Chapter Text
The air in Nightless City was thick with the suffocating stench of copper, burning ash, and resentful energy. The sky was stained a bruised, violent purple, illuminated only by the clash of spiritual swords and the eerie, green glow of the Stygian Tiger Seal’s power.
Wei Wuxian stood high on the precipice, his lips pressed to Chenqing. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale as death, channeling every ounce of his remaining strength into the melody that kept the dead fighting on their behalf. But his mind was fraying. The whispers of the spirits were deafening, clawing at his skull, demanding blood, demanding an end.
"A-Xian!"
The voice pierced through the cacophony of war. It wasn't a roar of hatred or a shout of challenge. It was a desperate, familiar cry.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped open. Below him, staggering through the chaotic crossfire of the battlefield, was Jiang Yanli. Her wedding robes were torn, stained with dust and blood, her face pale with terror as she searched for him.
"Shijie..." Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. The flute slipped a fraction of an inch from his lips.
In that split second of distraction, a rogue cultivator, eyes crazed with bloodlust and seeking the glory of killing the Yiling Patriarch, lunged from the shadows. His sword gleamed with a deadly, sharp light, aimed straight for Wei Wuxian. But Jiang Yanli, staggering blindly through the chaos to reach her brother, had stumbled directly into the path of the attack putting her fragile, unprotected body right between the blade and its target.
Wei Wuxian’s heart stopped. The strike was meant for him, but it was her chest the blade would pierce.
He did not think. He did not calculate the political fallout, nor did he consider his own survival. To him, the world had always shrunk down to a single, absolute truth: Shijie must live.
He threw himself off the ledge.
He collided with Jiang Yanli, wrapping his arms around her smaller frame and violently spinning them around. He forced his own body into the trajectory of the strike, taking the cold, unforgiving steel deep into his back.
The sound of tearing flesh was sickeningly loud in his own ears.
"A-Xian!" Yanli gasped as they hit the rocky ground together.
But Wei Wuxian couldn't answer. The dark, swirling vortex of resentful energy that had hovered over the battlefield like a shroud instantly flickered out. Chenqing clattered against the stones, rolling away into the dirt. Across the plains of Nightless City, the fierce corpses frozen in mid-strike suddenly collapsed, their limbs turning loose and lifeless, dropping like puppets with their strings violently cut.
Silence deafening and heavy fell over the battlefield.
"A-Xian? A-Xian, look at me!" Jiang Yanli’s voice broke into a desperate, agonizing scream that echoed over the quiet ruins. She cradled his head in her lap, her hands immediately coming away soaked in dark, warm blood. "No, no, no! Help! Someone help him!"
A few feet away, Jiang Cheng froze. The spiritual light of Sandu flickered and died on the blade as his face went completely white. "Wei... Ying?"
Before anyone else could react, a streak of pure white and blue cut through the dust. Lan Wangji dropped to his knees beside them, his usually pristine forehead ribbon crooked, his hands trembling violently. Without a word of explanation, he gently but securely scooped Wei Wuxian's broken, bleeding body up into his arms.
"Make tracks! We are leaving!" Jiang Cheng roared, his instincts finally kicking in as he brandished Sandu to clear a path.
"Get the Seal! The Yiling Patriarch is down! Secure the Stygian Tiger Seal!" Jin Guangshan’s voice rose above the shock, sharp, greedy, and completely devoid of humanity. He looked around in a rage as his own disciples hesitated, frozen in the sheer horror of the sudden tragedy. "Why is nobody moving?! When did my Sect become filled with absolute idiots?! Seize the weapon!"
But before any Jin disciple could take a single step toward the fallen artifact, a shadow flickered through the dust. A pale, cold hand snatched the heavy metal amulet from the blood-soaked dirt. Wen Ning, operating under a lingering, deep-seated command from Wei Wuxian to keep it safe, slipped the Stygian Tiger Seal deep into his robes and vanished into the retreating crowd.
No one from Gusu Lan or Yunmeng Jiang paid Jin Guangshan's screaming any mind. Guided by Lan Wangji's fierce determination and Jiang Cheng’s protective rage, the two sects executed a swift, unified retreat, shielding the Yiling Patriarch from the predatory clutches of the Lanling Jin.
They fled to the secure, heavily fortified rear camp of the coalition forces.
As they crossed the threshold of the wards, they found themselves expected. Standing in the center of the camp was Nie Huaisang—no longer looking like a trembling figure hiding behind his fan, but standing tall, cool, and resolute. Beside him stood Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu, their faces grim with worry.
But the real shock sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through the arriving cultivators. Standing right behind Nie Huaisang, very much alive and unbound, was Wen Qing. She had just lowered a deep, face-shielding hood, peeling a faintly glowing, high-grade concealing talisman from her dark traveling robes the very tool that had masked her spiritual signature and kept her hidden from Jin patrols who believed she had been executed.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes went wide. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, his voice cracking with shock and anger. "Wens?! What the hell is-"
"Shut up, Jiang Cheng!" Madam Yu’s voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and unyielding as she stepped forward. She didn't spare a glance for the political implications; her eyes were locked entirely on the pale, bloody boy cradled in Lan Wangji's arms. "Get him into the healer room. Now!"
Lan Wangji didn't need to be told twice. He carried Wei Wuxian past the stunned onlookers, rushing into the makeshift infirmary.
They laid Wei Ying down on the cot. His eyes were partially open, glazed with a terrifying, dull pain, staring blankly at the ceiling. He was entirely unaware of the chaos around him, his chest shallowly rising and falling as blood slowly pooled beneath his back.
Lan Wangji sank to his knees beside the bed. He grabbed Wei Ying's cold, limp hand, squeezing it with a desperate, trembling grip. Tears silently slipped down his beautiful cheeks, dripping onto the blood-stained sheets. For the first time in his life, Hanguang-jun was entirely unraveled, silently begging whatever Deity, god, or spirit would listen to spare the life of the boy he loved.
The heavy drapes of the infirmary snapped open. Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen rushed in, their faces tight with concern, demanding to know what had transpired. Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng quickly filled them in, their voices taut with a mixture of grief and anger.
As the story of Wei Wuxian's sacrifice and the collapse of the fierce corpses unfolded, Lan Qiren’s and Lan Xichen’s eyes grew wide with immense shock. The narrative they had been fed by the other sects that the Yiling Patriarch was an unfeeling, power-hungry monster was completely shattered.
Before they could discuss it further, the tent flap opened again. Two figures draped in heavy, face-shielding traveling cloaks stepped inside. With a synchronized motion, they lowered their deep hoods and unpinned the flickering concealing talismans from their collars, which had completely suppressed their presence and spiritual energy. Beneath the disguise, Jin Zixuan stepped forward, pale but entirely unharmed, accompanied closely by Jin Guangyao.
"A-Xuan!" Jiang Yanli sobbed with a tidal wave of relief, throwing herself into her husband's arms. Jin Zixuan held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, whispering promises of safety.
"Sect Leader Lan, Sect Leader Jiang," Jin Guangyao said, his voice quiet but steady as he stood beside them, brushing off his dark traveling cloak. He looked toward Wen Qing, who was already preparing her medical tools. "I believe there is much to explain. Chief among them... how Miss Wen and her brother are here, and not turned to ash as my father claimed to the world."
The revelation hung heavily in the room. It was not just Nie Huaisang who had orchestrated this; Jin Guangyao had actively assisted in keeping the Wen siblings alive beneath Jin Guangshan's nose, utilizing Huaisang’s secret jailbreak to finalise their rescue. The web of Jin Guangshan's lies was unraveling rapidly, making the political tension in the room scale to an agonizing high.
But there was no time for politics. Wei Wuxian let out a weak, agonizing gasp, a thread of dark blood escaping his lips.
"Everyone out! Now!" Wen Qing commanded, her voice ringing with absolute medical authority. "Except for Hanguang-jun. I need his spiritual energy to stabilize him."
The room cleared in a tense, anxious rush.
Wen Qing worked frantically. She applied rare, specialized herbs to the deep back wound, placed silver needles to ease his labored breathing, and checked his pulse. Lan Wangji sat motionless, pouring his pure, Gusu Lan spiritual energy into Wei Wuxian's chest.
"Why isn't it taking?" Lan Wangji’s voice was a broken whisper, his eyes pleading. "My energy... it is not anchoring. It is slipping through him like water."
Wen Qing’s fingers pressed firmly against Wei Wuxian's wrist, her jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Unlike Lan Wangji, she did not look surprised. She already knew the horrific truth of those empty, scarred spiritual pathways, and she had to fight to keep her own immense grief from breaking her composure. She gritted her teeth, holding back the stinging tears. She knew the truth would shatter everyone in this camp, but right now, she had a life to save, and she could not afford a single moment of distraction.
She looked at Lan Wangji, her voice tight, vibrating with a grim, hard-won resolve. "He will live, Hanguang-jun. I can stitch the flesh and break the fever. But... the battle for his recovery is going to be long, agonizing, and incredibly slow. Without a Golden Core, his body has no innate way to heal itself."
"What?" Jiang Cheng’s voice cut through the tent as he burst back in, having ignored the order to stay out. "What do you mean he doesn't have a core? That’s impossible! He’s Wei Wuxian! Wen Qing, explain!"
"Shut up, Jiang Cheng!" Wen Qing snapped, her voice cracking under the immense pressure, her face pale as she applied fresh bandages to the bleeding wound. "His life is hanging by a thread! Do you think I will waste precious seconds detailing his medical history while he is actively bleeding out on this cot? I know what happened to his core, and I know the horror of it, but I will not say a single word until he is stabilized. If you want answers, get out of my sight and let me save him!"
Jiang Cheng stood frozen, his chest heaving, before Madam Yu grabbed his shoulder from behind and forcibly dragged him back into the corridor, sealing the curtain shut behind them.
Inside, Lan Wangji did not join the argument. He simply bowed his head, pressing his forehead against Wei Wuxian's cold, sweat-slicked hand, silently pouring his energy into the empty, barren pathways of the boy who had done the impossible just to survive.
Hours passed, stretching deep into the quiet, heavy night.
Outside the makeshift infirmary, the waiting area was stifled by a thick, anxious silence. Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen sat together on a low wooden bench. Lan Xichen stared blankly at his own hands, his usually serene, warm eyes clouded with a profound, shattering distress.
"Meng Yao..." Xichen’s voice was barely a whisper, carrying a weight that seemed to age him by years. "I... I do not know what to believe anymore. The stories we were told... the righteousness we claimed to uphold. Did we learn nothing from the Sunshot Campaign? We fought so hard to defeat Wen Ruohan, only to find ourselves blindly following a madman just like him, merely wearing different, golden robes."
Jin Guangyao remained silent for a long moment, his hand resting gently on Xichen’s arm. His touch was a grounding presence. "Sect Leader Lan, the world is easily blinded by those who hold the loudest voices and the deepest pockets. But the truth has a way of refusing to stay buried."
A few paces away, Wen Qing stepped out of the infirmary, wiping her blood-stained hands on a clean cloth. Wen Ning met her immediately, his pale face filled with quiet, anxious questioning. Underneath his sleeve, he felt the cold, heavy weight of the Stygian Tiger Seal securely hidden away, just as Wei Wuxian had commanded him.
"He is stable for now," Wen Qing whispered, her voice rough with exhaustion. "The fever has caught him, and his body is incredibly weak, but his spirit is fighting. It will be a long, painful road ahead of him, A-Ning." She cast a glance back toward the tent flap, where the faint, steady blue glow of spiritual energy still flickered. A sad, soft smile touched her lips. "But... I know that idiot is in good hands."
Inside the room, Lan Wangji was still sitting exactly where they had left him, refusing to budge. He held Wei Ying’s limp hand against his cheek, his thumb gently caressing the pale knuckles. His eyes were closed, his breathing synchronized with the shallow, resting breaths of the boy on the cot.
A quiet rustle broke the silence. Lan Qiren stepped into the room, his expression unreadable as he looked at the scene. He looked at the exhaustion etched into his youngest nephew's face, the stubborn set of his shoulders, and the raw, unshielded devotion. With a heavy, silent sigh, Lan Qiren walked over and gently draped a thick, warm blanket over Lan Wangji’s shoulders. He lingered for a moment, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder, before turning away and quietly closing the door behind them, leaving them to their much needed rest.
Down the hall, in a larger war room illuminated by a single flickering candle, Jiang Cheng paced the floor, speaking in hushed, urgent tones with his parents. Jiang Fengmian sat quietly, his face lined with worry, while Madam Yu stood near the window, her arms crossed, her eyes flashing with a dangerous, protective spark.
Jiang Cheng suddenly slammed his fist against the map table, his eyes blazing with a dangerous mixture of burning hatred and fierce, unyielding protectiveness. "I will tear Jin Guangshan apart myself if he tries to touch him again," he snarled, his voice trembling with a terrifying blend of unshed tears and dark, protective fury. "He wants a war? Let him try. He is about to learn exactly how far a family will go to protect one of their own!"
Madam Yu stepped away from the window, her jaw set, her hand resting heavily on the hilt of Zidian. The spiritual whip crackled with dangerous purple sparks, perfectly reflecting the lethal, protective bloodlust glowing in her eyes. "He deserves to be skinned alive," she agreed coldly, her voice sharp as glass. "But Jin Guangshan is a venomous snake, Jiang Cheng, and we must be smarter than him. He is a master of twisting words. If we strike now in a blind rage, he will use it to paint Yunmeng Jiang as the betrayers of the coalition to the entire cultivation world."
She narrowed her eyes, her sharp mind swiftly analyzing the board. "We lay in wait. Let him run rampant. Let him lose the tight, frantic leash he has on his own greed until he chokes himself with his own ropes."
"There is no need for such drastic measures, Madam Yu," a soft, polite voice interrupted. Jin Guangyao stepped into the war room, his posture respectful but his eyes incredibly sharp.
Following closely behind him was Nie Huaisang. However, there was no trace of the trembling, helpless boy who usually hid behind his fan. He was completely done hiding in his brother's shadow, done playing the useless, fainting fool. His posture was sharp, and his eyes glinted with a devious, dangerous intelligence. Huaisang carried a delicate porcelain teacup, a thoroughly smug, deeply satisfied smirk gracing his soft features as he took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea.
"My 'father' is currently none the wiser," Jin Guangyao explained, a subtle, cold smirk playing on his lips. "In fact, he is in an absolute panic."
Jiang Cheng stopped pacing, looking between the two of them suspiciously. "What do you mean? How could he be in a panic? He has the entire Jin Sect behind him."
"He had them behind him," Huaisang piped up, setting his teacup down on the table with a soft, deliberate click. His voice was entirely devoid of its usual whiny pitch, carrying a sharp, razor-thin edge. "The moment we secured Wei-xiong and made our retreat, I put my own little whisper network to work. With a few rumors in the right ears, I fanned the flames of gossip throughout the minor sects."
Huaisang leaned back against the wooden chair, his eyes gleaming with a quiet, dangerous brilliance. "I painted a very clear picture of Jin Guangshan: a greedy tyrant playing God, eager to bring harm and destruction to anyone who refuses to sit and obey him like a good little puppet. I had my agents raise a very simple, public question to the masses: How can Wei Wuxian be the heartless monster they claimed, when everyone watched him throw himself in front of a blade to save his sister? Is that the character of someone evil? Or is the true villain the man who stood on a balcony screaming for a weapon while a boy lay dying in his sister's arms?"
Huaisang snapped his fan shut with a sharp, echoing clack, his eyes glittering with a devious, cat-like amusement as he looked at the stunned Jiang family. He offered them a mock-polite little bow.
"You are welcome, by the way~"
Jin Guangyao tilted his head, his voice dripping with calculated confidence. "Indeed. He cannot launch a campaign against you without looking like a bloodthirsty tyrant. This, Sect Leader Jiang, is our perfect chance to strike. While he is scrambling to fix his lies, we will dismantle his foundation."
"But before we play our hands in the courts," a quiet, gravity-laden voice spoke from the entrance.
Everyone turned. Wen Qing stood in the doorway of the war room, her shoulders slightly slumped from exhaustion, her eyes dark with a heavy, agonizing conflict. She closed the door behind her, sealing the room off from the rest of the camp.
Nie Huaisang's grip on his fan tightened, his knuckles turning white as he gave her a sharp, warning look. He knew exactly what she was thinking.
"Wen Qing..." Jiang Cheng stepped forward, his eyes burning. "You said you would explain. He is stable. The fever is breaking. Now tell me: where is his core?"
Wen Qing closed her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. She knew that what she was about to do was a profound, irreversible breach of Wei Wuxian’s trust. He had begged her, screamed at her, and sworn her to absolute secrecy to protect Jiang Cheng's pride and his own dignity. He would feel betrayed. He might never forgive her.
But looking at the sleeping, hollow boy in the other room, and looking at the family who had spent months despising him for choices he was forced to make, her resolve steeled.
"I promised him I would take this to my grave," Wen Qing whispered, her voice trembling but clear. "But he is no longer in a position to carry this crushing weight alone. If you want the truth of what he suffered... then sit down. Because what I am about to tell you will shatter everything you thought you knew about your brother."