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If this was a fairy tale, the kind that followed the expected steps and kept everyone satisfied and happy, the moment Wei Wuxian finally realized how much Lan Wangji loved him, the moment that Lan Wangji discovered how much his love was returned, nothing would be able to upset their happiness. And on a certain level, that was true.
But on the whole, it is just a bit more difficult than that. Certainly, Wei Wuxian is now a common, if not universally welcome figure in the Cloud Recesses. No one is surprised to find Wei Wuxian in the Jingshi, playing music with Lan Zhan late into the night and lazing like a great sleepy cat in the mornings. The juniors are no longer wary when Wei Wuxian appears in the library, in the bunny field, or wandering watchfully along the edge of the training yards, the novelty completely worn off as the weeks and months roll by. Even Lan Qiren has reached a certain acceptance of the situation. The two of them are not outwardly friendly, but they also never disparaged each other, in public or private. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure what to do with this cease-fire, but appreciates it none-the-less.
As winter creeps over the mountain, Lan Wangji slants increasingly longing looks in Wei Wuxian’s direction, evidently certain that Wei Wuxian will simply disappear one day, spreading his wings to find warmer, friendlier climes. It takes effort to convince Lan Zhan that he means to stay for as long as he can. On a positively frigid morning, when the very air seems to crystalize and shimmer on the edge of fracturing in the cold, when Lan Zhan finally realizes that Wei Wuxian has missed the window to leave the mountain to escape south from the oncoming cold. He immediately bundles a protesting Wei Wuxian to Caiyi town for warmer winter robes.
Wei Wuxian groans, low and heartfelt and prolonged, when the blanket is tugged off his face. His wordless complaint is met with soft laughter. A part of him will forever delight in any reaction he can manage to garner from his beloved. If he’d known how delightful Lan Zhan’s laugh was in his first life, he’d have tried harder to earn it. He would have tried harder to do a lot of things. But while that part in his heart hums in deep satisfaction at the sound… it is still unbelievably early in the morning. Sensing that further demonstration of displeasure is needed, Wei Wuxian cracks open an eye to glare at Lan Zhan.
Lan Zhan, who is already fully dressed for the day. Who is holding up a gown that Wei Wuxian knows from personal experience is just the softest, warmest thing outside of being hugged by a giant bunny. Who probably has breakfast ready for him because that’s the sort of person he’s managed to end up loving, somehow.
Wei Wuxian pouts anyway, because despite all of that, a point must be made. It doesn’t matter that the first glints of morning sunshine are streaming in through the windows, setting everything in a golden glow.
“Good morning. You said you wanted to train with the juniors this morning?” Lan Zhan asks, already fully knowing the answer, but with a soft amused smile curling around the words. Wei Wuxian stares at this wonderful man, with his infinite love and patience, and just… melts. A little. A lot. Who cares?
“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan reaches out a hand, and if Wei Wuxian presses his head into that hand, seeking its warmth, who can blame him? He savors the feeling of Lan Zhan finger-combing his hair back off his face, and hums his assent. Yes, he really ought to get up and face the day. The little juniors will be disappointed if he doesn’t come, and he’s already found that even the idea of disappointing the juniors is distressing.
Since Lan Zhan is committed to his comfort and well-being, Wei Wuxian can focus on his next impossible endeavor – settling himself in this body he has inherited from Mo Xuanyu. The work needed is extensive – Mo Xuanyu had been starved and undertrained, his core a dim candle compared to the inferno it should have been. But it is there, which is the most important thing, and Wei Wuxian can work with that. He’s built up his own core once – he is confident he could do it again.
It certainly isn’t as easy as he hoped, or even as he remembered. This body is used to its way of existence, poor as it is, and is disinclined to change its ways. He truly is excited to start training again, and has been angling for it since he came back to Cloud Recesses. Of course, after weeks of promising to join his favorite juniors in training and setting up the date, he’d lasted an excruciating handful of minutes before the effort of it all drove him to his knees.
Lan Zhan, as protective as a mother duck with only one chick, had scooped him up and taken him, protests be damned, straight to the healers.
The healers tell him what he has already discovered first-hand – his core is too weak to handle sword training. He tries to protest, but… well. The healers are ready to put up a fight about it. It’s a fight Wei Wuxian is willing to have, right up until he sees the worry on Lan Zhan’s face. Turns out that while he feels worlds better than he has for years before he died, he still doesn’t actually qualify as ‘healthy’. Which on a certain level he knows, but it isn’t something he dwells on. Evidently, now is the time to dwell on that quite thoroughly and comprehensively, if he wants to get his abilities back in any meaningful way.
He surrenders, with what little grace he can dredge up while draped somewhat uselessly in his husband’s arms. The healers draw up a comprehensive plan of attack, and somewhat embarrassingly give that plan to anyone who asks for it. He puts up with a lot of what others call ‘care’ and he calls ‘coddling’, which everyone seems very interested in being a part of. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if this enthusiasm is because of Lan Zhan’s status in the clan, or because it’s just so amusing to order around the oh-so-fearsome Yiling Patriarch, but it’s impressively comprehensive. He’d chafe under so much attention, but it turns out the Lans are clever – the second he starts grumbling about all his new restrictions and exercises, someone throws one of his favorite juniors at him with a question, or summons Lan Zhan from the depths of his paperwork and meetings to remind him why he wants a powerful core in the first place. So he endures. There’s so much feeding. Feeding and meditation, strengthening exercises and slowly building cardio work, all of it orchestrated by the most nagging healer Wei Wuxian has ever met, second only to Wen Qing.
The healer actually looks quite pleased when he’d said as much to her. And then she complains about how skinny he still is, and sends him off to get fed. Again.
Still, he perseveres. As the weeks and months pass, he graduates from walks, to hikes, to runs. He is given more arduous exercises, and longer bouts of meditation. As much as he hates to admit it, the wait is good for him. While he’s still scrawny, he at least doesn’t look ill. He feels… strong, physically, even if his core is as strong as a child’s.
He’s never telling the healer any of this.
Finally, finally, he is cleared to re-attempt sword training. He could kiss his healers, but that’d probably break some rule or other. He kisses Lan Zhan instead, which is a much better option.
Time passes, in this way – Wei Wuxian takes to the field most mornings, starting with the most junior disciples and stubbornly working his way forward. He is not an official participant in the classes – he sticks to Jiang style. However, basics are still basics, and while the instructors do not know the intricacies of his style, they can still evaluate balance, intent, and fluidity, and keep him from over-extending himself. The children love this new addition to their lessons, as he provides aid as a sparring partner, encouraging and teasing his adorable little opponents as they learn.
Spring gives way to the bright days of summer, as Wei Wuxian stays and stays, and slowly builds his core. Lan Zhan slowly settles into his new duties as Chief Cultivator, and Wei Wuxian finds ways to help, his first disciple experience serving him well. He takes over Lan Zhan’s correspondence - while Lan Zhan’s calligraphy will always be better than his, Wei Wuxian has no problem being ruthless when it comes to utterly ridiculous requests not worthy of Lan Zhan’s time. He shows up to meetings, from time to time – for those meetings where an outside opinion might be welcome, or where someone might need reminding that Lan Zhan is not without backup.
Summer gives way to the crisp cool autumn, and Wei Wuxian does leave, for weeks. After months of letter-writing, he finally returns to Lotus Pier for a visit. It is just as awkward as he feared, and just as wonderful as he hoped. He and Jiang Cheng fight – both with snarling words and thrown fists. But it’s good, in its way – it takes being able to finally say all of the pent-up words without intermediaries before they can start working on building back up a relationship again.
It doesn’t hurt that on his first morning back in Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian takes to the training fields, his training sword in hand. While Jiang Cheng gives him grief for not carrying Suibian, he also cannot seem to stop grinning at odd moments throughout the day. Together during his stay they work on refining Wei Wuxian’s form, falling into old patterns of training and older patterns of being brothers. As he leaves, Wei Wuxian promises to return, next time wielding Suibian.
The weeks away also seem to drive Lan Zhan to a new realization as well. Wei Wuxian is greeted at the gates to Cloud Recesses by Lan Zhan, who surely has more important things to do than spend half a day waiting for a single traveler. By the time the first hints of winter arrive, the cultivation world is alight with news about the upcoming marriage of the Chief Cultivator to Wei Wuxian in the early spring. Sect Leader Yao tries to say something about it at a treaty conference, and the censure he receives at the hands of the Jiang Clan ends that line of discussion, permanently.
Wei Wuxian’s second winter in Cloud Recesses goes a bit better than the first – with a stronger core the cold does not torment him nearly as much. Now having spent over a year amongst the Lan, he feels comfortable enough to introduce the youngest disciples to the idea of snowballs, and snowball fights. Some of the older juniors get involved as well, Suzhui and Jingyi commanding opposite sides of a training field, Wei Wuxian serving as both referee and rescuer for any particularly beleaguered juniors. He comes back to the Jingshi covered in snow, bright-eyed and laughing, and Lan Zhan falls in love all over again.
It is a bright spring morning when Wei Wuxian takes to the training fields early. Lan Zhan had duties this morning, and the tiny juniors who usually populate the field this early are busy attending their newly-started lectures on musical theory – they’d all been delightfully excited, and he is glad to be out of earshot of what would be a painful cacophony of sound as they start their explorations of the musical world. The air is crisp in his lungs, but in the sunshine there is a promise of warmth later in the day. That’s good – even if his plan succeeds as much as he hopes it will, an afternoon nap will be in order, and napping in sun-dappled warmth sounds wonderful.
Today he doesn’t have the training sword he’s been wielding for months on end, slowly increasing the length and ferocity of his training regimes. Today it is Suibian in his hands. He can barely remember the last time he wielded her with any sort of ability. Sure, he held his own for a handful of minutes in Koi Tower, but that’d been a bluff with a horrible hand. If that fight had gone on for much longer, he would have not left standing. Most likely he would not have left at all, his tiny flickering flame of a core depleted and leaving him defenseless against the howling mob. He would have missed everything that followed, and he is thankful every day that did not occur.
His core, a steady burn in his lower dantian, is unbothered by handling Suibian sheathed. Despite the early morning chill, golden warmth sparks bright in his meridians, energy ready for use, the constant frost of being strung together with resentful energy and sheer stubbornness nothing but a distant memory.
It is time.
Suibian unsheaths smoothly, the metal bright in the morning light, the sharp ring of metal fading out across the training field. Wei Wuxian cannot contain his grin as he takes up the ready position, sheath in one hand, Suibian in the other, his core taking up the strain without even the hint of a wobble. He thought, when he was first freed from the curse that returned him to life, that that was the best he could expect to feel in this new life. To have a body that was whole and mostly hale, the damage of war and resentful energy only something to visit in nightmares. What else could he want?
But this. This feeling of being whole, of his entire self, body and soul, poised and vibrant? He had forgotten how good it feels, how gloriously alive he is in this moment.
He starts slowly, testing – lunge, recover, block, the steps taught to the youngest juniors as they start to learn their footwork. Yunmeng Jiang’s style is known for its fluidity, quicksilver steps allowing for rapid attacks and retreats as fast and stealthy as the tide. He knows without being told he’s beyond rusty, his movements still blocky despite months of training. Turns out being years out of habit will take their toll.
But.
Air fills his lungs, his heart pounds, his core burns brighter than ever, and he laughs, giddily joyful as he abandons the easy routine to dive back into the more complicated and showy blocks and spins. The training field isn’t small, but he endeavors to use it all anyway, flitting across the tamped-down earth in a shadow-fight with a battalion of imaginary enemies. Suibian flashes, catching the light as he spins, the bright red of her fuller echoed in the bright red of his ribbon, the two of them a matched pair.
He finally lands, settling back into guard, his breath now coming fast and rough, holding himself up with a fine tremble through taxed muscles.
And then he hears a gasp behind him. Wei Wuxian turns to see Lan Zhan there, his expression unbearably soft, incredibly proud. He knows Lan Zhan has been tracking his core’s growth closely. He hadn’t wanted to disappoint his husband if it turned out that he truly wasn’t ready yet, but…
“What do you think, Lan Zhan? Not too bad? I wasn’t first disciple for nothing, you know.” He asks, tilting his chin up in a gesture of confidence he feels he’s earned, despite how he’s now entirely sure he’s going to have to nap the entire afternoon away. He sheathes Suibian as Lan Zhan drifts closer, as his beloved husband cups his face in broad, beautiful hands and kisses him like he is something precious.
“Lan Zhan!” He gasps once his husband pulls away, managing to drag up a scandalized tone from somewhere – he feels this is quite an accomplishment, and should be recognized. “Is this how you reward your husband’s efforts?”
“My husband has been diligent with his studies.” Lan Zhan agrees firmly to Wei Ying’s delight and abject embarrassment.
“Lan Zhan! You can’t just say things like that, out of the blue! You have to warn me! Have a care for this poor fragile man!” Wei Wuxian scolds, the red in his face now present from more than just exertion.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan replies, calmly.
“That’s me!” Wei Wuxian chirps, grinning as he teases.
“I am warning you. For the foreseeable future.” Lan Zhan gives him a keenly assessing glance, and without further discussion dips suddenly and scoops Wei Wuxian completely off his feet. Wei Wuxian should protest, should demand a re-defining of what a ‘warning’ is, but he just cackles in delight as Lan Zhan turns towards the path that will take them back to the Jingshi. Questions are for later – how his husband happened to have a free period in his morning, who told him Wei Wuxian would be down in the training fields, discussion of how best to continue his training… but for now he lets himself be swept along. After all, if this is to be his reward for good effort, he intends on enjoying it. It’s one hell of an incentive.
“Ahh, Lan Er-Gege, will you miss your poor husband terribly?” Wei Wuxian teases, pausing in his packing to grin at Lan Zhan. Honestly, his husband is just too adorable, sitting straight-backed and proper, hands on the guqin strings, the tips of his ears burning pink. “Not as much as I’ll miss you, of course.”
“Incorrect.” Lan Zhan’s denial is swift and firm, as he does his best to maintain his composure. “I will miss Wei Ying more.”
“Ehn, you may be right – I’ll have a bunch of adorable juniors to play with, after all. How did our little A-Yuan grow so big anyway? Leading his very own night hunts now! I’m sure he will do very well, of course, I won’t have anything to do but think about coming home.” Wei Ying delights as Lan Zhan’s ears get just a little more red, imagining that homecoming.
“Will you be able to see us off tomorrow morning?” Wei Ying asks as he gets back to packing. Long-gone are the days where he could fit the entirety of his belongings in one half-full qiankun bag – now he actually has to pick and choose, not only packing to keep himself well-supplied, but to meet any deficiencies the juniors might have in their own packs, and to make sure he represents Lan Zhan well to the rest of the world. He finds he doesn’t mind, actually. The romanticism of the open road dulled quickly when experienced alone.
“No,” Lan Zhan sounds positively petulant about it, making Wei Ying grin despite his own disappointment. “There are too many petitioners tomorrow morning.”
“Ahh, my poor hard-working husband.” Wei Ying coos, abandoning his pack to come sit by Lan Zhan. “Since you’ll be so very busy in the next few days, let’s have a little fun now, okay? You’ll indulge this poor husband, won’t you?” Wei Ying cajoles, teasing at Lan Zhan’s collar with intent. He whoops gleefully when Lan Zhan suddenly turns. He is swiftly silenced in one of his favorite ways as Lan Zhan presses in for a ferocious kiss. Maybe this isn’t the best way to be fully rested before a night hunt, but Wei Ying definitely isn’t protesting. At least not in any way he actually wants Lan Zhan to respond to. He is awake far longer than he should be before a night hunt, but he would not trade one honeyed kiss or sweet caress for any number of hours of sleep.
The controlled chaos of tiny Lans studiously attempting to put together a camp for the first time is officially one of the cutest things Wei Wuxian has ever seen. Their serious little faces as they quietly debate where tents go, where the fire should be made, how the fire should be made, how the guarding talismans should be hung – Wei Wuxian could pinch their cheeks, if they weren’t so obviously trying to be taken seriously. So he’ll let them have their moment – he’ll just coo at them later, once everything has settled down and they can enjoy being praised.
Wei Wuxian has not been given a job to do – he’s fairly certain this is an intentional choice by Lan Sizhui. Sometimes his little radish is remarkably unsubtle. He knows the boy worries about him, thinking he’ll overextend himself in his drive to build his core back to something resembling its old strength. If Wei Wuxian is completely honest, given his history, Lan Sizhui isn’t entirely wrong to worry – he’s certainly driven himself to exhaustion over various projects in both of his lives, but he’s truly trying to do better.
But still, he’s left to sprawl on a low-lying tree branch, watching these adorable juniors bustle about their self-appointed tasks. He’s almost regretting leaving Chenqing behind – he has no flute to play to pass the time, and he certainly isn’t going to drink as the only fully-fledged cultivator here.
See Lan Qiren? He does know something about responsibility!
He makes a mental note to make sure Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi never realize that he considers them adorable little juniors as well. They are truly nearly fully grown cultivators, already at an age that… well, when he was their age, his world was already tilting headlong into war and loss. He remembers thinking he was so grown and independent at that point. Looking at his precious juniors now, he doesn’t quite understand how their respective sect leaders could stand sending them into danger.
Slowly the tents go up – a handful of four-person tents for the littlest juniors, a two-person tent for Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi to share, and a singular one for himself, as evidently befits one of his senior status. It still feels odd that he’s given that sort of consideration by the Lan, but he is grateful he can be part of their lives like this. Still.
“Suzhui! You give them too much work! I would be fine with a bedroll by the fire, you know this!” Wei Wuxian calls out, cheerfully, and then breaks out into delighted cackles when he’s met by an array of disapproving looks, ranging from circumspect (from the tiniest Lan on his very first night hunt) to borderline disrespectful (Lan Jingyi, looking at him like he’s grown a second, tragically brainless, head).
“This one will take your advice into consideration.” Sizhui replies smoothly, in a tone that implies the eyeroll he is too polite to give, and then nods to the tiny Lans to continue their work.
A subdued scuffle is starting by the stack of firewood, a clear disagreement on how to move forward. Wei Wuxian angles a glance over to the newly minted Senior disciples and… well. They’re busy wrangling the protective talismans into the proper array. Clearly something that they need to focus on, but then who will settle this pressing debate?
Wei Wuxian abandons his designated leisure and hops off his tree branch to settle arguments about the best way to make a campfire. Someone needs to teach these kids about non-cultivator ways of starting a fire, just in case it becomes necessary.
Besides, who doesn’t like creating a little fire?
Wei Wuxian is not nervous. He isn’t – this is hardly his first night hunt and he is confident in his abilities. He is confident in Sizhui and Jingyi’s abilities. He is not as confident in the abilities of the tiny Lans, but he is confident in their training, and their ability to listen.
Despite all of that, his hackles are well and truly raised as he trails Lan Suzhui along the forest path. There hasn’t been anything particularly alarming about the report they’d gotten from the town’s leader – unquiet dead in the woods, stories of waylaid travelers, a huntsman gone missing. It was about as they had expected.
And yet. And yet, he cannot seem to relax, repeatedly counting heads and steps and breaths as they venture further into the woods. There’s something wrong here – something about the expressions of those who’d come out to see them, something about the stillness of the forest, something about the quality of the darkness between the trees. There was resentful energy there, its thin whispers audible to him as it may not be to others, a trick he couldn’t unlearn.
One of the smallest Lans yelps when there’s a sudden sound off to the left. A low, guttural moan, tragic in its loneliness, fearsome in its breathless, unnatural tone. The sound is soon accompanied by a smell he’d become well acquainted with during his time in the Burial Mounds, a stench he’d be just as happy to never smell again. Someone gags, and there’s a flurry of whispers before Sizhui recaptures the attention of the little ones. Step by step, he leads them through the pattern of containment, of assessment, trying to figure out if they can liberate this poor soul or if they must move on to something more drastic. The smell is truly impressive. Wei Wuxian wonders if he’s somehow lost his stomach for this, to be so affected by just one…
Wait.
Suibian flashes as she is unsheathed, Wei Wuxian whirling to face the dark behind them, and a ghastly face appears. Two. More. This is not a single fierce corpse, this is not even a few – this is a hoard, and they have been surrounded.
“Gusu Lan! Circle and guard!” Lan Jingyi bellows above the rising noise surrounding them, the smallest of the Lan juniors falling in behind him in ragged clumps of huddled white. Wei Wuxian falls back with them, an extra shield just in case, but letting Jingyi and Sizhui continue to take the lead in this hunt. The moans of the restless dead fill the air – this is nearly a small army, something that brings back uncomfortable memories of the Sunshot Campaign. Not for the first time tonight, Wei Wuxian’s fingers itch for Chenqing, regretting leaving it behind. But it will be fine, it will all be fine, the boys are quick and clever and skilled. Resentful energy thickens the air, making everything darker than it should be, more close and cloying.
Between the shifting shadows, thick as mud and shifting like a murmuration of sparrows, a tall central figure lurks.
And it giggles.
The sound is high, piercing, and unhinged, the sound of a man who has seen his last connection to reality fray into nothing some time ago. Wei Wuxian has uncomfortable fragments of memory of being capable of producing such a sound, and the moment feels like he is confronting some twisted part of himself in the past. He’d call it impossible, if his lives weren’t already filled with impossibilities.
“Oh, Gusu Lan is it? Such upright and fine cultivators come against the great Yiling Patriarch?” The figure cackles, mocking and high.
Lan Jingyi doesn’t let down his guard, but he does manage to send Wei Wuxian a very confused sidelong glance, which he returns with an equally baffled shrug. While he doesn’t actively claim the title anymore, he certainly hasn’t surrendered it to anyone else! True, if he squints, the shadowy figure looks like one might imagine the Yiling Patriarch looks like – swirling black robes, very fine and artistically tattered. There is an elaborate hairpiece, something evoking the idea of flames and bloodspray, barely keeping the long hair kept up in something resembling a proper hairstyle. In short, he’s just battered enough to look mad, and just fine enough to look like a sect leader.
It’s so far from what the truth was, Wei Wuxian cannot help but laugh, pealing out across the clearing. Now he knows he has all of his little Lan ducklings looking at him worriedly, but honestly? Is this what everyone thought his life was like? That he was some sort of elegantly mad battle-lord, who somehow managed finery on a hill of bones?
“Wei-qain bei?” Comes as a tiny chorus behind him as he steps forward, arm still pressed to his aching ribs as he tries to manage a sober face for what is sure to be an idiotic conversation.
“Aiya, aiya, it’s alright, I’m just going to talk to this gentleman, alright?” He tries to assure them. Jingyi and Suzhui fail to look assured. Surprisingly, it’s Sizhui who nearly brings him to laughter again – his ‘I’m unimpressed with your shenanigans’ face is so very like Jiang Cheng’s right now, it’s ridiculous. It’s good to know that despite everything, some things stay in the family. He just pats Sizhui’s shoulder as he passes. Not for the first time, he wishes he had his old height back. It was easier to look impressively confident when you weren’t the shortest adult present.
“So, I already know you’re not… look, could you stop that?” Wei Wuxian huffs, interrupting himself as tendrils of resentful energy slither around him, overly familiar, clearly meant to be threatening. “You’re not…” he trails off into an irritated growl as another tendril swirls around him, disturbing the leaves at his feet, getting between him and the others. Yiling Patriarch, his ass – even at Nightless City he’d let his opponents have their say.
If he’d been vaguely hoping that one of them would come to their senses and offer something so crazy as an apology for the innocent deaths, he will never tell.
There are alarmed shouts behind him when, instead of retreating, the resentful energy twines around his wrists like manacles. That’s taking it a little far, and Wei Wuxian is getting tired of the interruptions. The elders will just have to put up with a little deviation. Just a dollop. As a treat. He whistles, sharp and low, with a tug against his core that he knows he’ll get scolded for later, and the resentful energy skitters away like a flock of terrified chickens.
The man standing opposite looks shocked, utterly gobsmacked, but also… fairly horrible despite his dramatic robes. He’s unhealthily pale and shockingly thin. Wei Wuxian was always warned, before, that using resentful energy would destroy him. Here is the proof, played out in a man who clearly wants to cut a finer figure than he is. It’d be sad if this man wasn’t out to hurt those weaker than himself.
“Now, just what do you think you’re doing? I’m guessing you’re the reason there’ve been fierce corpses wandering around the edges of town. Whatever did they do to you to be harassed so?” Wei Wuxian scolds, his tone intentionally bored to deny this man the reward of any sort of fear. He knows why people followed in his footsteps. From the stories told, he held impossible power before his death, and such power is tempting. But surely between the natural consequences and people like Jiang Cheng meting out extra punishment for those caught, it just wouldn’t be worth it.
“You can never understand.” The young man wavers on his feet, his expression slowly sliding into something desperate, something haunted. “It will never be enough. Never. I cannot let you stop me.” The man’s sleeve slides back with a flourish, revealing a mauled lower arm. No. Not mauled, Wei Wuxian realizes too late, as the knife flashes. Carved, a talisman carved into flesh, a spirit-attraction talisman written in flesh and blood and carved down to the bone, finished in a flash of steel. With that much intent behind it, with those materials…
The world descends into black chaos, resentful energy flooding the clearing in response to the call. Wei Wuxian whirls, and behind him the little Lan Juniors are a huddled half-circle of white robes and fearful expressions. No. No, he will not allow this.
Wei Wuxian snaps out a pair of talismans, a favorite from a literal lifetime ago, a golden net settling over the Lans, bright and shielding. Sizhui and Jingyi cry out in protest, pushing against the bright ropes, but Wei Wuxian is already turning away. His core burns ever-brighter as he unsheathes Suibian, the first time she has seen real battle.
The motions come easily to him, both from months of recent hard practice and almost an entire lifetime of learning, decades ago. Defense flows like the steady stream, bracing as energy whips at him, as corpses drawn to the impossible beacon charge out of the dark. His attacks are fast and furious as a flash-flood when he finds an opening, vicious as the undertow of the swifter rivers. He is hard-pressed to move fast enough, his teeth bared in a snarl. There is, however, a bright satisfaction in every movement, an exalting glory in inhabiting a body and having a core capable of this.
There is music from the direction of the net – Sizhui and Jingyi playing Rest. It won’t be enough while the man behind this onslaught is still alive, but it helps, every little bit helps. He spins around those he has chosen to defend, leaving a steadily growing litter of unmoving corpses and shattered monsters in his wake.
Slowly, step by step, wave by wave, he cuts through the lines of defense until he has found the demonic cultivator that has started this whole disaster. The man is wild-eyed, red bleeding into his irises, his skin ghostly pale – in this moment, he looks more monstrous than some of the creatures swarming him.
“No, no, who are you, this is not possible, I was promised!” He babbles, furious, scared, desperate. He staggers to his feet, swaying, his left arm a mass of blood. The chaos around him roils, resentful energy obscuring and revealing in rippling tides. The idiot really has called in every one of the unhappy dead from miles around. As Wei Wuxian learned over a decade ago, resentful energy is not a tame or trained beast – the Yiling Patriarch-that-would-be screams, his voice high with despair and pain. The arm erupting through his chest is not one of a living creature, the flesh grey, the nails raggedly sharp. But without their living beacon, the crowd does not disperse, focusing instead on the living cultivators instead.
Wei Wuxian can hear the little Lans calling for him, their voices scared and plaintive. He knows as long as he stands they are safe, but… how long can he stand? This needs to end, needed to end ages ago. Suibian drips with dark murky blood, his muscles scream with the ongoing strain. Despite his best efforts, small injuries are starting to mount – a scratch here, a bruise there, the twinge of an overloaded muscle he’ll definitely pay for later (if there is a later, there needs to be a later, surely there must be a later).
If he was alone, he’d take to the trees, gain some height against his foes and pick them off at a slower rate. If Lan Zhan were here… ah, no sense wishing for what isn’t. But if he lets the horde lose their focus on him, and work on destroying the protective shield instead…
No. Not going to happen.
He redoubles his efforts, and… loses himself, a little. Time slips away, counted only in strikes with Suibian, in ragged breaths, in spinning cycles of his overtaxed core. If things hurt, they hurt in that abstract way that he can afford to examine in a later not-now time, if at all. In a small corner of his mind, not busily dredging up every scrap of sword-skill he’s ever had or imagined and trying to coalesce it into some sort of coherent whole, he realizes that this is a brand new experience. He has been on night-hunts aplenty, with and without Suibian, but never one more like a battlefield. Never one alone, without Jiang purple fluttering in the corner of his eye.
Almost there. He realizes it abruptly, with a shock like missing the last step of a staircase. The clearing is a great swath of destruction at this point, but he can see the golden net still shining in the corner of his eye, can hear guqin music played with deft fingers. He is, he realizes, grimacing, exhausted. The energy that panic and determination gave him washes away like the outgoing tide, slipping through his fingers. It leaves his joints grinding, the world grey and grainy. Above him looms a yao with a gnarled, twisted face that speaks of some dark and forgotten place in a wood that has been neglected for too long. Beyond that, the clearing appears to be quiet, still.
Almost there.
There is a gap between the energy he has, and what he needs. He should retreat. He cannot retreat.
He sincerely hopes Lan Zhan forgives him for what he is going to have to do.
One of the first things he would always teach his little shidis, once upon a time, was that you never used everything in a fight. That there was no point in winning if you couldn’t stand and enjoy it afterwards. Solid advice for a standard night hunt. He learned, as he grew older, that some things were worth everything. Wei Wuxian whirls under the yao’s strike and lets himself look at the little Lans he is protecting. At the boy he considers his son.
And then with a grin that’s all teeth and snarling vicious rage, he pours every last drop of golden energy from his core, through his meridians, through Suibian, into the dark heart of the yao.
The world erupts into light.
And then, darkness.
There’s a soft crackling to his right.
Wei Wuxian holds that thought for a time, moments slipping past like small fish in the stream.
The crackling comes with a sense of warmth as well.
A fire, he decides, slowly. A campfire, the crackling the snapping of small twigs as they burn.
Someone has made a fire and brought him to it. Or perhaps the other way around, a camp was made around him.
That’s nice. Very considerate.
He is, he has to admit, very impressed with himself, still being alive. That’s quite the trick. He didn’t die outright, didn’t qi deviate. With nerves he’ll never admit to, he stretches his senses inward and…
His breath catches, tight in his throat for a moment as he finds his core, bright as ever, if a little sluggish at the moment. He wouldn’t have regretted the loss, but he would have mourned it. Lan Zhan is still going to be furious at him, but… well. Wei Wuxian would just have to convince him why he was correct in not being sorry.
“Wei-gege?” The voice is soft and tentative and oh so very worried, and Wei Wuxian realizes belatedly that there are fingers in his hair, an unsteady petting. He realizes even more belatedly there are fingers pressed against his wrist, accompanied by a steady stream of energy.
Given all of that, how can he not pry open his eyes with a smile, blinking woozily in the firelight at his wonderful, thoughtful boys? Jingyi, the one with his fingers firm around his wrist, makes a disbelieving sound, as if he cannot take this senior who wakes with a smile. Sizhui looks so very tragic, pale and tear-streaked, and Wei Wuxian cannot have that.
“Little radish, what are you crying for? I can still bury you.” He scolds. Admittedly, it comes out rather more thready than he meant it to, ruining the effect entirely, but Sizhui gives him a watery, unsteady smile anyway. At the edges of his hearing, a small chorus of little voices starts up – the tiny Lans, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. “Silly boy, how could I leave you again? I missed so much the first time.”
“I was so worried! But now that you’re awake Jingyi will fly back to Cloud Recesses and get help, and…” Wei Wuxian cuts off his boy’s anxious rambling, patting his hand. He admittedly… does not feel good. He’s doing better than he has any right to feel, certainly, but still – there’s definitely an injury along his ribs that burns like open flames, and his left leg aches warningly, speaking of muscles that have been pushed beyond their capabilities. There’s a myriad of other minor injuries that clamor for attention at the edge of his focus. He’s exhausted, but…
But he imagines Lan Zhan’s face, when Jingyi reaches Cloud Recesses. Imagines his beloved steeling himself against imagined loss.
Nope, not having that. Not now, not ever, if he can help it.
“What? With such an excellent learning opportunity at hand?” Wei Wuxian protests. After a deep breath, he pushes himself up. The chorus of voices becomes louder, picks up a decidedly worried pitch when he wavers, but he perseveres. If he could walk back to the Burial Mounds with no core and a gut wound, he can force this overtaxed body to obey him for a little while longer. He’s already entirely certain Lan Zhan isn’t going to let him out of bed for at least a week (and tragically not in the fun sort of way!) so he might as well do what good he can with what’s left of his freedom.
“Right!” He calls, channeling his very best ‘I’m the Head Disciple and I’m talking here’ voice, a trick that once learned is not easily forgotten. “I’m going to need a brace on my left leg if we’re going to get out here, and there’s at least one wound that needs disinfecting. Who remembers how to do this? Sizhui, Jingyi, you’re disqualified from answering – you should know already.” He declares and gives his little audience a steady stare.
Sizhui looks flustered, torn between enforcing his own authority or listening to Wei Wuxian’s potentially hare-brained but decidedly confident plan. Jingyi looks like he wants to be unimpressed but is impressed anyway. He should, he knows exactly how battered Wei Wuxian is under these robes. The little duckling Lans look deeply rattled, but the questioning is settling them. This is something they know and understand – being called on by their senior to produce knowledge and skills from their small store of abilities. Admittedly, this sort of practical instruction is new, but they must learn sometime. One of them offers a wavering, slightly wandering set of instructions on the construction of a brace, and Wei Wuxian slides a sidelong look at Jingyi and Sizhui. With a jerk of his chin, he encourages them to get on with the business of breaking down camp. As soon as he’s done letting these little ones practice on him, he wants to go home.
The treatment process is slow, and careful, and excruciating. The small hands are so cautious and so clumsy at the same time.
The brace is at least twice as bulky as it needs to be, and completely unworkable if he was alone.
He very narrowly avoids teaching the littlest Lans his favorite Yunmeng-flavored curses when his side is cleaned, little fingers too slow and too rough to be even remotely comfortable.
But in the end, it is done, and the tiny Lans look immensely pleased and proud of themselves. Sizhui looks nearly beside himself with worry and Jingyi looks like he has been done with the whole operation for hours, but that is an argument for another night. For now, he pretends to gracefully ‘accept’ Sizhui’s demand that he carry Wei Wuxian home on his own sword (as if Wei Wuxian had the strength to fly on his own right now!), and finally they start the trek home.
In the end they do end up causing a bit of a ruckus, despite Wei Wuxian’s best attempts at keeping a lid on it. When they are within sight of the mountain, Lan Jingyi arrows on ahead, the disobedient, terribly worried boy that he is. Evidently this bit of rebellion was discussed ahead of time – Sizhui does not startle, does not call out, and does not stop to land at the gates. They are met mid-flight as they approach where the wards should be and escorted in by two senior disciples.
“What is this, Sizhui? Disobedience of your Wei-gege?” Wei Wuxian murmurs in his son’s ear, teasing. His voice is still annoyingly breathless, which probably doesn’t help his case.
“I’ll assign myself lines in the morning.” Sizhui replies with the calm of an icy lake, and Wei Wuxian arrives in Cloud Recesses giggling.
And then there’s Lan Zhan, scooping him cleanly off of Sizhui’s blade. Wei Wuxian is surrounded by the scent of sandalwood, held securely by beloved arms, and his heart settles. Sizhui steals Suibian right out of his hand, scurrying off before he can be scolded. That’s alright, he’ll settle the boy’s worries later. He’ll take a page out of Lan Zhan’s book, and bury the boy under bunnies.
“Hello dear heart. I’m alright, I promise, just a little banged up.” He assures his husband, reaching up a hand to smooth the lines of tension in that beloved face. There is strain and dismay written there, but not as badly as he feared. “Your little shidis did very well. Take me home?” He asks, hopefully.
He’s not entirely surprised to be rewarded with firm no and a headshake – no, he didn’t really think he’d avoid a trip to the healers for this particular adventure, but it’s always worth trying. Already the world is whirling around them as Lan Zhan turns and strides off towards the healers pavilion.
“Hold my hand then? They’re sure to poke me with so many needles, you can’t just leave me to face that, Lan Zhan.” He cajoles, wheedling, knowing that the fastest way to reassure Lan Zhan that he really is okay is to complain about everything. “And the medicine will be so bitter! You’ll give me sweet kisses to make it better, won’t you? Lan Zhan!”
It works. A few of those horrible tension-lines dissipate, and Lan Zhan’s gaze is warmer when he glances down.
“Yes.” Lan Zhan promises, pressing the first of many kisses onto his brow, and Wei Wuxian breaks at least a couple rules crowing victory.