Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that Hua Cheng’s reign as ghost king had necessarily come to an end. 

On the contrary, he still had a city to run with plenty of ghosts to intimidate. It’s only that with changes in times came changes in ideas, and the human dependence on gods had lessened severely with it. Humans began to not need divine intervention as much, resulting in less help given, resulting in less belief, resulting in less ascensions, and resulting in, well… an overall impression of less. 

The old gods exist (most of them anyway) and the temples had never been torn down. People still light incense, still whisper prayers while they kneel, only now there is less. 

The gods themselves can hear it in the prayers, the lack of belief. Even if a person were desperate enough to pray for something, there is always a sobering part of the worshiper’s brain that prevents full devotion. And so, the temples became things that are just nice. 

Why had there been a temple devoted to a god with Tremendous Masculinity? The people no longer know the story. They do, however, know that if they are up for a night of wishful thinking and unanswered prayers, they can find such an abandoned temple and hope that maybe this time a god would answer. 

(With no actual hope that it would work.)

Following this decline of heavenly interference naturally came a decline in the paranormal activity the ghosts were responsible for. Both sides mutually taking a break, a retirement, a rest, a whatever you wish to call it. 

And all of this is to say–Hua Cheng’s life has been the epitome of peace recently. Less prayers, less responsibilities, less ghosts to handle. 

If there is one thing he doesn’t have less of, it’s the love he has to give and receive from his beloved. His highness. It is something he knows he will never have less of. 

Time could take what it wished from him, as long as it doesn’t dare to touch the one thing that is important. 

To its credit, Time seemed to respect this boundary that Hua Cheng had drawn, respected it too much even, if the way two particular martial gods stuck around were to be the judge of such things. He had thought the two were only good for one thing–abandoning–so why did they not do their signature move when Hua Cheng wanted to be alone with his husband? 

Said husband had been stolen by said dimwits this morning, taken before Hua Cheng could even have breakfast with his love. 

The Ghost King has been in a sour mood ever since. 

It’s not like the two of them, husband and husband, had to be together for every second of the day…but it’s also not like Hua Cheng would complain if that were the case. However, Xie Lian had assured him that it would only be one day out, that he would be back, and that he loved him. 

This had been enough to satisfy the greed festering in his chest, the greed that urged him to take and take and to never share what is his. 

Unfortunately, without his highness around Paradise Manor, Hua Cheng would now have to find some other way to entertain himself. He could seek out Yin Yu or even, he shivers with the thought, He Xuan. But if his company could not be Xie Lian, then he really does not want any. So after pondering for only a minute, he decides he will search the mortal world for entertainment. 

Perhaps someone has invented something amusing recently. 

Slipping into the familiar skin of his teenaged San Lang personna, the Calamity smiles at his reflection. With no eyepatch, but instead two eyes, he appears less threatening. His youthful age and crooked ponytail definitely help follow that vein. Xie Lian would be so disappointed to know he missed seeing him in this form, his fondness for it stemming from their first official meeting after his third ascension.   

How long ago that all feels now. 

Dice roll lazily across the ground and their caster doesn't even spare a look before they are scooped up once more and shoved unceremoniously into a pocket. 

The next door Hua Cheng opens should take him to the hallways of Paradise Manor, but when the threshold is crossed the ghost can feel a breeze picking up his ponytail. 

Glancing around his new surroundings preliminarily, there seems to be no people or buildings within proximity. 

Hua Cheng doesn’t recognize the tall grass tickling his ankles. Perhaps he has been here before or perhaps he has not. Tall grass is pretty much the same anywhere you go, and that means this field could be anywhere. However, Hua Cheng trusts his dice, and even more so he trusts his own luck to take him somewhere that would satisfy his boredom. 

If that place is this field, then so be it. 

Turning in a semicircle, he finds a lake dotted with many boats stretching out behind him. There certainly had to be fishermen rowing those boats, but just as certainly Hua Cheng is sure they could not be what his dice had taken him to see. Instead, his attention is caught by a small dock extending out over the lake. Too small for larger boats, but seemingly perfect for a personal sized rowboat.

Laying face down on this dock he finds a young boy, wearing a black outer robe over a purple under robe , and presumably journaling as he scribbles furiously in a small handmade notebook.

“Little boy,” Hua Cheng watches the boy’s shoulders stiffen at the sudden intrusion, “would you be so kind as to tell me where we are?” 

The boy sits up abruptly, immediately pushing himself into a sitting position that also hides his journal behind his back. 

“Little boy? ” The other replies almost disbelievingly. 

Hua Cheng feels a pull at the corner of his mouth, 

“I hope you will forgive me, you looked quite underwhelming at first glance.” 

“And now that you’ve gotten a full look?” 

The ghost can only shrug back noncommittally, 

“I’ve just never met a grown man who writes in a diary.” 

That is a lie. His own husband journals every night before bed. This boy does not need to know that. 

Provocations usually lead to reactions, and reactions can cure boredom. Perhaps this boy will start a fight and prove to be adept with his words. Perhaps even adept with fists. Hua Cheng waits with a sharp grin, waiting for the canary to fly closer. 

The boy only blinks owlishly. Once and then twice, before he lets out a ringing laugh. 

“Is that what you assumed I was doing?” He shakes his head a few times with his laughter, “Do you think that’s what everyone thinks I’m doing?” 

Hua Cheng briefly lifts his gaze to the ‘everyone’ the boy speaks of, only to see fishermen so far away that even the Demon King has trouble making out their facial features.

“I wouldn’t worry about them too much.” 

“You’re probably right, not that I mind them thinking I was writing in a diary,” the boy says, looking down with a frown and scratching the back of his head sheepishly. 

“Then why hide your notebook?”

And this is what earns Hua Cheng a suspicious glare. Not his appearing out of thin air, not his obvious cluelessness to their whereabouts, but this small question. 

Narrowing his eyes, the boy hesitantly says,

“I didn’t hide it.” 

Hua Cheng feels a huff escape him,

“Little boy, you clearly hid it behind your back.” 

The boy lets out a laugh again, sounding genuinely amused despite this laugh only lasting a singular ‘ha!’, “You’re not even that much older than me! Probably only got like three years on me.” 

“I’m sure it’s a little more than that.”

The boy scoffs under his breath, but a wide smile splits across his face to offset any annoyance Hua Cheng might have perceived from him. 

“To answer your first question,” the boy says pointedly, “you’re in Yunmeng. More specifically, the closest landmark and civilization is Lotus Pier.” 

Ah. Yunmeng. Then this boy must be Wei Wuxian. 

“Then you must be Wei Wuxian.” 

“Wha–” The boy’s jaw drops as he scrambles poorly to his feet, “How did—No-–I mean–” He cuts himself off to take a moment. A moment to look at Hua Cheng for the first time. Really look at him. 

“Who are you?”  

His eyes are shooting suspicious daggers while his legs start to back away. If he back peddles any further he just might fall into the water. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

There aren’t many things of interest in this world, especially in Yunmeng. Hua Cheng knows this better than anyone. However, he is aware of a young cultivator contemplating the mechanics of Demonic Cultivation— as a joke. 

…But also not as a joke. 

When said young cultivator had mentioned the concept to his friends, they had said he should pray to Hua Cheng, as a joke. Seeing as he is a demon (a famous one) they had said Wei Wuxian should pray to him. And ever committed to the bit, Wei Wuxian had, in front of all of his friends, prayed to a demon. 

As a joke. 

Not receiving lots of prayer requests lately allowed that one to slip through to Hua Cheng with ease. 

“Please, master of all evil, boss of all demons, lend me your wisdom as I cultivate a demonic path. I’m certain your ghostly ass could grant me a few secrets and make this easier.” 

It didn’t matter that all of this had been in jest, because Wei Wuxian was on to something, Hua Cheng could see it. Even in its preliminary stages, he could see the birth of something new stemming from this young prodigy. 

If his dice, if his luck , thought there was something worth his attention in Yunmeng, it could only be young Wei Wuxian cultivating his new ideas. God knows nothing else in Yunmeng could be so interesting. 

“I’m sorry, I misspoke earlier. That is not your diary, it’s your manifesto on Demonic Cultivation, yea?” 

If Wei Wuxian was shocked before, it is nothing compared to his feelings now. Hua Cheng briefly wonders if he has broken the young boy. His mouth is now completely open, catching flies without a doubt, and his eyes bulge from their sockets. 

Barely even collecting himself, he sputters out a rushed,

“Me? Demonic Cult–No! Never have I ever even–I would never cultivate such a path.” 

Even when trying to convince Hua Cheng of his alleged innocence, he keeps a small smile on his face. 

He wonders if Wei Wuxian is even aware of it himself. 

“Hmm,” Hua Cheng murmurs in response.

Wei Wuxian takes in the fact that Hua Cheng is not screaming about immorality and neither is he running away out of fear. So, looking as if he were metaphorically dipping his toe in the water, testing the waters with his next sentence, Wei Wuxian says,

“...And it really can’t be called a manifesto. I don’t know if it’s even practical, no one’s ever done it and it’s all theoretical at this point. I’m never gonna use Demonic Cultivation, I promise, so it can’t be a manifesto. I’m just… writing out some theories.”

Hua Cheng hums again, “Why not?” 

The boy blinks once. 

Glances to his right and then to his left. 

“Why… not?” He parrots back. 

Hua Cheng is smirking now. Genuine amusement is hard to come by when Xie Lian is not by his side, but now he can feel it planting its roots in his chest. He shrugs casually as he tries a little too hard to tamp down his face into something that looks contemplative, 

“Why not use Demonic Cultivation?”

Wei Wuxian narrows suspicious eyes, 

“Is this some kind of test, did Jiang Cheng send you?” 

Hua Cheng returns the narrowed eyes and adds a sharp smile to accompany them, 

“You’re the one who summoned my ghostly ass , and now you wonder who sent me?” 

Technically not true. Technically it was his dice that brought them together. Because no matter how amusing, Hua Cheng had not harbored any intentions to actually respond to the joke prayer at the time it was spoken. 

He supposes he must have been too busy with His Highness.

But it’s better for Wei Wuxian to believe his summoning prayer has worked than for Hua Cheng to admit he was just bored. 

“No way,” The boy shakes his head in disbelief and wonderment, “There’s really no way. You’re Crimson Rain Sought Flower?!” 

Hua Cheng raises an eyebrow.

Wei Wuxian is still shaking his head, 

“I don’t believe you, you gotta prove it first.” 

“Is knowing how you addressed me in your lovely little prayer not enough proof?” 

The other seems to genuinely contemplate this for a second, 

“Maybe…But you don’t have some cool ghost tricks that might impress me?”  

A sigh forces Hua Cheng’s lips apart, 

“I could summon a quick blood rain, if it would amuse you, however, my husband says that’s not exactly a pleasant greeting.” 

Silence follows this statement while Wei Wuxian seems to be processing a lot of emotions. Hua Cheng couldn’t help but notice the way the boy had widened his eyes at the word ‘husband’, and wonders if Wei Wuxian has the balls to call him—a revered Ghost King and a devastation rank calamity—a cutsleeve.

Hua Cheng has yet to meet anyone brave enough. 

Instead, the boy opens his mouth and says, 

“Who’s your husband? I’ve never heard of Crimson Rain Sought Flower having a husband?” 

“While any day I would love to discuss him at length, currently it can only remind me that he is not with me.” 

For some reason this makes Wei Wuxian clap his mouth shut and his eyes glaze over with sorrow. Before Hua Cheng could think about that for a second longer, the boy speaks up hesitantly, 

“Oh… I’m so sorry for your loss. What happened?” 

He spoke as if Xie Lian were taken by death, grief and pity coating his words in a way that  brings the mood down. Hua Cheng naturally thinks this is only the proper amount of sorrow that should be displayed when His Highness is away from him for any time longer than a few hours, so he finds nothing wrong with this response. 

“He was taken by people who despise me. I couldn’t do anything about it,” He grumbles sourly. It would seem his bitterness from this morning had not worn off.  

Wei Wuxian picks up on this bitterness and seems to understand that he shouldn’t pry further. 

“If you’re actually Crimson Rain Sought Flower, why even answer my prayer?”

Hua Cheng opens his mouth to respond something along the lines of ‘I’m not telling you, brat’ but he is quickly talked over, 

“You know it was a joke, right? Do ghosts know how jokes work?” 

The genuine curiosity in his tone is probably what made that statement irritating. 

“I am aware of jokes, young master Wei ,” the polite address somehow being turned on its head and used in a menacing manner, “But we both know the contents of your little diary are heading in a more practical direction.” 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes remain unwavering, staring back at Hua Cheng. 

“You can say it’s all fun and games, but who are you trying to fool? Me or yourself? Tell me, you think Demonic Cultivation can be useful, you want to follow that path, right?” 

“No.” 

And now Wei Wuxian’s eyes have hardened, sharply, for the first time during this meeting, 

“I will not use Demonic Cultivation.” 

He speaks with a finality that Hua Cheng almost regrets ignoring. 

“Oh? And why not?” The ghost says with a quirked brow. 

“It would make my shijie upset. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t like it.” 

Still so sure, still with no hesitance. Hua Cheng finds himself taken aback. 

Not using power, not using something useful , out of human connection with others—It is a relatively new concept to him. For him, he had never hesitated to grab what he could. A leg up was a leg up. Never had he really stopped to consider if his actions were right or wrong. 

As long as his actions served His Highness. 

Hua Cheng lets out a loud guffaw. 

Loud and amused and something that usually only his beloved gets to hear. 

“You are an interesting one. Well, if you’re sure then…” And the Ghost King starts to take his leave, “...Then I guess I’ll leave you with only this.” 

Wei Wuxian perks up behind Hua Cheng’s back. 

“Everyone is telling you it’s a bad idea, but I’ll be the first to say it’s not. It’s a good idea, a promising one. You have to use what you can in this world, it could mean the difference between life and death.” 

Be scrappy, fight dirty are things he doesn’t say, but it is implied. Fight to survive . 

The boy frowns. 

Not that Hua Cheng even sees, as he starts to dissolve into butterflies instead of turning around. He has spent enough time here. If Wei Wuxian isn’t going to fight him in any way that matters, then there is nothing more to do. 

He wonders to himself what his dice’s purpose had been in bringing him to meet Wei Wuxian. 

The encounter had cured his boredom, but not in any way that he had assumed it would. Was the intention to set something up for later? Would this conversation benefit him in the future? Was his luck making sure something happens later? 

Hua Cheng rematerializes into a physical, more human form. Excess butterflies trailing away and disappearing. 

Before him is a familiar underwater lair. 

A voice that sounds too much like His Highness echoes in his head, 

You really are friends with Black Water Sinking Boats, huh? 

Whatever the purpose of his dice’s choice had been, Hua Cheng would no doubt find it out later. For all he knows, nothing could come of it, and he would have gained nothing but a simple conversation with an interesting boy. 

Enjoying conversations? Now that’s not like you. 

His Highness again, in a teasing tone that he surely would have taken if Hua Cheng ever admitted out loud to liking his talk with Wei Wuxian. 

Hua Cheng smiles at the thought. He will tell him at dinner tonight. 

————

Lan Wangji believes in nothing. Not anymore. 

Perhaps, he had once believed in himself. The sunshot campaign functioning well to strengthen that belief. When war rages one’s home and the cultivation world shakes underfoot with the waves of discomfort, one can only grow confident in their own abilities if they survive it. 

And that is what Lan Wangji had done, survived it. 

Lan Wangji believed in himself by the end of the war, convinced he could accomplish anything. He believed in his cultivation and in his abilities, not in an overconfident way that perhaps Jin ZiXun did, not in a way that was undeserved, and not in a way that others could refute. He believed in himself simply, in an undeniable acknowledgment to his own strength.

By Nightless City, Lan Wangji had long lost that belief. 

By the Siege of the Burial Grounds, Lan Wangji had forgotten what it even felt like to believe in himself. 

Wei Wuxian’s death being the ultimate proof that he could not always trust himself to get what he wants. 

Wei Wuxian is dead. 

Wei Wuxian is dead, and Lan Wangji believes in nothing anymore, least of all himself. 

33 lashes, one son, and one year after his death, Lan Wangji attempts to believe in something other than himself. For the first time in his life he prays to the long lost gods. But it is only an attempt. He cannot say for certain that he really believes, not when the voice of his Uncle chastises him for it in his head. 

Don’t rely on anything other than yourself. It is foolish to believe something of magical property will come and solve your problems for you. Stand on your own legs, make it happen for yourself. 

He remembers his Uncle’s stance on the old gods well, and yet still, he desperately wants to believe. 

While physically incapacitated, and unable to do anything without the gashes on his back splitting and spilling blood, he wants nothing more than to lie back and let something of magical property take care of it for him. 

Gift him back Wei Ying, perhaps even apologize for cursing him with such a bad fate in the first place.  

If he could stand on his own legs, maybe he would get up then. If he believed in himself, maybe he would walk out the door of the jingshi and start a mad search for any scrap of soul he could find. Because surely there was something left of him in this world?  

But he couldn’t and he didn’t. 

Lan Wangji could not stand, lest he tear the wounds on his back. Lan Wangji did not believe in himself, not when he had failed Wei Wuxian so miserably. 

So each night, after his son went to bed and there was no one to witness his turmoil but himself, the man would pray. Even when the voice in his head told him it was stupid, and pointless, and wouldn’t work. He wanted to believe, so he tried. 

It isn’t until after two more years spent in the jingshi healing that he considers believing in something closer to his situation. Believing in something more related to ghosts then the gods up in heaven could ever be. 

An infamous old Ghost King, spoken of only in stories of warning, floating to mind. 

Almost three years of desperately crying out from his empty home to receive no response worked well to motivate Lan Wangji into action. Admittedly, there isn’t much to be done with the shape of the whips still carved into his back—bright and red and threatening to break open with every movement. But, sitting still just wasn’t working. 

He would try something more effective on this night. 

After A-Yuan is completely asleep, Lan Wangji twists open the door of the jingshi for the first time in two years. Steps over its threshold for the first time since bringing A-Yuan back from the Burial Mounds. 

The cold air stings at his eyes saying, Remember me? along with the snow that falls to greet him back into the living world.  

Lan Wangji does remember them, but what he does not remember is the coldness that now seems to exist in the world without Wei Ying.

Does not remember this darkness. 

It is well past nine, meaning most of the Lan must be asleep, so taking his leave quietly is an easy task. As long as Lan Wangji returns by five, he will probably not get caught. He, of course, moves much slower than if he were perfectly healthy, but that can not be helped. Ripping open his wounds would leave a trail of blood in the pristinely laid snow. It would be hard to explain a trail of blood leaving the jingshi, and even harder to explain where that trail would lead. 

That being the nearest temple devoted to the Crimson Rain Sought Flower. 

It is an arduous journey, but he makes it eventually. Practically using a large stick he had found along the way as a cane to support his weight, Lan Wangji drags himself up the stairs and into the brilliantly decorated temple. 

Brilliantly decorated in bright red . 

Ouch. 

The color choice feels like rubbing salt into the wound that was losing Wei Wuxian, but he supposes the immortal Ghost King had chosen red as a signature color before a certain trouble maker had followed suit. 

In the center of the temple, an enormous statue stands tall and rigid. Crimson Rain Sought Flower, surely. Nothing in the decor is surprising to Lan Wangji, matching his expectations almost flawlessly, except for one oddity. 

Despite knowing very little about how gods and deities functioned, he is almost certain that a temple is meant for only one icon. 

Yet standing right at the hip of the large man draped in reds, is an equally tall statue of a man dressed in white. 

Lan Wangji feels himself glance down at the white cultivation robes he wears. 

Double ouch. 

Perhaps in another life, he too could stand next to a certain man accented in the color red. Perhaps their colors could go together just as nicely as these two statues seemed to. 

But that life was not this life. 

Not knowing how to pray to a god, let alone a Ghost King, Lan Wangji lets himself speak aloud as he lights an incense stick. Is he supposed to think his prayer to himself? Lan Wangji is skeptical about that. How would the Crimson Rain Sought Flower know what he wanted if he didn’t say it aloud? 

“This one is but a humble servant speaking to you, Crimson Rain Sought Flower,” 

From within his robes, he produces the incense stick he had brought from his home. He hopes there isn’t a specific incense that must be used for things like this. He hopes Crimson Rain Sought Flower does not mind the scent of sandalwood. 

“Desperation has led me to this temple,” 

Letting the stick rest lightly in a nearby candle’s flame until it glows from the tip, he sighs, 

“The gods have left me no reply, and I hope you will not be as discourteous as them,” 

Should you be chastising a Ghost King? A painful voice to hear that sounds like Wei Ying’s laughter says in his head.  

“Please, I only ask for any information about Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, you might have.”

Finishing with an awkward and painful kneel that his uncle would be ashamed of, Lan Wangji is beginning to feel foolish.  

Should he just rise and leave now? Begin the long journey back up the mountain, and hope to get some sleep before the sun rises? 

Before he can even reach for the stick serving as his cane, a voice interrupts. Deep and rumbling and coming from behind Lan Wangji,

“Well, you are certainly more polite than the last prayer I answered.” 

If Lan Wangji’s back would allow him to jump up and face the newcomer, he certainly would have done so already. Unfortunately, his physical integrity is not up to the standards his reflexes are, so instead he is forced to scramble awkwardly with his cane for a second and turn himself with gentle ease. 

A man ghost dressed from head to toe in red stands before him. If that isn’t identifier enough, the eyepatch and decadent silver jewelry instantly give this man away as Crimson Rain Sought Flower. 

The first deity to answer Lan Wangji’s prayers. 

And he can do nothing but stare. 

Words seemed to fail him when they mattered most—a lesson he had recently learned when he would stare at Wei Ying and fail to say anything except Come back to Gusu with me.  

And now words failed him when he finally achieved what he had believed to be the impossible. 

“Not much of a talker now? You know most people just think their prayers in their heads.” 

This would be the first conversation Lan Wangji would have since his seclusion, and the words feel trapped behind the wall of emotion in his throat. 

“Wei…Wuxian.” He mutters. 

The ghost across from him does nothing but cock his head into a mocking tilt. 

“What’d he do, slaughter your family? Wreck your career? Or maybe he–” 

Lan Wangji is quick to cut him off with a harsh and resounding, 

“No.”  

His uncle would categorize it as a shout. 

The man dressed in red stops whatever he was going to say, instead looking at Lan Wangji with eyes taken aback, 

“Hmm? No?” 

Lan Wangji says nothing in return. Hopes his hard stare can somehow communicate for him. 

 “I would believe you to be mute if I hadn’t heard your eloquent prayer earlier, cat got your tongue then?” 

The grin across the ghost’s face is too malicious to not be unsettling. 

“Not mute,” Lan Wangji starts simply, “I…” He hesitates, “I have unanswered questions about Wei Ying.” 

The raise of eyebrows at the informal address is hard to ignore, but Lan Wangji maintains his resolve. Solidifies it in his hard stare directed at the Calamity. 

“What makes you think I know anything about him? If I did, what makes you think I’d tell you?” 

“I want to believe in something.” 

“Nobody believes in deities anymore.” 

“I am nothing if not desperate.” 

The Ghost King pauses, taking a moment to appraise Lan Wangji. His sharp eye darts from the stick being used for support, to his hair not even tied up properly, to, finally, his eyes. Ringed with a deep purple around the skin, blank and tired. 

“The Yilling Patriarch used Demonic Cultivation,” Crimson Rain Sought Flower starts, looking calculating, “his end was not met with grace. Sieged by the entire cultivation world. What more business could you people still have with the man?” 

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The reminder of Wei Wuxian’s fate was not welcome in his current mental state, but there is nothing he can do but wince and persevere. 

“Please…” He murmurs, completely unsure about how to explain himself to this ghost, someone who almost certainly does not understand his sentiments about love and loss.  

He’s too tired. Too exhausted. His feet no longer seem able to support his weight, even with the stick’s provided assistance, and so gracelessly he falls to his knees.  

Is this where he will finally admit it out loud? For himself and a ghost to hear? 

“I love him…please.”  

He watches Crimson Rain Sought Flower’s eye widen slightly. Is it in amusement or shock? His one visible eye flickers up to just above Lan Wangji’s head, and when he turns to follow his gaze he finds the ghost had looked at the statue situated beside his own.

The statue attached to his hip and smiling so lovely. 

Maybe his sentiments were something the Ghost King could understand after all.

“You let your beloved die like that?”  

And now, undercutting Crimson Rain Sought Flower’s words is a blade-like sharpness. Accusations pointed toward Lan Wangji. 

It sounds harsh, but it is nothing compared to what Lan Wangji says to himself. It is only a cold, hard fact. He had let his beloved die. There is no running away from it or making any excuses. 

“Mn. I did,” He says with his head bowed toward the floor.

A different man might have begged the ghost to let up, or might have defended himself more. But Lan Wangji had been taught from a very young age that actions have consequences. One must accept this as the will of fate.  

“And you’re okay with that?” 

Okay with Wei Wuxian’s death? Okay with a world where he doesn’t exist? Never.

The Ghost King continues without mercy,

“You’re okay with his treatment? The man was pummeled by a world that hated him, people drag his name through the mud as we speak. Murderer, traitor, liar. You’re okay with all of that?” 

Of course Lan Wangji is not. He wants the world to burn, he wants revenge, he wants them to pay. He wants Wei Ying back.  

Lan Wangji does not know how to express this properly so, instead, he says simply, 

“The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was watch him get walked all over by a world that couldn’t care less about him. But it was never my place to–” 

To what? Force Wei Wuxian back to Gusu? Never his place to be Wei Wuxian’s friend? 

“—It was never my place to decide for him. And so, I suffered the worst things in the world while watching his demise. I was never okay.” 

Crimson Rain Sought Flower’s eye is still squinting in an appraising manner, as if he were deciding whether or not to believe Lan Wangji’s words. 

When the ghost finally speaks, it is harsh and short, 

“Not good enough.” 

Lan Wangji knows. He doesn’t need to be told that he had failed, he knows.  

“Mn.” 

“Get up.” 

And so, Lan Wangji does. Like a deer testing its own leg strength for the first time, he shakily gets to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. His two eyes meet the Calamity’s one. Whatever trace of false amusement or sharp grins had existed at the beginning of this conversation, have now disappeared without a trace. 

“You’re right. That is the worst suffering in the world. Now, what are you going to do about it?” 

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows furrow. Instead of speaking his confusion out loud he directs his expression towards the other, waiting to be understood. It doesn’t take long for the ghost to continue, 

“Wei Wuxian is dead. What are you going to do about it? Are you gonna keep wasting your time on gods and ghosts of the past, or are you going to get up and do something?” 

Lan Wangji frowns. He hadn’t minded the previous accusations against him, but this stung a bit. 

He hesitates before speaking, thinking over each word, 

“...I just want to know if his soul is at rest. That is why I came to you.” 

Crimson Rain Sought Flower blows a mocking raspberry with his tongue, 

“Not telling,” He taunts.  

“I—”

“Figure it out yourself.” 

Lan Wangji blinks. Once and then twice, unsure about how to digest this. 

The ghost continues regardless, 

“You admit this is your fault, so spend the rest of your pathetic life in a way that can atone,” He pauses for a moment before saying, “Doesn’t matter how. For my beloved, I spent 800 years paying for my mistakes.” 

Lan Wangji darts his eyes to look at the statue dressed in white. 

“Don’t wallow in your own self pity, you stupid cultivator.” 

It occurs then that this might be the first time in his life that Lan Wangji was spoken to in such an impolite manner. 

Called out by a Ghost King. Chastised even. 

And still, it seems to Lan Wangji that this ghost understands his feelings far better than anyone else had. Knew he was falling into a pit of self despair, losing himself to feelings of worthlessness. 

Crimson Rain Sought Flower had said that he waited 800 years for his mistakes. It was clear the ghost understood Lan Wangji’s situation on a much deeper level than his brother had ever been able to. 

Could Lan Wangji wait 800 years for Wei Wuxian?

“Mn,” Lan Wangji finally replies. 

And with one hand grasping his walking stick, the other clenched in a determined fist, the man straightens to his full height. For the first time in two years, Lan Wangji rises to his proper 188cm. 

The ghost across the room is still taller than him, but not by much. Now they can both look the other directly in the eye. What Lan Wangji sees is a ghost as devoted to another as he is to Wei Wuxian. 

Lowering himself into a shallow bow he says,

“Thank you.” 

The ghost lowers his head in acknowledgment, a smirk reappearing on his features. With the rise of his head, the Crimson Rain Sought Flower bursts into a flutter of glowing butterflies. 

Lan Wangji does not care. He has things to do. 

Taking care of A-Yuan, the only living legacy to Wei Ying’s existence, being the most important thing. 

As he leaves the temple and makes his journey back up the mountain, he contemplates the Ghost King’s words, 

Figure it out yourself. 

Is Wei Ying at peace? Lan Wangji supposes the answer would not be so simply obtained. Gods may be real, but if there was anything he learned in these past two years it was that they couldn’t do shit. 

It would be up to himself to find his answers, up to him to raise A-Yuan. 

When he finally reaches the door leading back to the jingshi, the sun has begun to grace the top of their mountain. Golden light slices through the cold air. 

Did you miss me? it says. 

Lan Wangji feels a miniscule tug at his lips. 

Perhaps he still did not believe in himself. Perhaps his ability to do so had died with Wei Wuxian.

But he is ready to want to believe in himself again. That would be enough for now.  

— — —

As it turns out, Xie Lian is not as well-acquainted with Gusu as he had previously thought himself to be. 

Apparently, living in the area long before it was called Gusu (around 600 years ago) is not sufficient enough to prevent him from getting lost.

Sighing to himself Xie Lian mumbles aloud,  

“Well, it’s not the worst situation you’ve ever been in.” 

Xie Lian was meant to be in Caiyi Town by sunset if he ever wanted to meet the legendary blacksmith who sells her swords at the market there. He had been informed by his husband that the day time market would close at sundown, giving room for other vendors to sell their wares at the night time market.   

If the sun’s position is to be judged accurately, then he has approximately four hours to find his way to this day time market. The only problem being that the god currently finds himself in a forest that looks like any other forest. 

As it stands, Xie Lian has no idea in which direction he should travel. 

It is times like these, when his lingering bad luck flares up inconveniently, that Xie Lian would desperately wish his husband were with him. San Lang’s luck would never allow such an inconvenience to happen, in fact it probably would have ensured their early arrival to Caiyi Town. 

On any normal day, the two husbands would, of course, have traveled together. However, on the morning Xie Lian had departed, the Ghost King had needed to attend to urgent Ghost City business. 

Who was Xie Lian to deny the ghosts their ruler? 

After insisting that he would be fine, and that they could stand one day without the other, Xie Lian finds himself traveling alone for the first time in a couple hundred years.

And it is almost nostalgic to travel like this. 

Completely alone, only a small pouch of money (that he had lost the majority of in the rushing river) and his bad luck plaguing him. 

It is reminiscent of simpler harder times. 

Everyone had thought that when he lost his second shackle, he would be freed from his cursed bad luck. Xie Lian himself had thought the same. But now, after hundreds of years since that fateful day, his bad luck has followed him like an old friend or a loyal dog. Rubbed its essence too strongly on Xie Lian, as if it were a permanent stain. 

The god of misfortune doesn’t mind too much. In fact, he thinks— what would his title have become if he had lost his trademarked luck? And anyway, most days he had the presence of stronger luck to cancel out his own.  

When he didn’t? Well…he always managed just fine. 

As if in retaliation to this thought, his bad luck immediately flares in a more life-threatening direction. From behind a thick tree on Xie Lian’s right, a resentful spirit lunges for his throat. Acting as an effective distraction from his previous positive thoughts. 

The god feels his eyes widen, his hand reaching reflexively for a sword that isn’t on his hip. 

How had a spirit managed to sneak up on him? 

Perhaps he has spent too much time in Ghost City? 

Xie Lian contemplates this with a small amount of bafflement. 

Have ghosts become so commonplace to him that he no longer considers them a threat on his radar? 

Its sharpened nails slice in a forward arc, and before he can even take a step back, Xie Lian feels a heavy force tackle him to the ground.

Was there another ghost he had not noticed?   

Xie Lian’s head bounces against the ground, and ringing immediately bursts inside his skull. It reverberates through his thoughts and makes everything less clear. A light buzzing hums in his ears, and makes everything sound so very far away. 

Despite this, he still hears very faintly, 

“—so sorry! I’m so sorry! I–” 

Xie Lian lets his eyes focus on the weight that is quickly scrambling to get off of him. A young boy, perhaps aged 12, stares back at him and waves his hands rapidly. 

The god blinks once. Shakes his head. Blinks again. 

“A-Yuan.” A sharp voice commands, and immediately the boy is turning around to face the resentful spirit. Still sprawled on the ground, Xie Lian watches the boy referred to as ‘A-Yuan’ stand in a protective stance over him. Acting as the only thing standing between him and the resentful spirit. 

Is this child protecting him? 

“Do not turn your back on a resentful spirit,” The same voice from before commands again, and this time Xie Lian has the mind to search for who is speaking. 

A relatively short distance away is a tall man, and now that he is looking, are these two wearing the same robes? Both have a ribbon wrapped around the forehead, both have their hair elegantly tied up, both are decked out in blindingly bright whites.

Xie Lian is not one to keep up with the mortal realm these days, but perhaps it is simply a new fashion statement? 

“Yes, Hanguang-jun!” The boy responds before immediately swiping at the spirit with his sword. 

In the time that it takes for Xie Lian to push himself up on his elbows and clutch his head, the young boy has already cut down the spirit with his sword. It dissipates into smoke before all three of their eyes, proving itself to be a relatively weak spirit. ‘A-Yuan’ stands in his last strike’s pose, taking in deep, heaving breaths. 

So, even weak spirits were capable of sneaking up on him now. 

Mentally berating himself for letting this happen and reminding himself that not every place is like Ghost City, Xie Lian almost misses the next words that are directed towards him, 

“Can you stand?” 

Xie Lian snaps his head upwards. 

Turning his attention towards that deep but quiet voice, he finds the man who the boy had earlier called ‘Hanguang-jun.’ 

The man has an elegance about him, his face revealing not one emotion except sharply angled neutrality. He does offer a hand in Xie Lian’s direction, and briefly, irrationally, he worries about ruining the man’s pristine clothing. 

Grabbing the offered hand as lightly as he can, Xie Lian says,

“Me? Oh yes, I’ll be okay. Nothing like a good concussion to rejuvenate the brain,” rubbing his head awkwardly, and laughing even more so, he gets to his feet bashfully. 

Before more words can be exchanged, a quiet shout comes from behind him, 

“Please excuse this one!” The young boy from earlier is now bowed at a perfect 90 degree angle, “This one did not mean to bring you harm, qianbei, my sincerest apologies.” 

The distress and meekness in his tone is unbearable, and Xie Lian feels stuck between laughing and crying,  

“Please, please no. I was only joking about the concussion,” 

He actually had not been. Xie Lian is certain were he not a god, he would be properly concussed right now. But, he has gone through worse pain than this, and this boy seems too distraught at the thought of causing harm, 

“I’m perfectly safe, and it’s all thanks to you, young master,” Xie Lian awkwardly tries to straighten the bowing boy, “If you had not been here I surely would be dead right now!” 

Another lie…

…

…It would be fine. 

“A-Yuan, rise. This man is not harmed.” 

Slowly, the boy does rise and he puts his gaze on Xie Lian’s sheepish, but welcoming, smile,

“This one thanks you, ” 

Xie Lian inclines his head with this statement, and now he is witness to the blush that takes over the whole boy’s face. 

“Are you a rogue cultivator? This is pretty far from the town for anything besides night hunting.” 

Xie Lian turns to the tall man asking the question, and is momentarily thrown back in time. Back to traveling all alone and being mistaken for a cultivator with his shabby white robes. Back to before he had an accompanying Ghost King at his side. 

Long had it been since he had not been recognized as just another couple.

A pair.

“Me? Oh…of a sort, I guess? I cultivate some, but nothing too extraordinary. This one knows only simple tricks.” 

From his sleeve he pulls a protection talisman. Probably a little dated, but effective when in a pinch. He presents the talisman for the other to see, but he only receives a thoughtful ‘mn.’ 

After a moment of awkward silence, Xie Lian strains a smile, 

“Might I ask your names?” 

The young boy speaks up for the both of them, seemingly recovered from his embarrassment,

“We are of the Lan Cultivation Sect. My name is Lan Yuan, courtesy Sizhui. This is Hanguang-jun.” 

The title is clearly one Xie Lian is meant to recognize, so it is unfortunate then that the only ‘Lan’ he has ever heard of is some man named ‘Lan Wangji.’ 

As described by his husband, Lan Wangji was apparently a ‘pathetic man who made dumbass mistakes.’  

Xie Lian doesn’t know how that knowledge is supposed to help him in this situation. 

Shaking his head as if he were forcefully removing his thoughts, Xie Lian reminds himself that he does not even know if this ‘Lan Wangji’ is a part of the Lan Cultivation Sect, last names are not exclusive like that.

“Nice to make your acquaintances,” Xie Lian says with a simple, shallow head bow (clearly the wrong address if Lan Sizhui’s eyes widening is enough to go by) “You can just call me Hua Xie.”  

Internally, he winces at the fake name. Old habits die harder than he thought. 

In theory, it is highly unlikely for Xie Lian to be recognized for any number of his past deeds. In practice, it is much harder to know this and live free of fear. 

“Why are you so far away from town, Hua-qianbei?” 

With an awkward neck rub, Xie Lian sighs, 

“Oh, you know. Sometimes you get lost…for an hour or seven…on your way back to town.” 

Both of their eyes widen when he says this, and he nervously chuckles, 

“It’s not a big deal, I’ve seen worse fates.” 

And it is true, the god of misfortune had truly dealt with worse. Today, he has only endured falling into one river, losing one half of the contents in his money pouch, tripping over his own robes thrice, and one encounter with a resentful spirit. A pretty good record compared to the old days. 

Xie Lian opens his mouth to spout more reassurances, but he is interrupted promptly,

“You will come back with us.” 

This is the first thing Hanguang-jun has said since his last, ‘mn’, and Xie Lian startles slightly at it.

“Back with you?” 

“Normally, we would fly on my sword, but we can not in good conscience leave you lost here. We will find some other method of travel to Caiyi Town.” 

Cultivators are using swords to fly these days?

“You know, back in my day, cultivators used their swords to fight battles,” Xie Lian attempts a joke. 

“We also use swords for combat.” 

Xie Lian blinks.

Somewhere farther away, a rose finch coos, 

“...Right,” Xie Lian laughs awkwardly, “Well, I’m sure we could find a cart that might give us a ride.” 

Privately and to himself, Xie Lian hopes these two have enough luck to cancel out his own. He does not wish to drag the two of them down with him. 

“Mn,” Hanguag-jun says, before swiftly turning on his heel, “There is a road that merchants use frequently this way.” 

Xie Lian hesitates for one moment, shifting from one foot to the other. 

The man does not appear particularly enthused about his new journey. However, to be fair, the man doesn’t seem particularly enthused about anything .

On his right, however, Lan Sizhui gives a reassuring smile and a head gesture that beckons Xie Lian to follow. So deciding to accept this kindness, he follows. Hanguang-jun leads in the front a few paces ahead, while Xie Lian and Lan Sizhui trail behind. 

The two in the back make pleasant conversation ( How are your cultivation studies? Do you have any friends you will see when you get home? ) and Xie Lian learns that the pair had been sent this far into the woods to deal with the same resentful spirit that had tried to kill him earlier.

If Hanguang-jun is interested in their talk, he does not show it. Not once deviating from looking straight ahead. But despite this, Xie Lian thinks this might be one of the most polite conversations he’s ever had. 

When wandering the mortal realm for 800 years under aliases and disguises, kindness was a commodity that no one shared. Especially with someone whose very existence was a liability to everyone in proximity. Even now, the Ghost City’s residents are beyond simple kindness, edging closer to reverence. 

This conversation with this young boy is just simple. 

It is nice. 

The two talk politely up until they reach a road well tracked by wheels who had rolled there in the past.

There is no cart immediately on the road, but Lan Sizhui deems this as fine, saying that they can ‘walk in the direction of Caiyi Town and hope a cart rolls up behind them.’ Xie Lian wonders at the young boy’s optimism. He wonders if he himself had once been this innocent and well intentioned toward the world.  

Xie Lian hopes the world doesn’t sharpen Lan Sizhui’s edges as it had done to his own. 

Ah, but it had all worked out okay for him in the end, hadn’t it?

It isn’t until Lan Sizhui is in the middle of a story about some other boy named Lan Jingyi, that the tell tale sound of a cart approaching breaks through the air. 

Xie Lian prepares himself to step out in front of it, bow politely, and beg with a smile on his face for a ride, but his preparation proves fruitless. Before he can even take the first step out, the cart is already coming to a halting stop and the driver is bowing at them .  

“Hanguang-jun,” the driver says while still in a bow, “What are you doing all the way out here?” 

And then, before Xie Lian can process the absurdity of it all, the man is offering a ride without them even asking. 

Perhaps , Xie Lian considers, he had been too casual with his greeting of the Hanguang-jun fellow after all. 

The man in question accepts gracefully, and the three of them pile into the back of the cart. Their only company being the small jars of alcohol being transported along with them. They clink as the cart rattles back and forth, and Hanguang-jun seems to eye them as if they had personally wronged him. 

‘Emperor’s Smile’ is printed across their labels. 

“It can’t be long now, can it?” Xie Lian says hesitantly. He actually has no idea how long this will take, having no frame of reference for just how lost he previously had been. Judging from the position of the sun, he can still see the blacksmith as long as this journey doesn’t take more than two hours. 

“It should take around three hours.” 

Ah. Well.  

Xie Lian should’ve expected this. It was too much to ask for two lucky breaks in one day. 

For the first hour, he talks animatedly with Lan Sizhui. The god learns he is currently 11 years old (younger than Xie Lian had presumed earlier,) developing his golden core far faster than his classmates, and has a fondness for bunnies.

It isn’t until the young boy is yawning at a faster pace than he can talk that Xie Lian scoots completely onto the left side of the cart, and offers the entire right side up so that Lan Sizhui may lay down and rest. 

Lan Sizhui, ever polite and smiling, tries to decline. But it isn’t long before his eyelids are drooping and seeing that Xie Lian is not moving back into the space he had previously offered, the boy finally allows himself a nap. 

Soft breaths indicate his deep sleep five minutes later, and Xie Lian smiles gently. 

Only two more hours to go. 

Glancing away from Lan Sizhui, Xie Lian finds himself now seated directly across from Hanguang-jun, who is staring right back at him. 

His posture is impeccable, his hair done up perfectly, his face appearing like a slate of pure jade. 

Self-consciously, Xie Lian remembers his own hair tied up with nothing but a simple white ribbon. Feels his own back curved like a shrimp. 

He stutters out an awkward chuckle, but actually feels like crying a little. Xie Lian opens his mouth to say something along the lines of, so we both like to wear white, huh? or something equally as stupid, but Hanguang-jun beats him to it. 

Calm and composed he says, 

“Sizhui is fond of you.” 

Xie Lian startles at the sound. These are the first words the other man has said for the entire hour the trio found themselves on this cart. 

And they sound almost like a compliment. 

“Ah, I don’t know about that. He is a very kind soul,” Xie Lian diverts the attention off of himself and shoves it onto the sleeping kid, “He must have been raised well.” 

A beat passes before Hanguang-jun says, 

“Thank you.” 

The wagon hits a rock in its path and the jars all clink together. Xie Lian barely feels the movement because he is too busy trying to contain the shock that must be written on his face. 

Hanguang-jun’s reply had been simple, but the implications were clear. 

“I…er—Um, I didn’t know that you…that you…” He trails off, not knowing how to continue. 

“You did not expect me to be his father?” 

“No, no!” Xie Lian is quick to wave his hands and try to remedy the situation, his only saving grace being that Hanguang-jun does not look particularly angry, “I can see the resemblance, really , he is basically the spitting image of you!” 

Hanguang-jun does not laugh, but the small smile that graces his face must be the equivalent of guffawing for the man. He smiles a secretly amused smile, as if he knows something you do not. 

Instead of sharing his secrets Hanguang-jun says, 

“His other parent is where he gets his kindness.”

Xie Lian nods dumbly, grateful he had not upset the man with his ignorance. 

Another silence falls over the two of them, Lan Sizhui’s quiet breaths become audible again.  

“I’m sorry you will not get to see the blacksmith you had wanted to see,” 

Xie Lian is surprised for two reasons. One being that Hanguang-jun has initiated another conversation. The second being that this proves the man had indeed been listening to the conversation he and Lan Sizhui had been having. 

“Ah well, you know, that’s just how it is sometimes,” He chuckles lamely, “I’m used to it.” 

Sharp golden eyes are piercing through his soft laughs. This only makes Xie Lian sweat more under his shabby robes. 

“Mn,” is all the other man says. 

Hoping he wouldn’t close off again, Xie Lian says the first thing that comes to mind, 

“You know, you could have just left me in the forest. You didn’t have to go out of your way for me. Why did you not just leave me there with a couple of directions towards town?” 

Hanguang-jun does not answer immediately. 

Doesn’t answer for a while. Instead, his gaze falls to the bottle rattling next to them. They don’t clink, but he still looks annoyed with them. 

Xie Lian thinks maybe he won’t ever get an answer, but is proven wrong when the man finally speaks up, his words clearly chosen carefully,

“...You remind me of an old friend.” 

Xie Lian tilts his head in a question. 

“My friend would always downplay his hurt. Or his situation. No matter how bad it was or if he needed help. He did not ask for help, even when he needed it.” 

His gold eyes tear themselves away from the jars to meet Xie Lian’s, 

“I am trying to remedy my past errors.” 

The god finds himself swallowing thickly. 

Past errors, yea, he could understand that. How many had he made himself? 

“I follow the chaos now, try to help people who cannot or will not ask for it.”

Atoning for his past sins , goes unspoken.   

“That’s—” Xie Lian breaths, “That’s very kind of you, Hanguang-jun. I hope you can find a way to continue living.”  

The god thinks of a nameless ghost, a smiling mask, and thousands of uncontainable resentful spirits. 

He looks at his companion across from him and wonders what he is thinking of. 

Thinks something similar to his own thoughts, probably.  

— — —

Wei Wuxian has barely enough clarity of mind to think, this is how I die.

Either the dog is going to catch up to him, and he will die from being mauled, or his husband will find out he lost their son, and Wei Wuxian won’t be able to handle the disappointment from Lan Zhan—killing himself instantly from the shame. 

But for now, Lan Zhan and his opinions are not Wei Wuxian’s problem. For now, all he can focus on is running away.   

From behind him, perhaps only a few strides away, comes the barks of a loose dog. Wei Wuxian can only interpret those barks as rabid and bloodthirsty. 

He isn’t sure how long he has been chased, only that his lungs are starting to feel the strain. Perhaps if this was his old body, he could run on forever. Mo Xuanyu’s body, however, just can not seem to keep up. 

Breathless and a little desperate, he wheezes out pleas as he runs by vendor after vendor, 

“Please… I—” 

It’s nonsensical and probably can’t be heard over his loud breaths and the even louder barks. Somewhere mixed in between, Wei Wuxian knows he must be yelling. His raw throat proves that. But what else is he to do?

Jiang Cheng promised he would let no dog get him, but he is not here right now. Has not been by his side for a long time. If Lan Zhan were here, he could climb his tall frame. Hide behind the stoic force of a devoted husband. 

Neither of those are viable options. 

Wei Wuxian had also abandoned his son the moment he saw the dog. A-Yuan had been at a stall devoted to selling hair pieces while Wei Wuxian wandered closer to a food stall. The last thing he heard from his son was an alarmed shout that faded into nothing the farther away Wei Wuxian ran. 

And all of this is to say, Wei Wuxian is alone. 

Alone, running, and catching only weird looks from the people who pass by. 

Somebody help me! He wants to say. 

“Somebody—” 

Wei Wuxian feels his foot fail out from under him, and he hits the dusty ground hard. A yelp escapes him, and he barely has enough time to turn around before the dog is lunging straight for him. 

Death by mauling it would be, then. 

And suddenly, just like that, there is blood. 

It splatters on the ground at Wei Wuxian’s feet and turns the dirt red. Quickly, it is soaked up by the earth. He watches it patter with a small amount of disbelief. 

Disbelief because this blood is not his own. 

Lifting his head from its ‘ducked for impact’ position, Wei Wuxian finds a boy, younger than himself, holding out an arm in a protective stance. 

The dog sinks its teeth a little deeper into the new boy’s forearm, and more blood splatters to the ground. 

“Aiyah!” Wei Wuxian exclaims, and tries to scramble forward, or to his feet, or in any way that could help this stranger, “What are—what—!” 

Still standing in front of Wei Wuxian, perhaps still trying to shield him, the stranger slowly brings himself into a kneeling position. Lowers himself until he is on the same level as the dog. Gently, he lifts his non-bitten hand up to scratch behind the dog’s ears and to stroke gently down its back. 

“Sh, sh,” He murmurs calmly to the beast, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

If Wei Wuxian was shocked before, it’s nothing compared to now. 

This boy, this injured boy, is comforting the thing that has its teeth in his arm . Comforting it . If anyone needs reassurance now, it is definitely the boy who has blood still dripping steadily into the dirt. 

But this stranger doesn’t seem to pay his arm any mind, instead focusing on the dog. 

Wei Wuxian watches as the dog loosens its jaw and lets go. With nothing stemming the blood flow anymore, a deep red blooms under the white robes the boy wears. He seems to ignore this still and addresses the dog, 

“There, there. That’s much nicer, isn’t it?”

He sounds, bizarrely, very pleased.

From within his sleeves, the stranger pulls out what looks like a steamed bun. Without pause, he holds it out to the dog with the arm that is still bleeding profusely. 

Wei Wuxian moves to stop him, or at least shout a warning, but glue has made its way down his throat. Stuck his feet to the ground.

The dog seems just as shocked as Wei Wuxian is. It rears back from the hand offering the bun, looking suspicious. The stranger, however, looks unfazed by this, looks like he expected this hesitance. 

“Come on,” he offers lightly while waving the bun gently, “You can have it.”

Wei Wuxian can only watch in horror as the dog almost delicately, as if it is guilty, takes the steamed bun. After a couple of more head scratches and back pats, the boy is sending the dog on its way. When it passes Wei Wuxian, the stranger moves to keep his body in between the two. Acting like a shield. 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes never stop bulging out of his head the entire time. 

“You—” He sputters out in shock. 

The stranger turns to face him for the first time, and gives only a curious head tilt. 

“ Why did you—You didn’t—That dog was!” 

And it is then that Wei Wuxian realizes his breaths are coming in abnormally heavy. He must sound crazy, look crazy, as he has a minor panic attack over a dog that hadn’t even bitten him. 

But this stranger doesn’t seem to mind, instead he talks to him in the same way he had comforted the dog, 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” And that gentle tone really does make Wei Wuxian believe everything is okay, “The dog is gone now, no need to worry.” 

Wei Wuxian inhales deeply, and lets it go slowly. He feels his heart slow down with every controlled breath, and the stranger smiles at him reassuringly as Wei Wuxian starts to lose the crazy look in his eyes. 

“I–” Wei Wuxian begins, “Uhh,” He chuckles nervously. Now that the dog is gone and his breathing is calm, he is beginning to feel quite foolish, “That was crazy, huh?” 

The stranger’s smile turns into something like relief. Wei Wuxian can’t help but return this smile. 

“Thank you for doing that, you know I—” but Wei Wuxian cuts himself off after a small glance downwards reminds him of the wound the stranger is sporting. 

He lets out a yelp at the reminder, 

“You’re bleeding!” 

“Oh,” the stranger brings his bleeding arm up onto his eye level, “I guess I am.” 

And then he is laughing. At first it is small chuckles, but quickly his eyes turn into crescents with his joy. 

It is in this moment that Wei Wuxian seriously considers whether or not this person is mentally unstable. 

“Don’t laugh!” He panic shouts. 

Now he understands how frustrating it must have been whenever he laughed in people’s faces and pretended to be crazy. Acting like insane Mo Xuanyu had been fun for him, but he had never been on the receiving end of such treatment before. 

“You need a bandage at least!” he continues, “I don’t know first aid but—do you have any bandages?” 

A rippling movement comes from under the stranger’s white robes, but the other is patting it down before Wei Wuxian can think about it too hard. 

Still smiling and sighing, he responds, 

“I do not, but really you don’t have to worry about me.” 

And how frustrating is that? 

Wei Wuxian grinds his teeth together and thinks to himself that the next time someone offers him help, he will be sure to accept it. For now though, he only contemplates his situation for a second longer before he reaches down and rips a clean strip of black fabric off of his outer robes. 

“Wha—!” The stranger exclaims in shock, but Wei Wuxian is having none of it. 

As roughly as he can, while still being mindful of the boy’s wounds, Wei Wuxian grabs the other’s arm and drags him to sit on the ground beside him. 

“Really, I’ll be fine—” 

Wei Wuxian cuts him off again, 

“Shut it. I’m bandaging you up at the very least.” 

This makes the stranger close his mouth, but the amused smile still lingers there. Wei Wuxian huffs at the sight, 

“Stop looking so smug, too. Look at you! At your age, you guys don’t take your own injuries seriously. Thinking you’re immortal or something.” 

If anything, all this does is make the boy look even more amused, 

“At my age?” He questions, “I’d wager that I’m older than you.” 

Wei Wuxian lifts an eyebrow, temporarily looking away from his work of bandaging the arm in front of him to give the boy an appraising look. Wei Wuxian knows that he himself is older than he looks, but come on?  

“Older than me? You’ve got to be what, nineteen at the most?” 

The stranger, still smiling pleasantly, only says, 

“Oh, a little older than that.” 

Wei Wuxian just scoffs and shakes his head, 

“This might hurt a bit,” he says instead of humoring the boy. 

Without waiting for a response, he tugs the bandage tight above the upper side of the wound. Tampering any more blood loss that might occur. He receives only a small wince from the other, but nothing more. 

Wrapping the bandage now with more care down the length of the wound, Wei Wuxian sighs, 

“Whatever, just don’t—” 

He cuts himself off. Feels his back straighten at the words he was about to say. 

Just don’t go around playing the hero. 

Somewhere deep from within him, a voice pitched like Jiang Cheng’s says, see?  

“Don’t be so reckless,” Wei Wuxian says instead as he returns to fixing the bandage. 

Sitting on his knees beside him with his arm held out obediently, the stranger lets out a hum of acknowledgement.

Silence falls over the two. Wei Wuxian too caught up on his bandaging work to break it. 

Farther away a customer is yelling at a vendor. 

Something about overpriced incense. 

“Could I ask your name?” 

The hand winding fabric halts for a brief second.

Wei Wuxian feels thrown for a loop. 

His name? 

The fact that he was being asked for it means this boy did not recognize him as the Yiling Patriarch from looks alone. 

Would he recognize him by name? 

“Uhhh,” Wei Wuxian keeps his gaze on the knot he is now swiftly tying to hold the black cloth all together, “Yea, I’m Wei,” He hesitates one more time, “Ying.” 

And then he waits. Probably with a cringe on his face, because ‘Wei Ying’ is just as recognizable as ‘Wei Wuxian.’ Stupid , he chastises himself.   

The stranger looks at him with a tilted head. Now that his wounded arm is released, he pulls it into his other to be cradled. He looks to be contemplating something, and Wei Wuxian squirms with the thought that he might be discovered. 

When the boy opens his mouth, he too looks hesitant, 

“I’m Xie Lian, it’s nice to meet you.” 

Not recognized, then.

But that doesn’t make sense? The entire cultivation world knows of the Yiling Patriarch. Kids are told bedtime stories of the demon who will eat your toes if you don’t do your chores. 

Perhaps he was recognized, but this ‘Xie Lian’ simply does not care. 

Perhaps Wei Wuxian’s given name is not common knowledge, like his courtesy is. 

Or perhaps this boy is not mentally stable, just as he had first suspected. 

Whatever the reason, Wei Wuxian feels a wide smile spread across his face, 

“Mn!” He agrees, “Nice to meet you.” 

Xie Lian blinks once in the glare of his brilliant smile, before a soft smile takes over his face too. 

How long has it been since a stranger has smiled at him?  

Very long , Wei Wuxian thinks. His face has become too recognizable as the new installation of the Yiling Patriarch. Despite his name being cleared, and his connection with the cultivation world’s ever admired ‘Hanguang-jun,’ strangers still give him a wide berth. 

It is a nice surprise, then, to give his name freely and be treated with kindness regardless. Even if the suspected reason for this is insanity. 

They both stand to their feet, and laughing together, they brush the dirt off of their butts. The bloodstains a few steps over are ominous, but easily ignored. The dog is nowhere in sight anymore. All there is left to do is find A-Yuan and go ba—

“Oh no,” Wei Wuxian says, as his face goes pale. 

“Oh no?” Xie Lian parrots back, concern laces his words. 

“Oh no,” He says again, “I left my son!” 

Frantically, he turns sharply on his heel, but he can no longer remember from which way he had come. He had been too preoccupied with running for his life at the time, not bothering to take in his surroundings. 

Now, Wei Wuxian finds himself in a part of the small town he and A-Yuan hadn’t been to yet. The market stall where he had left his son is nowhere in sight. 

“A-Yuan!” He yells out with hands cupped over his mouth. 

He doesn’t expect an answer from his quiet-spoken son, but receiving none still sends a jolt of panic up his spine.

“A-Yuan!” He yells again. 

A gentle tap on the shoulder brings Wei Wuxian down from the mountain of panic,

“Where were you with him last?” 

It’s the stranger, Xie Lian, who Wei Wuxian had almost completely forgotten about.  

“I don’t—” know , he doesn’t say out loud. This is a town Wei Wuxian has never been to before, is only visiting here for a quick Night Hunt. He and Lan Sizhui hadn’t even had the chance to explore the entirety of it before being separated. 

The stranger places his hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, and grounds him again, 

“It’s okay, I know this town fairly well. My husband and I frequent this place often.” 

“Your husband?” Wei Wuxian mumbles back without really thinking. A spark of jealousy does ignite in his chest, however. 

He wishes his husband were here. 

Xie Lian hums happily in confirmation, 

“We come for the tanghulu here, but it’s a lovely place to walk around. Very safe for a child.” 

Wei Wuxian does not know why the other had added the bit about children, perhaps he and his husband have kids? But before he can inquire about it further, Xie Lian is continuing, 

“However, we should still find your son as soon as possible. Do you remember any stalls he was looking at? Maybe someone selling toys?” 

Wei Wuxian nods, happy to have a starting point, 

“Yes, yes. He was looking at hair pieces before the dog attacked.” 

“Mn,” Xie Lian hums sagely, “Yes, shiny things are very interesting to them.” 

Wei Wuxian knits his eyebrows together. What is that supposed to mean? Who is the ‘them’ in this situation?

The case against this stranger’s sanity is only growing stronger by the minute. 

“I think I do know what stall you’re talking about, though.” 

The ‘I can take you there,’ goes unspoken, but that is all Wei Wuxian needs to hear to not care about Xie Lian’s first bizarre statement, 

“Aiyah, thank goodness!” 

He feels as if he could collapse to the ground with relief. 

Wei Wuxian does feel a certain amount of guilt for taking up Xie Lian’s time, but it really can’t be helped. A-Yuan is alone, and that dog could come back at any time, and Wei Wuxian does not fare well when alone. With no husband, or brother, this mad man would have to make a temporary replacement.

They start to walk in a random direction, and Wei Wuxian hopes Xie Lian really does know where he is going. 

Instead of asking that, however, he says, 

“So, are you here with your husband now?” 

Xie Lian shakes his head softly, letting Wei Wuxian fall into step beside him, 

“No, he had to visit an old friend. My San Lang insisted that he did not want to leave my side, but I wish him to have good relationships with others. I could not hold him back on account of my loneliness.” 

“Your San Lang sounds pretty intense,” Wei Wuxian responds. 

What he means is that his husband sounds like Lan Zhan, never wishing to leave his side. Loyal like a shadow. 

Xie Lian only laughs softly, 

“Ahhh no, he is nothing but a softie. Kind, and of little words. Some people think he’s scary, but I just can’t see it.” 

Wei Wuxian nods along at the description. The mental image of a quiet and shy young boy, probably around the same age as Xie Lian, forms. 

“What about you, what is your wife like?” 

Wei Wuxian pauses in his step. “My wife?” He asks with knitted eyebrows.

He supposes, now that he thought about it, it did sound like he should have a wife. Going on about talk of a son, Xie Lian had to assume that his son came from somewhere. He pictures Lan Zhan in his mind, thinks about how he might react to being called Wei Wuxian’s wife. And then he is laughing. 

Laughing so hard he feels a stitch coming. Xie Lian is a few steps ahead, but he turns to look back at him. The confusion on his face is not hard to miss.  

Wei Wuxian chuckles a few more times, and sighs to himself. 

“Ahhhh, sorry, sorry,” He breathes in with a smile, “He has a very warm soul.” 

*remember the pronouns for he and she (and it) are pronounced the same in Mandarin Chinese. When Wei Wuxian says ‘he’, Xie Lian does not pick up on the real gender of his partner*  

“I’m the luckiest person in the whole world,” he continues, “I don’t think I ever deserved to be this happy, but I am.” 

Xie Lian smiles politely, even if he does not realize why Wei Wuxian is so amused.

“She sounds lovely,” he says simply.

“Mn,” Wei Wuxian agrees with a smirk. 

It isn’t long before he starts to recognize things again—the booth A-Yuan had stopped to look at for a calligraphy pen. The man selling shoes in exchange for food. 

It takes every ounce of self control that Wei Wuxian possesses to not call out his son’s name as loud as he can. 

When they find the hair piece booth again, A-Yuan is not there. Wei Wuxian fights the wave of panic that surges at that. 

“Where do you—” Xie Lian starts to ask gently, but is cut off by someone else. 

“Baba!” 

It isn’t quite a shout, his son would never shout even outside the Cloud Recesses, but it is loud enough to reach him. 

Wei Wuxian could collapse from relief. 

He turns and, not melodramatically! feels the beginning of tears forming, 

“Ah!” He does shout, “My beautiful baby radish!” 

Wei Wuxian barely even focuses his eyes, only sees the white blur, the white headband, and grabs with his arms. One hand rests on the back of his son’s head to pull him in, while the other grabs around his back, 

“Why would you run off like that?” 

It is an attempt at a joke. They both are well aware that it had been Wei Wuxian who ran off.

“Baba,” his son almost whines into his shoulder, “I am fine. I am nearly 18 and can handle myself, you know.” 

Wei Wuxian pulls back, but leaves both hands on A-Yuan’s shoulders. He does not wish to embarrass the boy further with more than necessary affection, but it is hard to restrain himself sometimes. 

“Aiyah, I know, I know,” Fondly, he ruffles his son’s perfectly done hair, “I know.”

Finally, he pulls completely off of A-Yuan, and turns back to Xie Lian. 

“Thank you for all of your help, truly. This is my son, A-Yuan.”

Even if Xie Lian is suspected of insanity, Wei Wuxian only finds himself filled to the brim with gratitude for the helpful boy. Someone who had taken on a dog for him, a stranger. Someone who helped him find his son. 

Xie Lian, for his part, looks as if he is juggling a lot of new information. 

“Oh,” He responds, blinking at A-Yuan as if he were a newly found puzzle piece, “I didn’t realize—I mean, I thought…” 

From his side, Wei Wuxian’s ever respectful son folds into a shallow bow of greeting, and fills the silence that Xie Lian created, 

“Hello, qianbei .” 

Wei Wuxian finds himself quirking an eyebrow. That isn’t how he would have addressed Xie Lian if he were A-Yuan. Senior? The two weren’t even far apart in age. 

Xie Lian blinks one more time before it looks as if the puzzle pieces have all come together and clicked. 

With a gentle smile, and a bow back, he says, 

“Hello, Lan Sizhui.” 

Wei Wuxian feels as if he is missing something as he glances between his son and the stranger, but what?  

Before he can think about it longer, however, Xie Lian is pulling out of his bow and saying, 

“It is regrettable, but I really must be getting back to my husband now,” And strangely, he pulls out a pair of dice. 

“Mn.” A-Yuan replies in place of his baffled father, “We wish the two of you a good day, then.” 

Xie Lian nods in acknowledgement and then turns to Wei Wuxian one last time, 

“It was very nice meeting you, Wei Ying,” 

If A-Yuan is surprised by the informal address, he doesn’t show it.

“I wish you and your husband the best,” Xie Lian says before taking his leave.

Turning with a gentle smile, he walks to the closest door (a tavern by the looks of it) and throws his dice at his feet. Wei Wuxian watches intrigued as Xie Lian scoops them up without even looking at them, and walks through the door confidently. 

What? 

“My husband?” Wei Wuxian echoes dumbly. 

When had Xie Lian figured it out? 

“Come on,” A-Yuan tugs at his father’s arm, “It is probably time to commence Night Hunting.” 

Wei Wuxian stares at the door Xie Lian had disappeared into and nods along, still confused as he lets himself get pulled around. 

He thinks back to all of the baffling things the stranger had said. The dice he had pulled out at the end, the shifting movement under his sleeve. How, even as Wei Wuxian bandaged it, the wound Xie Lian received seemed to heal extraordinarily fast. 

Wei Wuxian furrows his eyebrows as one last thing occurs to him— 

 “Hello, Lan Sizhui,” Xie Lian had said. 

  —but, he is sure that he never once used or gave A-Yuan’s courtesy name to the other.

— — —

It is an unremarkable day in an unremarkable town when the four meet. 

Why had Xie Lian and Hua Cheng chosen to visit this town in particular? Who would even know. 

What were the chances that Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian would visit the same town? Probably zero. 

It still happens anyhow. 

It is Wei Wuxian who sees Xie Lian first—The last to meet, but the first to reconnect. 

Looking up from the talisman that a young merchant is trying to sell him, the Yiling Patriarch sees his clinically crazy (?) acquaintance admiring a stall selling swords of all kinds.

Delighted, Wei Wuxian ditches the talisman seller (and his husband who had not caught sight of Xie Lian yet) and calls out, 

“Hey, it’s you again!” 

Lan Wangji is quick to turn and see who his husband is addressing and— ah!— he thinks when he sees the familiar boy in shabby white robes, his eyes widening ever so slightly, 

Hua Xie, the strange, almost cultivator he met in the woods.     

Because his husband is now skipping in the direction of the other, Lan Wangji follows. If not a bit less exuberant. 

Xie Lian’s eyes jump from Wei Wuxian to Lan Wangji, and a pleased smile takes up his face, 

“Hello, again,” He says brightly and to both of them. 

Lan Wangji is first to bow, but both him and Wei Wuxian say at the same time, 

“Hua Xie.” 

“Xie Lian!” 

The husbands look at each other confused. 

“Lan Zhan, what—” 

“Xie Lian?” Lan Wangji questions his husband. 

He remembers well the day Wei Wuxian had come home and brightly told the story of a young boy named Xie Lian who hadn’t recognized him as the feared Yiling Patriarch, who protected him from a dog. 

He also remembers Lan Sizhui briefly mentioning that he had coincidentally run into Hua Xie again. 

Lan Wangji had not realized the two were talking about the same person. 

Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, is surprised to find out his husband knows Xie Lian at all. His husband had never mentioned a ‘Hua Xie’ before.  

Xie Lian is nervously laughing and waving his hands about, 

“I can explain,” he says weakly, feeling like he could cry at any moment. 

Wei Wuxian takes this new information in stride, however, as he grins wider now, 

“You give out fake names, huh? I’ve never thought about doing that. Do you think that would work for me, Lan Zhan?” 

Lan Wangji doubts it. 

“Mn,” He says noncommittally. 

Xie Lian looks as if he wants to interject something but hasn’t decided what yet, when Wei Wuxian barrels forward,  

“Is your husband with you this time?” 

He is over excited when he says this, as if he were a puppy or a kettle boiling over. 

Lan Wangji can only blink at the new information. 

He finds himself surprised that Hua Xie Xie Lian (?) has a husband. 

Xie Lian, on the other hand, finds himself surprised that Wei Wuxian has remembered that detail about him at all. 

“He is, I seem to have lost him for now though…” 

Xie Lian turns his head from left to right as he rises on his tippy toes. It looks to be an attempt to find his husband better, but proves to be unfruitful. 

“It is nice to see you again, though,” He is now addressing Lan Wangji instead of Wei Wuxian, “You look happier, Hanguang-jun.” 

And it is true. When they had first met, Xie Lian had sensed a closed nature surrounding the ever-serious, jade-like man. Now, he has a life in his eyes, a spark to keep living.  

“Mn. I am,” he replies simply. 

Privately, and to himself, Lan Wangji wonders how this boy seems to have not aged. Xie Lian looks uncannily identical to his self from nine years ago. He knows it is common for cultivators to stop aging once they reach a high enough level of cultivation, however, the boy himself had claimed to not be a cultivator. 

Before Lan Wangji can reflect on it further, or more embarrassingly—ask about it, the three of them are joined by one more.

“Gege, are you making friends?” 

And then a pair of glaring eyes are flicking threateningly between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. As if they are daring either to make a move. 

Neither do. 

Hua Cheng takes in the sight of Lan Wangji with a bit of surprise. For a moment he hadn’t recognized the man. His appearance is a sharp contrast from their meeting sixteen years ago, and had rendered him hard to recognize at first.

As for recognizing Wei Wuxian, it is a lost cause. The two had met too long ago, a death and a new body ago. This new Mo Xuanyu is not identifiable as the Yiling Patriarch to the Ghost King.  

This, however, does not double for Wei Wuxian. 

“Crimson Rain Sought Flower!” He shouts with a point in the other’s face. 

The teenaged face of San Lang was not one Wei Wuxian had forgotten. It is not everyday that you get to meet a Calamity, in fact, and Wei Wuxian had made sure to remember the experience.

Lan Wangji, on the other hand, frowns, 

“That’s not—” 

But before he can finish, the ghost is shifting before their very eyes. Shifting into the recognizable, older, eyepatch wearing, Ghost King. 

“Caught me,” He says passively with his now deeper voice. 

The words die in Lan Wangji’s throat. 

That is the Crimson Rain Sought Flower. The one Lan Wangji remembers. 

Lan Wangji flickers his eyes to the white robed Xie Lian, to the hand pulled possessively around his hip, to the picture the two of them make side by side. White and Red colliding. 

Ah.   

And everything makes sense…

…But not to Wei Wuxian. 

If Wei Wuxian remembers correctly, he had been told by the Ghost King himself that his husband was dead . If Xie Lian is here, and the two are husbands, it could only mean one thing. 

Resurrection. A tale as common as his and Lan Wangji’s. 

A happy grin is splitting across Wei Wuxian’s face before he can even reconsider if he has come to the correct conclusion, 

“No way! I’m so happy for you two!” 

And because he possesses no impulse control, Wei Wuxian raises his hand and slaps it jovially onto Hua Cheng’s shoulder. A congratulatory move. 

The ghost flinches at the overfamiliar contact from the under familiar man, but the chatter box is already continuing, 

“I didn’t realize you would be the type to go for the crazy ones, but to each their own!”

Crazy ones? Xie Lian cries a little on the inside at that comment.

“You two know each other?” He chuckles out nervously instead of addressing the ‘crazy’ comment. 

“Oh yea!”

“No.” 

Both Wei Wuxian and Hua Cheng respond at the same time. 

Wei Wuxian drops his jaw. Betrayal! Hua Cheng, however, could not care less,

“Gege, let’s not bother ourselves with such people.” 

And then he is attempting to steer his beloved in a different direction. Perhaps towards home and away from nuisances. 

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian protests. 

But Hua Cheng still does not care. 

He does not care for pathetic Lan Wangji, nor for his overly excited, newly obtained side kick. Does not care for anything that is not His Highness.

“San Lang, be nice,” his husband chastises, but allows himself to be guided away anyway,

“You two make a lovely couple,” Xie Lian says as the two of them start to walk past, “Tell Lan Sizhui I say hello, will you?” 

Lan Wangji hums and bows his head as a farewell and an acknowledgment. 

Wei Wuxian grumbles something not so nice under his breath, but says out loud, 

“Yea, yea, okay,” 

And then a thought occurs to him, so he adds, 

“You should contact me so we can talk without your mean, old husband around!” 

Wei Wuxian has to shout it, as the pair is quite far away by now. From beside him, his husband gives him a warning tap on his hand. The message is clear—

Stop insulting a thousands of years old Calamity. 

If Hua Cheng hears, he elicits to ignore the petty comment. Xie Lian, however, turns around with a pleased smile. 

“That would be nice, yes.” 

Wei Wuxian returns the smile, brighter even. 

Briefly, he wonders how they will go about contacting each other, if he should run and perhaps set up a meeting or something, but Xie Lian is already saying something else, 

“Just pray to me. I’ll answer.”