and from our own/live to ourselves

by betweentheheavesofstorm

Summary:

Wei Ying's life has been less than great recently, but given that yesterday's problems amounted to "finally clean the fridge" and today's are "keep himself, Jiang Cheng, and 28 random strangers alive in a fantasy version of the Arctic" it's fair to say that things have taken a turn for the worse.

Or: what happens when, against all your best wishes, you end up on a reality show that saw all of its previous contestants die.

Chapter 1: i. this punk is one of cupid's carriers

Notes:

and from our own
Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess,
Free

- Paradise Lost, Book II, lines 248-50.

 

Welcome to the most self-indulgent fic I may ever write! I have Many thoughts about these lines from Paradise Lost and the speech that they're taken from, which I will go on about at the end of the fic because the thematic relevance is spoilery. The chapter titles are all quotes from The Merry Wives of Windsor that all sound fantastic when you take them out of context and ignore the fact that they're from a very silly spin-off comedy about Falstaff.

 

‘All right,’ Wei Ying says, ‘I’ll concede that this is mostly my fault.’

Lan Zhan just looks at him, which is fair. Wei Ying didn’t force him to come, but he was the one who went off on his own, got separated from the group and ended up in a blizzard. All things considered, their current predicament is weighing in at close to entirely his fault, with the caveat that he wasn’t the one who put them on the mountain in the first place.

As soon as they find out the bastard responsible for that, Wei Ying should be able to deflect the blame for everything else fairly quickly.

‘Look,’ he says, ‘I know it’s not ideal, but we’ll hunker down and find our way back when the storm passes, right?’

Lan Zhan nods – but with the blizzard still raging outside, it’s not like he can do much else.

 

7 days earlier.

 

It happens like this: Wei Ying wakes up in unfamiliar clothes and traverses the entire spectrum of human emotion in the span of sixty seconds.

First, he doesn’t have a clue where he is, so he sits up from where he’s been lying – on the floor? – and then catches sight of the most beautiful man in the world, who is also lying on the floor. That distracts him, because this guy is, well - carved-from-marble, probably-a-supermodel levels of beautiful, which is Wei Ying’s first clue that something is wrong because in what world does he get to associate with someone who looks like that?

Then he gets a better look at the room they’re in – a medium-sized hall with white walls and half a dozen grey tables dotted around – and registers that it looks familiar. Seconds after that he notices quite how many other people are also in the hall, all in the various stages of waking up. They’re all dressed the same: dark grey jumpsuits with a single word printed on the back, across the shoulders. He reads it, then reads it again, his heart dropping out of his chest. Fuck. This can’t be real. This can’t be –

 

The first time it happened, they didn’t realise it was real. That was maybe the worst part of the whole thing; everyone treated it like any other TV drama. An internet fandom formed, people live-tweeted episodes and made gifsets of their favourite moments. It was very well executed, everyone agreed; this cast – all unknown actors – were phenomenal. The different camera angles also generated a sense of realism, found-footage style. For all intents and purposes, Iceolation appeared to be a drama about a random group of people who found themselves transported to a military base in the middle of the Arctic. They were given a handful of weapons, some cryptic clues and had to work together for mutual survival. Faced with the harsh elements and CGI snow monsters, they managed all right for a while, and then they started dying. That drew criticism – it was very graphic for television, a lot of people said.

And then someone recognised one of the contestants and all hell broke loose.

The production company, about which no one knew anything, kept it airing. Even as the outrage mounted, as more of the contestants were identified – as real people, who had gone missing and wound up onscreen – the investigations went nowhere. The format of the show changed, though Whereas before it had aired in episodes, no doubt to suggest it was a drama, it was suddenly a livestream, jumping between different cameras and available 24/7 on the Iceolation website. And, as all of the contestants died in various horrible ways, it was broadcast across the world.

Wei Ying had watched it, but not very attentively. Everyone was watching it, so he saw the first few episodes out of curiosity and then, after the reveal, because it felt like some sort of betrayal to stop. He doesn’t remember all that much from it – his memory is not good for shit like that – but enough to recognise the hall that they’re in as identical to, if not the same, from the show.

Fucking hell.

Getting to his feet, he scans the room for any familiar faces– and feels his insides lurch when his eyes land on Jiang Cheng, about five metres away. The first wave of relief that he’s not alone here, he has someone he knows, is immediately followed by horror. If Jiang Cheng is also here, in what is either an extremely elaborate and mean-spirited practical joke, or –

‘What the fuck is this?’ someone says, off to his left. It seems to be all the encouragement that the rest of them need to break out of their stunned silence.

‘Is this fucking Iceolation?’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘It says Iceolation on the back,’ someone says, waving frantically at their neighbour’s jumpsuit.

‘How did we get here?’

‘Hey,’ Wei Ying hurries forward to grab Jiang Cheng’s arm, helping his brother to his feet. He scowls, shaking him off.

‘What is this?’ he asks, as though Wei Ying personally has arranged for them both to be kidnapped and placed in a random hall with thirty other people.

‘Well,’ Wei Ying says, ‘best case scenario, we’re finally on TV.’

‘Shit,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘This is – actually it, right?’

Wei Ying just shrugs. He really, really does not have an answer to that. But, then, what is there to say when everyone who was in this situation before died?

Panic is spreading more rapidly through the room now. One guy is wailing loudly, clutching onto the person nearest him. Others have started to make for the doors. Maybe this is a joke, Wei Ying thinks, without much conviction. There could be a live studio audience waiting just outside … but the doors just open onto corridors.

‘I think we should get out of here,’ Jiang Cheng says, his eyes flickering nervously about the hall. The tables make it look like a canteen. ‘This is – this is messed up.’

Wei Ying just nods. He’s thinking. He can’t, admittedly, remember a whole lot from the show, beyond how stupid the name was. Iceolation. He always thought it should have had a hyphen to accentuate the pun. Ice-Olation. Maybe that’s too close to Ice-Elation, which it definitely was not.

If this is the show (he insists upon retaining that if, how many times has he been lectured about jumping to conclusions?) then he’s probably on TV right now. Well, they all are, he’s not special. Which means that their family is probably watching, Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Yanli –

Fuck.

‘Shijie,’ he says, urgently, to Jiang Cheng, who understands immediately.

‘A-jie!’ he calls, as they start searching the canteen. A couple of heads turn, but there’s no reply. Twice, Wei Ying sees a girl around her height, but as soon as they turn it’s to reveal unfamiliar features. Unless she’s one of the people who ran from the room immediately – a possibility, but an unlikely one – she’s not here. That’s a good sign, Wei Ying reminds himself. If this means that she’s safe, merely watching them, that’s good.

Jiang Cheng is thinking along similar lines. ‘She’s okay, then. Right?’

‘I think so.’

‘What do we do?’

Wei Ying looks at his brother, who’s looking at him with a familiar expression on his face. It’s the same one he wears every time Wei Ying gets them into trouble; it’s the one that asks Wei Ying how they are going to get out of trouble. Unfortunately for him, right now Wei Ying has no fucking idea.

‘Let’s explore,’ he suggests. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone else that they know and the sooner they get their bearings the better. Plus, what with the panicked conversations coming from every corner, the canteen is starting to feel crowded.

Jiang Cheng glances around. ‘What if we miss something?’

‘Anything important I’m sure someone will tell us,’ Wei Ying says, with a breeziness he does not feel. ‘The number of people here, there’s gotta be some responsible types.’

Jiang Cheng doesn’t look fully convinced, but he follows him anyway.

The doors off the hall lead into a wide, white-walled corridor. It reminds Wei Ying of a hospital, or what he imagines a military building would look like, windowless and utilitarian. It’s bizarre how familiar it feels, for a place he’s only watched and never been to. They pass a bunch of other rooms, including a small infirmary and a bunch of bedrooms, each equipped with plain furniture and bunk beds. Wei Ying doesn’t know what he’s looking for, only that if he keeps his legs moving he can keep the two of them from free-falling straight into panic.

There are cameras everywhere. He notices them seconds before Jiang Cheng points them out. In every corner, covering every inch of the hallway. He gives one of them a wave, and then thinks about the first series – its omnipresence, airing on at least one screen wherever you went – and feels slightly sick. They’re probably on the news right now, on every digital billboard from Qishan to Qinghe.

They turn a corner. At the end of the corridor is a set of heavy double doors. They pause.

‘Where d’you think this actually is?’ Wei Ying asks. The original filming location was never found, no matter how many search teams were sent out to the Arctic. While the doors are closed, they might be anywhere. Maybe they’re in, like, a random field in Yiling, and this is all some deeply unethical social experiment. It has to be more likely than the alternative.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t respond, just hurries forward to open the doors. They’re quite heavily bolted, but he moves with a sudden, frenzied energy, as if he can’t bear to be inside a second longer. Hauling the last bolt across, he gets one of the doors open.

For a moment Wei Ying thinks they’ve died and ended up in one of those TV-style afterlives, where they’re surrounded by nothingness. It’s just a white void, with the building they’re in suspended in the middle of it. Then the cold hits, and he realises that all the whiteness is snow.

He walks closer, joining Jiang Cheng in the doorway. Endless white snow, as far as the eye can see, flawless and untouched. The building is on some kind of plain: the horizon is perfectly level, the white giving way to cloudless pale blue sky.

‘Well, fuck,’ Wei Ying says. They’re definitely not in Yunmeng anymore.

‘This is actually it,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘It’s just like the first series. It has to be the same place.’

‘Reckon we’re on TV, too?’ Wei Ying grins, because the alternative is running face first into a snowdrift and waiting for the sweet embrace of death. ‘I’ve often thought that I’ve got the perfect face for it.’

Jiang Cheng elbows him.

They stand there for another moment, but the air coming in really is very cold. Wei Ying hopes that there are snowsuits somewhere in the building. Surely it would make for a very boring series if they all froze to death – unless they’re being pushed into forming some communal cuddle pile to conserve body heat. That could get spicy fast.

‘Let’s go back,’ Jiang Cheng says.

They take a different route back to the canteen, this time passing a supply room – which, Wei Ying is relieved to see, has both snowsuits and coats – and a kitchen. That, too, seems well-supplied. It’s simultaneously heartening (they’re not going to starve) and unnerving (they’re clearly expected to be here for A While.)

The kitchen’s other door opens back into the canteen, where things have settled a little. At least, in the sense that almost everyone has calmed down enough to spectate on the shouting match happening at the centre. The perpetrators are a tall, beefy guy who looks a bit older than the rest of them, late 20s at least, and a guy around their age whose face Wei Ying immediately wants to punch. Nothing that the guy is currently doing or saying particularly merits being punched, he’s just got one of those faces.

This, presumably, is making for excellent TV. Wei Ying glances around, hoping to locate the beautiful guy he woke up next to. Ah, there he is, sat at a table and completely ignoring the argument happening ten feet away because he’s…reading a book?

‘Be back in a sec,’ Wei Ying says, and slips through the crowd to sit at the beautiful guy’s table. ‘Hey, what’s up?’

The beautiful guy ignores him. There’s a whole stack of books on the table; how the hell did he bring reading with him?

Wei Ying taps on the cover of the book. It looks old; it’s leather-bound and worn. ‘I’m talking to you.’

The beautiful guy lowers it, frowning. God, he really is something; perfect features, long loose black hair that reaches down to his waist. The jumpsuits shouldn’t look flattering on anyone, but on this guy it could have been a deliberate outfit choice. Maybe he was a model, back before the powers that be decided to ruin his life and stick him here.

‘I didn’t know we got books,’ Wei Ying says. ‘I don’t think Series One had them. I mean, they look nice and all, and I guess we need all the help we can get.’ He reaches out to pick one off the top of the stack, and then freezes at the look on the beautiful guy’s face. ‘What? My hands are clean. I’m not gonna destroy the artifacts, or whatever.’

‘They’re fake,’ the beautiful guy says. His voice is about as sexy as his face, which is saying a great deal. At least when Wei Ying inevitably suffers a grisly and untimely end, he will have had the chance to know (and annoy) someone this fantastically out of his league.

‘What?’ he says, because he was mostly paying attention to the way the beautiful guy’s frown appeared in soft lines around his eyebrows.

‘The books. They aren’t old, they have been made to look that way.’

‘Oh.’ He looks back at the pile. This time, he takes one. ‘I guess that makes sense. This is, like, an immersive set, after all. They’re so detailed, though. How can you tell?’

A short pause. Then, ‘My uncle sells antique books.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry. I mean, not about that job, that’s cool as hell, but, like…is there anyone here you know?’

‘No. You?’

‘Yeah. My brother. He’s over there somewhere.’ Wei Ying has to crane his head backwards to spot Jiang Cheng. ‘There he is! The grumpy one, but don’t tell him I called him that.’

The beautiful guy doesn’t say anything. He’s returned his attention to the volume in front of him, though he doesn’t look like he’s actually reading.

‘What’s in them, anyway?’ Wei Ying opens the book he’d taken. There’s a picture of a sword on the first page, the wide blade rendered in fine black lines. It could easily be an illustration in a fantasy novel.

‘History,’ the beautiful guy says, and then corrects himself. ‘Not a true account – a guide, to this world.’

‘Like, lore. Backstory. Wait, what do you mean this world?’

‘The book claims,’ the beautiful guy says, ‘that we are currently in a different dimension to the one that we previously occupied.’

Wei Ying laughs. He can’t help it. ‘And you – you believe that?’

‘I have yet to make up my mind about anything,’ the beautiful guy says, rather coldly. ‘I am merely relating my findings.’

‘All right.’ The argument in the middle of the canteen is still going; Wei Ying reopens his book. At some point they’re going to have to start the hideously tedious process of deciding What To Do As A Group, and he has no doubt that there will be plenty of thoroughly stupid opinions offered. For now, though, he may as well sit and read, and definitely not sneak covert glances at the possible supermodel (and antique book expert?) across the table.

‘Wei Ying!’ Jiang Cheng’s bore of waiting, which is – yeah, fair enough. He sits down, looking uncertainly at the beautiful guy.

‘This is my brother,’ Wei Ying says, unnecessarily. ‘Jiang Cheng, meet…’

‘Lan Zhan,’ the beautiful guy supplies, tight-lipped.

‘Lan Zhan!’ Wei Ying beams. ‘I’m Wei Ying. I guess you knew that.’

Lan Zhan goes back to his book. Wei Ying follows suit, but it’s not a riveting read. The first chapter seems dedicated to the definitely fake history of this enchanted blade, and, while he enjoys some Bad Fantasy as much as the next person, it doesn’t provide much in the way of answers.

Eventually the arguing stops. The beefy guy has been talked down by a smaller boy half his height who keeps wringing his hands – oh, it’s the same one who was wailing earlier – and the punchable dude is standing sheepishly next to a pretty girl. (His sister? His girlfriend? That could be useful information to find out.)

‘We should talk, all together,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘See if anyone knows anything.’

He’s not the only one to think that way; a rough circle is beginning to form. Their table is on the edge of it; if Wei Ying faces forward and turns his back on Lan Zhan he has a good view of everyone else.

He wonders, for a second, what it would be like for one of the series one competitors to watch them now and witness their hopeless bumbling around. It’d be so frustrating for them, had they survived to see it.

‘What I don’t understand,’ the Punchable Guy says, because he apparently has not exhausted his supply of Hot Takes, ‘is why they’ve chosen us. Wasn’t the point of the first series that it was a bunch of nobodies?’

‘They were people,’ Jiang Cheng snaps.

‘Yeah, but they weren’t anyone that people would miss,’ the dickhead says. ‘When my family see this-’

‘They were missed,’ Jiang Cheng says.

The dickhead scowls. Unfortunately, he’s not completely wrong. The series one people had clearly been selected carefully, to not arouse suspicion when they disappeared. A couple of runaway teenagers, an elderly woman with no relatives, an ex-con. It wasn’t until a shelter volunteer recognised one contestant, a man who had been homeless, that they Realised.

And it was also one of the things that made it seem more like a fictional drama than a reality show; the cast wasn’t the usual collection of attractive twenty-somethings. Unlike now, when they fit that bill perfectly.

‘Does it matter why we were picked?’ the short dude responsible for getting the beefy dude to step down pipes up. ‘I mean, we’re here now.’

‘Where exactly is here?’ Punchable Guy asks.

‘We had a look outside,’ Jiang Cheng says, with a glance at Wei Wuxian. ‘It’s just snow, as far as you can see.’

‘They never found the site, did they?’ someone asks, nervously.

‘I mean,’ someone else says, ‘we don’t know for sure that this is Iceolation.’

‘No,’ Wei Ying allows, speaking up for the first time. ‘but it’s probably safest to assume that it is? They’ve done everything but put up a It’s Series 2, Good Luck banner up.’

‘Weren’t there monsters in the first series?’ the short guy says. ‘Ice creatures or something. We should be worrying about those.’

Wei Ying vaguely remembers those. It’s funny, a lot of his memories of the show are vague and others startlingly vivid. He can only remember one name from the first cohort of contestants: Mo Xuanyu, a teenager who’d been kicked out by his family for being gay. He wasn’t very popular with the show’s audiences, his backstory elicited sympathy but he came across as too weird.

If he thinks about it for too long he will remember how Mo Xuanyu died. There was a sword - perhaps that fantasy sabre that the book was banging on about – and blood everywhere, and they couldn’t or wouldn’t cut away.

‘We should explore a little, get our bearings,’ the beefy dude says. ‘There’s no point just sitting around and waiting for things to happen.’

‘We don’t know what’s out there!’ the short guy squawks. From the mixture of horror and indignation on his face, Wei Ying guesses that the two of them are related.

‘Only one way to find out.’

‘There are books!’ Wei Ying interjects, and jerks his head back towards the pile on the table. ‘Lan Zhan here has started going through them.’

Beefy Dude snorts. ‘What are books gonna tell us, beyond what they want us to think? You guys can do what you like, but I’m going to check outside.’

‘You’ll need a snowsuit, or something,’ Jiang Cheng tells him. ‘It’s freezing out there.’

Wei Ying sneaks a glance over his shoulder at Lan Zhan – who, predictably, has resumed reading – and tries to decide if continuing to annoy the most beautiful guy in the world is worth staying behind for. He concludes that it isn’t. but only because he’ll make it a priority as soon as he gets back.

‘All right,’ Beefy Dude says, ‘who’s coming?’

A few people stand up, Wei Ying included. Jiang Cheng follows suit as soon as he notices what he’s doing.

‘I think I’ll stay and scope out the rest of the building,’ Beefy Dude’s brother says, hastily. ‘You know me, I can’t hack the cold at all.’

Beefy Dude makes a small, dismissive sound, but doesn’t say anything else.

In the end, it’s a group of eight who are going, including Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng. The Beefy Dude introduces himself as Nie Mingjue and, while he has yet to demonstrate anything akin to actual leadership, there’s something comfortingly authoritative about him. He can’t be that much older than them, really, but it still feels vaguely like having a Real Adult around.

‘D’you reckon that there are cameras outside, too?’ Wei Ying asks, as they make their way back to the supply room. ‘I mean, there probably are. I just wonder how they’re powered. Maybe super strong batteries, or the production team will just wait till we’re all asleep to sneak in and change them. What do you say, Jiang Cheng? Shall we stay up all night and try and catch them?’

‘Can you please,’ Jiang Cheng says, through gritted teeth, ‘at least pretend to take this seriously?’

‘I am! The whole thing in the first series was how, like, isolated they were, right? But it also had comprehensive video coverage and went on for ages. Presumably they didn’t have cables, because those could be dug up and traced back to a source. So there’s got to be some tangible connection. Like in The Truman Show.’

‘Well, you’ll never find it, even if there is,’ Jiang Cheng says, ‘because they’ll be able to watch you the whole time. How are you gonna get the jump on people who can see you coming?’

Wei Ying shrugs. ‘It was just an idea.’

The storeroom is both creepy and convenient in how it has exactly the things that they need – such a snowsuits in a range of sizes, no doubt tailored to the group. They fit reasonably well over the jumpsuits, and are in the same machine grey. There are other supplies, too. Some are clearly meant for outdoor use: big, bulky flashlights, coils of rope, pickaxes. Others are more clearly combative: a row of gleaming steel daggers and a couple of hefty, larger blades. No guns. Wei Ying isn’t sure if he’s happy about that part or not.

Nie Mingjue picks up one of the swords, testing its weight. It looks oddly right in his hands; Wei Ying wouldn’t be surprised if he’d done some sort of fencing or martial art before ending up here. He’s definitely got the air of a guy used to hitting people.

The rest of them choose weapons, too; it seems foolish not to. Jiang Cheng takes a smaller sword, Wei Ying, out of idle curiosity, a pickaxe.

‘All right,’ Nie Mingjue says. ‘I think that’s everything.’

Jiang Cheng leads the way, quite pleased to be the one who knows where the exit is. Wei Ying follows half a step behind, keeping a tight hold of his pickaxe and feeling faintly ridiculous. It feels like they’re marching into battle, except they have no idea what they’re facing or if they are meant to be able to win. Series One had the snow monsters, which in hindsight can’t have been CGI, but some sort of animatronic or something. Literally anything could be out there.

Up until yesterday – or what he presumes was yesterday, who knows how long the kidnapping process took – Wei Ying’s problems involved trying to think of a way to tell Jiang Cheng that he wasn’t going to go to law school with him and had, in fact, already withdrawn his application. It was going to be a Whole Thing, he knew. Their fathers had been lawyers together and had had this whole famous partnership thing, and for as long as he could remember everyone had been blathering on about how the two of them would be the same. Jiang Cheng, certainly, was keen on the idea.

Well. At least that wasn’t a problem anymore, by virtue of having been replaced by a host of new problems. Either they will both die horribly or he will get to exploit Jiang Cheng’s relief at their miraculous survival to break the news.

When they get back to the double doors, he finds himself vaguely hoping that they were mistaken. Maybe this time it’ll be different and there will be something else out there. But when Nie Mingjue draws the last bolt across, it’s to reveal that same blank sea of white that chills their breath.

From inside it was difficult to tell, but the snow isn’t actually all that deep. Nie Mingjue takes a cautious step over the threshold and his foot only sinks six inches. The rest of them follow him out, Wei Ying stooping to scoop some of the snow away. Sure enough, there’s earth underneath, hard-packed and frozen. Even if this landscape was artificially constructed, it was with organic ingredients.

There’s no clear direction o head in, so they head off in a straight line. The further they get from the building the weirder it looks – a long, low, grey structure, plonked down on the middle of a plain. Now that they’re far enough away to see behind it, Wei Ying can see that in that direction, at least, the horizon isn’t endless. There’s still a bit of mist, but he can make out the vague shape of mountains beyond. The sight is simultaneously very scenic and absolutely horrifying.

They walk for about ten minutes, trudging along, until Nie Mingjue stops suddenly at the head of the group. He doesn’t say anything other than ‘Careful!’ as the others gather around him.

They have, at last, reached the edge of the plain. It drops off sharply, with no warning to mark the edge. No wonder it’s invisible from a distance. Wei Ying looks over and down, and feels an odd emotion.

There are trees. Relatively small pines, scattered over the slope, their dark branches covered in snow. After the blank flatness of the plain, he is absolutely, ridiculously happy to see them.

There’s not a path exactly, just a sloping part of the ridge that looks more forgiving than the rest. Nie Mingjue glances around him to ensure that they’re all caught up, then starts carefully picking his way down. They follow him in single file. Wei Ying opts to bring up the rear, because he wants a chance to look around without holding anyone up.

It’s not until they’ve gone twenty yards down the slope that he realises what is so uncanny about the landscape. He stops, snapping a twig off the nearest tree to confirm it’s real – and, taking his hand out of his glove, touches bare wood. So the trees are alive, and they’re all breathing oxygen, but there’s no other life to speak of. No insects, no birds. They’re the only source of movement as far as he can see; everything else is still. It feels … sterile, in a way he doesn’t like at all.

‘Hey!’ Jiang Cheng, glancing backwards, notices that he’s stopped. ‘Keep up.’

Wei Ying obligingly springs forward, immediately loses his footing and begins sliding ungracefully down the hill. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a tiny bit fun, the snowsuit providing enough cushioning, but he’s also picking up speed and has very little control about the direction he’s going in. He wonders for a split second if he’s going to start collecting snow and turn into a giant snowball rolling downwards. That’s what would happen if he were in a cartoon.

He makes a wild grab for a tree as he passes it and ends up getting a face full of snow for his efforts. Sooner or later he’s going to hit a tree, and if he gets the angle right he might just get to be this season’s first casualty.

The slope doesn’t go on forever, though; he gets a glimpse of the bottom coming up to meet him. He tries angling his body round to dig his feet in but can’t get coordinated before his momentum deposits him into a snowdrift at the bottom of the hillside.

It’s not good, but at least it’s a change. He stays still for a moment, waiting to get his breath back, and then emerges slowly. Looking up the hill behind him, he can see the rest of the group hurrying down.

‘I’m okay!’ he calls, waving one hand. ‘S’all good!’

The snowsuit has done its job admirably; he’s still dry and not much colder than he was before. He dusts himself off – and, seeing something move on the edge of his vision, freezes.

Very slowly, he turns his head. The thing – whatever it is – is moving silently. A second later his eyes fix on a shape and he realises why he didn’t spot it before; it’s white against white.

Right. Series One had ice monsters: frigid humanoid creatures with icicle claws and empty, lifeless blue eyes. They were just ripping off Game of Thrones, people said. The important was that they weren’t real, they were just …

Another creature stirs, then another – fuck, there’s loads of them, gathered at the foot of the hill, all moving towards him. Whatever they’re made of they sure as hell look real, claws and all. He’s got no means of defending himself; he lost the pickaxe during his descent.

Wei Ying does the sensible thing and flees.

It’s much harder going trying to get back up the hill than coming down, especially when there isn’t any trail to speak of. His boots have a decent amount of grip, but he has to dig them in quite deep to be sure he isn’t about to slip down. He doesn’t look over his shoulder to see if the creatures – snowmen, he vaguely remembers someone calling them – are following. Either they are, in which case he’s fucked, or they aren’t and he is moderately less fucked.

‘Are you all right?’ Jiang Cheng has made speedy progress down the hill, now he catches Wei Ying’s elbow to stop him.

‘Snowmen,’ Wei Ying says, which doesn’t make a lot of sense out of context but he doesn’t have a lot of breath left. ‘Run.’

‘What?’

The rest of them have caught up, now. Wei Ying looks down the hill; the creatures haven’t started up the slope after him. He points.

‘Wha – oh,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘Shit.’

‘Might I suggest a tactical retreat?’ Wei Ying says to Nie Mingjue, who is also looking down the hill. ‘Given, you know, that we don’t actually know what we’re doing, and as I remember those things killed quite a lot of people in Series One.’

‘We’ll have to fight them sooner or later,’ Nie Mingjue says, but he does nod, reluctantly. ‘All right, everyone, back to base!’

Maybe the snowmen had been waiting to see what they’d do, because as soon as they start moving as a group, they move, too. It’s creepy how silent they are, especially in comparison to the puffing exertion of their group.

‘Not to worry anyone,’ Wei Ying pants, as they scramble back up the slope, ‘but they are, like, gaining on us, so we should probably –’

He doesn’t finish the sentence, as off to his left a guy slips and falls with a yell, right into the path of an oncoming snowman. It doesn’t even hesitate, immediately stabbing down with its claws.

The spray of blood is bright against the snow. Wei Ying finds himself staring, transfixed, as the guy’s life gurgles away through the gashes in his throat. The snowmen have also paused, momentarily, before continuing upwards.

Spurred even more urgently into action, they hurry up the rest of the slope. The more that Wei Ying tries to focus on the task at hand, the more panicked thoughts rise up. That guy just died, right in front of them, before they could even realise it was happening. He died, and they’re all probably gonna die too, today or later, it doesn’t really matter. Fuck. It’s one thing to realise that they’re on Iceolation and think about the previous seasons and quite another to see another human being bleed out right in front of you.

And he’s either not gonna be able to go fast enough and any moment will feel an icy grip close around his ankle, or he’s gonna rush too much and lose his footing – or, worse, Jiang Cheng is going to lose his footing, clumsy bastard that he is, and Wei Ying won’t be able to catch him.

The thought sends a fresh wave of fear through him; he looks sideways to where Jiang Cheng is. He’s actually a few feet ahead of him, so long as he can just keep going –

They reach the top of the hill. Wei Ying was putting so much energy towards going upwards that he nearly faceplants onto the plain, managing to keep his footing at the last second. Most of the rest of the group have made it up, Jiang Cheng included. There’s just a couple of others left.

The snowmen reach the top at the same time as a girl, whose name Wei Ying doesn’t know either. She barely gets a chance to celebrate getting there when she’s dragged down again. He can’t see what’s happening, but she screams, a horrible, terrified sound – and then stops, abruptly. The silence is worse.

Most of the others are running, but Nie Mingjue has paused, holding his sword. He might be the only one who actually kept hold of his weapon during the frantic ascent; everyone else got rid of anything that might impede their progress. From the way he’s gripping the handle Wei Ying can tell what he’s thinking. He makes sure that Jiang Cheng has already started running, then hurries over to Nie Mingjue, grabbing his arm.

‘We can’t fight, we’ve got to go.’

‘We can’t just do nothing,’ Nie Mingjue says, his eyes steely.

‘We don’t know anything about them! We don’t even know if they can be killed,’ Wei Ying says. ‘Come on, please, we’re gonna need you.’

As he speaks, he sees a whole line of snowmen reach the top and stop, without advancing any further.

‘What if they follow us back?’ Nie Mingjue demands.

‘They won’t. It’s an introduction,’ Wei Ying says. He couldn’t say how he knows this, only that he’s certain. ‘They aren’t here to wipe us out, just show us that they exist.’

Reluctantly, Nie Mingjue lowers his sword. ‘I hope you’re right.’

They run. The snowmen don’t follow. They don’t have to; their point has already been made. Wei Ying’s relief is tempered by horror at the kind of message that has been sent.

It feels like a much shorter distance on the way back; the going made easier by the way that they can retrace their tracks instead of carving out new ones. By the time he reaches the building he’s red in the face from the exertion and feels like his insides have been put through a blender.

The others have gathered round the doorway. Jiang Cheng is bent over, vomiting onto the snow. Wei Ying blinks, and sees again how quickly that first guy had died. One quick stab down, blood out. It was so easy.

He might throw up, too.

 

Group meeting 2.0 is a sombre affair. No one knew the guy who had died, they’re not even sure of his name. The girl left behind a sister, who doesn’t stop crying the whole time. No one really knows what to say, except they clearly need some kind of plan if they want to make it.

The good news – if it can be called good – is that Lan Zhan’s reading has turned up something useful. One of the books, imaginatively titled The Quest, spells out what they’re meant to do. As with the other volumes, it’s all written in ridiculous fantasy-speak.

‘The book claims we are in the realm of the ice king, Archimago,’ he says, his flat tone clearly expressing what he thinks of that. ‘Only by overcoming his forces, defeating him and taking the heartstone from his chest, will we be able to open a portal back to our world.’

‘His forces,’ Wei Ying says. ‘So, the snowmen?’

‘It does not clarify what is meant by portal,’ Lan Zhan says.

There’s a slight pause.

‘That’s fucking stupid,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘How the hell are we supposed to do all of that?’

‘That’s the point, though’ someone else chimes in. ‘It’s TV, right? We’re supposed to provide entertainment.’

‘Oh, fuck that.’ Jiang Cheng has probably sworn more times today than in the entire preceding year. To be fair, it has not been without cause. ‘What if we just refuse? Sit here and do nothing?’

‘Then they’ll kill us,’ the dead girl’s sister says. She has a point.

‘It certainly seems unwise to antagonise whoever is in charge,’ Nie Mingjue’s brother – Nie Huaisang – says, anxiously. ‘They put us here. Presumably they can do whatever they like to us.’

‘So, what are you saying?’ Punchable Guy asks. Really, it’s impressive that he stayed quiet this long.

‘We play it out,’ Wei Ying says. It makes sense. ‘Do their stupid quest. Fight their ice king.’

‘Archimago,’ someone supplies.

‘Well, yeah, but that’s a stupid name,’ Wei Ying says. ‘I’m gonna call him the Ice King. Simple. Descriptive.’

‘How do we even do that?’ somebody else asks. ‘Can we even fight them?’

‘Presumably at least a bit,’ Wei Ying says. He’s not sure why he’s become the group’s spokesperson all of a sudden. ‘Like, think about it this way, if you were making the world’s worst reality drama, it wouldn’t be any good if everyone just died immediately. I think that’s where they went wrong with Series One, they made it too hard. So it’s got to be doable, just really difficult.’

‘We are quite well supplied,’ one girl says. Her name is Wen Qing, she introduced herself as being a med student before this. Wei Ying is trying to keep track of names. It’s proving difficult – it’s never been something that he’s good at – but it seems wrong not to. Like the guy who died. No one remembers what his name is, or failed to ask. Presumably his family are watching this, so the wider world is aware of his identity, but it’s fucked up that they’re not.

‘I’ve been over the infirmary,’ Wen Qing continues. ‘They’re clearly anticipating a lot of injuries, but they’re giving us the means to treat them.’

‘What about antibiotics?’ the Punchable Guy asks. His name, Wei Ying has learned this afternoon, is Jin Zixuan.

‘There are some,’ Wen Qing confirms, ‘but a limited supply. We’ll have to be careful with how we use them.’

‘Who’s going to decide that?’ If Jin Zixuan had looked punchable, his – brother? Cousin? Relative of some kind, Wei Ying has forgotten his name – is even more so. ‘Who gets to make the call if someone deserves antibiotics or not?’

‘Probably Wen Qing?’ Wei Ying says. Heads turn to look at him. ‘I mean, she’s the expert here.’

‘What, so her opinion counts more than mine?’

‘If it’s a medical issue, yes, absolutely, unless you were also on track to become a doctor.’

Jin Zixuan’s relative glowers, but doesn’t press the matter further.

‘We should also be okay for food.’ Wen Qing’s brother, a tall, shy boy called Wen Ning, speaks up. ‘I went over the kitchen. A lot of it is very plain, it looks like military rations, but we should be able to make decent meals. Maybe if we put together some sort of roster, so everyone had a turn?’

‘I’m not cooking,’ Jin Zixuan says. ‘Mianmian, you can cook.’

‘I’m shit at cooking,’ Mianmian, his pretty friend, informs him cheerfully. ‘Sorry, buddy, but I think you’re gonna have to learn.’

That devolves into various other petty arguments that Wei Ying can’t be bothered to listen to. He returns his attention to Lan Zhan, who has gone back to sitting quietly. He, like everyone else, was troubled by the description of the snowmen and the unthinking ease of their violence.

‘We shouldn’t just be going along with it,’ Nie Mingjue says, because apparently they’ve looped back round to this again. ‘We have to resist it.’

‘How, though?’ Wen Qing demands. ‘It’s not as if the first lot of people just passively went along with it. They have us exactly where they want us.’

‘There’s got to be a way out, though,’ Jin Zixuan says. ‘They got us here somehow, didn’t they? So there has to be some kind of exit.’

‘Yeah, we should try to escape!’ his relative pipes up. ‘If we all pitch in, they can’t stop all of us.’

‘Okay, but they absolutely can,’ Wei Ying says. He’s already sick of this topic. ‘We’ve been through this. Whoever is doing this clearly isn’t sticking to any kind of moral code, so what’s to stop them just blowing us up or something if we’re causing too much trouble?’

‘The surveillance,’ Lan Zhan adds. It’s the first thing he’s said for a while.

There is another pause.

‘…yes?’ Jiang Cheng prompts, after a second.

‘We are being monitored,’ Lan Zhan says, sounding slightly irritated. ‘I imagine it will be impossible to construct any type of surprise attack when our captors can hear our planning.’

‘Oh, I said that earlier!’ Jiang Cheng exclaims.

‘Do we know if there are cameras outside?’ Nie Huaisang asks. ‘Maybe if we’re out there…’

‘I think the last series had them in like, trees and stuff,’ Wei Ying admits. ‘There was definitely a lot of footage outside. I didn’t see anything when we went out before, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.’ It’s hard to imagine that their afternoon’s exploits weren’t documented.

‘And it could be in our clothes, too,’ Mianmian says. ‘Bugs, if not cameras.’

Wei Ying grins. ‘Are you suggesting we strip down to come up with plans? Because I am absolutely down for th-’

‘Shut up,’ Jiang Cheng cuts across him. ‘You’re on TV, remember.’

‘We should try and come up with something,’ Wen Qing says, slightly exasperated. ‘Even if it’s just a way of passing messages between each other, it would be really good if we can figure out how to do that in a secure way.’

‘They will be listening to this conversation, too,’ Lan Zhan reminds them. ‘This may be difficult.’

‘All right,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘What else do we need to do? Right now, anyway. Did you guys explore? What’s the rest of the base like?’

It’s such a relief, Wei Ying thinks, to have a brother who will try and take some sort of organizational responsibility. Jiang Cheng isn’t very good at it, but he tries.

‘Well, it is the same building as Series One,’ Wen Qing says. Jiang Cheng drops his gaze quickly; he seems to have trouble meeting her eyes. That’s interesting. ‘Everything has been cleaned and most of the fittings and stuff are new, but we found some logs from the people who were here before.’

Oh. That’s cool. Wei Ying leans forward, to listen.

‘Nothing that helpful,’ Wen Qing admits. ‘There are a few descriptions of the snowmen, but most of it is letters to their families. Goodbyes.’ Wen Ning pats her shoulder.

‘There are loads of bedrooms with bunks,’ Mianmian adds. ‘If we get siblings to share, there should be enough for everyone.’

‘Okay, so this sounds like we have a plan,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘Or at least the loose approximation of one.’ He pauses, clearly about to say more, but is distracted by someone else walking into the canteen. It’s a guy they’ve seen around before, he was part of the original group conversation, but Wei Ying doesn’t remember him contributing very much.

He gives the group a little wave, and continues on through the canteen to the kitchen.

‘…who’s that?’ Jiang Cheng frowns.

‘He said his name’s Xue Yang,’ Nie Huaisang says. ‘He’s a bit weird. He hasn’t actually done anything, but he kind of gives me the creeps.’

That more or less concludes the meeting, so they spend the rest of the day looking through the building. Further searching reveals a garage at the other end, with two vehicles: a compact-looking Jeep and a bigger, military-style covered truck. The Jeep looks more maneuverable, but the truck will come in handy if they need to take everyone at once. Nie Mingjue is very enthusiastic about the concept of being able to drive.

Most of the building’s features are practical, reinforcing Wei Ying’s suspicion that it’s been modeled off some kind of military base. It’s unclear where their water is coming from, but their power seems to stem from several large generators in the basement.

By far the most bizarre discovery is the Printer Room. It’s exactly what it sounds like: a small, square room identical to the others, with a printer on the table in the middle, and another table with a large stack of packets of printer paper. What makes it all the more baffling is that nowhere in the building is there a corresponding computer. They puzzle over it for a while, and then move onto the laborious process of choosing bedrooms.

Wei Ying picks one out for him and Jiang Cheng. They’ve agreed that siblings should share and, if he’s honest, he prefers the thought of someone else being there. The bedrooms are spread all over the building; the one he chooses is on the east side. The interiors are all the same: metal bunk beds, a small set of cupboards and a sink with a mirror over the top. There are more clothing supplies in another storeroom, and even a laundry room off the kitchen.

‘It could be a lot worse,’ he says, as he and Jiang Cheng collect a spare jumpsuit and some fresh underwear. ‘They easily could have not bothered with any of this shit. We’d stink.’

Jiang Cheng shrugs in non-committal agreement. What Wei Ying hasn’t said about why he chose that particular room is that he saw a specific person go into the one next to it, and immediately knew that this was the side of the building that he wanted to inhabit.

Now, he leaves Jiang Cheng to put their clothes away and goes next door. Sure enough, Lan Zhan is there, also carefully folding socks. Wei Ying knocks on the open door and, without waiting for a response or an invite, bounds in and sits cross-legged on the lower bunk.

‘Hey, Lan Zhan! How’s it going?’

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything. That’s fair. There’s no real good answer to that.

‘Nice room choice,’ Wei Ying continues. ‘Me and Jiang Cheng are just next door! So if you need anything, you can always pop over and say.’ Also silence, but then again, what could Lan Zhan possibly need from Wei Ying?

‘Was there anything else in the books?’ he tries again.

Lan Zhan pauses. ‘The magic,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘All of the books claim,’ he says, still purposefully not looking at Wei Ying, ‘that in …this world, whatever it is, there is magic.’

‘I mean, the snowmen are freaky as fuck.’ Wei Ying leans backwards, so that he’s supported by the wall behind him. ‘I’m assuming there is some kind of wacky science behind it, but magic works too.’

The smallest frown appears on Lan Zhan’s forehead. Wei Ying wants to see what it would take to get under his skin to the point where he lost composure. ‘Do you believe that?’

‘Honestly? At this point, maybe. Like, whoever’s behind this, they’ve already pulled off a lot of weird shit. No one ever found the site, but they managed to kidnap another thirty people and get us here. Magic might actually make more sense.’

‘Mn,’ Lan Zhan says. It’s unclear if it’s an agreement or an acknowledgement.

‘What sort of magic? Did the books say?’

‘It is difficult to tell. The tone is …they sound fictional. It is hard to determine which things are included because they are true, and which are added in for dramatic effect.’

‘Fun and funky.’

‘Mn,’ he says, again. This time it sounds like an agreement.

‘I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got you researching, then!’

Lan Zhan looks at him directly now. ‘I ought to return to it.’

Right. He wants Wei Ying to leave. Not an unreasonable request, when Wei Ying walked in unannounced and invited himself in. He gets up from the bed, stretches, and says, ‘I’ll see you later!’

Lan Zhan doesn’t respond to that, but he does seem relieved that Wei Ying is leaving his space, closing the door quickly and hastily behind him. It’s not – okay, it is a little hostile – but everyone’s having a weird day.

 

The evening is weirder still. Nie Huaisang gets peer-pressured into cooking, despite his insistence that he will be rubbish at it. The resulting meal is fine, really – there were three of them on kitchen duty, and by that point everyone is too hungry to care very much about the finer details. Following on from his earlier suggestion, Wen Ning draws up a roster to spread the work out. Wei Ying is relieved to see that his turn isn’t for a few days.

And then dinner is over and dishes done, and there’s not much else to do. Wei Ying cleans his teeth – there’s a whole cupboard of toothbrushes and toothpaste, which kind of makes sense, you don’t want your young and hot cast all having their teeth fall out – in order to deter himself from snacking too much. There is plenty of food, but as with the medical supplies, Wen Qing has emphasized the need to keep things fair.

There’s nothing else to do, really, so he wanders around the hallways for a bit. Would it have killed the Iceolation producers to give them a ping-pong table, or something? There’s not even any kind of lounge area; the only communal sitting space is in the canteen hall, and he’s had enough of hanging around in there for one day.

He is kind of tired, though, so is contemplating doing the unthinkable and getting an early night – Lan Zhan has, he notices, already gone to bed – when he goes back to the room and finds Jiang Cheng mid panic attack.

He should have seen this coming, he thinks, sitting down and getting Jiang Cheng to take slow, deep breaths in time with him. Between this morning’s discovery and watching two of their comrades die violently, it has been A Day and a half.

‘I wanna go home,’ Jiang Cheng sniffs, when he’s finally got his breathing back under control. They’re both sitting on the top bunk with their backs against the wall like they’re kids at a summer camp or something. ‘I just – fuck, I hate this.’

‘It sucks,’ Wei Ying agrees. ‘It sucks balls. It sucks toes.’

‘What do toes have to do with it?’

‘I don’t know. It just popped into my head.’

‘Do you think they’re airing this? Us, right now?’ Jiang Cheng is never small about his emotions, but his voice sounds quiet and plaintive now.

‘Maybe,’ Wei Ying allows, knowing that it’s pointless to deny it outright. Who knows what their overlords are doing. They might not be on TV at all. Maybe no one knows that they’re here. For some reason, that thought chills him even more than the prospect of surveillance. At least if this is being broadcast, whatever happens to them will have witnesses. The alternative – that they are truly alone, and their families have no idea what is happening – is unspeakably worse.

‘But, maybe,’ he says, ‘something else super juicy is happening somewhere else so they’re showing that instead. Maybe –’ he casts his mind around for something suitably wild ‘- Lan Zhan is hooking up with … Mianmian! Next door. We can’t hear it because they’re being deliberately quiet, but the cameras are getting all the salacious angles.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Jiang Cheng says, ‘that is not the mental image I wanted, thanks.’

Wei Ying grins at him. If Jiang Cheng is annoyed, then he can’t fixate on being sad, and he’s done his job as supportive brother. Even if one of the occupational hazards of such a job was suggesting the idea that Lan Zhan might be getting laid – which is far from impossible with a face like his, even if his temperament isn’t to match – a thought that’s definitely going to hang around his mind for totally different reasons.

‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he says.

‘A walk?’ Jiang Cheng’s eyes are still slightly red, but somehow Wei Ying doubts that anyone is really going to take the piss out of him for being sad. And the evening is getting on now, they might not meet anyone.

‘Stretch our legs,’ he says. ‘Come on, better than sitting around and moping.’

Jiang Cheng makes a grumbling sound, but he follows Wei Ying down off the bunk. Wei Ying grabs a clean sock off the top of their dresser on his way out, rolling it up into a ball and tossing it from hand to hand.

The hallway light is still on when they emerge, but they don’t run into anyone. The original plan was just to play catch in the hallway, but it seems mean to do that when they’ll probably make noise and wake Lan Zhan up, so he finds himself retracing the already boring route back to the canteen.

He’s not expecting to find anyone there, so it’s kind of a surprise to discover Nie Huaisang, sat cross-legged on one of the tables. He, too, looks kind of rough.

‘Gonna play catch,’ Wei Ying says, holding up the sock. ‘You wanna join?’

Nie Huaisang nods, scrambling off the table. Just because he’s got family here doesn’t mean he automatically has a source of comfort, Wei Ying reflects. Nie Mingjue seems like a cool dude, but not necessarily the person that you’re gonna turn to when you’re mid-existential crisis.

‘All right.’ He backs up a few more feet, then tosses the sock to Jiang Cheng, who catches it easily and passes it to Nie Huaisang, who makes up the third point of the triangle. It’s an easy movement, therapeutic in its simplicity. Wei Ying focuses on tracking the sock’s movement through the air, on throwing it to exactly where Jiang Cheng can catch it. After the first few rounds, they start taking a step back every time they catch it, and one forward every time they miss. They don’t miss often, Nie Huaisang fumbles it a few times but he’s also the shortest of the three. It’s fun, and stupid, and brings a lightness to Wei Ying’s chest. No single part of what they’re doing is even remotely normal, but this feels familiar – just fucking around, like they’re kids.

After maybe ten minutes, Wen Ning pops his head round the canteen doorway – they haven’t exactly been quiet, Wei Ying will allow – and joins the game. He’s younger than the rest of them, but his reflexes are very good. Well, until Wei Ying notices and compliments them, at which point Wen Ning immediately misses an easy pass.

Mianmian joins in too, a few minutes later. Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng make eye contact the moment she enters, Jiang Cheng raising his eyebrows slightly. Wei Ying has to stifle the laugh; he’d managed to forget all about what he’d implied was happening between her and Lan Zhan.

They play until they’re exhausted, ending up sitting in a wide circle. It becomes a different game, trying to throw the sock at people when they aren’t looking. Wei Ying has definitely spiraled straight into being overtired, he’s laughing at increasingly dumber things and, when the sock hits him in the side of the head, laughs so hard that he’s almost crying.

Eventually Mianmian gets up and announces she’s going to bed, and Wen Ning sheepishly admits that he should be getting some sleep. Wei Ying picks up the sock. It’s only slightly dirty, they haven’t been here long enough for the floor to get grimy. Still, he should probably wash it before wearing it.

He and Jiang Cheng walk back to their room in silence. He’s just about to enter when he pauses, slightly, noticing something. There’s a thin line of light coming from Lan Zhan’s door. He must still be awake.

Wei Ying feels a sudden, odd stab of guilt for not inviting him along. Lan Zhan would have hated it, probably, so far he’s shown broad disdain for the others; he’s got no reason to suppose that he’d enjoy a lawless game of catch. But there’s still something gut-wrenching about the thought of him sitting alone in his room, maybe still poring over one of those stupid books.

‘What’re you looking at?’ Jiang Cheng asks.

‘Oh, nothing.’ Wei Ying enters the room, and closes the door behind him. ‘Dibs on the top bunk.’

‘Too late, I already called dibs while you were out there.’

‘That’s not how it works.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Jiang Cheng scrambles for the ladder. Wei Ying sprints for it, but he’s further away and is beaten to it.

‘All right, fine,’ he says, ungraciously. ‘Enjoy your bunk. I hope it makes you happy.’

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He’s perched at the top of the ladder, his legs hanging down.

Wei Ying idly considers pulling him down, but that’s probably taking it a bit too far. He settles for turning the light out, knowing full well that Jiang Cheng hasn’t gotten changed yet. One of the few things that the Iceolation producers have not supplied is pajamas, so he’s just stripped down to his underwear. Jiang Cheng does the same, but as he’s on his bunk and in the dark it’s not without a fair amount of cursing. Finally done, he bundles his jumpsuit up and throws it to the floor.

Wei Ying, meanwhile, is doing his best to get comfortable. The mattress isn’t fantastic, and the metal bed frame creaks every time either of them moves, but it’s better than nothing.

‘Goodnight,’ he says.

‘Goodnight,’ Jiang Cheng echoes, sounding too tired to be properly annoyed.

 

There is a brief, wonderfully optimistic moment as Wei Ying wakes the next morning when he hopes that he hallucinated the whole thing. He has detailed dreams sometimes, maybe this was just another of them. Granted, it was extremely detailed and particularly vivid, but, you know, that’s always a possibility.

And then he shifts slightly and hears the bunk creak and knows, without opening his eyes, that it did all actually happen. Oh well. It was a nice thought.

Jiang Cheng is already down from his bunk and getting dressed when he opens his eyes. He looks better rested than Wei Ying feels and is clearly making an effort to rein in his disheveled appearance, dampening his short hair with water from the sink and running his fingers through it in an attempt to create some sort of style.

There are all sorts of mundane things to explore then: the shower options (there are communal bathrooms at the end of the hallway); breakfast (a relatively relaxed free-for-all, though Wei Ying does notice Xue Yang eating out of a tub of ice cream with a spoon); and, after that, what they’re going to do with themselves for the day.

No one is particularly anxious to venture outside again, so it’s back to wandering around the building and trying to see if there’s anything that they missed the previous day. They’ve covered the essentials, but here and there they find a hidden room, tucked away in a corner. Most are starkly utilitarian in design, the one exception being the one with a ‘LIBRARY’ sign on the door.

Wei Ying finds that one halfway through the afternoon. Going into the Library feels like stepping onto the set of a completely different movie. No doubt the original home of Lan Zhan’s books, it’s lined with shelves made of dark wood and has an ornate fireplace flanked by armchairs at the far end. There’s no chimney attached so it’s functionally useless, but he appreciates their commitment to the aesthetic.

Between minor explorations and constant, circular arguments about What They’re Going To Do, there’s plenty to keep him occupied – to the point that, over the next three days, he finds himself settling into a routine. It seems bizarre that this should be something that they’re just getting used to, and yet… they are.

What he is aware of and doesn’t say to anyone is that it cannot last. The drama of the first day probably kept their overlords satiated for a while, but things are stagnating now. It’s like the fucking Hunger Games or something, as far as providing televised entertainment goes. Something will have to happen, sooner or later. Until it does, though, he’s happy to continue as he is. Nie Huaisang is turning out to be excellent company, if a little on the dramatic side. Mianmian is fun when she’s not hanging out with Jin Zixuan, and he’s really starting to like the Wen siblings. Wen Qing is kind of uptight, but it’s easy to see how much of it is just her being desperately worried about her brother. He can’t fault her for that, not when he’s in more or less the same position. At least Jiang Cheng is (technically) an adult; Wen Ning is just a teenager. A fairly tall, impressively buff teenager, but a kid nonetheless.

And then there’s Lan Zhan. He’s developed a curious reputation in the past couple days, quiet and withdrawn – yet he’s the one people look at when asking a question. It’s not just the fact that he’s spent so much time with the books, either. He’s just one of those people who has the air of being good at stuff. On their third day on the show, Nie Mingjue takes them through the basics of hand-to-hand combat and most of them suck, apart from Lan Zhan, whose every movement is effortlessly graceful and poised. It’s unclear if he had this skill before or whether he’s just picked it up instantly. Wei Ying isn’t sure which option is hotter.

Either way, he spends far too long watching Lan Zhan (who has tied his hair up in a knot on top of his head, which happens to look incredible) and not nearly enough time fending off Jiang Cheng, who for the sake of the exercise is pretending to be a snowman.

‘You’d be dead,’ Jiang Cheng informs him, prodding Wei Ying in the stomach with the butt of his spear. ‘Dead several times over, actually.’

Wei Ying drags his attention back from where Lan Zhan is sparring with Nie Mingjue (who is also actually kind of hot, just not in a soul-destroying way) to look at his brother.

‘Oh, so you could do better?’

‘Yeah, if you could stop staring at Lan Zhan for five seconds and actually attack me.’

‘I’m not – look, it’s just weird. Everyone else is like, desperate for some form of human contact, and he’s always off chilling by himself.’

‘Maybe he doesn’t like anyone here,’ Jiang Cheng says, clearly already sick of the topic.

‘Yeah, but we’re all we’ve got! And I’m very nice; everyone likes me.’

‘Jin Zixun doesn’t.’

Jin Zixun! That’s Jin Zixuan’s Relative’s name. He definitely knew that at some point.

‘Okay,’ he allows, ‘but also his vibes are absolutely rancid, so that’s not a fair comparison. I’m trying to be friends with Lan Zhan.’

‘Yeah, and it’s embarrassing. You’ve remembered that people are watching this live, right? Everyone in the world right now knows that you’re obsessed with him.’

‘He’s just a very cool guy!’ Wei Ying protests, though that is admittedly something he hadn’t given too much thought to. There’s been so much going on that he hadn’t contemplated the possibility of accidentally outing himself on live TV. His stepmother would love that.

And, yeah, maybe it would be a bit much to announce to the world at large that Lan Zhan is the hottest person of all time, and that Wei Ying would like very much to do unspeakable things to him. Especially as, god, Lan Zhan’s family are probably also watching. No one deserves to have to hear that. Lan Zhan himself also definitely doesn’t deserve to discover any of the things that Wei Ying thinks about him – especially given that he is, by all indications, a man of taste.

Wei Ying’s strategy, therefore, is to befriend him. He’s not stupid, he’s not expecting anything else, but it does kind of suck that Lan Zhan doesn’t have anyone to hang out with. This whole situation is so grim for everyone, the least he can do is make sure that Lan Zhan has someone to complain to about it all.

Admittedly it’s been a mixed bag so far. The second day in the building, he’d gone to sit with Lan Zhan at breakfast and it had backfired horribly. It wasn’t until after he’d sat down that he realised Jiang Cheng was going to follow him, and then Wen Ning, Wen Qing and Mianmian joined them, with Jin Zixuan trailing behind Mianmian. Lan Zhan didn’t say anything, just got up and left.

Since then Wei Ying has focused on finding quieter times to hang out. Lan Zhan is often in the library, so he goes along and reads, too. To be fair, he’s also incapable of not providing a running commentary on whichever stupid book he’s picked up, which might be hindering matters slightly – but if he doesn’t say anything, then they’ll both just sit there in silence and it’ll defeat the point of their hanging out.

To his credit, Lan Zhan has never directly told Wei Ying to go away. It’s probably meant to be implied, when he looks coldly over the cover of his book and says nothing, but Wei Ying’s strategy of simply pretending not to notice is going swimmingly.

Besides, he’d like the record to show that the longest conversation that they have in those three days isn’t even one that he initiated.

 

It is the evening of the third day of peace – their fourth in the building – and Wei Ying can’t sleep. Perhaps the monotony is finally getting to him, or the lack of strenuous physical exercise. He wasn’t incredibly fit before, but he was always active, and now he’s starting to bounce off the walls.

He lies awake for a while, staring up at the mattress above him. Jiang Cheng is snoring in the upper bunk. He’s settled down a bit, at least. He’s still upset, obviously, they all are, but he’s been able to shift into a more pragmatic mindset.

After what feels like an hour but is probably less, Wei Ying decides that this won’t do. He gets out of bed as quietly as he can, pulls on some clothes and slips out into the hallway.

They’ve taken the approach of leaving the hall lights on at night, in case something happens and they’re at a disadvantage in the dark. He’s got a vague idea about something he saw in one of the corridors near the laundry room, and swings by the storeroom to grab a coat in anticipation.

Closer inspection proves his hunch correct; it is an access hatch in the ceiling. It’s quite difficult to reach, he has to find a chair to stand on, though once he’s up there, the securing bolt slides back and it opens quite easily.

A flurry of cold wind hits him in the face and he nearly falls off the chair. Regaining his balance, he grabs either side of the opening and tries lifting himself up. It’s harder work than he expected, he kicks the chair over with one flailing leg in the process and crawls, ungracefully, onto the roof.

It’s quiet up here, and in a completely different way to the silent hallways. Outside, the silence feels vast and encompassing. He could be the only person around for hundreds of miles. He glances up, and at first he thinks it must be cloudy because there’s no moon – but, no, the sky is clear. There’s simply no moon, whichever way he looks, nor any stars either.

He closes but doesn’t lock the hatch – it would be comically awful to accidentally lock himself out – and sits back, stretching his legs out in front of him. By rights it ought to be pitch dark under the empty sky, only it’s not, it’s just kind of…dim.

Everyone agreed not to go outside by themselves, but this can’t really count. The dimness is just enough to see by, plus he’s right in the centre of the building. Any snowmen would have to scale the sides and then he’d be able to see them coming and dive back inside before their claws reached him.

And it’s nice to be outside. The building, while comfortably secure, has also begun to feel claustrophobic. It’s big enough that he can stay well away from other people if he wants to, but there’s no getting away from the fact that most of the rooms are uniform and windowless.

He takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air pierce down to the base of his lungs. He has the whole, vast sky to himself.

Then the hatch opens, and Lan Zhan pulls himself up and through.

‘Fuck, you made me jump,’ Wei Ying tells him, shifting over slightly. ‘What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night.’

‘I could say the same,’ Lan Zhan says, coolly. He, too, has taken the precaution of putting a coat on first. Very sensible. ‘There is a mutual agreement not to go outside.’

‘Aw, come on, this barely counts. And look, isn’t it freaky? There’s no moon, or anything.’

‘You should come back inside.’

‘Is this why you followed me? To tell me off?’ he grins. ‘Why were you following me, Lan Zhan?’

‘I could not sleep. Your ascension was not a quiet one.’

Okay, he did knock over the chair. That probably made a fair bit of noise.

‘We should go inside,’ Lan Zhan repeats. ‘It isn’t safe here.’

‘All right, all right. In a minute! Just look at this with me for a moment. What do you think happened to the moon?’

Lan Zhan looks up, tilting his head back and exposing an expanse of pale, perfect neck. Wei Ying is filled with a sudden, desperate urge to touch it, to feel if that marble skin would feel warm under his fingertips.

‘I don’t know,’ Lan Zhan says, mercifully oblivious to his companion’s train of thought. ‘Perhaps it is an artificial sky.’

‘Like we’re in a big dome, or something?’ Wei Ying hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a good suggestion. ‘We do have the sun, though I guess they could simulate that. Or maybe it’s magic, like the books said. A different dimension!’

‘It is impossible.’

‘I mean, yeah, but also maybe it isn’t. This whole thing is so weird. I don’t get how the broadcasting works, though, but I guess if it is magic then they have it all figured out.’

‘Mn.’

‘Do you think that they, you know, whoever’s behind this, d’you reckon they designed this world? If it is a different world. Or did they just discover it and think, hey, this would make a neat setting for some primetime TV?’

‘If that is the case,’ Lan Zhan says, in a tone of voice that suggests he strongly doubts it, ‘it certainly exceeds any technological capabilities that we are currently aware of.’

‘Looking at it that way it’s kind of funny,’ Wei Ying says. ‘I mean, like, obviously not, it’s horrifying, but it is funny that whoever had this technology, or magic, or whatever, just decided to make a TV show with it instead of anything else. You could make a fortune and they decided that publicly torturing people was the best they could do.’

‘There is a profit,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘Somebody mentioned this yesterday. The Iceolation website had advertisements.’

‘Shit, yeah, it did. Can you imagine deciding to buy adspace on there? That’s so fucked up.’

‘Morality is not something in abundance here.’

‘True, true. I guess we’re the exception, right? All banding together in the face of the unknown. Persevering human spirit and all that, it’s very inspiring.’

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything.

‘Not you, though,’ Wei Ying says, and now Lan Zhan looks at him. ‘You’re too cool to have friends, right? That’s why you won’t talk to me, or anyone else. I get it, none of us are supermodels on your intellectual level, but I don’t think we’re as bad as you think. Well, okay, Jin – fuck, what’s his name? – Jin Zixuan’s cousin, he probably is that bad, but the rest of us aren’t.’

‘I do not… you are not inferior,’ Lan Zhan says, frowning slightly.

‘Very gracious of you to say! Are we just that annoying, then? I know I’m annoying, but it’s all part of the charm. It’ll grow on you eventually. Like barnacles. You don’t really want ’em, but you can’t deny they add character.’

‘I am trying to remain focused. Avoiding distractions.’

‘On, come on, Lan Zhan. We’re all going to die anyway.’ It’s oddly freeing to say aloud. Everyone has been dancing around it, dropping furtive references to the danger they’re in, but no one has said outright that they’re on a show with a 100% mortality rate.

Lan Zhan is silent, just clenches his jaw and looks past Wei Ying’s shoulder. He hasn’t accepted it, Wei Ying realises, suddenly. And not even in the desperately optimistic way that Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang are clinging onto the idea of making it out alive. Lan Zhan means to survive.

He probably will, Wei Ying thinks. If anyone is going to make it, it will probably be Lan Zhan, who has more self-discipline than the rest of them put together. He’s got the looks and the grit and will make a fantastic lone survivor, silent and noble with a couple of well-placed battle scars.

If anyone is going to represent and speak for them as a group to the wider world, when they are all dead, he doesn’t mind it being Lan Zhan.

They sit there for a while in silence, Wei Ying’s thoughts drifting back upwards to the starless sky. If this really is another dimension, as the showrunners want them to think, then what’s out there? Space must be different, too – are there other planets? Shit, that would be so cool; there could be whole other galaxies out there.

He takes a breath, letting the cold run through him, and for the first time feels excited about where they are.

 

The next time Lan Zhan suggests they go back inside, Wei Ying doesn’t argue.

‘Maybe we don’t tell anyone about this?’ he suggests, as they scoot back towards the hatch. ‘Look, I won’t tell if you don’t.’ And he sticks out his hand, as though it’s something they can shake over and forget.

It’s a stupid thing to do, but he doesn’t think it merits Lan Zhan’s reaction: he freezes up, then jerks away from Wei Ying, as though worried he was going to reach out and grab him.

‘Okay, or not,’ Wei Ying says, quickly. ‘I just thought, you know, nothing bad did happen, so it’s no use telling people we were up here and upsetting them for nothing.’

‘I won’t tell anyone,’ Lan Zhan says.

‘Alright, nice. Damn, you were looking at me like I’d shot someone.’

‘I …’ for once, Lan Zhan seems to be struggling for words. ‘I don’t touch people,’ he gets out, eventually.

‘No worries,’ Wei Ying says, quickly. This got way more awkward than he anticipated. ‘Uh, after you?’

Climbing back inside the hatch is more difficult than it should be, even though Lan Zhan reset the chair for his ascent. Wei Ying does, however, manage it with minimal noise.

The white corridor lights are jarringly bright after the soft darkness of the roof. He blinks, trying to adjust – and then, seeing that Lan Zhan has already set off, carrying the chair, hurries after him.

Neither of them says anything on the way back. They’ve reached an impasse, Wei Ying knows. On the one hand, Lan Zhan remains fundamentally uninterested in befriending any of them. On the other, there was that brief, fleeting moment up on the roof where it felt like he allowed Wei Ying to see him. And now, having extended that courtesy, Wei Ying knows he’s going to have a much harder time ignoring him.

He decides, for once, not to be annoying as they reach their rooms. Pausing for a moment by his door, he looks back.

‘Goodnight, Lan Zhan,’ he says, in the unguarded, affectionate tone that is normally reserved for Yanli.

Lan Zhan blinks. Then – ‘Goodnight, Wei Ying.’

It is the first time he has used his name.

 

He wakes in a good mood the following morning. It doesn’t last very long, as a snowman attack interrupts their breakfast, but it’s worth noting that he started things on a good note even if they rapidly spiralled downwards from there.

So many parts of it feel incredibly stupid in hindsight, the fact that they don’t have a lookout system in place being the worst. It’s easy to see in retrospect that an attack was coming after the quietness of the last few days, but instead they have allowed themselves to be lulled into a false sense of security. Even Wei Ying, who had specifically had the thought that this would probably happen, still failed to actually do anything about it.

He’s doing the dishes and grumbling a lot about it – he doesn’t see why he should have to do it, only loads of the others conveniently cleared out immediately after eating and Wen Qing bullied him into it. (‘You’ll make yourself unpopular,’ he told her, reluctantly donning rubber gloves, ‘TV audiences don’t like bullies.’ She had just rolled her eyes. Yanli would never treat him like this.)

Even more annoyingly, Jiang Cheng is among those who immediately disappeared. This would be way more fun if he could be annoying him at the same time. As it is, it’s just Wei Ying and a seemingly endless pile of breakfast plates – at least, until there’s an extremely loud shriek nearby.

Simultaneously alarmed and keen to have a reason to abandon his task, Wei Ying goes out to investigate just as several people emerge from one of the hallways, running into the canteen. None of them offer an explanation for the panic; it’s only when he goes close enough to look down the hallway and sees a hideously familiar, silent figure coming that he realises what’s happening.

‘Fuck,’ he says, pivoting on the spot to run back to the kitchen. There are knives in there, at least, that might be better than nothing, and perhaps they can shut the doors –

The other people in the immediate vicinity have clearly had the same idea; he finds himself in the midst of a small group along with Lan Zhan, Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang. The kitchen has relatively heavy doors with glass porthole style windows and, thank fuck, there’s a deadbolt they can slide across. It’s only as they do so that Wei Ying realises that it was probably put there for exactly this reason.

He cranes his head to look through the window, oddly reminded of the kitchen sequence in Jurassic Park. At least he’s on the right side of the door, its bulk comfortingly solid. The snowman has reached the far end of the canteen and is paused, surveying it. How did it get in? He’s sure that he and Lan Zhan shut the roof hatch properly, though it is true that he was a little distracted by the beautiful curves of Lan Zhan’s face to give it is full attention. Fuck, maybe this is his fault and they’re all gonna die because he was preoccupied with being gay.

A door at the other end of the canteen – closer to the kitchen, but still a good ten or fifteen yards away – bursts open, and two people stumble through, Wen Ning and someone else, Su She, his name might be. There must be other snowmen in the building because they’re going at top speed, initially not noticing the one already in the canteen.

A leaden feeling forms in Wei Ying’s stomach. That’s why the kitchen door has a lock, it’s not just so that they can protect themselves. It’s so they’ll be forced to shut other people out.

‘A-Ning!’ Wen Qing is at the other porthole, and, spotting her brother, immediately reaches to undo the lock.

‘What are you doing?’ Nie Huaisang squeaks. ‘Don’t let it in! It’ll get us all that way!’

He’s right, but Wei Ying doesn’t make any move to stop her. It’s not even as if the others are right outside; Su She has tripped over and Wen Ning has hung back to help him up. Having spotted their prey, the snowman is closing in, stalking across the canteen.

Su She doesn’t seem able to walk; it looks like he’s twisted his ankle or something. Wen Ning is trying to carry him, but it’s slow going. It’s not hard to see that they aren’t going to make it.

Nie Huaisang and Wen Qing are still fighting over the bolt. She’s winning. Wei Ying glances from them out into the room where Wen Ning is still struggling, and comes to a decision.

‘I’ll go,’ he says. ‘Hold the door shut till we’re right outside and grab a knife or something; be ready to fight it off.’

Wen Qing locks eyes with him, her doubts clear on her face. She doesn’t trust him, and why should she? He wouldn’t trust anyone else to save Jiang Cheng – but he’s taller than her, and probably stronger, and has a better chance of success.

He can’t wait for her to decide, though, so grabs hold of the deadbolt himself and yanks it across, freeing the door. It’s a matter of seconds, then, until he’s out in the open space of the canteen.

He can feel the snowman’s presence immediately; the air is colder out here. He reaches the others, looping Su She’s other arm over his shoulder. The snowman is very close now, still moving forwards, its long claws sharp and shining under the white fluorescent lights.

Wei Ying tries to focus on moving forwards, keenly aware that it might spring at any moment. Their progress is faster with the three of them, but they’re still no match for its inhuman agility. Shit, well, it’s not ideal to go out so early, but at least it’s a good way to go. He’s bracing himself to feel claws on his back, when the door ahead of them opens and Lan Zhan leaps out with a carving knife.

He runs past them, right to the snowman, slicing into it with violent grace. Wei Ying is so surprised that for a moment he pauses, mesmerised – and it’s only from Su She yelling in his ear that he remembers what they’re meant to be doing.

With the snowman distracted, they’re easily able to cover the rest of the distance. Wen Qing is waiting just inside the door; she grabs her brother’s arm and forcibly drags the three of them inside, slamming the door shut. Wei Ying cranes his neck round to look behind him; Lan Zhan has cut the snowman’s arm off and they are circling each other. It is as beautiful as it is stressful to watch; Lan Zhan somehow making the kitchen knife look like an elegant weapon. The snowman lunges, Lan Zhan dodges and, retaliating quickly with another shallow slash across its chest.

It nearly gets him back a moment later, tripping him up and diving down at him. Wei Ying’s breath catches in his throat, but Lan Zhan stabs upward with the knife and is rewarded with the creature dissipating into a shower of snow.

Wei Ying is clumsy in how fast he reaches to reopen the door and let Lan Zhan in. They can’t see any other snowmen for the time being, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. Lan Zhan enters slowly, his face expressionless, as if he didn’t just do the unthinkable.

Nie Huaisang re-bolts the door and slumps against it, announcing, ‘I’m going to have a breakdown,’ to no one in particular.

‘I think it’s broken,’ Su She is saying mournfully to Wen Qing, who is inspecting his ankle. ‘Do we have painkillers? Will it need to be in a cast?’

‘I think you’ll be okay,’ she says, graciously serious.

Lan Zhan has moved over to the kitchen cupboards and seems to be rummaging around. Eventually he emerges with a large saucepan.

‘Making lunch? I know we’ve had a stressful morning but isn’t it a bit early for that?’ Wei Ying says. His mind keeps replaying the fight over and over; how in his element Lan Zhan had been. Did the Iceolation producers know what they were getting into when they chose him, or is that the point?

It was also extremely, incredibly hot, but he’s well aware that focusing on that part will help no one. (While being on the show in the first place sucks immeasurably, Wei Ying is quite happy to be defended from monsters if Lan Zhan is the one protecting him.)

‘Melting the snow,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘It might re-form.’

‘Ah, yeah, I didn’t think of that.’ He looks out of the porthole. The canteen is still empty, save for the pile of snow that had been a murderous creature only moments ago. ‘We could probably risk it?’

Lan Zhan just nods, and the two of them leave the kitchen. Wei Ying can’t deny that he has a slight moment of hesitation just before crossing the threshold, about leaving the relative security for the openness of the canteen – but Lan Zhan is with him, and still holds the knife in one hand.

They scoop the snow into the pan. It’s incredible how normal it feels to touch, as if just minutes ago it hadn’t been trying to kill them. Wei Ying is almost tempted to shape some into a snowball, but refrains.

Nothing bad happens; they collect it all and return to the kitchen, Lan Zhan placing the saucepan on the stove. Wen Qing is still talking to Su She, who is struggling to accept that his ankle is only sprained. On impulse, Wei Ying grabs a handful of snow and wraps it in a tea towel and hands it to him in lieu of an ice pack. Wen Qing gives him a bit of a Look, but she doesn’t turn it away.

‘Okay,’ Wei Ying says, as Lan Zhan turns the stove on. ‘This has got to be magic of some kind, right? Like there’s no scientific explanation for why snow could act like this.’

‘That we know,’ Lan Zhan replies, his expression unchanging.

‘I mean, sure, but also like, how?’

‘It is not impossible simply because we do not understand it.’

In the pan, the snow is quickly melting into water. Wei Ying feels an odd, sudden impulse to stick his hand into it, but doesn’t.

‘Right, right. Anyway, that was sick. How were you able to fight like that? Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.’

The pan is entirely full of water now. Lan Zhan turns off the heat, and pours it down the sink.

‘I have some experience of martial arts.’

‘Some? I think your definition and my definition of that word are very different.’

‘The others are back!’ Nie Huaisang shouts, flinging the doors open.

Wei Ying gives Lan Zhan one last, lingering look, which he hopes conveys that they are not at all done with that topic, and goes to join the others. There is, indeed, a small group of people re-entering the canteen. He scans over them, recognising a few faces. Jiang Cheng isn’t among them.

Fuck, he hadn’t even thought about Jiang Cheng. Much good he’s been, forgetting his brother at the first sign of danger. There were clearly other snowmen in the building and it’s entirely possible that the day has not passed without casualties. They’ve been here four days and Jiang Cheng could be dead already, bled out in one of the white corridors with no one to hear him –

Wei Ying takes off running. He’s not sure where he’s aiming to go; he’ll search the whole building if he has to. He has to be here somewhere. His brother’s name beats in his chest, Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng. Images flash through his mind: Jiang Cheng with his hands cut off or stabbed in the stomach or with his throat slit. In all of them he is soaked in blood and helpless and alone.

Wei Ying was meant to look after him. Not just because he’s older, and that’s what older brothers do, but – it’s always been his job. That was the main reason his stepmother tolerated him being around, because he was always on alert, ready to ensure that things would work out for Jiang Cheng – whether Jiang Cheng deserved them to or not.

If Wei Ying survives the show and Jiang Cheng doesn’t, Yu Ziyuan won’t let him back in the house. Nor should she.

Still running, he rounds a corner and nearly collides with Nie Mingjue, only just managing to stop short at the last second. Nie Mingjue claps him on the shoulder, but Jiang Cheng is stood just behind him and Wei Ying is too busy hurling himself at his brother to notice.

Jiang Cheng looks okay, though he has to take a step back at the force of the hug. He returns the embrace, though, hands wrapping tightly around his brother.

‘I didn’t know where you were,’ he says, into Wei Ying’s shoulder. ‘I thought, maybe –’

‘Yeah,’ Wei Ying says. Every time something happens it feels like he’s realising the danger that they’re in all over again and it’s becoming overwhelming.

But Jiang Cheng is okay, he’s safe, he’s here, and that relief is tempered by the knowledge that all of this is still the beginning. They made it through this attack, but who knows what will happen tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that?

 

Further investigation reveals that the snowmen got in through the door in the garage, by freezing and then smashing the locks. There were three altogether and all were eventually reduced to snow, though not before one of them killed another person.

They make a temporary blockade to secure the door, and no one objects when Nie Huaisang suggests that they put together a sentry roster.

Also disturbing is the discovery of what happens in a non-fatal encounter with a snowman. Xue Yang had been off by himself – as he usually is, Wei Ying has no idea how he generally passes the time – ran into a snowman and fought with it. A couple of others, hearing the noise, witnessed the fight and were able to confirm that Xue Yang grabbed the snowman’s wrist, blocking its blow and eventually overpowering it. It would be a hopeful account (another case of a snowman being possible to defeat) if not for the effect on Xue Yang’s hand.

He holds it up for all of them to see. Two fingers – the smallest finger and the ring finger – have turned blue, and seem to have frozen in place.

‘How long did you touch it for?’ Wen Qing asks. She’s put gloves on to examine him; no one wants direct contact with the frozen flesh.

Xue Yang shrugs. He’s making a big show of not being too deeply bothered, though it’s clearly freaking him out. ‘I don’t know. I was focusing on the part where it was trying to kill me. You’re all welcome, by the way, for me taking it out.’

‘Can you feel this?’ she moves the smallest finger.

He shakes his head.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘It’s just numb.’ He moves his hand, wiggling the other fingers. The motion emphasizes the stasis of the other two.

‘Is there something you can do?’ he demands. ‘Like, to reheat it or something?’

She purses her lips. ‘Not that I know of. I’ve never seen anything like this before, but that goes for almost everything here.’

‘Fantastic doctor you are,’ Xue Yang grumbles, taking his hand back. ‘I’m gonna put it in some warm water.’

‘I’d be very careful about doing that,’ she begins, but he waves her off.

‘S’all right, doc, I know what I’m doing.’

‘Begin with room temperature water,’ she calls after him. ‘You don’t want to heat it too fast.’

He’s already out of earshot. Sighing, she takes off her gloves and, hesitating for a moment, throws them away.

‘They’re contaminated,’ she says, to the small audience that had gathered in the infirmary. ‘I know our supplies are finite, but it’s quite a large box.’

‘It’s all right, you know what you’re doing,’ Mianmian says, encouragingly.

‘I don’t, though,’ Wen Qing says, glancing anxiously around the room. For the most part they’ve been giving her free rein over the infirmary; she’s the only one who even vaguely knows what to do with it. ‘I’m a medical student, I’m not a qualified doctor yet. And, shockingly, they don’t cover any of this shit in med school!’

‘Okay,’ Wei Ying says, when it becomes clear that no one else knows what to say, ‘but consider how fucked it would be if it was me giving medical advice. We’d all be dead in a week.’

Wen Qing looks tired, but she does smile slightly. ‘Point taken.’

‘None of us are expecting you to be an expert,’ Mianmian adds. She’s contradicting what she said a moment ago, but no one points it out.

Wen Ning pats his sister’s head, and she leans into the movement. Watching them, Wei Ying feels a sudden, desperate wave of longing for Jiang Yanli. Grateful as he is that she’s not here – having to worry about her safety, too, would probably finish him off – it would be so nice to have someone he could talk to, who’d look out for him as well.

He glances at Jiang Cheng and sees a similar longing on his face. They’ve managed all right so far, all things considering, but there’s no ignoring the fact that they miss their sister.

 

Wei Ying misses her even more a day later, when he’s on cooking duty. His turn has finally come round on the roster and he’s paired with a nightmare combination of Jin Zixuan and Xue Yang. For the most part they seem happy to antagonise each other – Jin Zixuan is ridiculously easy to wind up, something that Xue Yang is having a lot of fun with – but neither of them are particularly helpful when it comes to the whole teamwork thing, leaving Wei Ying to carry the group.

He’s not bad at cooking, per se – he’s been living in his own flat for a while, after all – but there’s a different pressure involved when you’re cooking for other people. Add the fact that the meal needs to be nutritious but not extravagant – the supplies they have will only go so far, after all – and it’s turning stressful fast.

His first thought at viewing the kitchen, back on that initial tour he’d taken with Jiang Cheng, was that they weren’t going to starve. Now, faced with the practicalities of cooking for twenty-something people, he revises it. They’re not going to starve immediately.

The thought lingers with him, even as he almost burns dinner because the others are now refusing to help. (Xue Yang’s attempts to unfreeze his fingers were unsuccessful, so he’s citing that as a reason for not doing anything; Jin Zixuan just seems to think that cooking is beneath him). It’s not like there’s much they can do about the food issue. The ground is too frozen to farm, nor do they have anything to plant. Pine trees and snowmen aside, there’s zero sign of any life outside. There have got to be some animals somewhere.

That train of thought brings him back to Series One. There was infighting, he remembers, when supplies began running low. People disagreed over what constituted fair rations, accused each other of hoarding and it all got quite violent. It’s hard to reason with people when they’re hungry.

This is another of the places where, theoretically, having watched Series One should have given them an advantage. They’ve already seen this play out once; they can avoid making the same mistakes. Except nothing about the setting has changed. There is still only so much food. Beyond emphasizing caution about portion sizes and banning any extravagant meals, there’s not much they could do.

‘They want us to be helpless,’ he says to Jiang Cheng, as they’re eating. It’s a frustratingly plain fare; whoever stocked the kitchen decided that they didn’t need spices. ‘And keep us entirely dependent on them. If we could just hunt, or fish, or something –’

‘Hunt what?’ Jiang Cheng asks.

He shrugs. ‘I don’t know! But the landscape can’t just be empty. There has to be something – some animals, some plants that aren’t trees.’

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean, why?’

‘I mean,’ Jiang Cheng says, ‘why? Maybe it is just empty. There’s no reason that this bit should be completely lifeless and the rest not. Plus we can’t really leave without getting attacked. I don’t know how we’re supposed to fulfil this quest.’

‘Maybe that’s the point,’ Wei Ying says. ‘Maybe the spot we’re in is deliberately barren, to lure us out.’

‘That’s a big maybe. If you want to go out and get yourself killed trying to go fishing be my guest. I’m staying here.’

He’s isn’t the only one to think that way. Wei Ying tries bringing the topic up with Nie Huaisang, only to meet the same response.

Nie Mingjue, however, thinks differently.

‘I agree we should explore further,’ he says. ‘The first expedition was a mess, but we had no idea what we were up against. We could try again – in a car, this time. Layer up, so that there’s no exposed skin for the snowmen to touch. It could work.’

‘Right! And that way we can find out if there are any other sources of food.’

‘We need to find out the lay of the land first. There’s meant to be the snowman stronghold – where the book said the portal is. If we’re going to get anywhere with this stupid quest we’re going to need to know where that is in order to plan an attack.’

Unfortunately, it’s that line of thinking that prevails. Some of the others – Wen Ning, Mianmian, even Jin Zixuan – are in favour of another expedition. Nie Huaisang is against, vocally so, and Jiang Cheng seems torn between his anxieties around the plan and not wanting to disagree with Nie Mingjue. Wen Qing, too, is on the fence: it’s clear that she agrees with Wei Ying’s point about food scarcity, but nor does she want Wen Ning to be one of the people going.

Lan Zhan, to Wei Ying’s surprise, is in favour of going. He doesn’t offer reasoning for it, though Wei Ying suspects that he’s curious about the outside world. He didn’t come on that initial trip, it’s natural for him to want to know what’s out there, however cagey he is about it.

In the end it is a group of five that agree to go, in the Jeep – Wei Ying, Lan Zhan, Nie Mingjue, Mianmian, and Jiang Cheng, who refuses to be left behind. Wen Ning wants to come, but one look at his sister’s face and he agrees to stay.

‘You can come on the next one,’ Wei Ying tells him brightly. ‘It’s not good for a young thing like you to spend all day cooped up inside.’

Now that they’ve come to a decision, there are all sorts of preparations to be made. Nie Mingjue is inspecting the Jeep and the petrol supplies – which, like everything else, are ample but finite – Jiang Cheng and Mianmian are sorting out weapons, and Wei Ying has been put in charge of tracking down the right type of clothing.

‘We need to be well-covered, but able to move quickly,’ Nie Mingjue tells him, as if they have a huge range of choice and not simply whatever the showrunners have deigned to provide. Wei Ying nods, only half listening. Lan Zhan’s disappeared in the direction of the printer room. What business does he have there?

It’s the responsible thing to go and check, so he does, reasoning that he’ll swing by the clothing supply room on the way out. Between the snowsuits and the gloves he’s not sure what else Nie Mingjue is thinking of, though after what happened to Xue Yang the need for skin protection is very clear. Do they have balaclavas?

First, though, there’s this mystery to solve. Lan Zhan is going to the printer room – has he had a brainwave about how to use it? They still haven’t found an accompanying computer – and Wei Ying hangs back in the doorway to watch him.

Moving with purpose, Lan Zhan crosses over to the table next to the printer, where the paper packets are stacked, opens the top one, and takes out several blank, white sheets. Then, without turning around, he addresses Wei Ying.

‘You are following me.’

‘I wasn’t sure if you’d noticed.’

Lan Zhan turns around slowly, rolling the papers into a tube as he does so. He doesn’t ask Wei Ying why he’s here.

‘What’re you doing with that?’ Wei Ying wants to know.

‘Cartography,’ Lan Zhan says.

‘Oh neat! That’s like, map-making, right?’

Lan Zhan inclines his head. ‘They did not provide us with any. We shall have to draw up our own.’

‘Have you done it before?’

‘I know the theory. I have…little practical experience.’

Right, because of his antique book expert uncle. That checks out.

‘Damn, Lan Zhan, I swear you know how to do everything,’ he says. It comes out more genuine than he meant it, so he quickly adds, ‘They really missed a trick picking you for the show.’

Lan Zhan looks down. Wei Ying might be imagining it, but there’s the slightest pink flush on the tips of his ears. It is unfairly adorable. He’s starting to like these moments, when Lan Zhan is both more and less himself. He’s still impossibly beautiful and ridiculously talented, of course, but in these little moments, he seems like a person, too.

‘I’m meant to be looking for balaclavas,’ Wei Ying blurts out. ‘Wanna come with?’

Lan Zhan blinks. ‘I am still assembling materials. If you need help, I am sure that one of your friends –’

‘Nah, it’s okay,’ Wei Ying says, far too quickly. Shit, he didn’t have to say that, he could have played it cool and pretended that it had been a request for help instead of a … well, thinly veiled plea for attention.

He knows that Lan Zhan doesn’t hate him. They’ve definitely moved into the tolerance stage, which is great. He’s aware that he still starts all of their conversations, the night on the roof notwithstanding. And that’s okay! Sometimes friendships need one party to instigate stuff. But, well, it would be nice if, one of these days, Lan Zhan gave the slightest indication that he liked his company.

 

The next morning, Wei Ying wakes up feeling nervous, and takes a moment to remember what he’s nervous about. And then, when the realisation rolls in, he realises that he’s excited, too.

It will be terrifying. There’s no getting round that. He’s become so accustomed to the feeling of relative safety in the building, even with the snowman attack. They had had various things that could protect them then: walls and doors and kitchen knives. Leaving it, they’ll be out in the open and so far doing that has had a significantly higher mortality rate.

But at the same time he is also so, so bored of the building that he’s itching to get outside. If he’s going to have his entrails ripped out, it might as well be under an open sky.

Jiang Cheng is much more openly skittish, unable to stay still at breakfast. Wei Ying reacts as he always does, by acting with a maddening amount of calm. He whistles between mouthfuls, tells jokes, and recounts a long and exciting story to Nie Huaisang that is only partly made up. Jiang Cheng makes a show of being annoyed, but he’s relieved, Wei Ying knows. Feeling annoyed makes him feel superior, which in turn allows him to chill out.

And then they’ve finished eating, and someone else is doing all of the breakfast dishes, and they’re headed to the garage over in the south end of the building and there is no avoiding what they are going to do.

‘The plan is simple,’ Nie Mingjue says, as they walk, as if they haven’t already been over it several times. ‘We’re staying in the Jeep unless we’re on open ground and then we’re sticking together. If you see something, let us know instead of going off by yourself. There’s no need to overextend ourselves. This is going to be the first trip of several.’

Wei Ying is only half listening. As before, they are all going armed. Having lost his pickaxe so unceremoniously on his first outing, he’s gone for a shortsword. Jiang Cheng has a spiked club, Nie Mingjue the larger sword he took before. Even though they’re all aware of the very real threat, it still feels like they’re holding props for a play or historical re-enactment. The idea that they may actually have to rely on these weapons to defend themselves remains absurd.

Wen Ning and a couple of the others whose names Wei Ying doesn’t remember have come with them, to open and close the garage doors. Jin Zixuan has also come along, though apparently he’s only here to say goodbye to Mianmian and not to help. He’s saying something awkwardly to her – either persuading her not to go or insisting he should go instead, it’s not clear. There’s only room for five of them in the car, anyway, and whatever the argument is, she wins.

Nie Mingjue is driving – no one argues on that point – and Lan Zhan gets the passenger seat, which no one argues with, either. He needs the space for his maps, and, while the idea is oddly thrilling, Wei Ying will admit that being squashed in the back seat with the others is probably Lan Zhan’s idea of hell. Plus, he’s quite a bit taller than Mianmian, who fits in between Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng quite easily.

The garage exit is on the opposite side of the building from the main doors, so once again they’re able to head more or less in a straight line, this time in a different direction. The plan is to look for high ground, both to see if it gives them a vantage point over their surroundings and because they’ll never be able to get the Jeep down the snowy slope that they’d descended the other day. And, while there are probably snowmen everywhere, it doesn’t make sense to retrace their steps to the last place that the snowmen definitely were.

Unable to stay still, Wei Ying cranes his neck to look out of the window. There isn’t very much to see, but after days inside he’s enjoying the change, even if it’s just meant swapping white corridors for the unending, white blanket of snow. The sky is the same pale blue, though today it is dotted with clouds.

In the front seat, Lan Zhan is saying something about measuring distance, which apparently makes sense to Nie Mingjue, because he’s nodding. Or perhaps he hasn’t got a clue but is nodding anyway, which is what Wei Ying would be doing in his place.

After they’ve been driving for about half an hour, the terrain finally changes. The mountains in the distance are beginning to disappear behind lower slopes rising up in front of them. The plain isn’t a valley, Wei Ying realises, even where the building is they’re a fair way above sea level. If this was a normal place and not a hellscape designed to kill them, it would probably be full of hotels and cabins for the inevitable ski resort.

By then, Wei Ying is ready to accept that he’s bored. It feels comfortingly safe inside the Jeep; its build sturdy enough to protect them, but he wants to stretch his legs and feel solid ground underneath his feet. Surely, so long as they keep their wits about them and don’t go too far, they could get out?

He’s ready to suggest this in as reasonable terms as possible – aware that neither Lan Zhan nor Nie Mingjue are likely to appreciate his usual flippancy – when the ground gets much rougher. The Jeep slows. It’s designed to deal with tough terrain, but the combination of the elevation, snow and rocks is making it impossible. They go another hundred yards or so, then Nie Mingjue stops the vehicle and puts the handbrake on.

‘All right,’ he says, twisting round in his seat to address those in the back seat. Wei Ying gets a sudden, bizarre, memory of Jiang Fengmian doing the same when they got lost on a family holiday; he catches Jiang Cheng’s eye and sees his brother smiling slightly at the same thought.

‘She’s not going any further in this direction,’ Nie Mingjue says, because of course he’s the type of guy to use female pronouns for a car. ‘So. We’re going to walk. As I said before, the key thing is to stick together. We’re not going far – just as far as we need to get a decent view. All right?’

They nod, and get out of the Jeep.

Even though this is his third time outside, Wei Ying still can’t get used to the way the cold sweeps in. He breathes in, the air fresh and clear, and takes a few steps. The snow crunches satisfyingly underfoot.

It’s not really surprising that they weren’t able to get up further. From here, the ground slopes upward quite sharply, and over to the left it dips down into what must be a valley, though they can’t see it from here. It’s not quite as bright as it was – overhead, the clouds have multiplied – but the weather is still fine.

‘We’ll go up a little way,’ Nie Mingjue is saying, closing and locking the driver’s side door.

He leads the way, the others following. Lan Zhan is the only one of them not carrying a weapon; his arms are full of the map paper and he’s got a belt with several pouches attached. Given that he’s one of the few among them who has actually fought a snowman with any kind of success, that seems some kind of oversight.

It soon becomes easily apparent that Nie Mingjue’s idea of what constitutes “a little way” is an optimistic one. That, and the ridge they’re on is bigger than it looks. It’s relatively easy going for the first ten minutes, and then gets a lot steeper. It’s not just the elevation that’s the problem; it’s hard to get a decent foothold in the snow and they’re in so many layers that they’re heating up, fast. Jiang Cheng has already reached a very undignified shade of red and several strands of Mianmian’s hair are sticking to her forehead. (He couldn’t find any balaclavas in the end.)

Plus even if they aren’t exactly sitting around all day, the lack of exercise they’ve been getting is showing. Whatever stamina Wei Ying might have had has definitely disappeared.

‘We’ll never outrun anything like this,’ Jiang Cheng puffs. ‘We’re going to have to start a workout schedule.’

Wei Ying gives a theatrical groan, much as he privately agrees. ‘Why do you have to suggest the one thing that could make all of this worse?’

‘I’ve been doing pushups in my room,’ Mianmian says, between breaths, ‘not that it’s helping.’

‘Do you have to make us look bad?’ Wei Ying asks her. ‘Also, what’s the deal with you and Jin Zixuan? How is a pretty girl like you hanging out with an idiot like him?’

‘We’re friends from college,’ she explains, brushing straight the compliment. ‘I know he can be a lot, sometimes, but he’s really not as bad as he seems.’

‘Wait, so you knew each other before, but you’re not related?’ Jiang Cheng says, then stumbles slightly and has to take a moment to regain his footing. ‘I thought everyone here was strangers unless they were family.’

Mianmian shrugs, the majority of the movement absorbed by her snowsuit. ‘Yeah, I don’t know. I haven’t seen loads of him lately, he’d gone off travelling: one of those ‘go round the world, find yourself’ type trips.’

Wei Ying has a lot more questions about all of that – namely, whether finding himself had involved becoming more or less of an asshole – but decides to save them for later, as the climb demands most of his attention. For all his complaining, Jiang Cheng is actually managing quite well (has he been doing secret squats when Wei Ying isn’t around?) and Lan Zhan is naturally having no problems whatsoever.

They’re not too far from the nearest peak, though several times it looks like they’re almost there, only for another stretch to appear. There is a small flat part at the top; hopefully from there they’ll have a decent view.

He keeps his head down and focuses on his footing; stepping in the footsteps already created by Nie Mingjue. It seems to be getting slightly dimmer; the clouds are increasing. Just their luck, the one day they choose for the expedition has the worst weather. Experimentally, he glances over his shoulder. The Jeep still looks hideously close, though it stands out: a grey blip on the white landscape.

Next to him, Jiang Cheng pauses to have a sip of water. They’d had the foresight to bring that, as the supply room had several metal bottles with carabiners that they can snap onto their belts, along with knives and small lengths of rope. They haven’t brought any food, despite Wei Ying’s requests for mid-trip snackage. Apparently they can eat when they get back.

He focuses on the physical movement: one foot, then the other. They’re outside, and they’re not dead yet. That has to count for something.

And then, all of a sudden, he is at the top.

The first thing he sees is how steeply the ridge continues upwards; it really is more mountain than hill. Then he takes a few more steps forward, and looks down into the valley.

He can’t really see anything, it’s full of fog or mist or – what’s the difference between fog and mist? – something. He feels cheated. They’ve come up this far, and can’t even see for shit.

Lan Zhan, however, has taken out one of his pieces of paper and is making marks on it. He’s drawing the ridge, Wei Ying realises. Even if they can’t see the valley, they know that it’s there. Small progress for the cartography department, but Lan Zhan looks focused, his eyes carefully scanning the topographical features that are in view. His gaze carries such a careful intent; Wei Ying would probably die if anyone looked at him like that.

‘Oh, fuck’s sake,’ Jiang Cheng says, looking down. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

Wei Ying spends a moment gazing out and down, feeling like a dramatic figure in a European painting, and then gets bored. Turning his back on it, he looks at the rest of the mountain.

The ridgeline carries on upward, the drop down to the valley becoming steadily more sheer the further it progresses until it’s just a blank rock face. Off to the right, almost at right angles with that cliff, another ridge rises, creating a narrow gully between that and the ridge that they’re on. Though almost everything is covered in snow, the rock walls are bare and the gully itself looks relatively sheltered. There could be plants or something in there.

An idea forming, he heads off in that direction. He hears Jiang Cheng say something back over his shoulder about sticking together, but he’s not exactly going far, they’ll remain in eyesight. And, while everyone else is going on about charting the land (Lan Zhan) getting a sense of their battlefield (Nie Mingjue) seeing what’s out there (Jiang Cheng) and – actually, he’s not sure why Mianmian volunteered – he’s still thinking about the fact that sooner or later they’re gonna run out of food.

There’s plenty of organic matter in this universe, so it stands to reason that some of it should be edible. He vaguely remembers something about it being possible to make tea with pine needles, but that isn’t going to fill anyone’s stomach. If they want to even get close to being able to play this on their own terms, they’re going to need to find something more substantial.

He doesn’t even really know what he’s looking for. Something green or something alive. Maybe they’re simply too far up for most wildlife, or maybe this is the middle of winter and everything is hibernating.

He stumps along until he’s face to face with the bare rock face. It juts aggressively out of the ground before him, like the prow of a grounded ship. He touches it, gently, even though his gloves are too thick for him to detect any texture. If he knew more about geology he’d be able to make some kind of scientific investigation of what the rock could tell them about the world they’re in. It’s frustrating to stand there knowing that a potential wealth of information is at his fingertips and not be able to decipher it.

They can’t eat rock, though, so he moves along, into the gully itself. It, too, wends upward, but at a much gentler pace than the ridges rising on either side of it. It wouldn’t be much easier going, though; there are huge boulders in the way and the walls themselves look uneven, with cavities of varying size here and there.

‘Wei Ying?’

He glances up, surprised to hear Lan Zhan’s voice. ‘Hey.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Investigating.’ There aren’t any plants growing off the side of the cliff faces, but that’s hardly surprising at this elevation. ‘What are you doing? I thought you were on map duty.’

‘We are supposed to stay together,’ Lan Zhan says, ‘as a group.’

‘I haven’t gone far,’ he argues, though he has in fact, gone further than he meant to. He can’t even see the others, unless he retreats by ten feet. ‘And that’s the whole point of this trip, isn’t it? To investigate?’

‘We should return,’ Lan Zhan says. He’s holding the papers, rolled up again, under his arm.

‘Aren’t you like, the tiniest bit curious about what’s up here?’ Wei Ying says, fully aware that he’s stalling for time now. Unfortunately, it’s not giving him long enough to find anything interesting. ‘I think there are caves; it’s difficult to see with all the boulders and stuff in the way.’

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says, and there’s a new urgency in his voice that makes Wei Ying look up from the rocks and at him – and at what Lan Zhan wants him to notice.

It’s snowing.

It definitely wasn’t snowing a minute ago, but now the sky is full of white flakes, growing thicker by the second. Lan Zhan looks worried. Wei Ying takes a couple of steps towards him and suddenly realises quite how fucked they are. It’s already getting hard to see further than a few paces; the snow is sweeping in so rapidly that visibility on the mountain has plummeted at an astonishing rate.

‘The others,’ he says, turning from Lan Zhan to hurry down and out of the gully.

He can’t see the edge of the ridge. He can’t see the others, or down the mountain to where they left the Jeep. He can just about make out his own tracks; he follows them carefully, aware that he might get to the cliff at any moment. Working like that, he makes it back to the flat part where they had stopped, but there’s no one there.

They must have gone already. It’s the only – and best – explanation. Maybe one of them noticed how heavy the clouds were getting and suggested they head back. Or maybe they’ve realised that two people are missing and have come to look for them? Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have gone down the mountain without a fight – though if it was a contest between him and Nie Mingjue, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

And Nie Mingjue, while he’s nice enough and seems to like Wei Ying, is sensible enough not to jeopardise the whole expedition just because Wei Ying is an idiot who wandered off.

Fuck.

The snow is getting thicker still and the wind is picking up. He’s got to get back to Lan Zhan and the relative shelter of the gully. They might not survive the snowstorm together, but they’re definitely not going to make it if they’re apart.

It’s already harder going. He can only see a few feet ahead of him and the wind is buffeting him in all directions. It’s so exposed, right there on the ridge; the wind sweeps up the mountain and knocks him to his knees.

There’s a brief, horrible moment where he loses all bearings and can’t tell which way he’s facing or where his footprints are. Everything is blurry and white and so cold and maybe this is it, he’s going to die right here on this stupid fucking mountain.

Then he sees a footprint from his own boots and is able to get to his feet. He can’t walk fully upright, has to hunch over against the force of the wind, keeping his shortsword close to his body, but makes steady progress. He still can’t see for shit, until suddenly the rock face looms out of the snow ahead of him and he gathers that he’s made it back to the edge of the gully.

‘Lan Zhan!’ he calls, suddenly desperate. He ran off so quickly and didn’t think to check if Lan Zhan was staying put or not. Maybe he’s already blundering his way down the mountain. No, he’s too sensible for that. But he could have fallen, and if he’s lying somewhere in the snow Wei Ying is never gonna find him.

‘Lan Zhan!’ he calls again, fumbling his way back into the gully, keeping one hand on the cliff face to his right.

He hears a noise that might be his own name, and, leaving the guidance of the cliff, strides blindly towards it, shouting as loudly as the blizzard will permit. They can’t die, not here, not yet. Lan Zhan doesn’t deserve to die here. He deserves – well, none of them deserve to die at all – but if Lan Zhan is going to die, he ought to get to go out with a grand exit: something big and meaningful and not because Wei Ying has the survival instincts of a domestic rabbit.

He blunders forward a few more paces, then hears the sound again – that’s definitely his name.

‘Lan Zhan!’ he shouts, and gets a mouthful of snow.

‘Wei Ying!’ All of a sudden Lan Zhan is there, materialising in front of him. His face, usually so composed, is drawn with worry.

‘They’ve gone,’ Wei Ying gasps. The cold air feels violent in his chest, like his lungs are full of tiny shards of broken glass. ‘Back to the car, I hope – I don’t know.’

‘We need shelter,’ Lan Zhan says. He’s right. It doesn’t take a genius to tell that they’re not going to last long out here. ‘You mentioned caves?’

‘I think so?’ Wei Ying has to shout to be heard. ‘If we go in that direction,’ he waves at the swirling air, ‘we should get to the other side, and work our way up.’

Lan Zhan nods, which has to be a sign of how dire things are, if he’s happy to follow Wei Ying’s guidance.

‘This way, then,’ Wei Ying says, making sure to set off slowly. He has an idea and, grabbing hold of Lan Zhan’s gloved hand, says, ‘So I don’t lose you.’

Lan Zhan just nods. Hand-holding isn’t weird if it’s for survival reasons, it’s a rule.

Keeping his movements careful, Wei Ying leads them both back to where he thinks the rock face is. He finds it more easily than he expected, but following it upwards in the blizzard is harder than he thought. The wind has changed direction, it’s blowing down the gully against them and every now and then they have to deviate their path slightly to go round a boulder.

They’ve gone maybe ten feet when Lan Zhan tugs on Wei Ying’s hand.

‘Here,’ he says.

Wei Ying stops, looking behind him. He’d missed it, but Lan Zhan is right – there’s a small opening in the rock. It’s not huge, but it looks like it leads into a wider cavity and, more importantly, it’s sheltered by the surrounding rocks. The last thing they need is to find a cave only to get snowed into it.

Lan Zhan stoops, peering in.

‘Can you see anything?’ Wei Ying asks. They can’t afford to be choosy right now, but it would be comically awful if the cave contained a hibernating bear or something.

‘Only empty space,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘I think it is safe.’

‘That’s the first good news I’ve heard all day,’ Wei Ying says, but the buoyancy of the remark is undercut by how much his teeth are chattering. ‘After you.’

Lan Zhan obligingly climbs into the hole, disappearing from sight. Wei Ying has a brief, irrational wave of paranoia that he won’t be able to follow, somehow, and then he’s clambering in after him.

It’s not the most graceful of entrances; the cave mouth is narrow and the ground is loose, but it widens out almost immediately into a shallow cavern. It’s still cold, but the difference is immediate now that they’re out of the wind. It’s quite dark inside – Wei Ying can see dimly, but only because of the brightness spilling in from the entrance.

‘We didn’t bring any torches,’ he says. That was stupid.

‘Mn,’ Lan Zhan says. He’s off to the right; fairly visible.

‘Or any food. I said we should have packed something.’

‘I have water,’ Lan Zhan says.

‘Yeah, same. Did you manage to salvage your maps?’

Lan Zhan nods, and holds up the roll of paper. ‘I put the sheet I was working on in the centre. Hopefully it has remained dry.’

‘Oh, good.’

Beyond a quick inspection of the cave, which doesn’t turn up much – it’s about four metres wide and maybe five metres deep, its walls uneven – there isn’t really anything to do. Wei Ying finds the most comfortable spot of ground that he can and sits, his back against the cave wall, so that he’s facing the entrance. After a moment, Lan Zhan joins him, keeping a tactful space in between them.

‘All right,’ Wei Ying says, ‘I’ll concede that this is mostly my fault.’

Lan Zhan looks at him, but graciously says nothing.

‘Look,’ he continues, ‘I know it’s not ideal, but we’ll hunker down and find our way back when the storm passes, right?’

Lan Zhan nods at that, but it’s not like they can really do anything else.

Wei Ying shuffles, trying to get comfortable sat on the hard rock floor. The snowsuit cushions his butt slightly, but only slightly. If any snowmen come for them now, they’re sitting ducks, never mind his sword. Hopefully the show producers are appeased by the drama of the blizzard and don’t feel the need to send in reinforcements.

‘It’s only a small setback, really,’ he says.

‘Small,’ Lan Zhan echoes.

‘Yeah.’

‘I think your definition and my definition of that word are very different,’ Lan Zhan says, and it takes Wei Ying a moment to recognise his own words quoted back at him.

He smiles – and then, as the thought strikes him – cranes his neck to look upwards, scanning the crevices for cameras. It seems inconceivable that literally every nook and cranny of the mountains is set up for surveillance – but it’s not like any part of the rest of this has been in the reasonable scope of reality.

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says. He sounds tired. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m wondering if we’re still on TV,’ he says. It seems foolhardy to assume that they might be safe from the broadcast, tucked away as they are in this cave with the storm howling outside, but even considering it gives him a rush. He hadn’t realised how much it was weighing on him, the constant knowledge that he was being surveyed, until he allowed himself to think that right now he might not be.

‘I would imagine so,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘Even if there is nothing here, our clothes may be bugged.’

Shit. He hadn’t thought of that. Someone had definitely suggested it, before, but that was days ago and a lot has happened since then.

‘What do you say, Lan Zhan?’ he says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Wanna get naked in the name of privacy?’

Lan Zhan turns away, muttering something under his breath.

Wei Ying redirects his attention to the cave entrance, trying to keep a hold of the worries swirling through his brain. There’s no point agonising over whether the others made it back to the Jeep, if Jiang Cheng managed to fall off the cliff or something during the descent, if they were attacked by snowmen halfway down the mountain. He’s got no way of knowing, and right now his own chances of survival are not fantastic. He should be worrying about that.

‘We ought to huddle for warmth,’ he says, aloud.

Lan Zhan says nothing. That’s not surprising, really, when the last thing Wei Ying said was the suggestion that they strip off.

‘I’m serious,’ he adds. ‘Don’t tell me you’re not cold. Are you really gonna suffer an entirely preventable death by hypothermia when we could easily make like penguins and huddle.’

That, at least, gets Lan Zhan’s attention.

‘Penguins,’ he says.

‘Yeah,’ Wei Ying has momentum now. ‘You know, when the females go off to hunt and leave their mates with their eggs? And you just get a huge crowd of dad penguins forming a giant huddle so that they don’t freeze and die. Come on, it’s like the first thing in any Arctic nature documentary.’

‘I am aware of this,’ Lan Zhan says, maddeningly. ‘I fail to see how we resemble penguins. There are only two of us.’

‘It really wasn’t that deep. But, look, I’m cold, I bet you’re cold, if we sit closer together we might be able to conserve some body heat.’

Lan Zhan considers, no doubt experiencing an internal conflict between his aversion to touching people and his desire not to die.

‘Just to clarify,’ Wei Ying says, because maybe it does need stating, ‘I’m not gonna use this as a chance to like, feel you up. Just because you’re hotter than any human being has any right to be doesn’t mean I don’t have manners.’

Lan Zhan looks confused, but does relax slightly. After a moment, he inches a little closer, until their shoulders are touching. He’s still looking at Wei Ying in that weird way, as if he’s intensely frustrated. Well, it makes sense. Wei Ying is an intensely frustrating person.

‘I really am sorry,’ Wei Ying says, after a slight pause. He’s keeping his gaze fixed determinedly ahead, because even with the shelter of the cave, they’re going to have a hell of a time getting back to the building without a car, and the severity of the situation does merit some sincerity. ‘I know that this is probably a nightmare for you.’

‘I was not under the impression that it is a favourable experience for you,’ Lan Zhan says.

‘Yeah, but I’m not the one stuck in a cave with me. I mean, I guess technically I am, but it’s not really the same.’ He yawns. It’s really not that late in the day, but between the hike and the storm it’s really taken it out of him. Or maybe he’s tired because he’s cold, and about to die of hypothermia. He leans in to Lan Zhan’s shoulder. He’s not sure that they actually are trapping much body heat between them, but is grateful for the human contact. Lan Zhan might be awful at conversation, but it would be absolutely fucking miserable if he were by himself.

‘What were you doing?’ Lan Zhan asks.

‘Mm?’ he says, stifling another yawn.

‘When you left the group.’

‘Oh. I wanted to see if there was anything we could eat. Plants, animals, anything like that.’ He glances sideways. Maybe it’s his imagination, but it does seem to be getting a little darker in the cave. ‘We’ve got a lot of food, but it won’t last forever, and this whole thing is set up so that we’re completely dependent on the showrunners. I thought – I still think – if we can establish like, a way of becoming self-sufficient, that it’ll help. I don’t know. Maybe there’s no point when they can watch our every move.’

‘It is a worthwhile thought,’ Lan Zhan says. It might be the nicest thing he’s ever said to Wei Ying. ‘Perhaps we ought to investigate that further.’

‘I thought so, but hey, look where it’s got us.’

There’s a slight pause.

‘D’you think people are watching us, right now?’ Wei Ying asks. ‘I don’t mean like, people in general – but would your family be watching?’

No one ever discussed this on-air in Series One, but then it was unclear then if any of the contestants knew that they were on TV. And, as Jin Zixuan went to such pains to point out, most of them didn’t have families anyway.

That’s what he’s really asking Lan Zhan. Whether he’s going to be missed.

‘Yes,’ Lan Zhan says, but does not elaborate.

‘My shijie’s going to be losing her mind,’ Wei Ying says, deliberately cheerful in case Yanli is tuned in at this very moment. ‘It’s gotta be a nightmare watching me and Jiang Cheng run around doing stupid things. We only had the one brain cell between the three of us and she’s got it.’

‘Mn.’

‘I think I’m gonna get some sleep,’ he says. Even if it is hypothermia stilling his limbs, what’s he going to do about it? ‘You should, too.’

‘One of us ought to watch.’

‘What, for snowmen? I don’t think anything’s going anywhere in that.’ They can still hear the blizzard howling outside. ‘Plus we have a helluva hike back tomorrow.’ He closes his eyes, his head tilting onto Lan Zhan’s shoulder. As ways to die go, this isn’t so bad. Freezing to death is meant to be quite peaceful, isn’t it? He’s sure he’s read somewhere that you stop feeling cold, after a while, and just drift away. Better to do that, drift away with the most beautiful man in the world, then any of the other horrible ways they could die here.

‘Yes,’ he hears Lan Zhan say, from what sounds like a great distance. ‘Tomorrow.’

 

The storm is over when Wei Ying wakes up. Dramatics aside, he is quite surprised to wake up. If the cold hadn’t got him, it would make sense that snowmen might – or, perhaps, Lan Zhan would take advantage of his guard being down to abandon him. None of those things have happened, though. Lan Zhan is still asleep, hunched up next to him. He looks younger, the usual concentration smoothed from his face. For a moment it’s easy to see him as someone else: a withdrawn nerd with no people skills. Of course, he’d still be an exceptionally beautiful nerd, so it’s not like he’s an absolute loser – but, for a moment, he could be someone Wei Ying might have class with or live next to and enjoy annoying in a situation with no stakes whatsoever.

It’s a useless thought. He extricates himself carefully from Lan Zhan’s side, not wanting to wake him, and crosses to the cave entrance. It has thankfully been sufficiently sheltered by the surrounding rocks so as not to be blocked, but it’s still a scramble trying to get out. For a split second Wei Ying wonders if it’ll simply be too slippery, and what would happen if he and Lan Zhan were trapped in the cave with no escape (would they resort to cannibalism? That would make record-breaking TV) and then he gets a decent foothold and half-climbs, half-wiggles out into the snow.

There’s a lot more of it than there was, but the sky is clear. He can’t tell how long has passed; if the sun set and rose while they were asleep, only that it’s still bright. He walks carefully down the gully, his feet sinking down considerably with each step. It’s going to be tough going.

There’s no sign of anyone else out on the ridge. He can’t see any tracks, either: the snow has swept over everything on the mountainside, erasing any marks. There could be bodies under there and he wouldn’t know.

The blizzard has done one thing, though. The mist has cleared and he can see down into the valley. It stretches for miles, rocky Arctic tundra coated in snow. There are a few dark streaks cutting through it off in the distance, but he can’t make them out. It must be the morning; there is a soft pink tint to everything.

‘Wei Ying.’

He turns. Lan Zhan is there, the worry sliding off his face the moment they make eye contact. Wei Ying feels a stab of guilt. Lan Zhan must have woken up and found him gone.

‘Look,’ he says, unnecessarily. Concerns about their survival aside, there’s no way round the fact that the view is beautiful.

‘I’m not sure what those marks are,’ he says, after a moment. ‘They’re miles away, but look. Maybe it’s a different type of rock? But it doesn’t make sense that snow wouldn’t settle there.’

‘I have binoculars,’ Lan Zhan says, because apparently there’s no situation he’s unprepared for. ‘Here.’ And, retrieving them from a pack attached to his belt, he passes them to Wei Ying without stopping to use them himself.

‘Thanks.’ It takes him a moment to get them focused and even then the picture is blurry, but he manages to train them on the streaks, cutting through the snow at the far end of the valley. It’s still hard to tell, but it looks a hell of a lot like running water.

‘I think there’s a stream,’ he says, and then cuts off abruptly as he spots something else. He moves the binoculars up, slightly, heart racing. Maybe it was just his hand shaking, maybe – oh, oh.

He presses his face against the binoculars, feeling the hard plastic dig into the bone around his eye sockets, hope ballooning in his chest. He’s not mistaken, though. Over on the far side of the valley, lit up pink with steam rising off their bodies, is a herd of caribou.

Notes:

A few more notes!

Lan Xichen, Meng Yao and Jiang Yanli are not in this, for the simple and unfortunate reason that between them they're all far too smart and reasonable and would be able to talk the other characters out of doing stupid shit.

The name Archimago is a reference to Edmund Spenser's poem The Faerie Queene, from the 1590s. Unlike the other literary references, this doesn't really serve any purpose (Spenser's Archimago is an evil wizard) beyond the fact that I needed a villain name for them to ignore completely.

In terms of real-world geography, I'm going for a modern AU where the places in the mdzs universe exist in the real world - either as an additional part of China or a country immediately adjacent to China. So that's why we're getting mentions of the Arctic/modern pop culture as well as mdzs verse places etc.

At some point things are going to get a little steamier, and I'm not Quite sure how explicit that's gonna be. I have never been able to sincerely write smut to save my life, but if it's ever going to happen it will probably be with this fic. So, uh, keep an eye on the tags, and I'll change the rating to Explicit if that becomes necessary. Also, and while it is tagged I can't stress this enough: there is going to be a Lot of blood in this, so if that's something you find difficult please be aware.

I've planned it out in detail and each of the 4 parts should be about the same length, but that may well go out of the window once we're actually going. Feel feel free to come and say hi on tumblr - my blog is a bit of a mess, a mixture of mdzs/cql, ice hockey and les miserables (but who really has a curated blog these days? )

If you liked this chapter, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter 2: ii. why then, the world’s mine oyster, which I with sword shall open

Summary:

‘I didn’t go very far,’ Wei Ying says, though he’s well aware that that’s not the point. ‘And anyway, I survived, didn’t I? Lan Zhan saved me, it was all very heroic.’

‘And what if you’d died?’ Jiang Cheng demands. ‘You’d have left me here. Alone.’

Wei Ying is too tired to argue the point any further, so he nods in apology. It’s not as if he can’t see where Jiang Cheng is coming from. Even with the rest of the group, the idea of trying to make it here without his brother – it’s not a fun thought.

Notes:

This is where some of the other tags start to become relevant, so, uh, You Have Been Warned.

Chapter title is, as they all are, a quote from The Merry Wives of Windsor, taken wildly out of context.

He can’t take his eyes off the herd. He’s pretty sure that they’re caribou of some kind, the technicalities don’t really matter. The point is that there are animals; there is life here other than them. The thought is making him giddy, to the point that he forgets that they’re stranded.

‘Look,’ he says, shoving the binoculars into Lan Zhan’s hands, not wanting to spoil the sight. Lan Zhan should get to see for himself. ‘Over by the stream, look.’

With considerably more care, Lan Zhan raises the binoculars. He, too, takes a minute to focus – but it’s clear the moment he sees the herd, his hands immediately stilling.

‘I knew there was life here,’ Wei Ying says, feeling a grin spreading across his face. ‘And if there are deer then there must be vegetation for them to eat, and probably wolves or something that eat them.’ His mind is going at a hundred miles an hour, trying to remember everything he’s learned about Arctic food chains. It’s not very much.

‘I wonder how far away they are,’ he says. He’s practically bouncing on the spot. ‘A day’s walk? More? If we had supplies –’

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says, his voice firm. ‘We are going back to base.’

He’s right. Wei Ying knows that he’s right; they have no food and very little water between them and are already a fair distance from the building. Still, he can’t take his eyes off the horizon, even though he can’t see the caribou without binoculars.

Lan Zhan hands them back to him after a moment, seemingly understanding that he wants to look again. It’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking; his face has set back into its contemplative mode – which means that he is having a lot of thoughts, but not broadcasting them.

Wei Ying takes another look. They’ve moving slowly, but they are moving – down the valley, off to the left. Even though he knows it’s impossible, he wants to follow them. Where are they going? What if they don’t come back? This could be the last he sees of them – but Lan Zhan is right, they can’t follow them now.

He takes a breath, drinking in the sight, then forces himself to lower the binoculars. He’ll see them again. They’ll come back.

‘All right, Lan Zhan,’ he says. ‘Let’s go home.’

Lan Zhan’s face twitches slightly at the word home – the building isn’t that and never will be – but he nods, taking the binoculars back and returning them to the pouch.

They hike down the mountain. There’s no Jeep at the bottom and no huge mound of snow that would suggest that it had been snowed under. It extends Wei Ying’s good mood; it means the others got away. Even if they couldn’t drive far, they made it back to the car – and from inside there, their chances of survival are much better.

‘Just one problem,’ he says, as they begin walking, ‘are you totally sure where we’re going? I know we mostly went in a straight line last time, but I don’t think it was completely straight and I definitely wasn’t paying enough attention to be certain.’

Lan Zhan just reaches to another pouch, and this time produces a compass.

‘Damn, you think of everything,’ Wei Ying says, in what he hopes is a casual tone.

‘It is for the map.’

‘Oh, right.’ Of course it is. That makes sense. ‘Did you take our bearings on the outward journey, then?’

Lan Zhan nods. Right, because he would have wanted to chart where the mountains lay in relation to the building.

‘Does it work just like a regular one? So this world has the same magnetic field?’

‘It appears so.’

They start walking. The snow is deeper, but it’s a lot easier now that they’re on flat ground. Maybe it was only a localised storm. Maybe Nie Mingjue was able to out-drive it, like in an action movie. It’s not very likely, but if anyone was gonna be able to do it, Nie Mingjue would.  

Wei Ying’s doubts aren’t enough to dampen his mood; he’s still riding the high of being right as well as the idea that they might not be completely helpless. Sure, it may be difficult to convince everyone to start hunting for their food, but at least it’s a possibility. He whistles as he walks, until he remembers that they could still be ambushed by snowmen, and then stops. Should they be attacked his best chances probably involve immediately handling his sword to Lan Zhan and hoping for the best, but he’d still prefer it not to come to that.

The sun, which has been beating down on them as they walk, is now quite high in the sky. If he were to hazard a guess he’d say it’s midday, but there’s not telling how long nights are here, or how long they slept. There are clocks in the building, but neither of them have watches. What if they don’t get back before dark? The thought lands in his brain and, once there, refuses to move. It seems stupid – they didn’t drive for that long – but with the horizon consistently remaining empty, he can’t quite suppress it. Neither of them have torches, they’d have no way of even seeing the compass clearly.

‘Did you ever go hiking, Lan Zhan?’ he asks, more out of a desire to break the silence than anything else.

‘Mn.’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘My uncle has a cabin in the mountains. I spent most of my summers there.’

‘That must have been nice! We went hiking a couple of times on family holidays. It didn’t go well.’ The memory makes him smile, though. Jiang Fengmian had various ideas about what would ‘build character’ and apparently they included sweatily lugging backpacks up a steep trail. Yu Ziyuan refused to carry any of the picnic food and, naturally, they weren’t gonna make Yanli take it – so Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng, weighed down with what was probably too much picnic food, dragged themselves up. Yanli still has a framed photo of the three of them standing at the top, sweaty but smiling.

 

After another ten minutes, Lan Zhan points to a spot about fifty feet away. ‘Tyre tracks.’

They get closer, and Wei Ying sees what he means. Those are definitely the tracks of the Jeep, filled with a shallow layer of snow but still clearly visible. They must be reaching the edge of the area affected by the blizzard. His spirits – which, to be fair, had only dipped temporarily – rise.

‘We’ll be home for dinner!’ he says, and the words suddenly remind him of quite how hungry he is. It’s been at least twenty-four hours since they had breakfast. Hopefully whoever is on the cooking roster for today knows what they’re doing. It would be awful to get back only to find that Jin Zixuan had burned all the eggs.

He becomes more cheerful still when they spot the outline of the building on the horizon, drawing steadily closer. Things may have not gone entirely to plan, but the result is a net gain. That they came very close to disaster doesn’t matter nearly as much as the fact that they didn’t, and made an important discovery to boot.

Lan Zhan doesn’t seem to share his positivity – though, in fairness, it’s not like he usually does. Now that the end of their journey is in sight he’s reverted to neutrality, walking along stony-faced as if they didn’t spend the night shoulder-to-shoulder, aware that they might perish together.

They run into a problem when they get to the building: getting inside. The Jeep tracks lead right up to the garage, criss-crossing over a second set; confirming that the vehicle both left and returned. The garage door and the front door are both locked, though, and the majority of rooms where people normally are don’t have windows, so there’s no one to see them.

Wei Ying’s solution is to bang on the main doors and shout. There ought to be sentries posted, so someone should hear them, and he absolutely refuses to freeze to death on the doorstep after making it all the way back.

‘I WANT DINNER,’ he says, punctuating each word with a blow to the double doors. His gloves make a dull sound against it, but he’s not about to take them off. ‘OR LUNCH, OR BREAKFAST AGAIN – I’M FUCKING STARVING!’

Lan Zhan just watches him. Really, he’s very lucky that Wei Ying is here; he’d never be able to embarrass himself like this. He probably would starve to death than make a fuss.

Finally – just as Wei Ying is preparing to list all the things he would like to have for dinner, were he back in Yunmeng and not in the middle of a frozen wasteland – the doors open.

‘You made it!’ Nie Huaisang throws himself at Wei Ying, who returns the hug no less enthusiastically. Huaisang can be a bit on the emotional side sometimes, but it is nice to see him.

Then, Jiang Cheng – who was also, fortunately for them, on sentry duty – emerges, and he’s furious. He grabs Wei Ying into a hug that’s fiercely emotional to the point of slightly uncomfortable and then, releasing him, proceeds to punch him quite hard in the stomach.

‘What was that for?’ Wei Ying demands, wheezing and doubled over. Is it his imagination, or did Lan Zhan take a step towards him? Probably his imagination; Lan Zhan has no reason to care about him getting decked.

‘For fucking off and abandoning us,’ Jiang Cheng says, glaring. ‘We had one fucking rule, to stay together, and what do you do? Decide to wander off, because we’re just too boring for you.’

‘I didn’t go very far,’ Wei Ying says, though he’s well aware that that’s not the point. ‘And anyway, I survived, didn’t I? Lan Zhan saved me, it was all very heroic.’

‘And what if you’d died?’ Jiang Cheng demands. ‘You’d have left me here. Alone.’

Wei Ying is too tired to argue the point any further, so he nods in apology. It’s not as if he can’t see where Jiang Cheng is coming from. Even with the rest of the group, the idea of trying to make it here without his brother – it’s not a fun thought.

‘We should get inside,’ Lan Zhan says.

‘I’m starving,’ Wei Ying agrees. ‘I know that we’re trying to be sensible about rationing, but I think it’s fair if I get to eat at least three meals’ worth. I would have eaten them anyway, if I’d been here.’

Lan Zhan stays at his side as they make their way through the building to the canteen. He must be hungry, too, though he hasn’t complained of it. Wei Ying likes the way that people look at them, together, as though they’re some sort of combined unit. It’s a contrived connection, he knows, he doesn’t really have any right to associate with Lan Zhan, but it’s still nice.

And Lan Zhan doesn’t leave, either, even when he’s clearly finished his portion of soup and Wei Ying is still going. (What? He’s hungry.) Lan Zhan must be tired - despite sleeping in the cave Wei Ying is itching for a nap - but he stays, sitting across the table, quiet but there.

Jiang Cheng’s anger has simmered down into annoyance. He will get over it soon enough, Wei Ying knows. Nie Mingjue has also come over and had a bit of a go at them, though he was interested to hear about the caribou.

By and large, though, the news that there is wildlife doesn’t get quite the response Wei Ying was hoping for. It had elated him so completely and utterly, it’s kind of disappointing when the most he gets is a nod and an ‘okay’ from most of the others.

‘We can’t really go that far,’ Jiang Cheng says, when Wei Ying begins speculating how long a drive it would be down the valley. ‘There are still snowmen, remember? And there’s this whole quest thing. We can’t fuck up our chance to get out just because you want to go hunting. Anyway, I thought you liked animals.’

‘I do,’ Wei Ying says, ‘I’m just saying, if it’s between them and me, I’m choosing me.’

‘And what do you think?’ Jiang Cheng tilts his head, addressing Lan Zhan across the table. ‘Is eating reindeer an option?’

Lan Zhan looks at him, so blankly that for a moment Wei Ying thinks he isn’t going to give an answer. Then he says, ‘We may have no choice.’

‘He said it, not me.’ His soup finished, Wei Ying drops his spoon down with a clatter. ‘Right, I know you’re all keen to learn the secrets of Arctic survival, but I’ve walked a long way and I’m gonna need to recuperate first.’

Lan Zhan rises when he does, and, still followed by Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, they leave the canteen. Wei Ying speeds up his pace, so as to drop the others behind slightly.

‘Were you waiting for me, just then?’ he asks, delighted.

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer him, just keeps his eyes fixed forward – but he was. Well, okay, maybe he’s just got such good manners that he doesn’t believe in leaving a table when someone else is still eating, but that’s never stopped him when Wei Ying was annoying him before.

They reach their rooms. Wei Ying is feeling very full, and very tired, and extremely glad that they didn’t die. He ought to say something along those lines. He apologised before, but that was when they really might die, or get lost on the way back, or be ambushed by snowmen. It would be different now: more genuine now that they’re okay.

He glances across at Lan Zhan, and catches him looking at him. For a moment their eyes lock, then Lan Zhan looks away.

‘We should go hiking,’ Wei Ying says, on impulse.

Lan Zhan’s eyebrows rise, questioningly.

‘When this is all over,’ he adds, by way of clarification. ‘You know, when we get out of here. We could go somewhere nice, and… yeah.’

To his surprise, Lan Zhan’s face just closes off again, back to the harsh blankness he used to wear in their first days in the building. He doesn’t look at Wei Ying, just goes into his room and closes the door behind him.

He’s probably just tired. They’ve had a long day and it was a stupid comment. It doesn’t mean anything.

Moving mechanically, Wei Ying enters his room, strips down to his underwear and climbs into bed. Lan Zhan’s reaction can’t be because he doesn’t think they’re ever getting out of here. He’s made his determination in that regard quite clear. The other explanation, though, is that he doesn’t plan on having anything to do with Wei Ying as soon as he has the choice not to.

That shouldn’t be a surprise, either. Given the option, who would?

 

He surprises himself with how long he sleeps, right through the rest of the afternoon, waking in the middle of the night. Even then, he’s only awake because he needs to pee. Even the concept of leaving his bed seems like a huge effort. Compared to the cave, his bunk might be the most comfortable place on Earth – provided, of course, that they are still on Earth, he still doesn’t have any answers for where the moon has gone – and it’s so warm under his blanket.

He lies there for a while, wondering if he can get back to sleep, but no, he’s going to have to go down to the bathroom. Reluctantly dragging himself out of bed, he throws on his jumpsuit – still the one from the day before, sorting out a clean one is tomorrow’s problem – and slips out of the dark room and down the painfully bright hallway.

He doesn’t expect to meet anyone, and doesn’t; the corridors and the bathroom are both empty. He pees quickly, washes his hands and is heading back towards his room when Jiang Cheng’s words come floating back to him. He can’t remember what was said exactly, beyond the need for them to stick to the quest.

He’s right. Wei Ying doesn’t like conceding when his brother is right, but this is one of those cases. It’s all very well and good to continue blathering on as they are, but their only hope of escape is appeasing the people running this shitshow.

His bed has retained some of its heat when he gets back into it, curling up to conserve warmth. If they do survive this, most likely Lan Zhan will disappear off back to his own life. He’s said nothing about what he’s missing, there could be all sorts of opportunities waiting for him to return to. Maybe – and Wei Ying’s gut twists, even though it’s stupid – a girlfriend. She could have been watching this whole time, desperately hoping that he’ll make it somehow and get home to her.

He can see it very clearly as he drifts off to sleep: Lan Zhan, accompanied by a similarly beautiful girlfriend, going off to meditate or something. The girlfriend is probably just like him, all silent and contemplative. Wei Ying hates them both, and then feels bad, because Lan Zhan deserves to be happy with someone as good as he is.

 

By the morning, it all feels quite silly. Wei Ying sends a grumbling Jiang Cheng off to find him some clean clothes, and is consequently late to breakfast – Jiang Cheng won’t say why, but from the way he twitches when Wei Ying asks if he ran into Wen Qing, the answer is obvious.

‘She’s cute, you could do worse,’ Wei Ying says, as his brother glowers at him. ‘Aw come on, don’t look at me like that. I fully support this; just remember that literally everyone in the world can see you if you guys end up fu-’

That’s when Jiang Cheng hits him with a pillow, and Wei Ying wisely decides to drop the matter.

All of that makes them late for breakfast. Lan Zhan has been and gone, Nie Huaisang confirms. He’s full of questions about the cave (‘Did you actually huddle for warmth? You and Lan Zhan??’) but Wei Ying has other things on his mind. He scarfs down the food, washes the plate in record time and is halfway out of the canteen before Jiang Cheng realises that he’s not coming back to the table.

‘Hey!’ he calls after him. ‘We’ve got a strategy meeting this afternoon!’

Wei Ying raises his hand in a thumbs-up gesture over his shoulder, without looking back.

Lan Zhan is, as he predicted, in the Library. There’s a wide wooden table in centre of the room; he’s leaning over it with a pen in one hand the page of the map unrolled and the edges weighted with books to keep it flat.

‘There you are!’ Wei Ying says brightly, coming in and shutting the door behind him. ‘Really, Lan Zhan, you know just how to make a guy feel unwanted.’

Lan Zhan glances up at him, but doesn’t say anything.

‘Still working on your map? Can I see?’ and, without waiting for an answer, he crosses the room to the table.

‘Oh,’ he says.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting – a bunch of vague lines, probably, that he would have to be very nice about – but this isn’t it. It looks like an actual map, recording in fine lines the slope of the ridge and the sweep of the valley. He must have been working on it today; there’s no way he was able to draw that much in the ten minutes he had before the blizzard began.

The gully is marked, too. Wei Ying traces its progress, his finger hovering half a centimetre above the paper. He stops, halfway up, above a small dot marked cave.

‘You added it,’ he says.

‘It is part of the landscape,’ Lan Zhan says, emotionlessly.

‘I mean, yeah, but –’ Wei Ying looks at him. ‘I… I guess it’s good to record, in case we get stuck there again. We could always leave some supplies there – blankets and stuff – if it’s going to be a regular thing.’

‘One would hope not,’ Lan Zhan says. There are many reasons he could sound so dismissive about it. Out of everything, he probably didn’t hate the part where they sat, so close together, the most. Probably.

‘Yeah, but these things happen. Oh, Jiang Cheng said we’re having a strategy meeting today. Wanna bet it’s Don’t Wander Off, with a sidenote of Thank You, Wei Ying, For Discovering More About the Wilderness Than We Knew Before?’

‘I know about the meeting,’ Lan Zhan says, ignoring the rest of the sentence. ‘I spoke with Nie Mingjue this morning.’

Naturally. Because he, unlike Wei Ying, is actually organised and in charge of his life. As much as any of them can be, anyway.

Wei Ying looks down at the table. The map is resting on several blank sheets of paper, no doubt the rest of the roll.

‘I can take those back to the Printer Room, if you want,’ he says, not knowing what it is that makes him offer. Perhaps it’s just the impulse to be helpful, to prove he can actually Do Something other than wander off and get them into trouble.

Lan Zhan obligingly lifts the map up, allowing him to sweep the other papers out from under it.

‘Do you want any of these? To show the way back, or?’

‘One,’ Lan Zhan says, and he separates out one sheet and hands it over.

‘Okay, well, uh, I’ll be back in a bit.’ And he leaves, the paper under his arm.

It isn’t that far from the Library to the Printer Room. Sooner or later he’s going to get sucked back into the ever-growing routines and get put on cooking duty or guard duty or patrol duty or something. Nie Mingjue is nothing if not industrious and their security measures are growing by the day. It’s better than the alternative, and yet Wei Ying can’t help thinking that its main purpose is just to make them all feel safer.

For this morning, though, he still exists outside the schedule, and can do what he likes. He takes his time over the errand, putting the paper in a neat stack next to the packets – they’ll never fit back inside, though it looks like Lan Zhan has thrown out the damp and damaged pages – and squaring the edges.

And then, from behind him, comes the tchunk tchunk of a printer in action.

Wei Ying spins around, half-leaping to where he can see the paper coming out. They’d filled up the paper drawer when they first found it, in the hopes of finding an accompanying computer, and then left it in. That was clearly the right move, because now someone, somehow, has activated it.

Finished, the printer spits out the rest of the page. Wei Ying picks it up; the paper is still warm. It bears just two words, rendered in a stylised script. The sword.

His hands are shaking slightly. Is it from the showrunners? It must be. No one in the building would spend their time typing out cryptic messages.

There was a book about a sword.

Page still in hand, he hurries back to the Library, where Lan Zhan is still at work.

‘Look at this,’ he says, brandishing the paper. ‘The printer started going while I was in there.’

Lan Zhan looks at it, his brow furrowing slightly.

‘You had a book about a sword,’ Wei Ying says. ‘In that stack, on the first day. Do you remember what happened to it?’

Lan Zhan points to one of the shelves, where Wei Ying sees a familiar spine.

‘I read like, maybe a quarter of it?’ he says, getting it down and off the shelf. ‘It was really boring, but it’s gotta be the sword that the message means.’

‘Mn.’

‘Have you found out anything else useful?’ he asks, carrying the book over to one of the armchairs, sitting down and flipping it open.

‘There are descriptions of the Ice King’s palace in the Quest book,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘It is where the portal is located.’

‘Right, cause we have to fight him to escape,’ Wei Ying says. He’s very glad that ‘Ice King’ has caught on as a name.

‘Mn.’

‘Do we actually have to like, beat him? Or could we just sneak past and activate the portal? Presumably there are some instructions as how to do that?’

‘His heartstone,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘According to the book, we must defeat him in single combat and take it from him in order to open it.’

‘Oh. I guess that makes sense. Big cinematic climax and all that.’ Wei Ying can’t get comfortable sat upright, so he turns sideways, hanging his legs off over one arm of the chair. That’s better. He flips through to where he left off, to the beginning of a chapter titled Swordbinding. As with the previous chapters, it begins with a full-page linework illustration. This one depicts the sword with its hilt half buried in a rock, Excalibur-style.

He settles down to read, vaguely aware of Lan Zhan at the table, still working on the finishing touches of the map. It’s a nice feeling, the two of them coexisting in the same space and focusing on different things.

The book isn’t any more interesting than it was the first time he picked it up, but he pushes onward. They’re clearly meant to know about it, and if the Ice King is anything like the snowmen they’re going to need every bit of help that they can get. By the time that Wen Ning sticks his head in the door to tell them that the group meeting is starting, Wei Ying has learned three important things about the sword:

It is, supposedly, imbued with great power that is shared with the person who wields it.

Though it was the Ice King’s weapon in the first series, anyone can bind themselves to it.

For the binding to be successful, a blood sacrifice must be made.

Even though it’s all written in such a ridiculously hyperbolic tone, the mention of the sacrifice brings a sudden wave of memories into Wei Ying’s mind – of seeing a young man, close to his own age, bleeding out on a cavern floor. That was how Mo Xuanyu died. He was part of a group trying to retrieve the sword, but the snowmen overpowered them and it was his blood that activated the weapon and allowed the Ice King to draw it out of the rock.

Feeling slightly sick, Wei Ying picks up the book as he leaves the Library, tucking it under his arm. If they’re going to talk strategy, they should discuss this.

‘Are you all right?’ Wen Ning asks him, as they walk back to the canteen. ‘You look…weird.’

‘Eh, I’m just bored of fantasy,’ Wei Ying says, lightly. ‘Wish they’d given us some sci-fi or something. Though I guess if you don’t agree that any of this is magic, then it is all sci-fi.’ He looks over to Lan Zhan, to see if he’s listening. It’s hard to tell.

Settling down for this meeting feels weirdly familiar. This is just yet another part of their normal routine: gathering together to discuss the best way not to die. All things considered, it’s remarkable that they haven’t had any kind of power struggle yet. Jin Zixuan’s Relative likes to complain about everything but isn’t able to offer much tangible opposition to Nie Mingjue, and Xue Yang, while perpetually weird, isn’t actually causing trouble (yet). There is something slightly off about him that Wei Ying doesn’t quite trust, but for now he seems content to go along with everything. If it came down to a choice between saving the others at the risk of endangering himself, Wei Ying is confident that Xue Yang wouldn’t even think to help – but for now, when they’re all more or less aligned towards a common goal, it’s okay.

(And, realistically, the list of people capable of heroics is probably quite short and he can’t complain about that. Not everyone is able to be selflessly brave, nor should they have to be. None of them should be being called upon to be heroes, and yet here they are.)

Nie Mingjue opens the meeting. Some days ago they moved the grey tables round into a circle so that they can all see each other. Knights of the round table, Wei Ying thinks, and snorts.

‘We need a strategy beyond surviving the next two days,’ Nie Mingjue is saying. ‘It’s all very well our fortifying ourselves here, but we’ll never get out unless we take the fight to them.’

‘Yeah, we have to fight the Ice King to win,’ Wei Ying says. Several heads turn to look at him. ‘What? It’s in Lan Zhan’s books.’

‘They are not my books,’ Lan Zhan says, so quietly that no one but Wei Ying hears him.

‘Okay, so we do that,’ Nie Mingjue says. It really is a comfort having someone with this much self-confidence around. ‘Do the books give any suggestion how to do that?’

‘What about fire?’ someone says, before Lan Zhan can give an answer. ‘They’re made of snow, presumably they’d melt. We could start a forest fire, or something.’

‘No,’ Wei Ying says, surprised by his own vehemence. ‘We can’t just obliterate anything, not when we’ve found that there are animals here.’

‘Weren’t you excited about the animals because you wanted to eat them?’ Jiang Cheng says, mostly to be annoying.

‘That’s different. We shouldn’t destroy the whole ecosystem.’

‘Do you have any ideas?’ Jin Zixuan’s Relative asks, with more aggression than is really necessary.

Wei Ying puts the book he’d been carrying on the table in front of him. ‘There’s a sword.’

‘I remember that!’ Wen Ning chimes in. ‘The Ice King used it in Series One.’

‘Well, according to this, anyone can use it,’ Wei Ying says.

‘But?’ Jiang Cheng asks, correctly reading his hesitation.

‘But,’ Wei Ying says, taking a breath, ‘it needs a blood sacrifice.’

There is a much longer pause.

‘Like, we’d have to kill someone?’ Nie Huaisang asks, finally.

‘I think so. The wording is weird –’ he flips to the page ‘– it says, for the blade to be freed and bound to the one that would wield it, someone must be given to it by way of sacrifice. There’s, uh, a drawing.’ He spins the book round, so that the others can see the illustration. It shows two people: one standing next to the rock, holding a blade aloft in triumph; the other slumped against it, their throat cut and their blood, rendered in black ink, soaking the rock, the blade and the surrounding ground.

‘That’s how the Ice King got it in the first series,’ he adds. ‘He took one of the people – his name was Mo Xuanyu, I remember. And, uh, well. You know.’

‘But we can use it, too,’ Xue Yang says, who is actually paying attention, for once.

‘Only if we turn against each other,’ Wen Qing says. ‘That’s what they want us to do. Kill someone so that the rest of us can survive.’

There is another pause. Everyone is looking down at the tables, or up at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact. If Wei Ying had to choose someone among their number to die, who would he pick? Jin Zixuan’s Relative is annoying, but not to the extent that he deserves to die. How could they decide, even? Group vote? That would probably be worse than death itself; knowing that your peers have all selected you to die on their behalf.

‘We aren’t doing it,’ Nie Mingjue says. He’s gotten up from his seat to come and take a look at the book, and is turning it over in his hands. ‘If we turn on each other, we don’t deserve to return.’

‘Maybe there’s another way to activate it,’ Nie Huaisang says. ‘Does the book say anything else?’

‘If there is, it’s not written here,’ Wei Ying says.

‘I thought our plan was to fulfil the quest,’ Jin Zixuan says. ‘Surely that includes the sword.’

‘We’d have to kill someone,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘Are you volunteering to be the sacrifice?’

‘Will we be able to beat Archimago without it, though?’ Jin Zixuan is, apparently, the only person who isn’t using the nickname. He probably thinks it’s beneath him.

‘We’ll find a way,’ Jiang Cheng says.

Wei Ying remembers, belatedly, that he hasn’t mentioned the printer note that pointed him towards the sword in the first place. He left it in the Library. On the one hand, revealing that they received a message from their overlords is probably something that he should share. On the other hand, the content of the message would back Jin Zixuan’s theory, and it’s not a theory he’s anxious to support.

‘You said there were animals,’ Jin Zixuan says, now turning on Wei Ying. ‘It may not need to be human blood. We could use one of them.’

‘I don’t think that would work. The book says someone, and the illustration is pretty clear. And it’s like Wen Qing said. It’s not even about the sword, it’s about what they can make us do.’

‘What if someone is dying or dead already?’ Xue Yang suggests. ‘If they’re done for anyway, it’s kind of like, recycling.’

‘It sounds like intent is important,’ Nie Mingjue says, now looking at the page.

‘And we shouldn’t be presuming that some of us will just die anyway,’ Mianmian says. ‘I mean, sure, it may happen – ’ she shifts uncomfortably ‘- but I think it’s a bit fucked to just assume that it will. As soon as we do that, it’s like saying that there’s some mortality rate that we think is okay.’

‘All right,’ Nie Mingjue says, closing the book. ‘We’ll do something else.’

‘There is another problem, though,’ Wei Ying says. It’s always fun to be the one bringing the mood down. ‘The sword is powerful, right? Binding yourself to it is meant to make you stronger.’

‘We can come up with our own strength,’ Wen Ning says.

Wei Ying shakes his head. ‘That’s not what I’m talking about. This isn’t just about us getting or not getting the sword – we’ve got to stop the Ice King from getting it. If we’re assuming that he’s already more powerful than the average snowman, giving him a weapon like that is only going to be bad news.’

There is another pause.

‘Where is the sword?’ Jiang Cheng asks. ‘In his castle, or whatever?’

‘Oh, no,’ Wei Ying reaches out for the book, Nie Mingjue hands it back to him. ‘It has a whole separate hall type thing, halfway up one of the mountains. There’s a small section of map.’ He finds the page, and tilts it so that Lan Zhan can see. He probably should have told Lan Zhan about the map earlier, so that he could compare it to his own sketches. Maybe they could figure out where it is in the mountains.

‘Does it have to be at a specific time?’ Jiang Cheng wants to know. ‘A full moon, or something.’

‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there is no moon here,’ Wei Ying says. It’s only when the words leave his mouth, and ripple through the group, that he realises most of them don’t know. He and Lan Zhan are the only ones who have been out at night – that he knows of, anyway. Xue Yang is probably doing whatever he likes. ‘But no, the book doesn’t specify a time.’

‘Could we just stay here?’ Nie Huaisang asks – and then immediately looks like he regrets it, as everyone turns to look at him. ‘If it needs blood, then it needs one of us, right? The Ice King doesn’t have any blood. They want to lure us in with the temptation of taking the sword, but if we don’t go, he can’t sacrifice one of us and the sword stays in the rock.’

‘That’s not an awful plan,’ Wei Ying says, at the same time as Nie Mingjue’s, ‘So that’s your strategy? Sit and hope for the best?’

Chastened, Nie Huaisang drops his gaze.

‘It’s better than any other idea we have,’ Wen Qing says, with a sharp look across her table at Jin Zixuan.

‘We can prepare other ways of fighting,’ Jiang Cheng agrees, very quickly.

‘Fine,’ Nie Mingjue says. ‘We’ll stay – but do we know where the sword cave is, for reference?’

‘Um,’ Wei Ying says. ‘Maybe? Me and Lan Zhan can probably figure it out.’

‘We need to do further reconnaissance,’ Lan Zhan says, addressing Nie Mingjue directly and ignoring Wei Ying. ‘To continue charting our surroundings.’

Wei Ying’s gaze snaps over to him. He’d been under the impression that Lan Zhan hated almost everything about their cave exploits and yet here he is, suggesting a reprise.

‘Agreed,’ Nie Mingjue nods, and then looks at Wei Ying. ‘He’s staying behind, though.’

Lan Zhan nods, as if it doesn’t mean anything to him. Wei Ying is trying very hard not to take it personally. He’s proven himself to be a liability twice now on explorations. They don’t want him tagging along when there’s serious stuff to do.

He drifts out of focus for the rest of the conversation; they’re just talking formalities now. Eventually things start to wrap up, and he rises – and meets Xue Yang, right in front of him.

‘Can I take a look at that?’ Xue Yang asks, gesturing to the book. There’s a kind of bright manic look in his eyes that Wei Ying doesn’t like in the slightest.

‘Ah, I’d say yes, but I think we need it for the maps,’ he says. He needs to get back to the Library and do something with the printer note before anyone sees it – and, from how interested Xue Yang seemed in ways round performing a blood sacrifice, he’s not sure that he wants to leave the book in his hands, either.

Xue Yang’s expression shifts, very slightly. ‘Later, then,’ he says with a smile, claps Wei Ying on the shoulder and saunters off.

Lan Zhan is still talking to the others. Wei Ying needs to speak with him and make sure that he won’t tell anyone about the sword note. He approaches, and grabs hold of Lan Zhan’s sleeve. Lan Zhan immediately stills, but he does not shake himself loose, either.

‘Hey,’ Wei Ying says, ‘we should probably go and compare the sword cave location to your maps, right? I know you’ve all got important strategy to discuss, but I could really use your help now.’

Lan Zhan pauses. ‘We can continue this later,’ he says, to Nie Mingjue and, because he is the best person that Wei Ying knows, follows him from the canteen without further questions.

‘What is it?’ he asks, once they’re out of earshot. ‘You are not usually this focused on a task.’

‘Okay, yeah,’ Wei Ying laughs, ‘but I did need to talk to you – I feel like maybe we shouldn’t tell anyone about the printer note? Seeing as it’s pointing towards us using the sword, and I think we can agree that it’s a bad idea.’

‘Is that why you were anxious to speak with me?’

‘Yeah – I mean, I didn’t say anything about the note before, so now it’ll look weird if it comes up. So, are we good?’

Lan Zhan hesitates – and nods. ‘I will not lie if asked directly, but I agree it would not be helpful to share.’

Wei Ying exhales. ‘Okay. Good. I’m gonna find it and burn it, or something. Thanks, Lan Zhan.’

They walk the rest of the way in silence. Once back in the Library, Wei Ying reopens the sword book to the page with the map, and hands it to Lan Zhan.

‘All the mountains kind of look the same to me, but you might be able to make something of it.’

‘Mn,’ Lan Zhan says, placing the book next to his own map. ‘If the compass here,’ he indicates the book, ‘is accurate, I may be able to determine how it matches with the skyline we saw.’

‘Oh, neat.’ He looks around for the note and, finding it, crumples it quickly and stuffs it in his pocket. Maybe setting fire to it is a bad idea, but he’ll have to think of some way to prevent anyone else from finding and reading it. ‘Do you need a hand, or are you good?’

‘I am fine,’ Lan Zhan says, but adds, ‘I am sure we could use further details of the sword, even if we are not using it.’

It’s the best invite he’s likely to get. He is about to take the book back when he remembers that Lan Zhan still needs the map page, and hesitates. Lan Zhan, however, calmly tears the relevant pages out, and hands the rest of the book over.

‘Property destruction,’ Wei Ying says, settling back into his chair. ‘I like it.’

Lan Zhan shakes his head slightly, muttering something, and returns his attention to the maps.

 

As promised, Wei Ying stays behind when the next reconnaissance mission heads out. It takes a lot more self-control than he expected. Now that he knows that the rest of the world is out there he’s itching to explore it. The snowmen, presumably, are familiar with the landscape; so the less they know the bigger disadvantage they’re at.

Jiang Cheng stays behind, too. He grumbles on about how it’s because Wei Ying can’t be left unsupervised, but they both know that neither of them are ready to be separated again. In a way it’s kind of nice, having more time around the facility – at least, for as long as he can forget that the mission is happening and he’s not on it.

The moment that realisation sweeps in – as it does periodically every half hour or so – Wei Ying gets restless again. He should be doing something more than cooking and patrolling and laundry, but his chore list is too long to leave any time for further research.

He’s grown to hate the Library, with its pretentious wooden shelves and fake-old books, but he also can’t shake the feeling that there’s something that they’re missing. Somewhere among the lines of waffle-y prose there’s the key to it all, the thing that they’re not seeing. The showrunners clearly want a story of some kind, but how much of its plot has already been planned out? Do they actually have the power to resist things like the sword, or will they find themselves coerced back into going for it somehow?

He’s not going to find any answers today, though. The busy schedule is irritating at first, and then, as he can’t stop himself thinking about the expedition party, he’s glad to have things to do.

He’s nervous about the group in general, of course. Once again Nie Mingjue took the lead, and if anything should happen to him they’re fucked. He’s been the only one out of all of them to have even the vaguest idea of what they should do and the authority to implement it. Plus, if the snowmen get their hands on anyone then they’ve got a sacrifice and can take the sword for themselves.

But the thing that has his stomach flipping over is the fact that Lan Zhan has gone, without him.

As a plan, he can’t fault it. Lan Zhan is the group’s unofficial cartographer, and he wasn’t the one who blundered off on his own. Granted, he did follow Wei Ying, which does suggest something questionable about his judgement, but no one seems to be blaming him for that – perhaps in acknowledgement that Wei Ying would have frozen to death in that cave if not for him.

(Well, probably not. Wei Ying kept the details of their cave-huddling deliberately vague, but it’s not like they did anything that scandalous or even that warming. He probably would have managed okay without Lan Zhan; he just would have been bored out of his mind.)

So, yes, it makes perfect sense that Lan Zhan should still be allowed to go, but that doesn’t mean that Wei Ying can’t hate everything about the decision.

It’s not being dramatic to say that he’s Lan Zhan’s only friend here. He’s the only person Lan Zhan really speaks to, apart from Nie Mingjue, and that’s out of necessity. He’s certainly the only person who hangs out with Lan Zhan, and he’s almost definitely the only person who Lan Zhan will address by name. (And then, not very often, but in a way that makes Wei Ying’s chest constrict a little. Lan Zhan obviously has no idea what effect he’s having, but that seems true of everything he does.)

It just seems wrong that Lan Zhan should go without him. They’re a unit of sorts, now, they’re meant to do stuff together. Wei Ying is the one that people ask if they want to know where Lan Zhan is. He likes to think that the reverse is true.

‘For fuck’s sake, he’s going to be fine,’ Jiang Cheng says, when Wei Ying accidentally turns one of the washing machines on without putting the detergent in. ‘I can’t believe you’re pining this much, it’s disgusting.’

‘I’m not pining,’ Wei Ying informs him, though really he’d struggle to think of a better word to describe his behaviour. ‘I am simply concerned for the wellbeing of my friend, who has embarked on a dangerous and noble mission-’

‘I don’t see you fretting this much about Nie Mingjue.’ Jiang Cheng dumps the last of the clean clothes into a bag and hoists it to his shoulder. It’s really astonishing how much laundry twenty-seven people can produce.

‘Oh, he can take care of himself.’

‘And Lan Zhan can’t?’

‘Absolutely not,’ he says, thinking of the deadly grace with which Lan Zhan had destroyed the snowman in the canteen. ‘He’s helpless without me. You might think that he’s all calm and collected, but it’s an act.’

Jiang Cheng snorts.

‘Anyway,’ Wei Ying says, ‘what about Wen Qing?’

‘What about Wen Qing?’ Jiang Cheng demands, immediate confrontation in his tone.

‘She’s cute. And single, I think.’ Wen Qing hasn’t said anything about a partner, but then she hasn’t actually mentioned anyone from back home. From the way she behaves around her brother, Wei Ying suspects that looking out for Wen Ning is a full-time job. That probably means that she doesn’t have the time or energy to focus on her own dating life – though, to be fair, now that she and her brother are in mortal danger that’s unlikely to change.

‘So?’ Jiang Cheng says.

‘You could talk to her,’ Wei Ying says, knowing it’s a horrible idea even as he suggests it. Jiang Cheng has a lot of good qualities and he can be very polite, but flirting is absolutely not something that comes naturally to him.

‘And say what? Hey, sucks that we all got kidnapped, wanna go for a drink?’ Jiang Cheng shakes his head. ‘Forget about it. Are you going to tell Lan Zhan that you like him?’

Wei Ying can’t control the involuntary glance towards the camera at the top of the laundry room.

‘Oh, shit,’ Jiang Cheng says, realising. ‘I mean, uh, people know I’m joking, right?’

‘It’s okay,’ Wei Ying says. Maybe it is. They’ve been talking round the subject before, so it may not be a shock. And it’s definitely one way of coming out to his stepparents without actually having to confront them. He’s put so much energy into managing his different selves; he’s been out to all of his friends for years and then comes home and pretends to be an upstanding heterosexual member of society. There was a while when he and Yanli were talking about coming out together, but eventually decided that finding out two of his kids were bisexual might be a bit too much for Jiang Fengmian to take in one day.

So maybe it’s a good thing. It’s out of his hands now. He’s spent plenty of time complaining about how coming out is a constant process, to be repeated again and again as it becomes relevant, but never contemplated how the alternative might be worse. Everyone knows, now, including thousands – maybe millions – of people he’s never met. Should he survive the show, people will know this about him before they meet him. They’ll know who he is and how he behaves and the fact that he’s got the world’s most unattainable crush – and now, eventually Lan Zhan will know it too. On the presumption that he, too, has survived – for Wei Ying struggles to imagine an outcome where he makes it and Lan Zhan doesn’t, that’s just unrealistic – someone will tell him.

‘Like you said,’ Wei Ying says, trying to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth. ‘It’s obvious, right?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jiang Cheng says, sounding like he means it. ‘I keep forgetting about the stupid cameras, I didn’t mean to-’

‘Really, it’s okay. I’ve got way bigger problems.’ He remembers the public reaction when people found out that Mo Xuanyu was gay. No one had really liked him all that much anyway, but things got uglier then. He remembers some of the things that were said about him by strangers on the internet and by Mo Xuanyu’s dad, publicly disowning him.

Yu Ziyuan wouldn’t do that, even if she wanted to. She’s far too proud to expose her family in that way And Jiang Fengmian would stop her. Probably.

It’s some kind of distraction from missing Lan Zhan, at least. He and Jiang Cheng hang up the laundry, and then he’s on guard duty with Wen Ning, hanging out in garage and trying not to stare at the spot where the Jeep would be.

They’re going to be fine. It was another day trip, planned, this time in another direction. They checked the weather this morning; the sky was clear. Every precaution that could reasonably be made has been taken. And Lan Zhan is sensible. He’ll be fine, and he’s coming back, his maps rolled carefully under his arm.

Most of the time Wei Ying is able to keep his thoughts under control. Now and then, though, they spiral suddenly and violently and he’s picturing Lan Zhan’s seat empty and Nie Mingjue shaking his head, sadly. Each time the thought feels like a scoop out of Wei Ying’s chest. What will he do all day, if not talking to Lan Zhan, and following him around, and thinking about how their schedules might overlap?

While on guard duty, he gets the idea into his head that he will feel better if he goes to the Library. It’s a stupid room, but it’s where he and Lan Zhan spend the most time, so it will be the next closest thing to being with him. He fixates on it, and when Su She comes to take his place on sentry duty, he can’t get out of there fast enough.

The moment he walks into the Library he knows that he’s wrong. He doesn’t feel Lan Zhan’s presence here so much as the absence of Lan Zhan; silence where there should be the quiet rustle of pages. Wei Ying tries sitting in a chair by the fake fireplace, and then at the table, but it’s no good. It’s like being in someone else’s house without them; all he can feel, overwhelmingly, is how this isn’t his space.

He’s on his way to the kitchen – it’s not his turn to make dinner, but maybe he can help out – when he runs into Jin Zixuan. It takes Wei Ying a moment to register what he’s looking at, only really clocking because Jin Zixuan is still in a snowsuit.

‘You’re back!’ he says, suddenly breathless. ‘Did – did everything go okay?’

Jin Zixuan nods, and walks past him.

All thoughts of dinner forgotten, Wei Ying hurries in the direction of the garage. Jin Zixuan might not like any of them very much, but he would have said if something was seriously amiss.

He reaches the garage, and there’s Lan Zhan, helping Su She secure the door. Wei Ying doesn’t like the way that Su She is looking at his companion at all: naked adoration in his gaze.

He picks up his pace, calling, ‘Lan Zhan!’

The words ring across the garage. Lan Zhan glances up, their eyes locking for a moment. And then – and Wei Ying is only slightly ashamed of his – he runs across the remaining distance to hurl himself at Lan Zhan, who stands there awkwardly, as if unsure how to return the hug.

‘You made it! I mean, of course you did, not that I thought there was any serious risk, but, you know – and it’s been so boring without you here, there’s nothing to do, just laundry and shit – did you see any cool stuff? Were there any more animals?’

Lan Zhan looks at him, the movement oddly stiff. Right, he doesn’t like being touched. Wei Ying releases him and steps back, well aware that everyone else in the room is watching them. Well, the entire world knows he’s gay for Lan Zhan, so what’s the problem? So long as Lan Zhan himself doesn’t feel uncomfortable, there isn’t a problem.

‘There were some birds,’ he says, and his voice also sounds stilted. Maybe he’s tired. It’s been a long day for him. ‘I will show you where, on the map.’

‘Awesome! Did you get a lot done? What was it like?’

‘I will show you,’ Lan Zhan repeats.

‘Did you see any snowmen?’

‘In the distance. We were in the car.’ He does seem tired, but he accompanies Wei Ying back to the Library. There he spreads out his latest sheet of map, showing a gradual, bumpy descent into another valley on the other side of the ridge they’d climbed the other day. Wei Ying drinks in every detail, trying to visualise it from the smooth, elegant lines on the page and Lan Zhan’s own brief descriptions. It’s not quite as good as seeing it himself, but is easily the next best thing.

‘What were the birds like?’ Wei Ying asks, when Lan Zhan has finished.

‘Small, with black heads. Similar to seagulls.’

‘I wonder where they were going. D’you think this whole world is frozen, like this, or does it have other biomes?’

‘Perhaps,’ Lan Zhan says. He does not, Wei Ying notices, criticise the idea that this really is another world.

‘That would be cool to find out. I guess the hope is that we aren’t here long enough to.’

‘Mn.’

‘I wanna come, next time. D’you think staying behind one time is enough to convince everyone I’ve changed my ways? I swear I’ll be sensible. I could even give you a hand! If I go as, like, your assistant, then I won’t be able to wander off.’

‘Mn,’ he just says, again.

‘Is that a yes? Can I help? I can carry stuff for you and my memory is quite good. Well,’ he amends, ‘it’s rubbish for like, names and faces and stuff, but I think I’m good at remembering where stuff is.’

Lan Zhan looks at him, a small frown on his face, but he doesn’t say anything. He probably can’t see how Wei Ying would be helpful, which is fair. He’s been managing fine by himself. Surely, though, there’s a part of him that wants Wei Ying there, especially when the alternative is Jin Zixuan.

He even sits with Wei Ying at dinner, and doesn’t leave when the others descend. Jiang Cheng is quiet for once, apparently still in repentance for his earlier slip up. He doesn’t say anything else about it, of course – as though any viewers not tuned in might have missed it, when the first time round any of the details were immediately all over social media – but often looks like he wants to.

Wei Ying is glad, mostly because he’s already felt such a range of different emotions for one day that he’s not sure he could handle any more.

 

It’s another few days before they head out again. Wei Ying is beginning to wonder if anyone has spent more time doing laundry than he is. He tries to tell himself that the plus side is that the livestream probably isn’t showing him, because nobody is going to want to watch a guy fold clothes for the billionth time this week. It’s incredible, really, how many parts of this experience are proving to be mind-numbingly boring.

He does laundry, and patrols, and hangs out with Lan Zhan, and the days slide by. He notices that the sword book has disappeared from the Library, but doesn’t raise the topic. Anyone might have wanted some more info on it; it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Plus the books aren’t his, or even Lan Zhan’s. Just because they spend the most time in the Library doesn’t give them a monopoly on its contents.

There are a few glances exchanged when he volunteers for the next exploration, but as he’s very clear about being Lan Zhan’s assistant no one objects outright. Jiang Cheng isn’t even mean about it; Wei Ying is going to use his guilt for as long as he can.

Nie Mingjue is very keen on the idea of finding out where the Ice King’s stronghold is. They’ll need to attack it eventually in order to get home, and their chance of success is significantly higher if they aren’t blundering in without a clue. Unfortunately from what they can draw together from the books, it sounds like it’s in the heart of the mountains – unreachable by car.

‘We will have to hike eventually,’ Nie Mingjue says, as they prepare to leave. It’s just a small group, again, as many as will fit in the Jeep. Wei Ying has been surprised at how few people are keen to go outside. He would have thought it an attractive option, but most of the group seems to prefer remaining in relative safety.

Today, though, he can’t fault their reluctance. There is a whole horde of snowmen waiting just outside the garage; as soon as the wide door opens they swarm in. From inside the Jeep it’s hard to see what’s happening at first, and then Wei Ying is ashamed to admit that he feels a flicker of hesitation when reaching for the car door. So long as they stay inside it they’re safe, but the same is not true for the people in the garage, and he wrenches the door open.

It’s more snowmen than he’s ever seen in one place before, almost filling the room completely. Mianmian and another girl had been the ones opening the door; they’ve been backed into a corner. Neither of them have weapons. No one thought that they’d need them.

The others pour out of the Jeep, too: Jiang Cheng, nervous but determined; Nie Mingjue, openly furious; Lan Zhan, his face cold but blank.

Wei Ying tries to fight his way through the surrounding snowmen, but there are too many of them. None of them even appear to be paying attention to him – which, given their numbers, might be a good thing.

Nie Mingjue is having slightly more success, his sword cutting a wide arc through the snowmen. He’s halfway across the garage to where Mianmian and the other girl are when the lights go out.

It’s not dark; there’s still plenty of sunlight coming in from the garage door, but the sudden absence of the white fluorescence is jarring. Wei Ying notices other snowmen, over by the garage door controls. They’ve ripped a panel out of the wall and are attacking the wires, tearing at them with their claws. He starts trying to fight his way over to them – and then hears Mianmian scream.

His head whips round. She’s not hurt, but snowmen have grabbed hold of her arms and are dragging her along with them. She’s twisting sharply and violently, desperately trying to break their grip, but to no avail. The other snowmen flock around her, until she is at the centre of the group, and all together they bear her out of the building.

Wei Ying sprints out after them, Jin Zixuan hot on his heels. As soon as he’s outside it’s clear he should have gone for the car, instead, but even then getting the keys and starting the ignition would have wasted precious time, and the snowmen are moving unnaturally fast. Wei Ying runs until his lungs burn, but with the wind in his face and the depth of the snow underfoot he’s easily left behind.

He stops. Mianmian’s shouts are already becoming distant. The snowmen could have killed her the moment they got inside, but they didn’t. They could have killed all of them, they were unprepared and overwhelmed, and they didn’t.

‘She’s alive,’ he says, as Jin Zixuan stops next to him. The crowd of snowmen is already disappearing from view.

‘For now,’ Jin Zixuan says, as though this is somehow Wei Ying’s fault. ‘You said they needed one of us to activate the sword.’

Of course. She’s the sacrifice. Fuck. So much for ignoring the sword. He should have known that they couldn’t have avoided this plotline, that the showrunners would respond to their decision to sit it out with something like this.

He should have told them all about the fucking note, only now it’s too late. There’s no way that they won’t all hate him if he brings it up now.

‘We should go back,’ he says, hollowly. ‘Regroup. Figure out what we’re going to do.’

Jin Zixuan casts him a furious, disgusted look, and turns towards the building. Somehow, his anger makes Wei Ying warm to him a little. Jin Zixuan never seemed to care about very much, but he’s not faking how upset he is now.

They walk back, slowly, to rejoin the grim-faced group in the garage. There’s some argument happening about going after Mianmian immediately in the Jeep. Wei Ying just shakes his head.

‘There’s no point. They move ridiculously fast, we’re not going to keep up even in that. We need a plan.’

More people are coming into the garage, now, looking curiously at the wrecked panels. Jiang Cheng starts to fill them in, but is cut off by a frantic Wen Qing.

‘We’ve lost power in half the building,’ she says, striding across to Nie Mingjue and Lan Zhan. ‘What happened?’

‘A snowman attack,’ Nie Mingjue glowers.

‘Is anyone hurt?’ She turns her head to scan over the group.

‘No. They were here for a hostage.’

‘They took Mianmian,’ Jin Zixuan says, his voice still hurt and haughty.

Wei Ying is staring at the garage floor. He’s seeing Mianmian’s face over and over, that split-second where they realised what was happening. Her absolute terror and the gut-wrenching hopelessness of knowing that they wouldn’t get to her in time.

He almost wishes they’d simply killed her outright. Almost.

‘We have to go after her,’ Jin Zixuan says. So many of them have gathered now that this may as well be a planned group meeting. It’s not as if they can all troop into the canteen with the garage door still open and exposed.

‘Can we fight that many?’ Nie Huaisang asks, a little nervously.

‘We have to try,’ Jin Zixuan answers, his tone suggesting that he can’t believe anyone would be so stupid as to believe otherwise.

‘He’s right,’ Nie Mingjue says. ‘Now that they have one of us, the Ice King has the means to activate the sword. We can’t let that happen.’

‘And we need to save Mianmian,’ Wei Ying says.

‘What’s to say that they aren’t taking her straight to the sword?’ someone asks. ‘She could be dead already.’

It’s a little tactless, but they have a point.

‘They want to lure us in,’ Wei Ying says. ‘This is entertainment, remember.’

Jin Zixuan’s hands are clenched into fists, hanging by his sides. His knuckles have gone white.

‘And they knew you were going out,’ Wen Qing says. ‘Those fucking cameras.’

That makes Wei Ying look up – over to the cameras up in the corners of the room. If the power has gone out, are they still going?

He walks over to the nearest one. It’s quite high up, mounted on the garage wall, but the usual red blinking light has gone out. That would certainly suggest it’s stopped recording, though he wouldn’t put it past the showrunners to lull them into a false sense of security.

‘What are we gonna do?’ Jiang Cheng asks, to the room at large. ‘It’s all very well and good to say we’ve saving Mianmian and stopping the Ice King, but we need a plan. How are we gonna stop him from hurting her and getting his hands on the sword?’

‘One of us could claim the sword,’ Xue Yang says. ‘Then we could use it against him.’

‘We’re saving Mianmian first,’ Jin Zixuan snaps. ‘I don’t give a fuck about the sword. We’re wasting time, we’ve got to go after her.’

‘We should come up with a strategy, though,’ Wei Ying says quickly. Jin Zixuan turns on him and he adds, quickly, ‘Mianmian is the priority, absolutely, but we can’t ignore the fact that by going we’re doing exactly what the Ice King wants. The more of us that are there, the better his chance of snagging one of us as the sacrifice.’

‘What are you suggesting, then?’ Jin Zixuan demands.

Wei Ying hesitates. ‘Is there a way we could destroy it?’

There is a silence. The idea has been rattling round his head for the last ten minutes, now it’s been spoken aloud it sounds ridiculous. It’s the last way he can think of to attempt to resist the showrunner’s imposed narrative. Clearly they’re meant to either fall to the sword’s power or claim it for themselves. He’s willing to bet that they haven’t considered that the contestants might find a third option.

‘We could blow it up,’ Nie Huaisang says. There is a slight pause, as they all turn to look at him.

‘That’s a lot of petrol,’ Nie Mingjue says, frowning. ‘I don’t know that we could spare that much.’

‘I mean with the dynamite,’ he says, and the ensuing silence is even longer than the previous one.

‘The what,’ says Jiang Cheng.

‘There are, uh, explosives, in one of the supply cabinets. It’s kind of hidden away, but it’s labelled.’

‘Dude,’ Wei Ying says. ‘We had dynamite this whole time and you didn’t mention it?’

‘I thought you knew!’ Nie Huaisang squeaks. ‘And I’ve never seen explosives in real life before! I don’t know what to do with them.’

‘Has anyone here handled explosives before?’ Jiang Cheng asks. There is another pause – and Wen Ning of all people raises his hand. Wen Qing smacks it down, but not before they all see.

‘No way,’ Wei Ying says, unable to contain his grin. ‘You?’

‘I was interested in the theory, a while ago, so I did some reading,’ Wen Ning mumbles. ‘It’s all – it’s all theoretical, but I know the basics.’

‘I swear you’re the coolest teenager I’ve ever met,’ Wei Ying says, and Wen Ning looks down bashfully.

‘He’s not going,’ Wen Qing says, immediately.

‘He could tell us what to do,’ Nie Mingjue says, and she relaxes very slightly. ‘Right, that’s the plan, then. Take the truck, we’ll need the space, half of us grab Mianmian, the rest of us set the explosives round the sword and detonate as soon as we’re at a safe range.’

‘We can’t destroy it,’ Xue Yang says, appalled. ‘It’s meant to be really powerful! It could help us!’

‘Unless you’re volunteering to be the blood sacrifice, that’s the only plan we have,’ Nie Mingjue says, in a very final tone of voice. ‘Who’s coming?’

Jin Zixuan’s hand goes up immediately, his usually aloof expression one of determination. Several of the others follow suit: Wei Ying, Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan, Xue Yang and two others whose names Wei Ying can’t remember. Jin Zixuan’s relative – Jin Zixun, Wei Ying keeps forgetting – keeps his hand down until Jin Zixuan glares at him, at which point he raises it, sheepishly.

‘It doesn’t make sense for all of us to go,’ Nie Huaisang says, almost apologetically. ‘Some of us should stay and see if we can get power back.’ His eyes flick nervously from his brother round the group. He’s terrified, which Wei Ying understands. He’d be stupid not to be. What Wei Ying can’t understand, though, is Nie Huiasang’s paralysis. Yeah, heading into a fight of unknown proportions is a horrifying prospect – but the only thing that makes Wei Ying more afraid is the idea of remaining here and doing nothing, not knowing if Mianmian is alive or dead, or if the Ice King has just doubled his power.

‘Okay,’ Wei Ying says, ‘so you show us where the explosives are, and Wen Ning can explain it to us.’

‘We should leave immediately,’ Jin Zixuan insists.

‘Well, yeah, but now that we have a plan, we’ve got to be prepared.’ And then, because he is capable of being nice, and despite his snobbery Jin Zixuan is just worried about his friend, ‘Look, I think she’s going to be okay. I don’t think they’ll do anything to her until we get there. She’s not just the sacrifice, she’s bait.’

Shockingly, that doesn’t seem to soothe Jin Zixuan at all.

 

Wei Ying will admit that his hopes aren’t high when it comes to Wen Ning being able to figure out the explosives. Whatever online research he’s done it seems unlikely that it will match up in any tangible sense to actual, real-life dynamite. He hadn’t counted on the fact that whoever provided the explosives wanted them to be easy to use, so that the contestants would have a realistic chance of detonating them.

Even though Jin Zixuan has been hurrying them along, it barely seems any time at all until they’re piling into the truck. As usual, Nie Mingjue is driving with Lan Zhan as navigator. There’s space for three people in the cab and Wei Ying had thought about offering to continue as Lan Zhan’s assistant, but sees Jiang Cheng’s warning glance and, for once, decides to heed it.

The rest of them pile into the back of the truck, where there are two rows of seats running down each side, facing each other. There are no windows; they’re sheltered by a reinforced canvas covering. Everyone is going armed; Wei Ying chose the same shortsword he took on that second ill-fated expedition. He’s quite fond of it, now.

They drive. Without any way of seeing outside, he quickly loses his bearings as to the direction they’re heading in. He’s not the only one to have that thought.

‘Are we sure we’re going the right way?’ Jin Zixun asks, about half an hour in.

‘Of course we are,’ Wei Ying says, immediately. ‘Lan Zhan knows what he’s doing.’

‘Right, because of his maps,’ Jin Zixun says, as if that were somehow unreasonable. ‘He always acts like he’s so much better than us.’

That’s because he is, Wei Ying nobly refrains from saying. It’s true, though. Lan Zhan might not be super talkative, but he’s just…good, in a way that does something strange to Wei Ying’s insides. It’s not just that he’s attracted to him – they are well past that stage – but he’s simultaneously desperate to bring Lan Zhan down to earth, down to his level, and terrified at the very idea. Lan Zhan ought not to be corrupted.

A quote slides into his head, from when he did Madame Bovary in a World Lit class a couple of years ago. Never touch your idols; the gilding will stick to your fingers. It is sensible, sound advice. Unfortunately he wants nothing more than to touch his idol. He wants to peel that gilding back and see if there’s gold underneath.

‘What’s your problem?’ he says, aloud. ‘Can you draw maps? Have you even been outside before?’

Jin Zixun glowers, but does not respond.

Wei Ying leans against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder and contemplates having a nap. He ought to have claimed that third seat in the cab; he could have leant against Lan Zhan then.

Lan Zhan let him do it, back in the cave. Maybe because he didn’t want to freeze to death, or because he needed the human contact, surrounded by nothingness as they were. It’s funny to think of Lan Zhan as someone who might need other people. He probably doesn’t. He’s been self-sufficient since day one, self-contained and perfectly content spending time in his own company. That is probably how he lived his life before the show. Wei Ying can imagine Lan Zhan alone in a perfectly organised apartment, nothing out of place. Oh, but then there is the imaginary girlfriend: equally tall and beautiful and refined. She would fit right into that space without cluttering it up. Wei Ying has irrationally strong feelings about this phantom girl.

He closes his eyes, trying to let the rhythm of the vehicle send him to sleep. Instead, he finds himself thinking of the sword, and the illustration of the sacrifice, and of Mo Xuanyu’s blood freezing where it touched the ice. The explosives are securely packed in the middle of the truck, Wen Ning has assured them that they won’t go off without the correct detonator.

This plan is going to work. It has to work. Even if the explosion triggers an avalanche that kills them all, that might take out the Ice King too and between them Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang can lead the remaining group to victory.

The drive is stressful for the first hour or so, and then he just starts to get bored. There’s nothing to do but sit there. No one is really in the mood to make conversation, and he’s not particularly keen to hear Jin Zixun’s hot takes either. He has the idea of opening up the flaps at the back so they can see the landscape speeding past, but that might make them vulnerable to a snowman attack.

It’s starting to feel like they have always been in this truck and will always be there, held in unchanging stasis – so that when the vehicle finally stops, he can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach.

He gets up slowly, stretching his stiff legs, and they disembark. It’s darker than he expected outside the truck – but then everything that’s happened today has taken a fair bit of time, so it shouldn’t really be surprising. The landscape is wilder, too. They’re much further into the mountains than he’s been before.

‘We’ll hike from here,’ Nie Mingjue says, hopping down from the cab and locking it behind him. ‘We’ve got torches, but let’s see how we get on without them. Probably best if we don’t broadcast our location the whole way up.’

Wei Ying sidles up to Lan Zhan. ‘Did you miss me? It was so boring back there, you couldn’t see anything. At least you guys had a view.’

‘Mn.’ Lan Zhan glances at him, but only briefly.

‘I gotta say,’ he continues, as they gather their things and start the trek, ‘I did not think that being on Iceolation would involve this much hiking.’

‘What, cause if you’d known you never would have applied for it?’ Jiang Cheng snorts.

‘Duh. This whole thing is such an oversight on my agent’s part. I’m gonna be having Words when we get back.’

‘You’d be a terrible celebrity,’ his brother tells him cheerfully. ‘You’d get cancelled immediately.’

‘If you think about it, we’re all celebrities. People are making gifsets of us hiking at this very moment.’ He’s about to elaborate further on how he is definitely an audience favourite when Lan Zhan turns around.

‘Be quiet. Voices carry.’

He pouts, but shuts up. It’s not long before he wouldn’t be able to talk anyway, but has to focus on the climb. The light is fading fast; he’s glad he’s not at the front because he wouldn’t have a clue where he’s going. It’s the most he can do to follow the silhouette of Jin Zixuan in front of him, hold onto his shortsword and not think about the possibilities of how this could go wrong.

He should have told Jiang Cheng to stay behind. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have wanted to, he’s always furious whenever he feels left out of something, but this shit is dangerous. But then, it’s not like the others aren’t exposed, back at the building. They’ve got the power outage to deal with. At least here he can keep an eye on Jiang Cheng.

His thoughts go from there to Mianmian. She’s still alive. She must be, but she is also alone, and probably terrified. Does she think they’re coming for her? She has to – but then, were he in her place, he wouldn’t be certain. He’d know that Jiang Cheng would want to, but if the others would let him is another matter. And Lan Zhan –

Lan Zhan would want to. Not necessarily even out of any personal attachment, but because it’s the right thing to do and therefore he’d be incapable of doing otherwise.

Wei Ying digs his feet in as he scrambles up a steep section, careful not to lose his grip. They could really use those pole things that people take hiking: inconsiderate of the showrunners not to provide. How much decent footage are they even getting, now that the light is fading? Maybe they have thermal cameras, or infrared. Maybe there’s some kind of drama happening back at the building and they’re showing that instead.

They climb for an hour or so, stopping every twenty minutes to catch their breath. Finally they come to a wide, shallow cave, big enough to fit them all, and Lan Zhan calls a halt.

‘We can’t stop,’ Jin Zixuan says. He’s been struggling slightly during the climb; he has the look of someone who goes to the gym to show off, but doesn’t actually do that many physically demanding activities.

‘It’s too dark to find our way now,’ Lan Zhan says, calmly. ‘And we need to rest.’

‘They could be killing Mianmian now!’

‘If they wanted it over with, she’s dead already,’ Nie Mingjue says, bluntly. ‘If they’re waiting for us, a few hours won’t make a difference.’

Jin Zixuan opens his mouth to argue further, but Lan Zhan cuts him off. ‘It is too dangerous to continue in these conditions.’

‘What about torches? We have those!’

Instead of answering, Lan Zhan switches his torch on. Though its beam is bright, it’s also very narrow. With how rough the climb has become, Wei Ying doesn’t fancy his chances relying on one of those.

‘At the very least, we risk losing our way,’ Lan Zhan continues, still calm. ‘If we are less fortunate, we may have an accident.’

‘We all want to help her,’ Wei Ying adds, because apparently it’s his job to reassure Jin Zixuan about things. ‘None of us would have come all this way if we didn’t. But we gotta be smart about this.’

Jin Zixuan doesn’t argue further, but he presses his lips together and goes off on his own to the other end of the cave, his cousin trailing in his wake.

Nie Mingjue hands out rations – he’d had the foresight to bring a stash of energy bars – and the rest of them mill around, trying to get comfortable. Wei Ying makes an inspection of the cave, and then goes to join Lan Zhan, who is sat keeping watch at the entrance.

‘It’s not nearly as cosy as our cave,’ he says, sitting down too. Behind them the others have turned one torch on; the curve of the cave wall shields the light from the rest of the mountainside. Ahead of them is just empty blackness. It’s properly dark here, unlike on the plain. If it weren’t for the wind, they wouldn’t be able to tell how high up they are.

‘Mn.’

‘You’ve done really well with the maps! To think, if we didn’t have you we’d probably spend days blundering around the mountains. Mianmian probably would freeze to death before we found her.’

‘They…’ Lan Zhan hesitates. ‘They are approximations. I am perhaps ninety percent sure of our success.’

‘Well, they’re better odds than anyone else could give us.’

‘Wei Ying!’ Jiang Cheng is calling him.

He twists around to face the rest of the cave. ‘What?’

‘You going to sleep, or what? You kept trying to nap in the car; are you telling me you’re not tired now?’ Jiang Cheng has found himself part of the cave to curl up in. It doesn’t look very comfortable, but none of it does. The only person to be properly settled is Nie Mingjue, who, inexplicably, is already snoring softly in the middle of the cave floor.

‘In a bit!’ Wei Ying calls back, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the others. ‘I’m keeping Lan Zhan company in case he falls asleep on the watch.’

Jiang Cheng makes an irritated sound, but doesn’t press the point further.

‘You don’t have to,’ Lan Zhan says quietly, after a moment.

‘Yeah, I know, you’re not actually going to fall asleep, but it’s boring by yourself.’

‘I don’t mind,’ he says, but without any force behind the words. He’s not telling Wei Ying to go. After all, they could die tomorrow. Or the day after that. How many Night Befores are they going to end up having here?

‘Do you think our plan is going to work?’ Wei Ying asks, keeping his voice quiet enough that the others won’t hear. Hearing that kind of doubt openly expressed is the last thing that Jin Zixuan needs right now.

‘I think it is the only tenable plan.’

‘It’s my fault. I should have told everyone about the note from the printer. We could have been more prepared.’

‘How?’ Lan Zhan asks.

‘What?’

‘How could we have been more prepared?’

‘I don’t know! If we knew they were going to come after us, we could have been more careful. Had better security.’

‘More careful in what way? How were our previous provisions inadequate?’ Lan Zhan presses, and Wei Ying realises belatedly that he’s trying to cheer him up.

‘I shouldn’t have kept it from everyone,’ he says, anyway. ‘That wasn’t my call.’

‘Perhaps. Your reasoning was sound, however. We don’t know how people would have reacted at being directed towards the sword.’

Wei Ying exhales. ‘Yeah.’ Lan Zhan is right. Lan Zhan is usually right. ‘I feel like I shouldn’t have made that decision on other people’s behalf, though.’

‘The message may have been intended for you, specifically. I have been in and out of there often, gathering paper. I have never received anything, and you were the one to pick up the sword book.’

‘Huh.’ He hadn’t thought of that. ‘Maybe.’

‘Get some rest. We have an uncertain day ahead of us.’

‘You should, too.’

‘Someone must keep a watch. And I am not tired.’

‘Bullshit,’ Wei Ying says, but yawns, which slightly undercuts the accusation. ‘Make sure to swap with someone when you get tired. There’s loads of us, you shouldn’t have to be the one who stays up.’

Lan Zhan nods. ‘Goodnight, Wei Ying.’

‘Goodnight, Lan Zhan,’ he says, and feels in it an echo of a farewell made days ago, back before they knew anything about the world they were in.

 

It’s still dark when Lan Zhan wakes them, but in a greyish haze that suggests the dawn isn’t too far away. Wei Ying hadn’t expected to get any sleep, but it has been a long and emotional day, and Jiang Cheng’s shoulder makes for an adequate pillow.

‘You were supposed to rest,’ he tells Lan Zhan reproachfully, stretching.

‘I am fine,’ Lan Zhan replies, infuriatingly unflappable.

It doesn’t take them long to collect everything. Save for their weapons, assorted torches and the odd coil of rope, the main thing is the explosives, packed into three backpacks.

‘We aren’t far off, now,’ Lan Zhan tells the group at large, once they’re ready to leave. ‘We will need to be quiet. It is safest to assume that the Ice King’s forces are expecting us.’

Nods. Yesterday’s nerves have settled into grim determination. Once again, Wei Ying is impressed by the level of teamwork that they’ve managed to achieve so far. It’s probably a testament to the way that they will all rally behind Nie Mingjue, but he still expected there to be a lot more infighting than this.

Nie Mingjue, Xue Yang and one of the others heft the backpacks holding the explosives up to their shoulders. They decided who would be doing what before they left: half of the group are on sword-destroying duty while Jin Zixuan, Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying and Jin Zixun are on Mianmian duty. Wei Ying is happy with the assignment – he does like Mianmian, and wouldn’t trust the Jins to do a decent job by themselves – but he is slightly sad not to get a chance to see the sword before it’s blown up. He’s spent enough time looking through that goddamn book about it.

They set off. The pace is slow at first, Lan Zhan carefully picking a path up and along the mountainside, compass in hand. It’s getting brighter by the moment; Wei Ying has lost all track of time as well as any sense of when dawn happens in this world.

Just as they’re pausing for breath at the edge of a high, narrow valley, the sun breaks over the horizon, turning the clouds pink and flooding the snow-covered mountains with a soft, rosy glow. It could be a painting. The breath leaves Wei Ying’s chest. It is achingly, unspeakably beautiful, changing the inhospitable landscape into something incredible. He’s never seen anything like it before, and probably will never again.

He looks over to Lan Zhan to say something, but never gets the words out. Lan Zhan, too, is transformed by the early morning light: his face illuminated with that same soft pink, framed by the wisps of dark hair that have escaped his usual bun. It is his expression, however, that is most disarming – open, vulnerable even, his lips slightly parted in momentary wonder. His eyes drift from the mountainside to lock with Wei Ying’s, and for once his expression doesn’t change but remains soft, as though to say, you are seeing this, too.

He is so soft, and so beautiful, and so good, that Wei Ying wants to throw himself off a cliff.

‘All right, yeah, the view’s pretty, but we have to keep moving,’ Nie Mingjue reminds them. ‘We’re not here for sightseeing.’

The moment is over. Lan Zhan looks away, his usual indifference returning to his countenance.

‘No sense of poetry,’ Wei Ying grumbles, but follows Nie Mingjue’s directions.

The last part of the climb is the easiest, even if it involves an awkward scramble over a section of exposed rock. After doing so much of the hike in the dark, it feels like a luxury to be able to see clearly where they’re going. The pink light fades into gold and then fades into the blue brightness of the early morning. Wei Ying wishes briefly that he had a camera before remembering how ridiculous that is when all of this is being recorded.

And then the sword hall comes into view.

It looks both strange and fitting in the gracefully bleak landscape: an elegant structure sticking out the side of one of the wider peaks. The building itself is relatively simple – in fact, it would be unremarkable, were it not attached to a mountain and made entirely of ice.

They really are walking straight into an ambush. Wei Ying keeps his hand closed tightly round the hilt of his shortsword, as if afraid he might drop it.

‘Doesn’t look like much,’ Jiang Cheng remarks.

‘Your mother will be submitting a complaint to the network,’ Wei Ying says, with a smile. ‘Cutting corners with the visual design like this.’

‘Do we know if there’s a back door, or something? Or are we just going to walk in and hope that they don’t cut us down where we stand?’

‘The second one, I think.’

‘Great.’

‘There is only one path up,’ Lan Zhan confirms. Wei Ying hadn’t realised he was listening. ‘We will have to take our chances.’

Mianmian is in there, Wei Ying thinks, keeping his gaze upwards, towards the hall. They’re getting close enough now that it’s starting to disappear from view, obscured by the path ahead. Well, path might be being generous, but it is a track of sorts, and for that he’s grateful. Hiking is one thing; outright mountain climbing is quite another.

Mianmian is in there, alone and terrified, and will become a human sacrifice if they don’t get there first. It’s the only thought that keeps his legs moving, when every other part of his body wants to flee in the opposite direction. It was one thing to decide to go when the plan was entirely theoretical: now they are actually here.

He keeps his eyes fixed on the back of Lan Zhan’s head, and does his best to squash the sense of dread that’s increasing the further up the mountain they get.

They reach the building before he’s had time to prepare himself – but then, there probably is no amount of time that would allow him to do that. The sword hall is not at the top of the peak, but perches at one end of a large flat shelf: a low, square building with sloping roofs. From the shape Wei Ying would guess it has a courtyard in the centre. Half of it rests on the mountain, the rest juts out terrifyingly over the cliff.

Nie Mingjue looks for a moment like he’s going to give a pep talk, but he merely pauses to adjust his backpack and continues on, leading the way up to the doors.

They aren’t locked, swinging open at his touch. They, too, are solid blocks of ice. If he had more time, Wei Ying would be very interested in how the ice hinges are made, but right now he doesn’t have the luxury of making that investigation.

The first chamber is empty, with corridors leading off on either side and another set of doors straight ahead. It doesn’t feel like a real structure but an imitation of one; the ice walls are bare and windowless and there’s no furniture of any kind. It could be a doll’s house, Wei Ying thinks, or a paper architect’s model.

Those on dynamite duty – Nie Mingjue, Lan Zhan, Xue Yang and the two others, head for the doors immediately ahead of them. The book said nothing about where the sword was kept, but it makes sense to go for the centre first.

Wei Ying pauses for a second, looking after them. He wants to say something to Lan Zhan – see ya, or good luck, or anything that would convey his well wishes without revealing quite how fast his heart is beating in his chest – but nothing reaches his lips in time and Lan Zhan doesn’t look back.

‘Come on,’ Jin Zixuan says. There’s nothing to distinguish the corridors on either side of them; he goes right and the others follow. Even though they’ve spent the whole journey keeping an eye out for snowmen, now that they’re inside the danger feels fresh and immediate. Wei Ying is expecting them to leap out at any minute – so, as they go through room after empty room and round the corner without encountering any, he can’t help but feel that something is wrong.

Maybe Mianmian isn’t here. There could be some other plot that the showrunners had in mind; maybe this isn’t about the sword at all. Perhaps this building is entirely empty: just the icy white walls and nothing else. The thought makes him more anxious than the nerves had.

From Jin Zixuan’s tight expression, Wei Ying isn’t the only one with doubts. It’s almost a relief when they enter the next room and come face to face with two snowmen.

It’s over quickly; by now they’re so jittery that the adrenaline rush is a relief. Jiang Cheng immediately hits out at the first one, delivering a heavy slash to its torso, while Jin Zixuan neatly decapitates the other. The first snowman, apparently unaffected by its injury, makes a swipe at them, Wei Ying sticks his sword straight through its chest and it, too, dissolves into a pile of snow.

He lets out a breath. That, at least, seems to suggest that they’re in the right place. Jin Zixuan is already moving forward again, opening the door to the next room – and stopping still for a moment in the doorway.

Mianmian is dead. That’s the immediate thought, racing into Wei Ying’s mind. Then Jin Zixuan rushes forward with a muffled cry, and the rest of them are able to catch up.

There’s Mianmian, a small, cold, figure huddled against the rear wall. There are no other guards or restraints – but nor are any necessary, when she’s up a mountain with no way home. And she’s only in a jumpsuit; Wei Ying had forgotten that she wasn’t a part of the expedition crew. Fuck, she must be freezing.

Jin Zixuan kneels down beside her. He almost looks more scared than he did when she was first taken.

‘Hey,’ he says, reaching out tentatively to touch her, his hand hovering uncertainly in mid-air without making contact.

Mianmian raises her head, but slowly. She’s shivering quite violently and her lips are blue.

They should have prepared for this, Wei Ying thinks. They’ve been so focused on the sword that they forgot to bring anything warm, any additional clothes, even. Jin Zixuan seems afraid to touch her; Wei Ying kneels down next to him and, pulling his gloves off, takes one of Mianmian’s hands and presses it between his, trying to transfer some of his body heat to her frozen fingers.

She jerks away, pulling out of his reach. ‘Don’t – be careful,’ she mumbles, and, pushing up one sleeve slightly, reveals what he thinks for a moment are long scars up her arm, and realises a second later are ice burns, similar to Xue Yang’s. That must have been from where the snowmen grabbed her.

‘Okay,’ Wei Ying says, trying very hard not to show how horrified he feels, ‘I’ll just touch your hand, all right? I’ll be careful.’

She nods, slowly, and lets him take it back. Jiang Cheng, leaning down on her other side, takes his other hand. She smiles slightly.

‘You guys,’ she says, her voice achingly quiet. ‘You came.’

‘Well, duh,’ Wei Ying says, as if he hadn’t mentally traced the same thought process. ‘Great team we’d be if we just abandoned people to get murdered.’

‘The sword,’ she says suddenly, remembering. ‘The one we were talking about, it’s here –’

‘We know.’ There’s the sound of a zip behind him; Wei Ying looks over his shoulder to see Jin Zixuan has stepped backwards to take his snowsuit off. ‘We’ve come to destroy it; we’ve got dynamite.’

Her eyes widen, though it’s unclear whether the reaction is to that news or the sight of Jin Zixuan unsuccessfully trying to extricate one leg and tripping over. On the second attempt, he frees the foot and brings the snowsuit over.

‘Here,’ he says. ‘It should be warm inside.’

‘You’ll freeze,’ Mianmian objects, but allows Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng to lift her up.

‘You’re already frozen,’ Jin Zixuan says, with that same obstinate look he gets when things aren’t going his way.

No one has any better ideas, so they bundle Mianmian into the snowsuit. She’s still shaking and her hands are too cold to do up the zips, but it feels like the right thing to do. Wei Ying gives her his gloves – Jin Zixuan isn’t the only one who can be noble – and she smiles weakly.

‘We should find the others,’ Jiang Cheng says, glancing around the room. It has two doors: the one they came through, and one to the left.

‘Back the same way?’ Wei Ying asks. There are no objections, so he heads over to it, Jiang Cheng just behind him and Mianmian supported by Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun.

Wei Ying opens the door, and comes face-to-face with ten snowmen.

‘The other door!’ he cries, slamming it shut and throwing his weight against it. None of the doors have handles or locks and there’s nothing to barricade it with. Jiang Cheng joins him, putting his shoulder against it, until the others have made it through the second door off to the left. Then, at Wei Ying’s nod, they give up trying to hold it shut and sprint after their friends.

That door leads out into a courtyard; they spill through it, bumping into each other. The other half of the group is there too, all crouched around something in the centre.

‘Hey!’ Jiang Cheng calls. ‘We’ve got company!’

Wei Ying is about to make fun of him for using such a cliché phrase, but just then Nie Mingjue moves a couple feet, and he sees the sword.

It’s beautiful. It’s many other things, too – horrifying, eerie, brutal – but also so, so beautiful that he can’t take his eyes off it. The illustrations hadn’t done it justice: the wide, heavy blade reflecting its icy surroundings, the crossguard formed of ornate metalwork. The weapons from the facility seem childish in comparison, nothing but weightless toys. And, like in the illustration, it is half submerged – not in a rock, but in a block of ice. Waiting for the sacrifice.

Wei Ying has taken three steps towards it before he realises what he’s doing and stops, blinking. The sword has a magnetic pull to it; he wants to be close to it, wants to –

The door behind him swings open and snowmen pour out. Mianmian lets out a cry; Jin Zixuan pulls her backwards with him. Nie Mingjue and Xue Yang have both finished with the explosives, they leave Lan Zhan to check them over and come forward, weapons at the ready.

Wei Ying raises his own sword. He’s never tried fighting a snowman on open ground like this – the one he stabbed five minutes ago was the first time he’s actually come close enough to one to exchange blows, and then he was reacting on panicked instinct. The fight in the garage was barely a fight; they weren’t interested in him, then. There’s no time to be afraid, though, because the snowmen are advancing and if Lan Zhan needs another minute to set the charges, he must get it.

Wei Ying doesn’t register the fight beginning: one minute they are standing there, the two lines sizing each other up, the next it is chaos on all sides. He stands still for a second, aware of the carnage around him but not seeing anything he can directly engage with, and then all of a sudden there is a snowman right in front of him and he swings out wildly with no plan of attack beyond a simple, desperate desire to defend himself.

He’s lucky. The short blade catches the snowman in the shoulder; he twists it downwards and succeeds in ripping through its body, dissolving it. There’s a yell off to his left; he turns in time to see Jiang Cheng attempt to dodge a slash from another snowman’s claws. He’s less fortunate; they still connect, creating wide gashes in the snowsuit – but there’s no blood, they haven’t connected any deeper.

Wei Ying runs over to help, the snowman twists around to face him, and Jiang Cheng stabs it in the back.

‘You good?’ Wei Ying checks.

‘I had it under control,’ Jiang Cheng insists, with only a slight scowl.

‘He’s done! We can go!’ Jin Zixun shouts, waving wildly at Lan Zhan – who, sure enough, has risen and is nodding. He doesn’t have a sword, but he’s got a knife as long as his forearm – which, knowing Lan Zhan, will be enough. In his other hand he holds something that Wei Ying assumes is the detonator. A snowman makes a charge at him but never gets there; Xue Yang’s axe lands in its back and it dissipates on the spot.

The plan is working. They just have to get outside and far enough away to hit the button and the sword will be history. Wei Ying refuses to let himself be properly hopeful until they’ve done it and it’s over but the end is in sight now, after all the things that could have gone wrong –

The main doors off the entrance chamber swing wide, and the Ice King walks in, flanked by yet more snowmen.

There’s no question that it’s him. Whereas the snowmen are around human height and size, he must be a good eight feet tall with a broad, sinewy build that suggests muscles he can’t physically have. His face is relatively simple, rendered in bold planes, he has the same burning blue eyes, and there is a jagged crown of frost resting atop his head. He’s clearly a creature of ice, not snow; his body has a glassy look to it, and just visible in the centre of his chest is a pulsating, blue glow.

The heartstone. That’s what they need to open the portal home. Wei Ying stares at it, and then at the Ice King’s face, and sees the rest of their plan rapidly sliding away from them. They are all going to die here, he thinks dizzily. At this very moment Yanli is anxiously glued to the television and she is going to lose both of her siblings.

The Ice King doesn’t attack immediately. He just stands there, as if aware of the impact that his very presence has. Is he sentient? The snowmen don’t look like they are, they behave like predators but not particularly clever ones, but maybe he is. What is he thinking? Is he the same creature that appeared in the first series, or did they make him afresh?

Nie Mingjue lets out a roar, and attacks the nearest snowman. The chaos descends again immediately, drawing Wei Ying in so thoroughly that for a moment he forgets the Ice King. His whole focus is on the snowman in front of him, distracting the one going after Jiang Cheng, having Jiang Cheng come to his side when he trips. They stand almost back-to-back for a few heartbeats, Jiang Cheng desperately trying to remember everything he’s been taught about fighting, Wei Ying wildly following his instincts.

They’re losing. It’s not hard to see that, even when he dodges out of the way and finds him stepping over a body. He sees long black hair and his stomach lurches, but it’s not Lan Zhan, it’s one of the others in the dynamite team. At some later point he’s going to feel very bad about the number of names he’s managed to learn, but for now he can only step over the fallen girl and keep going.

And then the Ice King steps into the fight. To give full credit to Nie Mingjue, he has done an excellent job of cutting down the snowmen in his path and forcing the Ice King into the fray. Now that he has, though, it’s clear how one-sided the contest is. Nie Mingjue’s skill and experience are undeniable, but he’s spent the better part of the last twelve hours hiking up a mountain and it shows.

The duel is something to behold. The Ice King doesn’t have a weapon, but he’s got those long, powerful claws, and he parries Nie Mingjue’s blows with ease, backing him down towards the sword. The blade in Nie Mingjue’s hands seems pitifully small in comparison to the one behind him. Wei Ying cannot help feeling a pang that, whatever happens, Nie Mingjue will never get to wield the sword that’s in the ice, even though he was clearly born to do it.

Not everyone feels the same. Xue Yang, having sliced a snowman in half, makes a break for the ice sword, grabbing it with one hand and attempting to pull it free. Not only is he unsuccessful – the sword doesn’t move – but he lets go almost immediately, cradling his gloved hand and howling in pain.

Wei Ying doesn’t get a chance to see what’s happened; another snowman comes at him and he backs behind a pillar, almost running into Lan Zhan, who has a cut across one cheek but is still holding the detonator. Wei Ying’s eyes drop to it, then lock onto Lan Zhan’s.

‘We could –’ he says, and doesn’t finish. If they detonated it now, while still in range, would the blast kill them outright? Not that it would matter; the explosion would doubtless dislodge the whole building from the mountain and they’d plunge to their deaths anyway. But if the alternative is giving up the sword … Wei Ying isn’t sure that he’s ready to die for anything, much less take Jiang Cheng out at the same time, but if this is the only way that they can protect the others and prevent a repeat of Series One –

Lan Zhan nods.

Wei Ying swallows. There are still so many things about Lan Zhan that he wants to know and will never find out.

‘Fuck!’ the voice is Jiang Cheng’s. Wei Ying whips his head round. The snowmen have found the explosives and are pulling them away from the sword, just as the Ice King catches Nie Mingjue on the shoulder and sends him flying backwards through the air, landing heavily a few feet away.

‘Lan Zhan!’ Wei Ying cries, but it’s too late, the snowmen are hurling the dynamite up onto the roofs. Of course they would have superhuman throwing strength. There’s just one set of explosives remaining, the Ice King stoops to pick it up. Ice flows from his hand, coating it, until Wei Ying is certain that any detonation wouldn’t do anything.

So much for that plan, then. Nie Mingjue hasn’t given up, though. Still winded, he’d taken a moment or so to rise, and then, grabbing his sword, he charges at the Ice King.

It is the single bravest and most stupid thing Wei Ying has ever seen. Nie Mingjue succeeds in drawing the Ice King away from the sword, but in doing so loses his footing. It’s only for a second or two, but it’s enough, and the Ice King’s claws flash out, long and sharp, and suddenly Nie Mingjue’s head isn’t connected to his body anymore.

Someone screams. It has all happened too fast for Wei Ying to process. He’s seen people die - they all have, now - but never somebody that he knew before, someone he knows well, whose judgement he trusts, whose leadership he’ll follow. Nie Mingjue can’t be dead, he, out of all of them, is clearly the strongest – and yet his body is collapsed in a pool of blood and his head is lying a few feet away, an expression of slight surprise frozen in place.

The Ice King turns, slowly, surveying the rest of them. Wei Ying has never been more afraid of something in his life. It doesn’t matter how long they’re able to hold the snowmen off. As soon as the Ice King gets to them that’s it.

He makes eye contact with Jiang Cheng, thirty feet away on the other side of the courtyard, the same naked terror on his brother’s face. Wei Ying can’t protect him, can’t stop the inevitable. He doesn’t even feel sick anymore, just a blank, desperate fear.

There is a flash of grey to his left; Lan Zhan has left the shelter of the pillar and re-emerged. He’s dropped the detonator, but still holds the knife, and is staring the Ice King down. Fuck. There’s no question that out of those that are left, Lan Zhan is the only other one with any real martial arts experience – but he still doesn’t stand a chance. The Ice King will cut him down, will kill them all, until only one person is left and he can perform the sacrifice uninterrupted.

Wei Ying’s eyes snap to the sword, still in the centre of the courtyard. Maybe it’s calling to him, still, or it’s just the effects of adrenaline in his panicked brain, but he can see the book pages swimming before him. For the blade to be freed and bound to the one that would wield it, someone must be given to it by way of sacrifice. Anyone who is dead already doesn’t count. Even if he could bring himself to douse it in Nie Mingjue’s blood it would still react the way it had when Xue Yang tried to claim it.

Someone must be given to it.

Wei Ying thinks, about how blood magic might work and about Mo Xuanyu, who didn’t get a choice in the matter. It is the giving that is the important part; the blood must be for the sword.

You must give it someone.

He’s still got his shortsword. Without giving himself time to stop and overthink what he’s doing, he raises one hand and draws it across one palm, until a line of blood wells up and runs over his fingers. He’s always hated it in movies when people cut open their palms to get blood for something – it’s such a stupid place to do it, there are so many nerve endings there that will protest every time you move it. Now, though, it doesn’t hurt that much; the sharp sting drowned out by the acrid fear in his mouth and the frantic drumming of his heartbeat.  

For once, none of the snowmen are paying him any attention. Keeping his bleeding hand close to his body, he darts out into the open, into the middle of the courtyard to where the sword is. He allows himself a second of hesitation, then, dropping his shortsword, he closes his bloodied fingers around the grip of the weapon in the ice.    

You wanted blood, here it is, he thinks savagely, pressing the wound as tightly as he can to the metal, willing the sword to take it, take him. Nowhere in the book said the sacrifice could not be the bearer; or that giving yourself to the sword could be the same as binding yourself to it.

For a moment the metal remains icy cold under his touch, and he wonders if he is just Mo Xuanyu all over again – and then he feels it, the tug of the sword taking the blood from him, more and more, soaking into the metal and vanishing. He couldn’t take his hand back now if he wanted to; he’s glued to it. Then a jolt of cold energy runs through his body, making his hair stand on end. It feels like there is ice flooding his veins, replacing the blood, and he is colder than he has ever been in his life – and then the rush of power hits, and he is not cold at all.

Suddenly calm, Wei Ying lifts the sword cleanly out of the ice. It is bigger than any weapon he’s held before, yet feels perfectly balanced, as though designed for his hand. It seems entirely natural – an extension of his hand, one that was always meant to end up here. The sword is his, or the other way round, he belongs to it.

‘Wei Ying.’

He looks up. Lan Zhan is staring at him. Jiang Cheng is staring at him. Fuck, even the Ice King is staring at him – and, though his blank face betrays no expression, that he has paused to watch indicates that Wei Ying has well and truly got his attention.

Wei Ying isn’t afraid of him anymore, not with the sword’s energy thrumming through him and blood pounding in his ears. The sword is his; it will do whatever he wishes. One foolish snowman tries to make an attack and he does not have to think before moving. It is as if the sword knows what to do by itself, cutting through the snowman more elegantly than Wei Ying could ever have done by himself.

The Ice King is just standing there and the sword is hungry. Wei Ying starts forward and even gets one good swing in before the snowmen begin retreating en masse. Even the Ice King is moving away, slowly at first and then striding with greater haste. He doesn’t run – villains never do – but his legs are long enough to make a decent pace.

For a second, Wei Ying considers chasing after them. He could cut them all down, take the heartstone and they’d be free. He takes another step forward and the surge of power from the sword suddenly recedes, leaving him dizzy. He sways, the point of the sword drifting downwards, till it hits the ice and he can lean on it.

‘Wei Ying.’ Lan Zhan is at his elbow, frowning in unexpected concern.

Wei Ying looks at him blearily, and then down at the hand still clutching the sword. He opens it, exposing the still bleeding cut in his palm. It’s deeper than he remembers, as if contact with the sword has caused it to grow, opening his body up to the metal. He can’t exactly complain. That was the deal, after all.

‘Hey, Lan Zhan,’ he says, and promptly collapses.

 

His memories of getting back to the truck are vague at best. He must have been out for most of it, as it’s not a short journey and he only remembers flashes. Someone is carrying him, slung over their shoulder in a fireman’s lift, and no one can get him to let go of the sword.

It is not taking his blood anymore, at least. The wound is not healing, but now the blood is running down the blade and dripping into the snow, leaving a crimson trail of dots behind them. Best hope there aren’t any predators in these mountains.

Sometimes he can hear talking, but not make out what anyone is saying. At one point he becomes very worried that they have left Mianmian behind – or perhaps she, too, has collapsed – but then catches sight of her when they reach the truck, still wrapped in Jin Zixuan’s snowsuit.

It’s only then, as Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng manoeuvre him carefully into a seat in the back, that he realises how much the group has shrunk. He is the only one who has been carried; they must have left the bodies in the sword hall – Nie Mingjue and the two whose names he can’t remember, or perhaps never knew to begin with. He manages to catch a burst of conversation about who will drive them back: the task falls to Jin Zixuan.

Then the truck is moving, and his head has come to rest on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, who for some reason is sitting next to him. Lan Zhan’s snowsuit is also covered in blood, but he doesn’t seem hurt. He must have been the one who carried Wei Ying down the mountain. Maybe Jiang Cheng wasn’t strong enough, but, still, that was nice of him. And his snowsuit is already stained, so Wei Ying leans on him without worrying about messing it up further.

His eyes slide shut of their own accord, lulled by the steady sound of the truck’s engine. He has the sword, and Lan Zhan is there, and Jiang Cheng is around somewhere, so he is okay. They did it; they rescued Mianmian, and the Ice King didn’t get the sword, and –

And, someone is going to have to tell Nie Huaisang what happened to his brother.

Notes:

The birds that Lan Zhan sees are Arctic terns, if anyone is interested. And the sword is not Baxia, but is similar in a lot of ways and if you want a visual reference, it's more or less Baxia.

Apologies for the long breaks between parts! This is probably gonna be the longest fic I've ever written, and I'm also unused to writing in such long chapters. While it's great in that it enables a lot of planning (and actual deliberate foreshadowing) it does mean the wait between parts is a while.

For fic updates, the odd concept sketch (and lots of irrelevant blogging about other things) you can find me on tumblr!

And if you enjoyed this chapter, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter 3: iii. hang no more about me. i am no gibbet for you.

Summary:

Lan Zhan says nothing, his face impassive. Wei Ying hates it, hates him, for being the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

‘Why did you follow me?’ he demands. His voice is trembling almost as much as his hands. This time he doesn’t keep going, but lets the question hang in the air between them, determined to get an answer.

He wakes in the infirmary, in a narrow bed in the corner of the room. He hadn’t been aware that the infirmary had beds, but it wasn’t like he’d ever spent much time there before. Jiang Cheng is sitting next to him and clearly has been there for a while, if the way he’s dozed off in the chair is any indication. Wei Ying can make out another figure in a jumpsuit moving around in the background and guesses from their short stature that it’s Wen Qing.

‘Hey,’ he says. Despite having only just woken, he’s still exhausted. He moves one hand and realises that it’s clutching onto the sword, which is lying on top of the blanket at his side. His other hand, the one he sliced opened, is covered in white bandaging.

‘Hey!’ Jiang Cheng starts, sitting upright. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fantastic,’ Wei Ying lies. He shuffles, so that he’s sitting upright, the pillow squished awkwardly between his back and the headboard. The sword feels cool but not cold, and looks wildly out of place in the understated, sterile environment of the infirmary.

‘He’s awake!’ Jiang Cheng says, quite unnecessarily, over his shoulder to Wen Qing.

She comes over. Wei Ying can’t help wondering if she and Jiang Cheng have had any Moments, with just the two of them alone in the infirmary. Perhaps, just minutes ago, she was putting a consoling hand on his shoulder, allowing him to lean in to the comfort –

From the look that Wen Qing gives him, though, it doesn’t look like she’s been comforting anyone.

‘You fucked up your hand,’ she says, gesturing to it. ‘The wound was pretty deep, I had to stitch it. You’re going to need to be careful with it.’

‘I thought you were still a student,’ he says, flexing his hand slightly and feeling a sharp jolt of pain.

‘I know how to do stitches,’ she assures him. ‘Plus, there was no way the edges would stay together otherwise, it’s reopen every time you moved.’

‘Thanks,’ he says, meaning it. He certainly wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to do a good job of it. Well, maybe Lan Zhan, but only because Lan Zhan is good at everything.

‘You’re going to want to take it easy for a few days,’ she adds. ‘The blood loss wasn’t too bad, but still. I’ll let the others know you’re awake.’ And she leaves them.

‘It’s only been a day,’ Jiang Cheng says, in answer to Wei Ying’s unspoken question. ‘We got back like, mid-afternoon yesterday?’ His eyes drop to the sword, its huge blade lying innocently. ‘How – how did you know what it wanted?’

‘I don’t know,’ Wei Ying says. ‘It just – I don’t know, it was the only thing I could think of.’

‘Well, it worked.’ Jiang Cheng sounds both admiring and bitter at the same time. ‘None of the rest of us can touch it.’

Wei Ying just looks at him, questioningly.

‘Too cold,’ Jiang Cheng explains. ‘When we were getting you into bed, I tried to take it off you, but as soon as I touched the handle I had to let go, it was gonna burn me otherwise. Xue Yang’s hand is really messed up from when he tried to take it from the ice; it got him through his glove.’

Wei Ying is about to say something else, he can’t remember what, when there’s a noise, and suddenly the infirmary is full of people. He doesn’t recall being this popular before, but the reason for the attention is hardly a mystery. Half of them aren’t even looking at him and those that are only do so in between long, curious looks at the sword.

More of the group is injured than he’d realised. Jin Zixun has an arm in a sling, Xue Yang is cradling his frozen hand and Lan Zhan has a line of steri-strips holding the narrow cut on his face closed.

Maybe the cut hurts to move, but Lan Zhan seems more expressionless than usual. He doesn’t join the crush around Wei Ying’s bed, but hangs back, as if merely making an obligatory appearance.

He is, Wei Ying notices, the only one not looking at the sword.

The others all have the same questions as Jiang Cheng – namely, how the fuck Wei Ying achieved what he did. Another time he’d love being the centre of attention, the whole group hanging on his every word, but now he’s just tired. He locks eyes with Nie Huaisang, who – fuck – looks small and lost without his brother. If the group got back yesterday, someone must have told him. How much detail did they give, Wei Ying wonders. Does Huaisang know that Nie Mingjue was dedicated to protecting them, to the last?

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything, though, because Mianmian has started crying. Awkwardly supported by Jin Zixuan – who, to be fair, looks like he would rather be anywhere else than at Wei Ying’s bedside – she hiccups out an apology for having endangered them.

‘How is it your fault?’ Wei Ying asks, surprised into speech. ‘You weren’t trying to get kidnapped. Come on, cheer up, if anything you should be comforting me.’

She smiles slightly, but doesn’t stop crying.

‘He still hasn’t told us how he did it,’ Jin Zixun complains. ‘I’m just saying, it’s very convenient that the same guy convincing us we shouldn’t go after the sword turns around five minutes later to take it for himself.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Wei Ying says. ‘Would you have preferred being slaughtered?’ He feels bad a second later, when Nie Huaisang lets out a small noise.

‘You could have just told us that it was your plan all along. We wouldn’t have had to fuck around with the dynamite.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Wei Ying says. He’s already tired of the subject. ‘I didn’t know if it would work, okay?’

Jin Zixun opens his mouth to argue further, but Jiang Cheng cuts across him.

‘All right, I think that’s enough. Give him a break, he’s only just woken up. You can talk to him at the meeting later.’ And he glares round at all of them, until they’ve retreated. Sometimes it is wonderful to have a younger brother who’s such a bitch.

Lan Zhan is the last to leave. He looks for a moment like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

‘That guy is weird,’ Jiang Cheng says, as soon as the door closes and they’re alone again. ‘He carried you all the way down to the car and after you’d passed out, from the car to here, but once Wen Qing had looked you over and said you were probably gonna be okay he just left again.’ He looks at Wei Ying. ‘What’s happening with you two? Did you have a fight or something?’

Wei Ying shrugs. Maybe Lan Zhan is awkward with sitting at bedsides. Maybe he just didn’t wanna spend that much time with Jiang Cheng. There are a lot of reasons for why he would have left without saying so much as a single word to the guy who saved his life.

 

Wen Qing makes him stay in bed for another couple of hours so that she can keep him under observation, but eventually his boredom wins out and she lets him leave, with promises to come back if he starts feeling dizzy or disoriented.

It is nice to get out of bed, though it’s weird to walk through the corridors barefoot and holding a sword. He’s still in his jumpsuit – and is really quite glad that no one changed his clothes while he was unconscious – but they took his boots and socks off. He’ll have to find out what happened to them.

The sword doesn’t feel right in his other hand, but he’s trying to follow the instructions not to aggravate the cut anymore, so he doesn’t pass it back. Its power has dimmed a little, but he can still feel it, a steady, pulsing current under his fingers. It still feels impossibly light, the huge blade perfectly balanced in his hand.

He’s aware, too, that the sword has entirely changed how people look at him. Whereas before the most attention he drew was of the exasperating sort, now he sees their gazes linger; their curiosity exposed even as they hastily composed themselves. All of a sudden he has become someone relevant, someone worth paying attention to.

He doesn’t like it.

‘All right,’ Jiang Cheng says, as they walk. ‘What do you wanna do? Are you hungry? Or do you want to shower first?’

Wei Ying thinks. It’s been ages since he last ate, but he doesn’t feel much of an appetite. ‘Shower,’ he decides, and turns in the direction of their room.

‘Oh, wait a sec,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘I forgot to tell you – that part of the building still doesn’t have power. We can shut the garage door manually, and we’ve reinforced it, so it’s safe, but all of those rooms are cold. We’ve relocated. It’s a bit of a squeeze, but it’s okay. I’m sharing with Nie Huaisang.’

Wei Ying pauses. In everything, he’d completely forgotten about the snowmen taking the power out. For a moment he pictures Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang – one with a dead brother, the other with an unconscious one – quietly sharing a space.

Then he thinks about his room. There is very little that could be called familiar or comforting here, but that bunk might be the closest thing to it. Besides, if his suspicions are correct and the power outage means that the cameras aren’t working, he’ll gladly take the opportunity not to be perceived, even if it’s only when he’s sleeping.

‘I don’t mind the cold,’ he says, resuming his path. ‘And the space will be nice.’

Jiang Cheng’s face only tightens for a second, before smoothing into its usual annoyed expression. ‘What, my company isn’t good enough for you?’

‘You just said you’re sharing with Huaisang, and I’m not about to sleep on the floor.’ Wei Ying keeps his tone light. He hadn’t meant that he didn’t want to share with his brother, only…he doesn’t. The thought of having a room to himself is intoxicating. Fuck, he has missed privacy.

‘Your funeral,’ Jiang Cheng says, now with a shrug. ‘Don’t come complaining to me if you freeze to death in the middle of the night.’

‘Maybe I’ll convince Lan Zhan to come and keep me warm,’ Wei Ying says, but the joke doesn’t quite land. He’s not sure that he feels like telling Jiang Cheng that he’s not pretending to tough it out; that he’d ceased to feel cold at all since his blood seeped into the sword and took a fundamental part of him with it.

And, sure enough, he doesn’t notice anything even as they reach the room, while Jiang Cheng shivers. He’s cleared out all of his stuff, but left Wei Ying’s for the time being - either because he didn’t know where else to put it, or because he thought his brother wouldn’t have any need for it.

‘Okay,’ Wei Ying says, having looked through his half of the cupboard that they’ve been using as a wardrobe. ‘I’m gonna get myself sorted out. You said there’s a meeting later?’

Jiang Cheng nods. ‘What we’re gonna do next. The usual shit. I’ll – I’ll be around, if you need me.’

Wei Ying nods back, and Jiang Cheng leaves him.

Rather than heading straight for the shower, he takes a moment to sit on the edge of his bunk. Breathes in and out, feeling the cool air wash through his lungs. Looks down at the sword lying across his lap.

He hasn’t had a chance to inspect it closely till now; too concerned with its function to care about its appearance. He is struck by the same thought he had when he first saw it: of how beautiful it is. It looks like it belongs in a fantasy drama, where it would belong to someone important. It doesn’t look like anything he has any right to touch, let alone wield.

He doesn’t want to put it down. It belongs in his hand – even his wrong hand – and yet trying to shower with it and keep the bandage dry is going to be impossible. Reluctantly, he gets up and, on a sudden impulse, slides the blade under the blanket on his bed. Even if no one else can touch it, it feels wrong to leave it lying out in the open.

The shower is refreshingly normal. Standing under the water he is a person again, even if it’s awkward trying to clean himself while keeping the bandaged hand dry. He hums slightly, and wonders, not for the first time, if there are cameras in the shower. The water still works in this part of the building, it seems like it’s just the lights and heating that were affected. Even if he’s not being filmed now, though, they would have got plenty of footage from his previous showers. He’s not particularly bothered by the thought of being seen naked – they all have bodies, after all, and he doesn’t think his is particularly hideous – so much as the thought of being seen in the shower. Out of all of the contexts where it might be appealing to see someone in the nude, during the methodical process of scrubbing themselves clean surely can’t be included.

He feels slightly chilly on the walk back to his room, towel tied around his waist, but that fades as soon as he re-enters. So he doesn’t even have to touch the sword to feel its influence. Good to know.

He dresses in clean clothes and goes in search of something to eat. His appetite hasn’t returned, but perhaps it just needs coaxing back into existence and it seems like the right thing to do,

People are still being very quiet around him, to the point where Jin Zixun being rude is almost refreshing. Wei Ying had taken the sword with him, which seemed stupid, but he was equally unwilling to leave it behind – so he eats, with it lying on the table next to his plate, and tries to ignore how many furtive looks are being cast in his direction.

The afternoon’s meeting is stranger still. Wei Ying takes his usual place next to Jiang Cheng and there’s a silence as everyone gets settled. Then the silence stretches out, until Wei Ying realises that they’re waiting for Nie Mingjue to speak up and get it started. He waits along with them – and then, when no one says anything, clears his throat.

The shift in the room is instantaneous: heads swivelling in his direction. Fuck, is he in charge now? He really shouldn’t be in charge. They should get someone like Lan Zhan to be in charge – only when he glances over, Lan Zhan is sitting quietly along with the others.

‘Okay,’ Wei Ying says. The only reason anyone cares about his opinion is the sword lying on the table in front of him. It’s definitely the wrong reason, but he’s here now, and may as well say something. ‘I think we know now that we can’t avoid doing the quest in the way that the showrunners want. So, uh, we better start trying to come up with plans.’

‘You’re got the sword,’ someone says. ‘Can’t you just stab the Ice King with that?’

‘Yeah,’ someone else chimes in. ‘You guys said he ran away when you got the sword out.’

‘I don’t think it’s going to be that simple,’ he says. Being in charge sucks. ‘I think he was...surprised, I don’t know – I’m not sure how much thought he’s capable of. I don’t know if he knew that we could get the sword out that way. But we need to know what we’re doing.’

‘We still don’t know where his stronghold is,’ Jiang Cheng adds.

‘Right,’ Wei Ying agrees. ‘We’re gonna need to do more mapping, and, uh, consult the books…’

Nie Huaisang won’t look at him, he realises. Not that Nie Huaisang contributed a lot to group meetings before – he’s usually quite happy to sit back and let the others come up with ideas – but he normally stays tuned in, following the action. Now, whenever the focus shifts in Wei Ying’s direction, he keeps his eyes downturned, looking at the table in front of him.

Wei Ying can’t blame him, doesn’t want to keep talking about the sword in case Huaisang thinks that he thinks that the sacrifice was worth it or that trading Nie Mingjue for it has ultimately paid off.

He tries to imagine if it had been Jiang Cheng who had died on that mountain. There would be no world where any sword could be anything close to adequate compensation. He’s just going to have to do all that remains in his power to ensure that no one else has to die.

He’s not sure how he gets through the rest of the meeting, but eventually it is over. Then there is dinner, and a few other things to sort out, until finally he is alone, headed back to his room on his own.

‘Are you sure about staying there?’ Jiang Cheng had asked, again. ‘I’m sure we could figure something out. There’s some space left in the other wing – people who haven’t come back.’

Wei Ying has had to cross a lot of lines. He is not about to sleep in a dead person’s bed.

‘I’ll be fine,’ he says, brightly. ‘See you in the morning.’ He wonders, suddenly, whether he should ask if Lan Zhan is sharing with someone. He can’t imagine it, though Lan Zhan isn’t so fussy as to demand a room for himself. He doesn’t, though, because…

Because, Lan Zhan hasn’t been to see him since he woke up. He was in that initial crowd, yes, but Wei Ying has been awake for the better part of the day and at no point has Lan Zhan approached him to say anything. Wei Ying isn’t expecting a fervent expression of concern and relief, but, well, something would be nice. Some kind of gesture that indicated Lan Zhan is happy that they made it, or impressed by the sword, or has any feelings at all about what happened. But he has kept his distance, spoken only when spoken to, and their only real interaction has been at the meeting, and that was out of necessity.

He cleans his teeth, alone in the bathroom, and walks down to his bedroom, a torch in one hand to light the dark corridors. On impulse, he pushes the door to Lan Zhan’s old room open. It is empty, the lower bunk’s mattress stripped bare. He’s not sure what he expected to find.

He returns to his room, closing the door behind him. For all his eagerness to have a room to himself, he doesn’t actually like the silence now that he has it. There had been something comfortingly normal about listening to Jiang Cheng snore: they could have been anywhere. Now it’s just him and the sword.

He sets it down as he changes, and then lets his hand rest on the hilt as he sits down on the bed, preparing to swing his legs up and lie back. At the moment his fingers make contact, though, he stops.

The sword wants blood.

He couldn’t say how he knows. It’s not like it’s speaking to him. There are no words involved; it’s more of an inclination, an inarticulate hunger.

He should have known that the binding ritual wouldn’t be the end. It makes sense somehow that a weapon this powerful would need continued sustenance. He runs one finger lightly along the flat blade surface. Unprompted, a line from that American musical Yanli used to play in the car slides into his head: Does it have to be human? Does it have to be mine?

It’s not as if he has many other options right now. Even if that herd of caribou has not moved on by now they’d still be miles away, and he can’t exactly walk through the building asking who wants to cut themselves open on the sword. His sword. It’s his responsibility.

His hand is still bandaged, and Wen Qing will have a huge go at him if he does anything to the stitches. Plus, he has the odd feeling that he doesn’t necessarily want anyone else to know that the sword’s desire for blood is ongoing. They’re already treating him weirdly, this will only add gasoline to the fire.

He’ll have to be clever about this. Can’t give the sword too much or cut himself somewhere too noticeable. He thinks about it for a moment, then presses the pad of his thumb on his uninjured hand to the edge of the blade. It’ll only be a small wound, and he can say he did it accidentally testing its sharpness. Then even if people notice they’ll be too busy telling him off for being a dumbass to think twice about it.

He only registers the sting for a moment, as it’s immediately overwhelmed by a feeling of relief as the blood soaks into the sword, relieving the tension. He pulls his thumb away before its hunger is fully sated – he suspects that that would take significantly more blood than he can give it, right now – and puts it in his mouth, until the shallow wound stops bleeding. With his bandaged hand, he fumbles with the torch to turn it off, plunging the room into darkness.

Wei Ying lies down to sleep, the sword by his side and the taste of his own blood on his tongue.

 

It is Jiang Cheng who suggests the sparring, two days later, having distastefully eyed the sword at breakfast. (‘Do you have to take it everywhere with you? It’s starting to seem codependent’) and asked if Wei Ying even knows what to do with it.

Wei Ying insists that he does, remembers how the sword had almost acted on its own against the snowman – but not convincingly enough.

‘Training will be good for both of us,’ Jiang Cheng argues. ‘Especially as, no offense, but you look like shit.’

‘You could be nicer to me,’ Wei Ying argues, though he’s aware that his brother isn’t wrong. It’s not just recovery from the blood loss, though that by itself could probably explain how pale and tired he is. The sword is pulling at his energy, draining it. ‘Here I am, saving your ass, do I have to look like a supermodel while I’m doing it too?’

‘You know who does look good all the time? Lan Zhan,’ Nie Huaisang says, most unhelpfully. He’s still been relatively withdrawn, so it’s a good sign that he’s talking.

Wei Ying waves a hand at him. ‘Let’s keep this within the parameters of us mere mortals, okay?’

But he agrees to train with Jiang Cheng. Perhaps the sword’s response to the snowman was a one-off, he shouldn’t assume that it will have his back in every scenario. And even if it does, getting Jiang Cheng to work on his own defensive skills can’t hurt, either.

Some of the others are still training, here and there. It feels odd to do without Nie Mingjue’s guidance. Jin Zixuan is, Wei Ying notes with a vague feeling of approval, taking it seriously. He’s a pain in the ass, but at least he’s a committed pain in the ass. Lan Zhan is never seen around the training room, though Wei Ying has definitely heard Su She following him around asking for fighting tips.

This morning they have the room to themselves. Jiang Cheng has one of the swords from the weapons room; it looks comically small next to the blade in Wei Ying’s hands. Neither of them has the patience for warmups so they get straight to it. For a moment Wei Ying wonders if he’s just miles better than Jiang Cheng but no, the sword is helping him. He’s holding it carefully in his bandaged hand, and somehow doesn’t feel the pain of the wound. Light and agile in his hands, it almost seems to be dictating his movements.

Seconds later, he finds out why. Jiang Cheng had pressed an attack that Wei Ying parried easily, and took advantage of the opening to bring the sword up and through, so that its tip hovers inches from Jiang Cheng’s neck.

It wants blood. The desire runs through it so strongly it feels like something Wei Ying himself wants: to plunge the blade through Jiang Cheng’s neck and take all of the hot blood that would come gushing out. The image is startlingly vivid. The sword jerks forward an inch and Wei Ying pulls it violently back and down, his hands shaking.

‘Thought you were going to skewer me, then,’ Jiang Cheng says. He’s going for joking, but his voice shakes slightly, betraying the briefest of doubts. So he, too, had a split second where he thought Wei Ying might do it.

‘And make a mess all over the floor? I’d be on cleaning duty for days.’ His hands are still shaking. He forces them to be still.

'You're different,' Jiang Cheng says, after a brief pause. ‘Since you took that thing out of the ice, you've been weird.'

Wei Ying would like to object, to say that the sword hasn't taken him over completely. He's still annoying, isn't he? He still knows which of Jiang Cheng's buttons to push to bring that familiar scowl onto his face.

He’s right, though. Not just in the sense that binding himself to the sword has clearly done something to Wei Ying - something alarmingly fundamental that he's still reaching to understand - but in the sense that they've fallen out of sync. He always used to be able to tell exactly what his brother was thinking. Now, he looks at Jiang Cheng and can't quite decipher the expression of mixed hurt and frustration.

‘I guess it was inevitable,’ Wei Ying says. ‘If we stay here long enough I don’t think any of us are going to stay the same.’

Jiang Cheng’s eyes are still on the sword. ‘We’re done here,’ he says, and leaves without another word. Wei Ying’s not going to complain, he needs to get somewhere private. He makes it to the nearest bathroom, where he pushes up his sleeve and uses the sword to cut a thin, shallow cut in his arm, on the outer edge of his bicep. He’s being firm about that, never cutting anywhere that’s too close to a major veins or arteries, but somewhere that will still well scarlet around the blade’s edge.

The sword drinks it in, almost greedily. The feeling of relief is palpable. Wei Ying shuts his eyes and leans against the wall. He’s developed a routine over the last couple days, but this has forced him to stray from it. Will the sword still be hungry tonight, or will this count instead?

He hasn’t told anyone that he’s still bleeding himself. They’d want him to stop, and he can’t. The sword doesn’t just want blood, it demands it, and this way he remains in control of whose and how much. Besides, it’s not like he isn’t getting anything back. No one else would be able to sleep in his room, cold without heating, and when wielding it his reflexes are five times faster.

And they need to be faster. Two days later they’re outside because Lan Zhan wants to time sunset and sunrise (it’s all part of a plan to see if the length of the days is changing) and snowmen attack.

They’re in a fairly big group, as quite a few people wanted to see what it was like outside without the danger of travelling very far. That might have been what tipped the snowmen off, Wei Ying thinks grimly, before realising that that line of thinking also assumes that the showrunners are somehow controlling the snowmen, or in league with the Ice King.

The why of it doesn’t matter, of course. Some of the others have weapons, but they’re unprepared for a fight. If he’d had an ordinary weapon Wei Ying would have been just as blindsided, but the sword gives him fresh energy and he cuts through the snowmen like butter.

He can’t be everywhere at once, though. He is in the process of slicing up the snowmen that had gone after Nie Huaisang when he hears a scream behind him, high and terrible. His head whips round, there’s a body on the floor and someone else crouched over them. He can’t go and see who it is, though, not when there are still snowmen in front of him.

He dispatches the remaining ones as fast as he can, growing careless in his haste. One slashes at him with its claws, tearing wide rips in the chest of his snowsuit that don’t connect any further.

And then Lan Zhan is at his side, elegant and deadly even without a magical weapon, and the fight is over.

Wei Ying turns back to the group. There is a commotion at its centre, where a snowsuited body is lying, alarmingly still. He hurries over, the others parting to let him through. His mouth has gone dry. Whoever it is, he will not be prepared to see them; there is no set of circumstances that will prepare him to see someone else die – and yet still stops short when his view becomes clear.

It’s Wen Ning.

The air leaves Wei Ying’s lungs all at once, leaving him stunned and empty. He can’t see any visible injuries, but Wen Ning’s eyes are closed and he’s not moving, or responding to Wen Qing’s desperate pleas for him to wake up.

‘What happened?’ Wei Ying asks, crouching down to feel for a pulse he knows won’t be there.  

‘It was weird,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘A snowman got him in the chest, but with the back of their hand. It’s like they just froze him.’

Wen Ning’s wrist is cold, and there’s no pulse. Wei Ying goes to work at the neck of his snowsuit, unzipping it and unbuttoning the jumpsuit beneath. Wen Qing is cradling her brother’s head, still begging for him to wake up.

Underneath his jumpsuit, the fabric of Wen Ning’s undershirt has frozen. Wei Ying hadn’t thought about this aspect of the snowmen’s powers that much; their ability to freeze what they touch. Certainly not the idea that it could cut through multiple layers of clothing.

He tears the shirt – it’s the only way – to expose the centre of Wen Ning’s chest. The skin doesn’t have the same ice burns as Xue Yang’s hand or Mianmian’s arm, but it’s cold and hard, the flesh itself frozen.

Wei Ying couldn’t say what instinct it is that makes him raise the sword. Wen Qing sees him, lets out a strangled cry, perhaps thinking he is going to stab Wen Ning, and makes to stop him.

‘Wait!’ Wei Ying says, throwing up an arm to stop her. ‘Let me just – try this.’ He couldn’t give an explanation for his plan; it’s a gut feeling more than anything. With slow, careful movements, he touches the sword tip to the centre of the frozen patch on Wen Ning’s chest.

Perhaps it does make some kind of sense, with the logic that everything here is connected and the sword’s two affinities are blood and ice. Perhaps it is the vague, almost resentful feeling that the sword has consumed enough now to give something meaningful back.

Nothing happens for a moment, and he’s well aware that he looks stupid. Come on, he thinks. This was Wen Ning’s first time venturing outside the building; it shouldn’t also be his last. He’s only a kid, for fuck’s sake – and Wen Qing, who has spent this whole time doing all she can to protect him, she doesn’t deserve this.

Then Wen Ning gasps, and his eyes fly open. Perhaps Wei Ying imagines it, in his emotional state, but he’s fairly sure that Wen Ning’s irises glow blue for a second – that same, eerily bright colour of the snowmen’s eyes – before reverting back to their normal colour.

His chest moves, rising and falling with new breath. Wei Ying moves the sword away and sees that the skin has changed, the frost disappeared.

‘What the fuck,’ Jiang Cheng says, as Wen Ning blinks up at his sister. ‘How did you do that?’

Wei Ying shrugs, answerless. He keeps an eye on Wen Ning, worried that the boy might collapse, or something, but he seems steady enough. Wen Qing whisks him off to the infirmary as soon as they’re back inside, ordering Wei Ying to come by when she’s finished with her brother.

He hovers for a while in the corridor outside, until at last Wen Ning emerges.

‘You all right?’ Wei Ying asks.

Wen Ning nods, more chipper than he ought to be after a near-death experience. ‘I feel fine. Thank you!’

It was the sword, not me, Wei Ying doesn’t say. Both because it would be unnecessarily ominous, but also because he can’t shake the feeling that the sword was only able to do it because he’s been feeding it his own blood.

And when Wen Qing waves him into the infirmary and closes the door so that it’s only them, he gets the feeling that she might have guessed as much.

‘So,’ she says, and her voice trembles slightly. ‘What was that?’

She is asking as a sister, not a doctor or med student. Wei Ying takes a breath, and gives the only answer he has.

‘I don’t know. I’m not – I’m really not just saying that, it was like the thought just came to me, and I needed to try it. I guess the sword is magic, right? I wanted to see if I could get its magic to work for us.’

‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ she says, and then sighs. ‘I’ve never seen any of this shit before.’

‘He’s okay, though?’

She nods. ‘His vitals are all fine. It’s as if nothing happened.’

‘I’m glad I could help,’ he says, and means it. If feeding the sword means he can help people, he’ll give it every drop he has.

‘Thank you,’ she says, firmly. ‘I – we can’t thank you enough.’

He’s awkward with the sincere thanks, so just offers her a small smile.

‘I just wish there was some logic to it,’ Wen Qing sighs again, and begins tidying her workstation, which was not very messy to begin with. ‘It feels like there’s no way to predict what the snowmen can do.’

‘Magic, right?’ Wei Ying says with a shrug. It only occurs to him as he does so that out of everyone, he’s accepted that magic is real very quickly. He didn’t have any particular belief before – though if fate of some kind exists, it definitely holds a grudge against him – but in this context, it kind of makes sense. Of all the things he could be losing sleep over, the reality of magic doesn’t register in the top ten.

‘Or something like it,’ she agrees. ‘I hate that it’s fascinating. If the situation wasn’t this, these discoveries would be incredible.’

Wei Ying nods, almost too quickly. ‘Right! I keep saying to the others, like, if this is another world, there’s so much about it we don’t know! If this is an alternate planet, is it completely uninhabited? There’s animal life, so it’s possible there are humans, or other forms of advanced apes…’

Wen Qing nods, sadly. ‘It would be nice to know.’

 

He gets about five paces from the infirmary when the exhaustion hits. Reviving Wen Ning has not, it seems, come without a price; he’s drained and the sword is hungry. He can’t bleed himself again, though, it’s too soon – it will have to wait until tonight – but he can rest. Instead of heading towards his room, his feet take him towards the Library. Now that people think he’s in charge they’re showing no qualms about bothering him at all hours of the day, braving the chill of the cold corridor to knock on his door and ask his opinion. He can’t imagine they ever treated Nie Mingjue like this – but, granted, he’s a lot less intimidating as a person. Then again, Nie Mingjue didn’t have a magic sword that thirsted constantly for blood, so maybe Wei Ying is just unlucky.

No one disturbs him if he goes to the Library, though, because that’s where Lan Zhan is and Lan Zhan is someone that people do respect. He doesn’t even look up as Wei Ying enters, but continues making notes. Some sort of calculation, probably to do with the morning’s sunrise. Wei Ying doesn’t ask, just head straight past him to the armchair by the fake fireplace, curling himself into it like a cat until he’s comfortable.

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything to him. Both he and Jiang Cheng are angry with Wei Ying, and they are both pretending that they are not. Jiang Cheng’s anger is clumsy and obvious, his frowns coming easily and his words spilling sharply whenever he disapproves of something. Lan Zhan is much quieter about it, cold and distant.

For once, Wei Ying isn’t sure how to make it better. He’s usually quite accustomed to Jiang Cheng’s moods – he’s certainly had to manage them – but right now he’s not even sure what to do against his brother’s curdled mix of worry and envy, though at least he vaguely understands it. Lan Zhan, on the other hand, he does not understand at all. Whenever they need to speak to one another, Lan Zhan is perfectly courteous, calmly discussing strategies and guard rotas. To an outsider, it wouldn’t seem like anything has changed.

But Wei Ying is not an outsider, not after all the time they’ve spent together. He can tell that Lan Zhan is …detached, reverting back to that same cold haughtiness he had at the very beginning. Not that he was ever effusive, but now more than ever does it seem like he is tuning out whatever Wei Ying chooses to say. Another time, Wei Ying would take this as a personal challenge. Isn’t that how he spent half his time before, needling his way under Lan Zhan’s skin until he could get a reaction? Now, though, he doesn’t have the energy, so he just makes himself comfortable on the chair and falls asleep.

There is some remnant of closeness there, perhaps. Lan Zhan always takes care to be quiet whenever Wei Ying is sleeping, and will step out of the room if anyone comes to talk to him. No one ever wakes Wei Ying up, and given how sought-after his company is the rest of the time he is growing to suspect that Lan Zhan is the one sending them away.

And yet he won’t look at Wei Ying when he walks into the room. Won’t talk to him, barely responds to anything that Wei Ying says. Wei Ying would assume that Lan Zhan is either awed by or jealous of the sword, as everyone else is, only neither of those would be at all consistent with his personality. Lan Zhan has never been particularly impressed by anything and he is far too graceful a person to be blighted by jealousy.

It doesn’t matter. Whatever the reason is, it’s not Wei Ying’s problem if Lan Zhan has turned around and decided that they are not friends, after all. Maybe it’s something that Wei Ying did; maybe seeing Nie Mingjue murdered in front of him made Lan Zhan realise how flimsily mortal they all are and he has resolved not to become invested in anyone. Wei Ying isn’t going to lose sleep over it, not when his rest is in such short supply anyway.

But.

As before, he can’t help but notice Lan Zhan. He’s not even trying to, but part of his brain has gone rogue and insists on taking notice whenever Lan Zhan enters a room, or says anything, or seems like he might cast even the most fleeting glance in Wei Ying’s direction. Only now each time he just hits up against Lan Zhan’s apparent indifference and can’t muster himself to challenge it.

At least he’s not on the chore rosters anymore. That’s the one time Lan Zhan has seemed vaguely invested in his wellbeing; Wei Ying overheard Jin Zixun complaining about it, arguing that no one ought to be exempt.

‘Wei Ying is not well,’ Lan Zhan had said, not quite snapping, but speaking more abruptly than usual. ‘You would do well to remember that he has already made considerable sacrifices for our survival.’

Jin Zixun concedes, then, grumbling something that Wei Ying doesn’t quite catch. He’s not meant to be listening anyway, and slips away before Lan Zhan can see him.

Wei Ying is not well.

Is it that obvious? He has kept the bloodletting a secret and only cuts himself in places where no one will see. True, he eats less and naps more, but not to the point where he would expect anyone other than Jiang Cheng to notice – and he still treats everything Wei Ying does with haughty indifference. Lan Zhan must have been paying attention to him, then, to pick up on that, so why invest all of this energy in maintaining a distance?

Things get worse. He has been managing all right, really, the sword wants blood most nights, but only a little. He is still dizzy: his body isn’t able to replenish his blood supply faster than the sword is taking it, so he’s perpetually lightheaded but not seriously weak. He gets the impression that the sword wants him to stab somebody and feed it properly, but the urge remains a relatively quiet one – unless Jin Zixun or Su She or someone is blathering on, and then he is almost tempted.

It is not as if the others could cast him out if he did do something, a voice in his head says, when he steps into the shower and feels the water sting against the shallow gashes on his arms and shoulders. They need him and the sword far more than they need Jin Zixun, or even Jin Zixuan, if he attacked Wei Ying to avenge his cousin.

He leans forward to rest his forehead against the wall of the shower, feeling the water run down the back of his neck. Is the sword affecting his mind, now? He would never have gone down this path before, however annoying the others are. No, it can’t be, not when this is one of the few times of day when he doesn’t have it to hand. He already feels stupid taking it everywhere with him; he’s not about to bring it into the shower.

Plus, it might rust.

Having washed and steadied himself, he changes in the shower block for the walk back to his room. Even though there’s usually no one else in this part of the building, given the cold, he’s still not walking back with just a towel round his waist like he used to. He doesn’t want anyone seeing the mess he’s made of his arms.

It takes him until the threshold of his door to realise that something’s wrong. He left the door shut – he always does – and now it is ajar. Stomach suddenly twisting, Wei Ying springs forward, pulling it open.

There is blood everywhere. Xue Yang is in the middle of the room, hunched over the sword, which is on the floor. The blanket on the bed has been thrown back to reveal the empty stretch of mattress where Wei Ying had left it.

Xue Yang is muttering something under his breath. Wei Ying can’t quite hear what, but it’s not hard to figure out that he’s begging the sword to take him, offering up all the blood he has. His hands, both the healthy and the frozen one, are drenched scarlet and there are deep-looking cuts on his wrists. Had Xue Yang got there first, up on the mountain, Wei Ying doesn’t doubt that this sacrifice would be sufficient.

But the sword already has a master. Xue Yang’s blood is soaking into it, but each time he reaches to touch the hilt he flinches at the cold.

Wei Ying himself is frozen, immobilised by shock. Then he forces himself into action. Every part of him wants desperately to reach for the sword, his sword, and take it back from Xue Yang, but he knows that that’s the wrong thing to do. Anyone walking in will think he’s the one who went nuts, and Xue Yang needs help now.

He turns and runs instead, for the infirmary, grateful all over again that he’d taken the time to get dressed before emerging from the showers. Well, not that grateful, if he’d been faster about the whole thing then maybe Xue Yang wouldn’t have had time to do anything.

He’s out of breath by the time he finds Wen Qing, her eyes widening in alarm at his haste.

‘Not snowmen,’ he says quickly, realising that that’s the first place her mind would go. ‘Xue Yang – in my room, with the sword.’ Like he’s making a Cluedo accusation. ‘He needs bandages,’ he adds between breaths, willing her to understand.

She does. Throwing open a drawer, she gathers up an armful of gauze and tape and follows him out and back down to his room.

Xue Yang hasn’t moved, though the blood flow has slowed slightly. The floor immediately surrounding the sword is completely clean, but all the blood that has fallen just wide of it has made a dark red pool.

His head whips up when he sees Wei Ying and Wen Qing approach.

‘Hey,’ Wei Ying says, raising his hands slightly as if to calm a startled animal, ‘it’s cool, I’m not mad, Wen Qing is here, she’s gonna patch you up –’

‘It doesn’t work,’ Xue Yang says furiously, gesturing to the blade. ‘Why doesn’t it work?’

‘It’s bound to me, now,’ Wei Ying says, still edging into the room. He’s very aware of being barefoot – he’d taken his boots off before heading to the shower – and wanting to avoid treading in the blood on the floor.

‘Unbind yourself, then,’ Xue Yang insists, wildly. ‘Why should you get to have it?’

‘Come on, dude, let Wen Qing sort you out.’ He’s at the edge of the puddle now, his toes a couple of centimetres out.

‘No!’ Xue Yang’s eyes gleam, wild and mad, and he springs forward. Leaving the sword in the middle of the room, he runs past them and out into the hallway.

Wei Ying gives chase, but he’s still recovering from his last sprint and falls behind quickly. At least Xue Yang isn’t difficult to follow, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in his wake. The trail leads across to the main exit at the other end of the building. Wei Ying arrives at the end of the corridor just in time to see one of the doors slam, and then all is quiet.

Unsurprisingly, Xue Yang’s mad flight and Wei Ying’s pursuit hasn’t gone without attracting attention. The hallway is quickly filling with people.

‘What the fuck was that about?’ Jiang Cheng asks, looking at Wei Ying in a way that suggests that this is his fault somehow.

‘He tried to take the sword.’ Wei Ying strides forward to open the door that Xue Yang had left unbolted. The sky is serenely blue and in the distance he can still make out a running shape. Where is he going? Is he even planning to come back?

‘He’s going to die out there,’ Wen Qing says, joining him. She, too, is out of breath. ‘Even if he hadn’t run off, the amount of blood he’s lost – and he doesn’t even have a snowsuit.’

Wei Ying shivers, watching the figure in the distance. Xue Yang has always been weird, and did seem overly interested in the sword back when it was all theoretical, but he still hadn’t expected anything like this. Wen Qing is right, though. If the snowmen don’t get him, the blood loss and the cold will finish him off.

‘He needs help,’ Jiang Cheng says, in the same unsympathetic tone as one would say, he’s a lunatic.

‘He needs a blood transfusion and probably a psychiatrist,’ Wen Qing corrects him, and turns to address Wei Ying. ‘How long had he been there, do you know?’

Wei Ying shrugs. ‘I was in the shower. I wasn’t exactly rushing, though, so maybe fifteen minutes, tops?’

She nods, slowly, thinking. Then, ‘We should probably close the door.’

Wei Ying obliges, not missing the quiet glare that Jiang Cheng flashes in his direction. Fine, whatever. If Jiang Cheng wants to be mad now because his crush is talking to Wei Ying, he can be mad. He’s not the one who’s going to spend the rest of the day scrubbing bloodstains off his bedroom floor.

 

The sword isn’t hungry that evening, which is a relief, because by the time Wei Ying topples into bed he’s not in the mood to open another vein. His sleep is far from restful, though. He dreams that it worked and the sword isn’t his anymore, and when he instinctively makes a grab for it the metal leaves him with the same ice burns as everyone else.

He wakes in a cold sweat, immediately reaching for the hilt and feeling his heartbeat slow as he touches it. There is always the smallest burst of energy whenever his skin makes contact: not a jolt, but a pulse. Relief runs through him, it is still his.

He is less relieved the next morning. He’s barely made it to breakfast when its hunger starts up again, louder and more insistent than before. He’d hoped that the amount that Xue Yang had given it might sate the sword for a few days, but it’s had the opposite effect, simply increasing its appetite.

The hunger gnaws at him, pulling his thoughts away from the task at hand, so it’s only when Jiang Cheng repeats himself three times that Wei Ying realises he’s been asked a question.

‘What?’ he asks, aware that he sounds stupid.

‘I was saying,’ Jiang Cheng says, ‘You should let me drive. It’s not like we’re going far and the more people used to driving in the snow, the better.’

Wei Ying blinks. ‘That’s today?’ He remembers the plan: another scouting mission, with the hope that the sword will keep snowmen at bay. He was one of the people who came up with the plan, during a practical conversation in which Lan Zhan would look anywhere but at him.

‘Don’t tell me you’re losing it, too,’ Jiang Cheng says, with slightly more vitriol than is necessary.

‘I’m fine, I’m just tired,’ Wei Ying says. It’s not an outright lie, he’s not not fine. The sword is under control, it’s just – fuck – clamouring for blood so loudly that his hand trembles and he spills tea on the table.

‘Well, can I?’ Jiang Cheng asks.

‘Can you what?’

‘Drive. Today.’

Wei Ying looks at his brother. Jiang Cheng took three goes to pass his driving test, and even then both Wei Ying and Jiang Yanli found tactful ways of avoiding being in a car with him. But then again, his main problem was getting annoyed by other drivers, and there are none of those here. Plus, his point about having multiple possible drivers isn’t a bad one. Always having Nie Mingjue behind the wheel didn’t do them any favours in the end.

‘All right,’ he says, ‘but you have to deal with Jin Zixuan.’ He ought to find out if Lan Zhan can drive, he seems like someone who’d be sensible about it. Though he usually spends the car journeys making more observations, maybe he wouldn’t want to be behind the wheel.

Wei Ying does his best to clear his head before they leave, granting the sword a few drops of blood and going over the plan again. It feels stupid to be leaving the building again when so many of their trips outside have come at such a toll, but there isn’t another option. They can’t simply avoid the Ice King, far better to take the initiative, figure out where he is and attempt to face him on their own terms.

And maybe it’s just because Wei Ying has been on nearly every expedition, but the outdoors as a whole feels far less frightening now that they’ve charted some of it. The landscape is still extremely bleak, and yet parts of it have also become familiar as Lan Zhan’s maps grow increasingly detailed.

They are meant to be afraid of it all, Wei Ying thinks, as they drive along, looking out of the window at snow-laden pines. After several attempts they’ve found a way down the wooded slope wide enough and not too steep for a vehicle. Jiang Cheng’s driving skills are not fantastic, but he has yet to crash. They’re meant to be terrified of the frozen world, so that they’re hemmed in by their surroundings as much as they are the snowmen. The showrunners gave them all that printer paper; did they ever envision that the contestants would draw up maps?

He is not afraid of it. He is afraid of many other things – Jiang Cheng’s driving; the snowmen; how, whenever using the sword for anything, he is also aware of how much blood it will need later – but this world does not elicit any terror from him. He wants to know it better.

They drive to the top of a small rise and stop there so that Lan Zhan can draw up quick sketches of the land around them. Su She has taken over acting as his assistant, while Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng are on guard duty. Jin Zixuan was meant to come, but he and Jiang Cheng had a whole argument in driving that had culminated in him storming off. So they had gone without him and Wei Ying can’t bring himself to be sorry.

Su She, however, is filling in quite well for the role of most annoying person on the trip.

‘He won’t leave Lan Zhan alone,’ Wei Ying grumbles, as he and Jiang Cheng watch Su She hurry to offer a pen.

‘You wouldn’t leave Lan Zhan alone,’ Jiang Cheng reminds him. ‘How is this any different?’

‘It is! Lan Zhan doesn’t like him.’

‘How do you tell?’

‘He’s being all indifferent. That’s what he does to people he’s decided aren’t important,’ Wei Ying says, well aware that the description also matches how Lan Zhan has been treating him of late. ‘He’s polite, and all, but he doesn’t care. When I annoyed him, I got through.’

‘Su She is just trying to help,’ Jiang Cheng says, though he doesn’t care enough to muster much of a defence. ‘You’re just jealous because Lan Zhan has another friend.’

‘They’re not friends,’ Wei Ying informs him, and turns to face in the opposite direction. It’s what he should have been doing all along, really. He’s not much of a lookout if he’s not watching their backs.

They don’t stay up there for long. No snowmen have appeared, but no one feels like pushing their luck, and now whenever they’re away for too long Wei Ying can’t help a rising worry about what could be happening back at the building.

It does, unfortunately, mean sharing the back of the Jeep with Su She, who is still trying to engage Lan Zhan in conversation. If he weren’t so annoying, Wei Ying would feel bad for him. Lan Zhan isn’t even pretending to care anymore; he’d sooner make small talk with Jiang Cheng than respond to the hail of pointless questions.

The journey home passes without incident, though, which is encouraging. Nothing bad has happened in their absence, either, which is even better. Wei Ying is so braced for things to go wrong that the relief is almost a pleasant surprise. Not everything is going to be on fire all of the time, then.

And, for a short time, their luck seems to hold. Even when snowmen attack on their next expedition, no one is seriously hurt, though Jin Zixuan sustains a nasty gash on his wrist, between his sleeve and his glove. Wei Ying’s relief that it’s not a severe injury is short-lived, however, as the drive back with a hungry sword next to a bleeding Jin Zixuan is agonising. The blood is right there, the sword points out. Surely it could have some. It’s not like Jin Zixuan is using it – and yet Wei Ying knows how this would end. Once the sword tasted the blood he wouldn’t be able to stop, and then what?

He grits his teeth and stares out of the window, gripping the hilt with sweaty hands. As always, using the sword has made it hungrier. It’s as if it needs replenishing after every fight, having shared its energy with Wei Ying. It is so hungry that he is sick with it.

By the time they’re back at the building he’s dangerously close to breaking point. As soon as they’re inside the garage, he mumbles a quick excuse and scrambles out of the Jeep, practically fleeing from the room. Even as he runs he knows he shouldn’t be doing this; he’s given it so much blood recently, and Wen Qing is still looking at him in a calculated, worried way. But what alternative is there? Sure, he’s perpetually tired and dizzy, but when the only other option is feeling the sword’s overpowering desire to murder the next person it sees, what is he meant to do?

He doesn’t go to his room, or even any of the bathrooms. He can’t be somewhere that anyone would come looking for him. He can’t be around anyone right now, not until he’s sorted this out. He’s not sure that he could look at anyone and register anything other than how much blood they have in their body, pulsing through their veins and begging to be spilt. So he goes to the basement, down to the row of humming generators, leans against the wall, and lets himself breathe.

He’s got to stop his hands shaking quite so much. Hard to get a clean cut otherwise, but the easiest way to get them to stay still is with the rush of relief that comes with feeding the sword and he can’t have that until after he’s done it. Today is unusually bad, he tells himself, so it’s okay if things are a bit on the messy side. Between the energy of fighting snowmen and spending forty minutes in proximity to Jin Zixuan’s wound, it’s no wonder that he feels like this.

He’s looking down at his arms, and deciding which sleeve to roll up, when the basement door opens, and someone comes down the steps. For a moment it’s too dim to make them out, but as soon as he gets a glimpse of silhouette he knows who it is. No one else stands that straight.

‘Lan Zhan,’ he says. For maybe the first time in their acquaintance, he wishes it was someone else.

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan replies.

‘The generators are fine. If you’re here to check on them.’ Even if he doesn’t give away what he was about to do with the sword, there’s no hiding the fact that he’s a wreck. Best case scenario, Lan Zhan probably thinks he’s hiding down here to conceal a breakdown.

‘I followed you,’ Lan Zhan says.

Wei Ying closes his eyes for a moment. Really? Out of all the times that Lan Zhan could choose to acknowledge his existence, he picks now to come after him?

‘Whatever it is,’ he says, his eyes still closed, ‘I’m not in the mood.’

‘You are shaking.’

‘I’m tired. And stressed.’

‘Wei Ying.’

‘What?’ He opens his eyes. Fine, so they’re doing this now. Maybe an argument is just what he needs to distract him from the fact that he’s bound himself to a weapon with unending bloodlust. ‘Why do you even care? You’ve barely looked at me since we got back from the sword hall.’ And then, with exaggerated theatricality, ‘Why, is it something I did?’

Lan Zhan says nothing, his face impassive. Wei Ying hates it, hates him, for being the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

‘Why did you follow me?’ he demands. His voice is trembling almost as much as his hands. This time he doesn’t keep going, but lets the question hang in the air between them, determined to get an answer.

‘I was concerned,’ Lan Zhan says, slowly. ‘You are not well. You have not been well since…’ he inclines his head towards the sword, still at Wei Ying’s side.

‘If you’re so concerned, why were you avoiding me?’ the question feels like picking a scab or pressing on a bruise: he shouldn’t do it, but the hurt feels good. He doesn’t want to hear what he knows said aloud: that Lan Zhan is tired of him, or thinks he’s stupid, or a hypocrite, for insisting they should destroy the sword and then taking it for himself.

‘I was worried. And I do not handle my feelings well,’ Lan Zhan says.

‘So you decided this was the best option?’ Wei Ying almost wants to laugh.

‘I had assumed that you would initiate conversation if you wanted it. You always have before.’

That, Wei Ying supposes, is true.

‘You look terrible,’ Lan Zhan adds. ‘If there’s something I can do…’ he trails off, uncertain.

Wei Ying makes himself look at him. Touch me, he could say. Fuck me. Hold me, and tell me that it’s all gonna work out somehow.

Instead, he leans his head back against the wall behind him and repeats his earlier question, but tired this time. ‘Why do you care?’

‘Wei Ying?’

‘I’m fine. Or, I’m not, but it’s fine, I’m still able to do everything that I need to. There’s nothing to get all worried about.’

‘You could have died,’ Lan Zhan says, and now he sounds stern, almost angry.

‘Which time?’ Wei Ying asks, even though he knows what Lan Zhan is referring to. Yet no matter how many times he casts his mind back to that moment, when he had sliced open his hand and given himself up to the sword, he can’t think of a way of doing it differently that would have turned out better.

‘We all nearly died,’ he continues, because apparently he isn’t quite tired enough to shut up. ‘That day, and the before that, and the day after that. That’s the deal with Iceolation, isn’t it? Constantly on the brink of possible death. Love that for us.’

‘The sword is affecting you.’ Lan Zhan has moved closer to him, his face inscrutable in the dim light. ‘You are not the same as you were.’

‘And? It doesn’t matter, does it, so long as everyone’s safe. Fuck, it’s probably the best thing I’ve done since I’ve got here. Only useful thing, anyway. What was I doing before? Following you around and trying to get people interested in a hunter-gatherer lifestyle. Now I can actually do shit.’ He lifts the sword slightly forward. ‘This matters. It doesn’t matter what it costs.’

‘You are important,’ Lan Zhan says. He has moved forwards again, they’re quite close together now. ‘Before the sword. Without the sword.’

‘Yeah,’ Wei Ying scoffs. ‘What, to you? You put up with me because I wouldn’t leave you alone.’

‘We are friends.’

‘Yeah, because I decided we should be friends and pestered you until it was easier to go along with it. Fuck, I nearly got us both killed in that blizzard.’ He meets Lan Zhan’s gaze. ‘Look, it’s fine, okay? You don’t have to take care of me or anything. You can go, and pretend this conversation never happened, and I won’t hold it against you.’

And the worst part, he thinks, is that he genuinely won’t. However frustrating he finds Lan Zhan, he can never bring himself to truly think badly of him.

‘You are important,’ Lan Zhan repeats. ‘To me.’

‘You don’t have to say it just to make me feel better. I know I’m not what you want in a friend. I realise that your whole thing is being impossibly good and part of that involves being selfless, but you don’t have to pretend that I’m someone important just – ’

Lan Zhan steps forward and kisses him.

Wei Ying’s brain short circuits. His body is faster to catch up, is very receptive to the firm pressure of Lan Zhan’s mouth against his, the way Lan Zhan is holding the side of his face still, while he tries and fails to comprehend the fact that: Lan Zhan. Is kissing him. Probably because it was the only way to get him to shut up, but still, what the FUCK.

And then Lan Zhan pulls away, his breathing uncharacteristically unsteady. ‘I am sorry,’ he says, and Wei Ying has never heard his voice sound like this – a taut bowstring, ready to snap or let fly.

Wei Ying wants him, so overwhelmingly, that it drowns out the sword’s desire for blood.

Lan Zhan clears his throat. ‘I should not have – ’

‘Shut up and come here,’ Wei Ying says, reaching out to grab hold of him, and Lan Zhan obeys. Now that they’re both expecting it the kiss is firmer: hot and hard and bruising against the basement wall. Wei Ying doesn’t even notice that he’s dropped the sword, doesn’t have the brain capacity for anything other than Lan Zhan and the way their bodies are pressed together, kissing so frantically as if they might be able to lose themselves in each other. Wei Ying doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to even acknowledge directly what it is they’re doing, in case the open scrutiny ruins it somehow. Doesn’t want to do anything that might stop Lan Zhan’s hands from roving over his body, holding him firmly in place against the wall – as if he wants Wei Ying, as if Wei Ying holds the secret to something he desperately desires.

For the first time since pulling it from the ice, Wei Ying can’t feel the sword’s influence at all. Lan Zhan is crowding his senses, taking up every bit of his attention, and it’s all he can do to keep up.

Then, somewhere in the distance, he hears a bell sound. It’s the alarm they set up in case of attack. He should break off the kiss immediately and go and investigate, but he can’t bring himself to move. Let someone else handle it, for once. He’s sick of being first on the scene and taking responsibility, and now that Lan Zhan is kissing him, surely he deserves a break?

Lan Zhan, however, hears it too, and breaks off the kiss, glancing upwards to the ceiling. ‘We should – ’ he says, and Wei Ying is gratified to hear a note of reluctance in his voice.

‘Yeah.’ He looks around for the sword and, picking it up, feels the sweep of the bloodlust return.

Without talking, they go up the stairs and out of the basement. Wei Ying wonders wildly for a moment if they should split up so that they look like they’re coming from different places, but the alarm bell is still going and they don’t have enough time for that.

They run through the corridors, round the long edge of the canteen to the front doors. The hallway is a confusing mix of snowmen and people; the double doors standing open.

Wei Ying doesn’t hesitate, raising the sword and charging into the fray. He’s not sure if Lan Zhan has followed suit – last time he checked, Lan Zhan didn’t have a weapon.

Once they see him coming with the sword, the snowmen start to retreat quite quickly. It would be gratifying if the very use of the sword weren’t so exhausting, in a day when he has already been pushed so much. He stabs one through the chest and, aided by the others, pushes the rest of the snowmen back through the doors.

‘What happened?’ he asks, as Nie Huaisang hurries to rebolt the door.

‘We were on patrol,’ Su She says, slightly embarrassed. ‘We thought we heard something outside.’

‘So you opened the door?’

‘We thought it might be Xue Yang,’ someone else says nervously.

Wei Ying just shakes his head, turning his back on the door. ‘Is anyone hurt?’ His casts a look over the group in the corridor – and, as if by their own will, his eyes find Lan Zhan. He’s uninjured, but he looks…unlike himself. Wei Ying hadn’t had a chance to get a proper look at him when they were on the move and now, under the bright hallway lighting, he’s realising that it doesn’t matter whether they arrived on the scene together or not. Lan Zhan’s usually smooth jumpsuit is crumpled, one side of the collar is higher than the other, and some hair has escaped from his bun, the dark strands framing his face. On anyone else, it would not be noticeable, but Lan Zhan has never been anything less than perfectly composed when in public.

He looks back at Wei Ying for one, searing moment – then turns on his heel and leaves.

Wei Ying wants to go after him, so that he can ask what the fuck is going on with them, or maybe so that he can drag him into an empty room and kiss him senseless all over again.

He does neither. Taking a breath, he returns his attention to the group, repeating his question. ‘Is anyone hurt?’

Two people are, but once again no one is dead. He sends them off to see Wen Qing, double-checks the bolts on the door, and reiterates the order not to open it. Then it is too close to dinner to have enough time to confront Lan Zhan properly, so he accompanies Wen Ning to the kitchen and gives him a hand finishing up the meal. They’ve eaten all of the fresh food that had been supplied and are onto the tinned rations. Of those, at least, there are a lot. With events moving as fast as they are, Wei Ying reckons they’ve got a decent chance of making an attempt to open the portal before they run out of food.

It’s not until Jiang Cheng makes a caustic remark speculating about whether any Iceolation fans are copying their meals for an authentic fan experience that Wei Ying has the thought about there being cameras in the basement. He hadn’t seen any, but that’s not the same thing as there not being any, nor is it (thankfully, given it houses the generators) located under the part of the building that they lost power in. So, it’s very probable that thousands of people, including both their families, just watched the two of them make out like hormonal teenagers.

It’s a weird thought. He wants to talk to Jiang Cheng about it, but isn’t sure if he’s still mad at him, or if he’s even allowed to share what happened. Lan Zhan probably wouldn’t want him going round telling everyone that they just kissed.

They just kissed. He’s still high on the buzz of it, sometimes forgetting for thirty seconds why he’s in such a good mood and then getting the thrill of remembering.

‘You’re perky,’ Jiang Cheng notices, as they sit down to eat. ‘Suppose you like a chance to show that thing off.’

Wei Ying glances down at the sword, set to lean against the table at his side. ‘It’s fucking exhausting,’ he says, quite honestly.

‘What do you mean?’ Nie Huaisang’s voice is cautious. It’s the first time he’s expressed any interest in the sword; the rest of the time having regarded it with a certain distance.

‘Like, it gives me extra energy in a fight, and makes me way faster and more coordinated,’ he says, between mouthfuls. ‘But as soon as the fight’s over it’s like it takes that energy back.’ It’s not a lie. He just hasn’t specified the currency in which the sword demands its repayment.

‘Hey, Lan Zhan hasn’t come in for dinner,’ Nie Huaisang notes, though he sounds more confused than suspicious. ‘Have you seen him?’

‘Yeah, Wei Ying,’ Jiang Cheng has apparently forgotten that he’s still meant to be atoning for outing his brother on live TV. Oh well, it’s not as if ship hasn’t well and truly sailed now. ‘Have you seen him?’

‘Not since we got back.’ The lie comes easily. ‘He’s probably in the Library.’ And yet he can’t help looking over to the corner table where Lan Zhan often sits, by himself. Why didn’t he come for dinner? Are they going back to avoiding each other, now? Wei Ying doesn’t think he could bear that.

Still, the polite thing is still probably to give him space, so he takes that as a hint and doesn’t go looking for Lan Zhan after dinner. He probably wouldn’t have the energy to anyway, the sword became increasingly insistent over the course of the meal and is clamouring to be fed. He makes his excuses to Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang and slips off back to his room, where he’s able to finish what he was trying to do in the basement, and give the sword what it wants.

It’s not enough. He can’t give it very much if he’s going to remain functional, but the sword isn’t interested in reason. Its hunger is still so strong that he has to put it up on the top bunk, for fear that were it within reach he might not be able to hold himself back.

Wei Ying sits on the edge of his bed and takes several, steadying breaths. The sword is under control, it’s just been a long day. Perhaps he can leave it on the top bunk overnight, and see if he sleeps better without it beside him. Even though he didn’t see Xue Yang coming, he doubts that any of the remaining people are going to sneak into his room in the middle of the night to try and steal the sword. He’s the only person who spends time in this part of the building.

Someone knocks on his door. Right, okay, he’s the only one, aside from whenever someone wants something from him. Then they have no qualms about marching down to ask his opinion of something.

He misses being irrelevant.

Yawning, Wei Ying gets up slowly, rolls the sleeves of his jumpsuit down and goes to open the door.

‘Hello,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘Is this a bad time?’

‘No! It’s fine,’ Wei Ying says. All of a sudden, he isn’t tired at all. ‘Would you, uh, like to come in?’

He steps back, and Lan Zhan walks past him. In that fleeting moment when their bodies are close he sees Lan Zhan repress a shiver, and remembers how cold this room must be for everyone else.

‘You weren’t at dinner,’ he says, closing the door, in the hope of preventing further interruptions.

‘I was not hungry.’ Lan Zhan looks out of place in Wei Ying’s room. He’s never been inside it before; Wei Ying suddenly becomes aware of the pile of clothes on top of the cupboard and hurries over to tidy it – though, now that he thinks of it, the mess probably wasn’t too visible in the dim light. He’s got the torch stood up on its end in the centre of the floor, casting its light up into the room.

‘So,’ he says.

‘I – ’ Lan Zhan hesitates, and then ploughs ahead. ‘I came to apologise.’

‘Apologise? What – what is there to apologise for?’ Does he really consider kissing Wei Ying to be some kind of heinous mistake?

‘I acted without thinking,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘And you are unwell. I should not have…’

‘What? Taken advantage?’ Wei Ying almost wants to laugh. ‘Lan Zhan, I have a sword longer than my arm. If I hadn’t wanted to be kissed, you would have known.’

‘Then…’ Lan Zhan hesitates again – as if Wei Ying had not kissed him back, hadn’t bunched up his hands in the front of his jumpsuit to pull him closer.

‘Yes, I wanted it,’ Wei Ying says, because being plain is the only way they will get anywhere. ‘I wanted you,’ he adds, and has to take a breath to steady himself at the admission.

‘You are unwell,’ Lan Zhan says again.

Now Wei Ying can’t suppress the laugh. ‘I know, I know, I look like shit. But the sword’s not fucking me up that much – if anything, making out with you helped.’

‘Helped how?’

‘Cleared my head. Gave me something to focus on other than that damned thing.’

‘I could,’ Lan Zhan swallows, ‘continue to help. If you would like.’

‘You don’t have to,’ Wei Ying says, suddenly embarrassed. ‘I mean, not out of obligation, that’d just be silly – ’

‘Wei Ying. I want to.’

And – well, that is that. Lan Zhan crosses the room in two strides and then he is there, his lips warm against Wei Ying’s, and they are tripping over each other moving backwards towards the bunk. Wei Ying’s legs hit the side of the bed so suddenly that they bend and he’s sitting, only Lan Zhan follows the momentum and winds up straddling his lap. Still kissing him, still with his hands – beautiful hands, hands that draw maps and wield knives – resting on either side of Wei Ying’s face, his thumbs ghosting along his jawline, the gentle touch contrasting with the intensity of the kiss.

Once again, Wei Ying’s mind has gone wonderfully, blissfully blank. He doesn’t give a fuck about the sword, or the Ice King, or their chances of survival. Lan Zhan is here, his mouth impatient and demanding, and that’s all that matters. All that has ever mattered.

They stay like that for a few more moments, Lan Zhan in Wei Ying’s lap, and then Wei Ying shifts his weight backwards. It’s less graceful than he had hoped, and requires a little bit more wriggling to get in position, but – fuck, that’s good, lying flat on his back on the mattress with Lan Zhan on top of him, one knee braced against the mattress.

He should be sensible and logical and reasonable about this, Wei Ying thinks vaguely. This seems like the sort of thing that ought to be a bad idea – they should be focusing on survival, not tumbling into bed together. Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible to form coherent thought when Lan Zhan’s body is pressed against him, his weight pushing Wei Ying down into the bed. Not when the contact allows him to feel how hard Lan Zhan is. Lan Zhan wants him, him, of all people, and the slightest movement of his hips can draw obscene noises from Lan Zhan’s mouth.

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan breathes, and he sounds …ragged, his usual control slipping away from him. Wei Ying responds by angling his hips upwards, catching his own breath at the friction. They are both fully clothed, and in the part of Wei Ying’s mind that is still capable of rational thought, he notes that if he wants to be careful he should stay that way. At the very least, he needs to keep his undershirt on, or Lan Zhan will see the cuts and bandages from attending to the sword. It is a thought he resents, when every other impulse is screaming to remove all of the barriers between his skin and Lan Zhan’s immediately.

Perhaps, though, it will not be a problem today. They’re falling into a rhythm, Lan Zhan grinding against him, and Wei Ying is so turned on that he might die. He has the sudden, ridiculous thought, that at least he hasn’t lost so much blood that he can’t get hard, and a laugh rises in his throat before he can stop it.

‘Wei Ying?’ Lan Zhan has paused, and Wei Ying can’t think of a way to explain his laughter, so just kisses him instead. It is incredible how Lan Zhan has transformed from his cold marble self to something soft and pliant and eager, his body fitting against Wei Ying’s as they move. One of his hands has come free and is curling round the back of Wei Ying’s neck, and Wei Ying’s hands are gripping Lan Zhan’s shoulders, and fuck, he’s close –

Lan Zhan makes another noise, low in his throat, rolling his hips deeper and increasing the pressure. Wei Ying gasps, and then he can’t help it, he’s coming, the force of it sweeping him up and carrying him along in shuddering release. His hands are digging into Lan Zhan’s shoulders in a way that might be painful but he can’t do anything but cling on.

And then the wave is receding, and he has the thought of moving one hand down to run over and take hold of Lan Zhan’s ass, which is just as incredible as the rest of Lan Zhan’s body.

‘Fuck,’ Wei Ying breathes. Lan Zhan trembles and then he too is coming, pausing mid-kiss to gasp against Wei Ying’s mouth. He has never looked more beautiful, not even when illuminated by the pink mountain dawn, Wei Ying thinks. All guardedness is gone from his face, his breaths heavy, his expression simple and showing unreserved pleasure in a way that Wei Ying has never seen before and will be obsessed with forever.

‘Lan Zhan,’ he murmurs, trying to imbue the two syllables with all that he’s feeling.

Lan Zhan hums in response, shifting slightly so that he is crammed in beside Wei Ying rather than on top of him. The bunk was not designed for two people, but the proximity is the opposite of a problem. Once comfortable, he adds,

‘Wei Ying.’

Wei Ying closes his eyes for a moment, savouring how his name sounds when spoken with so much care. In a minute or two they will need to get up, clean themselves off, change into fresh clothes and make sure to do their own laundry. Shit, it’s a good thing that Jiang Cheng made such a thing over having the upper bunk. Even though he doesn’t sleep in this room anymore, there’s no way that Wei Ying could have done all of this in his brother’s old bed.

But for now, he is comfortable, and what’s more, he is happy.

‘Lan Zhan, you surprise me,’ he says, moving himself down a little so that he can rest his head against Lan Zhan’s chest.

‘How do you mean?’

‘You’ve always found me so annoying,’ he says. ‘And here you are.’

He feels, rather than sees, Lan Zhan’s slight frown.

‘It’s okay,’ he adds quickly. ‘Everyone finds me annoying. I don’t think there’s a five second stretch of time when Jiang Cheng isn’t annoyed with me.’

‘I was going to say,’ Lan Zhan says, ‘that annoyance and attraction are not mutually exclusive.’

Wei Ying can’t help the laugh that bubbles up at that. ‘God, what a nightmare that’s gotta be.’

‘Mn.’

He wants to ask more, to press further. He wants to know if Lan Zhan has always felt this way about him, or if it crept up on him, and if so, when. He wants to know what it is about him that Lan Zhan likes; which parts of him have made him worthy of this attention.

But he holds himself back, caught between two contradictory impulses. The first: to allow this to continue and never say anything. The second: to face facts and push Lan Zhan away, pre-emptively sparing him from the mess that is Wei Ying’s life. Both options will have destructive consequences. Not having Lan Zhan – now that he knows what it is like to have him, and see him undone – will obliterate Wei Ying. And yet the first option, letting this affair continue when he is always either fighting snowmen or appeasing the sword, he cannot help but feel will damage Lan Zhan somehow.

It is the same contradictory feeling as before: wanting Lan Zhan to remain untouchable, and being desperate to drag him down to his own level. Wei Ying has touched his idol, and instead of gold found warm skin.

So he says nothing, just leans his head back against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, allowing himself to bask in the comfort of human touch. He has not been held like this for a very long time. Whatever his reason, Lan Zhan wants him. It doesn’t matter what Lan Zhan’s motivation is, whether there are any feelings included or if he’s simply never gone this long without a hook-up before. However much of himself Lan Zhan is offering, Wei Ying will take it, greedily, with both hands. For as long as Lan Zhan is in his bed, Wei Ying won’t question why he’s there.

He does not, however, allow Lan Zhan to stay the night. Granted, he’s not sure if Lan Zhan would want to, if they are becoming people who do that, but either way, he’ll have to take his shirt off, then, and he wants to avoid that.

(He might be in slight denial about how long they can go on like this without his shirt coming off. But just because it is inevitably going to happen at some point does not mean that he has to subject himself to it now.)

So he yawns, and stretches, and when he sees that it’s getting late he says, ‘Well, I’d love to invite you to stay, but these beds were Not designed to hold two people and I’d never forgive myself if you rolled over and fell out in the middle of the night.’

Lan Zhan takes the hint. Getting up slowly, he smoothes his hair back and then leans in to kiss Wei Ying, lightly, on the forehead.

‘Goodnight,’ he says. ‘I will see you tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight,’ Wei Ying echoes, making no attempt to curtail the wide and goofy grin he knows is on his face. For once, he has something to look forward to.

 

It is strange, Wei Ying thinks, a few days later, the way you can slide into routines and become so used to them that you forget how things were different before. He has become so accustomed to life on the show and all it entails – organising the guard and cooking rosters, listening to people moan about Jin Zixuan not cleaning hair out of the shower drain, figuring out how much blood he can give up before becoming unsteady on his feet – that everything before, his flat, the looming prospect of law school that he had just avoided, seems impossibly distant. It seems absurd that not so long ago he was in charge of his own life, able to call the shots on what he did with it.

And now, perhaps the strangest part of it all is that Lan Zhan spends half his evenings in Wei Ying’s bed. They’re slightly limited in what they can do – Wei Ying waited until the relevant rooms were empty, then did a sweep of all the toiletry supplies, but the showrunners have not seen fit to provide any lube or condoms. It seems weird, given that surely part of the reasoning behind choosing young people for the show was the hope that they’d start hooking up, but maybe they just wanted to see how many pregnancies they could cause and forgot that queer people exist.

It is not the end of the world, though. There is a lot that they can do with just hands and mouths and there is something very satisfying about how little is required to take Lan Zhan apart.

And it is helping. Getting his dick sucked doesn’t mean that Wei Ying is unaffected by the sword’s bloodlust, but he no longer feels like he’s teetering wildly close to an edge, unsure of what’s waiting on the other side. When Lan Zhan is holding him, his strong, beautiful hands firm and decisive in their movements, or taking him in his mouth, or kissing him until they are both breathless, Wei Ying cannot think about the sword. Lan Zhan is so much, and so good, and so hot, there just isn’t the space in his brain. So while he has begun bouncing from one extreme to the other, it is better than being miserable all the time. He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with Lan Zhan, but someone better, someone that Lan Zhan wants, someone who can make Lan Zhan feel good.

It has also been a revelation to consider Lan Zhan as someone who would want anything. How many times has Wei Ying thought about his self-sufficiency and his ability to be self-contained? Who knew that underneath all of that was a Lan Zhan who would shudder and come on Wei Ying’s sheets, and pin Wei Ying’s wrists together to hold him still while mercilessly running his other hand over Wei Ying’s cock?

Though he does not give much further thought to the phantom girlfriend, Wei Ying has not asked if Lan Zhan has a partner waiting for him at home. He is not expecting there to be - Lan Zhan is far too honourable a person to cheat - but equally, he would not judge him if there were. So long as the cameras in his room are out of action and they maintain a discreet distance in the rest of the building, no one has to know what they do at night – and the conditions that they’re in are so extreme that it would be unfair to apply any kind of normal morality to it.

Then, of course, Lan Zhan finds out about the bloodletting.

Wei Ying really had tried, always keeping his undershirt on and avoiding becoming any more naked than was necessary. Lan Zhan, ever the gentleman, had respected this boundary, and Wei Ying had let him believe that it was self-consciousness or modesty. Plus, it made more sense not to strip butt-naked when the alarm could be raised at any moment, so Lan Zhan had also refrained from taking everything off – though he has taken his shirt off, and Wei Ying had to stop and marvel all over again that the most beautiful person in the world is here in his room, in his bed, letting Wei Ying touch him wherever he wants and liking it.

And then, one evening, he is discovered. Lan Zhan is lying on the bunk, and Wei Ying is sat with a leg on either side of him, leaning down into a kiss. Lan Zhan’s hands are at his waist, holding him steady, and as the kiss deepens one slides up to rest against the front pane of his shoulder.

Wei Ying can’t suppress the flinch, there’s a barely-healed cut there. He’s only taken a few bandages from the infirmary, worried that Wen Qing would notice. The other dressings he’s made from bedsheets from the other cold, unoccupied rooms next to his.

Lan Zhan pauses immediately, his eyes darting to the spot that had caused a reaction. ‘Wei Ying. Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ Wei Ying says, too quickly to be convincing. ‘It’s nothing, Lan Zhan.’ And he leans down to resume the kiss.

Lan Zhan stops him, one hand planted firmly in the centre of his chest. ‘Wei Ying,’ he says, insistent. ‘Were you injured in the last fight?’

‘It’s nothing,’ Wei Ying says.

‘If you do not tell me, I will go to Wen Qing.’

‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Wei Ying.’

He is not going to win this fight, and it will be easier to show him than to say it aloud. Sighing, he clambers off Lan Zhan so that he can sit up, unbuttons his jumpsuit down to his waist, and pulls off the white undershirt.

Lan Zhan sucks in a breath. Wei Ying glances reflexively down at himself. It’s not that bad in the torchlight, but he can see how it’d be a shock to see for the first time. Both arms are covered in a light layer of white bandaging. In some places, enough blood has seeped through to stain the fabric. On his left arm the bandages go down as far as his elbow, on his right they extend halfway down his forearm.

‘It’s not what you think,’ Wei Ying says. ‘It’s not – I’m not self-harming, this isn’t a crisis, it’s fine.’

‘But you are doing this to yourself,’ Lan Zhan says.

He nods, awkwardly.

‘Explain to me how that is not self-harm.’

‘It’s the sword,’ he says, and swallows. ‘I can feel what it wants. It’s not a voice in my head or anything, it’s just, I don’t know. A feeling. And it wants – all it wants – is blood.’

Lan Zhan has gone very still.

‘I’m sorry for not telling you,’ Wei Ying blathers on, because maybe if he keeps talking he can make it better again. ‘It was just, you know, there’s no really easy way to say it, and I didn’t want to freak people out – I’m not gonna run around stabbing people if it gets too hungry, or anything. I’m not giving it too much, either, so it’s under control.’

‘That is why you have been like this,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘The sword.’

‘Yeah, but it’s a fair trade-off! I’m still mostly functional, and we need the sword, there’s no getting round that. Plus I always feel loads better when it gets blood, it’s like, not quite a high, but definitely a feeling of relief. Helps me get to sleep.’

‘You are doing this every day?’

Wei Ying wants to lie, but with how this conversation is going even his best efforts aren’t going to be enough. He nods.

Lan Zhan turns his head, to where the sword rests, on top of the low cupboard Wei Ying keeps his clothes in.

‘Does it… want blood, now?’

Wei Ying exhales. This is exactly what he’s been trying to avoid. However used to the sword he has grown, whenever he gets too close to anyone he still becomes uncomfortably aware of them as something filled with blood. Up until now, Lan Zhan has largely eluded that category, usually because he’s being so distracting that Wei Ying doesn’t have the time or mental capacity to consider him that way.

‘Yes,’ he admits. ‘It…it pretty much always does.’

Lan Zhan gets up and is halfway across the room before Wei Ying registers that he’s moved. He scrambles after him, but Lan Zhan is already there, grabbing hold of the blade with one hand until the sharp edge pierces the skin.

Even though he’s not holding the sword, Wei Ying feels it: the brief, heady rush, followed by a sweeping relief. He doesn’t stop moving, though, hurrying across to take hold of the sword and pull it away.

‘What are you doing?’ he demands, even as the blood from Lan Zhan’s fingers soaks into the blade and disappears.

‘Wei Ying.’ For a guy who just did exactly what he’s been lecturing not to, Lan Zhan is remarkably composed. ‘You cannot continue like this. You are right; we need the sword. And if it needs blood, it shall have it – but not because you are harming yourself in secret.’

‘Your hand,’ Wei Ying mumbles. He has some spare sheet bandages in the top drawer of the cupboard; he opens it and takes them out. Lan Zhan’s fingers are bleeding in neat lines along their inner edge, with a matching cut along his thumb.

‘Look at me,’ Lan Zhan insists. ‘It does not matter whose blood it is, correct?’

Wei Ying nods, and does not add the nagging thought that crops up whenever the sword is particularly hungry. Not only was it designed to only be retrieved by sacrifice, it is clearly meant to be maintained via butchery.

‘I will speak to the others,’ Lan Zhan continues. ‘I am sure that between us, as a group, we will be able to keep the sword satisfied without being too depleted ourselves.’

‘No,’ Wei Ying says, ‘that’s, I can’t ask people to do that.’

‘Yet it is acceptable for you to do it?’

He shrugs. ‘I mean, yeah? I’m just one guy.’

‘Can you tell me honestly that you do not need help? That you would prefer to continue doing this,’ Lan Zhan’s fingertips ghost over the edge of Wei Ying’s bandaged arm, not quite making contact.

Wei Ying swallows. He is – fuck, he is so tired, and so lonely, and so sick of having this secret. His days revolve around how long it has been since the sword was last fed and how long it will be until he can feed it again. Even just the idea of not living like that, of having the others willingly give up the blood he’s been trying to forget that they have… but it’s too much, a demand he cannot make.

‘I can’t ask them,’ he says, again.

‘You will not have to,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘I am going to.’

Wei Ying loves him.

The realisation hits him like a brick to the face. He’s had many admiring thoughts about Lan Zhan from the moment they met, so it ought not to be a surprise – and yet it is, catching him off-guard and making him incapable of objecting to the plan. He loves Lan Zhan. It doesn’t matter if Lan Zhan loves him back, he doesn’t need him to. In fact, he should probably keep this revelation completely under wraps, for risk of complicating this arrangement still further.

Plus, there’s no escaping how fucked up it is that this realisation has arrived because Lan Zhan had offered his blood, immediately and unthinkingly, to the sword, simply so as to ease Wei Ying’s discomfort.

‘Ah,’ he says, ‘you’re too good for me, Lan Zhan.’

‘You agree to it, then?’

He nods, still a little reluctant. The thought of getting blood without having to ask for it, of not needing to be the one who tells everyone, is so wonderful that he could cry. He doesn’t deserve somebody this kind or considerate. He has never deserved Lan Zhan.

‘Then I will tell everyone tomorrow.’ Lan Zhan glances down at the blade in Wei Ying’s hands. ‘Does it require any more tonight?’

He shakes his head, quickly. It’s not exactly true; the sword is almost always hungry, regardless of whether it has been fed or not, but the worst pangs are gone and he’ll be able to get to sleep. ‘I – Lan Zhan, thank you.’ He holds up his handful of bandages. ‘You wanna get some pressure on that, to stop the bleeding. Let me?’

Lan Zhan nods, and allows Wei Ying to take is injured hand and gently bandage each finger. The cuts are not deep, they should heal up on their own in a few days, though they will sting. Wei Ying has far too many of his own to compare that he’s almost an expert in the subject.

‘Thank you,’ Lan Zhan says softly, when he has finished. ‘Do any of your bandages need replacing?’

Wei Ying shakes his head. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow, they’re fine for now.’ And then, because he is still feeling fragile, and is desperate to claw onto tenderness now that he has it, ‘Um, you could stay. If you wanted. I know it’s cramped, but it might be nice, and the main reason I didn’t want to is so I could avoid changing in front of you. And, well, now you know.’

‘I would like that,’ Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying loves him.

It is almost frighteningly domestic to be stood next to each other in the bathroom, brushing their teeth. Lan Zhan has not mentioned if he’s sharing a room with anyone since moving out of his old room on this corridor, nor does he mention running into anyone when he returns from retrieving his toothbrush. It is Lan Zhan, though, he’s not exactly going to bounce in and tell his roommate that Wei Ying has finally invited him to stay the night.

And then they are back in the room and getting ready for bed. In what feels like a sudden role reversal, Lan Zhan is keeping his undershirt on to sleep in, adding that he will change into a fresh one in the morning. Not that Wei Ying cares.

He gets into bed first, scooting over until he’s up against the wall, then holds the duvet open for Lan Zhan to join him. It is a little awkward at first, trying to get settled, but there is something nicely comforting about the way that the small bed presses them together. Wei Ying is suddenly, painfully aware of the hollow feeling that has persisted since he arrived on the show. It is not gone entirely, but it is held at bay. Yes, the waking nightmare is still unending, but it is not so bad when he is cosy and comfortable and using Lan Zhan’s shoulder as a pillow.

‘You warm enough?’ he asks.

‘Mn. You are keeping me warm.’

It is thanks to your blood, Wei Ying doesn’t say. It’d completely kill the mood. Instead, he closes his eyes, and snuggles closer to Lan Zhan’s side.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he says, and hopes that Lan Zhan understands the breadth of the remark – not just here as in this bunk, or this room, but more selfishly, here on Iceolation, where either of them could die at any moment. Where they are together.

Lan Zhan doesn’t respond, but from the sound of his slow, even breathing he has already fallen asleep.

 

Wei Ying wakes, disoriented and uncharacteristically rested. There is someone in his bed, with their arm around him, which has not happened for a very long time. He finds that he is grateful that they are there, which has never happened before. Any time before when he’s woken up next to someone it has been accompanied by a range of emotions from regret to mild embarrassment – but now he is just happy, and comfortable, and warmed from the person’s body heat.

Then, as he wakes up a little more, he remembers. He twists his head to look up at Lan Zhan, who is already awake, but is lying quite still.

‘You should have moved me,’ Wei Ying says, ‘if you wanted to get up.’

‘I am happy where I am,’ Lan Zhan tells him. ‘And you need the sleep.’

He yawns. ‘Will you have breakfast at my table today? I know you find the others annoying, and you don’t have to, I’m not just assuming that because you do one thing you want to do everything else, but it’d be nice to have you there, and –’

‘Yes,’ Lan Zhan says, cutting across the ramble. ‘And I do not find your friends annoying.’

‘Then you’re a nicer person than I am. We don’t have to say anything, though, about this, though maybe we should arrive at different times, so that it’s not super obvious that we were together.’

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says, now sounding both tired and amused. ‘I do not think anyone will be shocked to see us together.’

‘Well, yeah, I know we hang out all the time, but this is different.’

He’s not going to fixate on the nuances of what Lan Zhan means by together. Are they a couple now? He should probably ask if they’re a couple. He’s definitely not going to ask if they’re a couple, because that is the sort of conversation that cannot and should not happen on Iceolation. Discussing whether sexual acts and bed sharing constitutes a formal relationship is the sort of thing people do in regular life, and no single part of this could be called regular.

‘I mean,’ Lan Zhan says, ‘that they know that we are having sex.’

A pause.

‘Oh,’ Wei Ying says, followed by ‘What?’ and ‘How? I didn’t tell anyone! I didn’t think you would, either – are you a gossip, Lan Zhan? Have I finally found a flaw?’

‘Your brother spoke to me,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘He had noticed that we often disappeared at the same time and were not, as you had claimed, in the Library.’

‘Jiang Cheng is barely talking to me right now, and he goes out of his way to confront you? That’s just unfair.’

‘He expressed concern for your wellbeing,’ Lan Zhan adds. ‘He clarified that you were not out to your parents before the show, and he threatened me should I treat you badly.’

‘They’re not my parents,’ Wei Ying grumbles, a second before the rest of the sentence catches up with him. ‘Wait, he threatened you? That’s really funny, what could he to do you? You’d wipe the floor with him.’

‘The point remains,’ Lan Zhan says, one again demonstrating his incredible ability to stay on topic, ‘that it will not come as a surprise to our peers.’

‘So, wait, does anyone other than Jiang Cheng know? I suppose he’d tell Nie Huaisang, and there’s no saying who he’d tell it to. Does everyone know? How am I the last to find out that everyone knows about the sex that I’m having?’

‘I believe that Jin Zixun is also aware, given the nature of some remarks he made to me.’

‘Him, seriously? What did he say? I’m not above beating him up, either.’

‘I will not deign to repeat them, but they involved speculation, about….us.’

‘I hate him,’ Wei Ying says, biting back the urge to push Lan Zhan into revealing what was said. Jin Zixun often has a go at him, but his comments are usually to do with the sword, or Wei Ying’s weakened physical state. What the hell did he say to Lan Zhan? How on earth did he feel remotely qualified to comment on anything that Lan Zhan does?

‘Well, maybe hate is too strong a word – I hate the Ice King, and whoever put us here, and any of the people buying adspace on the Iceolation website – but if he was hanging over a cliff and it was him or me, I’m not losing sleep over choosing me.’

‘Mn.’ Lan Zhan begins to get up, then, but Wei Ying grabs hold of him.

‘C’mon, another five minutes. If what you’re saying is true we can roll up late arm-in-arm and no one will bat an eyelid.’ Another thought strikes him. ‘Lan Zhan, are you out to your family? There are still working cameras in the basement, so, uh, if they didn’t know before –’

‘I am,’ Lan Zhan confirms. ‘Though I do not believe that my uncle will enjoy seeing that footage.’

Wei Ying snorts.

After another few minutes, Lan Zhan gets up again, and this time Wei Ying doesn’t stop him, but follows, complaining under his breath. They get dressed slowly – Lan Zhan had the foresight to bring some fresh clothes with him the previous night, when retrieving his toothbrush – and then make their way out to breakfast.

By fixating on the relationship, if he is allowed to call it that, Wei Ying has managed to forget entirely that Lan Zhan was going to tell everyone about the sword, and only does so when Lan Zhan, instead of sitting down to eat breakfast, remains standing and calls the room to attention.

There are quite a few Looks – now that Wei Ying is aware of them, he can’t unsee them – in their direction, with varying degrees of interest and hostility. He doesn’t want to listen, so focuses very hard on eating his breakfast while Lan Zhan explains to the group at large that, in addition to the preliminary sacrifice, the sword requires further donations.

‘I’m not letting you stab me,’ Jin Zixun says, loudly and before Lan Zhan has finished. ‘What the fuck?’

‘What if we say no?’ Su She demands, more aggressive than Wei Ying ever remembers him being. ‘Are you going to make us do it?’

‘Nobody will be forced,’ Lan Zhan says, with more calmness than Wei Ying would have in this situation. ‘I imagine the sword is designed thus in order to isolate the bearer from the rest of the group. Wei Ying has already jeopardised his own health in order to protect us, providing it with his own blood.’

‘It’s a good plan,’ Mianmian says, raising her chin as she looks directly at Jin Zixun. ‘The showrunners want us to argue, right? I bet they didn’t count on us voluntarily agreeing to help each other here.’ She turns her gaze to Wei Ying. ‘None of us would have made it down that mountain if you hadn’t done what you did. So, yeah, you can have my blood, however much you need.’

‘Mine, too,’ Jin Zixuan says, honourable but stiffly so.

‘Me too!’ Wen Ning says, and then somehow the argument is over, and almost everyone has agreed to pitch in. Jin Zixun still abstains, though his cousin frowns at him, nor can Su She be persuaded. It doesn’t matter, though, the list of volunteers is still long enough that Wei Ying won’t need to bleed himself for weeks – and he owes it all to Lan Zhan.

‘Hey,’ Jiang Cheng says, when breakfast is over and they’re on their way out of the hall. He hasn’t said anything during the informal meeting, and didn’t speak up when everyone else was offering their blood.

‘Hey,’ Wei Ying says, cautious.

‘Why didn’t you tell me it was making you hurt yourself?’ Jiang Cheng demands, a little too loudly for the fact that there are other people in the corridor. ‘Fucking hell, you should have said something.’

Wei Ying just shrugs. There isn’t a way that he can explain it that will help Jiang Cheng understand.

‘Look, I’m sorry, all right?’ Jiang Cheng says, speaking deliberately fast now, as if the apology has been sitting in his throat for some time. ‘I was an ass about it, I know. I was stupid, and I was jealous, and I still kinda am, but I’m working on it. So, uh, are we good? I know all you do is hang out with Lan Zhan these days, but –’

‘We’re good,’ Wei Ying confirms. It’s not as if he could realistically have given any other response. He’s always gonna forgive Jiang Cheng. It’s Jiang Cheng. He wouldn’t be the same person if he wasn’t being judgemental and leaping to conclusions.

And he ends up being the first person to donate blood, being healthy, willing, and, Wei Ying suspects, keen to make up for his behaviour. Nor can it hurt to look good in front of Wen Qing, who has drawn up a list of everyone willing to donate, with those already healing from their own injuries bumped down to the bottom.

Even though he’s grateful that he has volunteers, now, and the plan is designed to help him, Wei Ying can’t suppress a flash of nerves when standing in the infirmary. They can’t draw blood the conventional way; the cut has to be made by the sword – but in clean, sterile conditions, where Wen Qing will be able to bandage it up properly to prevent infection.

He takes a breath. The sword isn’t conscious; it doesn’t know what’s going to happen, but it does feel excited, somehow, at its proximity to Jiang Cheng, who has rolled his sleeve up to expose his arm.

‘Just don’t slice it off, okay?’ he says, with a nervous grin.

‘I’m making no promises,’ Wei Ying says, but his hands don’t shake as he places the blade against his brother’s arm and makes one shallow, practised cut. The sword wants more, it does want him to take the whole arm off, but he’s used to cutting in moderation now. A line of blood wells up, he holds the blade in place and lets it drink. The familiar rush washes through him, better than it usually is, for it’s not weakening him at the same time. He holds it there until he has counted to ten, and then pulls the sword away.

Wen Qing steps in with a cotton pad and some tape to hold it in place, and Jiang Cheng is blinking.

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it,’ Wei Ying confirms, relieved and yet weirded out that it wasn’t a bigger deal. He’d expected… if he’s really honest with himself, he’d expected it to be super messy, or hurt so much that Jiang Cheng swore he’d never do it again, leaving Wei Ying back at square one and unable to look Lan Zhan in the eye. But this was…simple. Easy. Jiang Cheng is fine, and the sword is calm, and Wei Ying’s body is going to get a chance to repair itself.

 

As with everything else strange and inexplicable in his life, it becomes a routine. Having discussed the logistics with Wen Qing, he takes blood every other day, but is able to get more than he would were he taking it all from himself. She’s very anxious to protect anyone from getting infected, as their cupboard supply of antibiotics is a limited one, and he can see the sense in that.

And it is helping immeasurably. When he wakes, he has energy now, and the focus to keep reading when before he’d get halfway through a chapter and fall asleep in a Library armchair. Everyone is still looking at him to come up with plans, which is horrifying, but he’s able to give them answers more or less every time. Jiang Cheng is acting normal, again, which means Wei Ying gets to enjoy talking shit with him and Nie Huaisang, and between him and Lan Zhan they’re doing a halfway decent job of keeping things running and everyone alive.

Though they have had no direct conversations about it, Lan Zhan has essentially moved into Wei Ying’s room, sleeping there more nights than not. Wei Ying is very grateful for it, and yet it has also become suffocating in a way he had not anticipated.

He loves Lan Zhan, and he loves being around him, and he loves sleeping in the same cramped bed, their limbs tangled up in each other. He loves that Lan Zhan chooses to sleep there, even if the room is a little too cold for him, so that he can be with Wei Ying.

And yet.

It is something about the way Lan Zhan is always there, his eyes sliding to Wei Ying’s arms before he looks at the rest of them. He should have known that this was coming, now that the secret is out they’re all looking at him like he might break at any moment. As if the whole point of what he was doing before wasn’t handling it by himself, and even if it was draining him, he was handling it.

He doesn’t say anything about it. He can’t. He has never known anyone who hurt themselves, for whatever reason, but he knows that he cannot ask Lan Zhan not to be upset by it. Of course he’s going to worry, of course Wei Ying should be there, and submit himself to the endless scrutiny in order to reassure Lan Zhan that he has kept his word and not bled himself, not even a tiny bit. (Wen Qing issued all kind of threats if she caught him doing it again, and instructed Lan Zhan to keep an eye on him. The problem is that Lan Zhan takes tasks like these very seriously, and Wei Ying has been entirely unable to escape from under his eye since.)

Really, he is being ungrateful. He already has more than he had ever hoped for; if this is what comes with it he will accept it with as much grace as he can muster. He throws himself back into reading, because that and their expedition trips are their only real way of reaching the state at which they’ll be able to even attempt to attack the Ice King.

The good news is that between their reconnaissance and Lan Zhan’s research, they’ve developed a good idea of where the castle is. By their best estimations it’ll be a good full day’s drive – which, as Lan Zhan has pointed out, means they will want to leave before it is light, so that they do not arrive at sunset. It’s still unclear what type of night vision the snowmen have, but it makes no sense to hand them that advantage.

While Lan Zhan focuses on the logistics, Wei Ying reads up on the Ice King himself. The books are not terribly helpful in that regard; there is a long and extremely boring history of how he was formed, which Wei Ying strongly suspects is made up. Perhaps he ought not to be so sceptical when so many aspects of their environment are so fantastic, but he remains doubtful that a creature genuinely this ancient and powerful would have been cooperative with a live TV show. It seems more likely that all the backstory is just part of the Iceolation mythology.

‘Do you believe it now?’ he asks Lan Zhan, one night, just as they are falling asleep. ‘That there’s magic, I mean.’

Lan Zhan takes a moment to respond, finally just saying, ‘Yes. Or, at least, that we may as well use that word to describe it.’

The concession does not feel like a victory.

The only really helpful part of the book on the Ice King is the section on the heartstone. According to the text, they’ll be able to activate the portal back to their world by placing it in a stone basin in the relevant chamber of the Ice King’s castle. It doesn’t say if they need anything else, but it also looks like there is a page missing. There are no torn edges, but the text just stops suddenly at the end, mid-sentence. None of the other books elaborate.

Not that he has any shortage of worries about the portal. More than once, it has occurred to him that it might not lead them home, at all. What if it simply vaporises them, or leads through to yet another fantasy world? Or, if it does lead back, will it drop them somewhere inhospitable – halfway up Everest, or in the middle of the ocean?

He gets one set of answers on an unpleasant, particularly chilly morning, on which Wen Qing has deemed him fit enough to return to the chore roster. It was almost worth feeling weak and tired, he reflects grimly, to avoid the deep boredom of sentry duty. At least most of the time he is paired with people he likes – Jiang Cheng, or Wen Ning – and so it is not as unbearable as it could be.

He has been sent to the Printer Room to retrieve some laundry detergent – it has, in the wake of the power cut, been requisitioned into another storeroom – when the printer fires up, and spits out another note.

Wei Ying stops where he is standing. He’s the only one in the room, but unlike the first time, he’s not the only person to be in there that day. People are always dropping in there now, for one thing or another. Nie Huaisang keeps taking paper to make origami birds with, claiming it calms his nerves. He’s never received anything, or, if he has, he hasn’t told anyone about it. And, as the cameras here are still working, that has to mean that this note is for Wei Ying specifically.

Well, he’s learned his lesson about not sharing. He approaches the printer, very ready to take the paper out and pretend that it’s the first time it has given him anything – when he sees what it is that it has printed, and his brain grinds to an abrupt halt.

It’s the missing page from the book. He recognises it instantly, it has the same font and stylised swirly border along the top. It only contains a few lines and another illustration, clearly the end of the instructions about how to activate the portal. He skims over it, heart racing. This must be telling him what the catch is – for there must be a catch, he doesn’t trust there not to be. Ah, there it is, the final line: it must have blood.

He returns his attention to the illustration. Drawn in the same style as those in the other books, it shows a person standing by a rough-hewn wall that could be rock or ice, their hand pressed into a cavity. Over their shoulder, a circular portal hovers, made to look like it’s shimmering by the thinner lines used to draw it.

‘You could be more original,’ he says, aloud, into the empty room. ‘This blood thing is getting old.’ And yet he takes the page, folds it and puts it in a pocket. He’s not definitely going to keep it a secret, after the sword fiasco, but he wants time to think about, and what it means for them.

He doesn’t mention it to anyone at lunch. Lan Zhan has now fully committed to sitting with him at mealtimes, which was awkward the first couple of times and now everyone is used to it. Jiang Cheng isn’t even a bitch to him anymore, showing impressive personal growth.

He doesn’t say anything when he gets a reprieve from sentry duty and uses it to go to the Library. Lan Zhan’s eyes slide over him as they always do, as if taking inventory. Wei Ying walks past him to sit down, and then all of a sudden cannot bear to be in the room a moment longer.

He runs back to his room to get the sword. That is another recent change; both Lan Zhan and Wen Qing have bullied him into leaving it in his bedroom when he’s not actively using it. Wei Ying had protested at first, but they’d made firm arguments. The risk of theft is minimal when no one else can hold it, and what happened to Xue Yang was enough to scare off any others who might have been interested in claiming it for themselves. In the end he’d given in, and to his immense annoyance had found it the right decision. He misses it the whole time he’s away from it, and it is always a relief to pick it up again, but there’s no denying he also feels lighter without it.

Today he wastes no time in taking it out from under his blanket. He knows exactly where he’s going, too, walking briskly through the corridors till he finds the spot he’s looking for. With the sentries in place, there’s no way of getting out of the building without being noticed – except for one, which he’s counting they have all forgotten about.

If climbing through the ceiling hatch was awkward the first time, doing it with a sword in one hand is ridiculous. He’s determined, though, chucking the blade up ahead of him and hoisting his body up afterwards. That’s a sure sign that his condition has improved; before the blood donations he would have been too weak to manage that. He hooks a leg through the back of the folding chair he’d used to stand on and, leaning down through the hatch, flattens it and lowers it carefully back into the corridor, so that it’s resting against the wall. To Lan Zhan – or anyone likely to look up and notice the hatch – it will be obvious, but it won’t grab people’s attention in the same way that a chair in the middle of the hallway would.

And then he closes the hatch, allowing it to lock behind him. He’s not that worried about getting back inside; he’ll find a way.

Wei Ying lies back on the roof and stares up at the sky, taking long, deep breaths. He hasn’t seen weather like this before. The clouds look heavy, and there is the slightest weight of humidity in the cold air. Is it going to rain? He was under the impression that it didn’t rain in places this cold, or maybe it’s just because you never see it. He shivers, very slightly, and then makes himself get up. By rights he should be freezing, as he didn’t stop to put on a snowsuit before coming out, but with the sword in one hand he doesn’t feel the cold.

It’s a very half-baked plan, he will admit, as he walks over the roof to the nearest edge. He hadn’t thought it through much beyond the desperate, craving idea of getting outside. The building had become too much all of a sudden, now that he has the energy to register all the things that are being said about him.

(Now that he is making the effort to listen, he has also heard some of the things being said about Lan Zhan. He probably shouldn’t be surprised, after the reception that Mo Xuanyu’s outing had in Series One, but it is still disheartening. Though none of it is outright bad enough to invite confrontation, it still makes Wei Ying very tired about the amount of time and energy that he and Lan Zhan are putting in to protect these people.)

The building isn’t very high off the ground; it’s all one storey save for the basement. He reaches the edge and lowers himself over it, falling the last few feet into the snow.

He picks up the sword and starts walking. He doesn’t have a plan for where he’s going. He’s not running away, exactly; he’s going to go back. He won’t even go for that long, he doesn’t wanna miss dinner. But he needs to be alone, and under the sky for a while, and away from the constant reminder that he is causing Lan Zhan worry. He never should have let Lan Zhan kiss him; if he’d had the self-restraint to pull away then they never would have ended up here.

Because, well…he still wants to bleed onto the sword. He’s not sure if it has become a mental health thing or whether it’s the sword working its influence on him, but he misses it and then feels fiercely guilty for missing it. He keeps telling himself if it gets really bad; if he has to use it in a fight again and is completely wiped out, he can give it a little. So long as he hides the fresh cut from Lan Zhan, he’ll never know, and –

– And, if he finds out, Wei Ying will have broken his word, and he will either watch him more closely than before or leave his room altogether. Wei Ying isn’t sure which is worse.

‘Is this what you wanted?’ he says aloud, revelling in knowing that no one but the TV audience can hear him, no matter how loud his voice. ‘Is this entertaining enough for you?’

There is, unsurprisingly, no reply. Well, they have already spoken to him, haven’t they? He stops walking, takes the folded paper out of his pocket and reads it over again. So the portal, too, wants blood. That should be easy enough to arrange. The portal is not the problem. The eight foot tall Ice King is the problem.

It would feel so much more achievable if Nie Mingjue was here. Even though Wei Ying knows that no adult is infallible and that Nie Mingjue probably had his share of doubts and worries, he always seemed like he knew what he was doing. However irrational it might be, him being there felt like they had adult supervision.

Wei Ying turns to look over his shoulder at the building. It seems smaller, and not just because it’s at a distance, but as if the scale itself has changed. Even though their numbers are still dropping – he’s not actually sure how many of them there are left – it seems impossible that they all fit inside, and even less so with part of the building out of action.

Acting on impulse, he sits on the ground, feeling the snow crunch and compact beneath him. He will probably get frostbite or pneumonia or whatever other things you’re meant to catch from the cold, but as always, he doesn’t feel it. He lies back, until there is snow cushioning his head, cool against his bare neck. What would happen if he simply stayed here? Would his blood freeze, and the sword with it? Would he become part of the landscape, just another feature of a horrifying world?

A little time passes; he’s not sure how much. He just lies there, staring at the sky, trying to pick out patterns in the grey clouds. The heavy humidity doesn’t shift from the air, but it is less unpleasant now that he’s cradled by the snow. When he feels that he can draw a full breath again, he gets to his feet and walks back to the building.

Getting inside, it transpires, is not a problem. He had an idea about trying to alert the sentries in the garage, but he’s barely got to the wide doors when they open, bringing him face-to-face with the Jeep.

Lan Zhan is behind the wheel. As soon as he sees Wei Ying his eyes widen and he undoes his seatbelt, throws the door open and leaps out of the vehicle. Jiang Cheng, who was in the passenger seat, follows close behind.

‘Where the fuck were you?’ Jiang Cheng asks, striding right up to Wei Ying and shaking his shoulder. ‘You can’t just vanish like that, fucking hell.’

‘Are you hurt?’ Lan Zhan demands, his eyes scanning over Wei Ying in his jumpsuit. Wei Ying only notices then that half the fabric is wet, soaked through by the snow.

‘I’m fine,’ Wei Ying tells him, quickly, ‘I just went for a walk. You guys didn’t need to go all search party; I wasn’t gone that long.’

‘You left no note,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘We thought, perhaps…’ his voice does not quite break, but is alarmingly close to it.

‘Really, it’s fine,’ Wei Ying says, and then raises his voice to address the others. ‘Sorry! Had to get some air. You know how it is.’

There is some grumbling, but no one else comes up to yell at him – perhaps anticipating, not incorrectly, that Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan have that covered.

Well, Jiang Cheng does, anyway. At Wei Ying’s last sentence, Lan Zhan’s face had closed off, and he had left them, walking past the Jeep and into the building. Wei Ying watches his retreating back, but does not move. Wonderful. That’s something else he’s ruined.

‘What are you doing?’ Jiang Cheng hisses. ‘Go after him. He was so worried, you should have seen him.’

‘I wasn’t out for that long,’ Wei Ying says, knowing as he says it that it’s a shit excuse. He shouldn’t have gone out without telling anyone, but trying to explain how the sudden claustrophobia had descended is impossible.

‘An hour and a half,’ Jiang Cheng says, and his voice shakes slightly. ‘I don’t care why you left, whether you had some stupid lovers quarrel or something, but that was uncalled for.’

Wei Ying heaves a sigh. He’s well and truly fucked this one. ‘You’re right,’ he says, which he hates saying to Jiang Cheng. ‘I- I’m sorry.’

‘I wasn’t worried,’ his brother assures him, unconvincingly. ‘I knew you’d be off doing something stupid.’

Wei Ying shoves his shoulder in return, light but grateful, and makes himself go back inside.

 

Lan Zhan is in their – in Wei Ying’s room, folding clothes.

His clothes, Wei Ying realises. Now that Lan Zhan is here every night, more and more of his wardrobe has moved over with him, until they’ve started losing track of whose jumpsuit is whose. It doesn’t really matter; they’re all identical and they’re close enough in height and build to share clothes without too much of an issue.

And now Lan Zhan is packing.

Wei Ying stands in the doorway, a lump in his throat. He can tell the instant that Lan Zhan notices him; his whole body stiffening. Then, as if summoning his courage, he straightens his back, and turns to address Wei Ying.

‘I will not be long.’

‘Lan Zhan – you’re not – going?’ he says, stupidly, even though it’s very clear that that’s what’s happening.

‘I think it is best.’ He has returned to that clipped, monosyllabic tone he used when they first returned with the sword, before the kiss in the basement.

‘Lan Zhan, just wait – ’ Wei Ying starts into the room, then, thinking better, holds back a little. Better not to crowd him. ‘I’m sorry for disappearing, it was a dick move, and I wasn’t thinking. It was all just getting a lot, and I needed to be by myself, and outside, for a bit.’

‘I thought perhaps the sword had overcome you,’ Lan Zhan says, and it takes Wei Ying a moment to realise what he means. ‘I…I looked for you, and became almost afraid of finding you.’

‘Fuck, Lan Zhan, I’m sorry.’

‘But you were not in the building. Your brother thought you might have gone to confront the Ice King by yourself.’

Wei Ying smiles, slightly. Despite the serious context, the idea of Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan conducting a direct conversation is oddly funny to him.

‘I did not think,’ Lan Zhan says, and he does sound angry now, ‘that you had simply gone for a walk.’

‘I know. I fucked up. It’s just – ah, it’s hard to explain. This is – you are – probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re so amazing, and beautiful, and good, and, seriously, I sleep better with you there then I ever have before.’

‘But,’ Lan Zhan supplies.

‘But, I can’t handle the feeling that you’re, I don’t know, babysitting me? No, that’s the wrong word,’ he says quickly, ‘and I know you’re worried, and you’ve got good reason to be, but it’s also like, every time we’re in the same room I can feel you watching me. Looking at my arms. And so when you’re here all the time, it’s sort of like you’re just here to make sure I keep my word about the sword. And I want you – fuck, I want you so much it’s honestly embarrassing – but I don’t want that. You should…you should be here because you want to be, not because you feel like you have to watch over me.’

Lan Zhan is still, his expression unreadable.

‘If you want to go, you can,’ Wei Ying says. ‘If you’re still mad at me, or you hate me now, or if you need the space to cool off, it’s fine. I can take care of myself.’

‘I do not want to go,’ Lan Zhan admits, after another long moment. ‘Nor do I wish to make you feel…observed.’

‘We’ll figure something out,’ Wei Ying promises, his heart soaring. ‘And, look, I can’t promise I’ll never need a time-out, but I’ll tell you. I swear I’ll always tell you if I’m going somewhere.’

‘Your clothes are wet,’ Lan Zhan says, which is how Wei Ying knows he is forgiven. ‘You will be cold, even if you do not feel the effects.’

‘Oh shit, yeah.’ Incredible how almost losing Lan Zhan had made him forget entirely about the clammy fabric. ‘I could take a shower.’

‘No,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘That will heat you too quickly. Here,’ he lifts a clean set of his own clothes from the stack he had been assembling. ‘Change into these, and get into bed.’

‘Are you propositioning me?’ Wei Ying asks, delighted.

‘I am attempting to ensure you do not lose any part of your body. I believe it would prove an obstacle to further sexual encounters.’

Wei Ying grins, and accepts the offered clothes. ‘Aren’t you going to get into bed with me? I might be too cold by myself; I’ll need your body heat to warm up.’

‘Very well,’ Lan Zhan says, as if it is an unpleasant but necessary duty. ‘If you wish.’

Five minutes later, Wei Ying is an extremely cosy little spoon, wrapped up in clean clothes, most of the blanket, and the dutiful Lan Zhan. He is not particularly tired, but that’s not a problem, really – it’s nice to be enjoying this while awake. To think of all the comfortable Lan Zhan time he misses by sleeping.

He knows that this has not fixed all of their problems. Explaining them is only the first step, and will doubtless do nothing to relieve the feeling of being observed. Even if Lan Zhan is not trying to be worried, he still will be worrying, and it will reverberate around the room until Wei Ying has to make a run for it.

He will think about that later, he decides. He’s far too snug to let the thought bother him now.

 

He’s prepared for nothing to have been solved over the next few days, and yet somehow things have become easier. He can still feel Lan Zhan’s eyes on him, but somehow the knowledge that he can leave if he wants to stops it from being suffocating.

It is a good thing, too, because he needs all the brain space he’s got for planning their attack. Even though he’s wanted to leave since the moment he woke up in the building, it still suddenly feels like they’re alarmingly close to the end. He’s not prepared for this to be It, the do-or-die mission on which all their hopes depend – but nor can they continue here indefinitely. Every day is another opportunity for snowmen to attack, and just because the recent skirmishes have passed without serious bloodshed doesn’t mean that their luck will hold out forever.

Not all of their good fortune is due to the sword, either. Wei Ying is always there, in the middle of any fight, but the others deserve some credit. With no formal training available, they’ve been sparring amongst themselves and have gotten quite good, all things considered.

Jiang Cheng has taken unofficial command of that, working himself five times harder than everyone else. Wei Ying isn’t sure if the level of his dedication is healthy, not that he’s anyone to judge. And whether it’s good for his mental health or not, Jiang Cheng’s work ethic is certainly helping in the big picture. With him marshalling the others, Wei Ying has more time for strategy planning.

‘We should choose a day,’ Lan Zhan says, one afternoon in the Library. Wei Ying has dragged his usual armchair over to the table, is attempting to determine if the Ice King has any known weaknesses and not finding any.

He looks up. He knows exactly what Lan Zhan is talking about. ‘How long do you think we need?’

Lan Zhan pauses. ‘Perhaps four days. Maybe five. I think we would be foolish to wait much longer than that.’

Wei Ying nods, his stomach twisting. It has been comforting, in a way, to remain in this planning stage, aware that the attack was coming but not yet in sight. But it will not appear on its own, with all of them sitting around and waiting for it. They will only escape the show by making it happen themselves.

‘Four days, then,’ he says, blowing a breath out slowly. ‘Shit.’

‘There is little else to prepare,’ Lan Zhan adds. ‘I believe that the others will benefit for some time for mental preparation, though nor should we give them too long. If it is immediate, it leaves no time for panic.’

Wei Ying nods again, though privately he’s fairly sure that none of the group have ever been prevented from panicking. ‘Shall we say something at dinner?’

They haven’t been having formal meetings, of late – there hasn’t been much to discuss – but that’s still a time when more or less everyone will be around.

‘Yes,’ Lan Zhan agrees, ducking his head down to focus on the map spread out in front of him. There are pages and pages of them now, each carefully labelled. There is only space on the table for a few sheets at a time; Wei Ying is just burning for an excuse to lay them all out flat and see the entire map at once – but Lan Zhan is busy, and so he holds himself back.

As expected, the announcement catches most of the group off guard.

‘That’s awfully soon,’ Nie Huaisang says, pushing his food around his plate. Some of the others are trying to hide their nerves, but not him. ‘Are you sure we’ll be ready?’

‘There’s not much else to do,’ Wei Ying tells him. ‘We know where the castle is; Lan Zhan’s estimated how long the drive will take. Every day we’re here is another day that the snowmen could attack us. And, you know, when we do it, we get to go home.’

He sees the word ripple through the group, and seizes on it. They’ve all been here so long that it seems strange to think that they were ever not here, and that any type of life existed before this. If he can just tap into that, whip up some courage to go with the nerves.

‘First thing I’m gonna do when I get home,’ he says, ‘well, I’m gonna hug my sister, but after that, I’m gonna get as drunk as humanly possible. What about you guys?’

Silence. It’s a bit awkward. Then,

‘I wanna go swimming!’ Wen Ning says, and elbows his sister, who sighs and smiles.

‘I’m gonna get the largest coffee known to mankind,’ she says.

‘I am also gonna hug my sister, and then I’m gonna get a puppy,’ Jiang Cheng says. At Wei Wuxian’s wounded expression, he amends, ‘A small puppy. We don’t live together anymore; I can get a dog.’

The suggestions start coming thick and fast then. Nie Huaisang is going to go shopping. Jin Zixuan wants to play golf. Mianmian says she’s gonna hunt down the creators of Iceolation and strangle them with her bare hands. Su She wants to start a remote hermit community that sounds suspiciously like a cult.

It works, though. By the end of the meal, everyone is talking about their plans, the prospect of home overpowering their anxieties about what they’ll have to do to get there. Wei Ying eats, and listens to Wen Qing protest that she can’t use her Iceolation experience to opt-out of future practical exams, and Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang brainstorm dog names, and smiles.

He hasn’t managed to assuage everyone’s worries, though. Nie Huaisang catches him when he’s doing the dishes (having won a lengthy argument about whether it is appropriate to name a dog Princess) and from his suddenly serious expression, Wei Ying knows that he’s not here to ask about his future plans.

Things with Nie Huaisang have been up and down, but they have remained weird since Nie Mingjue’s death. He hasn’t said anything about blaming anyone, but it’s clear from the sideways looks that he gives the sword that he can’t refrain from being reminded of it. He did dutifully show up to donate blood – though he was a baby about it, refusing to look in case he fainted.

‘Hey,’ he says, ‘I guess I have a question, about how we’re getting home. I know you’ve been doing loads of research, you and Lan Zhan, and, well…’ He trails off, embarrassed, clearly not wanting to have had to approach Lan Zhan.

‘Sure,’ Wei Ying says. It’s not as if he can say no, when he’s up to his elbows in soapy water. ‘What is it?’

‘The portal,’ Nie Huaisang says, glancing around him, and stepping closer. There’s no need; they’re the only two in the kitchen. ‘Do we actually know how it works?’

‘The books gave me some details,’ Wei Ying confirms. ‘And – ’ should he mention the note? He hasn’t told anyone about this one, just let Lan Zhan know that he had the portal figured out without including the details. Nie Huaisang is looking at him in an odd – almost calculating – way, though, and he realises suddenly that he might not be the only person that the showrunners have communicated with.

‘ - it’s blood, again,’ he finishes. ‘I think a person’s gotta activate it, but after that we can use the sword to keep it open.’

‘Oh,’ Nie Huaisang says. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Yeah, it took me a while, but it makes sense. It’s full of our blood, now, and I don’t exactly wanna take it home with me.’ He rinses off a bowl and places it in the draining rack. ‘Did you have any other questions?’

Nie Huaisang shakes his head. ‘Nah, that’s it. I’ll leave you to it.’

Wei Ying watches him go out of the corner of his eye. This level of interest is unexpected from Nie Huaisang, but it makes sense that everyone is freaking out about going home. The stakes are higher now that it’s almost in sight. It is as if now that Wei Ying can envision the steps that it will require to get them there he can see how small their chances really are.

 

‘You didn’t say anything,’ he says, when he and Lan Zhan are getting undressed for the night.

‘What?’

‘At dinner. We all said what we’re gonna do when we go home, apart from you. There’s gotta be something on your to-do list.’

‘Mn,’ Lan Zhan says, and thinks for a moment, paused in the motion of pulling off one sock. ‘I will introduce you to my family.’

Wei Ying almost drops the shirt he was holding. The cuts on his arms have all healed enough to go without bandaging, so he can sleep shirtless, his skin up against Lan Zhan’s. He wonders if the wounds will scar. ‘Fucking hell, you can’t say stuff like that with no warning! Come on, Lan Zhan, they know me already; they’ve been watching us this whole time. Don’t think responsibly, what do you want to do?’

‘I will see my family,’ Lan Zhan says, ‘and I will go to visit my rabbits.’

‘Rabbits? You’ve never mentioned rabbits!’

‘They are not technically mine,’ he acknowledges. ‘There are wild white rabbits living in the forest around my uncle’s cabin in Gusu. I feed them sometimes.’

Wei Ying tries to picture it: the austere Lan Zhan, surrounded by white rabbits. He wants to say I love you, then, and let Lan Zhan know the full effect he has on Wei Ying’s insides, but doesn’t, because it’s a big word, one that Lan Zhan is sure to remember when they get home. He needs to make sure that Lan Zhan does not feel that he owes him anything.

‘That’s adorable,’ he says. ‘When we get back, will you introduce me to the rabbits?’

Lan Zhan nods. ‘If you would like.’

‘I would. I would like it very much.’ Done with his clothes, he sits on the edge of the bed and waits for Lan Zhan. It is so nice to have someone here, with him. However did he manage before, by himself in bed every night?

That is another reason that he is dreading the attack. Whatever happens, whether they succeed or not, they will lose this easy simplicity of spending time with one another. When he stops to think about it, he’s not even sure how many people from Iceolation will want to stay in contact. What with the rabbit invitations, Lan Zhan is suggesting that he is interested in keeping Wei Ying around, but they will have the rest of the world to contend with, too. He has gone from feeling suffocated by Lan Zhan to desperate to cling onto every minute that they have left to spend together.

There is no way to put it off, though. The next four days pass far too quickly, a blur of planning and packing. This is the first mission where everyone is going, so they’re taking both vehicles. That doesn’t leave a lot of space for much else – and, as Wei Ying points out, they shouldn’t take more than they need.

‘Either we’ll win, and go home, in which case we won’t need it,’ he says, in an argument over how much food they should take, ‘or we’ll lose, and we’ll have to come back here. Either way, it doesn’t make sense to take heavy supplies.’

He wins that argument, but there are still plenty more about what counts as essential. Everyone needs weapons, plus enough cold weather gear, plus the maps, enough fuel, and Wen Qing puts together a portable first-aid kit light enough to carry with them.

And then, all of the sudden, it is the Night Before, and no one can get to sleep. They’ll be up early and leaving before it’s light to give enough time for the journey, and Wei Ying knows he needs rest, but there’s just no way that it’s happening. He balls up a clean sock and goes to the canteen to play catch, just like they had on that first night. Only this time it’s a bigger group and Lan Zhan is there, magically catching even Nie Huaisang’s horrible throws. Jin Zixuan sits on the sidelines pretending to be too dignified for it for a while, but Mianmian is having so much fun that he eventually joins in.

It is nice, Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing arguing about whether it counts if you catch the sock with a body part other than your hands (it had glanced off Wen Ning’s shoulder and he’d managed to move his head quickly to pin it in place with his neck). Wei Ying is glad to have given people something else to focus on, even if it is only for a little while.

He can’t think about tomorrow without breaking out into a cold sweat. Yes, he has the sword at his disposal, but because of that their entire plan hinges on his success. If he fucks up somehow and the Ice King kills him then they can’t open the portal – and without the sword’s protection, the Ice King will probably kill all of the others, too.

And – while he has always wanted to protect the others and for everyone to be safe – he knows them all now. Even the ones whose names he’s forgotten and he can only identify by sight. They’ve followed his orders, cooked his dinner, given up their blood just to keep him from going nuts. He owes it to all of them to get them home.

There’s nothing he can do right now to make that so, though, so he plays catch, and annoys Jiang Cheng, and flirts shamelessly with Lan Zhan, no longer caring about the canteen cameras or Su She’s hostility. If they all make it through to this time tomorrow, then he will worry about what is being said about him.

They play until they’re genuinely tired, and then retire to get a few hours’ of sleep. Tomorrow is gonna be a similar journey as to the sword hall; a drive followed by a hike.

Even Wei Ying is too tired to be nervous, to the point where when he climbs into bed and closes his eyes it is relatively easy to fall asleep. He takes only the shortest moment to appreciate Lan Zhan’s familiar warmth beside him – however the next day will turn out, it seems unlikely that they’ll be crammed into a narrow bunk, again – and then his eyes are sliding shut and he’s sinking into blackness.

 

Lan Zhan wakes him a few hours later. He is already dressed, and moves around the room with a sense of deliberate purpose, checking and rechecking that everything is in place. Wei Ying yawns, stretches, and climbs out of his bunk for the last time.

He’d been worried that some of the others might oversleep, or be arsey about getting up, but they’re all in the canteen on time for a quick breakfast. Jin Zixun makes a show of leaving his plate on the table, and laughs when Wei Ying comes round to clear it.

‘What’s the point?’

‘We should to leave things as we found them,’ Wei Ying says. ‘And what if there’s a third series? I’d hate for someone to wake up here only to find your dirty dishes everywhere.’

Jin Zixun makes a grumbling noise, but does not prevent Wei Ying from taking the plate.

He fills the sink and begins washing, first his own things, then Jin Zixuan’s, and then those belonging to the others as they, too, finish breakfast. Without saying anything, Jiang Cheng grabs a dishcloth and starts drying, so that by the time Wei Ying has finished, everything is clean and back in the kitchen cupboard.

‘We’re gonna see shijie today,’ Wei Ying says, pulling the plug out and watching the water drain down the sink. ‘Reckon she’ll make us soup? I think we deserve it.’

‘I’m sure she’s got better things to do,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘She has to deal with watching your life choices, I don’t think she’s got the time to cook.’

Wei Ying grins, and looks directly at a camera in the corner of the kitchen. ‘Hey! Shijie! You’ve got, like, twelve hours warning to make some soup. We’re gonna be starving by the time we get back.’

Jiang Cheng flicks him with a corner of the dishcloth. ‘Shut up,’ he says, but good-naturedly.

‘Shijie, he’s bullying me,’ Wei Ying complains, still addressing the camera. Even if Yanli isn’t watching, it makes him feel slightly better. ‘You see how badly he behaves when you’re not around?’

‘Hey,’ Mianmian appears in the kitchen doorway. ‘Are you guys ready? We’re about to head over to the garage.’

Slightly sobered, they nod and, hanging the dishcloth up to dry, follow her from the kitchen.

The garage is a frenzied hub of activity, with people rushing round to store weapons. Lan Zhan and Jin Zixuan are stood in the centre, talking by themselves – which would be weird if Wei Ying didn’t know that they’re the two designated drivers for the journey. Lan Zhan will be leading the way in the Jeep, with Wei Ying navigating, and Jin Zixuan will be following in the truck. If Wei Ying hadn’t spent so much time looking at the maps already he’d be rather nervous about being given the task, but he knows the landscape as much as any of them.

Jiang Cheng and the Wens are taking the three seats in the back of the Jeep, and everyone else is going in the truck. Jin Zixuan will be following them but he’s got a photocopied version of the map (the printer, it transpires, has a photocopy function) just in case they get separated.

‘All right,’ Wei Ying says, when the last things have been stowed and there’s no other way to delay their departure. He hasn’t got any ideas of what he should say, just a feeling that he ought to say something. ‘I’m not gonna say it’s definitely gonna be all right, ‘cause none of us have any idea what’s going to happen and you’ll know if I’m lying to you. But we’re gonna give it a damn good try, and if we go down, we’ll go down fighting.’

‘Yeah!’ Jiang Cheng says, sounding far too enthusiastic about the idea of perishing nobly for the cause. Still, it has the required effect, rallying the group, their faces bright and determined, even as they shiver in the chilly garage.

None of them are soldiers, Wei Ying thinks, his eyes travelling from one person to the next. And even if their plan should work perfectly, with him defeating the Ice King and opening the portal, it is impossible that all of them will make it home.

But there is nothing to be gained from saying that, or dwelling on it, so he merely holds the sword aloft and says, raising his voice, ‘We’re going home!’

They cheer, then, the sound filling the garage, until Wei Ying is confident that they’ve alerted every snowman for twenty miles. He lets the moment last for a few seconds and then, lowering the sword, goes to open the garage doors as the others move towards their places in the two vehicles.

Opening the garage is one-person job, really, and one that he is best qualified for – he’s not taking any more risks after what happened to Mianmian. Today, though, there aren’t any snowmen waiting outside. He didn’t really think that there would be. A fight now would spoil the drama of the final battle. The showrunners have to know that.

Both vehicles drive out into the dark of the early morning, and then he steps out of the building to close the doors behind him, getting one last glimpse of the empty garage. It looks much smaller without anything else in it. He wonders if there really will be a third series, or if the authorities have managed to catch up with Iceolation while they’re in here.

There isn’t time to sit around and speculate, though. He jogs through the snow to the Jeep, which has stopped a few paces away. Sword in one hand, he clambers into the passenger seat, closes the car door behind him and looks brightly at Lan Zhan.

‘Shall we?’

Lan Zhan inclines his head, and begins driving.

For the first few miles they know where they’re going, so Wei Ying doesn’t have to do anything but sit and look out the window. He watches it all go past, and wonders what the caribou are up to. They didn’t end up running out of food, in the end, though it was nice to know that they wouldn’t be completely screwed if they did. And there was something else comforting, too, knowing that they were not the only living things in this world.

Unlike their last long journey, this trip doesn’t get boring. The thought keeps reverberating around his head that everything they do they’re doing for the last time, and it’s enough to keep his brain occupied.

They see the sun come up, less spectacular than their last dawn in the mountains, but beautiful nonetheless. Wei Ying watches the pink light sweep across the valley and feels an uncertain emotion aching in his chest. He’s not sure what it is – perhaps, simply the thought that he could have loved it here, were not every part of the world seemingly designed to kill them.

Once it’s light enough Wen Ning suggests a game of I-Spy, which they go along with for lack of anything better to do. It has the benefit of leading to an argument when Wei Ying starts picking things inside the car (‘That’s not the point of the game!’ Jiang Cheng insists, and even becomes quite flustered when Wen Qing backs him up. They, at least, have not been having sex in a bunk, Wei Ying observes. A pity, really, it probably could have relaxed them both.)

And then they are getting into the mountains, and there are far more interesting things to look at. They don’t see any snowmen, but Wei Ying does catch sight of a flock of birds similar to the ones Lan Zhan described ages ago, little black-and-white things, dark against the sky.

Every so often he glances into the wing-mirror, to ensure that the truck is still behind them. It always is. Jin Zixuan might be annoying on many counts, but at least he seems like a good driver.

Wei Ying is also rather worried about getting lost, but they manage to find their way without too much difficulty. Only some of this landscape have they previously explored; lots of it they’ve pieced together from the landmarks that they could see and the snatches of maps given in the books. The Ice King’s castle is located at the end of a high valley, rather than on a mountainside, so at least it will be a shorter hike than that up to the sword hall.

Wei Ying is almost relieved when they stop the car. His restless energy had been growing, and the sword was getting hungry. No one apart from Nie Huaisang knows his plans for leaving it behind. He’s received a few passing comments about how cool it will look hanging up on his wall back home, and seen no reason to correct them – though he wonders how the same people who have rolled up their sleeves to let him take their blood are also imagining that once he is home it will simply become a cool accessory.

Jin Zixuan parks the truck next to the Jeep and everyone piles out. Wei Ying sees their awestruck expressions at the majesty of the mountains and remembers that they couldn’t see anything during their journey. Many of them have never been out this far before. Even Wen Qing is impressed, though her focus seems to be on sticking religiously to Wen Ning’s side.

‘I wish I could take pictures of it,’ Jiang Cheng says, echoing the thought Wei Ying had on their last major hike.

‘Once we get home, I’m sure we’ll have all the HD stills we want,’ he says, and is hit by the sudden, horrible realisation that whoever survives will have the opportunity of watching the whole thing back. It will be impossible to avoid. ‘Come on,’ he says, anxious to chase that thought away. ‘Let’s get going.’

He leads the way, Lan Zhan walking silently at his side. They’ve got a compass, but left the maps in the car. There’s no need; their path is straight north from here.

The first part of the hike is relatively flat, but as soon as the angle of the slope increases, he wishes he had fashioned some kind of scabbard or sling for carrying the sword. This would be much easier if he had it strapped to his back, instead of in one ungloved hand. It’s too late, though, so he ignores the irritation and does his best to keep his balance.

He’s not the only one, either. While no one is carrying a pack, like they were on the sword hall hike – save for Wen Qing, with her first-aid kit – they’re all clutching various weapons. He wonders, suddenly, what happened to his old shortsword. He has a vague memory of dropping it after cutting his hand open. Did anyone collect it, or is it still there, in the empty courtyard with Nie Mingjue’s body?

It only takes an hour and a half of climbing to bring the castle into view, its stone walls dark against the surrounding snow. Their plan is a relatively simple one: the others will endeavour to draw the snowmen out, so that Wei Ying can enter and fight the Ice King in single combat. It is the best plan they were able to come up with, given that they don’t know the layout of the castle or even how many snowmen are inside.

The sight of the castle sends a chill over the group, putting an end to any conversations. It is, Wei Ying is fairly sure, a new addition for Series Two. That, or the first round of contestants never made this far – even though, distance wise, it is not wildly out of reach. It seems absurd that this was here, all this time, within a day’s journey. The building suddenly seems a lot less safe.

Wei Ying wants nothing more than to turn and run and keep going until his legs give out from exhaustion. But the sword in his hand is hungry, and Lan Zhan is looking at him, a soft hint of concern in his eyes.

‘It’s funny,’ Wei Ying says, forcing his feet forward. ‘I’ve been telling myself all day that this is it, and yet somehow I’m still surprised.’

Lan Zhan just nods. ‘There is no true mental preparation that can be made.’

He keeps walking, dread building in his chest. People are going to die in there. Maybe all of them. He cannot stop and think too hard about what will happen if he’s not smart enough, or strong enough, or fast enough. If he dies, would someone else be able to bind themselves to the sword? He hadn’t considered that before. They all know the theory of how, but he’s not sure that any of them would get it right, would understand how it’s more than just offering it your blood. Would they know to offer their whole selves up to it?

Lan Zhan probably would. He glances sideways at his companion’s profile, beautiful and resolute. He is brave and dedicated enough to try it, if Wei Ying dies first. Wei Ying cannot bear the thought of Lan Zhan giving himself up like that, of cutting open one of his strong, capable hands and allowing the sword to take ownership of him.

The castle draws closer. They will not have the element of surprise; there’s no way to conceal their approach. It is advantageously situated at the far end of this valley, the next round of peaks rising sharply up behind it. The Ice King will have been able to see them coming.

It’s a pity that they took all the dynamite to the sword hall. It was the best plan they had at the time, of course, but now Wei Ying can’t help thinking that it would be helpful to try blowing a hole in the castle wall. It might not be that effective in the long-term, but they’re sitting ducks walking in through the main entrance.

This is their only way home, he reminds himself. It is either this, or letting the snowmen continue to pick them off. And they will run out of food eventually, and it will be a struggle learning to hunt efficiently enough to feed a group this large. There is no life to be had here. He makes himself think of Jiang Yanli watching, and his responsibility to protect Jiang Cheng.

The only path out is the one directly ahead of them.

They are able to get quite close to the castle before the first snowmen appear. Wei Ying grabs the last second available to him to look at Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan. He cannot say goodbye, it will sound like he is damning them both, but he needs this second, just to meet their eyes and have them know that he loves them. Their task is less intimidating, but they do not have a magic sword to protect them. Ordinary steel will have to be enough. Fear rises, bitter in Wei Ying’s throat, and he forces it down.

To his left, Jiang Cheng takes a breath, and with a fierce cry leads the charge to the castle gates. They are open, but a line of snowmen stand guard, their humanlike forms standing to attention. Jiang Cheng’s line breaks through, but from his yell he’s encountered more snowmen inside.

The sound spurs Wei Ying into action. He has to get inside, that’s the whole point of this plan. He darts forward, dodging round the various combatants without looking at them. He mustn’t get involved. He’s here for the Ice King, he can’t look back to see if Lan Zhan is fighting, or if Jiang Cheng’s self-imposed training schedule has paid off.

The inside of the castle is bleak and bare, the walls rough in texture and the floors uneven. It is painfully obvious that nothing lives here, its occupants having no need for warmth or comfort.

The sword suddenly heavy in his hand, Wei Ying jogs through the entrance hall to the doors beyond. Two snowmen emerge and rush at him: he cuts one in half and lops the arm off the second, the blade flashing in the dim light. He’s got to find the Ice King quickly. A lot of the people here today haven’t done much fighting before, they’re not going to last very long. That, and the fact that if he has to deal with the Ice King and the snowmen his chances of making it out alive diminish greatly.

The next chamber is also empty, save for something on the ground in its centre. It looks – Wei Ying’s heart speeds up – it looks like a body, but it can’t be, the battle is behind him. He takes a few more cautious steps forward, and then he recognises the shape.

It’s Xue Yang, lying in a heap of broken limbs. Wei Ying hurries closer until he’s able to get a better look, and feels his stomach twist. Xue Yang’s eyes are open, gazing glassily up at the high ceiling, his face cold and bloodless. His hands are still caked in his own blood, frozen onto his skin.

It is impossible that he made it this far on foot, with no snowsuit or medical assistance. The snowmen must have brought him here. Wei Ying wonders, with a chill, if Xue Yang was still alive when they found him.

He cannot linger. He’s got to keep going; they are all counting on him. He steps past Xue Yang and continues his progress down the hall. At the far end there is a vast double staircase, leading up to a platform and a pair of double doors. At ground level on either side of the stairs are two smaller doors. He pauses for a moment, mid-stride. If he were the Ice King, where would he be?

Upstairs, he decides. The design is so grand that it ought to lead to something impressive, though the steps themselves are uneven and roughly cut. He ascends them slowly, able to feel the slow beat of his heart in his chest. He has to win. He has to.

The double doors at the top of the stairs are fancier than the ones in the entrance hall, the wood reinforced with ornate metalwork. He pauses for a split second, but it does not occur to him that he could run. He has come too far to turn back. The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. It is a line from something, he has long forgotten what.

He opens the doors, and steps inside.

The Ice King is waiting, seated on a throne. It, like the rest of the castle, is made of rock, crudely shaped yet recognisable for what it is. The Ice King sits with his back straight, his eyes trained on the entrance. He is taller than Wei Ying remembers and, even though he does not feel the cold, Wei Ying shivers.

He approaches the throne slowly, pausing about fifteen feet away. Is he meant to bow, or something? It feels like he ought to do something to signal that he is here as a challenger, but perhaps the sword at his side has already got that message across.

‘Hello,’ he says. ‘I’m here to kill you.’

At first the Ice King does not react – and then he inclines his head. ‘You are here to try.’

Wei Ying almost falls over, he is so surprised. ‘You talk? It didn’t say anywhere that you could talk!’

The Ice King rises from his throne. As before, he carries no weapon, but the long claws on each hand are formidable enough. Wei Ying can remember seeing his fight with Nie Mingjue, how unstoppably tireless he was.

‘You challenge me,’ the Ice King says. His voice is low, and off-sounding, in a way Wei Ying can’t quite describe. It is not a human voice.

‘Yes,’ Wei Ying says, now raising the sword. He can feel the thrum of the blood in his veins and the blood in the metal. He has hated it since that first moment of contact and yet he cannot begin to imagine standing here without it.

A beat or two passes. Neither of them move. As soon as he is in motion, Wei Ying knows that the sword’s own instincts will override his minimal training and behave of its own accord, pulling him with it, but he does not know what first move to make, not when the margin for error is so small.

Then the Ice King moves, stepping forward with surprising speed for his size, and Wei Ying reacts, dodging his first blow and slashing out with the sword. He’s lucky; the metal makes contact with the Ice King’s side – but glances off it, the glassy ribcage unharmed. The Ice King twists around and lunges again, and this time Wei Ying barely gets the blade up in time to knock the claws inside.

They circle each other, slowly. Wei Ying already out of breath. There are no thoughts left in his head, no focus for anything but the monster in front of him. He goes on the offensive, feinting left and then turning right, aiming at cutting through the Ice King’s arm. This time he’s slightly more successful, the sword biting into frozen sinew, but even then it only sinks a couple of inches into the broad arm. The Ice King jerks his hand up, forcing the blade aside, and then striking out at Wei Ying’s unprotected flank.

Claws rip through layers of clothing, through the snowsuit, through the jumpsuit, through his shirt, to make contact with the skin beneath. Wei Ying pulls away, instinctively trying to escape the pain, but it only has the effect of dragging the claws along his chest. He manages to get the sword free and hit out at the Ice King’s arm, until he lets go, and takes a couple of unsteady steps backwards.

None of the snowmen ever got through this many layers in one slash. The wound isn’t deep, at least, his clothes did help prevent that. He can’t afford to stop and make a more detailed investigation, though, because the Ice King is coming at him again and he’s got to respond.

The fight continues: Wei Ying gets a blow in here and there, but he’s spending far too much time on the defensive than he’d like. His arms are getting heavier and his breaths coming shorter, while the Ice King does not tire. They have settled into a kind of rhythm. It feels like a sport, or perhaps a dance, only each time the creature’s claws catch him it draws lines of searing pain.

He is not fast enough. The knowledge clunks dully into his brain as he dodges another blow but cannot bring the sword up in time to muster a counterattack. The Ice King has everything on his side: size, speed, brute strength. Wei Ying tries to strike, but the Ice King’s claws catch him square in the chest, stabbing in and throwing him backwards.

The impact of hitting the hard stone floor knocks the air from his lungs and he lies there a moment, spluttering for breath, aware that the Ice King need only advance to finish him off. The Iceolation showrunners fucked up, this is too hard – or, perhaps, he was never intended to win this fight. The thought lends him an odd clarity. His failure won’t be his fault if there was no way he could have succeeded.

The Ice King does not attack immediately but advances, his slow tread more menacing than any fast attack. ‘You starve your blade,’ he says, ‘and you wonder why you do not succeed.’

Wei Ying tightens his grip on the sword. If he had a moment spare, he would touch it to one of the wounds on his torso, but he doesn’t have the time.

‘I have given it blood,’ he says, knowing even as he does so that it has been insufficient.

‘Never enough,’ the Ice King says, echoing the thought. ‘It is not enough to be given, it must be taken.’

Wei Ying does not ask how the Ice King knows about the informal blood drive. He does not ask if the Ice King knows he is on TV, if he is in league with the show’s creators. He does not ask how it is possible that the Ice King can think and speak for himself, when he is clearly a creature made of magic.

He’s too busy thinking about what the Ice King is saying and the fact that he is right. The sword has never stopped being hungry since he got it. The one time that it had seemed even remotely satisfied was after the incident with Xue Yang. It will never be enough for his friends to donate what they can here and there; what the sword demands is total and unflinching.

He’d thought of it all as a loophole, a way of getting what he needed from the show without playing into its violence. That was supposed to be the way out: not sacrificing anyone, only taking blood that was given willingly. But the Ice King is right. It is not enough. If he wants the sword’s true power, if he wants any of them to survive, he is meant to turn on his companions. That is the plotline the showrunners are after, driving him to kill the others to survive himself.

The Ice King is remaining still, watching him. Wei Ying gets up, slowly, maintaining eye contact. Even as he stands there, he knows he can’t fight any further. It took all of his energy just to get to his feet. But he will stand here and face it head on; he has just enough courage left to do that.

And then the Ice King looks past him, over his shoulder – and smiles.

Wei Ying shouldn’t turn his back, shouldn’t look away from the Ice King even for a moment, but the smile is so ghastly that he cannot help but twist his neck to see what it is he’s looking at.

For a moment, his heart stops.

It’s Lan Zhan. Bloodied, unarmed, almost unconscious, and supported on either side by two snowmen. He is alive – he raises his head to look at Wei Ying – but the fight downstairs cannot be going well if Lan Zhan has been captured in this way.

The snowmen drag him further into the room, depositing him just ten feet from Wei Ying, who is rooted to the spot. Lan Zhan tries to stay upright but fails, stumbling inelegantly to the floor. The snowmen leave him there, backing away to stand on either side of the door.

Wei Ying glances back at the Ice King, suddenly afraid he will attack while he is distracted – but the Ice King is standing up straight. He seems almost…relaxed. The hideous smile is gone from his face, and when he speaks, he sounds matter-of-fact.

‘You need blood,’ he says to Wei Ying – who feels sick, and understands.

As if pulled along by invisible strings, he walks unsteadily over to Lan Zhan’s crumpled shape. The Ice King is right; he needs blood, he’ll never be strong enough without it.

He crouches down, reaching for Lan Zhan’s face with the hand that isn’t holding the sword and brushing his perfect cheek with his thumb.

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan manages, hopeless and loving in just two syllables.

‘Easy, Lan Zhan,’ he says, and is surprised by how steady his voice is.

‘You need blood,’ Lan Zhan echoes. ‘You can take it.’

‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ Wei Ying isn’t sure how good the Ice King’s hearing is, but he’s a good fifteen feet away and his voice is little more than a whisper. ‘It’s gonna be all right, Lan Zhan. I swear. I’m gonna trick him, okay?’ He raises the sword, now, until it’s between them, at neck level, as it he were about to draw it across Lan Zhan’s throat.

‘I’m gonna let him think I’m going for you,’ he breathes, the words barely audible, ‘but I’ll cut myself, okay? I’ll be all right, I haven’t done it for ages and if I give the sword enough it’ll keep me going as long as I need to.’ It is not a good plan, but none of his options are good, and it is the only plan he can bear.

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says, again. The blade hangs in the air between them. Lan Zhan’s eyes flick down to it, and then back to Wei Ying – and then, before Wei Ying has time to react, he has surged forward to kiss him, presenting his neck to the steel.

Wei Ying feels the blood enter the sword before he feels the kiss: a dizzying rush of power that surges through his body down to his toes. Lan Zhan’s lips are colder than he remembers them being – but it has always been his job to keep Lan Zhan warm.

He pulls away later than he means to, and even then it takes a tremendous effort to wrench the sword from the gushing wound. Lan Zhan collapses fully, then, unable even to raise a hand to try and staunch the bleeding. Wei Ying wants nothing more desperately than to save him, to stop the blood himself, to tear his clothes into bandages and hold him together. But there is nothing in this cursed world that can repair a wound like that, no means of transfusing blood, nothing Wei Ying can do but make sure that Lan Zhan returns to a world with doctors and hospitals and people who know what they’re doing.

He stands. The sword is more energised than he has ever known it, practically humming with power. He is not tired, anymore, but electrified, the sword pouring energy into him. He turns, slowly, towards the Ice King. Is it his imagination, or is he regarding Wei Ying more warily than before?

He doesn’t wait to figure it out. His body moves by itself, charging forward, changing angle at the last minute to slice a long gash along the Ice King’s chest. He does not feel like Wei Ying anymore, but something else, a furious avenging demon, impossibly fast and brilliantly clever with no thought in his head but destruction.

The Ice King has noticed, and moves with a fresh urgency, but even that isn’t enough to keep pace. Wei Ying slips round behind him, suddenly grateful to be so much smaller, and when the Ice King twists round to defend himself, Wei Ying leaps, grabs onto the Ice King’s shoulder with one hand, and plunges the whole length of the sword through the base of his throat.

For a second they are both suspended in the air, the Ice King’s unnaturally blue eyes wide in shock – the most human they have ever looked – and then they are moving again. They fall together, but do not land together. By the time Wei Ying has crashed down onto the stone floor the Ice King is gone, exploded into a thousand brilliant shards. The heartstone falls too, and bounces a couple of times before settling in the midst of the glittering pile.

Wei Ying looks up from where he has landed. It is impossible that he did it, and yet there is the proof, still lit with that bright cyan glow just a few feet away. It is within arm’s reach; he extends a hand out to pick it up. He is expecting it to be cold, but despite its blue colour the heartstone is faintly warm.

Lan Zhan.

He scrambles to his feet and runs across the chamber. The two snowmen guarding the door have disappeared, they must have made a run for it when the Ice King died. Lan Zhan is still collapsed, blood pooling around him. Wei Ying stoops and feels frantically for a pulse. It is weak, but it is there.

The others, he needs the others. Wrenching himself from Lan Zhan’s side, he sprints to the double doors and throws them open – coming face to face with Jin Zixuan and Mianmian.

‘They’re all running!’ Mianmian exclaims, ‘Did you – ’ and cuts off, as she sees the heartstone in Wei Ying’s hand.

‘We have to help Lan Zhan,’ he says, jerking his head over his shoulder.. ‘He doesn’t have much time – have you guys found the portal chamber? It’s got like a stone basin in the centre, there was an illustration –’

‘Yes,’ Jin Zixuan interrupts, hurrying forwards. ‘It’s downstairs.’ And, bending to lift one of Lan Zhan’s arms over his shoulder, he nods for Mianmian do to the same. Lan Zhan’s head lolls backwards; exposing the wound. It does not look too deep, thank fuck, but he’s lost so much blood; his snowsuit is drenched in it.

Wei Ying starts forward, ready to insist that he can carry Lan Zhan – he should carry Lan Zhan – but Jin Zixuan shakes his head.

‘That thing shouldn’t be anywhere near him,’ he says, firmly, and it takes Wei Ying a moment to realise that he means the sword.

He nods, dumbly. Jin Zixuan is right. (How the fuck is Jin Zixuan right about something?) He leads the way, instead, a new kind of sick anticipation twisting in his chest. If this doesn’t work – if the portal was a hoax, and there is no way home – well, he’ll cut his own throat without stopping to think about it. He doesn’t care that it would mean abandoning everyone else.

Some of the others are gathered at the bottom of the stairs, crouched around a fallen figure. It is a smaller group than he had left behind, and Wei Ying scans over them, feeling some of his panic ebb the more faces he sees. Jiang Cheng, Nie Huaisang, even Jin Zixun, are here, their snowsuits ripped and bloodstained, but they’re upright. And that person kneeling is Wen Qing, which means –

He stops, halfway down the stairs, just as the others notice him and look up. He registers Wen Qing’s tearstained face and knows what it means even before he sees the body.

Mianmian and Jin Zixuan stop just behind him, forcing him to continue down the steps. Now he can see Wen Ning, his grey snowsuit stained dark with blood. His face is untouched, though, and his eyes are closed. In his sister’s arms, he could almost be asleep.

‘He saved me,’ Jiang Cheng says, dully, when Wei Ying reaches his side. ‘This fucking kid, he pushed me out of the way.’

Wei Ying just nods. There’s nothing else he can do, beyond be selfishly grateful that Jiang Cheng, at least, is still standing. He cannot break down about Wen Ning, cannot stop to think about how young, or kind, or good he was. They have to get home. He must get them home. ‘Where’s the portal?’

‘It’s through there,’ Nie Huaisang says, pointing to the door to the right of the stairs.

‘We gotta go, now,’ Wei Ying tells the others, but they’ve seen the state Lan Zhan is in, and need no convincing. Many of them are not much better off themselves.

Wen Qing won’t move, though, just rocks back and forth, whispering her brother’s name. Jiang Cheng stoops down beside her and says, gently, ‘Come on. I’ll carry him.’

Only then will she stand, watching fearfully as Jiang Cheng carefully lifts Wen Ning’s body, up into a fireman’s lift. It takes quite the effort, Wei Ying can tell, but Jiang Cheng just about manages, and then they as a group are off and moving.

The portal chamber looks much as it did in the illustration: the stone basin, and a narrow recess in the rocky wall just the right size for a hand. Wei Ying wastes no time, setting the heartstone in place and cutting open that same strip of his palm he had used for the swordbinding. It is almost a shame to tear it open - it healed nicely, Wen Qing had been pleased when she removed the stitches. 

‘Someone’s going to have to go through and test it,’ he says, approaching the niche in the wall. ‘I can’t, I’ve gotta go last, so I can set up the sword.’ He presses the bleeding palm to the rock, and feels the moment when the connection is made. It’s similar to the link he has with a sword, but on a different frequency. This feels more grounded.

Blue light surges from the heartstone in the centre of the room, bathing all of them in its glow and then concentrating into a swirling circle, a foot or so off the ground and tall enough for a person to step through. It takes a moment to settle, and then the edges become crisp, as if abruptly coming into focus.

Everyone watches it, their trepidation clear on their faces. Wei Ying understands their hesitation, but it’s not like they have a choice, here. They’ve got to trust that the portal works; they have no other option.

‘We’ll go,’ Jin Zixuan says bravely, indicating himself, Mianmian and Lan Zhan. ‘He’s not gonna make it, otherwise.’

Wei Ying can only nod, dumbly, and watch, as they manoeuvre Lan Zhan away from him. At some point the grief will come, he knows, but for now there is just cold determination to ensure that Lan Zhan’s sacrifice will have saved the others. So he just watches, as they approach the portal and step through it, carrying Lan Zhan with them into the unknown.

A few seconds pass. Then a hand suddenly appears – Mianmian’s – giving a thumbs up. Whatever is on the other side, it is safer than where they have come from.

‘Go a few at a time,’ Wei Ying calls. ‘And, hey, you, - Jin Zixun! Come here a sec.’

He looks both confused and annoyed, but Jin Zixun obeys, as the others begin hurrying through the portal.

Wei Ying sees Jiang Cheng hesitate, still carrying Wen Ning, and adds, ‘Go! I’ll follow you guys, I just have to sort this thing out with the sword.’

Jiang Cheng nods, and he and the Wens disappear. There are only a few people left, Nie Huaisang one of them. He gives Wei Ying a very strange look, an unusually calculating expression on his face, before following the others through the portal.

‘Why did you call me?’ Jin Zixun asks.

‘I need you to give me a hand with something,’ Wei Ying explains. ‘The portal’s activated by blood, so I’m gonna use the sword to keep it open long enough for me to come through. You guys are going to have to make the connection on the other side, though – Jiang Cheng knows, I’ve written it all out. Here are the instructions,’ he awkwardly extracts a sheet of folded paper from a pocket with his free hand, ‘Jiang Cheng knows what to do. I would have given them to him, only he’s busy with Wen Ning.’

Jin Zixun takes the paper, still frowning. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Just give that to Jiang Cheng, and once you’re through, give me some kind of sign – throw something through, after you? Swapping out my blood for the sword might disrupt the connection, a little, I don’t want anyone to be halfway through when I do it.’

‘All right.’ Still sounding deeply unimpressed, Jin Zixun gives a brisk nod and turns, away from Wei Ying and to the portal. He doesn’t look behind him, stepping quickly into the blue vortex and vanishing.

Wei Ying waits. The adrenaline rush from the sword is fading, in a moment he will be exhausted.

Something appears through the portal – a small grey pebble, bouncing off the stone floor – and he exhales. They’re all through, and wherever it is, it must be better than here.

Knowing he can’t afford to wait further, he pulls his hand back, away from the wall, feeling the connection splinter. The portal makes a popping noise and vanishes, and he is alone in the room, with only a cursed sword that will never give up the blood it has drunk and the memory of Lan Zhan’s unconscious form being carried away from him – carried home.

Notes:

'Does it have to be human? Does it have to be mine?' is what Seymour asks of the monstrous plant, Audrey II, in Little Shop of Horrors after it displays a taste for human blood.

'The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft' is a line from King Lear. As it has already been established that Wei Wuxian has studied some international literature, I've decided that I'm allowed to put in Shakespeare references if I want.

Thank you everyone who's been reading and following the story so far! I know it's a bit of a strange AU, but I'm having a lot of fun with it. As always I'm around on tumblr posting fairly regular writing updates (tagged 'fic updates').

If you enjoyed this chapter, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter 4: iv. i had rather be set quick i' the earth/and bowl'd to death with turnips

Summary:

The seasons don’t really change. Sometimes the lake beyond the mountains is frozen, sometimes it isn’t.

Notes:

Then we came forth, to see again the stars
- Inferno, canto xxxiv

Also just to say I've updated the tags, both to reflect this chapter and to retroactively reflect chapter 3 (whoops).

The seasons don’t really change. Sometimes the lake beyond the mountains is frozen, sometimes it isn’t. Wei Ying isn’t sure to make of the noise the first time he hears the ice breaking up. For a few weeks – or perhaps months – the lake is a treacherous maze of cracked and broken shards, before the temperature drops again and it freezes back over, allowing Wei Ying to resume ice fishing without worrying that he’s going to fall through into the water.

 

He stays in the portal chamber for an hour or two after it closes, too exhausted to get up. It is easier to just sit there, and perhaps there is the slightest feeling of hope, too, that maybe the others would figure out some way to get it open from the other side. It didn’t seem likely, given that no rescue teams had appeared at any point during the show, but it is not impossible.

Nie Huaisang knew more than he was letting on. Wei Ying is becoming steadily more certain of that the longer he thinks about it. The way he had looked over at them before leaving, he must have thought that Wei Ying was going to leave Jin Zixun behind.

He could have done it. Jin Zixun wouldn’t have been happy about cutting his hand open, but Wei Ying wouldn’t have allowed him to say no. A handful of quick, soul-destroying lies, and Wei Ying would be home, and it would be Jin Zixun sitting here, knowing he had been tricked and that he was going to die.

Wei Ying lets out a breath, letting his head tilt back to rest against the rocky wall behind him. He’d known what the portal wanted from the moment he saw the illustration, but there was no point in sharing. How could they have decided who was going to stay behind? Any fair system, drawing lots, or something like that, would have had the danger of Jiang Cheng or Lan Zhan being the one selected. And any unfair system – well, the less thought about that the better. They might have voted for him to stay behind, anyway.

And it’s like Nie Mingjue said, back when they had been contemplating claiming the sword. Something about how if they turned on each other then they didn’t deserve to go home. That’s it, Wei Ying tells himself, as he tries not to picture Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli reuniting without him. It is better this way. He could never have returned and been able to rest easy knowing he’d left someone behind.

So this is the best way. He has his goodbyes, carefully written out on the note he’d given to Jin Zixun. He’d agonised over what to say, eventually deciding to keep things short and to the point. It is addressed to no one in particular, though if Jin Zixun kept his word he will have handed it to Jiang Cheng. He will, in turn, hopefully share it with the others. What a bizarre sequence of events, for Jin Zixun to have been the one entrusted with Wei Ying’s final goodbyes.

Jiang Cheng is going to be angry, Wei Ying knows. And Lan Zhan –

I’ll always tell you if I’m going somewhere, Wei Ying had promised, knowing even as he did so that he’d have to break it. If Lan Zhan survives, Wei Ying knows that he does not deserve to be forgiven.

He thinks about Wen Ning, too. Though he never dreamt of admitting it to anyone, he was genuinely unsure if the boy would have survived the portal anyway, after being revived by the sword. Its power is of this world, and Wei Ying’s not sure what would happen back in theirs. Regardless, it is terrible that they will never know.

He sits there for a long time, until his legs have cramped up and every last bit of energy granted by the sword has drained away. Perhaps he will die here, he thinks, waiting for a portal that will never open. Eventually some rescue team will figure out a way to come through, and they will find him, frozen into a statue. It is not such a bad way to go, all things considered. He’s accomplished what he set out to do. No one could begrudge him this.

Then something scurries into the corner of the room, a small rodent of some kind. It doesn’t quite look like a rat, more like some sort of lemming. He hadn’t thought that there would be animals anywhere near here, but this castle isn’t really all that high, elevation-wise. Perhaps nature will take over, now, and things will grow in these empty halls.

Wei Ying watches the small creature, laughs, and decides to live.

 

The hike down to the cars is terrible. He steps over several bodies on his way out of the castle, allowing himself the luxury of not looking at their faces. It doesn’t matter who they are, now, there’s nothing more he can do for them. He follows their footprints back down the valley. Even though it’s a descent, it’s still not an easy path, but the sun is low in the sky and he’s got to get back before it is properly dark.

Something twists in his gut at the sight of the two vehicles, parked neatly side by side. That was this morning, fucking hell. It might as well be a lifetime ago. He finds both sets of keys hidden by one of the Jeep’s wheels and goes through the car for anything useful. There are some emergency supplies, plus the gloves that he’d had chosen not to wear. Most precious of all are the maps, neatly rolled into a cylinder and resting on the driver’s seat. He gathers everything up, checks it over one last time, and then heads for the truck.

Either vehicle would do, really, but he’s curious about what it’s like to drive – and he has a vague, half-formed idea about camping out of it. He won’t be able to stay in the building, he knows that much. There is food left, but not very much, and now that there’s no escape on the horizon he’s going to have to stretch those supplies for as long as he can while he figures out how to hunt.

That, and he can’t bear to be in the empty building, by himself. Even though he has had time to prepare for this ending, knowing that he wasn’t going to get out of this world, facing up to the building in all its emptiness is going to be something else.

And it is. He spends the drive steeling himself up for it, and yet still isn’t ready. The whole time that they’ve been there the building has never been empty – there were always people staying behind, cooking and patrolling and milling about. Now the building is dark, empty and hideously quiet. Everything appears to have been switched off, including the cameras, which answers one of his questions. He had wondered if anyone would still be watching him, if the show’s survivors – wherever they are – would be able to see. But all the cameras are without their blinking light, and with his plan to get as far from the building as possible, it seems more likely that he’s on his own.

He keeps his course simple, hitting up the supply room, the kitchen and the Library. Practical things only. He will not linger in the canteen, thinking about their last breakfast together, or swing by his old bedroom, remembering how it felt to have Lan Zhan sleep next to him. He’s got a mental list of everything he needs and he wants to get in and out before it’s too late in the evening. He is not about to spend another night in the building.

The kitchen is still a lot. Everything is neat and clean and tidy from when he and Jiang Cheng put it away. Wei Ying opens up the remaining cupboard to begin collecting tins. He should be able to fit most of them in the truck now that he’ll have the whole thing to himself. He should probably eat something now, he’s vaguely aware, it’s been a long time since their final meal, but he’s not hungry. That can wait until all of this is done and he is far away.

Packing everything takes longer than he’d anticipated. Even after he’s loaded up on food and medical supplies he remembers stuff like toothpaste, can openers and extra socks. Whatever happens out in the mountains, whether he dies in a week or manages for years, he’d rather not come back here if he can help it.

He goes to the Library last, though he couldn’t say if he was saving it or dreading it. There is a moment when he steps inside, and suddenly feels like everything is normal again, and Lan Zhan will come in behind him and go to sit down at the table. He stays in the doorway, a lump in his throat, and then, shaking himself, moves forward to collect the remaining maps. He scans the bookshelves to see if there’s anything useful, but nothing seems promising, so he grabs one at random (the pages might be useful kindling when making a fire) and heads back out again.

That’s everything, then. He goes over the truck twice, the back of it now heavily loaded with supplies, and cannot find anything missing.

Wei Ying climbs into the cab, places the sword on the seat beside him, starts the engine and begins driving.

 

He doesn’t get very far on the first night. He has been driving for around thirty minutes when hunger and exhaustion catch up with him very suddenly, forcing him into making the sensible choice to pull over and rest. He hadn’t thought about making things easily accessible when packing – he’d been too focused on fitting as much in as possible – so all he’s able to dig out is a tin of beans, the can opener and a spoon. He eats half the tin cold, sets it aside, and curls up to sleep on the seats in the cab. It is not as comfortable as his bunk, and certainly not when Lan Zhan was beside him, but remains substantially better than his other options.

The sword wakes him an hour or so before dawn. It’s hungry. Wei Ying jerks out of a dream that is forgotten as soon as he opens his eyes, fumbling around to find the blade in the dim, grey dark. Stupid of him not to have thought of this before now, of course it would make this demand.

His hand makes contact with the metal and the desire for blood is so strong that he almost lets go. He was wounded in the fight with the Ice King; maybe he can hold the sword to an existing injury to collect some blood for it? Between the fight and keeping the portal open he has probably already lost the reserve that he’d had a chance to build up while the others donated theirs to the sword.

He cannot give it any more.

The thought settles firmly in his head. He’s got no idea if it will be physically impossible to resist, or if the sword will take matters into its own hands somehow if starved long enough. The alternative – of going back to bleeding himself every day and returning to that perpetually dizzy and exhausted state – is incompatible with survival. He was barely able to keep up with scouting missions before; there’s no way he will make it by himself out in the wilderness in that condition.

As if in response to that thought, the sword’s yearning increases, gnawing away at him. Wei Ying sets it carefully at the opposite end of the cab, and tries to go back to sleep. It doesn’t really work. The sword stays at the edge of his mind, its demands for attention growing progressively louder.

He holds out until the sun comes up, then grabs the remaining half tin of beans and hops out of the cab. It is probably a bad idea to leave his weapon in the truck, but the land around him is still open enough for him to see anything coming and he gets the feeling that the remaining snowmen aren’t going to come looking for him any time soon.

The beans seem to help a little, but they make a reappearance a few hours later. He’d been driving slowly on account of his growing nausea, and is just able to stop the truck and throw the door open before vomiting out onto the snow. He retches until his stomach is empty, wipes his mouth and sits back in his seat. Only a little blood, he knows, and he will feel better. It is not as if he will be able to go on like this.

Wei Ying grits his teeth and keeps driving.

By nightfall, he knows that the final stage – whatever it is – must be close. He’s started shivering despite the layers and, when he goes to open another tin, his hands are shaking. The sword doesn’t just want a little blood, now, but all of it, it wants him to cut his throat open and bleed out like Lan Zhan did, and why shouldn’t he when Lan Zhan was willing to do it? Why should Wei Ying hold back when there’s nothing here for him and the people he cares about are either safe or dead? He’s not doing anyone any good by just driving around in the mountains, he might as well end it here and now, does he suddenly think he is above the sword? Has he forgotten that he belongs to it, that he owes it everything?

Perhaps he could simply make a run for it. It is an idiotic thought but an appealing one. He wouldn’t last two days without the truckful of supplies, but what if he simply took off running and didn’t turn back? How far would he get before bending to the sword’s control and crawling back to it?

He should just get it over with and give himself up to the sword. Wasn’t this inevitable, from the moment he first bound himself to it? He must have known, then, even if he did not acknowledge it, that there was no other way for this to end. He was always going to end up here, fevered and trembling, until he gave it what it wanted. At least now there are no cameras on him; he does not have to think about what this would be like for Yanli to watch.

He sits with his knees tucked up against his chest, his breaths coming fast and shallow. Perhaps the withdrawal itself will finish him off, even if he manages to hold off from bleeding himself. The idea is violently satisfying. The aim is not to survive – that no longer seems realistic – but to deny the sword what it wants. It has had Lan Zhan’s blood, it will not get another drop of Wei Ying’s.

He does not sleep at all that night, just sits, occasionally rocking slightly. His body no longer feels like one that is currently alive, but if the sword wants him to die it will have to kill him itself. He has helped it enough.

Several times over the course of the night it feels like it will. He vomits again, just water now that his stomach is empty, and shakes and finds himself crying. Back when he lived in Lotus Pier, the Jiang family house, Yanli would take care of him whenever he was ill. She’d come to sit by his bed, bring him soup and set him up with whatever crappy TV shows he wanted to watch. Better still were the times she’d stay there, bringing her embroidery or whatever book she was reading. She didn’t have to say anything; it was enough of a comfort just to have her there.

‘Shijie,’ Wei Ying murmurs, and feels another hot tear runs down his cheek. Fuck it all, he just wants to be home.

He closes his eyes and tries to think of Lotus Pier and his old room. It’s hard to focus on anything other than the sword’s hunger, worming its way into every part of his mind, but he clings on. His childhood bedroom was always such a mess, Yu Ziyuan was always having a go at him about it. Lan Zhan probably had a neat bedroom. Oh, Lan Zhan as a kid, that’s an adorable image. Was he always as uptight as he is now?

Wei Ying takes a slow, steadying breath, keeping the thought fixed firmly in mind. Out of all of the ways to go, it could be worse than this. He could have failed completely in the Ice King’s castle, or, going further back still, the Ice King himself might have claimed the sword and butchered all of them in a matter of days. Now, at least, he is sheltered, if not comfortable, and afforded privacy.

An hour or so later he is ready to take all of that back, there is no way that this can get worse. He is hunched over, eyes screwed tightly shut, teeth clenched so tightly his jaw hurts. Every second he thinks that this must be it, he must be about to keel over, only to find in the next second that he hasn’t, but is continuing on in the same agony. He cannot think of anything else, there is nothing else, just this, the feeling that his body is steadily hollowing itself out in response to the sword’s all-encompassing hunger.

And then there is light beyond his eyelids. Wei Ying blinks in surprise, wondering momentarily if he has actually died – but no, the sun has broken across the horizon and it is the morning.

He breathes out, still shallow, but his lungs no longer feel as if they are being shredded. Is the hunger ebbing, or has he merely become used to it? No, it’s definitely fading, he is able to string thoughts together now where before there were only physical, animal feelings.

He looks over to the sword, resting on one of the passenger seats. What now? Is this a stalemate, or is it simply pausing its torments only to resume them at a later point?

That investigation can wait. Now that the agony has eased, his exhaustion is catching up with him and it seems like a very good idea to take advantage of his head being clear enough to sleep. He stretches, then takes up his old position lying sideways across the seats. There isn’t quite enough space, his head is almost level with the sword hilt.

‘Didn’t get me, you bastard,’ Wei Ying mutters, and falls asleep.

 

It is already dark by the time he wakes, and while the sword’s hunger has not returned, he’s ravenous. He is also, for the first time since the binding ritual, quite cold, to the point where he has to get a blanket out of the back to tuck round himself.

He puts off touching the sword, busying himself with eating another tin of beans and cleaning up the vomit on the dashboard. They’re important jobs to do, he insists, and finds as many as he can to do before facing up to the question he’s got to answer. If all of that means he’s somehow severed the bond with the sword – as his sensitivity to the chill does suggest – he’s got to find that out sooner or later. He’d been counting on the sword’s presence to keep snowmen away, plus he’s going to have to hunt for his food sooner or later.

Finally, he can’t put it off any longer. Half certain it’s going to freeze his hand, he reaches out to pick up the hilt.

The metal is cool under his fingers, but does not resist the touch. He feels the spark of the connection – it’s not quite the same beat of power as before, but still recognisable – and lets out a long breath in relief. So it is still his.

He sleeps again for a few hours, the sword lying on the seats beside him, and is roused once more by the early morning light streaming in through the windscreen. It is time to get going; he never intended to stop here for this long.

‘All right,’ he says, aloud again. He’s not sure if he’s talking to the sword or to himself. ‘Let’s see what’s out there.’

 

The next few months are an arduous process of trial and error. He drives down the valley to where he saw the caribou, and camps out for a few days by the freshwater stream. He’s keen to conserve fuel wherever possible, so he leaves the truck there for a while and conducts further explorations on foot. Now and again he sees a snowman, but they run whenever they see him holding the sword. He almost feels sorry for them, and wishes that they could talk, like the Ice King.

He learns to hunt. The stash of tinned food from the building is a respectable size, but there’s no way around the fact that it’s a finite supply and he’ll have a much better chance trying to catch food when he isn’t already starving. That thought turns out to be a helpful one: even finding the animals is difficult to begin with. He has a go at making a bow from pine, having hacked some branches off, but it’s tough going. Eventually he manages to ambush one of the older caribou and is so desperate to bring it down that he hacks out wildly with the sword, catching one of its legs and making it stumble. He can’t afford to hesitate, lunging forward to cut its throat and is rewarded with a spray of hot blood across his face.

It is the first time he has ever killed anything. The snowmen don’t count, they’d dissipate as soon as you got a big enough hit in. Real, living creatures carry on having a body even after they are dead. Of course, that is the point, he intends to eat it – but the heavy, lolling weight of the deer’s lifeless head makes him feel sick and guilty even as his stomach growls.

Hauling it back to the truck takes forever; there’s just so much of it and he’s painfully aware that the smell of fresh blood must be advertising his location to any nearby predator. The only ones he sees, though, are Arctic foxes, and they keep a careful distance, quietly following him through the snow.

Butchering the caribou might be the messiest thing he’s ever done. At least he has the presence of mind to do it a little way from the truck, and leaves a bloodied pile of entrails for the foxes. Skinning the caribou is harder still, but he doesn’t want to waste any part of it and the thick hide looks like it could be useful. The only problem is that it is refusing, quite emphatically, to be removed from the rest of the body. Wei Ying hacks and slices, having swapped the sword out for a knife, and while he’s unconvinced that he is doing it the way one is meant to, he does end up with something resembling a deerskin.  

The sword, at least, seems to be enjoying itself. Since that terrible, shivering night it seems to have understood it won’t get any further with him, and has been suspiciously quiet since. There’s still that spark of power when he touches it, but he’s not getting into as many fights these days and is asking much less of it. He spends more time using one of the knives, a long, hunting knife, not dissimilar to the one that Lan Zhan often fought with.

And, despite everything it has done to him, he is glad to have the sword with him. Not just because it gives him a means of defence against the remaining snowmen, but it’s – well, it’s powerful, and comfortingly familiar. It belongs to him, he belongs to it, it is all he has left. He also gets the feeling that it may be helping keep him alive. Though it no longer shields him from the cold – which, he is forced to admit, is probably a good thing, or he’d get frostbite without noticing – he still feels its pull, and needs to have it close.

After a few weeks, or perhaps months, he discovers the lake. It is over on the other side of the mountains, the result of several days’ hike. It is frozen over when he finds it, but there are fish underneath, and the nearby wooded slopes are full of animals to the point where he suspects that the area surrounding the building had been deliberately cleared of wildlife. Getting the truck over there takes a fair bit of planning, but is easily worth it for the sake of being able to establish a permanent base camp. There’s a clearing just up the mountainside from the lake, he parks the truck and sets about making it comfortable. He doesn’t plan on driving anywhere else if he can help it, so the remaining petrol is for emergencies only.

With the truck stationery, he’s able to arrange the inside to his liking. He empties some of the stores out of the inside, rigging up a tarpaulin from the supply room between two trees and stacking things underneath it. The cold is useful for keeping meat frozen, but he soon learns that that has to be buried in snowdrifts or raised up out of reach of the foxes.

Having freed up some space, he makes the interior of the truck bed comfortable. He’s been sleeping in the cab, or wrapped up in a blanket when on the move, but now he’s able to make a bed of sorts at the far end. The canvas walls he decorates with Lan Zhan’s maps, pinning them up like pieces of art on display. He’s explored much more of the mountains on his own, now, but has not charted any. There’s no point; he can remember where everything is and there’s no one else to make a record for. But it is nice to have Lan Zhan’s work decorating his space – and, even if it is stupid to be this sentimental, thinking of Lan Zhan all those months ago, quietly thinking in practical terms of what it would take for them to survive, makes his insides twist in a way that’s nice and painful all at once.

Wei Ying remembers, what feels like decades ago, the conversation they’d had on the rooftop that first week in the building. He had said we’re going to die and Lan Zhan had silently disagreed. It’s almost funny to recall, now that he’s the one clinging to the idea that life here is possible and Lan Zhan is – well, if he’s being realistic, Lan Zhan is probably dead.

Wei Ying swings between not allowing himself to think of it at all and being totally unable to think of anything else. He’d lost so much blood by the time they got him through the portal, and even if they did somehow have emergency services right on hand –

Lan Zhan is on his mind from when he wakes up in the truck, or out in one of his temporary shelters, while he is hunting, and learning to survive off the land. He is rationing the tins, determined not to be reliant upon them. Lan Zhan would probably know what to do, he’d have some inexplicable knowledge of Arctic survival methods and be getting along famously. He’d have figured something out about the lack of vegetables – so far, the only thing that Wei Ying has managed to come up with is pine needle tea.

He is getting slowly better at hunting, though, so is at least getting plenty of fresh meat. There are all sorts of other animals this side of the mountains. It seems like a pity to waste anything he’s able to catch, so he spends several very messy days learning how to skin his kills and even longer figuring out how to treat the furs so that they become useful. The caribou hide is thick and not particularly soft, but adds fantastic insulation to his blanket-pile bed.

The first time he sees an Arctic hare he wants to eat it, immediately, and then thinks of the white rabbits Lan Zhan keeps, and is horrified. But he is hungry, and sometimes he goes several days without seeing viable game – and Lan Zhan is dead – so the second time he sees them, he starts setting traps. They are harder to skin than the deer, but he likes the taste better.

Fishing, too, occasionally works out. He had never particularly enjoyed it before here; he didn’t have the patience for sitting still and waiting for a bite. Now, though, he doesn’t mind sitting around so much. He can watch as the sunlight moves across the line of peaks that has become a familiar horizon, and it requires much less physical exertion than hunting anything on land. It not as if being left alone with his thoughts carries any threats these days. There is nothing else to be alone with.

 

Not all of it is bad. Most of it is – most of the time he is cold, grubby and uncomfortable – but the air is clear and he gets to watch the mountains bathe in gold every evening. He is not being watched, he is under no obligation to anyone but himself, he can simply be by himself. Jiang Cheng is as safe as Wei Ying can make him, so what does it matter if his loneliness sometimes becomes so great that it threatens to crush his ribcage?

He can’t spend too long focusing on his feelings, though, as there are always more things that need doing. He builds a sled for transporting things on foot; it had taken him embarrassingly long to remember that that’s what people use on snow, rather than anything with wheels. He has nothing to fasten the wood together apart from rope – no nails, or glue, or anything else – and his first few attempts fall apart when under pressure. He’s got all the time in the world, though, and is a quick study, and is finally able to come up with a design that lets him haul more logs or game back to camp.

Once he’s confident that the sled isn’t going to disintegrate, he packs a few days’ supplies and hikes up to the sword hall. It isn’t too far when approached from this side of the mountains; he’s got a good idea of where it is but hasn’t been up there, yet.

The building is as he remembers it, only empty, and the bodies of Nie Mingjue and the two others are still there, frozen in place and covered in the perfect white shrouds of snow. It takes Wei Ying the better part of the afternoon to dig them out. He has to be quite rough to get them off the ice, and the force feels sacrilegious. He’s made up his mind, though, he’s not going to leave them there. He’s got the time to see them buried properly, and now that he’s not spending all day every day fighting for survival, he may as well.

He spends that night in the shelter of the sword hall’s courtyard (he’s got more sense than to go back down the mountain in the dark, with a heavy sledge) and rises with the sun. He’s avoided going near the block that the sword came out of, but now he does, touching the surface of the ice with one hand. Through his gloves, it feels like any other chunk of ice. He had expected for the sword to react, somehow, but it remains inanimate, secured in the sling he has made for it over his back.

Would it go back into the ice? He suspects that it would, if he truly let it go, but he’s not ready to, and there’s no way he will survive out here without it.

When the light is stronger, he heaves the bodies onto the sledge and ties them in place. If hauling them across the ice is unpleasant, the act of picking up Nie Mingjue’s head is almost enough to make him throw up the sparse breakfast that he’d had. With the others, he is able to separate his mind from it, but there’s no way to fool himself that he’s holding anything other than a human head. The cold has prevented decay from setting in, so Nie Mingjue still looks as he did then, literally frozen in surprise.

The earth down in the woods is too hard to dig easily, so he buries them in the snow on the mountainside, at the spot where they had paused to watch the sunrise. Even if Nie Mingjue hadn’t appreciated it at the time, it feels important to Wei Ying that he rest somewhere beautiful. That, and it needs to be somewhere so cold that the snow will never melt, so that their bodies will remain undisturbed.

Then, because it would be unfair not to, he hikes to the Ice King’s castle for the bodies there. It is much warmer down in the valley; something has clearly been eating them. Xue Yang is the only one he knows properly, and even then Wei Ying is only able to identify him because of where in the castle the corpse is.

He loads them up, then goes into the portal chamber to have a look, just to check – but it’s exactly the same as he left it. Well, not quite exact, here too there are traces of the wildlife that has taken up residence in the castle, but it’s clear no other human has been here.

There are too many bodies for him to transport very far, so he buries them in the valley, where the ground is just soft enough to dig.

Then it is time to return to the truck, sheltered and cosy and strangely homely. It feels his in a way that the room in the building never did. Perhaps it is because no one is watching him, or because it only exists because he holds it together. The inside doesn’t even look like a vehicle, anymore, it’s more of a tent, the canvas walls hung with maps, the far end a heap of blankets and furs. He is still having a go at making arrowheads – it’s hard to find suitable stones, but he’s having some success making them out of bone – and the remnants of his experiments are everywhere, littered across the floor right where he can step on them.

He talks – to himself, to the sword, to whatever it is he’s working on. He tells himself it’s because he loves the sound of his own voice, and out here there’s no one to tell him to be quiet. He doesn’t dwell on the possibility of other reasons, the knowledge that if he doesn’t speak he may never hear another human voice again. He’s got to keep talking just to prove that he still knows how.

He is keeping a rough journal, too, on paper from the printer room. It is erratic in style, veering between practical log of his exploits and personal diary, but it’s not like anyone other than him is going to read it, and it’s good to catalogue observations about the mountains – his mountains, their sloping shapes familiar against the sky. He does not add dates, because he didn’t keep track for the first couple weeks and now he’s completely disoriented. It must have been a year by now – probably more, judging by the fact that his hair now reaches his shoulders.

He contemplates going further and trying to see what the rest of this world is like. He makes a couple of exploratory trips out in different directions, but there’s very little change, and he’s not ready to commit to leaving this spot. Perhaps there is somewhere more habitable, but now he knows that he can live here. It is uncomfortable, exhausting and hard work, but he is surviving, and is curious to see just how long he will last out by himself. He reached the end of the tinned food a while ago, everything he eats now he has found for himself. It is terrifying to know that his survival is now directly reliant upon his hunting abilities, and yet also rather pleasing to be putting food on the table on a regular basis. This world was not meant to be habitable, but he has made it his home.

 

And then, one morning, there is smoke coming from the mountains.

Wei Ying is in the middle of fixing the sledge when he spots it, a thin grey plume rising into the sky. People. It must mean people, there’s no way a fire could start by itself out there. For a brief, glorious moment, he wonders if this world does have inhabitants after all, who simply do not make a regular habit of foraying this far north. That thought is followed by the crushing possibility that it is a third series. Fuck, that would be horrifying. Not just because it would mean the nightmare restarting over again, but this time there’d be no way that he wouldn’t be responsible for the newcomers. How much better could his cohort have fared if they’d had the aid of someone who knew the show, knew the mountains and had the sword under control?

Whoever it is, though, he’s going to have to find out. He packs supplies for a couple of days, intending to travel light and take a short hike up to where he may be able to spot them. He’s got binoculars, and with his knowledge of the mountains he should be able to get a good look at whoever it is before they spot him.

He climbs as quickly as he can with a light pack and the sword slung over his back, his stomach churning. It feels – and this is ridiculous, when he suspects he’s now been here for years, plural – but it feels too soon. He’s not ready to make conversation with other human people yet. He has just about become comfortable with the silence surrounding his own voice.

But they’re here, whether he is ready for them or not, and closer than he expected. It takes most of the afternoon to get up to where he can see, but it’s still relatively fast progress. Having found a decent vantage point and scaled a tree, Wei Ying takes out his binoculars and trains them on the small group he can see, making their way down the nearest valley.

There are six people, all dressed for the cold, and with more substantial packs than any provided for Iceolation. Wei Ying’s heart begins thumping, quite fast. Could they be looking for him? He doesn’t need rescuing, but if there’s a way home –

He scrambles down the tree. He needs to get closer and have a chance to observe them. For all he knows, they’re sent by the showrunners to take him out and clear the landscape for Series Three.

He’s managed to get a lot closer by nightfall, but still not quite close enough to make any further investigation. He finds a sheltered spot – a cave he’s used before when out hunting – and rolls himself up in his travelling blanket. Between it and the snowsuit reinforced with fur he’s warm enough, but it still takes a long time for him to get to sleep.

He shadows them for a couple of days, keeping his distance and assessing their progress. They’ve come prepared for the terrain and are clearly more adept at handling it than any of Wei Ying’s former companions. They have sledges and tents; he watches them from his makeshift camps and finds himself judgemental. It is unkind, but he can’t help it, he has managed out here with what was left in the building and what he could make himself.

Perhaps they’re not after him at all. They might not know he’s here. The thought is oddly comforting, even as the group’s meandering progress suggests otherwise. Their main direction seems to be down towards the lake, but the way they’re weaving back and forth to cover maximum ground suggests that they’re looking for something.

On the morning of the third day, he gets close enough to see them more clearly. He’s crept up to a ridge almost parallel with them, still careful to remain concealed. Even if they are here to retrieve him – a possibility he is barely allowing himself to consider – he reserves the right to keep it on his own terms. If they are representatives of the show, who want him to be grateful for having been given this opportunity – well, they can fuck right off.

Wei Ying takes out the binoculars, training them on the line of hikers. They’re all wrapped in layers of bulky protective clothing, but for the first time he’s able to distinguish any features. Most of them are quite tall, and – though it’s hard to tell with their gear – broadly built. That makes sense; you’ve got to be in decent shape to get this far. Two of them are carrying rifles. He moves forward through the group, trying to pick out any identifying traits, then reaches the person in the lead and almost drops the binoculars.

It can’t be. Mouth suddenly dry, he refocuses them, animated by that same desperate frenzy as when he’d first seen the caribou. Except this is something better, and different – fuck, it is him, it’s Lan Zhan, walking along with the group. His face is barely visible, but no one else walks like that, as if it is a matter of personal principle to keep their back straight.

Wei Ying can’t get over there fast enough, though some instinct keeps him hidden from sight during his approach. He’s not wary of them, exactly – the rest of the group can’t mean him ill if Lan Zhan is with them – but he’s also desperately, stomach-churningly nervous. What the fuck do you say to someone you nearly killed?

He creeps along behind them until he’s close enough to hear their conversation. They don’t talk much, and Lan Zhan even less than the others – curtly answering questions, and sharing little else. One of the others, who seems to be the leader of the expedition, keeps wanting to know things about how far their maps had stretched. He ought to know by know that they’re well past anywhere that Lan Zhan had charted.

Wei Ying listens until he can’t wait anymore, sliding ungracefully down a snowbank and shouting the name he hadn’t let himself speak since the portal closed, and thought he would probably never say again.

Lan Zhan turns quickly. He is wearing some kind of muffler over the lower half of his face, but his eyes widen in surprise. Wei Ying had forgotten how beautiful he is; the sight slams into him over and leaves him breathless.

‘Lan Zhan,’ he says, again, and finds he cannot move. His feet may as well be glued to the ice. Lan Zhan is here. Lan Zhan is alive. Lan Zhan is alive, and he is here, and Wei Ying did not kill him after all.

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying almost cries at the sound of his name in someone else’s mouth. All this time and he’s insisted to himself that he’s been doing fine, that his chatter is enough to keep himself occupied, but fucking hell it’s been so long since anyone else said his name.

The words release him, and he’s able to move, stumbling across the remaining ground to grab hold of Lan Zhan, who murmurs ‘Wei Ying’ against his ear and hugs him so tightly he thinks his ribs might break.

He could have stayed there forever, wrapped in Lan Zhan’s embrace, but a flurry of questions rise to the surface of his mind and he pulls back just far enough to say ‘The others-’

‘Are safe,’ Lan Zhan confirms. ‘They are fine.’

He breathes out, feeling the residual tension leave his body. Jiang Cheng is okay. Wei Ying did the right thing with the portal. Thank fuck.

He’s got more things to say, more questions to ask – Lan Zhan is alive, and he has come for him – but the others members of the expedition have gathered round them, and one speaks.

‘All right, very cute, but now that we’ve found you we should be heading back.’

Wei Ying gazes blankly from him to Lan Zhan. He hadn’t thought about this. Somehow his delight in seeing Lan Zhan hadn’t included getting this far.

‘Back?’ he says, helplessly. ‘I can’t come back. I’ve spent all this time telling the birds that they can eat me when I die. You wouldn’t make me lie to birds, would you, Lan Zhan?’

Lan Zhan is looking at him and not saying anything, which by itself is not unusual – but he’s looking at Wei Ying like he doesn’t know him, like he’s turned into a mad thing. Which he has, really. He’s grown into the landscape. His hair is long and tangled, his experiments in shaving met only moderate success so he’s got a bit of a beard going, and his snowsuit is patched and reinforced with fur. Surviving the wilderness required becoming part of it, and he just can’t uproot himself and go back to a world with grocery shops and cars and sunlight –

‘All right,’ Lan Zhan says, his voice horribly hollow. ‘You do not have to come back.’

‘You could stay here,’ he babbles, knowing even as the words leave his mouth that it’s impossible. Lan Zhan has people in the world that he loved and was desperate to get back to. He’s not about to throw all of that away to live in a truck with Wei Ying.

‘No,’ he adds quickly, before Lan Zhan can say anything. ‘That’s stupid, I’m sorry, don’t listen to me.’

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says, devastatingly gentle. ‘It is all right. You do not have to return if you don’t want to.’

Oh. It is that admission – that Lan Zhan would let him go, after everything – that makes him realise.

‘You love me,’ he says, stupidly. He’d thought - he doesn’t know what he thought. That Lan Zhan wanted him, yes, but was also trying to save him. Their relationship, if it may be called that, was so bound up in mutual terror and loneliness and desperate desire to feel something other than fear that Wei Ying has never been sure what it might have been in another context.

‘Yes,’ Lan Zhan says, frowning slightly. ‘Was that ever in doubt?’

‘I’ll come back, of course I’ll come back,’ Wei Ying says, stumbling over his words in his haste. ‘I love you. I’ll come back with you.’

Lan Zhan’s face clears. ‘If you are certain.’

‘I’m not gonna leave you,’ Wei Ying insists, hearing in it the echo of the promise he broke.

‘Your family would like to see you,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘Your sister.’

Wei Ying nods, dumbly. Shijie. Fuck, he’s being so ungrateful. He should be leaping at the chance to see her, to reassure her he’s all right after all this time. Only – if he actually sees her, and Jiang Cheng, and the others, if he comes face to face with them all, he’ll be forced to confront everything else too. The sword, the blood, how he chose to stay behind with no warning. The last however long have been hard, but he chose this. How can he look Yanli in the eye knowing the worry he caused her?

‘How long?’ he blurts out.

‘Eighteen months,’ Lan Zhan says, with no inflection.

A year and a half. Wei Ying exhales slowly again, letting the knowledge settle. He’s known it is a long time and yet it is different to hear it confirmed aloud.

‘The streams cut off,’ Lan Zhan adds. ‘The cameras stopped transmitting as soon as the portal closed.’

Wei Ying nods. He’d guessed as much, but the information itself isn’t what Lan Zhan is telling him. He’s admitting he had no way of knowing what happened to Wei Ying.

‘All right,’ another member of the expedition says, ‘Wei Ying, can you tell us how you’re feeling?’

He looks over, and takes a moment to register the camera in the guy’s hands. What the fuck.

‘The network contributed funding,’ Lan Zhan says quietly, following Wei Ying’s gaze. ‘I was unhappy with it, but it sped up the process.’

‘So is that a condition of the rescue? You’re gonna film me?’ Wei Ying laughs. He can’t help it. All this time surviving off the grid, with the one saving grace being no cameras, and they pull this shit.

‘A contract was agreed to,’ the guy with the camera says.

Wei Ying pauses. There is a calm and reasonable way to go about this, he is aware. However, he’s also been alone in the wilderness for eighteen months and, perhaps, he is permitted not to be reasonable.

The sword is out and up with its tip at the cameraman’s throat before the rest of them have realised what is happening. Wei Ying has learned a lot of hard, painful lessons about survival, and even without the sword lending him its power his reflexes are twice what they were. He has killed things, now, innocent, living creatures that had done him no harm, and he knows how fast you need to be to get the job done.

‘Fucking hell!’ the cameraman splutters, and the two with rifles raise them immediately, pointed at Wei Ying. The man who had spoken first and made the comment about going back takes a step towards him.

‘Easy, now,’ he says. ‘No one needs to get hurt.’

‘Put the camera down,’ Wei Ying says. His voice does not tremble; he holds the blade perfectly steady. If binding himself to the sword changed him, the time in isolation has made him into something else again. He could kill this man, he thinks, but he does not think he will have to.

The cameraman hesitates. ‘We’re supposed to capture everything. It’s scientific research, too, to record this world-’

‘I can tell you anything you’d like to know about it. Put. The camera. Down.’

‘You won’t hurt him,’ the other guy says. He seems to be in charge. ‘I understand that this is all a lot for you to take in, but I know you’ll understand.’

Wei Ying thinks about the conversation he’s just had with Lan Zhan – the conversation that was filmed – and his stomach twists again. ‘Did you watch the show, when it was airing?’

The cameraman nods, the movement extremely cautious given the sword tip inches below his chin.

‘You’ll know, then, that this sword needs blood,’ Wei Ying says. ‘And with only me for company all this time, it’s awfully hungry. You must have seen what it does when it’s hungry.’

‘Talk to him!’ the leader says to Lan Zhan. ‘Make him see sense!’

‘Wei Ying did not agree to a contract,’ Lan Zhan replies, coolly. ‘I advise you follow his instructions.’

Two of the men still have their guns trained on him, but Wei Ying knows they won’t shoot. They haven’t come all this way just to kill him here. Even if he did murder their cameraman, they’d still have to take him back with them.

‘Put it down,’ he says again. This time, the cameraman obeys, and backs away. Still keeping the sword aloft with one hand, Wei Ying stoops and picks it up.

‘Is it streaming or recording?’ he asks. All of what’s happened might be out there already. Oh well, it’s not as if he’s unused to having his privacy invaded.

‘Recording,’ the cameraman says. ‘We still don’t know how they created the link.’

He nods, satisfied. The camera is quite small, but is still awkward to hold with one hand. He turns it over, making a show of looking at it – and then, with sudden violence, turns and hurls it down the mountainside. They watch it fall in a wide arc, bouncing off the rocks and plummeting into a snowdrift.

Wei Ying looks round at the group – all of which, save for Lan Zhan, are regarding him with hostility – and returns the sword to its scabbard over his shoulder. He was lying, its hunger was not overpowering and has not been for a long time, but they don’t need to know that. It had taken notice of the cameraman and the blood immediately available, but the urge was a quiet one.

‘We’re stopping by my camp first,’ he says, now addressing the leader of the group. ‘I’ve got some things I want to pick up.’

‘Our orders are to return as soon as possible,’ the guy says, with a frown. ‘I’m afraid there won’t be time to collect personal belongings.’

Wei Ying shrugs. ‘You can do whatever you want. I’m going back to camp. Lan Zhan, wanna see what I’ve done with the truck?’

He sets off walking, knowing Lan Zhan will follow. He hears grumbling behind him, and then they, too, are following.

‘It’s not far,’ he adds, calling over his shoulder. ‘You guys really did me a solid by coming all this way.’

It is very strange to be walking along, down the ridges and slopes he knows so well, with Lan Zhan at his side. He keeps having to look at him to confirm that he’s real. Lan Zhan is alive, and he is here, and he loves Wei Ying. It is enough to make anyone giddy.

Wei Ying points things out as they go, chattering about the wildlife he’s seen and the things he’s discovered living this side of the mountains. Lan Zhan listens, as he always does, in silence, offering just one remark.

‘You like it here.’

It makes Wei Ying pause. Lan Zhan isn’t wrong. He has hated this world and it has nearly killed him several times over – but he loves the forests with their snow-dusted trees, and the lake, and his mountains, and –

‘Yes,’ he says, and offers a smile. ‘But I like you more.’

From where they are, it takes them somewhere around three hours’ walk to get back to the truck, helped by the fact that they’re heading downhill. Wei Ying can feel the hostility coming off the rest of the rescue team and happily ignores the dirty looks being cast in his direction. If he managed to avoid murdering Jin Zixun, he can put up with these guys.

‘How did you even get here?’ he remembers to ask, as they trudge along the valley. He’s almost tempted to make a detour to check his hare traps, before remembering he’d forgotten to reset them after doing some repairs. Probably a good thing. Lan Zhan is still getting used to who he is now. While watching him murder small fluffy animals would certainly get the message across, he’d like to wait a little before Lan Zhan truly realised what he’s become.

‘We found them,’ Lan Zhan says, so simply that Wei Ying takes a moment to grasp what he means.

‘Shit, seriously?’

Lan Zhan nods. ‘They are awaiting trial.’ He hesitates. ‘It is possible that you will be asked to testify.’

Wei Ying grimaces. Back when they were all on the show together, he would have leapt at a chance to get his own back and see justice done. Now, though, he no longer has clear feelings about anything. The showrunners are monsters, certainly, with the blood of Wen Ning, Nie Mingjue and countless others on their hands. And yet Wei Ying doesn’t wanna go back to thinking about it all. If he really is going home, it’s going to take most of his time to figure out who he is back in the real world.

‘There is something else you should know,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘It was largely a collaboration between two men, both of whom were acquainted with people chosen for the show.’

Wei Ying has become surefooted in all his hiking, but that makes him miss a step and lose his balance momentarily. ‘What?’

‘Their names are Wen Ruohan and Jin Guangshan. The former is a distant relative of Wen Qing. The latter is Jin Zixuan’s father.’

‘What the fuck. He put his own kid in the show?’

‘From what I understand, it was not his decision, but the result of an argument with Wen Ruohan. It was he who controlled the practical logistics. Jin Guangshan was in charge of the media side.’

‘That’s fucked.’

‘Yes.’ There is a pause, as they stump along through the snow, and then Lan Zhan clears his throat and looks down. ‘Wei Ying. I was not entirely forthcoming. There is something else, too.’

‘Hit me.’

‘Wen Ruohan has requested an audience with you. It was a condition of his providing the necessary information regarding portals. I am sorry for not telling you immediately. I- I did not want to put you off.’ He looks across at Wei Ying, the tight anxiety back on his face.

There are few things Wei Ying would like to do less than sit down with the man who ruined his life, and were it anyone else asking he’d tell them to get fucked.

‘That’s all right, Lan Zhan,’ he says, is half surprised to realise that he means it. ‘I can do whatever. As long as I get a bath and a proper mattress, shit like that is fine.’

Lan Zhan nods. ‘If you are certain.’

 

They reach camp in the early evening. Wei Ying is very aware all of a sudden how scruffy and makeshift most of it looks, but Lan Zhan’s expression – what he can see of it in the top half of his face, anyway – is impressed.

‘You did all this,’ he says. It is not a question.

Wei Ying shrugs. ‘Plenty of time on my hands.’ And he hasn’t done that much, not really. There is the covered fire, which he keeps going all of the time and now will be down to coals. It is probably his best invention; the fire is set into a recess in the ground and can be easily covered by a metal sheet topped with dirt and moss. Gaps around the edges are enough to let air in, but it’s only gone out a few times and then during some of the worse storms.

Everything else is a bit of a mess. His sledge, the half-fixed animal snares and assorted other inventions are piled against one side of the truck, which itself has remained stationery for so long that it doesn’t look like it has ever moved.

‘Have you guys got food?’ Wei Ying asks, going to inspect the fire. The coals are still glowing, but it will need building up. He has some petrol saved for when it goes out completely, but tries to use that as sparingly as he can.

‘Yeah, we’ve got provisions,’ the expedition leader says, glancing round the camp with a mixture of resentment and grudging admiration. Would he have managed as well as this, Wei Ying wonders, if he’d been cast out into the wilderness?

‘I’ve got meat,’ Wei Ying tells them. ‘We might as well eat it up, no sense in leaving it. Unless any of you are vegetarian.’

They shake their heads, though they look slightly apprehensive. None of them have killed anything for the sole purpose of eating it, Wei Ying can tell. Meat is fine so long as it comes neatly packaged from the supermarket.

‘All right, then,’ he says. ‘We’ll stay here tonight and head back in the morning. There’s a faster way through the mountains. Your portal was in the same place as the last one, right?’

They nod.

‘Okay,’ he says, thinking. It will take them all day, but if they start early and he plans it properly, they won’t need to stop. His endurance is up to it, and they all look like they’ve been trained to hike.

First things first: the fire needs stoking. His stores of dry firewood live just inside the truck, where they’re out of the cold and have a chance to dry out. Wei Ying gestures to Lan Zhan to come with him, but stops short when the rest of the group follow.

‘No,’ he says. ‘You guys are staying outside. You’ve got tents, right?’

They nod, again. He pretends not to hear their muttered complaints. The truck is his space. His. Lan Zhan is permitted entry, because – well, he is Wei Ying’s, too.

Taking a breath, Wei Ying undoes the knot securing the back flap, and lets the two of them in. It is dim but not dark inside; the canvas doesn’t block out light entirely. He watches Lan Zhan take it all in – the half-made bed at the end, the maps along the walls, the weapons dotted around.

Suddenly unable to stand and watch him, Wei Ying busies himself shedding the outer layer of his fur coat, adding it to a pile of snow gear in one corner. He’ll heat up soon enough tending to the fire. Behind him, Lan Zhan takes his hood down and removes the scarf from his face.

‘Your hair,’ Wei Ying says. Lan Zhan has cut his hair, it’s short now, almost aggressively so. Wei Ying liked it long, liked being able to run his hands through it, simultaneously smoothing and creating tangles. That was what he did in Lan Zhan’s life, wasn’t it? Create tangles.

‘It was an impulsive decision,’ Lan Zhan admits. ‘I…was not very happy.’

Wei Ying just nods. All things considered, it is remarkable that Lan Zhan has seemed as stable as he is. ‘I guess we’ve swapped places. I kind of like mine long, now.’

Lan Zhan takes a step towards him. ‘Wei Ying - ’

There’s a rap on the canvas wall, and one of the rescue group calls, ‘We gonna do dinner, or what? It’ll be dark soon.’

‘You’d think they could give us a moment,’ Wei Ying grumbles.

‘We will have time when we get back,’ Lan Zhan promises him, and Wei Ying remembers all the nights he spent lying next to him and wondering what they would be if they ever made it home together. Now, terrifyingly, he’s going to find out.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘When we get back.’

 

His food stores are in pretty good shape, so he cooks up a lot of the meat on the newly stoked fire into a big dinner. The others have put up their tents in a small semi-circle; it feels homely and claustrophobic at the same time. Even though he destroyed their camera, Wei Ying is very aware of how their eyes are on him at all times, tracking his movement, following the huge sword still strapped to his back.

Despite that, though, there is something nice about being able to sit round the fire with other people. While none of the rescue team appear to like him very much, they accept the food he gives them.

Pissing them off might have worked out for the best in the long run, because aside from making practical enquiries they don’t bother him much. They eat his food, though, and it is even more satisfying than when he was just feeding himself. He is the one at home here, they are his guests.

And then they have finished eating, are tired, and it is time to go to bed. Lan Zhan must have had a tent of his own, but he follows Wei Ying to the truck without hesitation. Even if it wasn’t a clearly superior space – the tents are tiny, while the truck is cosy and tall enough to stand up inside – Wei Ying isn’t ready to let him out of his sight.

The temperature had been dropping outside with the onset of night, but inside the truck bed it isn’t quite so bad. Wei Ying usually sleeps in his jumpsuit in the furs, which also means the snowsuit can dry off if it’s gotten wet. He’s learned that keeping his bed dry is important, so he takes his boots off, too, leaving them down by the entrance, and turns on his little battery-powered lantern. He’s been extremely stingy with batteries, and had vague plans to make a candle lantern when he ran out. Now there’s no need. He is no longer facing down the rest of his life here.

Lan Zhan follows suit, peeling off his coat. His snowsuit is much flashier than the Iceolation ones, and certainly much fancier than anything Wei Ying has.

With the outer layers off, the lantern light exposes Lan Zhan’s neck, the perfect marble bisected by a wide scar where the sword bit into it. Wei Ying hesitates for a moment, then steps closer to trace over it lightly with one finger.

‘I thought I killed you,’ he whispers. The words sound hideously melodramatic, but it’s true. The last time he saw Lan Zhan, he was unconscious and being carried through the portal by Mianmian and Jin Zixuan. In the months since, he’s clung to the fact that he didn’t know for sure that Lan Zhan was dead, but ... he probably was.

Lan Zhan swallows; he feels his throat move under his fingers. ‘It would not have been your fault.’

Wei Ying looks down, his breath unsteady.

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says, his hand reaching out to rest against his shoulder. ‘I know you lied before, about the sword. I have seen its influence and you were not under it. Are you…’ He can’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to.

‘No,’ Wei Ying says, surprised by his own vehemence. ‘I’m not – I’m fine.’ He’s in too many layers to show his arms, but he grabs Lan Zhan’s hand anyway and places it high on his bicep where the worst of the cuts used to be. They have all healed over, there’s nothing but scar tissue there now.

‘Something changed,’ he adds, as Lan Zhan draws a breath of relief. ‘I think it was the day after you guys left – it got really hungry, and that damn near wiped me out, but after that it’s been fine. Maybe it knows if it took all my blood it’d have no one else. I don’t have to use it that much, anyway, though when the snowmen see me they still run like hell.’

‘There are snowmen still? They did not disappear with the Ice King?’ Of course, Lan Zhan wouldn’t know.

‘Yeah, but without him they’re powerless. They don’t bother me.’ A yawn rises in his throat. It really has been a hell of a long day. ‘Come on, Lan Zhan, let’s go to bed.’

He goes to move away, but Lan Zhan’s hand tightens on his bicep, holding him in place. ‘Wei Ying.’

‘What?’

‘I would like to kiss you.’

He grins. ‘You sure? ‘Cause I’m fairly sure I smell.’

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says again, this time sounding amused. ‘I am sure.’ And he leans in.

It has been a lifetime since they last kissed, Wei Ying thinks. He has missed it. He has missed everything about Lan Zhan.

Perhaps it is because he smells, or because they’re both exhausted, or, simply, because now is not the time to get steamy, but it is a chaste kiss, soft and gentle and tender in a way that Wei Ying didn’t think he was still capable of being. And then it really is time to go to bed, clambering into the pile of blankets and furs together. It is so much warmer with someone else there. Wei Ying would be embarrassed about how he’s clinging onto Lan Zhan’s side if he didn’t suspect that Lan Zhan wouldn’t let him go.

A year and a half. He thinks about the previous night, camped out watching the exploring party, and all those that came before, when he was alone in the truck. He had assumed, not unreasonably, that he would always be alone here, it was a space meant for him and no one else.

But Lan Zhan came back for him. He didn’t have to. He would have been well within his right to refuse returning to the Iceolation world; his memories of it cannot be pleasant. No one, Wei Ying included, would have blamed him in the slightest for not coming back.

And yet here he is, soft and comfortable in Wei Ying’s truck. Wei Ying loves him so, so much.

‘Goodnight, Lan Zhan,’ he murmurs. This is the last night he will spend in the truck. Perhaps the last night he spends in this world, if tomorrow goes to plan.

He feels Lan Zhan’s hand brush lightly over the top of his head.

‘Goodnight, Wei Ying.’

 

Wei Ying wakes, as he usually does, with the dawn. The wilderness has made him a morning person, the drudgery of survival having impressed upon him the importance of daylight. He is warmer and happier than he has been for a very long time, and lies there for a few minutes, allowing himself the luxury of enjoying it. Whatever happens today – even if a sudden avalanche takes all of them out – he will know two things. One, he succeeded in surviving against all odds, and two, Lan Zhan loves him. So long as that second point remains true, he doesn’t care about much else.

He looks over. Lan Zhan’s eyes are open too. Of course, he’s always been an early riser.

‘Will the others be awake yet?’ Wei Ying asks, in a whisper.

Lan Zhan shakes his head.

‘Great.’ Wei Ying sits up, pushing the top blanket back. ‘Let’s go down to the lake.’

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t momentarily considered simply taking off and leaving them to fend for themselves, but that would be at best unkind and at worst a death sentence. He’s not sure if they have any maps of the mountains – he didn’t see any – and it would be easy for them to get lost. And then there’s the snowmen. Just because the group didn’t meet any on their outward journey doesn’t mean that their luck would continue to hold, and somehow Wei Ying doubts that bullets would do very much against them.

He and Lan Zhan dress quietly and let themselves out of the truck. Sure enough, there’s no sign of the rest of the expedition, their tent flaps all closed. The weather stayed clear overnight, so they retrace their old tracks for fifty yards before branching off down the hill towards the lake. It won’t be hard to follow if anyone looks properly, but Wei Ying doesn’t want to make it too easy for them to be followed.

They walk in silence. Lan Zhan is looking around with interest, and even though he knows it’s impossible Wei Ying allows himself to imagine them staying here together. It would be so much easier with two, and Lan Zhan might know other ways of foraging to broaden their diet. Perhaps when the ice breaks they could swim in the lake. Wei Ying knows that it is a thing people do, but he’s been unconvinced that he wouldn’t simply die of hypothermia.

The lake is still very much frozen when they reach it, softly mysterious in the early morning haze. Wei Ying sits himself down on the bank, resting his feet on the ice, and gestures for Lan Zhan to do the same.

‘It is beautiful here,’ Lan Zhan acknowledges.

‘Yeah. If we’d got up a bit earlier you could have seen the dawn.’ He stretches his legs out. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday – how I reacted. It’s just, I don’t know. For my whole plan to work I had to tell myself that I was okay with not going home, and then once it was done if I thought too hard about the fact that I couldn’t go back I knew I’d go insane.’

‘How long were you planning it?’ Lan Zhan asks quietly. How long had Wei Ying been lying to him?

‘I can’t remember in terms of like, an exact amount of time, but a little while. I got another note about the portal – it didn’t say anything explicitly, but it was enough for it to click into place.’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ There wasn’t a way he could have done it differently, but it still tears at him. He cannot imagine what it would be like if their places were exchanged, to wake up in a hospital and be told that Lan Zhan had stayed behind. ‘And, ah, I’m sorry for being so weird about going back now. It’s kind of, uh, terrifying? I’m not sure I know how to be a normal person again.’

‘You do not need to keep apologising,’ Lan Zhan tells him. ‘And, without minimising what you have gone through, I do not believe any of the show’s survivors considers themselves ‘normal’ these days.’

Wei Ying steels himself. ‘How is Jiang Cheng?’

‘I have not seen much of him, but he was…very upset. He wanted to know if I knew what you were planning.’

Of course. It’s all too easy to picture. Wei Ying forces his mind along from the mental image of two of the people he loves most in the world blaming each other for his own choices.

‘I’m not taking the sword back,’ he says. It’s the main thing he wanted to say this morning, the reason he brought Lan Zhan down here and out of earshot, and now is as good a time as any to change the subject. ‘I – to be honest, I have no idea what would happen to it going through a portal. It belongs so clearly to this world, it might not work in ours. Or, worse, it would, and that won’t be doing anyone any favours. So I’m gonna put it back in the ice.’

Lan Zhan glances down at the blade that almost killed them both. ‘I think that would be wise.’

They stay there for a little while longer, not talking. For all his rambling to inanimate objects, Wei Ying has learned to appreciate the silence, too. Finally he stands up, stretches, and sighs,

‘We should go back.’

He’d been bracing himself for an argument about wandering off, but the rest of the group had assumed that they were still asleep, cocooned in the truck. There’s time for a quick breakfast, then it’s time to pack up. Wei Ying climbs into the truck bed for the last time and makes himself face the impossible task of deciding which things to take.

He takes the maps down from the walls, both because they’ve got personal connections and because other people might find them interesting. Much as he baulks at anyone else becoming an expert of his mountains, he did destroy the expedition’s camera. Maybe if he offers them a few sheets of map it will smooth things over. He can keep his favourite pages for himself.

Almost everything else is practical, but he still finds himself feeling a little sentimental over it. He doesn’t have time to go over everything, though, so he makes himself work quickly. The softest fur, rolled up into a small bundle at the bottom of the pack. His favourite knife. There is a magnificent set of antlers off one of the caribou he killed, but they’re too bulky and not really a necessity, so he leaves them. Perhaps one day someone else will be here for some reason, and they will come across this little camp. That, or over time the whole thing will be buried in snow.

He doesn’t put the fire out. Given his haziness regarding the specifics of his own timeline, he’s not sure how long it has been burning – but it’s been a good long time, a miniature furnace dug into the ground. Left unattended it will burn out of its own accord, but he likes the idea of allowing it to do so in its own time. There have been plenty of times when having that warmth available has meant the difference between cooked and raw meat, has allowed him to melt snow into warm water to wash with, has allowed him to make pine needle tea. The fire has kept him going.

It is harder than he expected, too, saying goodbye to the truck, and unpleasant to do with an audience. Still, Wei Ying has not lasted this long by being overly sentimental, so he only gives himself enough time to check that he has everything, and hasn’t left anything important behind, before casting one last look round the clearing and its view of the mountains, before hefting his pack higher and heading into the woods.

The others follow in silence. They already disagreed over breakfast about the best route back, Wei Ying successfully arguing that he knows helpful shortcuts. They still don’t trust him, he knows, and they’re right not to. He hasn’t told them about the pit stop he’s got planned – and, indeed, doesn’t, until they’re halfway up the path to the sword hall.

‘Hold on a second,’ the expedition leader says, catching up with him. ‘We should be going along, not up. This isn’t the way to the castle. I thought you said you knew these mountains.’

‘I do,’ Wei Ying says. ‘This won’t take us long.’

It is making him more unpopular still, but as before they can’t do much but follow. Lan Zhan is quiet. He hasn’t been up here since their first trip. Wei Ying wonders if he is remembering it, but does not ask.

Despite their irritation at the delay, the group are clearly fascinated by the sword hall and its ice walls. Wei Ying leaves them inspecting the architecture and makes for the centre of the courtyard, Lan Zhan on his heels.

‘I buried Nie Mingjue, and the others,’ Wei Ying tells him, as they approach the block where the sword had been buried. ‘Came up with a sledge. It didn’t feel right to leave them here.’

‘It will be a comfort to their families,’ Lan Zhan says. The two of them pause, looking at the ice.

If Wei Ying hadn’t already made up his mind, now that he’s here he’d back out of the plan immediately. The sword is his. Giving it up is unthinkable. And yet he knows with a fundamental certainty that if he is to have any chance of recovering from all of this, he cannot do it with the sword in his hand. Its hunger has been under control, but he has noticed that since being around other people it has begun to take notice. It would only be a matter of time before it woke up properly and he is never going to ask his friends if they will open their veins for it again.

And yet still, as he lifts it out of its scabbard, feeling its weight perfectly balanced in his hand, he can’t suppress a pang.

‘They may wish to stop you,’ Lan Zhan warns, and that’s the encouragement Wei Ying needs. Summoning strength and courage, he fixes his eyes on the ice and, raising the blade, drives it home. At the first moment of resistance he finds himself pushing – not just physically, but mentally, pushing the sword away from him, gathering up the tendrils of energy that lie dormant in his body and forcing them out.

Go, he thinks, and he’s unsure if the word is a banishment or a request.

The sword sinks into the ice as smoothly as it came out, until half the blade is submerged – and then shatters in a sudden spray of blood, shards of metal flying in every direction and the hilt tumbling to the ground.

Wei Ying finds he is not surprised. The sword, too, is not what it was. Perhaps it was never meant to return to the ice, or its long sojourn without regular feeds rendered it unexpectedly frail. He watches the blood drip down the side of the block and run across the floor. There is so much of it – Wei Ying’s blood, Lan Zhan’s blood, Jiang Cheng and Wen Ning and Mianmian’s blood – and he knows it is going to stain the ground.

He takes a breath, and a step backwards. He feels lighter, but off-balance without the weight of the weapon in his hand or on his back.

‘Are you all right?’ Lan Zhan asks.

He nods, jerkily. ‘Let’s go.’ He does not want to wait around and see if the snowmen will attack him now.

For all Wei Ying’s reassurances, the detour has taken a fair chunk of time out of their day, and they’re not going to reach the castle before dark. The cameraman says something about stopping, as the sky begins to turn orange with the sunset, but Wei Ying shakes his head.

‘We’re too close,’ he says. ‘It’s just along there and then up the valley. We’ll be fine in the dark.’ He does not say aloud to anyone the other thing he is thinking; that if this is going to be the end, he does not want to spend another night in this world – weakened and defenceless as he now is. He is not at all ready to return, either, but he is committed to it now. He has done harder things. Probably.

‘Are you sure?’ Lan Zhan asks him. ‘We do not want to have an accident.’

‘You guys brought torches, right? The valley isn’t that steep.’ They are getting very sick of following him, he knows, but they’re still on his turf here. Lan Zhan will do anything he asks, and the others don’t want to be shown up.

To be fair, he’s never gone up this valley in the dark, though he’s surefooted enough now not to run into any problems. One of them gives him a torch, as he’s leading the way, and he remembers how on former expeditions they’d bail out as soon as night fell. It was a sensible decision, made by people unfamiliar with mountain terrain.

It does not go horribly. Perhaps they’re lucky, or perhaps all of his experience really has paid off, but they reach the castle about an hour after nightfall. Wei Ying stares up at the dark walls, disappearing into the blank night, and thinks about the last time he was here with other people. They’d been thinking about going home and he was contemplating what it would take to get them there.

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan murmurs, as they push the main door open and file inside. It is amazing the number of different things he manages to say just with those two syllables. Now, Wei Ying hears the implicit question. Are you all right?

‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘Are you all right?’ Lan Zhan’s memories of the castle can’t be fun to revisit.

Lan Zhan just nods, and they walk through to the portal chamber.

The portal is still open, but this one looks different. Instead of blue, the light glows amber, fading into bright whiteness in the centre. Wei Ying’s eyes go from there to the recess in the wall that had taken his hand last time. He cannot help wondering what would have happened if Lan Zhan had been conscious last time. Would he have believed Wei Ying enough to go on ahead? Perhaps if he’d been helping one of the injured, and Wei Ying had promised he’d be along in just a second –

‘We go last,’ Wei Ying says, as the others crowd into the room. Lan Zhan’s not going to leave him now, nor could Wei Ying ask him to, but he refuses to step through the portal knowing that there is someone still behind him. It is not entirely selfless; much as he does not want to condemn someone to being trapped there, he also cannot bear the thought that the person left behind might not be him.

The expedition leader just sighs, as if he had expected it. ‘Don’t wait too long. Takes a lot of energy to keep this thing open.’ And he steps through, followed by the other men.

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are alone. They could leave now, Wei Ying thinks wildly, just run off back into the mountains and survive for as long as they can before dying of cold or hunger or scurvy. He does not have to go back to a world that will be fast and loud and overwhelming.

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says, with aching gentleness. ‘Come back with me?’

Wei Ying takes his hand, and they step through the portal.

 

It is like moving through a bright curtain of light, blinding and then gone, and they are through, Wei Ying can feel warm air on his face for the first time in almost two years. He blinks.

They are in a field, standing on short-cropped grass with the sun beating down overhead. He turns to look over his shoulder, in time to see the portal shrivel and disappear, much as the other one had. For some reason, the sight of it going prompts the same reaction in his chest, even though he is on the right side of it this time.

Lan Zhan squeezes his hand reassuringly, and then all of a sudden they are surrounded by people. He can see cameras in the background – without the sword, there’s not much he can do about that – but the team swarming over him look like medical staff.

‘I’m fine,’ he tells them, trying to shake them off. ‘I’m probably fitter than I’ve ever been in my life- hey! SHI-’

He doesn’t get the full word out, though, because Jiang Cheng semi-tackles him, knocking the air from his lungs. Jiang Yanli is hot on his heels – Wei Ying’s not sure that he’s ever seen her run like this before. She’s crying by the time she reaches them, he extends an arm to bring her in close, and fuck, he has missed his big sister so much. He will never not be grateful that she did not have to experience the show with them, but he never wants to go this long without seeing her ever again.

‘You fucking prick,’ Jiang Cheng says, now pulling abruptly away. ‘What the FUCK were you thinking, staying behind?’

‘Easy on him, come on,’ Yanli chides, and Wei Ying bundles her into another hug. It can’t be very pleasant for her, with him stinking and wrapped in furs, but she holds on tightly and only lets go when more medical personnel interrupt.

‘We were so worried about you,’ she says, as they start walking. It’s so fucking warm, he almost feels feverish. There’s a white marquee about twenty yards away, the attendants are steering them towards it. ‘Did it take Lan Zhan long to find you?’

‘I don’t know – Lan Zhan?’ he looks over his shoulder, but Lan Zhan is a few feet away now, on the other side of the crowd of medics, and out of reach.

His siblings stay with him going into the tent, where he’s inspected all over again and gets the chance to shed some layers. He hadn’t realised how accustomed he’d become to always being slightly cold, but now the edge is suddenly gone it’s more noticeable than he thought. People ask him questions – how is he feeling, has he been eating properly, what did he do with the sword, how did he survive by himself – and he answers some of them, trying and failing not to be visibly overwhelmed by it all.

Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan are there too, coming into the tent to see him, the former anxious and the latter making such an effort to be polite she’s in danger of pulling a muscle. Wei Ying is relieved to discover that he doesn’t give a shit. After everything, he cannot bring himself to spare any energy for feeling sad about her lack of warmth towards him.

The initial inspections done with, he’s bundled into a car and taken to a hospital to be kept under observation. It’s all a bit of a blur, he keeps saying he’s fine and being ignored, so he gives up and lets them do whatever. They get him to exchange his old jumpsuit for some clean clothes, and while it’s nice to wear something new and soft, he feels the slightest wrench giving up the last of his Iceolation gear. He refuses to let go of his pack, though, with his belongings inside. People keep asking him where the sword is, until word gets around that he destroyed it, and then they look at him strangely. He doesn’t have the words or the energy to explain that the sword wasn’t important, not really, not in the way that Lan Zhan’s hand-drawn maps are.

There are interviews, too. He knew that this would happen and yet he’s still unprepared for it, having a microphone shoved in his face and being asked if he’s happy to be back. He mumbles something about having missed his family, and then the next reporter decides it is a good idea to ask if he will be continuing his relationship with Lan Zhan now that they’ve both returned.

Wei Ying blinks. He knows that the media’s whole thing is not holding back, but he still wasn’t expecting that. Okay, so everyone will have seen his and Lan Zhan’s first kiss – and their last one, with the sword raised between them – and probably put together what they were doing in the meantime, but still.

‘I- it’s Lan Zhan,’ he says, as if that makes the answer obvious, and to his immense relief someone else juts in with another question about the furs he was wearing.

 

For someone who survived in the wilderness, they keep him in hospital for a long time, which is ridiculous even if he does keep throwing up. (His stomach is not handling the transition back to proper food well, to the point where he refuses Yanli’s offer of soup for the first time in his life. He doesn’t want to eat it until he can enjoy it properly, without the fear that he’ll be seeing it again in a few hours’ time.)

He barely sleeps that first night, unable to adjust to the feeling of a bed or tune out the background noise of the hospital. When he does finally doze off some time in the early morning, it is to wake in a panic of not being able to find the sword. He kept it next to him when sleeping in the truck and now, in his half-asleep state, forgets he has destroyed it.

A nurse appears at his bedside, alerted by his frantic movement, and everything comes rushing back. He is safe, the sword is gone – fuck, the sword is gone, and even if there are no immediate threats he has no means of defending himself. He is almost tempted to ask for his belongings, but they’re not going to let him hold his hunting knife. What sort of hospital would allow their patients to have weapons?

Despite that, it is easier to get to sleep the second time. He is too tired to do anything but surrender to the vulnerability of unconsciousness. If anything or anyone goes to the trouble to come after him here, they can. He doesn’t have it in him to put up more of a fight.

Nothing does, of course, and over the course of the following days he becomes used to it. The hospital is an unpleasant mixture of overwhelming and boring, and would be unbearable if Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng and Yanli didn’t stick religiously to his side, either all together or in shifts. He notices that Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng are never there together, just the two of them. It is either all three, one of them with Yanli, or them individually.

Wei Ying can’t really blame them, he finds being around Jiang Cheng weird - which, by itself, is a painful admission. The first time the two of them are left together, Wei Ying notices his brother shifting awkwardly, unable to meet his eyes.

Finally, he bursts out with, ‘I would have come – but they said they only needed one person from the show, and Lan Zhan was already involved – ’

‘It’s fine,’ Wei Ying says, meaning it. In the nicest possible way, he’s not sure how he would have handled the emotional turmoil of seeing people again if he’d also had to deal with Jiang Cheng’s feelings, too.

‘You’re not mad?’

‘Nah. You would just have been a third wheel,’ he jokes, though it feels wrong. He and Lan Zhan have not had a chance to talk properly about what they are now that they are home, beyond people who would die and go into exile for each other. Whatever they are now it is something immense and profound and gut wrenching, and not something that can be third-wheeled.

Jiang Cheng exhales, relaxing slightly. ‘He’s obsessed with you, by the way, even though he’s like, so far out of your league that it’s pathetic.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ Wei Ying says, and thinks again of that deep scar cutting through the otherwise flawless skin on Lan Zhan’s neck. ‘Oh, there was something I wanted to tell you, actually, but you have to promise not to get mad.’

‘What?’ Jiang Cheng looks actually alarmed.

‘I don’t want to be a lawyer,’ Wei Ying says, and is surprised to feel a weight lift at the words. Who knew that after everything, this would still have any kind of effect on him.

Jiang Cheng just blinks. ‘What?’

‘I meant to tell you, before – everything. I withdrew my application. I’m sorry, I know you wanted us to study together –’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ Jiang Cheng says, and shoves his shoulder. ‘You fucking scared me, I thought you were gonna say, I don’t know, that you contracted some form of rare ice disease and you’ve only got six weeks to live.’

‘Ice disease,’ Wei Ying repeats. ‘Wouldn’t that just be hypothermia?’

‘Shut up, there was all kinds of weird shit happening, like with the sword.’ Jiang Cheng’s voice lowers. Everyone keeps bringing up the damn sword. Wei Ying is beginning to suspect that they cared more about retrieving it than they did about rescuing him.

‘Okay, well. I’m not gonna be a lawyer.’ He can’t help laughing as he says it, it sounds so absurd. The idea that he’ll be anything after this, that one day he’ll be able to walk into an office, sit down and work – he can’t picture it.

Yanli comes in, then, with Jin Zixuan trailing behind. That might be one of the most unpleasant discoveries of his return, to find his sister dating that idiot. Okay, Wei Ying is forced to admit, Jin Zixuan might have stepped up and pulled his weight once it mattered, but it doesn’t mean he has to like him. At least Yanli seems to be happy in the relationship.

The only other people who come to visit him are Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang, who drop by the hospital on different days. Wei Ying has missed them, and is pleased to see them, but has absolutely no idea what to say to them.

‘I buried him,’ Wei Ying tells Nie Huaisang, who starts crying as soon as he walks in. ‘Out on the mountainside, in a patch of sunlight.’ He did it when he didn’t expect to return, but he is gladder of it now. He does not ask if there was any kind of funeral or memorial for Nie Mingjue. It is enough that he has been laid to rest somewhere peaceful.

Wen Qing says barely anything at all, just walks to the side of the bed to take his hand. They stand there together, without speaking. He has no reassurance to offer. He is absurdly lucky that he did not lose his little brother, what she has experienced goes beyond anything he has felt.

But then, they’re all fucked up by it. Jiang Cheng is more brittle than he remembers, the hollows in his face making his cheekbones sharper. Wei Ying has spent so much time thinking about how miserable the last eighteen months have been for him that he didn’t stop to consider how fucking awful it must have been for everyone else. It’s not a surprise then, that Lan Zhan is quiet but forceful, that Wen Qing is made of broken glass, that Jiang Cheng hasn’t quite shattered yet, but is clearly on the precipice.

‘A-Cheng has been looking out for her,’ Yanli says quietly, after Wen Qing leaves. ‘She has been having a difficult time with her family.’

‘They’re not together,’ Wei Ying notes. He can see that any chance of Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng becoming something ended when Wen Ning saved him. She will never be able to look at him without remembering what her brother did, and wishing that it had been the other way round.

Yanli shakes her head, sadly.

They let him out of the hospital after a week, when it’s clear he’s not about to keel over and he can keep his meals down. Jiang Cheng stops by Wei Ying’s flat to bring him some proper clothes, though he won’t be going back there – Jiang Fengmian is insisting he come back to Lotus Pier for a bit. Wei Ying puts in the effort of making sure that the invite extends to Lan Zhan – who has been staying in a hotel near the hospital, and he’s not about to send away anytime soon – and then goes along with it.

He is glad to be out of the hospital, at least. He can’t deal with the constant sense of observation, paired with everyone being unbearably gentle around him. He knows that most of the medical staff are just doing their jobs and that it would be unkind to snap at them – but, fucking hell, sometimes he wants to start talking in graphic details about how he learned to hunt and skin animals and the way it feels to kill something, just to stop them from tiptoeing around them. His broken edges have healed over into jagged scar tissue, he is well used to them now.

The clothes that Jiang Cheng brings don’t really fit. Wei Ying spent so much of his time in so many layers he barely noticed the weight he’d lost, but now he’s got to wear a belt with the jeans and the t-shirts are baggier than they were. He’s stronger, too, but it is a wiry, rather than a bulky, strength. Even though they’re his, and he remembers buying and wearing them, the clothes don’t feel right. He’ll have to get more, he supposes. He doesn’t know what he wants to wear now.

The best part, though, is being able to wear longer sleeves. After a week of going back and forth between hospital gowns and soft, short-sleeved t-shirts, he’s sick of people staring at the scars on his arms. That’s not going away, he knows – and there are plenty of people who go about their daily lives with worse scarring, and somehow endure it – but he just wants to remove that option, for a while.

‘It’s weird,’ he tells Lan Zhan, who is helping him gather the handful of stuff he’s accumulated during the week in readiness for the drive to Lotus Pier. ‘Like I don’t feel weird about them, I guess ‘cause it’s not like it was a mental health thing, but it’s like everyone expects me to feel something.’

‘It is a lot to witness,’ Lan Zhan says, quietly, and Wei Ying has nothing to say to that.

 

They spend three weeks in Yunmeng. Many parts of it are wonderful – the cool water of the lotus ponds, eating food he didn’t have to hunt and grill himself, getting to see Lan Zhan and Yanli interact, the moon and stars, which nearly makes him cry the first time he sees them clearly – and yet he can’t shake a hazy feeling that none of it is real. It is the sort of thing his brain would show him if he were in a fevered state, or lying in a snowbank freezing to death.

In fairness, Lotus Pier has often seemed like that, like it is a place sitting outside of time. Whenever he went back for visits before it always felt like that, as if he were reverting to a past version of himself. Now the same process is happening, but he doesn’t fit back into that past self. He has grown into a different shape.

Nor does he get much of a chance to be with Lan Zhan. He’s been stuck in a guest room over on the other side of the house and Wei Ying is starting to think that everyone is conspiring to keep them apart. It always seems like someone comes to interrupt whenever they’re able to grab a moment together, and Lan Zhan himself is behaving with a sort of polite detachment – not unfriendly, but clearly making an effort to be respectful of the fact that he is in Wei Ying’s childhood home.

Wei Ying himself couldn’t give less of a fuck about disrespecting the place he grew up, but he has neither the energy nor the inclination to rock the boat. Plus, unless there’s some cash prize for surviving Iceolation that no one has told him about, he’s going to be financially dependent on the Jiang family for a while longer so it’s probably best not to antagonise them any more than he can help.

He is grateful, though, for the calm and quiet. Mealtimes are a little tense, especially given that he never formally came out to the rest of the family and now his – boyfriend? Partner? – now Lan Zhan is sitting and eating with them. No one is being openly hostile to Lan Zhan, at least: Yanli is effusively friendly, Jiang Cheng grudgingly familiar, Jiang Fengmian awkwardly polite. Yu Ziyuan says nothing, even though she is clearly thinking plenty, and Wei Ying is relieved. He has and will never defend himself when she finds things to criticise, but if she so much as implies that there is anything less than perfect about Lan Zhan he won’t be able to hold back.

But overall, it is nice. There are no reporters around and he can spend as long as he likes sitting down by the docks, dragging his heels through the cool water. How is his lake doing, he wonders. Has the ice cracked again, exposing the frigid depths beneath? Perhaps some foxes have come across his camp and broken into the truck, taking advantage of the shelter it offers. The fire will have burnt out by now.

He does not tell anyone how much he still thinks about the ice world. Everyone is always very careful when making any reference to it, as if the memory might send Wei Ying into a depressive spiral. He’s not sure he knows how to explain how comfortable the memories are, even of the terrible bits. Sometimes especially of the terrible bits, for they’re not just times he was cold, or hungry or violent, they’re times he endured and overcame.

They are things, if pressed, that he could do again.

He’s not the only one to have had that thought. Jiang Cheng runs every morning and works out practically every day. He’s faster and stronger than Wei Ying has ever known him, and even as he dismisses fitness as a hobby they both know otherwise.

Are they all like this? Wei Ying has the thought several times, but he’s not spending enough time with the other Iceolation survivors to know. Has Wen Qing read up on medical procedures using limited supplies? Has Jin Zixuan taken self-defence classes? Does Mianmian wake up in the middle of the night with the frantic desire to be ready this time when the next unexpected thing happens?

He wants to ask Lan Zhan if he feels the same, but cannot find the words to. They are both so polite and formal with each other these days, it would be inappropriate to pose such a personal question. Wei Ying knows that that’s idiotic – since when did he care about propriety? – but cannot shake the reluctance. Lan Zhan has been so many things for him, he does not need to be Wei Ying’s therapist, too.

But perhaps there is a thoughtful way of asking. After all, it is out of concern for Lan Zhan that he wants to know. Wei Ying spends a while coming up with a tactful way of broaching the subject, and then before he can go through with it Lan Zhan announces that he has to go.

Family business of some kind, he is very apologetic about it. Wei Ying nods along, doing his best to conceal how the bottom has dropped out of his stomach. It is silly, he knows, they cannot remain joined at the hip forever, but he cannot unlearn the fear of separation that the show instilled so deeply.

‘It will not be for long,’ Lan Zhan promises, his hand on Wei Ying’s arm. To be fair, he looks about as unhappy to be going as Wei Ying feels to see him leave.

‘It’s okay,’ Wei Ying says, because he can’t really say anything else. True, they have been sleeping in separate rooms this whole time, and barely had a moment alone together – and then, never one when they can really be alone – and yet that was all right, so long as they were under the same roof. Now Lan Zhan is going all the way back to his home in Caiyi, and Wei Ying will be by himself.

He makes the decision, then, that he will also leave Lotus Pier, and take the chance to go back to his own apartment in the Yunmeng city centre. He hasn’t been back there yet, Jiang Cheng retrieved a few things on his behalf, and he has the odd feeling that it is something he has to do by himself.

The others are a little surprised when he tells them – they expected him to stay longer, he knows, but then everyone is expecting him to be some kind of fragile, nervous wreck. They don’t believe him when he says he’s fine, which is fair enough when he’s not fine, but he’s not okay in a way that they don’t seem to understand. The whole family watch him very carefully anytime he’s holding a knife or something else sharply, as if the very presence of a sharp edge will tip him over the edge, and yet they send him out to grab some groceries without thinking twice about it.

It is the first time he has been in a supermarket. He barely gets two steps inside before freezing up. There’s just so much food, fresh and varied and cheaply available. The meat all comes neatly prepackaged; he will not have to kill anything to eat it. He does not think he can eat anything, though, without thinking about the fact that someone killed it. Perhaps he will become a vegetarian – for here there are shelves lined with fruit and vegetables, grown in warm places and greenhouses and carefully tended to.

It takes him three times as long as it should to get the items on the list and pay for them. He keeps having to stop and look at things, feeling the gut punch all over again of how much easier his life on the ice would have been if he’d had access to a store like this. He will have to get used to it, though, especially now that he’s decided to fend for himself again.

He is nervous the whole taxi ride over to the flat. Jiang Cheng had offered to drive him, but then he’d want to come in, too, and Wei Ying doesn’t want an audience. For a moment after he gets out of the cab he just stands there on the pavement, looking up at the tower block. Then it’s four storeys up in the lift and he’s in the hallway, unlocking the door with trembling hands and pushing it open.

Oh. Fuck. He walks in slowly, letting the door swing closed behind him. It has been almost two years since he was last here and yet almost nothing has been moved, save for whatever Jiang Cheng grabbed on his behalf. It feels like he is stepping into an archaeological site or museum exhibition on his former life. There are the nice teacups on the shelf for when Yanli visits and the chipped orange bowl he bought secondhand and ate almost all of his meals out of. The fridge is empty and has been turned off, so someone else must have been here, too – maybe Yanli – during his time on the show.

Wei Ying moves slowly through the apartment. This was the first place he lived after moving out of Lotus Pier. It was a birthday present from Jiang Fengmian, but he knows it was his stepmother’s idea aimed at getting him out of the family home. By that point he was more than keen to leave, so he can’t exactly resent her for her part in that. And he knows he’s lucky to have it; plenty of young people have only the shitty relatives and not the accompanying money.

He does wonder, though, if the apartment had not been bought outright whether it would still have been here for him. At what point would the Jiangs have stopped paying rent on it? Not while the show was still airing, certainly, but what about the eighteen months of radio silence since? It’s a long time.

And even without the apartment continuing to cost money, were there any discussions about clearing it? Had Yu Ziyuan suggested his belongings be packed up and removed and the flat sold? Wei Ying feels confident in saying that neither of his siblings would want to live there, or would feel comfortable with getting rid of his things. How long would they have been able to make that argument, though?

His phone buzzes, then, with a text from Lan Zhan. That has been one saving grace of this separation occurring in their world; it’s easy to stay in contact. This message is brief, but it cheers him: I will be finished here tomorrow. Are you still at Lotus Pier?

Wei Ying hesitates. He already misses Lan Zhan a disgusting amount and they will probably need lots of couples’ therapy to avoid becoming codependent, but he’s also not sure about letting someone else into this space. Then again, this flat is nowhere as revealing as it used to be: it only says who he was. Lan Zhan has seen who he is now, as evidenced by the truck’s interior. There is very little of him that Lan Zhan hasn’t seen.

no, he types back. at my flat in yunmeng – you can come here if you want?

 

Just as Lotus Pier was neither one thing nor another, spending a night alone in the apartment is also weird. Wei Ying is used to being alone, now, has grown comfortable with it, and there is something nice about being in this little space, up above the town streets where no one can get to him. He turns the fridge back on and goes to the mini supermarket three blocks away for some essentials. It feels like a bizarrely normal course of action, right up until the young woman in the vegetable aisle next to him gives him a once-over and then does a double take as she recognises him.

Of course. This hasn’t happened much so far, but he was in a private hospital and the Jiangs own the land around the Lotus Pier house, so he’s barely come into contact with the public. From what everyone has said, he’s gathered that the second series of Iceolation picked up even more viewers than the first – and so this woman knows his face and his name and what he looks like in the shower.

His appetite suddenly gone, Wei Ying grabs a few things at random to add to his basket and hurries on to the next aisle. The young woman doesn’t follow him, but now he’s uncomfortably aware of how people look at him whenever he goes near anyone else. This would have been the same for everyone when they got back, he reminds himself, only they would have been part of a group, and so the attention would have been diffused.

It takes quite the effort to concentrate on shopping and by the time he gets to the till his basket has quite the eclectic mix of fresh food and tinned goods. The latter are a practicality more than anything else; his cupboards are empty and it makes sense to build up his stores again. Left to make immediate choices about his meals, he’d probably be quite happy to eat nothing but fresh veg for the rest of his life.

His groceries paid for, he steps outside and is in the middle of breathing a sigh of relief when two teenagers, a boy and a girl, accost him and ask for a photo.

Wei Ying stares at them blankly for a second, unable to compute a photo of what, before he realises. They want a picture with him because he’s famous, someone they watched on TV and whose return to this mortal realm was documented on every major news channel worldwide.

‘No,’ he says, adding, ‘sorry’ when their faces fall. The boy opens his mouth to protest, and Wei Ying decides to cut his losses and be rude, hurrying past them to walk back to the flat.

The boy shouts something after him, he doesn’t catch the words but the gist is clear. So now he’s the entitled celebrity who treats his fans badly. Great.

He’s still breathing quickly from the encounter when he gets back to the flat. He has been on the internet since his return, of course, and seen plenty of awful shit there. It was one thing to spend all that time on the show knowing it was being filmed and broadcast and wondering theoretically about how it was received. It is quite another to be confronted with those results: to see stills from his own life thrown back at him. But he could always put his phone down and at Lotus Pier he was always surrounded by other people, so could easily be distracted. Now there’s no barrier between him and the rest of the world, and Iceolation is everywhere.

He wears sunglasses and a baseball cap to collect Lan Zhan from the train station the following day. It feels ridiculous, like he’s playing into the idea of being a celebrity, but it’s the only way he can avoid being stared at – and even then, it’s not a hundred percent effective. Lan Zhan is fairly noticeable, after all, being the most beautiful guy in the world, so Wei Ying is hardly inconspicuous on his arm.

A guy comes up to them as they’re leaving the station and when he asks for a photo, Wei Ying notices a tattoo of the sword on his arm. The guy notices him looking and raises it proudly, saying something about how Wei Ying inspired him and how it symbolises bravery or some shit like that.

Wei Ying can’t get away fast enough. He makes it to a public bin before vomiting, his breakfast coming up in a nauseous rush. That fucking sword almost killed him and the people he cared about and people are getting tattoos of it, as if it were something cool and trendy that they can be a part of.

Lan Zhan catches up with him and stands by his side as he retches, then fishes in his pocket for a tissue. Wei Ying takes it gratefully and wipes his mouth, unable to get rid of the sour taste.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I just –’

‘There is no need to apologise,’ Lan Zhan says, and now Wei Ying notices how angry he looks. He’s hiding it well, as he always does, but the clench of his jaw is unmistakable. ‘It is an understandable reaction.’

Wei Ying just nods, because he doesn’t want to say that he hasn’t thrown up since the first time he tried gutting an animal, and lets Lan Zhan steer him out of the station.

‘Are you all right?’ Lan Zhan asks, once they are safely into the taxi.

Wei Ying nods, quickly. ‘It’s just, a lot. I haven’t really been out in it until now and I guess I didn’t realise quite how many people were watching the show.’

‘It is difficult at first,’ Lan Zhan agrees. One fantastic thing about being in the real world is that Lan Zhan gets to dress himself and Wei Ying is delighted to discover how good he looks in clothes that aren’t the Iceolation jumpsuits or cold weather gear. Today he’s in a light blue sweater and white trousers – which, if worn by anyone else, would just be a walking spill hazard, but on Lan Zhan they are immaculate.

‘People asked me for photos yesterday,’ Wei Ying tells him, feeling odd even as he says it. It seems like such a weird thing to complain about when perhaps he ought to take it as a compliment, but he never asked to be on TV. It is not his fault that they feel like they know him, or that the whole time they were following the dramatic story he was just doing the best he could to survive.

‘You are within your rights to refuse,’ Lan Zhan says.

Wei Ying just nods. There are other questions he could ask, here. It must have been miserable for Lan Zhan when he woke up. Everyone in Lan Zhan’s life must have had questions for him. Did he know what Wei Ying was planning? How did he feel about it? Was he going to move on with his life, or dutifully sit in mourning for the person he’d lost?

But it is not a conversation he wants to have in a taxi, or perhaps ever. If Lan Zhan wants to talk about it, he will, and he has had over a year to deal with his feelings. He has probably mastered them like a grownup.

‘The apartment is a bit of a mess,’ he warns, as they draw up outside the building. ‘I wasn’t exactly tidy before, and now I’m kinda unsure what to do with half the stuff.’

‘How have you found it? Being home?’ Lan Zhan asks, following him out of the taxi and pausing to collect his bags. He has brought two, neither of which is very big, and Wei Ying isn’t sure if that’s just because Lan Zhan is an economical person who wouldn’t pack anything he didn’t need (likely) or if he’s simply not planning to stay very long (likely? Maybe??? How do you ask that?)

‘Weird,’ Wei Ying admits. ‘Like, it’s nice to have my own space again, and I love Jiang Cheng but he was starting to drive me mad, checking in every five minutes, but, yeah, it’s weird.’ He lets out a breath. ‘Gonna be even weirder with you here.’

Lan Zhan’s step slows. ‘I do not have to be. If you would prefer I leave-’

‘No! Fuck, no, that’s not what I meant. It’s more like, I don’t know, when your university friends meet your high school friends, and overall it’s a good thing and they get along well, but they’ve belonged to separate spheres up until that point and you’re not sure how to reconcile them.’

‘Mn.’

To Wei Ying’s surprise, it is not actually as jarring as he expected it would be to have Lan Zhan there with him. He already feels so unsuited to the flat that the additional factor of another person does not change it all that much. He’s far too focused on the fact that the two of them are properly alone for the first time since their return to get too freaked out about what Lan Zhan thinks of his interior decorating choices.

The thing is, he’s not sure what they are. Close, obviously, and important to each other, he doesn’t doubt that. Lan Zhan’s affection is obvious every time he looks at Wei Ying and comes through in the gentle care he constantly extends – helping tidy the flat without being asked, offering to cook dinner, then doing the dishes as well before Wei Ying can stop him.

But beyond that? Who are they together, when they do not have to spend every waking moment thinking about each other’s preservation or the survival of the group? They haven’t kissed since they were in the truck. Wei Ying is simultaneously desperate to and terrified of it. Lan Zhan is still affectionate and generous with light touches, but they are sweet and chaste – the precise opposite of their behaviour back in that cold bedroom when they were desperate to feel something other than fear.

All the sex they’ve had has been about survival, Wei Ying realises, and the thought is accompanied by the sudden, strong desire to have sex that’s just about sex. Only if they do it now it still won’t just be that, and so he keeps his hands to himself and follows Lan Zhan’s lead in levels of affection.

He nearly loses all of that control when they’re getting ready to sleep and Lan Zhan starts getting changed. They haven’t discussed sleeping arrangements, but Wei Ying has a double bed and after all the times they crammed into a single bunk it goes without saying that they will share now. Lan Zhan doesn’t strip completely, though, merely changing into a pair of loose pyjama trousers and taking his shirt off. Wei Ying is about to go a little insane over the sight of Lan Zhan’s bare chest – a sight he has seen plenty of times before, but one he has missed – when his eyes catch on something unfamiliar. A handful of scars, not dissimilar to his own, criss-crossed on Lan Zhan’s right bicep.

‘Whoa,’ he says, moving across the room. ‘Are those – are you…?’

Lan Zhan looks at him, his gaze heavy and sad. ‘I missed you,’ he says, quietly, and those three words are all it takes to obliterate Wei Ying. He launches forward to hug Lan Zhan, burying his face in his shoulder. He doesn’t want to imagine it, Lan Zhan sad and alone and taking a blade to his own skin so that they might match.

‘I’m sorry,’ Wei Ying says. He’s apologised so many times, and it will never be enough.

‘It is not your fault,’ Lan Zhan says, emphatically.

They stand there for a little while, and then climb into bed. Even if Wei Ying had been in the mood to fool around before, he’s definitely not up to it now. He curls up beneath the blanket, caught between the steady comfort of Lan Zhan’s arms around him and the terrible, bubbling guilt that never goes away whenever he thinks of what he put Lan Zhan through. It is not as if Wei Ying himself was not lonely, but surviving out there took every bit of energy he had – and, in a weird way, it is always easier to make the sacrifice than to accept someone else making it on your behalf.

‘I love you,’ he says, into the dark. He has said it before, out on the ice, but it bears repeating. ‘Lan Zhan, I love you so much.’

Lan Zhan kisses the top of his shoulder blade, gentle and soft. ‘I love you too, Wei Ying.’

 

They nearly break up two weeks later.

They don’t – there is lots of talking, and some crying, and eventually a joint nap on the sofa because both the talking and the crying is exhausting – but it is terrifying how close they come.

The real world is loud, and it is noisy, and Wei Ying has forgotten how to be a person in it. In - what does he call it, now? The show? The fake Arctic? The hell dimension? - he needed to be aware of everything, the slightest noise having implications regarding his own survival, and now he cannot turn that off. Every time he steps out the front door he becomes acutely aware of the eyes following him, of how every decision he makes in public is immediately broadcast over social media. The nearest corner shop sells out of his favourite type of instant noodles because someone took a picture of him buying them and other people rushed to get their own packet. He tries to stay off the internet as much as possible – the show has, at least, cured him of his dependence on social media – and yet so much of it filters through anyway.

There are the people obsessed with his and Lan Zhan’s relationship, the ones who think that Lan Zhan should have dated Nie Mingjue (impossible to picture but aesthetically pleasing) that Wei Ying should have dated Nie Mingjue (he’s almost flattered that they think that could have been possible) or, his personal favourite, that Lan Zhan and Jin Zixuan were meant to be for some unspecified reason. And, because the internet is, well, the internet, there are plenty of people complaining about Lan Zhan’s decision to endanger himself by going back for Wei Ying, arguing that he should have left him there.

Wei Ying knows he should ignore it. People will voice any and every opinion; it doesn’t make them right. Just because they got their kicks watching him nearly kill himself doesn’t mean that they can speak with any kind of authority about his life. And yet it’s that one that gets through. Not the speculation about the reunion sex that he and Lan Zhan must be having, or the snide comments about how they don’t deserve each other – but the nagging, oft-repeated idea that Wei Ying should have simply stayed where he was, and has somehow ruined everything by coming back.

Perhaps it is too close to the same feeling he gets standing on his balcony at night, listening to the roar of traffic and missing the silence of the forest. Most days all you could hear was the wind in the trees, sometimes soft, sometimes tearing through and ripping at twigs. The forest and the mountains were his, and he could keep track of them, but the city centre is big and loud and overwhelming and full of people over whom he has no control.

‘I don’t know how to do this,’ he tells Lan Zhan hopelessly. They are standing in his tiny kitchen, which is a terrible place to have a breakdown, but it is too late to relocate now. ‘You should have left me there.’

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says, and moves in to hold him as Wei Ying starts crying, which is stupid, but he can’t stop it.

‘I can’t do anything here,’ he says, aware that he is being hideously selfish, into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. ‘And I shouldn’t miss it, not after everything, but I do – everything here is so much, all the time, and I don’t know how to keep up.’

‘Mn.’ Lan Zhan’s hand is making a soothing, sweeping motion across Wei Ying’s back. He lets himself enjoy it for a moment, then pulls back.

‘I mean it, Lan Zhan. It’s like, in the building, before the Ice King and everything, I couldn’t stop and have a breakdown because everyone needed me to be okay so I could come up with plans – okay, maybe I did have a couple of breakdowns, but you were always there – and then, when I was alone in the mountains by myself there was this great feeling of not being responsible for anyone else’s feelings. At any point if I felt like it I could just give up, lie down and die, and I wouldn’t be letting anyone down but myself.’ He feels Lan Zhan’s hand tighten on his shoulder, but keeps going. ‘And now it’s like I’m back to before, and people understand that it was all very traumatising but they want me to be damaged in some kind of very specific way. So I’ve gotta be okay but not too okay and also somehow fine with strangers knowing everything about me and even if there aren’t cameras now everyone watches everything I do anyway.’

He takes a deep breath. ‘You deserve better than this, Lan Zhan. I know it took a lot to come and get me, and it’s okay if I’m not what you expected, or what you want now that we’re on the outside. I know you love me, but that doesn’t mean – we don’t have to be together.’

Lan Zhan swallows. ‘Have I given you the impression that I do not want to be with you?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe? You don’t…’ Wei Ying hesitates. ‘We haven’t …I mean, like, anything, since we got back – and that’s probably good! We’re both in a really weird place, but I don’t know. I’m sure it was absolute hell for you when you first got back and I’m not trying to say that it was easy or anything, only that you and a lot of the others, you managed, and now you’re doing okay, and I just don’t know if I can. I should be grateful and everything and I am, but I also kinda wanna run into the nearest woods and never return.’

Lan Zhan looks at him, calm and steady as he has always been. ‘Your brother is not okay. Wen Qing is not okay. I,’ he says, and his eyes flick, momentarily, to his bicep, the scars covered by his sleeve, ‘am not okay. We have had longer to adjust, that is all.’

‘You’re right, I’m sorry –’ Wei Ying begins, but Lan Zhan interrupts him.

‘I should have anticipated that the city would be overwhelming. I have a suggestion. You, of course, are free to do what you wish, with or without me – but, Wei Ying, if you would like to come back to Gusu with me, I think that you would like it.’

‘Gusu?’ Wei Ying repeats.

‘My uncle’s cabin,’ Lan Zhan elaborates. ‘It is in the woods at the base of the mountains, up above Caiyi. It is not the climate you are used to, but will take you out of the public eye.’

‘Okay,’ Wei Ying says, and discovers that he is crying again. Trust Lan Zhan to have an answer for everything. ‘All right. I’ll come to Gusu. I’m sorry for crying all over you, I know I’m being silly –’

He is interrupted by another hug, and this time he does not draw out of it.

 

Wei Ying is jittery for all of the train ride to Caiyi, both because of the number of people who have recognised them in their carriage and because they are meeting Lan Zhan’s brother at the other end. Lan Zhan had suggested they take a more private means of transportation, but Wei Ying can’t shake the feeling that acting like a celebrity will only cement the public’s idea of him as one. He cannot swan around in private cars forever, so people will have to get used to him being around at some point. Still, the stares and whispers are unpleasant, and it takes an effort to focus on his book (a guide to mindfulness from Yanli).

And it’s not as if meeting Lan Zhan’s family isn’t intimidating by itself. All he knows about them are that Lan Zhan and his older brother are close, that they were raised by their uncle, the antique bookseller.

‘My uncle is a little strict,’ Lan Zhan says, having waited until they are on the train to make the admission. ‘He may be brusque, but he knows the sacrifices you have made.’

‘That’s not making this any easier,’ Wei Ying tells him, but he can hardly complain when Lan Zhan spent all that time at Lotus Pier patiently tolerating various Jiang family dramas. Returning the favour is really the least that Wei Ying can do.

‘He will not be at the station,’ Lan Zhan adds, more helpfully. ‘It will only be my brother.’

Wei Ying nods. He does know this, but it is still reassuring. They have already discussed the plan; Lan Huan is bringing Lan Zhan’s car to the train station, they will go for lunch and then Lan Zhan will drive himself and Wei Ying to the cabin. There will be no uncles of any sort around.

Not that meeting Lan Zhan’s brother is any less intimidating. Wei Ying is bad at normal human interaction most of the time now, and what on earth do you say to the guy who has watched you snog his little sibling on live TV?

His nervous energy builds as the train pulls into the station at Caiyi. Lan Zhan was so cold and standoffish when they first met, is Lan Huan going to be like that? Will he, perhaps, resent the hold that Wei Ying has over his younger brother? Perhaps he, too, thinks that Lan Zhan made the wrong decision to go back for him.

Weirdly, Wei Ying spots Lan Huan before Lan Zhan does. They’ve never met, but there’s a slight resemblance – more to do with perfect posture and neutral clothes than anything else. Lan Huan has a different energy to him, though: where Lan Zhan’s straight back is stiff, he looks relaxed.

He greets them both warmly, offering to take their bags and ushering them to the car.

‘How is your sister?’ he asks Wei Ying, as they all get into the vehicle.

‘She’s good!’ he says, unable to conceal his surprise at the question.

‘We became acquainted during the time the show was airing,’ Lan Huan explains. ‘Many of the families did.’

Wei Ying just nods. It makes sense now that he’s taken a moment to think about it; Lan Huan has the same energy as Yanli – calm and quiet in an honest and genuine way that’s completely unlike anything Wei Ying or Lan Zhan can muster.

Lunch is a quiet affair. He doesn’t have to do much beyond answer Lan Huan’s stream of polite questions, all of which manage to be thoughtful without being invasive. Clearly, he thinks, and bites back the urge to say, Lan Huan got all of the tact in the family.

Not that Lan Zhan is ever rude to him anymore. Throughout the meal he sits and watches the two of them, and Wei Ying might be imagining it, but he thought he caught a smile.

‘All right,’ Lan Huan says, when it’s time for them to head off. ‘If you guys need anything, let me know.’

‘Thanks,’ Wei Ying says, and has a thought that he immediately regrets. If the Iceolation producers, that Wen guy, if they’d decided to kidnap Lan Huan as well, would they have managed better? Lots of people came with siblings or relatives; Lan Zhan was relatively unusual in being alone. And, of course, Wei Ying would never wish the experience on anyone, but perhaps they would have done better with Lan Huan around. Or perhaps he would have been mown down alongside Nie Mingjue, and they’d still have ended up without anyone to tell them what to do.

‘I think you will like the cabin,’ Lan Huan tells him, and offers his hand for Wei Ying to shake. ‘It is very peaceful up there.’

‘Excellent,’ he says. The mental image of Lan Huan in an Iceolation is replaced by a different, formless wish for an older brother of his own. He’s got Yanli, of course, and he’s never not grateful for the ways in which she takes care of him – but Lan Zhan doesn’t know how good he’s got it, having an older brother to look out for him.

Or perhaps he does, if the abrupt way he sticks out his hand for a handshake of his own is any indication. Lan Huan returns the gesture, giving no indication that it is an unusual one – you’d think siblings would be less formal, Wei Ying doesn’t know that he’s ever shaken Jiang Cheng’s hand – and then it really is time to go.

 

Wei Ying can feel himself relaxing the further they get from Caiyi, the road becoming narrower as the bamboo woods press in around them. Lan Zhan does not talk while he drives, but nor does he seem to expect Wei Ying to say anything, and the silence is a comfortable one. Wei Ying looks out the window, watches the trees rush past and breathes more easily than he has since coming through the portal.

The drive only takes forty minutes, but in that time they’ve ascended so far, up to the base of the mountains, that it doesn’t feel like they’re close to anything. Lan Zhan pulls up into a small, empty car park – it’s outside of the usual holiday season, so no one else is here – and they make the walk up a wooded path to the cabin.

‘There is no internet connection up here,’ Lan Zhan says, as it comes into view. It is long, low and wooden, the design simple but elegant in exactly the way Wei Ying is coming to associate with the Lan family. Did they design it themselves, or did it simply match their taste? He must find out.

‘That’s fine,’ he says, about the wifi thing. Another mark of how much he has changed; before Iceolation living without ready access to the internet would have been unthinkable. Now, it is kind of a relief.

They stop outside the door so that Lan Zhan can find the keys. Wei Ying shuts his eyes for a moment and just listens. Apart from the rustle of Lan Zhan sorting through his pocket, there’s a breeze making the slightest rustle in the bamboo leaves and, very faintly, the sound of running water. The two of them might be the only people for miles. The thought is delicious.

Even though Wei Ying has never been here before, the inside of the cabin already feels familiar. It is so Lan Zhan, the simple wooden furniture and neat bookshelves, white gauzy curtains at the windows. It is Lan Zhan in the way that the truck was Wei Ying, and between the two of them he knows which is the more habitable.

‘I hope you will be comfortable here,’ Lan Zhan says, and he sounds… awkward? Wei Ying looks at him, noticing for the first time the slight tension in his brow. Oh.

‘It’s wonderful,’ he says, putting as much sincerity as he can into the words. ‘It’s –’ and he doesn’t have the words, so he drops his bags to bound forward and kiss Lan Zhan lightly. It feels so natural that he does it without thinking, and without registering that it’s their first kiss since they returned. But then, it is finally not a kiss about being alive, or finding each other – it’s just a kiss because Wei Ying is happy, and he needs Lan Zhan to know it.

‘The other cabins are empty,’ Lan Zhan says, after Wei Ying has kissed him on the mouth, both cheeks and the tip of his nose. (He got carried away.) ‘And they are further down the hill, too, so we will not be disturbed.’

Wei Ying grins. ‘Can’t wait for the people who own them to discover they’ve got a hermit for a neighbour.’

Lan Zhan coughs. ‘My family…owns all of the cabins.’

‘Lan Zhan! You never told me you were rich.’

‘It was never relevant.’

‘Does this make me the trophy husband? I can do that, I’m very fun at parties,’ Wei Ying says, as if he hasn’t spent the past couple of weeks running desperately from every social interaction. Actually, never mind, he’s still probably better at parties than Lan Zhan is.

Instead of replying, Lan Zhan begins sorting out their bags, leaving Wei Ying free to explore the rest of the cabin. It is quite small, but the main living space is open plan with large, circular windows looking out into the bamboo. It is probably the nicest place that Wei Ying has ever stayed and he tells Lan Zhan as much, pleased with how momentarily flustered he becomes.

They unpack, and make dinner, and then Wei Ying asks if he can go off for a walk by himself. He’d been about to go without asking, and it’s not as if he needs Lan Zhan’s permission, but it feels important to check in instead of just disappearing the way he has on so many past occasions. Lan Zhan has no problem with it, of course, and tells him how to find the path down to the stream.

Wei Ying kisses him on the cheek and bounces out into the softening twilight. The mountains rise up sharply not far behind the cabin; presumably they’d been illuminated by the sunset while he was eating. He must come out here tomorrow and see how it looks. Just because it can’t hold a candle to the brilliance of the faux-Arctic dawn doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate it.

Finding the path that Lan Zhan mentioned, he walks down it to where the stream cuts a burbling path through the woods and crouches by the edge. He’s aware of how noisy he is when he moves; trying to be quiet on the forest floor is much harder than moving noiselessly across snow. Probably a good thing he’s not trying to hunt here – though, on the other hand, prey is probably much easier to find.

It is good, though, to be alone. Perhaps that is really it, at the crux of all this, that no one has left him alone in the way that he’s needed. Even the people he loves, whose attention is born of worry – Yanli and Jiang Cheng – have been incapable of leaving him be.

But not Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan has understood him in this respect, perhaps because he saw how Wei Ying was living out on the ice, and recognised what it has turned him into.

Lan Zhan is so fucking good. Wei Ying feels his heart swell, as it always does, at the thought – only this time it isn’t accompanied by the usual pang of guilt, or sense that Wei Ying is somehow unworthy of him. Even if Lan Zhan could do better, he has made it more than clear that it’s Wei Ying that he wants – and if he’s going to be deluded in this way, who is Wei Ying to stop him?

He will just have to become someone who is worthy of Lan Zhan, someone who does not cause Lan Zhan worry. Somehow it doesn’t feel the same before, when he felt a constant need to be okay so that other people would be okay. He wants to go back to making Lan Zhan feel happy, and now that his brain isn’t scrambled with trying to keep up with the hum of a city he might just be able to manage it.

Still crouched by the side of the stream, Wei Ying dips one hand into the dark, fast-flowing water. It is chilly, but his bar for what constitutes cold is now unrealistically high. It is nice, though, and he dips the other hand in, too. How deep is the stream in the middle? He’s half tempted to wade in and find out, but has just enough sense to recognise that that might not be the best course of action. The water looks pretty clean, and it hasn’t passed through any fields with livestock in, so it might be safe to bathe in. Fun as it would be to scandalise Lan Zhan by accidentally-on-purpose skinny dipping, he should probably check about that first, too, just in case it would be going against some rule for the cabins. He’s only just got here, he doesn’t wanna get chucked out immediately.

He stays there for a while, then wanders back a different way. Instead of heading back up the path to their cabin he keeps walking straight, which brings him out into a wide, grassy meadow. It is much lighter out here than among the bamboo stalks, the first stars have begun appearing and the moon shines, bright and round, down on them. Lan Zhan is crouched at the centre of it, his white shirt making him easy to spot.

Wei Ying tries to creep up on him, but he’s similarly unused to moving quietly on grass – and then, when he sees what Lan Zhan is holding, he forgets what he’s doing and gives up on stealth completely.

It is a rabbit, small and soft with pure white fur. Wei Ying stares at it and, before he can help himself, thinks about how he’d kill it – a sharp, violent twist of the neck, so as not to damage the fur – and the meal that it would make. And then Lan Zhan looks up at him, all gentleness, because of course, these are the white rabbits he mentioned when they were in Wei Ying’s bunk a million years ago, and they are his pets.

Nauseated, Wei Ying takes a step back.

‘Are you all right?’ Lan Zhan asks, immediately, carefully setting the animal down and straightening up.

Wei Ying nods, not trusting himself to look down at the rabbit. He can’t say what he was just thinking; no one wants to hear that their beloved pets would make an excellent dinner. ‘I went down to the stream,’ he says, instead.

Lan Zhan doesn’t press for an explanation, but steps closer and offers his hand. Wei Ying takes it, grateful, and allows himself to be led back through the meadow and up to their cabin.

‘How long can we stay here?’ he asks. He’d almost rather not know, as this way he will have to count down the days until they have to leave, but nor does he want their departure to sneak up on him.

‘As long as you like,’ Lan Zhan says, with a squeeze of his hand.

Wei Ying stops for a moment, pulling Lan Zhan to a stop. ‘Ah, Lan Zhan, you’re not just saying that? ‘Cause like, I know we’ve been here all of a day but I don’t think I wanna be anywhere else. What about you – aren’t you going to get bored up here, with only me for company?’

‘I will have the rabbits, too,’ Lan Zhan says, so straight-faced that Wei Ying has to laugh.

‘All right, me and the rabbits. We’ll have to keep you entertained so that you don’t get bored.’ He starts walking again, heart lighter still. He can explore further tomorrow, maybe they can put together a backpack of supplies and go for a hike. Lan Zhan must know these woods and mountains very well, he can have a turn at being the tour guide. Unless Lan Zhan has had enough of hiking, in which case Wei Ying could go off by himself, or hang around the cabin and make a proper investigation of those bookshelves. There’s bound to be something interesting to read.

The thoughts carry him the rest of the way back to the cabin, where he helps Lan Zhan with the washing up and does some more unpacking. Lan Zhan’s bedroom is at the back, its wide window looking straight out into the forest. Wei Ying puts his clothes away according to Lan Zhan’s direction, but keeps most of his other stuff in his bag. Everything is so neat and tidily ordered, it would be a shame to add the clutter of his belongings. Admittedly, Wei Ying has brought way less things than he would have before the show – his time on the ice has drilled in the importance of travelling light – but it still seems wrong to disturb the order of everything else on the shelf. Lan Zhan has been living in his flat for several weeks without upsetting anything; it’s the least Wei Ying can do to return the favour.

Lan Zhan notices, though. ‘You may put your things anywhere,’ he says, choosing to interpret it as indecision. ‘I would like you to be comfortable here.’

‘You’ll regret that,’ Wei Ying warns, but does take some of his other belongings out. He doesn’t have much that he keeps with him these days. His hand hovers over the most precious item; a cardboard tube with a roll of paper in it.

Lan Zhan’s eyes fall on it. ‘Is that…?’

Wei Ying nods and, picking the tube up, uncaps the end and slides the paper out. Several pages of map, including the first Lan Zhan drew, with the little cave marked. ‘I had them up in the truck,’ he says, even though Lan Zhan was there and saw for himself. ‘I was thinking, maybe – I know everything is very organised here, and I don’t want to mess with your decorations -’

‘We can put them up,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘In frames, if you would like.’

‘Yes,’ Wei Ying says it with his chest. ‘I’d like that.’

And then there is nothing to do but get undressed and go to bed. Even though they have been sharing a room this whole time it feels different in a new space. Going to clean his teeth, he becomes suddenly very aware of Lan Zhan moving around in the room behind him, pulling off his soft white shirt and looking for his pyjamas.

They have been close before now. Wei Ying has grown accustomed to falling asleep next to Lan Zhan’s steady warmth, to lying there and listening to his breathing. He is allowed to touch Lan Zhan, ghosting gentle touches along the top of his shoulder, down his arm where the scars are. More than once Wei Ying has woken to find Lan Zhan’s arm thrown around his waist, holding him to his side.

Something is different tonight. Perhaps it is the change of scene, or perhaps it is the way that Wei Ying has relaxed into himself without the internet to scroll through or the gazes of strangers raking down his scarred arms. Whatever it is, when he finishes cleaning his teeth and walks back into the bedroom to find Lan Zhan still hunting for a pyjama top, Wei Ying can’t help but walk over to stop him.

‘I like you like this,’ he says, letting his eyes drift over Lan Zhan’s chest for an obvious moment.

‘Wei Ying.’ It is half statement, half question.

‘What? Are you gonna be cold? I’ll keep you warm.’ And, before he can think too hard about how cheesy that was, he leans in to kiss Lan Zhan.

This time Lan Zhan doesn’t question him, but responds gently, his lips parting under Wei Ying’s. It is sweet and soft and so unlike their hungry, desperate kisses in the ice world that they could almost be different people.

They stand there for a few minutes, and then Lan Zhan breaks it off to tug at Wei Ying’s shirt.

‘You, too,’ he says, and Wei Ying is more than happy to oblige.

‘Bed?’ he suggests, and Lan Zhan nods. There’s a bit of a clamber involved, but it is a double bed and there’s more than enough space for both of them. Lan Zhan lifts up the blanket so that they can get beneath it and then they’re kissing again, still gentle, almost lazy. Wei Ying knows he’s not ready yet for anything else. They have only just got here; there will be time for other things. That doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy this, though, and he does, pulling Lan Zhan close to deepen the kiss, revelling in the familiar way that their mouths slot together as if designed for the purpose.

‘This is nice,’ he says, as Lan Zhan pauses to brush a stray strand of hair from Wei Ying’s face. ‘Will you grow your hair, do you think?’

Lan Zhan nods. ‘Will you cut yours?’

‘Nah, I kinda like it. Jiang Cheng made a couple of not-so-subtle suggestions that now I wasn’t living like a nomad I didn’t have to look like one, but, I don’t know, I feel like going out and getting a smart haircut would be dishonest now.’

‘Mn.’ Lan Zhan dips his head down to kiss him again, still gentle.

They lie there kissing slowly until they’re tired enough to sleep, and then Wei Ying drifts off with his head on Lan Zhan’s chest, lulled by the steady sound of his breathing.

 

Things do not stay sweet and gentle. Wei Ying is fully intending to take things slowly – after everything it has taken to reach this point, they shouldn’t rush – but it does not work out that way.

It is their third day in the cabin, and it has been raining all day. He didn’t mind it so much in the morning; it was kind of nice to wake up to the steady drumming on the roof. He and Lan Zhan sit around reading until lunch, which is very nice and quiet, but by mid-afternoon Wei Ying is bored. Having run out of ways to amuse himself, he settles for irritating Lan Zhan instead, which turns into kissing him, which turns into a full makeout session on the sofa.

They’ve kissed plenty of times in the last three days, but this afternoon something is different – a slight shift in tempo, that Wei Ying can’t quite put a finger on. Gone is the cosy chastity of kisses that they knew weren’t planning to lead anywhere, but nor have they returned to the frantic desire that underpinned their relationship on the show. Now, half on top of Lan Zhan on the sofa, Wei Ying is breathless with want.

‘We could,’ he says, just pulling back far enough to utter the words against Lan Zhan’s mouth. ‘I mean, if you want.’

‘Mn,’ Lan Zhan agrees, and kisses him again, deeper this time, until Wei Ying is worried that he’s going to come without Lan Zhan even touching his cock.

‘Maybe not here?’ he suggests, the next time he’s able to get a word in edgewise. He did not pack anything in the way of lube or condoms when departing for the cabin; he’s just going to assume that Lan Zhan was better prepared. Sure, they were in a weird space before, but presumably it was understood that they were going to have sex at some point.

‘Yes,’ Lan Zhan says, and oh fuck, Wei Ying had forgotten how hot it was to hear Lan Zhan’s voice go ragged like that. ‘Move.’

Wei Ying scrambles to comply, even though every part of his body protests at getting up. Lan Zhan is close behind him, though, and then they are in the enclosed space of the bedroom and kissing again. Wei Ying is dizzy with it. He is never going to get over the thrill of Lan Zhan wanting him, of his seeing Wei Ying’s ridiculous, enormous feelings and matching them.

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan murmurs, breaking the kiss and leaning back to look at him. Wei Ying knows that this is sensible – in order to do anything else they’ll need to pause the kissing, even momentarily – and yet can’t suppress a flash of annoyance at their being interrupted.

‘Lan Zhan,’ he answers, drawing a shaky breath.

Lan Zhan’s eyes move over him slowly, as if conducting an assessment. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is, and Wei Ying is on the brink of begging Lan Zhan to touch him again when he asks, ‘What do you want?’

Fuck. Wei Ying swallows, and makes himself meet Lan Zhan’s eyes. ‘I want you to fuck me,’ he says, adding ‘please’ a heartbeat later. Only as the words leave his mouth does the enormity of it all hit him, the fact that he is here and this is happening and he will no longer be left merely to imagine his lurid fantasies of what the two of them could do together. Not that their time before wasn’t satisfying, but now they have privacy, and safety, and – he is extremely happy to see Lan Zhan retrieving some from the bedside table – lube.

I love you, Wei Ying thinks, reaching out to unbutton Lan Zhan’s shirt. I love you. I’m glad we are alive.

 

Months pass. They go for walks, read together, go down to Caiyi to pick up groceries, and sometimes forget their other day plans to have lots of sex. Wei Ying still dreams about the ice world, but the mornings where he wakes cold and sweaty and reaching desperately for the sword are far less frequent.

One afternoon he is whistling as he walks, his strides long and easy, when he sees Lan Zhan standing in the cabin doorway. He slows. Lan Zhan’s posture, which is always perfect, is more rigid than usual, his face deliberately expressionless.

‘What’s wrong?’ Wei Ying asks, feeling his heart skitter like the rabbits when he walks into the meadow. They don’t like him, much to Lan Zhan’s disappointment. Wei Ying is sure that it is because they can recognise him as a hunter.

‘I received a call from your brother,’ Lan Zhan says. His voice gives nothing away. It is still weird to think of him and Jiang Cheng having any kind of private conversation, even though they must have done so many times during Wei Ying’s absence. ‘He tried to reach you, but you weren’t answering.’

‘There’s never any signal in the back hill,’ Wei Ying admits. ‘What did he say?’

Lan Zhan takes a breath. ‘I told you before that Wen Ruohan had requested an audience with you. He is now making good on that demand.’

Wei Ying’s startled rabbit of a heart speeds up still further. Lan Zhan had told him, what feels like several years ago, and in all the drama of coming back he’d forgotten.

‘It was a condition of his cooperation,’ Lan Zhan continues. His rigidity isn’t worry, Wei Ying realises, but fury. ‘Our agreement, on your behalf, allowed us to find you. And…he is now saying that if you will meet him, he will give up all remaining information regarding the portals.’

‘So that what? People can go on sightseeing trips and build ski resorts in my mountains?’ He tries not to sound possessive, but the indignity of it all slips out anyway.

Lan Zhan blinks. ‘I believe the general consensus is that the information on how to access that world will be destroyed.’

The building, his truck, the mountain skyline in the early morning. He has known for some time that he will never see it again, and never wants to, but isn’t sure how he feels about these being the only two options.

‘Good,’ he says. ‘So, he wants to meet me, huh? Wanna bet I’ll be a disappointment?’

‘Wei Ying.’ Lan Zhan takes a step towards him. ‘You do not have to say yes. The agreement was made on your behalf -’

He does, though. He loves Lan Zhan for pretending otherwise, but if this is simply the next in the long list of things that Wei Ying has to do, he will do it.

‘It’s okay,’ he lies. And then, because this is true, ‘They’ve already done the worst they can to me.’

‘We can return here, afterwards,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘Wen Ruohan is in Qinghe. We will only need to stay overnight.’

‘All right, then.’ He does his best to sound relaxed. ‘Did Jiang Cheng say why he picked now to reiterate the invite?’

Lan Zhan shakes his head. ‘I am not sure if he knows. He was simply relaying the information.’

‘I should probably call him back.’ It’s not going to be a fun conversation, but it’s the least he can do. ‘Thanks, Lan Zhan.’

 

Once it has been relayed that Wei Ying is both able and willing, things move with alarming speed. No one can tell him why Wen Ruohan wants to see him, exactly, but they do spend a lot of time reassuring him that he will be safe. There will be additional guards, as well as the regular prison security. The reassurances go on for so long that Wei Ying almost wishes that Wen Ruohan would attack him, simply so that he can demonstrate to everyone that he can take care of himself.

(Though, a nagging thought reminds him, that may not be as true as he likes to pretend. He doesn’t have the sword anymore. Most of the time he does not miss it – but, like everything else back in the ice world, he sometimes find himself longing inexplicably for it. He has never felt as powerful as he did with the sword in his hand, whatever that power cost to maintain.)

After several months in the cabin, it is weird being in the outside world again. Wei Ying has been down to Caiyi a fair few times, but it’s different to be travelling out of Gusu. He’s been sent a government car, so at least he’s not having to deal with public transport.

Lan Zhan isn’t coming. He’d wanted to, but Wei Ying had predicted (with, he hopes, some accuracy) that the whole thing would stress him out as well, and had suggested he spend the time with Lan Huan in Caiyi instead.

‘I don’t need taking care of,’ Wei Ying had insisted. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.’

‘If you are sure,’ Lan Zhan replied, frowning but not arguing.

‘Nothing’s going to happen. I’ve been told by about ten different people how safe it will be.’ Wei Ying kissed him, lightly, on the cheek. ‘Is there anything you’d like me to ask Wen Ruohan?’

Lan Zhan just shook his head. ‘Call me afterwards, if you need to,’ is all he says.

 

The meeting is in a prison, though the room itself feels like it could be anywhere: plain white walls, metal table in the centre. Wen Ruohan is already in there when Wei Ying enters; a man of around Jiang Fengmian’s age, seated with his cuffed hands on the table. Prison doesn’t look like it is agreeing with him; his long hair is unkempt and there are circles under his eyes.

Wei Ying stares at the man who ruined his life and feels absolutely nothing.

That can’t be normal. He’d been in two minds about how he personally felt about the whole concept of this visit the whole way over, and never did it occur to him that he might not care. And yet here he is, faced with the person responsible for Nie Mingjue and Wen Ning, the scar on Wei Ying’s palm and Lan Zhan’s throat, and does not burn with revenge.

‘Hello,’ Wei Ying says, taking his seat. He doesn’t miss the way Wen Ruohan is staring at him – curious, almost hungry. ‘You wanted to see me.’

Wen Ruohan nods, vigorously. There is a manic light in his eyes. ‘I need to know. Why didn’t the sword kill you?’

‘When?’ Wei Ying asks, because he’s genuinely unsure if they’re talking about the binding or the blood donations or the withdrawal. There is no shortage of times that the sword could have taken everything from him.

‘You were alone, it should have drained you dry,’ Wen Ruohan says, sounding rather excited by it.

‘It almost did,’ Wei Ying says, the memory of the nauseous agony rippling back. ‘We reached an understanding.’

‘And now? Where is it now?’

‘I destroyed it. Didn’t they tell you? I put it back in the ice and that broke it.’

Wen Ruohan just stares at him. ‘You can’t,’ he says, and now he sounds disbelieving. ‘It won’t – once it has been bound, it cannot be unbound.’

Wei Ying shrugs. ‘I don’t know what else to tell you.’

There is a pause. Wei Ying should ask him something now that he has the opportunity. He’s had so many questions for so long about the other world, and how the show works, and all of the practical concerns that went into building it. And other questions, too, about what was meant to happen, what soap opera of events Wen Ruohan and Jin Guangshan had planned for them.

And yet nothing springs to mind. The things that Wen Ruohan has already asked about the sword has given some of the answers away. Wei Ying was never meant to be able to control it. Everything else, about the world and how it all worked, no longer matters. He’s not going back. There will be no way back. The more he learns about it will only aid his sitting around and comparing the life he has now to the one he had there, a comparison that ought not ever to go in the ice world’s favour and yet has far too many times.

‘You have to tell me,’ Wen Ruohan says, and now he leans across the table. ‘What was it like? Winning the sword and surviving by yourself.’ The gleam is still in his eyes and his expression is eager, almost beseeching – and Wei Ying realises, with a sudden jolt, that for all of Wen Ruohan’s power he will always have missed out on this. He has never got to experience his own creation, whereas Wei Ying did – Wei Ying suffered, fought and lived through it, and is perhaps the only person who at the end of the day can say they won.

‘It was cold,’ he says, in answer to the question. ‘Really fucking cold.’

‘No!’ Wen Ruohan cries, reaching out across the table with cuffed hands. The guards on either side of him immediately step closer. Wei Ying leans back slightly, but does not get up. ‘You have to tell me!’ Wen Ruohan repeats. ‘What was it like?’

‘If you wanted to know so badly you should have joined us out there,’ Wei Ying says, and gets up.

Wen Ruohan gives another cry, throwing himself forward. This time the guards catch hold of him and hold him back. Wei Ying looks down at the dishevelled, pathetic man scrabbling for answers, and feels only calm.

 

‘Are you all right?’ are Lan Zhan’s first words to him, when he gets out of the car in Caiyi.

He nods, and when Lan Zhan doesn’t look convinced, says, ‘I am. I don’t think Wen Ruohan is, though.’

‘What did he want to know?’

Wei Ying relates the conversation, brief as it was. ‘This is probably gonna sound fucked up,’ he concludes. ‘But, like, seeing him made me realise how comparatively okay I am. I mean, yeah, I’m never gonna be a totally normal member of society, but at least I’m not weirdly jealous that I missed out on the traumatic event of the year.’

‘Mn.’

Wei Ying looks at him. Perhaps this is all indicative of some deep and troubling psychological problem, but for the first time he feels as if he actually might be okay. After all. The Ice King didn’t kill him. The sword didn’t kill him. The cold didn’t kill him. He survived all that and came home, and he owes it to the past self who spent days trying to make rope snares with fingers too frozen to tie proper knots to enjoy it.

‘Let’s go home,’ he says, and they do. He gets a call the following day confirming that Wen Ruohan cooperated in giving up his planning data and that it has been destroyed.

He stands there holding his phone to his ear without moving. He is not quite sure that he believes it. Nor is he certain that he wants to – but it is why he agreed to go, to make the mountains safe from anyone who might disturb them.

He hopes the caribou are okay.

And there will never be another season of it. That, were it to happen, would probably push all the Series Two survivors over the edge. Even the thought of seeing the building appear on TV, filled with a new round of people, makes his stomach turn. Though it will never, of course, be a good thing that no one from Series One survived, at least they didn’t have to suffer that.

 

The seasons change, winter sweeping in and blanketing much of Gusu in snow. Lan Zhan admits that he usually spends the winters in Caiyi, for the road down from the cabins becomes treacherous in the ice and is often impassable for days.

‘We can hike,’ Wei Ying says, ‘it’s really not that far, and not when there’s a guaranteed meal at the end of it. Unless – Lan Zhan, if you want to spend the winter in Caiyi –’ but Lan Zhan just kisses him on the forehead, and says that walking will be fine, even if it will take them all day to fetch groceries.

It is an odd imitation of Wei Ying’s hunts, but a lighthearted one. The road is so slippery underfoot that it is safer to walk through the bamboo forest, their feet sinking into the snow. They both have backpacks, which are empty save for their phones and bottles of water. Wei Ying isn’t sure how much food they will be able to manage between them. He had to become quite strong when he was faring by himself and while he’s been able to work up a certain level of fitness since, he’s aware that he’s lost the desperate toughness that he wouldn’t have survived without. They can always repeat the trip in a few days if necessary. Lan Zhan is not busy this week, and Wei Ying – well, he has nothing better to do. No one has asked him what he plans to do with his time or his future since he made the move to Gusu, and for that he is grateful. He is very aware that the point will come where he will need to do something, and he cannot be Lan Zhan’s live-in boyfriend forever – but, equally, what is the point of having a rich boyfriend if not to house and feed you?

In the end they’re able to carry a respectable amount of food between them. Lan Zhan suggests they get a cab from Caiyi to the foot of the mountain road, which does help cut the journey time, though the climb itself has them both puffing. It’s not fun going uphill with heavy bags on their backs, but is very satisfying to arrive back to the cabin and put away the food that they’d carried between them.

The snow lasts another two weeks. In the second week, Lan Huan meets them at the foot of the mountain road with a car full of groceries and joins them for the walk up. Wei Ying still isn’t sure what to make of him, he’s so much calmer and steadier than Lan Zhan, but he likes him well enough. Though not unfit, Lan Huan clearly finds the snowy hike a challenge, but does not complain and is just as pleasant and mild when they reach the top, sweating and out of breath.

‘I have never been here in the snow before,’ he says, as they walk up the final stretch to the cabin. ‘We usually close the cabins up in winter, they have very little heating.’

‘Oh, it’s toasty,’ Wei Ying says, and Lan Huan nods, embarrassed.

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘You are accustomed to much greater cold.’

Lan Zhan has some work he needs to do in the afternoon, so he shuts himself up with his laptop while Wei Ying and Lan Huan find ways to occupy themselves. There still isn’t any wifi up on the mountain, so Wei Ying isn’t sure what exactly Lan Zhan is getting done – the last time he asked, the answer was something to do with spreadsheets.

Thankfully, Lan Huan is very easy to get along with. Having stowed a few of his possessions in the other bedroom, which was usually his, he suggests to Wei Ying that they go for a walk.

‘Nothing too strenuous, I’m still recovering from the journey up,’ he says, ‘but I’ll have to leave early in the morning, and I’d like to see Cloud Recesses in the snow.’

‘Sure!’ Wei Ying says, though it feels weird to be the one showing Lan Huan around, when he grew up here and Wei Ying is merely a visitor. But they bundle into coats and boots and head back outside, where everything is white and green.

‘How are you finding it here?’ Lan Huan asks as they begin walking through the woods. Wei Ying has a vague direction in mind; some of the cold spring ponds have frozen over and he feels like they’d be cool to see for someone who has only ever known them in warmer seasons.

‘I like it,’ he says. ‘Lan Zhan was very kind to bring me here. He is too good to me, really, all I do is sit around and go for walks.’

‘You mean a great deal to him,’ Lan Huan says, and does not sound like he is saying it merely to be polite.

‘And he does to me. I – I don’t know that I would have come back, if it hadn’t been him asking.’ Wei Ying doesn’t know why he is saying this, or that he could admit it to anyone else, not even Yanli. She’d be understanding, but it would still hurt her to hear.

Lan Huan’s steps slow in surprise. ‘You would have preferred to stay in the other world?’

‘Not exactly,’ Wei Ying shrugs. ‘But at least I knew what I was doing there. If I keeled over and died it would have been for something. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad Lan Zhan came for me, and I’m happy I’m here with him – I’m sure this isn’t how he pictured spending his time, but he’s been very nice about it.’

‘You have been good for him.’

Wei Ying shifts, uncomfortable. ‘I never wanted him to feel, responsible, or anything, for me staying behind.’

‘I do not mean like that. Of course, you did not know him before everything. He was different.’

‘Well, yeah,’ Wei Ying says, and they start walking again. ‘I don’t know that any of us were massively traumatised before the show.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’ Lan Huan hesitates. ‘Even on the show, he was different after meeting you. Please do not tell him I said this, but my brother was rather isolated in his life before, and I believe that he was lonely. For some time before the two of you…communicated your feelings, it was apparent that you had affected him.’

‘Annoyed him, more like,’ Wei Ying says, largely because he has no idea how to process it.

Lan Huan smiles slightly. ‘That, too, but I stand by my point. You have been good for him.’

Wei Ying smiles, and they continue on to the frozen pools. All that time thinking about how self-sufficient Lan Zhan was, picturing some phantom girlfriend who fit into his life effortlessly and with minimal disruption.

‘I want him to be happy,’ he says, aloud.

‘He is happy with you,’ Lan Huan says, and Wei Ying is hit once again with the thought of those eighteen months.

‘What did people think had happened to me?’ he asks. ‘When the others got back, I mean.’ He has gathered a fair bit here and there, but he has not put this question directly to anyone.

‘There was no broad consensus. Oh, you were right, it is beautiful here.’ Lan Huan reaches down to touch the crust of ice on the frozen pool. Looking up at Wei Ying, he continues, ‘It was imagined you had returned to the building to live off the remaining supplies. At least, until Wen Ruohan.’

‘Until Wen Ruohan what?’

‘He was surprised at our request for his collaboration on a rescue mission. He was under the impression that the sword would have…become too much for you.’

Wei Ying swallows. He already knows this, but he had not thought about what it would be like for the others to hear. ‘Did Lan Zhan believe him?’

‘You will have to ask yourself. He did not want to, but I don’t know if that was sufficient.’ Lan Huan gets to his feet, stretching slightly. ‘But what matters is that you are here now.’

‘Yeah. Thanks,’ Wei Ying says. Were he having this conversation with anyone else he’d feel the need to find some fitting closing remark of his own, but Lan Huan has a way of making things seem…settled, somehow. Truly the opposite of Jiang Cheng, who manages to be annoyed by things that he got over years ago.

‘Of course,’ Lan Huan says, as if he has nothing better to do than offer reassurances to his brother’s boyfriend. ‘I admit, I’m getting a little cold. Shall we head back?’

 

There are moments that winter when it almost feels like Wei Ying could be back in his mountains – when he is alone, and listening to snow crunch underfoot – but then the snow melts, and the ice breaks up, and the days grow lighter and warmer as spring creeps in.

The other cabins will be occupied soon, he knows. The beautiful silence he has become used to in the mornings will be broken by voices other than Lan Zhan’s. It will take some getting used to, but he is not dreading it as much as he expected.

He gets a call from Yanli, mid-afternoon on a dull March day. She usually calls every week or so, and this time she sounds different.

‘So,’ she says, ‘I’ve got some news.’

‘Good news?’ he asks, though it has to be, there’s a bright edge to her voice that wouldn’t be there otherwise.

‘Very good,’ she says. ‘Are you sitting down?’

He isn’t, but he doesn’t think he needs to be. ‘What is it?’

She takes a breath. ‘I’m getting married.’

Wei Ying’s legs fold of their own accord and he comes to sit, with a slight thud, in the middle of the kitchen floor. ‘To Jin Zixuan?’

‘You needn’t sound so horrified,’ she says, sounding slightly amused. ‘I like him very much, and I am very happy to be marrying him.’

Jin Zixuan. Yanli, the best person in the entire world, is going to marry Jin Zixuan.

Wei Ying takes a breath. She is happy, that’s what’s important, and it’s not as if he has heard anything to suggest that Jin Zixuan has been a bad boyfriend.

But. Still.

Jin Zixuan.

‘That’s great, shijie!’ he says, and now that he’s thinking about it, her all dressed up and excited, he doesn’t have to fake the warmth in his voice. ‘Have you set a date? Where is it going to be? He’s rich, right, does that mean he’s going to pay for the wedding? Wait, that means you’re going to be rich, too-’

‘We haven’t organised anything yet,’ Yanli says, laughing. ‘He only asked me last night. You are the first person I’ve told.’

Wei Ying grins, giddily. What a good thing that he did come back, after all, or else he never would have known about or been invited to this wedding.

His sister. Getting married.

‘I’m going to call A-Cheng now,’ she says, ‘so I’ll speak to you later.’

‘Okay. Love you.’

‘Love you,’ she echoes, and rings off.

Wei Ying stays sitting for a moment, still in the middle of the kitchen floor. Out of all the people Yanli could have chosen to marry, it could be worse, but it could be better. Jin Zixuan has some redeeming qualities, if he thinks hard enough. He was kind of a dick to begin with, but he did end up pulling his weight. And – Wei Ying can’t believe he’s forgotten – it was him and Mianmian who carried Lan Zhan through the portal. So maybe he will be okay as a brother-in-law. Eugh, it’ll be like they’re related.

‘Lan Zhan!’ he gets to his feet, bounding through the kitchen to where Lan Zhan is sitting at his laptop. More spreadsheets? Or has he managed to get wifi somehow and merely decided that Wei Ying didn’t need to know?

‘Wei Ying.’

‘Shijie just called!’ and he tells Lan Zhan all about it, even though he knows it’s far less exciting to someone else, but he’s got to tell someone, and if Jiang Cheng doesn’t know yet he can’t spoil that surprise.

‘They better have the wedding in Yunmeng,’ he concludes, ‘this summer would be too soon, maybe the year after, when the lotuses are all in bloom – Lan Zhan, do you think it would be inappropriate to threaten him a little? I’m sure he will be good to her, and all of that, and I don’t want to upset her, but I’d like to threaten him a bit, just make sure he knows that if he ever fucks her over he’ll have to answer for it.’

‘Mn,’ Lan Zhan says.

‘Maybe we don’t need to threaten aloud, just like, stand there glowering a little. You’ll have to teach me how you do it, or you can stand next to me doing it while I give a friendly threat or two. Have you ever seen Yunmeng in lotus season? It’ll be beautiful for a wedding. Too bad we can’t get married there, but Yu Ziyuan would probably have a fit –’ he stops, his brain finally catching up with his speech. ‘I mean, not that we’re getting married. I mean, we aren’t not getting married, but it’s a bit early to be thinking about stuff like that- ’

‘Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says, and he stops talking, relieved to be interrupted. ‘One thing at a time.’

‘I would like to be married to you,’ Wei Ying clarifies, because he feels like it needs saying. ‘That’s not – I’m not proposing, or telling you that I expect it, or anything, I’m just, saying. If that’s ever a thing you think you might want, I would like it too.’

Lan Zhan pauses. ‘I would also like that,’ he says, sounding deliberately controlled. ‘And I – I also do not mean to place expectations on you.’

‘Okay! Nice. Good. And we’re too young to get married yet, anyway. There are lots of things we should probably do first, just to check that we’re right for each other. Don’t wanna mess that one up.’

He catches a slight movement out of the corner of his eye and, turning his head, sees a bird perched on the sill of the round window. It stays there for a moment, its beady eye looking in, and then takes flight again.

‘Wei Ying?’ Lan Zhan prompts. From where he is, he can’t see the bird.

Wei Ying turns back to the person he loves, who loves him. ‘I reckon,’ he says, playfulness replaced with thoughtfulness, ‘that we are going to be all right.’

Notes:

and that's it! this is both the longest fic I've ever written and also just the longest thing i've ever written, full-stop. thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented and left kudos - I know this premise is a bit on the weird side and it has meant so much to me that people have enjoyed it!

I promised a more detailed explanation of the title quote when i started this fic, so if anyone is interested: the line (and accompanying lines that are the epigraph for part 1) are from Book II of Paradise Lost, when Satan and his followers are discussing what they should do now that they have been cast out of Heaven. Mammon suggests that, instead of trying to retake Heaven, they make Hell so habitable and pleasant that it is a comfortable alternative and rival to Heaven. The idea is eventually dismissed in favour of bringing about the fall of man.

Book II is my favourite part of Paradise Lost for several reasons, but I really love this part with Mammon's suggestion - even at the time, we can see it's flawed, and that they'll never truly succeed in transforming Hell, but the idea that they could turn it all around and make a prosperous life for themselves in the place that was meant to destroy them is interesting and compelling - and very thematically relevant to Wei Wuxian's Burial Mounds arc, trying to build a life somewhere terrible, succeeding for a while but it being ultimately unsustainable - so I spent ages trying to find a line I liked from Mammon's speech to work as the title for this fic.

I've had an absolute blast writing this fic, and I do have a bullet-point list of possible one-shots of missing scenes/alternate POVs/mini sequels that I will probably write! I'm Very Aware that we do not ever catch up with Mianmian, and I want to rectify that at some point.

**EDIT: the first of these one-shots is now available here! **

please feel free to come and say hi on tumblr and if you enjoyed this fic I'd love to hear your thoughts!