Chapter Text
One moment they are jumping from the weighed down boats in the middle of Biling Lake, water ghouls screeching behind them at their foiled ploy, the next Wei Wuxian is staring around himself, wide-eyed.
“What the fuck,” is all Wangji hears, the fog around them too thick to see most things clearly, but Wei Wuxian’s wide eyes are still visible, as is the slack look on his face.
He looks stunned.
Wangji quickly glances around himself, adrenaline spiking at the thought of whatever might have Wei Wuxian look so shocked in contrast to his usual cheerful disregard. And yet, Wangji can’t find anything, nothing that would explain Wei Wuxian looking so entirely stunned. It certainly cannot be the ghouls that had been clinging to the bottom of their boat, considering it was Wei Wuxian who realized long before anyone else.
“What the fuck,” Wangji hears again. A pause as Wei Wuxian does a slow spin on the boat they are now on. “What the fuck even.”
“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Wanyin scolds from the side, voice harsh, “Watch your language.”
For once, Wangji rather agrees with the Jiang heir.
But Wei Wuxian is flipping around, now staring at his sect brother with wide eyes. “Jiang Ch- Wha-,” he cuts off. “Wait.” An incredulous burst of laughter, his eyes appearing, if anything, even wider than before. “My language? You’re telling me to watch my language?” Another incredulous laugh, sounding almost like a sob, like a question, like pure hilarity, tilting his head back as if to stare up at the heavens, arms slack at his sides, hands curled into white-knuckled fists, his eyes wide and questioning and stunned. “What. The. Fuck.”
“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Wanyin reprimands again. Although it is clear that Wei Wuxian doesn’t hear him.
Wangji might admittedly be starting to worry a little. Until moments ago, Wei Wuxian had seemed so self-assured, cockily certain of himself and all he thinks he knows. But, now? Wei Wuxian is staring around himself with wide eyes, gaze vague and overly focused at the same time, flitting back and forth, catching on everything and nothing, the boats, the people around him, the lake, the fog, the screeching water ghouls. His back is straight even as his shoulders have curved inwards, the grip on his sword almost absent but white-knuckled, mouth tilted into something between anger and utmost confusion. There is something helpless, something heartbroken, something devastated about him.
Haunted, Wangji’s mind whispers at him for all that it makes no sense. Hunted, another part disagrees, just as senselessly.
Unless… Is Wei Wuxian being possessed? It seems unlikely considering his high cultivation and the number of skilled cultivators around him who should definitely have noticed a presence powerful enough to subdue Wei Wuxian’s consciousness slipping into their midst, but maybe-
Wangji doesn’t get any more time to contemplate. Underneath their feet, the boat gives a sudden lurch, blackened tendrils of resentment rising from the water all around them, thick as a man’s torso, a maelstrom of fury, whatever creature may have taken up residence at the bottom of Biling Lake, finally breaching the surface, reaching for those coaxed into its reach, aiming for destruction, for vengeance, resentment so thick it nearly chokes anyone present.
In the ensuing chaos, Wangji loses sight of Wei Wuxian.
It is just a few moments of distraction amongst the flurry of everyone getting themselves to safety on their swords, rising into the air to escape the resentment’s reach. By the time he realizes that Wei Wuxian has not followed them, it is already too late.
His chest squeezes in sudden panic, eyes sweeping the air around him, looking for Wei Wuxian, the annoying disciple who will not leave him alone, not even when Wangji isn’t in his presence and he still cannot think of anything else.
It is only when he directs his attention back towards the water that he spots him. A white-clad figure, hovering right at the very edge of the whirlpool that has opened up underneath their boats to drag the vessels into its depths, his figure barely visible amongst the lashing tendrils of thickened resentment, some of them as wide as Wei Wuxian himself.
Wangji’s heart lurches.
Wei Wuxian who doesn’t appear to be so much standing on his sword as he appears to be sitting on it. Sitting on his sword where it is hovering just above the churning surface of the maelstrom, at the very edge of the whirlpool, his feet dangling freely into the blackened abyss of the roaring vortex underneath him.
He sits there, calm and easy, like one might sit on a fishing dock while gazing across tranquil waters. He sits there, at the very edge of the roaring maelstrom, uncaring of the vicious riptides tugging at him, undeterred by the mass of vengeful spirits frenzying the waters around him, unconcerned by the thickened black tendrils of resentment cutting through the air around him. Neither the vengeful spirits nor the resentful tendrils so much as touch Wei Wuxian.
The image is so incongruous that it takes Wangji a few moments to make sense of what he is seeing.
“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Wanyin’s panicked voice echoes faintly above the sound of roaring water, Xichen wide-eyed and fearful beside the Jiang heir.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t react.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to hear.
Wei Wuxian seems unaware of the panicked calls from above him.
Instead, a soft humming begins drifting towards them, broken fragments of a haunting melody, carried upon the roar of the resentful frenzy beneath them, distorted and eerie. Within its midst, Wei Wuxian remains entirely untouched.
They watch in disbelief, their panic hastening in urgency, as a black tendril of resentment separates from those attempting to drag the hovering disciples into the creature’s unforgiving depths. This singular tendril, not quite as thick as a man’s torso, moving towards where Wei Wuxian remains hovering at the edge of its abyss, but only moving to carefully, almost tenderly, curl itself across Wei Wuxian’s legs, to lay itself across his lap. And then grow still.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t react, doesn’t even appear to notice, unaware of one of his own hands coming to idly pet at the thickened resentment lying so trustingly across his lap.
Wei Wuxian appears unbothered, the haunting melody carried on the rushing wind continuing, eerie, coaxing, soothing. Unabating. But his gaze remains hazy, unfocused, mind anywhere but here, nowhere even close to the present.
Not that those watching know that.
To them, Wei Wuxian appears to have merely lost his mind.
+++
Later, some of the watching disciples will swear to have witnessed a junior disciple hum a waterborne abyss out of existence. Or possibly talk it out of existence, no one is quite clear on that.
Even years later, the arguments on whether those rumors could possibly be true, will remain unsettled.
+++
“But that doesn’t make any sense, right?” Wangji can hear Wei Wuxian’s faint voice through the sound of still frenzied waters.
It has been hours since the waterborne abyss – for, that is what it must be that has taken up residence in the depths of Biling Lake – first rose beyond the surface to attempt reaching for anyone daring to aim for its destruction. It has been hours of waiting, of hovering close-by, testing anyone’s cultivation with the extended required flight. Several disciples were forced to make for the shore hours ago, cultivation lagging, instead quickly aiming for Cloud Recesses to request aid from some of their more senior disciples and elders. Who arrived quickly. But seemed just as stumped on how to proceed.
The picture is different now, the maelstrom abated, its whirlpool calmed and its abyssal depth smoothed out, the only sign of its previous presence being the harsh waves still crashing across the lake’s surface. Enough so that Xiongzhang has agreed to try getting closer to where one of the guest disciples under Gusu Lan’s care remains beyond their reach.
The image in front of them remains just as incongruous, Wei Wuxian still sitting on his own sword, impossibly sitting in the midst of a waterborne abyss, tendrils of resentment stretching across his lap as he pets at them absentmindedly, swarms of resentful spirits circling the water around his submerged feet.
“I mean, I could swear they looked like kids,” Wangji hears Wei Wuxian chatter on. “You know, like actual kids. Without a war or homes being burned down or anything. They looked like they’ve never even killed anyone.” A burst of laughter. “But that’s insane, right, Abby?”
Abby? Wangji blinks. Who is Wei Wuxian talking to?
Wangji glances over at his brother, who meets his eyes. Xichen looks just as confused as Wangji feels, still worried, though no longer panicked about potentially losing a guest disciple under his immediate watch.
Those initial moments after spotting Wei Wuxian sitting just above the surface of the churning waters had felt like something within his own chest was being pressed into nothing, ripped open and crushed at the same time, the thought of losing Wei Wuxian, of having already lost him when their immediate rescue attempts did nothing, foiled by aggressively lashing tendrils of resentment not letting anyone past, lashing at anyone daring to come close, almost as though they might be shielding the lone cultivator in their midst, senseless as that thought may be.
Wangji has never encountered resentment as thick, as condensed as this, his cultivation entirely useless in attempting to get past it, same for Xiongzhang or his clan’s more senior disciples once they arrived. There is something hollow, something furious, something breathlessly relieved pulsing within Wangji’s chest at Wei Wuxian’s continued chatter, at him remaining safe, despite the impossibility of it, hours of listening to Wei Wuxian’s soft humming, haunting and eerie, but clearly working.
For, over the hours of keeping watch, the spirits circling the waters appear to calm, even decrease in number, the heavy haze of resentment lifting from their surroundings, as though the spirits were being soothed in some manner.
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” Wei Wuxian agrees, as though he received some sort of reply from… the resentment in his lap? Or maybe the countless spirits circling the water around his feet?
Beside Xichen, Jiang Wanyin looks caught between utter terror and endless exasperation and quite a bit of fury. At least he has stopped yelling useless profanities Wei Wuxian’s way by now.
Wei Wuxian continues petting at the thickened resentment in his lap, that first tendril having significantly reduced in size, now less than a man’s leg in thickness, but also having been joined by a second tendril, just as thick, while a third appears to be in the process of creeping up Wei Wuxian’s legs to join them.
Wei Wuxian remains entirely unbothered.
The image is just as incongruous as it was before, possibly more so.
It is also at that point that Wei Wuxian notices them, glancing their way where they are now hovering not too far away from him, though still cut off by the resentment that immediately rises to lash at them whenever they attempt to get closer to its center. Wei Wuxian doesn’t react to their presence beyond throwing them all an assessing, vaguely disturbed look.
“Maybe I’m just hallucinating?” Wei Wuxian ruminates, voice faint over the sound of crashing waters and apparently still addressing the resentment in his lap, staring at them where he is bobbing up and down with the waves, sword still underneath him. “I mean, me losing my mind always seemed rather inevitable.” A pause. “Then again, there is you,” he gives the four coils now stretched across his legs, a fifth having come to wrap around his torso, something of an absentminded pat. “And you seem far too real to be any sort of hallucination.”
In Wei Wuxian’s lap, the much-diminished waterborne abyss slowly pulling itself from the dark waters to fully rest across his legs, begins to purr.
+++
Upon their return to Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian is immediately put under the strongest containment wards Gusu Lan has available, while the healers are already proceeding to check him for possession or lingering resentment.
There is nothing.
That is, of course, unless you count the far less impressive waterborne abyss still clinging to the side of Wei Wuxian’s legs, its center mass larger than the size of Wei Wuxian’s own torso, its tendrils coiled around most of his limbs, trailing smoky resentment in its wake.
“Well, it’s not her fault that all those unavenged dead were thrown right on top of her before she was driven down the river,” Wei Wuxian protests, voice ringing through the Healing Halls, one of his hands on top of the blackened, tendriled creature attached to his side and partially in his lap. “What was Abby supposed to do other than take them with her?”
“What are you talking about, Wei Wuxian?!” Jiang Wanyin hisses, fury and worry intermingling in his expression where he remains on the other side of the wards. “Who is ‘Abby’?”
“Abby,” Wei Wuxian says with a vague gesture at the creature of resentment in his lap. “You know, as in ‘abyss’? But calling her that seems strange. So, I’m calling her Abby.” A firm nod, as though confirming said name choice to himself, his fingers continuing to pet idly at the pure resentment clinging to his legs.
Everyone stares.
Wei Wuxian appears entirely undisturbed, even vaguely entertained by them all, humming softly to himself, to the resentment clinging to him, a melody as haunting as it is beautiful. The waterborne abyss certainly seems to think so.
Wei Wuxian appears to have entirely lost his mind.
+++
Their most senior ward master stares in bafflement when the waterborne abyss hisses at her for having come too close to Wei Wuxian. Her attempts to remove the clinging creature of resentment from Wei Wuxian’s person have been summarily unsuccessful.
“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says, sounding vaguely embarrassed but with a notable lack of distress. “Don’t mind her. She only just gave up all the other spirits she devoured to return to her base consciousness. Too much change in too little time, you know? Takes amalgamations like these a little to adjust, you see.” He smiles fondly, like a teacher might while reminiscing about their students.
Everyone is far too confused to do anything but nod.
+++
Wei Wuxian is put on bed rest while under the strongest containment wards their clan’s accumulated knowledge has to offer.
Mostly because no one seems to know how to treat someone who just performed the impossible feat of defeating a waterborne abyss, something he should be lauded for, something Gusu Lan owes him and his sect for, only for said abyss to attach itself to his person and clearly intends to remain right there. It makes no sense, the way the blackened mass of tendrils and resentment clings to Wei Wuxian without any apparent intention of harm or possession, how it appears soothed by Wei Wuxian’s presence, his humming, his petting, how it almost seems to shrink a little further while the elders debate about its fate close by, as though, with every pass of Wei Wuxian’s soothing hand, some of its resentment were chafed off its mass.
It makes no sense.
And yet.
There is something wrong with Wei Wuxian, Wangji is certain. Something that goes beyond his ease around concentrated resentment so heavy it should have Wei Wuxian gasping under its weight, something that goes beyond the impossible, inexplicable power he displayed while sitting in the midst of frenzied resentment but remained utterly untouched by its fury.
Wangji saw the relief suffusing Jiang Wanyin’s features when Wei Wuxian finally returned to his side. Even now, even despite the concentrated resentment stubbornly clinging to Wei Wuxian, Jiang Wanyin appears to draw comfort from his sect brother’s cheerful disregard of its presence, from the way Wei Wuxian appears to act just as before, laughingly protesting anyone’s prodding at him. Jiang Wanyin appears to consider Wei Wuxian fine.
Wangji disagrees.
Wei Wuxian may appear just as he did yesterday, still laughing and boisterous and cheerful. But. There is a heaviness to him now, to his presence, to his gaze, something that wasn’t there just this morning. Something haunted, something restless, something weighing upon his soul, his spirit. It might be well-masked by his teasing commentary and cheerful pouting, but Wangji cannot help but remember the wide-eyed desolation in Wei Wuxian’s eyes back on Biling Lake, his stunned surprise, the way breathless hope had intermingled with fear and fury, when his cheerful façade crumbled between one moment and the next, dispersing like mist, like smoke, like a raging fire had crossed his features and left behind nothing but a scorched world of desolation.
Wangji watches, worry heavy in his heart, cannot help but wish for the return of the annoying guest disciple he’d commanded to leave him alone just yesterday. Wangji detested him, detested the boy who kept seeking him out to tease him, detested Wei Wuxian’s carefree existence, the cheerful disciple whose steps seemed weightless and who smiled brighter than the sun and didn’t seem to have a single worry in the world. Wangji desperately wishes for that disciple to return.
Because, Wei Wuxian smiles just as brightly, just as cheerfully, laughs just as boisterously as he did just yesterday. However, Wangji knows better now, knows of the desolation that hides behind Wei Wuxian’s carefree smile.
He is uncertain whether it is that knowledge that has him more aware or whether Wei Wuxian’s demeanor really is different from before. To Wangji, there is something different about his presence, something heavier, more weighty, something carefully watchful in his eyes, his smile still brighter than any other Wangji has seen but also diminished somehow, no longer illuminating the room quite as it did before, like Wei Wuxian is somehow holding back its shine, taking up less space, or like a piece of him is missing, like something was ripped away from him and he might have forgotten it ever having been there in the first place.
Wangji hates it, hates watching everyone ignore how this Wei Wuxian doesn’t act quite as he should.
He watches as Wei Wuxian laughingly protests the bed rest but does not so much as mention the containment wards being set up around him, like those are simply a given. He watches as Wei Wuxian pouts but easily acquiesces when Jiang Wanyin orders him to comply with Gusu Lan’s orders. He watches as Wei Wuxian looks vaguely amused even as he agrees.
Like he isn’t really taking anything around him seriously. Like he is merely humoring them. Like he either agrees with them regarding their assessment of his potential insanity or considers them to be just as insane as they do him.
Wangji likes neither of those options.
+++
No one should be surprised when Wei Wuxian skips out of the Healing Halls the moment he is left alone for long enough to do so. Turns out, the reason he didn’t protest the containment wards set up around him might have been the fact that they prove utterly useless in holding either him or the amalgamation of resentment still clinging to him.
His disappearance promptly has everyone panicking.
For his part, Wangji would be panicking right alongside everyone else, if it weren’t for him having realized Wei Wuxian’s disappearance separately from everyone else, having spotted a familiar figure clad in healing-hall-blue disappearing amongst the trees of the Back Mountains as Wangji is making his way back towards the jingshi after seeking out his brother at the hanshi.
Wangji follows the familiar figure immediately, losing sight of Wei Wuxian several times along the way, but his general trajectory through the Back Mountains making it quite obvious where he is aiming.
+++
“Look, honored ancestor of the Lan,” Wangji hears Wei Wuxian’s voice, vaguely distorted by the Cold Caves’ echo. Cold Caves that an outsider like Wei Wuxian absolutely should not be able to enter. “You don’t need to do anything. You didn’t last time either, other than handing over that piece of metal to Lan Zhan and then moving on to whatever afterlife you had waiting for you.”
Wangji frowns. Who is Wei Wuxian talking to? Not to even mention what he is saying. Wangji can’t remember ever being handed any sort of metal from any ancestor, much less one who might have died right after.
“Although, on that note, do you think you’d be able to stick around a little longer this time since I’ll be leaving the Yin Iron here? Your sect could really use your help when the Wens come in a few weeks? Months? Not too sure when exactly they burned down Cloud Recesses… Then again,” he laughs brightly. “I might just be hallucinating all of this. Or I had a ridiculously reality-like dream… Huh, did I turn prophetic? Or, admittedly, this might also just be the afterlife. You know, considering I’m fairly sure I died already. Like, ninety-nine percent sure. Eighty at least.”
Wangji has frozen in place. What is Wei Wuxian speaking of? Cloud Recesses burning? Wei Wuxian’s own death? The mere thought feels like liquid ice dripping into Wangji’s heart, like his chest splitting open, like-
To his confusion, he hears a woman answering Wei Wuxian, though her voice is much too soft for him to make out her words.
In contrast, Wei Wuxian’s cheerful response is perfectly clear. “Not too well, to be entirely honest,” Wei Wuxian replies, cheerful but also something weighty in his voice, something forewarning. “This piece gets stolen, as do most of the others, and then there is war and all the Great Sects get pillaged and the smaller sects are even worse off and more than half of our cultivators died and by the end of it there really wasn’t much left. Except for the Jins, of course.”
A surprisingly derisive sound in the woman’s voice.
“Yeah, exactly,” Wei Wuxian agrees in cheerful disgust. “Useless peacocks, the lot of them.”
Wangji is very confused. Wei Wuxian is speaking of things that have not happened, things more devastating than Shufu and the elders have spoken of even in those meetings that Xichen and Wangji were only permitted to attend due to their positions within Gusu Lan. Things that speak of desolation, a world destroyed.
Ahead, Wei Wuxian chatters on, “So, I came up with a way to draw resentment from objects back when I was trying to destroy the Yin Hu Fu. Sure would have been handy during the war, you know? Or when Lan Zhan and I went to collect the pieces the first time,” Another laugh, though it rings hollowly, devastation and grief in Wei Wuxian’s voice. Before he bounces right back, “Then again, it never worked on the Seal, though I’m hoping that was only because I had already reforged it to be self-containing… Maybe? Not entirely sure about that,” a self-deprecating chuckle.
Wangji can barely make sense of what Wei Wuxian is saying anymore, too many things that are unfamiliar. He hears the woman is speaking once more, although still too softly for Wangji to understand her words.
“Oh, I don’t know, actually,” Wei Wuxian returns, sounding cheerful once more. “I was surprised how easy it was to get in here as well! I thought I might have to break the wards in order to get in,” he laughs. “Last time your qin kept attacking me, so Lan Zhan had to tie his ribbon around our wrists to make it stop. Clearly, it likes me better this time around.” Another cheerful laugh. “But all the better this way, you know. I’m kind of in a hurry.”
All the while Wangji is choking on nothing. What is- Wei Wuxian is speaking of handfasting. Of Wangji handfasting him. Like it is nothing, like it wouldn’t mean-
Ahead, Wei Wuxian continues his chatter, “So, I’m just here to try drawing the resentment from this piece and make sure that, even if Wen Ruohan gets his hands on it, which I really hope he won’t, there at least won’t be any resentment in it for him to feed into his megalomaniac lack of understanding what resentful energy even is. You know that the man honestly thinks he is cultivating resentment? When clearly he is just using his Core to mold it.” A snort. “Amateur.”
Wangji has no idea what Wei Wuxian is even talking about anymore, few of his words making sense. He speaks of events Wangji knows have not happened. He speaks of war, of his own death, of people Wangji is certain Wei Wuxian should not be quite so familiar with. He speaks of cultivating resentment as though there were a discussion to be had about different methods for wielding it.
Wangji would be tempted to brush all of it aside as yet another of Wei Wuxian’s many pranks... And yet, he thinks of stunned, widened eyes, of forlorn laughter, of the incongruous image of Wei Wuxian sitting within the frenzied midst of a waterborne abyss, seeming more at home than he did in Gusu Lan’s Healing Halls…
His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of splashing water, as though someone might be trying to move through knee-high water quickly, towards or away from something, “Wait, no! No, no, no! What are you doing?! Don’t give it to me!” Some more splashing. “I don’t want it. I really don’t. I cannot even tell you how much I don’t want it. I’m just here to see whether I can get the resentment out of that chunk of metal and then I’ll be on my way and find the other pieces and do the same with them and, hopefully, without any resentment to power them, no one will be able to track them, certainly not this one, and, viola, no Wen invasion and no burning of the Cloud Recesses and no Lan Zhan walking around on a broken leg because he’s just that stubborn. Is that a genetic thing, by the way? All your descendants seem rather stubborn, to be entirely honest.”
Wangji is frowning deeply as he continues making his way through the paths of the Cold Caves, still entirely confused, but a part of him also keeping track of all the impossible, nonsensical things he has heard Wei Wuxian mention. Cloud Recesses burning. A Wen invasion. A war. Cultivating resentment. Wei Wuxian’s death. Calling him Lan Zhan.
Wangji has questions. Quite a few of them.
“Yeah, exactly. So, if you could just hold your piece like that- Yes, that’s perfect. So, now I can-,” Wei Wuxian’s voice cuts off. And suddenly, a wave of resentment so strong, so all-encompassing, overwhelming, suffocating, swamps the caves, it nearly throws Wangji backwards, has him stagger under its weight, resentment strong enough to push him physically, several steps backwards, back towards the entrance, a wave so strong it has his Core pulsing in alarm as his qi rises to counter it, to shield itself, to protect him. It makes the waterborne abyss seem laughable in comparison, when it had been the strongest resentment Wangji had ever felt before just earlier today. Not anymore. Not even close.
The woman’s voice again, much louder than before but her words still impossible to make out above the roaring resentment, her formerly calm voice ringing with alarm and Wangji throws himself forward, through the resentment, qi flaring as he hastens his steps in order to reach-
Another wave of resentment, just as strong, just as unexpected. And another, having him stumble and reach out to brace against one of the walls.
Wei Wuxian, he thinks, urgently. Wei Wuxian, don’t-
Another wave. And another, another, another. Coming too quickly for Wangji to brace fully against, his Core pulsing as it does its best to shield him.
And then, suddenly, nothing.
The air itself stills, pauses, resentment hanging hazily, heavily in the air, filling the Cold Caves with its weighty haze, but no longer pulsing, no longer crashing in impossible waves.
Unmoving.
Calm.
Too calm.
Wangji braces himself.
He still nearly collapses forward underneath the wave that pushes at him from the back, from behind, resentment sweeping back, rushing from where it swept outwards just seconds ago, as though sucked right back towards its origin, back into the cave, back where Wei Wuxian is-
Wangji throws himself forward.
By the time he makes it into the main cave, all he can do is watch in confused panic as the resentment that had been pressing him down so inescapably seems to flow right into Wei Wuxian, flaring around him like an aurora of darkness-hazed power, undulating, fluctuating, before sinking into his skin through his clothes, blinking out of existence as though it had never been there before.
Wei Wuxian who is standing across from an unfamiliar woman in formal Lan dress, the robes of a sect leader, her features worried, hands held out, a piece of glowing metal hovering above her palms.
“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says faintly as he clearly spots Wangji, blinking at him slowly, sluggishly, the last wisps of resentment curling around his shoulders as they sink into his skin. “Hello, Lan Zhan. You’re here,” he observes, somewhat laggingly. Then, a smile, bright enough for his eyes to curve into halfmoons despite his unfocused gaze, somehow brighter than any of his other smiles since Biling Lake. “I didn’t think you’d be here this time!”
Wangji says nothing, confused and angry, worry compressing his very heart as he carefully steps closer.
Wei Wuxian seems unaware, swaying in place, blinking at him fuzzily. “You know, Lan Zhan,” he says conversationally. Like they’re friends, like they know each other as friends would. “I think this body might not be quite as adjusted to holding resentment as I had assumed.”
And then promptly passes out, right into Wangji’s arms.
+++
He takes Wei Ying home with him.
Wei Ying. Because Wei Ying keeps calling him Lan Zhan and because this certainly isn’t the guest disciple he has known for the past few months, at least not entirely, not anymore.
Lan Yi’s words ring in his mind.
Words of human hubris and the heavens revising mortal error, of centuries-old cultivation secrets, of impossibly dangerous powers. Of the universe correcting itself by choosing the one most likely to succeed in doing so.
Wei Ying, he thinks, a little forlornly. Just two days ago, Wei Wuxian had been happy, endlessly joyful, teasing him in the library, breaking rules and making jokes and making friends and unconcerned with anyone’s disapproval but also caring and kind and so incredibly bright it was impossible to look away from him.
Wei Ying still is. All of those things.
And yet, for this Wei Ying, the cost of that brightness has been steep. Too steep.
Wangji does not think he is particularly enthused at the universe putting the weight of its own errors solely on Wei Ying’s shoulders. Wangji has already decided to share that burden as well he can.
He is too distracted by bringing Wei Ying to his home to notice anything else. He is too distracted by settling the other boy in his bed, blushing over removing the other’s outer layers but also rather content at the sight of that slender figure slack in his grip, pliant and trusting, letting himself be carried and moved and settled in Wangji’s bed. He is too distracted by settling into bed right beside Wei Ying, too distracted by the other’s warmth, his breathing, his presence so close.
He is too distracted to notice the little shadow sneaking after them, a floating piece of metal that is entirely discontent with the idea of remaining anywhere its newly chosen wielder isn’t. He does not notice the soft rustling amongst the neatly folded stack of robes in the other room, has no attention to spare for all-powerful metal tucking itself away in the depths of Wei Ying’s robes, settling in contently.
It will be some days until Wei Ying himself will notice.
By then, they will have other problems to deal with.
+++
For her part, Lan Yi watches the Yin Iron follow the two boys out of the cave she made her own prison so long ago.
One child of her own clan and one from another sect, the latter of whom having wandered into her cave like the wards were no hindrance at all, who speaks of a horrible, ruinous future, who merely aimed to rid the Yin metal of its resentment without any interest in attaining the powerful tool for himself and, somehow, succeeded in doing what she had failed to do for centuries.
She will not protest the Yin Iron’s decision when it comes to its wielder, knows better than to even try, instead taking the words spoken to her to heart. A warning, a gracious boon from the heavens to help her ensure the safety of her sect.
She deliberately hadn’t disabused the boy of his misconception as to her inability to leave the caves. She doubts he would have been quite as free with the information he provided if he’d realized. Or maybe he would have. He seemed rather unconcerned with reality as he clearly does not believe it. Yet. She is certain her own descendant will do his best to change that.
For now, she makes her way from the Cold Caves towards the current sect leader’s home to speak to, to forewarn, to demand why a disciple as skilled and powerful as the one who just solved a problem she hadn’t been able to rid herself of in the past few hundred years appeared in her cave all on his own, instead of with the backing of her entire sect behind him. Why this boy apparently lived through all of this before, without considering himself welcome anywhere, despite already having been handfasted into her sect. Why a child who is clearly favored by the heavens, enough so for him to be tasked with fixing what has been deemed mortal error, has not been poached by her own sect yet.
Do not be wasteful. Lan An’s teachings are very clear on the matter.
If she finds out it’s because those stuffy elders are discontent with the boy’s manners or conduct or something equally ridiculous, she is going to throw something. Possibly the elders themselves.
One by one.
Straight off this mountain.