Work Text:
Then
Everyone starts their lives screaming and covered in blood. Lan Wangji did it twice.
His first memory in his rebirth into his second life was the feeling of his raw throat and the ringing sound of his own screams in his ears. His hands and clothes were covered in blood.
He was taken to the hospital by a man with grief in his eyes, who claimed to be his brother. He didn’t know if it was true or not.
Memory was a strange thing. He didn’t recognize the face before him, but he knew the concept of brother. He knew language. He knew what a hospital was, and what it meant that they were taking him to it. He knew of blood, and as he stared at his hands, where the blood began to dry to a lifeless red-brown and flake away, he knew he had lost something important.
But try as hard as he might — and he did try — he could never recall just what he had lost.
His recovery took three years.
Three years to rebuild knowledge of the world, to try and understand who he was.
(Could anyone reclaim who they were, when they started over with a blank slate?)
In those three years he learned again to meditate, to reawaken the muscle memory of bearing a sword, to memorize the Lan precepts once more.
He began to recognize faces, names. He would mentally make notes, then go home and write his thoughts out and read them over and over and over and over.
Slowly, Lan Wangji rebuilt himself into a person. A Lan cultivator. Maybe not the person he once was, but at least a man with some sense of self again.
And then the dreams began.
A flash of a smile, dark hair, eyes full of mischief. Pieces, portions of him, never the whole. A laugh, red lips and white teeth biting into a loquat.
Then the darkness rushing in, a roar, the taste of blood and the dust of bones and hot ash and embers falling all around him.
His brother (Lan Huan, courtesy name Xichen in his notes), looked distressed when he told him of the dream.
“Best not to dwell on things. Here, this is a family history I don’t think you’ve read.”
Lan Wangji quit talking to his brother about his dreams. But the dreams themselves did not stop.
His nights were troubled. The dreams were vivid, knocking him out of sleep. He began to research, reading all he could about dreaming.
The best nights were the ones when he woke up while still in the dream, before it transitioned to the nightmare.
Because if he slept long enough, it always did. No matter what. He would try as hard as he could to stay in the warm, gentle dream, focusing on the feel of the man’s silken hair cascading through his fingers, the breathless sighs he made when Lan Wangji pulled him into a kiss, the strength of his lean muscular thighs when he wrapped them around his waist.
But he could never keep it there. It would morph, twist, and there would only be blood and bone and ash.
He gasped awake one night, shaking and covered in sweat, the taste of his own blood in his mouth where he had bitten the inside of his cheek.
“Who are you?” he said aloud into the night. “Why can’t I see you?”
The night gave him no answer, only his own fear. He’s dead. He’s not here.
At the end of his three year rehabilitation, he was allowed to take up the mantle of a working cultivator again.
He passed every exam, met every requirement of any new cultivator. His brother and uncle were proud, he could tell.
With this new achievement came access to a computer, a smart phone.
Predictably, the first thing he did was search his own name.
The results were myriad, and confusing. Too much to process.
He navigated to a site, to read about the person he was before his rebirth.
From there he found an article about the last thing that had happened to him before the accident that his brother said claimed his memory.
A Xuanwu of Slaughter. He had fought it, and survived, though badly injured.
And according to the article, he had not fought it alone.
But there was something strange. No matter how many times he read the article, he could not remember the name of the person that had fought the Xuanwu of Slaughter with him. His eyes bounced over the name, unable to commit it to memory. When he tried to write it down, he forgot the characters in the brief moment between looking at the computer screen and looking down at the paper.
He was in the library, at one of the study carrels, using the library computer.
He looked around, and saw a young boy, maybe six or seven years old, head in hands, reading a book and looking tortured.
Lan Jingyi. Inner disciple, Lan sect born. An orphan, parents killed in the conflict with the Wen clan.
“Lan Jingyi,” he called out.
The young man looked up at him. “Uh….yes, Qianbei?”
“Will you assist me, please?”
The boy jumped up so fast he banged his knee against the table. He winced, but made no sound as he gingerly made his way over to where Lan Wangji was seated.
“Wh..what can I do for you?”
Lan Wangji pointed to a paragraph on the screen in front of him. “Please read that to me.”
Lan Jingyi turned to him, confusion evident on his face.
“My head is hurting,” Lan Wangji said.
Lying is forbidden.
But it wasn’t a lie. The implications, the truth he wasn’t willing to fully yet consider, were causing an actual sharp pain behind his right eye.
The boy nodded and leaned forward so he could look clearly at the screen.
“The Xuanwu of Slaughter was defeated by Lan Wangji, from Gusu Lan, and *static*, the head disciple of *static*. Lan Wangji was grievously wounded while *static* tragically lost his life.”
Lan Wangji held his hand up to stop the boy from reading.
“Thank you,” he said.
The boy gave a quick bow and left and Lan Wangji clicked on the hyperlink of the name he could not read.
It took him to an article, all of which was blurry and unfocused. He tried as hard as he could to focus on the photo on that page, but his eyes kept sliding away from it, unable to discern what he was seeing.
So. He could not read about him. He could not even hear his name when someone else spoke it aloud.
He was the man in his dreams.
Lan Wangji could hear his laughter. Could feel the ghosting of his fingertips against his skin. Could smell the spicy scent of his skin.
But he could not see him. Or know his name.
He’s dead. He’s not here.
That night, Lan Wangji sat alone in the home that his brother had told him was known as the Jingshi. Formerly his mother’s home.
He didn’t remember his mother.
Lan Wangji reached up, and untied the Lan headband that had felt so familiar when his Uncle first fastened it around him.
He looped it around the bedpost.
It was nine o’clock. The time when Lan cultivators were expected to go to bed and sleep.
But instead, Lan Wangji made his way out of the Jingshi. He was dressed in dark clothes, and bore no insignia of Gusu Lan anywhere on his body. His forehead felt cold and bare, but he steeled himself against the feeling.
The man of his dreams was out there. Not physically, not in the flesh, the nightmare portion of his nightly dreams and the information he had gleaned online had convinced him that the man was probably dead.
But who he was, his name and his story, that was still there to be discovered.
Lan Wangji was young, and inexperienced in the world since most of his core memories only reached back three years.
But he was no fool. He could read and he could understand the research he had been able to accomplish. Amnesia didn't work like this. It wasn’t that selective. Why could he regain most of what he had lost, but be unable to remember the name of the man he had loved, once?
He had to know the truth. And he would not find it if he stayed here. So he walked away, in the night, leaving Gusu Lan behind.
Now
Lan Wangji felt the tingle of wards when he stepped across the threshold of the Burial Mounds, a nightclub located in the heart of Yiling.
A strong ward. Perhaps the strongest he’d ever encountered, and he had been everywhere, all across the lands, in his ten years of wandering as a rogue cultivator since he left Gusu Lan.
Perhaps the rumors of this notorious Yiling Laozu weren’t as farfetched as they had first seemed.
He made his way to the bar, and ordered a still water.
Talking to strangers was not his favorite thing to do, but he had gotten better at it lately.
“I’m seeking information,” he said to the bartender.
“Most people are. Don’t mean they find it.”
“I’d like to speak with the Yiling Laozu,” Lan Wangji says.
The bartender shrugged. “Your funeral.” Then he nodded over at a corner in the nightclub where people seemed to be congregated around a table.
Lan Wangji attempted to pay for the water, but was waved off. So he had nothing left to do but head toward the corner.
The music thumped loudly, too loud. His head hurt, his body ached with weariness. Last night had been a sleepless one. The dream had begun, a recurring one centered around a spring of ice cold water, and the man inching closer to him until Lan Wangji could feel the heat of his body through the rippling water. More laughter, the vision of a drop of water making its way down his neck to his collarbone. Then the shift into the nightmare, where that drop of water became blood and then one drop became two, then three, then a hot gush. He tried to stem the flow of blood with his hands but it kept flowing through his fingers and all around him the clear water turned red until his robes were soaked with it.
He had bolted awake, in a dingy, sterile hotel room, chest heaving, drenched in sweat.
And now, some hours later, he stood in a room full of loud music and flashing lights, and the press of bodies everywhere.
As he approached the table, people turned and looked at him. They moved, like waves parting, until he stood before a table.
A man sat behind the table. Long hair in a half-up, half down style. A red ribbon tied around the bun.
Lan Wangji’s breath caught. But then he tamped down his expectations. Red ribbons were common.
The man’s face was sharp, angular. He had a cruel smile, and narrowed eyes as he looked Lan Wangji up and down.
“Well, well, well. What has our illustrious establishment done to be graced by the likes of Hanguang-Jun?”
Lan Wangji felt his jaw clench. He hated the title, bestowed upon him in the Sunshot campaign against the Wen clan’s attempt to dominate the cultivation world, with no care as to the collateral damage the rest of the world would bear. It was a ridiculous title, how could someone be a bearer of light when he felt as if he were constantly struggling in the dark?
“You are the Yiling Laozu?”
The man smirked. He gestured with his hand and a scantily clad young woman draped herself onto his lap and began kissing his neck. He never dropped eye contact with Lan Wangji.
“That’s what some call me.”
“Should I call you something else?”
He kept his voice level, and forced himself not to wince against the music which had switched to a new song, faster paced. His heart rate ticked up, just a bit, in anticipation.
“Mo Xuanyu will do, for now,” the man said.
He heard it clearly. No static, no muffling. Not surprising, really, as it was obviously a fake name. But still. The man of his dreams had a sweet smile, that much he could glean from his nightly vision of him. This man’s smile was harsh, and mean.
“If you’re here about the series of deaths up in the rural mountain villages, you’re too late. I killed the yao two days ago.”
Lan Wangji took that in with a sharp nod. Word had already traveled to him that the yao had been dispatched. He had continued his journey to Yiling anyway, because the yao was not his only mission.
“I am here about the cursed bridal sedan in Qinghe.”
The Yiling Laozu tapped the hip of the woman sprawled across him. She rose and walked away without a word. He reached forward, taking up a glass of what looked to be whiskey and downing it.
“We’re a long way from Qinghe. If you want to know about that curse, you should ask the Nie.”
Lan Wangji had, of course. Nie Mingjue told him it was no concern of an unaffiliated cultivator, a clear a sign as any he could not provide Lan Wangji with the information he requested. And Nie Huaisang’s deferrals, his denials, his hiding behind his fan had made it abundantly clear that no one from his sect had the ability to remove that curse.
There was one person with a reputation for doing the impossible, and he wasn’t a Jiang, despite that sect’s motto.
“I’m asking the person who removed the curse.”
The Yiling Laozu raised his hand and beckoned, and someone set another glass of whiskey in front of him. He sipped it this time, rather than downing it.
Then he settled his gaze on Lan Wangji once more.
“Why?”
Because I think I’m cursed, and if so I need someone skilled to break it.
For ten years he had been a rogue cultivator. Roaming the countryside, banishing spirits, fighting yao, concentrating on his music and meditation. He had sought out experts, physicians, therapists, other cultivators, trying to find a solution to his fractured memory.
Nothing had worked. And so, he had come to the conclusion that he must be under a curse.
And The Yiling Laozu was a renowned curse breaker.
But this was not something he wanted to discuss in front of all of these people fawning over the man, nor did he want to stay here with these lights and this music if he didn’t have to.
“May I speak with you in private?” he asked.
The Yiling Laozu leaned back. His shirt wasn’t fastened at the top three buttons so it gaped open, revealing a strip of skin and the edges of his collarbones. It flashed Lan Wangji back to the dream of the night before, but he banished the memory. He needed to focus.
“If you wanted to get me alone, dear Hanguang-Jun, all you had to do was ask. But I admit I didn’t know you swung that way.”
If he thought the sexual innuendo would rattle him, he was mistaken. Lan Wangji did not know what type of man he had been before, but if he were certain of anything in this life, he was certain he was gay, and he was certain that he did not care who knew it.
So he leveled a look at the Yiling Laozu and called what he was sure was a bluff.
“I had planned on a conversation only, but I’m certainly not opposed to more.”
The Yiling Laozu’s eyes widened, just a fraction. Difficult to see in the lowlight, but Lan Wangji had cultivator senses.
“I’m afraid I don’t have room in my schedule for you, Hanguang-Jun. I’ll have to take a raincheck.”
It was a dismissal, clearly. Lan Wangji wanted to protest, to convince him to give him another chance, but he had exhausted his social battery and with his head pounding with the rhythm of the music it was too difficult to drum up another witty comeback.
The Yiling Laozu smirked, then pushed himself back from the table.
He was in a wheelchair, Lan Wangji now noticed. The man wheeled away from the table and disappeared behind a heavy black curtain behind the DJ without another word.
Lan Wangji left the club, and checked into a cultivator’s hostel. He usually avoided them, but he didn’t have the energy to look for another form of accommodation.
The man who checked him in told him there was one private room available, and he gladly paid the extra fee for it. He didn’t consider himself above the communal dormitories with their stacked bunks, but out of courtesy to the other people possibly staying there, a private room was better.
He’d long since learned to muffle any cries and keep himself quiet when he woke from his nightly dreams, but he wasn’t always able to control the thrashing around he did when the nightmares pulled him down too deep. A private room meant he needn’t worry about disturbing anyone else.
The room was tiny, barely enough room to maneuver around the bed. He took down his hair, and pulled out sleeping clothes from his qiankun pouch.
Once he had refreshed himself and changed in the communal bathroom, he settled on the bed and reached once more into the pouch to extract two items from an inner pocket.
He had only discovered the small inner pocket in the second year of his recovery. The main compartment of the qiankun pouch had been empty, he assumed his brother or uncle had cleared it out. But once, when putting his hand inside and feeling around for something he thought he had placed in there, his fingers caught on the edge of the hidden pocket.
There were two items inside, and he pulled them both out now.
A red ribbon, that had once been stiff with dried blood that Lan Wangji had carefully soaked out the night he found it. And a thin, crumpled piece of paper that had been cut into a shape resembling a man.
They were the only concrete clues he had, the only tangible evidence of someone he desperately wanted to remember but could not. A frayed red ribbon and a paperman.
If this Yiling Laozu would not help him, he would have to find another way.
As he often did when the day had been difficult, he wrapped the red ribbon around his wrist and placed the paperman under his sleep shirt against his heart. With them in place, he finally settled down into the bed and closed his eyes.
Tonight was a new dream.
It started this time in the cave. A fire flickered, and he was wet, uncomfortable. He was not alone.
The man, his dream lover, curled into him, fitting his body along his. He pressed his face into Lan Wangji’s neck and inhaled. “I love the way you smell,” he said. The words were muffled, as they were murmured while his lips were against Lan Wangji’s skin, too indistinct for him to be able to recognize the voice, but the words were clear enough.
“It’s so boring, Lan-er-gege. Sing for me?”
And then, in the dream, Lan Wangji began to hum.
As the notes were hummed in the dream, they exploded into his brain clear, distinct, and suddenly familiar. Sometimes memories were like this, once he was reminded of them he knew them, instantly. It had been so for the Lan precepts when he worked to memorize them again.
He knew this song. He had written this song. He had written this song for someone. The person he hummed it to, while they clung to each other in the darkness of the cave.
When the nightmare came it was brutal, swift. The floor of the cave rose up, black shadows swallowed them, and rocks tumbled down. Lan Wangji screamed and dug at the rocks trying to reach the man, but the rocks kept falling and as he desperately dug until his fingers were raw, blood began to well out between the rocks until he was drowning in it.
He woke shaking, but silent, with the iron smell of blood mixing with the cloying scent of crushed flowers in his nose.
It was 2 am and he would not sleep again tonight. So instead he pulled out a notebook and began to write down the notes to the song that still surged within him.
***
Wei Wuxian wheeled into the backrooms, where the soundproofing Wen Qing had insisted on reduced the music to a low thrumming that could almost qualify as white noise.
She was decocting something that smelled astringent on the stove, while Wen Ning stared at a computer screen at the kitchen table.
“How are we feeling?” she said.
Wei Wuxian sighed. Of course she knew. She had probably spied on him using the security cameras.
She quirked an eyebrow at him.
“He didn’t know me,” he said. The words hurt, they felt like a sharp jab right into the center of him.
Wen Qing’s face softened a bit, and that really stung. If she felt like she needed to offer him sympathy, he must be really pathetic.
“You look different. When you regained your human form, the shape of your face was more angular, your chin is pointier now, and your body is slighter, less muscular.”
It was true. He didn’t look exactly the same, but he was still recognizable, wasn’t he? The first day when he finally cultivated his core back to where it was strong enough to let him resume human form, he had looked in the mirror and still known himself.
“Plus it’s been thirteen years. And rumor has it he was in recovery for three years. It’s not that unremarkable that he didn’t recognize you in a dark nightclub.”
“Lan Zhan sees like a cat,” he mumbled.
“He did once,” Wen Qing said gently. “He’s not the man he once was, no more than you are.”
Wei Wuxian grimaced down at his nonworking legs. He didn’t need reminding of the fact that he wasn’t the man Lan Wangji once knew.
“It’s finally happened. You’ve been stressing about seeing him again ever since you ceased being a full time noodle. Now it’s done. Time to move on.”
She turned the burner off, leaving her medicine to steep. She made her way over and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“What did he want?”
“To talk to me. I said no.”
“Why?”
He laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “Because he didn’t recognize me. Because I’ve spent the last thirteen years wanting to see him, believing that he would know me and he didn’t. So I got pissy and propositioned him.”
She sighed, a familiar sound. The Wei-Wuxian-is-being-an-idiot signature sigh.
“And then what happened?”
Wei Wuxian shook his head. “You were right. He’s not my Lan Zhan. My Lan Zhan would have stammered, his ears would have turned red, and he would have called me shameless. This man called my bluff with no hesitation.”
Wen Qing squeezed his shoulder.
“You’ve both changed a great deal. I think it’s time to let go.”
The thing was, Wei Wuxian didn’t want to.
But he couldn’t talk about it with Wen Qing anymore.
So he wheeled past her to where Wen Ning was typing away at his laptop. He sat at a battered old desk they had found on the side of the road and brought back to the club. It had been in good shape, just one broken foot, so now it was propped up with an old textbook.
Wen Ning looked up from where he was focused on some code or other technological wizardry Wei Wuxian didn’t understand, and held out his arm in clear invitation. “Wanna come up?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t hesitate, dropping his human form and resuming his tiny dragon form instead.
He scurried up Wen Ning’s outstretched arm and wound himself around the young man, so that his head rested against his neck and his body coiled around him in a manner that wouldn’t impede Wen Ning’s use of his arms.
In this form he was approximately five feet long if he were completely stretched out. He wasn’t exactly small, not anymore. When Wen Qing found him in the Xuanwu cave, he had been about the size of a ferret. Now he probably weighed close to 40 kilograms, but he knew how to distribute his weight to avoid seeming too heavy and Wen Ning’s upper body was super well developed from moving kegs and unloading deliveries at the nightclub anyway.
He’d been a small, bedraggled pitiful thing when he and the Wens were first on the run. Now, he was healthy, if not exactly whole.
Wen Ning hummed and Wei Wuxian purred in response. He rubbed his nose against his friend and felt his skin twitch as Wei Wuxian’s whiskers tickled him. Wen Ning was such a steady, comfortable companion. He never expected Wei Wuxian to talk about things he didn’t want to talk about.
So he stayed like that, curled around his friend, content and warm, as Wen Ning typed away, the sound of the keystrokes quieting and soothing his brain.
He let himself just relax, and think.
He considered Wen Qing’s words to him. As per usual, she was probably right. He had both longed for and dreaded a meeting with Lan Wangji. And now that it had finally taken place, and been disappointing, he should probably forget about it and just move on with his life. The problem was, he wasn’t sure what moving on from Lan Wangji looked like.
It took him six years to rebuild his cultivation to the point he could take human form again. Six years of staying in his small dragon form, being fed and kept warm by Wen Qing and Wen Ning while they were on the run in the aftermath of the war.
They hadn’t known, when Wen Qing doubled back and climbed down into the cave to search for him, that some of his dragon bones had been lost. Didn’t realize until he took human form again years later only to find he could not walk.
He had sensation still in his legs, there was response to pain and he could feel heat or cold against his skin. They looked and felt like all the human bone parts were still there, under the skin. But he could not engage the muscles, couldn’t get them to move. A vital part of him was missing, and he felt himself to be lesser for it.
The three of them made another trip to the cave when he was a bit stronger, only to find the rocky floor literally swept clean. He had stared at the alcove where he and Lan Wangji had taken shelter. Where they had held each other in the night.
There had been no trace of them there. No evidence of what happened between them.
And no sign of his bones either.
He purred gently, nuzzling into Wen Ning.
His friend finished his work and closed the laptop.
He carried Wei Wuxian to his bedroom, located in the apartment above the nightclub, and deposited him on his bed. There he scratched the itchy spot behind his antlers and stroked down the length of his body, hands carding through the soft silky black fur that formed a ruff around Wei Wuxian’s face and ran down the length of his backbone. Wei Wuxian arched and stretched much like a contented cat, and Wen Ning huffed in amusement. “See you tomorrow,” he said as he left to go to his own room and seek his own rest.
Wei Wuxian normally slept human, but tonight he didn’t feel like shifting back. .
He wrapped around himself until he was completely coiled and could rest his face against the silky fluff that was at the end of his tail.
There, he could let himself think again of Lan Wangji.
He’d tried for so long to keep those memories tamped down. Buried deep. When he first became human again, he thought about seeking him out, but he and the Wens were still hiding and running, staying one step ahead of the Jins and their brand of justice which damned anyone with the last name Wen, regardless of whether they had participated in the war.
So they moved around, they hid, they took fake names and bought fake IDs on the black market and relied on Wen Ning’s computer skills to keep them off the grid, and only now, thirteen years after the Xuanwu cave incident, were they comfortable enough to put down roots, even if those roots were in a seedy nightclub deep in Yiling, where no cultivation clans had any presence.
No clan claimed Yiling, which is why so many pockets of resentful energy had been allowed to ferment there. Now Wei Wuxian himself patrolled it and kept the people safe, laying down unquiet spirits and the occasional fierce corpse or yao that demanded his attention.
He kept things quiet and tried to stay under the radar, but unfortunately his reputation must have gotten out.
Damn Huaisang anyway.
It’s not as if the thought of reaching out to Lan Wangji hadn’t crossed his mind.
It definitely had, but at first he was too delirious and scared and then later, it became clear that, well, Lan Wangji wasn’t exactly looking for him.
There had even been an interview, when Wei Wuxian was still stuck in dragon form, when a reporter asked him about the Xuanwu cave incident and mentioned Wei Wuxian’s name and Lan Wangji had simply blinked at her and then dodged the question and moved on, as if the Xuanwu cave was something that didn’t even matter to him.
As if Wei Wuxian didn’t even matter to him.
But Lan Wangji mattered to Wei Wuxian.
He could still picture it, could close his eyes and take himself back to that cold stone floor digging into his hip and Lan Wangji hot and delirious with desire above him. He could hear the gasps and moans, could feel the way Lan Wangji’s muscles flexed under his fingers as he gripped him tight, could hear the breathless way he called out “Lan Zhan” and was answered by Lan Wangji crushing him close and saying “Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying” over and over.
Wei Wuxian had dreamed of those eyes looking at him again. And tonight they had, with no hint of recognition in them.
And it wasn’t fair that Lan Wangji looked so good. The years had been kind to him, his face was even more devastatingly attractive with it being a bit leaner now. Gone were the smooth round cheeks of his teenage years. He had filled out, too, his shoulders broad and strong, and even more pronounced in the utilitarian clothing he wore now than they had been in the voluminous, traditional Lan robes.
His bare forehead was a little strange, and made Wei Wuxian burn with the need to question him as to why he had left his clan to become a rogue cultivator, but there was no reason to think Lan Wangji would explain something like that to someone he looked at as a stranger.
A stranger. Lan Wangji looked at him as if he didn’t even know who he was.
The pain of that lanced through him.
Wei Wuxian was definitely not a stranger to pain. The Xuanwu of Slaughter had ripped his spine out of his body. And his dragon form had exploded with a blast of fire and energy until there was virtually nothing left of him.
But this, this was worse in a way. He would gladly take physical pain over the piercing pain that was currently ripping his heart open.
His door creaked and Wen Qing made her way inside. She settled on the bed and petted him for a moment before speaking.
“Change so you can talk to me with your human mouth.”
He shifted, once again grateful for whatever magic his ancestors had granted him that preserved his clothes through transformations. Not that Wen Qing hadn’t seen him naked before, as she was both his doctor and his roommate it was inevitable, but still. They were like siblings. It would be weird.
“You wanna tell me what’s really going on?” Wen Qing asked, once he was a human possessing vocal cords once more.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, though he did. He really did.
“What really happened between you and Lan Wangji?” she asked. So she was going to go straight after it, then. No warm up lap, just right to it.
He leaned back against the headboard of his bed and closed his eyes and let himself wallow in the memories once more, just before he had to face reality.
He let himself remember the feel of Lan Wangji’s chest pressed against him, the smell of him — sandalwood incense and clean skin and something a bit wilder and all male.
He opened his eyes and looked at Wen Qing.
“Nothing much,” he lied. “He was in charge of discipline at Gusu Lan where I went for summer camp and I did my best to annoy him and make him snap.”
Wen Qing didn’t speak but her keen eyes told him she was picking up on what he was saying.
“I just…wanted his attention I guess? I wanted him to notice me, even if it was negative attention. I pushed him and I disobeyed every Lan principle I could just to get a rise out of him.”
“Do I need to tell you what that was?” Wen Qing asked.
“No,” he shook his head. “I’m aware now that I wanted his attention because I was attracted to him. But in my defense back then, I was a baby who thought he was straight and I didn’t realize it at the time.”
Wen Qing rolled her eyes. “Save me from disaster bis,” she said. “But that’s it, then? You hassled him in summer camp and then you got stuck fighting a giant turtle with him?”
Wei Wuxian swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling a little too tight. “Wemighthavehadsex.”
“Excuse me? Did you just say what I thought I heard?”
He flopped back on the bed and took the pillow beside him and placed it over his face. “We had sex! In the cave! Is that clear enough for you?” His voice was muffled by the pillow but surely she could hear him.
He felt the bed dip as Wen Qing sat on it. Then he felt the warm weight of her as she draped herself across him and wrapped her arms around him and hugged him.
It was that, the voiceless comfort, that made him pull the pillow away. He hugged her back, tightly, and felt hot stinging tears begin to fall from his eyes. As a dragon, he ran a little hotter than human baseline and so the tears felt like they were scalding his skin.
“I thought it meant something. I thought it mattered, and then, he never looked for me and then tonight he just….he just didn’t know me.”
Wen Qing hummed and stayed, just holding him.
He dashed the water away from his face. “Why do I care? It was just one night. I don’t know why I care.”
Wen Qing didn’t answer but he didn’t need her to. He knew why he cared.
He had given himself to Lan Wangji. His affection, his attention, his body. His heart.
That night had meant everything to him. It was what sustained him, in the years when he tried to rebuild himself. It comforted him, not only the memory of it but the knowledge that Lan Wangji was well and still out there. That one day, when the Wens were safe and the Jins had calmed down and he could come forward and be himself again —- maybe, just maybe, they could be something, again.
But Lan Wangji looked at him tonight like he didn’t even know who he was.
Wen Qing stayed with him, until he fell asleep. Until he dreamed.
Jiang Cheng’s face was tight with fear. “I’m not leaving you here!”
Wei Wuxian laughed and shoved at him. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll be right behind you. But you have to go in front, they need someone to lead them out. If I don’t come out behind you, I’ll just hole up somewhere the turtle can’t reach and wait for you to come back for me. You can do this - go!”
His martial brother finally agreed, and led the other hostages out. Wei Wuxian covered their retreat, and kept the Xuanwu of Slaughter’s attention focused on him.
But that attention turned dangerous quickly, and he misjudged its reach. Right before the jaws closed about him, he was violently yanked back by Lan Wangji, who had stayed behind unknown to Wei Wuxian.
They retreated, back into a small alcove with an opening not wide enough to let the Xuanwu through.
There he bound Lan Wangji’s wounds and teased him until…
Wei Wuxian shifted out of the dream and into deep, dreamless sleep, his mind focused on the image of Lan Wangji’s face drawn tight with pain and illuminated by flickering firelight.
***
When Lan Wangji emerged from the hostel the next morning, he found several citizens of the area clustered around the entrance.
There had been a cadre of Jin cultivators who had stayed there as well, likely just passing through, and they emerged right in front of Lan Wangji.
“Honored Cultivators, please help us,” one of the men said.
The Jin cultivator in the lead sneered at him. “How much?”
The man pulled out his money pouch with trembling hands, and gave it over to the Jin.
He looked inside, then tossed it on the ground. “I wouldn’t even get out of bed for that,” he said.
Then he and his compatriots pushed through the crowd of people and walked away.
The man was on the ground, picking up the money which had spilled out of his pouch. Lan Wangji lowered himself next to him and helped him gather it all up.
“Elder,” he said. “Take me to where the trouble is.”
The man tried to push the pouch into his hands, but Lan Wangji firmly handed it back. “No need.”
The man bowed, placing his forehead on the pavement. “Thank you, Honored One. We are not worthy of your attention.”
As he followed the group, Lan Wangji gathered as much information as he could.
They were from a small village located in a valley of one of the mountains of Yiling. There had been flooding, sudden and unexpected, and several homes had been washed away. Lives were lost.
Now the river was infested with water ghouls, and just two days ago a nine year old girl had been taken. Her parents were paralyzed by grief. The village pooled as much money as possible and headed into the city with the hopes of hiring a cultivator to come eradicate the water ghouls and, if necessary, lay the girl’s spirit to rest.
This seemed the type of thing the Yiling Laozu would want to help with, and Lan Wangji raised the question.
The man leading him stated that they had sent someone to the Burial Mounds as well, but that he had been in charge of the money because everyone knew the Yiling Laozu didn’t take payment. The villagers were so desperate they hedged their bets by sending two groups.
Lan Wangji had dealt with water ghouls before. He was confident in his abilities to handle the situation.
When he arrived at the village, and saw the large, swollen river, he hesitated just a bit.
This was not the type of mission he would ever recommend a cultivator handle by themselves. His brother would have told him to call for some backup.
But the village needed help, and he could not count on the Yiling Laozu. The villagers sent to the Burial Mounds might not have completed their mission or he might have decided it wasn’t worth his time.
He pictured the man’s cruel smile in his mind.
Why did it feel like he had seen it before? It wasn’t the smile in his dreams. So why did he feel like he should know it?
Lan Wangji took a boat out into the middle of the river. Unwise. He was alone, with no backup. But the village needed his help.
The first water ghoul attacked him as soon as his boat settled in the current. He drew Bichen, and sent it down into the ghoul’s chest.
It shrieked, but was vanquished immediately.
Lan Wangji turned his attention to the next one, which by the bump on the bottom of his boat, was beneath him.
As he fought, he began to understand the flooding must have come from further upriver ,and involved more people than the villagers told him. There were so many. Perhaps too many for him.
He fought through the day. It had been afternoon before he arrived at the village, since he had been forced to walk at the pace of the elders in the group. But now, light began to fade, and he was tired. Drenched in sweat and with spiritual energy beginning to waver, he began to wonder if he would need to leap from the boat and get himself back to shore.
His attention was on the two water ghouls in the water in front of him when he felt the telltale thump of someone landing in the boat. He whirled around, expecting another water ghoul, but was shocked instead to find the Yiling Laozu sitting in the stern of his small boat.
Lan Wangji stood and stared, confused. How had the Yiling Laozu landed in his boat? There was no sword evident, and if he used a wheelchair regularly, how did he balance on one anyway?
“Don’t question it,” the man said. “Let’s go!”
He pulled a black bamboo dizi out of what had to be a qiankun sleeve, and began to play.
It was not a song Lan Wangji was familiar with, but it had the effect of freezing the water ghouls, leaving them vulnerable to Bichen.
With the Yiling Laozu’s help, the tide was turned. He eventually moved into playing more familiar tunes, and Lan Wangji moved back and forth between sword work and playing harmonies with his qin. .
Eventually they gained the upper hand, just as the light faded and it became full dark.
Once the last ghoul was gone, an apparition rose from the water.
It was the vision of a young girl.
She floated over to the boat.
Lan Wangji watched as the Yiling Laozu stopped playing, placed the flute in his lap, and held his hands out. The young girl took his hands, and settled before him in the boat.
She turned and looked toward the shore, with a longing and a sadness in her still lifelike eyes.
“We’ll tell them,” the Yiling Laozu said. “We’ll tell them that you love them, and that you didn’t want to leave them.”
The girl looked a few moments more to the shore, then turned her gaze to the man before her.
“Are you scared?” the Yiling Laozu asked.
She nodded.
He opened his arms, and the apparition flowed toward him. The Yiling Laozu embraced her. “It won’t hurt,” he whispered into her hair.
“I’ll stay with you, the whole time, okay?”
Then he looked up at Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan, can you play Requiescat for her?”
Lan Wangji nodded at him, finding himself unable to speak. There was something in his eyes, something compassionate and kind that suddenly felt very familiar. Lan Wangji was not sure he could even breathe.
He called forth Wangji, and began to play the Song of Rest.
The Yiling Laozu held her the entire time, just as he promised. The look on his face was serene, and he hummed along to the notes while he stroked her hair. He projected calm, and peace, to soothe the troubled little soul. His arms stayed around her, as she dissipated into mist and vanished into the night.
Lan Wangji let the final notes ring into the darkness.
He waved Wangji away and looked at the Yiling Laozu.
“You know me,” he said.
It had to be true, no one called him Lan Zhan, not even his brother .And they way they had fought together, they way they played together, their music working harmoniously and without any clash of style — that only came from familiarity.
The Yiling Laozu smiled at him. It was no longer cruel, or harsh. Just sad.
“Yeah. I know you. But you don’t know me.”
There was something happening in Lan Wangji’s head. It was as if the static that he often heard in place of the name was expanding, taking over all of his senses. His vision tunneled, narrowing to a fixed point that was located exactly on the Yiling Laozu’s face. Everything else on the periphery faded away into nothingness.
“Help me,” he said. “I think I’ve been cursed.”
The tunnel closed around him completely and he pitched forward and passed out.
***
He drifted in and out of consciousness. At first he was still on the boat. Someone was running their fingers through his hair, stroking his face, soothing him.
The Yiling Laozu. He was comforting him just as he had the little girl.
“Lan Zhan, I have to go. No signal out here. I need to fly off to where I can call Wen Qing and Wen Ning for help. I can’t get you to shore by myself. I’ll be back.”
Lan Wangji made a protesting noise. He didn’t want him to leave. Didn’t want to lose the comforting warmth of him. Plus the Yiling Laozu had only used a dizi. How could he fly?
“You don’t have a sword,” he mumbled.
A soft chuckle. “I don’t need one. You just stay and rest, try not to think about anything. This is the fifth time you’ve woken up. You start to think about who I am and you make yourself sick and pass out. So no thinking, okay? Just rest.”
Thinking? Thinking about what? There was only one thing that he couldn’t think about…at that he was hit by a sharp stabbing pain in his head and a wave of nausea. He leaned his head over the side of the boat with a groan and was sick into the water.
A warm hand rubbed firm circles into his back. “Like that. Go back to sleep.”
That sounded like a good idea, so he rearranged himself on the bottom of the boat. There was a shuffling sound, then the boat rocked as if something had launched off it. Perhaps the Yiling Laozu had a sword after all.
The next time he woke he was being carried. Not by the Yiling Laozu, certainly. He grumbled his disappointment at being held close by another person. Whoever this was, he was not as warm as the Yiling Laozu. He didn’t smell the same.
He threw one hand out, blindly groping for the other one, the Yiling Laozu.
“Are you alive? Are you here?”
Someone grabbed his hand. The fingers that curled around him were warm, and comforting. “Shhh. Rest.”
The final time he woke he was somewhere new. He sat up, and could immediately tell he had slept deeply, and well. A rare dreamless sleep.
His head felt a little foggy, and there was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.
Someone had drugged him. The thought made him uncomfortable, though he could not articulate to himself why.
He was in a small bedroom with an attached bath. He made his way into the restroom to relieve his full bladder - another clue he had slept a long time. There was a new toothbrush on the counter still in the packaging.
Lan Wangji emerged from the restroom feeling marginally better.
The clothes he wore were not his – he was dressed in faded grey sweatpants and a tee shirt with a logo he didn’t recognize on it.
But he had at least been able to brush his teeth and wash his face, and the clothes, while unfamiliar, were soft to the touch and clean. He felt at least a little bit more equipped to go and seek out the people who had brought him here.
He followed voices to a small kitchen. A young woman leaned against the counter, and the Yiling Laozu, once more in his wheelchair, was at a table. On the table rested Bichen, and Lan Wangji’s cell phone.
The Yiling Laozu looked up when Lan Wangji entered and greeted him with a bright smile.
It hurt to look at him, Lan Wangji could feel his nausea rising.
The young woman smacked the Yiling Laozu with a wooden spoon.
“Stop that. Or I’m going to ban you from being in the same room with him.”
“Stop what? I didn’t even say anything to him!”
The young woman ignored him. “Lan Wangji. Please forgive our terrible hospitality and ignore this insensitive idiot over there. I suspect you don’t recognize me, but we have met before. I am a seasoned medical cultivation practitioner. May I examine you?”
He nodded, and seated himself with his back to the Yiling Laozu. As soon as he could no longer see him, the nausea began to ease.
The young woman introduced herself as Wen Qing. Lan Wangji took note of the family name, but did not protest as she very expertly assessed his condition. She pronounced him weak, with some strange fluctuations in his spiritual energy, but she believed his core would compensate for that in time.
It was she who had given him medication, to deal with his nausea and help him sleep. She apologized for doing so without consent, but as he was unresponsive and in distress, she had felt obligated to intervene. He assured her that he understood.
Once the exam was done, it seemed to be time to deal with the current predicament.
The Yiling Laozu came back around, expertly maneuvering his wheelchair in the confined space. While Wen Qing had been examining Lan Wangji, he had donned a mask, a black and silver one that covered most of his face.
It helped. It allowed Lan Wangji to look at him. All he could clearly see was his mouth and if he avoided staring at those lips, he was okay.
“So. You say you think you’ve been cursed. Why do you believe that?”
He explained the memory issue. The Yiling Laozu went very quiet during his explanation that he could only remember from thirteen years ago forward.
“You remember nothing since the cave?” he asked.
“I do not remember what happened in the cave, nor anything before it. My memories begin just after I was rescued. I know roughly what happened, and that I was not alone there, but I cannot recall anything about who was with me.”
The Yiling Laozu worried at his bottom lip. That sight, his teeth biting at his lip, caused another sharp wave of nausea.
Wen Qing stepped in front of the Yiling Laozu, blocking his view.
“Have you looked for a curse mark?” Wen Qing asked.
He nodded. Of course he had. “I have never found one.”
Wen Qing glanced over her shoulder at the Yiling Laozu. Lan Wangji wasn’t sure when he began to exclusively refer to him with that title rather than the name he had given. Perhaps because Mo Xuanyu was so obviously not his real name.
The man shrugged, and put one hand behind his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. His body language seemed to convey hesitancy, uncertainty. For someone who usually exuded total confidence, it gave Lan Wangji pause to see it.
“Well, uh….okay, so I need to scan you for the curse mark,” he said.
Oh. Lan Wangji’s ears began to heat up. He supposed it was just as well that the Yiling Laozu did it, though the dispassionate nature of a medical exam by Wen Qing might be preferable. Perhaps she did not want to.
Lan Wangji grabbed the hem of his borrowed t-shirt in his hands. “Should I disrobe?” he asked.
He could not see the Yiling Laozu’s entire face, but even so, he noticed telltale signs of a blush peeking out from the edges of the mask.
“No, no that’s not necessary. But…promise you won’t freak out?”
Lan Wangji assured him he would not, and placed his hands back in his lap, since no one had directed him to remove any clothing.
And then, a few seconds later, he had to press them into his thighs deeply while holding his breath so he could keep his promise about not freaking out.
The Yiling Laozu disappeared.
And now there was a dragon looking at him.
***
Wei Wuxian released the hold on his human form and let the dragon come forward. Lan Wangji looked to be doing okay.
There was tension in his body, certainly, his face had gone pale, and his breathing and heart rate had increased.
All of these things were much more noticeable to him in this form. He was currently coiled up in the wheelchair. He rose up, stretching out, until his head was at a height with Lan Wangji. The man seemed to still be doing all right.
He chirped and watched as Lan Wangji relaxed some at the sound. So he launched himself from the wheelchair and glided over until he was in Lan Wangji’s lap. The man stiffened at first, then relaxed.
One of his hands rose, hovering over Wei Wuxian’s head, then it dropped back down.
“You can pet him,” Wen Qing said. “He’ll love it, he’s a slut for pets.”
He chirped angrily at her. He was not a slut!
He was, in fact, practically a virgin. Only one time, thirteen years ago, and with the man whose lap he was currently sitting in.
Lan Wangji’s hand dropped on his head and he froze. The man’s hands were so big. His fingers caught in Wei Wuxian’s mane and he ran his fingers through, catching on some tangles. So he was a little overdue for a good grooming, sue him.
He closed his eyes and pushed back into the touch. Lan Wangji moved his hand down, stroking him from the base of his head down his neck. Then he brought his hand back up to the antlers and scratched just beneath them as if he knew that it was Wei Wuxian’s most itchy and annoying spot.
Wei Wuxian purred and wriggled in pleasure.
“Focus,” Wen Qing called out.
He let out a sad trill, because he would much rather stay in Lan Wangji’s lap and receive scritches. But that wouldn’t get them where they needed to be. He lowered himself down to start at Lan Wangji’s feet.
He smelled no resentment, no hint of a curse on his feet or ankles. Then he wound himself around his legs. But again, nothing.
Wei Wuxian refused to let himself be embarrassed by what he needed to do, so he moved his snout over Lan Wangji’s lap, letting himself be completely professional and not hover.
Lan Wangji still smelled the same - a hint of the sandalwood incense he preferred to use while meditating, the heady, masculine scent that made noodle Wei Wuxian want to curl up and purr and rub his face all over him. The sense memory was taking him back to that night in the cave, though things were definitely different now. No smell of blood, no spiked scent of adrenaline.
Just warm, clean Lan Zhan, a small whiff of mint from the toothpaste. Wei Wuxian wanted to devour him.
Moving across his chest was even worse because he remembered the feel of that chest pressed against him and bearing him down into the floor of the cave.
Lan Wangji had not moved since Wei Wuxian snuffled along his crotch. Which he supposed was fair, it had to be a strange circumstance.
Finally it was time to sinuously curl around his shoulders and put his snout up against his neck. And here he finally struck gold.
Behind Lan Wangji’s left ear was a small, barely perceptible curse mark that flared with resentful energy. In this form Wei Wuxian relied more on other senses, so while he would not be able to describe what the curse mark looked like, he intrinsically knew how it smelled and how the resentment seemed to curl up from it like a thick black smoke.
He flowed back away from Lan Wangji and into his wheelchair before changing back. The mask was still in place.
“Left ear,” he said.
Wen Qing moved efficiently, pushing Lan Wangji’s lovely black hair out of the way so she could examine the mark. She must have pushed some spiritual energy into it, because Lan Wangji pitched forward and heaved, as if about to be sick. Wei Wuxian reached his arms forward to catch him, their combined weight pushed the wheelchair back a bit.
“We won’t be removing that, then,” Wen Qing said.
“But —” Wei Wuxian started to mount a protest and Wen Qing held up her hand to silence him.
“Don’t even start. It’s entrenched too deep and been part of him for thirteen years. There is no telling what damage we would do. It’s powerful enough to erase his memory, who knows what else it might do if we try to sever its hold on him?”
“Then what? We do nothing?”
Wen Qing came forward and helped pull Lan Wangji to his feet. Wei Wuxian immediately missed the warmth of him.
“We let him break it himself. He seems close to it, now. The disorientation he feels everytime he looks at you is probably a result of him beginning to shake it off.”
Lan Wangji spoke for the first time since learning he had definitely been cursed.
“How do we facilitate this process?”
“With patience. And distance from him,” Wen Qing said, indicating Wei Wuxian.
Both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji shook their heads in protest.
Wen Qing sighed.
“You are experiencing severe backlash. We don’t know how much worse it could get. And I’m not taking a chance on a curse that’s been this strong for more than a decade.”
Wei Wuxian frowned, and was gratified to see the answering expression on Lan Wangji’s face.
But he hadn’t made it this far because he made a habit of ignoring what Qing-Jie had to say.
“Fine. He needs to get moving anyway, before someone clocks that he’s been at the Burial Mounds without leaving for fourteen hours and all of Gusu Lan descends on us to rescue him.”
Lan Wangji looked at him confused. “How would anyone from Gusu know where I am?”
***
Neither the Yiling Laozu nor Wen Qing immediately answered his question,which Lan Wangji thought was perfectly reasonable.
Wen Qing finally nodded toward the table, where his things were.
“Your phone,” she said.
Lan Wangji followed her glance over, then looked back at the Yiling Laozu. “I don’t understand.”
“Are you kidding?” The Yiling Laozu asked.
Lan Wangji felt his ears grow warm. This was a common occurrence. People would look at him and assume he was joking when he did not understand a reference they made. It always irritated him, to know that there was a vast chasm cut through his knowledge and experience. So much missing.
Wen Qing dropped her hand on the Yiling Laozu’s shoulder. “Remember his memories only go back so far. In some respects, he’s a thirteen year old. You could expect some gaps in his knowledge.”
There were many things to examine in her statement, but the one that rankled Lan Wangji was the suggestion that the Yiling Laozu treat him like a thirteen year old. It was suddenly very important that he ensure the man did the exact opposite.
“I am 31 years old, regardless of my memory. My prefrontal cortex is completely formed and I have the reasoning power of any adult. I am not a child.”
The Yiling Laozu smiled, and even through the mask it was blinding, and beautiful. How had he ever thought it harsh or cruel?
“That’s my bitchy Lan Zhan. I’ve missed you.”
The smile or the words or maybe both caused a wave of nausea to sweep through Lan Wangji, but it was worth it.
“Please explain the phone,” he said when he could speak again.
The Yiling Laozu picked it up, and spun it in his hand. “You have location turned on, and at least two apps that would make it super easy to track you and there’s probably more but I didn’t look too hard. Oh, and you should put a password lock on it, you left it wide open so it wasn’t even hard for me. Didn’t even need to get Wen Ning’s help to break into it.”
Lan Wangji could feel the flush on his ears deepening. Thirty one years old or no, he was apparently still naive. The last time he visited his brother and uncle, his brother had given him the new phone, telling him it was time to trade out his old one. He had accepted it without question.
“How do we remove the capability of tracking me?”
“We don’t. They’ll know something’s up immediately. Best thing is to move on to another place and keep doing whatever it is you do. Swing back by in a few weeks and we’ll see if you can look at me without wanting to throw up.”
Not the plan Lan Wangji wanted to enact. The idea of separating from the Yiling Laozu made him uneasy. But, he had no choice but to assent. He gave a quick nod.
“Well that’s decided then,” Wen Qing said. “I have some medicinal teas that will help with memory and clarity of mind. Also some remedies for nausea. Let me go get some packaged up for you.”
She left the room and now Lan Wangji was alone with the Yiling Laozu.
He picked up Lan Wangji’s phone and held it out to him. “I programmed my number in. In case, you know, one day your memory comes back and you can read it and call me.”
Lan Wangji reached out and captured his wrist, holding him tight. The Yiling Laozu inhaled, and held very still. His skin was warm, as if he ran a fever, but some part of him knew it was normal for him.
“There’s a hidden pocket in my qiankun bag,” he said. “In it were two things - the only things I had from my life before.”
Through the mask, he could see the Yiling Laozu’s eyes widen.
“A red ribbon, and a paperman. What does that mean?”
Underneath his fingers, Lan Wangji could feel the Yiling Laozu’s pulse tick up and begin to beat fast as a rabbit’s.
“What am I to you?” he asked.
The Yiling Laozu tugged his hand away. Lan Wangji squeezed, tighter, not letting him go. The man inhaled again, a quick gasp. The pupils of his eyes enlarged.
They were frozen in a moment, caught up in each other. Lan Wangji could push it, he knew. Pull the Yiling Laozu even closer to him. The man would let him. He knew that, though he wasn’t sure how he knew.
But he didn’t. He released his hand.
“Ask me again,” the Yiling Laozu said. “When you know my name.”
There was so much Lan Wangji wanted to say. Don’t make me go. Let me stay, even if it makes me sick. Come with me. Come back to Gusu with me, come to my mother’s house, maybe there you can help me remember what her voice sounded like.
But instead he gathered up Bichen and accepted the small pouch of herbs and written instructions Wen Qing gave him and left the Burial Mounds.
***
“Fuck,” Wei Wuxian said. “Fuck, fuck fuck!”
“Is that helping?” Wen Ning asked as he walked into the kitchen.
“Not really, no.”
Wen Qing followed her brother. “Get your shit together. We have a problem.”
“What?” Wen Qing was the opposite of an alarmist but he could sense how upset she was.
She pulled out a sheet of paper and fished for a pen from the junk drawer. Then she drew something and held it out to Wei Wuxian.
“That was the curse mark on your Lan Wangji. Look familiar?”
Wei Wuxian took the sheet of paper.
It was a flower. At first, that was all he could see. But as he studied it, it became more familiar.
A peony. Specifically, Sparks-Amidst-Snow.
“The Jin.”
Wen Qing slid down into the chair next to him.
“Wei Wuxian. You know I will help you do anything you ask. But we are too weak to go against the Jin. We have too many people to protect.”
He knew she was right.
Life had been so much simpler as a teenager.
He had been only sixteen when he accompanied Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli to the Cloud Recesses for summer lectures. The possibility of war with the Qishan Wen against the other four major clans had been looming, but flush with the confidence of youth, none of them had believed it would actually affect them.
Three years later, when the Wen abandoned the heirs and top disciples of the clans in a cave with a murderous turtle, the last of his youthful bravado had been burned away.
He was almost out of talisman paper. But there was enough, if he cut the paperman out carefully.
Once the paperman was created, he pushed some spiritual energy into it to awaken it. The little paper version of himself stood up in his hand. A tiny fraction of his consciousness powered it, not much, just enough to let him move it and see through it.
The paperman jumped and floated through the air until it landed on the shoulder of his companion. Lan Wangji frowned at it, but then, when did Lan Wangji do anything except frown at things related to Wei Wuxian?
“Here. With this I can keep some of my awareness with you, even when I’m in the turtle’s shell. So I’ll know the right time to strike.”
Lan Wangji didn’t look happy.
“I do not like this plan.”
“We don’t have a better one. Your leg is injured, so it has to be me who goes in. And we have to kill this thing, or we’re never getting out of here.”
“Is this not dangerous for you?”
“Ah, Lan Zhan you worry too much! It’s just a piece of my soul. No big deal. My adoptive mother would say I don’t have one anyway!”
Lan Wangji went silent, and Wei Wuxian could not abide silence so he began talking about something, anything, just inane chatter, when Lan Wangji reached out and grabbed his wrist.
He looked up, and saw Lan Wangji’s eyes and he had to recalibrate everything he knew. Because maybe, just maybe, all those times Lan Wangji had glared at him it hadn’t always been in anger.
His mouth was suddenly so dry, and he swallowed and the sound was audible. Lan Wangji’s eyes flicked down to his throat, then back up.
Something teetered on a knife’s edge. If he tilted in either direction, he would fall. Wei Wuxian couldn’t breathe, he inhaled and held it, and warred against the part of him that wanted to stay in balance. For too many years he had tried so hard to keep himself steady, because there was never any confidence that anyone would catch him if he fell.
He looked again at Lan Wangji, and dared for once to hope that someone would be there.
“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian said, answering an unasked question.
Then Lan Wangji’s hand slipped behind him to grip his hair and he pulled him forward and crashed their lips together.
Wei Wuxian shook his head to clear the memory.
Wen Qing was correct, they had come too far, sacrificed too much to ruin it all by clashing openly with the Jin.
“But why would a Jin curse Lan Zhan?”
“I don’t know,” Wen Qing said. “Aren’t Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao close together?”
Wei Wuxian hated politics, so he paid little attention to it beyond what he needed to do to keep the Dafan Wen safe. He did occasionally browse cultivator-only forums under an assumed identity provided by Wen Ning, but he didn’t do much except ensure that his sister was still safe and happily married to Jin ZiXuan, and that the Lotus Pier Jiangs were still doing well, especially one particular disciple of theirs.
He did know that Jin Guangshan was a piece of shit, and that as long as he ruled the Jin the Dafan Wen would never be safe.
Uncle Four, Wen Popo, the rest of the Dafan remnant, they depended on him. He couldn’t jeopardize their safety in the name of making himself happy.
Every instinct he had, both dragon and human, screamed at him to leave the nightclub and chase after Lan Wangji. To wrap himself around him and hold him close.
But Wei Wuxian was extremely practiced at pushing his own desires aside in order to protect others.
He swallowed. And turned watery eyes up to Wen Qing. “We protect our own,” he said.
She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his head. “That we do.”
***
Lan Wangji felt a little lost. It was too early to find somewhere to retire, and if he could not be with the Yiling Laozu, then he had no real desire to stay in the region. They had advised him to do what he normally would do, so he traveled.
He spent about five hours navigating various forms of public transportation and finally wound up in a small town that had a comfortable looking old home advertised as a bed and breakfast.
Lan Wangji booked two nights, thinking he could stay a bit and do some research. The proprietors were a couple of retired school teachers, both women fawned over him and insisted on cooking him dinner. He agreed, and passed a pleasant evening listening to the story of how they met and fell in love.
He finally bid them goodnight and took out his phone once he had settled into the comfortable room.
The temptation to delete every app so he could not be tracked was strong, but he had to take the Yiling Laozu’s advice and leave it active for now.
He scrolled through his contacts, his eyes catching on one entry that had not been there before.
Yiling Laozu
So he had put that title, rather than his real name, or the fake one he introduced himself with.
Lan Wangji’s hand hovered over it. He was tempted, sorely tempted, to call him, just to hear his voice.
But he had been told to exercise patience, and he would do as suggested. He navigated to forums where people often gathered to discuss problems they needed dealt with, to see if there were any night hunts nearby for him to go on.
He made a few notes of promising reports, then decided to retire for the evening.
That night, the dream was clearer and more detailed and distinct than it had ever been.
The man in his arms was warm, so very warm. A stark contrast to the dark and damp cave they’d been in for days now.
“I thought you hated me,” he said.
“I hated the effect you had on me.”
The man of his dreams pulled back so that he could look at him and smile. His eyes sparkled with mirth and Lan Wangji could not help but think he wanted to look into those eyes every day for the rest of his life.
“And what effect was that, Lan-Er-Gege?”
Lan Wangji kissed him silent rather than answer, and then proceeded to keep him busy so he had no further opportunity for teasing.
They held each other in the damp cave, which smelled of blood and rot, while small pebbles dug into their bodies where they pressed each other down into the cold rocky floor. And despite all of that, it was the most sublime experience of Lan Wangji’s life.
“Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan,” the man beneath him’s voice was languid and slow, weariness finally catching up to him.
“Wei Ying,” he answered. “Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying.”
***
Lan Wangji bolted upright in his comfortable room in the quiet, cozy bed and breakfast.
“Wei Ying,” he said aloud to the empty room.
Then again. “Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying.”
As he recited the name, more came flooding back into his brain. “Wei Wuxian. Head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. Wei Wuxian. Wei Ying. “
How could he have ever forgotten him?
He fumbled for his phone, which was plugged up on the nightstand and scrolled to the contacts. His finger hovered over the name.
His heart beat so rapidly he could feel it thumping hard in his chest. He needed to breathe, and calm down.
It was 4:10 am.
Even Wei Wuxian should be asleep at this time. He wouldn’t be angry at Lan Wangji for waking him, that he knew. But it would be better to see him. To walk up to him, stand before him, and call him by name.
Every muscle in his body seemed to be tensed to run toward the Burial Mounds.
Instead he rose and dressed, and began to move through some forms, stretching out and elongating his muscles, practicing deep breathing to get his rabbiting heart back under control.
When 5:30 am finally came, he cleaned up a bit, and left the room. He had prepaid for both nights, so his hosts would not be out any money for his leaving early.
But as he exited, there waiting for him were two people, one shorter, in golden Jin robes with a perfectly congenial smile pasted on his face and the other of a height with Lan Wangji, genuine affection in his eyes, and a Lan ribbon tied securely around his forehead.
His cellphone was in the pocket of his long, loose jacket. It felt heavy.
Lan Wangji inclined his head. “Xiongzhang.”
Paying ahead for two nights turned out to be a good decision, because Lan Wangji had somewhere quiet and private to lead them. His room came with a small sitting area, and the proprietors, both also apparently early risers, were happy to provide tea and some small pastries for breakfast. The three of them settled down and Lan Wangji poured for the other two.
“Wangji,” his brother said, once all of them had a steaming cup of tea in front of them, “it was fortuitous we ran into you. It has been some time since I’ve seen you. Uncle would appreciate a visit, if your travels brought you to Gusu.”
Fortuitous. Of course.
“My travels take me where I’m needed,” he said.
“Ah, yes,” Jin Guanyao said. “We have all heard tales of Hanguang-Jun, who goes where the chaos is, helping the people.”
“Is that not the calling of all cultivators?” he countered.
Jin Guangyao gave him a simpering smile. “Just so.”
For a few moments there was nothing more than idle chatter, his brother filled him in on happenings back at the Cloud Recesses. His brother brought up a particularly promising young disciple named Lan Jingyi that he hoped Lan Wangji would be willing to work with on his sword forms.
It took Lan Wangji some time to remember, but then he recalled the young boy who had helped him once. He had seen Lan Jingyi several times through the years as well, and was not surprised that he had progressed so well. He was quite a talent with the dizi, Lan Xichen said.
It took the conversation only a few more minutes to turn to what he suspected they really came for.
“You were in Yiling recently, Wangji?”
He nodded.
“There have been some concerns,” Lan Xichen said. “About the Yiling Laozu. He seems to be encroaching on Clan territory and gaining influence in the region.”
“He is merely helping those the major clans ignore. Providing assistance to the people of Yiling, who have long since been disregarded because of the region’s poverty.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He should have deferred, acted as if he did not know what they were talking about. By coming to the defense of the Yiling Laozu, he had just confirmed that he had in fact, been with him.
Wei Wuxian would be safer if he stayed anonymous, and Lan Wangji had put his safety in jeopardy.
Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao exchanged a glance and had some wordless communication. Just how close were they?
Lan Wangji needed to change the subject.
“I have tested some new scores recently,” he said, gratified at the spark of interest his brother showed. “A variation on Requiescat.”
Said variation was a new harmony that Wei Wuxian had played the night they battled the water ghouls, but no reason to give specifics that were not asked for.
His brother leaned forward, ready to inquire, when Jin Guangyao laid a hand on Lan Xichen’s arm.
“Er-Ge, my headache is returning and I fear I’ve left the medicine in your car.”
Lan Xichen rose immediately, and assured him he would go and fetch it.
“Thank you, Er-Ge. Wangji and I will just chat while you’re gone.”
Once Lan Xichen left the room, Jin Guanyao turned to Lan Wangji. The effusive smile had vanished.
He snapped his fingers, and Lan Wangji felt his muscles lock up, freezing him in place.
Lan Wangji struggled, but he could not move, or speak.
“Ah, Wangji, Wangji. You do try my patience.”
Jin Guangyao took a small envelope out of his sleeve. He leaned over the table, and sprinkled a white powdered substance from it into Lan Wangji’s cup of tea.
Lan Wangji engaged his golden core, striving against the hold on him with every bit of strength he possessed. It was enough only to shift his knee forward, bumping into the table. Jin Guangyao cursed, as a bit of the powder spilled on the table’s surface.
“Enough of that! Do you think I have let you live out of any reason other than a desire not to cause your brother pain? Killing you would be simpler, and your habit of running headlong into danger alone would make it easy.”
Lan Wangji glared at him, his jaw shook with the words he could not express and his eyes blazed hatred.
Jin Guangyao just smiled at him with a smile that was contemptuous now, the mask having completely slipped.
“But self preservation isn’t the way to influence you, is it? Never has been.”
Jin Guangyao leaned forward, and let one finger trail down the side of Lan Wangji’s face. He trembled in rage, but could not get his body to move any more. Jin Guangyao hooked a finger under his chin, and pushed his face up so that Lan Wangji's eyes angled up to meet his.
“What if instead,” he whispered, “I tell you that you will drink this tea. And you will say nothing to your brother. And in return, there will be no arrests of wanted war criminals who are hiding out in a nightclub in Yiling? Hmm?”
Lan Wangji’s first thought was Wei Wuxian, but he couldn’t be classified a wanted war criminal, he was supposed to be dead.
But then he remembered. Wen Qing. If she were with him, then her brother likely was as well. And perhaps even more of the Wen family that had gone missing after the conflict.
Wei Wuxian was with them, protecting them all, no doubt. He could not let anything happen to them.
Jin Guangyao moved back to seat himself once more across from Lan Wangji.
He snapped his fingers and Lan Wangji could move again. Every ounce of him burned with the need to leap across the table and do violence to the smirking man in front of him.
Instead he picked up the cup and drank.
There was no taste to the white powder. He thought he might have sensed the texture, something gritty or chalky, but it could have been his imagination. He made a mental note regardless, wanting to memorize every detail, so when he got to the Burial Mounds, he could tell Wen Qing. If anyone could find a way to mitigate the effects of whatever this was, she could. He would also need to warn her, and Wei Wuxian.
It was the powder that allowed Jin Guangyao to compel him, he was certain. While it rankled, voluntarily taking in something that gave someone else control over him, he had little choice but to comply.
“I’m better at dosing now, than I was that day,” Jin Guangyao said casually. “I can target what to have you forget, instead of just wiping everything from your brain.”
The words sank in, and Lan Wangji surged forward, using a blast of spiritual energy to call Bichen to his hand. But Jin Guangyao was quicker, snapping his fingers once more.
“Ah, ah ah. None of that.”
Lan Wangji seethed, he was burning with the need to do something, anything. Taking something that gave him the power to compel him was one thing, but making him forget, again? Lose his memory once more? Forget Wei Wuxian, after he had just gotten him back?
His mind raced through options. What if he managed to make himself sick? Had the tea and the white powder been down long enough to already work?
He had regained his memories of Wei Wuxian. To lose those memories would be like losing him all over again. He hadn’t even told him yet.
“Sit down, Lan Wangji,” Jin Guangyao said. His voice was even, controlled.
A voice that had to be obeyed.
Lan Wangji sank back in the chair, and sheathed Bichen and placed it down at his side.
“You will drink the rest of that tea. You will say nothing to your brother about the tea, or anything I have said to you. You will forget that Wei Wuxian exists. You will forget that you have ever seen or heard of a dragon.”
Lan Wangji felt the words dig into his skull. He was going to obey them, he knew it.
And somehow, he also knew that the harder he fought against it, the quicker it would take hold.
So he breathed, and calmed himself.
His brother came back in the room and Jin Guangyao’s face switched instantly into the congenial visage that was more familiar.
“Er-ge, thank you so much.” He reached out and accepted the small bottle of medicine from Lan Xichen. “Wangji and I were discussing his travels. He mentioned it might be time to return to Gusu for a visit.”
Lan Wangji hated the way his brother’s face lit up with delight. Hated that he had to sit here and watch him be manipulated. Hated the slow crawl he could feel in his veins, the powder he had ingested doing its work.
Wei Wuxian, head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. Wei Ying. Wei Ying.
A slice of pain cut through at the silent recitation —- he did not have long. He steeled himself against the pain and kept his voice level and calm.
“Mn. I have not seen Uncle in some time.”
His brother’s delight at the statement caused a twinge of guilt. He wanted to say something, but if he even thought about it, the compulsion to stay silent would dig its claws even deeper into him.
He made a bit of small talk, until Jin Guangyao and his brother seemed ready to leave. He begged off walking out with them, saying he wished to make some notes on a new composition and had the room until tomorrow. His brother clapped him on the arm, smiled again, and they closed the door.
With a rush Lan Wangji moved to the desk, where a notepad rested. He tore off the top sheet, and then knelt on the carpet where he could begin to slowly sweep the spilled white powder off the edge of the table and onto the paper.
His hands were trembling, he willed them to be still, then carefully put the paper down and began folding it over and over, securing the precious few grains of powder in the paper.
He tried not to think. Not to consider, just work, no looking ahead or pondering just exactly what he was doing.
When the folded packet was secured in the secret pocket inside his qiankun bag, he sat back on his heels, sighed, and took out his phone, with hands that were visibly shaking now.
He would have moments only.
The name was there, still visible.
He pressed the button to initiate a video call because if he only had the one opportunity, he wanted to see him.
The phone rang a few times before the phone connected. There was a shuffling sound and then the face of Wei Wuxian came into view. His hair was disheveled, eyes bleary with sleep.
“Huh?”
“Wei Ying.”
A sharp jolt of pain seized his chest, and Lan Wangji bent double with it. When he righted himself, it was to see Wei Wuxian still looking at him. His eyes were brighter now, more alert and his mouth hung open in shock.
“Lan Zhan?”
“I don’t have time. I’m forgetting you, even now I can’t…” he groaned at another jolt of pain, unable to keep speaking.
Wei Wuxian began screaming.
“Qing-Ji! Wen Ning! Get in here!”
Lan Wangji shook his head. He didn’t want anyone else there, for the next few moments, until the curse fully took hold
“Wei Ying, stop.”
“Lan Zhan where are you? I will come to you, where are you?”
He shook his head. “Too late. You won’t get here, Wei Ying, I have to tell you.”
Someone entered the room. Wei Wuxian was talking to them, rapidly. His words were beginning to sound muffled to Lan Wangji, as if he were much further away from the phone. He was asking Wen Ning to do something.
Ah. Lan Wangji could figure out the word “trace”. He wanted Wen Ning to trace the call and figure out where he was.
“Wei Ying.”
“Hold on, Lan Zhan. We’re coming.”
“Wei Ying.” He practically shouted.
Wei Wuxian turned to him.
“I don't have long. Let me look at you while I’m still me.”
Wei Wuxian was crying, tears tracking down his face.
“Lan Zhan,” his voice broke.
“There’s a packet in a concealed pocket in my qiankun bag with a powder inside. Come find me. They’re making me go back to Gusu. Come find me and get the powder to Wen-daifu. She may be able to determine what it is he’s using. Come find me, Wei Ying. Please.”
His vision was clouded over, he could no longer make out Wei Wuxian’s face.
“I wish I could have held you. I dream about holding you again.”
Wei Wuxian made a wounded sound. Then he began talking, again, but Lan Wangji could no longer discern the words.
He closed his eyes, and felt the inexorable glide of the poison along his meridians. It had reached his core, and it dug into him, cold tendrils snaking out to wrap around the deepest part of him.
Lan Wangji startled, jerking upright. His neck felt sore, like he had been in an uncomfortable position for too long, and there was a cold sensation seeping out from his core. An after-effect from a night hunt? He would need to do some meditation.
His phone lay on the coffee table in front of him. The screen displayed an unfamiliar man, with messy hair and eyes that shone. The lighting wasn’t great, but his eyes almost looked red, as if he’d been crying.
Lan Wangji had no idea who the man was, or why he was on his screen. His last memory had been of bidding goodbye to his brother and Jin Guangyao.
“I am sorry, did I call you?.”
The man swallowed, the motion clear enough that Lan Wangji could see his throat move with it.
“Yeah,” he said. His voice was husky, perhaps with sleep. Had Lan Wangji woken him?
“I must have mis-dialed. Please accept my apologies for disturbing you.”
“No problem.” The man ended the connection and his phone screen went blank.
Lan Wangji rose, and prepared to leave. He would have to return the tea service to his hosts and thank them for such good hospitality, especially when his brother and his brother’s good friend Jin Guangyao had dropped by unexpectedly.
He needed to get packed and on the road. It would be good to be home, in Gusu. It had been some time since he visited.
In fact, as he gathered his belongings, it seemed quite odd that he had ever left at all.
***
The first thing Wei Wuxian did after he ended the call was navigate to the app that Wen Ning had written and installed. He pressed the correct sequence of buttons to ensure the call was saved.
He’d balked when Wen Ning first suggested it, but he was grateful for it now. Wen Ning had protested that some people call you to say things to you that they would not dare put in writing, and it didn’t hurt to have evidence of what was said. If Wei Wuxian didn’t explicitly do what he had just done to secure it, the recording would delete automatically after 24 hours.
Call saved, he threw his phone across the room, into a laundry basket of clean clothes he fully intended to put away, and screamed in frustration.
They had been so close.
Lan Zhan had known him. Had said his name.
But whatever this powder was that he spoke of, it had worked quickly.
Wei Wuxian had been through hell in his life. From being on the streets as a young orphan scrounging for food from dogs while looking for parents that would never return, to literally dying, or at least the closest one could come to it.
And still. Nothing had ever hurt like watching the knowledge of who he was bleed out of Lan Wangji’s eyes. Watching him return to the stone-faced Gusu Lan disciple who had no memory of clutching Wei Wuxian tightly, or humming to him as they lay curled up together.
Wen Qing came in and joined him and Wen Ning in the room.
Wei Wuxian wanted to shift, to burrow under the blankets in his smallest noodle form and hide from everything that had just happened. But he needed to stay human, and figure this out, with his friends’ help.
He told Wen Qing about the powder Lan Wangji had mentioned, and when she questioned him further, told her to retrieve his phone and played the entire conversation for her so she could see that he knew no more than what he had said.
“I’ve never heard of a powder that could be used to induce a curse. It’s not impossible, I suppose, but it seems odd.”
Wei Wuxian hummed. Wen Qing was right. There were a myriad of ways to curse someone, but relying on the victim to ingest something was leaving much up to chance. You would have to worry about dosing, and finding the correct opportunity. And how do you get someone like Lan Wangji, Hanguang-Jun, to dose himself? You left a lot up to his desire to want to eat or drink anything in that moment.
“He said ‘they’re,’” Wen Qing said, interrupting his thoughts.
“What?”
“Hanguang-Jun. He said ‘they’re making me go back to Gusu.’ Who are they?”
“I don’t know. His brother and Uncle maybe? The clan elders?”
Wen Qing played the video again.
“It was plural on who was making him go back to Gusu. But he wanted me to find out what he is using. So two people, but only one of them used the powder?”
“You don’t know it was two, could have been more,” Wei Wuxian said just to be contrary because he was pissed off and his heart hurt.
“What are you going to do?”
He didn’t make eye contact with Wen Qing. He knew what he’d see there.
“I’m going to Gusu.”
Wen Qing sighed. The weariness and frustration that sigh contained didn’t surprise him. The disappointment, however, made him turn to look at her.
“What?”
She sat down on the edge of the bed.
Wen Qing didn’t speak, just looked at him with kindness and compassion.
Wei Wuxian shook his head. Denying it.
“But he told me to come find him.”
“He won’t remember that, though. He won’t recognize you. And he won’t believe you.”
“He could show him the video, though,” Wen Ning offered.
Wen Qing glanced at her brother. “How long would it take you to fake that video?”
“Lan Zhan wouldn’t suspect that, though. He didn’t even know they were tracking him,” Wei Wuxian said, seizing on the thread of hope Wen Ning offered.
“Zewu Jun would know the video could be faked. So would any number of the Lans.”
He wanted to argue with her. But he couldn’t.
She didn’t try to persuade him. She only sat there in silent support. He took a few minutes to wrestle with it internally before throwing himself back in the bed and letting his forearm fall over his face to cover his eyes.
“I know it would be better for us if I let it go. I know that I don’t need to draw attention to us, I know we’re trying to build a life here and if I go and get the attention of the sects…” he trailed off.
Too many people depended on him. The rest of the Wens, the people of Yiling, even A-Yuan. Although he was safely ensconced at Lotus Pier and garbed in Yunmeng purple, he was still vulnerable if people knew his real origins.
Wei Wuxian pictured that day for a moment, the last time he saw his brother and sister in person, their eyes still raw with grief, mourning their parents, their clan. Mourning him, though he was feet away, tucked into Wen Ning’s jacket in his tiniest noodle form, still too weak from the fight in the cave to take human form again.
Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenched when he took the toddler from Wen Qing’s arms.
“We don’t ask you for sanctuary for ourselves. We know you can’t provide that. But please, his name is Wen Yuan. And we can’t protect him. Please.”
Wei Wuxian had dug his claws into Wen Ning’s skin, leaving marks he felt terrible for later. The urge to slip out and reveal himself had been strong, but Wen Qing had convinced him he needed to keep himself concealed.
And now, today, what Wen Qing was not saying out loud was that they had already sacrificed so much. They’d sent A-Yuan away, his siblings still thought he was dead, he had cut himself off from every tie and bond he used to possess, all in the name of keeping the people they loved safe.
Why was Lan Wangji any different?
Why should he risk it all for him, when he had not done so for Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli? When A-Yuan’s grandmother had not seen her grandchild in person for 15 years? When he had never even met or spoken to his nephew?
What was his relationship to Lan Wangji compared to that?
Every bit of him from his fledgling core he was still rebuilding to the tips of his human fingers wanted to leave and go to Gusu as fast as possible. Shed his human form and fly there as a dragon, and be damned who saw him.
But he couldn’t do that.
“You don’t have to say it,” he said. “I know. I guess I’ll just hope he breaks it on his own again.”
“No,” Wen Ning said. “You have to go to Gusu.”
Both Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing looked at him.
“We have to know,” Wen Ning said. “We have to know why it’s so important that Hanguang-Jun not remember you.”
“It’s not necessarily about me, he doesn’t remember anything about his life before the cave,” Wei Wuxian protested.
Wen Ning shook his head. “No, no, it’s you. He couldn’t even look at you, right? Couldn’t recognize your name when he heard it? Someone went to all this effort to make him forget you. Specifically.”
Wen Qing nodded then. “That’s true. It does seem targeted at his memories of you, and maybe the other memory loss was just a byproduct.”
Now Wei Wuxian was confused. What would it serve anyone to make Lan Wangji forget about him? Especially when he was supposed to be dead. That didn’t make any sense.
“And they sought him out, again, to give him this powder or whatever just when he was finally getting his memories of you back? Wei-Xiong, that can’t be a coincidence. Someone knows you’re alive, and wants to make sure no one else knows it. We have to figure out who, and what they want.”
“Okay,” Wei Wuxian said. “What’s our plan?”
***
Lan Wangji eased back into life at the Cloud Recesses as if he’d never left.
Everything seemed normal, but there were a few quirks that bothered him, trifling little irritants that bugged him simply because he could not figure out the reason for them. Things that shouldn’t be familiar, but were. Or things he did or thought about without knowing why.
He knew his memory was fractured, that he had lost all ability to recall anything that happened before he was injured, but after thirteen years of living without those memories, it seemed as if he should have adjusted by now.
A few weeks after he resettled into the Jingshi he went shopping in Caiyi and bought two items he neither needed nor wanted. He couldn’t explain to himself why he bought them, but still felt compelled to do so.
And every night, as he settled down and prepared to sleep, he sat on the floor behind his guqin and played a melody. One he didn’t remember learning once he regained his memory, and one that wasn’t to be found in any of the musical texts he examined in the library. One he knew without knowing why he knew it.
His brother and Uncle seemed pleased to have him home. They encouraged him to research in the library, to teach classes to the younger cultivators.
A month after he returned, he began wearing his headband again.
It felt right, comfortable.
He returned to the Jingshi after an afternoon class on sword forms. Lan Jingyi was, most definitely, a singular talent. A gifted junior, he would go far.
He was not the typical Lan disciple in that he was boisterous, loud, filled with chaotic energy. Something about him felt familiar, in a way. Lan Wangji presumed he must have known someone like him before he lost his memories. Perhaps he had even known Lan Jingyi’s father or mother. They died early in the Sunshot campaign, he learned.
Tonight was much like any other night. He returned to the Jingshi, spent some time in meditation, and worked on some compositions before his food was delivered. The Jingshi had a small kitchen and a luxurious bath, additions made to bring the building up to modern code. But since it was just him here every night, it was easier to have one of the younger disciples deliver a meal from the kitchen that served all the juniors instead.
He was making some notes on a variant on the Song of Rest that tugged at him with that strange sense of familiarity, when he heard a thumping sound. He had left his window open to enjoy the night air, so he turned expecting to see that some animal had made its way inside.
Lan Wangji stood stock-still and stared. There, in the middle of his floor, was a dragon.
***
Wei Wuxian took a moment to feel elated over the fact that he had finally successfully penetrated the wards around Cloud Recesses without setting off any alarms. And, he’d been able, using his heightened sense of smell and ability to track, to locate where Lan Wangji was.
If all went well, Lan Wangji would either recognize him outright, or be quickly convinced and they could proceed with the rest of the plan he and the Wens had hatched out.
He had even taken a few moments before entering through the open window to admire Lan Wangji sitting on the floor, graceful fingers teasing notes out of the guqin, face serene as he played.
He just looked so good. So peaceful.
And maybe, in his hurry, Wei Wuxian hadn’t been exactly quiet as he pushed himself through the window.
Any thought of Lan Wangji remembering him went out a metaphorical window the moment he surged to his feet and drew Bichen and pointed it directly at Wei Wuxian’s cute little dragon snout.
He switched human immediately, but that didn’t seem to help as Lan Wangji staggered back in shock, then reached for a talisman that would most likely summon an army of Lans with their white robes and headbands and that was exactly what Wei Wuxian did not need right now.
“Whoa whoa whoa! Before you do that, just hear me out! You know me. You’ve known me, for a very long time, you just don’t remember.”
He stopped reaching for the talisman, but Bichen was still pointed at him. Wei Wuxian knew well how fast and deadly Lan Wangji could be. He would have to tread carefully.
“There are things that don’t make sense, right? Things you do or things you hear or see that don’t add up? It’s because someone cursed you to forget me, and everything else that happened before the cave. I promise you, Lan Zhan, I’m not lying to you.”
The tip of Bichen wavered, slightly.
“No one calls me Lan Zhan,” he said.
“I do. I always have, from the first time I met you. You stopped me on the walls of Cloud Recesses where I was sneaking in alcohol and we dueled on the rooftops. I started calling you Lan Zhan and I never stopped because it made the tips of your ears red and I loved teasing you about it.”
Wei Wuxian stared at the man in front him, pointedly ignoring the the sword that hovered just a few centimeters or so from his throat, and fought against the memory that was all the more bittersweet for knowing that Lan Wangji no longer shared it.
You could call me Wei Ying, if you liked. It’s only fair.
“Shameless.”
And then the clash of sword blades and the moonlight glinting off the metal and Lan Wangji’s face illuminated in the soft light. How had it taken Wei Wuxian so long to understand what it meant to fall in love at first sight?
A knock at the door and a soft call of “Hanguang-Jun?” interrupted them.
Lan Wangji glanced at the door, taking his eyes off Wei Wuxian for a moment.
He took that moment to shift back into his tiniest noodle form and whisk away under the bed.
Lan Wangji looked back at the space where he had been a second ago.
The person at the door knocked again, a little louder this time.
This was it. If Lan Wangji were going to report him and let the rest of the Lans know there was an intruder, he would do it now.
Wei Wuxian braced himself. The window was still open. He would have to decide between staying in the tiny noodle form for ease of hiding versus using the larger dragon form for speed. Human form was definitely out of the question, he made the trip without a wheelchair and could not be hampered by one.
Lan Wangji sheathed his sword.
With one more glance about, looking for Wei Wuxian, he made his way to the door. Wei Wuxian held his breath.
The door opened and a young Lan came through bearing a tray with several covered dishes on it.
“Lan Jingyi,” Lan Wangji said. “You are not supposed to be on kitchen duty.”
“Punishment,” the young Lan junior said. He expertly moved the dishes off the tray and arranged them on Lan Wangji’s low table.
“I might have told one of the Yao juniors to go fuck himself.”
Under the bed, Wei Wuxian stifled a snort of amusement. He liked this kid.
Lan Wangji let out a sigh that managed to convey both exasperation and disappointment. The young Lan read it quite well.
“You would have done the same if you’d been there, Hanguang-Jun! He’s got a smart mouth and someone needed to shut it for him! I was gonna hit him, but Zewu-Jun was in the next room over and I didn’t want him to come find me and give me that ‘I’m not mad Jingyi, just disappointed’ look, you know the one, Hanguang-Jun cause you’re doing it right now, but anyway, all I did was tell him off and I still got stuck with having to write the rules while in a handstand but honestly I’ve gotten so good at that it isn’t really much of a deterrent so they gave me kitchen duty as well, which really doesn’t seem fair.”
The kid stopped to inhale because he’d said the entire flood of words on one breath and that was when Lan Wangji said, “Have a good evening, Jingyi,” and ushered him toward the door.
Wei Wuxian flowed out from under the bed as soon as the door shut.
Lan Wangji looked at him with surprise, as if he had forgotten he was there. He still held his body tense, and looked wary, but Bichen remained sheathed so that was an improvement.
He waited, as a noodle, until Lan Wangji sat down at the table where Lan Jingyi had laid out the dishes. This was his cutest, most unassuming form. He was still dangerous in it, no dragon in any form was ever powerless, but he looked cute and safe. He needed Lan Wangji to calm before he shifted back.
In his dragon form he could easily read the tension in his body, sense the elevated heart rate, and smell the adrenaline his fear and excitement was pumping into his blood. After a few moments, during which Wei Wuxian coiled up and cocked his head to the side in a quizzical manner that Wen Ning had termed “terminally cute,” some of those symptoms began to abate. Lan Wangji took a deep breath, and his heart rate calmed.
Wei Wuxian took the chance and changed back, so that he was seated at the table.
Lan Wangji looked at him, really looked, like he was studying his features. No hint of recognition in his eyes.
“You say you knew me,” he finally said.
“I did. I do.”
Lan Wangji seemed to consider this statement. He wasn’t throwing him out, and he wasn’t alerting the Cloud Recesses, and he wasn’t holding a sword at Wei Wuxian’s throat, so things were definitely trending in a positive direction.
“Very well,” Lan Wangji said. “We should eat, then you can tell me why you are here.”
He rose and walked out of the room, returning with two bowls and two sets of chopsticks.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly take your food, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said.
“There is plenty.”
“Plenty of rabbit food, you mean,” Wei Wuxian said, falling back into a pattern of teasing that felt familiar. “Don’t suppose you have any chili oil? Or some Emperor’s Smile to wash that down with?”
Across the table from him, Lan Wangji froze.
His face went pale and the hand that was holding one of the cloches that had revealed, just as Wei Wuxian suspected, steamed vegetables, began to shake.
“Uh, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji stood and walked away, back toward the kitchen again.
He returned, still silent, and placed two items on the table. A bottle of chili oil, brand new and still sealed. And a jar of Emperor’s Smile.
“I bought these, weeks ago,” Lan Wangji said. “I don’t like spicy food. I do not drink alcohol.”
“You bought them for me,” Wei Wuxian said, carefully. He kept his voice calm and even. He didn’t need to be in dragon form to read Lan Wangji’s distress. His eyes were wide, wild, and his breaths were coming too quickly.
“Because you know me. Deep down, somewhere, some part of you still remembers me. Still knows me.”
“Why are you here?”
“You told me to come,” he said. Then, with his hands up and clearly telegraphing his movements, he reached into his pocket for his phone.
He turned on the video and set it on the table facing Lan Wangji.
He watched it play through in silence.
“I remember this,” he whispered. “I remember waking up, and seeing that I had dialed a wrong number…”
“Not a wrong number,” Wei Wuxian said.
“Wei Ying,” he said. “I called you Wei Ying.”
Hearing his name in that voice was a jolt of sweet pain; Wei Wuxian swallowed against it.
“Yeah. That’s my name. It’s what you call me. Like I call you Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji’s face went shockingly pale, and he wavered on his feet. Wei Wuxian instinctively tried to leap to his feet to steady him, but his legs of course would not let him.
He cursed out loud as he fell back, and then Lan Wangji turned and hurried away.
***
The wave of nausea that crashed into Lan Wangji was one of the worst he had ever experienced.
He rushed to the bathroom, barely managing to make it before emptying the contents of his stomach, which fortunately, was not much since he had not eaten since lunch hours earlier.
He stayed there, feeling dizzy and sick, and then heard movement behind him.
Never turn your back on a potential threat.
But no threat materialized. Instead warm hands reached out to him, pulling his hair back and away, and stroking down his back.
“Shhh, it’s all right. I’m here.”
The voice caused another violent wave of nausea.
“Okay, okay, no talking. Um…will humming hurt?”
Without waiting for a reply, the man began to hum. A soft, lilting little melody that Lan Wangji didn’t recognize.
It helped. The nausea began to fade, but he still felt so dizzy he didn’t chance standing up.
After a few moments, the man switched up the melody he was humming.
The song he hummed now, Lan Wangji knew.
He knew it as well as he knew the sword calluses on his fingers. As well as he knew the Lan rules which he had memorized again after losing them. As well as he knew the face of his brother, the first face he had memorized in his new life.
It was the melody he played every night.
The notes sank into him, not only from the sound waves but from the vibration of the man’s chest where he pressed against him, holding him and keeping his hair clear.
It was almost as if the notes took a physical form, some fiery liquid burning through his meridians. He struggled against it, out of fear.
But fire didn’t just burn. It also cleansed, it cauterized wounds and precipitated healing. It destroyed forests so that new growth could come. And some seeds could only germinate after passing through fire.
Lan Wangji quit fighting and opened himself up to the fire within him. He held his meridians wide so that the burning notes of the song could sweep through him and scald his core.
A sharp pain flashed through his head, and he closed his eyes and groaned aloud.
“Sshhh, Lan Zhan, it’s okay,” Wei Wuxian said.
Wei Wuxian.
Wei Ying.
That was the man’s name. The Yiling Patriarch.
Pictures swam in his brain, a rapid slideshow of things he should know, but had forgotten.
The smirk on the Yiling Laozu’s face when Lan Wangji first approached him. The gentle tenderness with which he held the little girl’s spirit as Lan Wangji played her to her rest. The anguished sound that came from him when Lan Wangji called him on the phone just after he’d been dosed by Jin Guangyao.
There was more, much more, that he could not push through. A small sluice had been opened in his memory, but the floodgate remained closed. He tried to force it open, to remember more, to remember from before the time that was a solid barrier in his mind. His head hurt, and he shook with the effort.
Then everything went blank and dark and he knew nothing more.
***
Wei Wuxian was in a little bit of a quandary. His arms were full of Lan Wangji, which couldn’t be considered a bad thing. But they were currently on the floor of the bathroom and since Wei Wuxian didn’t possess working legs, he couldn’t exactly pick him up and carry him to his bed.
So all he could do was sit there on the cold tile floor and stroke Lan Wangji’s hair, and keep humming to him. The humming seemed to have helped, so he kept it up.
A few more minutes passed, and Lan Wangji blinked awake.
“You’re still here.”
“Yeah. I’m not going anywhere.”
He needed to. The plan depended on him convincing Lan Wangji to let him have the sample of the powder he spoke about so he could take it to Wen Qing. The Wens would both be waiting for an update from him, and if he didn’t check in, they would begin to worry. Perhaps enough to try and mount some ridiculous attempt to rescue him, though he’d been adamant that they return to Yiling the moment things went south and protect themselves.
“Lan Zhan,” he said softly. “We need to get up, get you off this cold floor.”
Lan Wangji nodded, and stood. He looked expectantly at Wei Wuxian as if waiting for him to do the same.
“Oh, um, guess you don’t remember everything. I, uh, I’ll just shift and meet you in the other room.”
“Is it difficult?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t even sure what the question was. “Is what difficult? Shifting?”
At Lan Wangji’s nod, he shrugged. “Not really. Takes energy, like, flying a middle distance on your sword would, maybe? I’m used to it, though.”
And then Lan Wangji knelt down, wrapped an arm around Wei Wuxian’s back and slid another under his knees and then just stood up, holding Wei Wuxian in a bridal carry as if he weren’t a fully grown man.
“Lan Zhan! You don’t have to carry me!”
“You have shifted several times today already. No need to waste your energy.”
He should argue, he really should, but the position had his face pressed into the junction of Lan Wangji’s shoulder and neck and he smelled so good, he always smelled good, so he decided it was worth the embarrassment of being carried like a maiden.
Lan Wangji put him down at the table and then insisted on doling out the food and also insisted on no talking while eating, which Wei Wuxian wanted to protest, but Lan Wangji just calmly stated they were in the Cloud Recesses, so the Lan rules applied.
That meant Wei Wuxian had to eat while suppressing a grin because it felt so good to be back here, teasing Lan Wangji about the rules, pushing the boundary, and gaining his attention.
And then dinner was over and Wei Wuxian sent a reassuring message to Wen Qing and they could put off uncomfortable discussions no longer.
“So,” Wei Wuxian began, “how much is back? Do you have it all, even the years before the cave?”
Lan Wangji shook his head. “I remember the last 13 years. I remember meeting you in Yiling. I remember that I recognized you and knew who you were, but I cannot recall how or why I knew you before.”
Well. It wasn’t ideal, but then again, it was progress. So they had broken through the most recent application of the memory curse, but not the original one.
Wei Wuxian should probably dial back some of his behavior, then. This Lan Wangji didn’t remember their friendship, didn’t remember their bantering back and forth and definitely didn’t remember the sex. He would probably not be happy hearing about that, especially since it was most likely just an emotion filled frantic encounter that Lan Wangji had immediately regretted once it happened anyway.
But that line of thinking made Wei Wuxian’s gut churn with anxiety, so he changed the subject.
“Do you know who gave you the powder?”
Lan Wangji’s face turned into a scowl.
“Jin Guangyao.”
Wei Wuxian gaped at him.
“Jin Guangyao? The smarmy little motherfucker that got kicked out of the Nie? Jin Guangshan’s illegitimate son?.”
“Indeed.”
“Fuck. I didn’t see that coming.”
He probably should have. Wen Qing was always on him about paying more attention to clan politics. Jin Guangyao was the Jin heir now, wasn’t he? He’d been named that after Jin Zixuan decided to step away from cultivation and retire to focus on research and his family which….right now was looking awfully damn suspicious.
He needed to know what that powder was. And quickly. “Do you still have the sample of the powder, Lan Zhan? I need to take it to Wen Qing.”
Lan Wangji retrieved his qiankun pouch and brought out a small folded square of paper. He set it on the table between them.
Wei Wuxian had anticipated having to investigate the mysterious substance, or needing to bring it to Wen Qing for her to examine under a microscope.
What he had not anticipated was to immediately know exactly what the substance was, because the moment it was brought out from the qiankun pouch it called to him.
The folded paper vibrated slightly, and his hand reached toward it unconsciously. The realization crashed into him then.
“Lan Zhan,” he breathed out. “I think this is all my fault.”
“That is ridiculous, you did not do this to me.”
“In a way I did.”
“I do not see how. It was Jin Guangyao who cursed me, who gave me this substance.”
“Not a substance,” Wei Wuxian said, as dread and anguish welled up in him.
He opened the paper, shaking the grains of powder into his palm. The few tiny scattered grains that fell out flared with a bright flash of spiritual energy before vanishing, reabsorbed once more into his body.
“Powdered bone. Specifically, mine.”
***
Lan Wangji watched Wei Wuxian as he animatedly spoke with Wen Qing on the phone, arms flying every which way in large gestures which punctuated his points.
He ended the call finally and turned back to him.
“Well, at least we can do one thing now safely, according to Qing-Jie.” He patted his lap. “Come here, Lan Zhan, let me see that curse mark.”
Warily, Lan Wangji moved across the table to be in front of him. At the Yiling Laozu’s gesture, he leaned forward to place his head in his lap, giving this Wei Wuxian access to his ear and the curse mark there.
Wei Wuxian kept muttering to himself as he swept the hair out of the way. The warmth of his fingers on Lan Wangji’s skin sent a thrill through him. He suppressed a shudder.
“Okay, so Qing-Jie says since this was created with my energy, well, my stolen energy, I should be able to…okay, here we go, Lan Zhan brace yourself, I don’t know what this is going to do…”
A piercing pain, a jolt of fire in his veins. Lan Wangji would have screamed if he had voice to do so, but the pain had stolen his breath.
His entire body seized up, muscles locking. Wei Wuxian was calling his name, over and over, and then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
He heaved in a breath.
It hurt. He worried, for a moment, that some physical damage had been done. But he took several careful, measured breaths, and realized that wasn’t it. The pain that he was feeling was something else, something much deeper, something from the very heart of him, rawer than blood or muscle or bone.
It all crashed into him then, a tidal wave of emotion, of pain sharp enough to make him think that he might not actually survive this. That perhaps no person could hurt like this and live.
Thirteen years. He had walked this earth for thirteen years with his mind not knowing, not remembering.
But his body had known. Had held together a wounded soul, rent in two by grief.
He lifted his head and let himself look at him. Look at Wei Ying.
He stared, taking stock of the changes time had wrought on his face. Older, yes, but other things. A sharper chin, a more angular face. The eyes were the same, though.They were still his Wei Ying’s eyes.
“Wei Ying,” he croaked, his voice hoarse and scratchy.
Wei Wuxian pushed his hair back off his face again, and let his fingers trail down his face. He shuddered at the touch. Everything felt amplified, too much. Every touch, every sound, every sensation was multiplied.
“Yeah, Lan Zhan. I’m here. Are you with me? Do you know who I am?”
“Yes,” he said. “I know you. Wei Ying.”
More memories crashed into him, the cave, Wei Wuxian underneath him, gasping as he clutched him tight. The roar of the Xuanwu, Wei Wuxian’s scream, hot blood splashing his face, in his mouth.
“Wei Ying.” He couldn’t stop saying his name. Like saying his name was a summons, a talisman. As if by constantly saying his name he could keep him here, keep this from dissolving into a dream.
“Wei Ying. You died. You died. You left me.”
And then he wrapped his arms around him, and let the grief come to the surface and spill over as he sobbed out thirteen years of pain.
Wei Wuxian held him the entire time, whispering encouragement, stroking his hair.
When he finally had exhausted himself and Wei Wuxian’s shoulder was wet from his tears, he gave a final shudder and pulled back, wiping his eyes.
Wei Wuxian looked a little wretched himself. His eyes were also red from crying.
Lan Zhan reached out, to wipe a stray tear. Wei Wuxian grabbed his hand to stop him. “Don’t comfort me, Lan Zhan. This is all my fault.”
“How? Explain.”
Wei Wuxian looked away, as if he didn’t want to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes.
“Not now. I still have to think through some things first. It would help if I knew more about exactly what happened in the cave after I was….well, after.”
“My memory of that time is still fractured, I fear.”
“Yeah. Makes sense. That’s probably just plain trauma, not the curse.”
A bone-deep weariness settled onto Lan Wangji then. He had exhausted himself crying, and he and Wei Wuxian were still on the floor before his dining table. He yawned, and stretched out his legs, alleviating some of the stiffness.
“Time for all good little Lans to go to sleep, huh?” Wei Wuxian said fondly. “Of course, it’s 9.”
He stretched himself, grasping his hands and pulling them behind him to loosen out his shoulders. Then he rolled his neck, and Lan Wangji winced to hear a popping sound.
“I’ll just shift and fly back out, regroup with Wen Qing and Wen Ning and then you can call me tomorrow.”
“No.” The word was forced out through Lan Wangji’s lips before he even knew he was going to say it.
His hands began to shake and he wrung them together to try and hide it. Of course if Wei Wuxian wanted to go he should. There was no reason for him to have to stay here.
But the more the idea of him leaving began to settle into him, the more Lan Wangji’s body protested. He began to shake, and his breaths became shorter and felt like they were not moving any oxygen. He felt cold, and he tried to speak but his words were locked away inside him.
Wei Wuxian pulled him to him again, angling it so his face rested against the shoulder that wasn’t uncomfortably damp. He ran soothing hands along his spine and whispered to him.
“Breathe, Lan Zhan. I have you. Try to slow your breathing.”
It took a few minutes, but Wei Wuxian’s warm body, his voice, and just being close to him, surrounded by his scent and his presence, worked to calm him enough to unstick his jaw and make it possible to speak again.
“I dream every night. Even before I knew your name again. I dreamed you dying, I dreamed of losing you, and what if…what if you leave and I forget you again?”
His face flushed in embarrassment. It was a foolish request, the type a young child may make, the type he had made, after his mother’s death when he crawled into bed with Xichen to hold onto his brother at night out of fear that he too, might disappear.
But Wei Wuxian only held him, and said: “Then I’ll stay. I’ll stay all night and if you dream, just wake up and I’ll still be here.”
He settled down in the bed with a fair amount of trepidation, and guilt, because Wei Wuxian insisted that he didn’t need to sleep, and that if he did grow tired he would just shift and curl up on one of the floor cushions.
If Lan Wangji could have fought against his body’s weariness and stayed awake, he would have. But he had been through quite the ordeal today and his body was demanding its due.
He closed his eyes, and listened to Wei Wuxian humming aimlessly while he poked away at something on his phone.
Heat. Flashes of flame, and now ash and embers were in the air, everywhere. There was blood on his face, in his mouth, he could smell it, he breathed it - copper and fire and the dust of bone in his eyes. Wei Ying. Wei Ying. Wei Ying.
“Wei Ying!” he sat bolt upright in the bed, his inner clock telling him it was deep in the dead of night.
The only thing he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the sound of his own blood rushing through his body. He kept his eyes closed, too afraid to open them and see his own empty room.
A warm weight landed on him, he felt the texture of smooth scales against his chest. Then a larger, more solid weight and there were hands now, gentle hands dashing the tears away from his face. “Lan Zhan, it’s okay. I’m here. You were just dreaming. I’m here.”
He clutched Wei Wuxian close to him, the overwhelming relief rendering him speechless. All he could do was hold him. Hold him and breathe him in.
“Don’t leave. Don’t go. Please.”
Wei Wuxian didn’t answer, just shifted over, using his arms to move his legs and situate himself so that he was the bed lying on his side next to Lan Wangji.
He rolled over and wrapped his arms around him, pulling Wei Wuxian close, spooning him up against him.
He buried his face into his har, inhaling deeply, letting the scent of Wei Wuxian calm him and soothe him back to sleep.
“You’re alive. You’re here,” he mumbled just before sleep pulled him under.
***
Lan Wangji had spent a lot of sleepless nights, insomnia and nightmares contributing to him frequently waking up and feeling as if he had not rested.
This morning, he felt languid, almost lazy. Fully rested and as comfortable and safe as he could remember feeling.
The reason for that was the man softly snoring in his arms.
At some point they’d shifted to Lan Wangji on his back, his preferred sleeping position, and Wei Wuxian sprawled across him.
He wanted nothing more than to linger there, just feeling him and inhaling the scent of him.
But there were things to accomplish.
Now that he had a good night’s sleep and some clarity of mind, he could see they would need to formulate a plan to discover just how deeply Jin Guangyao’s treachery went.
This powder, too was worrisome - how much of it did he have, and was it using it on other people?
Was he using it on Lan Xichen?
Regretfully, he stirred, and felt Wei Wuxian wake against him.
“Five more minutes,” he mumbled.
“Wei Ying. Breakfast will be here soon.”
“Ugh. Fine. Make me wake up at Lan hours. Can I take a bath?”
Lan Wangji’s mother had loved a hot luxurious bath, so one of the changes made to the Jingshi during her residence had been the addition of a large soaker tub in addition to the stand up shower.
He remembered his mother. The memory was fragmented, he had been too young when she left his life, but with the breaking of the curse his mother was also restored to him.
“Of course. Should I carry you in there?”
“No need.”
And Wei Wuxian vanished and Lan Wangji had a dragon in his bed.
The dragon…no Wei Wuxian, he was the same in any form… rubbed its face alongside Lan Wangji’s. His whiskers tickled.
Then he was off, gracefully flying through the air into the bathroom. Lan Wangji rose and dressed for the day. A twinge of unease curled within him at having Wei Wuxian out of sight, but the sound of running water and his voice singing something unrecognizable soothed him.
He was ready to receive the junior when he knocked on his door. The young man slid the door open and unpacked the breakfast bowls and left quietly after picking up the bowls from dinner the night before.
The dragon emerged from the bathroom once they were alone again, and Lan Wangji traded places with him, heading into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth and take care of necessities. When he returned to the living area, Wei Wuxian was in human form, wet hair curling against his neck, and divvying up the breakfast dishes.
The physics of why his hair remained wet even after the transformation into and back out of dragon form were something Lan Wangji would have to ask him about. Probably at another time.
But he was here. Wei Wuxian was here in his house eating breakfast with him. Wei Wuxian was alive. The nightmares might finally have a chance to fade.
Wei Wuxian was beautiful in the morning light. Grinning as he mocked locking his lips and throwing away the key, malicious compliance to the Lan silence rule while eating.
But Lan Wangji could only give him a soft smile, and watch the morning light bathe his face in a glow and wonder at how lucky he was, that he got to have this. That he got to have Wei Wuxian full of life and beside him.
When he finished eating, Wei Wuxian leaned back and said: “So? We need to make a plan, I think. Before your brother finds out I’m here.”
“I have already found out,” came a voice from the front porch.
***
Wei Wuxian never thought he’d see the Twin Jades of Lan argue with each other. It wasn’t anything like arguments between him and Jiang Cheng, or even between him and Wen Qing, which usually involved at least raised voices.
This seemed to be more intense glaring and huffs of irritation.
At some point Lan Xichen relented. “Apologies, Wangji. I was not having you watched. The junior who delivered your breakfast heard water running and an unknown voice singing, so he reported it to me. Since no visitor has been registered in the last 24 hours I thought it prudent to check on you.”
In Wei Wuxian’s opinion, Lan Wangji didn’t seem mollified at all by that explanation, but it seemed he decided it was time to move on.
He indicated that decision by jumping headfirst into the problem with literally no warning or even a warm up.
“Brother. Jin Guangyao is the person who cursed me. I am suspicious that he has influenced you as well. “
And, well, that got things off to a great start.
After they had been through everything, Lan Xichen had watched the recorded video call, (his face went pale as he clearly recognized the room Lan Wangji called from), and put everything out in the open, Lan Xichen leaned back and closed his eyes.
When he opened them back up it was to ask in a measured voice: “Do you still have the sample of the powder?”
Wei Wuxian winced. “It’s gone. I didn’t know what it was, and so I let it absorb into my body without realizing.”
“And the curse mark?”
Wei Wuxian wanted to crawl into a hole under the floor. “Also gone. I erased it when I broke it.”
“So you have no proof.”
“Wei Ying’s testimony is proof enough,” Lan Wangji insisted.
Lan Xichen closed his eyes again, for a moment. “Wangji. I know you trust Wei-Gongzi, but I must remind you he is presumed dead. And, if I’m not mistaken, also the Yiling Laozu?”
He didn’t continue down that line of reasoning, but he didn’t need to. Wei Wuxian understood very well. No one would take Wei Wuxian’s word for anything even if they weren’t being influenced by Jin Guangyao.
“I have known A-Yao for years. He is my sworn brother,” Lan Xichen began.
“Xiongzhang —”
He raised his hand to stop Lan Wangji’s objection.
“You trust Wei-Gongzi, Wangji. You accept his judgment and believe what he says. Then why am I not allowed to trust the man I know as well?”
“Because he is not credible.”
Wei Wuxian had to stifle laughter at Lan Wangji’s straight-laced, deadpan response.
Lan Xichen stood still, letting no obvious sign of his inner turmoil show.
If he were also influenced by Jin Guangyao, then nothing they said would convince him. But Wei Wuxian doubted it. Somehow it seemed to him that Jin Guangyao would prefer to manipulate Lan Xichen with no additional assistance, just to prove he could.
“We will need proof,” he said finally.
Lan Wangji nodded, and turned to Wei Wuxian.
“Do you think he has more of your bones?”
“Probably,” Wei Wuxian said.
“You would have to reveal yourself, and your nature,” Lan Wangji said.
“I don’t care who knows. The only thing I need to ensure is that the Wens are protected.”
At this he looked at Lan Xichen. The man was a clan leader, and the only one in the room with the real power to be able to promise something like that.
“You can rest assured I will judge the situation fairly. And if Jin Guangyao is responsible for what happened to you, Wangji…” He stopped then, and took another deep breath.
“There is a discussion conference next month in Koi Tower. Wei-Gongzi can accompany you as a guest of the Lan, a visiting cultivator.”
Lan Xichen stayed a few more minutes to help hash out details, before finally leaving.
When they were alone, Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Wangji.
“Brother will judge fairly, you need not worry.”
“I trust you,” Wei Wuxian answered. And he did. He trusted Lan Wangji. Lan Xichen he didn’t know well enough and wasn’t completely certain if the man was free of Jin Guangyao’s influence or not, but trusting Lan Wangji was easy. Being in the room again with him was easy. Sleeping next to him last night had been too easy.
He needed to get a hold of himself. It had been thirteen years. Lan Wangji had lived more than a decade without him, and he had built an entire life that didn’t include Wei Wuxian in it.
Yes, last night had been emotional and difficult, but the emotions of the reunion would fade and Lan Wangji could very well realize that he didn’t need the complication of someone like Wei Wuxian in his life.
They’d get through this, settle the issue with Jin Guangyao and then he would give Lan Wangji some space to decide if he wanted to rekindle their friendship. Anything more than that was just Wei Wuxian doing what he always did - reaching for something he didn’t deserve.
For now, he needed to get back to the Wens and let them in on the plan.
He stated this to Lan Wangji, who looked…unhappy? Wei Wuxian used to think he was an expert at reading Lan facial expressions, but perhaps he needed to upgrade his skills.
“I will accompany you.”
“Ah, no need, Lan Zhan, I’m good.”
“How will you get there?”
And, well, good point. He’d have to sneak back out of the Cloud Recesses, and even in tiny noodle form there was no guarantee he wouldn’t be discovered.
In the end, a compromise. Which was to say — Lan Wangji insisted and Wei Wuxian gave in.
And so he found himself in his smallest form, wrapped up inside Lan Wangji’s robes, curled around a bicep and resting his tiny little head on his shoulder. It made the robes look a little lumpy and misshapen but people would have to be looking really close to spot him and most people ducked their heads and avoided Lan Wangji’s intensity anyway.
They arrived at the hotel room where the Wen siblings were staying, and Wei Wuxian gratefully flew over to his wheelchair and transformed, relieved to have mobility in human form again.
Lan Wangji sat down and accepted a cup of hotel tea, which had to be awful, and consented to an exam from Wen Qing, who pronounced that his core was definitely improved and the lingering traces of the resentment from the curse were dissipating.
Once they told the story as they knew it, Wen Ning sat behind his keyboard and began working furiously.
He finally joined back up with them with some notes he had scribbled down as he worked.
“Okay, so over the last thirteen years there have been at least 25 times where the Jin have hosted every sect leader at some event or another.”
That wasn’t especially surprising, the Jin owned several large complexes with luxurious accommodations.
“Even before he was named heir, Jin Guangyao seemed to be the one who made all arrangements, acted as a host in many of their feasts, and such. Prime position to be able to slip something in everyone’s drinks.”
“He would have to be careful, though,” Wen Qing said. “He couldn’t do anything too overt.”
“He would not,” Lan Wangji said. “I attended a very few of these before I left Gusu Lan. Jin Guangyao would circulate among the attendees, refilling drinks, talking only briefly with each person.”
“Yeah, sounds like he had a system. He probably wasn’t forceful about it, just making sure they ingest some bone and then make subtle suggestions. Except with you, Lan Zhan. He was pretty forceful with you,” Wei Wuxian said.
“Protecting his secret,” Wen Qing said. “Lan Wangji saw you as a dragon in that cave, before you died. He couldn’t risk anyone else hearing about it, or they may have put two and two together.”
“So we need to sneak in to where we think he might be hiding the rest of my bones, convince Zewu-Jun and whoever else of what he’s doing, and expose him all without tripping up and accidentally eating or drinking anything. Sounds super easy.”
“Mn. We would do well to find allies.”
“Where? The man has had years to ingratiate himself to every known cultivator.”
“Not every cultivator,” Wen Ning said.
Everyone turned to look at him, and he squirmed a bit at the attention. “I mean…that’s what I was looking for. For anyone who is in a position of authority or leadership and is unlikely to have been influenced too much by Jin Guangyao.”
He hesitated then, looking unsure.
“Go on,” his sister said, encouraging him.
“Well, I found one. A clan leader, who has only been at the most essential gatherings, and has a reputation for leaving early, even then. Someone who is rarely ever at the banquets and the gossip forums all mention his bad attitude and his lack of….well….congeniality.”
He swallowed, looking nervous.
Wei Wuxian burst into laughter. “Let me guess, known for wearing purple and a perpetual scowl?”
***
Lan Wangji was nervous. Wei Wuxian would be back today, though this time he would enter through the Gates of Cloud Recesses as an expected guest. Wen Ning would be with him, he would be providing support in Lanling. Wen Qing stayed behind with the rest of the Wens who were in hiding in case they needed to evacuate Yiling quickly.
Lan Wangji wanted to offer them space here, in Cloud Recesses among the Gusu Lan, but Lan Xichen had been so distraught in the weeks leading up to the discussion conference he had not wanted to broach the subject.
If things did go south, then he would either insist the Wen come to Gusu, or he would go to Yiling with Wei Wuxian to help protect them.
That he vowed.
He would not be separated from Wei Wuxian again.
It was necessary, of course, that Wei Wuxian return to Yiling before the conference. He did not belong to Gusu, or to Lan Wangji. If he belonged anywhere, besides Yiling, it would be in Yunmeng anyway. Lan Wangji had no claim on him or on his time.
But he wanted to have such a claim. He wanted a very many things he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want.
The first few days were fraught. He found himself replaying the video, he had asked Wei Wuxian to send it to him under the guise of collecting evidence, but its real purpose was to allow him to see Wei Wuxian and hear his voice.
At night, when he woke with nightmares, he would play it again and again.
“He’s alive. He’s real.” He would repeat that phrase like a mantra, as he once more moved the slider back to the beginning to start the video over.
Wei Wuxian, for his part, kept in touch. By text message.
He texted frequently. The first few days the texts were focused on their plans and ideas for where to search in Koi Tower.
But one night Lan Wangji woke in a cold sweat, chest heaving, and picked up his phone to play the video again and instead found a new text message sent after he’d first fallen asleep.
Do you think bunnies know how cute they are? And how much I love them?
Lan Wangji replied without thinking:
I am not sure they are capable of abstract cognition, but I am sure they appreciate your kindnesses to them nonetheless.
He worried about sending a text at that hour — surely Wei Wuxian was asleep? But a reply came instantly.
That’s a lot of big words for 2:30 am and what are you doing up anyway?
Lan Wangji started to reply when the phone rang, startling him. He accepted the call.
“Wei Ying.”
“Lan Zhan, trouble sleeping again?”
“Mn.”
“Wanna put me on speaker and let me ramble at you about the day I’ve had? I don’t feel much like sleeping either.”
That had sounded wonderful, so Lan Wangji had taken him up on the offer and he drifted back to sleep with Wei Wuxian’s voice in his ear.
Wei Wuxian was alive. Wei Wuxian was here.
And now he was minutes away from seeing him in person.
The plan, thoroughly discussed and thought out, was for Wei Wuxian to travel along with him and Lan Xichen to the conference, under his Mo Xuanyu alias. It was safe to use, he assured them. It had belonged to a young man that stayed with him and the Wens for some time, before stating he needed to go off the grid and hide from his family. He lived abroad now, under a new ironclad identity Wen Ning had built for him.
Wei Wuxian, as Mo Xuanyu, would simply be an injured rogue cultivator who had received medical care from GusuLan’s excellent hospital facilities. The story of an injury made the wheelchair easier to explain.
Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning arrived only about forty-five minutes later than Wei Wuxian had said they would. Then it was just a matter of loading up their things and heading out toward Lanling.
Lan Jingyi was accompanying them, and was predictably excited about his first discussion conference. He fell easily into conversation with “Mo Xuanyu” and their lively chatter prevented any quiet moments.
Normally this would have made Lan Wangji frustrated, as he preferred to travel in silence, either reading or just alone with his thoughts. But instead he found it soothing, hearing Jingyi’s youthful enthusiasm matched with Wei Wuxian’s boundless energy.
He’s alive. He’s here.
They were heading into potential danger with no guarantee of how things would end.
But all Lan Wangji could feel was a burst of happiness inside him.
Wei Ying’s alive. Wei Ying is here.
***
Wei Wuxian had been to discussion conferences before, when he was a junior like Jingyi. Which meant that, just like Jingyi did now, he had always been ushered off to the Junior quarters, Jiang Cheng at his side when they were younger teens, and alone when they got older and Jiang Fengmian and Madame Yu insisted that Jiang Cheng, as future sect heir, needed to go with the adults.
He had died before he graduated fully to being part of the proceedings. So Wei Wuxian had never experienced the processional and welcoming that they were stuck in now. Most delegations walked up Koi Tower’s ridiculous staircase to the entrance of the Golden Hall, but with one of their party in a wheelchair, the Lans took an elevator. They exited it on the terrace to find Jin Guangyao there to greet them.
“Er-Ge! I did not expect you to bring Wangji! It has been some years since he has visited!”
Lan Xichen displayed a perfectly bland expression and managed a small smile. Jin Guangyao moved to them and bowed, but Lan Xichen caught him under the arms and urged him to rise.
“A-Yao, no need for that. It is good to see you.”
“And you have brought someone else with you, as well.” Jin Guangyao regaled Wei Wuxian with a too-bright smile. Only the slight tightness around his eyes betrayed that he was rattled in the least. He gave no indication of recognition or surprise at the black and silver mask that Wei Wuixan had once more secured over his face.
“Who might this be?”
“Mo Xuanyu. I’m just here for the food.”
Wei Wuxian was paying attention to Jin Guangyao’s face, careful attention with dragon-enhanced senses. That was the only reason he noticed the slight widening of his eyes at the name. A name he obviously recognized.
Fuck. Wei Wuxian should probably have investigated Mo Xuanyu’s background a little more before assuming his identity. A very ugly suspicion was beginning to form about the high profile family Mo Xuanyu had been on the run from.
If their theories were correct, Jin Guangyao had moved into a position of authority in the Jin and found a way to send Jin Zixuan away so he was the only possible heir. But given Jin Guangshan’s proclivities, he might have found it necessary to eliminate any other illegitimate children his father had sired.
Wei Wuxian hoped that the identity Wen Ning had created for the kid was as ironclad as he had promised it was.
Once the initial welcome was over, they moved through the crowds into the open area where the cocktail hour was ongoing.
Wei Wuxian scanned the crowd, looking for people he knew in his previous life. Nie Huaisang was dressed in a lovely olive green silk blouse, fanning himself with a beautifully painted fan he had no doubt done himself.
It was tempting to go to him, they had dealt with each other several times with Wei Wuxian in his Yiling Laozu guise, and he suspected his old friend had recognized him but one could never tell with him.
But Nie Huaisang’s brother was the other part of the venerated triad that included Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao so it was unreasonable to think that Nie Huaisang had remained out of Jin Guangyao’s influence.
He let his eyes skip over his old friend, and continued scanning the room.
His sister was here.
She stood, dressed in a soft lavender, as if no matter the years she had been married into the Jin family, she could not fully let go of her Yunmeng roots.
Jiang Yanli held a glass of wine and spoke to someone Wei Wuxian didn’t recognize. Her husband was at her side. And a young boy, on the other side of his father.
Wei Wuxian’s nephew. Whom he had never met.
The old familiar ache bloomed in his chest. He longed to go over to her.
Instead he let his eyes move on, seeking any other flash of purple.
There. Against a wall. Scowling. Just as he had predicted.
He got Lan Wangji’s attention and let him know he was headed toward that direction. Lan Wangji nodded. He looked awkward, standing there with no food or drinks in his hand. Lan Xichen was also empty handed, Wei Wuxian noticed.
He moved away, skillfully maneuvering the wheelchair through the crowd. His intention was to ask Jiang Cheng if they could speak privately, because he didn’t expect that “Hey, look it’s your brother you thought was dead, well, I’m not and I need your help” was the type of conversation one should have in public.
What words he was going to use, he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t even have the chance, because as he moved toward him Jiang Cheng moved away from the wall and walked right past him, at a brisk pace.
A small piece of paper dropped in his lap.
Jiang Cheng had made no eye contact, just moved right past him.
Reading the note in the open was foolish, who knew how many people around him could be considered Jin Guangyao’s spies?
So he made his way to the restroom, noting that there was no handicap accessible stall which was a foul though not totally unexpected for a venue that catered almost exclusively to cultivators who should be able to heal any major debilitating injury.
He gave a quick glance about, looking for the types of fixtures that could be utilized to conceal hidden cameras, and when finding nothing suspicious, opened the note.
Suite 212. Hurry your ass up.
A thrill moved through Wei Wuxian.
He took a few moments to calm himself. No wheelchair accessible sink so he couldn’t splash any water on this face, but he managed a few deep breaths, then moved out to find Lan Wangji.
Regardless of how excited he was to reconnect with Jiang Cheng, he couldn’t fully trust anyone so they had agreed not to go to a different location alone.
Fortunately Koi Tower at least had an elevator, and the journey to suite 212 was a short one.
Lan Wangji knocked, and the door was yanked open.
Jiang Cheng had taken off his jacket and loosened his tie. His hair was disheveled, which meant he’d run his fingers through it in frustration.
He walked deeper into the suite without a word. It was an expansive suite, a living area and what appeared to be two bedrooms. Nice accommodations, befitting a sect leader, though the decor was a bit too ostentatious for Wei Wuxian’s taste. Too much gold.
Lan Wangji shut the door and followed in silence.
“Well?” Jiang Cheng said.
Wei Wuxian looked around to Lan Wangji, to see if he knew what Jiang Cheng meant.
When he looked back, his brother was obviously frustrated.
“Are you going to take the stupid mask off or not? I swear, Wei Wuxian, I now know why my mother always said you were the most irritating person on the planet.”
Wei Wuxian removed the mask and met his brother’s eyes.
Jiang Cheng studied him for a moment. “Huh. A-Jie would say you’re too thin.”
“You knew,” Wei Wuxian hesitated, then started again: “You knew I was alive?”
Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because the Wens would bring me a kid to raise all on their own. And some mysterious rogue cultivator would be cleaning Yiling of resentment and setting wards the likes of which no one has seen before.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a talisman, one of Wei Wuxian’s spirit lures that he had used in Qinghe not long before he and Lan Wangji reunited.
Damn. He thought he’d picked them all up.
“Your calligraphy’s still terrible, stop rushing so much. I know you can do better.”
“I was in a hurry. And blood dries faster than cinnabar ink.”
“Idiot.”
Wei Wuxian felt like he was going to cry. Jiang Cheng’s frustration with him, his posture, even the eye rolls were so familiar.
“But why are you mad at me?”
Jiang Cheng gestured behind him, where Lan Wangji stood.
“Because when you finally decided to come back to society, did you come to Lotus Pier? Did you send me a message? Why the fuck are you with him? You always said he hated you!”
“I never hated Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. His voice held an edge to it, one Wei Wuxian had not heard before.
Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes again. Wei Wuxian had missed that. “Whatever. So. Why are you here?”
Wei Wuxian was really getting tired of explaining everything that happened, but at least with Jiang Cheng it was more entertaining than it had been telling Lan Xichen. And not long into the explanation, it became obvious that if Jin Guangyao had ever influenced him, it had not taken.
“He has his ways, I’ll give him that. He managed to push Jin Zixuan out of the picture and get himself named heir, then secure a sworn brotherhood with the leaders of the two most powerful sects besides his own. I think he only ignored me because I was too busy rebuilding Lotus Pier to care much about what he was doing. And I didn’t fight the Jin Zixuan thing, because it kept Shijie close.”
Wei Wuxian nodded. He hadn’t questioned it either, when he first heard that Jin Zixuan was stepping down and moving to Yunmeng where he would focus on research and his wife would be close to her brother, her only living relative.
It made sense. And Jin Zixuan seemed happy raising his child in Yunmeng and staying out of Cultivation politics.
But now, looking at it with the benefit of hindsight, did it really seem likely a powerful cultivator, his father’s only son born in wedlock, would just step away?
“We need more help,” Jiang Cheng said.
“You were the only person we felt safe approaching,” Wei Wuxian said.
Jiang Cheng just pulled out his phone and presumably sent a text.
Then he looked at Wei Wuxian and said: “A- Yuan is here with my juniors. Well on his way to becoming head disciple. He’ll be glad to see you.”
Wei Wuxian felt his face flush. A-Yuan had been just a small child when they took him to Jiang Cheng. Even then, he had only ever really known Wei Wuxian as a dragon. And a tiny one at that.
“He wouldn’t recognize me. Or know who I am. Wen Ning is here in Lanling though, he might remember him.”
“Idiot. Think I haven’t told him stories about you? Think he didn’t tell me story after story about ‘Dragon-gege’ when he was little?”
Wei Wuxian’s throat was suddenly full of something difficult to swallow around. Some emotion that was too sharp and raw to put a name to.
He was saved from having to respond by the door opening and admitting Nie Huaisang.
“Do I want to know why you have a key to my room?” Jiang Cheng asked.
“Of course not, why share knowledge that will only distress you,” Nie Huaisang said. He joined the three of them in the living area, and his eyes shone with excitement.
“We’re plotting how to take down Jin Guangyao,” Jiang Cheng said.
“I’ve been waiting for this for over a decade. You’ve been slow to advance my plans, Wei-xiong. But at least you’re here now. Let me lay out what we’re going to do.”
“Wait,” Lan Wangji said. “Your brother is his sworn brother. How do we know that we can trust you?”
“Because whatever he uses he puts in the tea. And I never travel without my own wine. Let’s get plotting.”
***
Lan Wangji closed the door to his own suite, not as large as Jiang Wanyin’s but still of a suitable size. A small living area, with a low table and some floor cushions, and one bedroom.
He put his guqin, Wangji, on the table and settled behind it. Wei Wuxian had shifted into his smallest dragon form and flitted about the room, checking for hidden devices, which he said he could more easily find in that form.
He completed his circuit of the living room, bedroom, and bathroom and settled on the cushion across from Lan Wangji before turning back human.
“I don’t like this plan,” Lan Wangji said aloud because he needed to voice his objection one more time.
“I’ll be fine, Lan Zhan. I do this all the time.” He had taken a small pair of sharp scissors out of his qiankun pouch and some fine paper and was cutting out a vaguely human shape.
Lan Wangji had seen him do it many times before, that was true. In the beginning he had watched Wei Wuxian make papermen and send them out to do all sorts of mischief, including hassling him when they were both teens.
But the last time he had seen Wei Wuxian do this, it had left him with a mind wiped clean, and only a crumpled paperman and bloodied red ribbon in his hands.
“This time will be dangerous. You said.”
Wei Wuxian looked up from where he had been inscribing characters on the little paperman’s body. He was taking his time, holding the brush with care, as if Jiang Wanyin’s criticism of his calligraphy had bothered him.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I mean. I’ll be sending him pretty far away from me so I’ll have to put more of my consciousness into him, so yeah. It might be a little dangerous if it were destroyed before he got back to me. But that won’t happen.”
Lan Wangji’s memory was still fractured, cracked and fragile. Particularly the memories of the cave, just before and after he lost Wei Wuxian and his memory.
But this made him start. He had said those words before.
“Here. With this I can keep some of my awareness with you, even when I’m in the turtle’s shell. So I’ll know the right time to strike.
“It’s just a piece of my soul. No big deal.”.
“You did this. In the cave. You put too much of yourself with the paperman you sent with me.”
Wei Wuxian looked up at him.
A horrible thought crawled through Lan Wangji’s mind. “Is that why? Is that why you...” he could not bring himself to say “died.”
“Because you put too much of yourself into the paperman?”
Wei Wuxian dropped both the paperman and the scissors and reached out and took both of Lan Wangji’s hands in his own.
“Lan Zhan, no. Don’t worry about that, okay? I’m coming back. I’m going to slip into Jin Guangyao’s quarters, find evidence of my bones, and come right back to you.”
Lan Wangji nodded with an assurance he did not feel. He watched as Wei Wuxian picked the implements back up and mumbled over the paper man, watched as a bright light flashed when he transferred some of his consciousness into the piece of paper.
Wei Wuxian went silent, closing his eyes and sitting still on the cushion like he was deep in meditation.
The paperman flew away from him, wafting slowly through the air until he alighted on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He turned his head and squinted his eyes so he could keep the little paper doll in focus. The paperman stood and brought its little hand to where its mouth would be, and blew Lan Wangji a kiss.
Then it hopped up to the top of his head, where he could feel only the lightest pressure of it. The little paperman reached down to tug on Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon.
“Do not tease,” he said.
Across from him, Wei Wuxian’s lips quirked in a smile.
Lan Wangji held up his hand and the little paperman floated down to rest on his palm.
“Be careful. Stay out of sight. Don’t take chances.”
The paperman bowed, bent at the waist, and blew him another kiss when it straightened up.
Then it flew away, slipping underneath the door to make its way across the compound to Jin Guangyao’s private quarters.
Lan Wangji engaged in meditation, to calm his racing heart and control his anxiety at seeing Wei Wuxian just motionless across from him.
“He’s alive. He’s here. He will return.”
He chanted the words under his breath.
Then he began to play.
***
Being a paperman was an exhilarating experience for Wei Wuxian. The little paperman moved through the air with so little resistance, that flying was thrilling.
Not like flying as a dragon, which just felt natural, since it was the form's default way of movement. As a paperman he was always just on the edge of losing control and it would make him laugh out loud if he were capable of it.
Getting to Jin Guangyao’s quarters wasn’t difficult once he exited the visitor’s tower. He made a good bit of the journey riding on a food cart, letting the Jin disciple assigned to kitchen duty do most of the work of getting him outside in the night air.
Then it was just him making his way along, utilizing bushes and statues and decor to hide in whenever someone passed close to him, and relying on his memory of the map Nie Huaisang had drawn for him.
Finally he was outside the door and looked around once more to ensure he was alone before slipping under it.
The quarters were…surprisingly normal? No conspiracy boards filled with post-it-notes and connecting strings outlining his web of plots. No cabinets hiding severed heads. No collection of cursed artifacts.
And no bones. At least, not that Wei Wuxian could see, smell, or sense in any other way.
He made several circuits through the quarters, slipping inside drawers, examining closets, and even peeking behind the shower curtain.
Nothing.
In a quandary, he settled down on the desk and tried to lift up some of the papers to read others underneath them.
Jin Guangyao had used a paperweight, and paperman Wei Wuxian, try as he might, couldn’t shift it off the stack of papers.
He collapsed next to it, exhausted. The paperman couldn’t actually get tired, but as he was powered by the spiritual energy Wei Wuxian had imbued him with, and that was a finite resource, it certainly felt like exhaustion.
The papers he wanted to get at were probably nothing. The top sheet looked like a printout of a spreadsheet of the sect accounts. It’s not like he would leave an incriminating letter out for Wei Wuxian to find.
He was about to give up, and make his way back to Lan Wangji, when the large mirror in the corner of the main room caught his eye.
Why put a mirror there? It wasn’t angled where it would make the room look more expansive. It was in the living area, not a dressing room, so it was pointless for that purpose.
With another quick glance around, he flew over to the mirror.
He reached out with a tentative little paper hand and touched the surface.
The tip of the paper dipped inside with no resistance.
A false mirror. So there was hope he might find hidden treasure or incriminating evidence after all!
The little paperman couldn’t breathe, so he also couldn’t hold his breath in anticipation. but Wei Wuxian steeled himself anyway, and flew into the surface of the mirror.
He passed through into another room. This one wasn’t richly appointed like the Jin living quarters. Everything here was stone walls and utilitarian furniture. Desks, with more papers that were unlikely to be sect accounts. More cabinets, storing who knew what.
But more importantly, for Wei Wuxian’s purposes — his bones were here. He had felt their call the moment he slipped into the room.
He flew over to one of the cabinets on a wall directly across from the mirror entrance. A quick little dart underneath the door and he was face to face with three vertebrae, as big as the paperman itself. The one closest to him showed signs of being broken, and bits of it shaved off. A razor rested beside it along with a mortar and pestle. A few fine grains of powder still rested inside.Wei Wuxian wanted to touch the bones, or the powder, but he was afraid he might somehow absorb them, even though his body was not actually in the room. So he merely looked.
Wei Wuxian had to get back. He had to tell Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang what he had found.
But as he was floating toward the mirror, he saw the surface of it begin to shimmer.
He ducked down, flattening himself to the ground and sliding underneath a table.
Jin Guangyao stepped through the mirror. He looked around, eyes scanning everywhere. Wei Wuxian retreated until he was in the shadows behind a leg of the table.
“I know you’re here,” Jin Guangyao said.
“Do you think I’m a fool? Do you think I don’t know that you and Lan Wangji have been scheming together? Did you think you could frighten me, showing up here and using my brother’s name?”
Damn it. Wei Wuxian really, really should have just let Wen Ning build him an identity from the ground up.
He sent a silent entreaty up for Mo Xuanyu. Stay alert, kid.
Jin Guangyao moved over to the cabinet where Wei Wuxian’s bones rested, wrenching it open and examining the vertebrae. It made Wei Wuxian’s skin crawl, he was sure that his body, back safe in the room with Lan Wangji, was shuddering with disgust. Having Jin Guangyao’s hands on his bones…it was almost too much to bear.
The little paperman inched closer to the mirror while Jin Guangyao picked up a vertebra and turned it over in his hand, looking at it from all sides. The mirror might flash or shimmer when he passed through it, but that couldn’t be helped. He had to hope the man was too focused on looking for any evidence his bones had been touched.
He flew through the mirror and made for the exit as quickly as possible, abandoning stealth in favor of speed.
It was darker now, when he finally reached the courtyard between Jin Guangyao’s quarters and the visitor’s tower. With the increased cover of darkness he abandoned caution and flew through the open air. A Nie cultivator may have noticed him as he flew above his head, but the man had been staggering under the weight of too much wine, so he would have to hope it wouldn’t matter.
The energy he had imbued the paperman with was rapidly depleting with this harried flight. By the time he reached the visitor’s tower and zipped up the stairwell he was moving much slower.
He practically crawled to the door of the Lan Wangji’s suite.
The door opened, and Lan Wangji stepped into the hall. He knelt and held his hand out, and Wei Wuxian gratefully settled on his outstretched palm.
Once back in the room, he dropped his link to the paperman and returned his consciousness and spiritual energy to his own body.
“Lan Zhan! He has them. There’s a mirror. If you go through there it’s a hidden room and he’s got my bones in a cabinet there.”
“We will alert Xiongzhang and the others,” Lan Wangji said.
His hands were on Wei Wuxian, holding him steady as he recovered his energy.
“Lan Zhan, are you sure you can trust him?”
“We must try.”
Wei Wuxian was still a little unsteady, so he left it to Lan Wangji to text details to their co-conspirators. The time was now, he insisted. They had to press Jin Guangyao before he had time to move the bones or hide everything away.
Things moved quickly and then Wei Wuxian, mask in place, was sitting in his wheelchair with Lan Wangji on one side and Lan Xichen on the other, outside the entrance to Jin Guangyao’s quarters.
Their interest had not gone unnoticed. When they were questioned by the Jin cultivators serving as guards they refused to answer, simply stating they needed access to Jin Guangyao’s quarters.
That earned them a small entourage, and when they were just outside the porch that led into his quarters, they were confronted by Jin Guangshan, who no doubt had been alerted by his guards.
“Lan Xichen! What is the meaning of this!”
Lan Wangji’s trust in his brother had been well placed. Lan Xichen held firm and announced they needed to examine Jin Guangyao’s quarters because they suspected him of using a substance to influence others.
“You dare raise allegations against my son and named heir?” the sect leader bellowed, before bending over in a coughing fit.
Said named heir was likely plotting his father’s own death, but mentioning that would gain them nothing.
In fact, as he looked at him, the elder Jin really did not look well. Wei Wuxian would dearly love to have Wen Qing examine him. Or possibly run a toxicology screen on his blood.
“Xichen? What is happening here?”
There was no one else that deep voice could belong to. Nie Mingjue pushed through the crowd to stand in front of his sworn brother.
This would be difficult, Nie Huaisang had said that there was no doubt his brother was being influenced. If he stood against Lan Xichen, they might not be able to force their way inside.
“Mingjue, you must trust me. A-Yao is manipulating you, he has been for some time.”
Nie Mingjue’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What? Xichen, that’s impossible. A-Yao would never do that to me.”
Wei Wuxian’s heart sank. This was their worst case scenario.
The more they were stalled out here, the more time Jin Guangyao had to hide his bones away, and he might never see them again.
“Da-ge, father, there is no need for all of this fuss,” came a simpering voice.
Lan Wangji’s hand fell to Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and squeezed, once.
Jin Guangyao walked onto the porch, pulling on a robe as if he had been disturbed and had to dress quickly.
“If Er-Ge feels he needs to enter my quarters, then of course he can. I have nothing to hide.”
Of course not. Any incriminating evidence had been removed, without doubt.
Wei Wuxian began to calculate exit strategies. The problem was, he was nothing but a hindrance in this wheelchair. He would only slow Lan Wangji down.
At that thought, he moved away from Lan Wangji, putting distance between them. The key here was to protect Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian would be fine, he could escape virtually any prison they tried to put him in. Once he made his way out of Koi Tower, he could contact Wen Ning and send the bug out signal to Wen Qing. They would all meet up again once they’d scrambled and ensured they hadn’t been traced.
Wei Wuxian was the Yiling Laozu. His reputation was already tarnished. But Lan Wangji was an esteemed cultivator. The finest of his generation. He should not have his reputation sullied by association with him.
“What concerns me more, “ Jin Guangyao said, “is what brought this on? Who is influencing you to make you suddenly be suspicious of your sworn brother?”
At this, all eyes turned to Wei Wuxian. So that was his play. He had not had time to hide things after all, so he was relying on his ability to control the people here instead. And the age old ploy was in play - if you could not defend yourself, deflect attention to someone else.
Jin Guangyao had most of these people under his spell. His words now were being absorbed by everyone and all of them believed every word he said.
With a calculated look about him, he turned his gaze to Wei Wuxian, who had managed to move even a bit further away from Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen.
“Yiling Laozu, ah, Yiling Laozu. Now that all these people are here, why do you still bother with the mask?”
Wei Wuxian chuckled. Jin Guangyao was sure he had the upper hand. He probably did, but if Wei Wuxian wanted a chance to turn it to his own advantage, he was best served by playing along.
So he reached up and pulled the ribbon to release the mask and took it down, baring his face to the crowd.
Several of the Jin cultivators took steps back and an audible gasp spread through those gathered there. Jiang Cheng had come out and joined them, and Wei Wuxian could see the small, disappointed shake of his head.
What choice did I have? How else could I have protected Lan Zhan and you and the Wens?
A small murmur picked up in the crowd and he heard his name being passed around.
Wei Wuxian? Is that him? Wei Wuxian! But he died! The Yiling Patriarch?
“What sorcery have you wrought upon these people, Wei Wuxian? Faking your death, working against the clans, hiding war criminals in Yiling. And now you come forward here to sow dissent and attempt to turn my sworn brother against me? To what depths will you sink?”
Jin Guangyao’s words had an effect on the crowd.
He didn’t control them, not overtly. But the careful application of dragon bone and his oily, slick words had brought them all to a state of suggestibility. He wasn’t compelling them as he had Lan Wangji, but they were primed to believe his words.
The murmuring grew in intensity. People began moving closer to him. Several Jin cultivators even drew their swords.
“With your vile sorcery, you have even corrupted Hanguang-Jun, by pretending to be someone else,” Jin Guangyao said.
Wei Wuxian tilted his chin up. “That’s right,” he said.
“Wrong.” Lan Wangji took a step toward him, closing the distance Wei Wuxian had tried to create.
“Lan Zhan!” he whispered fiercely. “Tell them I fooled you. That way you won’t be implicated.”
Lan Wangji looked straight forward and addressed the crowd in a sure,confident voice. “I have always known he was Wei Ying.”
“Lan Zhan! Don’t do this! I’m used to it, I’ve been on the outside looking in my entire life. But you are Hanguang-Jun, you’re the Second Jade of Lan. Don’t throw this away.”
Lan Wangji turned to him, and suddenly, it was if the crowd disappeared. There were only the two of them, with Lan Wangji looking down at him like he was the only thing worth paying attention to in the entire world.
“Wei Ying,” he said. “I know who you are now. So I will ask you, again. What am I to you?”
The question rocked Wei Wuxian to his still rebuilding core. He remembered the first time he’d asked it, with so much uncertainty in his eyes, still wondering who Wei Wuxian was and what they had been to each other.
There was no uncertainty in his eyes now.
So there was nothing he could say except the absolute truth.
“I once thought of you as my zhiji,” he said. Tears spilled from his eyes, and he made no attempt to slow them.
“My confidante. My soulmate, in this life.”
Lan Wangji nodded, as if the answer had been exactly what he expected. “I still am.”
And then he drew Bichen and placed himself in front of Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian looked around him, taking in the numbers. Too many, for any one cultivator, surely.
But it was no mere cultivator that stood defending him.
“Hanguang-Jun,” he said, with a teasing note. “I will give you one more chance. Are you sure this is what you want?”
“You talk too much.”
One of the Jin cultivators stepped closer and Lan Wangji brought Bichen up to meet his sword.
The man backed away, and the Jin began moving, circling them. Soon Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were surrounded.
They would have to decide whether to fight or run. If they waited too much longer, any avenues of escape would be closed to them.
“Lan Zhan I think we’ve lost. Time to cut and run.”
“Give him time.”
“Lan Zhan —-”
“Excuse me,” came a voice. At the same time, a thrill thrummed through Wei Wuxian’s body. Energy pulsed and he felt a longing, a yearning he could not deny. He sat up in his wheelchair, leaning his body toward the door to Jin Guangyao’s residence where a distinctive slight man stood with a fan in one hand and a small pouch in the other.
“Jin Guangyao has been manipulating all of you, for years. Oh, and he’s poisoning his father, slowly. As well as my brother. And I have proof.”
Behind him a group of figures made their way out, some carrying files stuffed with papers. Others brought boxes, one even held a dagger that Wei Wuxian could tell reeked of resentful energy.
Wei Wuxian blinked, then let his eyes settle on their faces.
Most he did not recognize. But some he did.
Lan Jingyi. Jiang (Wen) Yuan. A young Nie he had seen when they arrived. Other faces, unfamiliar, but all of them young. Teenagers. And there, looking scared but determined, even his own nephew, Jin Ling.
While Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian kept Jin Guangyao’s focus on them, Nie Huaisang had infiltrated his lair with the only people they could be certain had never had the chance to be compromised by him.
The juniors. Too young to be invited to the cocktail party, too young to eat in the banquet hall.
Nie Huiasang had brought with him a consortium of juniors from every sect — they were dressed in Lan white, Yunmeng purple, Nie black and silver, and several other colors of the minor clans.
“And how, pray tell, has he been manipulating us?” asked a man, who Wei Wuxian did not recognize.
“With powdered dragon bone,” Nie Huaisang answered, with confidence.
“Dragon bone? Dragons are a myth! If they ever existed, surely they are extinct by now.” This one Wei Wuxian did know. The leader of the Ouyang sect.
One of the juniors by Nie Huiasang stepped forward defiantly.
“Father it’s true!”
Wei Wuxian took notice. That one would be one to watch. It took courage to contradict your father in front of everyone.
Nie Huaisang then looked over to him. “Wei-xiong, if you would?”
Ah. Yes. Perhaps it was time to convince everyone that dragons were not, in fact, extinct. And so Wei Wuxian transformed.
In this form, his missing bones, contained in the bag Nie Huaisang carried, sang out to him. He trumpeted, and draped himself around Lan Wangji’s shoulders.
The cultivators that had been surrounding them backed away, clearly unnerved. They must make a sight, the illustrious Hanguang-Jun, garbed in white, with a black dragon coiled around him.
Jin Guangyao would not go down without a fight, though. He gestured, and a group of Jin Cultivators, likely those he kept close and loyal, charged at them.
Wei Wuxian pulled himself away from Lan Wangji, so he would not hinder the man’s movement. Lan Wangji countered them easily, Bichen moving so fast as to be a blur, keeping them away from Wei Wuxian.
Mass chaos had broken out around them. Many of the juniors had broken to move toward their parents or seniors. Nie Mingjue was looking intently at something Lan Jingyi held while Nie Huaisang kept a hand on his brother’s arm, talking earnestly at him.
Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had arrived and she looked toward him and called out: “A-Xian!”
And in the midst of it all, Lan Wangji, the strongest cultivator of their generation, fought to keep him safe.
But even he could not fight fifteen other skilled cultivators at once. Plus he was hampered by having to adjust to protect Wei Wuxian’s blind spot.
They still needed to run. He had faith Nie Huaisang would turn the tide for them, but that would mean nothing if they were skewered in the meantime.
He began to turn and look for any opening for escape.
And that was when five Jin cultivators moved in simultaneously.
Lan Wangji parried two of their strikes, Wei Wuxian clawed at one and swiped his tail at another. But the fifth one managed a sword strike that fell and caught Lan Wangji along the arm.
The scent of his blood filled Wei Wuxian’s nostrils and he roared his anger.
“Wei Wuxian!” He heard the cry and turned toward it, in time to see Jiang Cheng take the bag out of Nie Huaisang’s hands and throw it toward him.
He watched it spin in the air as if it were in slow motion. It sailed toward him and he rushed to meet it, shredding the cloth of the bag with the claws on his front feet.
The moment his bones were exposed to air he roared again and with a flash of energy the bones were reabsorbed into his body.
Strength surged through him. With a scream, he transformed his body again, assuming the large, powerful shape he had only taken once before in his life, when he shifted into it automatically to protect Lan Wangji from the Xuanwu of Slaughter.
Now massive, and subsumed with power, he roared his rage at the Jin cultivators, who cowered in fear. Then he picked Lan Wangji up in his front claws, and flew away from Koi tower.
***
How long he flew Wei Wuxian did not know. He was not exactly thinking rationally. The dragon instincts had taken over. He knew only that he had to protect what was his.
He flew through the night, no destination in mind, just a desire to get somewhere safe.
It wasn’t until he actually landed, that he was able to look around and see that he had returned Lan Wangji to Gusu. They were in the front lawn of his home in the Cloud Recesses.
When he landed, he coiled himself around Lan Wangji. Wrapping him up and keeping him safe from anyone who would even dare to think of harming him.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. He put a hand on Wei Wuxian’s snout and leaned in, pressing his forehead against him.
“Wei Ying. Change back. Change back, please.”
He didn’t want to. His human form was weak. Only like this could he really protect him. But when could Wei Wuxian ever deny him?
He shifted, then pitched forward, spiritual exhaustion overtaking him.
“Lan Zhan. You’re hurt. They hurt you.”
“A scratch. I’m all right.”
Then Lan Wangji was standing and carrying him into the Jingshi. Wei Wuxian tried to protest, his dragon instincts still very much at the forefront. He was supposed to be protecting Lan Wangji! Not the other way around!
“Hush. It’s all fine. We’re both fine.”
He carried Wei Wuxian into the bathroom, and undressed him, murmuring encouragement to him all the while.
Then it was the soothing sound of the water running, the gentleness of Lan Wangji’s voice as he hummed and sang to him.
He put Wei Wuxian in the tub to soak and relax while he stripped off his shirt and cleaned and bandaged his own wound. It made Wei Wuxian whine to see and smell his blood again but he shushed him and told him once more it was nothing.
Then he was taking him out of the bath, wrapping him in a soft fluffy towel and carrying him to his bed. WhereWei Wuxian slept, deep and dreamless.
He came back to himself, back to his humanity, while cuddled in the bed, his back pressed up tightly against Lan Wangji’s chest.
He would have preferred to languish there forever, just luxuriating in the press of skin against skin, but shame crept in and flooded his thoughts.
What had he done? He’d just taken Lan Wangji and run. He should have stayed, should have helped Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng and the others. He took away himself and Lan Wangji, two of the most important witnesses, who could offer actual testimony.
He’d acted like a mindless beast, is what he’d done. Confirmed every stereotype of dragons. Ruined any chance to bring Jin Guangyao to justice.
“Lan Zhan I’m sorry,” he said.
“Shhh. No need for sorrys between us.”
“But Lan Zhan, I ruined everything, I just took you and ran I didn’t even think…”
“Nothing is ruined.”
Wei Wuxian shook his head, that couldn’t be true.
“Jin Guangyao is in custody. Brother and Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng are working together to go through the evidence.”
Wei Wuxian turned in his arms. “Really?”
Lan Wangji was close. So very close. His face was almost out of focus because he was so close to him. He nodded.
“Mn. We were successful.”
Wei Wuxian leaned in, let himself just collapse in relief against Lan Wangji’s chest, face first this time.
Lan Wangji’s arms tightened around him, held him close.
He let himself just drift, held tightly. Now the dragon’s instincts had eased, and he wanted only to be held and protected in turn.
Lan Wangji’s chest was very nice to be held against.
So nice, in fact, that he needed to distract himself, and quickly, before he did something Lan Wangji would not want him to.
“One thing I’m confused about, Lan Zhan,” he said. “You went rogue and left Gusu Lan. So how did that initial curse hold onto you so tightly? It’s not as if he had the chance to redose you until that time just before you called me.”
Lan Wangji began running a hand absently up and down Wei Wuxian’s arm. It was soft, a barely-there touch.
To Wei Wuxian, it burned like fire.
“I think it was your blood,” Lan Wangji said.
“Hm?” Wei Wuxian for a moment didn’t even remember what he had asked, that burning touch was taking all of his attention.
“He and my brother arrived, just after you….” Lan Wangji suddenly squeezed him tighter, and Wei Wuxian held his breath. Neither of them seemed to be able to speak about what happened to him in the cave. “I told them everything that happened, I was still looking for you, everywhere, but I was covered in your blood. Brother eventually told me no one could lose that much blood and live, so I just began to shut down. He left me for a moment and Jin Guangyao was there, and he took the chance. Your blood was everywhere, I had swallowed some, I think….I think that’s why the curse took, and so strongly. He only wanted me to forget that you were a dragon, but it went too far and he erased everything.”
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and snuggled in. “I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. This was all my fault. He wanted to hide what I was and it cost you thirteen years of your life.”
Lan Wangji pushed back so that they could look at each other. “Wei Ying, no. It didn’t cost me thirteen years of my life. I used those thirteen years. I traveled, I helped people, I decided who I was and what I wanted to be.”
This close eye contact was almost too much for Wei Wuxian. All he could do is return Lan Wangji’s gaze, and try to keep breathing. “And what was that? What did you want to be?”
“Yours.” Lan Wangji pushed his hair back from his face. He leaned in, and pressed his lips against Wei Wuxian’s forehead. “I want to be yours.”
It was tender, and beautiful. And too much. Wei Wuxian pushed back against it. Denying the possibility.
“Lan Zhan. You didn’t even know who I was for thirteen years. You can’t know that. You can’t believe that.”
But Lan Wangji would not be deterred from his mission of reducing Wei Wuxian to an incoherent, sobbing mess.
“I believe in us. I believe in you, I always did. Even when I didn’t know you. Wei Ying, I carried a red ribbon and paperman with me for thirteen years. Even when I didn’t know your name I knew I loved you.”
Wei Wuxian tried to lean forward, to bury his face in Lan Wangji’s chest so he didn’t have to look at him, didn’t have to let the raw emotion on his face show. But Lan Wangji didn’t let him. He held him at arm’s length and forced him to make eye contact with him.
“How much do you remember, now? From the cave?” Wei Wuxian asked him. It was very important right now that he ask the question.
“Everything.”
The word sent a thrill through Wei Wuxian.
“Even…” he blushed and ducked his head again. Lan Wangji let go of one of his arms so he could tilt his head up, keeping the eye contact.
“Even.”
There was something definitely charged in the air between them. Lan Wangji’s confidence, his forcefulness, was making Wei Wuxian feel weak in the best way.
The thing was, if he were really uncomfortable he could get out of this any time he chose. He was a dragon. He could break Lan Wangji’s hold on him. Hell, he could destroy the Jingshi and most of Cloud Recesses if he really wanted to.
But submitting to Lan Wangji’s hold was intoxicating. It made him feel like nothing ever had, not since that night in the cave thirteen years before.
He turned his head so that he could kiss the hand that held his face.
Lan Wangji inhaled when his lips made contact, and when Wei Wuxian looked up to meet his gaze he finally saw him falter, a bit. For a moment Lan Wangji was the one who looked unsure.
“Wei Ying,” he said. “You’re alive. You’re here.”
“I am, Lan Zhan. I’m here.”
And then Lan Wangji pulled him forward and their lips met and everything in Wei Wuxian’s life made sense again.
Oh, how he had missed this. How he had longed for this. The last time, the only time, they had been desperate, terrified, facing down death on a bed of cold stone.
Now they were safe, warm with a soft mattress beneath them.
More things were different. Time had wrought changes to both their bodies. Wei Wuxian was certainly not the same. Back then he had matched Lan Wangji in musculature and height, had been his equal in every way that mattered.
Now Lan Wangji had the broader shoulders, carried sheer power in his chest and back and thighs. The greatest cultivator of their generation he was called, and also known as the Second Jade of Lan. Beauty and power, a deadly combination.
But there was no time for Wei Wuxian to regret what he’d lost. He laid back with a sigh and let Lan Wangji press him into the mattress and clung to him and whispered filth into his ear just for the joy of hearing Lan Wangji hiss at him to be quiet.
When Lan Wangji reached down between them he could only urge him on with words like “Yes, yes, just there, yes, you’re so fucking hot I missed you so much.”
Lan Wangji could not form words but he made up for it with his gasps, and a long, low moan when they reached their crest together and spilled over before collapsing together in an exhausted heap.
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and let his hands roam, not able to get enough of touching Lan Wangji now that he knew he could.
“I love you,” he said.
Lan Wangji gripped him tight. “Stay.”
“Just try and get me to leave, Lan-er-gege.”
***
Six Months Later
Lan Wangi still hated cultivation conferences.
Rooms upon rooms of people, long meetings where much was said but nothing was heard, much less accomplished, and the abhorrent necessity of actually socializing with people.
His partner, on the other hand, was in his element.
Wei Wuxian’s laughter rang out above the noise of the crowd like a clarion call and Lan Wangji naturally turned toward it.
His beloved was surrounded by his family. Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng, his nephew Jin Ling, and the boy Wen Yuan, who Wei Wuxian had introduced to Lan Wangji as “My son, whom I birthed from my own body.”
Lan Jingyi also stood there, elbow to elbow with Wen Yuan. Since the night of Jin Guangyao’s downfall, the two had become fast friends.
Wei Wuxian said something that made his sister laugh, and then he turned and looked until his eyes locked onto Lan Wangji’s.
He smiled, a soft, loving smile that Lan Wangji knew was for him alone. He raised his glass of club soda to him, and Wei Wuxian raised a wine glass in response.
“Wangji.”
Lan Wangji turned around. “Xiongzhang. I trust the conference has been productive.”
“In a manner of speaking,” his brother said.
“Jin Zixuan seems to be settling in well,” Lan Wangji said.
Once the dust settled and Jin Guangyao’s treachery became widely known, Jin Guangshan resigned his position as sect leader and retired. The official announcement had been that he wished to focus on his health and enjoy his family. The truth was the cultivation world insisted he step down, since he had allowed his son to perpetuate crimes under his very nose.
The reinstatement of Jin Zixuan as his heir had been swift, and while there had been some issues along the way, everything seemed to finally be reaching a state of normalcy.
The Wens had, unexpectedly, been welcomed into the Nie sect. They had left Yiling, and moved to Qinghe. Wen Qing was treating Nie Mingjue, and Lan Wangji hoped that she would be able to find not only a way to reverse the poison Jin Guangyao had used on him, but also a way to mitigate the effects of their saber style of cultivation. His partner was helping, he knew. Wei Wuxian’s knowledge of resentment was unmatched. In return, Yiling was now under the protection of the Qinghe Nie, and the people there need never fear their pleas for help would go unanswered again.
While Nie Mingjue’s prognosis was encouraging, Wen Qing’s assessment of Wei Wuxian after everything settled had been less positive.
Wei Wuxian had hoped that getting his bones back would cure the paralysis of his legs, enabling him to walk again.
But while his condition had improved, and he could stand and walk short distances with a cane, he would never regain full function. Jin Guangyao had used too much of his bone, Wen Qing said. And there was no way to recover it.
Wei Wuxian had struggled with the diagnosis at first.
So much that Lan Wangji worried about him, and finally confronted him about it.
“You just deserve more, Lan Zhan. You deserve someone who can stand beside you. We’re not an equal match.”
Lan Wangji had wrapped him in his arms and told him the absolute truth.
“You’re right. We are not.”
Wei Wuxian had stiffened in his arms, and he continued: “We were never an equal match. I could never measure up to the brightness of Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian had shaken his head to deny the truth. “Lan Zhan. You’re the one who is Hanguang-Jun.”
Lan Wangji had held him in his arms, and made a silent vow to tell him everyday how wonderful he was, until he finally believed it.
“Any light I have ever borne has been because you brought me out of darkness. I am now and will always be only a pale reflection of your brilliance.”
And his beloved had wailed and cried and accused Lan Wangji of trying to kill him because his heart couldn’t take such sincerity and Lan Wangji had taken his boyfriend to bed and bullied him and held him down and taken him apart until he cried and then afterwards they had snuggled together and Wei Wuxian had said: “I really do love you, you know.”
And now, looking at Wei Wuxian across a crowded room all Lan Wangji wanted to do was take him home and do that all over again.
Maybe he would tie his hands with his forehead ribbon. That might be fun.
“I hope the rest of the conference will be productive,” he said. “Good night, Brother.”
And he handed his brother his glass of club soda and walked away. As he drew closer to Wei Wuxian, a wave of love welled up inside him and threatened to crash over and drown him.
Sometimes he was overcome by the fact that he had this — had him — and it was overwhelming.
He continued to move toward him, drawn to him like he was a cold and lonely planet and Wei Wuxian was the sun.
Wei Wuxian looked up and noticed. He handed off his wine glass and made excuses and pushed himself away from his family.
He stopped the wheelchair right before him and reached out and took Lan Wangji’s hand and pulled it to him.
“Hey there, Handsome. You look like you want to take me home and tie me up and do unspeakable things to me.”
Well. There was no denying it. Lan Wangji knelt down and kissed his lover’s hand.
“Mn. You’re alive. You’re here.”
He said it often. And Wei Wuxian always answered the same way.
“I am.”
He tugged him closer and Lan Wangji followed, bending over to bring their lips together.
“Take me home, Lan Zhan?” he asked, once they pulled apart.
“Mn. Let’s go home.”
***
Wei Wuxian walked into the Jingshi. Lan Wangji had long before installed a wheelchair ramp, but there were times his boyfriend wanted to stand and move on his own two feet.
It was a halting, painful walk, but it was hard won independence and he knew it mattered to Wei Wuxian, that for short times and short distances he could stand and be almost of a height with Lan Wangji.
Using the chair was easier. Shifting and flying into the Jingshi as a dragon was easier yet. But tonight Wei Wuxian wanted to walk into their home on Lan Wangji’s arm and so he let him.
When he reached the bed he collapsed against it, chest heaving.
His skin was beautifully flushed from his effort. Lan Wangji unwound his white forehead ribbon, already imagining how it would look wrapped around his wrists.
But no. The picture in his head didn’t seem right. Too much contrast.
He put the ribbon aside.
Wei Wuxian quirked an eyebrow as he looked up at him. “Not in the mood to restrain me tonight?”
“I want you in red,” Lan Wangji said, and enjoyed how Wei Wuxian’s flush deepened. Yes. Red was the right choice.
His old qiankun pouch was on the table beside their bed. He reached in and pulled out the old red ribbon he had carried for years. The thin, worn paperman came with it, and he dropped both on the bed, before reaching into the drawer on the nightstand for other supplies he would need tonight.
He sensed Wei Wuxian’s shifting and turned, alarmed. Wei Wuxian didn’t often move unless told to once they began.
His beloved was sitting up in the bed, the ribbon and paperman in his hands.
Something about his face, about the intensity at which he stared at those two reminders that Lan Wangji had carried with him, made him pause.
“Wei Ying?”
For a few more heartbeats there was no answer, no change. But then Wei Wuxian raised his head and Lan Wangji was horrified to see tears streaking down his cheeks.
“Lan Zhan. When you said you had a ribbon and paperman, I didn’t think you meant this one.”
“Wei Ying. Beloved.” He reached out to wipe the tears away. Wei Wuxian lowered his head, not making eye contact. “Is something wrong? Did I….Did I do something wrong?”
Wei Wuxian shook his head. “I don’t think so. No, I know so. I know you didn’t, I just…Lan Zhan, I know why I’m not dead.”
Lan Wangji didn’t appreciate any conversation about Wei Wuxian being dead, and this was no exception. He shifted, uncomfortable, and placed a hand on Wei Ying’s leg, letting the touch ground him.
Wei Wuxian still didn’t look up at him. He had dropped the ribbon beside him, where its stark red color stood out like blood against Lan Wangji’s white sheets. The brittle paperman was cradled in his cupped palms.
“No one survives having their spine ripped out. Not even a dragon. It never made sense. Wen Qing said it should have been impossible. I should have died. I am pretty sure I did die. But I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t go on.”
He looked up, his eyes still glossy with tears. “You said it, back in Jinlintai. You said I had put too much of myself into the paperman that day.”
It began to make sense, then. The realization settled into Lan Wangji, the truth of it obvious now. He had protested the plan in the cave, that night, because Wei Wuxian had told him he had to imbue the paperman with his energy, his consciousness. Just a piece of my soul, he’d said. Then laughed it off, as if it had been nothing.
“Take it back. Wei Ying, take it back, maybe it will make you stronger, maybe it will help…”
Lan Wangji trailed off. He knew that Wei Wuxian wanted to be able to walk again, to run, to ride a sword as he once had. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t matter. Wei Ying was Wei Ying, whether he had two good legs or none. But it mattered to Wei Wuxian.
His love just shook his head, and curled his hand over the little paperman. “It’s just paper now, Lan Zhan. Nothing left for me to take back.”
“But…why? Something like that, it wouldn’t just disappear?”
Wei Wuxian reached over and gently placed the paperman on the nightstand. “Who knows? Doesn't matter.” He held his arms to Lan Wangji.
“Not sure I’m feeling up to being tied up anymore. But could I have a hug?”
There was nothing Lan Wangji wanted more. He lowered himself to him, pressing Wei Wuxian down into the mattress and lying on him and squeezing him tight the way he knew he liked.
“I just want you as my personal weighted blanket, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian would often say.
And in truth, Lan Wangji drew as much comfort from it as he gave.
He held Wei Wuxian tight, and breathed him in, the spicy sweet scent of his skin, the warmth of his body that felt like he ran a fever even when he was perfectly fine. Dragon metabolism. He ran hot, and burned through calories at a shocking rate. One day Lan Wangji would succeed at getting some weight on him. One day.
Lying on top of his lover, feeling as safe as he possibly could, Lan Wangji was able to give voice to things that hurt.
“I used to sleep with the paperman on my chest over my heart,” he said. “And the ribbon wrapped around my wrist. I didn’t know you, didn’t know your name, but I knew I was missing something and having them close to me, it helped.”
Wei Wuxian shifted underneath him, unspoken communication letting him know exactly what he wanted. He rolled over, pulling Wei Wuxian on top of him.
Wei Wuxian bent down and kissed him, deep, languorous, and slow.
When he stopped Lan Wangji kept talking, the grief that he still carried aching to be revealed, like a dull pain deep inside a joint that you are just certain would be relieved if you only were able to stab at the heart of it.
“You were gone. I didn’t know, but you were gone. You died and I didn’t even know what happened but I knew you left me.”
“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian spoke to him and punctuated his calling of his name with kisses.
“I never left you. How could I, when you were holding on to me so tight?”
It was Lan Wangji who initiated the kiss then, pulling Wei Wuxian to him and letting the press and slide and heat of his lips convey his feelings, when words failed him.
Wei Wuxian pulled up so that he could look at him, and Lan Wangji could see him. He placed one hand over Lan Wangi’s heart.
“My Lan Zhan. There is nothing left in the paperman because it’s here. You wrapped me up and kept me safe in your heart before you even knew who I was. Nothing was ever going to keep us apart. I couldn’t leave you, and you couldn’t not find me. You were carrying a piece of my soul, Lan Zhan. Our separation could only ever have been temporary. But I am sorry it was so long.”
Lan Wangji had no words to respond to that so he didn’t even try. He pulled Wei Wuxian to him and kissed him and held him and at some point both of them were crying and they kissed each other's' tears away and held each other while the light outside grew ever darker until dawn began to break.
As the morning light began to spill over and chase the shadows of the night away, Lan Wangji pressed a kiss to his sleeping lover’s head and spoke aloud the words that burned in his soul and clambered to be set free.
“We’re alive. We’re here.”