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Lan Wangji feels the resentful energy welling up in the Patriarch where the dagger has pierced his stomach. He knows his own death is near, and continues keeping his eyes closed.
He’s made his peace with the fact that he would die in the process of assassinating the Patriarch; he got to say goodbye to his brother before the wedding procession started, and he got to tend to his mother’s grave one last time yesterday.
It’s okay. Lan Wangji’s death is an acceptable compromise, if it means ridding the cultivation world of the Yiling Patriarch.
There is a startled gasp from the Patriarch, and then the resentful energy around them fizzles out sharply.
Lan Wangji opens his eyes, and is unable to stop the noise that he makes, because this is-
“Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying smiles at him. “Er-gege,” he whispers. “Here you are. I looked everywhere for you.”
Lan Wangji trembles. His hand falls from the hilt of the dagger. He stares down to where his dagger has pierced Wei Ying, where Wei Ying is bleeding profusely through the red of his wedding robes, where the blood has begun to blacken as a result of the poison on the blade.
“Wei Ying,” he manages to say again. His beautiful Wei Ying.
“Wei Ying is here,” Wei Ying tells him, reaching out to gently touch his face. “I’ve missed you er-gege. You left, and I missed you so much.”
“You’re the Yiling Patriarch,” Lan Wangji says. “You’re the Yiling Patriarch. How could you be the Yiling Patriarch?”
His Wei Ying is good, has been nothing but good, has done nothing but good in the time that Lan Wangji has known him. His Wei Ying cannot be the cruel, bloodthirsty Yiling Patriarch that everyone speaks of. His Wei Ying’s touches are always soft, and his words always tender. His Wei Ying will not hurt innocent people, has tried his best not to hurt anyone at all, and Lan Wangji-
Lan Wangji has just doomed his Wei Ying.
He lets out a distressed, anguished noise, and Wei Ying draws him close.
“Shh,” Wei Ying tells him. “It’s okay, er-gege. Don’t be scared. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
Lan Wangji shakes his head. His own safety is inconsequential. Wei Ying has to live, but Lan Wangji doesn’t know how to help.
“Poison,” Lan Wangji rasps out. “There was poison-”
“On the blade,” Wei Ying finishes. His knees give out, and he falls, but Lan Wangji catches him, eases him to the ground. “I can feel that now," Wei Ying says around a breathless laugh. "My er-gege is so well-prepared. So careful. You did well, er-gege."
Lan Wangji barely suppresses a whimper.
Wei Ying tries to soothe him by saying, "It will be okay.”
“The antidote is in Lanling,” Lan Wangji says. Lanling is too far away. Lan Wangji will not make it there and back in time to save Wei Ying. He shakes. “Wei Ying, I do not know how to create the antidote.”
Wei Ying hums. “It’s alright, er-gege,” he says. He smiles at Lan Wangji. Touches Lan Wangji’s face again, trails down his neck, and runs his hand down Lan Wangji’s wedding robes, at the golden phoenix embroidered on them, a gift from the Yiling Patriarch himself. “I thought I lost you forever, but here you are. It’s my wedding day today, and it’s you. Here you are.”
Lan Wangji cries. “Wei Ying, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to- Not you, never you.”
He’d left Wei Ying because he was supposed to marry the Yiling Patriarch, and he’d known that he would need to end the Patriarch’s life, and risk his own to achieve that. He’d left without a word to Wei Ying, because it would’ve hurt to look Wei Ying in the eye, and to tell Wei Ying the truth of what he was tasked with accomplishing.
“Shh,” Wei Ying says again. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. You love me too much for that, er-gege, right?”
Lan Wangji nods desperately. He would never hurt Wei Ying on purpose. He’s only ever wanted to love and protect his Wei Ying.
What is he supposed to do now? How will he save his Wei Ying? Would Lan Xichen have the antidote, or enough knowledge of the poison to recreate the antidote in time? If he goes back, if he begs Lan Xichen to save Wei Ying, to save the Patriarch, would Lan Xichen do it for him?
He tries to pull away from Wei Ying, but Wei Ying’s grip on him tightens.
“Not letting you leave me again,” Wei Ying mumbles. “The last time I let you, you were gone for so long. I couldn’t find you anywhere. I’m never letting you go again, er-gege.”
“Wei Ying, I have to-” Do something. He has to save Wei Ying. At all costs. “Please.”
Wei Ying’s eyelids fall shut slowly. “Stay here, Lan Wangji,” he tells Lan Wangji quietly. “Stay here, and hold me close.”
It’s the first time Wei Ying has used his name.
“Lan Zhan,” Lan Wangji tells him. Wei Ying had settled on er-gege months ago, after his multiple attempts to cajole a name out of Lan Wangji had failed. Lan Wangji feels too foreign on Wei Ying’s tongue, feels wrong, but Wei Ying had wanted so desperately to know his name all those months ago, and Lan Wangji doesn’t want to withhold it from him anymore. “Wangji is my courtesy name. My birth name is Lan Zhan.”
Wei Ying smiles. “Stay here, and hold me close, then, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji gathers Wei Ying closes. He can’t seem to stop crying. “Wei Ying, you can’t die.”
Wei Ying huffs out a soft laugh at that. “Mn,” he agrees. “I am the Yiling Patriarch. Your poison cannot kill me.”
Hope wells up in him. Wei Ying may be speaking the truth. The Yiling Patriarch’s powers are boundless. They say he controls death. He may be beyond death’s reach.
He kisses Wei Ying’s forehead. Trails his lips down the slope of Wei Ying’s nose. Kisses his lips the same way he had six months ago, the night he left Wei Ying. “You have to live,” he tells Wei Ying. “You have to live, please, husband.”
Wei Ying opens his eyes. “Husband,” he echoes.
Lan Wangji nods. “The wedding procession happened. We took our bows. You are my husband, and you must live for me.”
Wei Ying smiles again, sharp and pleased this time. His eyes glow red. “Don't worry, er-gege,” he says, as a dark cloud of resentful energy surrounds them. Wei Ying draws the dagger out of his body, and tosses it to the side, never taking his eyes off Lan Wangji. The wisps of black smoke ebb into the wound. Healing it. Sealing it. “I am the Yiling Patriarch. Your poison cannot kill me.”