Chapter 1: Am I reborn? Absolutely not! I can't do this shit a second time!
Notes:
Hellooo and welcome to this story!! I would like to start by specifying that I am Italian and therefore English is absolutely not my first language, I do not have a beta reader so I helped myself with the dictionary and my school knowledge to write it. If there are inaccuracies or errors please do not hesitate to tell me! Before leaving you to read I would like to quickly clarify a few things and some hashtags so that you can decide whether to continue reading or not.
🪷 𝙏𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙡 𝙛𝙞𝙭 𝙞𝙩: I really mean to fix everything and give everyone what they deserve! I am still a little insecure about Jin Guangyao and Jiang Wanyin because 1. Jin Guangyao certainly has his reasons but I cannot forgive him for what he did. Definitely once Jin Guangshan will be out of the way (he's the one I hate the most and I can't wait for this moment), the leader of the Jin clan will be Jin Zixuan as he deserves with his beautiful Jiang Yanli at his side and he will obviously make Jin Ling his heir. Jin Guangyao could remain as an advisor but I still have to think about it, in short there will be a redemption arc. 2. Jiang Cheng is honestly a complex character, but he also has his faults. I can't digest the fact that many fans defend him by denying what he has evidently done and excusing his every action, but here too I intend to bring him back on the right path, but not before facing his faults. He will get closer to Wei Wuxian but one will remain to rule Lotus Pier while the other will finally return to Gusu in peace.
🪷 𝙇𝙖𝙣 𝙕𝙝𝙖𝙣 | 𝙇𝙖𝙣 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙟𝙞 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙒𝙚𝙞 𝙔𝙞𝙣𝙜 | 𝙒𝙚𝙞 𝙒𝙪𝙭𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝘼𝙧𝙚 𝙇𝙖𝙣 𝙔𝙪𝙖𝙣 | 𝙇𝙖𝙣 𝙎𝙞𝙯𝙝𝙪𝙞'𝙨 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨: I have to say that (unfortunately) here he is not their biological son but I intend to make him their son in every way. Obviously I intend to write other ff in which he will be their biological son, but in this ff I would have had to change an entire narrative arc so he will be their adoptive son as he has always been.
🪷 𝙂𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙐𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙚 𝙇𝙖𝙣 𝙌𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙣: Let's be clear: we all know Lan Qiren's faults, but I have a soft spot for the ffs where he's a good person towards WEI WUXIAN, because he's a really good person but he acted the way he did because of his prejudices and his closed mind. I definitely plan to open it up a bit for him because this hashtag will be seen right away.
that said, happy reading!!!
🌺( ´͈ ᵕ `͈ )◞♡
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s not unusual for Lan Qiren to find himself taking tea at the Jingshi with his nephew on a mild spring afternoon. It is, however, unusual to find anything out of place in Wangji’s ever-pristine quarters. That’s why Lan Qiren notices it the very moment he crosses the threshold: a letter, left carelessly on the low cherrywood table. It's slightly crumpled, its corners gently folded, as if someone had pressed it in their hands—not aggressively, not intentionally, but just enough to mark it. That, however, becomes secondary the instant Lan Qiren sees the brushstrokes. Or more precisely—the way they are written. The handwriting seems strangely familiar… like a smudge on the edge of recognition… and—no. No. Of course it’s familiar. How could he forget? He spent hours in the past reviewing rule after rule written in that exact same script. Wei Wuxian. Who else could it be? How dare he write to my nephew! Isn’t it enough the way he already makes him suffer? Impudent little—
The door opens with barely a sound, revealing his nephew just returned from the library. He pauses, then steps inside and closes the door gently behind him.
“Shufu,” Lan Wangji greets him with a flawless bow. Or rather, it would appear flawless—if one didn’t know him. Which, frankly, most people don’t. Lan Qiren returns the greeting with a nod. But… there’s hesitation, perhaps a flicker of awareness that his uncle has seen the letter. Still, he says nothing. With calm restraint, Lan Wangji gestures for him to sit and, almost casually, he collects the letter from the table, folding it neatly and tucking it into his sleeve the way one might clear away fine porcelain. Then he begins to prepare the tea. Lan Qiren doesn’t bother to fill the silence. He seats himself with composed dignity.
Lan Qiren cannot soften the stern look on his face—the faintly furrowed brow, the mouth turned subtly downward. Lan Wangji soon sets down a steaming cup of jasmine tea before him, and serves himself as well, finally taking a seat across the low table. One sip, then another. Lan Qiren almost doesn't register the heat on his tongue, the warmth trailing down his throat. When he finishes, the small cup meets the table with a clink—perhaps a touch too firm. He does not release it.
“You've been written to,” Lan Qiren states, his voice tight. He notes how his nephew has barely touched his tea. Lan Wangji lifts his gaze and nods solemnly, letting silence settle over them once more, cloaking them like an extra layer of silk robes.
It doesn’t last. One of them must give in. And Lan Wangji does. He knows his uncle will never let this go—he might even fly straight to Wei Wuxian to demand answers. So he retrieves the letter. Perhaps he holds it too tightly, because a few seconds pass before he hands it over. Once in Lan Qiren’s possession, he wastes no time reading it.
And… it’s not so terrible. It stirs something unexpected in him: pity. Because what Wei Wuxian asks is no ordinary request—it’s a plea. A heartfelt, desperate plea. And for what? He is begging his nephew to accompany him to Jin Rulan’s one-month celebration. Nothing more. It reads like the words of a man crying through ink, and it doesn't sound like Wei Wuxian. Is he unwell? Maybe he’s simply reaching out to Wangji for help. And truthfully… that thought brings a strange relief to Lan Qiren’s chest. Isn’t that what his nephew has always longed for? Perhaps, once this is over, Wangji will no longer be consumed by longing.
But… something feels off. Would Wei Wuxian harm Lan Wangji? No. The answer crystallizes in Lan Qiren’s mind immediately. No, he would not. But something about this still gnaws at him. What if he intends to abduct him? Hold him for ransom? Blades? Provisions? Weapons? Supplies for the army they say he’s building? But they’re dead—what would they do with such things? Maybe for the Wen cultivators he’s taken in?
That’s when something rings in Lan Qiren’s mind. Shouldn’t I ignore gossip? Shouldn’t I investigate? Verify? Isn’t indifference a punishable failing?
So why hasn’t he acted yet?
Because it’s Wei Wuxian, says a voice louder than the rest. Is this not the chance to make amends?
Lan Qiren folds the letter in on itself and sets it gently on the table. His eyes return to his nephew, who has remained perfectly still, watching his every move, reading the faintest twitch of brow or breath as if it might betray a blow.
“Wangji.” Lan Wangji almost flinches at his name. Were he any other man, he’d be squirming in his seat, asking frantic questions. But he is Hanguang-Jun. He remains seated, posture flawless, though his spine may be just a bit too straight, his hands gripping his robes a bit too tightly, lungs perhaps holding in more air than needed, and—
“Wangji,” Lan Qiren repeats. “I will go with you.”
Of course Wei Wuxian hadn’t planned on waking up. How could he? He was dead. He wanted to be dead. That was the whole point. He’d imagined his lungs would never again feel the weight of air filling them—and yet, here he was, eyes heavy and blinking against the irritating light filtering through the mouth of the cave, the cold rock pressed against his back, the stabbing pain that filled his body—the one he’d gotten used to. Of course it had to be this place, of all places.
Who knows how long I have to live again before I die, again. Are they all gone already? Would it be quicker to drown in that pool of blood—or is there still time? Wen Qing? Shijie? Wen Ning? Jin Zixuan? What would it matter, either way? He already knows how this ends. He’s tired. His strength left him long ago. Wasn’t dying once enough? Does he have to go through all of this shit again just to die at the end anyway? Maybe this is his punishment.
A sudden crick in his neck forces him to turn his head slightly. And that’s when he sees it: The elegant golden invitation, stamped with the Jin clan’s seal, resting atop the makeshift stone table.
No… No. Please. So it really is happening again. This was the beginning of the end—wasn’t it?
Okay, fine. Maybe he really did try to drown himself in the red pool. Maybe Wen Ning did find him. Maybe Wen Qing really did scold him half to death, panic etched all over her face. And maybe—honestly—he didn’t react at all. Maybe he just let the tears fall in silence, staring into the void as soon as he saw them both. Maybe—maybe—he ended up crying into one of their arms (he couldn’t tell whose, maybe both), with soft, pitiful sobs, clinging like a child who’s broken his favorite toy— except he’s not a child. He’s twenty-one. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to let go for a while.
But he doesn’t feel better. He feels like shit. And it’s worse because— Instead of thinking of a way to save them, he thought of a way to die. And sure, what would it change? They died because of him—didn’t they? If he leaves, they die unprotected. If he stays, the clans come again—and they still die.
What should he do? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He has no will left. He’s so tired, tired, tired—and—
Oh. The invitation.
He could simply go alone. And die. Well, fuck it. Wen Ning can’t go with him—he wants to protect him this time. He doesn’t deserve to carry the burden of guilt—not his own—that led him and his sister to die in vain.
Be less selfish, Wei Wuxian.
But he’s so tired. He doesn’t know if he can do it alone… and maybe, maybe if someone came with him—someone with enough prestige— they wouldn’t attack.
… Shit. That means asking for help, doesn’t it?
All right. He’ll ask for help from… from…
he doesn't have many options, does he?
Notes:
🌹 soo chapter finished, even if it's short. Obviously the next ones will be longer, this could be said to be an introduction.
I could have actually had just Lan Wangji go with Wei Wuxian, but it needed someone with more authority and respect than all the cultivators at the ambush combined, so here's Lan Qiren!𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀:
Wei Wuxian might appear ooc but simply his mental state is the same as when he died, that is terrible, and there will be a lot of tears and insecurity. He didn't have 13 years to recover but he will have all his loved ones by his side this time.I hope you enjoy! ♡＾▽＾♡🌹
Chapter 2: Jin Zixun being Jin Zixun in every universe
Notes:
Alright, let's get into the story!
Happy reading 🌺💞
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He remembers the first time Wen Qing asked him whether he'd like to wear something a little nicer, or perhaps an ornament for his hair. Naturally, he’d said no. Even when she’d offered to tie his hair for him, his answer had been the same.
This time, he hadn’t said no. Or at least… not to that last question. How could he? If he's going to die soon, he might as well enjoy this—enjoy her. He’s missed her so terribly. And that’s how they ended up like this: Wei Wuxian sitting on the ground, staring into the void, while Wen Qing sits behind him on his "bed", deft fingers of a healer unraveling any knots she finds, letting a white cedar comb glide gently through his soft dark strands.
Neither speaks. Wen Qing is so careful, so gentle, that it makes his lip tremble. Suddenly, he feels this awful need to stay—to remain in this moment, here, now, and not go to the damned Golden Carp Tower. But— that would be terribly rude. He should feel honored to be invited and—
A quiet whimper slips past his lips, causing the comb to pause before resuming its motion a heartbeat later. Wen Qing has the decency not to mention it, and he is immensely grateful. He's not sure what might spill out of his mouth if she had. He just want to disappear from the face of the universe.
When Wen Qing finally finishes with the comb, a warm, steady hand rests gently on the crown of his head, giving him a few light strokes. Then her fingers move to the sides of his hair to gather two locks of hair.
Then he must have zoned out, because when he returns to himself, two braids have appeared, one on each side of his head, drawn back and woven into his usual half-up ponytail. The vibrant red ribbon has been tied at its usual place, securing everything in place like always.
He’s grown so used to silence that when Wen Qing finally speaks, he nearly flinches.
"A-Ying." -and just hearing that name nearly is already enough to undo him.
"Are you sure you want to go? It's all right if you don’t. Nothing will happen—your shijie and Hanguang-Jun will understand—" But she doesn't finish, because she’s interrupted by Wei Wuxian’s silent nod. He hasn’t even registered half of what she said.
"I want to go." Maybe he says it to convince himself. Or maybe he doesn't say it at all— but he must have said it, because those hoarse words scrapes his throat raw and it burns now.
Then somehow, without knowing how, he's on his feet. He really should stop being so pathetic— but just now he catches the softness in Wen Qing’s gaze— and all he wants is to shrink, to vanish into nothing.
She rises too, brushing her robes lightly, and she makes sure his dark robes are clean and neat, and for once, properly fastened. No exposed chest, no collarbones (perhaps just a little prominent, but only slightly) in sight.
His robes are held in place by a black sash tied neatly around his waist in a bow. He'd liked his usual loose outer robe to cover up and hide in, but he has no idea where he’s left it— probably he spaced out again before while getting dressed.
Wei Wuxian simply watched as Wen Qing accepts his answer in silence. She checks for stray hairs out of place, then draws two small porcelain jars from her sleeve. His mind takes a moment to recognize them— but by then, it's too late to react. He feels the dense, rosy powdered rouge being dabbed onto his cheeks, then to his lips.
He can't see himself. Maybe that's for the best. He doesn't protest.
He remembers those little jars—he saw them at the market here in Yiling and bought them for her. She'd scolded him for two days straight, but in the end, she thanked him. He knew she’s appreciated it.
"I’m giving you a bit of color, I can’t have you showing up looking like a corpse," Wen Qing mutters dryly, but with a touch of tenderness.
And gods—she's right. He must look awful, pale as hell, looking more like someone from the world of the dead than the living. Which is ironic, considering he was part of that world until just a week ago. And damn—it’s already been a week? It must be, because he's had time to write to Lan Zhan and to receive a reply a couple days later.
Shit. Lan Zhan.
His stupid brain picks now to process that he’ll be seeing him soon— since Lan Zhan insisted on coming to fetch him all the way up to the Burial Mounds, writing that he’d wait outside the barrier and would signal once he arrives.
Great. Stay calm. Steady. Keep it together.
"Thank you," he murmurs softly, perhaps for this. Perhaps for everything.
Wen Qing gives him a small smile with quiet tenderness, soft and knowing. Once she’s done, she steps back, observes her handiwork, and nods in approval.
"All right then, off you go. Try to enjoy yourself, okay? I’ll see you in a few days." She gives his arm a gentle pat. And before he can say a word, she breaks the moment, shoving him out of the cave.
He can do this—
…right?
Lan Qiren keeps his gaze fixes on his nephew as the corpses allow him to knock against the resentful energy barrier behind them, which trembles slightly in response. So, they wait.
Not long after, a figure in the distance begins to approach until a small section of the barrier dissipates, and two fierce corpses step aside. Soon, Wei Wuxian emerges from the improvised entrance—and apparently, he isn’t alone, because before they can even fully take in the scene, a small figure crashes into Lan Wangji's leg.
A single glance reveals to Lan Qiren it’s a child—a child!—whom Lan Wangji, with an uncharacteristically gentle expression, reaches down to pat him on the head.
“A-Yuan,” he murmurs, receiving an excited, gleeful reply— “Rich-gege!”
"Lan Zhan—oh… and Lan-xiansheng.” Wei Wuxian’s voice is unsettlingly flat as he greets them, but he’s so taken aback by Lan Qiren’s presence that, for a brief moment, he’s tempted to flee and seal himself back inside the Burial Mounds.
It takes him a few seconds to recover, before he offers them a polite bow. Lan Qiren barely registers the gesture—his focus locked on his nephew, standing there with a damned child.
At this point, Lan Wangji’s attention settles wholly on Wei Wuxian, his expression openly tender—almost as if it feels surreal to see Wei Wuxian standing before him. Wei Ying is here. Wei Ying is here!
"Wei Ying", he says, looking straight at him, and somehow that alone makes Wei Wuxian feels oddly shy.
“I… I’m sorry about A-Yuan. He just—he heard you were coming and absolutely insisted on greeting you…”
Lan Wangji cuts off his worry with the faintest shake of his head before it can spiral further.
“Wei Ying, it’s fine. I’m glad. I wanted to see him too.”
A pause, before Lan Wangji finally turns toward Lan Qiren.
“Shufu, this is Wen Yuan. A-Yuan, this is my uncle.”
A-Yuan peers shyly at Lan Qiren, then ducks behind Lan Wangji’s leg, casting curious little glances at him.
“Hello, Rich-gege’s Shufu.” A hesitation—unsure—then a small trembling voice rises from his lips.
“…Are you here to take my Xian-gege away?”
And that, finally, seems to snap Lan Qiren out of his initial shock. But before he can answer, Wei Wuxian has already knelt before A-Yuan— and at that same moment, so has Lan Wangji.
Wei Wuxian nearly flinches at the proximity— and suddenly, he’s completely overwhelmed.
First, because Lan Qiren is here—Lan Qiren! Of all people, him! Second, because Lan Wangji is being so gentle, and now so close to him, and— he could still run. He could still hide—and—
Suddenly, A-Yuan throws his arms around both of them, and the world comes to a standstill.
Wei Wuxian freezes for a moment before wrapping one arm tightly around the boy, because if he were to use both arms— he would have to embrace Lan Zhan as well— Lan Zhan!
The sheer effort with which he holds back his tears nearly chokes him— (he has cried more in the past week than he did in his entire previous life) because damn it—his first life ended with him hiding a terrified A-Yuan inside a rotting tree trunk, and A-Yuan had trusted him so completely that he barely even protested.
The hand clutching A-Yuan suddenly feels warm— a faint tingling sparking through his fingers— as Lan Wangji’s hand rests directly atop his, against the boy’s small back.
“A-Yuan.” he says, his voice almost cracks when he says the name— but he forces a small smile for his little one.
“I’ll be back so fast you won’t even notice I was gone, mm? In the meantime, you have to take care of our home, okay? Can you do that?”
A-Yuan nods with far too much seriousness for a three-year-old.
“A-Yuan can do it! I'm a big boy. Xian-gege doesn’t need to worry!”
Wei Wuxian lets out a soft chuckle, nodding.
“All right. I’ll see you in a few days, my little radish.”
Lan Wangji silently observes the exchange— his heart wrapped in a warmth that lulls his heart and his palm itches, still pressed against A-Yuan’s back, a quiet ember of heat gathering beneath his touch.
“I’ll see you again when I bring your Xian-gege back, A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji finally adds— not wanting to dwell on the moment he’ll have to leave Wei Wuxian here again.
He rises with a slight rustle of his still immaculately white robes, and he watches as Wei Wuxian—clearly—is not ready to let go of A-Yuan just yet.
Feeling his uncle’s heavy gaze once again, Lan Wangji (reluctantly to ruin the moment) extends a hand to him.
“Wei Ying, it’s best if we go.”
Wei Wuxian seems almost oblivious to his words, but after a long beat, he loosens his grip and noticing Lan Wangji’s hand, he looks at it—startled— then, without protest, takes it.
Meanwhile, little A-Yuan is picked up by Wen Ning— Wen Ning?!— whose arrival neither Lan Wangji nor Lan Qiren had noticed until now, distracted as they were.
Wen Ning bows to them as much as his fierce corpse-stiff joints allow and greets them respectfully, brief, eyes lowered, before exchanging a few quiet words with Wei Wuxian, then takes A-Yuan’s tiny hand with great care.
And as Wen Ning leads the boy away, only the three of them remain.
Lan Wangji thinks he must be dreaming—because the moment Wei Wuxian stepped past the wards, something in his mind ceased to function, gears grinding to a halt, and his heart skipped more than a few beats.
Well. That’s the reaction anyone would have after just catching a glimpse of him—because gods, he’s beautiful. Lan Wangji would gladly kiss the ground he walks on.
But soon, those thoughts give way to something else: fear, and consuming concern, because— why does it look like Wei Ying is on the verge of death?
He wasn’t this bad the last time they met. Now it’s as if his soul abandoned his body, only to reawaken it and let it wander aimlessly.
His skin—once kissed by the sun—now holds the pallor of a specter, emphasized all the more by his long, raven-black hair, delicately styled.
Dark shadows carve beneath his eyes, and from a distance, one might mistake them for makeup.
Lan Wangji could spend hours simply admiring him and fantasizing about Wei Ying's small waist and how there is a noticeable roundness at his lower back—But— a cultivator’s body should appear strong and radiant.
So why does Wei Ying’s body resemble a withered rose, deprived of sustenance?
More than that—
A rose should have sharp, piercing thorns.
So why does Wei Ying carry nothing with him?
Not even Chenqing is in its usual place.
And yet—somehow—Lan Wangji knows Wei Ying hasn’t even noticed, because those bright silver eyes— the ones that could replace the sun and moon and no one would even think twice— now, they resemble the deep black of night. A darkness that swallows everything whole.
A void.
Empty.
Wei Ying. His heart cries out.
Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying…
What’s happening to you?
The journey is a quiet one. Yes, the journey—because they are traveling on foot.
After an embarrassingly long stretch of silenze following the departure of A-Yuan and Wen Qionglin, Lan Qiren had broken it by asking Wei Wuxian where his sword was. No one had high expectations, and they were met accordingly when Wei Wuxian, in a small voice, replied that he didn’t know, offering nothing more. Lan Qiren had merely muttered a curt “negligent,” and then declared, “Walking a bit will do everyone good.”
Perhaps the thought of his nephew carrying Wei Wuxian on his sword unsettled him, and at least this way, Lan Wangji has enough time to physically and mentally prepare for being surrounded by crowds and chaos.
And so, here they are.
Lan Qiren walks ahead of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, and the only sound daring to cut through the air is the steady crunch of their footsteps against the path, the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by a stray gust, and the distant cry of animals nearby. Nothing else.
It would almost be a relief for the uncle-and-nephew pair—if not for the fact that silence has never really been an option in Wei Wuxian’s company. Though Wei Wuxian walks without truly focusing on his surroundings, staring at a distant point ahead, he still remains within Lan Wangji’s personal space, close enough to feel his warmth. From time to time, he snaps back to awareness, cautiously looking around, flinching slightly at any sudden noises.
Soon, they reach the Qiongqi Path, roughly halfway to their destination. It's indeed an ancient trail cutting through a remote valley, eerily quiet, yet steeped in history. The sun now stands high overhead, indifferent to the three travelers below.
They continue unfazed—until suddenly, something slices through the air toward them, so fast that Lan Qiren nearly dismisses it as an illusion—until his nephew deftly catches it mid-air in one swift movement.
No, this is no ordinary object.
It’s an arrow, sharp and aimed directly at them! Someone is attacking!
Alarmed, Lan Qiren scans the surroundings, as does his nephew, who instantly unsheathes Bichen. Lan Qiren almost turns toward Wei Wuxian—because he wouldn’t dare, but who knows—but before the thought can even complete, movement from the ridge above the valley reveals itself and—damn it.
They are surrounded. Hundreds of cultivators. Hundreds.
Within seconds, a wave of murmurs erupts throughout the valley, only to be drowned out by a single, unmistakable voice rising above the crowd. “H-Hanguang-jun?! Lan-xiansheng?!”
And that grating voice belongs to none other than Jin Zixun. He stares at them, practically stupefied, because—well, the situation speaks for itself. Lan Wangji and Lan Qiren, alongside the Yiling Laozu, alone, in the middle of nowhere.
“I was just wondering who would dare to attack us. I would demand an explanation from Jin-er-gongzi, as he has just risked injuring—or worse, killing—one of us.” Lan Qiren’s stern voice resonates through the packed valley, silencing the cultivators. Politically speaking, such an attack could be interpreted as a declaration of war against the GusuLan Sect.
All the while, Lan Wangji stands tense, gripping his sword in a firm hold, standing squarely in front of Wei Wuxian.
“I—I—Lan-xiansheng, I beg you to understand that the attack was in no way meant for you or Lan-er-gongzi, and for that, I sincerely apologize for the misunderstanding," Jin Zixun stammers, "Rather, I wonder why two esteemed figures such as yourselves are accompanying the filth that is Wei Wuxian." A pause, then, "Rest assured, once you hear my explanation, you will understand my reasoning.”
And so, Jin Zixun launches into his justification—claiming that that wretched Wei Wuxian cast the Thousand Sores and Hundred Holes curse upon him, that there could be no other culprit, because it is well known how much that cursed son of a servant despises him, and no one else would stoop so low. They had come here in peace, to catch him off guard and force him to admit to the deed, urging him to lift the curse.
Lan Wangji grits his teeth as murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd, and he is just about to speak when—
A small, pitiful sob echoes behind him and shaky, rapid breaths follow, gasping one after another.
Perhaps he turns too swiftly, immediately sheathing Bichen, and then—within his line of sight appears a trembling Wei Ying, eyes wide and unfocused, chest rising and falling far too rapidly.
“Wei Ying—” Lan Wangji says urgently, gripping his shoulders firmly but gently, watching as Wei Wuxian jerks his gaze upward to meet his own, a whimper escaping his lips.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji repeats with unwavering calm, “slowly. Breathe slowly. I am here, I am here.”
He demonstrates deep, measured breaths, and after a few moments, Wei Wuxian hesitantly follows his lead, gradually finding steadiness. Lan Wangji nods approvingly, giving his arms a reassuring squeeze. “Mm. Good.”
Wei Wuxian gives a slow nod in return, clutching at the wide white sleeve of his robes, while Lan Wangji shifts his attention back to the exchange unfolding ahead. Without thinking, Wei Wuxian curls into his back, unmoving.
“-And Jin Zixun, did it not occur to you that there are proper ways to handle such matters?” Lan Qiren counters, rebutting one of Jin Zixun’s weak arguments.
“Mm. Wei Ying would never resort to such underhanded methods nor inflict harm without reason.” Lan Wangji states with ease, his voice is deep with certainty, as indisputable as declaring that the sky is blue and the sun is shining.
This silences most of the cultivators—until Jin Zixun, stubborn, presses on: “Hanguang-jun, with all due respect, how can you be so sure? He is no longer the Wei Wuxian you once knew—now he is a corrupted man who chases only what gratifies him most. How can you defend him?! Didn’t you hate each other?!”
This fuels the crowd’s outrage, voices rising in passionate agreement, a chorus of escalation.
But before it can spiral further, someone arrives—Jin Zixuan, landing swiftly before the trio, his anger and shock momentarily overriding even his surprise at seeing Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji.
“Jin Zixun, what in the hell did you think you were doing?! Have you lost your mind?!”
The Jin heir’s enraged voice erupts through the path, directed entirely at his cousin.
“Cousin—! What are you doing here? I had everything under control, you didn’t need to worry! A-Yao told you what that damned did to—”
His words fade into irrelevance as an unexpected sound—a dull thud— draws the attention.
Three heads whip around—Lan Wangji, Lan Qiren, and Jin Zixuan—simultaneously turning toward its source.
Wei Wuxian is on the ground, wide, terrified eyes locked on Jin Zixuan, whatever little color remained in his face now drained completely, lips trembling as he begins to drag himself backward, turning his head away in shame, muttering, over and over, “I’m sorry,” “I didn’t mean to,” “Jin Zixuan—”, until his back collides with the rough trunk of a tree, and he curls into himself.
Alarmed, Lan Wangji rushes to his side, while Jin Zixuan stands frozen—less like a fish out of water, more like a fish slapped straight in the face by a octopus and launched back. Even Lan Qiren approaches, appearing genuinely concerned.
Jin Zixuan finally pieces together his scattered thoughts at the next whimper of his name from Wei Wuxian and kneels before him, hovering awkwardly, uncertain of what to do or say— and that says a lot, if even the the second jade of Gusu knows better how to act.
The rest of the cultivators, clueless as to what is happening, is too far above, obscured by trees and sunbeams that cast confusion on the scene below. They hesitate, debating who should step forward to investigate—though, given that the Yiling Laozu is among them, can they really be blamed for their caution?
Then—the next thing they know—emerging from the tree-shrouded clearing, appearing first are Lan Qiren and Jin Zixuan, baffled and concerned, perhaps even uneasy.
And then—stepping out behind them—
The great Hanguang-jun.
Carrying a strangely familiar figure.
None other than the Yiling Laozu himself.
Wei Wuxian, likely drained and unconscious from the overwhelming ordeal, is securely cradled in Lan Wangji’s arms. One strong arm supports his legs, the other rests behind his back—yet he holds him so tightly, it’s as though he’s shielding him entirely.
“Listen to me, all of you.” Jin Zixuan’s commanding voice gathers every eye upon him.
“We are all returning to Lanling—where we will discuss everything properly.”
Notes:
Well it's time for Jin Zixuan to finally step up and kick some ass! Be a peacock not only by showing off your looks but also your authority, thank you very much
I hope you enjoyed it, see you in the next chapter 💞＼（＾∀＾）ノ
Chapter 3: Yao-zongzhu to the rescue!
Notes:
hello everyone!! Thanks for all the comments and good interactions you made me cry 😭🫶🏻 in Italian I would call you patatini (little potatoes..)
Disclaimer for this chapter: Hanguang-jun is not here to joke!I hope you are well and enjoy reading!! 🌷💕
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Wei Ying slowly opens his eyes, adjusting gradually to the daylight, made even more blinding by its reflection on the white and gold brilliance surrounding him. His mind feels foggy, numbed by the aromatic, anesthetizing taste lingering in his mouth—an unmistakable sign of the mint leaves Wen Qing always gives him for tension-induced migraines. And, in truth, he does feel better than expected.
With minimal effort, Wei Ying slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position; the cream-colored blanket slips from his body like water cascading over stone. The scent of sandalwood wafts gently from the incense burner, mingling with the sharper tang of medicinal herbs.
The room around him is spacious and bathed in filtered light, lit by thin rice paper panels that allow the daylight to enter softly. Silk-covered walls in shades of ivory are adorned with golden embroidery—leaping carp and blooming peonies dancing across the surface. Not that Wei Wuxian hasn’t been here over the years, but the space unsettles him now more than ever. He knows the trick all too well: the gold, the beauty, the elegance… it's all there to distract from what truly lies beneath.
Or rather—who.
But that’s not why he’s here today. Not that he’d have the energy or the will for it anyway.
A quiet breath escapes his lips as he realizes—he has no recollection of arriving here in the first place. Not that it matters. As long as he got here without killing anyone, he counts that as a major win.
After some undefined stretch of time, Wei Wuxian swings his legs over the bed. His bare feet meet the plush wool of the carpet beneath him—and the contact jolts him harshly back to reality.
Shit.
Is he late?
Or worse—is it already the next day?
He needs to know right away, or he might just spiral (again). Without hesitation, he makes his way to the door, opens it—
—and walks straight into a solid figure.
His sluggish, exhausted brain takes a few extra seconds to piece together the splintered pigments filtering through his vision and compose the figure in front of him: Lan Zhan.
At that point, he instinctively steps back, just as his damn body processes the delayed sound of Lan Wangji murmuring, surprised and concerned, “Wei Ying.”
There’s a pause—a handful of seconds in which Wei Ying remains still—before he’s able to string together a sentence.
“Lan Zhan, I—I didn’t see you, sorry. And… has the celebration already started, or…?”
He doesn’t even manage to finish the sentence. Just thinking about having missed it nearly kills him. And hell, he was literally a few corridors away.
Luckily, Lan Wangji comes to his rescue.
“Wei Ying. Don’t worry. It hasn’t started yet, you’re still on time. You only rested for half a shichen.”
Each short, precise phrase seems to breathe life back into Wei Ying’s lungs. Relief washes over him and his shoulders drop a little in relief.
“Okay, good. I—.. good” he says in a single breath.
A pause. Then, “Thank you for coming with me. And… your uncle too…”
It feels right to express his thanks—even if Lan Qiren probably did contribute to his death once upon a time. It’s fine. He’s here now. What matters is that everyone gets the happy ending they deserve.
“Mn. On the contrary, thank you, Wei Ying, for writing to me. I should’ve known the Jin clan would attempt something.”
Lan Wangji’s voice is steady, but there's a cutting chill in the final words.
“Ah… yeah,” Wei Wuxian replies simply, as if just now realizing they indeed (again) tried to ambush him a few hours ago.
Neither of them brings it up again.
Several blinks pass before Wei Wuxian pushes himself to speak. “You… came here to…?”
“I came to check on you. Also—it’s my room. After everything that happened today, I didn’t want to take any chances. No one would bother you here. I hope you don’t mind”
Well. That explains the incense in the air too.
“Oh… alright. I think… I think that’s fine. You didn’t need to worry, though,” Wei Wuxian says softly, staring at some vague point just past Lan Wangji’s shoulder.
“Since you’re feeling better, I’ll let you get ready. I’ll wait outside,” Lan Wangji says simply. His brows are ever so slightly furrowed with concern as he looks at Wei Wuxian, before turning and quietly closing the door behind him.
At this point, it’s do or die.
Or more precisely—he's the one who might die.
Wei Wuxian steps out of the room—that is not his—with at least a somewhat respectable appearance. His hair is only slightly tousled, a look that strangely suits him better, his robes no longer as rumpled, and the gift for Jin Ling still tucked securely within his robes. This time, he will make sure to deliver it.
A kind handmaid guides him and Lan Wangji to the Pageantry Hall—one of the most magnificent and extravagant chambers in the entire Golden Carp Tower. Naturally, it has to be here, given the scale of the celebration. The hall itself is a vast ceremonial pavilion, used for large gatherings. (It isn’t his first time here—but he hopes it will be the last.)
Step after step, his body moves forward on autopilot, carried by muscle memory alone. And when they finally arrive, Wei Wuxian could swear the world goes silent for several seconds.
What greets them is a grand hall filled with cultivators from every sect, scattered in loose, informal groups throughout the lavish space. The once-joyous atmosphere seems to grow quiet at the sight of Yiling Laozu— who is like a thunder cracking a peaceful sky. Not that the latter pays it much attention. The only thing he looks for is the presence of Jiang Cheng. Negative. Good.
Predictably, the only ones who remain composed are the cultivators of the GusuLan clan, speaking in low, even tones in one place. Wei Wuxian glances toward Lan Wangji, as if nudging him to go join the rest of his clan, given also that his uncle and brother are both present. But Lan Wangji makes no move. Wei Wuxian doesn’t insist, just gives a faint furrow of his brow and thanks the servant softly.
They don’t get a chance to say anything more as a familiar figure in golden robes cuts through the crowd toward them.
“Finally. I thought you’d slink away in shame. Getting exposed with no proof to deny it—hurts the ego, doesn’t it? That little trick may have worked on my cousin, but trust me—”
“Jin-er-gongzi.” Lan Wangji’s voice slices clean through the air—cold, restrained and calmly menacing. Interrupting is not allowed.
“Jin-gongzi made sure this matter would be addressed in private, in his presence.”
A chill runs down Jin Zixun’s spine, but—what he would likely call “bravery”—he presses on.
“Why wait? Almost every clan is present—they can witness Wei Wuxian’s disgrace firsthand. My cousin is blinded by his wife, and to spare her feelings, he won’t expose the horrors committed by someone she dares to still call brother.”
He raises his voice for the whole hall to hear, smug and secure. Wei Wuxian feels something shift—his chest tightens, his heart quickens, palms going damp. Whatever he says will be drowned out—too many voices, too much noise, he struggles mentally to keep up with all these words suddenly thrown at him. He has to speak—anything—say something—
But he never gets the chance.
A voice—familiar and commanding—parts the air.
“Jin Zixun. The curse leave marks on their caster. I personally examined Wei Wuxian while he was unconscious. He bore no trace. I suggest you begin searching for the true culprit.”
Lan Qiren’s solemn words echo across the space, restoring a moment’s peace. But it’s not enough.
“Dear Lan Qiren,” comes another voice, “that would be sound advice—if we weren’t speaking of a dangerous and corrupted individual like Wei Wuxian. Surely you understand one man’s word is not enough. With full respect to your integrity, it simply isn’t reliable.”
This time it’s Jin Guangshan, who had entered the room with Jin Guangyao just in time to hear Lan Qiren’s statement. Few had noticed them enter—attention was too tightly wound around one man.
Lan Qiren’s expression sharpens, already preparing a reply.
Then another leader—clan leader Yao—raises his voice: “Lan-xiansheng, with respect, Jin-zongzhu is right. If your claim is true, why not demonstrate it before us all? We’ll have our certainty. That Wei Wuxian—he cannot be trusted—”
Murmurs of assent ripples through the crowd.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t register most of it. He stares at Lan Qiren—silent. For all these years, he's never heard a word of support from the man, but he can only assume that he is probably just following his clan’s rules. Well, alright. He doesn’t know whether to be surprised for his former teacher or not surprised at everyone’s distrust of him.
And that’s when the thought hits him- they want him to undress.
For evidence.
Now that’s new.
Lan Wangji is about to intervene—because this is a blatant violation of personal boundaries, and how could even his uncle's broken them?—but before he can say anything, Wei Wuxian’s voice emerges.
“All right,” he says. Flat, neutral, looking at no one.
It’s simple, isn’t it? Just show your chest. Easy.
So why are his hands shaking? Why does everything start to blur?
Come on. it's a bullshit thing to do compared to everything else!
He reaches for his sash, fingers fumbling with the knot. Lan Wangji moves instinctively to help—but just as he does, the knot loosens.
Wei Wuxian needs only to loosen the upper folds of his robes, parting them just enough to bare his chest. A sweep of pale skin comes into view before the gathered crowd, the brand of the Wen clan still etched plainly across his chest and two dusky nipples peek through with quiet vulnerability.
No trace of the curse in sight. None.
Even if Lan Qiren had been hexed not to see it, there’s no way an entire room full of cultivators could be fooled. The evidence is irrefutable.
Wei Wuxian didn’t cast the curse.
But Lan Wangji’s keen gaze drifts lower, eventually settling on a dark, flawless scar etched across the lower part of Wei Wuxian’s abdomen.
Too perfect. Surgical.
But before he can dwell on it, the robe closes again.
Jin Zixun’s face turns scarlet—whether from shame or fury, no one can say. He mutters something under his breath, and the room breaks into murmurs.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t even try to smile.
“Uncle! You said it was surely him—Wei Wuxian! What now?! I’m going to die! I don’t want to die!”
Recovered enough to panic, Jin Zixun storms toward Jin Guangshan, sweat running down his forehead, eyes wide and frantic.
“A-Xun, we’ll find out who did it—don’t worry. But not here. Please—this isn’t the place for dramatics,” Jin Guangshan hisses through clenched teeth, forcing a smile as he sets a hand on his nephew’s shoulder.
Jin Zixun keeps rambling, but his voice is eclipsed by one much softer—melodic and well-practiced.
“Gentlemen,” says Jin Guangyao, smiling, “now that this matter is resolved—and rest assured, we’ll find the real culprit—I invite everyone to return to the joy and ease of the celebration. My brother and sister-in-law will be joining us shortly, along with little Jin Ling.”
At last, although not entirely, the tension ebbs from the room and that almost restore the good mood that had been there before. Slowly, the cultivators drift back toward their groups, toward warm cups and low chatter.
Lan Qiren exhales quietly, stroking his goatee. As he turns to leave, Wei Wuxian murmurs a “thank you," Fragile. Barely audible.
Lan Qiren only nods.
After all, he only did what was required.
Right?
Wei Wuxian finally releases a breath he’s been unconsciously holding, lodged somewhere deep in his lungs. Good. That… went better than expected. But his mind, desperate for mercy, can only process one crisis at a time. And now, it strikes him—Jin Guangyao’s sister-in-law is none other than Jiang Yanli. Which means that at any moment, he’ll see his shijie.
Lan Wangji, relieved the ordeal has passed and now quietly scanning the room—his uncle at a distance, his brother beside Lianfang-Zun and Chifeng-Zun—lets his attention settle solely on Wei Ying.
But when he turns toward him, he notices the faint sway in his posture—the slight glaze in those silver eyes, teetering on the edge of collapse. Instantly, and not entirely sure whether his touch will be welcome, Lan Wangji brushes his arm. No—dammit, Lan Wangji! Wei Wuxian doesn’t need qualm. He needs certainty. He needs a solid wall.
So he steadies himself, then gently but firmly grips Wei Ying’s shoulder and speaks, low and composed, “Wei Ying? Are you alright?”
Wei Wuxian lifts his silver eyes to meet Lan Wangji’s gaze, holding it for a few long seconds before giving a small nod. Lan Wangji, unconvinced, quietly leads him toward somewhere to sit.
But that raises another problem—seating is assigned, neatly organized by clans. And Wei Wuxian doesn’t belong to any clan. There are no spare seats.
So—where is he supposed to sit?
The answer settles in Lan Wangji’s mind with sharp, unshakable certainty.
He wouldn’t have been seated at all.
Of course. The ambush. Why stage it at all? Wei Wuxian would have come to the Golden Carp Tower on his own. They could have confronted him here. Unless… they never planned to question him.
They planned to kill him.
Without trial.
How dare they— A wave of helplessness crashes over him, cold as ice, replaced in a flash by a heat of righteous fury. And that shift must show—however faintly—because Wei Wuxian reaches out and gently tugs his sleeve.
“Lan Zhan?”
“Mn. Forgive me. Come, Wei Ying.”
And with that, Lan Wangji does the only thing his rigid, logic-bound mind can compute: he seats Wei Ying in his own place.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t question it. In fact, Lan Wangji has to coax him to sit down because he stands still, caught in the middle of a storm of thoughts.
Lan Wangji can’t afford to let anything happen to him.
Jiang Yanli is the happiest woman in the world. Of course, some things could always be better, but a deep sense of joy still floods her from the inside out. Her son is now one month old, which means he's likely to survive, she and her husband love each other deeply, and her A-Xian is here!
Some kind servants had informed her of his arrival, having seen him after greeting Hanguang-jun. Honestly, Jiang Yanli—or rather, Jin Yanli—had felt a flicker of fear when her husband, Jin Zixuan, told her there had been a problem and that he would return shortly, without giving details. So she had turned to her brother-in-law, Jin Guangyao, and by gently pressing the man—stubborn as he was—she had managed to pry out the truth: Jin Zixuan had gone to the Qiongqi Path because there had been trouble involving her A-Xian.
She had stayed on edge until they all returned safe and sound. But still… her A-Xian had been unconscious! How could that have happened?
She’d managed to have a brief word with Lan Wangji—bless that man—who had suggested letting Wei Wuxian rest in his room. Then, she had made sure the physician gave him the right herbs and remedies. Bu then, reluctantly, she had to tear herself away to prepare for the upcoming celebration. Her spirits only lifted again once she heard A-Xian had regained consciousness. She had resisted the urge to run to him—staying instead with her didi and Madame Jin.
And now, it’s time.
She can hardly wait. She’s never been so thrilled for one of these grand banquets, but today there’s truly so much worth celebrating.
Madame Jin and A-Cheng leave her alone with her husband and son to enter the hall. Holding her precious, adorable A-Ling close to her chest, her husband places a chaste kiss on her lips, making her blush the sweetest pink—and he flushes a little too. They share a glance full of quiet affection, ensure everything is in order, and finally set off toward the Pageantry Hall.
Jin Zixuan walks with one hand at the small of her back, asking with every few steps if she’s okay, if she wants him to carry A-Ling, if she’s nervous. She responds with a soft laugh, and reassures him everything is perfectly fine. He colors again but nods, pleased with a smile.
Just before they enter, they can hear the muffled murmurs coming from inside the grand hall—still audible through the paneled walls—but it all quiets as two attendants formally announce the arrival of the honored couple.
The moment they step through the doors, all the guests, previosly seated, rise to their feet in respect. Music begins, delicate and slow. Red lanterns scatter their glow across the polished floors.
Jiang Yanli walks with unshakable poise, swaying slightly as she rocks Jin Ling in her arms. The baby sleeps peacefully, swaddled in yellow silk trimmed with deep crimson. Beside her, Jin Zixuan walks elegant—not too pompous, as Wei Wuxian might note—but with the composure expected of the Jin heir. His gaze never leaves his wife and child and pride is written in every line of his face—softened only by decorum.
The two take their seats—elaborately carved and adorned with cranes and peonies, shaded by gauzy canopies. Jin Ling is lovingly placed on a small round cushion at the center of the ceremonial low table before them—so everyone can see him.
Jiang Yanli’s smile doesn’t waver, and as her gaze sweeps across the room—pausing briefly on her brother standing in front of the Jiang clan members—it finally lands on the other person she’d been searching for:
Her A-Xian, unmistakable in his dark robes. But it isn’t the color alone that makes him stand out. It’s the fact that he’s surrounded on all sides by pristine white robes—robes she recognizes, with a jolt of alarm, as those of the Lan clan. Her A-Xian would never have chosen that seat on his own. She knows him. He would rather have gravitated toward the Jiang clan. And that seat he occupies now? It’s clearly been added.
But there’s no time to dwell—the ceremony begins.
Just like in a wedding, the guests are asked to sit once more. She and Jin Zixuan rise again to serve tea to the elders of the clan as thanks for their protection of the child. First her husband, then herself, both offering the porcelain teacups—delicate white, finely painted—first to Jin Guangshan, then to Madame Jin, and finally to several other elders.
The scent of warm, floral tea mingles with the air, but Jiang Yanli can’t quite enjoy it, not with her heart tied in knots.
Things proceed quickly: a formal blessing is recited by a Taoist priest, Jin Ling’s birth name and courtesy name—Jin Ling, and Jin Rulan—are declared aloud (Wei Wuxian visibly flinches.), and then comes the final step: the child’s introduction to the guests.
It takes time—every clan leader must rise, approach, present a gift, and offer a blessing. Eventually, it is the Lan clan’s turn.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t belong to the Lan clan. Everyone knows this. He doesn’t move an inch when he hears rustling around him.
Until—suddenly, he’s on his feet. Someone must have lifted him. He finds himself walking, staying close to Lan Wangji. Were he more aware, he might have noticed the blazing stare Jiang Wanyin is drilling into the side of his head, but in this haze he walks past without even a glance.
His gaze locks instead on his (former) shijie.
She stands so tall—composed in beauty, bathed in grace— and so breathtakingly alive that he can’t look away. And in an instant, he’s nine years old again, aching to run into her arms, his eyes burning, his heart too heavy to be supported in his rib cage.
He hears nothing. He feels everything.
He sees only her.
He doesn't even register that the Lan cultivators have already returned to their seats.
Then, suddenly, Jiang Yanli’s eyes—and Jin Zixuan’s—are fixed on him.
And he thinks—it’s not real. Surely it’s a dream. He’s so terrified that if he dares take one more step, a blade will slice through her throat.
Then her voice comes—soft, warm, familiar.
“A-Xian.”
So gentle. So impossibly kind.
And in a few steps—he’s in her arms.
Jiang Yanli doesn’t know who moved first, but suddenly, her A-Xian is wrapped around her like petals over the bloom of a flower, holding her tightly, his face buried against her neck. A quiet sob escapes him.
“Shijie… shijie…” he whimpers softly.
And she does the only thing she can do—she holds him just as tightly, one hand stroking up and down his back with practiced ease. He feels her there: warm, soft, alive. Her heartbeat pulsing beneath her chest. A small, spreading patch of dampness warms the silk of her shoulder—his tears.
“A-Xian,” she breathes, her own tears not far behind. “oh A-Xian. You’re here. I’m here.”
Jin Zixuan stands awkwardly beside them, moved and overwhelmed. Holding Jin Ling in one arm, he lifts the other to give Wei Wuxian a few unsure, light pats between the shoulder blades. The attempt is stiff—but sincere.
The rest of the hall watches in stunned silence, slack-jawed, unsure what to make of the sight. Is the Yiling Laozu crying? And if so, what’s more shocking—that he’s crying, or that Jin Zixuan is trying to comfort him?
No one dares interrupt.
The most courteous guests politely avert their eyes.
The three of them stand there—Wei Wuxian, Jiang Yanli, and yes, even Jin Zixuan in his own way—as though they exist in a bubble outside time.
After what feels like a generous eternity, Wei Wuxian no longer cries—but still clings to his shijie. When he finally pulls back, just enough, he reaches into an inner fold of his robe and brings out a small wooden box.
He silently hands it to Jiang Yanli.
Her expression softens as she accepts it. “A-Xian… thank you. You didn’t have to. You being here is already a gift.” She says, voice warm and tender.
Opening the hand-carved lid, she gasps softly, finding a silver bell—the clarity bell.
She inhales sharply, recognizing it at once. Her lips curve upward in a stunned smile, and as her fingers close around it, even she flinches at the faint prickle of power it radiates.
“Oh, A-Xian…”
She turns, eyes gleaming, and shares a look with Jin Zixuan before gently taking Jin Ling from his arms..
“A-Xian… meet our A-Ling,” she says, her voice radiant with emotion, her whole face alight.
Then she carefully shifts the baby in his arms.
Jin Ling fusses lightly at the shift, blinking up at the unfamiliar face.
Wei Wuxian holds him like sacred porcelain—like a flicker of flame that could be snuffed out too easily. His gaze never leaves the child’s face. His silver eyes, still rimmed red from tears, shimmer with wonder.
A faint, tender smile touches his lips.
Meanwhile, Jiang Yanli shows the gift to Jin Zixuan, who handles it with a flicker of surprise before nodding in approval and carefully tucking it back into its wooden box.
A heartwarming scene—for some strange, for others surreal—call it what you will, but is no one thinking about what a scene like this does to Lan Wangji's heart?!
Notes:
The third chapter is also gone! I'm not very convinced, in some parts I didn't know how to make the translation perfect, but I hope you like it!
I don't understand why Jiang Yanli is so hated, she is literally a brave angel. I understand that she can be hated for abandoning her son, but she was trying to save her first baby, leave her alone 😭 I rather wonder why people hate her more than Madame Yu, how is that possible??
Btw have a nice week!!! 🌹❤️
Chapter 4: Sandu Shengshou Has a Stick Up His Ass Pt.1
Notes:
Hi guys!! How are you?? I hope everything is fine, anyway here is the chapter of the week!
Take care of yourselves and thank you for the love you give me ❤️😭Happy reading! 🌼💖
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The banquet ends neither too late nor early enough to satisfy the austere nighttime routines of the Lans. But no one seems to mind. It’s a special evening, after all—and even the Lan clan can bend, just this once, to the spirit of celebration.
Eventually, as the guests scatter into the shadows of the corridors and the flickering glow of candlelight, Lan Wangji feels exhaustion settle into his bones, light but insistent, pressing gently against his features. And yet, he doesn’t retire right away.
He walks beside Wei Wuxian—or perhaps it’s Wei Wuxian walking beside him. Either way, they move side by side, in silence, down the gilded, opulent halls of the Golden Carp Tower, their footsteps the only sound echoing in the quiet.
They finally reach Wei Wuxian’s room. Only the servants assigned to that wing know about the discreet room exchange, arranged to ensure both men’s comfort. They stop in front of the door. The first to break the silence is Lan Wangji.
“Wei Ying. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”
“All right, Lan Zhan. Thank you… good night.”
Wei Wuxian’s voice is calm, barely breaking the stillness, accompanied by a small smile—faint, but genuine. It’s the first time in three months that he feels that subtle twinge of joy at the corners of his heart. It really has been… a good evening.
They exchange only a glance—brief, restrained—and then Wei Wuxian turns, ready to disappear again.
But Lan Wangji’s eyes follow him, unable to look away. He’s ashamed of how much he watches him. Ashamed of how much he wants to stop him. And before he even realizes it, his voice escapes faster than thought.
“Wei Ying—”
Wei Wuxian stops, turning back with uncertainty, looking at him—almost hesitant, a silent question in his eyes.
“Lan Zhan?” he asks, his voice careful, slightly tense, as if bracing himself to hear something he isn’t ready to face.
You’re so beautiful. I love you. Stay with me. I’ll protect you. Come back to Gusu.
“My room isn’t that way.”
Wei Wuxian looks at him—and in that moment, he seems to relax. As if Lan Wangji, by saying that—and not something else—has lifted an invisible weight from his shoulders. As if it could have been worse.
“Oh… I know. I… just wanted to take a walk.”
Lan Wangji looks at him, still ashamed, still guilty for what he didn’t say. He only nods, a small tilt of his head.
“Be careful.” Let me walk with you.
“All right. Good night, Lan Zhan.”
And he leaves. His footsteps fade, one after another, down the corridor, and Lan Wangji can do nothing about it.
Lan Wangji remains still.
Ashamed.
Wei Wuxian feels… a little out of himself, but in a good way, as he strolls quietly through the corridors. Everything went well, and he couldn’t ask for more. He had asked to leave right after the banquet, just him and the stars, but they insisted he stay one more day—and he’s far too weak to refuse his shijie. So here he is, wandering the luxurious halls in search of the exit.
Silence wraps around every part of this wing, and the only loud thing, probably, is Wei Wuxian’s own thoughts. But he’s not just pulled back to reality—he’s yanked into it, abruptly—when he realizes he’s bumped into something. Or rather, someone, as confirmed by the sharp, youthful, irritated voice that follows.
“Hey! Watch where the hell you’re going! Are you blind?! Otherwise I can make you!”
The voice matches the owner, because when Wei Wuxian’s vision finally focuses, a boy—no older than fifteen—materializes in front of him, crouching to pick up… a candy? Something he must’ve dropped. He’s wearing the golden robes of a Jin disciple, and apparently, a respectable one at that.
“Oh—sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” Wei Wuxian says sincerely, taking a step back.
The boy gives him a once-over, head to toe, judgmental and calculating. Wei Wuxian is honestly used to this by now and barely reacts.
“Hmf. What clan are you from? You’re clearly not a servant—otherwise you wouldn’t be wandering around crashing into people.”
“I’m not part of any clan. And anyway, kid, you shouldn’t be so nosy. Didn’t anyone teach you not to be a busybody?”
Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh—but he’s tired and just wants to be alone with his damn thoughts.
“How dare you call me a kid! Old man, I asked a simple question! You think you’re better than me?!”
At that, Wei Wuxian should probably scold him and give him a lecture on respect—which would be ironic coming from him—but his brain latches onto the wrong part of the sentence, and his expression twists into one of pure indignation.
“Hey! Who are you calling old?! I’m twenty-one, you little brat! Did your parents teach you to talk like that?”
Wei Wuxian yells in scandal. A kid shouldn’t act like this! But apparently, that was the wrong thing to say—because the aura around the boy darkens even more, and for a second, Wei Wuxian genuinely thinks he might get punched. He can’t get into a fight with a teenager! Not because theoretically he’s the adult and it would be wrong—but because practically his social battery is so drained he’s barely stringing sentences together.
But hey, at least seeing his nephew and his shijie earlier put him in a decent mood after all the crap.
“I don’t have any, and I don’t need them! Fuck off!”
And—okay. Shit. His stupid mouth moved faster than his brain. He hadn’t expected that. He immediately regrets it, standing there for a moment, expression softening.
“Oh… I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.” A pause. Then, “I don’t have parents either.”
He honestly doesn’t know why he says it—maybe out of solidarity—but it feels like the right thing. If it has any effect, the boy doesn’t show it. Instead, he just looks mildly surprised, then scoffs and crosses his arms, falling silent. A small acknowledgment, maybe.
“All right, kid. Let’s take a step back. What’s your name? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Why should I tell you my name if I don’t even know yours?”
Okay, how common could his name really be? There’s a slim chance the kid doesn’t recognize it, and he doesn’t feel like lying, so—
“My name is Wei Wuxian. Now, may I have the honor of yours?”
But the boy clearly doesn’t even hear the question—because the moment the name registers, his entire expression and posture shift, like a flower turning toward the sun. He lights up, grabs Wei Wuxian’s sleeve and—hey! That is definitely a violation of personal space—
“Wei Wuxian?!??!!? The Yiling Laozu??? That Wei Wuxian??”
“Ah—yes, yes, that’s me, I’m honored, really, but—”
“You’re my idol! Why didn’t you say so earlier?! I’m Xue Yang, I’m a Jin disciple, and blah blah blah—but ah! I knew I shouldn’t have listened to that old man and stayed in my room! He didn’t want me to meet you! They’re all assholes in there!”
And Wei Wuxian just… stares at him. Because what else is he supposed to do? How the hell did this situation flip so fast? He doesn’t even bother wondering who “that old man” is—though he has a sinking feeling it’s Jin Guangshan.
“Well, Xue Yang, nice to meet you, and I’m flattered, really, but it’s not that big a deal—”
“No facial deformities? No hunchback? No flaws at all! And the murdered children and kidnapped virgins? You’re telling me those are all rumors?!”
Honestly, the part that offends him most is the stuff about his appearance. He looks at the boy, far too tired for this.
“Well, here I am. Didn’t anyone teach you not to believe rumors? They ruin people.”
“No no, people ruin themselves. But you’re so cool! And Chenqing? The army of corpses?”
“…they’re not here. I mean—Chenqing’s at home. The army never existed.”
“…nothing at all?” And why does he sound so disappointed by that?? “You’re telling me… the Yiling Patriarch is a good person?!”
‘Good’ is a strong word… definitely not the first he’d use to describe himself, nor the last. Maybe not even on the list.
“…if you put it that way, then yeah, I guess so. Listen, kid—I don’t know why, out of everyone, you picked me as your idol, and I don’t think it’s something to brag about. Why not pick someone else? Like the great Hanguang-jun? He’s actually cool. And righteous.”
“No way! They’re all so boring and fake. But you—you rebelled! You live in the damn Burial Mounds! Who would even choose to live there? And I heard what you did during the war! I wish I’d been there to see it.”
“…aiyah, thanks? I guess.” Because this—Xue Yang—he’s praising him for the very things the rest of the cultivation world condemned him for. There’s no doubt about who the strange one is here. Honestly, he gives him chills. It's not that he hasn't had people like that, but they've always just been... people with bad intentions who wanted to learn dark cultivation, especially the demonic one, not his. Well, they're annoying - sure, they besiege burial mounds worse than corpses.
“And the conscious fierce corpse? Is that real?”
“Who? Wen Ning? Of course he’s real—”
“Oh my god!”
“Okay, look—great talk and all, but I’d really like to get some rest, alright? I’m available if you want to talk, just… not tonight, please.”
He is, in fact, not available. Not mentally, not emotionally, not spiritually. And the moment he finishes speaking, a flood of complaints and protests erupts from the boy—so loud and relentless that Wei Wuxian dodges them with the kind of grace only years of experience can teach.
In short: he escapes.
The guests had all gone to bed with full bellies and tired smiles by now, the hall now quiet in the lull that followed celebration. Or at least, that would have been the case—if not for one room.
Rage coils tight in his chest until it explodes through his arms. In one furious sweep of his arm, Jin Guangshan hurls the entire contents of his desk at the wall—scrolls, brushes, inkstones—shattering in a deafening burst of chaos.
His chest rises and falls in ragged, uncontrolled breaths, his hands now itching along his sides, hair slightly disheveled, a vein pulsing visibly at his neck.
“Why?! What went wrong?! Everything was under control! Everything! I was the one who told him to kill Wei Wuxian! Who gives a damn about the curse now—the root of the problem is still alive! It’s like pulling up weeds that are already dead! Guangyao, do you understand that?! Aren’t you friends with Zewu-jun?! Then why the hell didn’t you know his uncle and brother would arrive later to escort that—that—”
Jin Guangshan nearly chokes on the end of the sentence, panting too hard to finish it, his blurred gaze fixed on his son standing across from him. Then he straightens, drawing in a deep breath.
“It was simple. They’d arrive, Wei Wuxian would be defenseless—he didn’t even bring that cursed dizi of his!—they’d confront him and kill him, no one would care, and we’d be free to do whatever we wanted with him, the fierce corpse, and the Burial Mounds. And instead—look! They attacked the GusuLan clan, they humiliated the Jin clan, and my own son allowed it to happen! Wei Wuxian was proven innocent, and he even had the nerve to put on that pathetic display—!”
“Fuqin—” Jin Guangyao’s voice cuts in, calm, careful not to step closer. “Please, listen to me. I promise I’ll find a solution. Don’t work yourself up like this—it’s bad for your health. Can’t you see how frayed he is? Just a little more pressure, and he’ll be at the edge.”
That seems to calm Jin Guangshan slightly—but his son is used to these outbursts by now. He knows exactly where to press.
“The Yin Tiger Tally. We keep pressing there until he breaks. As long as he stays here in Lanling, we have the advantage.”
Jin Guangshan speaks through clenched teeth, eyes nearly bloodshot as he spits the words. He is ravenous for whatever power Wei Wuxian might bring him—but it’s like fire: untamable, wild, elusive. Handle it too carelessly, and it will burn you—or worse, spread.
He can’t control him. But he can wear him down, piece by piece. He’ll tame the fire until all that remains is smoke, fading into the air.
“And the fierce corpse? Wen Ning. That’s another weak point.”
“If the master falls, so will he.”
“Fuqin… leave it to me. I won’t disappoint you, you’ll see. We’ll have the approval of every clan on any matter concerning Wei Wuxian.” After all, he even managed to bring down Wen Ruohan.
Jin Guangyao says it smoothly—partly sincere, partly to pacify Jin Guangshan’s fury. If his father gets too angry, he’ll end up venting in some brothel, and then it’ll fall to him to retrieve him before Madame Jin unleashes her wrath. Better to prevent it altogether.
“Hm.” Jin Guangshan merely acknowledges him, then turns his back—signaling the conversation is over.
Despite the events of the previous night, Lan Wangji still rises at five in the morning. He follows his immaculate routine of preparation and meditation, and since no one else is yet alert, he joins his brother and uncle for tea in the latter’s room. With the tea poured and steaming, they let the silence settle around them, each lost in his own world.
Naturally, it’s Lan Xichen who breaks the quiet, unable to hide his smile even behind the rim of his cup as he glances at Lan Wangji, feigning nonchalance.
“Wangji, you look happy.”
The remark draws Lan Qiren’s gaze as well, turning toward his younger nephew. There’s no need to state the cause—they all, unfortunately, know it too well by now.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji simply acknowledges, not denying it, but clearly confirming it. Well, Lan Xichen tried, but he knows he won’t get anything more out of him, so he settles for that.
As for Lan Qiren, he sits perfectly upright as always, as befits him, but if one pays close attention, there’s a faint line of tension running across his shoulders, keeping him from fully relaxing. His lips are pressed into a thin, straight line, and his brows are knit just enough to betray his state of mind.
Of course, perhaps the events of the previous day could justify his state. After all, the Jin clan showed not a shred of dignity in hosting Wei Wuxian properly—it was disgraceful. But even more disgraceful is that they didn’t rectify it. Instead, they had to welcome Wei Wuxian among them. That’s not like him—to look so out of place, so disoriented—and surely everyone must have noticed. To an outsider, it looked more like he was being escorted to prison than being led to Xiao-Jin-Furen and Jin-gongzi.
But it isn’t what happened last night that unsettles Lan Qiren so deeply. No—it’s something else.
“Wangji. There was a child yesterday, wasn’t there?”
Lan Qiren’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade, demanding an answer he already knows. Lan Wangji looks at him, surprised that this is the topic he’s chosen to raise.
“Shufu is not mistaken. As I already said, his name is Wen Yuan. He has no parents, so Wei Ying took him under his wing.”
Aka, adopted him as his own son.
Lan Xichen lets his gaze drift between them, slightly confused, but catching the mention of the Wen. A child?
Lan Qiren knows. One should not listen to gossip. It’s a rule. He’s learned it, absorbed it into his very being. But he has to be sure—he must know for certain.
“He wasn’t… kidnapped, was he?”
Spoken aloud, the question sounds foolish. But even the clans kept whispering that Wei Wuxian was abducting children and doing who-knows-what with them. Perhaps he feels a flicker of shame for voicing it—he would’ve expected such a question from Lan Xichen. But Lan Wangji, ever composed, answers as placidly as he would any other question.
“No. He is the son of Wen-daifu’s cousins.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Lan Wangji suddenly feels guilty. He left a child—and not just a child—in that place.
“Shufu, I… I did something terrible.”
“Oh, Wangji… don’t say that,” Lan Xichen’s gentle voice cuts in immediately.
“I saw who was protecting Wei Ying. And I said nothing. I did nothing. They’re all related to Wen Qing and Wen Qionglin.” A suspended pause. “There was an elderly woman. Most of them are elderly—or soon will be. The rest were… they were…”
And Lan Wangji’s tongue twists, too ashamed to say it aloud. Lan Xichen is almost alarmed by his didi’s hesitation.
“…farming. Planting seeds. Harvesting ripe radishes.”
Dead silence.
He can feel both their gazes heavy on him, and he sees the realization take shape—shock on his brother’s face, and something close to disbelief in his uncle’s eyes.
“In the Burial Mounds,” Lan Qiren says quietly, as if the understanding is only now dawning on him.
“But—but—Wangji—!” Lan Xichen stammers, unable to finish the sentence. Thankfully, Lan Qiren steps in.
“And… what about the fierce corpse? Wen Ning, wasn’t it?”
His uncle prompts.
“Mn. I was there when Wei Ying awakened his consciousness. He did it only for his sister—and because Wen Ning is his friend. He had no other motive.”
“But… that can’t be—A-Yao said that… that they were all Wen cultivators, capable of fighting. That the Jin clan had taken responsibility for caring for them! He said their hands were stained with our blood, their souls weighed down by their sins, and—and—!”
“Xiongzhang. They’re innocent. You can go see for yourself, if you want. Lianfang-zun betrayed Chifeng-zun’s trust once. I see no reason he couldn’t do it again.”
“But A-Yao—he’s changed! He just had a disagreement with him, that’s all! Why would he do such a thing?”
Lan Xichen sounds more shaken than he should, clearly torn.
“Xichen! Compose yourself. Human nature cannot be controlled—nor changed. Be reasonable. If he’s lying to you, you must confront him. Otherwise, your kindness will be your undoing.”
Lan Qiren snaps, and it rattles Lan Xichen even more. He falls silent, shrinking slightly in his seat.
“Mn. Xiongzhang, Shufu is right. We don’t wish to see you to get hurt.”
“No, he—he would never…” Lan Xichen protests softly, but trails off again. How is he supposed to digest the idea that his sworn brother might be so deceitful? Is he meant to call his own uncle and brother liars? Of course not.
Lan Qiren finishes sipping his tea, then raises yet another concern.
“His cultivation… it’s wearing him down. He’s literally being consumed.”
Lan Wangji lowers his gaze at that, thinking of every failed attempt to bring him back, to help him heal. Clearly, that’s not the right way.
“He’s worse than the last time I saw him,” Lan Wangji agrees immediately—
“During your ‘night hunt’ in Yiling?” his uncle mutters sarcastically, almost under his breath in feigned indignation.
—and stubbornly ignoring his uncle, ears faintly red, he instead expands on the matter of Wei Wuxian’s condition.
“But it might also be because he’s caring for around forty people.”
He doesn’t mention that it was closer to fifty, at first.
“That’s a lot,” Lan Xichen murmurs, still distracted, and feeling even more guilty.
“But if he doesn’t care about the power his current cultivation brings him, why doesn’t he return to the path of the sword?”
The question hangs unanswered—none of them has a valid explanation to offer.
Unconsciously, Lan Wangji’s thoughts drift to the surgical scar carved across Wei Wuxian’s lower abdomen, where it resides the lower dantian. Wen Qing is a physician, isn’t she? Could it be… they damaged his core?
There are so many possible reasons for that scar’s existence. But one thing is certain: it concerns his core.
Lan Wangji doesn’t feel right speaking on something he isn’t sure of. He wants to investigate further. It could also be that he simply underwent surgery…
Honestly, every single thought hits him hard. His brow furrows slightly, and he tightens his grip around the now-lukewarm teacup in his hands.
“Wangji, Xichen—you may go stretch your legs and enjoy the morning.”
Lan Qiren’s voice comes suddenly, dismissing them. The man likely needs time to think.
So Wangji and Xichen rise politely, bow to their uncle and bid their uncle farewell, and step outside. Lan Wangji casts a few glances at his brother, genuinely a little worried about the impact the conversation has had on him.
“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji calls softly, and Lan Xichen turns to him with a faint smile.
“Wangji… I think I’ll go to my room for a bit, and then greet da-ge once he’s awake. I’ll see you later.”
“Mn. See you later, Xiongzhang.”
And so they part ways.
It’s still early, so Lan Wangji definitely will go meditate for a while, until the first rays of sunlight appear in the sky.
The first light of dawn had begun to break timidly through the clouds, painting the sky in shades of peach and pale gold. At the Golden Carp Tower, the day was slowly coming to life: soft footsteps echoed in the corridors, hushed greetings passed between guests, the rustle of robes and low chatter spreading as people gathered for breakfast or quiet conversation.
Lan Wangji, on the other hand, has remained quietly in his room until now. He’s freshened up, and it’s finally his turn to step out. He hesitated a moment at the threshold: he’s unsure whether to check on Wei Wuxian or not—knowing him, he’s probably still asleep—but a quick glance won’t hurt anyone.
The problem arises when Lan Wangji opens the door with quiet resolve, only to find himself face to face with Jiang Wanyin, whose hand was still raised mid-air, about to knock. The man froze for a second, visibly taken aback and he takes a second to recover, then immediately scowls and begins turning several shades of red.
“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Wangji greets with customary politeness, despite the awkward moment.
“You! What the hell are you doing in Wei Wuxian’s room?! What did you do to him?!” Jiang Wanyin nearly spits the words, barely restraining the urge to shove past him and barge inside.
“I haven’t done anything—”
“That’s how a righteous man behaves?! Hanguang-jun, I swear—”
“I’m more curious what you’re doing here, with all due respect.” Lan Wangji’s voice remain calm, yet carry the sharp edge of a storm beneath still waters. He doesn’t have the patience to deal with a man like this—and that, in short, is why he would never make a good clan leader: he’d end up skewering someone with Bichen.
“You dare question me? I have every right!”
“Are you here to stab him again with your sword?”
Jiang Wanyin clenches his jaw, fury flickering dangerously in his eyes.
“And you? Here to convince him to be dragged back to Gusu again?”
They glare at each other, the air between them practically crackling, like a bowstring moments before it snaps. A poor servant who happens to be passing by nearly sprints away, head bowed low. After a few moments of mounting tension, Lan Wangji remembers why he came out in the first place—to check on Wei Wuxian. Swallowing his pride and keeping his gaze icy, he colly adds:
“Wei Ying isn’t here. He’s in my room. We switched rooms for safety. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to check on him.”
Jiang Wanyin blinks, clearly processing the information, then snaps back into himself.
“You think I’m letting you go alone?!”
Lan Wangji doesn’t respond. As he steps forward, Jiang Wanyin is forced to move aside—but immediately falls into step beside him. Figuratively speaking, of course—they keep a solid meter of distance between them.
—
Now, imagine Wei Wuxian’s surprise when, as he returns to his room blissfully unaware of what is awaiting him, he sees two very recognizable figures standing outside his door. Poor thing—after his encounter with Xue Yang last night, he’d taken refuge in one of the secluded gardens near Jin Zixuan and his shijie’s quarters. She’d recommended it to him during their quiet conversation at the end of the banquet.
The garden is enclosed by a carefully trimmed hedge, and at its center lies a pond, where lotus flowers were planted after the wedding by Jin Zixuan. If Wei Wuxian were to give his opinion, he’d have to admit that the effort was worth it. It really is a lovely, peaceful spot, tucked away from prying eyes.
So he simply sat at the edge of the pond and spent a good hour with his feet submerged in the warm water—lotus flowers thrive in heat, and frankly, so does his entire body—while tiny koi fish playfully tickled his toes. Eventually, he drew his knees to his chest, rested his head atop them, and let his thoughts drift outward, all the way until morning.
He didn’t exactly sleep—his mind never allowed for such peace and stayed active the whole time—but at least he was immersed in himself. It might’ve been the best night he’s had so far: a pleasant chill in the air (not freezing, thankfully), the soft hum of cicadas, and the full moon overhead casting silver light across the water as the lotus blossoms swayed gently on the surface.
Yes, it was a beautiful night.
Even his mind didn’t conjure nightmares or terrible images—and Wei Wuxian is grateful for that.
But now, seeing exactly who’s standing outside his room—mid-corridor, deeply engrossed in what is clearly a heated argument—he almost wants to disappear back into that garden. They’re so focused on arguing about him that they don’t even notice he’s there.
The main problem apparently: he’s not in his room.
And he’s genuinely tempted to turn around and walk away, because a morning argument (or an argument at any time, really) is not something he can handle right now.
His head begins to throb faintly, and their voices start to blur and distort in his ears. So he takes a step forward and asks, voice far too soft:
“…Guys?”
The effect is immediate: both men whip around at lightning speed, and now two pairs of eyes are locked on him.
“Wei Wuxian!” “Wei Ying!”
They speak at the same time, exchanging a brief glance before both closing the distance between them.
Wei Wuxian looks at them, instinctively wanting to take a step back. The one who unsettles him most is, honestly, Jiang Cheng—who stirs a deep, trembling unease in him. He led the siege against him. It’s fine. They’re not the same people anymore. It’s… it’s fine.
“Wei Wuxian, where the hell were you?! Don’t pull that kind of shit again!”
Which, translated generously, would be:
“Wei Ying, we were worried. Please forgive the commotion.”
Lan Wangji jumps in immediately, knowing that if he lets the other purple man speak unchecked, nothing good will come of it. Especially since he can see the tension eating Wei Wuxian alive—and his heart can’t take it.
Jiang Wanyin, on the other hand, sees Wei Wuxian’s attention shift to Lan Wangji, and it only fuels his fury. But one look at the effect Lan Wangji’s words have on Wei Wuxian is enough to calm him slightly—realizing it’s the wrong approach and it isn't helping.
He crosses his arms and mutters something in reluctant agreement, looking away.
Wei Wuxian offers a small smile, sighing.
“I just went to watch the sunrise. You don’t need to worry so much,” he says gently, knowing no one can really argue with that.
For a moment, silence falls—until Jiang Wanyin speaks again.
“So you really made it here…”
He mutters it, deeply relieved, though outwardly he looks like a child whose candy was stolen.
“Yeah. Nice, isn’t it? And all thanks to Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says with a small smile, clearly pleased.
Lan Wangji’s entire body seems to melt at that, and even his expression, usually carved in marble, softens as he looks at him.
“Yeah, well, I could’ve done without that part.” A pause. Then: “You could’ve written to me too.”
Jiang Wanyin forces himself to admit it, blushing slightly from the embarrassment.
“Oh… yeah, I know. I just didn’t want to bother you.”
A shameless lie—but no one needs to know that, right?
Suddenly, Wei Wuxian feel the edges of awkwardness creeping in. Looking for an escape, he rests a hand on his stomach — which, right on cue, growls quietly in protest. The problem is, before he can even turn and say he’s going to grab breakfast and disappear, both men are already dragging him toward the dining hall.
And for fuck’s sake!!! Jiang Wanyin would’ve dismissed him with a grumble to go eat—but now that he’s in competition with Lan Wangji, there's no way he's going to lose!!!
Notes:
Oh my god chapter finished, I'm so excited I've already started writing the next one, especially because I'm starting volunteering at a kindergarten on Monday and will have less time. I really hope you enjoyed it!!❤️ Finally we meet Jiang Cheng too.
Xue Yang: I hate humanity, everyone deserves death and they are to blame for their own demise.
Xue Yang with the Yiling Laozu: Oh my god!!! I love you adopt me!!!Unexpectedly and yet here he is! Please let's remember that he is just a kid now, so no violence against him 😃 but don't worry Wei Wuxian will take care of Xue Yang's situation!!
Chapter 5: Some shit always has to ruin the day
Notes:
Helloo!! 💕 How are you all? I hope, as always, that everything is fine. New chapter today! I hope you like it. The beginning might be boring for some, but stick it out until the end 😭
⚠️❗TW: vomit, mention of vomit. It's at the beginning of the chapter and is briefly mentioned.⚠️
Good reading! 🌸
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian had the distinct look of someone who’d rather be anywhere else than trapped between two cultivators locked in a not-so-silent passive-aggressive breakfast war.
Or well--technically, the war should’ve been between just the two of them.
Then why, in all the heavens, was Wei Wuxian the one taking direct hits in the form of food?
And more importantly, why him, of all people?!
“Eat this, it’s still warm,” said Jiang Cheng, shoving a spiced-meat-filled baozi into his hands with the kind of stubbornness that dressed itself up as generosity but really screamed this is not optional.
“No. It’s too heavy for first thing in the morning,” Lan Wangji retorted, pushing the plate aside and offering, in exchange, a pale, steaming bowl of sober zhou.
“Zhou? He only likes it with at least three spoonfuls of chili sauce! He’s not some elderly monk!”
“It’s best to avoid that level of stomach irritation at this hour.”
“Irritation? Have you seen his face when he eats spicy? His eyes water and he smiles like he’s glimpsed heaven itself. He likes the flavor, not the punishment.”
“Punishment is unnecessary. What he needs is nourishment.”
“What he needs is flavor.”
Wei Wuxian would’ve liked to say that, truthfully, he didn’t really care—but the moment he opened his mouth, it was swiftly ambushed by a chopstick-fed chunk of steaming dan bing.
“Here, he used to eat this even as a kid,” Jiang Cheng noted.
“Too much scallion,” Lan Wangji cut in, offering his own version—thin, precisely rolled, nearly elegant. " Too invasive.”
“Invasive? Are we still talking about scallions or about me?”
“I’m talking about balance.”
“You sound like a Gusu recipe scroll.”
Another mouthful followed—this time a soft mantou pressed toward his lips with firm gentleness.
Wei Wuxian chewed just to survive.
“Here, drink this too,” Jiang Cheng added, handing him a steaming cup of sweet soy milk.
“Too sweet it overpowers the original flavor.”
“Are you even sure you know what he likes?” Jiang Cheng snapped, gripping his chopsticks so tight they creaked. “Have you ever had breakfast with him?”
Lan Wangji didn’t even turn. He kept carefully blowing on the spoonful of zhou, then lifted it with quiet grace.
“Yes,” he said with surgical calm that left no room for argument. But oh, it was sharp. Sharp enough to cut steel.
Jiang Cheng froze for a moment, mid-air with a you tiao dangling helplessly. His brows pulled together, and his gaze darkened—as if trying to dig through time and memory to figure out when, exactly, Lan Wangji had shared a meal with Wei Wuxian.
“…That doesn’t count if it was in Gusu!” he finally snarled, voice striking like he meant to erase the entire moment from the universe’s timeline. “Back then he’d eat whatever they gave him just to get it over with and run off. That’s hardly the time you learn someone’s taste!”
Lan Wangji didn’t reply. But the faint movement of his brow said clearly: no, he did not agree. Especially after countless hours spent listening and absorbing every tangent, every culinary ramble Wei Wuxian ever offered.
Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian—whose food never even made it to the plate but was delivered directly to his face via chopsticks—had consumed, in fifteen minutes, more than he had in an entire month.
His stomach, which had been growling from hunger, began grumbling with satisfaction, only to flip again into discomfort. Even his palate stopped enjoying the flavors.
Not that he wasn’t used to stomach pain—but it was usually from not eating enough, not the other way around. Which is why he could say, honestly, he was used to it.
The few times he tried opening his mouth to speak, it was instantly stuffed again with a bite—eager and unexplained—that he barely recognized anymore. His tongue chewed passively, already exhausted.
So it is hardly surprising that, after their damn plates are finally empty, Wei Wuxian run outside in a desperate escape attempt, and the moment he gets hit by a gust of fresh air, his body rebels. With a shiver, Wei Wuxian promptly empties the contents of his stomach behind a nearby bush. The relief was instant.
Well, shit.
The acidic bitterness clings to his mouth, so he turns right back around in search of water. At some point, slightly disoriented and not exactly willing to barge into some kitchen and cause chaos with his mere presence, he found himself asking a nearby servant.
The poor man practically jumps out of his skin realizing who exactly is speaking to him, and he bows so fast he agrees to whatever Wei Wuxian says before the sentence even finishes.
He dashes off, more as if fleeing for his life than offering a favor, and Wei Wuxian waits silently, his tired expression fixed on nothing in particular, longing to breathe fresh air again instead of feeling like the walls are closing in—tight, oppressive, suffocating. Like a caged rodent.
A few minutes later, the servant returns, breathless, and he bows to offer him a finely carved container of hollowed bamboo. He waits for him to take it.
Wei Wuxian blinks, motionless for a few seconds. Then his lips lift into a small smile.
“Thank you,” he says sincerely. The servant startles again, lifting his eyes to stare in awe before flushing red.
Wei Wuxian takes the container, and the moment the liquid swishes past his tongue and clears the sour sting in his mouth, it tastes like the best thing he's ever drunk. He drinks deeply—greedily—until he feels full.
He hands back the now-empty container to the kind servant with a second quiet thank-you, just in case. A sigh escapes his lips, and retracing his steps carefully, he makes his way to a quiet garden outside and settles beneath the shade of a large cypress tree.
His back presses against the rough bark, and he drags both hands down his face.
Yeah. You know what? He probably looks even shittier than he already was.
He hasn’t slept, hasn’t bathed, and now, he’s puked on top of it.
Obviously, he can't keep this up.
How the fuck is he supposed to save everyone if his body give out before he can even try?
It still feels like a dream, having seen his shijie in the flesh—alive, radiant, gloriously real. And yet, when morning came and he opened his eyes… he was still here, in this place.
But the Wen aren’t safe yet. Not remotely.
Of course he wants to save them—what kind of question is that?
They are a second... well, third family to him.
But like this? He won’t make it.
Breakfast felt like surviving a second siege. Still—if he stays hopeful, maybe the rest of the day will go better.
Even if the body is weary, the heart must not falter.
With that mindset, he pushes himself up and takes the least crowded route (no point drawing attention) back toward the now-empty guest quarters.
He can’t avoid people altogether—mostly servants tidying the rooms—so he politely asks one if they could bring a bath to his chamber once finished.
Once inside, he shut the door behind him and collapses onto the untouched bed. His face sinks into smooth, silken sheets that still carried the scent of fresh laundry.
He instantly regrets not using this bed the night before—though to be fair, he’d have felt stifled.
After what feels like too short a time, a gentle knock precedes two servants entering, setting down the requested bath at the center of the room. He thanks them, and they bow before promptly slipping out.
Finally stripping off his clothes, he loosens his hair and sinks into the hot, steaming water.
A breath of pleasure slips out, and he slumps deeper into the bath.
Oh yes. He definitely needs this.
The warmth wraps around him completely, melting into every sore muscle, painting healthy color across his cheeks from the rising steam.
Really, did he died thinking he’d never feel this again?
What a waste that would’ve been.
Do the dead take baths? Maybe. But he can’t be the one to testify—he never got the damn time to be properly dead before life came crashing in again.
Once every last trace of fatigue, pallor, and soreness was scrubbed away, he feels… reborn.
He makes sure to dry each stretch of pale skin carefully, blotting the long raven-black strands of hair that curl ever so slightly at the ends.
Only then he realizes he has to put back on the same clothes he just stripped off.
Standing naked at the center of the room, he sighs in defeat. Certainly not the worst thing he’s experienced.
But as he turns to toss his drying cloths in a heap, the corner of his vision catches a patch of black standing out sharply against the bright colors of the room.
Curious, he looks closer and and then sees it. A perfectly folded set of robes.
How...?
Approaching the smooth wooden ledge, he pinches the edge of the robe between his fingers, feeling the fabric—soft yet weighty in its weave.
Of course. Lan Zhan.
It could only be him.
But… how did he know? How could he tell that he didn’t bring a single spare set with him? He could’ve had a Qiankun pouch tucked away for all Lan Zhan knew. (He didn’t, in fact, have a Qiankun pouch.)
His lips curve, just faintly, upward. A tiny, silent smile.
Even if, this morning, he’d played a part in stuffing him full of food, he’d done it in good faith. And he has to admit—even Jiang Cheng did it with good intentions. The wrong approach, sure. But still, it was done with dedication.
But... Lan Zhan is genuinely trying to help him, isn’t he?
Wei Wuxian really believed he could do this on his own. That everything would be fine. And look how it turned out.
He was arrogant. So arrogant. And he dragged every person he loved into the grave alongside him.
Yet for all that he understands... he still can’t bring himself to go to Gusu with him.
It’s fine if Lan Zhan wants to lock him up or lecture him into a spiritual cleanse over his cultivation. But he still has people to protect.
And he won’t give up until they’re safe.
He won’t make the same mistake again. He won’t be arrogant, but he won’t lower his guard, either.
That—Wei Wuxian can do.
Lan Zhan holds himself to standards of justice. And Wei Wuxian... simply doesn’t fit within those bounds.
That’s okay.
Wei Wuxian can live with that thought.
It went more or less like this: by pure chance, Lan Wangji asked around about Wei Wuxian’s whereabouts, feeling the insistent need to go check on him and, above all, apologize for breakfast.
Once he obtained the information, he encountered the one he had been seeking as he’s stepping out of his room.
Seeing Wei Wuxian dressed in the clothes he had provided overwhelms him with a sense of satisfaction, through his chest. He gave him soft grey underrobes, a red inner layer, and a black outer robe just short enough to reveal the crimson beneath.
Compared to the single thin layer he usually wears, this one actually covers his skin well and shields him from potential cold. With a strong golden core, he shouldn’t need that kind of protection, but regardless, Lan Wangji wants to care for him, especially after the uncertainty surrounding the scar.
Wei Wuxian seems surprised to see him, though not exasperated as he had feared. Good.
In brief, Lan Wangji makes sure he is alright, apologizes for that morning with a promise to restrain himself from now on, and he receives in return both a thank-you for the robes and an apology for running away. Lan Wangji doesn't want either.
"Wei Ying, there is no need for apologies or thanks between us."
Wei Wuxian furrows his brow at this, wanting to retort, almost feeling as though he had been slapped across the face. He lightly clenches his fists and lowers his head, trying to calm himself, but weren’t Wen Qing’s last words precisely those?
Of course such words are necessary! Always, always, always. They are two words a person should never forget to say.
".. Nevertheless, I care to tell you." He finally manages to say, unclenching his fists and raising his face toward him. Lan Wangji stares at him, lost for a moment, before his expression softens just enough to set Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat stumbling.
"Regardless, there isn’t and never will be a need." Why does Wei Ying look so shaken by this?
Oh Wei Ying... please don’t feel the need to worry with me.
Wei Wuxian simply nods after a while, after seeming to arrive at a conclusion from his inner monologue.
"Alright, Lan Zhan" he says, and smiles—not the smile from the Cloud Recesses, not the one during the archery competition, not the one from the Phoenix Mountain hunt, nor the one when they dined together in Yiling. Not that smile, but it’s already a step forward compared to the lifeless expression he wore yesterday.
I want to make him shine.
As they peacefully speak of their plans, they are interrupted by Jiang Yanli, who insisted on seeking them out to personally invite them to lunch. Just them, with no one else. Seeing Lan Wangji there, he too is included in the invitation, although Lan Wangji suspects she anticipated seeing him and had prepared to promptly invite him as well. And that brings them to the present situation.
They are in Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli’s quarters, with a lavishly adorned table with various dishes. Jin Zixuan is off performing his peacock duties, according to Wei Wuxian, and Jin Ling sleeps blissfully in the cradle nearby, within reach.
Lan Wangji does not feel uneasy, on the contrary, Jiang Yanli brings an air of ease that settles naturally, and he sits composedly at one end of the table, watching Wei Wuxian and his shijie converse.
At a certain point, she mentions she prepared lotus root and rib soup along with a vegetarian version for Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian nearly lights up.
But once Lan Wangji is served, Jiang Yanli sees straight through her A-Xian, clearly noticing how he keeps eyeing his friend’s soup.
With a gentle smile, she asks if he'd prefer the vegetarian one as well.
Wei Wuxian nearly startles, then he tries to decline, but in end he folds, nodding guiltily.
He isn’t entirely sure what would happen if he attempted to chew me at, but he has a hunch that what occurred after breakfast was in part a consequence of that.
Perhaps that’s why he didn’t complain about the food Lan Wangji gave him, in fact, he was almost grateful. At least it masked a bit the rest of the food.
His shijie, ever so kind, doesn't ask questions, doesn't prod, and she simply served him a bowl of the vegetarian soup.
Wei Wuxian smiled at her, truly, truly grateful. Once the three of them are served, nothing holds back their conversation—or at least, two of the three.
"So, A-Xian? Has everything gone well so far?" Yanli asks with her serene, gentle voice, between bites.
"It’s all gone well, shijie, thank you." A brief silence, before his voice pushes through again effortful, like something pressing against his ribs, as though he must rid himself of a weight.
"Shijie... Jin Zixuan truly loves you, right?"
"Oh, A-Xian... he does, he loves me." A smile. This time, a broader one.
"Good... good. I, shijie-I’m truly happy. Happy he realized the person you are. You deserve it." Wei Wuxian says sincerely, smiling as he lifts a spoonful of soup into his mouth and makes a sound of appreciation.
"Mm, shijie! This is so delicious even like this, you’re truly the best! Right, Lan Zhan?"
"Mn. Xiao-Jin-Furen is truly capable and kind." Lan Wangji agrees immediately, making Jiang Yanli flush slightly in embarrassment as she giggles softly.
"Hanguang-jun, I really appreciate it, thank you. But there’s no need for you to call me that, you’re close to my A-Xian, right?"
Wei Wuxian pauses mid-bite, slowly placing his food back on the plate to speak. "Shijie, it may seem that way but in reality, Lan Zhan barely tolerates me! I’ve tormented him so much... but now he’s the great Hanguang-jun—he must’ve taken me in as a charity case and felt pity." Wei Wuxian jokes with a snort, trying his utmost to chuckle, really trying.
"Oh?" Jiang Yanli exclaims, but before she can continue, Lan Wangji speaks with ears tinged red.
".. That’s not true, Wei Ying."
"Lan Zhan, it’s forbidden to lie in your clan."
"I’m not lying, Wei Ying."
"Lan Wangji-"
"A-Xian," Jiang Yanli’s voice calls him, softly but firmly, almost scolding yet full of concern, reaching across the table to take his hand and squeeze it gently. "Why can’t you accept that Lan-er-gongzi cares for you?"
Wei Wuxian grips her hand, his lip trembling. A sudden wave of frustration rising deeply within him before he bursts out.
"Shijie, because it’s not true! It’s not!" His voice breaks, rasping, ragged. It’s not anger, at least not only. It’s pain. It’s exhaustion. It’s the fierce urgency to be understood, just once.
"Do you know how I felt when he kept asking me to go back to Gusu with him? And for what? To punish me? Lock me away in some underground chamber? Brainwash me? I don’t know! But of course I had to refuse, there was a war to win, I had a clan to be filial to, and after that I had and still have people to protect." His breath begins to falter, the words burn in his throat. Each syllable slips out like he’s trying to hold back a dam that’s already burst.
"I’m the epitome of everything that defies their precious rules- do you think his uncle would’ve ever agreed to have me there? Probably even the thought of having me in a grave in Gusu disgus-"
"Wei Ying!" Lan Wangji shouts. He’s interrupted him. He can’t bear to hear all that. What is this? It’s all wrong. His heart slams inside his chest, and his mind nearly can’t withstand it.
Wei Wuxian falls silent, his gaze dropping to the ground, his hand trembling within his shijie’s grip.
Jiang Yanli stares at them both, wide-eyed, speechless. Was the situation really this dire? Of course she’s heard the rumors swirling around those two, but her A-Xian has always spoken with such affection about Lan Wangji that she never even considered it.
Now she understands.
"You two need to talk," Jiang Yanli says quietly, eyes shifting between them.
"I have nothing to say." Wei Wuxian replies immediately, his voice slicing sharp, meant to push away, to avoid being touched, as he averts his gaze.
Lan Wangji clenches his hands on his knees so tightly he fears he’ll tear the fabric of his robes. His breath is trapped halfway in his chest, as though even his lungs refuse to expand until he speaks.
The silence becomes a weight, a barrier, and he knows—knows—this time he cannot allow himself to remain behind it. He must speak. He must speak!
Wei Wuxian doesn’t look at him, yet Lan Wangji feels that distance like a living fracture pulsing, raw. Wrong.
And then, his voice comes forth. Rough, flawed, cracked with emotion he doesn’t know how to contain. ".. I just wanted to protect you."
Silence. Wei Wuxian snaps his head so abruptly it could dislocate his neck, and stares at Lan Wangji, for once at a loss for words.
"A-Xian? Don’t you see?" Jiang Yanli’s voice interjects, giving a few squeezes to Wei Wuxian’s hand to draw his attention.
"..Protect?" Wei Wuxian murmurs under his breath, as if repeating it to himself.
"Wei Ying. I never meant to hurt you. I only want what’s good for you." Lan Wangji says, unfiltered, sincere, words so raw they slip from him and slice through the air. Finally.
"..Oh." A single sound escapes Wei Wuxian’s beautiful lips, and Lan Wangji’s heart stumbles as he watches realization bloom in his eyes. Was that really all it took? A sentence? And yet, a single phrase from Lan Wangji held the weight of an entire poem.
"And don’t think I’m finished with you, Lan-er-gongzi! You were mistaken, too. My A-Xian is a realist, he simply gathers evidence and draws conclusions. If he reached those conclusions, it’s because you used the wrong approach." Jiang Yanli’s stern yet affectionate voice scolds, making Lan Wangji bow his head.
"So what do you say to making amends?" Lan Wangji nods right away. May this woman be forever praised.
"Perfect!" Jiang Yanli beams with satisfaction.
"Shall we continue eating? A-Xian, you barely ate last night, you need to make up for it." A silent nod from both, and they resume their meal, quietly. There is so much left to say.
Wei Wuxian feels dazed, confused. Had he truly misunderstood everything? And was... the mere notion that Lan Zhan might care about him enough to make his heart race? He frowns slightly, deciding to focus instead on guiding the food to his mouth and this time truly tasting it.
Jiang Yanli doesn't press, she knows it would counterproductive. She glances over to check wheter Jin Ling has woken from the earlier yelling, then she returns to her seat and begins slipping various dishes into her A-Xian’s bowl. (Once again, Wei Wuxian wonders why he is being stuffed with food with and without force)
After the food is finished, they rise to their feet. Lan Wangji glances toward Wei Wuxian, uncertain, and he turns to Jiang Yanli.
"Thank you for lunch, Xiao-Jin-Furen" Lan Wangji says formally, with a grateful bow. Jiang Yanli nods with a smile.
"It was my pleasure. You’re welcome to use my name, it would make me happy. And thank you again for accompanying my A-Xian company." She returns the bow gracefully.
"The pleasure was mine" Lan Wangji replies instantly- after all, receiving a letter from Wei Ying had been a blow to the heart- "...Jiang Yanli."
The woman beams brightly, her expression tender and warm. Meanwhile, the servants quietly clear the table, the presence of their Xiao-Furen a soothing balm against the combined weight of Hanguang-Jun and the Yiling Patriarch's presence.
Wei Wuxian listens in silence, watching them, his heart fluttering slightly at the interaction. His gaze lingers on Lan Wangji and then quickly looks away when the man notices.
"Well then, Lan-er-gongzi, I wish you a pleasant afternoon. I was planning to take A-Xian for a stroll before giving you both some space. Do you mind?" Jiang Yanli asks, surprising even Wei Wuxian—who hadn’t known—but agrees silently right away.
"Mn. I don’t mind. Enjoy your walk, Wei Ying, Xiao... Jiang Yanli." Lan Wangji responds with a softened expression.
"See you soon... Lan Zhan" Wei Wuxian offers a quiet farewell.
With farewells exchanged, only Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian remain. They double-check that neither of them needs to change or gather anything, and at once Wei Wuxian offers to carry Jin Ling, not wanting to burden his shijie. She mustn’t strain herself!
They could choose to leave him safely behind—but the look in Wei Wuxian’s eyes is so heartbreakingly compassionate and enthusiastic, like he might never see the child again in this life, that Jiang Yanli assures him it was perfectly fine if he wants to bring him along.
So little Jin Ling is carefully and attentively fastened to Wei Wuxian’s chest, wrapped in a thick, long swathe of golden silk knotted securely at his back. Despite how stable the bundle is, Wei Wuxian still lightly supports the child’s head with his hand, his gaze continually amazed by the child of his beloved shijie. He’s so beautiful.. he definitely takes after her!
Jiang Yanli watches them with open, radiant affection before they leave the Golden Carp Tower together, reluctantly accompanied by two guards who could deny nothing to their Xiao-Furen.
The Lanling market unfurled like a raging river through the city’s main streets, bustling from the earliest cold hours of the morning. Eyes are drawn in every direction, to vibrant brocade fabrics, arranged like rainbows across the stalls, to towering piles of candied fruits, sesame sweets, caramelized chestnuts, and sticky rice cakes skewered on long sticks, to jade and ceramic trinkets displayed on intricately woven mats.
Walking alongside Xiao-Jin-Furen at the heart of Lanling’s market is no small thing, and yet in the eyes of passersby, Wei Wuxian appears perfectly at ease as he carry the well-known child, Jin Ling, with a light gait.
Jiang Yanli is, of course, renowned. Beyond her occasional outings, her wedding was such a grand affair it was on everyone’s lips for a month. And again was the announcement of Jin Rulan’s birth, not to mention her exquisitely embroidered and distinctive robes.
The crowd turn as they pass, not so much for Wei Wuxian—who no one seem to recognize, save for a handsome young man escorting Jin-gongzi’s wife—but for her, sweet and beloved, whom everyone greet with affection. No arrogant peacocks, no pompous airs, no stiff ceremony. Just warmth.
Wei Wuxian definitely adores going to market, enchanted by how the people respect his shijie. He can’t help but smile, so buoyant and lighthearted, as he hold Jin Ling close.
Shortly after, Jiang Yanli has him sample all the local delicacies, and Wei Wuxian has declared that for her there would always be room in his stomach, until his gaze pauses at a stall. Amid the various accessories, a finely carved hairpin adorned with red enamel plum blossoms catches his attention.
It reminds him so deeply of Wen Qing... and isn’t it perfect for her? A symbol of strength and purity of spirit. He wouldn’t mind spending all the money he brought on it.
But Jiang Yanli’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “A-Xian, do you want to buy it? It’s so lovely. Perhaps... it’s for your friend? The... doctor, right?” She asks uncertainly but with curiosity, not knowing exactly who's there in Yiling.
Wei Wuxian nods with a gentle curl of his lips, and the two step toward the stall. “Yes, she’s the best. But shijie, she’s so strict with me!” He complains childishly, the very thought of her bringing him joy. He won’t lose them again. He can’t. They are too precious.
“A-Xian sometimes needs correcting” Jiang Yanli giggles softly.
“Shijieee...” Wei Wuxian pouts, but upon hearing the energetic greeting from the merchant, he prepares to perform what he’s become exceptionally good at this past year: price bargaining.
But soon he discovered it isn’t necessary, because as he picks up the hairpin to test its weight and craftsmanship, before he can even confirm his choice, a pouch of money is already in front of the merchant, whose eyes light up instantly.
“Shijie! You didn’t have to!” Wei Wuxian immediately protests, wide-eyed.
“A-Xian, I want to gift it to her. And I don’t want you to spend your own money” Yanli says with a soft expression, gently patting his arm.
Wei Wuxian is absolutely ready to argue, but she’s already thanked the grateful seller and taken him by the arm to continue walking.
Wei Wuxian could let it slide for once, but the thing is, this madness doesn’t stop there. The moment he shows interest in anything, it is promptly purchased.
By the end of their stroll, he emerges with a new embroidered cloth case for needles, finely sliced dāngguī root preserved in salt and dried huángqín leaves for Wen Qing, a lacquered box for storing embroidery threads for the aunts, cypress and clove incense sticks, which were nearly impossible to find in Yiling due to timber and spice shortages, for popo, seasonal fruit present only in certain areas for sishu's wine, a silver sable-hair calligraphy brush, boxes of locally harvested aromatic mineral salt, powdered shiitake mushrooms, oiled paper to shield medicine from humidity...
And you know what?
Wei Wuxian has lost track. It’s all too much!
With such a haul, Jiang Yanli had to purchase a Qiankun pouch, which she used it herself due to Wei Ying’s unfortunate lack of something essential. Then she handed it over to him, neatly packed, with the most angelic smile he’d ever seen.
Jin Ling must have sensed Wei Wuxian’s mood, because as if it weren’t enough, he promptly burst into tears right after.
But in the end, it truly had been a lovely afternoon.
The sun shines high in the sky, bright enough to illuminate but not to warm the winter air. Nevertheless, it's been decided to hold the competitions outdoors: after all, Lanling is a mild place, and it takes very little to shake off the cold.
The contests are a way to celebrate Jin Ling, but also to entertain and amuse the guests—definitely more well-received than the dancers Jin Guangshan hired to perform during last night’s banquet.
When Wei Wuxian returns from the market, it’s late afternoon, and the competitions are nearly over: only the sword duels remain, scheduled deliberately as the final event.
Wei Wuxian knows he should talk to Lan Wangji, he truly does, but after the good mood he’s carried from spending time with his shijie and nephew, he doesn’t have the heart to face it.
So, reluctantly, he wanders around the corridors a bit, running into him more by coincidence than intent. Wei Wuxian hadn’t been actively looking for him, but fortunately, on the other side, one glance is enough for Lan Wangji to understand: now isn’t the moment.
No, Lan Wangji wants to create a pleasant atmosphere, to let Wei Wuxian feel at ease. Now it’s clearly not the time.
So he simply looks at him, heart nearly in his throat, until Wei Wuxian speaks first, catching him off guard.
“... Would you like to come watch the duels with me? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything like this.”
Lan Wangji certainly doesn’t need to be asked twice.
He agrees immediately, and without invading Wei Wuxian’s personal space, the two head side by side to the large outdoor training grounds prepared for the occasion.
Naturally, it’s packed with people. Cultivators gather all around the edges of the arena, some even up on raised platforms reserved for clan leaders. A blend of excited chatter fills the air, mingled with the sharp metallic clash of blades meeting in combat.
Everyone’s so absorbed that no one notices Hanguang-jun or the Yiling Laozu slipping through. The two of them simply find a narrow spot to observe the fights from up close, nestled in the crowd.
Lan Wangji isn’t overly fond of chaos settings like this, but Wei Wuxian is practically pressed against his side, so he certainly isn’t complaining.
Those closest to the pair step back slightly once they realize who’s beside them, but no one seems to mind much—the attention is entirely on the duel unfolding at the center.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes follow each motion of the blades, recognizing one fighter as a disciple of the Tingshan He Clan and the other from Laoling Qin Clan. Both clans were present during the siege, but he isn’t in the mood to think about that now. He just wants to enjoy the match.
It must be a beautiful feeling, to grip a sword, to feel invincible as you fight with everything you have, to feel sweat trailing down your neck as proof of your effort... yes.
Wei Wuxian knows it is.
Watching a duel from the outside is thrilling, but being in one yourself is another matter entirely.
Well, that’s not an option.
He hasn’t participated in anything like this in at least three years, both to avoid being challenged, and to spare himself the slow torture of it.
But right now? This is enough. He’s content to observe, to evaluate every move.
Lan Wangji’s body beside his provides a quiet warmth that spreads through him and eases his body, unconsciously calming his nerves entirely.
From time to time, Wei Wuxian comments on a movement or strategy, to which Lan Wangji replies with a quiet, agreeable “Mn.”
Every duel begins and ends, each followed by shouts and applause. It’s an open tournament: anyone can walk into the center of the field and wait for a challenger to approach.
Well, everything is going smoothly, and Wei Wuxian finds himself genuinely enjoying it. The attention isn’t on him, for once, and the last time he saw all these clans gathered like this was, first, in Nightless City, and then marching into the Burial Mounds to spill blood.
Two events best forgotten, never repeated.
So this gathering lets him feel at least a little normal.
But as always there must be a problem, because at one point, a disruption arises.
An outer disciple from the GusuLan clan publicly challenges Jin Zixun, Wei Wuxian has finally committed his name to memory, who is seated next to his uncle on a raised platform.
A hush falls over the crowd, breath held in anticipation and gripped by the obvious provocation. Jin Guangshan, caught off guard in midst of living his best life among wine, women, and wagers, reacts instantly, eager to prevent his nephew from making a mess. He declares the duel impossible, citing what everyone already knows: the curse has severely weakened Jin Zixun.
Weakened enough to excuse him from a fight, but apparently not enough to stop him from trying to kill someone.
Jin Zixun, ready to leap forward and attack, restrains himself quickly under his uncle’s disapproving glare.
Jin Zixun knows that disciple. Oh, he knows him. They had an unpleasant encounter some time ago, only interrupted by Jin Guangyao.
Every time the white-robed cultivator opens his mouth, Lan Wangji’s expression grows darker, and Wei Wuxian is sure he’s seen the man somewhere before.
Eventually, he gives up trying to place him, figuring if he doesn’t remember, it can’t be that important. Meanwhile, in Lan Wangji’s mind, a single name echoes: Su Minshan.
Still, Wei Wuxian, unable to suppress his curiosity, gently tugs on Lan Wangji’s sleeve to get his attention, and he leans in to whisper,
“Lan Zhan, do you know that disciple? He’s from your clan.”
Lan Wangji is sorely tempted to say no, that he’s not worth mentioning—especially since Wei Ying has risked his life twice because of that waste of breath. But lying goes against the rules.
“Mn. His name is Su She, courtesy name Minshan.”
Lan Wangji answers between clenched teeth, his face icy.
Wei Wuxian looks even more confused than before, but simply nods, satisfied to have an answer.
Meanwhile, Su She, visibly seething, finally falls quiet only when another voice cuts through, a calm, gentle one: Jin Guangyao, always polite, always a peacemaker.
“Minshan, I understand your frustration, and I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Once we find the culprit and he fully recovers, you’ll have your duel. In the meantime, how about challenging someone else?”
Su She turns to him, falling instantly silent once he realizes who’s speaking, and backs down immediately.
“It’s fine, really. I’ll let the others have their turn."
“Wait—actually, I have an idea,” Jin Guangyao says, descending to the field from the platform where he’d been dutifully seated beside his father. He picks up one of the practice swords laid out by the Jin Clan, weighs it in his hand, and steps toward Su She.
A smile forms across his face, one of those small, knowing ones that etch dimples at the corners.
“What about Wei-gongzi?” he asks, turning to where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangjiare standing at the edge of the field. “Of course, only if he agrees. Sadly, I’ve never had the honor of witnessing his skills firsthand, but it’s well known he’s a brilliant swordsman. Since he doesn’t have his own sword with him, he’s welcome to use the one I've just selected. It’s one of our finest.”
Silence falls once again.
All eyes turn toward Wei Wuxian. Everyone else promptly steps back, leaving him isolated in the center of a widening circle. Only Lan Wangji remains firmly at his side, his brows furrowing slightly at the sudden targeting.
Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, then closes it again. A sinking feeling claws at his chest and a chill creeps up his spine. It suddenly feels like coming here was a terrible mistake.
“Lianfang-zun, I appreciate the invitation, but I’m feeling quite fatigued at the moment. I'm sure there are many cultivators eager for a match”
The words tumble from his lips—the first that come to mind—while his heart begins to race. Physically speaking, he could take down Su She barehanded. But in his current condition? By the time his exhausted mind registered a sword strike, he’d already be skewered.
“Wei-gongzi, I assure you, it would be a friendly match. Just for fun.”
His palms begin to sweat, and he realizes he can’t take a step back, because Lan Wangji’s gentle hand has landed on his shoulder. I don’t want this—I don’t want this—I don’t want this- I don't-
Resentment begins to prickle at his fingertips, itching beneath his skin to claw its way out, and his ears catch new voices rising from the crowd.
“What’s the problem? Wasn't he supposedly so good he didn’t even need to prove himself to beat us all?”
“Exactly! Look, he doesn’t even carry a weapon—he thinks none of us are worth his time.”
“Oh yeah?! So sure he’d win, then why is he hesitating?”
“Could it be... the resentment has weakened him? He doesn't even have Chenqing to fight in what would be an unfair fight.”
“That’s true! Remember the hunt on Phoenix Mountain? The only thing he did was play that awful tune at the start and didn’t even break a sweat!”
“He likes easy wins! I want to see what he can actually do with a sword-”
“What arrogance! This is unacceptable-”
Voices pile on top of each other, overlapping until they blur in Wei Wuxian’s hearing. He stands frozen, eyes only catching a sword being extended toward him—he hadn’t even noticed Jin Guangyao approaching.
The spirits around him begin to respond to his foul mood, growing agitated, more and more—more—and damn it, it’s simple! All he needs to do is accept the duel and lose. It would all be over in two minutes, he could survive the embarrassment, easy—easy—easy—
A faint cloud of resentful energy begins to gather around him, swirling and swirling, while the voices grow so loud he can no longer tell whether the ones in his head are the spirits or the cultivators surrounding him and-
“I’ll fight in his place.”
Boom. Total silence, leaving everyone speechless.
Lan Wangji’s voice breaks through with an iciness and force that leave no room for contradiction, like a fact carved into the fabric of the universe.
Suddenly, everything in Wei Wuxian’s head goes still. His eyes fly open, locking on Lan Wangji as his heart nearly crashes out of his chest.
Bichen is already drawn.
Lan Wangji leans in quietly.
“I’ll be right back.”
There’s no need to say it, but before the duel is even officially announced, Su She is already on the ground, swordless.
Notes:
I hope you enjoyed this chapter!! You might be wondering where Jiang Wanyin and the rest of the leader were in the last scene. Well, we all know them very well, so here's the thing: if Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue were present, they wouldn't intervene, and at most Lan Xichen would go to Jin Guangyao after his little brother beat Su She's ass. Now that Jiang Wanyin has time to come to terms with himself for defending Wei Wuxian in front of everyone, the situation would have had time to start and end, so...
Then sorry, but I have to give Lan Wangji a wake-up call. Unfortunately, we don't have 13 years to wait for him to age like fine wine. So, boom!
Take care of yourselves and see you next time 🌸💞
Chapter 6: Back to Normality... or almost
Notes:
Hi guys!! 💞 I'm so sorry I disappeared, July was a busy month, but I'm back and in great shape! I hope you're doing well!
❥ 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘗𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘢𝘥: https://www.wattpad.com/story/399350923 "Não é preciso muito para consertar"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Su She’s defeat sends the crowd into a stunned, silent delirium. Not that anyone expected a different outcome, but what truly leaves everyone speechless is how they ended up in this situation at all.
Hanguang-Jun defending the Yiling Laozu? In what world?! They hate each other, don’t they??
Then why is Lan Wangji standing at the center of the field, facing Su Minshan, as he sheathes Bichen with a single elegant motion?
“You’ve lost.” He announces it like stating the obvious. And after casting a glacial glance toward Jin Guangyao and Su She, he turns, walking back to a stunned Wei Wuxian.
Lan Wangji murmurs something to him, too quiet for the crowd to hear, before they begin to walk away together. Wei Wuxian trails behind him, head bowed.
Su She seethes, still on the ground, and Jin Guangyao helps him up—this twist hadn’t been part of the plan. Honestly, he knew Wei Wuxian wouldn’t accept the duel. He only wanted to tarnish his image further.
But now? Who looks bad?
Obviously the one who challenged someone of Hanguang-Jun’s caliber.
Jin Guangshan grips his wine cup a little too tightly, jaw clenched so hard it might crack.
Well, shit.
Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian walks behind Lan Wangji, occasionally lifting his gaze to the man’s back, heart pounding in his chest, a tingling emotion spreading through his limbs.
Together, they move through the quiet corridor, the sound of their footsteps echoing against the walls.
“.. Lan Zhan? Where are we going?”
The question makes Lan Wangji stop abruptly, causing Wei Wuxian to halt as well.
Of course he hadn’t thought about where to go. He’d only wanted to get Wei Ying away from there.
“I don’t know. Wherever you want.”
Wei Wuxian seems to think for a moment, scrunching his nose slightly.
“Mmm.. Can we watch the sunset together?”
Lan Wangji’s expression softens—just barely. And damn, his heart has beaten more in these two days than in the past year.
Anywhere you want, Wei Ying.
“Mn. Let’s go.”
Wei Ying, it turns out, knows the quietest and most well-kept corners of the Golden Carp Tower. He would’ve chosen a rooftop to sit on together, but getting up there... would’ve been a bit complicated for him. So he opts for a garden. This time, an open one, where nothing obstructs the view.
The grass is perfectly even, every blade the same height, with flowers blooming in carefully designed spots.
He settles at the base of a solitary tree, bare of leaves, pulling his knees to his chest—the way he’s gotten used to lately—and only realizes too late that if he sits, Lan Wangji might ruin his pristine white robes.
But the problem doesn’t arise. Lan Wangji sits right beside him, legs crossed, back straight.
Wei Wuxian feels a strange comfort in that. Every nerve in his body seems to lower its guard just a little in his presence.
“Lan Zhan.. thank you for defending me. How many times have I thanked you in just two days, huh?..” A small laugh escapes his lips as he gazes at the sky ahead. It’s not quite evening yet, but it’s winter, so the sun, low on the horizon, sinks slowly, wrapping everything in a golden haze. The air is crisp, and the sky fades from pale grey-blue to soft orange, then to antique rose, and finally to deep blue.
Lan Wangji glances at him, observing his almost-relaxed profile.
“Mn, Wei Ying. You didn’t want it. They should’ve respected that. You didn’t hurt anyone. There’s no need to thank me.”
Wei Wuxian doesn’t have the strength to reply. He simply nods, grateful, and rests his head on his knees.
Maybe he really is relaxed—because he starts to feel a bit cold.
Someone might find it strange that he literally slept outside the night before without covering himself, but his head had been so full and his bones already so cold that he hadn’t really felt it.
But now... It’s like everything has melted. Everything has quieted.
His eyelids grow heavy as he watches the shadows flicker gently around them.
“Lan Zhan.. do you have your instrument with you?”
A held breath—then Lan Wangji nods, pulling it from his Qiankun pouch. He doesn’t usually store it there, but for occasions like this, he prefers to keep it close in case of need rather than leave it unattended.
This is definitely a necessity.
He places it across his lap and looks to Wei Wuxian, waiting for direction.
Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, has turned his gaze toward him, watching calmly before asking. “Can you play... the song you played for me? In the cave. It was really beautiful.”
Lan Wangji’s heart almost aches with joy. He stares at him, eyes nearly overflowing with emotion he can’t contain.
It’s their song. Wei Ying wants their song.
He agrees almost too quickly, positioning his hands over the strings of his guqin and beginning to pluck.
The melody sounds fuller, richer, more tender—more everything—now that he’s playing with his own instrument and in full health.
His fingers seem to follow the rhythm of his heart rather than the memorized notes in his mind. And maybe that’s what it truly means to play with your heart.
Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, can’t do anything but watch. His eyes stay fixed on him, his body caught in the melody and the way Lan Wangji’s hands move across the strings—like he’s caressing them, guiding them through the song.
When it ends, Wei Wuxian finds himself asking for the name.
“You already know it, Wei Ying.”
“Lan Zhan, don’t be mean.. I had a fever, I didn’t hear it if you said it.”
His voice fades toward the end of the sentence, struggling to keep his eyes open. It’s like all the exhaustion he’s been carrying has come back to bite him all at once, and he feels like he can’t move a single muscle.
He doesn’t push to get the name from Lan Wangji, and his nostrils fill with the scent of sandalwood just as an extra robe is draped over his shoulders.
After that, he doesn’t remember anything clearly.
That night, Wei Wuxian falls asleep in a warm, soft bed. He doesn’t know what’s more surprising that he’s sleeping or that it’s in a real bed.
The cave lies hidden within the folds of a mountain, not far from the valley where the screams have yet to fade. Its entrance is narrow, obscured by twisted brambles and trees, as if nature itself wished to keep intruders away.
Inside, silence reigns, muffled, unreal—broken only by the slow dripping of water seeping through the stone walls, sliding down damp moss and time-carved cracks, before falling into a small pool. The air is cold, thick with moisture, and dark.
Wei Wuxian slowly opens his eyes, feeling warmth seep into him, flowing through his meridians before vanishing into emptiness. He has to blink several times before his surroundings come into focus, and the only source of light is the point where his wrist meets a pair of large hands.
That light hums softly, casting a faint glow over his face and over the face of... Lan Wangji?
Lan Zhan?
Wei Wuxian can’t feel pain in his body, but he knows it’s there—he can’t even move. But one thing is certain: he feels hollow, as if everything that made him human has shattered.
His body rests against the hard rock, cold as his own skin, in stark contrast to the figure before him. But this Lan Wangji... why does he look so disheveled? So undone?
His hair is out of place, his usually immaculate robes are torn and stained. Dirt smudges his smooth skin and... his face... why does he look so worried?
Lan Wangji’s lips begin to move, and only then does Wei Wuxian realize he’s speaking.
“Wei Ying, please.”
“Wei Ying, I’ll protect you. I’m sorry, please stay with me.”
“It’ll be alright. I’ll stay by your side, I promise.”
“Wei Ying—”
“Go away..” This time, it’s not Lan Zhan’s voice. It’s his own. The words come out barely whispered, fragile and fleeting.
Why did he say that?
“Wei Ying..! Please listen to me, I’m sorry, I was wrong, but if you give me another chance I swear I’ll make it right—”
“Go away!..” He repeats, more desperately this time.
“Wei Ying... I love you!.. I always have!.. I—”
“Go away!”
This time, the words are sharp, shouted aloud, final, while he jerks his arm away to avoid being touched.
Wait. He loves me?
Lan Wangji’s eyes are wide—so wounded, yet resolute—and he doesn’t leave. He stays.
Then, the sound of footsteps echoes toward them. Suddenly, his vision fills with members of the Lan clan, tense and defensive, keeping their distance.
Lan Wangji rises instantly, placing himself between Wei Wuxian and them, hand on Bichen’s hilt. He doesn’t speak. He simply listens to his family’s attempts to reason with him.
When they try to strike, not a single blade reaches its mark.
—
Wei Wuxian jolts awake, sitting up with a gasp. His breath is ragged, his heart racing wildly.
As he rubs his eyes, he feels his cheeks wet with tears. His trembling hands clutch the sheets, eyes darting around frantically.
A dream. Just a dream. But it felt too real... As if he’d already lived it.
Wei Wuxian feels deeply shaken, losing control of his body—slipping through the fingers that are always so deft, so steady.
He can’t. He can’t.
What was that? It can’t be real.
But his mind would never conjure such a dream, especially since dreams only reflect what the mind already knows.
Have I truly lost my mind?
—
Apparently, he must have, because at some point, his bare feet touch the floor and carry him down the dark hallway, lit only by small candles burning slowly, until he finds himself in front of Lan Wangji’s room.
—
When Lan Wangji opens the door, looking like someone who’s just been roused in the dead of night, he expects anything but this.
The sight that greets him is a Wei Wuxian more shaken than he’s ever seen.
Sweat glistens faintly on his temples, tousled hair frames a pale face and wide, almost terrified eyes, shining with tears. His hands clutch his inner red robe tightly, as if anchoring himself to the world.
Panic hits Lan Wangji instantly, completely lost, but it’s followed by a flood of emotions he can’t place.
What happened? Is he hurt? Did something happen to someone?
His mind braces for the worst, while his body doesn’t wait—it does the only thing a body without thought can do: it embraces Wei Ying.
Their bodies nearly collide, and his arms wrap around him tightly.
Wei Wuxian barely has time to absorb the warmth of the body holding him before he collapses into it. His trembling hands press against Lan Wangji’s back—hesitant at first, then clutching his robes desperately—as his face buries into his shoulder and he cries.
This reaction is so unlike Wei Wuxian, and after his shijie, this is only the second time it’s happened.
Was he truly such a horrible person? Did he shatter Lan Zhan’s heart so carelessly, without even realizing?
He died never knowing his feelings. Stupid, stupid, stupid...
Wei Wuxian’s body bleeds emotion against Lan Wangji’s, who doesn’t pull away. He accepts it all, every last drop, and holds him—supports him like the strong roots of an ancient pine.
After a while, Wei Wuxian’s sobs begin to quiet, gradually. But he doesn’t let go.
Lan Wangji guides them both into his room, closing the door—something Wei Wuxian barely notices.
Wei Wuxian sniffs softly against his neck, and Lan Wangji keeps his arms firm around him.
“Wei Ying..” Lan Wangji speaks gently, his chest resonating against Wei Wuxian’s.
“I’m sorry.. I didn’t know.. I’m sorry..” Wei Wuxian sobs quietly, lips trembling.
“Wei Ying. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I treated you so badly..”
His voice cracks again at the memory. Why does it hurt so much? Why has this struck him so deeply?
Lan Wangji is shaken by Wei Wuxian’s outburst, feeling the need to fix everything—unaware that Wei Wuxian speaks of the past, thinking it’s about their present.
“Wei Ying. I’m sorry, I wasn’t clear either. But you don’t need to worry. Wei Ying has a huge heart.”
“I thought you hated me...” Wei Ying whispers, voice trembling. “I thought you couldn’t even stand to look at me..”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji calls softly, moving his hand from his shoulder to his cheek, turning his face from his neck.
Golden eyes meet silver.
“It’s my fault. I treated you poorly. I let myself be misunderstood. I’m sorry. But I never hated you. Not once.”
Wei Ying’s expression seems to absorb the words, and suddenly he feels lighter, like a rope had loosened around his heart. He smiles faintly.
“Didn’t you say there’s no need for apologies or thanks between us?..” He murmurs, hiding his face against Lan Wangji’s neck again.
“Mn. That applies to Wei Ying too.”
“Mmm..” Wei Wuxian murmurs softly. “I’m so pathetic..”
A wet laugh escapes his lips, almost mocking how he feels. It’s wrong, and yet deep down, he’s never felt better than now—in the middle of the night, soaking Hanguang-Jun’s robes with tears, and realizing he doesn’t hate him.
No... Of course not.
Wei Ying… I love you!.. I always have!.. The words echo suddenly in the darkness of his mind.
“Wei Ying is the best. He has no reason to think so little of himself. Yet, he tends to rely only on himself.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t say it as a scolding, but with a voice so gentle it almost hurts. His warm, large hand presses low against his back.
“Lan Zhan.. Stop saying all these kind things. My heart can’t take it.” Wei Wuxian complains against his shoulder, almost pouting.
“No. I’ll speak, and Wei Ying will listen. I have to make amends, remember?”
“Yeah yeah, I remember.. just... you have time to make amends, okay? So please, can I have a break?”
Wei Wuxian is struck by the phrase “you have time.” Because... isn’t that true?
After all, he avoided everything that led to his death. There’s time.
The same exact phrase echoes in Lan Wangji’s mind.
So this isn’t goodbye. He can still visit him. He can help him.
He can buy more toys for Wen Yuan. Offer him something that resembles peace. Stay.
For a moment, Lan Wangji gazes down at him—then,
“Mm.”
Neither of them pulls away. Neither of them even considers it. And Lan Wangji wouldn’t have, regardless.
So he forces himself to overcome the fear that too much certainty might shatter the fragile balance just now forming between them.
He simply guides Wei Wuxian toward the bed, and when he finally settles him beneath the covers, he does so with a tenderness that borders on reverence.
Wei Wuxian lets himself go—not to sleep, but to that closeness that feels a little frightening, yet he no longer wants to reject it.
Lan Wangji extinguishes the lights that had been left burning earlier, and lies down beside him, keeping a measured distance, but never pulling away.
Neither of them speaks. Neither of them retreats.
And in the silence that follows, there’s something new. Something that feels like possibility.
Wei Ying... I love you!.. I always have!..
“Lan Zhan?”
“Wei Ying.”
“I think I do too.” Wei Wuxian murmurs softly, and his lips curl into a small, tired smile.
The truth of the situation hits Lan Wangji the following morning.
His body wakes at Maoshi, precisely at 5 a.m., not a minute later. But there’s an unfamiliar presence in his bed. And it’s none other than Wei Ying.
He can’t see him clearly in the absence of light, but he knows he’s there. He hears his slow breathing, and if he strains his eyes, he might even make out the contours of his face.
He’s here. For real.
Isn’t it absurd?
Even Lan Wangji doesn’t dare tell his heart to calm down. He’s afraid that even the slightest movement might ruin the moment.
But at least he knows it’s not the result of his most fevered fantasies. Wei Ying is here. With him.
And he trusts him enough to surrender, to let himself be wrapped in the shared warmth of a bed, to curl up beside him as if he’s belonged there all along.
In a single night, they’ve bridged distances that once felt infinite.
Lan Wangji finds himself smiling, just a slight upward curve of his lips, but sincere.
He stays there, watching him as time passes, and the sun begins to rise, timidly casting its first rays of light.
Eventually, his body demands attention, and he’s forced to get up. If he doesn’t care for himself, how can he care for Wei Ying?
So he refreshes himself, changes clothes, combs his hair, carefully puts away every item he used, replaces the spent incense... and then?
Lan Wangji stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, uncertain what to do—or not do—to avoid waking Wei Ying.
After all, he’s never had someone asleep in his bed. And certainly not a beautiful man who is his deepest desire.
In the end, he remembers the exhaustion that had weighed on Wei Ying’s body. There’s no way he’ll wake anytime soon.
So Lan Wangji lights a single candle and meditates. When he can’t focus anymore, he reads. Then he steps out to retrieve clean robes for Wei Wuxian, and some warm food—avoiding meat.
And when he returns to the room...
A single ray of sunlight falls directly across Wei Wuxian’s sleeping face.
Lan Wangji freezes at the threshold, fingers clenched around the edge of the tray. He doesn’t dare move.
Wei Ying is still asleep, his face relaxed, long lashes casting a sharp shadow across his cheek. The light touches his skin like a blessing, and for a moment, Lan Wangji has the illusion that the sun itself is drawn to him.
How dare the universe lay its fingers on his face with a tenderness that Lan Wangji still denies himself, every single day?
Something tightens in his chest.
He steps closer, and without touching him, lets his gaze drift slowly over the serene profile of Wei Ying, so starkly different from two days ago.
Whatever deity rules the heavens must have been blind to allow such a soul to be broken.
Perhaps Lan Wangji could ascend right then and there.
When Wei Wuxian wakes, the scent of sandalwood fills his senses, and warmth envelops him. He feels a little dazed, but also as if he’s floating on a cloud.
After a good rest, his mind seems to work faster.
But when he opens one eye, immediately blinded by the light, he sees one side of the bed empty. Before he can worry, he spots Lan Wangji standing right beside it.
Wei Wuxian throws an arm over his eyes to shield them from the light, and speaks in a voice heavy with sleep.
“Lan Zhan, why are you standing? Come here now.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t flinch outwardly—he’s not that kind of man—but inside, he does. Without a second thought, he sits on the edge of the bed.
“Good morning, Wei Ying.”
“Mmm... what time is it?”
“It’s late morning.”
Immediately, Wei Wuxian jolts upright, eyes wide.
“Shit! I promised I’d be in Yiling by evening.”
But it doesn’t seem like a huge problem, because a resigned sigh escapes his lips before he lets his head fall back onto the pillow.
Lan Wangji watches him in silence, resigned as well, knowing that sooner or later, Wei Wuxian will return to the Burial Mounds.
But what’s the issue? He can simply go to him.
It feels strange to admit, but it also brings a quiet sense of satisfaction. It means he’s made some progress with Wei Ying.
“But.. before I go, there’s something I need to settle.”
Wei Wuxian turns onto his side, facing Lan Wangji.
“I have the solution to Jin Zixun's curse. But—I can’t afford more delays and I have to leave, so... I wrote down the instructions.”
Lan Wangji stares at him for a few seconds, frowning, clearly displeased.
“Wei Ying-”
“Ah, Lan Zhan, wait!”
Wei Wuxian interrupts quickly, finally sitting up to face him properly.
“I promise it’s safe and doesn’t use demonic cultivation... well, maybe a little, but it’s my cultivation, not demonic!”
Wei Wuxian feels the need to explain—probably to avoid being hated even more.
Ah. Not hated. Right.
“Wei Ying, that’s not the issue. It’s fine to save people, and I know you did it with a good heart. But not for Jin Zixun.”
Lan Wangji sounds more displeased than before.
Wei Wuxian shrugs, not seeing the problem.
“Lan Zhan, I get what you mean, but thanks to you I’m alive, Jin Zixuan is aliv-”
He realizes too late what he was about to say, and falls silent, lowering his head. His expression mirrors Lan Wangji’s—but for different reasons.
“Wei Ying. He wanted to kill you.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“He wanted to kill Wen Ning.”
That seems to make Wei Wuxian pause. He sighs.
“Look—if you don’t want to do it, I’ll find someone else. I could ask Jin Zixuan, or Jiang Cheng.. or Jin-zongzh—”
“I’ll do it.”
Well, that didn’t take much convincing.
Once Wei Wuxian is dressed, scented, and pleasantly full, they finally leave the room together.
He takes a deep breath, and glances at Lan Wangji to gauge his intentions, but seeing that he remains silent and at his side, Wei Wuxian speaks first.
“Lan Zhan, do you want to come with me to see my Shijie?”
Lan Wangji looks at him with a veiled emotion in his eyes, barely perceptible, like something moving beneath a calm surface. He doesn’t answer.
“...I’ll take that as a yes? If you don’t feel like it, you can wait for me.”
Wei Wuxian replies lightly, though inside, a quiet agitation simmers. He truly wants to see Jiang Yanli.
He takes a few steps ahead, but his body halts abruptly when a hand grabs his wrist. He can’t help but stop and turn toward Lan Wangji.
“Wei Ying.”
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian looks at him, almost surprised, a question unspoken but written across his face.
“Wei Ying. Come back to Gusu with me.”
Lan Wangji’s voice echoes through the rich corridor, eyes locked onto his, almost resigned, but with a flicker of hope, recently rekindled and stubborn.
Wei Wuxian averts his gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips.
He hasn’t heard those words in a long time, but that doesn’t lessen their impact—especially now that he knows what they mean.
If Lan Wangji hasn’t given up on fate, Wei Wuxian has.
It doesn’t matter that he’s just changed it. There are still things he cannot change.
“Lan Zhan, you really never give up, huh?..”
A small sigh.
“Lan Zhan. I have people I love and want to protect. People who, if the cultivation world knew I was in Gusu with you, would be killed instantly. You saw those people, Lan Zhan. Each of them is skilled in many things, but... fighting isn’t one of them. Think of A-Yuan. What should I do? Let him die? Hand him a sword and teach him to defend himself? A child? Elderly people? Innocent men?What’s the best option among those three? The war ended long ago, and yet we still have to fight just to survive.”
Again. Killed again.
But Wei Wuxian won’t allow it again. He learns from his mistakes.
“Do you think I enjoy hearing you ask me this over and over? And do you think I enjoy always saying no? But I simply can’t.”
This is his final answer.
Not that he’d ever explained his reasons to Lan Zhan before, but Lan Zhan had never denied or confirmed what he thought Wei Wuxian meant by that question either.
Now Wei Ying knows. His subconscious knows.
Wei Ying, I’ll protect you. I’m sorry, please stay with me.
His past self hadn’t been conscious enough to understand it—too blind, too wounded to see. But now he knows.
And knowing changes nothing. It doesn’t change his answer.
He too has people he wants to protect.
Lan Wangji seems to wither, as always, under the weight of rejection. He slowly lets go of Wei Wuxian’s wrist, feeling him slip away once again.
He is a weak man.
Hadn’t he promised to do better? Isn’t he duty-bound to act?
What use is the title of Hanguang-Jun if he can’t bring light even to the man he loves? To A-Yuan? To all the innocents trapped in that place that brings nothing but death?
Useless.
But right now, he doesn’t feel he has the right to interfere in a family he doesn’t belong to.
“I’ll wait for you here.”
And so, Wei Ying gives him the gift of a small smile before walking away.
Weak.
Of course, Wei Wuxian hadn’t expected to find Jiang Wanyin outside his shijie’s chambers as well, and yet, there he is. Purple robes gleaming under the light, along with his ever-present scowl and the unmistakable sour expression aimed at him.
Wei Wuxian already feels his heart sinking lower than usual after having to break Lan Wangji’s heart—again—and now he has to face him too. Great.
“Did it not occur to you that you could’ve at least told me you were leaving? What, now that you don’t see me every day, I don’t even matter anymore?”
“I would’ve told you, Jiang Cheng..”
“Yeah, sure.” A scoff of disdain.
But that’s when Jiang Yanli steps in—unlike Jin Zixuan, she knows how.
“Do you really have to argue now? Why not say goodbye with a smile? Who knows when you’ll see each other again.”
Her gentle scolding calms the waters immediately.
And so, when the moment comes, Wei Wuxian truly struggles to pull away from his shijie’s embrace, lingering in her warmth for a while. Eventually, though, they have to part, and Jiang Yanli gives him the sweetest smile he’s ever seen, and he returns it as best he can.
Wei Wuxian feels genuinely uplifted, and thanks Jin Zixuan for allowing him to come. The poor man nearly has a heart attack and immediately shakes his head, exchanging a brief glance with his wife before giving Wei Wuxian a gentle pat on the shoulder.
Wei Wuxian smiles a little—and damn, he smiled! Jin Zixuan thinks he’s lost his mind, but one thing’s for sure: He’d rather see him like this than crying and walking away.
It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.
Then it’s time to say goodbye to little Jin Ling, promising he’ll come visit again.
Last but not least, it’s Jiang Cheng’s turn. One look is enough, he supposes.
Jiang Wanyin gives him a nod, still bitter over the obvious fact that Wei Wuxian is avoiding him, and briefly sets aside his pride to say simply “See you.”
With farewells and thanks given, it’s time to leave.
Aside from the obvious few, no one knows the Yiling Laozu is leaving so soon, and that’s for the best. He preferred to keep it to himself.
Strangely—yes, strangely (strangely his ass)—the corridors that had filled with servants, disciples, and guests once the sun rose high in the sky now seem to fall silent and empty as Wei Wuxian walks through them.
The servants aren’t sure whether to ignore him, greet him, bow to the floor, or worry that ignoring him might provoke his wrath. And what if greeting him does?
Better not to be seen at all.
Wei Wuxian sighs, walking calmly, heading back toward Lan Zhan.
Jiang Yanli had insisted on accompanying him, but... no. They’re celebrating her son—it’s better if she stays. It’s for the best.
Still, he’s happy. If he leaves now, he can be sure he’s truly changed the fate of many.
Better not to tempt it—just go home, where he won’t cause trouble.
His steps glide over smooth wood and the rugs that cover much of the floor. He has no particular thoughts, just... tired, he supposes, despite having slept.
But that doesn’t dull his senses. Because when he turns a corner and walks about ten steps, he suddenly stops and turns around.
Okay, he’s been sighing way too much these days, because he sighs again now, and finally speaks.
“Come out already.”
At his prompting, only silence responds—until the boy from yesterday steps out from behind the corner, not looking particularly guilty.
Ah... what was his name again?
“Come here.”
The boy gives him a few defiant glances before finally approaching. Neither of them says anything and... and... Xue-Xue… Anyway, it’s the same one from yesterday.
Wei Wuxian’s expression softens, and he pulls from an inner pocket of his robe a handful of candies, identical to the one he saw fall yesterday.
Xue Yang immediately drops the act and stares at him, surprised—almost vulnerable—but then quickly frowns and doesn’t take them.
“I know this trick. What do you want in return? What could I possibly have that someone like the Yiling Laozu would need?”
Xue Yang asks, instantly defensive, very different from yesterday’s reaction.
“Nothing. They’re for you. I saw you had one yesterday, and then I went to the market with my shijie.”
Xue Yang stares at him, expression unreadable for a while, eyes drifting from his face to the candies in his hand—but still doesn’t take them.
“You’re not taking them? That’d be a real shame... I wonder how many kids would want them if I went outsi-"
“I’ll take them!”
Xue Yang shouts, snatching them from his hand and hiding most of them in his robe.
Wei Wuxian huffs in amusement as he watches him unwrap one and eat it.
“So? Will you tell me why you were following me?”
“Take me with you! Please! Teach me your cultivation!”
Ah. Here we go again.
“Kid, I absolutely can’t take you with me. And you’re a disciple of the Jin clan—last thing I need is to be accused of kidnapping you.”
“It’d be ten times better to be with you!”
“Ahh... Thanks, I guess? I’m serious—I really can’t.”
“You’re more boring than I expected!”
Wei Wuxian doesn’t roll his eyes, but he wants to, badly. He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Listen.. You’re young. You could develop a strong golden core if you focus on that. Forget the Mo Dao and Gui Dao.. Please.”
At that, Xue Yang looks at him, seeing a melancholy, wounded expression etched into the Yiling Laozu’s face. He almost pouts, feeling scolded.
He’s childish, but... He senses that Wei Wuxian truly means what he says, not just trying to keep power to himself.
Doesn’t he have a strong golden core too?
That makes him frown a little.
Not that he’s saying it.. for his sake?
Impossible. Why would he?
He doesn’t even know him.
But there’s a strange feeling...
“I.. I’ll think about it. But I still want to see where you do your shady experiments!”
Wei Wuxian looks at him with a small smile, shaking his head and sighing.
“It’s not a nice place...” But the people there make it home. “Maybe someday I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Oh come on!!” But Xue Yang doesn’t complain further...
“And.. could you repeat your name for me, please?”
“Are you serious?!”
...Maybe.
Somehow, after Lan Wangji explained and demonstrated the solution of the curse to his uncle, word reached his brother, who then informed Nie Mingjue (overheard by Nie Huaisang), who in turn shared it with Jin Zixuan as Jin Zixun's cousin, and eventually, Jin Guangyao found out as well, having grown suspicious of their behavior. So it’s no surprise that they all ended up gathered in a secluded room, far from prying eyes, joined by the most skilled physician of the Jin clan.
Lan Wangji feels not a shred of pity for Jin Zixun, lying at the center on a raised cot, but for the sake of his beloved, he will set aside his hatred.
The room is steeped in a silence thick with tension. Though this should be a moment of triumph, having found the solution, the fact that him is the one who found it still hangs in the air. Not that Jin Zixun knows... Who would dare tell him? Perhaps once he’s healed. If he heals at all. There’s no certainty.
Wei Wuxian isn’t here, and while some in the room find that reassuring, others feel their anxiety spike—what if something goes wrong and he’s not here to fix it? Not that Lan Wangji shares that concern. He trusts Wei Ying implicitly and knows this will work.
Under the gaze of everyone present, Jin Zixun’s bare chest reveals skin scorched from within: speckled with black ulcers like charred holes, and open sores that pulse faintly, as if breathing on their own. At the center of his sternum, a knot of dark veins spreads beneath the skin, expanding with each heartbeat. A grotesque sight that makes Nie Mingjue furrow his brow.
He’s made sure Nie Huaisang could attend only on the condition that he stay behind him, not getting too close in case something happens. Mingjue would never have agreed, but as always, when his younger brother insists to the point of exhaustion, he can’t refuse. Huaisang fans himself slowly, curious to witness the work of his old friend, while also making sure to look sufficiently disgusted in front of the others.
Meanwhile, Lan Qiren strokes his goatee thoughtfully, observing the curse in its advanced state. He had assumed this was revenge for the ambush—after all, dark cultivation would be the perfect way to make someone suffer. Yet... he’s analyzed the writings and found nothing sinister (aside from the use of blood). On the contrary, it’s ingenious. Unprecedented.
In his heart, he’s reluctant to admit it, but his mind leans toward discovery, toward innovation. Damn it, if it works, the Yiling Patriarch will even be able to cure curses. Isn’t that extraordinary? Then why is no one celebrating? Why isn’t anyone honoring Wei Wuxian? Why does the air feel like a funeral?
The answer is obvious.
Jin Guangyao casts subtle glances around the room, studying everyone’s reactions. He would have loved to tamper with the instructions, sabotage this little performance, and further tarnish the Yiling Patriarch’s reputation—but it all happened so suddenly that he first had to ensure he was present. Not that he doesn’t feel sorry for Jin Zixun—he is, after all, his cousin—but... there are more pressing matters to attend to. So he stands quietly between Jin Zixuan and Lan Xichen, ready to intervene, and far from Hanguang-Jun’s icy gaze.
Speaking of Jin Zixuan... He never imagined it was this serious. Why didn’t that idiot cousin of his say anything? Yet strangely.. he doesn’t feel all that worried.
His view of Wei Wuxian has shifted in just over two days, and he can’t imagine that.. his.. brother-in-law would harm someone for no reason. He seemed like someone who simply wanted to be left alone. He didn’t cause trouble, didn’t make a scene, didn’t argue with anyone. So who should be ashamed? Him, or all of them who welcomed him poorly and treated him even worse?
But he used to think like them, didn’t he? If not for his closeness to his wife, he’d never have seen who Wei Wuxian truly is. Kind and strong, his mind says immediately. Fragile, echoes a small voice in the distance.
Meanwhile, Jin Zixun is dying of shame. He had confided only in his uncle, who hired several doctors and curse experts, yet the curse kept progressing. Then his uncle suggested ambushing Wei Wuxian, claiming he was surely behind it.
And look how that turned out! Exposed like a sacrificial lamb before his cousin and some of the most influential figures in the cultivation world, ready to do who knows what to him. They told him they found a solution—nothing more! Not even his uncle is here! Ridiculous!
Nie Mingjue, on the other hand, had wanted to tell him, finding it unfair, but under the insistence of his sworn brother Lan Xichen and even his uncle, he stayed silent, confused. Not that he suspects they’re covering for Wei Wuxian but... No, no “but.” How could they possibly cover for someone like him? Surely they have other reasons.
“Er-ge, are we sure we can trust this?” Jin Guangyao’s voice murmurs from beside him.
“Xichen, you can’t take decisions like this lightly.” Nie Mingjue finds himself, oddly enough, agreeing with Jin Guangyao. Lan Xichen looks a bit uncertain, searching for his uncle and brother’s gaze for reassurance, wanting to trust his brother that everything will be fine.
“I’ll perform the ritual myself, and if anything goes wrong, I’ll take full responsibility,” says Lan Qiren, secretly curious to see if it will work. For once, he’s willing to overlook who the creator is...
“Mn. Please trust us. Jin-er-gongzi will be fine.”
“We shall see,” finally speaks the stoic voice of Jin-Yisheng, who had been silently observing the situation.
Jin Zixun has a feeling he should be having a very bad feeling about this.
Wei-xiong, don’t let us down, echoes faintly in Nie Huaisang’s hopeful mind.
“Shall we proceed?”
It was agreed that, by fate or otherwise, Lan Qiren would perform the ritual, being of an older generation. In short, he has more experience and who better to oversee the operation than the one conducting it?
The ritual itself isn’t complicated, but reaching this conclusion required intellect and an open mind. Lan Qiren would never use such sinister methods, but if it’s only this, he supposes it’s acceptable. So he pricks his fingertip without flinching. For Wangji, he must do it. If Wangji trusts someone this deeply—more than he’s ever trusted anyone—then he must at least try.
He thought Wangji was blinded by... by love, he admits reluctantly, but he spent the entire war chasing him, never giving up, scolding him, trying to help him—without wavering. If not for his nephew, then for the thrill of discovery. Even if it’s born of demonic cultivation, even if it’s the idea of the most chaotic, incorrigible, and brilliantly gifted student, even if it comes from the son of Cangse Sanren.
Jin Zixun is strangely docile, cold sweat trailing down his temple. After all, it’s his body being used to test a newly discovered method for the first time. And he’s not even that embarrassed anymore when he feels Lan-Xiansheng’s cold finger touch his skin. Anything’s fine, as long as they heal him!
Lan Qiren draws an array in blood, a large outer circle encompassing the cursed area, branching inward toward the center, ending in a small blood-filled circle, perfectly aligned. At the center, he places a talisman, carefully copying the exact strokes Wei Wuxian had drawn. The concept is simple: the array absorbs the corrupted energy and the essence of the curse, channeling it into the talisman as a collection point.
As he draws the final stroke on the talisman, the effect is immediate, the entire seal glows with a crimson light. Everyone steps back, including Lan Qiren, heart pounding, every eye fixed on the center.
At first... nothing happens. Did he make a mistake?
But before he can approach, a small burst of dark energy erupts from the curse, sending a chill through the room. Jin Zixun begins to writhe weakly, his face contorted, bracing for sharp pain that.. never comes. Or rather, it comes—but quickly turns into relief.
Every sore and hole begins to sting across his chest, like crabs refusing to let go, their claws dragging for a moment before one by one they detach and are pulled into the talisman at the center in a vortex of black energy. More cold sweat drenches his forehead and neck, and he feels the urge to touch, scratch his chest—anything—but the Jin physician intervenes, restraining his arms before he even notices.
Nie Huaisang clings to his brother’s sleeve, eyes fixed on the scene before them, as are Jin Guangyao’s, studying every detail.
If it works...
Lan Xichen is more concerned with shielding his friends in case something goes wrong than anything else, but Lan Qiren’s eyes are nearly wide open as he witnesses what can only be described as a miracle unfolding before him. Soft gasps escape Jin Zixun’s lips, and after the time it would take a slender stick of incense to burn down, the tension that had gripped his body all this time finally releases him, leaving him to nearly collapse onto the cot.
The array ceases to glow, leaving only the talisman alight and pulsing. Jin Zixun’s body is now a stretch of pale skin, marked only by faint scars where the curse had burrowed deepest, but still... wow. Had they not known, they might have said there was never a curse to begin with.
Lan Qiren is the first to step forward to examine, followed by Lan Wangji, who doesn’t need visual confirmation to know it worked, but he wants to observe Wei Ying’s craftsmanship. Jin-Yisheng finally releases Jin-er-gongzi’s arms, staring in awe at the final result. He immediately begins checking every single point of his meridians and his golden core, finding nothing to suggest any lingering affliction. His spiritual energy flows smoothly through his body, and at last, he voices the verdict.
“He is healed.”
“It really worked,” Nie Mingjue murmurs, staring almost in disbelief at the flawless chest before him. Jin Zixuan nearly exhales in relief, stepping closer.
“Zixun, how do you feel?”
Jin Zixun could almost cry from joy. He feels amazing, damn it.
“I... I’m fine. I’m fine! Ahahah, I can’t believe it... Who is the creator of this miracle? I’ll thank him until the day I die! Cousin, let’s build him a temple for worship!”
Nie Huaisang hides an amused huff behind his fan, watching as no one answers.
“Zixun, why don’t you rest first?” Jin Guangyao’s calm voice cuts in, masking the surprise he feels.
“A-Yao.. I’m truly fine. I haven’t felt this way in a long time,” Jin Zixun insists, sitting up. The Jin physician, who was about to clean the blood from his chest with a cloth, pauses when he sees the talisman still active.
“My lords, forgive me for spoiling the moment, but someone should take custody of the seal.”
“I believe the Jin clan should hold it, to testify on its behalf,” Jin Guangyao immediately offers, his voice gentle.
Jin Zixuan looks at him for a moment, not particularly concerned about who holds the talisman. “A-Yao, if you want to ensure it’s either destroyed or stored far from indiscreet hands, I trust you.”
Seeing that no one objects, Lan Wangji steps forward to speak, carefully weighing each word.
“Lianfang-zun. I do not oppose this, but make sure not to tamper with it. The essence of the curse still resides within. It would be best to seal it spiritually and then hide it.”
“Hanguang-jun, thank you for your trust. I’ll follow your advice, I wouldn’t want to risk harming anyone.” Jin Guangyao bows briefly, a sweet smile adorning his face.
“Dage, what do you think?” Nie Huaisang asks his brother, eager to hear his thoughts.
“I misjudged your friend... This is incredible. The Curse of a Thousand Sores and Hundred Holes doesn’t afflict strong cultivators, but it’s still cruel to those without exceptional golden cores.”
“If a solution has been found for this, surely all lesser curses could be resolved too, right?” Lan Xichen’s voice joins the conversation.
“Wei-xiong is full of resources.”
“That Wei Wuxian... I never thought I’d speak well of a demonic cultivator who allied with the Wen-dogs,” Nie Mingjue says, feeling his opinion of the Yiling Patriarch rise by one notch.
A silence falls.
“Wait... Did you say Wei Wuxian?!”
Oops.
Notes:
Well, yes... you didn't misunderstand. Jin Zixun is alive. But no one can save him from his fate, don't worry!
𝘠𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘨: 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘯, more formal than 𝘋𝘢𝘪𝘧𝘶
Many consider Wei Wuxian's cultivation demonic, but literally, his is a completely new path that doesn't harm or coerce spirits; instead, he uses the spirits that respond to his call and are willing to do so. It will soon be clear to all characters!!
See you next chapter, take care, I hope you enjoyed reading 💞💐