to a smile. It wasn’t close to a laugh either, tiny and subtle in the moonlight. But it was more than Wei Wuxian had seen since his robes were made of shadow, and it sent warmth curling across his neck.

 

He thought ghosts couldn’t flush, but here he was, proved wrong again. He had designed this body far too carefully from the shadows. There was too much care in the resentful energy that made his skin solid, and it cost him a shred of dignity.

 

It was a good thing Wei Wuxian had never given a damn about appearances. The water trembled before him, and he looked into it with gleaming red eyes.

 

The trick of shadows was that they truly were everywhere. Old secrets and broken towers, gentle lotus petals and the curve of a glimmering sword— all these things left their mark, shining in light and so reflected into darkness.

 

There was nothing not known by shadow, if they were asked the right question.

 

Wei Wuxian had been living in the shadows for thirteen years, feeding them resentful energy and using them as his body and blood. They curled around him like loyal beasts and ink-stains, and they knew him as they had known no one else.

 

They loved him, as deeply as resentful creatures could. He loved them back for that.

 

So when he asked the shadows made tame around him— the ones that made up his black cloak and deadly sword— they swirled away to search for him.

 

The moon shone overhead, and the lotus blooms floated on, and Wei Wuxian was bare of the shadows that had kept him company for thirteen years.

 

He lifted his hand, looked at the pale shape of ghostly fingers. They were calloused and nicked with the scars of his memories, the fingers of an old body made new for A-ling. He stared down and wondered what was left of him.

 

Did he have strength left, anymore? There was still energy pulsing beneath his skin but it was weak now, drained from the force of his question.

 

A quiet noise startled him, pulled his eyes up to meet golden ones in the moonlight. He watched more emotion than he had ever seen cross that gaze like an endless tide.

 

Lan Zhan’s face was calm, but his eyes were a maelstrom of gilded thoughts, and the fingers across his zither were trembling ever so slightly. Wei Wuxian traced the movement with surprise.

 

The peerless Lan Zhan, one of the twin jades of the Gusu Lan Sect and a cultivator peerless above all else, was shaking.

 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to think, what to do. Should he tease? Should he worry? Should he laugh it all away with ghostly ease?

 

In the end, he did all three. A creeping smile curved up his lips, and he opened his mouth with a laugh torn from the last of his shadows.

 

“What Lan Zhan? Can’t handle my pretty face anymore?”

 

The edge of Lan Zhan’s mouth tightened, and the trembling didn’t cease. Wei Wuxian watched elegant hands shake under the sting of moonlight, casting new shadows across the lonely pier.

 

He didn’t understand.

 

“What, what is it?”

 

But Lan Zhan didn’t respond, pulling off his outer robe in a motion trembling yet graceful. He held it up like it was a sacrifice, holding it towards Wei Wuxian with a face as calm as carved jade and fingers that shook ever so slightly.

 

It was in that moment that Wei Wuxian realized the shadows that had been his clothes were gone, and he was bare before the moonlight and the piercing eyes of Lan Zhan.

 

Oh. Oh.

 

His first reaction was a flush, the ghost’s blush creeping across the back of his neck. He had essentially stripped himself before the man without a second’s warning, and the prickle of wind on ghostly skin sent him reeling.

 

His second reaction was to think of the trembling of Lan Zhan’s fingers, of the emotion clouding those lovely golden eyes. It had been hunger, lurking like a great beast come to devour him.

 

Wei Wuxian knew that look as well as he knew how to laugh; he had seen it in the eyes of a dozen beautiful women, and an equal number of handsome men.

 

Attraction had always made him smile and tease all the stronger, but he had never thought to see it in Lan Zhan’s eyes. Had the sight of bare skin had shaken loose a tiny splinter of the man’s control?

 

Had Wei Wuxian done this?

 

His third reaction was to grin like a viper. Happiness was bubbling up in his chest, delighted and merciless. He had always loved being admired, and here was a man of peerless beauty and incredible skill, looking at him like he was water in a great desert. It was a heady feeling, and he felt flush with power.

 

“Lan Zhan,” he purred, the sound dark as the night around them, dark as his shadows had ever been.

 

There was a feast before him, fine composure to break and a cock to take. Wei Wuxian had never wanted anything so much.

 

He crawled forward, knees hitting hard on the worn wood, body stretched out in the moonlight in as tempting of an arch as he could make it.

 

“You should have told me, Lan Zhan.”

 

Lan Zhan held his ground sitting peerless as the finest jade. But those eyes traced gentle cirlces down across Wei Wuxian’s bare skin and darted away. The man didn’t look flustered, face as calm as ever, but the fingers holding up that robe shook and shook and shook.

 

“There is nothing to tell.”

 

Wei Wuxian laughed, reached a hand up to tug the robe from those shaking fingers. He took the fine fabric and curled it between his hands, twirling it around to drape it around his shoulders like a mark of ownership.

 

He left it open and indecent, not even bothering to slide his bare arms through the sleeves. In the shining light of the moon, he was sure his ghostly skin glimmered.

 

It was a beautiful night to tempt a man, he thought, with anticipation touching on his smile and a fluttering feeling he couldn’t identify dancing through his ribs.

 

The robe hung open around him, white silk brushing over his skin in a slick slide. He turned to press his nose into the fabric and inhale, deep and long. The scent of sandalwood and musk made his skin prickle and his mouth open in appreciation. It was a mark of ownership and something uniquely Lan Zhan, and Wei Wuxian suddenly couldn’t get enough.

 

But there was more to get.

 

A choked sound echoed before him, low and unstoppable. He grinned into the fine silk like a cat caught in the cream, let teasing fingers catch on the silk. Lan Zhan still hadn’t moved, those eyes telling a thousand tales of lust and the hand at his side shaking.

 

But the man’s face was calm as the moon at midnight, and Wei Wuxian wanted to tear that composure to pieces.

 

He had never felt such hunger, to break Lan Zhan open before him. They had spent decades at each other’s throats, bickering and crossing blades alike.

 

It had ever been a passionaterelationship, and ever had Wei Wuxian buried the part of himself that had hungered for a different kind of passion. He had never felt shame for his desires, and never would; who was he to care who others loved, and who were others to care who he loved?

 

But he had never thought Lan Zhan had looked at men with want, and so had left the matter be. Let them cross blades and let him tease the man into oblivion. That was enough. It would be enough.

 

But now— now he couldn’t let this chance go.

 

“What, Lan Zhan? I put on the robe. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

 

A pale hand clenched, fingers no longer shaking for their tension. Wei Wuxian slipped closer, knees moving over the wood of the docks until he was close enough to touch, laughing into the air between them and catching the warmth of Lan Zhan’s lungs.

 

But he did not reach forward, a hairsbreadth from skin and Lan Zhan’s robe draped across his shoulders as brand and shield. It spread behind him, a blooming flower glimmering in the moonlight but hiding nothing.

 

“Wei Ying—”

 

That voice was taut and controlled, and Wei Wuxian wanted to see it break into moans and growls of pleasure. That face was still calm, but golden eyes were dark with a coming storm and twice as furious.

 

It occurred to him suddenly that he was hard as steel, cock standing proud and bare in the moonlight.

 

It occurred to him that he was begging for touch but had hands of his own. A laugh broke from his lips, quiet and promising. Slow as thick honey and a long tease, he ran a hand over his chest, on a slow slide down and down and down—

 

Calloused fingers grabbed his wrist, curling gentle around the skin there and pulling his hand up and away.

 

But oh how those fingers shook.

 

“Do not.” Lan Zhan’s voice was heavy in the silence of the pier, breaking over the water around them and echoing away.

 

Wei Wuxian wanted it speaking into his skin and leaving his ghostly body shaking, wanted those fingers pressing into his hips and opening him up for the man before him. He wanted Lan Zhan’s everything to crash over him in a wave.  

 

On the moonlit pier bare of shadows, it wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s want that mattered. He would never force something like this, not now and not ever. He leaned back, enough to give Lan Zhan space to breathe, giving the wind the hot space to cut between them.

 

He would not force it, but never had he been able to resist teasing.

 

“If you want me to stop, I’ll stop, and never mention this again. No hard feelinigs Lan Zhan!” He trailed his eyes down, let them glide across a white-robed chest and fall on the fabric around Lan Zhan’s waist.

 

There was shadow in the fabric that shouldn’t have been there, and Wei Wuxian didn’t hide his shark’s smile.

 

“But why would you do that, when I am here before you, ready for the taking?” He leaned back, pulled his wrist free from Lan Zhan and lay across the white-silk robe draped over his shoulders.

 

It was such a pure thing, made from such pure fabric. In the spun-silver light of the moon, it glowed with divine energy and peerless beauty.

 

Wei Wuxian wanted to stain it and mark it with pleasure. 

 

“Spread me out on your fine robe, gege, and take me.”

 

The words echoed and echoed and echoed, the water catching at their edges and lotus petals keeping them close and safe.

 

For a single, heart-stopping moment, Wei Wuxian stayed deadly still and waited. There were so many paths this could take, and on a lonely pier he could only smile up into the moon.

 

He did not need to wait long. Like great beasts escaping their cage, Lan Zhan’s golden eyes went hard and relentless.

 

Wei Wuxian smiled like shadows pressed across his skin, because he knew the sight of victory.  

 

A strong hand grabbed his ankle, pulling him forward until his thighs were stretched over Lan Zhan’s folded legs and his back was arched in sacrifice. He laughed, breathless with anticipation.

 

Then he wondered who had truly won.

 

Strong hands spread across his hips and gripped like iron, pressing into the delicate space between hips and thigh like Lan Zhan could mark him as owned. Wei Wuxian wished his skin could bruise, wanted to press into purple and red painting his body tomorrow and feel their strength. But ghostly skin just took the punishment, and he could only let his head fall back and moan.

 

It wasn’t enough. There were broad hands searing into his hips, holding him warm and steady, but they weren’t enough. Wei Wuxian wanted everything.

 

“So nice of you to see things my way, Lan Zhan. Now if you’d just—”

 

He sucked in a breath, felt teeth tease across his exposed skin and bite into the stretch of his neck. A moan broke from him, and he let his legs fall open across a strong waist. He offered his body up to Lan Zhan with a squirm and a wicked smile.

 

The hands on his waist tightened at the move, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the breathless laughs that escaped him. The robe shifted beneath his skin, cold in the shivering moonlight.

 

He had awoken a tiger, but he didn’t mind being devoured.

 

A moment passed, kisses and nips marking his skin, and Wei Wuxian squirmed across a broad lap, twisting his legs to cling closer to Lan Zhan. He was warm with marks that wouldn’t last, shivering with every touch.

 

It wasn’t enough, not with the cock he could feel pressing into his ass through Lan Zhan’s robes. It felt thick and hot, the perfect size for fucking him open. He wanted to have it in every inch of his body, wanted it to mark him inside and out, stain him with cum and leave him dripping onto the fine white silk.

 

He wanted so much, in the pale light of the moon.

 

“Patience,” Lan Zhan said, strong hands clamping on his waist and pinning him down. The strength there could keep him fixed, hold him and make him take whatever the man had to give.

 

Wei Wuxian had never felt himself go hot so quickly.

 

“Why would I have patience when I— ah,” his voice broke off into a moan beneath the moonlight, a calloused hand twisting around his cock and pulling.It was good, so good, spine-chilling and warm in the cool night air.

 

But it wasn’t enough. Here he was, laid out on a peerless white robe in the moonlight, where any passing disciple could see. Silk shifted beneath his back as he arched into a moan, relishing every inch of moonlight on his skin. He was tossed across Lan Zhan’s lap like a plaything, made to be taken on a lonely pier. Wei Wuxian wanted to be used and fucked out, wanted Lan Zhan to mark and own him.

 

He was awoken the tiger and he wanted to feel its claws.

 

Desperate hands twisted in the fabric beneath him, gripping silk like a lifeline and rubbing his ass against the cock below him. “Fuck me, Lan Zhan, fuck me.”

 

Strong hands kept him still again, but Wei Wuxian could feel the trembling of those fingers.

 

“There is no oil.” Lan Zhan said, the words low and quiet between them. I will not hurt you, they seemed to say, and had Wei Wuxian a scrap of patience left in him he would have wondered at the care.

 

But he was trembling and breaking and needy, and if Lan Zhan didn’t fuck into him and fill him up he would flip the man over and ride him. Neither of them would be able to stand, after that.

 

“I am a ghost, Lan Zhan— I don’t need oil to get me ready, and I’m not going to be hurt in the morning.”

 

He spread his legs even wider, curled a hand down to pull himself open. But there were better ways to do this, and a wicked grin spread over his lips.

 

There was a single shadow left in the lake, hidden beneath a lotus flower and guarded from the moon. A gentle shadow, small as his hand and only grey in the moonlight. It had been too weak to send off, too weak to wear against his skin.

 

But it was not too weak for this. With a flick of long fingers, he summoned it to his lips, blew it out and let it curl down his body.

 

He fixed red eyes on Lan Zhan, watched realization break across that calm face and crack. He didn’t look away.

 

Like ink spread across canvas, the shadow dripped down to his ass and spread him wide, the sensation making him moan into the air. His skin prickled as he forced the shadow in, opening himself up until he was gaping and ready.

 

Wei Wuxian moaned, and it sounded coarse with lust.

 

For the first time, Lan Zhan looked broken, gold eyes glimmering like a haunted sunset and beautiful beyond compare. The man’s lips were cracked, breath coming in quiet pants. Thatwas the expression he had wanted to see, wanted to rip out of Lan Zhan’s composure to hold close.

 

Those long fingers were shaking again, digging into Wei Wuxian’s hips like they would break if he moved.

 

Wei Wuxian had never felt more powerful.

 

A flick of control had the shadow fucking in and out, and he let a moan echo into the space between them, grinding his ass over that hard cock. He wanted it in him, wanted it filling him up and marking him. A good thing he had always been relentless. A sultry smile crept up his lips, distracted and so very needy.

 

“Won’t you fill me up, gege? Don’t—” A gasp tore out of his throat, caught on the twists of the shadow he worked in and out. His cock was dripping across his stomach now, and he could feel the wet of ghostly cum spreading over his skin. It would leak down across the silk soon.  

 

Wei Wuxian wanted that dearly.

 

“Don’t leave me here like this, I won’t be satisfied if I don’t have you.”

 

And that was all it took. In graceful motions and with shaking hands, Lan Zhan pull free from peerless robes. Wei Wuxian had a second to see a cock standing thick and proud before it was pressing against his ass.

 

Lan Zhan fucked in with every scrap of effortless strength earned in war, pressing Wei Wuxian down against the pier.  

 

He moaned against the feeling, energy leeching out of him and into the water below. He felt so full, split around Lan Zhan’s cock and writhing. This was so much and too much and not enough, all rolled into one shuddering moment beneath the pale moonlight.

 

There was a white robe beneath his skin, and Wei Wuxian had never felt filthier. He smiled, the expression drunk on feeling, curling his hands over Lan Zhan’s long fingers. They were gripping his hips like a brand, but now they were holding him still on that cock.

 

That wouldn’t do.

 

The shadow in his ass trembled, curling around the cock inside him and pulsing, twisting ruthlessly at his command. He felt it twitch as he felt Lan Zhan inhale sharp and vicious on the lonely pier. He smirked all the wider, breathless with need. The shadow twisted again, and a great man trembled.

 

Wei Wuxian shuddered too.

 

“Move, Lan Zhan, move.”

 

There was a shudder that wracked the body above him, and strong hands clenched on his hips like they could hold him together.

 

But Wei Wuxian just twisted against the robe behind him, felt the moon shining on his skin like a lover’s kiss, and moaned.

 

All that careful restraint broke at the sound. Lan Zhan began to fuck forward, relentless as a storm and with all its thunder. Wei Wuxian didn’t have the mind to keep thoughts together, lost in the feeling of fullness and the hands on his hips, digging into his skin.

 

He was broken apart and shaking and he’d beg for it all over again, if it only meant he could hear Lan Zhan lose that legendary composure in his body. The shadow inside him stroked hard and fast, pressing in and stretching out the reach of that thick cock.

 

Wei Wuxian was lost.

 

He came once, pleading for Lan Zhan’s touch but with hands batted away from his cock. The man shifted, pulling his trembling body up and holding his weight in a single strong hand. Lan Zhan didn’t stop, fucking in again and again, relentless as the man had always been.

 

Wei Wuxian felt sheltered, a lotus bloom held steady from rough currents. He wouldn’t have held back his moans even if he could have. With Lan Zhan’s hands fucking him down on that cock, shaking his world with each motion, he couldn’t even try.

 

“Again, god, Lan Zhan, again. You have—”

 

Another dropping thrust, another shaking gasp, his spent cock twitching across his stomach and overstimulation making his skin quiver. He was breaking to pieces on a lonely pier, and he could only smile at that.

 

“You are too good at this, you have no right to be so good at this. Fuck me harder gege.”

 

And Lan Zhan shoved in harder, until Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be able to move without feeling the imprint of that long cock in his body. Ghostly skin would heal quick, but he’d know a phantom ache for days.

 

He looked forward to it.

 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, god, fill me up, please, please, don’t you want to mark me?”

 

With a last shuddering thrust, Lan Zhan came, shaking against Wei Wuxian and panting like he’d run for a thousand years. His breath was hot against ghostly skin, steaming onto Wei Wuxian and leaving him hard and wanting yet again.

 

He could feel Lan Zhan’s seed filling him up, warm and thick in the chill of night. He didn’t want to let it out, a thought sending that smallest shadow curling around the cum and dragging deeper. He didn’t want to let Lan Zhan out, wanted that cock and this man to stay hard inside him forever.

 

Lan Zhan shifted beneath him and he clamped his legs together, holding the man in place.

 

The moon shone so bright overhead, bathing everything between them in an eerie mix of shadow and broken light. It danced across Lan Zhan’s face, curled over the flush creeping across elegant cheekbones and spreading down the lips carved with a master’s hand.

 

Lan Zhan was beautiful. He was beautifuland buried cock-deep in Wei Wuxian and it was beyond belief.   

 

He stared down, gaze for gaze with the man buried in him. A smile crept onto Wei Wuxian’s lips, breaking out into a soft happiness he couldn’t help. There was something more than lust in those golden eyes, but it flashed by like quicksilver and was gone.

 

“Wei Ying,” the man said, bringing a hand up to brush over his lips, gentle and soft as the touch of flower petals.

 

“Lan Zhan,” he said, teasing lilt to his tone lifting through the air. “That wasn’t half bad, was it? Maybe we should do this everyday, I wouldn’t mind feeling you fill me up like this.”

 

A hum was his response, Lan Zhan shifting slightly across the pier. He didn’t try to pull away, arms cradling the long lines of Wei Wuxian’s body like he was something precious, something to be treasured.

 

He didn’t let himself think on that, and he didn’t need to.

 

Wei Wuxian was naked across the clothed man’s lap, and he felt lust crawl up his spine at the thought. He had dirtied the pretty robes of the Young Master of the Lan Clan, and here he was, sitting in a strong lap as sweet temptation.

 

What better time to steal secrets from Lan Zhan’s lips?

 

“Hey, what was the thing I didn’t remember? Can I persuadeyou to tell me now?”

 

Like ice crackling to life against the surface of a lake, Lan Zhan went stiff under him, his face settling into that mask of jade yet again.

 

Wei Wuxian had never regretted a question so much.

 

“It is nothing,” was the only response, voice cold as the first frost of winter. Those eyes had gone from molten gold to hardened metal, from warm and loose to proper as cut stone.

 

“No?” He shifted in Lan Zhan’s lap, grinding down on the cock still inside him. It twitched, hard again and sending a line of arousal shooting across his skin. He shivered at the sensation, felt the hot rush of seed move inside him.

 

He wouldn’t be clean for a while, and he relishedthat. “Are you sure?”

 

With an effortless grace, the man snapped strong hips up, forcing a startled moan out of his throat and echoing out into the moon-lit air.

 

The only sound after that was the desperation that poured from his throat as he was fucked into the dawn.

 

It was hours later, fucked out and carried to his rooms, that Wei Wuxian realized he hadn’t gotten an answer.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

With the dawn of a new day came all the answers they needed. The shadows had returned and spoke of a city coated in fog and possessing a thousand corpses and one cruel cultivator.

 

He had asked the right question.

Notes:

WWX sends shadows out to search for two unnamed spirits, they go off and he is left bare. He sees LWJ trembling and teases him into sex (lots of hints of feelings on both sides). He asked LWJ what he doesn't remember, but the man doesn't tell him.

The shadows return with answers :D

Chapter 16: The Forest Welcome

Notes:

I'm behind on comments this week, sorry! I'll be responding over the next day or two :D

Darkness had fallen with the sun, scattered across the water of the lake to fade into strength. Light lingered on at the edges of the sky, made red and purple through the clouds.

 

It was a beautiful sight, but it was not what held Jin Ling’s attention.

 

It was well past sunset, but he had grown used to late nights and long moments spent on swirling water. He had stepped eager feet onto these docks to visit Laoshi for most of his life, wrapped in friendly shadows and the laughter of a teacher. He had stood on a lonely pier and learned his father’s craft and his own history. He had treasured those moments. 

 

Now he stood beside three peerless cultivators and Mo Xuanyu and knew only furious humiliation.

 

"Why can he go, if I have to stay?" He couldn't help how petulant the words sounded, couldn't help the quiet hurt. Laoshi had been by his side for so long, a constant through the thick and thin of life. Jin Ling had learned so much, standing beside his teacher and staring out at lotus blooms.

 

He wanted to stand beside him always. Was that so much to ask?

 

"You have responsibilities as heir to the Lanling Jin Sect, A-ling." Uncle sounded strict and harsh as ever, voice cutting to the bone and leaving no room for argument.

 

It made Mo Xuanyu shift too, and Jin Ling could almost read the thoughts on his friend's face.

 

Worthless son of a servant, spoke clearly from the tension in Mo Xuanyu’s jaw. Jin Ling wanted to throw that tension in the lake and see it fade. He wanted to be the son of a servant too, if it meant staying with Laoshi.

 

In his silence, Laoshi spoke smiling words, leaning down to tug at Jin Ling's cheek. Fingers pinched at his skin until he grumbled and shifted. It stung, as it always did, and he batted it away half-heartedly.

 

Laoshi's hand was chilled and ghostly, but it always felt so comforting.

 

"No long face, A-ling! We’ll be back soon, and Jiang Cheng can manage your training in the meantime. He might even do a decent job."

 

There was an affronted noise, like a cat had been dunked in water. Uncle shoved Laoshi's face back and into the shadows of the moon, murder clear in the set of lightning shoulders. It was such a fond motion that Jin Ling wanted to snort and cry into the night.

 

He didn’t know how long Laoshi would be gone, but he felt the weight of loneliness settle into his skin as he watched the ghost laugh and dance to stand behind Hanguang-jun. The white robes of Gusu shifted to protect Laoshi from Uncle’s snarl, but it did nothing to soothe Jin Ling’s worry.

 

Even after long weeks of Hanguang-jun breathing gentle and unmovable at Laoshi’s side, Jin Ling didn’t know what to make of the man.

 

The notes of a fine zither had saved his teacher’s life, this he knew. The eyes that tracked Laoshi’s every dancing step were alive with a protective sheen, this he saw. The rumor that had spoken in proud tones of how this man hated Yiling Laozu, this he remembered.

 

But Laoshi had always spoken about the mountains of Gusu with far-away eyes and an expression Jin Ling could never guess at.

 

He shifted, shoes scuffing the ground with his anger, with his frustration. It was three against one and those three held all the power and command.

 

There was nothing Jin Ling could do but stay.

 

"Fine," he muttered, dark and petulant in the time after sunset. "See if I care."

 

Laoshi just laughed and used nimble shadows to ruffle his hair. Jin Ling pretended to hate them.

 

They both knew better.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

The sky shone bright overhead, the day alive with the chirping of birdsong and the gentle shift of wind. Each creaking piece of Lotus Pier shifted with that breeze, made malleable and bright with motion.

 

Wei Wuxian was bright with motion too, standing beside his brother. He was laughing, the sound echoing up and out into the air, teasing as always. Shadows curled around his ankles, his sword hung at his waist, and the path before them was clear.

 

It was a good day.

 

“Worrying for me? Aw, Jiang Cheng you shouldn’t have.” The teasing tone met the wind and shifted before it as banner and breathless happiness. The sun shone down to bathe the road before them in a golden glow, warm as the smile Wei Wuxian felt dancing on his lips.

 

Jiang Cheng just looked endlessly frustrated, lips tight and eyes snarling. Even in this light he looked worried, pale beneath the dawning light. “Who would worry for you, fool. I’m concerned for the safety of your student.”

 

Mo Xuanyu rolled bitter eyes, but the corners of the boy’s lips twitched and shook. Jin Ling bristled too, an angry cat dipped in the waters of restraint. “Uncle, let me—"

 

Sharp words interrupted him, borne from sharper eyes. “Did I tell you to speak?”

 

Jin Ling’s lips shut with a snap, but the boy looked mutinous. Mo Xuanyu looked equally furious, wounded pride clear on a pinched face.

 

Wei Wuxian just laughed. His students were fools twice over, but they were clever ones. Beneath the light of a dawning sun, nothing felt better than that.

 

It was a good day.

 

“You know one of them would have followed us out, if we tried to leave.”

 

A sigh escaped his brother, and defeat coating the set of strong shoulders. The shifting purple of his robes lit up the pier like a banner, marking him king just as the straight line of his back called him proud.

 

Wei Wuxian thought Jiang Cheng had never looked more like a Sect Leader than now, when the man let his family go.

 

“They could have tried. Keep Mo Xuanyu and yourself safe, Wei Ying, or I’ll have your hide.”

 

Jiang Cheng said it with such sharp fury, but it did not sting. Wei Wuxian could only smile into the sun and watch his brother’s hands stay steady.

 

“You could try, brother, but I doubt you’d catch me!”

 

He waved a lazy hand and leapt into the air, sword of shadows shimmering to life beneath his feet. Lan Zhan and Mo Xuanyu met him in the air, and soon enough they were soaring off towards the west. The sun greeted them as an old friend and brilliant warning, fading with them as they flew.

 

They followed the whispers of the shadows now, and those voices sung a song of a fog and old corpses. There were flashing blades inside white walls, the shadows said.

 

There was a man named Xue Yang, the shadows said, and sounded dark with answers.

 

So they flew.

 

Forests and low hills flashed below them, markers on a journey with no set length. Wei Wuxian let the shadows carry him as a core could not, a ghostly body holding no weight and taking no strain. The air caught the long lines of his hair, but no wind could move him if he didn’t allow it. His chest ached, but he smiled and laughed into the dying light.

 

It was a good day.

 

It was only when the sun began to creep below the horizon that A-yu slowed, skin paling from exhaustion and mouth set into a bitter line.

 

The boy said nothing, but Wei Wuxian flipped off his shadowed sword with the skill of a trickster. No need to hurt A-yu’s pride even more, he thought, with a smile and quick steps forward. Like birds coming to roost, Lan Zhan and A-yu landed behind him, one white with strain and the other white with robes like clouds.

 

He laughed into the sunset, feet resting on a lonely path. If the old memories of a youth could be trusted, there was a village not too far from here.

 

“Let’s walk,” he said, and watched A-yu look down in bitter shame. “Far too lovely of a night to let it pass flying so far overhead, right Lan Zhan?”

 

The man only nodded, quiet and breathtaking as a statue. Wei Wuxian stared at golden eyes and remembered how they had seared his skin and stolen the beat of his heart.

 

He smiled, but golden eyes did not glimmer back.

 

At the end of a walk filled with teasing laughter and breathless steps, an inn greeted them. The building was worn, but warm light and dancing song spilled out of its doors. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but smile at the smell of food and the sweet sting of liquor. He was ghost and shadows, but the memories of spice on his tongue were so precious.

 

They walked inside in a swirl of bright robes, three sets of steps crossing a wooden threshold.

 

Wei Wuxian’s steps were dancing and light, made from the shadows that trembled beneath lotus petals. Lan Zhan’s were firm and relentless, shaped from jade and the first snowfall after a long autumn. A-yu’s steps were dragged and tired, made from a weak core and the bitter sting of failure.

 

They were unhappy steps.

 

But the student did not complain, mouth shut and feet still moving. Wei Wuxian chuckled, the sound too quiet to be heard beyond the circle of his dark robes. A-yu must truly be tired, to keep bitter remarks at bay. 

 

The innkeeper darted forward, her hands clasped into a polite bow, and addressing her words to Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian. Three men in cultivators’ robes, with fine swords glimmering at their waists and no baggage to be seen. They must have made an interesting sight.

 

“Masters, how may I help you?”

 

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth and tasted words on his tongue like fine liquor. But Lan Zhan spoke up, resonant voice quiet and purposeful. It echoed with command against the noise and clamor of the inn.

 

“Three rooms for the night.”

 

Three rooms. Wei Wuxian felt a bitterness touch his stomach, and he forced it away with a smile and a dinner as well!

 

Last night, he curled around Lan Zhan and was lost to pleasure. He had thought it would happen again, had been filled with anticipation at more nights given to laughter and slow touches.

 

Apparently, Lan Zhan didn’t think the same.

 

A-yu fell into a room with the weariness of the dead, falling asleep as soon as his head fell onto a hard bed. Wei Wuxian shifted the boy into comfort, fondness curling in his chest. A-yu was unused to this travel, but he would learn.

 

The sky was the limit, and oh could they soar.

 

Wei Wuxian stopped before Lan Zhan’s door, feet light on the wood flooring but heart heavy. The cheer of the inn echoed around him, loud in the silence of his breath. He smiled, and it tasted sharp as turnips grown in dead ground.

 

Always had he been a relentless soul. If he had been born an animal, he surely would have been a fox, with a curiosity that drove him into trouble but the fury to claw himself out of it. If there was a puzzle to understand, he picked at it with all his mad genius until it was in pieces before him.

 

Now, standing before Lan Zhan’s room, that same urge drove him to knock on the door and enter. The room that greeted him was clean and ordered as the halls of Gusu, with each sheet in place and each wall polished and proper. It looked neat as Lan Zhan’s room would ever look. The man himself was sitting in a lotus pose, eyes closed in meditation and posture straight and perfect.

 

Wei Wuxian wanted to mess up that lovely composure all over again, wanted to see the panting face of pleasure and the tiniest hint of a smile. He wanted that attention burning into his skin and searing him as shadows before the light. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, and golden eyes snapped open.

 

The man looked guarded, and it made Wei Wuxian restless and guilty. Something was wrong. 

 

“Can I, ah, tempt you tonight, Lan Zhan?” He let his voice drop into teasing, let the need in his blood boil to the surface. For a moment, a heartbeat, those shimmering eyes went dark.

 

Then they smoothed into serenity.

 

“No,” was all Lan Zhan said, but Wei Wuxian felt the rejection hit him in the stomach. He had taken a sword to the gut once, fought the rest of the battle with a laugh and blood creeping from his lips. That had not hurt as much as this.

 

But why did it hurt?

 

"Are you sure, Lan Zhan?" He spoke with a tease that hurt to pull out. It sounded hollow, in the space of this spotless room. 

 

"Yes, Wei Ying," came the response, and it was quiet with severity. 

 

Pride made his spine go straight and furious, eyes hard from the sting across his chest. A bitter laugh fell from his lips, but he smiled all the same. Ever had he stumbled into trouble with Lan Zhan, and ever had it hurt more than it should.

 

“Well, Hanguang-jun, I know when I’m not wanted— there were a dozen lovely ladies below, I can entertain myself there.” He turned as he spoke, moving back towards the door. The words were broken from a bitter place, but he forced them to be light with spite.

 

He had never found pleasure with another before Lan Zhan, and he didn’t want another’s touch now.

 

Wei Wuxian had ever been relentless. He had survived the Sunshot Campaign, had survived the vicious energy of the Yiling Burial grounds, had broken fate and risen more powerful than any could bear. He had died for it and then pieced himself together again, stitched from darkest shadow and love for his nephew. Here and now, he could survive without the touch of gentle hands and peerless skin, as he had for decades.

 

A rustling from behind him made him turn, had him striking out. He caught Lan Zhan’s hand before it could touch his shoulder, shadows blocking the stretch of long fingers.

 

When had the man gotten so close?

 

For a moment, they stood there, two titans facing off in the lantern light of a cheery inn. Never had Wei Wuxian felt so vulnerable, and it made him itch.

 

“You need not leave.” The words were quiet, but he couldn’t read the emotion in Lan Zhan’s face, calm and peerless as ever. All he could do was laugh to hide the confusion. He wore a sharp smile to hide the hurt, and it cut his lips as he grinned. The man was a mystery as always, but Wei Wuxian didn’t have the strength for this now.

 

“You never change,” was all he said, words bitter on his tongue.

 

No, haunted his thoughts as he walked away.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

The next morning crackled with tension, but Wei Wuxian faced it with a smile that glimmered and shone. He had an eel’s cunning in his veins and a fox’s wit; he could handle a single rejection. In the light of a dawning sun it seemed easier to bear than under the lantern light.

 

Wei Wuxian hustled A-yu out of the inn, walking with teasing comments and light feet. He ignored Lan Zhan too, and it was better this way.

 

Bichen carved a glimmering path through the air, dancing like a leaf on the winds. Lan Zhan stepped forward as if to fly up and away, vanish into the clouds gathered high overhead.

 

But Wei Wuxian saw a trembling shake Mo Xuanyu’s skin, and laughingly danced down the street, beckoning the others to follow.

 

“Why ride when we can walk, and double the lessons? A-yu, you have so much to learn yet!”

 

After a moment of silence, they turned to follow him across dirt paths and into the dawning sun. Lan Zhan walked several paces behind, footsteps measured and methodical against the noise of morning. Wei Wuxian didn’t feel the sting of rejection carve deeper into his bones and didn’t pay the graceful curve of white fabric any mind.

 

He didn’t.

 

A-yu clicked an annoyed tongue, racing to catch up as he stepped past the bounds of the village. The marks of civilization faded into a packed dirt road, nature claiming the edges of the path with the roots of a growing forest.

 

Light shone through the trees and spread dappled and beautiful over the road. Wei Wuxian allowed himself a moment’s peace and a calming breath. The sun greeted his skin as an old friend, and the shadows around him curled up at its touch.

 

He had always loved walking. He had loved the feeling of stretching his legs on an empty road and setting out to explore even more. The world waited for his dancing steps, and he rose to greet it.

 

Now, this bright forest was a balm on his soul, comforting as the embrace of an old friend.

 

“How will I learn if you haven’t even taught me to awaken a corpse yet? All we have done is control relentless energy.” Mo Xuanyu spoke the next words slowly, like they pained him to a gilded core. “For weeks.”

 

Wei Wuxian just laughed harder, smile growing real and thoughtful.

 

“Didn’t we discuss the circulation of qi? How it could be used to tell if a person is lying? How it could be used to control lies? What of the Song of Resentment? Are these not interesting enough to keep you entertained, A-yu?”

 

“Laoshi.”

 

Mo Xuanyu sounded so pained in the dappled sun of this gentle forest that Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh. How would the boy fair after years as his student, he wondered with a smile drawn from the warmth dancing on ghostly skin.

 

It was going to be interesting.

 

“Well, let me summon a corpse for you then, and let’s see how you do.”

 

With a flourish and no hesitation, he put his fingers to his lips and blew out a long whistle. The sound echoed into the air, eerie and devastatingly loud. He felt a tug on his shadows and the relentless energy curling through his skin. He smiled, under the dappled light.

 

His whistle didn’t bear the resonant power of Chenqing— tucked away in his shadows, hidden and kept safe until he needed it— but it bore his call nonetheless.

 

And his call had been answered.

 

A shambling corpse broke out of the edge of the forest, forcing its way through the trees like water moving through earth. It moved forward slowly, commanded by the force of Wei Wuxian’s piercing whistle.

 

Two steps took it onto the packed dirt of their path, and each seemed to shake the ground with corpse dust and dead feet. With a snap of fingers and the glow of red eyes, the creature collapsed onto the ground, lifeless once more.

 

A-yu ground to a quick halt, horror creeping into bitter eyes. The boy looked scared, for a brief and startled moment. Then determination washed over A-yu’s face like a mask. Wei Wuxian knew it to be truth.

 

His student stepped forward to stand beside him, fingers trembling but eyes ablaze. A-yu looked up at Wei Wuxian, fierce as a the teeth of a great dragon.

 

“What do I do?”

 

Wei Wuxian smiled, and felt the shadows shift and fade around him. The man was ready. He raised ghostly fingers, gathering a swirl of resentful energy at the edge of his nails. It was a tornado leashed and bound to his will, and it looked dangerous.

 

It was lethal.

 

“You have to channel the energy into the body and call the soul back. The more resentful the soul, the more it wants to return. The trick is controlling the return.”

 

He lifted his fingers and waved them lazily through the air, a gesture for Mo Xuanyu to extend a hand. The palm spread out before him looked so young, with the fresh callouses of swordwork and the scrapes and bruises of a new disciple.

 

Wei Wuxian smiled, and felt the sun gentle with him. He let the energy coil across young hands, careful and contained. It flickered for a moment, testing the bounds with vicious intent, but Mo Xuanyu’s eyes narrowed and the energy stabilized across his palm.

 

A flicker of red licked black pupils, for a moment and a heartbeat and nothing more. But it was enough.

 

His student was learning.

 

This bitter boy, who had spent so long filled with hatred and shame and anger, smiled at him in his success. Wei Wuxian felt like the world had settled into place. The pride bursting across his chest wiped away all the hurt of earlier, leaving the day made anew and better.

 

“Good! Be careful not to lose yourself to the power. Now, you need to find a method to control the return. I use a flute to channel the commands, but I doubt that will work for you…”

 

He trailed off, thoughts musing along paths of dappled light. There was slender bamboo at the edge of the path, and he sent his shadows flickering towards it like lightning, cutting it in two with a single shearing strike.

 

The bamboo floated back to him, smelling of fresh wood and new growth. He waved it in the air a few times and felt its length, its strength. It would do.

 

He threw it at Mo Xuanyu, and watched the disciple catch it with a deft hand. The resentful energy in young fingers streamed down the bamboo like a channel, potent and eager. In the light of midday, it looked like a lightning strike snapping out of fresh wood.

 

It looked fierce.

 

There A-yu stood, with a staff of resentful energy shimmering in the dappled shade and a eyes that were not bitter. Wei Wuxian smiled again, brighter than any before.

 

“I thought something more active might suit you. Now, as we talked about, try animating our dear friend.”

 

Motions cautious and face set as if expecting disappointment, Mo Xuanyu raised the staff and flicked it across the air. A flash of energy shot out, and the corpse began to twitch off the ground, a malevolent groan torn from an old throat.

 

Shock washed over a young face, and Wei Wuxian knew A-yu had expected to fail.

 

But the boy had not, and now confidence would wrap around bitter shoulders as a shield.

 

“A good start!”

 

He raised his fingers and snapped, and like a puppet with cut strings the corpse fell to the ground. The dappled light made it look paler than it should, cold and drained of color.

 

“Again, and while we walk this time. Don’t let our friend fall behind!”

 

A groan was his only answer, but Mo Xuanyu raised the staff with steady hands, as he would for the rest of his life and beyond.

Chapter 17: A City of Fog

Notes:

Hello lovely readers, I am once again behind on both comments and editing, so this is for now not proofread for the final time. Sorry for any mistakes, IRL is biting me in the ass right now. But I will get to every comment if it kills me, worry not; I adore getting them!

Enjoy :D

It took them two days to arrive. As the sun set on the second day, the silhouette of a pale city broke over the horizon, black with dark energy and white with corpse-pale walls. Fog cloaked the edge of a wooden gate, curling eel-limber and invasive into the night air.

 

With what the shadows whispered of this city and the corpses that shook the light, the fog was fitting.

 

Wei Wuxian turned to the others, eyes flitting across elegant white robes before settling on his student. He smiled, bright as the sun that set over stone walls.

 

It felt strained.

 

“So! There are restless corpses in there, and a likely deadly cultivator with no mercy. Stay close, and don’t breathe in any dust if you can. At this scale, there is likely to be corpse-dust in the air.”

 

Mo Xuanyu nodded, the seriousness of his voice making the boy listen once and remember twice. Wei Wuxian watched the expression carefully, marking it for hints of fear.

 

A-yu looked scared but willing, and Wei Wuxian was glad for that fear. The boy would need sharp and scared wits to live through this.

 

Finally, with a sting of pain and burnt pride, Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Zhan. The man stared back, golden eyes glimmering in the setting sun and face telling no secrets. As ever, he was a mystery wrapped in fine silk and finer skill. Bichen shone at a strong waist, silver handle bright as the rising moon.

 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t see the curves of a beautiful face without hearing no.It echoed across his skin and into the ghostly bones he had forged from grit and an uncle’s love.

 

He smiled, and the bright grin didn’t make it to his eyes. He couldn’t care right now, not with city walls rising above them like the bones of a dying society.  

 

“Ready, Lan Zhan?”

 

A nod was his answer, the only answer he ever got from the silent pride of Gusu. Wei Wuxian laughed, dark and painful. The sound was loud across the fog creeping into the air, and he let it echo. 

 

Then he turned and let the shadows take him up and over the city wall. Thick fog blanketed the buildings before him, clogging the streets like a miasma come to choke the life from the place.

 

If the city wasn’t already filled with dead walking, this fog would have killed it.

 

On shining sword and shadowed ones, they glided over the city, the sheen of silver flashing into the clouds below. As night crept over the horizon, the fog faded away, leeching out from the press of chill air.

 

What it left behind was an endless spread of shambling corpses, moving through the vast streets with sagging limbs and broken bones. It was easily a thousand people, spread throughout the city and restless as ants. Wei Wuxian felt his jaw clench, dread curling in his stomach. The corpses didn’t look up as they flew above, not intelligent in death.

 

Here, high above the city, they were safe.

 

But not from the cultivator who controlled them.

 

Even Wei Wuxian, Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation and Yiling Laozu, could not control this many corpses. It would have taken all his laughing strength, and it would have cost him more energy than lurked in mortal bones.

 

If the rebel cultivator Xue Yang had managed it, that meant only one thing. The Stygian Tiger Seal was here, and unbroken enough to use.

 

Dread, cold as the touch of water after a lonely night, pressed down his spine. He had broken his soul and body to destroy that amulet, all those years ago. It had been his final act, the last good thing he had ever done in that life.

 

And now the seal might be carved from unbroken iron.

 

There was only one way to test it. Quick as flashing shadows, he let his sword take him down, close enough to one of the corpses to scrape his fingers across its back. They left red marks of power, a talisman of demonic energy charted into the air.

 

He lifted ghostly fingers to his lips and let out a quiet whistle, let it ring loud with command.

 

Fall,he said, in the voice of death and resentful energy. But the corpse did not fall, shambling ever forward, not even noticing his whistle.

 

There was no mistaking it; the amulet was here.

 

His jaw ached as he rose up, shadows pulling him to hover beside Lan Zhan. Bitterness forgotten in the face of this threat, he spoke, voice low and serious.

 

“He has the seal.”

 

Lan Zhan’s robes rustled in the wind, and the white wave of his forehead ribbon fell across Wei Wuxian’s hands like a gentle kiss.

 

He wanted to twist his fingers in the fabric and pull the man forward, wanted to put his lips on the graceful curve of Lan Zhan’s throat and breathe deep and peaceful. He wanted to laugh under the moonlight and let shadows wash away the corpses beneath them.

 

No.

 

Wei Wuxian smiled, balanced on the darkness of his sword. He wanted this, but he could not have it. He didn’t even know whyhe craved Lan Zhan so badly, but the pulsing beat of a ghostly heart was strong and relentless. Even now, floating above corpses and dire enemies, all Wei Wuxian could think was:

 

He is beautiful.

 

Wei Wuxian took a breath he didn’t need, let the air rush from ghostly lungs laced with shadows. He felt lighter, dancing on a sword high as the tallest tower with A-yu and Lan Zhan hovering beside him.

 

He felt at home.  

 

“We can’t fight this many corpses. We need to lure Xue Yang out and face him alone.”

 

A hum was his response, the gleam of Bichen silver in the growing moonlight. Lan Zhan did not say more, but golden eyes waited patient as a hunting cat.

 

“I am the best bait, given that he has my amulet.”

 

The words were true, true and painful. Wei Wuxian did not look away as he spoke, words quiet in the shadows of a dead city. After a slow moment, Lan Zhan nodded, motions slow and graceful.

 

“Send A-yu out. The two of us have a better chance.”

 

I will not leave, echoed between them, and for the first time in days, Wei Wuxian didn’t feel anger.

 

He smiled a shark’s smile, dangerous in the moonlight. It was made of a thousand shadows, and danced like the beasts that filled nightmares.

 

It was a look meant for Xue Yang alone.

 

“Let’s catch ourselves some information, shall we?”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The mournful call of an eerie flute echoed out across the city, fluttering and flaring as if it spoke to the wind. It broke through the walls and flesh, pounded between corpse-hearts and the paper mâché-heads of funeral dolls. It was a sound like breaking bone and twisting tendons, woven into a symphony of haunting beauty.

 

Xue Yang heard the call and sat up, body shifting from sleep to waking in a flash.

 

Though he had never heard it and had never thought to, there were few flutes that could be playing on this lonely night in the space of hiscity. Was this a fool, come to die by his cheery hands? Was this a fraud, come to die by the hunger of his sword?

 

Or was this Yiling Laozu come to dance through shadow and corpse dust?

 

A grin broke his face, wide as a river and just as deadly. It didn’t matter, in the end. Jiangzai would bath in broken bone and muscle, and Xue Yang had never felt more bloodthirsty.

 

He hoped it was Yiling Laozu, and with each step he let himself believe it more. The night had broken, the corpses moved to his command, and just the expert for his problem had arrived on the scene.

 

He had better go greet him, no?

 

Quick steps and a twist of power had Song Lan standing by his side, body chained to his command but mind free to rage and fret.

 

All was as it should be.

 

“Find the Yiling Patriarch and wait for my command. I need to put together a special soul, you remember him, your old friend?”

 

There was no response, the corpse’s mouth bound by long steel nails drilled through a hard skull. But dead eyes glimmered, and Xue Yang knew he was understood.

 

All was as it should be.

 

They stepped outside quickly, and moved all the quicker, heading straight for the sound of that delicate flute. If this was Wei Wuxian, there was no point in attempting subtlety, not when Xue Yang could simply ask him for his services. Two demonic cultivators should understand each other, and from the amulet whispering in his robes, Xue Yang thought Yiling Laozu a smart man.

 

And if the man said no? Well, he’d always wanted another pet.

 

There, perched on a lonely rooftop like a crow, was a man who could only be Wei Wuxian. A fine face and glowing red eyes shone beneath the moon, black robes swaying in the wind and a flute carved from broken dreams held to pale lips.

 

Xue Yang felt a shiver of anticipation creep up his spine. At last, at long last, his revenge would be complete. Yiling Laozu could sew together the shattered soul he held, bind it into a single screaming whole again. Xiao Xingchen would be his in every way that mattered; his to torture and his to keep.

 

He stepped out into the light of the moon, smile lighting his face and malice in his teeth, kept and held in white-ivory. He had made a matching necklace, once, of human bone made into fine art with the care of a chisel. It had been a beautiful thing, carved over years and treasured.

 

He had destroyed it a week after it was done, for what was there to love anymore? Life was fickle, and so was he. What was made he could unmake, for in this city he stood as a god.

 

And now here he stood before the Yiling Patriarch.

 

Would this man kneel to him, he wondered? Or would Xue Yang need to force him down and break his back into supplication?

 

No matter. All would be as it should be.

 

“Yiling Laozu, a pleasant surprise, and just when I needed you most!”

 

A smile traced the man’s lips, red eyes burning into Xue Yang’s skin. He was a pretty thing, classically handsome with a face like sharp porcelain and a grin like daggers.

 

Xue Yang would enjoy breaking him as much as he would enjoy learning his secrets. 

 

“And what, exactly, would you need, Xue Yang?” The man dropped his name casually, the lacquered stretch of Chenqing twirling in pale hands like a plaything.

 

He looked aimless as the wind, but Xue Yang knew that to be false now. Yiling Laozu had come with purpose. The man had sought him out, and he couldn’t help but feel flattered.

 

“How bout we trade favors? It seems you came to search for me. Tell me what you need, and I’ll ask my favor of you.”

 

He smiled in return, let mirth glimmer over his lips. He had knowledge to wave before the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, and never had power felt so sweet.With the city at his command and a thousand corpses walking to his breaths, Xue Yang felt strong.

 

He couldn’t resist a final taunt, playful and malicious.

 

“I’ll even tell you where to find your precious Ghost General.”

 

If the man could even control the corpse anymore, with the damage Xue Yang had done. He may not have achieved the skill of Yiling Laozu,Xue Yang would have it soon. He grinned into the night, guileless and soft as a cracking blade.

 

He’d have that skill by force if he was lucky, and Xue Yang had always been so verylucky. 

 

Like ice cracking across a lake, Wei Wuxain smiled again, lips stretching around a brittle look. But the expression didn’t hide the surprise that flashed over a pale face, shock clear in the corners of that smile.

 

Xue Yang grinned wider, blood pounding across his veins like resentful energy. The man hadn’t known.

 

Even better.

 

Yiling Laozu was quick to speak, words threading through the air like the notes of a ghostly flute.

 

“I’m searching for information on Jin Guangyao. He’s a tough man to find information on, you know? I thought you might be able to help me.”

 

Jin Guangyao, hmm?

 

What an interesting question for a man the world thought dead. Xue Yang wanted to pick that brilliant mind to pieces, wanted to understand what had brought the man to his doorstep.

 

But a flash of shining white caught on the edges of his vision, and he leapt forward, out of the way of the gleam of a blue-silver sword. Wind pressed against his robes, the rush of a blade moving fast enough to cut stone. He had a single quick breath before it came again, a strike relentless. He moved again, dodging out of the way and pulling Jiangzai from his sleeve.

 

Anger and delight twisted in him, curled across his stomach as a parasite. Yiling Laozu had brought the robes of Gusu straight to his doorstep.

 

He wanted to laugh.Song Lan and he could take these two, of this he was sure. They had the element of surprise, and he had two thousand corpses dancing to his beck and call.

 

Jumping away again, he flipped onto a roof nearby, watching for the strikes of that divine blade. Flashing eyes caught on the Wei Wuxian, unmoving on the roof nearby.

 

The man looked like shadows made flesh, with a flute held in pale fingers. He looked vulnerable to a blade to the spine.

 

Attack, Xue Yang called to Song Lan, twisting all the power in his corpse-stained hands. It was meant to shake earth and kill the living, the command of the Stygian Tiger Seal made silent and deadly.

 

But nothing moved, no shadows shifted behind Yiling Laozu and no fear played from a polished flute.

 

He called again, harder, forcing power into the twirls of his sword. Still nothing responded. Xue Yang might as well have been calling to ghosts.  

 

Laughter, bright and joyous against the moon, caught his attention.

 

“You really shouldn’t have told your soldier to hide in the shadows, you know? Shadows can be dangerous things, when you don’t know what lurks in them.”

 

For the first time, Xue Yang felt a shiver of disquiet run up his spine. The powers of Wei Wuxian were not fully understood, even to this day; could the man bend darkness to his will?

 

He shifted, leapt and—

 

And did not move. With the slow horror of the damned he looked down, saw a hint of shadow curling across his legs and holding him fast.

 

And then the gleam of divine steel shone in the light of the moon, and Xue Yang looked no more.

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

It is but iron, he said, for the hundredth and thousandth time.

 

You wrought it, and you can control it, he repeated, but that wasn’t true, not even close. Ever had the amulet controlled Wei Wuxian, driving him to madness and slaughter.

 

You must, was what he finally settled on, and what drove him to run his hands through Xue Yang’s clothes until he’d found it, the man’s body lax in death. The head had rolled away, with it taking that malicious grin that made Wei Wuxian’s skin crawl.

 

Had he looked like that, in the height of his demonic era? Had he seen the flesh of others and had eyes glinting with a lazy malice? Red eyes had glinted in the night, and corpses had lifted to his eerie flute, but had he ever hungered to be a feeble god?

 

He didn’t know, but he hoped the madness had never taken him so far, even before the Wen Clan. He hoped with all his heart.

 

Hope was such a fragile thing.

 

Ghostly fingers went clammy as he touched cold iron, trembling and shaking before its malice. The Stygian Tiger Seal greeted him like an old friend, curling out tendrils to meet his flesh and sink in, darkness meeting shadow and subsuming it.

 

It could consume him again, he realized, and felt a cold shiver run over his skin. He pressed his will against it, held it steady and trapped in cold metal and careful carvings.

 

But the Stygian Tiger Seal would wait for his weakness with the patience of a striking serpent. He needed another path.

 

“Lan Zhan,” he called, not knowing what he needed or called for, just knowing someone else had to be there.

 

The man stepped closer, white robes gleaming in the moonlight. He didn’t have a scratch on him, Xue Yang’s distracted sword work not even close to a match for Bichen’s precision.

 

He stood beside Wei Wuxian, and something in his face must have spoken of desperation, because the man curled gentle fingers over his shoulder, a silent support.

 

“You know what must be done.”

 

And Wei Wuxian did, with every fiber of his ghostly being.

 

Opening himself to the amulet was an exercise in pain and haunting vulnerability. He batted the tendrils of hungry energy away with a smiling desperation, shadows dancing on his palm. Even as he curled his will around the malicious energy, it fought to sink into him, hungry for his soul as it had ever been.

 

But Wei Wuxian stood strong and spoke a single command.

 

Consume the corpses and leave, he spoke, the order echoing through the shadows of his body and into the air. It was strong with his sharp laughter, and stronger still with his will.

 

He spoke, and the amulet listened. Energy whirled into a cloud of inky-darkness and devoured the resentful energy in the air, a beast come to break the skies. As one, two thousand restless corpses collapsed on the ground, dead and gone to dust.

 

Shaking fingers dropped the seal to the ground, and it landed with a metallic thud that seemed to resonant long after it should.

 

Wei Wuxian felt old.

Chapter 18: The Burning Fog

Notes:

I keep getting slapped in the face with IRL things, but I am answering comments just, chronically slowly. I love them and will get to them, but forgive me if a response is like two weeks late!

Hope u enjoy the chapter :D

(I also managed to lose my edits on this chapter not once but twice, because fate is cruel)

Breath caught in ghostly lungs, captured on the edges of bones made of shadows. Wei Wuxian smiled, and it felt cold and shallow in the moonlight.

 

The remnants of fog floated around him, and the dust of two thousand corpses lined the streets. But he only felt weak where he should have felt strong.

 

“You better carry the Seal, Lan Zhan.” The words were difficult to say, pressed through a tight throat and with no laughter. His skin trembled in pale light, shadows twisting and shifting with each pulse of cold iron.

 

The weakness was difficult to admit to. This was his creation to hold with pride, his burden to break with bloody regret.

 

The Stygian Tiger Seal was his, though he should never have made it. But this body was too open, without skin or barrier for resentful energy. Made of ghostly shadows and iron will, Wei Wuxian didn’t want to fall to the madness of the Seal again.

 

It had to be destroyed or purified, hungry iron turned calm and peaceful. Wei Wuxian, with all his relentless genius, knew no ritual to pull the energy away. It had killed him to break it once.

 

What would it cost his ghostly body now?

 

Bathed in the shadows of moonlight, he did not know. He took a trembling step away, let a smile climb up his face. He did not touch the dark iron of the amulet, not as it lay on packed earth.

 

Movements smooth as flowing clouds, Lan Zhan picked it up and tucked it away. Wei Wuxian pretended he couldn’t feel iron claws digging into his spine and holding him fast.

 

He was so very good at pretending.

 

The moon brushed his face, and he looked down the road of a dead city and knew of two corpses. Three problems remained, dancing in swirling silence like the wisps of fog. He wanted none of them, but never had he shied away from the impossible challenge.

 

A headless corpse lay before him, but Lan Zhan’s zither would have Xue Yang speaking truths into the air of Lotus Pier. They would have truth soon enough, a match for the bait they needed to find. Ghostly fingers trembling, Wei Wuxian sealed a headless body away to carry home.

 

Another burden on the delicate life of a lonely pier, weighing down the curve of every gentle petal. Another burden to risk new and old family.

 

Wei Wuxian smiled and did not care for the weight. He turned to the empty street, and it greeted him with the whistling sound of darkness.

 

With Lan Zhan standing at his side, it did not feel lonely. The shadows curled and unfurled, and a living corpse landed at his feet. Strong arms were pale in the moonlight, bound by robes stained the red and black of dried blood. A skilled cultivator, with a face like ice and snow and the eyes to match it. 

 

A fierce corpse, created like Wen Ning. Wei Wuxian smiled, and it tasted like the ash of corpse dust.

 

Wen Ning, his friend, his brother, his soldier, could still be alive.

 

Hope beat a terrible tempo through his bones, making shadows tremble and quake. It trembled more, at the sight of the corpse before him.

 

This man had angry eyes, living eyes. They stared at him now with something like desperation. How had Xue Yang moved this corpse to his whims? Why did the dead man not attack now, when shadows relaxed tight bonds around

 

Tap-tap, tap-tap.

 

The sound filled the street, loud in the echoing silence of dark. Wei Wuxian looked up, smiling eyes casting sharp and quick across the packed earth and cold air. Lan Zhan shifted beside him, moving ever closer in a wave of peerless white silk.

 

A ghost stood before him, small and sad in death. She was a slight thing, wide eyes pale and blind but mouth set into a petulant anger.

 

“Why hello,” he said, and watched her sneer at his words. He watched her step forward too, the tapping of a bamboo cane loud and echoing in the silence.

 

That cane lifted to slap against the neck of the corpse, ghostly power loud against dead skin. With a look like a wild cat, the ghost stepped away and stood still.

 

Even quiet and small, she managed to radiate impatience.

 

Wei Wuxian laughed, and felt the shadows shift with his ghostly chest. There was a bubbling curiosity in his chest, the hints of a puzzle left unsolved drawing him forward. He stepped lightly, circling the bound man like a hunting cat come to feast on knowledge. The corpse’s hair was tied neatly back, bound as the length of dead arms.

 

There, glimmering beneath the curl of graceful hair, was the glint of cruel metal. It was bright in the moonlight, buried deep into muscle and bone.

 

Wei Wuxian did not recognize the work. He reached into the corpse’s head and pulled out long metal spikes, driven deep into the place where spine met flesh. With each bloody nail pulled free the man shuddered, strong body shaking and tense.

 

Wei Wuxian felt cold and furious.

 

Had Wen Ning suffered the same fate? Had his closest friend been chained and broken to the whims of a fool? Wei Wuxian didn’t know, but anger was burning in his gut like hot coals.

 

Xue Yang had not deserved a quick death. Perhaps, if given the time, Wei Wuxian would make the spirit lurking across a headless body pay too.

 

As the last pin pulled free of flesh, the corpse shuddered and gasped, shaking in shadowy restraints.

 

Wei Wuxian stepped before a cold face and saw intelligence painted on the jade of dead eyes. He saw the pain of old loss too, bright and broken in the glint of the moon.

 

The man looked sad.

 

“What’s your name?” He asked, light as the fog that once coated this city. The moon shone across the bare bones of buildings now, and painted them quiet and lonely. This man looked lonely too.

 

A rusty voice answered, cold as snow and unbroken.

 

“Song Lan.”

 

It was an unfamiliar name, proud as the frost of winter. But this was no surprise; Wei Wuxian had been dead for long years and a ghost for longer. He had not paid attention to the turnings of the world when he had A-ling to train and Jiang Cheng to tease.

 

Now he had an even larger family, and the world was so very unimportant.

 

But white robes shifted beside him, the clouds of Gusu coming to rest at his side. Lan Zhan’s golden eyes were narrowed and sharp with knowledge, staring at the corpse.

 

“You were the partner of Xiao Xingchen,” Lan Zhan said, like the name held weight and meaning. From how Song Lan stiffened, it held even heavier memories.

 

Wei Wuxian quirked his lips, curiosity eating at every shadow lurking in the moonlight.

 

“Who is this, Lan Zhan?” His voice was light and curious, but the air tasted dark with tragedy.

 

No happy tale ended in the sadness of a corpse.  

 

“You… do not know?” The corpse asked, face frozen with death. Wei Wuxian didn’t know if the man had smiled in the past, but those lips would never move again. Dead men didn’t laugh, after all. Emotion was for the living, bodies with beating hearts and growing souls.

 

It wasn’t for the corpses. It shouldn’t have been for the ghosts either, but Wei Wuxian ever had stretched the realm of what was possible. He smiled when he should have raged, and laughed when he should have been mindless.

 

Song Lan would not have that luxury.

 

Wei Wuxian had doomed Wen Ning to the same fate, so many years ago. He had thought his friend died like that, treated as weapon and burned as beast.

 

He had mourned. He had screamed. He had killed. And then he had died, and all of that had meant nothing.

 

I’ll even tell you where to find your precious Ghost General, the man with the mad eyes and bone-brittle laugh had said. It had sounded real, too gleeful and angry to be lies.

 

Was Wen Ning whole? Did he linger somewhere Wei Wuxian couldn't find, bound and chained? Was he broken?

 

Did he hate Wei Wuxian for dying after his sacrifice, all those years ago?

 

Caught in the moonlight of a dead city, Wei Wuxian did not know. He smiled, and it was a painful thing made from the bones of fifty people he had tried to protect.

 

If Wen Ning still took undead steps, Wei Wuxian would find him.

 

“My memory is perfect, but I can’t remember things I was dead for.”

 

His words were bright and lilting, but he let them fade into a quiet weight. Tragedy still felt heavy on his tongue, but it was no new flavor; he had walked the dark and lonely path, and he would always laugh as he stepped forward. He would laugh as he cried too, until his skin broke and his grin faded.

 

He would laugh.

 

Beside him, Lan Zhan shifted, robes tracing restless circles into the air. What had the man moving, Wei Wuxian wondered? His eyes were focused on Song Lan, on the way broad shoulders stood stiff with death.  

 

“Did you become like this at Xue Yang’s hands? Tell me how he controlled you.”

 

There was a pause, held in the cold before a rushing storm. Song Lan looked broken, with a face that held no emotion and eyes that spoke a thousand stories. Bloody nails lingered in Wei Wuxian’s hand, and they felt heavier than iron should have.

 

Those eyes held a familiar emotion.

 

After three moments where only one man took breath, in a voice that had known a thousand sorrows, Song Lan recited the tale of how he had died. Little by little, Wei Wuxian understood the cruelty Xue Yang had let play here.

 

At the end, with silence ringing through the hollow of tragedy, Wei Wuxian did not smile. He did not laugh either, not until he had searched Xue Yang’s corpse and found the splintered pieces of a soul that wanted death.

 

He gave it to Song Lan and watched the man walk away, a blind ghost girl at one side and calloused fingers cradling a shaking soul. They vanished into the rising dawn, three specters of tragedy lost in sunlight.

 

Wei Wuxian watched them fade and felt only a painful regret. The Stygian Tiger Seal had caused this, and so this tragedy was his burden to bear.

 

If only he hadn’t made it. If only.

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

Lan Zhan was silent as they left the city, white robes catching the moonlight and collecting the dawn. He was silent as they walked to the forest where they had left a restless A-yu and collected the worried student, face peerless and calm as polished jade.  

 

He was quiet, as always, but to Wei Wuxian it felt different. This was the silence of heavy thoughts, bound by fine ribbons.

 

This was a silence that he laughed over but could not break. They settled weary bodies in the same inn they had left a few nights before, and again, Lan Zhan asked for three rooms.

 

This time, Wei Wuxian walked past the other man’s room without flinching, feet dancing across polished wood. He didn’t even let himself pause for a heartbeat, smile bright and fake.

 

No, still echoed in his head, relentless. The curse of genius was to never forget, and Wei Wuxian was a genius beyond compare.

 

He would never forget how that word had stung, even if he didn’t quite know why. He also wouldn’t forget the weight of Lan Zhan’s hand on his shoulder, holding him together before the malice of the seal.

 

His room was cool with the brush of night, wooden flooring having little give beneath ghostly feet. He stepped lightly anyway, sliding the door closed with steady hands. There was no need for sleep in this body, no rest but meditation, no food but warm liquor that dissolved into shadows.

 

But that didn’t stop Wei Wuxian from curling into the bed like it was his only hope at warmth.

 

There he lay idle with wild thoughts, until a knock at the door and a quiet Laoshi had him stirring.

 

He hadn’t hoped the knock would be Lan Zhan, and he had not thought he saw white robes lingering under the door. Wei Wuxian needed no gentle hands, and he certainly didn’t care for them.

 

He did not.

 

But Laoshi had his heart going soft, and he called out a greeting with a welcoming voice and as much of a smile as he could manage. It was a grin wide and bright, for Wei Wuxian had always known how to lie.

 

Mo Xuanyu walked in like a man stepping bitter feet to a warm grave. Young shoulders were hunched and defensive over the creaking of the polished floor.

 

A-yu looked afraid, face twisted and the ever-present bitterness making pale lips taut.

 

It was not a look Wei Wuxian ever wanted to see on his student’s face again.

 

Wei Wuxian sat up and turned towards him, spinning in a dancing circle with a smile. It did nothing to gentle the hard set of an angry mouth. A-yu settled at his side like, that, shoulders prickling and vulnerable. The man wouldn’t look up, hard eyes glaring daggers into the floor like they could carve the wood to pieces.

 

Wei Wuxian did not care for it, but he only grinned wider, a laugh dancing on his tongue.

 

“Well, A-yu? I know you didn’t just come here to see my pretty face.”

 

The words were light, teasing, but before them Mo Xuanyu’s hands just clenched across young knees. The boy did not move but a crackling silence spoke volumes.

 

Finally, finally, a tight voice rang out into a still room.

 

“I trained with the corpses while you were in the city,” the boy said, and it was the sound of avoidance made words. Wei Wuxian smiled wider, dread and delight dancing across his skin. They would test Mo Xuanyu’s control later, when the sun shone overhead, and Wei Wuxian didn’t feel the cold threads of dead iron leeching into his skin like he was a thing to be eaten.

 

He laughed, the sound bright as the petals of lotus blossoms floating over still water.

 

“You might be a natural at this, A-yu. I hope you know you’ve signed yourself for extra training in the morning.”

 

Even with the tightness of his jaw, Mo Xuanyu managed an aggravated sigh. “Wei Laoshi, you don’t even get up before eleven, let alone voluntarily train anyone.”

 

Wei Wuxian just laughed again, joy and fondness cracking in his ghostly chest. The shadows curled around him like hunting beasts, darkness staining a clean floor with eager ink.  For the first time since the fog of a dead city, he felt centered and clear.

 

He had studentsthat came to him with concerns and for comfort, no matter their anger. A-ling and A-yu, they were his to train and his to care for.

 

They were family.  

 

But A-yu was still sitting there, hands clenched in the purple spread of his robes and trembling.

 

“Laoshi, I…” The disciple took a breath, knuckles shading bone-white with strain. There was pain lingering in a bitter glare, dark as the setting sun. Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to expect, but what followed wasn’t it.

 

“I didn’t tell you because I thought it would stain me more, but the way I discovered I was a cut-sleeve. It was because of Jin Guangyao.”

 

There was silence, after those words. There was a fury like no other too, building across the shadows lurking in dark corners. Wei Wuxian felt his heart sink and anger crawl up to take his ghostly bones and make them out of rage. The smile on his face went knife-sharp and hungry.

 

Jin Guangyao had done what.

 

The shadows boiled like a lake trembling in a hurricane, ready to devour every beast in sight. The next words made them still, made the protectiveness in his bones gentle into a coil of dread.

 

“I fell in love with him, Laoshi.” The voice was small and quiet, in the gentle silence of a humble room. It sounded broken.

 

Wei Wuxian thought of the ease that Jin Guangyao had lied, the thick face and endless motives that surely swirled beneath a kind smile. He thought of how he had trusted the man, when they met in Koi Tower.

 

He thought of all this and felt his heart clench in sympathy.

 

“Was it mutual, A-yu?”

 

“It wasn’t.” A complicated expression crossed the man’s face, trembling and filled with humiliation.

 

“The love wasn’t. I didn’t— we didn’t sleep together, Wei Laoshi, but I wanted us to.”

 

The bitter snarl that broke across a young face made Wei Wuxian’s chest ache. It made rage boil through his veins with sympathy, too.

 

“I still do, Laoshi I still love him, even after all this I can’t make it stop.I had to tell you.”

 

For a moment, there was silence, and Wei Wuxian sat in it and felt it whisper into his bones. The darkness around him spilled out like an oil stain, ruthless and out for comfort.

 

There was nothing that could solve this. Love was ever terrible.

 

He pulled A-yu close, held him tight. The man shook against him, tears of bitter anger and hopelessness pulled to the surface. Wei Wuxian imagined the boy had not been held by a father’s arms in his whole life, and he cursed the Lanling Jin Sect with every scrap of resentful energy in his body.

 

They had made A-yu’s life pain, and yet the man still had the bitter rage of a tiger. His student was so strong.

 

“I know I’m handsome A-yu, but if you cry every time you see my face, we won’t get anything done.”

 

There was hiccupping laugh pressed into shadowy robes, broken and so very small.

 

“If anyone is crying at your face, Laoshi, it is the Sect Leader from how hideous it is.”

 

Outraged, Wei Wuxian spoke with a bright grin and outraged snort. “Hey! I’ll have you know I have always been the more handsome of the two of us.”

 

The next laugh was stronger, held together at the edges and unshattered. Wei Wuxian wanted to hear a thousand just like it, in the walls of this humble room.

 

“Keep telling yourself that, Laoshi.”

 

They sat there like that, teacher and student, father and son, until Mo Xuanyu’s tears dried and he pulled himself free. He tucked his knees up before him, curled strong arms across them like a child.

 

He looked small.

 

And in that moment, Wei Wuxian knew he couldn’t let Jin Guangyao die in front of Mo Xuanyu. The man had crimes that could fill the longest scroll in the world, but if it broke A-yu, was the punishment worth it?

 

Could he even let him die at all, a voice whispered, deadly and quiet as a storm.

 

Wei Wuxian had no answer.

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

Late in the night, Mo Xuanyu pulled himself from the floor and away from Laoshi’s kind laughter and teasing smiles. The shadows had wiped away his tears, but the bitter ache of his heart still remained.

 

Curse his treacherous mind for latching on to Jin Guangyao, and curse his heart for not being strong enough to break. He hated this as he hated little else in this damned and cold world.

 

Mo Xuanyu had other loyalties now. He didn’t know if he could kill the man he loved for this new family, but he’d damn well try.

 

Let his heart shatter; it is what the pathetic thing deserved.

 

He left the room, slipping out in quiet steps with frustration lining his bones. He couldn’t bear this, and he wouldn’t, and—

 

And there was a person standing before him in fine white robes that made his jaw ache. Mo Xuanyu stopped, held in place by a golden stare and peerless face.

 

It was an hour past midnight, when strange lights danced in the moon and his fragile mind needed a gentle hand and teasing laugh. It was when the resentful energy reached its peak, when the hum that he had started feeling in his skin echoed like an endless bell of malice.

 

It was far past the time the great Lan Wangji was usually asleep. No scrap of emotion traced the man’s face, no hint of feeling lurked in moonlit robes. Mo Xuanyu felt his hackles rise anyway, defensive and threatened.

 

The door of Laoshi’s room had only barely shut behind him, and judgement— imagined or not, Mo Xuanyu could never tell and it didn’t matter— hung in the air like smoke. Ever was he a cut-sleeve, doomed to shame by his fickle heart.

 

It was past the hour of broken sobs and painful confessions, and Mo Xuanyu felt raw and vulnerable in the moonlight.

 

“What, Senior Lan? Have you come to make assumptions like all the rest?”

 

The other man just looked on, graceful as carved jade and twice as steady. Mo Xuanyu hated it. Those eyes traced across the redness on his face, the trembling in his arms.

 

“Do not be so quick to judge the intentions of others,” Lan Wangji said, the words quiet in the night air but ringing like he had just learned them himself.

 

Then he turned and walked away, white robes glimmering as cobwebs spun together into ghostly silk.

 

Chapter 19: Still Waters

Notes:

Enjoy!! :D

The days it took to return to Lotus Pier were fraught with a thousand tensions, but Wei Wuxian just laughed over them all, voice feather-light as the dawn. The touch of the Seal was still resounding through his shadows, still making him quake. He had clenched a hand around Chenqing for the long heartbeats of sunrise, and through the ending glimmers of sunset. The touch of lacquered wood was familiar and grounding, cool to this fingers but warm to his heart.

 

Jiang Cheng had trusted him with this flute, and he had summoned death at his voice but not given in to its call. He had used it and been strong.

 

Then he had touched cruel iron and been weak. He could not help the trembling, not now. Too much had happened in the corpses of fog and dust. There was too much to break down and laugh away with the sunset.

 

His old friend was dead but living, rejection ate at him long after he should have shrugged it off, and his student was in love with a dead man walking. Wei Wuxian wanted to sigh and laugh and frown into the air of delicate lotus blooms.

 

When had life grown so complicated?

 

He stepped on familiar docks with relief flooding him like the shine of the moon. Lotus Pier greeted him in turn, creaking wood sighing at his ghostly steps. It was the sound of home, welcoming him with every shifting plank.

 

A whim caught him, fickle and playful as lotus petals on water. With the glimmer of the setting sun, he let shadows swallow him up and fade him away. In a breath, in a moment, he was staring up at the flickering surface of the lake, the dark stains of flowers echoing into the water like small ink spills come to stain his skin.

 

Fish swam above him, gentle and colorful as the sunset, and he reached out with his shadows to tickle them away. They swam out, scaled bellies bright in the darkness.

 

It was so peaceful here. It brought back seven years of warm memories, of spending his days caught in the shadows of this lake and staring up at the blurry sky.

 

He had been the ghost of Lotus Pier for seven years, had trained A-ling for five, had taught A-yu for one.

 

Here was home, and at the bottom of the lake surrounded by silt and lotus stems, Wei Wuxian smiled.

 

Nothing mattered, before the safety of these creaking piers and polished docks. Nothing mattered before the happiness of his family, and in the depths of a lake he had known all his life and into death, that was clear as still water.

 

Wei Wuxian would do want needed to be done, as he always had, with a smile. 

 

He called on the shadows and swirled to life beside Jiang Cheng, standing on the lonely pier above.

 

The Sect Leader didn’t yelp, but it was a near thing, high-pitched and undignified. Wei Wuxian laughed at the sight, laughed and laughed and laughed until he was shoved in the water by rough hands, angry with a brother’s irritation. Cold water pressed against his shadows for a heartbeat, and he let himself sink for the moment between ghostly breaths.

 

Then he twisted his shadows to pull at Jiang Cheng’s ankles and laughed some more.

 

That was how the others found them, dripping wet and tousling in the lake like they were boys of fifteen. 

 

“Why you—” Jiang Cheng’s voice trailed off, eyes catching on the three men standing in bright robes on polished wood.

 

Jin Ling looked horrified, face filled with the shock of cracked dignity. Wei Wuxian could almost read the thoughts flashing through his head, and he rolled away from Jiang Cheng to lay on the lonely pier, laughter unbroken and ringing out like bells.

 

“Surprised your uncle can smile? I promise, he wasn’t always so stern.”

 

“Shut up, Wei Ying,” Jiang Cheng hissed, but the glare was entirely ruined by the wet flop hair on the dock. It had come out of its careful braids in the splash of water and laughter of brothers. Now it fell around Jiang Cheng’s body, heavy with lake-water and happiness.

 

The man looked like a drowned cat, and Wei Wuxian had to suppress the laughter that bubbled up through his chest.

 

Jiang Cheng glared like he could sense it anyway, lightning catching across the set of broad shoulders.

 

He looked happy, and Wei Wuxian could only grin bright as the moon.

 

Standing above them, Mo Xuanyu just looked annoyed. The boy was coated by the dust of long travel and the panting breaths of too much sword flight, but he still snorted into the silence.

 

“You couldn’t have waited for us, Laoshi?”

 

Wei Wuxian turned over and felt the shadows shake with him, propping him up on a ghostly hand. The late afternoon sun reflected off three sets of robes, leaving them glimmering in shades of gold, white, and deepest purple. Light caught on three faces too, expressions ranging from peerless to shocked to fondly irritated.

 

They looked like family, and Wei Wuxian felt his ghostly heart revolve with happiness. For the first time in two days, he let his eyes catch on Lan Zhan and meet that stare head on.

 

Golden eyes shone like starlight, caught and held by an expressionless face. The man said nothing, but rivers ran through a gaze that Wei Wuxian could not swim across.

 

He had never been a coward, not in all his laughing years. Wei Wuxian had stepped down the path of broken bones and corpses dust, and he had done it with a smirk to rival the sun.

 

Ever was he relentless, and ever would he be. So he met gilded eyes and laughed, bright across what had once been a lonely pier.

 

What lay between them was behind them, and he would smile like it had never been. The lake water had washed his cares away, and the only thing that lay on the path ahead was justice and the shadows of family.

 

“You took a while to catch up, so slow!”

 

The shock fade from Jin Ling’s face, and frustration took its place like a dark fog, “Laoshi—”

 

A stern voice cut him off, sharp as crackling lightning over still water.

 

“Enough, enough. You’ve returned— were you successful?”

 

There was a Sect Leader’s command ringing through every word, loud as a striking sword. Wei Wuxian only smiled, and remembered the weight of a corpse in his seals.

 

He remembered cold iron and two thousand dead in a fog-caught city.

 

“With my skills, Jiang Cheng, how could we not be?”

 

Jiang Cheng just shot him a dark look, pushing back the wet stretch of hair with calloused fingers, hands worked to the bone to build a sect up from ashes. Words rang out, commanding and with a dignity he shouldn’t have been able to hold soaking wet and standing on a lonely pier.

 

But somehow, he held it anyway.

 

“Tell me what you learned.”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

 

The story was recounted in quick bursts, and the corpse delivered as promised. It was a grim tale for a grim day, and it was made grimmer by the cold iron settled in Lan Zhan’s robes. The Stygian Tiger Seal had been found, flawed but unbroken.

 

Wei Wuxian had died to destroy half that seal, once upon a time. It had been a gray day painted red in blood and corpses.

 

Jiang Cheng had stood there, on that day, and they had met eyes and fates. They had not parted in living bodies. 

 

What price would breaking the whole thing take of Wei Wuxian, now that he was dead but living?

 

“Lan Wangji, you will play Inquiry on Xue Yang?” Jiang Cheng’s voice was serious, cracking open the contemplative silence between the three men. They had sent the children outside, against endless protests but with no ground given.

 

This was not a place for children.

 

Lan Zhan nodded, the motion graceful as the curve of the moon. So it was said, and so it was done, in the light of darkest night and before the corpse of a dead man.

 

Xue Yang answered Lan Zhan truthfully, in bitter sentences and mocking tone. A tale of Jin Guangyao’s deeds and lies spun out, bright and terrible in the moonlight. It was a tale that made Wei Wuxian angry, a bubbling rage boiling in his skin. The ambush had partially been Jin Guangyao's fault. All of this, was partially that man's fault. 

 

It was a tale that made them plan too, in the familiar walls of Jiang Cheng’s study.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

Days passed into sunsets, and Lotus Pier eased into a tense happiness. Two students and three masters trained on polished docks and the beaten earth of practice rings, swords bright and eyes gleaming. With each day, Jin Ling’s blade flashed faster, quick as a dashing fox.

 

It would be fast enough to cut the wind, soon. Wei Wuxian smiled at that thought, pride curling through ghostly bones and making him laugh.

 

With each day, Mo Xuanyu’s staff moved darker and darker shadows, trailing ink through heavy mists on the water. Corpses moved to sharp motions like dancers to a melody, bones creaking under A-yu’s command.

 

The echoing strikes of bamboo would be loud enough to raise armies, soon. Wei Wuxian smiled through the memories of corpse dust and the ash of war.

 

A-yu would not fall down the same paths he did. No, the road before A-yu glimmered in sun and dark shadows, and it was paved by Wei Wuxian’s laughing smiles. It was a safe road, from the strums of a gentle zither to the melodies of a clever flute echoing far above stone and path.

 

It was a safe path, or so he thought. 

 

Then came the day A-yu asked for the amulet, and Wei Wuxian knew a terrible fear.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

It was well past midnight and shadows had collected like ink in the air, the weak light of the moon making them swallow the world.

 

Wei Wuxian walked out of them and among them, into the thick forest surrounding Lotus Pier, alone for the first time in long days. A-ling and A-yu had been clinging to his side, not leaving him for a moment between sword work and long practice. Lan Zhan had hovered far more discretely, always within view but rarely close enough to touch.

 

That distance pained him in ways Wei Wuxian didn’t want to understand, but right now, he couldn’t allow himself the space to care.

 

He thought of the lonely face of A-ling, years ago, an orphaned child bare of parents and love. He thought of Jiang Cheng, eyes tight and broken at the thought of a sister long dead. They both remembered the way she used to smile like the sun had come to blossom on still waters.

 

He thought of Shijie and of the fifty people on the burial mound, of Wen Qing and Wen Ning. Then he thought no more.

 

This task he had to do alone.

 

With gentle fingers, he lifted Chenqing and played a quiet and mournful tune. It rang through spring leaves and made them tremble, across the surface of gentle streams and made it quake. He poured a call into the notes and his heart into the melody, standing still with no smile.

 

Come, my old friend, he said, the words echoing into trembling staccato and breaking the air into dusty bones and shattered pieces. Wind whistled across his melody, over the fingers dancing on black wood.

 

Into the night, with all his relentless soul, he screamed.

 

Wen Ning, come to me.

 

A grip of resentful energy caught on his melody and held, ghostly fingers trembling into understanding. He played on, frantic and quick, until a rumbling growl shook the ground and a corpse burst from the earth.

 

Chains of iron and desperate cultivation dangled from dead wrists, broken off and clanking on the ground. Corpse skin glittered in the moonlight, pale as bone and the stars. A tattered robe hung from broad shoulders, torn into old pieces as dirt clung to the long strands of his hair, shaken loose but still heavy.

 

The corpse stood with quiet hands and clanking chains, and Wei Wuxian knew him.

 

It was Wen Ning, the friend he had thought dead and gone, the friend that had died twice from his flaws. It was the friend who had walked firm steps to a burning pyre with Wen Qing, all to save Wei Wuxian’s foolish skin.

 

It had not been worth the cost.

 

But there was no awareness in black eyes, no shy spark of happiness or gentle warmth of a kind soul. Wen Ning looked dead as the skin he lived in, standing in broken chains and old robes.

 

Wei Wuxian felt fury grow in the dark place that held his heart, shadows writhing around his ankles. He lowered Chenqing with steady fingers and anger like a tempest, the wind brushing the edges of ghostly skin. He stepped around a still corpse to run searching hands through matted hair.

 

Four long iron rods met his fingers, and the anger he felt only grew. 

 

Xue Yang was lucky to be dead, and unlucky that Wei Wuxian knew the paths of spirits and souls.

 

He pulled the nails free in a motion quick and efficient. Wen Ning trembled, body shaking like a leaf in the great forest around them. Strong shoulders quaked, rocked by resentful energy and the pain of cold iron. Wei Wuxian soothed his hands across the wounds, pressed shadows into the cracks of broken skin and punctured skull. Energy poured from the darkness until it spilled out across his fingers, healing and angry.

 

But still, awareness hadn’t returned. With the depth of those nails and their wickedly curved iron, it wouldn’t return for long days yet.

 

Xue Yang had died too easily.

  

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The door before him held a lonely vigil, and Wei Wuxian felt its wooden planks and fine purple paint carve into his skin as if they were judging eyes. It gleamed in the evening light, the shadows creeping around it but not touching its polished surface.

 

He had walked past this door a thousand times in his youth, and never felt its weight as he did now. But it had never before held Hanguang-jun, with peerless beauty and bone-white robes.

 

He had stood before a similar door before, long days ago. He had walked away from it with angry steps, the sting of rejection biting his every smile.

 

Now he was here with a different purpose, but he still couldn’t forget.

 

Heart hard and smile dancing on his lips, he raised shadows to knock on the door. The sound echoed out into the air, breaking the silence of the evening with anticipation.

 

It was just past eight, and surely, Lan Zhan was not yet asleep. The principles of Gusu were still engraved on white robes, and in the bones of its disciples.

 

Lan Zhan was no different.

 

Without a hint of sound, the door slid open to spill out pieces of lantern light. Wei Wuxian found himself staring into guarded golden eyes and a face as calm as the cloudless sky.

 

Lan Zhan was truly beautiful.

 

Wei Wuxian smiled like shadows crept up his spine, the expression coming quick but painful to his face. Night was creeping down the horizon, and all he had was his relentless soul and dancing laugh.

 

“Lan Zhan. I need to take back a piece of property I left with you.”

 

The words echoed out and between them, shadows cast over the end of sunset. Wei Wuxian didn’t need to say more. They both knew what cold iron belonged to him, and how it had broken his spine and fate.  

 

The corpses between them were old and tired in the gentle lantern light.

 

Gilded eyes flashed with life and the shine of the moon, but Lan Zhan took a step back, making space for Wei Wuxian to step past. His feet were light as he walked, but a dead heart clenched hard as divine steel.

 

The door sliding shut behind him did not make him flinch, and it did not make him quake. He was warrior and ghost and cultivator, and he would not be quelled by the sound of polished wood and firm steps.

 

Lan Zhan walked to a corner of the room, long hands graceful as they sorted through a stack of objects. After a moment, he returned, silk pouch held in calloused fingers and bearing a terrible weight.

 

Wei Wuxian reached out a hand to take his bane and curse, but Lan Zhan did not release the bag holding the amulet.

 

For a moment, he just stared, golden eyes unreadable and face calm as the eye of a hurricane. Wei Wuxian felt like he was being blown out of control by those winds, but he couldn’t turn to Lan Zhan to keep him safe.

 

He would carve his own path, as he always did.

 

“Do not let it consume you, as it did before.” The tone was calm as still water, but it was clear he wasn’t talking about the night in fog bound walls.

 

Wei Wuxian remembered so little of that terrible day in the Nightless City, of the horror he had wrecked there. He remembered blood spilling from lips that had smiled and laughed like the blooming of lotus flowers. He remembered the trembling hands that had brought him pork rib soup a thousand times.

 

He remembered so little, but he heeded this warning like nothing else.

 

“I can’t promise it won’t happen, Lan Zhan. This thing had a malice of its own, and I have no protection as a ghost.”

 

The words fell from his lips, honest and cursed. He hadn’t said them aloud before, and somehow that made it more real.

 

He didn’t want this weakness to be real.

 

“But I can’t leave the Seal lying around, so I need to understand how to break it. It doesn't matter if it breaks me, even if it could.”

 

He spoke without deception, without regret. He didn’t want to die, but he had never feared death. And with ghostly lungs and bones hollow from shadows, Wei Wuxian had clawed so much more from life than ever before.

 

He had raised a child into a young man to be proud of, with laughter and dancing swords. A-ling was not A-yuan— don’t think about him, don’t think about how young he was when the Burial Mounds were stormed—  but Shijie’s child, with her kind smile and unstoppable will. He had been brother to Jiang Cheng again, and stood beside the sect leader as support and equal.

 

Death for their safety would be a small price to pay.

 

A whirlwind of motion bloomed before him, bone white robes flaring to life. Wei Wuxian didn’t even think about slapping the hand that reached for him away. Strong fingers curled around his wrist, gentle and calloused.

 

But oh how they trembled.

 

For the first time in years, Lan Zhan’s face looked a shade paler, and golden eyes glimmered like cracked jewels.

 

“Do not roll over for death,” the man said, voice tight and tense. There was no calm but tension, and no peace but held breath. It was like seeing a mirage, a swirl of shadow in water that had always been clear.

 

It had been thirteen years and more since Wei Wuxian had seen Lan Zhan’s composure crack like this, seen a fine face change from sculpted jade to human weakness.

 

It had been only a few weeks, something in him whispered, curling into the lust in his stomach.

 

He didn’t know how to react, didn’t know what to do. In the lingering space of hesitation, a smile was his answer.

 

“Don’t worry your fine face for me, Lan Zhan. I can take care of myself.”

 

The man opened his mouth, lips that had bitten into Wei Wuxian’s skin and made him gasp turning white with repressed words. They looked beautiful, even stressed and stained.

 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t hide the heat curving into his skin, the desire licking at his ghostly bones and making the shadows around him shiver. 

 

But no echoed in his mind, and Wei Wuxian could not push that.

 

They stood like that, a warm hand holding his like it was a liftline, for a moment, two heartbeats he no longer had, and the edge of a traitorous thought.

 

Then calm washed across Lan Zhan’s face and he stepped away, returning to statue in the moonlight.

 

Wei Wuxian left, left without a word and with the Stygian Tiger Amulet tucked into his shadowy robes.

 

But he didn’t understand.

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

There was a corpse that lingered at the edges of the forest, it was said. If you walked across overgrown paths and into the darkness of night, he would appear.

 

He was dressed in the tattered robes of fire and ash. Each step was followed by the clanking echo of chains and iron, and he walked the forest paths as demon and wraith. Pale skin looked hungry for mortal bones, and his eyes gleamed black and sightless.

He looked lethal as a monster, it was said.

 

Wei Wuxian thought he looked kind.

 

 

Chapter 20: Words on Blades

Notes:

Small things--
a) warnings in this chapter for brief mention of self destructive and slightly suicidal thoughts
b) I was kind and didn't leave it on the cliffhanger I could have :D
c) we going unproofread yet again, because IRL is an ass

Enjoy! :D

 

Darkness and hunger, and breaking bone, crunch of snapping jaws, crunch  c r u n c h  c r u n c h.

 

Mo Xuanyu pulled his hand away with a gasp, fingers shaking with a flood of hungry energy. His skin was stained, and his shoulders trembled with a terror like the touch of corpse jaws on a living throat.

 

He had never felt so overwhelmed. He had never felt such fear, hot and bitter on his tongue.

 

It had been too much.

 

But a steadying hand held his back, rubbing soothing circles and giving gentle support. Laoshi as looked concerned as he ever had, eyes glimmering red and worried.

 

“A-yu, come back, focus on your breathing. You can’t let the energy control you.”

 

Mo Xuanyu took a breath, and another, and another, felt the tension fade from his bones as he forced the resentful energy away. It wanted to curl closer. It wanted to sink into his skin and consume him, a needy beast craving attention with sharp fangs in the darkness.

 

But again he pushed it away, with fear and bitter failure staining him. That darkness was too much, and the amulet too strong.

 

“I’m okay, Wei Laoshi, I just—”

 

He trailed off into silence and pathetic terror, the taste of defeat curving up his tongue like an old friend.

 

It had been too much. He had thought he had the scope to understand it, to useit. Resentful energy danced to the swirls of his staff, merciless and tame at his touch. Under Laoshi’s dancing laugh, he had learned to control the winds of death, and each one twirled to his call.

 

For once in his life, power came to him easily. For once in his life, he was the best and only soul, apprentice to the Yiling Laozu.  

 

But he still failed.

 

“Easy, easy, A-yu. We will try again, with something less powerful. You have the talent, we know that now— it’s just a matter of training it to strength.”

 

The words were calming, light and kind. They did not speak of the failure, of the tightness of ghostly eyes.

 

Ever did Laoshi know the right thing to say, across bitter gardens and lonely piers. Ever had Laoshi looked into Mo Xuanyu’s skin and seen him, not as a cut sleeve bastard but a boy.  

 

No greater loyalty had ever been earned, and Mo Xuanyu would not fail this man.

 

“Again,” was all he said, jaw clenched and fingers stretching the fabric of fine robes. Laoshi looked him over, red eyes observant beyond any human imagination. A ghost sat before him, and guarded his shaking breaths. Mo Xuanyu had never felt safer.

 

Again,he said, because the tiger seal could break Laoshi, and nothing in his bitter soul would allow that. Sacrificing himself was nothing, for the only teacher he had ever known.

 

Again, he said, and meant forever.

 

Eventually, Laoshi nodded, and so began an endless cycle of training like nothing he had ever known. Each night, he went to bed weary from the anger of a thousand corpses and Jin Ling’s relentless search for a sparring partner.

 

Each night, he fell into smooth silk and gentle cotton and knew he hadn’t done enough. The bones of his soul ached with death and the biting jaws of hungry corpses, but he had still failed.

 

He wondered, idly, as if it was a simple thought, if the Stygian Tiger Seal could be purified. What would it cost, to rip the malice out of iron and leave behind only power?

 

What was he willing to pay, to give Laoshi more weapons to use against Jin Guangyao?

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The next day dawned early and bright, the sun shining overhead like it would burn the fog from a clear lake and make the world sway before it. In the heat, the disciples struggled on with red faces, swords hanging from their waists and hands clammy with sweat.

 

The day looked hot as newly-forged steel, and never had Wei Wuxian been more glad to have a ghost’s body than now.

 

The courtyard was packed with people, clustered into groups and waiting with the bright quiet of anticipation. Rustling murmurs lined the crowd, growing in the heat and silence like weeds in still water.

 

Wei Wuxian paid them no mind but laughter. He walked forward with a smile on his face, and the people of Lotus Pier parted before him, whispers growing into hushed excitement.

 

Lightning caught the air and burned the shadows, and a hundred eyes followed his dancing steps. He smirked.

 

It had been weeks since the last spar, with Wei Wuxian fading in and out of strength with each trembling use of the amulet. His days were given to training A-ling and A-yu, and his nights fell prey to planning the death of a Sect Leader.

 

The disciples of Lotus Pier had missed their weekly entertainment. Wei Wuxian had missed the chance to stretch his muscles and skills in the sunlight too, to let rage a delighted battle on packed ground. From the vicious glimmer in Jiang Cheng’s eyes, he knew his brother felt the same.

 

It had been too long.

 

“Ready?”

 

How Jiang Cheng packed so much bloodthirst into a single word was beyond Wei Wuxian, but he just met that lightning stare with bright laughter and sharp teeth. A brilliant sword raised into the air, piercing the sky and ready for battle.

 

Wei Wuxian was ready too. He chanced a last glance out at the crowd, eyes skipping over the sea of purple robes and eager faces.

 

But there was no shimmering white to be found, and that was alright. Wei Wuxian hadn’t been looking for it at all.

 

He raised a blackened sword of shadow and darkness, watched it swallow the rays of a noonday sun. It had been forged in the light of the brightest moon and so was all the stronger for it. It could meet divine steel without breaking, as it had many times before.

 

“When am I not, Jiang Cheng? Let’s dance.”

 

It was a decade old challenge, but it rung with a new strength. They stood in the heat of a bright sun, but lotus blooms floated behind them.

 

They were brothers, in this delicate space. Wei Wuxian treasured that above all else.

 

As one, they leapt forward, and he lost himself in the air left after a sword stroke, in the tension of a tough opponent, in the flex and bend of his ghostly body. He moved like shadow made mist, but he did not break before the sun.

 

Quick flips took him high, dancing above Jiang Cheng’s blade and into the sky, and—

 

A glimmer of white caught his eye, and he stumbled, missing a block that should have been easy as laughter. The long line of Sandu came rushing towards him, too fast to stop, too lethal to dodge, the look in Jiang Cheng’s eyes no—

 

Pain burst out of his stomach, ghostly body burning around divine steal. Were those his screams, he could feel ripping into his shadows? Or were they Jiang Cheng’s, come to break him a second time?

 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know. The pain was beyond belief, and with each moment he could not think. It took every ounce of his relentless spirit to pull the sword from his skin and clasp a hand across his stomach, feed his pierced soul resentful energy.

 

In the terrible silence, the clatter of Sandu on packed earth sounded like a death knell, awful as a bloody dawn.

 

“Laoshi!” ripped through the air, coming from twin voices and echoing with the panic of an orphaned child watching their father run through and gutted.

 

Is that not what this is? He should have been faster, shouldn’t have let that white robe distract him.

 

He shouldn’t have fallen in love.

 

That call broke the silence, turning the world into noise anew. Clattering feet and rushing voices echoed against his ghostly skin, but Wei Wuxian could only choke out a broken laugh. How had he been so foolish?

 

Jiang Cheng was panting on the ground, hand clenched around on the silk of a leader’s robes, with eyes scared beyond measure.

 

“You fool.”

 

His brother choked out, the words broken into shards that crept under his nails like steel splinters. Jiang Cheng looked like he had understood something terrible, the death of an empire and burning star of a broken man.

 

Love was ever terrible.

 

Wei Wuxian wanted to go to him, and he took a shuddering step forward, skin burning and the shadows of his body threatening to dissolve in the press of a hot sun.

 

A step, a step, he had to take a step, but his legs wouldn’t move, and he teetered forward. The ground rushed to meet him, but gentle hands caught his body, and gentle hands lifted him up, and gentle hands carried him out of the courtyard.

 

Gentle hands played the Settling too, notes relentless and endless and so very beautiful. Wei Wuxian let his mind drift away as his body reformed itself before gentle hands.

 

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

 

Awareness trickled in like the rush of sand through ghostly fingers, coming quickly but a single grain at a time. Wei Wuxian blinked dead eyes open and saw a ceiling carved into intricate detail, wood painted and lacquered into the beauty of a guest room.

 

This was not a place he had woken up before.

 

He blinked again, felt out the shape of his body with shadows. The trembling in his soul had calmed, the threat of breaking apart gone and settled.

 

He blinked again, turning his head, and saw shimmering white robes.

 

Lan Zhan was at his bedside, a painting of the perfect cultivator. Gentle hands had carried him here, warm on the chill of his ghostly skin. He had remembered trembling and breaking to pieces in those hands, as divine steel carved him in two.

 

Had long fingers been shaking too?

 

He blinked again, felt a shudder of unease creep into his stomach. But he couldn’t bring himself to move, twisting onto his side to stare at the man with golden eyes.

 

The man he loved.

 

“Lan Zhan, did you carry me like I was a swooning maiden? How will my pride recover?”

 

His voice echoed into the room between them, teasing as the flicker of fish through still water.  This must be Lan Zhan’s room. Wei Wuxian had never seen these guest quarters before, not in this new and rebuilt Lotus Pier.

 

Golden eyes flickered open to focus on him, and Wei Wuxian felt like the weight of years pressed on his shoulders. His chest felt light too, bright with a painful knowledge.  

 

Now he understood why he had been shivering before those eyes.

 

“You are not caring for yourself,” came the verdict, quiet and reprimanding. There was tension floating between them, but Wei Wuxian ignored it as he ignored so much.

 

He laughed instead, and the sound bloomed through the fine rooms of a new home.

 

“God, you sound like Wen Qing. I take care of myself just fine, it’s the world that can’t leave me alone.”

 

Each word tasted like ash and corpse dust, with new understanding keeping him cold. There was no sword wound through his chest anymore, but Wei Wuxian felt like he had been pinned and run through.

 

It was a blow he had taken before. He could bear it again, with a smile and dancing steps.

 

But it would be easier, without the knowledge floating through his shadows.

 

“You could have avoided that strike,” came the next reply, just as quiet.The laugh was harder this time, brittle around the edges and less joyous.

 

“I messed up, Lan Zhan. It happens, even to me.”

 

The man didn’t look convinced, a restless wind brushing over his fine white robes and tracing the lines of his face with strands of long hair. His hands were tucked into his sleeves, and Wei Wuxian could not see if they shook.

 

His own hands were close to shaking, but he didn’t dare look down. He just smiled all the wider and threw himself out of bed, feet dancing and steps steady.

 

This room was too much for him to stay in, with fine carvings and walls he didn’t recognize. He wanted to be free, standing in the bright sun and dark with shadows.

 

Lan Zhan stood with him, all endless grace and the fall of elegant snow. Golden eyes glimmered as stars, before the ink stain of a ghost’s skin.

 

Lan Zhan was beautiful.

 

“Lie down,” came the final reply, and these words sounded tighter than any before.

 

Wei Wuxian only laughed, loud and fake. He tapped a long finger against the man’s chest, felt white robes shift beneath his hand. He did not shake.

 

“Cute of you to worry, Lan Zhan, but I’m a ghost. No need for rest after the Settling is played and I am whole.”

 

Arms spread wide, and he twirled there, danced to keep steady in this unfamiliar room with unfamiliar carvings mark the walls fine and lovely. The ache of his heart all too familiar.

 

How had he not noticed?

 

“See? I’m more than fine, all put together in the right places again.”

 

Lan Zhan just stared him down, golden eyes melting and swirling and mysterious, but face untouchable. There was an uncomfortable silence, and for once, Wei Wuxian didn’t have the words to break it. It was deep with the dark slivers of the moon and echoing as a scream over still water.

 

It curled into his shadows and made him bleed. A sword had cut through him hours ago, and a realization pierced his heart in the same stroke.

 

All at once, it was too much.

 

“No response? Can’t handle my pretty face, ah, Lan Zhan?”

 

Teasing twisted his words, had them flowing out into the air. They were ever an escape, and here they paved his path away from a quiet judgement and deep tension. He walked towards the door, steps light and heart heavy.

 

In a motion careful and methodical, Lan Zhan stepped to the side and allowed him to pass.

 

Those golden eyes followed him out but the man didn’t say a word.

 

Silence had never been so loud.

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

His first steps were towards Jiang Cheng, habit taking him to the Sect Leader’s rooms in a flash. The room was filled with the deep purple of their clan, the familiar colors and gentle embroidery of lotus blossoms comforting. Each flower led him to the sect leader, sitting upright in a fine bed. His brother’s back was straight with pride, even through the fussing servants and cultivators bustling around him.

 

Jiang Cheng looked annoyed, but this was nothing new. He had always been impatient with healers, to the point of ripping his wounds anew if it meant leaving a bed faster. Lightning had always raced in the man’s veins, and lightning did not stand still.

 

Wei Wuxian had been the one to hold him down and steady for healing, once. He had laughed and thrown his brother into bed, sat on a broken chest to keep Jiang Cheng still.

 

He didn’t think that would be welcomed now.

 

“…it is impossible to know for sure, Sect Leader, but I beg you to be careful.”

 

Jiang Cheng cut the quiet words off with a sharp hand, eyes catching on Wei Wuxian and growing heavy.

 

“Leave us.”

 

A dozen servants and fine disciples had never moved quicker.

 

Only when they were alone, did he begin to speak, anger infecting his words and making them sting.

 

“You almost got yourself killed today. On my blade. On my blade!”

 

Each word struck Wei Wuxian’s skin and made him tremble with shadows, and each one made the guilt boil over his skin. He had hurt his brother yet again, from because of his foolish pride. Heart tight, he waved a dismissive hand. It didn’t shake, shadows tracing the movements like intricate flourishes of silk.

 

Lies were so easy to tell, when shadows hid the wounds.

 

“I’ve had worse, Jiang Cheng, and Sandu didn’t even leave a scratch.”

 

The fire that crossed the man’s face at that was hot as lava, and twice as quick.

 

“For once in your life, Wei Wuxian, do not just take the blame and brush off an injury. For once, for once, just think.”

 

The words were heavy with loss, and heavier with the fury of a brother. Wei Wuxian heard their sorrow and lightning pride, and knew regret. There was a different ghost dancing between them now, and she had such a beautiful smile.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. It was all he could say, all the teasing words and barbs flying out of his head before Jiang Cheng’s anger.

 

He had nothing else, when he had almost destroyed Jiang Cheng as he destroyed their sister, once upon a nightless city.  

 

But the sect leader was not done, face pale and weak with sickness, but eyes glimmering with pain.

 

“A new disciple wouldn’t have made the mistake you did out there! I almost killed you, Wei Ying, and all because you were distracted by a pretty face!”

 

He recoiled then, shadows drawing around him and curling across his hands. But still, they shook. All he could do was listen, here the words and feel there sting. He and Jiang Cheng had fought on battlefields and in petty arguments for all their lives, but this—

 

His brother looked broken.

 

“Now you are speaking nonsense, Jiang Cheng. What face could distract me from a spar?”

 

A laugh was his only answer, bitter and cursed by cold pain. It echoed strangely over still water, loud with the rage of love.

 

“Don’t take me for a fool, Wei Ying. I saw what distracted you today, and I’ve seen the way you look at him.” There was a pause, a curl of pale lips. Jiang Cheng looked so angry.

 

“I don’t care who you love, and I don’t give a damn who you sleep with, but you almost died because of this. You almost made me kill you. After A-jie I can’t—”

 

Lightning rage cut off, and the fine tapestries caught and held every sound. Lotus banners consumed them, growing roots into the silence between two brothers.

 

Would they sprout through Wei Wuxian’s shadows? Would he lose himself to the plants and greenery buried in clear water?

 

Would he lose a brother for his love, too?

 

But of course, Jiang Cheng had known even as he did. They had always spoken best through their swords, and today all his had spoken of was love.

 

“I’m sorry, Jiang Cheng.” It was all he could say, but he said it again, and knelt beside his brother to hold him close.

 

Jiang Cheng just punched him, fist catching him hard in the shoulder. Wei Wuxian did not move. They stayed like that, for a moment, Wei Wuxian listening to the gentle turns of the core in his brother’s chest.

 

It was his core once, but now it turned too slowly in living skin. Alarm flashed through him, and he pressed his shadows over fine purple robes to feel for glimmers of energy.

 

Gold light flashed with his brother’s irritation, and Jiang Cheng shoved him away.

 

“Leave me be, Wei Wuxian,” the man said, with tight lips and fury. They echoed into the silence between them, but soon a warm sun came to burn the roots away.

 

“If he doesn’t treat you well, I am going to rip him to pieces and feed him to the lotus flowers.”

 

The words were low and harsh, loud with a child’s petulance. They were an acceptance and a peace offering, all in one.

 

A sad smile crept up Wei Wuxian lips, tiny as the fading light.

 

“Well, that won’t be a problem, Jiang Cheng. He’s, uh, not interested.”

 

His brother blinked lightning eyes and looked annoyed.

 

“Are you stupid.” The words were flat, barely a question and twice as insulting. “The man has been in love with you for nearly two decades.”

 

Wei Wuxian blinked. Blinked again, felt shadows shift beneath him, and blinked again. The world looked the same, and yet he didn’t understand.

 

“You are wrong, you have to be.” He stopped, voice trailing off but thought whirling. Lan Zhan turned me down, he said no.

 

He said no.

 

A snort answered him, short and far too amused. Purple robes glinted in the light streaming across lacquered wood and the lavish rooms of the Sect Leader.

 

Jiang Cheng looked disbelieving.

 

“Wei Wuxian,” he said, slowly, as if speaking to a child, “he injured thirty senior cultivators of his own clan to save you. He took you from the Nightless City and away from the thousands who wanted you dead. Away from me. It is an open secret among the senior cultivators that he was interested in you.”

 

Wei Wuxian felt like he had fallen into an icy stream and drenched in the shivering pain of realization. For thirteen long years, he had not known how he’d returned from that night, how he’d escaped.

 

He hadn’t wanted to know, because he had deserved feel angry blades on that battlefield for Shijie’s death. Control had slipped from his fingers and made him sloppy, and under a nightless moon, it cost him everything.

 

He had deserved death, for that failure.

 

But Lan Zhan had brought him back. Lan Zhan had defended him, fought against everything he believed in, every ideal and precious rule carved into the great stone wall of the Gusu Lan Sect.

 

Wei Wuxian didn’t understand. 

 

“You are wrong, you have to be, he—” he doesn’t want me, lingered on his tongue like fire and ash.  

 

But that wasn’t wholly true, was it? Lan Zhan had wanted him, had heat in golden eyes and hunger on jade-carved lips, had fucked into Wei Wuxian for long moments.

 

Lan Zhan had wanted him until they had slept together on that lonely pier, under the harsh light of the radiant moon.

 

Then he had said no.

 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. Days had slid into weeks and he had had the man by his side and in his body and he didn’t understand.

 

But he wanted to.

Chapter 21: White Fog

Notes:

HELLO I AM RETURNED!! Thank you for your patience, Ghost will now return to regular updates :D. I'm editing the ending now so expect another 4-5 chapters.

Also, this chapter has explicit content, I'll include a summary at the end if you want to skip!

Wei Wuxian had never moved faster.

 

Darkness made his bones and sheltered in his skin, painting him the colors of night and glimmering shadow. He had faded from the room before he could think, dissolving into the ground and moving like wind. As the spill of moonlight, he emerged in the guest chambers he had just left, body materializing as only a ghost could, shaped and molded into being.

 

He took a breath, eyes dancing across the room to search for gold light and white robes. But with ghostly heartbeats came a glimmer in the darkness, a falling star flowing through the sky.

 

Bichen glided towards his chest, and Wei Wuxian saw fear. For the second time in as many hours, he stared down a divine blade as it stabbed towards him. For the second time, Wei Wuxian felt the threat of hurting his family with broken shadows.

 

But this time, his shadows were ready as his smile, quick as tame beasts to his call and gathered around him. With a swirling twist, he slapped the blade away and jumped back, watched divine steel carve an arc before clattering to the ground. 

 

There was a moment of quiet then, echoing over the hints of a falling sword and the wide eyes of a broken man.

 

Lan Zhan’s hand was shaking. The calm that carved itself immortal on a beautiful face was gone, erased by horror and the fear of a strong soul. Tension cut the folds of fine silk into shadows before moonlight.

 

But calloused fingers shook.

 

Wei Wuxian felt his heart twist, the bitter touch of old failure poisoning his tongue. He had hurt so many people under this dawn and for the long years before.

 

He had always been so good at cutting into the people he loved.

 

Now Bichen clattered to the floor like the strike of death, and Lan Zhan looked broken. He had done this, he knew. Wei Wuxian had walked the dancing path to this moment.

 

How had he missed the love?

 

“I love you,” he said, the most important words spilling out before Lan Zhan could speak, before the horror could fade from those glimmering eyes.

 

“I love you,” he said, but meant a thousand moments of promised happiness.

 

I trust you to stand by my side and hold me together when the world rips me apart. I trust you to love me without asking me to change, and I never understood until now you didn’t want me as a caged bird.

 

I love you.

 

Horror faded to shock to a stormy emotion greater than calm, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop, not with a smile crawling on his lips like a curse. Hope boiled through ghostly veins, and the shadows writhed around him.

 

He loved this man.

 

“And I would like you to take me to bed and fuck me until I can’t remember anything but your cock, because I want to have you in me forever. I know you said no, and I’ll respect that if you want but, Lan Zhan, I didn’t remember the Nightless City. I didn’t remember you helping me, I didn’t know.”

 

It was no excuse, but it was an explanation. Wei Wuxian would give a thousand with all his genius and frantic energy. He would laugh into the sunset and tease for as long as it took, to win the truth from Lan Zhan.

 

Wei Wuxian had always been persistent. For a moment, he stood silent, breath he didn’t need held in his lungs. The tame creatures that shaped his robes and sword trembled with him, spilling across fine floor and over polished wood. 

 

He waited, with a laugh and a smile and no patience but hope, cast across lotus blooms. The moon shifted with him, rising with the setting sun and his heart.

 

He didn’t have to wait for long.

 

In two graceful steps, Lan Zhan moved into his space, strong arms reaching forward to pull him in. Calloused fingers trembled on his back, warm and alive as they had ever been.

 

Wei Wuxian went willingly, effortlessly, surrendering to the strength in those arms. They wrapped around him and held him close, hard with a swordman’s skill and the dedication of long hours training. They held him close, but he wanted to be devoured. He inhaled and sandalwood surrounded him, digging into ghostly skin and leaving him trembling.

 

He smiled, with a happiness like the dawn. Then he squirmed, held tight in strong arms. Shadows had not coiled around him for hugs alone; he wanted more. 

 

“Lan Zhan, are you—”

 

“Quiet,” was the response, broken and small. Golden eyes stared into his, and those arms slid down and away, to cradle his hips like he was a precious thing. Wei Wuxian had a heartbeat to laugh, breathless and amused, before Lan Zhan kissed him.

 

For a moment, it was soft as the first touch of spring. It was warm, gentle enough to make Wei Wuxian’s heart melt out of his chest. Strong arms held him, protected him, sheltered him from the storms of the world.

 

Wei Wuxian was a genius unparalleled. He was a fighter that could rip enemies to pieces and smile like the cut moon. Ever had he stood on his own feet and faced the world with a laugh and malicious energy at his fingertips.

 

But here he didn’t need to. The heavens themselves could rage against him, but this time he wouldn’t stand alone, because Lan Zhan stood at his side.

 

Wei Wuxian was loved.  

 

For a moment, the kiss was soft, until Wei Wuxian couldn’t stand the need under his skin. He let his mouth fall open, leaning forward to press harder against those lips.

 

He wanted this man’s everything. It had been long days since he had felt that cock in his body, long days since warm hands had pressed into him and held him fast.

 

He wanted it again.

 

Lan Zhan met his hunger and returned it, sliding a hand to curl into Wei Wuxian’s hair and pull his head back, cradling and commanding in equal measure. The pressure made his toes curl and the smirk on his lips grow wide.

 

He laughed, with all the happiness boiling through ghostly skin. Lan Zhan devoured it with quiet hunger, pulling against his hair until Wei Wuxian could just squirm in his grip and take the bruising kisses.

 

Love tasted like clear water and jasmine tea, brewed to perfection. It tasted like the hints of fine liquor and the blend of shadow and clear clouds. Love tasted like Lan Zhan, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t get enough.

 

Calloused fingers played over his wrists, until his hands were bound before him in a tide of pale white fabric. It dug into ghostly skin, silk lovely as the moon. Wei Wuxian tugged at the rope with the playful energy of a dancer, but it held fast. He could slip away in shadow and inky darkness, warp himself beyond human touch.

 

He laughed instead, bright and breathless into Lan Zhan’s mouth. Had the man used his forehead ribbon? Wei Wuxian was bound by silk finer than any he had been allowed to touch, in the long year at Gusu. The Lan ribbons had always made Lan Zhan so angry. He had run his fingers over this ribbon and seen it drive fury across Lan Zhan’s face. He had touched it and watched calm eyes turn to an insulted rage.

 

Now it was tied around his wrists like a promise. The restraints made him go hot as fire, with a hunger racing over ghostly skin and lighting his shadows into light. The corner of his lips quirked up, a smile and happiness unstoppable.

 

He laughed again, quiet and breathless. 

 

“Lan Zhan—”

 

The man leaned forward, unbound hair brushing his skin and leaving him shivering, the hand in his hair pulling until his neck was exposed and vulnerable to the touch of lips.

 

Hot lips pressed a kiss into his throat, and Wei Wuxian felt a heartbeat he didn’t have echo through his skin.

 

He was in love, on the polished docks of his home. No pier would be lonely again, with two students and a brother at his side. No pier would be lonely, with Lan Zhan staring warm eyes into his skin.

 

“Be quiet, Wei Ying.”

 

 Long fingers pulled at the ties of his robes, gentle on shadowed fabric. The man would strip him a thread at a time if he had the chance, but Wei Wuxian had no such patience. The shadows of his robes burned away like fog before the sun, and he laughed into the prickle of cold air.

 

Let him be bare. Let Lan Zhan want him all the more.

 

For a moment, long fingers paused, held across the space where there had been clothes. Golden eyes were glimmering, hungry as a starved man before a feast.

 

Wei Wuxian wanted them hungrier. He wanted them to never look away. He wanted to be spread open on polished wood and filled and fucked.  

 

“Will you fuck me, Second Jade? Will you throw me down and use me?”

 

He smirked as he spoke, let his voice fall deep into temptation. If he squirmed just right, the arch of his back would press him into Lan Zhan. Wrists bound and ghostly chest aching, he wanted that more than anything.

 

“Do not speak,” came the reply, in quiet voice and tight words.

 

“Are you going to punish me, Lan Zhan? Or make me shut up, or—”

 

Lips pressed against his to eat his words, loving and devouring at once. He let them consume him, let Lan Zhan take him to pieces. He laughed into those lips and it was happy.

 

“Let me show you,” Lan Zhan said, as he slipped his mouth down Wei Wuxian’s body, kissed into the curve of his throat. A kiss at his throat, another across a taut nipple. A bite on his chest, strong fingers on his hips.

 

Wei Wuxian had taken a sword to the gut and walked away with blood dripping down his skin and a laugh on the face. He could bear any wound, and laugh at any pain.

 

He couldn’t take this sweet pleasure, couldn’t help but gasp at the press of breath on his skin.

 

A kiss at his hip, another at his inner thigh, fingers lifting his leg and holding it up like a sacrifice. Ghostly breath hitched, and he looked down the length of his body to see only Lan Zhan, beautiful as a storm.

 

Golden eyes were fixed on him, and they glimmered like precious gems and the clear skies of Gusu. Was this man a dragon of the skies, with a wise soul and deadly grace? Would Lan Zhan devour him alive? Wei Wuxian wanted it, wanted all of that relentless soul and the heart he had spent long months and longer years falling for.

 

He wanted to laugh while he fell apart, safe at last.

 

A kiss at the curve of his thigh, pressed into the sensitive skin with an edge of teeth. Lan Zhan had lifted his hips with a single strong hand, supporting him with one arm and spreading him open with the other.

 

He shivered with it, shivered as long fingers pressed into his spine, shivered as he let his legs fall open around this glorious man.

 

It was so gentle, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but try to make it rough and fast. He loved, he was loved, and here he was vulnerable and exposed to those tender fingers.

 

It was too much and not enough, on the polished wood of Lotus Pier. He wanted this man’s everything, from peerless soul to the thick cock he knew lay beneath white robes.

 

Lan Zhan stood at his side and knelt above him, and Wei Wuxian was in love.

 

He smiled, and wanted to dance across shadowed water and into the shimmer of the moon. Even that light could not consume him like Lan Zhan’s eyes, like the fingers that held him gentle and bruising.

 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, I know, I can feel it in your touch, I hear what you are saying.” He spoke with quick words, into air that burned him and fingers that broke him. Bound wrists twisted against the rope, as his back arched off the ground even more. His ghostly body held no weight and thundered no footsteps, but Lan Zhan could have held a boulder off the ground without shifting for a moment.

 

Now it was Wei Wuxian, held and vulnerable for that touch. But he only felt a laughing safety. Lan Zhan would never hurt him, not like this. He shuddered beneath the stretch of his back, felt lips press into the dip of his hips and leave him shivering.

 

“Come on Lan Zhan, rough me up, fuck me hard.”

 

The words poured out, now that he had begun, tumbling from gasping lips like prayer. He wanted Lan Zhan to press bruises into his ass and never let go, wanted to feel him stretching him out and open.

 

He wanted everything, and with the relentless spirit curling in his shadowy body, he could have it.

 

Lan Zhan would give him everything, if he asked. The silent words breathed across his skin spoke that easily, just as the hands cradling his body whispered it.

 

He was loved, beneath the cloudy robes of Gusu.

 

He took a breath, a pant, gasped words. Wei Wuxian would do whatever it took to make Lan Zhan as desperate as he was.

 

“I’ve been without your cock for so long, Lan Zhan, I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like and—”

 

Fabric hit his lips like a kiss, tasting of sandalwood and thick fog. Wei Wuxian moaned, around the flavor, in surprise and the bright sounds of delight. Calloused fingers fed him the silk, pressed it deep, until his mouth was full and no words could escape his throat.

 

Wei Wuxian was silent as the grave, but he felt bursting with life.

 

The edge of a fine silk robe was heavy on his tongue, even as it was made into his gag. White fabric soaked up the beginnings of his dry mouth and lewd hunger, but he knew it would only get worse. The golden eyes before him were gleaming, bright as the fullest moon and more beautiful than any dawn.

 

Those eyes would shake his ghostly skin to pieces. He had awoken a beast, and he had never been more ready. A shiver ran across his spine, back bare across the ground and ready to be broken.

 

It was a good thing he didn’t need to breathe, and a thing he should remind Lan Zhan of later with a laugh and lewd smile. He wanted to have a thick cock in his mouth, choking him and kept inside for hours.

 

Wei Wuxian wanted to dissolve in the arms of Lan Zhan and feel safe. This man would stand by his side.

 

This man loved him.

 

“Wei Ying, you will be quiet,” came the command, and it sounded like gentle oath and desperation. "And you will stop me, if you do not want this."

 

Lan Zhan’s eyes were gleaming so beautifully. Wei Wuxian flexed his spine, pressing his back against the ground and lifting his hips up more to make the curve of his body tempting. If Lan Zhan wanted him quiet and bound, so be it, but he was a fool if he thought Wei Wuxian could ever be stopped.

 

He would arch his back and speak in movements, he would smile around a gag and beg with his body.

 

He would give his all. Would Lan Zhan give his heart in return? The look in those golden eyes said yes, the fingers curving into his thighs said forever.

 

Wei Wuxian had never wanted anything more. He pulled his wrists up his body, brought them up to press that shimmering forehead ribbon to his face. He would have sucked it into his mouth and licked it sticky, if he could have. But his mouth was full with fine silk robes and the beginnings of moans.

 

There was no room to kiss it hungry, so he pressed it to his forehead instead. It brushed against his skin, a rustle of clouds come to play over ghostly shadows.  

 

Above him, he heard a harsh breath, dark and heavy as Lan Zhan ever allowed. The man was a dragon come to devour him, golden eyes glimmering like they could set fire to the sun.

 

Wei Wuxian wanted them to set fire to him too. Let them both be made of flame, if it meant they could share heated breaths and warm hands.

 

Lan Zhan loved him, and that was fire a-plenty. In quick motions, Lan Zhan lowered him down and stripped off white robes, long lines of muscle showing clear and stark in the light.

 

The man was beautiful, with a body carved from the jade of high mountains and eyes more precious than any metal. Curving over his shoulders was the hint of scars, marks Wei Wuxian were sure came from the long battles of a cultivator’s life. But each only made Lan Zhan human and not godly.

 

The brand sitting stark and terrible over Lan Zhan’s heart made his breath catch. That was the scar Wei Wuxian had borne, a lifetime ago when he had been a laughing fool.

 

That was Wei Wuxian’s folly, and now it carved into Lan Zhan’s skin. He wanted to reach up and touch it, feel the raised skin and know its story. He wanted to tease the pieces out of Lan Zhan, as he had all their lives.

 

But now he was bound and gagged, and Lan Zhan knelt above him.

 

It really wasn’t fair, was Wei Wuxian’s first thought, as his eyes trailed down chiseled abs to the proud line of cock, curving upwards like it could spear the heavens. No man should be allowed to be so beautiful, so dangerously attractive. He felt like he could lose his mind, laying there and begging to be fucked.

 

The cloth in his mouth had gone wet with drool, but it felt so small compared to the thing he truly wanted filling him. Wei Wuxian let out a moan, wiggling his body across the ground and slinging his bound hands over Lan Zhan’s head. Silky hair brushed his fingers and the pristine forehead ribbon looping his wrists together.

 

He pulled Lan Zhan down and pressed that peerless face to his chest, arching his back into the lines of sweetest temptation.

 

He wanted so much.  

 

There was another inhale, twice as sharp in the light past sunset, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t see the glimmer of golden eyes.

 

But he knew them to be dark and hungry.

 

He laughed around the gag, breathless with a happiness that floated on skin as lotus blooms floated on still water. Would the petals sink into him, join with his bones to trap smiles in his shadows?

 

Wei Wuxian wanted that, as he wanted this moment. He wanted to dance over polished wood and feel it shake with his steps. He wanted to fuck himself down on Lan Zhan’s cock and keep it warm with his laughter and the body he had pulled together from love and the will of a lonely ghost.

 

He wanted this man in his arms forever. And he could have that.

 

His laugh broke off into a muffled moan, as teeth teased at his nipple. Lan Zhan was merciless, nipping and sucking like the taste of ghostly skin was the last water in a great desert, and Lan Zhan wanted nothing more than to drown in it.

 

Wei Wuxian wanted to squirm into that touch, wished his body would keep the bruises, the touch of teeth, tugging and pulling and oh—

 

He moaned again against the gag, just as quiet and twice as desperate. There was no stop, and no end. When would Lan Zhan answer the arch of his back and fuck him?

 

He squirmed across the ground, squirmed until Lan Zhan pressed a strong hand against his chest and pinned him down.

 

Then his blood went hot as an unending fire.

 

“Be still, Wei Ying,” the words came rougher than usual, not quite cracking but far from smooth. Wei Wuxian let his eyes fall half shut, looked down the stretch of his body to Lan Zhan’s golden eyes.

 

He tugged the hair at the base of Lan Zhan’s neck and felt the man twitch against him, cock thick and hot on his thigh. Wei Wuxian wanted to feel it leaking across his skin, wanted it to fill him up until he couldn’t walk with how much his legs trembled.

 

And then he wanted it again, and again, and again. 

 

Lan Zhan had told him to be still, and so of course, Wei Wuxian moved. He bent his bound fingers and summoned a shadow to spill across skin, watched darkness curl around Lan Zhan’s cock and milk out drops of precum.

 

They fell on his ghostly skin and he loved their warmth. He loved the contrast too, how the perfect pleasure of Gusu spilled over the skin of a resentful ghost. The shadow gripped tighter, stroking until Lan Zhan was panting above him, mouth parted ever so slightly and eyes dark with hunger.

 

Wei Wuxian may have awoken the beast, and he couldn’t wait. He raised his eyebrows, let a smile crack around the gag in his mouth.

 

Then he flexed up again, tested the strength of the hand across his chest. It didn’t budge an inch, muscle holding him down like he was a plaything. He could have dissolved away, in ghostly shadow and the strength of a dead man.

 

But Wei Wuxian only gasped around the silk clinging to his tongue, felt fine ribbon twist into his wrists and mark him as loved. He couldn’t have stopped the moan in his throat if he tried, and never would he try. 

 

“Wei Ying,” came the hissing breath, as he moved the shadow like clever fingers, running down the length of a wide cock. What twists and turns it took, as it stroked Lan Zhan to pleasure. What a lovely contrast inky darkness made, to the jade of Lan Zhan’s skin and the flush of his cock.

 

Wei Wuxian grinned around the gag, and twisted harder.

 

Lan Zhan reached down to grip himself, but the shadow danced between his fingers, swirling like the perfect hand. There was a choked sound— not a moan, not even close, but far more than a gasp— and splatters of pre-cum fell across Wei Wuxian's thighs again.

 

Wei Wuxian laughed, bright as stars muffled in the night sky. He arched again, twisting his fingers in the strands of Lan Zhan’s fine hair. It would be hopelessly knotted around his hands, and he could only smile at that. He wanted that cock in him an hour ago, a decade ago, wanted it fucking in and staying in the heat of a ghostly body. Would Lan Zhan let him keep it warm, he wondered? Would Lan Zhan fill him up, if he begged nicely?

 

Wei Wuxian wanted to find out. He twirled his fingers in lovely hair, flexed the energy in his hands. With a thought and a breath, the shadow around Lan Zhan’s cock tightened into a vice, a sleeve for the other man to fuck. Then he used it to pull Lan Zhan forward by the cock and spread his legs in a single slick motion.

 

The man fit into his ass so well.

 

“Wei Ying,” the man said, and this time Wei Wuxian could feel the heartbeat beneath his fingers pick up, the golden eyes burning like fire.

 

He only smiled, around fine silk and teasing laughter.

 

Show me your love, he begged, with a smirk and the curve of his body.

 

And so Lan Zhan did.

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

“Hey, Lan Zhan, do you think Sect Leader Lan will listen?”

 

The words were thoughtful and quiet, the first spoken since the silence of I love you. They still danced over polished wood with the speed of curling fog and shadow, moving as darkness on a pale moon. Wei Wuxian had been thinking them for a long time, thinking of how they would pull off the plan three men had hatched over Jiang Cheng’s desk.

 

That desk had belonged to another Sect Leader, once. Two brothers still mourned him, as they mourned their sister and the hopes of a peaceful life.

 

What cost came with remembering, he wondered, and felt a ghostly heart ache.

 

Jin Guangyao couldn’t be let free, couldn’t be left to plot and plan. No part of his hero’s bones could let that happen, not when the man could come for his fragile new happiness if they became a threat. If the dead lips of Xue Yang were to be believed, the man would not stop.

 

But for A-yu, he couldn’t let the man die, either. He propped himself up onto his elbows, stared down into the most beautiful face he had ever seen.

 

He smiled with the bright happiness of a man before treasure, and watched Lan Zhan smile in return.

 

It was a small thing, a quiet quirk of the lips that spoke of moonlight. If he hadn’t been looking for it, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have seen it at all, too caught in the skin pressed against his and the heart beating under his fingers.

 

But it caught his heart and held tight.

 

“Ah, Lan Zhan, be careful! People don’t know you can smile, if you let them find out they will all faint from it.”

 

The words were teasing, light and laughing as fog across polished docks. Nothing in him could stop from leaning forward, could stop from pressing a kiss to that terrible smile.

 

It really was deadly.

 

Lan Zhan brushed a hand across his face, calloused knuckles touching the skin of his brow and leaving him shivering.

 

“It is only for you, Wei Ying,” the man said, and the gold of his eyes was devourous. His hair was loose from its ribbon, cast around the curve of his jaw and made of spun silk.

 

If Wei Wuxian still had air in his lungs to breathe, that look would have knocked him free and cored him out.

 

He laughed. He breathed in sandalwood and sweet sweat. He smiled again.

 

He was in love.

 

“Good Lan Zhan, we won’t make it half-way to the ambush if you keep smiling like that.” He paused, let the warmth of skin soak into his face and the twists of light catch his eyes. It was tiny and precious breath in the movement of the world, and it was only for them.

 

“But your brother, Lan Zhan. Will he help?”

 

Golden eyes glimmered like they were thoughtful, washed with clouds and fog. Wei Wuxian could watch them for long hours and tease his way into their gaze, but that face made him so very curious.

 

It was more thought than he had expected of the question, but then again Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were brothers in arms.

 

The bond of war was one he understood well, and one that was stronger than nearly anything else. It had made Jiang Cheng and him unbreakable, once. It had hurt all the more to shatter that bond the first time.

 

It had felt all the better to reforge it in peace.

 

“Yes,” came the response at last, quiet and solemn. “But he will not want to.”

 

The tone caught him off guard, heavier than he had expected it and twice as terrible. He looked into Lan Zhan’s face and saw a brother’s fear, lingering in the caught moonlight of pale jade skin.

 

“Why not? Is it the oath of brothers? I’d expect that to weigh in but Sect Leader Lan has always done what’s right, no?”

 

It wasn’t a question, really. Zewu-jun had been a guiding force for good in the war, and one for kindness, at its end. The man wouldn’t stand for what Jin Guangyao had done, no matter the loyalty held between them.

 

Lan Zhan looked down at him, and it was dark and so very vulnerable. Strong arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a hold that was tight and warm. There was so much emotion coiled into the touch of those hands, into the edge of blunt nails pressing into his hips.

 

There was so much, and Wei Wuxian wanted to be lost in it and laugh.

 

“The Lan Clan is lost to love,” Lan Zhan said, and refused to say anything more.

 

Notes:

Alright so, WWX finds LWJ and confesses, they Have Feelings. Then you good to read from the last curly divider down (which has cuddling and discussion of future plans)! :D

Chapter 22: What Fades

Notes:

Alright, I am caught up on answering comments on the last ghost chapter! I think I will wash the slate clean so to speak, and try to only answer questions from now on. Sorry for anyone I missed, but I got a bit overwhelmed!! We should be good from here on out :D

(hehe you will have things to scream at me about after this chapter tho :D )

The sky was shaking, in the red and gold of the rising sun. Petals swirled on the currents of a gentle lake, marked by the low mists of morning and the fog of day. Clouds trembled up, twisting to pull and weave through Jin Ling’s hair, twisting to mark him as shaky too.

 

He shook.

 

The fog moved with his body, blurred from the tears in his eyes. It was as broken as Jin Ling, but it did not stop as he did.

 

He shook in the fine robes of his clan, gold glimmering in the sun of morning. He shook, as a leaf on the winds of failure, anger and frustration and helplessness all bleeding into one mass of emotion.

 

Jin Ling was too slow to stop the blade that had run Laoshi through.

 

It didn’t matter that he had been lost in the crowd, a loud boy with skill but no experience. It didn’t matter that Laoshi and uncle fought a war of titans, gods raising blades on packed earth.

 

In the end, nothing mattered before the shaking of his skin. Jin Ling had almost lost a father again, to a sword through the chest.

 

He was too slow.

 

Leaves trembled less than his heart, in the winds of cutting blades. Jin Ling couldn’t close his fingers without feeling sword callouses, couldn’t breathe without knowing the press of lungs on ribs. How did it feel to be stabbed? How much had Laoshi suffered?

 

How much had his father suffered, all those years ago?

 

Jin Ling didn’t know. Nothing he had ever felt matched that pain, not with two uncles guarding his every step. His life had been gilded and sheltered by shadowed laughter and the crackle of lightning.

 

Now he saw the fragile body that lurked beneath Laoshi's smile, and he felt no safety. He took shaking steps forward, and each one felt angrier than the last. He didn’t even know where Laoshi was, didn’t even know where to direct his fear. The two fighters on that sparring ground had been whisked away, one by Hanguang-jun and another by a swarm of nervous disciples.

 

It had been heartbeats and a night since that moment, but Jin Ling could not stop shaking.

 

So here he stood, a specter before the gilded guest quarters of Lotus Pier, fists clenched at his side and tears collecting in angry eyes. He glared at the fine wood door, wished it death by fire and fury.

 

If it would fade to ashes before him, maybe he could see Laoshi. If it would crack and break, maybe there would be no sword piercing darkness.

 

If it were not there, maybe Jin Ling could hold Laoshi.

 

Would Laoshi have gaping wounds and bleeding shadows? Would he be laughing, as he always did? Or would he have met the second death of a ghost? But no, that thought was too far-- even with all the anger lurking in slight shoulders, Jin Ling knew Laoshi was alive. Uncle would have told him otherwise, Uncle would have taken him to the end of a long pier.

 

Uncle would have held him, if Laoshi died.

 

He raised his fist and knocked, for the first time this morning. Disciples and the order of the Sect Leader had kept him away for the long hours of the night, but now Jin Ling would not be swayed. The pacing of his footsteps covered all of Lotus Pier, but they had not met the dancing steps of a ghost. 

 

They had not searched this room, because he had known Laoshi to be here.

 

He knocked, and the wood met his knuckles loud and unforgiving in the light of dawn. It echoed over still water and rippled over the annoyance in his skin.

 

It could not touch the fear. The door opened with the soundless touch of a cared for room, and the morning light flooded through the space behind as waves across the shore.

 

It flooded over Laoshi too, where he stood in shadows touched by the dawn sun. Darkness curled happily across his wrists, staining the floor into life with energy. A smile that Jin Ling had only seen a few times before lingered on a ghostly face, and it shook Jin Ling to the core.

 

It was a delicate thing, that smile. Laoshi was always grinning, laughter bright or mocking, smile teasing or dark as night. There was never a moment when the ghost stood without grin painted in shadows.

 

For long years it had been Jin Ling’s greatest comfort. No matter what else rocked his gilded world, or what ripples spread over the lake of Lotus Pier, that smile always stayed.

 

Laoshi always stayed, and rested a kind hand across Jin Ling’s head.  

 

But this smile was different. It hung in the corners of Laoshi’s lips, painted in the quiet lines of a loud contentment. Relentlessly sharp eyes gentled into a dancing happiness, and sent shadows swirling away to cradle a thousand lotus blooms.

 

It was a smile Jin Ling had seen once before, long years ago. On the day he had first called the ghost of a lonely pier Laoshi, he had felt the shine of that smile. It burned into his skin and took his breath away, as he stood with the shoulders of a child and felt like a son.

 

He had wanted to earn it every day since, and treasured every grin that Laoshi let dance over shadows and ghostly skin.

 

But this smile was not for him. It felt private, like the door had slid open to a moment worthy of that smile.

 

This smile was made for the man behind Laoshi, in robes the serene white of Gusu and cloaked in stories told by Laoshi.

 

Jin Ling didn’t know what to make of Hanguang-jun, but he knew the smile was for him. For a moment, the look made Jin Ling forget his purpose, forget the tears collecting in his eyes. For a moment, he could only stare and think a single quiet thought.  

 

His tears were forgotten, but Laoshi saw them all the same.

 

“A-ling, you’ve been crying. Are you alright?”

 

The words were alarmed, bright and sharp in the light of dawn. Like frost slipping down before the sun, the smile melted away, to fade among the thousand shadows at their feet. Jin Ling mourned that smile, and felt annoyance bubble in his skin. He had made the smile go, and he hadn’t even been the one to earn its dancing grace.

 

He was too slow. 

 

Laoshi looked around, shoulders straightening into attention and eyes going sharp as daggers.

 

“Who do I need to hurt?”

 

Jin Ling wanted to roll his eyes, but the tears made them itch and sting. His teacher was truly stupid.

 

“Laoshi, you—”

 

He stopped, let breath rush into his lungs. A gilded peony stood proud on his chest, and he wore it with the prickly anger of an orphan. Had this been what Laoshi had felt, all those years ago? What ghosts danced between them now, and why could the ghost before him not see?

 

He shuffled angry feet, and wished for a smile.

 

“Don’t you remember what happened yesterday? Why do you think I’m worried?” The words came sharp and high, made from the soft anger in his heart and the worry that cracked between his ribs.

 

He felt like his uncle, with rage in his voice and pride breaking his bones. He felt like a child, wishing for a parent to return.

 

He felt small.

 

A slow blink of the eyes was the first answer, as Laoshi stared down at him.

 

“Ah,” was the second, quiet in the air between them and loud with gentle understanding. It sounded broken with regret too, painful to hear and painful to cause.

 

It sounded hurt, and Jin Ling hated it. He hated it more when Laoshi looked harder at his face, traced the tears curving in his eyes.

 

“Oh, A-ling, why the face? Can't you see I am still here?”

 

The words echoed over the surface of still water and broke the light of dawn. They broke across his skin too, pressing through bone and into his furious heart.

 

Jin Ling felt bare before the understanding, standing proud and annoyed on the pier of his mother. Beneath the mask of fine gold, his shoulders shook like leaves caught on quick currents.

 

The peony of his father pressed across his chest, but he didn’t feel fit to wear it. He was strong enough to bear his father’s sword now, but he couldn’t keep Laoshi’s shadows from fading.

 

With his weight resting on polished wood, and a smile that had faded at his tears, that made all the difference.

 

A quiet sound pulled his eyes up again, in the shifting of fine fabric and cloudy grace. When had he dropped them to glare at the ground? When had he looked from Laoshi’s face?

 

When had he run from that gentle smile?

 

He didn’t know, but he would not look down now. Jin Ling would stand strong, through tears and the weakness curling across his skin. He had to, for the peony on his chest.

 

So he stared at Hanguang-jun too, and did not flinch. Laoshi reached forward and curled a hand around his shoulders, arm strong and comforting. It’s weight felt solid and warm, though it should have been cold and empty as a ghost.

 

But it was Laoshi.

 

“I’ll be back, Lan Zhan. Won’t you wait for me?”

 

A nod was the only answer, and the touch of fingers to Laoshi’s shoulder. They lingered for a moment, in a way Jin Ling didn’t understand.

 

Then Laoshi pulled him through Lotus Pier and to the lonely dock where they had first met, keeping up a gentle stream of commentary along the way. It was soothing, a melody of clever words that danced over still water and polished wood.

 

It sounded like the words of a brother, laughing and sheltering. It sounded like the strong words of a protective ghost, made of the wisps of shadows and the curl of old memories.

 

It sounded like Laoshi, but Jin ling didn’t respond. There were thorns growing through his throat, tying him down to anger and fear. No words would pierce that wall, and he didn’t have the fire to burn it away.

 

If he spoke, the words could turn to tears. If he spoke, he might be a weak child again, crying into the shoulder of the ghost that held him.

 

He tried to huff, but it only came out cracked and broken. The memory of a shining sword at noon haunted him as Laoshi haunted this pier.

 

But he should have known better than to hide his fear from the smiling ghost before him. The hand around his shoulders pulled him close, until his face was buried in shadowed robes and his tears broke and fell.

 

He felt like child again, but it was no bad thing.

 

“You know it takes a strong heart to cry, right A-Ling?”

 

The words were light and idle, but they echoed over a pier that was no longer lonely. They echoed out of a chest that still breathed dead breaths, and that made all the difference. Jin Ling muttered into shadows, annoyed and quiet.

 

“Shut up, Laoshi.”

 

A laugh rumbled around him, bright as wind and loving as anything he had ever heard. It sounded like it came from old memories, but it was made anew over still water.

 

“Can’t handle the truth, A-ling? But it is true! You feel everything so deeply, and care so much. It’s a strength, not a weakness. You should be proud, it means you have your mother’s heart.”

 

There was a pause, caught on a thousand lingering shadows and long nights learning to fight from a ghost. It caught on the curve of lotus blossoms too, and grew heavier with each petal.

 

“I’m sorry for making you see that,” Laozhi said at last, in the quiet voice of regret. This time, Jin Ling didn’t fight down the hiccupping sob, let it claw its way out of his chest and into Laoshi’s shoulder. Shadows held him, as he sobbed, and dead hands kept him safe.

 

For long years, Jin Ling had only ever cried in this place. Here he was held by the ghost that had killed his parents, and here, he understood forgiveness.

 

Here, Jin Ling cried, and did not feel weak.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The trembling sky looked as if it might cry, rain threatening on the horizon and wind shaking the delicate lotus blooms. The lake quaked with each gust, ready to break into a thousand droplets.

 

It was a sad day, made for sad thoughts and dark corners of the world.

 

Mo Xuanyu wanted to rip it apart, wanted to sink bitter teeth in the fabric of the sky and tear it to pieces. After, he would stitch it back together as thunder and lightning, as rage and bitter sadness. After, he would make the world hurt as he did.

 

It had been three long days since Wei Laoshi had stepped onto a sparring ground, three days since he had seen the man run through and broken.

 

It had been three days since Mo Xuanyu had realized something was wrong.

 

He had lingered on doorsteps, and listened to a thousand plans. He had been pulled into the room, with Laoshi smiling to a dancing laugh. His skill at stealth was poor, as his skill at so much was poor.

 

But it wouldn’t have mattered; Laoshi always noticed him, and always would. It had begun in a terrible garden, when his shoulders had curled in on themselves and his glare had been bitter and broken.

 

Now it continued, over the calm happiness of Lotus Pier.

 

Mo Xuanyu owed Laoshi his life, and so this was more painful than any wound. The man sat with a lazy slouch and no flinch, but Mo Xuanyu felt like he had been run through himself.

 

He listened, as the Sect Leader and Laoshi planned the downfall of Jin Guangyao. With each word, he wanted to crawl out of his skin.

 

Hanguang-jun and Laoshi would set the ambush, with Lan Xichen as bait. It would be the quick coup of the powerful, and it would be bloody and brutal.

 

Mo Xuanyu hated it. Was he the worse man for wanting to stop them or for wishing their blades to move faster? Or was he simply pathetic?

 

The tension in his fists made his skin bone-white, but he had no spare thought for muscles and abused bones. He would clench them until they shattered if he had to, if only to distract from his traitorous heart.

 

Jin Guangyao was going to die, and Mo Xuanyu wanted to throw himself on the man’s pyre.

 

Love was only ever a terrible thing.

 

He stepped out of his rooms, an anxious energy eating at the edges of his teeth and making him snarl like a kicked dog. Lotus Pier welcomed his restlessness, and he walked its wooden docks for hours, until the anger and fear and dread had coiled into exhaustion.

 

Then he walked more, until the sun had fallen through the water and glowed red.

 

A scrap of conversation had him pausing, footsteps quieting.

 

“Your core has been damaged, Sect Leader, there is no way to know if it can recover as it is now. You have to stop whatever is straining it!”

 

The voice was unfamiliar but worried, ending in the high-pitched note of a doctor’s concern. It was quiet, with the hushed whisper of a spoken secret.

 

It froze Mo Xuanyu in place like a fish in a fine woven net. For a heartbeat, he could not breath. The Sect Leader’s golden core was damaged? The man who stood with Laoshi, shimmering lightning dancing around him?

 

The man that had taken Mo Xuanyu in, and did not hate him?

 

Realization hit like a sword to the gut, like the sword he had seen stab through Laoshi’s stomach and leave shadows bleeding into sun-lit air. The Sect Leader had fallen then too, crumpled to the ground like a shattering cup.

 

With a terrible understanding, Mo Xuanyu knew why.

 

“Enough. Your concerns have been heard, and I don’t need to hear them again.”

 

A rush of fear lit his gut, and he stepped back into the shadows and around the corner, leaving before he could hear anything more. The white of his knuckles had leeched into his face, and he felt faint with a rush of emotion.

 

He ran from that place, exhaustion lost to dread.

 

Sect Leader Jiang was losing his cultivation, but Mo Xuanyu could hardly think of that.

 

What would happen to Wei Laoshi, if the core he lived in went cold and dead? What would happen to the family forged here, if a ghost faded to nothingness?

 

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

It took a long days for the murmurs of planning to surface on Lotus Pier again. Wei Wuxian lived and breathed the life of a happy man, with Lan Zhan standing by his side. He walked the dancing steps of a restful ghost, with Jiang Cheng rolling sharp eyes before him.

 

He laughed as a father, with A-yu and A-ling standing in the quiet peace of his pier. Their feet echoed loud over still water, but polished wood greeted them as old friends.

 

Wei Wuxian had a family, and he had never felt happiness as this.

 

But there was an enemy lurking in the shadows of a thousand days past, and Wei Wuxian had never been one to run from a fight. He stood beside strong fighters, and did not flinch from the truth of the world. They lived moments of happiness, but they planned a battle of fury.

 

Ambush was an underhanded way to defeat an enemy. Ambush didn’t come with laughter and taunts, didn’t come with skill and quick blades.

 

Ambush didn’t come with happy memories, but Wei Wuxian had always cut pieces from his heart to protect his family. He had never been one to back down from the painful path. Victory was victory, and for the peace of Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian would do so much.

 

What would one ambush cost that he could not pay?

Chapter 23: An Ambush

Notes:

Enjoy!! :D

There was an electric tension in the air, like lightning had come to touch down on hard stone and turn it bright as metal. It walked the polished wood of Lotus Pier, dancing over the cracks and corners between planks, digging sparking fingers into water and making it tremble.

 

The world held its breath, and lightning struck. 

 

It was the tension before a battle, and Wei Wuxian smiled before it. It would linger on his tongue for the long hours until the ambush, and he would laugh around its flavor and take careful steps on its metallic path. It would linger until a threat was turned to careless shadow before him, and A-yu’s smile was not bitter.

 

It would linger until they won, but Wei Wuxian only smiled. He stood at the entrance to Lotus Pier, and was not afraid, for he did not stand alone.

 

Glimmering white fabric shifted at his side, made from moonlight and cut into the robes of Gusu. Lan Zhan cast a comforting shadow across his skin, blocking pieces of the morning sun from ghostly cloth.

 

They stood close, and Wei Wuxian still couldn’t believe this was his.

 

A snort caught him, brought his grin back to the man standing before him. The salute caught him next, quick and merciless. It was made from sharp lines and efficiency, hard as the life that had forged it. Glowing like a warrior in purple robes, Jiang Cheng looked like a statue carved from electric stone and fury. The fog of early morning clambered over calloused skin but burned away, caught before the storm building in Jiang veins.

 

But dark eyes were worried, glittering in ways only a brother could read.

 

Wei Wuxian smiled wider, laughed through the tension between them. That storm would not touch Lotus Pier if he left. It would be trapped in a net of shadows, raging against a light it couldn’t touch.

 

Nothing would touch Lotus Pier ever again, if Wei Wuxian stood strong.

 

“Oh, you going to cry Jiang Cheng?” He grinned as he spoke, watched the electric tension dance away from his brother's face.

 

It could not stand before a smile. A snarl met him, fierce as the wind with all the annoyance that lingered in Jiang Cheng’s proud shoulders.

 

It was quite a bit.

 

“Shut up,” came the response, like the touch of Zidian on his skin. But it was gentle, where the whip had been hard, and worried, where the whip had been angry. It crackled over still water but did not char the fragile petals.

 

Jiang Cheng had as much of his father’s sentiment as the rage of his mother. Both were precious, and both made Wei Wuxian laugh.

 

Some things never changed.

 

“Who would cry over you, Wei Wuxian?”

 

The words echoed like lies on still water, making the lake behind them quake and tremble. The memory of burning piers and red stained currents haunted them, threading across each sound and into the air.

 

They threaded between the two men standing there, and the tragedies that hung from their purple robes.

 

What weight was this, to carry. What a weight was this, to hold between the two of them. What fate was this, to life with the weight. 

 

But Wei Wuxian only smiled, grin bright as the morning sun. No fog could shade his happiness, and no storm would break it.

 

He could carry the weight for two men, on this day.

 

“Ah, but you’ve always been so soft, Jiang Cheng. You sure you aren’t going to miss me?” His voice was light and teasing, and it spread through the air as shadows spread after the light.

 

It made Jiang Cheng snort, loud and annoyed in the silence. But it made proud shoulders raise too, the movement small as fingers turning over a ring. They stayed there, light as if a weight had been lifted.

 

It made Wei Wuxian laugh.

 

“I won’t miss you, because you will be returning.”

 

Command echoed with Jiang Cheng’s voice, fine robes cloaking it in the shades of regal purple. There was a pause, a breathless stop between them, held in a thousand shadows and old history. It was held on shared memories that stung like breaking bone. Neither of them wanted to remember an ambush. Neither of them wanted that moment to linger, but it was carved into both of their hearts.

 

Lightning crackled over stone, but it felt weak as wind on wood. It felt fragile as the petals of lotus blooms, and Wei Wuxian wanted to soothe it away.

 

But Jiang Cheng spoke before he could.

 

“That’s an order, brother. Don’t disobey your Clan Leader now.”

 

Brother.

 

Wei Wuxian heard the word and caught it in the air, held it close to a ghostly chest. It fluttered there, sparking with lightning and the fury of history.

 

But its wings were fragile, and he held it close.

 

This was the first time in two decades Jiang Cheng had called him brother, and never had it felt more precious. It was the first time in two decades that they stood with broken and reforged trust between them, made stronger by shattered shadows.

 

It was not the first time they stood as equals.

 

Wei Wuxian laughed and smiled, joy trembling and shaking the pier. The wind brushed across his hair and left it streaming forward, catching at the edge of fog and teasing it to mist.

 

It looked like a banner and a call to arms, made from a ghost that lingered for love.

 

Wei Wuxian would fight with pride, for this family. He would smile even easier.

 

“With such a fine clan leader, how could I think of disobeying, hmm?” Wei Wuxian waved a lazy hand, fingers tracing shadows through the air as he turned away. He did not look back to hear the snort, to see the annoyance.

 

He did not look for the worry, because they had trust.

 

“See you later, brother.” He said, through a laugh and a thousand shadows. It spread over the still waters of Lotus Pier, curled into the depths of a hundred flowers and sheltered their stems.

 

It was light as the weight on Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, and Wei Wuxian meant every word.

 

He would return, and that was all that needed to be said. He moved forward, dancing steps carrying him on the stone road. His heart was set to face every challenge, in power and the notes of an eerie flute.

 

Lan Zhan was beside him, Jiang Cheng behind him, and the world waited on their breath.

 

He should have known it was too good to last.

 

The clattering sound of carriage wheels broke through the fog, broken thunder and cracked dreams come to shake the pier. Stone screamed loud, when it was hit by horse hooves. It screamed louder, in the light of a dawning sun.

 

Wei Wuxian watched the road with a smile and dread, shadows threading through the stone ahead and the polished wood behind.

 

Who was coming to Lotus Pier, and why did they bring the clatter of horses? Why did they bring dread too?

 

With each tremble of ghostly shadows, the sound grew closer. Fine horses pulled a carriage of finer gold and gentle white flowers, and the world shifted. Wheels clattered on stone, loud in the peaceful fog of Lotus Pier. They echoed loud across still water too, until movement stopped and Wei Wuxian felt a laughing fury.

 

Only one sect bore the white flower of gold, and only one man would ride in that carriage. There was a mist of tension lingering in the air between three men, and Wei Wuxian could only dig his teeth into it.

 

The ambush would be no more, just as their plans would be no more; Jin Guangyao had come to them, it seemed.

 

What knives would their enemy bring, on this day? Were the hearts and swords of a ghost, a sect leader, and a man of Gusu enough? Were they enough to protect the pier from fire?

 

Wei Wuxian would ensure it, if it cost every piece of his ghostly soul. Jin Guangyao should be wary of enraging the spirits that laughed across Lotus Pier.

 

He should be very wary.

 

The man stepped from the carriage, feet light and short frame unintimidating. A sword hung at his side and a smile stayed on his lips, polite in the dawning light.

 

He looked like a gentle man, and Wei Wuxian wanted to destroy him. He wanted to tear gold fabric to pieces for the bitter twist of Mo Xuanyu’s lips. He wanted to smile the lethal touch of poison, for the mastermind of Wen Ning's misery. He wanted to rip Jin Guangyao into shreds, for the ambush the man could have stopped.

 

None of this needed to happen.  

 

But he did not move, standing in dancing shadows and the dawning sun. There was a dangerous energy threading through ghostly bones, and it made him want to smirk at Jin Guangyao in challenge.

 

It made him want to fight like he had during the war. But there was a peaceful pier behind him, and a family warming his heart. Lan Zhan stood at his side now, and Jiang Cheng at his back. There was no need for the fury of war.

 

There was no need for anything but the flute trapped in the miasma of his shadows, and the speed of his sword.

 

So Wei Wuxian smiled, and it tasted like death.   

 

Jin Guangyao looked at the three of them, eyes taking in the fine white robes of Lan Zhan and the inked darkness of Wei Wuxain. They must make quite a dashing pair, Wei Wuxian thought, and it would have made him smile if he didn’t know how suspicious this was.

 

No one outside of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect had seen the two of them together, but rumors were sure to spread. A man with laughter and bright eyes that the Sect Leader had adopted as brother-in-blood was suspicious enough--  a man the peerless Second Jade of the Gusu Lan Sect following in every step? That was damning. 

 

Rumors could never truly be stopped, and Wei Wuxian knew what these would say.

 

The Lan only ever loved once.

 

“Sect Leader,” Jin Guangyao said, nod small and courteous. Golden robes shifted in the dawning light, glimmering as the sun itself.

 

Jin Guangyao looked so kind, standing on the stones of the Yunmeng road. He looked like a good man, leading the world of cultivators to a better future. He looked like a great man, and Wei Wuxian tasted ash and bitter flame at the thought.

 

“Senior Jiang, Second Master Lan. I had not expected to see you here.”

 

Wei Wuxian heard echoes in the silence after the words, and knew them to be lies. But he did not need to speak, not now.

 

Jiang Cheng stepped forward, driven by the currents of the world. Purple robes absorbed the light of morning, shading darker with old memories and Wei Wuxian’s shadows.

 

His brother stood before him and spoke like a leader.

 

“What do we owe your presence to, Head Cultivator?”

 

The words were barely respectful, but Jiang Cheng’s face was smoothed into a cold stare. It was the look of a strong man, of one annoyed with the unknown. Wei Wuxian’s grin went sharp and angry at it. Weight pulled proud shoulders down again, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t lift them now.

 

Jin Guangyao deserved something worse than death for that.

 

“Sect Leader Jiang. I apologize for the lack of warning, but I had urgent news that could not be held up.”

 

Jin Guangyao smiled as he spoke, expression bright and kind with a politician’s politeness. Even Wei Wuxian, with all his knowledge of this man and the secrets a cunning ghost spoke, could not see a lie.

 

Jin Guangyao looked an honest man, standing on smooth stone. The fog curled over Wei Wuxian’s shadows and made him restless and wary, made his smile grow sharper still.

 

So much could be hidden in fog, tucked away from sight and into untouchable darkness. Even a ghost could not reach all those depths, and what lurked there were hungry secrets.

 

Wei Wuxian watched Jin Guangyao, and remembered another polite emissary to Lotus Pier, long years ago. Those enemies had worn the red sun of the Wen Clan, and they had brought death.

 

He didn’t think Jin Guangyao would be so reckless, but the similarities made him itch.

 

“I hate to impose, but could we perhaps take this inside? This matter is of some seriousness.” Jin Guangyao inclined his head, and spoke with a quiet earnestness. The man looked concerned, and the sun shading him with light painted him serious.

 

Such grace, such polite words-- Wei Wuxian felt only dread.

 

Jiang Cheng nodded before him, the expression tight. Fog curled over a lightning glare and was not burned away.

 

The weight was so heavy.

 

“Fine.”

 

Quick motions had a room prepared, a servant stepping light feet across the pier behind them.

 

Slow ones had Jiang Cheng turning to Wei Wuxian. There was a brother’s fear crackling in sharp eyes, and Wei Wuxian could not escape it.

 

“Jiang Ying, Hanguang-jun, your journey awaits.” He nodded to the wide stone road with all its fog-hidden length.

 

So much darkness lurked in the corners, and Wei Wuxian was only a piece of it.

 

“Do not wait,” Jiang Cheng said, voice commanding. Do not let him stop you, was what he meant, and Wei Wuxian heard it in every twist of still air.

 

There was lightning crackling between them, and it stung more than any weight.

 

But it didn’t matter; Jin Guangyao was ever polite and ever cunning, and the smile painted on gentle lips was careful. A quiet voice broke through the tension, spread it out against the fog and made it collect in a thousand shadows.

 

“Ah, Sect Leader, I don’t mean to interrupt but Senior Jiang is the teacher of Mo Xuanyu if I am not mistaken?”

 

The fog curled and curled around Wei Wuxian, through Jiang Cheng’s jerky nod and through a flash of terrible fear. Dread curled in shadowed bones, and he smiled a sharp smile.

 

What did the man want with A-yu?

 

“It would be best if Senior Jiang joined us for this discussion, if the Sect Leader permits it.”

 

The words were polite and kind, echoing over quiet stone and the morning light as flowers in a breeze.

 

But everyone knew their weight. Such a request could not be ignored, not from the Head Cultivator, and not when a golden carriage lingered before them.

 

There was no way forward but back. The stone path stretched behind Wei Wuxian, wrapped in the grey blankets of fog. Lan Zhan stood at his side, white robes shimmering and the sealed body of Xue Yang tucked into a pouch.

 

They had both been ready to take down the man now standing before them, with weapons honed and a trap planned. But it had all burned away in the sun, like the fog around them and the hope curving up inky robes.

 

There was no way to leave now.

 

Wei Wuxian clasped his hands before him, painting curtesy into a slight bow. It felt sharp and dark with shadows.

 

It felt deadly, and he smiled like the corpse master he had once been.

 

“Who am I to refuse, if asked so nicely?”

 

He spoke to Jin Guangyao, but all of him was tuned to the movements at his side. For a long moment, Lan Zhan did not move, golden eyes speaking volumes of the love they had only just found. Wei Wuxian had felt them on his skin and through his soul, and heard the fear.

 

Lan Zhan could not accompany them, not now. There was a cause to fight and a war to plan. If this trap was set, Wei Wuxian did not want Lan Zhan caught in its maws.

 

But the man had always been as good at breaking rules as following them, even through the principles of Gusu.

 

“Head Cultivator,” came the cloudy words of Gusu, light and ever-melodious. “I would join you.”

 

Ghostly bones had never felt tighter, and dead breaths had never felt harder to take. Lan Zhan couldn’t come, but Wei Wuxian wanted him to.

 

There was the slightest pause, the barest hint of hesitation, and then Jin Guangyao spoke with a smile cut from gold and quiet regret.

 

It looked honest. 

 

“I am afraid, Second Jade, that this is a family matter.”

 

For a trembling heartbeat, it seemed like Lan Zhan would resist the answer. White robes shimmered in the sun, silent and still until a shadow tugged at peerless cloth.

 

It was a small thing, barely large enough to fit in a palm. It had once hidden below a lotus petal, and now it hid under the fog of morning.

 

But it touched Lan Zhan’s robes with love. He nodded then, a statue of fine jade in motion, and walked from them as the moon falling from the sky.

 

But he did not leave Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian tried not to let the worry coat his throat with silence, where there should have been teasing words.

 

Long steps and brittle conversation had them closeted inside Jiang Cheng’s study, finely painted lotus blooms growing over the walls and a dance of leaves chasing after them. Dark wood and breezy silks made the room lush with the purples and lilacs of their sect; a low desk and honing steel made it the room of a cultivator.

 

The old teacups made it home.

 

They settled down, Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao seated across from each other and the steaming blush of hot tea coloring the air between them.

 

It looked like the fog that lingered outside of polished walls; Wei Wuxian wondered at the demons that lurked in it. He wondered if he could devour them as he devoured A-ling’s nightmares, over the years.

 

Then he sat to his brother’s side, and wondered no more. There were shadows aplenty here, and the room was familiar beyond measure, but anger and fear made it hard to resist the energy flooding his ghostly body.

 

He thought of Mo Xuanyu and wanted to rip the man before him to pieces. He thought of A-yu and knew he could not kill him.

 

But why was Jin Guangyao here?

 

He did not need to wait to find out. As soon as the last servants left in flurries of quiet purple and nerves, Jin Guangyao began to speak.

 

“My wife…” He trailed off, the words dipping into grief.

 

“She has taken her life.”

There was a moment of silence, of cutting pain and sympathy. Despite all he knew of Jin Guangyao, the man had been famously in love, and the Lady of Koi tower had been a radiant beauty and skilled cultivator. 

 

The loss was to be mourned.

 

“I am sorry for your loss, but I fail to see what brings you here.” The words were quick and bare-boned, Jiang Cheng’s tongue as sharp as ever. It sounded tight, spoken inside polished walls.

 

This study had always been a private place. It felt invaded now, and Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh and rage.

 

Jin Guangyao paused for a heartbeat, lifting the steaming teacup up and taking a gentle sip. The cup was a thing of fine porcelain and careful painting, curves of lotus buds blooming across the shining surface.

 

It looked like home.

 

It was a Jiang Clan cup, passed from father to son and full of memories. Wei Wuxian knew them too well, and they never failed to make him burn as wood had burned, long years ago.

 

Seeing an enemy hold them made him burn with anger instead.

 

“My brothers are dead. My son is dead. My wife is now dead, by her own hand. Jin Ling is yet young, and while he is sure to be a fine cultivator, he has responsibilities to two great families.”

 

Dread coiled like steam across the room, collecting on Wei Wuxian’s skin and pooling over his shadows. The words were a show of respect, of honor to the Yunmeng Jiang Sect.

 

They were a mark of the power that hadn’t faded, of a clan that had grown strong around a family.

 

They were a mark of threat, and Wei Wuxian felt each word move still water. Jin Guangyao’s face was case in grief, but he felt only dread.

 

Wei Wuxian had a sinking feeling he knew what was coming.

 

“I have little family left, and those I do I would hold close.”

 

In the serious walls of Jiang Cheng’s study, with tea sitting in family cups before them, Jin Guangyao was asking for Mo Xuanyu back. The fragile boy who was fraught with anger and bitter loneliness, the boy who had become a strong and furious soul in Lotus Pier. The boy who held a staff of resentful energy and had the training to fight the world, one corpse and fury at a time.

 

The man who Wei Wuxian called his son. The man who was desperately, horribly, drawn to Jin Guangyao.

 

Love was truly a terrible thing.

 

“You wish to take Mo Xuanyu back to Koi Tower.” Jiang Cheng’s statement was flat, no question but understanding.

 

He did not sound happy, but Jin Guangyao’s fingers remained steady on fine cups. A polite smile did not slip, just as grief did not fade from earnest eyes.

 

Jin Guangyao looked like the man spoke truth, but there was no strain on calloused fingers.  

 

Wei Wuxian’s knuckles were far from as lucky. Had he not been a ghost with shadows to line his bones and furious energy to make him strong, he would have broken his skin with tension.

 

He would have cracked and bled, on the floor of Jiang Fengmian. It would have been worth the pain, for the chance to protect A-yu.

 

“No, Sect Leader. I wish to take Jin Xuanyu back. I would accept his blood into the clan. As a child of lesser circumstances I know the pain of being a bastard son; I would not wish the same fate on him.”

 

The tone was sincere and touching, and Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh and laugh and rip the man’s heart out. He wanted to rage like war had come to his bones again.

 

Jin Guangyao had let Mo Xuanyu taste the same fate for years at Koi Tower, had let the boy taste shame and the ash of hatred. Jin Guangyao had let A-yu fall in love, had let him be taken away.

 

What a fake smile this was, and how much did Wei Wuxian wish to break it to pieces. He cut in, disrespectful but unyielding. For all of his life, he had stood strong and furious in the storm, laughed before death.

 

He would not run from a mortal cultivator now.  

 

“To be frank, Head Cultivator, you are aware Mo Xuanyu is a cut-sleeve?” The words were sharp and cutting, and he said them with the lazy smile of the damned. If nothing else, maybe shame would sway Jin Guangyao away.

 

Wei Wuxian would slander anyone's reputation if that’s what it took. Anything to protect A-yu.

 

“I am aware. But to be truthful, Senior Jiang, I do not think we should judge for this. I know you agree.”

 

Sparkling eyes knew too much. They would look better if there was no light.

 

Wei Wuxian smiled, sharp as splintering wood. No gilded current could wash him away, not even Jin Guangyao's words. His shadows were too strong for that, and he lingered for love.

 

“Ah but Head Cultivator, I certainly can’t let my disciple leave yet, when I've barely been training him for a year. What a poor teacher I would be!”

 

The words echoed like mist, but they spread over still water as miasma. Wei Wuxian had carved them from the memories of war in his soul, and they were threat made voice.

 

He wanted Jin Guangyao to fear him.

 

But the man just smiled again, polite and gentle as a summer breeze.

 

“Certainly not! I would never take a student from such a skilled teacher as I have heard you to be. Perhaps Senior Jiang would do us the honor of accompanying us to Koi Tower.”

 

Realization struck as lightning, and it was unavoidable as the wind. Wei Wuxian’s shadows were caught in the breeze, and they trembled before it.

 

He wanted to rage too.

 

Jin Guangyao had not come here for Mo Xuanyu at all. No, the man stepped gentle feet into Lotus Pier for him, for the ghost that danced over lotus blooms. Wei Wuxian didn’t know what had set off the man’s suspicion, what wrong step they had made or what rumors had spread from still waters, but it didn’t matter. Jin Guangyao had come to place a sword in their plans and leave them stranded across polished docks, fish caught in a net.

 

No insurance was better than hostages.

 

Jiang Cheng saw this too, and his expression grew stormy as the sky. “You would take my only heir as well? Head Cultivator, I cannot allow—”

 

Heir, Jiang Cheng had said heir.

 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t let himself think of the weight of that title, though it made his ghostly heart grow light. He was the servant’s son, the one without the blood of the Jiang. For all his life he had laughed that ache away, content to stand at Jiang Cheng’s side and walk a path to the impossible.

 

Wei Wuxian had always been his mother’s son, and he did not need blood to mark his worth.

 

But Jiang Cheng had said heir. There was a bubbling happiness curling through his chest, and he used it to make his smile vicious.

 

It tasted like broken swords and shattered iron, and he laughed at the flavor.

 

“Brother. If the Head Cultivator wishes it, I think I can manage a few months in Koi Tower. Provided the food is spicy enough.”

 

It didn’t matter if he was walking directly into a trap. He could not let Mo Xuanyu go alone.

Chapter 24: The Stone Road

Notes:

this has one of my favorite wangxian scenes I've ever written, please enjoy!

They walked out into the fog of midday, and it touched ghostly skin like light burning away shadows. The pier was heavy with dark thoughts, but the calm broke through even the harshest currents.

 

Still water welcomed them, as Wei Wuxian made plans to leave. Jin Guangyao would wait, he said, with horses and carriage already ready for the journey. Jin Guangyao had prepared every piece of the journey, every step towards Koi Tower.

 

Jin Guangyao was really so polite; it made Wei Wuxian’s skin crawl, made him want to rip off the gentle smile and fight with the warrior in his blood.

 

It made him fear, but he had always walked light steps into danger. He would do so now, even when his heart weighed heavy in a ghostly chest.

 

Wei Wuxian had always been unstoppable, and death could not change that.

 

Steps dancing but shadows raging, he set out to the archives of Lotus Pier. He did not need to guess where Mo Xuanyu would be, not since the duel that left him bleeding shadows on the pier.

 

Wei Wuxian had fallen on that day, but Mo Xuanyu had been consumed. Something had gripped his student into a frenzy of research, tied A-yu’s hands to books and his eyes to sleeplessness.

 

The boy had not said why, even through laughing questions and long days. Wei Wuxian had been content to let it play itself out, had been content to wait for the slow reveal.

 

A-yu had wanted to do this on his own, and Wei Wuxian would trust in that.

 

But now they didn’t have that time.

 

The man was hunched over a pile of loose paper and scrolls, lantern light flickering across his face and casting it into a thousand shifting shadows. Concentration made tired eyes look sharp in the half-light, and for a moment, Wei Wuxian just stood and looked on.

 

His student and his son, grown into the person he was meant to be. Here, in the depths of Lotus Pier, the bitter wash had faded from his eyes and left him happy.

 

Here, A-yu walked with a staff of resentful energy and strength to defeat enemies.

 

And now the boy would be thrust back into the world that had hurt him so, and the only thing Wei Wuxian could do was stand by his side.

 

“A-yu.” The man looked up, eyes sparking from thoughtful to panicked to guarded. Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh at the guilt, the shadows shifting around them playful and damning.

 

But now was not a moment for that.

 

“Laoshi, do you need me?” A-yu shifted calloused hands across the paper before him, motion meant to be casual and only achieving obvious.

 

Another time, Wei Wuxian would have laughed and tugged the papers out, curiosity driving him to teasing. Another time, he would have read the books and picked at his student’s brain to understand what drove A-yu to the dusty archives.

 

Now, he stood furious sentinel, his face set to protective anger and a hand clenched across the shadows twirling in his robes.

 

He could fight the world if he had to, raise all his power to the sky and scream the heavens to pieces. For Mo Xuanyu— for A-ling, for Jiang Cheng, for Lan Zhan— he would do it in a heartbeat.

 

What was a little hostage situation in comparison?

 

“You’ve been summoned back to Koi Tower,” he said, and felt the words echo into the dust and leave it undisturbed.

 

Mo Xuanyu’s face wasn’t so lucky; first came heartbreak, and then fear endless as the night. Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh it away, make it crumble into pieces.

 

He could not.

 

“What? No, Laoshi, you know why I can’t go back there. I can’t.”

 

Panic was growing in the words, and the man stood, hands trembling like leaves in the wind. Papers scattered behind A-yu like the last hopes of a drowning man, scattered on still water.

 

Wei Wuxian would make sure they didn’t sink beneath the surface.

 

He held up a hand, made it steady with shadows. Now, he could not show his student the fear in his heart. He had to be strong, before his fury and his protective rage.

 

He would be.

 

“I know, A-yu, and that’s why I will be going with you.”

 

The fear shifted to shock, but the trembling hands gentled into a quiver. Wei Wuxian looked at those hands and knew he had made the right decision.

 

“What, but—”

 

Mo Xuanyu stopped, face twisting into a bitter fury. Then he began again, with all the rage Wei Wuxian had taught him to harness.

 

“Laoshi I’m glad but you have more to risk. What if someone finds out? What if hefinds out? It’s stupid.”

 

The dust was blown into the air by his exhale, and even Wei Wuxian’s shadows could not collect it back in time.

 

He laughed, soft and delicate in the silence. Scrolls decorated the walls like a tiling of knowledge across the room, but words painted the floor with understanding.

 

It was fitting, to say this here.

 

“Ah, what is a student without a teacher? I can hardly leave you alone now.”

 

He smiled, and watched the bitter thorns melt from Mo Xuanyu’s expression. Fear was bright in those eyes, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t let himself doubt.

 

“You are stronger than your heart, A-yu. Trust yourself.”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

Everything was accounted for, every bag tied in place and every horse fed and brushed to silky smoothness. A finer parade had not been seen in months, for the bustling docks of Lotus Pier rarely held guests.

 

Everyone was waiting, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t there. His feet carried him out of the main complex, light as the winds around them, light and full of dread. Wood creaked beneath weight he didn’t have, and a breeze caught his hair and swept it back into a banner behind him.

 

He looked like a man, and not a ghost. He looked like a warrior walking to war, and he grinned bright as the dawn.

 

Lan Zhan was waiting for him, out on that lonely pier. How the man knew to be here, and how Wei Wuxian knew he would be, was a mystery.

 

But his heart had told him to walk these creaking docks, and so he had. But his shadows shifted and called him to a pier that was no longer lonely, and he walked to greet a man brighter than the moon.

 

He walked the last steps with dread creeping up his spine, but his steps were dancing.

 

With robes white as bone and twice as pure, Lan Zhan looked like the curved bow of a lily, standing vigil on the lonely pier. The sun caught on a stern face and set it a-glow in afternoon light, but Wei Wuxian wanted it gentle and smiling just for him.

 

Lan Zhan looked fine as jade, and the heat in Wei Wuxian’s blood was like magma.

 

He did not look away.

 

“I will journey with you,” came the greeting, and it was quiet as the brush of clouds across skin.

 

It made ghostly ribs ache.  

 

Oh, how Wei Wuxian wished it could be that simple. He never wanted to leave Lan Zhan’s side again, wanted those strong hands supporting him when he stumbled and fine ribbon twisting across his skin. He wanted his equal, in war and peace, in life and long past death.

 

He wanted Lan Zhan by his side forever, but life had never been so simple.

 

Wei Wuxian smiled into the sun, watched light trickle off lotus petals and into the water below. It washed away the shadows and made them darker, and he felt each flickering change in his bones.

 

“You have to convince your brother to help us. You have to convince him his closest friend is guilty, and that won’t be an easy task, not even for you Lan Zhan! Your face may be lovely but your brother won’t fall to your charms.”

 

He laughed as he spoke, bright and burning through his shadows. It felt weak, before Lan Zhan’s gilded stare.

 

He spoke anyway.

 

“Then you can come to Koi Tower and whisk me off my feet and into your bed.”

 

He pressed a hand across the fine white robes before him, daring and quick. The silk was smooth beneath his fingers, and so very warm.

 

If Jin Guangyao had not won by then, whispered into the air between them, lonely and sad and filled with terrible potential.

 

Lan Zhan curled strong fingers over his, held his hand like it was a precious thing. Wei Wuxian’s heart would never not flutter, before those golden eyes.

 

“You were lost to me once, Wei Ying, and I will not lose you again.”

 

Despite the dread coiling in his stomach, a serpent of furious shadow, Wei Wuxian laughed.

 

“Oh, you are stuck with me now, Lan Zhan. But trust me in this; I am no wilting flower, to be blown over by the breeze.”

 

Shadows broke across his face, and spread over still water to whisper tales of death and destruction, of graves dug up and bodies turned to weapons.

 

They whispered the tale of Wei Wuxian, and he grinned with their fury.

 

“I am the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, or have you forgotten?”

 

He smiled like cracked ice and fed all his anger into the gleam of his teeth. He would not let Jin Guangyao win, just as he would not let anything destroy the family that bloomed across Lotus Pier.

 

Wei Wuxian would guard this place with all his power, no matter the cost.

 

But those golden eyes still looked sad.

 

“No.” Lan Zhan stepped closer, peerless face touched by the sun trembling around them but unmarred. “You are Wei Ying.”

 

Do not forget, golden eyes said, whispering and desperate. Do not lose yourself again, smooth lips said, when they pressed into his and left him trembling. Do not leave me, the fingers curved at his waist said, as they gripped his hips like iron bars.

 

Wei Wuxian wanted to break apart in Lan Zhan’s arms and never leave, wanted to lose himself in the happiness he had worked for.

 

Love was truly terrible.

 

His smile was cracking, but he spoke anyway, forced the words off his tongue and out of the desperate clutch of his chest.

 

They sounded precious.

 

“Hah! Is my name all I am to you, Hanguang-jun? Am I not yours too, Lan Zhan?”

 

The man lifted a hand to pull the ribbon from his head, the cloudy silk drifting across ghostly skin like a gentle kiss.

 

He remembered the last time it had pressed into his skin and shivered, a rush of lust clogging his veins. But Lan Zhan just tied it around his wrist, twisting the fabric around and around until it was tied into a bow and bound.

 

Long hair streamed out freely, and Wei Wuxian felt his breath catch.

 

Lan Zhan, peerless jade with the face carved from stone, with the eyes of molten gold that glimmered like the dawn—

 

He was smiling.

 

“Always.”

 

The lotus petals were so beautiful, glimmering on the water like jewels of snow and crystal. Here they trembled with the currents, there they sent shadows chasing over the fish far beneath.

 

They were truly beautiful, but on that lonely pier, Wei Wuxian thought their beauty paled before Lan Zhan’s.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The cliffs high above greeted him like an old friend, barren and clean of all but neat marks and the rules of his house. Fog hung like a shroud around it, thick and green with the light of moss and trees and shadow.

 

Fog had clung to him in Lotus Pier too. It had pressed over his white robes and left them shadowed, but he had never cared.

 

The shadows held Wei Ying, and for that smile Lan Wangji would do so much.

 

Heart beating a quick rhythm in his chest, Lan Wangji stepped faster but with no less grace.

 

The sooner he brought Xue Yang to his brother, the sooner he could be by Wei Ying’s side. He would walk a thousand days if he must, and crawl another ten, if it meant a quicker return to that smile.

 

The path before him opened up like a blooming flower, and in the elegant lines of the Cloud Recesses greetings were called out from all sides. Respectful disciples lined the courtyards, bowing before Hanguang-jun, dutiful and disciplined as they should be.

 

But their faces were shocked.

 

He couldn’t stop and wouldn’t let himself slow, but his forehead felt bare and barren. The feeling was strange, like a sword stripped from his hand.

 

His fingers itched to straighten something that was no longer there, just as his hair flowed loose and free in the wind.

 

But it was worth every piece of unease lining his bones. Wei Ying was worth everything.

 

The courtyards of the Gusu Lan Sect were nothing like the chaos of Wei Ying and his students, nothing like the wicked laughter caught in every corner of polished wood and pressing breathless into Lan Wangji’s skin.

 

They were silent and respectful, as were the students and even the curve of trees. Everything was set in its place, as the rules dictated.

 

Wei Ying had hated it here, he remembered, as he nodded to Lan Yuan. The boy looked healthy and disciplined, a gentle smile making the young face shine.

 

Lan Wangji had still not told Wei Ying of A-yuan’s fate, of the boy he had saved all those years ago. Would that matter? Would that change the mind of a genius like Wei Ying, made to break the laws of the world?

 

Would he still hate it here, if Lan Wangji gave him a son and his heart?

 

Lan Wangji didn’t know, but it didn’t matter; he would walk Wei Ying’s path, be it narrow or wide.

 

He would walk with Wei Ying, for as long as the ghost allowed.

 

Lan Wangji found his brother in the Library Pavilion, poised above a thick scroll, ink brush held between gentle fingers. Lan Xichen smiled like sun and moon had met and glimmered together with poise.

 

His brother had always been so free with his smiles.

 

“Wangji! It has been too long since you were requested by Sect Leader Jiang. Was the issue sorted?”

 

He turned to look fully at Lan Wangji as he spoke, and at the end of that smooth turn the smile had dipped into shock.

 

“Wangji, your ribbon…”

 

Silence hung on his words, heavy with implication and strain. Between them floated words too deep to speak.

 

But Lan Wangji had never needed to speak to be heard. He knelt at his brother’s side, graceful as the dawn.

 

“It is nothing, brother,” he said, settling the matter with a single line. A breeze brushed across the bare skin of his face and prickled it with loneliness.

 

How strange, that thirteen years had not made him immune to this pain.

 

“You,” His brother stopped like he had been struck, for a moment and a slow eternity. Lan Wangji did not move and did not care.

 

The breeze felt so calm, now.

 

The next words came slow and sad, spoken from a terrible understanding. “You found him again?”

 

There was no question of who him was. The members of the Lan Clan had always felt so deeply, with all their disciplined hearts and every ounce of energy shimmering beneath their skin. In this, they were maddened and monstrous.

 

Love was truly a terrible thing.

 

Lan Wangji said nothing, but his brother had never had trouble reading him. A face like his went gentle and sad, eyes wet with nostalgia.

 

“I am glad.”

 

Soft eyes and a soft heart, but a blade as sharp as steel. His brother truly was kind. The breeze brushed across his skin and he felt sadness curl under his bones.

 

“Brother, I have news,” he said, and meant, I have come to break your hopes.  

 

And it would be difficult to tell, with where his brother’s soft heart lay. But Lan Wangji had never shied from hard tasks and now would be no different.

 

He would speak the truth, for all its pain.

Chapter 25: The Gold Path

Notes:

Sorry for the delay! IRL is kicking my ass and Ghost is also being a pain to edit, but here we are! Hopefully two more chapters after this, but it could stretch to three depending on edits. Also I'm playing fast and loose with the amount of time it takes to travel anywhere because of Plot Reasons, so if it doesn't add up I'm sorry and pretend it does

*coco collapses after pressing the post button*

A man stood on a pier, and the water echoed with his loneliness. A man stood on a pier, and watched his family splinter and break away from him.

 

He watched them go, with lightning crackling across his shoulders and hands that shook in the wind. The wood beneath his feet echoed with laughter, but still water held no sound.

 

A man stood, and did not speak to the ghosts that haunted him.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

 

The gilt and glamor of Koi Tower shone like sunlight cast over white stone, catching on the corners of a thousand murals and painting them in warmth. It cut a tall picture, walls raising high in the sky and piercing the very heavens. It cut an imposing one too, with stairs exposed to sun and arrows alike.

 

Wei Wuxian walked up those stairs many times, and each time he laughed and danced and remembered an ambush. Each time, his shadows boiled hotter beneath his skin.

 

It was a beautiful place, with white peonies marking the walls and gold paint lining the shape of each petal. Here, the tea was endless and the food was lavish. Here, a thousand gentle voices echoed over polished stone like bells in the night.

 

It was a beautiful place, but Wei Wuxian didn’t care for it.

 

A week spent in guest quarters had him crawling out of his skin with boredom. Two weeks bathed in the finest silks and endless wealth of the Lanling Jin Sect had him skin worried and smiling against it. There were servants waiting on his every wish, and disciples lingering at the edge of his vision.

 

This was a world of polite power, lingering beneath the painted roof of Koi Tower. Wei Wuxian wanted to step across that roof and spill liquor across the fine white stone. He wanted to mark them as foolish, and laugh into the shadows of the moon.

 

He did not.

 

This place had the gilded bars of a prison, and he would not break them until A-yu was safe. Better to smile and laugh and walk the bright path, then to endanger his student.

 

Wei Wuxian had always been good at walking two paths, anyway.

 

He spent every moment he could by Mo Xuanyu’s side, stepping light feet across gilded stone and leaving a thousand shadows sneaking away in his wake. He watched the tension crawl higher and higher up his student’s back, until the confident man had faded and all that was left was the bitter boy that had once screamed in a garden.

 

But the man wasn’t Mo Xuanyu now but Jin Xuanyu, brought into the clan and made legitimate.

 

With the feelings that curled in A-yu’s chest, Wei Wuxian knew this was worse. Dark eyes had not stopped darting, since they stepped into Koi Tower. Now a proud jaw would not unclench, and spite licked between them again.

 

A-yu had grown strong in Lotus Pier, but there were so many memories to burn him here.

 

Wei Wuxian would stand before all the pain of the world if he had to, would laugh and smirk and rage in the face of polite smiles and gilded danger.

 

But he could not take this burden.

 

Not yet.

 

Idle feet had him leaping onto a wall, meandering over the gilt and stone. Servants and disciples rushed below, calling up to him and darting worried glances at his shadow. They walked in the sunlight, but the speed of their footsteps said they wanted to run.

 

Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh them into relaxation, wanted to spill liquor over their heads and stain gold robes.

 

But that wasn’t his purpose right now. Now, all he could do was protect A-yu, and all he would do was walk over the walls, but not the roofs.

 

The roofs were not his, now.

 

After a few moments of light steps and the whispering reports of a hundred shadows, a voice called up to him. It was familiar, as still water was familiar, as proud children and crackling lightning were familiar.

 

It was familiar as only family could be.

 

“Laoshi,” echoed up, tight and short with anger. Wei Wuxian leapt from the wall with a dancing step, landing beside Jin Xuanyu with a swirl of shadows and a playful smile.

 

It was not returned. A-yu was not smiling, and had not in long days.

 

In Lotus Pier, A-yu had been the prized disciple of the clan heir, and had been treated with respect. Over the months that had morphed to genuine affection, and the people of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect had known him as fighter and fierce warrior, as friend and student.

 

But Koi Tower knew him only as cut-sleeve. Here he was a bitter boy with improper urges, a failure that had never grown into the talent of the Jin. Here, sly glances and whispers followed his every step, even with Wei Wuxian to laugh them away.

 

Here, A-yu was nothing but trash.

 

But there had been no attempt to bully or shame, no strong men in a garden. Wei Wuxian didn’t know whether to credit that to his vicious smile or the announcement that had followed them here.

 

From this day onward, Mo Xuanyu is to be Jin Xuanyu, my heir and brother, Jin Guangyao had said, with a voice that brooked no argument, and eyes like steel. The Head Cultivator had smiled through that announcement, gentle and polite as an autumn rain.

 

Wei Wuxian had never felt unease creep into his spine so quickly. Since Xue Yang spoke curses and truth as a ghost, Wei Wuxian had known Jin Guangyao was a man to be cautious of. Plots and plans spun out like spider webs, from the golden roofs of Koi Tower. This announcement tasted like a plot made to trap the Jiang. 

 

But Wei Wuxian was not afraid. 

 

Jin Guangyao was a man to be wary of, but Wei Wuxian was to be feared. For his family, for the peace he had found in still water: for them, he would be the Yiling Laozu again, with a smile and a thousand dancing shadows.

 

For them, he would kill. 

 

His lips tightened, and his smile went hard as breaking ice. He would protect A-yu, even if it cost him every shadow lining his bones and twining to make the strength of his muscle.

 

Wei Wuxian had ever been a relentless soul, and he would give his all for the family that stood together on quiet piers.

 

The ribbon on his wrist caught the wind, and Wei Wuxian watched it shift and spin through the air.

 

He felt ice crack and shift beneath his skin, and his smile gentled.

 

“Laoshi, something is wrong,” the words were quiet and soft, but so very angry. A-yu’s face was puckered with bitterness, and all the more distressing for it.

 

Alarm raced up a ghostly spine, and the shadows around him shifted, careful as ink spills.

 

He was worried. The feeling swirled through him, unstoppable as the shine of the sun overhead.

 

White walls looked so clean, for all their filthy secrets.

 

“Why the long face, A-yu? What happened? You better tell me, or I’ll never stop teasing you.”

 

He stepped forward as he spoke, until they walked together through gilded halls. Ghostly steps were light and deadly, but A-yu’s were heavy with spite.

 

The man looked regal, in golden robes and white silk. With a bamboo staff at his side and a frown on his face, he looked small.

 

“Today, the Head Cultivator took me aside to discuss heirs,” Jin Xuanyu said, and the words were heavy with confusion. They were heavy with bitter rage too, and the pain of a man long scorned.

 

The words dragged Wei Wuxian’s smile away too, for the first time in long days and longer years. He stared at the set of A-yu’s shoulders and felt old.

 

He felt the fury of a protective teacher too, marking every shadow that boiled around him. His gaze narrowed, went dark and stormy as the ink stains swirling under white walls.

 

If Jin Guangyao dared force this, if the man tried to trap A-yu into a marriage as well as a tower—

 

Well, the fury of the Yiling Patriarch hadn’t been felt in long years, but white stone would shake with it now.

 

But that rage was banked, by what A-yu said next.

 

“He said that it was more than fine to take A-ling as my heir, should I choose not to marry.”

 

Choose not to marry echoed between them, the words nearly unthinkable. The survival of the clan depended on marriage and the bloodline. It was the duty of the heir to carry gilded blood to a child, to continue the line. The blood of Jin Guangshan ran through A-yu’s veins, and that was all that mattered for the bright halls of Koi Tower.

 

But here Jin Guangyao was, not forcing marriage on A-yu. Wei Wuxian had expected something very different, had expected force and trickery and manipulation. He had prepared for a spymaster, for the cunning man and peerless actor Xue Yang had described.

 

He had been prepared for a snake, and now Jin Guangyao played the part of a rabbit. Here they were in the viper pit, and yet there was no venom but welcome.

 

What was the man planning?

 

For a long moment there was no answer, and two men stood in an eerie silence over gilded stone. They stood as teacher and student, father and son, but for a long heartbeat they felt like allies.

 

Mo Xuanyu had grown so much, from the bitter boy he had once been. There was a dark staff across his back, and determination in a spiteful jaw.

 

For all the tension around them, Wei Wuxian was proud.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

 

Three long weeks passed like this, on the edge of a sharp blade but never teetering off. Moments walked by, cast in the haze of suspicion and the gilded light of Koi Tower.

 

But Jin Guangyao did nothing but smile, and spoke no words but kindness. The man was the picture of a grieving husband, from weary eyes to shoulders pressed ever so slightly down.

 

If Wei Wuxian had not known it to be lies, he would have believed that smile. He might even have felt pity, because he knew the sting of loss too.

 

Lotus blooms burst across his memories, beautiful and fragile on still water. They used to flicker in the water, caught in sunlight but casting long shadows. They cast long shadows over his life now, and he curled his fingers in them and felt their depth.

 

He knew loss so well.

 

But this was no kind man but a peerless actor, and Wei Wuxian could not let down the wall of his shadows.

 

So he laughed and smiled his way through each day, soothing away Mo Xuanyu’s stress with kind words and a teasing grin. He laughed over white stone, and in the center of training grounds and fine halls where laughter didn’t belong.

 

He laughed, to drown out the silence.

 

But this tension was wearing on both of them, and it did A-yu’s bitter rage no favors.

 

Jin Guangyao, for all intents and purposes, was a good man who adopted a bastard child. He led his court with kindness and discipline, and treated Wei Wuxian with endless respect.

 

There was nothing bad to be seen, and it made his shadows swirl restlessly. They spilled through every crack of white stone, and into the dark foundations of a darker palace.

 

He collected more each day, until all of Koi Tower was covered in his power. But he did not let them lash out into the light.

 

Wei Wuxian laughed over the echoes of silence, and did not strike.

 

When Lan Zhan arrived, he would begin to prod the viper's den. With Lan Zhan here, Wei Wuxian could risk an attack. As white ribbon lingered across a ghostly wrist, he knew he could trust Lan Zhan to stand at his side and guard his back.

 

But now he had his part to play, and it was as protector and support.

 

And oh, did A-yu need the support.

 

The man who was now called Jin Xuanyu looked pale after each meeting with the Head Cultivator, and oh how his fingers trembled as they clutched at Wei Wuxian’s sleeve for support.

 

Love was truly a terrible thing.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

 

On the beginning of the third week, a stirring of change lit the air, rippled into the fragile space of peace and through the glimmering light of gilded halls. It echoed down through the guest chambers he had lazed in, through training grounds that Wei Wuxian had avoided stepping on, through the study he had lingered in.

 

It echoed through all the polite places of Koi Tower, and it echoed with light footsteps.

 

Wei Wuxian stepped through the halls and let the light catch his skin and press into his shadows. It burned him, but it could not scratch the surface of his strength.

 

Let the light collect on his body, let it flow towards him. He would use it as fuel for a thousand shadows, and each one would be deadlier than the last.

 

He would use it to protect, as he ever had and ever would.

 

His steps took him down, but the man at the end of the hall made ghostly hair rise.  

 

Jin Guangyao was smiling, polite and small in the sunlight. The man was small too, short and slender. The hunger and famine of an poor life made for small men, after all.

 

Wei Wuxian had ever been a tall man, made from laughter and easy strength. Even as a ghost he’d kept that, in the swirl of his shadows and the power curling behind his eyes.

 

His glare hadn’t glowed red in so long, fine control keeping the glare at bay. He could not be revealed here, not now, not when A-yu walked bitter steps through the tower.

 

Jin Guangyao was small, but the smallest snakes were the most venomous.

 

“Would you care for a spar, Senior Jiang? I have heard of your skill, but have yet to see it for myself. Though it shows in Jin Xuanyu’s swift arm.”

 

The words were said in a quiet voice, and they echoed after a smile. They were an invitation, and from anyone else they would be a measure of skill, a challenge, a moment to test the new heir of the Jiang Clan.

 

From Jin Guangyao, they were a trap.

 

“Ah, I didn’t know you fought, Head Cultivator. But I can dust off my blade for a few minutes, if you want to spar.” His words were light and airy, but they held insult and challenge in return. Shadows swirled under the fake steel of his sword, hungry to devour more than dust.

 

He may be trapped, but he would not bend too far to please this man. The better disguise was the distrustful one, before an actor of Jin Guangyao's caliber. 

 

“I’m sure my sword work is a bit weaker than yours, Senior Jiang. But I am still curious.”

 

So the man said, and so it was done. The next day they stepped into a ring of packed earth with bare blades, and the sun shone high overhead.

 

There was no one watching this fight, and no audience to judge it. The fluttering robes of a few guards dotted the halls outside, but they could not see.

 

Jin Guangyao wanted to truly test his skill, Wei Wuxian thought, and held back a laugh.

 

For a moment, they stood silent as statues planted into a tower of white stone. Jin Guangyao wore a polite smile, and the clean robes of a Sect Leader.

 

Wei Wuxian wore a bloodthirsty one, and let it creep up his lips bright and proud.

 

But there was an extra shadow behind the wall, and Wei Wuxian felt its shape. He had sent a thousand shadows trembling across these halls, and stretched out his energy to feel for dangerous footsteps.

 

There was a warrior behind that wall, and Wei Wuxian knew better than to let shadows curl curl out of his fingers. He had to be careful here, careful to not reveal too many hints to the man before him.

 

He was deadly, but his fangs would gleam as Jiang, not as Yiling Laozu.

 

He raised his blade, and struck like the currents of rushing water. 

 

The fight was quick and brutal, made quicker by his enemies skill. Jin Guangyao was fast and graceful, stepping like a sparrow across packed earth. Every motion was testing, and every jab calculated.

 

But the man was slow, before Wei Wuxian’s speed. The man was weak, before Wei Wuxian’s strength.

 

A mid-tier cultivator couldn’t stand before a ghost, and Wei Wuxian has always been so much more than a ghost.

 

The sharp edge of a black sword pressed to Jin Guangyao’s throat, and Wei Wuxian had won.

 

He paused, for a long moment, and felt the world pause with him. 

 

He could kill this enemy now, and wash away all their troubles with the curl of swift shadows or the press of a blade like darkness. Wei Wuxian could kill Jin Guangyao here, on this packed earth.

 

He could end it.

 

Wei Wuxian could end A-yu’s suffering, but also break the man’s heart.

 

He could do nothing. There was a sound like shifting shadows and the clank of dull iron, as Wei Wuxian pulled back his sword.

 

It sounded fateful. 

 

“I think your skills are better suited to a battle of go, don’t you think?”

 

Jin Guangyao laughed quietly, as polite eyes flashed dark in the sunlight. 

 

“I did not take Senior Jiang as willing to stay still for so long. You seem like the restless type.”

 

The words were too knowing, too familiar. In this body and with this face, Wei Wuxian had done nothing to warrant those words.

 

A trickle of unease settled into his gut, and he tucked it away into shadows and made it melt away.

 

Now, he couldn’t let that be seen.

 

He smiled and laughed, sheathing his blackened sword in a single smooth motion. It faded into shadow, and deadly promise.

 

“Don’t bore me then!”

 

Jin Guangyao smiled a polite smile, and let out a polite laugh, and spoke polite words.

 

“I will do my utmost, Senior Jiang.”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

The next day, they met across a board, and played a game of fateful go. There was a shadow of a man on the roof above them, patient and still as an assassin. There was another shadow too, tasting of cold iron and the rattling of chains.

 

Wei Wuxian felt their shifting motions stir his shadows, but he did not search them out. Another game lay before him now, and a threat gleamed in polished stone and fine wood. 

 

Go was the deadlier battle. 

 

Jin Guangyao won the first match. The man won the second too, quicker than the last and twice as ruthless. 

 

The third he lost, and Wei Wuxian did not laugh but glared.

 

This test, Jin Guangyao had won.

Chapter 26: Shadows in the Night

Notes:

Alright so I decided I wanted to finish Ghost before the start of the new year, and I'm glad to say I managed it-- it is done! I'll be posting a chapter daily until the 31st, so stick with me for a few more days people :D

They sparred again, a few days later, in quick swords and easy victory. Shadows followed them, tracing their footsteps and clinging to the dust that collected across their shoes.

 

Shadows followed them, familiar as a shy smile and the clink of broken chains.

 

Wei Wuxian did not hope, not yet— but he did smile wider into the gilded sun, and it was bright with happiness. There was a dead man walking the halls of Koi Tower, and it wasn’t Wei Wuxian.

 

Did that mind think and feel, he wondered? Had it healed?

 

With the darkness clinging to ghostly bones like ink spills, Wei Wuxian wanted to know.

 

But he laughed and smiled into the polite air instead, and let the spar with Jin Guangyao continue. The next day they played a game of go, and Wei Wuxian laughed and lost and was grateful A-yu wasn’t there.

 

He lost slowly this time, with the edge of his skill honed from old matches. The moments had dragged on into tension, each click of polished stone echoing louder in the silence of a gilded hall.

 

He lost, but this time it was a narrow defeat.

 

Jin Guangyao smiled down at the board, in the end, and Wei Wuxian felt like there was a knife coming for his throat.

 

He grinned back, but the shadows at his ankles shifted restless and furious.

 

The air was tight with polite tension, and the unspoken words that baited a trap. It was taut with protective fury too, and the darkness that leaked into every stone of Koi Tower’s foundation.

 

A-yu hung from the edge of the highest roof, strung up by Jin Guangyao’s plans. Wei Wuxian didn’t know what would come and cut the gilded thread, what move in this game would break the peace.

 

But he knew that he would grow shadowed wings to save them both.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

He walked through the long halls with a dancing step and a strange ease. Tension lingered in the air behind him, caught by shadows and polished stone. It was the tension of a slow battle, and it dug into his bones.

 

Wei Wuxian had always been a fast fighter, impatience lingering in his skin and across the ghostly stretch of his smile. Wei Wuxian had always been quick, but this air caught him like tar and made him slow. Wei Wuxian had always stepped quick as a striking sword, but now he was frozen in a trap.

 

He would not bow before it, would laugh and smile until it broke around him. Wei Wuxian would beat the tension with shadows and genius, but A-yu hung from gilded towers, and he didn’t know what made the string.

 

So he was slow, for now.

 

It was a good thing, that Lan Zhan knew the careful paths of life and walked methodical steps down polished stone. It was a good thing, that the man was almost here.

 

Wei Wuxian had missed him. 

 

The journey was long to the Cloud Recesses, and the days had stretched longer with only white ribbon for company. Spars and shadows filled his moments, and the bitter clench of A-yu’s jaw made them painful.

 

But Wei Wuxian walked with a light step, and knew his wait was almost over.

 

Lan Zhan could be here any minute, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t wait for another beat of his dead heart. Life would be easier, with Lan Zhan here, with an extra blade at his side and a hand pressing him forward in support.

 

Life was so much kinder, when Wei Wuxian walked with a family at his back.

 

But Lan Zhan had famously only ever loved one man, and Wei Wuxian wore a white band around his wrist to declare that love. It would be obvious, what shadows danced in Koi Tower, when Lan Zhan came.

 

For all the weight lingering on his shoulders, Wei Wuxian couldn’t bring himself to care. It didn’t matter if white hung from his wrist, if he walked loud steps into Koi Tower and whistled a haunting tune.

 

There was no proof that Wei Wuxian still lived, and certainly not as Jiang Ying. Jiang Ying was a man of little renown and quick skill with a sword, of bright smiles and skilled teaching. Jiang Ying was kind and teasing, where Yiling Laozu was cold and brutal.

 

Jiang Ying was alive, where Wei Wuxian was dead.

 

The legacy of Yiling Laozu didn’t speak of his students, of his swords— it whispered the tunes of Chenqing, loud and deadly in the silence of war. The flute was heavy in his sleeve now, sleek and quiet with disuse. It would stay there, with the oath it bore, and whisper no corpses to life. So long as that sound stayed quiet, Jin Guangyao could accuse him of nothing.

 

The polished wood would keep him steady. Lan Zhan would keep him steady too, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t wait for his arrival.

 

He couldn’t wait to break this game to pieces.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The next game ended in a draw, and Jin Guangyao’s mouth went tight for the smallest heartbeat.

 

Then it soothed into smiling politeness, crafted from gold gilt and made gentle.

 

Then it was deadly.

 

“You are a quick learner, Senior Jiang,” the man said, and Wei Wuxian saw the dangling strands of a thread fray.

 

He smiled back, and it tasted like smoke and two shadows. It tasted brutal, and he lingered on the flavor.

 

“Ah well, I’m glad you aren’t boring. Helps motivate me, you know?”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The knife in the darkness came like flashing silver, like striking iron. It came in the depths of night, when the halls of Koi Tower were quiet and the stone did not glimmer but grow dark.

 

The knife came quickly, and Wei Wuxian almost laughed at it. The assassin had planned every step to perfection, striking at night and with speed and grace. A normal man would have died, at the end of an iron blade. Blood would have spilled across the silk of this bed, and stained fine sheets red with murder.

 

But it was hard to plan for the sleep of a ghost, and harder still to plan for the skill of Wei Wuxian.

 

He rolled off his bed like the stain of ink spilling over paper, shadows dancing away from the first strike. They danced away from the second too, as the man picked up a sharp blade and stabbed again.

 

The third cut close, but Wei Wuxian was made of the power of all the resentful energy he had devoured, and he moved quickly.

 

But he wasn’t the quickest. There was a clatter of cold chains, loud and bright in the darkness, and a growl like a beast unleashed.

 

The assassin stumbled, from the first blow. The man fell, from the second, sword moving too slow for the speed of the Ghost General.

 

There was a crack, thunderous and loud, and the man’s arm shattered. A moment later, the blade fell to the ground, clattering on polished wood and leaving only echoing silence.

 

Wen Ning had pinned down the man, with chains and strong hands, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t even see the assassin. He couldn't care, not now. 

 

Dead eyes shone in the darkness, but they shone with life.

 

Wei Wuxian was laughing before he could think, the breathless happiness of relief echoing loud in a quiet room. He had felt the shadows, had known the dead life that walked these halls.

 

He had hoped Wen Ning was back, and now kind eyes glimmered at him with knowledge.

 

His friend, his brother in arms, the man with the gentle smile and a heart too big for the cruel world, the man with a sharp eye and strong bow--

 

Wen Ning was kneeling before him, and the man’s eyes were clear. Wei Wuxian had never felt such quick relief.

 

“Wen Ning!” He called, and his voice did not shake but dance.

 

“Young master,” came the response, in the quiet voice of old friendship. The corpse looked timid, with dead eyes catching the light but not holding it.

 

But there was a smile, lingering at the edges of lips that could not move. There was relief, shaking like a leaf in the strength of Wen Ning’s arm.

 

The man was alive, even if no heart beat in dead skin.

 

Weight slipped from Wei Wuxian’s shoulders like water dripping off the lotus petals. It shed from him as he laughed and stepped closer, the gilded ropes of Koi Tower falling from his shadows.

 

It dropped away, for his friend was not wholly dead.

 

There was a struggle on the ground, as the man with a broken arm and a slow blade moved against Wen Ning’s hands. But the strength of a fierce corpse couldn’t be beaten, and Wen Ning was the strongest corpse of all.

 

It took Wei Wuxian only a heartbeat, to strip the mask from the attacker. It took him only a moment longer to see a pale face and bright bruises, to see a man with a familiar face and sour fear.

 

An assassin, sent after him in the night and under the protective roof of Koi Tower.

 

This could have only been done by one man.

 

“You really were a poor choice of killer, you know? I would have hoped the Head Cultivator knew better.”

 

The man’s face went dark, shadowed in the center of a hundred darker shadows. But a proud jaw clenched and spoke no words, and the broken arm twitched in the iron of Wen Ning’s grasp.

 

The assassin stood no chance. Did Jin Guangyao know that, or was this a true attempt on his life?

 

Did the snake strike with deadly venom, or the slow poison of truth?

 

For all his skill and speed, Wei Wuxian didn’t know.

 

“Was this an attempt on my life, or did he just want to get rid of you?” His question was idle, but it made the man’s eyes go cold and flinty.

 

It made the assassin angry, under the pallor of blood loss and pain.

 

But those eyes could still see, and the face of Wen Ning was unmistakable.

 

There was no choice.

 

In another place and over the still water of home, Wei Wuxian would have turned the man into a prisoner and used him for information. He would have handed the man’s fate to Jiang Cheng, and stood behind his brother with loud teasing. Justice would have been served, at the hands of a Sect Leader.

 

But this was the glimmering shadow of Koi Tower, and there was no one to trust here.

 

There was no choice.

 

The man died quickly, under Wei Wuxian’s shadows. They curled across his throat and choked him into silence, a fast death made from mercy and expedience. It took them only a moment, to burn the corpse to ash. It took less time, for Wei Wuxian to gather the soul and relentless energy.

 

The heart of a man rested lightly, in his fingers. It swirled with anger too, the rage of a man who had come to kill but been killed instead.

 

Wei Wuxian tucked it away without a spare thought. When Lan Zhan came, they could demand quick answers if they even needed them. 

 

Now, there was only Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning.

 

There were still leaves caught in the long strands of cold hair, and Wei Wuxian laughed as he plucked them away. They crumpled beneath his fingers, long dead but brittle.

 

They felt so rough.     

 

“Your sister would have told you to brush your hair,” he began, and it tasted like truth and the most painful memory.

 

They both flinched, at that. But they stood strong too, old friends bound by blood and death. They had lived two long years, standing together and at Wen Qing’s side.

 

They had both suffered, at the end.

 

Wen Ning had burned too, in the flames at the base of Koi Tower. The Ghost General had been vanquished, so the rumors whispered into wind.

 

But here Wen Ning stood, gray skin cold and mouth frozen without a smile.

 

Wei Wuxian looked into dead eyes and needed the truth.

 

“What happened, old friend? When you tied me down and left me to—"

 

The words caught in his throat, tight as shards of steel cutting into his skin. The memory was hard with broken things, but Wei Wuxian had laughed and danced across the darkest paths of life before.

 

He could do it again now. He broke his pain around a smile, and let teasing words echo into the air of a gilded tower.

 

They tasted like blood.

 

“I know I look good tied up Wen Ning, but that really wasn’t the time for it, you know? You are supposed to ask.”

 

There was a spluttering cough, and the hunching of dead shoulders. Wen Ning looked like a man caught between blush and the familiar happiness of a troublesome friend. If pale skin could flush, it would be cherry red and exasperated.

 

Then a corpse mouth opened, and told the entire tale.

 

Wen Ning had been held captive, had been trapped and wrapped in chains and then broken free. He had broken free, and come to Wei Wuxian’s side at the whistle long days ago.

 

Wen Ning had broken free, but someone had held him since that night, more than a decade ago. That jailor would have known there was only one man who could summon such loyalty from the fierce corpse, with the sweet sounds of his flute. That jailor would have known Yiling Laozu still lived.

 

It could have only been the Lanling Jin Sect.

 

Like the fractal spread of lightning through sand, realization crystalized through Wei Wuxian, left his smile fading and his laugh quiet.

 

Wei Wuxian had walked proud steps in sunlight, as the ghost of Lotus Pier. Shadows had swirled around him and the still water had shook, at his laugh.

 

He had left so many hints, because he thought no one was watching for him.

 

His sudden adoption into the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, the set of his smile and the force of his personality, the white ribbon around his wrist. All of it damning, to someone who knew Yiling Laozu was alive.

 

As Wen Ning stood before him, Wei Wuxian knew that he had been recognized.

 

But not by Wen Ning.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The wind caught still water and made it tremble. It shook the petals of a thousand flowers, quaking them into shadows and strength in the gentle currents of a lonely lake.

 

The wind blew across his robes and shook his home, but it did not shake him.

 

Lotus Pier steadied at his footsteps, quaked at his voice. The wind whipped across his robes, catching at his hair as lightning caught in the air.

 

It did not shake him, as he walked the polished wood of his father’s city.

 

This place was his home, and would be his grave. It had been the grave of so many people he loved too, and his eyes caught on the places Jiang blood had been spilled.

 

There were too many to count, in the gentle swirl of still water.  

 

He stepped forward anyway, and the wind whispered at his skin and chilled him. Jiang Cheng knew the curve of every dock, the touch of every current. He had watched the lotus blooms for long hours, and knew their health as he knew his own.

 

Both were suffering.

 

The flowers had no guards and guardians now, with Wei Wuxian gone to Koi Tower. The currents roughed their pads, the fish nipped at their roots.

 

The sun shone too brightly on their petals and wilted them into death.

 

Lotus Pier was so empty, without its ghost.

 

Jiang Cheng was empty too, without the man he called brother. He pressed a hand to his chest, felt the weak turnings of his core. It fluttered like a trapped sparrow, wings broken and heart slowing to a stop.

 

It fluttered like it had no crackling lightning left to feel, but Jiang Cheng had the rage to fill eternal emptiness. He would walk proud steps over the dock and know only fury, and the water would shake before him.

 

But could he fix a dying core?

 

The warmth in his chest was fading away, from use and abuse, from the sword he had driven into his brother’s shadows. Each call of golden light from Wei Wuxian made it shake a little more, and with each breath Jiang Cheng felt the strength fall from his fingers to wash into still water.

 

It was fading, because of Wei Wuxian. It turned still, because of his brother’s sacrifice.

 

Jiang Cheng couldn’t let that bright laugh die again, if it cost him every piece of his furious soul. What use was a sword, if Jin Ling didn’t have a teacher? What use was Zidian, if there was no laughter in the air?

 

What use was life, without his brother?

 

He had lived long and lonely years building Lotus Pier back to greatness, but it had only felt like a home when Wei Wuxian laughed again. He looked out across the water, watched it sway and quake.

 

It looked so beautiful that he wanted to scream, so beautiful it brought him peace. The air was settling with the coming night, shadows collecting across the water like the glimmers of starlight.

 

But there was no ghost to collect them away and paint inky tales into the air, now.

 

Jiang Cheng could not die, if it meant his brother’s death.

 

He turned his feet from that lonely pier, from the place that had echoed with the laughter of a family. Water collected across the wood at his feet, but he paid it no mind.

 

Lotus Pier was strong. It would stay strong while he kept himself alive, while he kept the glimmering core in his chest from fading away. It would stay strong while he left, with power shaking his skin and wind making him cold.

 

He laughed, and it was the softest sound he’d made in years.

 

If only Wei Wuxian would stop using golden energy, he thought, with shadows creeping across his skin. This would be so much easier if his brother didn’t need the power.

 

This would be so much easier if Wei Wuxian understood.

 

But brothers were made to be difficult, and Wei Wuxian had lived up to that cursed truth for the whole of his life.

 

The man had always achieved the impossible, when Jiang Cheng faltered and failed.

 

Why would that change now?

 

He turned, walked down the stretch of wood with slow steps. The lotus petals quaked in his wake, and how the water shook, with his thunderous footsteps.

 

It would not shake again for so long.

 

Within a day, the news had spread across the docks and polished wood, spread like the fire that had once destroyed his home.

 

The Sect Leader is going into seclusion, the rumors said, and for once those trembling voices were not wrong.

Chapter 27: The Clouds

The next match of polished stone and smooth wood, Wei Wuxian won.

 

With each breath Jin Guangyao smiled, but the edges were caught in shadows and strained. The man looked peaceful, but Wei Wuxian thought he could see cracks in the gilded foundation of Koi Tower.

 

He thought a death had put them there, and he smiled wider in return.

 

The next match, Jin Guangyao won, merciless as a hungry spider.

 

Wei Wuxian laughed, and planned a punishment fitting for a liar. He let strength lace across his fingers, the delicate energy of a golden core making his moves quick.

 

He planned a cruel fate, with the gilded energy of a brother. He planned a ruthless one, with the resentful energy of a father.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

Hands quaked, where he did not see them. Angry fingers shook, beyond his laughter.

 

The turns faded, slow, slower, slo—

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The clouds of Gusu came to the gilded pillars of Koi Tower like the last heartbeats before a dream, and Wei Wuxian laughed through each one. The palace greeted two jades this day, with bows and awed stares, with respect and a thousand offers of tea.

 

Jin Guangyao greeted them too, in the dignified guise of a Head Cultivator. To Lan Xichen, the man offered a kind laugh and happy eyes, glimmering in the sunlight like truth. To Lan Zhan, the man offered the perfect polite smile, hospitality radiating from every thread of golden robes.

 

Wei Wuxian knew it to be a lie. He knew it to be cold and brutal, made from the assassin that struck in the night and the cold chains that bound Wen Ning.

 

Wei Wuxian knew so much of this place was made from lies and the venom of a deadly snake, but now it didn’t matter.

 

Lan Zhan was here, and Wei Wuxian laughed lighter.

 

Jin Guangyao knew what ghost walked the polished stone of Koi Tower, and had laid a trap and ambush. An assassin had struck in the night, and a thousand plans tested the waters that ran between a ghost and a man.

 

Danger lived in every corner of these gilded halls, and Wei Wuxian walked them with dancing steps.

 

But Lan Zhan was here, and the world felt warm as the first breeze of summer. Lan Zhan was here, and Wei Wuxian felt free. 

 

It was a good feeling, for all the lies beneath his feet. 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

Lan Zhan, glimmering as jade in bright moonlight, was not welcomed by the Head Cultivator. But perhaps Sect Leader Lan would change that. Perhaps an ambush of a different kind would shake the foundations of corruption that lingered in Lanling.

 

Wei Wuxian thought of all he’d taught his student, of all the skill and power of resentful energy. He thought of a day, long months ago, when they had walked quick steps to Yi City.

 

He thought of A-yu and a bamboo staff, of power and control over qi. He thought of the most fitting punishment of all.

 

Perhaps now, they had a chance to end this without breaking A-yu’s heart.

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

Wei Wuxian greeted Lan Zhan with a smile, when they found each other in the bright paths of Koi Tower. He greeted him with a laugh too, made louder by the ribbon that caught and held his shadows.

 

Lan Zhan was here, walking graceful steps over the home of their enemy. White robes shone as the moon, in the light of a burning sun. They shone as they moved, leaves caught in the current of a stream.

 

Daylight streamed down, but it was not as bright as Lan Zhan.

 

The man was here, and Wei Wuxian’s ghostly heart was suddenly light as petals on thick water.

 

“Lan Zhan,” he greeted, as they walked through the gilded halls of Koi Tower. A thousand murals paved their path, and a hundred servants crossed their steps, but he did not care.

 

Wei Wuxian had walked this white stone for weeks, but he had walked it with the guarded step of a man at war. He had laughed into the sunlight and it had been carved from the dark edge of dangerous shadows.

 

He had been a protector, for long weeks.

 

Now he walked with the dancing step of a happy ghost, for Lan Zhan walked at his side.

 

“Lan Zhan,” he greeted, with a hungry kiss and a breathless laugh, as they stood behind the closed doors of the guest rooms, tucked away from feast and company.

 

Warm hands curled around him, holding close enough that air ran from them, close enough that shadows bled across white robes and stained them in love.

 

Lan Zhan was so warm, when he pressed against Wei Wuxian’s skin. They were of equal height, with the equal build of two proud warriors, carved and cut by the furies of war and the battles of revolution.

 

They were equals, in this moment and everything else. He could stand alone, could fight the world with the strength of his bloody grin and the haunting tunes of a deadly flute.

 

But he didn’t have to, when Lan Zhan held him close. Calloused fingers played a quiet melody along his back, and Wei Wuxian felt protected.

 

“You are safe, Wei Ying,” the man said, and it sounded like a prayer made and answered.

 

You are safe, Lan Zhan said, and held him close. Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh, wanted to smile.

 

Long weeks of tension burned away, into the clouds of Gusu. Wei Wuxian watched it go, as his grin grew and his laugh echoed.

 

He watched it go, and stood taller.

 

“Ah Lan Zhan, did you miss me that much? Did your heart ache without me? You look so strange without your ribbon, Lan Zhan, so much less severe. Does it feel strange?”

 

The words were teasing, but with each one his smile was brighter, and with each moment his shadows calmed into quiet.

 

Lan Zhan only held him closer, and quiet words echoed like gentle thunder in the room around them.

 

“Yes, Wei Ying. I missed you very much.”

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

That day, the day the Lan arrived, was marked by happy feasts and tight eyes. Jin Guangyao stood beside Lan Xichen and smiled, but the man’s lips were pale.

 

The mask was cracking, and each day without news from the assassin cracked it more. Wei Wuxian felt the trembling of a thousand shadows, the pacing of a powerful man.

 

He felt Jin Guangyao walk restless steps across polished stone, and knew the mask had broken. Lan Xichen, with power and influence and kindness, broke it open all the more.

 

Beside the warmth of Lan Zhan, curled together in the guest room of the Twin Jades, Wei Wuxian smiled.

 

He was not alone, but Jin Guangyao was now.  

 

The warmth of calloused fingers pressed across his skin, holding him close and firm. Wei Wuxian relaxed into it, let out a breathless laugh.

 

Lan Zhan shifted behind him, the careful motions of fine jade carved into a man. But the hand that held him was gentle, and the palm that pressed against his skin was so warm.

 

Tomorrow, Wei Wuxian would walk dancing feet into the depths of Jin Guangyao’s room, and walk out victorious.

 

Tomorrow, Wei Wuxian would end this.

 

Tonight, he leaned into the arms he had missed so, and let himself fall into a ghostly sleep he didn’t need.

 

Tonight, he dreamt.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

Fell things moved in the night, when a ghost wasn’t awake to watch them. They shook and trembled across sleeping shadows, quiet with the exhaustion of a life fought against fate and destiny.

 

They shook with the fury of a mad beast, caged in human skin.

 

But Jin Guangyao did not shake, where he sat in his rooms. He did not run, where he waited for Lan Xichen.

 

There was a beast writhing in his bones, and it wanted blood. But Jin Guangyao was more than a beast, and he did not rage but plot.

 

His own trap had been set against him, and the last loyal soldier lost before the battle began.

 

This was his home, and in these walls his power swirled absolute. But there were other shadows in the darkness of Koi Tower, and they whispered his secrets where they should never be spoken. They had conspired against him for long months, and they still spilled truth now, into the air where no one should walk.

 

Jin Guangyao had constructed such an elegant trap, for Wei Wuxian. It was held in the bright curve of a sword, in the sharp strike of an assassin, in the pain of public opinion.

 

It was held in the blade that sat sealed in his quarters, ready to be used by only one hand.

 

But the secrets had cut into him first, and now he might break before the shadows of public opinion himself. A blade meant nothing if two sects turned against him and had the evidence of Xue Yang.

 

His wife, dead. His loyal soldier and oldest friend, missing. His careful plan to turn this on Wei Wuxian, shredded into laughter.

 

Only his life remained, and with all the rage that cut into his skin from long stairs, Jin Guangyao would not let that fade away at the hands of those shadows.

 

So he sat, and he waited for Lan Xichen.

 

If all else failed, this could be a way out.

 

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

 

The halls of Koi Tower glimmered clean and shadowed, in the darkness of night. Steps echoed strangely, when the moon gleamed silver where there should be gold.

 

Lan Xichen couldn’t care.

 

There was a bubbling disquiet curling up pale skin, but he smiled quiet and restrained. Ever had he walked with the grace of a leader, and ever had he been true to his nature.

 

He was a man of Gusu, with the strong heart of the Lan and the nobility of their clan. He walked elegant steps, smiled with wry humor. He walked, and the strange echo followed his shadows down the hall.

 

He walked, and spent each step looking back at his mistakes.

 

The first mistake was so simple, and it cost him so much.

 

He had been in love for so many years. It was the flower of dawn come to bloom on his skin, in a man he’d known since war had first burned his home to the ground with his heart.

 

It was a love for a married man, and so Lan Xichen had kept it locked behind his smiles. He would stand by Jin Guangyao’s side as a brother, and he would do it with honor and love. Never had Lan Xichen been a greedy man, and he was content to be the pillar in the storm for Jin Guangyao.

 

And pillar he was, through the disapproval of the cultivation world at the watchtowers. He watched the world become a safer place, by the work of A-yao and that polite smile.

 

He stood strong through Dage’s death too, and mourned him beside A-yao.

 

That was the second mistake, but Lan Xichen couldn’t regret it.

 

His steps echoed strangely as he walked, but now they did not echo alone.  

 

“Wangji,” he said, to the moonlight moving towards him. Through all the beats of a troubled heart, through long seclusion and longer mourning, his brother had always understood him best.

 

Love was ever terrible.

 

Lan Xichen took steps towards the rooms of the Head Cultivator, with the painful need to know burning under his skin.

 

Evidence he had been shown, and evidence he could not refute, but maybe—

 

Maybe A-yao had not meant this to escalate. Maybe A-yao had not meant this at all. Maybe the man could be saved.

 

Maybe Lan Xichen was a fool too, but he would be a fool for love if only this once.

 

“Have you come to stop me?” He asked, and each word was said with the smile of a broken man. They cut the air painfully, graceful and gentle as moonlight.

 

Wangji only looked on, and golden eyes glimmered silver with night. They glimmered with understanding too, for they had both seen their mother’s smile.

 

They both knew.

 

“I will walk with you,” Lan Wangji said, quiet and proud. No white ribbon adorned his brother’s face, and the marks of laughing kisses dotted Wangji’s throat.

 

Lan Xichen smiled, and it cut him so dearly.  

 

“This is not a conversation for three,” he said, and the lies tasted strange on his tongue. Always had he shared everything with Wangji, and always would he.

 

They were brothers, and they understood each other as the clouds understood the touch of rainfall.

 

That understanding made Lan Xichen smile, and it spread across his lips as poison.

 

Love was ever terrible, and he knew where Wangji would stand.

 

Sect Leader Jiang intended to strike against A-yao. So too did the adopted Jiang Ying, with a bright laugh and dancing step that was too familiar.

 

Perhaps the man was no stranger after all, but lost dead. Lan Wangji had only ever loved one man after all, and white ribbon tied the stranger’s wrist. Perhaps there were ghosts walking the gilded halls of Koi Tower, with loud steps that did not echo strangely.

 

Perhaps Lan Xichen would fail, because if those two wished A-yao dead, the man would be so.

 

Perhaps.

 

“I will walk with you brother, so you can leave unhindered,” Wangji said in the quiet severity of moonlight. The words hit with the power of a bright zither, loud and resonant. Lan Xichen felt each one strike his skin and leave a wound that went bone deep.

 

He understood them too well. A-yao was such a clever man, and had hid so much from Lan Xichen. A-yao was so clever, in love and life and mysteries.

 

A-yao was clever, and Lan Xichen was so weak for love.

 

But perhaps, this death could be avoided. Perhaps with Wangji guarding him from himself, Lan Xichen stood a chance at stopping this.

 

Perhaps.

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

For a fragile day, the peace was kept in Koi Tower. The Head Cultivator’s smile was brighter than usual, made sharp as knives and half as polite.

 

Wei Wuxian watched it shift, watched it narrow across the gilded hall. It was the smile of a beast barely wrapping its fangs in silk, with the gleam of white danger showing clearly.

 

It was a strange smile, for an actor of Jin Guangyao’s skill.

 

It was a smile that made Wei Wuxian want to laugh and rage and smile into the destruction of war. It made him want to walk cautious steps through Koi Tower, and hold A-yu close.

 

He waited, standing next to Lan Zhan. He waited, as white ribbon seared into his wrist, made from the fog of Gusu and the touch of Lan Zhan’s lips.

 

He waited for Jin Guangyao to leave the room alone, and he waited with the patience of a teacher.

 

“Lan Zhan,” he said at last, leaning to laugh words into the man’s ear. Long strands of fine hair teased across ghostly lips, and he did not move them away.

 

Shadows could dance across floor and foundations for years, but they would never move Lan Zhan away.

 

“Do you trust me, Lan Zhan?”

 

The question was bright and light in the air, dancing across the gilded breeze of a feast and marking it foolish.

 

It was the most important question of all, and it was a question that didn’t need to be spoken, not between them.

 

But Wei Wuxian asked it anyway, shadows making his tongue heavy and breath quiet. He felt like he was speaking over the still water of Lotus Pier, into the curves of a thousand flower petals.

 

He felt like he was home, even as gilded walls towered around him.

 

“With my life and heart,” the man answered, and each word echoed like the chiming of silver bells.

 

“I trust you with my everything,” said Lan Zhan, and Wei Wuxian smiled.

 

It tasted like a heartbeat against his lips, and all the small pieces of a living body he didn’t have. It tasted like Lan Zhan’s skin, on the mornings when Wei Wuxian had woken to kisses and golden eyes.

 

He stood, in a swirl of shadows that didn’t touch the floor. He pulled a swirl of gilded energy across his hands, and made each step ring with cultivation.

 

He stood, and was strong.

 

“Watch A-yu for me, Lan Zhan. I have to tear the fangs off a snake.”

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

Energy ripped out of him daily, and it made lightning hands shake and thunder dim.

 

A fool, the man had always been such a fool. But a promise had been made on the polished wood of a deadly flute, and he would trust in that.

 

With hands shaking and angry skin pale, Jiang Cheng would trust.

 

Chapter 28: The Last Game

Notes:

And one problem will be solved :D

It took him the breathless heartbeat of a ghost, to vanish from the feast hall. Even here in Koi Tower was no place not bathed in shadows, and Wei Wuxian had spent long weeks watching each piece of darkness and learning its name. The shadows from beneath delicate lotus petals and the gentle pier had spread through the cracks and foundations of this gilded city.

 

He knew them, as he knew his ghostly bones. He had sent them out to learn the others too, and now he knew them all.

 

There was not a shadow in all of the city that did not obey Wei Wuxian’s commands, and he used them well.

 

Darkness curled over his skin and devoured him as a hungry beast, and he moved through it to land in the corner of Jin Guangyao’s private rooms.

 

The man was seated at the table, smile gone and cold eyes staring out across lacquered wood. Jin Guangyao looked up at the shifting shadows, watched Wei Wuxian step out with no fear and no screams.

 

The man was waiting for him, in golden robes and the venom of a quick trap.

 

“You finally made your move,” Jin Guangyao began, and a flash of divine steel lit the room like the strike of lightning.

 

The sword snapped across the room between them, flying quick and brutal towards him. It’s edge was sharp enough to break light, and it carved shadows in two and burned at their darkness.

 

Wei Wuxian caught it so easily, with the speed of a ghost. It shook in his fingers, shook at the power that swirled bright and gilded beneath his skin.

 

It shook, as he smiled.

 

But Jin Guangyao didn’t shake but laugh, quiet and dark.

 

“Let’s have a conversation, Wei Wuxian,” the man said, and pulled another sword from the floor.

 

This one was plain as the night sky, and it bore no stars on its simple sheath. But the curve of its handle held a thousand memories, and each one clung to Wei Wuxian’s skin and made ghostly shadows burn.

 

His fingers twitched for a handle he had not touched in long years, and a sword he had not used in longer decades.

 

Suibian looked good, for its master’s death.

 

Wei Wuxian smiled a tight smile, and pulled his shadows off the floor to snag the sword from beside Jin Guangyao.

 

The man didn’t even blink, when the sheath touched ghostly skin. The man didn’t blink for the swirl of inky darkness and the hurricane that stirred at Wei Wuxian’s touch.

 

Cold eyes did not smile, and Wei Wuxian knew a trap lay before him. He laughed, holding two swords and a thousand pieces of shadowed strength.

 

Jin Guangyao would not win here, not when Wei Wuxian had a punishment planned.

 

“I wasn’t aware conversation began with a sword to the gut, but maybe I’ve never been as skilled a politician and liar as you.”

 

His smile widened, until teeth shone and shadows flared. They pooled up from the foundations, blocking the door and every window. It was protection and shield. 

 

No one could walk through that door now. 

 

“It’s must be a struggle, acting so much.”

 

This time, Jin Guangyao’s cold eyes flickered, for a quick heartbeat.

 

This time, Jin Guangyao looked nervous before the ice crawled across his face again.

 

But the man only smiled, bare of swords and surrounded by shadows. The gilt of Koi Tower surrounded them, and it glimmered like a thousand blades.

 

Venom could act so very quickly.

 

“Ah, but how could I hope to wound Yiling Laozu?” Jin Guangyao asked, like it was a question with an impossible answer.

 

It had such a simple answer, but Wei Wuxian wouldn’t speak it here. A sword had run him through once before, when he walked dancing steps as a laughing ghost.

 

It had hurt Jiang Cheng then, made his brother fall to the ground and scream.

 

That would not happen again.

 

“A sword to the gut would work nicely,” he laughed out, and stood tall among shadows. With Suiban held in one hand and Jin Guangyao’s own blade in the other, Wei Wuxian let himself smile.

 

Here he was strong and fierce, and Jin Guangyao knew it well. The man could not kill him in a fight— weeks of tests and spars had shown that a thousand times over. The Head Cultivator couldn’t call for guards either, not when shadows held the door fast.

 

There was nothing to be lost in conversation, and so Wei Wuxian lowered the blades.

 

No breath echoed through the room, and no deep sighs broke the tension. But Jin Guangyao took out a teapot and began pouring from it like a servant, into two fine cups sitting on lacquered wood.

 

Wei Wuxian didn’t understand, but he knew the move was his.

 

“If I may tell you a story, Patriarch?” The man asked, as steam threaded through the air like fog in the night.

 

The tea was poured, and the man drank first, from both cups. Wei Wuxian laughed, bright and sharp with the splinters of broken piers.

 

If only the man knew Wei Wuxian was a ghost, and poison was like air on his tongue.  

 

If only the man knew he didn’t stand a chance, when shadows curled around them.

 

“You’d tell me even if I said no,” Wei Wuxian responded, settling at the table and reaching for a cup.

 

Tea tasted like ash, when he did not sit beside Jiang Cheng. It vanished into his shadows, fleeting as the bloom of weak petals in the sun. 

 

He drank anyway, and smiled. 

 

“Once, there was a young boy raised in a brothel. Each day he was given hope for his father to come and whisk him away, and each day he saw his mother fade and fuck into shame.”

 

The words fell like droplets into still water, like tea into a cup.

 

Wei Wuxian knew whose story they told, but Jin Guangyao’s eyes were cold and his smile warm.

 

“The boy loved her, with his whole heart. When she died he wanted the world to burn with her, to mourn her pathetic death as he mourned it. But he wanted to make her proud too.”

 

“He wanted to make her proud so badly, and so he walked up a thousand stairs only to fall down them again. He killed, for her.”

 

And so the whole of Jin Guangyao’s past spilled out, and the shame of Jin Guangshan spilled out with it.

 

The story was sad, woven into the tapestry of a tragic life that begged for sympathy. But Jin Guangyao’s smile was too clever, and those eyes too cold.

 

Wei Wuxian understood this man, but didn’t care to forgive him. He didn’t understand the honesty, the truth that was echoing between them.

 

What had driven Jin Guangyao to speak truth, after all this time?

 

“A story does not excuse your actions, Head Cultivator. And it’s just a story, about the deaths of people long dead or unworthy.”

 

Jin Guangyao’s smile grew brittle, where it rested on the lip of a teacup. It grew darker too, and the man only looked furious for a quick heartbeat.

 

Then ice grew again, and the cultivator was only polite. 

 

Wei Wuxian wasn’t worried. Venom acted fast, but shadows acted faster.

 

“You are not going to forgive me for what I have done, but why should I need your forgiveness? The world still hasn’t forgiven you, either, and the public is a cruel judge.”

 

It was a truth that had stung Wei Wuxian in his last life, a thousand times. Rumors spread like disease across the land, and each one stained him until he could sink in clear water and leave it black and filthy.

 

Wei Wuxian had laughed at those, once. He had died for them too.

 

He had been a fool, when he stood with the rage of war and the pride of victory.

 

“Lucky for me then, Head Cultivator, that I am long dead to the public eye.”

 

A wistful smile caught Jin Guangyao’s lips, spread across the ice in bitter eyes. In that moment, the man looked like Mo Xuanyu had, all those months ago in a garden. The boy’s hands had shook with fresh bruises, standing among flowers. They had shook when Wei Wuxian pulled him up, trembling and spiteful.

 

Love was ever terrible.  

 

“Are you? You are ghost and curse still, used to warn children away. I do not want this fate, and I don’t want this shame. I would rather kill you, or a hundred men, and flee. But Lan Xichen came to me yesterday and asked me to surrender, to live.”

 

Ah, and now it was revealed, and the truth rung across steaming tea and shook its surface.

 

Love was ever terrible, to villains and heroes alike.

 

Wei Wuxian felt his eyes narrow, and the darkness around him quake. That love would not save a snake from the teeth of ghostly shadows.

 

“You know, I would have thought a decade as a political mastermind would have taught you to know when to speak plainly. Just say what you want, Head Cultivator—I have so many better things to do.”

 

The man laughed, quiet and bitter as a storm. Then he spoke, and the words echoed through the steam of delicate tea. 

 

“I want to live, beyond this moment, and I think you will let me. I want to retire to the Cloud Recesses and live out my days as noble prisoner. Lan Xichen has asked this of me, and so I cannot say no when all my plans have failed. But I want no one to know why.”

 

The man paused, for a long heartbeat, chill eyes staring into the depths of a hot cup.

 

“I want many things, Wei Wuxian, but I doubt I will get most of them.”

 

In the cold light of a thousand shadows, Jin Guangyao was choosing a prisoner’s death.

 

It was such an easy death to escape, and such an easy fate to trick. The man was an actor beyond any other, with the skill of an assassin and the training of a torturer.

 

There was no trusting Jin Guangyao, and so there could be no prisoner. The man must know this, and want another fate.

 

The man must have yet another plan, folded as petals into a lotus bloom.

 

But the man had planned for Wei Wuxian the warrior, for the man that raged and destroyed.

 

He had not planned for Wei Wuxian the inventor, the genius with bright eyes and a quick laugh. That man was forgotten to history, reshaped into a demon with dark intelligence.

 

It would be Jin Guangyao’s loss.

 

Wei Wuxian had known he wouldn’t be able to kill this man for months, had known it would destroy A-yu’s bitter heart and break it.

 

He had known, and so he had followed a thousand ripples through the water of invention. Ever was he a relentless soul, driven to fix problems and discover the unknown. When Wei Wuxian turned his genius to this problem, there could only ever have been a solution.

 

And a solution, he had found.

 

There was a way to know when Jin Guangyao was true to his word, and it was a path that could be trusted.

 

It was also extremely painful. With the long weeks spent in Koi Tower, Wei Wuxian couldn’t bring himself to mind that. 

 

He swallowed the last of his tea with a laughing sigh, and let the cup fall from his fingers to the table.

 

It clattered loud and bright, in the tension of a thousand shadows.

 

“You know, with your face and spy’s skill, there is no way to know if you are lying again.”

 

He held up a hand, not to stop the words that came next but to collect a swirl of resentful energy at his fingertips. It was black as night, dark as the bottom of a dry well.

 

It was forged from the hunger of the very first corpse he had devoured, and it was precious to him.

 

It was also a curse, shaped from the pieces of his genius.

 

“You can choose this or death, and I’m not waiting for you to speak a choice, I have better things to do,” he said, and watched Jin Guangyao’s eyes flicker.   

 

The man would only ever make one choice.

 

Quick and efficient flicks of his finger had the energy spiraling out, spreading into a talisman in the air held up by black shadow.

 

It was darkness traced and controlled by careful strokes of golden cultivation, and it moved like a tame beast in his fingers. It wrapped around Jin Guangyao’s neck, inking itself into the delicate skin there and binding tight.

 

It burned, as it settled and bound a liar’s tongue.

 

The man flinched but did not pull away, eyes going hard as steel.

 

“And what, Yiling Laozu, is this punishment?”

 

Wei Wuxian ignored the words, mouth smiling and angry as he watched the resentful energy bind itself into the lines of Jin Guangyao’s qi.

 

The curse was so bright, when it bore the marks of a golden core. Wei Wuxian watched it settle, and smiled.

 

It tasted like shadows, and it would strike faster than venom.

 

“You know, the reason I’m not killing you isn’t because you asked. It isn’t because you spoke well, or Lan Xichen speaks on your behalf. It’s because your death would break A-yu’s heart, and I can’t do that to him.”

 

He let his grin fade, icy as the storm and vicious with darkness. He felt the fury of a warrior beat against ghostly skin, burning and hungry for revenge.

 

He did not look away from Jin Guangyao, as it consumed him.  

 

“But if you go out of your way to speak to him, to even look at him, know that the noose around your neck will tighten and never go loose again.”

 

The man shifted, mask cracking for a long heartbeat and terrified moment. Then ice swirled over cold eyes again, and the man spoke.

 

“I thought you understood, Wei Wuxian— I do not want to hurt him. We are the same, after all.”

 

The curse glittered bright with the words and marked them as truth.

 

Wei Wuxian watched it burn patterns into Jin Guangyao’s neck, and felt a sudden burst of pity.

 

Did the man think himself brave?

 

“No, Meng Yao, you are not the same,” he said, and stood with a swirl of dark shadows.

 

He left behind a teacup, spilling droplets of poison on polished wood.

 

Jin Guangyao had never had a helping hand, had been thrown down a thousand steps and dug his fingers into the peerless marble to drag himself back up. He was a survivor and a slave, a lord and luckless.

 

His spirit, broken and spiteful, could never compare to the endless loyalty of Mo Xuanyu.

 

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The Head Cultivator has resigned, whispered the rumors, quiet but unstoppable.

 

The Head Cultivator had a public qi deviation, echoed behind fans and in the corners of gentle mouths.

 

The Head Cultivator retired to seclusion in the Cloud Recesses, bounced off the edge of fine teacups and into the swirl of steam.

 

They echoed across the still water of Lotus Pier, and a furious sigh followed in its wake. It was strong with relief, and stronger with irritation.

 

But proud hands shook, where they held a letter. Jiang Cheng lifted a brush, and a two drops of ink splattered as it shook.

 

His fingers were so weak, and the strokes of his characters sloppy and pathetic.

 

Sitting in the sparking loneliness of seclusion, Jiang Cheng laughed with the bitter rage of a warrior. He had lost a core before, in the quick strikes of war. It had been painful in the way losing a limb was painful, in the way losing a purpose was painful.

 

It had broken him, but it had been quick.

 

Now he felt every piece of his qi flow out slow and steady, watched each drop fall to paper and ink his hands shaking. Now he died slowly, and his brother died with him.

 

The medicine wasn’t working, and the desperate cultivation of an angry man only did so much to heal a dying core.

 

But Jin Guangyao was gone, and Wei Wuxian had kept the promise.

 

Lotus flowers shifted peacefully in still water, and the sun shifted across their petals to stain them lovely with dawning light. 

 

Jiang Cheng wanted to rage. 

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The man once named Mo Xuanyu rose to a rocky leadership, under the fog of rumors. But he was quick with harsh words and quicker with clever ones, and two Sects stood behind him. He had power too, from a staff that gleamed black under the right light.

 

Rebellion emerged and was quelled, with a strong and firm hand. It helped that Hanguang-jun walked the halls of Koi Tower, and walked them with grace. It helped that a man stood beside Jin Xuanyu, with golden energy swirling quickly to his fingers and a step that was made to dance.

 

Rebellion meant nothing before the laughter of Jiang Ying.  

 

Jiang Cheng knew that better than anyone.

 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━⊰

 

 

The sky overhead was glimmering with the shimmer of the moon, gentle and merciless in the high mountains. It shone over the rules lining the high cliffs of Gusu, into each crack of carved stone and over their shadows.

 

The sky was brilliant, but Jin Guangyao felt only the cold of wind touching on his skin.

 

He shivered, in the quiet halls of an elegant prison. He did not run.

 

The light shone in, and he let it curl across his skin and spread like poison. The night was quiet with fog, as it always was in the Cloud Recesses.

 

He couldn’t help but take some solace in this quiet, some peace.

 

For his entire life, he had walked the path of ambition and fury, and he had walked it with pride. There was a beast that lurked beneath his skin, and it was fed on the injustice he had faced at every turn.

 

A thousand steps bruised his body, and for each one Jin Guangyao claimed a life, and built a piece of the world better.

 

He had wanted so dearly to craft a legacy, from the ruin of his father’s stupidity. But he had been beaten, every secret in his life known and ready for exposure. He had been chained, by the inventions of Wei Wuxian.

 

The beast in his skin was so angry, with failure crumbling all he had done to ash.

 

But he had to survive, as he always had, and always would.

 

Jin Guangyao knew when he had been beaten, and when to run.

 

Chains made that difficult. So did the grace of Lan Xichen, watching his every breath and standing beside him in seclusion.

 

“A-yao,” the man said, and it was quiet as the first wind of winter.

 

Jin Guangyao still felt its sting.

 

“Er-ge,” he responded, and stared out into the light of the moon.

 

For a moment, there was only the tension of lost words and kept secrets, swirling in cold air. Silence passed between them, caught in the long stretch of the man’s ribbon and twisting a knife into his heart.

 

Then Lan Xichen looked away, and Jin Guangyao stung all the more.

 

The man still hadn’t forgiven him. He could see it in the catch of graceful eyes, in the way that beautiful face turned away from him again and again.

 

He could see it in the anguish, twisting Lan Xichen’s strong heart to weakness.

 

It stung, but it was fair. The beast in his skin may rage and snarl, may want to destroy the world for its cruelty, but he accepted this.

 

Jin Guangyao had done this, and he had done it with pride and skill. He had raised the blade against Nie Mingjue, he had killed their sworn brother with clever plans and clever fingers.

 

He had dirtied his hands in so many ways, for the path he craved.

 

But now they were bound to Lan Xichen and he couldn’t bear to dirty this man.

 

“Do you regret it?” The words were quiet, but they echoed with all the command of the Lan.

 

They echoed with love, and that stung more.

 

The binding marks of demonic energy pulsed around his neck, a constant reminder of his curse. He could only ever tell the truth, now, and it was a burden he could hardly bear.

 

But it was so freeing.

 

“Yes,” he answered, a partial truth that made black energy light across his skin to warn him. But it didn’t shock him into pain, and didn’t tighten to break the strong bones of his neck.

 

There was enough truth there, in that single word.

 

“Why, A-yao?”

 

They were words that bore such a terrible weight, but they echoed out like clouds. A thousand things spiraled behind the sound, all the questions he knew Lan Xichen wanted to ask but could not bring himself to, and all the blood one body could hold.

 

Jin Guangyao was at the mercy of Gusu, and bound to tell the truth. Jin Guangyao was prisoner to the Lan, and chained by the finest inventions of Yiling Laozu.

 

Jin Guangyao was tamed, and the beast beneath his skin clipped of his claws.

 

And yet Lan Xichen made an effort to force no answers.

 

He looked up at the sky, away from that peerless face that wouldn’t look at him. The moon cut into his eyes like a furious spirit, and he welcomed this sting.

 

He would hate this life, but it was life and not death.

 

Did that mean something?

 

“Why what? Why did I kill a man I loved? Why did I kill my father, and my wife, and my son? Why did I lie my way to the top? Why did I try to change the world for the better?”

 

He took a breath, felt it press into his lungs. It could not fill him up, could not stop the emptiness that he had felt for his entire life, from brutal birth to tragic childhood to vengeful future.

 

No one have ever understood his story, not once in the entirety of these painful years. A traitorous voice in his heart whispered that perhaps, Lan Xichen would understand.

 

Perhaps Lan Xichen would try.

 

“Or are you asking why I submitted myself to the Cloud Recesses and this punishment?”

 

There was a shifting of white robes like the snow, a gentle swaying of elegant hair, and a nod.

 

“I want to know, A-yao. I want to know it all.”

 

He laughed, and it was a terrible thing that cracked for love and the sweet taste of devotion.

 

“You don’t Er-ge. You don’t want to know all of me, or you will learn hate for the first time.”

 

It was truth, and it turned sweetness sour on his tongue. But a long hand caught on his wrist, cradling his hand like it was a precious thing.

 

For the first time in weeks, Lan Xichen looked into his eyes, stormy and loving as the dawn.

 

“I could not hate you, Jin Guangyao, so long as I live.”

 

That expression was too much to bear, too much for his covetous heart to take. There was anger and no forgiveness, fury and love. There was a broken man and a strong one, a proud one and a gentle soul.

 

There was Lan Xichen, and Jin Guangyao had already stained him.

 

Love was ever terrible.

Notes:

I have been laying the groundwork for this plot point for MONTHS I hope you like it!

Chapter 29: The Last Beat

Notes:

Alright my computer has possibly abandoned me so imma put this up mostly un-proofread!

Deep in the dustiest halls of Koi Tower, a light flickered. It brushed across a hundred scrolls, warming the edges like sunshine and staining them red with glow. 

 

It flickered across pale skin too, the flames dancing on Jin Xuanyu’s finger and casting strange shadows over his face. 

 

He didn’t notice, didn’t feel the warmth and did not shake at the light. Exhaustion layered his bones like muscle and skin, made from four week’s labor as Sect Leader and the endless rush of duties. It was so much, so very much, and if he hadn’t had Laoshi by his side to laugh out bright advice, Jin Xuanyu would have died ten times over. 

 

Rebellion would have risen, if Laoshi had not stood here. 

 

But even that struggle was no match for the sleepless nights. 

 

His duties meant the only time he had for his search was in the dead of night, and so here he was, bent over a dusty scroll and struggling to read the inked characters. Here he was, weighed down by shaking hands and pale skin, but unrelenting. 

 

This was the eight text he had scoured from the archives of Koi Tower this night, and it did not hold the secrets he needed. 

 

But it was close. 

 

The Rites of Purification:

 

Evil will not rest for dawn or sunset, and all those who are just and pure cannot rest before it. Banish the spirits of the resentful with peerless cultivation and golden energy, by sword or talisman. 

 

Should the energy be too strong, a sacrifice more precious than life can extend your reach. 

 

He read the words again, and each one was stranger than the last. The page was sparse and cryptic as only a scholar could make it, ink strokes dark and proud. 

 

Jin Xuanyu wanted to burn down the archives page by cursed page, if only to understand these lines. 

 

The light flickered, and the characters seemed to flicker with it, moving and shifting before sleepless eyes. 

 

He frowned, and it was not bitter but afraid. 

 

He could not fail, not when Sect Leader Jiang’s hands were shaking. The page before him glowed, taunting and crinkling with age. 

 

What was a sacrifice more precious than life, and where could he get one? He couldn’t let Laoshi die, not now, not after everything the man had done for him. 

 

If he had to strip the flesh from his bones for loyalty, then he would do it with a snarl like a rabid dog. 

 

He would do anything, for Laoshi.

 

The solution was here, he could tell. Each night took him closer to discovery, and each character was a step on the blade-edge of understanding. The answers were in the book before him and in his mind, he knew. 

 

He needed only to piece it together. 

 

But he had no time to waste, not anymore. A letter had arrived two days ago, inked in the sharp hand of Jin Ling. 

 

But it was written in the angry strokes of fear too, and it had torn fine paper to send its message.

 

 

Uncle has not left his room in days, and not been seen outside of Lotus Pier in weeks. The healers say the pallor of his skin has declined, but I have not seen myself. He will not speak to me. 

 

But his hands shake when he writes letters, now. 

 

I don’t know what to do. 

 

The letter ended there, with a plea he didn’t know how to answer. Had this been any other issue, he would have taken it to Laoshi, and asked for the laughing words of advice. 

 

Had this been any other issue, Jin Xuanyu wouldn’t have cared. But to this illness, there was no cure. 

 

A-ling was worried for his uncle’s life. The boy should have been worried for the lives of two uncles. 

 

A flicker of energy sent the flames curling up from Jin Xuanyu’s hands, burning brighter to let him see more. It would strain his eyes, in the depths of this darkened library. It would make exhaustion burn his face brighter, and make his feet slower. 

 

But the man once called Mo Xuanyu had no choice, and did not care. What was the health of his eyes, before the lives of his family? What did long hours matter, if he could not fix this?

 

If he could sense resentful energy, if he could feel its thunder in the length of his bamboo staff, he should be able to do this. He didn’t know what it would cost, but he would do it. 

 

Tired eyes caught on the last line, read it again and again. With each passing breath it burned into his skin more, and with each moment he felt the pieces of a great puzzle box slide into place. 

 

More precious than life, he spoke to himself, feeling his core turning in his chest. 

 

He finally understood. 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

 

The day was bright, when chaos came to shake the foundations of Koi Tower. The sun shone high overhead, and glimmered across a thousand lines of gold and all the weight of white stone. It left shadows in its wake, and for each one a petal swirled in Lotus Pier. 

 

It was a bright day for death, and Wei Wuxian walked it unknowing. The path was wide and brilliant, and it was his to walk. Gone was the tension floating across polished floors, and gone were the knives in the dark. 

 

Koi Tower had a new master now, and Wei Wuxian had never been prouder. 

 

It was a bright day. 

 

Bam. 

 

The first explosion shook Koi Tower like it was a delicate flower on rushing water, sending chaos reigning down over the compound. Dust settled over the walls, shaking from a thousand cracks of stone trembling across the sky. 

 

The skies rained the shattered remnants of paint, and with each heartbeat more was lost. 

 

B-bam.

 

The second explosion cracked the roof in two, in a spiral of black energy reaching for the clouds. It twisted into the sun, and a thousand starbursts followed it across the horizon. 

 

It was the mark of a power beyond understanding, the mark of a power Wei Wuxian knew too well.

 

He had never wanted to feel it again. He was moving before his mind could think, thoughts racing to catch up with the speed of his shadows. Darkness swallowed him, inked its way into his shadows and moved him as fog through wind. 

 

He had never moved faster, in all his years at war. For family, the body of a ghost could do so much.

 

And the Stygian Tiger Seal was unmistakable, when it opened the maws of its power into the sky. 

 

He flung the doors to the Sect Leader’s chambers open, burst past unconscious guards and the wreckage of two explosions. Shards of wood had plastered their way down the hallway, and marks of fire and fury ripped at the fine carvings on the walls. 

 

Here was the epicenter, and Wei Wuxian felt the fear of a father catch in his throat. Shadows raged around him, and gilded energy made his motions quick. 

 

But he hadn’t been quick enough to stop this. 

 

Where was A-yu? Where was his student?

 

Where was his son? 

 

“A-yu!” He raced in, stepped between the broken pillars of an elegant room, and across the shards of polished wood. There was no blood to beat in his heart, but fear raced through it just the same. 

 

His hands were shaking, as he ran. 

 

“A-yu, are you here?”

 

A groan answered him, echoing from the pieces of a table broken in two. He sent shadows rippling forward, pulled off the debris, and did not breathe. 

 

His hands trembled, in the air of fire and destruction. 

 

He hadn’t been fast enough. The floor caught him as he fell, cradled him as he knelt beside Jin Xuanyu. 

 

There was so much blood. It stained the floor crimson, a hundred pieces of broken stone cutting into pale skin like it was paper. It stained A-yu red too, where it dying golden robes dark with destruction. Wei Wuxian’s robes were unstained, made from shadow and untouched. 

 

He was untouched, but A-yu was broken. 

 

A pale chest lifted, and a weak heart beat fresh blood out. 

 

A-yu was alive. 

 

Wei Wuxian’s hands shook, as he pressed ghostly fingers into the wounds. His voice shook, as screamed for help in the tones of war and desperation. His heart shook, as he watched pale skin bleed paler. 

 

But there was nothing, for a hundred screams echoed through the tower. 

 

No one would come fast enough, when even Wei Wuxian had been too slow. He reached down to lift the body below him, hands shaking but shadows steady. If nothing else, he would take the boy to Lan Zhan, to a healer, to someone. A-yu’s golden core was weak, but with help it could heal. 

 

He had to move, because he had been too slow. 

 

But a weak hand stopped him, reaching to hold trembling fingers.

 

A-yu was strong, even now when blood coated him from head to toe. 

 

“Wait, Laoshi. I need—” 

 

There was a cough that echoed out of broken lungs, hacking and weak. It sounded like death rode a quick sword towards them, but Wei Wuxian didn’t understand why. The man should be healing, the gilded light of cultivation stitching together the wounds across him as thread on a slow needle. 

 

A-yu should be healing, but the cuts only bled more, why wasn’t he healing— 

 

“Thank you, Laoshi I need to thank you.”

 

Wei Wuxian laughed, broken and breathless and nearly sobbing. He tugged at the energy that gilded his heart, felt it respond slow and fitfully. 

 

Of all the days for his core to falter, it was not this one. 

 

But he was too slow, as bloody clothes pressed into his hands. 

 

He was too slow. 

 

“Save your thanks for later, you’ll owe me for this, okay? You have to thank me later, don’t forget, don’t leave, you can’t leave A-yu—”

 

Where were the healers, why wasn’t he healing? Why did blood stain so red, and why couldn’t Wei Wuxian’s fingers stop shaking?

 

Where was his energy?

 

“I’m sorry, Laoshi,” came the weak response, fragile as a bird. It fluttered out, caught on the wind, on the dust of the explosion, on the shaking shards of Wei Wuxian’s fingers. 

 

A shaky hand lifted off the ground, and Wei Wuxian moved to catch it, to hold it close in trembling fingers. 

 

But he wasn’t fast enough. With a last burst of energy, Jin Xuanyu slammed his palm against Wei Wuxian’s heart, weak hands strong.

 

For a moment, there was only the silence of screams, echoing over broken wood and bloody robes. 

 

For a moment, there was only the pounding silence of cold iron. 

 

Then A-yu smiled, through cuts and the pale stain of exhaustion. 

 

“I’m sorry, Laoshi, but this was the only way,” the man who led a sect said, the man who Wei Wuxian had watched grow and learn, the man who wielded a black staff and a spiteful pride. 

 

A pale hand fell, but the Stygian Tiger Amulet did not fall with it, where it pulsed on Wei Wuxian’s chest. 

 

It did not fall but grow. 

 

For a terrible moment, the world went white, tendrils of power clawing into his skin and leaving him breaking and breathless. He was being consumed, he couldn’t let it take him, he couldn’t let it devour him whole as it had before. 

 

He had been too slow, but he wouldn’t let this win. 

 

But the energy was docile, wiped clean of the stain of resentful energy, and it did not devour but strength. A heartbeat passed, in white mist and echoing power, and Wei Wuxian floated back into himself to realize he had a heartbeat. 

 

It shook like an earthquake in his chest, echoing out from the amulet embedded in his heart. He raised his fingers and felt the strength of his pulse, felt endless power shake into the shadows wrapped around him. 

 

Wei Wuxian felt alive. 

 

He looked down at the body of A-yu, splayed below him and taking weak breaths. No gilded light shone through pale skin, and no cuts healed under bloody robes. 

 

Wei Wuxian looked, and understood. He looked, and placed a gentle hand across a heaving chest. No child of his would die this day, or any day to come, not with the power flowing through his veins. 

 

This was the death of a ghost, and the birth of so much more. 

Chapter 30: Epilogue: A Pier

There was a shudder, heard across the mountains and through the depths of the blackest lakes. It shook snow and broke water, cut leaves and shattered stone. It made Koi tower shake, with its power. It made it crack too, long cuts carved in the foundations of a gilded palace. 

This marble stone was the epicenter, and like the lightning that struck it, it shocked the world. No one died, on that day. No fish floated belly up in the streams, and no cranes broke their wings. 

 

The world heaved a shuddering breath, and it was the moment of rebirth forged from the cold iron of the Stygian Tiger Seal. 

 

It was forged from metal that had swirled in the stomach of an angry god and swallowed its malice.

 

But it had no malice now but power, and no turtle god but ghostly body. 

 

In a still lake where the water didn’t tremble, a thousand lotus flowers bloomed in a sea of pale pink and darkest purple. In the whispers of the wind across their petals, you could hear the laughter of three children long grown and dead. 

This place did not shudder but flourish. 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

 

The steps of a Sect Leader should sound as tremors, marking the ground as owned and angry. Disciples should tremble, with each footfall, and enemies should quake. 

For decades, Jiang Cheng’s walk had shaken the ground, each lightning step laced by silver bells and each swish of cloth held on sharp glares. It was a fury born of cold mistakes and colder loneliness, and it made each step loud. 

 

Then he had walked the annoyed footsteps of a brother, through the docks of Lotus Pier. Then he had felt loneliness fade from his skin and irritation take its place, bright and strong as dawning light through fog. 

 

It was the fate of any man doomed to Wei Wuxian’s company, and gifted with that endless loyalty. Jiang Cheng’s snarls were twice as loud, when they echoed over the dancing laughter of a dead man.

 

The white of Gusu flashed through his memories, a cloud over his horizon. 

 

Jiang Cheng was wrong, as he stepped light steps across his piers. 

 

It was the fate of any sane man, to feel the curls of irritation. Jiang Cheng didn’t want to know what Lan Wangji felt, when the man stood at Wei Wuxian’s side. He didn’t want to know what made Hanguang-jun stand beside the swirl of black power and look content. 

 

As long as his brother was happy, Jiang Cheng didn’t give a damn what anyone else felt. 

 

Wei Wuxian’s steps had always sounded like the touch of clouds over an earthquake, but now the world shook with them. 

 

His brother didn’t have the shadows of a ghost, anymore. No darkness made fine robes, and real bones filled a strong chest. 

 

But that smile was still made from laughter and shards of bone from the Burial Mounds. It was still Wei Wuxian’s smile, even if it held the power of a star. 

 

Now Jiang Cheng’s steps shook the ground, but they did not make it tremble. Even now, with the responsibility of the cultivation world resting on his shoulders, Jiang Cheng felt an angry peace. 

 

He may be the Head Cultivator, but he was a brother and uncle before anything else. 

 

Let that be known, with every light step. 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

 

Dust collected on the boots of a Sect Leader, but it did not stain them. It marked them brown, but it could not hide their sheen. 

 

Jin Xuanyu walked through the village of his youth, and did not sink into old hate. His chest was cold but his heart was warm, as he walked with light feet and so little spite. 

 

This modest village held too many old memories for his mind to fall into comfort. But Wei Laoshi had drunk wine from that shop and laughed into the dusty air. But he had watched Jin Ling turn to a protective rage, in those walls. 

 

But he had walked these paths with family, and that made all the difference. 

 

He walked them now, a horse trailing at his heels and reins dangling from his fingers. It was a fine steed, with light feet and a prancing gait. It was a steed fit for a Sect Leader, and Jin Xuanyu looked on it and felt his sharp heart soften. 

 

He had ridden the whole way, on this horse’s back. It had held him where the sword at his waist wouldn’t any longer. 

 

Where divine steel bucked his commands, this steed obeyed them. 

 

His chest was cold, but his heart was warm, and the sun was bright as a star overhead. There was a blackened bamboo staff slung across his back, sitting heavy and protective in the dawning sun. 

 

It was so much more deadly than his plain sword could ever be, now. But Jin Xuanyu had always been a plain man, with hidden strength. 

 

This was fitting. 

 

He stepped onto the path, not quick but not slow, not hesitant but not joyous. He had a journey to finish, and a command awaiting his return.

 

Koi Tower could survive a few days without his presence, but he had a duty to return to. He had a family to return too, but there was something he had to do first. 

 

A small building greeted him, off from the servants’ quarters of the great manor that was too familiar. It was a quiet thing, and he stepped into it with gentle footsteps. 

 

“Mother,” he called, and the face that turned towards him made his heart clench. 

 

He felt so warm. 

 

“I think you would be proud of me.”

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

 

A proud man stood, at the end of a lonely pier. Wind caught on white robes and swirled them forward, catching on the surface of still water and licking at it. 

 

The wind brushed long hair from his face, but Lan Wangji did not look away. 

 

He waited here, for a smile like sunrise and a laugh that echoed into his chest and through his ribs.

 

He waited, for Wei Ying. 

 

That laugh sounded from behind him, and he turned to bright water to watch it swirl like a storm had come to kiss across its surface. 

 

Wei Ying had always been so very dramatic, he thought, with all the love that had ever been in his chest. 

 

“Lan Zhan, have you been sitting here the whole time I’ve been away? Won’t your pale skin burn in the sun?”

 

Lan Zhan just turned to meet the hands curling around his jaw, to a clever smile and bright eyes. Wei Wuxian looked beautiful in any form and through any life, but it would always his laugh that tore at Lan Zhan’s heart. 

 

He heard it now, and felt nothing but love. 

 

This pier had not been his home, but it had been his hope, and that made all the difference. 

 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

 

There was a ghost at Lotus Pier, it was said. If you walked the piers at night and pressed angry fingers into the lotus blooms, if you disturbed the still water with skipping stones, he would appear. He was always wrapped in a thousand shadowed robes, and each one glimmered like they had stolen the light from the stars. In the cracks of his smile lingered endless secrets, each one leaving only a glimmer in the night. 

 

He looked ferocious as a ghoul, it was said. 

 

Jin Ling thought he looked happy.  

 

There was a ghost haunting Lotus Pier, it was said, but this was no truth but rumors. 

 

There was a figure at the end of the pier, this was true— Jin Ling had seen the man himself, felt his gentle laughter and seen a thousand bright smiles. He had stood beside the man as inky stories spilled into the air, as statues rose from the darkness to tell tales. 

 

There ran the rabbits of Gusu, made from the shadows that lurked beneath the delicate edge of the smallest lotus bloom. Here leapt the arrows of Wen Ning, made from the shadows that kept the Ghost General company. 

 

Watch the shadows play, in the sunlight of a warm pier. Watch them dance, and ask if they were made from the resentful energy of a ghost. 

 

Watch them, as they won laughter and smiles. 

 

Jin Ling did; he walked the pier and stood beside Laoshi, fear washed into happiness and relief. He stood, and knew his uncle’s hands shook no more. 

 

There was a figure at the end of the pier, this was true. 

 

But Wei Laoshi was no ghost. His sword shone in the sun and glimmered brighter than the moon, and oh, the man laughed with shadows but stood beyond them. 

The blossoms around that lonely pier bloomed through winter and snow, large and beautiful beyond measure. No other flower could live up to their majesty, and no one had seen their equal in a hundred years. 

This was no surprise, for they were Wei Wuxian’s flowers, and he was no ghost but god. 

fin. 

Notes:

And that’s our end! Thank you for reading Ghost, and I hope you enjoyed the ride. This isn’t the last Wangxian from me- I got another long fic in the works- but I’ll be taking a break for a bit.

HAPPY NEW YEARS!

ps. The full title of this fic is Death of a Ghost, Birth of a God, but I’ve refused to change it because spoilers. So now you know!

ps 2: I’ve had a few questions about this, so just to fill in a little bit of Chinese lore— the Xuanwu of Slaughter is made from part of the body of a god, and so the Stygian Tiger Seal basically spent centuries in the belly of a god! So this is why it had so much power in the first place (along with the resentful energy it was bathed in for centuries). When it was cleansed of resentful energy it was basically a massive power source, slammed into Wei Wuxian’s soul— hence, ghost to god.

 

Note (added 07/2020): Thank you for all the comments on this fic! I don't usually respond to them, but please know that I read and love all of them. In particular, a special thanks to wangxian+fan for your tireless enthusiasm and comments on every chapter. You have been a treasure to this fandom, and will be missed.

Notes:

Come hit me up on my server for prompts and general tomfoolery, and my twitter for stupidity.

I love hear if I wrote a particularly captivating or interesting line-- feel free to include it in a comment to feed your friendly neighborhood writing monster.

 

Art Corner, where you all kill me by being so awesome:
WWX standing on the pier in moonlight

Gorgeous mood painting of WWX

Beautiful and epic WWX with sword

Scene when WWX sent his robes of shadows away