Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng were sitting down in their favorite courtyard with Shijie when they saw it. The two of them had dressed in a rush after an hour in the lake, and their hair was still wet, curling as it dried under the Yunmeng spring sun. It was already warm in Lotus Pier, and the day was the kind that seemed to promise that it would have no complications. It was just the three of them that afternoon, sharing a meal in the sun as Wei Wuxian loved best.
Then Shijie reached out to serve them, and as she held her sleeve back, she exposed a long, pink cut crossing the back of her hand.
All three of them froze.
Shijie seemed as surprised as them to see it. Wei Wuxian swallowed thinly. It was bad enough that anything dared to have hurt her, but if she couldn't even remember being hurt, the implications were ugly and looming.
Shijie pretended that nothing was wrong. She resumed spooning soup into their bowls with a smile.
Over the sinking dismay in his stomach, Wei Wuxian hedged, "Shijie."
"Did you cut yourself in the kitchen?" Jiang Cheng asked. His brow was furrowed, but the question still came with a note of hope. An accident in the kitchen was infinitely better than the alternative.
Shijie opened her mouth and closed it again.
"It's alright," she promised. "It doesn't hurt. I didn't even notice it."
They were stupid. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng were both so stupid for not having noticed this. They were supposed to be considerate of her feelings and protect her, not neglect her kind heart while it lent itself to someone who could never deserve her.
Jiang Cheng was silent for only a second. "It's him, isn't it?"
Shijie settled back on her seat, keeping her eyes down.
"Don't worry," Wei Wuxian said. "It'll disappear if I kill him for you."
"A-Xian," Shijie sighed, shaking her head. "It's just a scratch. He was probably training."
"Just a scratch," Jiang Cheng grumbled. "Every time that man gets so much as a papercut, you're owed a written apology from Carp Tower."
Shijie pursed her lips, dropped her shoulders, and gave him a weary look. This was enough to shut both of the boys up.
"A-Cheng. A-Xian. Please don't worry about it. He'll be studying in Gusu with you next month. Try to get along with him."
Wei Wuxian folded his arms and tried, maybe, not to look like a grumpy toddler.
"Well, I can't exactly pick a fight with him, can I?" As much as he enjoyed the image of Jin Zixuan with a bloody nose, Wei Wuxian couldn't risk injuring him in any way that might stick. He could never forgive himself if he left a scar on his Shijie. The world was cruel.
Maybe he shouldn't sulk. Then again, love needed to be expressed. Shijie's love for the precious peacock of the Jin Clan was expressed by sharing his scars, and Wei Wuxian's love for her had to be expressed by some childish indignation.
None of them said the worst part of it—the brothers didn't want to rub salt in Shijie's wound, and she didn't want to rile up their protective fury any further—but they all knew that it was one-sided. Shijie's scars, few and delicate as they were—one on her thumb, another one on the shell of her left ear—would not appear on Jin Zixuan. He didn't even know what he inflicted upon her.
Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian amused themselves on the journey to Gusu by plotting Jin Zixuan's swift and unfortunate demise. If it was quick, his scars wouldn't have the hours they needed to transfer onto their sister.
"Poison," Wei Wuxian suggested. Jiang Cheng shook his head.
"Drown him."
"Ooh, I like that. I think strangling in general could work. Realistically, if we bash his head in with a rock, that counts as quick, right?"
"Realistically?" Jiang Cheng snorted.
"What? It's true! See, there are things like lingchi, which isn't quick at all, and then there's head-bashing. Merciful."
"Lovely," Jiang Cheng said dryly.
"You could still break his legs in the meantime." Wei Wuxian tapped his chin and looked up at the canopy of leaves arching over the road. The day was warm with no sign of rain, and the sunlight turned the leaves into little golden crystals. "Broken bones don't transfer. I don't think anything internal does. Or bruises."
He was pretty sure about that, anyway. Wei Wuxian collected bruises like a beach collected seashells. If bruises were shared, he might owe someone an apology someday.
Wei Wuxian acknowledged that their information regarding lovescars was lean. The same way that much of their sexual education had come from entertaining but highly suspect art books, lovescars were a thing of gossip and personal allegory among fellow disciples.
To their knowledge, and not any that they ever discussed, Sect Leader Jiang and Madame Yu had never shared scars. It was not something that either Jiang Cheng or Shijie could ask their parents about. Genuine examples of romantic love were not bountiful among any cultivators that they knew—at least, none that were appropriate for them to consult.
"I still vote drowning," Jiang Cheng said.
"Look, look, A-Cheng. What about me? When I fall madly in love and they don't love me back, how will you murder the one who's spurned me?"
"Lingchi."
"Jiang Cheng! I admire the dedication, but why not pick something that doesn't have a chance of killing me through blood loss?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
"You're a cold man, Jiang Wanyin," Wei Wuxian sniffed. "Fine. It's a moot point, anyway. Who wouldn't love me back?"
Jiang Cheng shoved him by the shoulder and nearly sent him off the road. Wei Wuxian laughed and took a couple of trotting steps to catch up to him again.
For all of the questions Wei Wuxian had about lovescars, he hoped to find the answers himself one day. He could enjoy laughing and speculating about them like this, and he could endeavor to ward them away from his siblings—Shijie, because no one could ever be good enough for her, and Jiang Cheng, because he didn't want them—but Wei Wuxian sometimes prodded at a tender wish to meet someone whose scars he would take.
His first loyalties were to the Jiang Clan. His duty and joy was to stay at Jiang Cheng's side. Wei Wuxian's father had strayed from the clan for love, and Wei Wuxian had always thought that it would be wonderfully romantic to find a cultivation partner and venture out into the world with them—but then again, where had that left his parents?
Wei Wuxian dreamed of loving someone so much that he took their scars. He wouldn't mind a few more marks on his body. It was entirely another matter if they would take his in return, a smattering of careless little accidents along with the ugly remnants of a dog attack. His scars weren't anything that he would want to place on someone he cared for. It was yet another matter if he and such a person could even be together, after his obligations.
If he was as much trouble as some people said, Wei Wuxian might not wish himself on anyone.
The night Lan Wangji met Wei Ying, the world became ridiculous.
Lan Wangji had certainly ventured outside of Cloud Recesses before; he had plenty of experience with night hunting, even at the age of fifteen, and on those hunts had interacted with civilians and cultivators from other sects. Lan Wangji’s world was small, he was aware, but he wasn't ignorant of the ways that people outside of his clan could behave.
And then there was Wei Ying, who blithely sprang over the compound walls as if the world had no boundaries at all. Wei Ying, who talked more than anyone Lan Wangji had ever met, and with a vibrant, clever voice. Wei Ying, who virtually took a hammer to the Wall of Discipline.
Wei Ying, who Lan Wangji seethed about for the rest of the night, unable to fall asleep.
Lan Wangji would be seething for the foreseeable future. As irony would have it, he was sent to supervise Wei Ying in the library while he served his sentence of copying the Lan Sect's laws. He would be alone with this ridiculous man for a month.
This was Lan Wangji's responsibility. As disciplinarian, he had failed to punish Wei Ying accordingly for his transgressions on his first night in Gusu. He had hoped that his uncle's recitation of their sect's rules would clarify things for someone as sharp as Wei Ying, and that that would be the end of it. He knew now that he had been too lenient.
Proctoring Wei Ying's assignments was a punishment for himself as well, in that sense. He would have to be more stringent in the future. For now, he was doomed to sit across the library desk from this boy who could not stop fidgeting.
This punishment wouldn't work, a dawning sense of horror told him. Wei Ying was smart, charming, and completely aware of it. If he wanted to get into trouble, he could always find a way to get there and back out of it—or if he couldn't escape the consequences of his actions, he would simply refuse to learn from them.
This was the Jiang Clan's first disciple, Lan Wangji thought with some amazement. If Wei Ying's behavior was this bad, his cultivation and swordwork must be breathtaking to make up for it.
A first disciple with such dangerous ideas about cultivation theory, though? That was a warning sign with warning signs on top of it. His notions were creative in the worst sense. Lan Wangji could recognize that hypothesizing a whole new scope of cultivation was ingenious and revolutionary, in a strictly technical sense, but he believed that he also had a healthy awareness of consequences—not to mention ethics—with which Wei Ying simply didn't concern himself.
Wei Ying had simply stood up on the first day of lectures, posited a way to flip the fundamentals of cultivation on its head, and purposefully offended his uncle so that he could be excused (ejected) from the class. As a joke. He had conjured up that disaster as a joke. He might have been the most baffling and chaotic creature Lan Wangji had ever encountered, ghosts and monsters notwithstanding.
Lan Wangji would prefer to use the Silence spell sparingly. He reminded himself of the importance of patience and forbearance, and so he did his best to be a statue in the face of Wei Ying's pestering. It did not work for long. After firmly establishing their given name basis, Wei Ying moved onto the topic of Lan Wangji's reputation.
"Everyone says you look like you're made of jade." Wei Ying, leaning crookedly with his elbows on the desk, let his gaze wander over Lan Wangji's unblemished face. Already annoyed, Lan Wangji dropped his eyes back down to his book. "But you know that. You're probably sick of hearing people say it."
"I am."
Wei Ying drew himself back when he laughed, as if he needed more room for all of it, as if Lan Wangji’s simple honesty was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Lan Wangji should not have spoken so openly—silence would have served just as well to make his point—but it was so rare that he made anyone laugh. It was intriguing.
"Ah, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. You're so pretty and you probably don't even care," Wei Ying sighed, like that was any real kind of injustice. "The rest of us mortals have to try so hard, and here you are, probably just waking up like that."
Absurd. Completely ridiculous. Wei Ying was right that Lan Wangji didn't care, and Lan Wangji knew about the inane gossip of the cultivation world, which judged cultivators by the most superficial measures. Yet, Wei Ying probably couldn't stop being roguishly handsome if he were to try. Whatever he looked like when he woke up—
One of Lan Wangji's knuckles twitched where his hand curled around the spine of his book. He reread the same column of text several times without absorbing a word.
"They say you'll never have a single scar," Wei Ying mused. "Who could ever be good enough to land one on you, fighting or otherwise? Or maybe…" Wei Ying's grin was almost vicious. "Maybe you're a secret romantic?"
Ah. A nerve was touched, and not the one Wei Ying had intended.
The Lan family were romantics—the fabled kind. The cursed kind. The kind with an ugly, self destructive history that had retold itself for many generations.
The Lan family were romantics—the kind who wore white for too many reasons. Solemnity and purity, certainly, but also grief for a tradition of tragic loves. White, which stained brilliantly with blood that didn't wait long enough to scar, but sprung immediately from fresh cuts and scrapes. White, which told the world: I wear my love with unabashed honesty. I am transparent and faithful. I love once, and I will bleed with them.
Lans were not the only ones who loved so deeply. They were just the ones with the worst reputation for it. Wei Ying must not have heard; he was reckless, but not cruel.
Lan Wangji's uncle had taken it upon himself to be paranoid about any hint of blood on his nephews. He guarded them more carefully than the oldest treasures of their clan. Any newcomers were treated with the utmost scrutiny when they met the Twin Jades. Their uncle had never been so stressed as when a flood of disciples Lan Wangji's age came to Gusu, but the lessons had been prefaced with Lan Wangji receiving a long lecture about distance from worldly concerns and emotional reservation—and if he must fall in love, at least pick someone worthy and distinguished.
"Oh, you're thinking about it," Wei Ying said, surprisingly quiet and curious. "Lan-er-ge, are you a romantic?"
"Last warning," Lan Wangji said without looking up. Wei Ying straightened his back with an affronted scoff.
"That's the first warning!"
And it was the last. Wei Ying threw a minor tantrum, more of a token display of rebellion by this point, when his lips were sealed shut yet again.
Wei Ying may have been speaking carelessly and not meant anything by it, but his words pricked at Lan Wangji for the rest of the day.
They say you'll never have a single scar.
He endeavored to be competent and graceful enough not to acquire too many scars of his own. And if—in the sense of a cautious thought exercise if—he ever loved someone romantically, he hoped never to see them hurt. Maybe in this way, he would never have a scar.
He traced small, idle paths on his skin as he slowly dressed down for bed and tried to imagine any imperfections. He had never noticed how uncanny he felt without scars, as though his body had not experienced the wildness of living yet. He came to the tentative conclusion that it didn't suit him.
He had no scars at all. He had suffered no great injuries in his life and had always stayed out of trouble, and by the time he had formed his golden core, any trifling injuries dissolved before they could settle into his skin.
A flawless jade statue.
No part of this was vanity. He certainly wasn't flawless, but he had never felt so featureless before. Idly, just for a second, he wondered about making a single, harmless cut, just to chip the jade statue and find some purchase on it.
Wasteful and maudlin. Unacceptable treatment of oneself. That was the end of that thought.
He was dressed for bed, but sleep had been difficult to reach lately. He resigned himself to his desk, set out his qin, and ran his fingers over the strings.
The qin was a soft-spoken instrument, nothing for crowds. It was a conversation with oneself. He plucked out familiar melodies, practicing cultivational songs without infusing them with qi, and took walks through old songs laced with stories. He recited the music he knew, and then his fingers ventured on.
The weeks passed with Wei Ying across his desk.
"Lan Zhan! You can't tell me you haven't broken Rule 2820 at least once. I won't believe you."
"Lan Zhan, you're telling me you never see the female disciples? How are any of you supposed to learn how to talk to women? I'm not even talking about flirting. It's just bad socialization."
"Lan Zhan, I'm hungry. Let's go eat in Caiyi. I'll treat you to whatever you want as long as I don't have to eat plain rice and broth tonight. How are you even alive?"
No one had ever dared to speak to Lan Wangji the way Wei Ying did. Perhaps it was arrogant to acknowledge that there was a pedestal under him, but he was acclimated to a certain amount of respect and deference. Wei Ying offered none of that. And yet no one had ever endeavored to be this close to Lan Wangji before.
Wei Ying was the rudest, friendliest person Lan Wangji knew. He was almost sorry to have to silence him so frequently.
"I'm done, so I won't be coming back tomorrow," Wei Ying said as he slid up beside Lan Wangji at the desk. "I made you a parting gift."
That day, Lan Wangji learned about Wei Ying's diverse taste in art. He was an excellent artist whose portraits showed a sublime attention to detail and sense of form, and was also as frivolous as ever. The flower he had added to his depiction of Lan Wangji was beautiful, too, and he could not bring himself to truly mind it.
He minded the other art.
Wei Ying should not have done that. Lan Wangji was neither permitted nor wanted to look at such material. He was humiliated and disgusted to have seen it, and Wei Ying thought it was normal.
Lan Wangji did not want to ruminate on it. His mind was enough of a whirlwind already.
Everything was fine, until Caiyi.
The night he returned to the Jingshi after the battle with the waterborne abyss, Lan Wangji slept fitfully, tense in his own skin. He dreamed about lake water and loquats.
The morning after, as he woke and dressed, he scratched absently at his right forearm.
He froze, body and mind.
He thawed slowly, and he turned his eyes down to his wrist, glacial with disbelief that collapsed into dread.
A scar glared back up at him. It looked like a cruel accident, pale and irregularly shaped, faint with age.
He would have remembered that.
Panic, he thought when his head went light and his pounding heart tried to choke him. This was panic. As a reflex, he plunged himself into the cool water of meditation.
A scar. Very well. He had a scar that had not originated on him. He understood what that meant. There was a perfectly good explanation for this.
The explanation had a gleam in his eyes and a summer laugh. He had fine but strong hands that Lan Wangji wanted to hold so badly he might weep from frustration. He had a sword with an intentionally stupid name. The explanation was another entry in his family's book of misery. It was happening. It was happening.
This was panic, he thought again as he threw his clothes off into frantic heaps on the floor. He ran his hands over his skin, both arms, shoulders, his ribcage and stomach and as much of his back as he could see in the mirror.
He found another oddly shaped set of marks on his left calf to match the ones on his forearm.
Lan Wangji stood naked in his room, one hand clapped over his mouth and the other rushing through his hair to grip it behind his head.
He could manage this. Should he tell Xichen? Xichen would know what to do.
Xichen would encourage them to spend more time together. That would make it worse.
What about his uncle?
His uncle would forbid him from seeing Wei Ying ever again.
His uncle must never know.
Lan Wangji consulted the laws. He had no other reference of how to handle this development. He had every rule written into his heart, and yet he folded himself down in a private corner of the library to read a physical, visible copy of them, hoping that it would ground him.
One's forehead ribbon is meant only for whomever's scars one takes.
Lovescars are not to be shunned or resented.
Lovescars are not obliged to be mutual.
They went on like this. They were unhelpful. Lan Wangji needed solutions, but he had to leave the library with no useful revelations. When he followed the path past an open meadow where Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin had decided to spend their free time sparring, and Wei Ying raised his flushed, sweat-dotted face, saw Lan Wangji, and gave him a thoughtless, brilliant smile, Lan Wangji nearly tripped on his own feet in his hurry to escape.
Having taken his scars or not, Lan Wangji was still tasked with disciplining Wei Ying for his misbehavior. He must not lighten his punishments out of favoritism.
(Favoritism. He resigned himself to what that meant.)
Lan Wangji knelt beside him and took the beating with him. He shared his scars; he may as well share this too. Besides, he was done letting Wei Ying squirm his way out of the consequences of his actions.
Wei Ying was so smug at first, certain that Lan Wangji couldn't carry out the punishment, since he had also committed the crime of stepping outside the complex past curfew. The moment Lan Wangji took his place beside him, though, Wei Ying changed his tune.
It was sweet, Lan Wangji thought nonsensically as he hardened himself against the bludgeoning. The second Wei Ying had realized that Lan Wangji would be punished too, that was when he had swallowed his pride and taken back his taunting. He hadn't even tried to get himself out of the beating by that point, but wanted to spare Lan Wangji from it.
Lan Wangji wouldn't read too much into it. It just reflected well on Wei Ying's real priorities, poor planning aside.
Xichen offered to take a look at his back or help him to the medical pavilion. Lan Wangji shook his head, hoping the pained sweat on his brow would go unnoticed, and took himself to the cold pond. The punishment, he could handle. The mental distraction, he could not. He needed time alone to cultivate and meditate.
Finding Wei Ying climbing over the walls again last night had only reminded Lan Wangji of the first time they met, and despite his impudence (or maybe because of it), he felt as much exasperation as… he closed his eyes as he undressed and considered the term fondness. It seemed inappropriate to feel such a wave of affection for someone who had gotten him into so much trouble, but nothing about this was appropriate.
It was a bad time, too, to discover his scars clarifying. The wicked marks on his forearm and calf had distinguished themselves and their unevenness, and he discovered just a few more scars along the way—little nicks from long-ago misadventures. There was a small mark on his right knee, a little white half-moon near his elbow, an almost imperceptible speck of scar on the back of his thumb. Lan Wangji acknowledged them one at a time and kept his queasy apprehension in check.
He was in the water, cataloguing each of these new features, when he felt a presence up the path. He turned his head, suddenly feeling as naked as he was, and heard a familiar, cheerful voice say, "Lan Zhan, is that you?"
No one had ever bothered him here, ever. Of course it would be Wei Ying.
He didn't have any time to waste with being stunned, or with pulling himself out of the water. He scrambled for the edge of the pool and grabbed his under robe, and he was still in the water up to his chest as he fumbled into the thin, white fabric. It stuck to his wet skin, and he could only hope that it concealed enough of him when Wei Ying trotted into clear view along the pool's edge.
"It is you! How come you didn't tell me about this spot?" Why on earth did Wei Ying think? More importantly, why was Wei Ying stepping out of his boots? "Hey, you don't have to get out. We can share, right?"
"No," Lan Wangji snapped, and immediately felt bad. Wei Ying paused and regarded him, somehow confused about this, and then put on his big smile.
"Aiyo, Lan Zhan, it's just me. I won't bite you. Besides, we just endured a punishment together. I'm glad I ran into you, actually. I, uh…"
Wei Ying trailed off as Lan Wangji stepped up out of the pool. He had to gamble on his thin, wetly clinging robe to hide his inherited scars, at least long enough to pull on his next layer. He shrugged on the next robe and kept his back turned to Wei Ying, and he made some cursory effort to finger-comb his hair over his shoulder.
How stupid would it be for Wei Ying to find his scars on Lan Wangji like this? How stupid would it be for him to find them at all?
What would Wei Ying think, seeing the jade statue with his marks on it?
"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying groaned, close to a whine. "Don't go. I didn't know you were really going to punish yourself, too. You surprised me. Though I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You really are just that good, aren't you?" Wei Ying laughed a little, and Lan Wangji struggled to ignore the softness in it. "You're so cool. Proper, and stuffy, and self-flagellating, but you really are so good. Way tougher than I am."
Wei Ying thought Lan Wangji was good. The teasing was nothing new, but Wei Ying was complimenting him now. It did dizzying things to Lan Wangji's ribcage.
What could ever come of that, though? Lan Wangji couldn't dare to wish for anything. What did people even wish for when they felt this way?
The scars spoke of love, and love spoke of marriage. Would he marry Wei Ying, given the chance? Would he fight his family's presumable wishes and lock Wei Ying up in Cloud Recesses? That was all Lan Wangji knew of marriage.
Many married couples, he had heard, slowly lost their scars for one another. There was never any guarantee of a happy ending, even with a hopeful beginning.
Then what? Would Lan Wangji leave Cloud Recesses to follow Wei Ying?
As if Wei Ying would have him. As if Lan Wangji even knew him well enough to leave Gusu for him. He was not that naïve. These were the extremes, and they were long leaps to make, but perhaps understanding the futility of these feelings would help him recover from them.
So, what did Lan Wangji wish for? What did these scars say?
He wished to lie in the grass with Wei Ying sprawling beside him, and he wished to hear him talk for hours. He wished to know his brilliant, chaotic mind. He wished to reach out and touch Wei Ying's fingers and to see his reckless smile in both sunshine and moonlight.
He wished to meet him on the rooftop again. He wished to keep getting into trouble with him.
By then, Lan Wangji's face was burning and he had worked up the awkward courage to step into his pants under his robes. It was odd to maneuver when he was so hyper-conscious of keeping his scarred calf out of Wei Ying's sight. He managed it passably.
"Lan-er-gege, give me some face." Wei Ying was still speaking so jovially, but there was a note of something, either tension or displeasure. Lan Wangji slipped into his boots and scarcely even laced them. "I'm laying my heart out for you. I want to be friends. I won't get you in trouble anymore, okay? I mean, not too much. Maybe. Come visit me in Lotus Pier! There aren't nearly as many rules to break there!"
Oh. Lan Wangji would follow him to Lotus Pier, given the choice.
He had to leave before Wei Ying could talk him into it.
Wei Ying brought him rabbits. He threatened to cook them and made some uncouth comments about their recreational activities.
He was embarrassing and irreverent. It almost distracted Lan Wangji from the gesture itself: Wei Ying had brought him gifts. He had found rabbits on the mountain and had thought to present them, soft and alive, to Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji liked him so much that it made him angry.
One of the rabbits bit Wei Ying on the finger. Lan Wangji chased Wei Ying out the window, and another mark appeared on his hand on the hour.
Shufu did not like the rabbits. Pets were forbidden.
Lan Wangji had never before felt like such a silly, rebellious teenager as when he petitioned not to have to part with the rabbits. Xichen supported him, which must have been why Shufu grudgingly compromised to let them stay in the grove just outside of the complex.
The rabbits, though, were a sure sign to Shufu that Wei Ying was corrupting Lan Wangji. It was hilarious to think that the rabbits (Lan Wangji would never tell their names to anyone) could be any indication of corruption. Regardless, Lan Wangji was barred from attending the lectures with Wei Ying from then on.
The library was Lan Wangji's sanctuary. It had never felt empty before. The plunge back into his life of silence left him as an orchard in winter.
It was not enough to keep Wei Ying away entirely. To Lan Wangji's secret delight, he kept showing up at the library window and propping his arms atop the sill.
"You ran away before you could give me an answer, you know," Wei Ying said one day, and Lan Wangji had trouble catching up to what he meant. He had the sun angled in his hair and the late-year magnolia tree at his back, and it was a distraction. "In the pool. I wouldn't have minded talking there. You really have nothing to be embarrassed about, by the way. You've got a great figure."
Lan Wangji shot him a scowl and felt his ears frying.
"What answer?" Lan Wangji snapped, trying very hard not to fall over dead.
"If you'd come visit me. You'd like Lotus Pier. There's no one who wouldn't. But I firmly believe that you would like all the sun and natural beauty. Maybe some exposure to flavor in your food, or the concept of colors."
Lan Wangji would never be permitted to go. His uncle would have more say in that than Xichen.
"No."
"No?" Wei Ying smothered up a flash of hurt with a dubious grin. "Are you sure? You'd get to talk to girls in Yunmeng. Really pretty ones."
So far off the mark that it wasn't even funny.
"No."
Wei Ying leaned on the window sill and stuck out his lip. "Jiang Cheng said I'd scare you off within a week if you visited. That's not true, is it?"
They talked about him? Wei Ying talked with Jiang Wanyin about having Lan Wangji visit? He was serious?
"I promise I'd be a good host," Wei Ying went on. "I wouldn't even push you into the lake more than twice. Maybe three times."
Lan Wangji would let Wei Ying push him into the lake a hundred times.
"No, thank you," he said firmly. Wei Ying deflated.
"Ah, fine, fine. Well then, as a consolation, you have to meet me in Caiyi whenever I visit in the future." Then, "I miss you in class, you know. It was boring before, but it's torture without you there for me to tease you."
"Condolences," Lan Wangji said dryly. Wei Ying's face lit up with shock and delight, and he bowed over the sill as he laughed.
"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, teasing me back! It's fun, right? You can tease me all you want in Yunmeng."
Lan Wangji's thoughts should not have turned in the direction they did. He was still soaking in the sunshine of Wei Ying's laughter, wondering if this was how it felt to be liked, when his uncle's voice roared from somewhere down the path.
"Wei Wuxian! Disturbing a disciple at work! Improper use of a window, and trespassing on a building from which you have been restricted! Ten laps up and down the mountain!"
Wei Ying bolted upright only to bend into a bow. "Master Lan," he said plaintively. "This one apologizes. Making noise in Cloud Recesses is prohibited, we must both remember. I was simply trying to foster good rapport with my fellow cultivator. And I would gladly do laps, but running is forbidden."
"Not as exercise in designated areas! Go!"
"Yes sir, yes sir." Wei Ying stood straight again and trotted away from the window, but not before shooting Lan Wangji a grin and a wink.
Lan Wangji was transcribing at the library desk when his knuckles split.
He stared at his hand: dark, rough scrapes, beading with blood but scabbing over quickly, perhaps half an hour old.
It was happening.
He understood this. Cloud Recesses was now the place where Wei Ying had jumped over the walls. Lotus Pier was now the place Lan Wangji wanted to see most, the farthest he would have ever traveled. He wanted to night hunt with Wei Ying, watch him paint, hear him tease people with subtle poetry references that only he and Lan Wangji would recognize, then to see him steal eager looks at Lan Wangji to see if he had gotten the joke. It was happening.
He had scarcely cleaned his brushes before he was stepping out of the library and searching for Wei Ying. He found him on his knees on the rock path in the garden, playing with ants with a stick.
He heard about the incident shortly after. Allegedly, Jin Zixuan had said something unfavorable about Jiang Yanli, Wei Ying's shijie, and so Wei Ying had spat in his face. Jin Zixuan had responded with as much composure as expected in that situation, and their shouting match had startled away half the birds in Cloud Recesses, though no blows were exchanged. Wei Ying had punched the wall by Jin Zixuan's head when his temper had snapped, but had just enough restraint to spare Jin Zixuan's nose.
Jiang Fengmian and Jin Guangshan were sent letters, and the boys were made to kneel in penance.
What paper-thin patience Shufu had had for Wei Ying was gone. Lan Wangji kept his sleeve draped over his hand as they walked back to the library together, content to stay quiet while his uncle grumbled about that Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji was not in the practice of simply not listening when spoken to, but by then, he had heard all of Shufu's complaints and criticisms regarding the boy he cared for.
Shufu liked to comb through the obscure texts to calm himself when he was annoyed, and Lan Wangji was content to leave him to it. He busied himself with opening the windows to let in a midday cross-breeze.
"Wangji?"
Lan Wangji turned around and obediently stepped closer, and he followed his uncle's eyes to the desk, where his calligraphy supplies still lay. He never left half-finished projects lying about, not even in his own rooms. He opened his mouth to apologize and—
Lan Wangji's calligraphy was always orderly, always balanced and neat on the page. If there ever was an imperfection, it would stand out starkly.
There was one small rust-red smear on the top sheet of paper on his desk. Not the bright red of cinnabar. Unmistakeable.
He shut his eyes.
"Wangji," Shufu repeated, voice low and tense, "did you injure yourself?"
He wished desperately for Xichen. Xichen was so much better at dealing with their uncle. Lan Wangji didn't open his eyes and found that he couldn't speak.
Shufu grabbed Lan Wangji by the wrist and let his sleeve fall back. He knew that the deep scrapes on his knuckles stared back up, identical to Wei Ying's, which everyone knew about with the gossip circulating as it shouldn't. They were both silent and still for a moment, and then his uncle dropped Lan Wangji's arm and walked out of the library.
Lan Wangji's heart plummeted. He almost tripped in his hurry to catch up to him.
"Shufu," he begged. He never begged.
"Not another word."
"Do not retaliate against the innocent," Lan Wangji quoted, though he tasted the futility. "This isn't his fault."
"What isn't his fault, Wangji?" Shufu snapped, stopping suddenly to scowl at him. "What, exactly, isn't his fault?"
Shufu was baiting him. He was daring Lan Wangji to speak the words aloud into the world.
His uncle didn't look surprised by Lan Wangji's silence. He shook his head and continued down the path.
"I've never been so disappointed in you."
Wei Ying was expelled from Cloud Recesses that afternoon. Lan Wangji was not allowed to say goodbye, not that he would have known how. Shufu had banished him to the Jingshi, and he sat placidly at his desk, sick with the thought that he might never be allowed to see Wei Ying again.
That was overly dramatic, he knew. They were prominent disciples from prominent clans. Their paths would cross again, perhaps someday without his uncle's interference and disapproval hanging over them like a storm cloud.
Perhaps, however, it was for the best that they stayed apart.
Lans love tragically, Lan Wangji remembered with a confused, nauseating detachment. He had silently repeated that to himself so frequently in the past weeks and months that the words no longer had meaning. If he was bound to tragedy, though, the least he could do was contain the damage and save Wei Ying the complications.
Xichen stopped by, and he set about making tea before Lan Wangji could find the initiative. He waited until the pot was steeping and they were seated across from each other at the table before he spoke.
"I'm sorry, Wangji," he said in his gentle way. For once, it failed to console him. "I was sad to see Wei-gongzi leave."
"On what grounds did Shufu expel him?" Lan Wangji asked, eyes on the delicate wood grain of the table.
"He did break five different rules in his confrontation with Jin-gongzi."
Lan Wangji gave an unsympathetic, "Hm."
Xichen sighed, just one soft breath, and poured the tea.
"Wei-gongzi took it graciously and didn't argue. Uncle didn't tell him the real reason."
Of course he didn't. He couldn't have.
Carefully, like a gentle knock on a sick child's door, Xichen asked, "How is your hand?"
Lan Wangji didn't show him. He didn't need to. Whatever hurts he sustained from then on, he had the right and, as he felt it, the duty to keep them private. He would not suffer such an offense again, allowing an imperious hand to grab his arm so that his lovescars could be examined.
He waited through the company until Xichen left him alone, and then he waited through the lecture Shufu brought to him and let him tire himself out.
And then he sat with his qin, let his sleeves fall back, and played with his red knuckles in plain view.
By the time Wei Wuxian returned to Lotus Pier, Shijie's engagement had already been dissolved.
She made him soup that he didn't deserve. Her hand had fully healed, but he suspected that it was only because Jin Zixuan's had done so first. As they took lunch in their courtyard, he gazed guiltily at her fingers while she spooned broth into his bowl.
"I'm sorry, Shijie."
Wei Wuxian rarely made these honest, gut-achingly remorseful apologies, and he could never be sorrier for anything than hurting Jiang Yanli.
"I made trouble for everyone. You asked me to get along with him, and I just had to start something."
He would take the blame, and he would even save Jin Zixuan some face, just as long as it would spare Shijie the grief of hearing that he had insulted her.
Shijie finished serving both of them in peaceful silence. When she settled into her seat close to him, she only smiled, reached up, and pet his hair.
She didn't say a word about it. She wasn't angry at him, Wei Wuxian knew that, but she always wore her sadness with poise and smiles.
It was another beautiful day a year later when Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng were training in the courtyard. Training may have been too strong a word; they took the opportunity to spar more in play than anything else. When the two of them fought hand-to-hand, it inevitably devolved into childish roughhousing.
It was less tiring than swordplay in many ways. Wei Wuxian wouldn't admit to Jiang Cheng that he was already feeling run down that day, weary and sore all over, or that he was grateful for the slightly less intensive exercise. He felt that Jiang Cheng was on the verge of noticing anyway, so he pushed himself harder to cover up his fatigue. He could last a little longer. It wasn't easy to talk in the middle of a fight's exertion, but whenever they broke apart and took a breath, Wei Wuxian filled the space with his usual chatter.
"I never got the chance to spar with Lan Zhan," he lamented as he approached his limit. This was embarrassing. He could usually play and fight as long as the day lasted. Maybe he was sick. He hadn't been sick in years. He would have to go begging to Shijie for healing food. He wiped sweat off of his lip with the back of his hand, and he grinned back at the exasperated scowl Jiang Cheng shot his way.
"You sparred the moment you met him," Jiang Cheng said incredulously.
"Oh!" Wei Wuxian tapped his nose and considered it. "No, doesn't qualify. That was an unsanctioned fight. I mean legal sparring. It wouldn't count to him otherwise."
"It wasn't legal, so you don't think it counts?"
"What? I’m good and law-abiding."
"Bullshit," Jiang Cheng snorted. "He'd never agree to spar with you, anyway. If you ask him, he'll duel you for real and kill you."
"Lan Zhan would never," Wei Wuxian gasped.
"After what you did at the archery competition, I'm surprised he didn't kill you on the spot."
Wei Wuxian scratched his jaw. Beautiful days in Yunmeng were hot, and sweat lined his face and neck.
"Law 19 on the Wall of Discipline," Wei Wuxian said, looking at the sky and considering. "Do not hold grudges."
"He might make an exception for you." Jiang Cheng lunged again, ready to pick the fight back up.
This was the devolving point, though, and Wei Wuxian basically let him grab him to wrestle him down. He should have been ready for it.
But his leg buckled. He cried out and dropped both of their weight, and before either of them knew what had happened, they were in a heap on the courtyard stone.
Wei Wuxian shoved Jiang Cheng off just as much as Jiang Cheng leapt to take his weight off of him, and he resisted the reflex to clutch at his shin. He grimaced, rolled onto his hip, and stretched his leg with both hands on the ground behind him to prop him up.
"What was that?" Jiang Cheng sounded like he had almost decided to cover up his concern with taunting, but quit halfway. Frowning, he stood and offered a hand to help Wei Wuxian up. "Sprain anything?"
"Ah, no, no." Wei Wuxian chuckled and accepted his hand, and he wasn't as ginger as he should have been when he stood on his leg. It was intact. It just ached. "You win. You've exhausted your poor old shige. When you get to be my age, you'll find—"
"Not even a week!" Jiang Cheng took his hand back to cuff the side of Wei Wuxian's head, though much less forcefully than usual.
"Yes! In not even a week, your old joints will—"
"Shut up." Jiang Cheng shook his head, then fixed Wei Wuxian with another look that pretended not to be worried. "You're sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine. Just a little tired."
"If you're lying—"
"I know, I know. Have mercy on my poor, breakable legs," Wei Wuxian sighed, waving him off. "I repeat, I'm fine."
Jiang Cheng rolled his shoulder and stretched his arm, eyes shifting to stare off across the courtyard.
"Whatever. I have reading to do."
"Alright, alright." Wei Wuxian knew this was Jiang Cheng's way of sending him off to rest. As much as they pushed each other, training injuries weren't to be taken lightly.
He debated between a bath or a jump in the lake and decided on the latter. He didn't want to carry the bath water himself, and he didn't feel like sending anyone for it. He came to the end of the pier and dropped his sweaty robes, but when he unlaced his right boot, he paused.
He left the boot on the pier and rolled up the leg of his trousers.
His entire shin was bruised.
"What the fuck?" he whispered to himself.
Right. He had fallen on it yesterday. Or had that been his left leg? He poked at the mottled purple skin and flinched.
Should he take this to the doctor?
He almost snorted. When had he ever taken an injury to the doctor? He would rub some dirt on it, go swimming, and wait it out. It would be better by tomorrow, as always. His core burned through these things quickly.
It was not better by the next day when the letter from the Wens came.
The indoctrination in Qishan was even worse than they had imagined. Wei Wuxian itched without Suibian, and Jiang Cheng was even more restless without Sandu. The mutterings across the crowd were right; this kind of treatment couldn't stand, except that it did. The Wens were uncontestable.
Then Lan Zhan was led in, Bichen missing from his hand. He was almost successful at hiding the limp on his right side.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t get a moment to speak with him until they—all of the hostage disciples and Wen Chao’s escort of Wen cultivators—were deep in the mountain woods. The bruise on Wei Wuxian’s shin hadn’t healed completely, and he thought the swelling might be getting worse, but he could walk on it unimpeded. He was better off than Lan Zhan, at least.
He could have carried him, but Lan Zhan wouldn’t suffer the indignity.
These were the weeks when Lan Wangji learned what it meant to fear death.
Cultivators had a peculiar relationship with their mortality compared to civilians. Perspectives must change when one has studied spirits and the dead for so long. When one has trained to superhuman levels of strength, endurance, and longevity, they become prone to overconfidence. Cultivators almost unavoidably settle into thinking that they can handle anything. On the other hand, when the goal of one's cultivation is to eventually reach immortality, death may take on a new, more looming weight when living forever is at stake. Death is cultivators' obsession.
Lan Wangji had formed his concepts of death. He had come to terms with the eventuality and imminent likelihood of his own, and that of his loved ones. His mother was dead. Dozens of good cultivators whose names he had known were dead. Cloud Recesses was burned, and scores of Lan disciples had fallen only days ago.
Lan Wangji had faced his own death there. He had been prepared to die to protect his home and every treasure that it was. Wen Xu and his men had only spared him to hold him hostage against his brother. Xichen could be anywhere, but as long as the Wens had Lan Wangji, he was held in check.
That didn’t seem to be a priority for them anymore, though, once Wen Chao’s whim called for his immediate execution. Lan Wangji had never imagined that he would die in a cave, unarmed, back-to-back with Jin Zixuan, protecting another cultivator from a despot’s spoiled son and his entourage, but then, he didn’t think regularly about how he would die.
He didn’t want to die. There were innocent people there that he would protect for as long as he could. He could not let them become a footnote in history: the day that the Wens’ second son wiped out the heirs and head disciples of the other clans in a cave, crippling the sects for the war to come.
He didn’t want to die. It went against his principles.
Few were ever given the choice, though. And there was only so much that he could do, unarmed against a dozen more cultivators.
Wei Ying’s sunburst laugh rang through the cave.
Wei Ying was there. Wei Ying was also unarmed. Wei Ying was laughing, because when was he ever not?
And then Wei Ying was armed, holding Wen Chao’s sword to its owner’s neck while he restrained him from behind. He barked for the battle to stop.
It did. Everyone in Wen colors froze, wide-eyed, terrified of being the one to blame for any injury done to their repulsive master. Wei Ying took hold of the situation, bold and unpredictable, no one to be trifled with.
Wei Ying, what are you doing? Lan Wangji asked in his head, and then, Are you insane? and finally, What happens next?
There was never any telling when it came to Wei Ying.
The mountain rumbled. What happened next was that they found the monster of Dusk Creek Cave.
The Wens gave up on attacking their captives and fled for the exit. Lan Wangji was rushing a couple of straggling disciples toward shelter, at least further away from the pond and the hissing, lunging monster housed there, when it struck him.
His heart was on fire.
No, not his heart, but the flesh over it. The pain seared him, burned him from his ribs to his teeth.
He gasped and stumbled. His hand landed over his heart—a mistake, friction and pressure—the same moment he heard Wei Ying scream.
The brand, Lan Wangji thought as he caught glimpses through the chaos—Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin fighting off one more cluster of Wen cultivators. That little snake had branded him.
The Wens got away.
Most of the captive disciples escaped through the other end of the cave. Lan Wangji stayed with Wei Ying.
"Here, let me see your arm, too," Wei Ying insisted, taking the herbs and crushing them into powder inside the decorative bag.
Lan Wangji's right bicep had suffered a puncture wound the same moment Wei Ying had taken an arrow in his arm. Wei Ying's was bleeding more freely, the wound reaching down into the muscle, but Lan Wangji had still bled through his intact sleeve. He had panicked, and moments ago when Wei Ying had looked away for a second, Lan Wangji had pinched the bloody spot on his sleeve and torn it with a pulse of qi. It could pass for a slash from a Wen's sword, as long as Wei Ying didn't look too closely.
An act of deception. He should have copied lines for that.
"It isn't deep," Lan Wangji said, shrugging away when Wei Ying reached for his shoulder. "Save what we have."
Wei Ying huffed, which was unjustly adorable, and then turned his attention back to Lan Wangji's right shin.
The odd scars were on his left leg, Lan Wangji remembered. Again and again, he wondered where Wei Ying had gotten them. He kept his right wrist covered with his sleeve, too. His exposed right leg was in no danger of exposing his feelings, ugly as it was. Even Wei Ying gave pause at the mottled bruising and deep gashes of the monster's teeth. His hands were gentle when he applied their makeshift medicinal powder to the open wounds.
He was being too generous with it. Wei Ying had injuries, as well. Lan Wangji stopped him, took some of the herbs, and pressed them onto the brand on Wei Ying's chest.
Wei Ying cried out and winced until he had recovered that stubborn set of his jaw.
"Ah, don't mind me. I'm fine. This thing came cauterized, anyway. Your leg really needs to be treated, or you could lose it." He hissed again under his breath anyway, and Lan Wangji tried not to flinch along with him. His leg was one long unit of pain, but the burn stung like nothing else.
Wei Ying was ridiculous for brushing himself off like this. Lan Wangji could feel soreness under his robes wherever Wei Ying's exposed chest was bruised.
"Since you know it's painful," Lan Wangji said for both their sakes, "don't be so rash next time."
"Well, I didn't get burned for fun," Wei Ying grumbled back, still tending to Lan Wangji's leg. Lan Wangji forgave him the theft of his forehead ribbon for bandaging and splinting purposes, but watching it turn red with his blood, made just as practical as symbolic under Wei Ying's hands, made his heart quiver. "Wang Lingjiao really knows how to make a bad situation worse. Really, doing this in the middle of everything else. There was a monster right there. And she could've taken out Mianmian's eye! Mianmian's so pretty, too. She'd be bound to have someone share that scar with her."
"And no one will share yours?" Lan Wangji snapped before he could think better of it.
Wei Ying met his eyes. Something flickered in his face, a stillness at his mouth, just before he covered it up with a dry, careless smile.
"Yes, yes, I'll have hundreds of maidens tragically afflicted with my battle scars. Hopefully my true love will forgive me for maiming them. Now, look at you. You have even more admirers than I do, Lan-er-gongzi, so you definitely have to heal well."
Jiang Cheng only brought as many hands as necessary. They traveled fast and light as a knife and cut their way back into Dusk Creek Mountain. He led them to the opening under the creek where Jiang Cheng and the others had escaped, and they found it closed with rubble. The moment they ripped open the entrance at the top of the cave, Jiang Cheng was sliding down the tunnels and shouting, "Wei Wuxian!"
The cave was silent. Nowhere with Wei Wuxian in it should be silent.
He bolted through the tunnels, leaving his companions to catch up.
Maybe they had gotten out. Maybe they had found another way, or they had slipped out into the creek and closed the way behind them. Maybe the Wens had come back.
He followed the tunnels down to the root of the cave, and he found the monster’s pool foul with blood and decay. The beast was dead, cut apart. They had to have won that battle, then. They had to be alright.
Jiang Cheng chased another route through the caves, nearly burning himself on his flame talisman, careless to the way his voice cracked as he called for him.
He had taken seven days. That was plenty of time for someone to die. Seven days, when he should have stayed and dug open the cave by hand. He should have stayed with them.
Then, finally, a scraping shadow of a voice answered him:
"Here."
"Hello?" Jiang Cheng nearly broke his ankle as he rounded into another tunnel, closer to the voice.
"In here." The voice was stronger then, or it was dredging up the last of its strength to call louder.
The talisman lit the way into a chamber. He found the remnants of a pitiful campfire, framed by scraps of bloodstained clothing: discarded makeshift bandages.
A heap lay against the side of the cave.
Lan Wangji was sitting up, listing against the stone and hardly recognizable. His arms were wrapped around the shoulders of the figure in his lap.
Wei Wuxian was lying too still, just one charcoal smudge of black fabric, black hair, and blackened blood but for where his hair had been brushed out of his pale face, head resting on Lan Wangji's thigh.
Jiang Cheng dropped to his knees and immediately took hold of Wei Wuxian's sweaty face, ready to slap him awake.
"He's alive," Lan Wangji whispered. He hadn't looked up from Wei Wuxian once.
Barely. Wei Wuxian was hanging on by one fraying thread. Jiang Cheng almost cried from relief—he wasn't too late—or terror—was he too late? As gently as he could, he took Wei Wuxian's wrist and fed him a line of qi. It wasn't too much, not enough to shock his system and hurt him any further, but it was enough to steady his breathing and put a little strength back in his heart. Jiang Cheng had never been good at being gentle, but he could be precise.
The other Jiang cultivators reached them. When one of them started to ask a question, Jiang Cheng said, "They're both alive. Help Lan Wangji."
He took Wei Wuxian as his own burden and scooped him off the ground. Lan Wangji was reluctant to let him go, and Jiang Cheng was almost certain he heard his weary arms creak when they were forced to lift around Wei Wuxian. Then Lan Wangji's hands, raw and clumsy, clung weakly to Wei Wuxian's arm. Jiang Cheng spared him one aggravated glance, and he caught his first glimpse of an expression on that face.
He hated Lan Wangji, the darling of the cultivation world, for still being beautiful. His skin was dull, his lips were dry and cracked, his hair was in limp tangles that hadn't dried right. He looked hollow from sleeplessness, blood loss, and hunger. He was listless and clammy with fever. His torn robes didn't resemble white anymore, but had reached ugly shades of yellow and orange, probably from the bloodied pond, and were splashed with dried red. He smelled like a man who had been dying in a cave for most of a week. He was unfathomably unpresentable, and yet when his face jumped with unguarded fear as Wei Wuxian was taken away from him, Jiang Cheng balefully recognized that, beyond all reason, he was still beautiful.
"I've got him," he found himself saying, though he couldn't tell whether it was more to dismiss Lan Wangji or to reassure him. Lan Wangji met him with a look of anxious, feverish confusion, and it made his skin crawl to see him so vulnerable. He didn't think Lan Wangji believed or understood him enough to let go of Wei Wuxian willingly, either, but that he simply couldn't hold onto his sleeve anymore when Jiang Cheng stood and carried him away.
They carried them out into the late morning sun. Jiang Cheng tried to imagine the misery of being trapped in a cold, dark cave for so many days and then the shock of finally stumbling back out into the warmth and brightness of sunlight, with a clean mountain breeze instead of stagnation and rot. They lay them down under a diplomatic amount of shade in the trees, and they made Lan Wangji drink some water while the field medics prodded at his and Wei Wuxian's meridians.
Progress was slow, or Jiang Cheng was simply impatient. He would admit to some impatience.
Lan Wangji didn't offer much information, even when asked directly, but the medics came to the conclusion that Wei Wuxian had suffered a massive blow to his qi, likely during the battle with the monster. They realized that Lan Wangji had spent the following days giving all of his energy to him to keep him alive. Their cores were depleted, and it was a wonder that neither of them had suffered a qi deviation from the strain.
Lan Wangji would not allow anyone near his injuries, except for his broken and mauled right leg, with which he had little choice. Even sick and confused, he pushed their hands away if they came anywhere close to his torso. Once they had passed him some spiritual energy and he was able to eat, they had hoped that he would be more reasonable and allow them to check him over. As he improved, though, he only refused more staunchly and with more dignity. Once he hit the mark of restoring his qi, he began to recover rapidly.
Wei Wuxian dozed for another hour and a half, but he was much more alive with Jiang Cheng and one of the medics steadily passing him qi. Finally, his eyes fluttered partially open. He made a grumpy little noise, and his caretakers jumped to offer him a canteen of water. He was slow on the uptake, but to Jiang Cheng's great satisfaction, the first thing he did was look blearily up at him and smile.
Jiang Cheng had been unwilling to face how afraid he was that Wei Wuxian would never wake up, but he found himself choking on his relief.
"Hey, moron," he said hoarsely.
"Mmmm, hi." Wei Wuxian waved his hand incoherently in Jiang Cheng's grip. His eyes kept sliding to the side. His fever hadn't broken. "Hi, Chengcheng. Shijie?"
"She's back at home. We'll head there once you won't die if a strong breeze hits you."
"Mmmmhkay." Wei Wuxian nearly accepted the water as Jiang Cheng helped him lift his head, but then he startled weakly and squinted against the sun. "Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan—"
"I'm here," Lan Wangji said, leaning against a tree just a few feet away. Wei Wuxian relaxed and sank down again, and they managed to get him to drink a little.
Jiang Cheng didn't miss the way Lan Wangji's eyes hardly left Wei Wuxian, and he hated him for that, too. Lan Wangji had spent the last seven days with Wei Wuxian, and now it was Jiang Cheng's turn to cling to him. He would have thought that Lan Wangji would be sick of him by then.
Once Lan Wangji was well enough to stand on his own, they passed him a cake of soap and a set of simple but clean clothes, for which he looked extremely grateful. He excused himself to bathe in the nearby river, upstream of the cave.
When Wei Wuxian roused again a little later, as drowsy as he still was, Jiang Cheng helped him bathe to the best of his ability.
He found more injuries.
He found the brand that Wen Chao's horrible woman had left on Wei Wuxian's chest. He found the wound from the arrow in his arm, and he found dozens of smaller scrapes and slices and bruises.
He found Wei Wuxian's right shin all but mangled. It was gouged and scabbed, dark with bruising and hot to the touch with infection.
Jiang Cheng stared at it, then moved on.
"You look like shit," he said. Wei Wuxian mumbled something rude and made a half-awake attempt to flick water at him.
With the filth out of his hair, his wounds cleaned, and his unsalvageable clothes replaced with fresh ones, Wei Wuxian already looked much better. He passed out again immediately.
Everyone was eager to leave the mountain behind. Wei Wuxian was draped with blankets and laid on a litter to carry him home. Lan Wangji was stubborn as hell and moving around on his own, helping the disciples pack up what little they had brought. A short distance from the others, Jiang Cheng approached Lan Wangji with all of the grim respect due to him.
"You kept him alive," Jiang Cheng said.
Lan Wangji did not say anything. Maybe he was too humble to agree, or too arrogant to acknowledge the statement. Jiang Cheng leveled him with a hard stare, and then he bent into a bow, arms circled and head low. Lan Wangji had fought to keep Wei Wuxian safe and breathing while Jiang Cheng couldn't, and Jiang Cheng knew when and how to show gratitude. He knew when he was indebted to someone.
Lan Wangji scrambled to respond appropriately. It was funny to see him remember his manners, but it was even more of a surprise when he touched Jiang Cheng under the elbows to lift him back up; no thanks were needed, the gesture said. They were equals.
"You came back," Lan Wangji said.
"Of course I did," Jiang Cheng scoffed. That went without saying. Maybe that was what Lan Wangji's silences meant.
"He is safe with you," Lan Wangji said then. Another obvious statement, but one that came with a clear plea.
Take care of him, he meant.
"Of course he is." Jiang Cheng spoke with less bite as he went on. They were both exhausted. More importantly, he needed to display the propriety expected of a sect heir. He swallowed what little pride he had left. "You're welcome to come with us. Lotus Pier would be honored to have you."
Another thing unspoken. It didn't suit either of them. Neither of them liked to mince words or dance around a point, but Jiang Cheng was offering to shelter him after what had happened to Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji might have had nowhere else to go.
"Thank you," Lan Wangji said carefully, "but I am needed in Gusu."
Jiang Cheng nodded once, feeling pangs of both relief that he wouldn't have to spend any more time with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian in the same vicinity, and offense that Lan Wangji would decline his hospitality when he so obviously needed it.
He insisted that Lan Wangji take some of their supplies for his journey—food, medicine, and a sturdy blanket, at least. They bowed to each other, wished each other safe travels, and with one more look at Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji left.
As soon as he was gone, Wei Wuxian sleepily asked where Lan Zhan was.
Lan Zhan wasn't there when Wei Wuxian woke.
Shijie made up for his absence, and then Jiang Cheng and Sect Leader Jiang. Madame Yu had to say her piece, though, and after she and her husband stormed out, Jiang Cheng tried to do the same. Wei Wuxian refused to let him go, even if he had to scramble out of bed to catch him.
This was his brother. He would always be proud to follow him, and he would never leave him. He needed him to understand that as the bone-deep truth that it was.
Wei Wuxian and Shijie had made it their lives' goal to give Jiang Cheng all of the love, support, and affirmation that his parents neglected to express to him. He could only hope that Jiang Cheng felt it.
Just as Jiang Cheng began to seem reassured, Wei Wuxian's leg buckled.
"I told you to stay in bed," Jiang Cheng groused even as he hauled Wei Wuxian's arm over his shoulders. "You just woke up and you're already trying to knock yourself out again. Stop making A-jie worry."
Wei Wuxian gave him his most sheepish laugh, playing the innocent card that Jiang Cheng never bought, and trudged along with him.
"I've been resting so long, though. I have to catch up now. Watch. I'll be in the training yard again in the afternoon."
"You'd better not. I'll break your arm."
"What happened to breaking my legs?" Wei Wuxian asked.
"Your leg's already fucked up enough. Haven't you seen it?"
"I just woke up, remember?" Wei Wuxian grumbled. His foot caught on the threshold of his room, but Jiang Cheng maneuvered him and picked up his slack when he stumbled.
"You had days to look at it in the cave," Jiang Cheng said flatly.
"We were in the dark!"
"You could still feel your leg though, right?"
"No," Wei Wuxian sniffed. "I can't feel a thing. We'll have to chop it off."
"Shut up." Jiang Cheng deposited Wei Wuxian gracelessly on his bed, like hauling a sack of rice, though Wei Wuxian knew him too well. Jiang Cheng had crossed his arms because he was fighting himself not to keep fussing over him. Wei Wuxian had never seen him this worried, and it almost warmed his heart more than it hurt his stomach. "At least it won't be hard to find your soulmate. Just look for the biggest idiot with a limp to match yours."
Wei Wuxian burst into a sunny smile.
"Aw, A-Cheng, you admit someone will love me!"
"I said they'd be an idiot."
"It's okay. I'll be smart enough for the both of us."
"Heaven help you."
Wei Wuxian laughed as Jiang Cheng walked out and shut the door. Alone, sitting on his bed, he let his smile fade.
He pulled his leg up onto the bed, despite the pain of bending and moving it, and tugged up the leg of his pants.
The bruising had gone down considerably, but then there were the scars. Rows of them. Three especially deep, hateful wounds, like the teeth of a monster.
He'd had to nurse them in those first three days in the cave. He had noticed them a few hours after he and Lan Zhan had initially ducked into cover from the Tortoise.
When the Tortoise had gotten hold of Lan Zhan's (already broken) leg, Wei Wuxian had panicked. Before the beast could drag Lan Zhan into its shell, Wei Wuxian had stood in its jaw and pried its mouth open with raw, freakish adrenaline alone. This kind of adrenaline can dull pain or, in Wei Wuxian's case as he had carried Lan Zhan on his back from the pond and into the tunnels, negate it entirely for some duration. The moment Lan Zhan had been free of the Tortoise's teeth, Wei Wuxian had pulled himself away from its mouth as well. Its teeth had grazed his leg as they had snapped shut.
He had felt the need to hide this injury in particular from Lan Zhan, whose leg was much worse off. They had needed to save the herbs they had for him.
He hoped that Lan Zhan's leg was doing much better now. He hoped that he could bear to walk on it, at least. He remembered the awful bruising on it, the three bloody gouges into the muscle.
Wei Wuxian wasn't an idiot.
He knew when there was no point in thinking further on something. He had fallen on his shin, and the Tortoise had grazed his leg.
He cut that line of thinking before it could pull him down, and he didn't touch the brand on his chest, the scar that no one would share.