Chapter Text
Lan Wangji sits upright, shoulders straight, posture impeccable. This is the first week he has been able to do so, without crimson blossoming on his robes if he were to make the slightest wrong turn.
It has been nearly a year since Hanguang-jun, renowned warrior of the Sunshot Campaign, has been able to so much as dress himself without the aid of his brother or a manservant. Little dignities and independences that Lan Wangji will never take for granted again.
Sitting improperly is prohibited.
A rule he has practiced from the moment he could sit, and one he hasn't been able to observe for nearly a year. Not since that day. That day, when he took punishment with the Discipline Whip for the crime of raising a sword against thirty-three of his own Sect Elders. That day, when he took punishment for the crime of defending the ransacked settlement of a dead man, for the crime of protecting an orphan child who is all that's left of a legacy...
Perhaps his adherence, or lack thereof, to such a small rule as sitting properly doesn't even matter, in the face of all that.
In fact, what even matters? The foundations of his world, his certainty, his very sense of self - they were swallowed up by the burning mountains of Nightless City, were bled dry in the ugly riots at the Burial Mounds, and were ripped open in the cold halls of Cloud Recesses.
And all he's left with now are the ashes of everything he held dear.
But it is not in Lan Wangji's nature to throw up his hands to the heavens and lay down in the dust. Perhaps he can rebuild those foundations again, brick by painful brick, much as they rebuilt the Cloud Recesses. Perhaps in doing so he can root out the decrepitude underneath, learn to choose what feels right, just as much as what is taught to be.
"I, Wei Wuxian, wish to always stand with justice, and live with no regrets."
Lan Wangji closes his eyes, takes a deep steadying breath.
And if he cannot, perhaps he can die trying.
He squares his shoulders and sits perfectly, because it feels right. Not because of rules, but because it feels like being himself, like one more piece of himself regained after a long weary fight. It feels like the frayed edges of himself knitting back together, much like flayed-open raw skin of his back, slowly mending. And every instance of that feeling is precious, because it is one more brick in the scorched earth within him.
He finishes brewing a fresh pot of jasmine tea, sets out the cups neatly, and waits for his uncle to arrive, unbowed in the face of it all.
His uncle sent a messenger just before haishi yesterday, asking to take his late morning tea at the jingshi. To have skirted the very edges of the Lan curfew to set up this meeting hastily, it must be important.
Lan Wangji doesn't have to wait long.
His uncle arrives exactly on time, punctual as always, as he has learned to be from generations of Lans, and has taught generations of Lans to become also.
"Uncle," Lan Wangji acknowledges, rising to bow respectfully to his elder. There is only a slight twinge of discomfort in his back, as the mostly-healed scar tissues tug at the new movements. The healers told him he will regain full mobility in time, with practice and proper care, thankfully. He can still be useful to the world, even if he feels no joy to be living in it.
"Wangji," his uncle says, taking a seat.
Lan Wangji pours his uncle a cup of the now-perfect temperature tea, then a cup for himself, and waits to hear what he has to say.
"It is to do with your punishment," his uncle gets right to the point, reaching for the cup, not quite meeting Lan Wangji's eyes.
Lan Wangji stiffens at his words, and slowly places his cup back on the table without taking a sip. He cannot rely on a steady hand or an even temper, not if this is the topic of today's morning meeting.
"You still have two years left of your sentence," his uncle continues, and Lan Wangji takes a slow breath, clenching and unclenching a hand under the table where his uncle will not see it. If he closes his eyes, he can still hear the whistling of the whip through the wind before it struck his burning flesh, can hear the agonized-furious-determined voice of his uncle as he counted each stroke that split open his nephew's back, blood flying in crimson droplets to mar the clean paved floors in front of the lanshi.
After, disciples had rushed in with pails of water and cleaning salts even as Lan Wangji was being dragged away to be tended to by the healers. Even nearly insensate, he'd noticed that, and the image has stuck with him since, a fester that he cannot lance.
"Yes," Lan Wangji says after a few beats of charged silence, finally lifting his cup of cooling tea for a measured sip. The warm brew soothes some of the tumult in his gut. "I shall retreat to the Cold Spring Cave for secluded meditation once the doctors declare I am healed enough for it, as agreed. I meet with them this afternoon for the final checkup."
"Yes," Lan Qiren nods, eyes closed, as though collecting his thoughts. Or bracing himself. "That is what I wished to speak with you about. The Elders and I have been discussing this matter... and they - we - have come to an alternate agreement. One that will end your punishment today, if you were to agree."
Lan Wangji is taken aback for a second, before simmering fury coils inside him. He takes another steadying sip of tea, then says finally in a clipped voice, "Do not give preferential treatment based on personal feelings or positions of power."
"Punishment should not cause disproportionate suffering. Administer the right punishment to guide one back to the righteous path," Lan Qiren claps back.
And what we allowed to happen to Wei Ying at Nightless City wasn't disproportionate suffering? Lan Wangji wants to rage back, but he merely grits his teeth, looking down so he won't be glowering at his sect elder, teacher,... uncle.
"What is the alternate arrangement?" he asks instead, a little brusque, but it is the best he can do. To make up for it, he reaches forward and refills his uncle's mostly-emptied cup with fresh, steaming tea.
Lan Qiren sighs, lifts his cup again. "It is a matter that will concern the child as well."
Lan Wangji freezes, head jerking up.
"A-Yuan."
Lan Wangji was too riddled with pain, physical and emotional, to even see the child in the early days after bringing him to the Cloud Recesses. And he has been too bed-bound since then while his back healed to keep the little boy company beyond just a few hours every evening.
But still, he's tried. With the aid of Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji has tried to ensure A-Yuan - Lan Yuan now, as his legal ward - does not feel abandoned. That the boy knows he can come to Lan Wangji whenever he wants, for any need, to seek care or comfort or support. It has been vital to Lan Wangji that he forged that bond with the little boy, who has lost so much and has been so brave, yet inevitably suffers from night terrors born of a fear of abandonment after everything he's been through.
And yet -
"The elders have denied your request to give the child the Lan Sect ribbon this year," his uncle says and Lan Wangji closes his eyes, though he knew it was coming.
"Lan children generally receive the Sect ribbon at age 5. A-Yuan is of age."
"Yes, but it is only after they complete preliminary training in Lan Sect disciplines for at least two years and have begun the process of forming a golden core," Lan Qiren points out. "The child is completely lacking in formal education and has only been well enough to study with the other children for the past six months."
Lan Wangji opens his mouth to protest, but his uncle overrides him.
"He is smart," his uncle admits, stroking his beard. "And thoughtful and hardworking and kind. The boy shows promise, Wangji, and would make a fine disciple of Gusu Lan one day. It is why I accepted when you insisted on taking him on as a ward, why I agreed to intervene on your behalf with the elders to grant him the Sect ribbon of the direct Lan Sect line, even though you have provided no information of his ancestry..."
His uncle peers at him, waiting, but Lan Wangji remains mute.
He knows the narrative his uncle has decided upon based on the events of the past year: that A-Yuan is some bastard son of Wei Wuxian's that Lan Wangji was unable to let go of, despite being scorned by the alpha again and again, despite the clear evidence of his disfavor in Wei Wuxian's regard, if he happily went and had a child with some other omega. He knows his uncle believes that Lan Wangji has also followed in his father's footsteps and fallen for someone who would never love him back, who would only bring disgrace upon him, and is now left to pay the price for his mistakes.
Lan Wangji does not bother to correct his uncle on any of these assumptions, because nothing he says will change anything for the better anyway. His brother knows A-Yuan's true parentage and roots. If anything were to happen to Lan Wangji, Xichen will ensure the child is eventually made aware of his true legacy.
It is enough.
"Either way," Lan Qiren continues after a few moments of silence, dissatisfied with the lack of response. "It is for the best for Lan Yuan's future - and yours - that he is inducted into the Sect in the proper way, without any undue haste or omissions. So he will not be given a forehead ribbon this year."
After a beat, Lan Wangji nods his acquiescence, defeated.
"And as you have no doubt come to the realization, that being the case, Lan Yuan will be unable to visit you while you are in seclusion at the Cold Pond Cave. Without one's own Sect Ribbon, one may not enter," his uncle pauses to take another sip of his tea. When he continues speaking, he sounds displeased. "Both Xichen and I agree that such a prolonged and enforced separation from you while you complete your punishment would be - detrimental, to the child's welfare. And we both agree that such a harm to an innocent child is... unconscionable."
"So what is this alternate proposal that you and the Elders have devised to avoid such a... detriment?" Lan Wangji asks, not looking up. He cannot decide if it is well-intentioned kindness or calculated cruelty, for his uncle to dangle A-Yuan's happiness before him like this. He wonders if it'll make a difference either way, because he is already ready to do whatever it takes.
He owes Wei Ying that much, owes it to an entire settlement of people who only wished to live peacefully and lost their lives to political greed and power-mongering.
He wonders how much of that his uncle has surmised, too.
"The elders agree that we can suspend the need for secluded meditation if -," his uncle pauses, carefully chooses his words. "It is more than time, Wangji, that you began participating in the annual core-matching ceremony, as a highborn omega of exceptional cultivation."
And there it is.
Lan Wangji curls his fist till his nails dig into his palms, leaving crescent moon welts of pain. He stares at his lap, unwilling to look up and face his uncle, to face the words he just said.
"You will not have to marry an incompatible alpha, of course, unless you absolutely wish to," his uncle continues, and Lan Wangji struggles to keep his breaths even. "You will not even have to marry just any compatible alpha, Wangji. Only if the core compatibility is very high, or with someone of high station among the Four Great Sects - only then will the elders intervene in this matter and try to enforce the outcome of the matching ceremony."
Pretty words for a glorified arranged marriage. Pretty words to mask they are essentially trying to foist him off on someone else, so he will no longer be the Lan Sect's sole problem.
It hurts, even now, to be faced with the knowledge that he is no longer viewed as the shining example of the Lan Sect values, but more a blemish to be covered up.
"You well know we have taken heavy losses after the war," his uncle is now saying. "An alliance with another of the big sects would greatly improve our position. And your agreement to this would allay concerns over your actions this past year, of course. The elders all agree this would be a far more effective demonstration of your return to the righteous path than spending years languishing in seclusion."
Lan Qiren finally lapses into silence, waiting for a reply.
"I never left the righteous path," is all Lan Wangji manages in reply, low and firm and furious.
"An affirmation of your commitment to it, then," his uncle retorts immediately, unyielding still, but willing to bend, just slightly, out of love for the nephew he views as damaged.
Lan Wangji closes his eyes, to block out his uncle's righteous and pitying face... and he thinks about it.
He thinks about A-Yuan's sweet face as he excitedly asked to learn to play the guqin from him, now that Lan Wangji can finally sit up. Thinks about the way his small, feverish fingers clutched at Lan Wangji's robes in the beginning, begging for the 'Rich-gege' to not abandon him too, in this strange new place full of strange new people who are not his Xian-gege or Qing-jie or Ning-gege. He thinks about the past few years, when he refused to participate in the ceremony - at first because he feared Wei Ying might be there, and later because he knew Wei Ying wouldn't be there. He thinks of the way something within him heated and flared the slightest bit at every one of Wei Wuxian's thoughtless touches.
He knows who his perfect core-match was.
They were never matched in the official annual ceremony, of course, in part due to Lan Wangji's avoidant choices that made him decline the invitations, in part due to Wei Wuxian's defiant actions that made his unwelcome to attend.
But Lan Wangji knows, as certainly as he knows the notes to the melody of the love song he wrote, that Wei Ying was meant for him, meant to be the other half of him.
He had known it even on that very first night, when he crossed blades with an intriguing boy full of wildness and mischief on a moonlight rooftop, and the feelings that curled in his gut made him panic...
And then he waited too long to do anything about it, and watched as his perfect match slipped from his grasping blood-soaked fingers to be swallowed up by smoke and fire.
There will be no perfect core-match for Lan Wangji out there, if he were to attend the ceremonies. He believes it, knows the truth of it in his heart.
And so, it would be duplicitous, in a way, to accept this proposal put forth by his uncle and the other elders. There is no hope for the terms of it to be met. There is no hope for Lan Wangji to meet anyone he might be matched with at these ceremonies, not with the high level of compatibility that behooves a good match for a direct line of one of the Great Sects.
But -
Lan Wangji opens his eyes, meeting his uncle's gaze properly for the first time since the beginning of this meeting.
His uncle should be just as aware of this as he himself is. Lan Qiren knows him, knows what Wei Ying meant to him. He is aware of how sure Lan Wangji was of who Wei Ying could've been to him, in another life.
And Lans only ever form core-bonds once.
So if Lan Qiren still negotiated this alternate agreement with the elders, and brought it to Lan Wangji... he is on some level endorsing this duplicity.
Do not say one thing and mean another. Do not tell lies.
But is it really deception if no one else believes in one's belief? If there is no proof for it, no real evidence? If all that supports something is the faith of one's heart, and the way one's blood sang for a boy every time he smiled? And really, is it even the worst of Lan Wangji's infarctions, to take an agreement such as this at face value without giving full disclosure, if it will ensure a lost orphaned child will not suffer even more?
It isn't even really a question, at this point.
Lan Wangji clenches his fist tighter, nails biting painfully hard into the tender skin of his palms. Then, slowly, consciously, he loosens his fingers. It wouldn't do to have crimson bloom on his robes in other ways, even just as his back has healed.
"Fine," Lan Wangji says, meeting his uncle's eyes with an unflinching gaze. "I will consent to attend the core-matching ceremonies every year for as long as I'm bid, if it is agreed that I will only be asked to go through with a bond in the case of very high compatibility, and a beneficial alliance for Gusu Lan with one of the other Great Sects. Otherwise, I will retain the right to reject a match."
"That is acceptable, Wangji," his uncle says, eyes unreadable. And with that, the new agreement is sealed, and a young boy's happiness is secured.
A-Yuan's life, however, will not be the only one indelibly altered by his choice that day.
*
The core-matching ceremony this year is to be held at Jinlintai.
It will be the first since the extermination of the last of the Wens, since the death of Wei Wuxian. Since the deaths of Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli, the future of the Jin Sect. And so of course, the Jins volunteered to organize it. It would be an excellent opportunity, after all, to accrue more prestige for their Sect, and to establish that they are in no way weakened by the events of last year.
It makes Lan Wangji's skin crawl to even think about going back to those wretched halls, full of the wretched people who only seek selfish power and glory.
But he made a promise, a bargain.
"When will Hanguang-jun be back?" A-Yuan asks innocently from where he is practicing some basic notes on the child-sized guqin given to beginners for learning, building up the calluses that will one day make him a musical prodigy befitting a Lan. For the past few weeks, since A-Yuan started regularly receiving instruction directly from the Sect Elders, he has shifted to calling Lan Wangji by his formal title, rather than the endearing nickname of 'Rich-gege'. Lan Wangji doesn't ask for more informality or familiarity from the child, even in moments such as now when they are alone in the jingshi, though he wishes for it. It is in Lan Yuan's best interests in the long run, to be raised as a proper chosen ward of the Second Young Master of Gusu, rather than an almost-son of questionable origin adopted by the disgraced Lan Wangji out of personal sentiment and love.
"Can't I go with you?" A-Yuan continues, voice wavering on that question, beseeching.
"I'm afraid not, A-Yuan," Lan Wangji says, packing away the clothes and other belongings he will take to Jinlintai in a simple but elegant wooden trunk.
Usually, he would just neatly place a few necessary items in a qiankun pouch and fly there in a matter of hours. For this trip, however, he, his brother, his uncle, and a small retinue of disciples will all travel to Carp Tower by road for three days, so as to arrive well-rested with adequate pomp and glamor to the ceremony, and also bearing appropriately-rich gifts to honor the hosts.
The Jins have always liked to put on a lavish show.
"It is not safe for you to go there," he continues, closing the trunk and turning to the little boy properly. Lan Wangji can see the doubt, the fear of being left behind, lurking in A-Yuan's eyes. He walks over and puts a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, crouching down before him, voice gentle and reassuring. "You will have Jingyi and his mother to care for you while we are away. You will not be alone. And it is only two weeks. We will return. I will return."
"Okay," A-Yuan says, subdued and still so scared, and Lan Wangji's aching heart reminds him why he agreed to all of this in the first place.
*
They leave early the next morning, trunks carried by trailing pack animals, a dozen or so disciples arrayed in pristine lines, majestically flanking the three direct descendants of the Lan family.
The journey is smooth and they make good time, arriving the evening before the ceremony at the outskirts of Lanling City. They will spend the night at an inn, to refresh themselves and wash the dirt of the road off their skin. And tomorrow, they will formally enter Jinlintai garbed in their finest robes, bearing gifts for Sect Leader Jin and requesting formal approval for Lan Wangji's participation in the core-matching ceremony.
It is all just unnecessary dramatics, of course. Everyone present there already knows Lan Wangji will finally be among the pool of omegas seeking a match. Lan Xichen has even received letters from a few of the more powerful minor sects already, enquiring about a potential mutually-beneficial arrangement they could directly make, circumventing the official ceremony altogether.
Lan Wangji is simply thankful it is not his responsibility to deal with such correspondence and happily leaves it to his brother to refuse these opportunists.
He soaks in his bath at the inn that night, the tight skin of the scars on his back soothed by the warm water. The steam rising from the bath smells of sandalwood oil and the floral notes of his soap. It is a familiar, comforting aroma.
And there, relaxed, in this brief moment of private contentment, he allows himself to think about Wei Ying.
He allows himself to fantasize about another life, where Wei Ying will be among the alphas seeking to be matched tomorrow. He imagines a brilliant silvery-gold rope of energy forming between them, strong and pulsing with the combined formidable power of their individual golden cores, announcing to the world that they are each other's. He imagines the light of that realization reflected in Wei Ying's eyes, the way his mouth might have bloomed into a smile even more dazzling and powerful than the strength of the cores binding them.
He lingers on that fantasy for just a few moments, allowing himself those ephemeral moments of openness, of vulnerability. And then, he neatly folds those thoughts away to the deep recesses of his heart, and rises from the bath, naked yet armored, invulnerable to what is to come.
The fates will have no role to play in his life tomorrow.
He just has to be present for the requisite ceremonies and then he can return to piecing back his life in Gusu. At least he has that cold comfort to ease him to a dreamless sleep.
*
Later, the world tilting on its axis, unmoored by the vibrant coil of power connecting him to Jiang Wanyin, seeing the light of the undeniably-powerful core-match reflected in eyes as horrified as his own, right there in the ceremonial halls of Jinlintai for all the world to see - later, he will regret tempting circumstance with such thoughts that night.
For when have the fates resisted the chance to play one more game?
*
He doesn't talk with Jiang Wanyin at Jinlintai.
They are both aware, as clearly as though they have spoken it to each other, that every word shared between them in private would be eagerly carried to Jin Guangshan by his spies, and every word shared in public would form the bedrock of gossip shared at inns in the rest of the cultivation world for weeks to come.
A core-match as powerful as the one that connected them, between the rising young Sect Leader of Yunmeng Jiang and the illustrious Second Jade of Gusu Lan? It is a matter every keen-eyed cultivator finds of personal interest to them, and they make no secret of their demands to have their interest in the matter slaked with information.
Lan Xichen moderates on Lan Wangji's behalf at the feast, calmly stating that Gusu Lan will formally visit Yunmeng Jiang to talk over the terms of the potential marital alliance, then politely but skillfully deflecting all other probing inquiries for the rest of the night. Lan Wangji just sits there, silent as stone, unmoving jade facade masking a violent storm within.
He finds himself desperately glad once more in his life for the steady reliability of his brother beside him. And that gratefulness is all he allows himself to feel for the duration of their visit to Carp Tower, forcefully numbs himself to the rest of it.
Because, if he probes any further into his roiling emotions, Lan Wangji thinks he may shatter.
*
They schedule their first visit with Yunmeng Jiang for three weeks after the end of the core-matching festivities, to allow both sides time to consult with any elders or councilors and prepare.
Lan Wangji sits before his Sect Elders three days after his return from Jinlintai, blank-faced as the entire congregation talks approvingly of the excellent prospects brought forth by such a fortuitous alliance with Yunmeng Jiang. The elders are arguing over some business agreement they wish to add into the marriage negotiations between the Sects. Lan Wangji wishes, not for the first time, that he'd followed Wei Ying off the cliff into the fiercy depths of Qishan Wen's volcanic mountains.
There is not even the question that Lan Wangji will go through with this match - not when the core-compatibility was seen to be so strong at the ceremony, not when the match is to a Sect Leader of one of the Four Great Sects.
Lan Wangji doesn't protest. He gave his word after all, and it is all exactly according to the agreement. He will pay the price for his foolish certainty in his own instincts, quietly.
The Lan Sect may now think of him as a miscreant, his uncle consider him a wayward son, but in his own soul, he has never wavered from leading a principled life for himself. It was the foundations of his principles themselves that changed, not his dutiful and dignified adherence to them. But no one else would understand that, perhaps not even his brother, sitting forlorn with sympathy beside him now.
From the way Lan Qiren occasionally peeks doubtfully at Lan Wangji before speaking, he gets the feeling his uncle expects some sort of scene, some sign of dissent.
But he gave his word. So Lan Wangji remains silent as a grave, as his future is neatly discussed and signed away around him.
That afternoon, after some of the preliminary discussions have been finalized, he takes tea with Lan Xichen in the Jingshi.
"Wangji," Lan Xichen says after interminable moments of uncertain silence stretch and tear between them.
"Mn."
"I know - this match isn't pleasing to you. That you - firmly believed it wasn't even possible, and that is why you agreed to the elders' proposal...," Lan Xichen trails off, apology in his voice.
Lan Wangji swallows around the bile rising in his throat, and takes a measured sip of his tea.
"But Wangji, just - do you think you might have been... mistaken?" his brother asks hesitantly. "Before, I mean... about - about Young Master Wei?"
Lan Wangji places his cup back on the table.
"No," he says simply.
Lan Xichen takes a deep breath. "It's just, you were so young when you met him, Wangji. And right from the start, even since that very first night you have been convinced - you may have just -"
"I was not mistaken about Wei Ying," Lan Wangji says, wanting to be firm, but it just comes out a little lost and splintered. He stares at the worn grain of the wood table between them, eyes aching, throat aching, heart aching.
He startles when he feels his brother's hand close around his own, squeezing gently. He looks up.
"Core-matches aren't some immutable thing, Wangji," Lan Xichen says, sympathy an ocean in his eyes. "They change and grow, evolve, just as people do. Perhaps... at that age when you both met, Wei Wuxian was indeed the right match for you, but - after everything that has occurred, after the ways Wei Wuxian himself changed... it is possible Jiang Wanyin has grown into being that for you instead. Perhaps you and Jiang Wanyin have grown into being well-matched for each other."
The words, well-intentioned and meant to be comforting, hit like a blow to Lan Wangji's chest. He rips his hand out of his brother's hold, raising it, shaking, to press against his chest. He is reeling under the force of those words, hunching around the air catching in his lungs.
"Wangji?" Lan Xichen says in alarm, half-raising, decorum forgotten as he scoots hastily to Lan Wangji's side, hovering.
"He killed him, xiongzhang," Lan Wangji gasps out finally between struggling breaths, fist placed over his heart, feeling its erratic drumbeat. His voice is as broken as his heart. "Wei Ying threw my hand away, let go, because Jiang Wanyin appeared with a sword and would've chopped off my arm if it meant Wei Ying's demise. He as surely killed Wei Ying as if he pushed him off that cliff himself."
He can taste the blood and ash on his tongue, feel the heat of the inferno beneath them sending sweat beading on his skin. And he can see the way Wei Ying had looked up at him, hopeless, helpless, yet listening. Looking at Lan Wangji like he was the last thing keeping him tethered to this world. Perhaps, if they'd been left alone for just a few more moments, Lan Wangji would've been able to pull him back from the edge, persuade him to not give up, to live.
But Jiang Wanyin had arrived, a cruel vengeful specter, and aimed a sword full of hatred at their interlocked hands.
And Wei Ying had been lost.
"He killed him and I am now his ideal match, and what does that say about me?" he finishes, hoarse.
When the tears fall, he doesn't even try to quell them.
"Oh, Wangji," his brother says, pained by his pain, and gathers him in his arms as though he were still an obstinate child of six, unable to accept the loss of their mother. Just like then, Lan Wangji slumps into his brother's safe and steady embrace.
And he breaks.