Chapter Text
The cicadas were loud that summer. Their droning filled the mountains around the Cloud Recesses until the sound seemed to sink into the stone terraces and white walls. Even the wind carried it — thin and constant, vibrating in the pine branches like a second heartbeat beneath the world. Most disciples had stopped noticing. Lan Wangji had not. He sat alone beneath a magnolia tree in the outer courtyard, his guqin resting across his knees.
The afternoon sun filtered through pale leaves, scattering light across the polished wood of the instrument. His fingers hovered above the strings. Then the final note faded. Silence followed.
Inquiry was not meant for the living. It called to wandering souls, asking questions the world could not answer. For thirteen years, he had asked the same one. The dead had spoken often. But never the one he sought.
Footsteps broke the quiet. “Hanguang-jun!” Lan Wangji lifted his gaze. A young disciple hurried across the courtyard, robes slightly disordered from running — something that would normally earn correction. Today, Lan Wangji said nothing. The boy stopped several paces away, breathing hard. “There’s— someone at the mountain gate.”
Lan Wangji waited. The junior swallowed. “He says his name is Wei Wuxian.”
The cicadas screamed louder. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to a single point in Lan Wangji’s chest — tight and silent, like a breath held too long. He stood.
The guqin remained resting against the low stone table. Lan Wangji did not ask questions. He began walking.
The path down the mountain wound through tall pines and white terraces, each step marked by centuries of stone worn smooth beneath careful feet.
Disciples had already gathered along the railings. They stood in small clusters, whispering in voices too low to form words. Some leaned over the carved balustrades to see farther down the slope. Others looked pale and uncertain.
When Lan Wangji passed, they fell silent. He continued toward the gate. The air felt strange. Not wrong — nothing so obvious. But the mountain seemed to be holding its breath. Even the cicadas had grown quieter. The trees opened. The carved stone archway of the gate stood at the edge of the terrace, white against the deep green of the forest beyond.
Someone stood beneath it. Black robes. Loose hair tied with a red ribbon. A familiar silhouette against the light. Wei Wuxian leaned casually against the gate pillar as though he had been waiting there for hours. One shoulder rested against the stone, arms folded loosely across his chest. His head tilted back slightly, watching the sky through the branches. He looked comfortable. As though nothing about this place was unfamiliar.
Lan Wangji stopped several steps away.
Their eyes met immediately. His expression brightened. “Oh,” he said lightly. “Lan Zhan.” The smile came a moment later. Just long enough to notice. Just long enough for the silence between them to deepen.
Lan Wangji stepped forward. Behind him, the watching disciples held their breath. Wei Wuxian straightened from the pillar, brushing dust from his sleeve in an absent gesture that felt painfully familiar. “You took your time,” he said. His voice carried the same warm teasing it always had. “I thought the Cloud Recesses might have decided to leave me standing here forever.”
Lan Wangji stopped two steps away. Up close, nothing appeared different. The same face. The same dark eyes bright with quiet amusement. The same faint crease beside his mouth when he smiled.
Wei Wuxian studied him openly. “Lan Zhan,” he said again. “You’re staring.” Lan Wangji did not answer. He listened. Breath. Heartbeat. The subtle rhythm of a living body. Everything was there. Yet something in the air felt… still.
Wei Wuxian shifted his weight slightly. “Don’t tell me,” he said with a small laugh, “that you’ve forgotten me already.”
Lan Wangji spoke. “…You returned.”
Wei Wuxian tilted his head. “Well,” he said, “I did say I would.”
Lan Wangji remembered. Smoke rising from the Burial Mounds. Ash drifting through ruined air. The sound of a flute cutting through the chaos before falling silent forever. The absence that followed.
For years afterward, Lan Wangji had searched battlefields and ruins. He had questioned restless spirits, wandering ghosts, and echoes of the dead.
He had played Inquiry until his fingers bled.
The dead had answered many questions. But never that one. Wei Wuxian watched him quietly.
Then he pushed away from the gate pillar. “Are you going to keep me outside,” he asked lightly, “or do the Cloud Recesses still not allow guests without jade tokens?”
Behind Lan Wangji, several disciples exchanged uneasy looks.
The rules were clear. The dead did not return.
Lan Wangji looked at him again. Everything appeared correct. The posture. The voice. The careless ease with which Wei Wuxian stood in a place that demanded restraint. Yet the air around him felt strangely quiet. As though the mountain itself were listening.
Lan Wangji stepped aside. “You may enter.” The murmuring behind him stopped abruptly.
Wei Wuxian blinked once, mild surprise crossing his face. Then his smile widened. “I knew you’d say that.” He stepped past the threshold.
For a brief moment, the cicadas fell silent.
Then they began again.
Wei Wuxian paused beside Lan Wangji, glancing up the long stone path that wound toward the inner halls. “Still the same,” he said softly. His gaze drifted back. “…Lan Zhan.”
There was the faintest pause before the name. Barely noticeable. Lan Wangji turned and began walking. Wei Wuxian followed easily, falling into step beside him as though the years between them had never existed. The watching disciples parted to let them pass. No one spoke. Wei Wuxian looked around with open curiosity.
“Ah, I missed this place,” he said. “Even the rules.” His tone held gentle humor. But he walked carefully — perfectly within the center of the path. A junior nearly collided with him when turning a corner.
Wei Wuxian stepped aside immediately. “My apologies,” he said politely.
The boy froze. Lan Wangji noticed. The junior bowed quickly and hurried away, looking faintly shaken.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head. “Did I scare him?”
Lan Wangji did not answer. They continued upward. The cicadas screamed from the trees. Wei Wuxian walked quietly beside him. For someone who once filled every silence with words, the stillness felt unusual.
After several minutes, he spoke again. “So,” he said lightly, “are you going to ask how I came back?”
Lan Wangji stopped. Wei Wuxian halted as well. Their eyes met. Wei Wuxian smiled again — slowly this time. Lan Wangji listened. Breath. Heartbeat. Wind moving through distant trees.
“…Later,” he said.
Wei Wuxian’s smile lingered. “All right.”
He seemed satisfied with that answer. They resumed walking. High above the terraces, clouds drifted across the summer sky. The cicadas screamed louder. And for a single moment — just as the wind shifted — the shadow at Wei Wuxian’s feet moved half a step slower than the body that cast it.