Chapter Text
A new student stands at the front of the class.
A boy with long black hair swept back from his face, a blue ribbon across his forehead, and a stormy, discontented expression. Golden eyes stare sullenly to the side, avoiding the curious gazes of the rest of the students. The teacher introduces him, but the boy’s eyes don’t shift, staring stubbornly at the door–
—
What do you wish for?
a cascade of guqin notes, a discordant falling scale; a shattering of glass, a splintered reflection, a thousand pieces of fragmented light–
—
A new student stands at the front of the class.
A boy with long black hair hanging in front of his face like a curtain, and an expression somewhere between a statue and a glacier. Golden eyes stare disinterestedly at the back wall, avoiding the curious gazes of the rest of the students. The teacher introduces him, and the boy’s eyes shift suddenly, locking onto Wei Wuxian.
Wuxian startles, jerking in his chair.
This, obviously, is what he gets for staring so blatantly at the transfer student. ‘Lan Wangji’ clearly noticed. But really, it’s not every day you have a dream about a guy you’ve never met before, and the next day he shows up in your class! In the face of such an utterly bizarre sequence of events, Wuxian can be forgiven for staring a little, right?
Well, now the transfer student is staring back, completely ignoring the teacher’s attempts to get his attention. It’s not entirely comfortable– what can be seen of Lan Wangji’s face is alarmingly blank, and he doesn’t seem to be blinking. But Wuxian’s not one to be intimidated! And he’s not about to back down from a challenge of his own creation either. So he stares back, grins, and winks broadly.
Lan Wangji doesn’t so much at flinch. He stares at Wuxian through the curtain of his hair for another long second, before turning away, and walking towards his designated seat. His movement is refined, almost to the point of exaggeration. Perfect posture, lifted chin, steps that seem to flow like water. His hair even lifts a little, drifting behind him in an elegant wave.
At this point, Wuxian isn’t the only one staring, but Jiang Cheng still hisses in his ear: “Stop oggling the guy already!”
“I’m not!” Wuxian hisses back, twisting around in his chair to stick his tongue out at his brother.
“Can you blame him?” Nie Huaisang mutters from the row behind them, and a nervous titter rolls through everyone seated nearby.
The teacher coughs to settle the class, tapping the pointer against the whiteboard. Morning lessons begin, and Wuxian makes an effort to concentrate on the teacher’s voice for about fifteen seconds, before his eyes are pulled back to Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji, transfer student. Lan Wangji, who Wuxian has never met before today.
Lan Wangji, who Wuxian saw in his dreams last night.
Such a bizarre dream. A boy dressed all in white, like he was attending a funeral. Glowing with light, like he was the beacon on the shoreline, shining out into the storm. And around him– the storm. Or maybe– an apocalypse? Some kind of catastrophe, some kind of irreversible ending. Blackened sky, shattered ground, buildings floating and falling and destroyed. A flooded earth, edges of concrete and broken-off bits of a city jutting out of the water.
And this boy, robed in white and brilliance, flying through the air and fighting. Fighting…fighting something. Fighting the end of the world. Alone. With wildly cool magic powers, yeah, but alone.
The dream had been bizarre on its own. Now that the boy from the dream has shown up in Wuxian’s class, it all feels surreal, almost ridiculous. Because, how?
Wuxian ignores Jiang Cheng’s irritated pokes and Nie Huaisang’s quiet smirks and stares at Lan Wangji all through morning classes. He waits for Lan Wangji to turn his head, to stare back at Wuxian through the long black hair half-covering his face. But Lan Wangji stays facing forward, ignoring everything but the teacher and the board.
When first break is called, the students closest to Lan Wangji immediately swarm him. And it’s not like Wuxian was definitely going to head over there or anything, but before he can even get out of his chair Jiang Cheng has jumped out of his own and ran around to the other side of Wuxian’s desk, slamming his hands down and boxing him in.
“Absolutely not,” Jiang Cheng growls. “He’s already being crowded! Don’t you dare go over there and make it worse.”
Wow, what slander. “Who says I was going over there?” Wuxian pouts and tries to catch a glimpse of Lan Wangji over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “A transfer student isn’t that interesting.”
“Bro Wei, you didn’t stop staring all morning.” Nie Huaisang leans against the other side of Wuxian’s desk with a sly, amused look. “He’s handsome isn’t he? I wonder how long it takes him to brush all that hair.”
“Handsome? How would I know?” Wuxian huffs, plucking subconsciously at his own hair, which is in its usual haphazard sort-of bun that has so many pieces falling out it’s nearly a ponytail. “And who cares how long he spends on his hair?”
“I care,” Nie Huaisang says patiently. “He’s absolutely stunning. I’d spend hours painting– mmph!”
Nie Huaisang silences himself with his own sleeve, abruptly returning to his own seat with red cheeks. In the same moment, Jiang Cheng stiffens and stops leaning on Wuxian’s desk, his eyes narrowed.
Lan Wangji is crossing the classroom towards them.
Wuxian is on his feet before he can think about it, practically vibrating with excitement as the transfer student stops in front of his desk.
“Hi there! Bored of your adoring new fans?” Wuxian teases with a beaming smile. “I don’t blame you. What–,”
“Wei Wuxian, you were in charge of first year orientation, were you not?” Lan Wangji interrupts, as if Wuxian hadn’t spoken at all. “You conducted school tours, and know the layout of the building. I am feeling unwell, can I trouble you to walk me to the nurse’s office?”
His voice is deep, and he has a peculiarly formal way of speaking, an old-fashioned ordering of his words. But there’s no emotion behind it. Lan Wangji doesn’t sound like he’s feeling unwell. He sounds like he’s reading off a grocery list.
Wuxian doesn’t let it bother him. He laughs instead.
“Of course, of course! Who wouldn’t feel unwell, suddenly thrust into this room of rowdy animals.” Wuxian slides out of his desk and pinches Jiang Cheng as he walks around him, neatly dodging the swing he gets in response. “Don’t worry Lan Wangji, you’re safe in my hands!”
There’s a question in Wuxian’s mind, as he and Lan Wangji maneuver their way through the desks and out of the classroom. It’s a very important question– just when is it appropriate, in a new friendship, to bring up the fact that you’d seen the person in a dream? Would it sound like a cheesy pick up line? Is it a great ice-breaker or a one-way ticket to getting slapped?
Wuxian doesn’t know enough about the transfer student to predict how he’ll react, but by the time they’re out into the hallway he’s decided to go for it. He looks back at Lan Wangji with a bright, impish grin. “Lan Wangji, do you want to hear a funny sto–,”
Lan Wangji walks past him.
Wuxian is left blinking, staring at the space where Lan Wangji was standing a moment ago. He almost trips as he turns, hurrying to catch up with the straight-backed figure swiftly getting further away. “Hey, uh, hey wait a second! Where are you going?”
“The nurse’s office.” Lan Wangji’s voice is in the same monotone. He does not stop walking. His legs are very long and he is walking very fast. Wuxian is practically jogging to keep up. By why is he keeping up? Isn’t he supposed to be the one leading?
“Hey, I’m supposed to be showing you the way, aren’t I?” Wuxian demands, finally managing to catch up, to walk at Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “If you’re in front, how am I supposed to–,”
Without breaking his stride, Lan Wangji turns left at the next hallway.
“It’s this way,” he says, without looking at Wuxian, “is it not?”
“…Yeah?” Okay, what in the hell? “You kind of seem to know where you’re going. Why am I here exactly?”
Lan Wangji doesn’t reply.
“Um.” It’s not often that Wuxian is lost for words, but he’s speechless now. Flabbergasted. Still struggling to keep up with Lan Wangji’s walking pace, struggling to think of something to say. Anything. And it’s not going to be the dream thing, because the goal is to make the atmosphere less weird.
“Um…so…so Lan Wangji, huh?” Wuxian paints his smile back on, jogging backwards so that he can look Lan Wangji in the face as they fast-walk. “That’s a nice name, pretty refined. The characters the teacher wrote when she introduced you– is your name supposed to be the same as that old saying? ‘Free from worldly concerns’? If it isn’t, your parents have really good naming sense–,”
“It is.”
“Huh?”
“It is meant to be the saying.”
“Oh! That’s neat. My name just means–,”
“Without envy.”
Wuxian stumbles mid step. He recovers quickly, hiding behind a laugh. “Yeah! Did…did you just make a wild guess?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes flick towards him. Flick away. He doesn’t reply.
Goosebumps prickle up and down Wuxian’s arms. It’s still early spring, a chill seeping through the glass windows of the school hallways, but the cold running along Wuxian’s spine feels like something else. He’s nervous, and uneasy, and feels so off-balance that he’s nearly dizzy with it. Once again, Wuxian struggles to find words, swallowing against the unexplainable lump that’s formed in his throat.
“Ha…say, Lan Wangji,” Wuxian’s smile is lop-sided, stiff. “Have we met–,”
“Lan Zhan.”
“What?”
“My birth name is Lan Zhan.” Golden eyes flick towards him. Flick away. “You may call me that. May I call you Wei Ying?”
“Wh– huh– s–sure?” Talking to Lan Wangji– Lan Zhan, is making Wuxian feel like he’s on a tilt-a-whirl. He can no longer remember the details of last night’s dream, just Lan Zhan’s presence, but this bizarre conversation is starting to feel like a dream itself. Everything feels…unreal. The unreality of dreams, where you know things you shouldn’t know. Where you recognize people you’ve never seen. Where the fabric of the world feels distorted, everything slightly off. The truth is, Wuxian doesn’t even know Nie Huaisang’s birth name and they’ve been friends for years. The only person outside of his family he’s on birth name basis with is Wen Ning. At this fancy private school, their birth names aren’t even written as part of their student records. There is no conceivable way that Lan Wangji could possibly know Wei Wuxian’s birth name. Not if this is the first time they’ve ever met.
“Lan, um, Lan, Lan Zhan…” Wuxian is never this nervous, never one to stutter with uncertainty, never one to stumble in his steps. But something is wrong, like, really fucking weird, and he doesn’t like someone running him around in circles with words. “Lan Zhan. Be honest with me, have we met befo–,”
Lan Zhan stops walking and turns on his heel.
He turns so sharply that his hair flares out around him, and his face, his golden eyes, are uncovered. Wuxian stops dead, mouth hanging open around the unfinished word. There’s nothing glacial about Lan Zhan now. His mouth is in a tight line, tension down his jaw. His hair settles back in front of his face, but it does nothing to temper the fire in his eyes, and Wuxian feels pinned down by them, stabbed through.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, low, slow and enunciated, “You have a kind and giving nature. You care very much for those around you. Would you give up your friends and family for any price? For anything in the world?”
Wuxian shuts his mouth. He takes a step back. Then another. The hallway is silent. All the other students are in class. The air is cool, and Wuxian is shivering. This is an unreal conversation. Is this a dream? No, it isn’t. It’s not. The feeling of unreality is oppressive, though. Of falling asleep and waking up in a world with its own rules, its own roles for you, the dream-residents staring at you expectant, waiting for you to follow along.
What the fuck is this guy’s problem?
“Would you,” Lan Zhan says again, voice even lower, “give up your friends and family for any price in the world?”
“No,” Wuxian replies quickly, unevenly. And then, having found his voice, “No, I wouldn’t!” Confusion bleeds away, leaving irritation, beginning to heat to anger. This isn’t a dream. This is just a transfer student being really fucking weird for no reason. “I don’t know where you get off asking those kinds of questions, just who do you think–,”
“Wei Ying, you try to help everyone you come across,” Lan Zhan interrupts, an edge to his voice. “You are an unrepentant bleeding heart. As you are, it is fine. But if you change, if you try and grasp power to help more people, you will lose all you hold dear. If you change, if you take on the responsibility to protect more than you can hold, you will lose your precious friends and family.”
And then before Wuxian can respond, Lan Zhan is stepping backwards. And then back again, his head lowering as he retreats.
“Guard your heart, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispers, “and stay as you are.”
He turns, and walks away.
—
There are things that Lan Wangji forgets.
There are timelines that blur together indistinctly. Moments that are lost in the cracks that form along panes of glass, notes that are lost between measures, unwritten pauses that leave an oppressive silence hanging over the empty audience.
But there are three things that are burned in Wangji’s memory.
First among those is the first time he met Wei Ying.
“Wangji– like that Taoist phrase, right?” Wei Ying smiled at him, bright as the sun itself. “My name means ‘without envy’, and my birth name, well it just means ‘kid’, actually. It’s Wei Ying!” Another flash of teeth, a bright grin. “You can call me Wei Ying, if you want.”
Wangji had flushed scarlet, and Wei Ying had laughed, long and loud, the sound echoing around the hallway.
“You shouldn’t get embarrassed so easily. Lan Wangji, aren’t you meant to be ‘free from worldly concerns’?” Wei Ying walked backwards, keeping his eyes on Wangji, smiling, smiling, smiling. “Look, I’ll show you around after school if you want. You’re new to the city right, not just the school? I know I’m only a school tour guide, but I know this city preeeetty well. I’ll take you on a scenic tour!”
Wangji, feeling like his skin was going to burn right off his ears, had quietly made excuses, denied the offer. Had been glad when Wei Ying dropped him off at the nurse’s office and left. He had felt too hot, and too observed, and like everything had been too loud, and now suddenly, was too quiet.
The rest of the day blurs in his memory. Wangji remembers that it was bad– of course it was bad. He was in a new school in a new city, after being institutionalized for months. He missed his brother, and despite all the therapy, missed his long-dead mother as well. He was behind on schoolwork and physically weaker than he had ever been in his life. The end of his Lan ribbon had gotten caught in a door and was now fraying. He felt useless and miserable and as much as Uncle was better than Father he still dreaded going home to an Uncle who would inquire after his day like he was asking after the weather.
Wangji remembers– he had been walking home, utterly miserable. He remembers that his thoughts weren’t angry, and so he didn’t try any of his mindful meditation methods to calm them. He let the misery and self-loathing wash over him, in such strong waves that it took him too long to realize the suicidal feelings taking root in his brain weren’t his own.
Wangji should remember the first witch he ever saw, but he doesn’t. He has seen too many witches since then. He doesn’t remember the specifics of the labyrinth he became trapped in, the witch’s snare. Only that he was frightened, and powerless, and furious that on top of everything else, he now had to deal with hallucinations.
And then, Wei Ying.
Wei Ying, in a blaze of purple light. Wei Ying, arriving like a lightning bolt, dressed in a strange outfit, a mix of a traditional hanfu and modern streetwear. He stood in front of Wangji, twirled a black flute in his hands and began to play a haunting melody. Ghostly forms phased into existence around him and lunged at the bulbous creature before them. What Wangji would later learn was a witch.
He had watched as the witch yelped and shrieked and tried to escape from Wei Ying’s ghosts, only to be caught in a mass of black chains. Another person, who Wangji would later learn was Wen Qionglin, swung into view, holding the witch in place with chains while Wei Ying lunged through the air, running the witch through with an ancient sword.
At the end of it all, the witch dead and the labyrinth dissolved, Wangji had sat on the ground gaping, while Wei Ying smiling, always smiling, knelt down in front of him.
“Sorry you got caught up in all this, Lan Wangji!” Wei Ying had said sheepishly. “Listen, can you keep this a secret?”
“What are you?” Wangji had demanded, embarrassed at being saved, embarrassed at the flush all over his skin, embarrassed by his mediocrity in the face of Wei Ying, glowing with power in front of him.
And then from behind him, an unfamiliar, high-pitched voice had said, “They’re cultivators!”
So much could have been avoided, Wangji thinks now, over a hundred timelines later, if I had thought to ask what they were cultivating towards.
—
Wei Wuxian fully intends to monopolize the lunchtime conversation with gossip about the new transfer student. He’s practically buzzing with the need to complain to Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang about the weirdness of their conversation, about how bizarre and rude the oh-so-refined Lan Wangji had been.
Unfortunately, Nie Huaisang ruins Wuxian’s plans by dropping an absolute bombshell.
“The Wens were what?” Wuxian shrieks, spitting rice across the table.
“Sh!” Nie Huaisang raises a finger to his mouth. “Keep your voice down! It’s not in the news yet.”
“Holy shit.” Jiang Cheng looks stupefied. “Who– who had the balls–,”
“But Wen Ning and his sister are okay, right?” Wuxian demands. He hasn’t seen Wen Ning at school today, and that– if Wen Ning is– “They– they weren’t–,”
“No, it was only Wen Ruohan and his two sons, and an uh, illicit girlfriend who were killed,” Nie Huaisang whispers. He opens his fan and holds it against the side of his face, as if that’s going to stop the other tables from overhearing. “Apparently, it was fucking weird. Like, nothing on cameras weird. And like, wounds not caused by any known weapons weird.”
“What, were they killed by aliens?” Wuxian asks incredulously.
“No one knows. Like, actually.” Nie Huaisang frowns. “It’s…it’s so impossible that it’s kind of upsetting? Like, who can just appear in Wen Ruohan’s bedroom and murder him without tripping any alarms, alerting any guards, or showing up on camera? And the– I nabbed a copy of the coroner’s report– don’t ask me how you don’t want to know –and the wounds…it’s actually unreal. Like, the word ‘radiation’ was written with a bunch of question marks next to it? But they swept the room with a geiger counter and got nothing.”
“You know what upsets me? That you know so much about this,” Jiang Cheng says flatly. But Nie Huaisang smiles, guileless and unrepentant. “Da-ge is close with most of the police department. And he’s been trying to find a way to take down the Wens for awhile, so he has many undercover contacts in place. But in all honesty, he has no idea what exactly happened. Like sure, there’s lots of people who would want to put a hit on the Wens, but who could actually pull it off?”
The question hangs in the air between the three of them. Wuxian twirls a chopstick, staring at the table and wondering if he should call Wen Ning. Would Wen Ning want a call from him? After all, who may be the question, but the list of possible suspects isn’t actually that long. It had to have been arranged by one of the other big families in the city; the Jin, the Nie, or the Jiang.
“I wonder if Dad and Mom know,” Jiang Cheng mutters, clearly thinking along the same line as Wuxian. “Dad’s been really worried about the Wens lately. That’s why we’ve been getting driven to and from school.”
“I mean, I know Da-ge didn’t want me hanging out alone with you because your parents’ businesses were right in the Wens crosshairs.” Nie Huaisang admits. “I bet they’re relieved the Wens are gone– ah! Don’t look at me like that! I’m not accusing your family. Again, who could possibly sneak in to the Wen estate and murder the main family undetected? Not people as loud as you two. Not anyone from my family either. Or anyone as flashy as the Jins.”
Jiang Cheng grumbles, but it’s half-hearted. He’s clearly still unsettled, staring down at his plate with a furrow between his brows.
Wuxian feels the same. Unsettled. A little queasy. It’s easy for Nie Huaisang to say none of their families could be responsible, but it’s difficult to believe. And maybe assigning culpability isn’t important– they had all wanted the overbearing, dangerous main family Wens off their backs –but Wuxian is worried for Wen Ning and his sister.
Wen Ning’s only fourteen, a year younger than Wuxian. They’d met on orientation day, when Wuxian was showing the first years around the school. Wen Ning, shy with a stutter, too tall and too broad for his age and always trying to make himself smaller. He assumed any attention given to him would be negative, and reacted to any praise Wuxian passed his way like a little sunflower finally receiving sunlight. His smiles started tentative, and then grew wider and wider. Wuxian hadn’t minded at all that Wen Ning had spent the first few weeks of school shadowing him. And even after that, after Wen Ning made some friends in his grade, Wuxian still checked on him from time to time, spent free periods taking him out for boba. He’s even spent afternoons at the apartment Wen Ning shares with his sister. It’s been a few months though. Wen Ning’s been…different lately. Sturdier on his feet, but more evasive. He hasn’t invited Wuxian over in awhile. Wuxian had assumed it was probably because of the growing tension between the Jiangs and the Wens.
Now…Wuxian is worried. Wen Ning and Wen Qing have never been directly involved with the shadier aspects of the Wen business. But that doesn’t mean they won’t get hit by the fallout from these murders. Worse, it doesn’t mean that they’re not targets themselves.
“Wen Ning and Wen Qing were never involved with their Uncle’s assholery,” Wuxian mutters. “Everyone knows that, right? That they’re not trouble?”
“They might be next in line to get the money and assets though,” Nie Huaisang points out. “So…uh, I mean, their involvement is probably going to go up once the dust settles.”
“So what? That doesn’t mean they’re going to start blackmailing and disappearing people.” Wuxian tangles his fingers in his necklace, letting the chain bite into his skin while he rubs his thumb along the little tiger charm. He’s– afraid, actually. Worried for his friends, and getting progressively angrier about how little he can do to help them. He’s not a lawyer, and he’s not– he’s not an official son of the Jiang family so he can’t even influence anything, not really. This is far beyond Wuxian’s control, and there really is nothing he can do. But that doesn’t change the fact that he wants to help. Badly.
Jiang Cheng seems to sense this through brotherly telepathy or whatever, because he starts getting twitchy. He’s busy the rest of the afternoon– as usual, Madam Yu has him booked up with all sorts of lessons –and he’s clearly concerned that Wuxian is going to do something stupid without someone to stop him. In a low, but desperate tirade, Jiang Cheng tells Wuxian that he better go straight home after school, that they have homework, that there’s some kind of radiation ninja on the loose, that Shijie might need help with her garden, that it might rain, that it might snow, that mercury’s in retrograde –
“Bro Wei, I was going to stop by the old tea shop at the mall to get some incense for my brother,” Nie Huaisang says casually. “Can you come with? You know I always get lost when I take public transportation.”
It’s obvious that Nie Huaisang is just offering to babysit Wuxian in Jiang Cheng’s place, so that he doesn’t do something like show up at Wen Ning’s apartment, but Wuxian agrees anyways. He’s rattled, and buzzing with the kind of agitated energy that always leads to trouble. It’s not just Wen Ning; the weird conversation with Lan Zhan is also unsettling Wuxian in his skin, making him feel wired and restless. Spending the afternoon shopping with Nie Huaisang sounds, sounds like a good idea. Avoid reality, for a couple of hours at least.
Avoiding reality turns out to be easier said than done. After school, on the subway and walking through the mall, Wuxian pays exactly 0 attention to anything Nie Huaisang is doing or saying. There’s like…an itch in his brain. This whole business with the Wens…it feels like Wuxian should know something about it, but can’t remember. And he’s no stranger to forgetting things, he’s the first to admit he has a shit memory, but normally, Wuxian forgets things so thoroughly he doesn’t even know he’s forgotten something.
But now there’s an itch.
There’s an annoying certainty that he should know something about the death of the main family Wens. But that doesn’t make any sense! Sure, Wuxian knows that the Wens had been trying to buy out the Jiangs, to essentially run them out of the city, but Uncle Jiang had been content to ride out their aggression, secure in the loyalty of the Jiangs’ current investors. He’d never said anything that like, implied in any way that the main family Wens would be killed. And Wuxian hasn’t spoken to Wen Ning in over a week, and has never heard anything about a looming murder from him either.
So why, why, does Wuxian feel like he should know what happened to Wen Ruohan and his sons?
It’s maddening, and Wuxian can’t concentrate on anything else. He stares down at a row of lavender scented candles while Nie Huaisang has a low conversation with the shop owner, which might be an argument, but Wuxian can’t tell because the owner has a particularly unintelligible dialect of Mandarin that Wuxian can’t decipher unless he’s really concentrating. Which he isn’t. He’s puzzling over the brain itch and trying not to sneeze into the candles and avoiding thinking about Lan Zhan–
And then Wuxian hears a voice in his head.
It’s not his own voice, which is uh, fucking startling. Wuxian jumps, his knee banging into the shelf, and turns, looking around. But there’s no one near him, no one talking to him.
Wei Wuxian, help me!
“Who the fuck?” he whispers, pressing one hand to his temple.
Please, help me! There’s no one else who can!
Oh, so Wuxian’s losing his mind. Great! Fantastic! The responsible thing to do would be to inform Nie Huaisang that, unfortunately, Wuxian needs to go home and take a nap because he’s hearing voices. But.
But. There’s that feeling in his brain. That itch. Like there’s something he should remember but doesn’t.
And Wuxian’s never been good at turning down a cry for help.
Fuck it. Sure. Hope you’re not a telepathic axe murderer. Wuxian slips out of the tea shop, hand still pressed to the side of his head. Where are you?
The telepathic voice leads him to the most murdery place possible– the lowest level of the mall parking garage. Wuxian is well aware of how terrible an idea this is, how stupid he’s being. But he can’t stop his feet. It’s a terrible idea, he’s definitely going to be murdered; but he can’t stop himself from following the voice. It feels like Wuxian’s walking a path he’s already tread, like his feet are finding footprints that he’s already worn into the ground. With each step, it feels like he’s closer to remembering whatever it is that he’s forgotten.
He’s still shocked, absolutely gobsmacked, when an otherworldly stuffed animal tumbles out of a ceiling pipe and lands in a heap at his feet. White, with cat ears and what looks like rabbit ears coming out of them. A fluffy tail. Like some alien had set a ‘cute animal’ creator on random. It’s not, not anything that should exist in this world. Unreal.
Wei Wuxian…it lifts its head, eyes closed but facing towards Wuxian. …Help me…
“Oh, I am so glad you’re not a creepy old man,” Wuxian says out loud. “I mean, with the cutesy voice I figured– but you never know, right? And who knows how voices work with telepathy, honestly–,”
He’s still babbling when the little…whatever, staggers up to its feet and crashes itself into his ankles beseechingly. It’s not a cat, but it’s doing the needy cat thing, so Wuxian takes the hint and scoops it up into his arms.
It’s hurt. Not bleeding, but with the fur burnt away, showing red in places. There’s no…flesh though. Whatever red is showing beneath the white fur isn’t…isn’t what animals are made of. Wuxian’s done enough biology dissections to know that much.
There’s no time to think too hard about it, because he hears footsteps approaching and looks up from the creature, just in time to see–
Lan Zhan.
It’s…Lan Zhan?
Lan Zhan, in what looks like some kind of traditional all-white hanfu, with sharp shoulders and sleeves that start out form-fitting and then flare. It falls too short for traditional clothing though, stopping just below the knees. And the hem isn’t traditional either, resembling a modern handkerchief skirt in the way it falls in uneven layers. The white boots he’s wearing are definitely modern, laced up and tall enough to disappear beneath the hanfu. And there’s a…dinner plate? No, a mirror. A big circular mirror attached to his left forearm. And a glowing white stone affixed to the back of his left hand. In the gloom of the parking garage, with his all-white outfit and long black hair still hanging curtain-like in front of his face, Lan Zhan looks more otherworldly than the telepathic alien in Wuxian’s arms.
“Lan…” Wuxian licks his lips, mouth dry. “Lan Zhan?”
Lan Zhan stops where he is, a couple of metres away. One hand lifts, stretching towards Wuxian for a moment, before dropping to his side.
“Get away from that thing.” Lan Zhan’s voice is quiet, but sharp.
“What…what thing?” Wuxian’s pulse is skittering, he can’t tell if he’s afraid or excited, but he can’t look away from Lan Zhan. “You mean…you mean this telepathic stuffed animal? This thing?”
The sharp clack of boots on asphalt, as Lan Zhan walks forwards. “Put it down. I will deal with it.”
Wuxian’s stomach drops. He finds himself retreating, clutching the creature close and stumbling backwards. “Hey now, wait a second–,”
“Put it down.”
“Hey, hey!” Wuxian plants his feet, holding the creature in one arm and jabbing a finger forward with his free hand. “Just where do you get off demanding things from me, huh? And what are you going to do with it anyways? ‘Cause I’ll be frank, Lan Zhan, you’ve got a pretty murdery look in your eyes.”
Lan Zhan stops walking towards him. His mouth presses into a thin line. This close, Wuxian can see the gold of his eyes, staring out through his bangs. This close, Wuxian can see something like anger, something like fury, shining out in his gaze.
And then Lan Zhan is obscured in a cloud of white foam.
Nie Huaisang, screaming bloody murder, charges forward with fire extinguisher in hand, unloading it on Lan Zhan before throwing it at him. He then runs at Wuxian, grabbing him by the hand and sprinting away.
“What is this? Is he a ghost? Has he been dead this whole time?” Nie Huaisang wails. “Bro Wei, why would you come down to a creepy place like this anyways! Why, on the day we learned the Wens were mysteriously murdered, would you go off on your own like this! You’re lucky I can track you with my phone!”
“Lan Zhan’s not a ghost!” Wuxian complains, trying to look over his shoulder while being pulled along. “And you told me you took the tracker off!”
“Bro Wei, that’s not the point! It’s– huh?”
Nie Huaisang comes to a sudden stop. Wuxian hits his back, and they both stumble. The creature in his arms doesn’t make a sound, but Wuxian looks down at it to make sure it didn’t get squished. It remains limp in his arms, breathing softly.
“Bro Wei.” Wuxian looks up as Nie Huaisang grips his arm. “Where are the stairs?”
“Huh?” The stairs are right….
The door to the staircase that leads out of the parking garage is gone. And as Wuxian stares at the empty space on the wall, the elevator doors that are there shimmer like a mirage…and then disappear.
And then, in a reality-distorting ripple beneath their feet, the floor disappears too.
Nie Huaisang yelps, pressing himself against Wuxian’s side as a field of yellow thorns replaces the asphalt of the garage. The world around them paints itself in sickening shades, the ceiling going green, the walls going a putrid yellow. All exits, all cars, all signs of the place they were are gone. Replaced by darkened hallways that look like they lead to nowhere. Or to, to somewhere decidedly not good.
“Are we high?” Nie Huaisang squeaks. “Is this really happening?”
“We’re obviously dreaming,” Wuxian says in a matter-of-fact tone, completely at odds with the terrible crunching dread in his chest. “This is obviously a nightmare– fuck!”
Nightmare or not, it stops being a thing that’s happening around them and becomes a thing that’s coming at them. Monsters, unreal fucking monsters, start shambling out of the shadows towards them. Cotton balls pulling themselves forward on barbed wire limbs with snapping scissors at the ends. The sound of metal scraping echoes all around as they’re surrounded, and Nie Huaisang screams and hides behind Wuxian. Wuxian swears and reaches for– what?
He reaches at his waist for– there’s nothing to reach for. He’s grabbing at nothing with his empty hand. Frozen and helpless, watching fucking demonic cotton balls lurch closer while Nie Huaisang cowers and the alien stuffed animal lies motionless in his arms–
And then the sound of chains.
A wave of red energy crashes into the cotton balls closest to Wuxian and Nie Huaisang, reducing the monsters to ash. Black chains whip out of the shadows and wrap around the remaining monsters, squeezing them until they pop into nothingness, the scissors falling limp to the ground.
And out of one of the darkened hallways, illuminated by a soft pink glow, steps Wen Ning.
He looks tired. His hair’s a mess and he’s not in his school uniform, but he’s smiling. In one hand, he’s holding an egg-shaped gem, the source of the soft pink glow.
“Senior Wei,” Wen Ning calls out, “I’m so glad you’re safe! Oh, and you have Kyubey too, thank goodness.”
“Is– is this a set up?” Huaisang peeks over Wuxian’s shoulder, voice shaking. “Is this a trap? You think my brother won’t–,”
“No, no!” Wen Ning walks a little faster, until he’s only a few steps in front of them. Then he stops, looking apologetic. “This…this is a labyrinth. You’re being attacked by a witch.”
Wuxian stares at Wen Ning. Then he turns to look at Nie Huaisang, who looks back at him. Then, as one, they turn back to Wen Ning.
“A what?”
“We’re where?”
“I swear I can explain!” Wen Ning insists. “But let me take care of this witch first, okay?”
Wen Ning smiles again. It’s the new smile Wuxian’s been seeing more and more the past few months. A confident smile, that’s echoed in the way Wen Ning stands taller, squares his shoulders, shelves his usual shyness.
Wen Ning smiles, and then tosses the gem he’s holding into the air.
What happens next is…kind of hard to follow, actually. There’s like, a lot of pinkish-red light, that surrounds Wen Ning’s body, changing his clothing, his shoes. There’s some twirling? Wuxian thinks Wen Ning does some twirls. And then after the twirling, and the glowing, and the sensation of reality bending, Wen Ning stands before them dressed in a traditional red and black hanfu, with black chains wrapped around his waist like a belt. The robe falls to his ankles, where he’s wearing white socks in black sandals, because of course he is. There’s a space on his shoulder where the fabric is cut away, revealing the glowing pink gem now shaped like a star, fixed against his skin.
And then Wen Ning is moving. Almost faster than Wuxian’s eyes can track. The black chains unwind from his waist and shoot out into the darkness, dragging something both fluffy and sharp out of one of the tunnels. It screeches, scissors and barbed wire whipping from its body. But they’re blocked by the black chains, and Wuxian sees Wen Ning, gentle fourteen-year-old Wen Ning, leap through the air, bring his fists over his head, and pound the monster into the ground so hard that everything shakes.
And then the world shimmers. The sickly yellow-green melts away and the thorns disappear. The nightmare vanishes and they’re left, once again, in an underground parking garage.
Wen Ning remains in his fucking bizarre outfit, smiling a little sheepishly as the chains wind back around his waist on their own. He takes a step towards Wuxian and Nie Huaisang, and then stops with a sudden frown. Wen Ning’s head turns sharply to the side, and then he breaks into a run, skidding to stop in front of Wuxian and Nie Huaisang. Nie Huaisang yelps again, ducking behind Wuxian. But Wuxian looks past Wen Ning, trying to see what caught his attention.
It’s Lan Zhan.
Again, Lan Zhan.
He’s standing on top of a nearby car, half-hidden in the shadows. He’s not, not doing anything either. Just standing there, completely still. Watching. It’s hard to see with the distance and low light, but Wuxian’s genuinely not sure if he’s even blinking.
Wuxian’s tightens his hold on the injured creature. Behind him, Nie Huaisang seems to have noticed Lan Zhan as well, if the way he goes ‘eep!’ and grabs the back of Wuxian’s sweater is any indication.
“The witch got away,” Wen Ning says, facing Lan Zhan, his shoulders square. “You could catch up to it, if you left now.”
Lan Zhan doesn’t move. “I have business here.”
Wen Ning’s hands twitch at his sides. Fingers half-curling into fists, and then forcibly relaxing.
“Do you want to fight?” Wen Ning asks softly. “I don’t want to, right now. You can see it’s not a good time for that, can’t you? It won’t be over fast, if you think I’d be easy to beat. I may not look it, but I’ve defended my territory before.”
Huh? What? Hello??? Wuxian looks back and forth between Lan Zhan and Wen Ning, mouth hanging open. He has no idea what the hell kind of energy is crackling between the two of them, but it’s making all the hair on his body stand on end. Fight? Territory? What?
“Who’s fighting?” Wuxian interjects loudly. “Just what’s going on here? Who says anyone’s fighting? That’s, that’s Lan Wangji. He just moved here. He’s in our class, a– a transfer student.”
“He’s the one that hurt Kyubey,” Wen Ning says evenly. “Kyubey is dear to me.”
Who the fuck– oh, telepathic furby. Right, Wuxian can go ahead and guess that he’s holding this…Kyubey. And, okay yeah, all signs point to Lan Zhan being the one who hurt it. With every intention of hurting it more. Wuxian rescued Kyubey, and he’s known Wen Ning for months and sees him like a little brother, so…so he should hate or be mad or scared of Lan Zhan or something, right? If Lan Zhan hurt an adorable, harmless-looking thing that’s dear to Wen Ning, Wuxian should be totally against him, right?
But Wuxian doesn’t feel angry or scared. He’s just…confused. He’s just…standing at some sort of edge, staring at some sort of puzzle missing too many pieces. Wuxian looks at Lan Zhan, some sort of impulse compelling him to search his face for answers. But there’s nothing there but cold, immovable marble.
“A fight may be inevitable, if you’ve moved here for good,” Wen Ning continues, voice just as even, just as soft. “But now isn’t a good time. I think we can agree on that.”
Lan Zhan’s nostrils flare. He lifts his chin.
And turns away.
Wuxian sees the tail end of an expression, a flash of pain across Lan Zhan’s face, and then he only sees Lan Zhan’s back. And then, nothing at all, as Lan Zhan melts into the shadows and out of sight.
Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang both heave a sigh of relief. In a flash of light, Wen Ning’s clothing returns to normal, and he presses a hand to his chest, exhaling again. “That’s always so awful. Other cultivators are worse than witches sometimes. And he’s moved here? He’s not just passing through? I think…I think that’s going to be a problem.”
“Wen Ning, listen, thank you for killing those evil cotton balls,” Nie Huaisang says in a sincere, polite tone of voice. Then he runs forward, grabs Wen Ning by the collar, sucks in a breath and screams, “What the fuck is going on?!”
—
They end up at Wen Ning’s apartment. Nie Huaisang spends the whole trip there muttering that his big brother will kill him if he finds out. Wuxian is fairly certain that Jiang Cheng will do the same, so he and Nie Huaisang mutually swear each other to silence, while Wen Ning looks slightly uncomfortable and apologetic.
“Jie won’t be home any time soon, she’s dealing with…with Uncle’s death,” he informs them inside, as they settle around the low table in his sitting room. “She…it’s a lot to deal with. It’s…messy. Neither of us want the money or the…anything, so she’s trying to get us um, out of it. Hopefully it will all clear up….eventually.”
“So you’re not, uh,” Nie Huaisang squints, “upset that your Uncle and cousins are dead?”
Wen Ning looks abashed. “No.”
“Can we, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, can we table the murder of Wen Ruohan and sons to talk about the magical elephant in the room?” Wuxian demands. He’s staring at the…Kyubey, who is resting in Wen Ning’s lap. “Unless you think a…a witch murdered them? Or a, a…whatever you are?”
“Witches don’t leave bodies,” Wen Ning says, matter-of-fact. “And I’m a cultivator. And cultivators don’t kill humans. There’s…this is going to sound mean, but other cultivators are mean. There’s no benefit to killing humans. Cultivators…I mean I fight witches to protect people, but other cultivators fight witches to make themselves stronger. They would see killing humans as a waste of magic.”
“Can you start from the beginning?” Nie Huaisang whines. “Can you start with the assumption that we have no clue what a cultivator or a witch is? Cause we don’t?”
“A cultivator is an adolescent who forms a contract with me!”
All their heads turn as Kyubey sits up in Wen Ning’s lap.
Wen Ning had used his…glowy pink gem to heal the wounds on Kyubey’s body, but this is the first time the creature’s spoken. His voice, cheerful and cutesy, still rings out telepathically, rather than coming out of his cat shaped mouth. His eyes, now open, are a deep pink.
“You said he could talk, and yet, here I am, stunned,” Nie Huaisang mutters. “Maybe I smelt something funny in the tea shop, and this is all a bad trip.”
Kyubey doesn’t seem to hear the comment. Or doesn’t acknowledge it. His eyes are, uh, quite fixed on Wuxian. Staring intently, like, really intently, at Wuxian.
“You said a, uh, a contract?” Wuxian asks tentatively. “And…what are you, exactly? An alien?”
“My kind has worked with humanity since the dawn of your species,” Kyubey says, which isn’t quite an answer. “The contract is simple. In exchange for the granting of one wish, cultivators must spend their life fighting witches. Witches are monsters birthed from despair. They form labyrinths, disorienting pockets where reality is governed by nightmares, and pull victims in. Depending on the despair that created them, witches and their labyrinths can take many different forms. Each one is uniquely dangerous. But through the contract, I gift cultivators the magic and strength necessary to fight them, in addition to granting a wish.”
“Any wish?” Nie Huaisang asks. His curiosity appears to have overridden his previous incredulity. “You could wish for endless money? To live forever? That can’t be true.”
“I do not lie. My species isn’t capable of it. I assure you, as long as you have the potential for it, I can grant any wish.”
My species isn’t capable of it, sounds a bit convenient, but Wen Ning is nodding along, so Wuxian decides to give Kyubey the benefit of the doubt. “Okay, cool, sure. What does ‘potential’ mean?”
“It’s hard to quantify. The best I can say is: you have the potential if you have a wish. When I approached Wen Ning, there was already something he wanted more than anything in the world. A true heart’s desire. And so, he had the potential to become a cultivator.”
“You’re not really the fighting sort, Wen Ning,” Wuxian comments. He smiles, but it sits uneasily on his face, mirroring the fluttering in his stomach. “Why did you… I mean dedicating your life to fighting magical monsters…”
“It’s like Kyubey said; there was something I wanted more than anything,” Wen Ning replies, without a single stutter or waver in his voice. “Not to be a burden. Not to be sick and weak all the time.”
“You weren’t a burden!” Wuxian immediately protests. “You were–,”
“Senior Wei, my sister’s been taking care of me our whole lives. She could never do anything without making provisions for me. She always had to worry about me falling ill, or fainting, or being hurt by our cousins, and I– I wanted that to stop.” Wen Ning stares down at his hand, thumb rubbing along the silver ring on his finger. When he lifts his head, meets Wuxian’s gaze again, he’s smiling. “You noticed the difference, didn’t you? I’m not sick anymore. I’m not weak. I’m strong, and I’ll never get sick again. It’s worth it, fighting all the time, to know that I’m not a burden anymore.”
Your sister never considered you a burden! If he says that, Wuxian’s sure he’ll just get a sadder smile from Wen Ning. So he swallows it down and says, “I’ve told you a hundred times just to call me Wei Wuxian…and, and uh, is Wen Qing okay with you doing this?”
Wen Ning’s eyes drop down again. “She…she doesn’t know. It’s…I made up a club. I’ve never lied to her before so she didn’t bother to double check. And I sneak out at night sometimes. I have to. There’s no one else to protect the city from witches.”
“You’re the only cultivator in the city?” Nie Huaisang sounds alarmed. “How many witches are there?”
“Sometimes one a week. Sometimes a couple in a night. They don’t really have…a schedule. I try to patrol every night, but…I can’t always. It’s hard to protect the whole city alone.”
Wen Ning is still looking at his lap, but Kyubey is staring straight at Wuxian. And Wuxian feels…jittery. Full of a strange anticipation. A mix between dread and nervous energy. There is a weighty expectation in the air, and it’s uncomfortable, feeling it settle onto his shoulders.
“But wait! You’re not the only cultivator.” Nie Huaisang waves his closed fan in the general direction of the door. “That…that Lan Wangji is one too, isn’t he?”
Lan Zhan. Wuxian straightens on the cushion he’s sitting on. That’s right, Wen Ning had referred to him as another cultivator.
“…Yes, but.” Wen Ning bites his lip. “We haven’t explained everything yet.”
Wen Ning lifts his hand. The silver ring on his finger glows, and the pink gem appears, hovering. He plucks it from the air and gently sets it on the table in between Wuxian and Nie Huaisang.
“You see how my soul gem is black along the sides?” Wen Ning says. “Whenever I use magic my gem gets a little dimmer. But I have this…”
Wen Ning pulls a silver and black vaguely spindle-shaped object out of his pocket. He holds it to his…soul gem, and the blackness is sucked out of the gem and into the spindle, which immediately crumbles away into nothingness.
“That was a grief seed,” Wen Ning explains, dusting his hand off on his sweater. “Witches drop those when you defeat them. If your gem isn’t too corrupted, you can usually get two or three uses out of the grief seed before it disintegrates. But if it’s been awhile since you last cleansed, it’s a one use thing. And a defeated witch only ever drops a single grief seed. The more corrupted your soul gem is, the less magic you can use, the harder fights become. Cultivators need grief seeds, but they can get scarce really fast. Like I said, sometimes there will only be one witch a week. So if I’m using magic to transform and patrol, or I’m fighting in labyrinths but the witch keeps getting away, or I’m fighting witch familiars, which are dangerous but don’t drop grief seeds…then I’d get weaker and weaker until I won a grief seed. And that’s an issue I have with me on my own in the city. Having two cultivators in a territory competing for grief seeds can be…tricky.”
“But you said a grief seed could be used two or three times,” Wuxian argues. “And you’d use less magic if you had someone fighting with you. So why don’t cultivators work together?”
“We could,” Wen Ning says, sounding regretful. “But Kyubey says we almost never do. And I think Lan Wangji is probably a cultivator who prefers to not have competition. Why else would he attack Kyubey, if not to stop him from contracting more cultivators?”
Wuxian opens his mouth, feeling strangely defensive. But he…he can’t think of anything to say to counter that, and isn’t sure why he wants so desperately to defend a weird, kind of scary boy he met for the first time this morning. So he sullenly shuts his mouth and fiddles with his lotus seed bracelet, discomfort squirming in his stomach.
“I’m pretty sure I can handle Lan Wangji, though,” Wen Ning continues, voice bright with that new confidence of his. “I’ve beaten other cultivators who tried to steal my territory. If he wants to share…the city’s big enough that we can work it out…probably. But if he keeps attacking Kyubey, we’ll have a fight.” Wen Ning’s smile remains, but something edged enters his eyes. “And I’ll win.”
“But Wei Wuxian, Nie Huaisang,” Kyubey chimes in, “you two do in fact have the potential to be cultivators! You could fight alongside Wen Ning, if you wanted to.”
Wuxian jolts a little, as Wen Ning and Kyubey both look at him with heavy, intent gazes. That weighty expectation is in the air again, pressing down. On his shoulders, on his head. His stomach is twisting, and it could be excitement, anticipation, or it could be leaden, sinking dread.
But Wuxian smiles. Exhales his nervousness into a shaky laugh. “Wait, wait just a second here. You said we had to have wishes to have potential. And I mean, I don’t? Like I definitely don’t have an uncontested true heart’s desire ready to go. So I’m not sure how I can have that, that potential you’re talking about.”
“Potential is hard to quantify, as I said,” Kyubey answers, unblinking. “It is also about possibility. You may not have a wish yet, but you could.” And then, as if remembering he exists, Kyubey transfers his gaze to Nie Huaisang. “Both of you.”
“Ah, wait. Wait!” Nie Huaisang holds up a hand. “This is all going too fast– why on earth would I want to spend my free time fighting monsters and crazy magic people in impractical clothing? This is– Wen Ning, I’m sorry to say, but this seems like an issue I best stay out of.”
“Nie Huaisang.” Kyubey tilts his head. “Are you saying there’s nothing you want badly enough to fight for it?”
Nie Huaisang pauses a moment. There’s the flicker of a humourless smile, before he snaps his fan open, hiding the lower half of his face and looking off to the side. “I’m a simple person, with simple needs. I’m spoiled, but I’m not hard to please. This life I have is fine as it is.”
There’s a silent stretch of seconds, where Kyubey stares unblinking at Nie Huaisang. But right at the edge of the silence becoming awkward, tense, Kyubey looks back to Wuxian.
“Wei Wuxian,” he says, “is there nothing you can think to wish for? To spend your life fighting to protect this city with Wen Ning?”
Nie Huaisang is looking away, and Wen Ning is looking at his lap again, and so it’s just Kyubey and Wuxian with their eyes locked, as another bubble of nervous laughter dies in Wuxian’s chest.
He doesn’t– he’s not sure what to say. He doesn’t have a wish. But he also– Wuxian feels like he’s standing at the edge of a building, sense telling him to back away, illogical instinct urging him to jump. That itch is in his mind again, that certainty that he’s forgetting something crucial. Wuxian feels, for some reason, like he should really talk to Lan Zhan. Like he shouldn’t agree to anything, without talking to Lan Zhan.
But Wen Ning is fighting alone. Literal magic monsters! Alone! How can Wuxian let himself be tied down by uncertainty? It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have a wish ready, it doesn’t matter that he feels so– so– obviously he’s going to have reservations. He just learned that magic really exists. It makes sense that he’s, he’s uneasy, but that doesn’t mean Wuxian should sit at home! He doesn’t have a wish but– is it even important, what he wishes for? Fighting to protect the city, being at Wen Ning’s side– that’s enough, isn’t it? If he just wishes for the power to be a hero–
‘Guard your heart, Wei Ying. And stay as you are.’
Oh.
Oh.
Lan Zhan had been trying to stop Wuxian from contracting, hadn’t he? But no, wait, that still didn’t make sense. Wuxian hadn’t even met Kyubey when Lan Zhan gave that warning. How would Lan Zhan have known he’d be offered a contract?
But then again, how had Lan Zhan known Wuxian’s birth name?
The memory of the warning, you will lose all your friends and family, makes Wuxian look down, running his fingers along the Jiang family bell hanging from his belt. He swallows hard, before lifting his head and facing Kyubey once again.
“Well, I’m not normally one for thinking things through,” Wuxian admits with a shaky smile, “but I think I need to think it over, before I agree to any contract.”
—
The second event burned in Lan Wangji’s memory is the moment he contracted.
A portrait of the end of the world; destruction painted across the sky and splattered across the ground. Kyubey had named it Walpurgis Nacht– a witch powerful enough to wreak havoc on the physical world. Undefeated, she passed through cities like an apocalyptic storm, and it was up to cultivators to mitigate the damage she did.
“But she’s grown so strong over the last decades,” Kyubey had said, the night before he predicted she’d arrive, “that I think if you don’t beat her, she’ll wipe your city off the map.”
Wangji remembers the sky– because it looked broken. The heavens themselves in pieces, like someone had taken a hammer to them, fractured chunks floating free. And at the centre of it all, the witch, a figure of a woman made of porcelain, doll’s clothing and a harlequin headdress, face painted like a clown, rotating on a series of spinning gears, laughing in her twisted maelstrom of debris. Below her, the city flooded, buildings in ruins, pieces of the sky falling down to rend the earth.
Wangji should not have been there. He was not a cultivator. But he had made a habit of following Wei Ying everywhere, that month, and he did not stop now. Even at the end of the world, he did not stop.
And so he saw Wen Qionglin fall. Heard Wei Ying scream, and then saw the red and black body hit the rising water. Wangji had rushed there, seen Wen Qionglin with one side of his body smashed, cultivator’s outfit gone, no sign of the soul gem that allowed him to transform. Dead.
Wei Ying had begun to shake. Incredulous laughter, rippling through his body. His own soul gem, stuck just below his collarbones, had not been its usual lavender, but a dark purple.
“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” Wei Ying had whispered. “We were supposed to save the city, A-Ning.”
“This– this witch is too much for you alone,” Wangji had said, grabbing Wei Ying’s sodden sleeve, trying to hold him, hold onto him. “Wei Wuxian, you must find others. Other cultivators. If you find help– but you can’t– you can’t try and fight it alone–,”
“How can I leave?” Wei Ying had pulled up a small, resigned smile. It had looked awful, painted on top of the grief, on top of the hopelessness. “Lan Wangji, how can I possibly leave?”
“Lan Zhan,” a useless exhalation, a desperate truth thrown out as a plea, “it’s, Wei Ying, I’m Lan Zhan. Don’t go, don’t die like this–,”
“You finally called me Wei Ying.” Wei Ying’s smile this time hadn’t looked so awful, had looked more like sunlight, once again. “And– Lan Zhan? I like that name. It suits you.”
Still smiling, he’d put one hand over Wangji’s, slowly unhooking Wangji’s fingers from his sleeve.
“I don’t regret becoming a cultivator,” Wei Ying had said. “Because I got to save you, and I could never regret saving you, Lan Zhan! It’s one of my proudest accomplishments. This didn’t end how I thought it would, but I don’t regret it. I could never.”
And then Wei Ying had stepped back, pulling away from Wangji’s hands.
“Find Kyubey,” he’d said, quiet but firm. Turning to face the witch in the sky above them. “Tell him to find other cultivators. You’re right, I’m not enough to protect the city. But I’ll hold this bitch off for as long as I can.”
And then Wei Ying had left. Had launched himself up into the sky. Towards that inconceivably powerful witch. He had played his flute, and the ghosts of past victims of Walpurgis Nacht had risen up. Wei Ying hadn’t had enough magic to keep more than a dozen of them on hand. Their desperate, ghostly clawing did not seem to do much damage to the witch. Wei Ying’s sword seemed to do even less.
And he had fallen.
His body floating in the water, the chest caved in. His magical clothes and weapons gone– leaving nothing but a fifteen-year-old high school student, dead.
Wangji, useless, had wept over his body. Uselessly furious– how could Wei Ying be so stupid? What was the merit of attacking an enemy you had no hope of winning against? What had his stupid sacrifice even done? Nothing! The city was still being destroyed, and now there was no one left to do anything about it. Wangji, useless, had no way to find other cultivators, no way to help, and Wei Ying, brilliant Wei Ying, beautiful Wei Ying was–
“Lan Wangji, do you want to change this fate?”
Wangji had lifted his face, smeared with Wei Ying’s blood. Turned, and seen Kyubey behind him, pinning him with bright pink eyes.
“Make a contract with me,” Kyubey had said, “and I will grant your wish.”
Wangji remembers–
—
(A record scratches and skips, a guqin string snaps in half– shards of glass fall from the sky, and the light–)
—
Wangji remembers this– pain. The worst agony he had ever felt. Worse than when he mangled his hands trying to get into his mother’s house. Worse than when his feet were cut up by the lamp shards strewn across the floor of his father’s bedroom. A searing agony that started deep in his chest and pushed out, until he was arching his back and swallowing screams. Gasping for breath as something bright appeared in front of him, as he stretched out his hands and closed them around a brilliant white gem.
“Now, watch your wish take shape, Lan Wangji,” Kyubey had said. “And step forth into your life as a cultivator!”
And then a blinding white light, wiping the world away. The sound of shattering glass, of a guqin scale played in reverse.
Lan Wangji opened his eyes.
He was in bed. He was in his room– his new room in his Uncle’s apartment. His bags still half-packed, the student orientation booklet on his bedside table. The Lan family ribbon, pristine and new, laid out beside it.
Wangji had sat up and found a glowing white soul gem in his hand. He’d looked across the room at his carefully kept calendar– and found that it was marked a week away from when he started school. From when he met Wei Ying.
This was the start of timeline two.
—
Wei Wuxian starts following Wen Ning on his patrols.
It’s been a few days, and he hasn’t made a contract yet. And really, this is the longest Wuxian’s ever sat on a decision. But he’s trying to not be impulsive about this. Kyubey’s pink stare is kind of intense and unrelenting, but Wen Ning is understanding. It is a big decision to make. Wishing for a life of unending battle and all that. It makes sense, Wen Ning agrees, for Wei Wuxian to see what it’s like first. To get a taste of cultivator life, before committing to it.
So Wuxian tags along with Wen Ning when he patrols the city. He holds snacks and water and stays safe and sound in a protective bubble of magic chains, cheering for Wen Ning as he kicks witch ass. The labyrinths are, as promised, twisted dimensions of unreality and nightmares. And the witches are always horrifying, like someone mixed a creepypasta with a villain from a children’s cartoon. Usually, Wuxian spends the whole fight with his heart pounding in abject terror, but Wen Ning doesn’t let anything get near him. Fourteen years old, with round cheeks and big eyes, Wen Ning looks as dangerous as a baby deer, but he is deadly against witches. Endless chains and fists that hit like freight trucks. He makes the fights look easy. Wuxian stays perfectly safe behind Wen Ning’s magic chains, and smiles until his face hurts when the battle is won.
And then Wuxian goes home, almost doubled-over with guilt.
Because how, how can he just sit back and watch? How can he follow Wen Ning around, smiling and cheering like an idiot, but never step forward and help? Why can’t he get off his ass, take the plunge, make a wish, any wish…
Every evening, Wuxian goes home with resolve piggybacking off of self-loathing. A certainty that the next time he sees Kyubey, he will make a contract.
And every night, Wuxian finds Lan Zhan outside his bedroom window.
The first night, Wuxian had screamed at the sight of him. In his all-white get up, standing completely still a short distance from the window, Lan Zhan looked like the ghost of a stalker ex-lover. It was as terrifying as it was fucking ridiculous. And Lan Zhan hadn’t said anything! Not a word! And hadn’t come closer no matter how much Wuxian complained and demanded and pouted. Didn’t answer any questions, but didn’t leave either. Just stayed standing at the window like a dead creep, possibly well after Wuxian gave up and crawled into bed.
The second night was the same. And the next. And the next. Lan Zhan doesn’t let Wuxian corner him at school, power walks away whenever Wuxian so much as thinks about approaching him. So there’s just, no explanation whatsoever for the sudden stalking! Just more Lan Zhan weirdness, apparently??
But the truth comes out eventually.
Wuxian is doing homework on his bed when he hears a sound like…like some kind of string instrument, but loud. Like, impossibly loud. It shakes his fucking room, and Wuxian jumps off the bed and runs to the window.
He sees Lan Zhan, of course Lan Zhan’s in his usual roost outside of Wuxian’s bedroom. But he also sees…a glowing…a glowing guqin? A glowing guqin floating in the air in front of Lan Zhan?
Wuxian’s so focused on the magic fucking guqin that he almost misses it– but he sees the movement. Sees something dart through the grass and then sees pink eyes, glowing, watching.
And then there’s that sound, that impossibly loud note strummed across strings, and a wave of light shoots out from the guqin. The pink eyes disappear.
And Lan Zhan turns.
The chilly facade, the glacier, the statue; the mask is cracked right down the middle. Lan Zhan’s eyes are almost wild behind his hair, his mouth hanging partly open. There is something dark and desperate written all over Lan Zhan as he faces Wuxian through the window.
And then he disappears.
He doesn’t turn and run. Lan Zhan disappears. One moment there, the next, not.
Magic. Wuxian staggers back from the window, and sits down hard on his floor.
Magic– he knows magic is real. Of course he knows that. But magic is easier to swallow in witch labyrinths, where everything is nightmarish and unreal anyways. Magic is easier to stomach when it’s Wen Ning’s magic, Wen Ning, whose motivations are clear and heroic and not utterly unfathomable and frighteningly mysterious. Magic is easy to grin at, nod along with, when Wuxian is in a witch labyrinth watching Wen Ning fight. There, Wuxian marvels at magic, combs his brain for a wish that could grant him access to it.
Magic is harder to swallow outside his bedroom. Outside his house. Where he lives. Where his family lives.
Hesitation is born of fear– but Wuxian is not afraid of violence or fighting. He’s not afraid of committing himself to a thankless cause. But he hesitates. He’s afraid. Because, because–
Wen Ning only has his sister to answer to. The rest of their close relatives, their grandmother and tolerable cousins, live in a rural village that they only visit a few times a year. Wei Wuxian lives in a full house. Yes, his siblings are busy– Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng spend their afternoons in hours of tutoring and lessons and social hobnobbing and a thousand other things to build up their worth in the eyes of their mother. Uncle Jiang used to insist Wuxian accompany them, but Wuxian had bowed out once they hit high school. It was an easy decision– outperforming his brother had been barely tolerated when they were children; it would be unforgivable now that they were teenagers.
His siblings are busy, but Wuxian’s afternoons are free. And after dinner with the family, Wuxian’s evenings are free too. So it wouldn’t be hard, really, to hide a life of hunting witches from the Jiangs. With his room so far from the main part of the house, they wouldn’t notice if Lan Zhan played a full symphony outside Wuxian’s window every night.
But he hesitates. Wuxian hesitates at the thought of magic outside his door, even unnoticed. Because– because–
The problem is this; Madam Yu is waiting for him to bring something unforgivable home. Magic is well, magic, and Wuxian knows she’d probably never find out about it. But.
The problem is this; two years ago, when he was wired and angry and afraid of being wired and angry where his new family could see, Wuxian would sneak out at night. The streets of the city at four a.m. were no place for a young teenager, but they were no place for a six year old either, and Wuxian had survived them then, hadn’t he? So he was thirteen, and walking the city under the smog-faded moon. Walking until whatever churning had started up in his chest finally dissipated. Walking until the cigarettes had burned down to his fingertips.
The problem is this; when Wuxian was nine, a few months before Uncle Jiang found him, he’d gotten into smoking. The leader of the squat he was staying in had given him a pack. Wuxian can make guesses now; he was probably being offered baby steps into addiction, a slow grooming into eventually becoming a mule or worse. But back then smoking eased his jittery edges, and he liked when the stick burnt down and hurt the tips of his fingers. Uncle Jiang had found him before he’d gotten into anything harder than nicotine, and Wuxian had quit cold turkey. For four years, he never smoked.
But at thirteen, wired and angry for no reason and twisting inside, Wuxian started sneaking out and buying cigarettes. He was a tall thirteen, and late-night convenience store workers didn’t bother carding. Wuxian would buy cigarettes and then climb up fire escapes and drain pipes and sit on the tops of buildings, smoking until dawn started pouring itself across the sky. Then he’d make his way home, and dunk himself into the fountain at the front of the Jiang estate, washing as much of the smell off as he could. When Wuxian crept back into his room, he’d stick his clothes at the very bottom of the hamper, and then light incense and candles before climbing into bed for an hour before his alarm went off.
The problem is this; Madam Yu found out. Cigarette smoke really is impossible to mask completely, and Wuxian was never good at keeping track of time– he was bound to get home too late eventually. The argument, the explosion that resulted when it was discovered that Wuxian would sneak out in the middle of the night and go who knows where and smoke who knew what–
“It’s just cigarettes!” Wuxian had stressed, pleaded. “I promise, I don’t meet with anyone or anything. I don’t do anything illegal!” Besides underaged smoking, and trespassing, and…
Madam Yu had wanted to throw him out. Uncle Jiang had refused, but even he had been alarmed, afraid, distrustful. At that point, Wuxian and Jiang Cheng had their own rooms, but still shared a section of the house, a common room and bathroom between them. After that late night, or that early morning, Madam Yu moved Wuxian to the other side of the house, and down to the bottom floor. Inquiries into his comings and goings increased tenfold. He was encouraged to pick up clubs, make friends, find somewhere reputable to be in his after hours, and always, always be home before sundown. And if he couldn’t be, always have someone who could vouch for his whereabouts. Who could assure that Wuxian hadn’t been doing something disreputable.
The problem is this; Wuxian’s afternoons and evenings are free but they’re usually spent volunteering, or popping into various random clubs, or with Nie Huaisang, or somewhere trackable. His family knows where he is. This week with Wen Ning has been unusual, and Shijie’s already started asking questions (‘Have you joined a new club, A-Xian?’ ‘yeah! An urban exploration club! We explore the city!’ ‘Who else is in the club? Is it safe? You shouldn’t be out in the city once the sun goes down…’).
The problem is this; when Wuxian’s family don’t know where he is they assume the worst. Uncle Jiang is forever worried, forever guilty about the three years Wuxian had been at the mercy of the streets, forever terrified some irreversible damage had been done. And Shijie is also worried, about Wuxian’s thinness and the remaining embers of his adolescent anger and the way he sometimes paces the estate like it’s a cage. And Jiang Cheng never worries with explicit words but is tense and irritable about how vague Wuxian’s been about his new club, this club that none of their mutual friends are in, that has no teacher supervisors, that sounds like a lie.
The problem is this; to Madam Yu, the spectre of drugs and delinquency hangs over Wuxian like a ticking time bomb. She is adamant that one day, Wei Wuxian will bring something dangerous into their home and endanger her children.
The problem is this; Madam Yu is waiting for a reason to kick Wei Wuxian out.
It’s a twofold issue; not wanting to be unable to explain his whereabouts, and knowing that if any servant or family member sees magic, sees something unexplainable on the estate, Madam Yu’s going to blame Wuxian. It doesn’t have to be logical; if the opportunity arises to assign blame to Wei Wuxian, Madam Yu will take it.
Hesitation is born of fear. Wuxian hesitates in the face of Kyubey’s contract, because while he’s not afraid of fighting, he is afraid of losing his family and home.
And it feels like Lan Zhan knows that.
Lan Zhan and his warning, so carefully tailored to Wuxian’s nature. Self-sacrificing, bleeding heart, would you give up your friends and family for any price in the world?
Hesitation– there is too much unknown, uncertain, unexplained, around Lan Wangji. Wuxian can’t believe that Lan Zhan spends every night camped outside his bedroom because he doesn’t want competition. And there’s still no explanation for why Lan Zhan seems to know Wuxian. To know both his birth name, and the marrow of his character. His flaws and fears.
There is a secret at work. Something hiding in those golden eyes, behind the curtain of hair. Wuxian is sick and annoyed at his own hesitation, but on top of being afraid of losing his place with the Jiangs, Wuxian also feels, maddeningly, like he can’t contract without knowing the real reason Lan Zhan’s so against it.
But Lan Zhan never holds still long enough for Wuxian to ask.
—
“Wen Ning, would you be mad if I never contracted?”
Wen Ning pauses in the middle of locking his apartment, one hand braced against the door. Wuxian leans against the wall across the hall, feet toeing the carpet with a nervous, guilty movement.
It’s actually a little upsetting, the absolute lack of surprise on Wen Ning’s face when he turns around. His expression of gentle understanding makes Wuxian want to shrivel up and burrow under the carpet. Like, it is one hundred percent clear that Wen Ning expected this. That after Wuxian following him on witch hunts for a week, with no contract to show for it, Wen Ning had gone ahead and assumed it was never going to happen.
Which feels bad, honestly!
“I think that Kyubey was right about people who contract usually having something already in mind,” Wen Ning admits, as he tucks his key into his pocket. “If you didn’t have a wish ready when he first asked then…it’s not surprising that you never will.”
“Then why did he even reach out to me!” Wuxian grabs hold of the little silver tiger around his neck and yanks on the chain in frustration. “If he has some like, sensing system that lets him know when people are in dire need of a fairy godmother, then why did he bother calling out to me in the mall?”
“I can ask him,” Wen Ning offers, “but…maybe he wasn’t looking for someone to contract, Senior Wei. Maybe he was just looking for help. For someone close by to save him.”
“That doesn’t answer why he reached out to me specifically.”
And then Wen Ning gives Wuxian a look. It’s that old soul look that he gets sometimes, something in his eyes that makes him seem like he’s forty-one instead of fourteen.
“Senior Wei, you know you don’t need magic to be able to help people, right?” Wen Ning asks softly. “You can help just as you are. You do help people as you are. If Kyubey can sense when someone has a wish, why couldn’t he know exactly the right person to reach out to for rescue?”
“Is he omnipotent now? Just what is Kyubey, anyways? He never gives a straight answer,” Wuxian mutters, refusing to meet Wen Ning’s eye. “And I didn’t even rescue him, really. Nie Huaisang did more than I did. Also, enough with the ‘senior’ already!”
The idea that Kyuubei reached out because he somehow knew Wuxian was dumbass enough to follow a telepathic voice into a parking garage isn’t that unbelievable, actually. But. Then what about Lan Zhan? If Kyubey had no intention of reaching out to Wuxian before he was attacked, it would mean that Lan Zhan hadn’t attacked Kyubey to keep Wuxian away from a contract.
The pieces of the puzzle stubbornly refuse to line up. But Wuxian doesn’t want to talk about Lan Zhan with Wen Ning. Whenever Wuxian brings up Lan Zhan, Wen Ning gets this glint in his eyes, that reminds Wuxian of an episode of a nature show he once watched, where two rival lions locked eyes across the savannah, and then ripped the shit out of each other.
Hence, Wuxian hasn’t mentioned the uh, bedroom window stalking to Wen Ning. And he never will!
“But what about you, Wen Ning?” Wuxian asks, setting aside thoughts of Lan Zhan. “Are you…really okay to keep fighting alone?”
“Yes,” Wen Ning answers, with a firm certainty. “I am.”
“Are you sure? I mean…”
“Senior Wei, I don’t need anyone to protect me anymore. And that includes you.”
It’s not sharply said, but it’s scolding enough that Wuxian splutters, half-embarrassed and half-offended.
“I–I just mean,” Wen Ning ducks his head, cheeks going red, “Senior Wei, I don’t want to be protected anymore. That’s why I made the wish. I was so unhappy, always having to hide behind others, depend on others. But I’m not that person anymore. Jie doesn’t have to bend over backwards protecting me. The last time…The last time Cousin Chao tried to hurt me, he couldn’t. He tried to shove me and I didn’t move an inch, and I’ll never forget the expression on his face. And when he tried again I backed him into a corner, and punched a fist through the drywall beside his head.”
Wuxian whistles, impressed. Wen Ning’s blush deepens, but he smiles wide. “That moment alone is enough to justify everything. That moment where all the old fear stopped mattering. Where I knew he couldn’t hurt me anymore, and that he couldn’t use me to hurt and control my sister. Knowing I was no longer a powerless pawn…all the fighting, the witches, the other cultivators– it’s worth it.” Then Wen Ning’s smile falls, and his expression grows serious. “But Senior Wei, it’s okay if you don’t have anything you want that badly. You should be happy, that you live a life where you don’t need a magic wish.”
It sounds like another admonishment, a gentle one, and Wuxian winces a little, before laughing it off, scolding Wen Ning for calling him ‘senior’ again.
If Kyubey had approached Wuxian between the ages of six and nine, he would have had a wish. Hell, if Kyubey had approached him at age thirteen, he would have had a wish. But Wuxian has a home, and a family, and feels settled in his skin most days. Wen Ning’s right, that it’s a privilege to be searching for a wish, rather than already having a desperate desire, worth the weight of his life.
Wuxian still follows Wen Ning out on his patrol, but he’s. Ninety percent sure that he’s not going to be contracting. It’s just– too much for Wuxian to lose, and not enough to gain. No wish worth the price.
But that doesn’t mean Wuxian’s going to drop Wen Ning like a sack of hot potatoes! Maybe he won’t patrol with him every night, but he’ll still keep him company sometimes. Be his cheerleader and snack holder, even if he can’t be his battle partner.
And Wuxian’s decision feels justified, over the next couple of days. Wen Ning fights lots of familiars, byproducts of witch magic that aren’t actually witches. They can trap and hurt people in miniature labyrinths, but don’t drop grief seeds when defeated. Which means Wen Ning is using magic, without a chance to clean up his gem. So it’s a good thing, that Wuxian isn’t also a cultivator. That they don’t have to share grief seeds between them.
(but if Wuxian was fighting too, then Wen Ning wouldn’t be using as much magic, so maybe he should–)
When an actual witch finally spawns, it’s in the worst place imaginable– a hospital. Even worse, it’s the hospital partnered with Wen Qing’s university. The hospital where she does her labs. Where she is doing a lab, right now.
Wen Ning’s gem is dusky, dark pink, and being eaten up at the sides with black. His expression is grim and agitated and angry in a way that seems wrong on his face. Wrong against his big eyes and round cheeks and Wen Ning-ness. But there’s nothing Wuxian can do but stand behind the safety of Wen Ning’s chains and watch as the fight begins.
Watch, as Wen Ning spends most of his energy dodging the blasts of witch magic and the clawing witch minions coming after him in hordes. Watch, as Wen Ning leaps and jumps and stumbles each time he hits the ground. Watch, as he summons less chains, shorter chains, to fling at the enemies. Watch, as he dodges more than deflects, spinning away from projectiles rather than try and face them head on. Watch, as Wen Ning still gets hit. Gets slammed into the ground, slammed into the walls of labyrinth. He gets up, every time he gets up, he gets up every time Wuxian calls out his name. But Wen Ning is getting slower, and the witch is showing no signs of tiring.
“This is too much for him to handle,” Kyubey says, from where he’s sitting at Wuxian’s feet. “You can see that, can’t you?”
Wuxian’s fingers clutch at the chains surrounding him. His heart is pounding so hard that his chest hurts, and he can feel himself shaking. His thoughts are a mess, he can barely organize the whirlwind of what’s worrying my family compared to this? Why can’t I just wish for them to never find out I’m a cultivator, and leave it at that? If that’s what I’m worried about, why not just wish for that?
“How much longer,” Kyubey asks, tone offensively polite, “are you going to let this go on?”
The witch’s laughter, a howl of it, echoes around the cavern. Wen Ning’s shoulders are heaving, he’s breathing heavily as he finally destroys the last of the witch minions with his chains. But the witch, a long snake-like creature with a clown face, is almost entirely unharmed. And Wuxian can see that the usual spot of pink on Wen Ning’s shoulder has darkened to something closer to maroon, and that the points of the star-shaped gem are all black.
“No longer,” Wuxian whispers. “I’m done watching.”
Wuxian releases the chains protecting him. He takes a step back, and then turns to face Kyubey.
And then yelps, shielding his face with his arm as there’s a sudden explosion of searing-white light.
When Wuxian lowers his arm and blinks his eyes the witch is rearing back with deep, burning marks across its body, and Lan Zhan is in the air in front of it, standing on a floating plane of glass. The witch screams and lunges for him– and he’s gone. Disappears between one blink and the next.
And then Wen Ning is lunging forward. There’s a storm of black chains around him, and he grabs hold of them and swings around to the back of the witch before wrapping the chains around the witch’s neck. There is something furious, something frightening and dark on Wen Ning’s face as he uses all of his strength, trying to strangle the creature.
Wuxian’s stomach lurches. For a moment he thinks he’s going to throw up, staring at Wen Ning’s gem and the spreading black and feeling desperately afraid. He presses back up against the barrier Wen Ning created to protect him, rattling it. “Wen Ning, Wen Ning! Let Lan Zhan handle this!”
The witch writhes wildly, shaking its head back and forth. The violent movement shakes Wen Ning off, sends him flying into a wall. He drops to the ground, and Wuxian screams, screams his name, as the witch rears up over him.
And is suddenly full of holes.
The witch flails, howling as a series of burning, smoking holes appear all over its body. Lan Zhan reappears in the air, holding a– holding a fucking gun.
It’s silvery-white, and clearly magic, because when Lan Zhan fires a round of bullets they’re bright white, made of light, and burn through witch when they hit it.
The witch half-collapses, its mouth gaping, smoking rolling out between its teeth. Its eyes are fixed on Lan Zhan now. Wen Ning, slowly, slowly, picking himself off the ground, is completely ignored. The witch hauls its body upwards, hissing and pulling its head back, poised to strike at Lan Zhan.
He disappears again.
He reappears instantaneously, right behind the witch’s head. The gun is gone, instead, there’s a guqin floating in the air in front of him. Lan Zhan raises his hand and the strings detach from the instrument, glowing metal ropes that shoot through the air and wrap around the witch neck.
The smell of burning flesh fills the labyrinth as the witch wails. Lan Zhan makes a pulling motion with his hand, and the glowing strings respond, tightening around the witch, searing deeper and deeper into its flesh, until with a wet sound, the witch’s head separates from its body.
Defeated. Dead.
Wuxian has never, ever felt so relieved seeing a labyrinth disappear around him. As the nightmare landscape fades away, Lan Zhan floats serenely to the ground, his guqin and its strings dissipating into wisps of light that then fly into the mirror on his left wrist.
Wen Ning is on his feet, nose bleeding. As the last of the witch magic fades and they’re left once again standing in a hospital hallway, the chains that were protecting Wuxian vanish, and he runs to Wen Ning’s side.
Oh his gem looks bad. It’s more than half-black, barely pink at all. And Wen Ning looks worse, bruised and bleeding, costume torn, knuckles torn, and shadows under his eyes. He needs a grief seed, but, but, he didn’t defeat the witch, Lan Zhan did–
There’s a whistling, the sound of something small sailing through the air, and Wen Ning’s hand shoots up, grabbing something before it can fly over his head. He brings his hand down, opening his fist.
There’s a grief seed in his palm.
The swell of relief is incomparable, so powerful that Wuxian closes his eyes a moment, staggering. When he’s managed to swallow back the welling tears, he turns to face Lan Zhan, who is watching a distance away, face impassive as always.
Wuxian pulls up a smile, ignoring his stinging eyes. “Lan Zhan, aha, you’re a gentleman after all! Thank you, thank you. Tell you what, next one’s on–,”
“A-Ning?”
Wuxian freezes. Beside him, Wen Ning’s head whips to the side, staring down the hallway.
The main lights are still blown out from when the labyrinth took root here, but the emergency lights are on, casting an eerie red glow over everything, lengthening the shadows. A sense of unreality still hangs in the air, but the witch labyrinth is gone. They are very much in a hospital hallway. And Wen Qing has very much just turned a corner and seen them. Her student lanyard around her neck, lab jacket still on. Face frozen in a mask of horror, staring at her bloodied and bruised brother.
“Jie!” Wen Ning drops his transformation immediately, shoving the grief seed into his pocket. “I– I–,”
He falls into meaningless stammering, his stutter returning with a vengeance as his older sister runs towards him, takes his face into her hands and asks what and why and how. Questions with answers kept in a box of secrets, locked with crisscrossing chains.
Wuxian opens his mouth, certain he can find something to say, some excuse, some lie. He’s made of words– he can interject on behalf of Wen Ning. He can do that much.
But Wuxian feels the light pressure of fingers on his arm, turns to see Lan Zhan suddenly at his shoulder, shaking his head.
And, uh, what the fuck, Lan Zhan? Where exactly does he get off thinking he can get involved in this? That he can shake his head and caution Wuxian not to speak? He’s not spoken a word to Wuxian or Wen Ning since that day in the parking garage. What, just because he swooped in and saved the day, he suddenly thinks he can insert himself into situations that have nothing to do with him? Just because he saved Wen Ning when Wuxian couldn’t step up and do it himself?
The irritation, a half step away from anger, churning in Wuxian’s stomach is not entirely focused around Lan Zhan. He shakes off Lan Zhan’s fingers, but keeps his eyes on the floor, and his mouth shut. Wuxian didn’t help Wen Ning when he was being overwhelmed by a witch. He’s not a cultivator. So what right does he have, to insert himself into the terrible conversation Wen Ning now has to have with his sister? How can he try and find something to say, when Wen Ning almost died because of Wuxian’s stupid hesitation?
So Wuxian holds his tongue. Lets Wen Qing and Wen Ning leave together, heading back to their apartment to have a conversation that Wen Ning never wanted to have. Heads for home himself, feeling sick to his stomach.
Wuxian probably would have spent the whole meandering journey home stewing in self-loathing, berating himself for not contracting, biting his nails and worrying about what Wen Qing will say, wondering where Kyubey disappeared to when Lan Zhan showed up, worrying that he’s proven himself a coward, and Wen Ning won’t ever take him along on patrol again.
However, Wuxian only spends half a minute stewing in those thoughts, before he realizes that Lan Zhan is still here. Keeping pace behind him.
Following him.
Following him out of the hospital, down the street, across the street, and on and on and on. Without saying a word, without breaking the two metres distance. Lan Zhan shadows Wuxian, steadily, and silently.
The sky is orange-going-blue, sun dying and streetlights flickering on. It’s a city so the flow of traffic hasn’t slowed down even a little bit, even as darkness nips at everyone’s heels, early spring leaving a cold bite to the air. Wuxian turns off of the main road, ducking down a mostly empty side street before wheeling around, confronting his stalker.
“Why are you stalking me?” he demands. “What is your problem?”
A muscle in Lan Zhan’s cheek just barely twitches. He is still all in white, still transformed. Wen Ning had said that transforming takes magic, takes energy. He always detransformed when he wasn’t in a fight. So this, Lan Zhan still transformed when there’s no witch, no Kyubey even, means he’s strong.
“You’re powerful,” Wuxian presses. “You’re good at being a cultivator. I really fucking doubt you actually have to worry about competition. You just blasted the shit out of a witch and your gem is still sparkling shiny white. So why the hell do you care so much if I contract? That’s why you’re following me, right? Why you’re stalking the shit out of me? Why you’re always at my fucking bedroom window? To stop me from contracting? Why do you care so much!”
Another face twitch. Lan Zhan’s gaze slides to the side, pointedly not looking at Wuxian. He doesn’t say a word.
“Lan Zhan,” Wuxian insists. And something about the shape of the name, the emphasis, feels right on his tongue. Feels practiced. Feels like he’s said it this way before. Said it this way many times. Even though he hasn’t. Even though he’s had like two and a half conversations with Lan Zhan, and they were all terrible.
But Lan Zhan’s throat bobs, and his head dips down just enough for his hair to hide his eyes from view. “Wei Ying. Being a cultivator…isn’t what you think. It is. Best to dissuade others from making contracts.”
“Because there won’t be enough grief seeds to go around?” Wuxian stomach twists, thinking of Wen Ning’s half-black gem, but he scowls. “If you guys worked together–,”
“It is more than that.” Lan Zhan’s voice is sharp. “There is much. That Kyubey never mentions until it is too late. More. More than you could ever guess. You are clever, Wei Ying, but there is no person on earth who could correctly guess the strings attached to that creature’s contract.”
It’s the most words in a row Lan Zhan’s spoken to Wuxian since their first meeting. And yet, Lan Zhan hasn’t told him anything. Just spitting out cryptic and ominous and completely unhelpful warnings.
“And yet, it seems like you’re making me guess, right now!” Wuxian throws his hands up in frustration. “If you have something to tell me, then tell me.”
Lan Zhan swallows audibly. He lifts his head, but still doesn’t meet Wuxian’s eyes, gaze downcast. Slowly, he raises his left hand, facing the back of it, the circular glowing white gem, towards Wuxian.
“This,” Lan Zhan says, “is me.”
Wuxian narrows his eyes. “…Okay?”
“The gem,” Lan Zhan says, insistent. “When you contract…you are turned into your gem. The body, this body,” he presses his right hand to his chest, “is no longer me. It merely answers to me.”
Complete and utter bafflement overrides all the irritation. Wuxian blinks. “What?”
Lan Zhan exhales slowly. In a flash of light, he’s detransformed. Back in his school uniform. The dark blue pants, the splash of colour, look strange against Lan Zhan’s skin. Wuxian is so used to seeing him in white. But Lan Zhan lifts his left hand again, and a white soul gem appears over the silver ring on his finger. He lets the gem rest on his palm, and then straightens. Perfect posture, right hand folded behind his back, he walks towards Wuxian, holding his gem out towards him.
“Take it,” Lan Zhan commands tonelessly. “Don’t let it break.”
The temporarily banished irritation is quickly returning, because Lan Zhan still isn’t explaining anything, but Wuxian bites it back. And after only a moment’s hesitation, holds his hands out, cupped together. Keeps them steady, as Lan Zhan deposits the gem into his palms.
It’s…warm. Really warm. But the soul gem doesn’t feel like, like Wuxian’s holding a lightbulb, or a lantern, or anything like that. The warmth of an inanimate thing. Holding Lan Zhan’s soul gem feels like holding something…something alive. The warmth of something with a pulse, with a heartbeat.
Wuxian’s completely fucking unsettled, but when he looks up from the gem, very ready to not be holding it any longer, Lan Zhan is walking away.
“Hey!” Wuxian shouts. “Where are you going? Come, come get your–,”
“I am not going anywhere. You have me.” Lan Zhan stops walking, turns back to face him. “Run the other way. About fifty metres.”
The unsettled feeling has gotten worse, hardening into something closer to dread. Wuxian doesn’t want to run the other way. He really doesn’t want to. He has, just, the worst, most awful feeling about this.
But he cups Lan Zhan’s gem against his chest, turns, and starts to run.
Wuxian has no way of tracking the exact distance he goes, no idea of when he hits ‘about fifty metres’, but he hears– They’re on a quiet street, empty of sound except for the two of them. So Wuxian hears the thud of a body hitting the pavement. He spins around, still holding the gem tight, and sees Lan Zhan stretched out on the ground.
It could be– it could be so many things. A trick, a joke, a flare of dramatics. But dread spikes into fear, and Wuxian runs back. Runs back to Lan Zhan as fast as he can. And when Wuxian reaches him– Lan Zhan has never looked so ungraceful. This wasn’t a theatre fall, a precisely planned stage fall. His body is crumpled on the pavement in a haphazard position that can only mean unintentional collapse. And when Wuxian turns Lan Zhan so that he’s on his back he almost screams because Lan Zhan’s eyes are open and staring and lifeless. Dulled over gold. His chest isn’t moving. There’s no breath from his nose and mouth. He’s…he’s dead.
What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck! Wuxian drops to his knees, thinking– CPR? Is that– what can he even– should he be calling– he can’t reach for his phone with this stupid gem in his hand–
The gem.
Lan Zhan was going on about the gem– this, whatever has happened, has to have something to do with that, right?? Oh gods, Wuxian has no idea. Lan Zhan is allergic to using actual fucking words so Wuxian has no idea what’s going on. But he trusts his gut instinct, places the still-glowing gem on Lan Zhan’s chest, and tries not to hyperventilate.
Seconds pass.
Four, five…
Lan Zhan breathes in.
His chest rises, and in the next movement he places his left hand over the gem. It becomes a ring again in a flash of light, and Lan Zhan sits up. He runs a hand through his hair, idly combing out bits of gravel, bits of pavement dirt. He does not look at Wuxian. Leaves his head turned, allowing his hair to be a curtain between them.
“What,” a bubble of half-hysterical laughter rises from Wuxian’s throat, “what the fuck was that? You died? Did you just die?”
“Cultivators can control their bodies from 100 metres away, no further,” Lan Zhan says in a bland, matter-of-fact tone. “The gem is me. The body is a shell. Kyubey never explains this, before you contract.”
“You’re not explaining it either!” Wuxian snaps. He gets off his knees and stands, his legs shaky beneath him. “Lan Zhan, that was so fucked up, don’t you dare explain anything else to me by demonstration! Just tell me! What do you mean the gem is you? I get that it’s the source of your magic, but–,”
“You do not get it.” Lan Zhan rises to his feet as well, meeting Wuxian’s eyes at last. “Humans are housed in their bodies. Whether you believe in souls or consciousness or bundles of nerves, you can agree that the core of the self is tethered to the body. Not so, if you are a cultivator. The core of the self, the soul or mind or spirt, becomes housed in the gem. This body,” Lan Zhan presses a hand to his chest, “is a now a puppet, that could be ground into a bloody pulp without killing me. Organs destroyed, heart, brain, everything– as long as I have enough magic to heal myself, I can survive any injury. Because I am no longer housed in this body. Not in the brain, not in the heart. Do you understand, Wei Ying? I am the gem. It is not just the source of magic. The soul becomes the magic, the magic becomes the soul. A corrupted gem is not just about loss of power, it is about the corrosion of a soul. To no longer be a being of flesh, but a thing of magic, physically invulnerable but constantly needing to keep your power source pure– that is what it means to become a cultivator.”
Wuxian sits down.
He sits down on the pavement, one knee tucked against his chest. At some point during Lan Zhan’s…explanation, Wuxian broke out into a cold sweat, and now he feels clammy and sick all over. Logically, nothing Lan Zhan said makes any kind of sense– except that it does. What he said was such an abstraction of ideas, a weird philosophical argument about the nature of self, that it’s impossible to understand– except that Wuxian does. He gets it. He has watched Wen Ning be thrown to the ground, hit with multiple attacks, and shake it off and keep going. Watching the fight tonight Wuxian had been more worried about the darkening gem on Wen Ning’s shoulder than the bruises and blood across his body.
Lan Zhan was right that Wuxian never, ever could have guessed at the truth about soul gems. But. It makes an awful sort of sense.
“So what happens if a gem isn’t cleansed? If it goes completely black?” Wuxian whisper-asks.
A flinch goes through Lan Zhan’s body. His head lowers again, eyes off to the side.
“Ha, never mind, I can guess.” Wuxian stares at his sneakers. “It’s death, right?Cultivators are hard to physically kill, so it’s the gem corruption…like having bullet-proof skin, but then dying to cancer. Haha, what the fuck!”
What a line of fine print, what a hidden little addendum! Written at the very bottom of the cultivator contract. Defeating witches isn’t just a duty, it’s a life or death situation. Cultivators need grief seeds to survive, because a blackened soul gem will kill them. Neither Wen Ning or Kyubey ever mentioned this, this unacknowledged fine print. And Wuxian is certain, feels that itch in his brain, that sensation of forgetting something– he’s certain that this isn’t the only line of unacknowledged fine print in the cultivator contract.
“Lan Zhan…” Wuxian fiddles with his lotus bracelet for a few seconds, before looking up, trying to catch Lan Zhan’s eye. “What happens if the gem breaks? Not from corruption– what if something shatters it?”
“If the gem breaks we die.” Lan Zhan turns his head more to the side, stubbornly avoiding Wuxian’s gaze. “Shattering the gem is a one-hit kill. The body can be untouched. If the gem breaks we are dead.”
Wuxian drops his bracelet, bile rising in his throat. The small, unprotected gem on Wen Ning’s shoulder is a one-hit kill spot?
“How is that better for fighting witches?!” Wuxian demands, scrambling back up to his feet. “In what way is that better?! A one hit kill spot? What the fuck?!”
“It is harder to hit than you might think.” Lan Zhan is still turned away. Right hand idly rotating the ring on his left. “The gems are small. And they will not shatter from falling, or a hammer, or any mundane thing. Only a magic attack can break it.”
“Do you think that makes it better? All witch attacks are magical!” Wuxian’s whole body is shaking. He– he has to move, starts pacing back and forth, horrified and nauseous. “Does Wen Ning know about this?”
“He would have told you if he did, Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s voice is quieter, almost subdued. “It is not information Kyubey makes readily available. His kind has dealt with humanity from our conception. He understands the moral and spiritual quandaries that concern us, and knows that he would get fewer contracts if he explained that we become a piece of jewelry operating a corpse.”
A corpse. “Fuck.” Wuxian presses the heel of his palm to his forehead, trying to block out the image of Lan Zhan’s dull, empty eyes. “Fuck!” He’s so– but does Wuxian even have the right to be horrified? He’s not contracted, he’s not a cultivator. He’s not in this fight, living this nightmare. He was too cowardly to do it. So what right does Wei Wuxian have to be standing here, horrified, nearly in tears?
“I,” Wuxian swallows, reeling beneath the self-loathing, the fear, “I have to tell Wen Ning.”
Now, Lan Zhan turns his head, brushes his hair back over his shoulder and meets Wuxian’s gaze with narrowed eyes. “For what? He cannot undo his contract. What good would knowing do?”
“What the fuck do you mean ‘what good would knowing do?’” Wuxian hisses. “What is with you and keeping information secret for no good reason? I don’t know why you didn’t just tell me all of this from the beginning!”
“It could have pushed you to contract faster,” Lan Zhan replies, sounding almost sullen. “You feel too responsible for Wen Qionglin. You feel too responsible for everything. Knowing the truth about soul gems could have hastened you towards your own undoing. Even now, I know it is not a deal breaker for you, Wei Ying. Even now, with what I have just told you, you are still considering that creature’s contract.”
Wuxian stumbles back, his feet slipping with the sensation of– of balancing on a ledge, rocking backwards, forwards, arms windmilling and falling– the sensation of knowing and not knowing, of forgetting and misremembering. There’s a crumbling precipice, and he is standing on the edge, barely balancing.
Wuxian stumbles, barely manages to keep his feet beneath him. Blinks furiously, and says, “You– you can’t know what I’m thinking, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan’s eyes drop down again. He says nothing.
“You act like you do, but you don’t. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you! Who do you think you are?” Wuxian steps forward, furious and frightened, feeling half-hysterical. He gestures at Lan Zhan, finger jabbing forward with each demand. “Just who do you think you are, Lan Wangji? Just who do you take me for?”
Lan Zhan has been still beneath the onslaught of angry words. A statue. So it’s a shock when he suddenly moves, faster than Wuxian’s eye can track. One moment a few steps away, the next, right up in Wuxian’s face, grabbing his gesturing hand.
Wuxian freezes.
Lan Zhan’s hand is warm, but not as a warm as a human hand should be. The ring on his finger is warmer. His golden eyes are downcast, half-hidden beneath his trailing hair. His lips part as he takes a breath that shudders through his entire body, as he lifts Wuxian’s hand and places it against his own cheek.
“Lan Zhan?” Wuxian’s pulse is jumping. His breath hitches, and he tries to hold onto the anger, his frustration– but can’t manage it, the fingers pressed to Lan Zhan’s skin beginning to tremble. “L–Lan Zhan?”
Lan Zhan turns his face to the side and his mouth ends up against Wuxian’s palm, puffs of air against his skin.
“Wei Ying,” breathes Lan Zhan, not like a name but like a prayer, something broken and desperate and hopeless in his voice. And it’s terrifying.
Wuxian tears his hand away, gasping. Feeling hollowed out, feeling like he’s about to cry, feeling– feeling–
“You…” The word is hoarse, choked out. Wuxian has to swallow again and again to get his voice to work. “What…what was that? Lan Zhan…what…just what are you…”
In a jerky movement, Lan Zhan turns his back to Wuxian. His posture, which had begun to curl inwards, straightens out again, right hand folding behind his back in a fist. He tosses his hair over his shoulder, and doesn’t turn back around.
“Listen well, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, facing away. “It is easy to get the measure of your character. You care little for your own wellbeing in the face of what good you could do for others. You would still contract with Kyubey, because the state of your own soul would not supersede the need to destroy witches and assist Wen Qionglin. You are heroic to a fault. Now that you know there real monsters in the world, you believe you are wrong not to fight them.”
“Of course it’s wrong not to fight if I know the truth!” Wuxian protests, hands balling into fists. “No one would sit back–,”
“Everyone would sit back,” Lan Zhan hisses, whirling around. “Not everyone is as self-sacrificing as you are. So let me try to communicate the folly of making a contract in a language you will understand. If you are concerned with the greater good, then the witches are not the monsters you need to worry about. The biggest monster is Kyubey, and if you want to do good in the world, to keep your loved ones safe, you will avoid playing into that creature’s plans.”
“Wait a minute, fucking stop.” Wuxian holds his hands up, shaking his head. “The soul gem thing is fucked up, but if Kyubey’s doing this so cultivators are strong enough to protect people, to destroy witches, then–,”
“Kyubey does not care about people, or about destroying witches,” Lan Zhan interrupts viciously. “All Kyubey wants is to create witches.”
And then Lan Zhan flinches, eyes widening as if he’s startled himself. As if he’s said something he didn’t mean to. He shuts his mouth abruptly and stumbles backwards, but Wuxian lunges after him, swearing.
“No, what the fuck, no!” Wuxian grabs Lan Zhan’s wrist. “You don’t get to say that and then just–,”
“Wei Wuxian!”
In a flash, Lan Zhan’s transformed again, white robes and white boots and magic mirror. He grabs on to Wuxian’s sleeve as they both turn, as they both see Kyubey scampering down the street towards them.
“Wei Wuxian, you have to come quick!” Kyubey calls. “It’s Wen Ning! Another witch formed at his apartment building, and he’s not going to be able to defeat it!”
—
Even after everything, after all the horrific revelations, there was no way Wuxian wasn’t going to go.
Lan Zhan seems to understand this and doesn’t waste time trying to convince Wuxian to stay back, doesn’t say any more words against Kyubey. Lan Zhan just takes Wuxian by the hand and pulls him along, at a far faster speed than Wuxian could have reached alone. Kyubey has been left behind, presumably following on his own feet. Wuxian wonders if he overheard their conversation.
It’s kind of upsetting, how much Wuxian doesn’t think Lan Zhan was lying. There is no reason to trust Lan Zhan over Kyubey– Wuxian met them the same day, after all. And what Lan Zhan said makes no sense. Contracting cultivators, helping them fight witches– why would Kyubey do that, if he wants to create witches? It doesn’t make sense. And there’s no evidence to back Lan Zhan’s claim either. So Wuxian should just…not believe him, right? He should assume that Lan Zhan told a lie to scare Wuxian away from contracting, right? There’s no reason for him to trust or believe Lan Zhan, right?
But. Wuxian remembers the way Lan Zhan said his name. Wei Ying, like a sorrow-filled prayer. The memory of it, his own name sounded out like a hopeless litany, makes Wuxian feel profoundly uncomfortable, profoundly sad, profoundly fucking confused, and profoundly certain of the fact that if he can’t trust Lan Zhan, he can’t trust anyone.
Well, whatever. Seriously, whatever! With Wen Ning in trouble, there’s no space to worry about Kyubey right now. No time to ask more questions, learn about the other lines of fine print in the cultivator contract. Wuxian knows, and he’s certain that Lan Zhan knows too, that it doesn’t matter what deadly secrets remain. If Wuxian has to contract to save Wen Ning, he’ll do it.
The Wens’ apartment block looks fine from the outside. Except for the fact that all the doors are now just flat images painted onto the walls, with no actual entrance visible. Lan Zhan has to blast a hole through the false exterior, burn away the magic barrier to get inside. Holding tight to Wuxian with one hand.
There are no sign of any apartments, of the actual building. The interior is a maze, darkened by witch magic. Shadowed corridors that lead to nowhere and laughing rat-shaped minions skittering up the walls. But Lan Zhan glows, literally glows, light emanating from his clothes and skin. He illuminates their path and leads them through the winding maze, never letting go of Wuxian’s hand.
Wuxian has no idea how long it takes them to navigate the maze. Time gets funny, and his only sense of it passing is the prickling fear that the Jiangs are probably already past worried and on the way to angry. But the unending hallways end eventually. Abruptly. Lan Zhan turns the corner and they’re suddenly stumbling into a huge room, lit up in disorienting flashes of red and blue light, like a silent ambulance siren. At the centre of the room, towers the witch.
It has a long white coat that pools on the ground, and a plague-doctor’s mask for a head. Flower petals fall from the tip of the beak and sizzle on the ground below, as if they were acidic. Its head is turned towards something at the side of the room, and Wuxian can’t stop himself from lurching forward with a shout when he sees Wen Ning. Wen Ning, holding a barrier of chains above him as oversized syringes stab at him.
Lan Zhan’s pulls Wuxian back, his other hand slapping over his mouth, but the witch’s head is already turning in their direction. A tide of minion-rats scurry out from beneath the coat towards them.
With a low sound of annoyance, Lan Zhan picks Wuxian up, sweeps him off his feet into a bridal carry, and leaps up. He jumps, landing on empty air for a moment, a circle of light spreading out beneath his feet, before propelling upwards again. He lands on a raised platform, a twisted metal hospital bed high above the ground and out of the witch’s line of sight. It’s here that Lan Zhan sets Wuxian down, and then disappears.
A hailstorm of burning light cascades down on the witch from all directions. Wuxian can’t see Lan Zhan, has no idea how he’s attacking like that, from everywhere at once. The witch doesn’t seem to know either, and screeches in anger, launching a spray of acidic flowers in all direction. Wuxian yelps and ducks, but Lan Zhan appears in front of him, a huge mirror hovering in the air before him. The attack of flowers sinks into the mirror, and then goes flying back out, the witch howling as its own acid burns into its mask of a face.
Lan Zhan disappears again, and the next hail of light is more concentrated, only attacking from one direction, so that the witch turns that away, its back to Wuxian. He stays low, shaking all over, and crawls to the other edge of the platform to try and find Wen Ning.
He…he hasn’t moved. He’s still standing where he was, against a far wall, almost in a corner. The witch is no longer attacking him, but Wen Ning has dropped his chains and is just…standing there, looking dumbfounded.
Wuxian swallows down the urge to shout for him. Not a good idea! He just saw how bad an idea that was. Kyubey…there’s no sign of Kyubey, so, so joining this fight, trying to help, is currently out of Wuxian’s hands. All he can do is stay low, stay out of the way, and trust in Lan Zhan.
Luckily, the witch doesn’t seem that strong. Its form is already falling to pieces, cracks spiderwebbing all across its mask. Lan Zhan summons his guqin, runs his fingers up and down the strings several times, and then strums forward, a blast of sound and light shooting out.
It’s fucking loud. The room shakes and Wuxian claps his hands over his ears with a hiss, pain lancing through his head. But the sound wave shatters the witch’s mask, the head crumbling in chunks to the ground, and the light cuts through its body like a scythe, smoking torso peeling apart into two.
The labyrinth begins to unravel. Lan Zhan appears at Wuxian’s side again, breathing hard. There are holes in the fabric of his costume, patches of burnt skin, blackened skin across his neck, where the flowers must have hit. He helps Wuxian to his feet, and Wuxian sees that Lan Zhan’s gem is now grey, with licks of black along the sides.
But Wen Ning looks much, much worse off. His gem isn’t as dirty as before, he must have used the grief seed Lan Zhan gave him, but he looks battered and bruised, like this witch was kicking the shit out of him before they arrived.
But he doesn’t make a move to catch the new grief seed drifting down through the air. Wen Ning doesn’t move at all as the ground beneath them turns back to carpet. As the world reappears around them– the Wens’ apartment.
The grief seed comes to rest on the carpet. Wuxian’s eyes flick back and forth between the two cultivators, but neither of them acknowledge it. Lan Zhan is watching Wen Ning with a wary expression, holding very still. And Wen Ning is just…staring at nothing. A dazed, confused look on his face. The apartment is…actually damaged, which is surprising considering witch labyrinths don’t normally have a heavy effect on the physical world. But there are scorch marks on the carpet and ceiling, a splintered table, and a couch halfway through a wall. Wen Ning, however, doesn’t seem to notice. He’s…he seems…
With a scared little lurch in his stomach, Wuxian realizes there’s no sign of Wen Qing.
“Is– is your sister alright?” Wuxian asks. He takes a hesitant step towards Wen Ning, and then throws caution to the wind and runs for him, holding his arm. “Is– is she in her room?”
Wen Ning flinches. His head turns slowly, left, right, back again, looking around with a blank expression. Unsettlingly, terrifyingly, blank.
“Where…where’s Kyubey?” he finally asks.
“I– I don’t know.” Wuxian looks over his shoulder. The only splash of white in the room is Lan Zhan. “He told us to come here and help and then dipped.”
“Oh. I…” Wen Ning still looks lost, blank. “I wanted to know…how to turn her back. Wait. You killed her.” The strange lethargy vanishes from Wen Ning’s movements as his head snaps towards Lan Zhan. “You killed Jie.”
Disbelief, with fear at its heels, races through Wuxian’s veins. He grips tighter to Wen Ning’s arm. “Wen Ning. Lan Zhan’s been with me the entire time. From the moment we left the hospital. Wen Qing, Wen Qing…” She’s not…killed? As in, dead? Wen Qing can’t be dead. She’s just in the apartment somewhere, right? She’s fine, right? Wuxian and Lan Zhan got here in time to help, to save her from the witch, right?
“I wanted to ask Kyubey how to change her back, but you killed her.” Wen Ning continues, as if Wuxian hadn’t spoken, still staring at Lan Zhan. “I…am I angry? Why…I want to be angry, but I…”
Wen Ning’s eyes slide away from Lan Zhan. The sharpness recedes, and his face slips back into vacancy. Lost, blank.
“Wen Ning, stop speaking in fucking riddles! And stop blaming Lan Zhan!” Wuxian says sharply, grabbing him by the shoulders. “What happened? What happened to Wen Qing? We didn’t see any sign of her when we got here!”
“She contracted,” Wen Ning answers, with a slow blink. “She wished…she wished for me to never experience pain or hurt again.”
Wuxian stumbles back, mouth dropping open. But Wen Ning continues, his voice still terrifyingly blank. “I…I was worried and angry when Kyubey asked her, because I didn’t want her in danger. And then she made her wish and I wasn’t worried or angry anymore. I thought about Jie fighting witches and wasn’t scared at all, just relieved and happy that she’d be with me. But that felt weird. I thought I shouldn’t like it, but couldn’t not like it. Kyubey asked how I felt about her contracting, and I explained, and Jie…she said that’s not what she meant when she wished. Kyubey tried to tell her that it was great, because I would never be scared or angry again, and I could keep fighting even if my limbs all got chopped off because I wouldn’t feel it. And I nodded because I couldn’t feel any pain from the last fight at all. But Jie…she saw me nodding and she…she didn’t even use any magic, but her soul gem turned black on the spot.”
Wen Ning’s eyes drift around. Linger on the scorch marks on the ceilings, on the burns in the carpet, the couch through the wall. Finally, his dead, emotionless eyes return to Lan Zhan.
“Kyubey left before I could ask how to turn her back,” he says. “You killed her before I could ask.”
There must. There must be something Wuxian’s misunderstanding. There has to be– what Wen Ning is saying can’t–
Wuxian turns. Looks at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan’s face is as cool and closed off as a glacier, except for the bitter downward tilt to his lips.
“There is no turning back,” Lan Zhan replies, voice low. “That is the end that all cultivators cultivate towards.”
Kyubey doesn’t want to destroy witches, he wants to create them.
Wuxian falls to his knees.
—
The third thing burned into Wangji’s memory is the first time Wei Ying turned into a witch.
In this timeline, Wen Qionglin died early. For almost the entire month, it had only been Wei Ying and Wangji, and the bitter shock of the death compelled them to never fight alone. There was therefore no splitting of patrols– both of them were out in the city every night. It was easy for Wangji to work around his uncle’s clockwork schedule, to sneak out. But Wei Ying lived in a full household, with siblings always concerned with his whereabouts. He was constantly dodging questions from his family, avoiding and deflecting and pulling away from them.
There are timelines where, on Walpurgis Nacht, Wei Ying texts his brother and sister “got caught up buying supplies. going to stay at the downtown shelter” and they believe him.
But in this timeline, where they had already grown mistrustful of his excuses and diversions, Jiang Yanli did not believe the text Wei Ying sent her.
At the time, Wangji hadn’t known how she knew to run to the eye of the storm, to the heart of the witch disguised as a tempest. In later timelines, he’ll learn that Nie Huaisang is as protective as he is nosy, and that he is not above sharing the app he uses to track Wuxian’s phone with a concerned elder sibling.
But Wangji didn’t know it then. He had no idea how Jiang Yanli knew to run to the harbour, to the heart of their battle.
Their losing battle.
Wangji had been hit to the ground, spitting out blood with his head spinning. Wei Ying had been floating on his sword in the air, furiously playing his flute, commanding his spirits to possess objects, to form themselves into shambling constructs made of debris and broken buildings, large enough to meet the witch head on. He had formed two, three, was assembling a fourth when–
“A-Xian!”
Wei Ying’s flute dropped from his hand.
“A-Xian! Where are you?”
“Shijie! Shijie, run away!” Wei Ying had turned away from the witch entirely, searching the broken ground for his sister. “Don’t come here!”
Walpurgis Nacht had rained down a magical attack, blasts of energy peppering the remains of the buildings around them, sending shards of stone and iron into the air. Wei Ying had moved through the air, dodging, deflecting, and Wangji had struggled after him. Until Wei Ying had been sent spinning to the ground by a blast, and Wangji had been bowled over by explosive red butterflies, left prone on the ground. Soaked through, crimson across the white, water rising around his body as the ground began to sink.
Not yet practiced at disconnecting from his body, from distancing from its wounds, Wangji had been overwhelmed by the pain, skin burnt and lungs filled with blood. It had taken a frantic voice, cutting through the howling winds, to rouse him. To get him to roll over onto his hands and knees and stagger upwards to his feet.
In the ruined, washed out landscape, Jiang Yanli’s purple blouse stood out. It was her frantic voice that Wangji had heard. She was crouched in the murky water, bent over Wei Ying.
Wei Ying, untransformed, eyes closed and a red cloud billowing out into the water around him.
The witch above them began to laugh again.
Wangji was not fast enough. Not strong enough. A new barrage of magic and debris rained down from the heaven, and he had not been able to stop time, to intercept, to do anything but dive for Wei Ying and his sister. To try and pull them beneath a large chunk of concrete sticking out of the water at an angle. Something to shield them, anything to shelter them.
The concrete broke into pieces, under the witch’s attack. It fell around them, on them. Wangji pushed into the water, pinned down, choking on blood and water, drowning.
Something had shoved aside the debris pinning him, pulled his collar and brought his head above the surface. Wangji had seen only a brief glimpse of Wei Ying as he’d hauled Wangji up onto a piece of concrete. A brief glimpse, before Wangji’s eyes had closed, unconsciousness pulling at him, his transformation flickering.
Then he’d heard Wei Ying scream.
When Wangji opened his eyes, it was to the sight of Wei Ying transformed again, the gem on his chest so dark it was nearly black. He was kneeling in the water, submerged almost to his chest. In front of him was Jiang Yanli, floating, a broken off pipe pierced through her throat.
Wangji’s mouth had been full of blood. He’d tried to speak around it, to call out to Wei Ying, to warn him about the state of his gem. But Wei Ying had acted like he didn’t hear, had pulled out his flute and played and played and played. Kept playing until Jiang Yanli’s body began to shudder. Until her eyes opened, pure black, inky veins crawling up her skin. The corpse had jerked upwards, stood, still impaled through the throat. No recognition, no consciousness on its face. As aware, as alive, as the mindless constructs that Wei Ying’s magic created.
Another scream.
Wangji had forced his ruined, sodden body to move. Slid off the concrete and pulled himself through the water, now waist-high. Walpurgis Nacht was no longer above them. The witch had floated past, into the city. She had finished with them. They’d lost, and the undefended city was her prize to claim.
Wei Ying had not cared. He clutched the shoulders of the thing that was not Jiang Yanli and begged and cried and howled. By the time Wangji reached them, Wei Ying’s depleted magic had given out. His transformation dropped, and with it, his sister’s corpse. Like a puppet with its strings cut, Jiang Yanli fell back into the water. Wei Ying had folded at the knees.
Wangji had caught him. Over balanced, and fell to his knees in the water, holding Wei Ying against his chest. Wei Ying had been so weak, bloody everywhere and breathing ragged and broken with sobs. His whole body was shaking as he cried for his sister, howled apologies into the air. Screamed, over and over, why why why WHY?!
Wangji had not noticed when Wei Ying’s shaking changed, had turned into a different kind of twisting. He had not recognized the convulsions for what they were, had only known that Wei Ying was in pain, but alive. Alive, which meant hope wasn’t lost. Not yet. Not yet.
But then Wei Ying had uncurled one of his hands, revealing his soul gem black as night against his palm.
“I’m so sorry. Shijie, Shijie!” Wide open eyes, flooded and staring up at the broken sky. “I’m so sorry!”
And then he screamed.
It was not the same scream, the same sound, as the one Wei Ying had made when first confronted with the body of his sister. It was. This was. This sound was.
That sound, that scream, echoes through Wangji’s dreams, when he bothers to sleep. That scream, that sound, lives inside his heart, is rooted beneath his skin. The sound Wei Ying made when his soul gem shattered, the scream that rent the air when a despair sodden soul collapsed inwards and exploded out. The sound, the scream, that stopped as suddenly as it started, Wei Ying’s body going limp in Wangji’s arms as a shockwave of energy rolled over them. Eyes blank, unseeing, dead.
Wangji does not forget– the weight of Wei Ying’s lifeless body. Different than finding him dead, or watching him die. Holding him as he died, feeling it when he became nothing, when his soul left– Wangji does not forget that. Never forgets that.
Wangji does not forget– looking to the sky and seeing a mass of black and red. Tendrils of hair or ribbon or sinew stretching outwards. A wretched laugh echoing through the sky. The world around him shifting, as a labyrinth began to form.
Wangji does not forget– Kyubey appearing, staring upwards with satisfaction. A creature that claimed to not experience emotion, looking unbearably pleased.
Wangji does not forget– “The Yiling Patriarch. That’s a good name for a witch, isn’t it, Lan Wangji?”
Wangji does not forget– “Aren’t you going to fight him? You’re the only cultivator left in the city now. Well, what’s left of the city.”
Wangji does not forget– “Don’t feel bad, Lan Wangji. This was inevitable. There are only two ends for you cultivators; death, or despair.”
Wangji holds these memories like scars on his heart. There are no scars that remain on his skin– when he resets, when he starts the month over, his body resets as well. But in the same way his magic grows in strength, the same way his mind changes with each timeline, the scars from this day remain on Wangji’s heart. What is never reset, what is never wiped clean. The heart, and the hope within it, that one day he will beat this. One day, he will save Wei Ying.
He holds his scars. He holds onto his hope.
He tries again.
—
Wen Ning died with his sister.
It’s better, easier, only agonizing and not excruciating, to think of it this way. That Wen Ning died when Wen Qing did.
The emotionless automaton with a perpetually half-confused, half-lost expression on his face was not Wen Ning. Wen Ning watched his sister turn into a witch and then get shorn in half. Her wish meant he could not be sad, but without her, he could not be happy either. And so he was nothing, blank, a dead-eyed shell of television static.
Wen Ning died with his sister– that’s what Wei Wuxian tells himself, when a witch shatters Wen Ning’s gem.
A spinning spiked projectile cracks into his side and the momentum sends him into a wall. There is a shattering, a crunching, a destruction of the internal integrity of what could be called a body, and Wen Ning falls, transformation dissolving. The chains protecting Wuxian melt into nothingness.
There is still a witch, this is still a labyrinth, but the smell of blood is heavy in the air, and Wen Ning is unmoving on the ground. Wuxian crawls towards him, towards the mess of bone and fleshy pulp. In the corner of his eye, he sees flashes. Bright light, and the sound of a gun. He doesn’t turn his head.
Wuxian kneels beside what was Wen Ning and thinks, he died with his sister. He brushes hair away from the remains of his face, sets his limbs so they’re no longer jutting at odd angles and thinks, he’s been dead these past three days already. Wuxian moves his hands, straightening clothing, brushing hair again, ignoring how fast the warmth leached away, how fast Wen Ning went cold he wasn’t even in this body anymore and doesn’t stop touching even as his hands grow sticky, getting painted a deeper and deeper red.
Wuxian notices, distantly, when the labyrinth around him begins to fade. He notices strongly when Lan Zhan grabs his arms and pulls him away from Wen Ning. He notices and fights it, trying to yank away from the iron grip.
Lan Zhan does not release him. He holds onto Wuxian, voice cold and commanding. “Do not touch him. If you don’t touch him the body will disappear with the labyrinth. Less questions will be asked of you if there is no body.”
Wuxian’s fingers dig into Lan Zhan’s arms. He wants to swear at him, but he pitches to the side instead and vomits noisily.
The labyrinth disappears. The world returns, and they are in the basement of a community centre, once again. Wen Ning’s body is gone.
The blood on Wuxian’s hands is not.
This is problematic– Wuxian recognizes this, after he’s done puking, but can’t quite figure out what to do about it. His brain is stuttering– the urge to check over his shoulder for dogs won’t leave him. It’s the type of blood that’s the problem. The blood that’s on his hands is– nosebleeds are nosebleeds, and commonplace cuts bleed commonly, but real damage, real injuries, mixes tissue and muscle and bits in with the blood. Wuxian remembers this from dog bites, hands pressed against his leg, fingers soaked in blood with bits of skin and flesh mixed in. He feels bits in the blood on his fingers, and thinks of dogs, and thinks of parents who told him to wait in the car while they stopped to assist a pulled over van on the side of the road– remembers he had been sleeping, they’d woken him up to tell him they’d be back in a minute, but he had fallen back asleep, and when he woke up a stranger was driving the car and they had screamed when Wei Ying sat up from under the blankets and revealed himself– and he remembers being grabbed by the hood of his sweater and tossed onto the road and the car speeding away. He did not watch his parents die. It was years before he knew they were dead.
Wen Ning is dead.
This is still true, even as Lan Zhan scrubs the blood off of Wuxian’s hands. They are in Lan Zhan’s apartment. Somehow. Wuxian knows travel happened, quick and quiet and in the shadows, but the details escape him. Whatever. They’re here now. Wuxian has been sat down by the shower, hands extended out so that the deluge can wash over them. And Lan Zhan is rubbing soap over his fingers, lathering until it’s all red and then pink and then down the drain. His movements are unsettlingly gentle, tender.
Wen Ning is still dead, when the last of his blood has been washed away. He is still dead, when Lan Zhan wordlessly tugs Wuxian’s bloody hoodie over his head and hands him a long-sleeved shirt of light blue. He is still dead, when all signs of his death are gone from Wuxian’s body. Dead, when Wuxian is sitting, dwarfed in too-big fabric, small in Lan Zhan’s clothes.
Lan Zhan steps back. He regards Wuxian with a wary expression. Wuxian looks down at his hands. He’s hyper aware of his own bones, having just seen so many of Wen Ning’s jutting through his skin. He doesn’t want to throw up in Lan Zhan’s bathroom. He doesn’t want to go home. There is blood still– it’s caked under his fingernails. Wuxian picks at it, and makes himself meet Lan Zhan’s eyes.
“Lan Zhan,” he says, “I don’t think it’s your place to stop me from wishing them back from the dead.”
The reaction is predictable– a spasm of horror, followed by a helpless sort of fury that cracks across Lan Zhan’s face.
“How,” he demands, “can you still think of contracting after everything you’ve seen?”
“I shouldn’t have waited.” Wuxian stares at his hands, the crust on his nail beds. “If I had contracted earlier, Wen Qing and Wen Ning wouldn’t be dead.”
“No, they would have died anyways, or you would have,” Lan Zhan hisses, venom and desperation in his voice. “Kyubey does not suffer to have that many cultivators working together. Teamwork hinders the witch-making process. He, the Incubator, allows cultivators to work in the same city only so long as they are rivals.”
Wuxian stares at Lan Zhan. He thinks, well that just seems excessive. He remembers that Wen Ning wasn’t in his body and wonders at the blood under his nails. He thinks, do I need to burn my hoodie to avoid being charged with murder? And then he almost laughs, but manages not to, because Lan Zhan is still staring at him with that helpless sort of fury.
Wuxian pulls his hands back, hiding them in the overlong sleeves. If he can’t see the blood he can stop thinking about it. There are other things to think about. Kyubey. No cultivator teams. Okay, yeah, Wuxian understands. The contracts work on misinformation. The more cultivators working together, the more likely they were to figure out all the hidden clauses and fine print. Rivals would compete for grief seeds, but partners would share them, or share the magic cost of fighting. Yes, Wuxian understands how Kyubey, witch-maker, would not want such a thing.
But that’s the past. That’s with cultivators clueless and naive– Wuxian knows better, now. They’d know better, now.
“So, I wish them back from the dead and we avoid the fuck out of each other, take separate corners of the city,” Wuxian says firmly. “Problem solved.”
“It is not.” The helpless part of it is gone– Lan Zhan is all fury now. “You would help each other, you would never abandon each other– and you think you can wish them back, perfectly? You think you are clever enough to make a wish the Incubator won’t twist?”
Lan Zhan’s hands clench, and he steps back. Then, starts to pace, back and forth in front of Wuxian, like a caged beast.
“If you wished them back from the dead, how could you ensure Wen Qing did not return as a witch, and Wen Qionglin without emotion? If you try to be specific, and wish them back to life as they were, say, a month ago, are they going to have no memories of the time that passed? Do you think you can be specific enough to save both of them? If you wish them back as cultivators, they will be targeted by Kyubey for knowing too much. If you wish them back not as cultivators, they will be powerless to enemies they know exist. And if you wish Wen Qionglin back as human, won’t he return with all the health problems he was trying to get away from? Who is to say he would not contract again? You cannot save them, Wei Ying. If you wish them back to life, you will have no way of preventing their tragedies from unfolding the exact same way.”
“I can’t do nothing! I can’t keep doing nothing!” Wuxian throws himself to his feet, throws himself at Lan Zhan. Pushes him back and back and back again until his head knocks against the far wall.
“All I’ve done is watch, and follow, and be nothing!” Wuxian takes Lan Zhan by the shoulders and shakes him. Shakes him and shoves him against the wall again. “This isn’t me! I’m better than this! I’m better than being a bystander! I don’t know why I let myself get talked into waiting, hanging back, watching Wen Ning do all the work alone. That’s not me. And now he’s dead. He’s dead!”
Wuxian is crying, but mostly he is screaming, and there’s something hysterical about it, something that’s not sorrow, but a helpless crumbling. He starts to laugh. He releases Lan Zhan and puts his hands on his knees and laughs, hiccuping on the tears streaming his face. When Lan Zhan grabs him by the arm and hauls him upwards Wuxian goes limp, rag dolls as his laughter is consumed by sobs. Lan Zhan has both arms now, is the only thing keeping Wuxian from sliding to the floor.
“Wei Ying.” His name like a plucked note, like a twisting knife, like a poem he’s forgotten. Wuxian meets Lan Zhan’s eyes and for a moment he is silhouetted against a fractured sky drenched by the rain and the flooded ground staring down at Wuxian begging him not to give up to go to turn because he couldn’t do it again Wuxian wants to lift his hand and touch his cheek and apologize but he–
“Wen Ning was not your fault,” Lan Zhan says, is saying, in this moment in his bathroom, where they are. Wuxian blinks. His sobs have quieted to shudders, without him noticing. His hand is half-raised, half lifted towards Lan Zhan.
He lets it fall to his side.
“I…” He is unmoored. He is at the edge again, he is forgetting what he has forgotten. Who is he? A fifteen-year-old who refused power for stupid hesitation. Who is he? Wei Wuxian, Wei Ying, orphaned and adopted. He met Lan Zhan for the first time about two weeks ago. His hands strain at his wrists– when Lan Zhan looks like that, you should put your hands on his cheek so he can turn his face into your palm and mess with his hair to tease him and mention rabbits because he likes them –Wuxian is too close to Lan Zhan and it feels familiar. Who is he? Wei Wuxian. Who is he? To Lan Zhan, he is Wei Ying. Why?
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s voice is softer. That makes it worse. Wuxian wants to step back, but his feet betray him, like his hands. They want to stay within touching distance, inexplicably. Who is he?
“You bear no blame for what happened,” Lan Zhan continues. “You must stop taking everything onto yourself. Let other people bear the weight of their own destinies.”
Something about that– It stabs right through the unsettling glitch in Wuxian’s brain that’s making him remember and then forget what he was remembering. Wuxian steps back, and then puts force behind it, removing himself from the hands Lan Zhan had on his shoulders. Lan Zhan– Lan Zhan is a stranger. Why’s he standing so close? Why is he so far up Wuxian’s ass? He’s a stranger, a nosy, meddling stranger who’s also a hypocrite.
“That’s so rich, coming from you,” Wuxian says. His eyes are still wet, his chest hurts– but Wuxian pulls his lips up into a smile that shows all his teeth. “You, who won’t stop following me around. You, who has made every single decision I make your fucking business. Lan Wangji, you absolute fucking hypocrite, where do you get off telling me to let others bear their own destinies?”
Lan Zhan’s mouth trembles. He looks– is he about to cry? His cheeks and nose have gone red, and there’s– oh the baffling desperation in Lan Zhan’s expression. It’s infuriating, because why. Why!
No, no. No, Wuxian does not care, in this minute, for whys. He does not want to waste any more time trying to figure Lan Zhan out. He wasted too much time letting Lan Zhan’s doubts and warnings and weirdness worm their way into his head and he’s done. He is done listening to Lan Zhan.
“You are not my keeper.” Wuxian lifts a hand, points a shaking finger. “So guess what? It’s time for you to mind your own fucking business. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. If I contract, it’s my decision.”
Lan Zhan’s chin dimples, like he really is about to cry, but then he presses his lips together and takes a breath– and all the emotion wipes from his face. Like a switch turned them off. He is ice and marble again, a cold, expressionless glacier.
“Very well,” Lan Zhan says, voice even, level, flat. “You are correct, it is your decision. Though I don’t know how you’ll convince your siblings not to contract once you do.”
There’s a moment of – floor dropping beneath feet, bottom of stomach sinking, ice water over head – painful stabbing clarity. Like a sword thrust to the core of him, it cuts right through Wuxian’s inconsolable anger and grief, smothering them beneath the terror of no, not them, not that.
And then, when he’s caught his breath, all Wuxian can do is laugh. “Lan Wangji, ah Lan Wangji, is that a warning, or a threat?”
Lan Zhan’s face doesn’t so much as twitch. “A threat.”
“Ha! And what if I wish them to never know?”
“And leave the Wen siblings dead, of course,” Lan Zhan replies. “And then, have your adopted parents believe that something is wrong with your siblings for them to not notice your odd behaviour. The wish would likely make them unable to notice when you behave suspiciously– or perhaps it would make them not able to notice magic at all. Leaving them easy prey for a witch–,”
“Stop.” Wuxian’s going to throw up again. He hates Lan Zhan more than he’s ever hated a person before. He’s going to throw up.
“–even without such a wish, it would be naive to think Kyubey wouldn’t try and use your siblings against you, Wen Qing showed him how easily a little brother can cause a cultivator’s soul gem to blacken–,”
“Stop!”
“–or perhaps they have no part in your fall to despair, but when you die your sister wishes you back to life. And you get to watch her fight, be tricked, eventually fall–,”
Wuxian punches him.
Lan Zhan’s head snaps back, but the rest of his body doesn’t move. He blinks, and a little trickle of blood drips from his nostril. He doesn’t wipe it away. He stares at Wuxian, and then looks to the side, one hand idly playing with the ends of his hair.
There is something wrong with Lan Zhan. Wuxian has never been more deeply certain of anything in his life. There is something critically cracked about Lan Zhan, and if Wuxian didn’t hate him so much, the sight of him with a bleeding nose and a blank expression might twist Wuxian’s heart.
But right now, in this moment, Wuxian hates Lan Zhan too much to care.
“Maybe Kyubey’s a monster,” he says voice low, vicious, “but so are you.”
“Yes.” Lan Zhan keeps playing with his hair, keeps looking away. “But two is enough. There is no need for you, or your siblings, to join us.”
—
Wen Qing and Wen Ning are announced missing.
The PA system solemnly informs the school of their disappearance, and Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s heads swivel towards Wuxian.
Wuxian can’t fake an expression of shock or horror. He stares forward at the whiteboard, at their awkward teacher. He rubs his thumbs over his shorn-short nails and doesn’t look over at Lan Zhan. He hears Nie Huaisang whispering that this must be related to the murder of Wen Ruohan and his sons. Jiang Cheng whispers what the fuck? over and over. Wuxian wonders what they would gossip about if he were to go missing through magical means. His stomach twists, and his head dips. He stares at his desk.
Wuxian thinks– fuck Lan Zhan.
He thinks– Jiang Cheng would be furious to learn that Wuxian was spending every night playing the hero for the whole city.
He thinks– Shijie already wishes every day for her brothers to be safe. If he contracted and she found out she would–
He thinks– Jiang Cheng is petulant but not selfish. Cautious but not cowardly. Not cold, but practical. Would he make a contract? Not unprompted, not as he is. But if Wuxian made one first…
He thinks– How could he let Lan Zhan do this to him. Again. Fuck him up with words again. Scare him into hesitation again!
He thinks– I could make it work.
He thinks– I won’t die, I won’t turn into a witch.
He thinks– I won’t let my siblings find out. I won’t let Kyubey trick me. I’m smarter than him. I am.
He thinks– What will Lan Zhan do, actually, if I contract?
An unanswerable question. After all, Wuxian still doesn’t know why the fuck Lan Zhan is so hung up on him. And has made the decision not to find out. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t. Lan Zhan doesn’t matter. If Wuxian, if Wuxian wants to contract then it’s his choice. Fuck Lan Zhan.
But.
Wen Ning and Wen Qing are dead already. There may not be a safe way to wish them back to life. Lan Zhan is strong, and can likely protect the city alone. So. Is Wuxian’s desire to contract just…selfishness?
Because, because there’s no one left to help. No one left to stand beside. No wish that will save anyone he loves. So. So what really, is the point of contracting? Is it, fuck, is he just trying to claw back the shreds of his self-worth? Hoping that contracting now would lessen the guilt, the regret, from not contracting sooner? Is that really the reason? Does Wuxian want to contract as a cultivator to feel better about himself?
“Bro Wei?” Nie Huaisaing pokes him between his shoulder blades. “Are you alright?”
Wuxian thinks– I’m not trying to be selfish, I just want to be me. This is not who I am.
“I’m fine.” He turns his head, gives a light smile. “Don’t worry.”
—
“Shijie, what does it mean to be me?”
“Hm?” Shijie looks up, looks over from where she’s standing at the stove, stirring congee. No soup today. Pork ribs are on the shopping list, but not in the fridge. But that’s alright. Shijie’s congee is good too. Warms the middle, warms the heart. Like her smile. Shijie, looking back at Wuxian with an indulgent expression. Shijie, untouched by the horrors of magic and despair.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“I mean…” Wuxian is sitting on a stool at the counter, head on his arms, hair loose around his face. “How do I know I’m still me, if I no longer act like me?”
Shijie looks at him, really looks at him. She sets down her ladle.
Soft lilac fabric trails behind her as she crosses the floor. Her hands smell like spices as she takes Wuxian’s face and lifts it. Her palms are warm and calloused, her touch is grounding. Wuxian closes his eyes, leaning in.
“A-Xian is my dear little brother, and always will be,” Shijie says, gentle. “And he is always himself. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what it means to be myself,” he admits. “If I suddenly hated soup, if I suddenly didn’t talk too much, would I still be me? If everything that made me me was different?”
“Yes, you would.” Shijie moves one hand, fingers through his hair. “Changing is part of growing up. Shijie would be sad if you no longer loved her soup, but she would find something new to cook for you instead. And Shijie would miss your voice, if you were quieter, but would grow used to it, if that’s what A-Xian wanted. You’ve already changed so much from when you first came to us. It is natural to change. You are always still you.”
“But what if I’m changing into someone I don’t want to be?”
“Sometimes, it feels like we are powerless in our own lives. But we aren’t,” Shijie says. “We can choose the people we become. If you don’t like the way you are changing, than you can change in a different way. No one but you gets to dictate who you are.”
Wuxian exhales heavily, rubbing his cheek against her hand. “It doesn’t feel that simple.”
“Growing up never is. I understand, A-Xian. When I was fifteen, I was very unhappy with who I was. I wanted to change, speak louder, stand straighter. But that also felt like a bad thing, like I would become a person I didn’t want to be. I wondered which was worse, remaining meek, or becoming…”
She trails off. But Wuxian hears the unspoken like my mother, and nods his understanding.
“With time, it got easier,” Shijie continues with a smile. “I changed how I saw myself, looked at my strengths rather than my weaknesses. I learned to speak a little louder, but because I wanted that for myself, not because I thought it was what others expected of me. A-Xian, no one can decide what’s a good change and what’s a bad change but you. Either way, you will always be you. And Shijie will love you, whoever you grow to be.”
—
Wen Ning said that Wuxian didn’t need magic to do good in the world.
Wen Ning, earnest and shy and sweet. Who had died twice over, messily. He’d told Wuxian it was okay to not have a wish. He’d told Wuxian to cherish the life he had.
It’s hard. There’s a constant throbbing between Wuxian’s brows, an ache in his chest. The Wens, the ones he liked, are dead, and will stay dead. Lan Zhan is inscrutable and horrible. There has been no sign of Kyubey since the night he led them to the Wen apartment. There are monsters in the city.
But there are smaller things, as well.
Wuxian puts himself on an emailing list for volunteer opportunities in the city. He starts helping out after school at the tutoring centre. He and his siblings aren’t supposed to carry cash on them, but he stuffs a coin purse full of bills and hands them out to every beggar he passes.
There are small things.
They don’t resettle Wuxian in his own skin, though. They don’t stop him from feeling like he’s out of step with his own life, that he’s moving the wrong way in a current, like he’s avoiding something unavoidable. The sensation of this is not me, this isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing doesn’t leave him. It looms inside his head and lives inside his chest, right beside the grief.
But he tries.
Wuxian spent this afternoon at the downtown library, reading storybooks to children. It was fun, he got to make funny faces and do funny voices and make children laugh. He avoided books that had witches, and avoided crying when he saw a child with round cheeks and big eyes. He focused on sparking a little joy in the lives he could reach, and avoided thinking about what he should be, what he could be. Focused on his strengths, not his failures.
Of course, his efforts all fall apart when he gets caught in a labyrinth in the subway.
Maybe it’s shitty luck, maybe it’s fate, maybe Wuxian has magic residue caked onto his skin from hobnobbing with cultivators. Either way, he’s standing on the subway platform looking at his phone, and doesn’t notice that the train that’s pulled up is cartoon purple and covered in spikes until the doors slide open and hands reach through and grab him.
The inside of the train is also bright purple, and covered in screeching, demonic monkeys. Spikes protrude from the walls and Wuxian nearly impales himself trying to dodge away from the clawing hands of the minions. The train moves, picking up speed, until Wuxian can barely keep his feet, can barely run, barely avoid careening into the spikes, can’t duck fast enough when a monkey reaches for his throat–
A set of doors blows open.
A powerful gust of wind rushes into the train, sending the monkeys chasing Wuxian flying into the spiked walls. He loses his balance, sliding on the floor, when a figure jumps through the doors, landing gracefully in front of him.
It’s Nie Huaisang.
Nie Huaisang, dressed in a closed collar olive-green hanfu with flared sleeves that end in Western-style ruffles. A sleeveless leather jacket lies overtop, and the hanfu tucks into a pleated skirt of leather and fabric that ends just above the knees. Black stockings embroidered with silver boars and flowers end in hilariously sensible green flats. His hair is even more elaborately braided than usual, and a bright green gem sits in a silver ornament clipped to the side of his head, a single emerald feather hanging from it by a chain. There is a large fan in each of his hands, and a sheepish expression on his face.
“Bro Wei, I can’t believe it,” he laughs. “Now I’m the weird magic person busting in to save the day!”
Wuxian stares. He’s speechless. He remains speechless, as Nie Huaisang turns from him and begins to fight.
Wind and razors shoot out from his fans, clearing away the monkeys closest to them. Then, Nie Huaisang begins attacking the train itself, breaking down the structure. It lurches, it slows, it starts to scream. More monkeys come running at them from either side, and Nie Huaisang closes his fan, and begins to draw with the end of it, as if it were a brush, painting strokes of ink into the air that become illusions of himself, that distract the minions while he continues his assault on the train.
It falls apart quickly. A familiar, not a witch, Wuxian thinks, as if he has any right to pretend he knows anything about familiars and witches. As if he were a cultivator. Like Wen Ning. Lan Zhan. Nie Huaisang.
The labyrinth fades, the subway platform returns, oblivious people come down the stairs and a normal train pulls into the station. Nie Huaisang, transformation dropped, hides the bottom half of his face behind his fan and meets Wuxian’s eyes.
Nie Huaisang is a self-proclaimed coward. In his own words, he’s self-interested, lazy as hell, and has a weak constitution. He gets out to P.E. classes by claiming they cause him emotional distress, and sniffles pitifully at the slightest indication that someone might be angry with him.
And he’s made a contract with Kyubey.
“Bro Nie.” Wuxian can feel how awkward his smile is, how lopsided and forced. “Didn’t you say your life was fine the way it was?”
“Well…I really didn’t want to” Nie Huaisang looks to the side with a nervous titter. “This sort of thing isn’t my style at all. But…certain circumstances changed, so I decided to change too.”
“Bro Nie.” The smile distorts further, fear twisting Wuxian’s face. “Do you even know what you’ve agreed to? Do you know–,”
“Wei Ying.”
Wuxian jumps a mile. His heart leaps out of his chest and he curses, spinning around to see Lan Zhan approaching.
Nie Huaisang, panicky Nie Huaisang, doesn’t so much as flinch.
“Hello,” Nie Huaisang says, voice carefully even. “It was just a familiar, no grief seed.”
Wuxian’s stomach lurches. It’s just like, like the way Wen Ning used to react when he saw Lan Zhan. Nie Huaisang has bought into the lie, Kyubey’s trickery. He thinks Lan Zhan’s here to fight. He’s been fucking duped, like Wen Ning, like Wen Qing–
“We should speak in private,” Lan Zhan says.
Nie Huaisang looks nervous, but Wuxian, Wuxian’s head bobs up and down. Nodding. Agreeing. Lan Zhan is…is…Wuxian can’t stand to look at him, but Lan Zhan knows the truth. He can warn Nie Huaisang. He can make sure…make sure Nie Huaisang doesn’t end up like Wen Ning.
“He’s not going to fight you,” Wuxian says to Nie Huaisang. “There are things you should know. The whole cultivators fighting over territory thing is bullshit. Okay? It’s bullshit.”
Nie Huaisang blinks. His eyes become more contemplative, sliding back towards Lan Zhan.
They leave the subway station, and Wuxian watches Lan Zhan lead Nie Huaisang away. Watches them go. Colluding cultivators, leaving the useless civilian behind.
Wuxian tries to remember the small things. Volunteering, sparing change, the library. But there’s nothing that can remove the lump of bitterness and self-loathing that’s settled over his heart.
More useless than Nie fucking Huaisang.
What the fuck could he have wished for?
—
In class, Nie Huaisang acts like nothing has changed.
He’s gossipy and fussy and falls asleep halfway through second period. He whines at Jiang Cheng and teases Wuxian and continues to act like he’s terrified anytime he gets within fifteen feet of Lan Zhan.
But there’s a silver ring on his finger, a confident lift to his head. He has magic, the kind that most people don’t know exists. He has power, that most people could never dream of.
He has a noose around his neck.
Wuxian wakes in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat, visions of Nie Huaisang with his body shorn in half like Wen Ning. Visions of Nie Huaisang being crushed by a witch. Visions of Nie Huaisang with his gem shattered by Wen Qing’s needles–
Dreams that make no sense. Dreams that feel real. Wuxian never saw Wen Qing as a cultivator, but he sees her in his dreams. Dressed in white and red, large needles as weapons, her gem set into a white choker, bright red at her throat. The oldest, the leader, their pillar, the easiest to break.
Are these even dreams? Wuxian stares up at the ceiling when he wakes, blinking back tears. He thinks of Lan Zhan, and the way he…the things he knows, his cutting assessments of Wuxian’s character. His deadly understanding of Wuxian’s fears. He wonders if Lan Zhan had dreams like this, dreams about Wuxian. Dreams of things that never happened, lives never lived, that still feel true and real.
The hatred that had reared up inside Wuxian after Wen Ning died has faded. He’s still angry, and he doesn’t really want to talk to Lan Zhan, but– None of it was Lan Zhan’s fault. Lan Zhan, from the moment they met, has been consistent. He doesn’t want Wuxian to contract. Wuxian had been looking for a reason why, but maybe it really is as simple as the fact that Kyubey is a deceiver, and Lan Zhan doesn’t want anyone else to be deceived.
Except he didn’t seem too invested in Nie Huaisang’s contract, did he?
That’s the thing. Wuxian wishes it was as easy as, Lan Zhan doesn’t want Kyubey to make more contracts, but that doesn’t seem quite right. Something else is going on. There’s. A secret. A puzzle. A reason, for Lan Zhan and his…everything. Lan Zhan and his knowing. Wuxian, always on the edge of knowing, but never quite managing it. He has many questions, but the strongest one right now is, why me, but not Nie Huaisang? Why stalk me to stop me from contracting, why tell me the truth about everything, and not do the same for him?
Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji.
What do you want?
—
Wangji wants to save Wei Ying.
It is a single-minded goal, one that leaves room for little else. He used to include the others, prioritize Wei Ying, but leave space for saving the other cultivators on his list, but he no longer bothers. It is Wei Ying, and Wei Ying alone.
Wangji may try, depending on the mood he begins the timeline with, to try and get other cultivators to Walpurgis Nacht. A secondary goal, side quest. But once the first of them die, it feels like the start of an inevitable domino effect, and he gives up, stops considering the others entirely.
Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing die, and Wangji stops paying attention to Nie Huaisang.
He contracts the least, through all the timelines. And Wangji can never predict exactly which event will make him choose to wish. His brother’s illness is always there, after all. There are timelines where Nie Huaisang wishes it away, and timelines where he doesn’t. Wangji has not managed to pick up the pattern. He does not waste time trying. Unlike the Wen siblings, Nie Huaisang is not a liability to Wei Ying. He is not a pseudo-little brother or a pseudo-big sister, just a friend. He does not exert any pressure on Wei Ying to contract.
And so, it is not the end of the world, to learn that Nie Huaisang has contracted without Wangji noticing.
In truth, Nie Huaisang is the only cultivator Wangji had would like beside him at Walpurgis Nacht. In a team, he will hang back and rely on others. On his own, he is secretive and self-sufficient. In a pair, he falls into the role of tactician, planning and supporting and only attacking at the most opportune moments. Wangji knows they fight well together. He would be a great help during Walpurgis Nacht.
Nie Huaisang has never made it to Walpurgis Nacht.
Wen Qionglin often has. Wen Qing occasionally has. Nie Huaisang, never.
He isn’t a liability, he isn’t easily tricked, he isn’t impulsive enough to jump into fights ill-prepared, or foolish enough to get backed into a corner.
But once contracted, Nie Huaisang is impossible to keep alive.
Wangji does not allow himself to want many things. Wei Ying, saved. That is the start and end of his list.
But nothing matters if he cannot beat Walpurgis Nacht at the end of the month. Nothing matters if he fails there, again.
So he will try. He will allow himself a secondary goal. He will do his best to keep Nie Huaisang alive as well. To get him to Walpurgis Nacht, so they can fight it together.
But after one hundred and thirty-six timelines, Lan Wangji knows when a battle is lost before it’s begun.