Chapter 1: Congratulations, you won the lottery!
Notes:
HELLO LITTLE STAR :D
WELCOME AND WELCOME BACK LITTLE STARS! You didn't do drugs and THIS is not a drill, you read the relationship tags carefully; Mingxian, Xixian, and finally Nielan. All together in one place with a pinch of chaos and zero logic... are you looking for logic? You can look for them on eBay, maybe are still on sale, but I forgot to buy HAHAH
Since I'm adopting the tactic; "I have to get rid of some gluttony and also I just want chaos and zero hassle, I don't want to think I just have to write" and since I wanted to update the migxian I have in progress but my brain said: YOU AND I HAVE A DEAL, BITCH, NO.
This doesn't mean I'll stop updating the other story, but right now I just want to happily mess around with the plots, without feeling the slightest bit guilty.Don't ask questions, ask my brain. He knows what he's up to LMAO.
But, getting back to us, I really hope you're prepared: someone could lose a lung from laughing.... After writing all this, I feel like I need an oxygen tank, and I'm not exaggerating.
You're not ready, I wasn't ready to chase my lung around the house. AT A CERTAIN POINT I LAUGHED SO HARD THAT HE CAME OUT, he even gave me a third finger, but details lol.
If you see Xichen, don't give him tea, just a hug. I swear that man is fine, more or less... it depends on your point of view :D
Remember that a comment is appreciated little star, i'm pouring my heart into it and i want to know what you think🫂
Don't forget to stop by tumblr: thememecrownTo accompany this chapter I suggest: Wait A Minute! - WILLOW
(I highly recommend it, VERY STRONGLY. PLS JUST DO IT OKAY? YOU NEED TO TRUST ME!!)HAVE FUN LITTLE :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Some tings don't work
Some tings are bound to be
Some tings, they hurt
And they tear apart me"
Lan Xichen gazed out the window of his room in the Golden Tower, sighing as if each sigh were an invisible oar trying to push the sky toward calm, but the clouds laughed at him, tied to ropes of wind that no one could cut. Behind him, sitting at the low table, Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao were two miniature storms, one a hurricane of words, the other a fragile glass castle trembling before every gust. Or rather, Mingjue was screaming his indignation at the top of his lungs as if the volume could convince the sun to rise later, and Jin Guangyao… well, Jin Guangyao was trying not to spill his wine on the floor, which seemed the only fragile thing in that room besides his dignity.
Lan Xichen closed his eyes for a moment, as if wanting to suspend the world around him and find a small space of calm. The meeting had just ended, yet he still felt the weight of expectations, like a light blanket that couldn't be lifted. The room, which was supposed to be a refuge, appeared calm only on the surface; underneath, thoughts and worries moved silently, ready to strike him at the slightest misstep.
Jiang Cheng was there, or at least his presence seemed to fill every corner. Lan Xichen felt that man's gaze making its way down his back, cutting through his thoughts like a cold wind cutting through leaves. No words were needed: her worry was a gentle, constant weight, impossible to ignore, yet not entirely suffocating. “Please,” Jiang Cheng had said to him, his voice a whisper that seemed suspended in the air, but with a weight that could constrict his throat, “maybe this time he'll listen. Bring that… idiot back to the right path, please.”
Lan Xichen felt the gravity of the request, as if someone had placed a small planet on his shoulders. He couldn't answer, not really: there was no easy way to get Wei Wuxian back anywhere, and certainly not along the paths others had blazed. So he had limited himself to a quiet nod, small as a leaf trembling in the wind, So he had limited himself to a quiet nod, at the same time dodging Nie Mingjue's dangerous smile, a smile he knew all too well.
That smile never promised anything simple. Lan Xichen stood there, suspended in the apparent quiet, feeling the world swing like a pendulum that no one dares to stop. Nie Mingjue, his brow furrowed like a map of wars past and present, and like a small hurricane ready to engulf everything in its path, placed a massive hand on Jiang Cheng's shoulder and said in a booming voice, “Do you want it whole or in pieces?”
Jiang Cheng, who considered diplomacy an art that was more explosive than calm, did not hesitate for a moment. “You can tie a bow around his head, drag him along the ground, throw him into the river… as long as he comes to his senses.” Lan Xichen remembered Nie Mingjue's satisfied look and the powerful pat he gave Jiang Cheng on the shoulder. For a moment he took pity on that poor shoulder, which looked like a small planet under the sudden weight of a meteorite. Nie Mingjue was certainly not one who knew how to measure his strength: Lan Xichen could count them on the fingers of one hand, yet every gesture had an almost theatrical precision, as if the scream and the power were secret choreographies of a chaotic ballet.
Then Nie Mingjue turned to him and made the gesture Lan Xichen knew all too well: a small greeting, a warning, a promise of future complaint. “See you later, and know that I will complain.” And he walked away, leaving him there, with Jiang Cheng smiling as if he had just handed him the sun wrapped in a bow, or even the entire universe, laid out in the middle of the corridor like a carpet ready to be unrolled.
Lan Xichen clasped his hands behind his back. A headache. A headache that felt like an invisible drum band marching inside his head, punctuating every step and every sigh. But there was no time for endless sighs: he had to go and talk to his uncle, who was waiting for him at the gates of the Golden Tower, ready to return to Gusu immediately after the conversation. Someone had to take care of Gusu while Lan Xichen was away, and someone, reluctantly, had to take care of Lan Wangji, fragile as crystal, suspended in the hands of fate.
“Don’t let him run away as soon as we blink!” his uncle said, pointing his finger again at Lan Wangji, who this time had been found locked in the library, especially in the forbidden section. His voice boomed like thunder. “Love is a curse! And this has confirmed it once again!” he shouted again, as if just by raising his voice he could impress upon Lan Wangji's mind that impulsiveness was a mortal enemy.
Lan Xichen remembered that day well, as if it were a small orbit of crazy light in his brain. Lan Wangji, an impeccable model of rectitude and politeness, had turned to being a thief of the smallest secrets: hiding the Emperor's Smile, Wei Wuxian's favorite wine, under the wooden beams of his chamber, as if he were burying a small golden treasure amidst the ancient wood, a treasure that no one should ever find.
Lan Xichen had glimpsed him once from the window, in passing, and felt like a thief of thieves, a guardian of secrets in the shadows. He hadn't said anything, of course: who dares open his mouth when a gesture of love is slumbering under the beams? He hoped his uncle would never notice—because there was something fragile and sweet in that gesture, like a cloud of sugar suspended amidst the chaos of shouts and angry glances, something that deserved to remain intact even if the whole world wanted to stick its nose in and overturn everything.
Even though Lan Qiren had become Lan Wangji's shadow, the two continued to spend time together as if they were two pages of the same book that neither ever read to the end. They drank tea side by side, their hands shaking slightly if the steam touched them, and Lan Wangji followed him diligently during class, like a shadow too precise to ever be separated. They played the guqin together, their fingers dancing over the strings like crazy birds.
Lan Xichen hoped, with a small sigh held in his chest, that they didn't wash in the same tub as well. Not out of judgment, but because the idea seemed strangely… embarrassing, even in the midst of so much innocent sweetness.
He hoped, more than he cared to admit, that his uncle would give Lan Wangji some privacy at night. Because even the most rigorous and impeccable people had the right to a little space of their own, to a moment where the beams and the steam and the silence became a world in which even a thief of smiles, or a hider of wines, could breathe without shouts, without orders, without stern eyes.
Lan Xichen understood that his uncle's excessive control did not hide rigidity, but pure concern, a concern that shone in his eyes like tiny lanterns hanging between the wrinkles and creases of his forehead. Yet if someone had asked him to open up, to pour out a torrent of anxieties, or even just sit in the same room for an hour and listen to Jin Guangshan's gossip—without shouting every ten minutes, "Let's get back to the point!"—Lan Xichen knew with crystal clarity that his uncle would have preferred to let those words flow like water over smooth stones, like a river that never wets the truly thirsty.
Lan Xichen imagined his uncle as a small, serious fish in an aquarium of words darting and splashing everywhere, and he swimming alongside, unable to help but laugh at the absurdity of it all: because yes, even the deepest worry, sometimes, is like a fish banging its tail on the edge of the tank.
Lan Xichen opened his eyes and realized that the evening sky was calmer than his room. The moon sat there, calm and a little bored, watching the human chaos below. He couldn't decide which was morall this chaos would continue until dawn.e frustrating: Nie Mingjue yelling, Jin Guangyao swallowing nervously, or the thought that
“Your father wants us dead! That's why he chose us! That man doesn't want peace, he wants us dead!” There was a sharp bang—perhaps a glass banging on the table. Jin Guangyao tried, as always, to keep a calm tone. But he didn't have time to open his mouth. “Jin Guangyao!” Nie Mingjue shouted, slamming his fist on the table so hard that the cups danced as if they were pirouetting. “Don't defend him just because he's your father! I'll take you and carry you to the Nie sect, understand?”
Jin Guangyao opened his mouth, closed his mouth, and finally decided that breathing was enough to survive. Lan Xichen sighed for the fifth time, looked at the sky, and wondered if it was possible that the sun, seeing that scene, would refuse to rise until humans learned to behave decently. “I’ll take you and carry you to the Nie sect, understand?” That sentence...Again.
Lan Xichen sighed. Inside his mind, those words had transformed into a kind of infernal mantra, a cursed bell that rang out every time Nie Mingjue opened his mouth with the same grace as thunder falling on a ceramic roof. How many times had he heard it since Jin Guangyao was recognized by his father? Too many. He could write it down on a scroll and it would be long enough to violate all the rules of Gusu Lan at once.
Whenever something happened, and heaven knew something always happened with Jin Guangshan, Nie Mingjue would come up with at least one variation.
Had Jin Guangshan decided to have Jin Guangyao marry Qin Su? Fine, and then it turned out Qin Su was Jin Guangyao's half-sister? Here's Nie Mingjue, exploding like a volcano, his eyebrows dangerously close to takeoff, "Marry Nie Huaisang if you want security, you'd get along great! Your father knows no shame! Return to the Nie sect or I'll carry you there!"
Did Jin Guangshan bully Jin Guangyao with words? Another explosion. This time Nie Mingjue seemed ready to overturn the Golden Tower with his own hands. "I'll take that man, stomp him, and spit on him! How dare he do that!! I don't like this situation at all, and you're not safe here, Jin Guangyao! Don't you dare try to convince me otherwise! Go back to the Nie Sect alone, or I'll drag you down the steps of the Golden Tower and make you count them one by one!"
Lan Xichen had seen it so many times that, in his mind, the scenes became blurred and almost… funny. He couldn't help it. There was a sincere affection in Nie Mingjue's fury, a warmth that made everything seem less dangerous and more… tenderly ridiculous. Like a big protective bear roaring against the wind because he didn't want it to take his cub away.
And Jin Guangyao, poor thing, always nodded with the calmest, most diplomatic smile in the entire history of humanity, as if he weren't listening to a man who promised to drag him down the stairs with the gentleness of an avalanche. Lan Xichen, watching them, couldn't help but think a simple, stupid thought: One of these times, Nie Mingjue will really take him. And Jin Guangyao won't spill a drop of tea.
Nie Mingjue saw Jin Guangyao as a younger brother, and Lan Xichen felt him every time as if he were a light wind shaking the leaves of a fragile tree, and at the same time an earthquake ready to shake the earth beneath them. Nie Mingjue's voice was an impossible mix: concern and aggression, like a giant trying to lift a dream-thin ceramic vase without breaking it, with the delicacy of a breath and the strength of a hurricane.
Nie Mingjue's eyes were like those of an overly large puppy dog, his lip slightly protruded, and his entire body seemed like a tangle of a hundred worries fighting among themselves for attention. Lan Xichen couldn't help but imagine that concentrated force as a small sun that threatened to scorch everything around him, but which, strangely, also warmed him.
And a shameless thought crept into his mind, laughing and hopping like a lizard between the rafters of his skull: if Nie Mingjue ever showed interest in his uncle, well… then they could really be together. Because, in Lan Xichen's eyes, both were creatures of perfect contrasts: the impetuous giant with puppies in his eyes and his lip always slightly pouted, and his uncle, so calm, so precise, so able to endure anyone's screams and dramas without ever missing a beat.
Lan Xichen saw it as a small miracle: two different worlds that, by pure magic or the whim of fate, would fit together like pieces of driftwood on a rushing river, swaying without ever falling. He imagined Nie Mingjue, for the first time, testing his strength without destroying anything, and his uncle, finally, being able to laugh and shake his head at the giant's little follies.
And of course, his mind, treacherous and stubborn, led him to surreal scenarios: weddings amid laughter and spilled glasses, preparations sabotaged by someone, who was snickering under his breath at the secret charade of his crush.
In fact, it wasn't as if Lan Xichen was truly convinced that his uncle and Nie Mingjue could be together, even though in his mind they continued to fit together with the precision of two pieces of wood that the river had smoothed until they fit together. It wasn't even that he thought too much about the fact that Nie Mingjue was his childhood best friend, the person he would have fought an army for, or who would have run naked down the street if Mingjue had even shown the slightest hint of interest in him. Those thoughts came to him on their own, like leaves blown by the wind, and it was the wind's fault, not his.
He certainly wasn't trying to convince himself he didn't like it. That wasn't the point. And he wasn't remembering at all that night in the inn, when Mingjue had fallen asleep with the serenity of a sacred ox and he had ended up looking at him for too long, without noticing that the sky was changing color beyond the window. It was just a natural phenomenon, like the changing seasons or the way the dawn light slips through the rafters and falls on the sleeping person, insistent like a child wanting attention. There was nothing sentimentally compromising in watching a friend snore with the tranquility of someone who fears nothing. It was pure curiosity, like studying the repose of a mountain.
Academic observation. Lan Xichen was said while trying to convince himself. Studying the breathing of a friend who is snoring, very normal things.
At least, that's what he kept telling himself. There was a voice inside him that seemed to laugh softly every time he tried to rationalize everything, like a mischievous little spirit drumming its fingers against the walls of his mind. Lan Xichen ignored it, or tried to, reminding himself that he was a grown man and not a teenager in a foolish crush. But the more he tried to sort it out, the more his memory filled up with useless details: the way Mingjue breathed, the slow curve of his shoulders, the imposing calm he exuded even in sleep, the same calm he longed to grasp, just for a moment, the way one grasps a brazier to warm oneself on a cold night.
It wasn't love, they said. It was just his mind playing games with him, like always. And if at times it seemed to him that those fantasies arose from a tender place inside his chest, well, it wasn't his fault. It was Nie Mingjue's fault, his way of being, his weight, his presence, his voice that could shake the whole world and then, inexplicably, turn kind to just one person.
Lan Xichen sighed. Denial, in the end, was an art. And he practiced it like a monk who copies rules onto parchments that no one will ever read.
The more he tried to convince himself that he didn't like Nie Mingjue, the more reality seemed to enjoy proving him wrong. It was as if the entire world was complicit in a great hoax, and Nie Mingjue was the unwitting protagonist. Every time Lan Xichen tried to keep his distance, he would appear beside him with the ease of a boulder that decides to roll right in your direction: not out of malice, but because gravity is such, and resisting it is useless.
Nie Mingjue had that strength, that presence, that filled a room like the scent of morning musk, and no matter how much Lan Xichen tried to ignore it. The more he tried to stay away from it, the more Mingjue seemed to sense it and, inexplicably, get closer. He clung to him with disarming ease, like a mussel to the rock it has chosen for survival, stubborn and faithful without even realizing it. It wasn't even something he did on purpose; it was simply his way of being, as if the entire world were made of slippery surfaces except for Lan Xichen.
And Lan Xichen, every time, sighed to himself. A sigh that contained amazement, amusement and a hint of terror, because was it really possible that so much strength, so much life, so much fury and so much sweetness were concentrated in a single person? Watching him was like watching an avalanche that, for some mysterious reason, instead of sweeping everything away, stopped right in front of you and held out its hand, almost asking: “Is everything okay?”
Lan Xichen never knew what to say, because how do you deal with a person who looks at you as if you were the only fixed point in a world slipping beneath his feet, how do you survive the idea that such a giant could truly trust you, lean on you, rely on you with an inescapable ease, with strong arms, eyebrows always a little too drawn, and a way of snoring that fills the room more than any silence?
The more he denied his feelings, the more his heart moved on its own, like a faulty compass that keeps pointing in the wrong direction, that wrong direction that was irresistible, that smelled of safety and warmth, that trembled with life and attention, and Lan Xichen knew it was stupid, he knew it clearly, and dangerous, he knew it even more, but it was inevitable, inevitable like the light that filters through the windows at dawn and that you can't stop, no matter how much you close your eyes or how much you try to convince yourself to breathe slowly and keep your heart still, because sooner or later it finds you and burns you and forces you to look at whoever is in front of you with all the silent and gentle power of a giant who doesn't know he is also your point of reference, your world and your magnet all at once.
Lan Xichen continued to stare out the window, his hands clasped behind his back, trying to anchor himself to something solid as the night wind grazed the tower. Perhaps it was true that Lans in love were cursed: first his father with his mother, then Lan Qiren.
Lan Xichen had discovered poems hidden in the most unlikely corners of his uncle's personal library, while simply looking for a book to borrow. Poems that spoke of a man dressed in red with black flames, the soul of a devil who looked like a shining, magnetic dragon. Lan Xichen blushed almost unconsciously as he read, stumbling through the verses as if walking on ice, yet it didn't take him long to realize that his uncle was talking about Wen Ruohan, from when they were students, and that even then his uncle's temperament was a small fire ready to burn down the rules of the Lan sect, similar to Lan Wangji in its uncontrollable impulse.
The cold springs, they had really seen it all. He tried to look away, to breathe slowly, to convince himself not to think about it, but how could he? How would he have looked his uncle in the face after reading verses that revealed an impetuous heart, an indomitable yet sweet spirit, hidden behind rigor and discipline? It was all too big, too personal, and Lan Xichen felt his head spin, his hands behind his back tense like the strings of an instrument ready to vibrate.
He only knew that he had put the poems back exactly where he had found them and that, from that moment on, he would never look at the hidden corners of the cold springs the same way again. Those small, secret spaces, once harmless and silent, now seemed to hold living memories, burning thoughts, and whispers of a past breathing beneath the surface, and Lan Xichen felt a subtle vertigo, as if every step toward them could shatter invisible walls of silence and privacy.
Lan Xichen gazed out the window into the distance, the twilight sky stretching like blue and gray velvet before his eyes, and thought that tomorrow would be a truly heavy day, and the days to come would be no less. It wasn't just that he would be with Nie Mingjue, but that they had to stay together until they brought Wei Wuxian back into the arms of Lan Wangji, who was waiting for him with the patience of someone waiting for dawn or spring after a long winter. They had to bring him back on the right path, guide him carefully, even if it meant Lan Xichen himself had to kneel down and pray to that young man, beseech him with all the delicacy and firmness he could muster.
But he had some confidence this time: he wasn't alone, Nie Mingjue was by his side, and if the situation really got worse, at least there were two of them begging, better two than one. A thread of regret slipped inside him; Wei Wuxian had his reasons, perhaps, and they were just used to stiffness and sword fighting, even though Lan XIchen's second spiritual weapon was a flute, not another blade....The point was to bring him back with them, find a plausible excuse, resolve everything, and then hide out on top of a mountain until his time alone with Nie Mingjue became just a blurry memory.
“Well done, you both have managed to will solve this problem once and for all… ChiFeng-Zun, ZeWu-Jun thank you on behalf of all of us for taking charge of the situation! ”, Jin Guangshan said, looking at them with that air of smug satisfaction that made the world suddenly seem smaller. Lan Xichen, at that precise moment, just wanted to bury his head in a cup of boiling tea and stay there, letting the warmth and aroma envelop him like an invisible cloak, while his deepest desire was to disappear, dissolve into the clouds of steam, and forget for a few minutes that the world could be so terribly and comically unfair.
The night was still young and Lan Xichen felt the weight of tomorrow like a cloth too long to carry on his shoulders. Perhaps Nie Mingjue was right: Jin Guangshan wanted them dead, but not to create a pretext against Wei Wuxian, but rather because he knew that Lan Xichen, left alone with his thoughts, would begin to imagine impossible escapes, disappear from the world and never be found again.
After the second night spent together at the inn, Lan Xichen thought, the idea of sleeping in a tree stopped seeming absurd and became an almost logical plan, a small refuge suspended above the cold air and the noises of too-quiet corridors. Yet the night remained young, and tomorrow was a roll of the dice of fate: anything could happen, and the world felt incredibly light and at the same time terribly uncertain, as if one false step were enough to make it sway and change color.
“Hey Xichen! I’m staying here tonight. I’m too drunk to wake up alone or go back to my room, and Jin Guangyao certainly can’t drag me back to my room,” Nie Mingjue said from behind him, with that boundless confidence that made every word seem like a little trap of tenderness and chaos at once.
Lan Xichen closed his eyes, a light sigh that dispersed through the rafters of the room, and thought that perhaps he should start exercising. Sleeping comfortably in trees takes practice, he told himself, and it's best to start that very night. Better to get used to it now, before the night gets too long and the world becomes even more unpredictable, before Nie Mingjue decides to turn everything into an adventure.
Lan Xichen felt the weight and lightness intertwine within him, already imagining what it would be like to sleep in that tree, seeking a balance between tiredness and worry, between a sense of duty and the curious pleasure of having the drunken giant close to him, impossible to ignore and impossible to forget.
As he mentally prepared for that night that certainly would not end soon, Lan Xichen silently prayed to the sky, hoping that the moon or the gods would help him fall asleep as soon as he touched the pillow, completely unaware that there was only one bed in the room. Maybe he would sleep on the floor, he thought, and he might as well: it was certainly good for his posture and his back.
He also prayed that Wei Wuxian would make things at least a little easier, because he was doing this for his brother, to bring one brother back to another who was waiting for him on the dock, wine in hand and a rage he wore like a sect leader's robe, a purple so intense it almost burned his eyes. He had to bring Wei Wuxian back, and if that meant sleeping on the floor that night and maybe in the future, well, that was the price he had to pay, and he would pay it without complaint.
And then there was Nie Mingjue, who would be by his side all night and even afterward as they went to Wei Wuxian, and Lan Xichen thought of it with a thin smile. He certainly wouldn't say "no" to spending time with him, at least not out loud. The prospect filled him with a strange warmth, a combination of anguish, worry, and that silent happiness that makes your shoulders sag slightly as you think that maybe, after all, the night wouldn't be so terrible.
Notes:
If someone were to ask me: “Since when have you been hiding this plot from us, BERRY... HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?” The idea came to me this afternoon, right after updating the new Nielan. I took a nap, then some tea, and after dinner I already had half a chapter written. It happened just like that, without warning, as if history had decided to manifest itself on its own.... MAGIC LITTLE STAR. MAGIC :D
And, in case anyone is wondering if I use drugs to bring out things like this, the answer is no: it's all pure imagination, completely unfiltered.
I'm here, writing, staring into space, wondering if I could deprive myself of sleep because I swear I'd put out a second chapter RIGHT NOW, right now, while my brain screams "GO! GO! GO!" and my fingers try to follow but the rest of me cries and writhes and begs for the bed.
AND THEN… it's almost two in the morning, and I have to catch up, oh, and I also have my period. Just to add a pinch of personal medieval torture.
I follow my instincts, okay? AND INSTINCT, LITTLE STAR, HAS SPOKEN: WE ALL DESERVE A NIE MINGJUE IN MOTHER BEAR MODE WITH JIN GUANGYAO. Please I don't know where that image came from BUT I DIDN'T KNOW I NEEDED IT. THANK YOU BRAIN, THANK YOU
If anyone is looking for me, I'm sleeping in the tree with Lan XIchen... BYE.
Chapter 2: The world is too noisy
Summary:
Sometimes people like to tell tales of monsters and people who create havoc, just for the fun of it. But what if for a moment we all found ourselves in those fairy tales and realized that in reality that fairy tale was fake?
Someone goes to check like a knight in shining armor to see if the monster everyone's talking about is really creating an army, but what if the reality is different?
The world likes to be loud, but in reality it is much quieter than it seems.
Notes:
HELLO LITTLE STAR :D
I wanted to update yesterday I swear but I spent Sunday out with Nora literally gossiping and then I enjoyed two films, I swear I tried to see the new Frankenstein is made by God from the little I've seen but for the moment the plot is too complicated for a brain that ate a pizza bigger than my face
BUT BULLSHIT APART
This chapter is long and I must say that I cannot hide the fact that I have added a lot, really. BUT if anyone has seen my lung, please send it back HAHA I had way too much fun writing this and I'M NOT HIDING IT
Remember that a comment is appreciated little star, i'm pouring my heart into it and i want to know what you think🫂
Don't forget to stop by tumblr: thememecrown
HAVE FUN LITTLE :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue stood at the foot of the Burial Mountains, ready to begin the climb. Lan Xichen felt as fresh as a dew-drenched rose, its petals still intact and its scent promising a morning of discipline and order, while Nie Mingjue looked like the object of an epic disaster: as if a cart full of vegetables had run over him and a curious donkey had trampled him just for the pleasure of seeing his face blush. It wasn't as early in the morning as Lan Xichen had hoped, and he remembered with a shudder the silent battle to drag the giant out of bed, who had resisted like a stubborn old log, and each failed attempt had made him hungrier for patience and more aware of his own impending headache.
And then there was that absurd moment, the scene that repeated itself at dawn: Lan Xichen had woken up as always, only to find himself in Nie Mingjue's arms, wrapped and held tight like a stuffed toy that children hold to their chest to ward off monsters under the bed, and he felt Mingjue's weight and clumsiness like an improbable mountain on his back, but at the same time like an incredibly solid support, a hold between chaos and sweetness. His back ached, his muscles screamed for vengeance, yet there was something tender in that confusion, as if the universe had decided to remind him that even in the most ridiculous and absurd situations, there are moments when you can feel safe, protected, and incredibly alive.
Lan Xichen hadn't moved an inch when he woke up and felt something surrounding his hips and an incredibly intense heat pressing against his back. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn't the bed, it wasn't the misfolded blankets or the sun filtering through the glass: it was Nie Mingjue's chest, Nie Mingjue's arms enveloping him as if the entire world had shrunk to that single gesture. For a moment Lan Xichen thought he was dreaming, that it was one of those moments that dawn makes unreal, as if existence itself had decided to bend and focus only on him.
As the sun slowly rose through the window, Lan Xichen felt a strange and absurd urge inside him, as if every molecule of his body wanted to hold back time, imprison the moment between its fingers, grasp the air, the warmth, the silence, and stop that world that was already beginning to flow too quickly. He wanted to grasp something, anything, even the shadow that was lengthening on the floor like a cat stretching, just so he wouldn't let it escape, just so he wouldn't wake it and find himself alone again with normal, boring reality.
And there, motionless and incredulous, he felt a flood of conflicting sensations: the embarrassment that made him blush like a too-fragile flower, the sweetness that warmed his heart, and the wonderful stupidity of not knowing whether to laugh, scream, or disappear under the pillow. Yet, despite everything, a part of him absolutely did not want to move: in that moment, in that improbable and absurd grip, Nie Mingjue was like a port suddenly appeared in the midst of chaos, a force impossible to ignore and impossible to escape, and Lan Xichen sighed internally, already trapped and at the same time strangely happy.
But finally he moved, with the delicacy of an origami that folds without breaking, trying to rise without disturbing the sleeping giant behind him, and in that ridiculous yet precious gesture there was all his Lan Xichen dignity: his heart racing in a whirlwind of warmth, surprise, and gentle stupidity, embarrassment mingling with a joy as sweet as sugar dissolved in overly hot tea.
He stood up like a ghost, trying to pretend that nothing had happened, that everything was normal, that sleeping on the floor was a practical and strategic idea, while deep down he knew that nothing, ever, would be normal again: Nie Mingjue existed, heavy and warm like a pet bear, and he, poor Lan Xichen, was trapped in the middle of all that hot and incredibly stupid chaos that made him laugh and cry at the same time.
As Nie Mingjue finally awoke, Lan Xichen continued to comb his hair in front of the bronze mirror, moving the comb as if it could reshape not only his hair but the entire universe, one strand at a time, with the seriousness of someone fighting against a capricious destiny made of rebellious knots. Nie Mingjue rose like a giant bear emerging from an eternal slumber, hunched over and unbalanced, his feet searching for solid ground as if the floor had suddenly become a minefield, and his body still trapped in the heaviness of the wine, that same heaviness that followed him like a playful ghost resting on his head.
He ran a hand over his face, and his hair, unruly and incandescent, seemed to be fighting among itself in a war of tiny lightning bolts, and Lan Xichen wondered if the pillow had been an invisible enemy during the night, if it had plotted against him, leaving traces of battle on Nie Mingjue's forehead.
Lan Xichen pretended not to look at him, but his heart was buzzing like a family of crazed bees as he checked Qiankun's bag to see if it had everything he needed. He probably knew, but feeling compelled to double-check for the fourth time gave him a strange sense of security, a fragile and ridiculous balance like walking on a tightrope over a sea of boiling tea. The room was small, the sun's rays still timid, and Nie Mingjue stretched behind him like a giant just emerged from an eternal sleep, his long, heavy arms trying to remember how the world moves without falling apart.
Lan Xichen watched it all, and thought that no matter how absurd it was, no matter how ridiculous, awkward, and a little devastating, he wouldn't change anything. That hot and impossible chaos, that presence invading space and reason, had become his anchor, the spring that held together his entire personal universe like a handful of unlikely confetti scattered inside a teapot: confused, brilliant, fragile and perfect all at the same time. Nie Mingjue's every gesture, every breath too close, every little stumble was a reminder that even the warmth in the most tender chest can become incredibly necessary, and that life, at least for that moment, had found an order all its own in the midst of total disorder.
And so they found themselves in front of the passage that would lead them to Wei Wuxian, hidden among the Wen remains, and Lan Xichen felt his heart beating like a crazy drum in a room full of broken mirrors: nervous, determined, and incredibly ridiculous all at the same time. He walked as if on a razor's edge suspended above a river of twisted thoughts, where each reflection was a small golden fish trying to escape the current's flickering. He tried to convince himself that everything the other clans had said was just a blatant lie, a story invented to justify hatred, find a culprit, and forget the true innocence hidden in the shadows. Wei Wuxian's only crime, Xichen thought, had been saving people who, despite bearing the surname Wen, were truly innocent, and the absurdity of having to explain this seemed like a tangle of spaghetti impossible to untangle without spilling everything.
He remembered Jin Guangyao's words, spoken with that air of hesitation and pragmatism, as if he were trying to tiptoe across a carpet full of invisible mines. Jin Zixun was somewhere at the time, and Xichen only knew he was looking at a labor camp without having the slightest idea that among those rows of tired men were hidden the remains of the Wen, small fragments of broken lives that spoke louder than the shouts and grudges of the clans.
Nie Mingjue was seeing red, convinced that Wei Wuxian had suddenly gone mad and was trying to drag those remains behind like a capricious giant with a head full of fire, while Xichen wavered between anger, disbelief, and a sense of bittersweet sadness, for he didn't know whether the people involved were strong cultivators, trained warriors, or mere innocents, but he remembered with the precision of a stargazer that whoever was described had been "taken away," like pieces of wood swept away by a current too fast to be stopped, and his head was spinning a little, his heart was pounding, and he felt as if the entire universe was laughing at him as he tried to walk with dignity toward Wei Wuxian.
And as they moved further and further, their skepticism grew like stubborn weeds in an overly manicured garden. No barriers. No corpse brought back to life emerging from behind a boulder. No one on guard at the start of the climb, not even a bored boy with a stick. Just ordinary people who stopped a little while before in front of a small stone altar to leave grains of rice, pieces of cloth, dried flowers, worn coins.
Lan Xichen expected shadows, threats, tension in the air. Instead, he found… everyday life. An everyday life more disarming than a hundred screaming zombies.
When he saw a woman with a newborn baby wrapped in thick layers to combat the biting morning chill, he approached with a respectful bow. His voice came out calm and formal, but inside his head he felt like he was walking on a rickety bridge built with other people's lies. "Forgive the intrusion. Are your offers... for anyone in particular?" Lan Xichen asked. The woman smiled. A calm, confident smile, which struck Lan Xichen like an arrow shot without malice but with relentless precision. “Oh, they are for Yiling Laozu.”
Lan Xichen remained still, but something inside him slipped, slow and inevitable, like a book falling from a shelf when no one touches it. Yiling Laozu. Wei Wuxian.
Two names that in his mind belonged to opposite worlds, like snow and embers. And that woman had pronounced them with the naturalness with which one speaks of a kind neighbor who lends him his hoe. Beside him, Nie Mingjue breathed badly. A short, incredulous breath, as if someone had tied a rope around his chest. For a moment, Lan Xichen felt the heat of that tension radiating off him, solid and heavy like a boulder deciding that yes, now was the right time to fall.
Lan Xichen remained still after the woman's words, as if someone had pulled a blanket over his eyes and he was now trying to figure out whether the world around him had truly changed or if he was just seeing it for the first time. “His friend helped me during the birth.” Friend. Wei Wuxian had a friend. And that friend helped women give birth in the middle of the Burial Mountains as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Perfect. It all made so much sense.
The woman had spoken with such clear serenity that for a moment Lan Xichen felt foolish for questioning every single detail. She continued as if she were telling the story of a kind neighbor who had fixed a squeaky door, not of what everyone called Yiling Laozu, the creature of legends, the scourge, the walking disaster. “It helped so many other people. Even with the beasts that were around at the time… every time they appeared, I always remembered those guys in gold suits who passed by before. Annoying those guys.” Lan Xichen felt a shiver run down his spine, slow and inevitable. Gold robes. Jin. Naturally. Because every complicated and unclear story in recent years always had a golden detail slipped in somewhere like a brushstroke too bright on an otherwise dark painting.
The woman spoke, and each word was a pebble that broke the smooth surface of the lies. "He helps everyone. He never asks for anything in return. Sometimes he disappears for days, then comes back with medicine, or with that brother... well, I don't know if it's his brother, but he's always with him. The tall, quiet one, who seems like a kind shadow."
Wen Ning. Lan Xichen bit into a crevice of astonishment. The woman stroked the child's cheek, and he muttered something like a little god annoyed at being disturbed. "He saved my husband. No one wanted to go near him; they thought he was cursed. But Yiling Laozu simply said, 'It's fever, not a curse.'" She laughed. A small, clear laugh. “Sometimes I think he sees more clearly than the gods.”
Lan Xichen remained a few steps behind the woman, his mind working like a mad windmill in a raging storm. The words I had just heard kept spinning in my head, bouncing off each other like badly stacked cups threatening to fall at the first breath.
Wei Wuxian had helped that woman give birth. Wei Wuxian had saved her husband. Wei Wuxian accepted offerings of rice as if he were any other young man living on top of a hill. And most of all — people loved him. They didn't fear him. They didn't avoid him. They sought him out.
Lan Xichen felt a pang under his sternum, a kind of light, unexpected knock, like when you open a door and discover that behind it there isn't a monster but a sleeping cat.
Beside him, Nie Mingjue said nothing. His jaw had set in a rigid line, and he looked at the woman as if she were a riddle whose solution he suspected but didn't want to believe. He, who saw the world in absolutes, in black and white, was discovering a new shade, probably a color he had never named. It was almost comical to watch a man as big as a mountain try to process a simple reality: maybe Wei Wuxian wasn't a murderer with an army of corpses ready to jump out of the sewers.
Lan Xichen, however, was trained to notice details, and what he saw at that moment was the thing that struck him most: Nie Mingjue was not angry. He was… confused. Disoriented. Like a hawk flapping its wings because it suddenly finds itself in a closed room.
The woman bowed and walked away, still cradling the baby as it gurgled towards the sky. The silence that remained after her was a different silence, a silence you expect to see tremble in the air, like a string just struck.
Lan Xichen took a deep breath. That cold, clean air entered his chest and expanded, restoring order and leaving behind a thin thread of disbelief, similar to a ray of light piercing a window that has been closed for too long.
"Mingjue-xiong..." Lan Xichen began. Nie Mingjue raised a hand, as if to say not now. His gaze was fixed on the altar. The offerings. The bowls of rice. The small bundles of cloth. The red berries. A simple, humane cure. Almost sacred. “Tell me that at least you…” he said finally, in a low voice, “…had any idea that the situation was like this.”
"This isn't different." Nie Mingjue gave him a look that was a perfect mix of disbelief and resignation, like someone who had just discovered that the world was much more absurd than he feared. Lan Xichen looked down at his hands: they were firm, composed, even elegant as ever, but inside them moved every emotion that had no name. Surprise at what he saw, relief that made his back relax, confusion that filled every empty space and a hint of shame for having so easily believed the rumours that had been handed down to him as truth.
The wind brushed his face, carrying with it the scent of damp earth, cooked rice, and distant smoke: scents too vivid, too human to belong to a place that on paper should have been haunted by animated corpses and dark magic. It was a simple, almost familiar smell, which belied every story I had heard until then. In that moment, Lan Xichen realized that the Burial Mountains were nothing like the march toward danger he'd expected; they seemed rather like the climb towards a truth that no one had ever had the courage to really look at.
For a moment, as he stared down the path ahead, he wondered if perhaps the entire world had made a colossal mistake about Wei Wuxian, and that they were here, finally, to set things straight. "Shall we go?" he murmured, with the light calm of someone who knows he is about to discover something that will change his day, or perhaps his entire life.
Nie Mingjue snorted softly, like a bull still deciding whether to charge or sit down. "Let's go," he said finally. “Before they find out that Jin Guangshan sent us here to die, and come down and leave him offerings of rice too.” Lan Xichen couldn't help but laugh softly. A short, incredulous laugh. A laugh that contained all the weight and lightness of that moment.
As they continued walking, Lan Xichen found that each step added a new layer to his disbelief. Not just because he didn't see any resurrected corpses poking out from behind the bushes, but because the higher they climbed, the more it felt like he was inside a slightly distorted version of the world he knew: one where reality made small gestures of kindness instead of smacking you on the back of the head. Nie Mingjue, at his side, still had the look of a man who had been cheated by fate itself. Every now and then he shook his head, as if hoping to put back into place the pieces of a puzzle that someone had scrambled during the night, probably while he slept cuddled up to Lan Xichen like a bear who had found a particularly comfortable human pillow.
The path, instead of becoming threatening, seemed more like a country road: trees bent by the wind, packed earth, some traces of recent passage. Lan Xichen was even surprised to notice that the air there was cleaner than in the Golden Tower, perhaps because no one was clogging it with shouts, accusations, and the misused scent of wealth. Even the silence was different, a silence that didn't seem heavy, but calm. Alive. Like a place that breathed with them.
Nie Mingjue remained so silent for a while that Lan Xichen was tempted to check his forehead to make sure he didn't have a fever. Then he snorted again, long, deep, like a tired bull. “Look,” he murmured, “I’m just saying this to be clear: if Jin Guangshan sent us here hoping for a massacre, and instead finds Wei Wuxian helping deliver babies and lounging around in some camp… I’ll take his tower down, brick by brick.”
Lan Xichen nodded with the gravity of someone witnessing a miracle: Nie Mingjue not shouting but explaining. It was a rare occurrence, like seeing a unicorn or Lan Qiren paying sincere compliments. “Maybe,” he said, “we just need to… listen.”
Lan Xichen felt a strange heat rising behind his temples as he spoke to Nie Mingjue, a sensation similar to realizing that the window is open in the middle of winter and the cold air catches you by surprise, but you can't do anything but breathe and endure. The words came out more as a reflex than a choice: "We need to listen to the people here, those who really know him, those who have seen him, not just what others have said." Nie Mingjue stared at him like a wounded giant trying to figure out whether someone had just stolen his treasure or put a pillow that was too soft under his head, and the question, “What if what they’re telling is a lie?” It slipped between them like a small stone in a stream, making their certainties jump.
“Then it means we were stupid,” Lan Xichen said, and for the first time Nie Mingjue made a sound that wasn’t anger, wasn’t command, wasn’t frustration, but a kind of confused snort that sounded like a growl. Lan Xichen felt Nie Mingjue's shoulders tremble slightly as he added, "I'm not stupid."
“I do,” Lan Xichen replied without even thinking, and Nie Mingjue let out a small sigh, as if the only solution was to accept their absurd alliance amidst ridicule and doubt, and concluded with a growl that sounded more like a silent agreement than a threat: “All right, then we’re stupid together.” Lan Xichen bit the inside of his cheek to contain his laughter, but a small smile escaped him anyway, short, imperfect, like a thread of light filtering through the clouds during a storm and reminding you that, even when the world slaps you in the face, there's still a part of you that laughs with you.
The path curved slightly, and when Lan Xichen looked up, the world seemed to turn upside down without really making a sound: no barriers, no corpses ready to jump out, no guards standing like stone statues awaiting the command of a cruel father; just fields.
Real fields, spread out like green carpets under the sky, tidy and alive, populated by elderly Wen farmers bent over their hoes as if they were the pendulums of a clock that ticks away the clockwork, women hanging out white sheets in the wind that made them flutter like little domestic ghosts, children running with half-broken lanterns, laughing as if the world had never known pain or tragedy.
Lan Xichen stopped dead in his tracks, his legs stiff, his eyes wide as if trying to figure out whether the scene was real or a particularly subtle spell; Nie Mingjue bumped his shoulder, letting out a low, confused grunt, and muttered, "What is it?" but the voice seemed more like a declaration of disbelief than a question, as if everything he saw defied every law of common sense.
Lan Xichen raised a shaking hand, as if the air itself might collapse around him at any moment, and pointed to the scene before them, his heart beating faster than the feet of the children running through the fields. "That," he said softly, almost whispering to himself, "the one that shouldn't be there." Nie Mingjue stared at him, his brows furrowed in a line that betrayed disbelief and confusion, like a giant suddenly grappling with a sandcastle too fragile to be real.
Seconds passed, which Lan Xichen felt like eternities, then two more, then many more, as the scene before them continued to defy every law of the world they knew. "Lan Xichen." Nie Mingjue's voice was firm, but betrayed a hint of bewilderment. "Yes?" he replied, barely holding back a smile that would have betrayed his entire confused mind. "These... they're not corpses." The sentence fell like a stone into a calm pond, shaking all the beliefs Nie Mingjue had carried with him up to that point.
Lan Xichen nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on old men bent over their hoes, smiling women cradling children, and men talking in hushed tones among themselves, none trembling before an impending doom. "I'd say not," he said, and his voice was calm but laced with a subtle surprise, the same surprise that makes you buckle at the knees without realizing it, as if everything you'd imagined ended up dissolving before a thread of reality so simple it seemed absurd. "They're people. Living people." Nie Mingjue looked again, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to understand if the world had really changed or if he was just the one who had never seen it properly. "They do... living people's things." The pause was almost comical, as if he couldn't find the right word to describe the perfect absurdity of the situation.
Nie Mingjue ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that betrayed a silent struggle between what he had always believed and what he saw. “Wei Wuxian does not have an army of the dead.”. “It seems not,” Lan Xichen replied, and for a moment the two looked at each other like two men who have just discovered that the world is not a theater of corpses, but a place where life, strange and funny, continues undaunted despite everything.
Nie Mingjue covered his eyes with one hand, as if his vision was burning too much. “For all the ancestors,” he murmured, “I swear that when I return to the Golden Tower, I will take Jin Guangshan and hang him from the highest ledge.” Lan Xichen didn't answer. He couldn't. Because in that moment the world seemed bigger and at the same time closer than it had ever been.
Lan Xichen stood still for a moment, trying to figure out whether the woman was actually talking to them or whether her mind had decided to add a comical episode to the already absurd morning. The clothes he wore smelled of fresh air and sunshine, and his step was so natural that it seemed to glide over the grass as if the world had never invented dangers or armies of ghosts. Lan Xichen stepped forward quickly enough to stop her, bowing with a stiffness all his own, the one he used when he wasn't sure whether to respect hierarchy or simply survive the moment, and asked almost tremblingly, "Excuse me… are you a Wen?". he asked, his voice more anxious than respectful, as if he feared he had just invaded forbidden territory.
The woman turned to him with a calm smile and a patience that could have tamed a dragon, giving a slight shrug as if to say, “These two men are truly strange.” "No, I'm not a Wen," she replied, her tone so calm that Lan Xichen almost felt the pressure drain from his lungs. “You see up ahead my son is playing with the other children while I do the laundry here with other women.” She nodded toward a group of little ones running through the clods, laughing and screaming, while an old woman sewed at the edge of the field with the tranquility of someone who knows everything is in its right place.
"We're not all Wen here, and most of the men in the fields or the children either. Don't look at us like that," she continued, almost as if Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue were two creatures recently arrived from another planet. "Don't look at us like that," she continued, almost as if Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue were two creatures recently arrived from another planet. "We know perfectly well who was hiding in these mountains, but they never did any harm, especially Wei Wuxian, the elder Wens, and the few younger Wens. That woman over there," she said, pointing to a figure gathering herbs, "skilled with medicine, helps our elders and children with illnesses. And if you've come here to be a nuisance like that guy in purple robes with the face of someone who can't sleep well, or the one in yellow," she took a step forward, a glint of anger in her eyes, "I'll call my husband!"
Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue remained petrified on the spot, two men accustomed to commanding, imposing order, bending situations and people to their will, and instead they found themselves in front of a woman who reprimanded them with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what she's doing, as if they were awkward children or men ready to unleash trouble without realizing it.
Lan Xichen gave a small smile, the kind that tries to soften the situation but doesn't quite work, and said, "Don't worry… we…" He paused for a moment, looking at Nie Mingjue, who looked like he'd just collided with a tree, his jaw clenched and his eyes wide. "We came to speak with Wei Wuxian. Could you please tell us where he is?"
The woman narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing them like two intruders trying to read a book written in an unknown language, then shook her head with a patience that could tame even the most stubborn winds, and finally said: "You're obviously not from around here. Go down to the center of Yiling, find his inn, and you'll find him there. He always comes from morning till night... the fruity wine has brought him huge profits."
Lan Xichen stood still, his breathing slightly labored, as a spectacle so surreal it could have been painted in a drunken dream unfolded before him: tidy, living fields, children running screaming between the rows , women hanging scented cloths in the sun, and men bent over their hoes as if time itself had bent in their favor, forgetting the wars and orders of distant clans. Beside him, Nie Mingjue looked like a lost giant, his eyes wide, his hands swinging slightly as if he were grasping something that didn't exist, unable to distinguish between reality and illusion.
Lan Xichen tried to breathe slowly, to imprint that scene in his memory without letting everything collapse under the weight of relief and surprise, because he knew that the madness of the moment was so powerful that it could make them laugh, cry and scream at the same time. They must have been crazy, he thought, or perhaps the world was, to allow two men accustomed to imposing order and discipline to find themselves being corrected by an unknown woman, who looked at them with the calm and certainty of someone who knows that the real problems are not high-sounding names or ranks, but the life that flows around them, unpredictable and stubborn.
Lan Xichen almost felt a shiver run down his spine, a sensation as sweet and light as a feather carried by the wind, while Nie Mingjue, without a word, stared at the same horizon, aware that the real world could be much more absurd than any war or clan plot.
After saying goodbye to the woman, Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue slowly returned to the path they had come from, and Nie Mingjue continued to stare into space as if trying to decipher an impossible riddle, his gaze lost between the earth, the sky and the thought that perhaps the world was finally shattering all their certainties. After a long silence, he muttered almost in a strangled voice: "Please tell me I didn't hear correctly."
Lan Xichen couldn't help but smile, a brief, uncertain smile, like the one that appears when you realize that explaining certain things is useless, and that perhaps life is just having fun confronting you with the truth in ways so absurd that they seem like a joke. He hoped that once they reached the tavern the answers would come, or at least that things would be more understandable, but deep down he knew that Wei Wuxian had never been a problem, that the young man's oddities were just his natural eccentricity, and that dealing with them would be much easier than Nie Mingjue could have imagined.
Looking at the fields along the way, where radishes and herbs grew neatly and the few Wen moved with measured, calm gestures, Lan Xichen felt a sudden wave of enthusiasm, a warm light passing through his chest: Wei Wuxian was doing nothing wrong, he was simply farming, helping, living like anyone else and, for a moment, all the clamor of the distant clans, the shouts, the scoldings and strategies seemed to dissolve like mist in the sun.
Lan Xichen, taking a deep breath, felt that bringing Wei Wuxian back would not be an impossible task, because he was not facing a madman, but a young man capable of doing good even in the most unexpected places, and that knowledge gave him such a solid sense of calm that it almost made him smile again, knowing that their mission, however complicated, had only just begun and that the best was yet to come.
Notes:
Xichen I CAN understand you about back pain, I seriously can truly understand you LMAO
I swear to you that imagining that Wei Wuxian at some point literally said "you know what I tell you, I help around but if this place becomes an open-air asylum I don't care" is the best thing ever, don't deny it for the love of the canon but because good god come on
This is the most Wei Wuxian thing ever, COME ON!!!
I'd like to tell you what I told Nora yesterday when she asked me (not so calmly, she was screaming as if I'd given her a lifetime supply of sunflower seed breadsticks) "okay let me get this straight. I'll only follow two pairs OR WHAT BERRY, THANKS FOR THE PARADISE BUT LET ME UNDERSTAND WHEN I SHOULD SCREAM"
I have no plan, no structure, so please don't ask me for logic. If you're looking for it, check eBay, maybe someone has it up for auction.
Here, I just want to have fun with my favorite ships all together. Obviously I will delve into them, I will get into them, I will play with them… but I don't know when, I don't know how, and I have no intention of forcing a path :D
And I'll be perfectly honest: I'm not even trying to make sense of any of this. I'm just trying to reboot my brain, stretch my creativity, and tell my emotions: "Guys, run free, please, the gate is open.".
Chaos is practically the only authorized staff member here. Order? But who is he? I don't know him. 😀
I want to have FUN. I want to write absurd things, without feeling guilty like a stern mother who says "well, this isn't realistic." IF I WANT TO MAKE JIN GUANGSHAN DO THE ANGEL LEAP FROM A BALCONY, I WILL DO IT AND GLADLY TOO.
If this amuses you or you're simply curious, sit down, have a biscuit little star 🫂❤️ If instead you say to yourself "but where did I end up, in a Spanish soap opera?" GO IN PEACE. I LOVE YOU STILL, LITTLE STAR. NO ONE HERE WILL CHAIN YOU TO A CHAIR, PROMISE. ✨
In the meantime, I'll continue to do my best, which today means: writing nonsense, happy as a little girl who's discovered glitter. And no, I have no intention of making any fucking sense of it.
Chapter 3: The devil with the apron
Summary:
Do you believe the devil only wears Prada? I saw him wearing an apron and carrying a child on his shoulders who was waving at everyone!
Notes:
HELLO LITTLE STAR :D
I should start thanking whatever is going wrong in my brain for making me decide to start this work, because I SWEAR TO YOU... I SWEAR TO YOU I'M HAVING WAY TOO MUCH FUN. Thank you, brain, that night you made me say to myself "I have to get this plot out... I have to" because I think I've never spewed out my lungs as much as I'm spewing out now writing this work HAHHA
Not because the other works I opened disgust me but I swear it's refreshing to let out the INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS THAT SAY "HEY YOU, LET ME RUN" and I beg you for the, maybe the fortieth time IF YOU SEE A LUNG HERE, GIVE IT TO ME PLEASE. THANK YOU.
Then I would like to thank whoever said "if Wei Wuxian welcomed them with a-yuan in his arms" SAY LESS. Because I made this scene become... more or less, that has remained in my brain all week and I STILL LAUGH THINKING ABOUT IT, you deserve a hug LITTLE STAR *hug* 🫂❤️
Get ready because it's going to be long... and because your lungs WALK AWAY HERE, THEY LEAVE.
Remember that a comment is appreciated little star, i'm pouring my heart into it and i want to know what you think🫂
Don't forget to stop by tumblr: thememecrownTo accompany this chapter I suggest: Summer Nights - SIAMES , Barbie Williams
(I highly recommend it, VERY STRONGLY. PLS JUST DO IT OKAY? YOU NEED TO TRUST ME!!)HAVE FUN LITTLE :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Just sitting here
I'm waiting, oh yeah
But he's not by my side"
As Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue approached the tavern, now convinced despite themselves that it was indeed Yiling Laozu's tavern, the world seemed to warp around them as if it had decided to tease them with an almost affectionate delicacy. They had just finished asking for directions for the umpteenth time—seven, to be precise, but only because Nie Mingjue had refused to believe the first, second, third, and so on, like a man who sees reality opening up beneath his feet and insists on pounding the ground to see if it is solid, and each person they met seemed like a piece added to the puzzle of absurdity they were putting together.
The old man with the basket of mushrooms had looked at them the way one looks at someone asking if the sun really rises in the east: a slow, slurred expression, as if the question itself had offended him. "Wei Wuxian's inn? Over there, behind the incense shop. Who else do you think cooks so well that it attracts people at this hour?" The two children with the crooked kite had instead indicated the same direction with the military precision of two miniature generals. "Go straight! But be careful not to let Mrs. Wen Qing see you; she's nervous today!"
The tofu woman smiled, happy as if she knew a harmless secret. "There! Tell him he has to pay me for the tofu from the other day. He put it in the broth and then forgot about it!" The man with the potato cart had sighed like a romantic poet betrayed by life. "Um... yes, over there. But if you can, tell him to stop taking my change without giving it back. I know he doesn't mean to, but..."
Then the old woman. She had frozen them. She had looked them up and down with the same distrust of someone fearing a tax audit while simultaneously praying for a storm to cover their escape. "A pumpkin? Do you want one? It's good. Fresh. Perfect. You... are inspectors? Tell me right away, and I'll get the rest ready!"
Lan Xichen had tried to reassure her with a smile, but it had been worse. She had tried to stuff his hands with vegetables, as if getting rid of the evidence was the only salvation left.
When Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue finally stopped in front of the tavern, it felt like they had arrived at the border between the civilized world and an alternate version of reality where logic had packed up and moved on. The sign above the entrance hung from a single nail, swaying at the slightest breath of air as if on the verge of falling, and bore three warnings written in handwriting that seemed to struggle to stay upright: No dogs allowed, No Jin cultivators allowed, No troublemakers allowed. Below, added later with a different stroke and a clear sense of tiredness, a very precise note: PS: If you are of the Jiang sect or Sandu Shengshou , Wei Wuxian is not here. You are drunk if you see him.
Nie Mingjue remained completely still, as if his brain had decided to stop to avoid a short circuit. He looked at the sign, then at the entrance, then back at the sign, like a man trying to figure out if he's really awake or if reality has decided to play tricks on him. Lan Xichen remained silent because there was no way to explain what was before them without making the situation worse: the tavern did not look like a dark and dangerous refuge, nor that of a nest of demonic magic or a forbidden place. It was… a tavern. One with the warm smell of broth, fruity wine, damp wood, and with the door constantly opening and closing because of the customers.
What unsettled them most of all was that people seemed to be coming and going as if it were the most normal thing in the world, as if the infamous Yiling Laozu were nothing more than a random innkeeper, one of those who pours your wine and asks how your day was.
Nie Mingjue massaged his temples, almost certain that a headache was rising from the back of his skull like a storm that wouldn't let up. "Xichen… please… explain to me what I'm looking at. Tell me I'm drunk." Lan Xichen inhaled slowly, as if trying to get some clarity back into his lungs. "I think… this is Wei Wuxian's tavern."
"No." Nie Mingjue shook his head so hard that his hair twitched like an irritated horse. "No. This is a trap. A poor imitation. A... a parody. It can't be here. It can't."
Lan Xichen wanted to prove him wrong. He wanted to believe that it was all a gigantic misunderstanding, that Wei Wuxian was elsewhere, engaged in something sensible, coherent, befitting the reputation that accompanied him. Instead, the more he looked at the tavern, the closer the truth came like an inevitable thought: Wei Wuxian was there. Truly there.
Not on the summit of the Burial Mountains, not in a dark cave studying forbidden arts, not surrounded by restless spirits. There. In Yiling. With a sign banning dogs, Jin, and anyone looking for trouble. And with a note warning the Jiang Sect members that if they saw Wei Wuxian, it only meant they were not sober.
What struck Lan Xichen like a gentle punch in the stomach was the way normality mixed with paradox: the scene was so everyday, so human, so unthreatening, that he almost felt as if he had dreamed everything the other clans had told him. In that normality there was something more powerful than any weapon or spiritual technique: there was proof that the world had been wrong, that fear had distorted the facts, that the truth had been trampled underfoot like dry leaves on a mountain path.
“Mingjue,” he said finally, his voice calm but with a new spark running through it, “I think we need to go in.”
Nie Mingjue stared at the open door and seemed to rejuvenate and age at the same time, in one long breath. “If we find Wei Wuxian drunk serving wine… I swear I’ll walk back to Qinghe… and without shoes.”
Lan Xichen smiled, an incredulous but genuine smile, because at that moment reality was so absurd that it was almost reassuring. "Let's go. Maybe... we'll find more answers than we imagine." And together, like two men walking toward truth and possible disaster in equal measure, they grabbed the tavern handle and pushed open the door, ready to discover what awaited them inside.
As Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue pushed open the door of the tavern, the warm air inside hit them like an unexpected breath, thick with the scents of broth, boiling herbs, fruity wine, and burning wood. It wasn't the smell you'd expect from the hideout of the most feared grower in recent years; it was the smell of a lived-in place, a refuge for ordinary people, of evenings spent eating and telling stories. The infamous Yiling Laozu tavern seemed to have built itself around the footsteps of Yiling residents: crooked tables, lanterns hung so asymmetrically that they seemed a deliberate stylistic choice, warm shadows flickering on the walls like memories that refuse to fade.
Lan Xichen stopped just inside the threshold, unable to ignore the feeling that he was entering a paradox. The terror of half the cultivation world, the living legend everyone described as a madman, a walking danger, a demon with a flute… he had a tavern. And it served soup. The thought caught in Lan Xichen's mind like a leaf caught in a current: inexplicable, tenacious, inevitable.
Nie Mingjue, on the other hand, resembled someone who expected every object in there to turn into a weapon at any moment. His eyes swept around the room in short, controlled movements, as if seeking confirmation that the world had not gone completely mad. He found none.
The people sitting at the tables didn't seem the least bit bothered by them. A woman was cutting radishes with the precision of someone who has done it all her life; an old man drank slowly, as if each sip was a ritual; two boys were laughing as they tried to steal pieces of meat from each other's bowl. And at the center of that small, ordered chaos was her, Wen Qing, with an apron tied around her waist and a gaze so sharp it could sharpen a knife. As soon as she saw them, she froze for half a second: enough to make them understand that she had recognized them, too little to make them believe that she was happy with their presence.
"No," she said immediately, without even coming closer. “Whatever you two came here to do, no.”
Lan Xichen bowed slightly, a courtesy that spread like a flexible branch in the wind. “We came in peace, not to cause trouble.”
Wen Qing looked at him without blinking, as if she were analyzing his statement under a microscope. “No one comes in here saying they have bad intentions,” she muttered, and went back to cleaning a table with movements that seemed like hidden warnings. “Then they look for trouble, and it’s up to me to fix everything.”
Nie Mingjue couldn't help himself. “We just want to talk to Wei Wuxian.”
Wen Qing wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist, tired but determined, yet it wasn't even quite noon. The tavern was already full, the smell of soup and broth mingling with that of fruity wine, and the occasional sound of children running between the tables added a perfect note of chaos to that little world. As if that wasn't enough, two imposing figures were standing there near the entrance, ZeWu-Jun and ChiFeng-Zun, the two most famous and feared cultivators in the entire cultivation world, with the posture of sect leaders who know they have the entire universe in the palms of their hands. Wen Qing watched them for a moment, his eyes narrowed to slits as he tried to filter out the blinding light of the too-direct sun. It was clear that Jin Guangshan had sent them, not to achieve any result, but in the hope that Wei Wuxian would be crazy enough to take them out.
“I don’t know where he is this morning,” Wen Qing said, his voice firm but with a hint of exasperation that betrayed his patience, “have you checked around? Maybe he's feeding the geese." The sentence came out almost as a warning, a delicate warning like a leaf slowly falling onto a surface of water. She hoped, that Wei Wuxian in the back wouldn't make too much noise, that he wouldn't let the absurd vitality that animated him show, and that Wen Ning wouldn't suddenly decide to come out to serve the customers.
Nie Mingjue, standing next to Lan Xichen, felt his chest tighten as if someone had placed an invisible rope around his ribs. He knew that every step they took in that tavern was like walking a suspended bridge between reality and madness, between the legend they had studied and the real man who, apparently, took care of broth, wine, and radishes as if nothing were happening. Lan Xichen, on the other hand, breathed slowly, trying to absorb that mix of absurdity and normality: Wen Qing's methodical serenity, the children laughing and running between the tables, and above all the palpable anticipation of meeting Wei Wuxian.
It was the moment when legend would cease to be legend, and Lan Xichen, as he gazed into the back of the tavern, felt that something irreversible was about to happen, something that would change not only the world's perception of Wei Wuxian, but also their entire idea of what it meant to seek him, find him, and bring him back into the arms of reality.
Lan Xichen smiled impeccably, the kind you wear when the situation is so absurd that a minimum of formal grace is required to keep from letting your forehead fall onto the nearest table. His eyes slid into the tavern and spotted two empty seats, miraculously remaining so despite the din, the running children, the clattering bowls, and the irresistible aroma of soup that climbed the walls like a stubborn perfume determined to conquer the entire building. “No, but we can wait for him here,” he said with the reassuring calm he used in desperate diplomatic situations. “We haven’t had lunch yet… have we, Nie Mingjue?”
He turned to his friend, and what greeted him was Nie Mingjue's blank, terrified gaze, fixed on some indefinite point in the room, as if there lay the answer to all his existential questions—or perhaps an invisible danger. When Lan Xichen called out to him, Nie Mingjue turned around like a man who had just discovered that he had entered a parallel dimension where Wei Wuxian ran a respectable business. He would rather face a horde of ferocious spirit beasts than sit there, but it was too late now.
Lan Xichen suppressed the urge to laugh and continued in a clear voice, bowing to the room as if greeting an invisible royal court: “If there is no objection, we would like to try something.” No one objected, because no one was listening; everyone was too busy living their lives in that tavern that seemed to breathe, laugh and chatter like a living creature.
He then approached the two empty seats carefully, moving like someone walking through a trap field, because with Wei Wuxian everything had the potential to be a disaster or a pleasant surprise, and often both at the same time. Nie Mingjue followed him with the stiffness of a soldier led into battle without armor, each step heavy and reluctant, as if the floor had suddenly become suspicious.
Once seated, the smell of the fruity, warm, sugary wine surrounded them like a promise of peace or doom. Lan Xichen observed the tavern with a new attention, almost fascinated: the place was simple, lived-in, full of laughter, and had that strange magic that is born only when someone has put their heart—and too much enthusiasm—into something. There were fabrics hanging out to dry near the back, a vase of crooked flowers in the center of the counter, and a child running back and forth with an empty tray pretending to be a hero.
Nie Mingjue, on the other hand, seemed to be sitting on a cushion full of thorns, his hands clenched on his knees and his gaze fixed as if he were ready to leap to his feet at the first note of a suspicious flute. And just then, as the buzz of the tavern mingled with the clatter of dishes and voices, Lan Xichen felt something simple, almost moving: the certainty that he was finally understanding something fundamental.
Wei Wuxian hadn't gone mad. It wasn't hidden among corpses or surrounded by dangerous barriers. It was here, among the people, with a tavern that smelled of home, where children ran and the elderly smiled. And as a thread of hope opened in his chest like the first ray of sunshine in the morning, Lan Xichen smiled without being able to stop himself: yes, it would be possible to bring him back.
Wen Qing watched them as they sat down, as if considering whether two sect leaders could cause more damage than a group of hyperactive children with dirt on their hands. As Lan Xichen placed her neat sleeve on the table, she took a deep breath, like a healer seeing two complicated patients arrive before noon. Then she dried her hands on her apron and said, "All right, you can wait for him here. But don't ask any strange questions, don't touch anything shiny, and if you hear a noise coming from the back... it's none of your business."
The tone was typical of an older sister who knows perfectly well that her brother is doing something stupid, but no longer has the energy to stop him.
Lan Xichen nodded with a gentle smile, as if she were being advised on the rules of tea rather than survival in a mysterious territory. Nie Mingjue, however, remained rigid, still keeping that undefined point in his sights, as if he feared that at any moment a chicken might run across the tavern shouting "Jin Cultivators!" or Wei Wuxian could emerge from the floor with a pot on his head.
"So... what do we eat here?" Lan Xichen asked in a calm voice, straightening his sleeves in front of him and trying to ignore Nie Mingjue's bewildered gaze.
“Lotus root soup, very spicy,” Wen Qing replied without hesitation. "And fruity wine. We have nothing else. Don't ask, don't insist, it's just the way it is."
Lan Xichen nodded, as if he had been offered the banquet of the century. Nie Mingjue blinked, unable to understand how one of the most feared figures in the cultivation world was living on radishes and sweet wine.
Wen Qing started to leave, but before going back into the back room, she turned around for a moment, looking at them with the expression of someone who knew perfectly well that something was about to happen. "Ah... if you happen to see Wei Wuxian around before I find him, don't tell him anything important. Not until he's finished cooking. Stress ruins his soup."
Lan Xichen smiled kindly. "Of course." Nie Mingjue looked at him sideways as if he had just heard the most irresponsible sentence of the century. The back door opened, letting out a wave of scented steam and an indistinct sound, something between a whistle and an off-key singing. Then the door slammed shut, as if something had tried to get out. Lan Xichen stiffened slightly, Nie Mingjue tensed his back as if he were facing a thousand-year-old demon.
Wei Wuxian burst out of the back room with the energy of a gust of wind blowing in through open windows without asking permission. He had an apron tied around his waist, too clean for his black robes with red edges that looked like they had fought at least three battles against the rebel soup; a visible stain stood out on the apron, like a personal signature that followed him everywhere. Wen Qing watched him advance and, for a moment, prayed that the floor would open beneath her feet: she had just declared to two of the most respected sect leaders—and, coincidentally, the ones sent by Jin Guangshan—that she did not know where Wei Wuxian was. And now that man appeared right in the center of the room as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He completely ignored the incredulous looks of Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, walking with the lightness of someone who lives in a world where problems and authority simply flow by the side of the road. He stopped in front of Wen Qing, with a raised eyebrow and the scandalized expression of an innkeeper whose daily routine is being disrupted. "Wen Qing, we're out of wine! And I can't find Uncle Wen or his supplies. How should we serve our customers now?!"
Wen Qing closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in like someone fighting the temptation to punch fate itself. She knew it, she had felt it coursing through her bone marrow: Jin Guangshan had sent them, and everything was going exactly as she feared. Yet there was Wei Wuxian, completely unaware, more concerned with the fruity wine than the two sect leaders sitting in the hall.
Lan Xichen watched the scene with his heart thumping in his chest, as if a small light had been turned on at that very moment. Wei Wuxian was truly like that: spontaneous, chaotic, brilliant in his selective inattention. Nie Mingjue, on the other hand, remained motionless, with the expression of a man who suspects he is the victim of a scam.
Wen Qing opened her eyes and stared at Wei Wuxian with the resigned look of someone who sees an earthquake coming and knows she can't stop it. "Wei Wuxian... we have... guests," she looked at Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.
Wei Wuxian followed the direction of his gaze, turned to the two men at the table, and for a moment even stopped breathing. Then he smiled, bright and completely out of place, as if he were seeing two old friends who had happened to be there. "Oh! ZeWu-Jun! ChiFeng-Zun! What are you doing here? Have you ordered yet?" And as he spoke, the stain on his apron glistened in the sunlight like a direct insult to the rules of Gusu.
Lan Xichen stood up with a smile brighter than the sun itself, bowing elegantly, revealing his satisfaction: the mission, which until a few hours earlier had seemed like an impossible mountain to climb, suddenly seemed simple, almost banal. There was no need for begging, no bending of the knees, or watering of the eyes, all he had to do was show respect and a little kindness, and the rest would follow. "Wei-gonzi! How nice to see you well!" he said, completing the bow while Nie Mingjue remained petrified in his place, his jaw clenched and his gaze turned away as if the sight of that chaotic young man could kill him with the energy of his smile alone. Lan Xichen could barely contain a laugh as he continued, “Wei-gonzi… no, we haven’t ordered, but if you don’t mind joining us for this lunch, you would do us the honor.”
Wei Wuxian blinked, looking first at the other empty seat, then at Lan Xichen, who was watching him as if ready to kneel before him, and finally Nie Mingjue, who was staring at the table with a statue-like rigidity, and smiled in a way that seemed to be asking Wen Qing for help. "Save me, why didn't you warn me before? These people don't just want to eat, they want to drag me away."
"Oh, ZeWu-Ju, I'd love to... but you know," he said, with a smile that threatened to make his cheeks cry if it were possible, "I have a lot to do here, maybe another day. I'm not in the mood for chit-chat today." He gestured delicately toward Lan Xichen, inviting him to sit down. "I'll bring you meat and vegetables, a pot of our best tea, and wine—not the fruity kind, which is sadly sold out, but we do have some local wine."
Lan Xichen, however, had no intention of giving up. “Wei-gonzi,” he said in a soft, firm voice, coming close enough to grasp his forearm and guide him lightly but firmly toward the empty seat. Nie Mingjue watched him as if he were going mad, unable to understand how Lan Xichen seemed ready to drag this rebellious young man by force, and at the same time perfectly understanding his impetus.
Lan Xichen continued, with a smile that tried to balance persuasion and authority: “I will pay for every minute you remain still. I understand the inconvenience, but we are here talking among old friends.” It wasn't just a facade of courtesy, it wasn't just a game of diplomacy. Lan Xichen wanted to bring him back into Lan Wangji's arms, to observe up close the young man his brother seemed to be in love with, and at the same time satisfy a very personal curiosity: to understand what Lan Wangji saw in that man so chaotic, unpredictable and irresistibly alive.
Wei Wuxian continued to smile, a smile that wavered between feigned submission and pure amusement, as Lan Xichen gently pushed him toward the empty seat, as if he were guiding a small hurricane dressed in black and red to sit on an imaginary throne.
He was terrified, but he seemed calm, because in reality he had no intention of talking to them, and the mere idea of a serious conversation made him feel as if someone had started a small fire under his chair. But Lan Xichen, with the unshakeable conviction of someone who has already decided that nothing and no one will stop him, did not let go; it didn't seem like a simple "no" would be enough to dissuade him. Wei Wuxian, resigned, sat down, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity that lasted less than the blink of an eye, because he was now officially trapped in the absurd triangle of politeness.
He wouldn't go back, he couldn't, not so much out of duty or fear, but because he had finally found a place to call home. A small tavern in the mountains, where days passed between wine, radishes, and impromptu chats, where chaos was organized and people needed his help.
That was enough for him, and he would never admit it out loud, because part of him wanted Lan Xichen to continue to believe that he was difficult to win over, to convince, to bring into line. So, sitting down, he decided he would give them a hard time, enjoying himself silently, ready to overturn every implicit rule of that formal lunch.
Wei Wuxian looked at him for a moment, his eyes sparkling like crazy stars, making the world around him seem less orderly and impossibly more fun. Lan Xichen, sensing that light that only Wei Wuxian could ignite, understood that the situation was in his hands: all it took was a small smile, a gentle push, and that lunch would become something more than just a meal.
Nie Mingjue took off his boots in the inn room, his head still a little shaken from the lunch he had just had, trying to piece together what could be described, without hesitation, a disaster. The inn, with its single room and two beds, had been a lifeline to their survival, though Nie Mingjue suspected that Lan Xichen was too busy thinking about his brother's heart to notice the obvious signals at Nie Mingjue was sending him.
Not that Nie Mingjue hadn't noticed how Lan Xichen stared at him when he thought he wasn't being watched, and a little shiver ran down his spine at the thought that the boy had been in love with him since they were children, but that he was so busy that he neglected him made him smile bitterly. “I should have listened to A-Yao’s advice,” he muttered to himself, “I should have kissed him and if he wasn’t into it… at least I could have blamed it on my drunkenness.”
Lunch had been a complete disaster, and every detail came back to Nie Mingjue like a series of little hammer blows. Lan Xichen was there, in his inner tunic, trying to dab the stain of wine that had fallen on his outer tunic in the basin that the innkeeper had brought with far too much patience for a man who had just suffered utter chaos. Wei Wuxian had turned every attempt at conversation into a minor accident: one word, a laugh, and a glass would end up on the table or directly on Lan Xichen, as if the wine were an extension of his personality.
A little boy, A-Yuan, had taken Wei Wuxian as if he were his mother, curling up around him like a kitten hungry for attention, and Wei Wuxian had started proclaiming that he was his son, laughing and making Lan Xichen pale as he believed it, stammering almost in tears: “He… is he Wangji’s son?” Nie Mingjue, for his part, wanted to bang his head repeatedly on the table, while Wen Qing, with the calm of an angel and the absent-mindedness of a clumsy cat, spilled the potato soup on the floor and simply said “Oops,” as if nothing had happened.
And Wei Wuxian, of course, hadn't had to be asked too hard: he had managed to disappear with A-Yuan in his arms, the little one waving goodbye to Lan Xichen from Wei Wuxian's shoulder as if he were on a ship leaving for a long journey. And Lan Xichen, seeing him, had an expression that was a mixture of terror, emotion and something that dangerously resembled an emotional collapse.
Nie Mingjue watched him as he tried, unsuccessfully, to understand how his friend had gone from the composure typical of cult leaders to pure panic in just a few minutes. Lan Xichen's eyes were shining, and the more the child waved his hand at him, the more he seemed convinced he was witnessing an unresolved family drama. “Nie-xiong… Nie-xiong, look at him! He has big eyes! And… and maybe he looks a little like Wangji! Can't you see? It's not… it's not impossible…”
It took all the patience, the long, painful patience that only years of friendship and brotherhood forged in battle could grant him, to keep Nie Mingjue from banging his head against a pillar . Instead, he began to speak as if he were explaining something very simple to a very emotional child. “Xichen. Breathe. Lan Wangji is not…” He paused for a moment, searching for a diplomatic way to say it. “He’s not the type to… desecrate anyone.”
Lan Xichen stared at him as if that sentence were a grave offense to his imagination. “But… what if that had happened? Maybe… maybe they were alone once… and Wei Wuxian never told him! Or Lan Wangji was afraid! Or… or Shufu wouldn't have accepted a child… and now that little one is—”
“Enough.” Nie Mingjue raised a hand, already tired at the memory of the disastrous lunch. “Lan Wangji is no Jin Guangshan. He doesn't go around… sowing children throughout the hemisphere.” Lan Xichen nodded slowly, as if trying to process a personal betrayal. Then he muttered, with a determined and totally irrational air: “If there’s even a chance… even a chance… I have to go to Gusu. Lan Wangji deserves to know. And if Shufu doesn’t accept the child… then I will. I’m the sect leader, damn it!”
At that point Nie Mingjue seriously reconsidered the idea of banging his head against the table. Not out of desperation—out of survival. To interrupt that train of thought before Lan Xichen deconstructed the entire cult society with a delirium born from a spilled lunch. “Mingjue...We have to go,” Lan Xichen said as he quickly stood up.
“No. No, no, and no again.” Nie Mingjue grabbed him by the shoulders and made him sit down. “We’re not going anywhere. You’re not going to upset Gusu because Wei Wuxian decided to play mother to a child.” Lan Xichen opened his mouth to retort, but Nie Mingjue cut him off: “And above all, you’re not giving Lan Qiren a heart attack by coming home shouting ‘Wangji has a son.’ I won’t be complicit in this.”
Lan Xichen paused. He inhaled. He inhaled again. Then he whispered, as if his dignity were draining away along with the last shred of common sense: “…But he did look a little like Wangji, admit it.” Nie Mingjue closed his eyes. And at that moment he understood that, most likely, Wei Wuxian had won that battle without even knowing it had started.
Nie Mingjue, before taking off his boots and flopping onto the bed, had made sure that Lan Xichen had no access to scrolls, ink, or anything that could turn into a furious writing plan. Now Lan Xichen seemed totally absorbed in rubbing the wine stain off his blue robe, as if that were the most important thing in the world, and Nie Mingjue sighed, tired and a little disappointed.
It wasn't because there was only one bed in the room, but for that simple absence was a huge absence. No scent of flowers or sandalwood floating in the air and enveloping him like a silent caress, no Lan Xichen's faint aroma that seemed capable of slowing time and making him breathe as if the world had just begun, no Xichen's warm arms trapping him between dream and waking, no Xichen's small, reassuring weight against him, that pressure just enough to tell him wordlessly that the chaos of the world could wait, that the problems and the rush and even Jin Guangshan and the clan disputes could evaporate for a moment and leave him simply there, alive, enjoying the other's presence.
Every free inch of bed screamed his absence, and Nie Mingjue felt suddenly blind and deaf, as if the world had forgotten it existed except for that emptiness and the stupid, childish, and irresistible desire to have Lan Xichen in his arms, tight, warm, real, alive, impossible to grasp but making him tremble with an absurd, absurd, and mad sweetness, so much so that he wanted to run back to the night before, to the moment he had pretended to be asleep just so he could hold him, and laugh and cry and hold him again until he forgot even how to breathe.
The night before, Nie Mingjue had deliberately remained in the room, motionless like a watchful shadow, a silent thief who wanted to steal nothing except a fragment of Lan Xichen, a sigh, a breath, anything that would make him feel close without being noticed. He waited patiently, as if every second were an eternity to be stretched out, waiting for Xichen to fall asleep and grant that fragile opening of vulnerability, that moment in which every little vibration of the body, every light breath, every imperceptible heartbeat, became an invisible thread that tied him to him.
Feeling that warmth, that minimal yet reassuring weight, was like holding a piece of sky in your hands and, for a moment, forgetting the tiredness, the tension, all the chaos of the world. Nie Mingjue's heart was beating like a drum too big for his chest, he felt his hands trembling slightly, as if it were something forbidden yet necessary, a sweetness so exaggerated that it made him blush even in the dark.
And he remained there, staring at the sleeping outline of Xichen, imagining he could hold him in his arms all night, until dawn decided the world had to become real again, until he stopped breathing almost in sync with him, as if his entire life were compressed into that silent, perfect, stupid moment of closeness. Now, however, the separate bed loudly screamed its absence: every free inch was a reminder of what was escaping him, and Nie Mingjue felt a mixture of frustration that made him rub his face in his hands like a child caught in a fault, thinking how stupid it was to want so much something so simple, something that was only called Xichen.
It had been the best awakening of his life, and the memory of that warmth and closeness still made his heart beat too fast. Maybe he was truly in love, or maybe it was simply the effect Lan Xichen had on him, and the thought of that innkeeper placing another bed in the room made him grumble.
Nie Mingjue wished it were just one bed for Lan Xichen and him again, that Lan Xichen's arms could fill the space unhindered, and that the entire world would shrink to that perfect moment of calm and confusion, where time could stand still and no one would disturb the fragile order between two hearts too stubborn to admit how much they longed to remain close.
Nie Mingjue stared at him as Lan Xichen, intent and with a frown on his face as if he were deciphering the secret of the universe, tried to tidy up his dirty tunic and the mess from the lunch he had just had. He thought of Wei Wuxian, who, with a sly smile and a completely disinterested air, seemed to have decided to ignore the entire world, and Nie Mingjue couldn't tell whether it was fury, stubbornness, or simply amusement. He couldn't understand why the man didn't say straight out that he didn't want to talk, what he was avoiding, or if he was even avoiding anything at all.
Wei Wuxian had made a mess of the Wen, carrying them off in such a dramatic and uncontrollable way that one could almost see the air vibrate and the mountains sigh under the weight of his legend. Every word Jin Guangshan had shed about him, every tale of corpses brought back to life and curses cast like poisonous flowers, was a blade of absurdity that should have made anyone shudder… yet Nie Mingjue knew, with a nagging intuition, that beneath all this chaos lay an invisible coherence, a code that only Wei Wuxian himself knew. Nie Mingjue would not harm someone who grew radishes or washed the floor of a tavern; his gestures, however exaggerated and loud in the eyes of the world, were his way of keeping life intact, of protecting those who could not defend themselves.
Yet Nie Mingjue felt that the truth was much bigger and more complicated than what was seen: Wei Wuxian seemed to have a path all his own, going straight ahead, ignoring everyone and any unwritten rules.
Jin Guangshan had spread terrifying stories about him, tales of curses, corpses, and resurrected armies, and even though it all reeked of falsehood, Nie Mingjue could not completely ignore caution. Jin Guangyao had warned them: “There’s no truth to what my father says… there were no cultivators there except Wen Qing and Wen Ning… before Wen Ning… well, you all know.” Yet, Nie Mingjue's mind raced between possibilities, suspicious and cautious, as he watched Lan Xichen bend slightly to lift the hem of his robe, his eyes shining with commitment and the infinite patience that only Lan Xichen knew how to possess.
Nie Mingjue had to admit, reluctantly, that that chaos, that stubborn man, made him feel incredibly alive. And if the truth remained hidden behind Wei Wuxian's silences and smiles, well, at least there was Lan Xichen beside him, so incredibly serious and determined, so completely unable to see how adorable he was in his commitment, that Nie Mingjue suddenly felt willing to endure any madness just to spend a little more time with him, even if it meant having to deal with a demon dressed in black and red.
Notes:
I PLEASE... PLEASE DO YOU HAVE MY LUNG?
When I said “yes, that was the idea,” really, my initial intention was simple: Wei Wuxian opening the door with A-Yuan in his arms, everyone gets emotional, a tender-but-kills moment, the end. AND THEN, and this is where my parkour brain comes in, I thought, “You know what? Let’s make Lan Xichen react. Let’s show him Wei Wuxian telling him, ‘This is my son.’”
And I swear to any god that's listening to me, it was the BEST thing my head could ever come up with. I mean, really, I was there thinking peacefully like a normal person, and suddenly my brain: “LAN XICHEN. A-YUAN. SHOCK. DRAMA. MICRO-HEART ATTACK. GO. NOW.”
Well, I've done it now. And not only does it make sense — IT MAKES MORE SENSE THAN SENSE. Thanks, brain. For once you contributed in a healthy way. (…sort of.)
Then, I mean, if Lan Xichen was already ready to KIDNAPP HIM—yes, kidnap him—and take him to Gusu as if it were the most normal thing in the world, with Nie Mingjue witnessing the operation,
Why is Lan Xichen there, so convinced, with the energy of a two-year-old who has decided that "THIS IS MINE NOW," holding A-Yuan as if he were adopting a puppy found on the side of the road. And Nie Mingjue in the back, already feeling a headache rising, as if he were collecting grocery stamps just to get a free pan and no longer knowing where to put them.
I swear, I don't know how this scene came out of me... but tell me the truth: can't you imagine Lan Xichen doing exactly that? I do, I'll laugh about it all too well like an idiot for months, and the first person who says "no xichen it's not like that" YOU'RE LYING I KNOW YOU THINK LIKE ME NOW.
I know, I KNOW, I didn't specify that the first time Nie Mingjue was PRETENDING to be asleep. But seriously: do you really think that man gets drunk to the level of “oh nooo I can’t get up, help I’m feeling dizzy”?.... DO WE KNOW THE SAME NIE MINGJUE?
Nie Mingjue would do anything to hug Lan Xichen (or whoever he decided deserves a hug today). And DARE contradict me. I still don't believe you, because in my head he's already there, ready to open his arms like a living electric blanket.
It's too much like Nie Mingjue sorry if he's an idiot when he's in love, IT'S NOT MY FAULT
Chapter 4: No crying over spilled cereal
Summary:
Even when life occasionally throws in the towel and looks at you askance as if you were the problem, it's not worth stopping. Not even when you make the wrong move and put salt in your tea instead of sugar. Not even when everything seems out of place, useless, already compromised. There's no point wasting time or tears over spilled cereal on the floor.
Maybe there's no going back. Maybe you're not saying the right thing, in the right way, at the right time. But there is no longer any desire to stay there, staring at something that has already turned upside down, as if looking at it longer could change the outcome. There are other cereals. There are better ones. And continuing to cry over the lost ones won't bring them back into the bowl.
And maybe, this time, the choice is different. Not necessarily better, not necessarily more correct. But a choice. Taken with your own hands, without asking permission, without waiting for someone else to decide what is right to eat for you. Maybe it's not the perfect breakfast
But it might be the best breakfast you've ever had.
Notes:
HELLO LITTLE STAR :D
DID YOU MISS ME?
I know it's been a month, I know, but come on... let's all look at these two teeth together and insult them mercilessly, I give you permission LOL!Seriously, sorry. Two teeth, including the wisdom one (son of a bitch) decided to be assholes. But yesterday I went to the dentist (I'm not finished at the dentist yet, send help :D) and, miraculously, today no absurd pain.
I could be a normal person and say, “Come on, I’ll use this break to sleep.” But a little voice in my head said, “Hey, listen, I miss writing… pls.” And so here I am, against all dental logic, writing.
SO HERE WE ARE. This fanfiction was created precisely for those moments when I'm not in the mood to write serious stuff (another Mingxian and analysis of Lan Qiren stare at me in silence and you judge me.) :D
So when I can, I might update this one more frequently, at least until I reset myself properly and get back to normal… or I go completely crazy and start writing the others too. One of two things, we'll see. Just in case....Merry Christmas :D
I say “when I can” in a manner of speaking, though. Because I may update more often, but I AM NOT GIVING YOU FALSE HOPE. But this time I really feel like I can write: less headache, less pain, less desire to be a stone.
As for serious things, I'm still a rock, yes. But let's not complain, come on I just got back little star give me TIME LMAO.
That said, I'll leave you with the chapter.
And not because I'm rereading this work, completely forgetting I wrote it, almost leaving comments like: "PLEASE, PLEASE, I'LL SELL YOU MY CAT BUT KEEP ON." Then, miraculously, I remembered that I am the author. Did you really think I was normal? I'M A CLOWN
It's a long, long chapter, which I couldn't wait to write... or rather, to read. :D
Remember that a comment is appreciated little star, i'm pouring my heart into it and i want to know what you think🫂
Don't forget to stop by tumblr: thememecrownTo accompany this chapter I suggest: Don't Wait Up - Robert DeLong
(I highly recommend it, VERY STRONGLY. PLS JUST DO IT OKAY? YOU NEED TO TRUST ME!!)HAVE FUN LITTLE STAR :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"If I'm leaving my home
I don't know when I'll be back again
So don't you wait up on me, I'm leaving with the light
Don't wait up on me, I've got a restless mind"
Night was beginning to fall on Yiling, and the lanterns of the houses and inns were lit one after another, as if someone were punctuating the darkness with small acts of daily resistance. The warm light slid across the dirt streets, across the tables still occupied by noisy customers, and across the half-open windows from which came voices, laughter, and the lingering smell of simple food. There was nothing threatening in the night air, nothing reminiscent of the stories of Jin Guangshan or the inflated tales of terror that circulated among the sects. Yiling, at night, seemed just a living place, stubbornly alive, as if it had decided to ignore the legends and keep breathing.
Lan Xichen paused for a moment to observe the scene from the inn window, his hands clasped behind his back and a thoughtful expression that Nie Mingjue knew all too well. It was the same look he had when he was putting together pieces that didn't want to fit, when the world wasn't following the order it should have but he insisted on looking for one anyway. Nie Mingjue, sitting on the bed, looked at him without saying anything, letting the silence fill with unspoken thoughts and a tiredness that was not only physical.
That day had brought no answers, only more annoying questions than before. Wei Wuxian was not a demon gone mad, that was clear by now. But he was not willing to let himself be grabbed, either by force or by good intentions. He had built something in Yiling, something fragile and noisy, made of children running, of women working together, of elderly Wen people cultivating the land as if the world had not already condemned them. And above all, he had decided to stay there, ignoring the weight of other people's expectations with the same naturalness with which he ignored the rules of common sense.
Nie Mingjue snorted softly, running a hand over his face. He hated to admit it, but the more he thought about Wei Wuxian, the more he felt that Jin Guangshan was lying. Not a simple lie, but one that is carefully constructed, layer by layer, until it seems like a solid truth. And what irritated him most was that Lan Xichen was figuring it out, slowly but surely, and that meant they couldn't just go back and pretend they hadn't seen anything.
Lan Xichen finally turned around, as if he felt the weight of Nie Mingjue's gaze. He smiled faintly, a tired but sincere smile, the kind that asks not for reassurance but for companionship. "We'll talk to him again tomorrow," he said calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “We can’t force him, but we can’t turn our backs on him either.”
Nie Mingjue grunted something that vaguely sounded like agreement. He wasn't convinced, but he knew Lan Xichen had already made up his mind. And, against all logic, a part of him was relieved. Staying in Yiling meant more time away from the Golden Tower, more time to observe, more time… together.
So Lan Xichen blew out the candle and the room sank into that soft gloom that was not real darkness, but a respite granted to the day. The bed welcomed them both with a slight creak, and for a moment Nie Mingjue remained still, staring at the ceiling as if he could find a sensible answer to his thoughts there. He knew perfectly well that, if he wanted, he could crawl into Lan Xichen's bed once he was sound asleep: he knew Lan Xichen all too well; he slept like a blessed stone, the kind of person not even an earthquake or a storm could rouse from sleep. Nie Mingjue knew this, and for this very reason the idea came back to him like a foolish and dangerous temptation, one of those that present themselves only when the heart is tired and the night too silent.
But he thought better of it. He turned slightly on his side, trying to find a position that wouldn't betray him, and sighed softly. He loved him, this was now evident even to himself, he loved him with that awkwardness that he didn't know how to call love but that he felt in his bones and in his chest, in every held breath. And that's precisely why he didn't want to touch him, he didn't want to take advantage of an unconscious sleep, he didn't want to wake up the next morning making up a pathetic excuse like "sorry, I had a nightmare."
A lie that Lan Xichen might have even accepted, with his gentle way of always believing the best in people. But Nie Mingjue didn't. He didn't like lying, he couldn't stand liars, and he wouldn't start with the one person he respected enough not to want to hurt, even unintentionally.
So he remained where he was, rigid as if discipline could silence his heart, listening to Lan Xichen's breathing slowly become more regular, deeper. There was something reassuring and cruel in that sound at the same time, because it made him feel close and distant at the same time. In love, yes. But not a liar. And maybe that night, as uncomfortable as it was and full of unspoken desires, was the only way he knew to stay close to him without betraying himself.
As Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue slowly drifted off to sleep and the moonlight crept discreetly into the room, accompanying silent dreams and restrained thoughts, Wei Wuxian stood far away. The inn was now closed, the doors barred, the buzz of the day dissolved like steam. Wen Yuan was already asleep, curled up in the blankets with the other Wens, with that deep, confident sleep that only those who feel safe can afford. Wen Ning, like every night, made his rounds of guard on the Burial Mountains, moving with the same patient and silent attention as always, as if the world could still surprise them from behind.
Wei Wuxian leaned his back against the tree trunk where he sat almost every night, the same spot, the same rough support he now knew by heart. “What a day,” he thought, letting the weight of those hours fall on him all at once. The nightmares hadn't gone away, they never really did: sometimes they were ghosts looking for him to leave, other times asking for justice, other times it was simply the Yin metal, pressing silently, waiting, like a patient hunger. But that night he remained distant, confined to a corner of the cave, as if he too had decided to grant him a truce.
He certainly didn't expect ZeWu-Jun and ChiFeng-Zun to burst into his tavern, right there, in the place he had managed to keep hidden even from Jiang Cheng. Thinking back, he almost laughed at the cruel timing. He was sure that Jin Guangshan had sent them, he would have bet even Uncle Four's last barrel of wine on that without hesitation. What really bothered him, however, was not the general why, but the most specific and most uncomfortable detail: ZeWu-Jun. Not just a sect leader, not just a respected and kind man, but Lan Wangji's brother.
Lan Wangji. A name he tried not to think about anymore, as one avoids a wound that one knows is still open. He had probably already forgotten about him, and it was better that way. Much better. Wei Wuxian let his head slide against the tree bark, watching the moon filter through the branches, and felt a different, deeper tiredness. What could he have offered to a man like Lan Wangji? Certainly not an orderly life, not a clean reputation, not a house without shadows. Not a roast chicken, not a hot soup, and certainly not love, not what the world considered right, stable, worthy of being shown to the light of day.
He closed his eyes, breathing slowly, letting the Yiling night envelop him as it always did. Here he had found a place, a fragile normality, something that resembled a home. And whatever ZeWu-Jun and ChiFeng-Zun wanted, whatever mission had brought them here, Wei Wuxian knew one thing with painful clarity: he would not let it be taken away from him.
It wasn't just that he had found a home. It was that he had finally found a purpose that wasn't just about resistance and anger. At first it had been simple, almost brutal: prevent the Jin from getting their hands on innocents, act as a shield, even at the cost of becoming the monster of their stories. Now, however, the purpose had taken a different form, more concrete and surprisingly everyday. Running an inn. Waking up in the morning knowing what to do, who to feed, what problems to solve. And, against all odds, he liked that life. He liked honest tiredness, the sound of dishes, the smell of food, useless complaints and sudden laughter. He liked to be needed in a way that didn't involve blood or sacrifice.
He was a fugitive, yes. A man who deserted a sect without thinking twice, because he knew that if he hesitated a third time he would be left standing there crying. The Jiang sect had been a home, a real home, even if fragile, even if built on precarious balances and silences never faced. Her initial goal had never been to become inseparable from Jiang Cheng, but to protect him, to stay by his side as long as needed. And he would never spit on that past. But he also knew that the choice he had made years earlier, to take a different path in cultivation, made a separation inevitable.
Sooner or later he would have had to leave anyway. Maybe he would have become a wandering farmer, maybe a radish salesman, maybe just a guy with a flute who people would call crazy to feel safer. He also knew that his cultivation would be used as an excuse. A convenient excuse to look down on Jiang Cheng, to say that he had lost control, that he couldn't keep his adoptive brother in check, that the Jiang sect was weak. And that was something Wei Wuxian could never stand. Now, however, he had another purpose. To protect again, yes, but in a different way. Protect without being a blade to the throat of those around him. To protect without becoming the reason to strike Jiang Cheng.
Leaning against the tree, under the Yiling moon, Wei Wuxian realized he was no longer just running away. He was staying. And that difference, subtle but enormous, was something he would never let go of.
He liked that tranquility, and he wouldn't go back. He couldn't, even before he didn't want to. There was no longer a straight path to resume, there was no sword to wield with a golden core that no longer existed, there was no honor to cleanse with well-packaged apologies and comfortable silences. And explaining why he didn't want to come back was pointless, because the truth was too complicated to be told without hurting someone.
Wei Wuxian had just found his balance, fragile but real, in that tavern nestled between the mountains, among people who did not lower their gaze when they saw him arriving. The locals were not afraid of him, nor of the few remaining Wen. They dined together on the mountain, sharing food, wine, and work. The children ran between the tables and fields, climbed everywhere, laughed without knowing who Yiling Laozu really was. Some helped with the harvest, others carried water, and the elders sat sewing with that rough-tempered woman who kept everyone in line without ever raising her voice. It was a simple, messy, imperfect life. And it was true.
Wei Wuxian smiled, leaning against the night. That was the taste of life he had sought without knowing it. Life smelled of fruity wine, of laughter that broke out for no reason, of soups that simmered too long. He had the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor and of voices calling him not out of fear, but out of habit.
Maybe that was also why he had stopped loving Lan Wangji, slowly, without a precise moment in which everything had broken. Lan Wangji could have confessed a thousand times, in a thousand different ways, and after all, he had. But behind every word, behind every meaningful silence, there was always the same hope: that Wei Wuxian would return to being his old self. The rebellious and brilliant boy, with the golden core firmly in his belly, with life shining in his eyes like an impossible fire to put out.
Wei Wuxian hadn't changed noticeably, not to a casual glance. He was still laughing, with that laugh that always seemed on the verge of getting out of hand, he joked as if the world were a light thing, he found the absurd even where others saw only ruin. On the surface, he was the same as always, like a house that on the outside retains the same windows and the same door, while inside the rooms have been emptied one by one.
But below, where the golden core once dwelt, there was a profound silence, like a field after the harvest, when the earth is bare and the wind passes without resistance. His eyes remained alive, yes, lit by an intelligence that had never died, but sometimes that light flickered, fragile like a flame exposed too long to the air, and one thought too many was enough to make it falter. He didn't want to go back, not even if it meant letting go of his love for Lan Wangji.
That love wasn't dead, but it had changed shape, like water that stops flowing and gets trapped in a basin: it no longer quenches thirst, but retains the heat of the sun. It had become a memory that warmed without burning, the bittersweet regret of having been, for a brief and unrepeatable time, in his arms, protected from the world as something precious. And maybe that was the point: Wei Wuxian hadn't stopped loving, he had just stopped belonging to a future he could no longer sustain.
Every now and then Wei Wuxian joked about it with Wen Qing, like you joke about a wound that still hurts but that you've learned to cover with a joke, as if it were an old story, worn by use, smoothed by time until it has lost its sharpest edges. Wen Qing, punctual as a call that always returns to the same point in the sky, told him that he could go back, that somewhere there was still a life ready to wait for him, intact, like a house that has remained closed for too long but with the windows still in their place.
And then he would smile, a seemingly light smile, he would pick up a jar of wine as one might grasp an anchor, he would take a sip and let the warmth sink into his stomach, occupying for an instant the empty space where once there had been something more solid, and he would always answer the same way, with that simple question that was actually a wall. "What life?”.
He didn't say it with anger or defiance, but with the calm of someone who has already seen that road to the end and knows every curve, every illusion. At that point Wen Qing sighed and gave up, because she understood that Wei Wuxian wasn't giving up anything out of fear or tiredness. He had simply chosen to stay where he was, in an imperfect and alive place, where the world did not ask him to be a hero, a monster or a symbol, but simply to exist as he was, with his hands stained with wine, laughter all over him and his heart patched up just enough to keep beating.
Wei Wuxian knew that Wen Qing wasn't telling him those things only because, technically, there was still time. In time to show up in front of the cultivation sects with the confused look of someone scratching the back of his neck and laughing evilly, to say that yes, perhaps he had lost his mind for a moment, that freeing innocent people from the clutches of the Jin had been a misjudgment, an oversight, a passing folly.
There was still time, on paper, to chase after Lan Wangji, to marry him as one would expect from a well-written story, to give Lan Qiren a heart attack and to see Lan Xichen applaud with that kind smile, already ready to welcome him as if he had always been destined to sit at that table, as if the Lan family had only been waiting for Wei Wuxian to stop going around. Because Lan Xichen, years ago, in an inn in Yunmeng, had truly believed it. He had looked at Wei Wuxian and seen that love branded on him like a seal, large and bright, more evident than any reason, stronger than any logic, a love for Lan Wangji so clear it seemed written on his forehead, impossible to ignore even while Wei Wuxian laughed, drank, and played the flute as if nothing could touch him.
Lan Xichen had hoped so. And Wei Wuxian had hoped with him, until the moment he saved the Wens and understood that that gesture was not an accident, but a line drawn decisively on the earth, a line that did not allow him to turn back without trampling someone. He was quite sure that Lan Xichen would have welcomed him anyway, that he would have wanted him safe, married to the respectable Lan Wangji, protected as one protects a precious thing by locking it in an elegant box.
But that security came at a price, and Wei Wuxian saw it all too well: it meant turning around and watching the people he had saved being judged, crushed, eliminated with words like “necessary” and “order.” It meant accepting that even the people of Yiling, the ones who often argued with the Jin, the ones who the month before had seen a horned beast appear, hungry and left there as a clumsy punishment, were just collateral damage.
Wei Wuxian still remembered that scene with almost comical clarity: a woman who, instead of running away, had taken off her shoe and started chasing a group of Jin disciples, furious as a sudden storm, so much so that they had retreated, more frightened of her than of the beast itself. It was then that Wei Wuxian understood that the world didn't work as they told it in the cult halls, and that going back didn't mean putting things right, but pretending he'd never seen them.
Only Wei Wuxian had stopped looking for signs of destiny as one searches for coins dropped on the street, with his head down and the stubborn hope that something would shine among the dust. He had stopped, yes, but not completely hoping: he had simply started doing so again for things that did not bear Lan Wangji's name. Because the last time he had seen him, in Yiling, Wei Wuxian had been all too clear, painfully clear, like a wound that burns precisely because it's clean.
Lan Wangji had arrived under the pretext of a night hunt, one of those excuses that only hold up as long as no one looks too closely, and had spent twenty minutes—maybe thirty, maybe an eternity—begging him to return to Gusu with him. He had promised battles against his uncle, impossible compromises, even Lan Xichen who would write his name in the Lan family register as his husband, black on white, eternal and irreversible.
Lan Wangji had told him there, in the middle of the street, under the curious gaze of the common people, with his voice trembling like a rope pulled too hard, his eyes shining like someone about to give in, like someone who loves without any defenses left. Wei Wuxian, at that moment, didn't feel his heart opening, but tightening like a hand around his throat. He smiled, as he always did, while inside he was seriously considering whether it would be more dignified to throw himself under the first passing cart or pretend not to hear anything.
Not because that love wasn't real, but because it was too real, too big to fit into the life he was building with crooked planks, fruity wine, and people who needed him not as a hero, but as a presence. Lan Wangji was offering him a house of jade and silence; Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, had learned to love the imperfect sound of things that endure. And in that contrast, so stark it hurt the eyes, he understood that continuing to hope for Lan Wangji meant asking them both to become something they couldn't be.
So Wei Wuxian, instead of telling him straight out—because telling him would have meant breaking things forever—asked him just one question, small and terrible as a crack in the ice: “You’d accept me… but not them, right?” And within that "them" was an entire world that was struggling to breathe. There were the Wens curled up like wounded animals, the nights broken by nightmares screaming from the chests of the youngest, the elderly sitting waiting for justice that never came, with their hands clasped as if in prayer even when they no longer believed.
Lan Wangji looked at him, and for Wei Wuxian that look was louder than a thousand words spoken aloud: he would accept the Wei Wuxian of before, the one with the solid golden core, the arrogant smile and the life straight ahead. Not the one now. Not Wen Yuan who clung to him like a branch in the middle of the current. Not Wen Qing with his hands always dirty with blood and medicine. Not Wen Ning, still suspended between breath and silence. Not Uncle Four with wine instead of blood. Not him, with a flute instead of a sword and a belly as broken as a ransacked house, although Lan Wangji did not know this.
So Wei Wuxian held Wen Yuan in his arms, the child absentmindedly chewing on the hem of his robe as if it were the safest thing in the world, and said simply, “Let’s stay friends.” A light, almost stupid sentence, which however fell to the ground like a porcelain vase.
He didn't even turn around when Lan Wangji called out his name, because he knew if he did, he would break completely. He cried that night, he cried as one cried when there was nothing left to save: in Wen Qing's arms, his sobs calling out names—Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli—all at once, in no particular order, as if his heart could no longer distinguish them. He cried until the sky cleared.
In the morning, life resumed with the practical cruelty of simple things: Wen Qing handed him the deed to an inn bought at an auction, shrugged as if it were just a detail, and went back to doing what she always did. Wei Wuxian, with swollen eyes and an empty chest, understood that this was his new destiny: not a triumphant return, not a sung redemption, but a tavern, wine that tasted of fruit and mistakes, and Uncle Four who was already drinking at dawn. And, strangely enough, for the first time in a long time, that seemed enough.
Wei Wuxian watched Wen Ning move through the tall grass, his hands brushing the tips as if he were touching distant memories, and he thought that he would not allow anyone to replace him in that small world.
Not while life had planted in his hands a small green stem, fragile and trembling, to be watered with his own calloused hands, even when his body rocked like a boat in a storm and the nights shortened like torn silk threads, while silent sobs settled in the hidden corners of his soul like golden dust that no one could sweep away. He had chosen that path as one chooses a stream that flows between rocks: winding, noisy, but right there flowed the life he wanted.
It did not matter if the great cultivators, like ancient trees with roots too deep to bend in the wind, did not want to walk alongside him; their gazes were only shadows on the path, unable to stop his steps. It didn't matter if they had smelled the secrets hidden behind the creaking wood of the tavern, if they had raised eyebrows like taut bows ready to shoot invisible arrows: the truth was a sun inside him, and no cloud could extinguish it.
Every excuse they would come up with, every “I heard that…” or every suspicious glance was just the wind in the branches: it shook the leaves but could not break the roots that had clung to the earth. His world was a garden hidden among the mountains, made of tall grass, soft laughter, and the aromas of soup and wine, and no one, no matter how powerful or respected, could enter without his permission.
He didn't really care that ChiFeng-Zun and ZeWu-Jun were there, fixed like bronze statues illuminated by a sun that didn't warm them, ready to drag him back down a path that no longer felt like his. No one could force him to walk down paths that had lost the voice of his heart, and he knew it as clearly as when he had given his golden core to Jiang Cheng without words, without explanation, letting fate take care of the rest.
He had understood it the moment his fingers had gripped the flute, while his resentful energy had surged beneath his skin like a raging river ready to burst its banks, and he had felt it even more clearly when the war had swept away the world he knew, turning him into a dangerous shadow even for those who should have called him brother. Every night, the ghosts of battle clutched him to their chest with invisible hands, and every morning he smiled, like a jester hiding his scars under a veil of wine, only to extinguish the memory of the fallen bodies, the screams, and the burning iron.
He knew it when he deserted the Jiang sect, when he took on the burden of the Wen, hiding them in the mountains like precious seeds to be protected, while the world told stories about him, building legends that reeked of fear and malice. But he didn't care about those stories: there were no right smiles, no right words, no right loves, no right reasons that could bend him. No one, not even Lan Xichen kneeling before him with tear-filled eyes, not even Nie Mingjue screaming with the force of storm winds, could force him to follow a path he had not chosen.
Wei Wuxian would take his time, let the others waste their energy and breath trying to break him, and in the meantime he would enjoy watching the game, like a cat in the shadows, ready to pounce on the fingers that tried to grab him. But turning back? Never. He would never look back, he would never bend his neck to once again travel roads that led nowhere. His life was an inconstant flame, at times violent, at times flickering, and only there, among the mountains, among the land that smelled of rice and wine, among the children and old people who did not judge him, that flame finally found a place to burn without chains.
And as the moon continued to shine, casting a silvery veil over the hills of Yiling, and the stars seemed to dance like little lanterns suspended in the sky, Wei Wuxian realized that nothing in the world could be more precious than what he had built with his own hands and his stubbornness. Every choice, every renunciation, every farewell had carved out a small refuge around him, and into that refuge the wind carried the smell of cooked rice, freshly poured wine, and damp earth after the rain. He had given up Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli, everything that had once given him a sense of home, and yet, paradoxically, it was there that he felt the true warmth, not in Lan Wangji's letters, not in the glances that had once bound them, but in the murmur of children running between the rows of radishes, in the song of the cicadas, and the rattling of the tavern door.
He had always given up something for the sake of something else, as if his life were a mosaic of sacrifices, small and shiny pieces, but painful to fit together. And he could have done the same thing a thousand times over, if fate had called him back. But that night, as the moon caressed the thatched roofs and the windows flickered with light, Wei Wuxian only hoped that Lan Wangji was not waiting, not as the river waits for the sea, not as those who love spring wait after a mild winter, because he had no intention of being carried away by already traced currents.
He had loved him long enough to know that, even if circumstances had been different, maybe they would have married, maybe they would have built a world together. But that wasn't his present. Now he wished him to find peace, to walk in the sun and the shadows without looking for Wei Wuxian as if he were the invisible thread that held her world together. Because life, however capricious at times, was an imperfect dance, and even if Lan Wangji and he had been two discordant notes in the same symphony, they had remained beautiful and alive in the memory of time.
And if fate had decided that they were out of tune, so be it. Perhaps, one spring day, each would find their other half, the missing piece, and that encounter would have the sweet taste of a laugh that lasts until sunset. Wei Wuxian hadn't stopped believing in love, he hadn't thrown in the towel, and he continued to believe in it with the same conviction with which one reads a horoscope that promises distant but possible magic.
But the night was young, and he had other things to think about, more pressing and fun: how to give Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue a hard time, how to laugh at them as they tried to bring him back, how to continue to be free and light among the mountains and the flickering lights of Yiling, without asking anyone's permission.
And in that air filled with the scent of earth and wine, Wei Wuxian truly felt at home, because he had finally found a place that accepted him whole, with all his mistakes, his memories, and his laughter.
Notes:
Well… I don't even know how to explain certain things, why explain real things? I can't just say “oh, choice to move the plot along more easily”, because even my grandmother would look at me funny and not believe it LMAO.
Here I am not saying that the Wei Wuxian x Lan Wangji couple literally fell from the sky, blessed by the gods. I love it, and I always cried when they broke up: Wei Wuxian never wanting to be sane, messes everywhere, and then… well, Lan Wangji waiting for him for 13 years… I cried for hours. HOURS.
BUT… THERE'S A BUT.
During this period when Wei Wuxian was not the same as always—and it was noticeable, indeed, and everyone noticed it—I looked at Jiang Cheng and especially Lan Wangji and noticed something strange. They looked at each other, yes, but not as “friends” or “brothers,” but as if they were looking for something… or rather, someone.
TRUST ME. When I realized that, I stood up and said, “NAH, I’M GONE… BYE”
Because both Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji — and let's also throw Jiang Yanli in the middle — were looking at him and looking for something. And that something was old Wei Wuxian, the one with the quick wit, the explosive laugh, the chaos in his heart… please, PLEASE, every time I see that look, that damn look, for the love of God, stop.
They were looking for him a little because Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli were looking for the person they had grown up with, the one they knew thoroughly. And Lan Wangji was looking for the boy who changed his worldview... and I'm not crying at all :D
Not because he wanted to respect him (among other things), but because Wei Wuxian didn't let anyone help him. Why? Because he's a dickhead who makes up worse stories than me, and above all because no one really knew how to help that damned man.
Here I may have written that the love for Lan Wangji had disappeared… and partly yes and partly no, in my opinion. On the one hand, Wei Wuxian knew his choices and felt like he wasn't enough. On the other hand, for the same reasoning with Jiang Cheng, he did not want to be used as an excuse to drag Lan Wangji into the mud. Even though Lan Wangji wanted to save him (and yes, it's a family trait, it's in their genetics), Wei Wuxian isn't used to getting help… THE MORON.
But here I chose to let go of the love for Lan Wangji, partly for the plot, partly because it's a half-truth that Wei Wuxian told himself. However, when we all know that this man at that time was very attached to the love he felt for Lan Wangji… don't tell me otherwise.
I'M SORRY BUT I DON'T BELIEVE THIS FAKE NEWS.