The Earth Rings In Your Ears

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/27979644.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)
Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn
Character: Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Módào Zǔshī
Ensemble
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Whipping Boy, Alternate Universe - Canon
Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Drama,
Rape/Non-con Elements, (Fuck or Die), Bad Guys Made Them Do It,
Dubious Consent, (Power Imbalance), Public Sex, sect politics, Class
Issues, Corporal Punishment, Abusive Relationships, Public
Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Secret Relationship, Relationship
Negotiation, Love, Romance, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Lán Zhàn
| Lán Wàngjī, Submissive Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Under-negotiated
Kink, Fuckbuddies To Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Pining
while fucking, Experienced Lan Zhan, Degradation, Competence Kink,
Sunshot Campaign (Módào Zǔshī), Plot, Battle Scenes, Canon-Typical
Violence, Canonical Character Death, Body Worship, Orgasm
Delay/Denial, Breathplay, Aged-Up Character(s), Yílíng Lǎozǔ Wèi Yīng
| Wèi Wúxiàn, canon AU, Alternate Universe - Canon, Trauma,
Recovery
Collections: Mó Dào Zǔ Shī | The Untamed Kink Meme 2020
Stats: Published: 2020-12-09 Updated: 2021-04-20 Chapters: 7/11 Words:
60442

The Earth Rings In Your Ears

by bluerainmist

Summary

"I used to dream of it, Lan Zhan. A dream of being unburdened. Where no one knew me,
where no one had claim on me. I would laugh into the canyon and hear nothing but my own
echo. Play my flute into the wind…"

--

Forbidden love AU where Wei Wuxian is a whipping boy, used and punished for the good
of the Jiang Clan. Lan Wangji is the esteemed Gusu Lan heir, trying to keep his family safe
from the looming sect war.

The journey from fuckbuddies to enemies to lovers, willing to give it all for their soulmate.

Notes
Please de-anon!

Hi prompter, thank you for the inspiration. I hope you like. I wrote this to suit my desire for
a long, angst-ridden CQL divergence in which experienced WWX and LWJ are intensely
aware of their mutual attraction.

This chapter starts in the "present" and then goes to a flashback for most of the story, à la
The Untamed.

Pls note I lean in hard to the societal whipping boy aspect, so the entire cultivation world's a
little different. Rape/Non Con tag for a public coercion situation in later chapters, involving
a character LWJ and WWX both hate. Otherwise, this is dubcon for shifting power
imbalance, but my intention is they always want and care for each other. But: I rely a LOT
on the idea they superhumanly nonverbally understand each other. In my mind they are
always consenting and checking in with each other, but it's often implicit. If I ignorantly
mess up I'll take that seriously.

Hope you enjoy!

Prompt:

AU where it’s common for sect heirs/high-ranking young masters to have a whipping boy -
a commoner the age of the heir who takes punishments in the heir’s place. Your choice of
which sect/characters you want to focus on.

Some possible directions you could take this:

WWX as JC’s whipping boy. This would be a compromise made between Madame Yu and
JFM: it allows WWX to join the household, while making it absolutely clear that he isn’t
part of the family. How does it change the family dynamics? Does it make things between
Madame Yu and WWX worse (since she has more excuses to lash out at him), or better
(since he’s clearly not being treated like JFM’s son, perhaps leading to less speculation
about his parentage)? What about between JC and WWX? I don’t think JC would be okay
with WWX getting punished on his behalf, but I imagine WWX might act like it was fine
and drag him into trouble anyway. Would having the reminder of their different statuses
constantly hanging over their heads make JC less insecure, or would his guilt just cause
more problems between them?

Meng Yao gets taken in by the Nie sect younger, as NHS’s whipping boy since he’s too
young to become an aide. Maybe this encourages NHS to actually practice his saber, since
he feels guilty on MY’s behalf. Or maybe NMJ is still all bark and no bite, and the
“whipping boy” thing is mostly a pretense allowing MY to get a better education than he
might have had otherwise...at least until NHS & MY go to the Cloud Recesses, where LQR
has no compunctions about punishing MY for NHS’s laziness.

Alternately, instead of kicking MY down the stairs, JGS takes him in...but as Jin Zixuan's
whipping boy rather than as a son.

Su She as LWJ’s whipping boy. He never actually gets punished since LWJ always follows
the rules, but still resents the obvious class divide which makes punishing him more
acceptable. Or maybe the Lan sect is the only sect to punish its young heirs directly instead
of using whipping boys, which the other sects perceive as overly strict.

Wen Ning as Wen Chao’s whipping boy. Okay, this one is mostly just sad, but maybe Wen
Qing might be spurred to earlier rebellion against Wen Ruohan.

Canon version Any

Pairings: Any or none

DNWs: None
 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“I will go this way.”

“Mn. I will head that way.”

A few minutes later, a shout rings out.

“Lan Zhan!”

It’s joyous. Confident. Hopeful.

“The green mountains remain unchanging, the rivers ever flowing. We will meet again.”

Hearing this, Lan Wangji’s heart thrums. He stands on a bustling wharf, east of Gusu, surrounded
by oblivious merchants and fishermen. It is a crisp, cold morning. The ocean laps at the shore.

His eyes are fixed, quiet and steady, on Wei Wuxian.

On Wei Wuxian, who is leaving.

Already, the other man is growing smaller, skipping up the gangway onto the waiting ship,
dragging his donkey. Common black clothes, no mark of a sect. Jostled in the stream of other
travelers around him.

A bag slung over his shoulder. Wayward strands of hair frame his face. Flute tucked in his belt. In
his hand, Suibian—

The name as casual and cocky as the rest of him.

Lan Wangji feels breathless. How could he have known, when he first encountered that infuriating
stranger, what this beloved person would come to mean to him?

They’d met three years ago. That moonlit moment, on a rooftop in Cloud Recesses. The dark tinge
of the sky. Tension like a knife, giving way to this softness…

Now, Lan Wangji holds himself still, letting none of his feelings show on his face. He gives a
gentle nod to Wei Ying, across the division of the water. The ship starts to move away.

Wei Wuxian looks bright and determined, swaying as the deck moves beneath his feet. Something
unreadable in his eyes.

The smallest of smiles twitches Lan Wangji’s lips.

All is well, Wei Ying. Go.

He will hold this memory in his heart, he thinks, as Wei Wuxian slowly turns and leaves the ship’s
railing. As the flash of Wei Ying’s red ribbon disappears among the passengers. A sea breeze
swoops down and swirls Lan Wangji’s robes. The air is biting, shocking, exhilarating—

He will hold this memory: Wei Wuxian black-clad, shining, laughing, whole.
We will meet again, Lan Wangji thinks fiercely.

He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know when.

Already, he longs.

Lan Wangji keeps watch, as the ship fades in the distance. Birds are swooping and keening above
him. He smells sweet steamed buns, copper. Keys jostling, creak of food carts, swell of waves. He
stands until the ship is just a shimmer in the blue horizon.

Until it disappears.

Wei Wuxian is gone.

Wei Wuxian is gone.

Using every inch of his discipline, Lan Wangji turns from the sea and walks away.

He walks through the crowded seaport, leaving the docks.

His steps are measured. The people and shops blur around him.

The promise like a pulse in his head.

The green mountains…The rivers…We will meet again.

You and I will meet again. Even if it takes our whole lives.

Even if it takes time beyond our lives.

If they are to die, Lan Wangji thinks, this bond will stretch on, somehow. It feels large enough,
vast enough.

Sad enough.

This ache in his chest. This feeling inside of him.

Wei Ying, my Wei Ying.

We will meet again.

He leaves the city and walks into a wide, green plain. The main road stretches in two directions,
straight as a ruler.

Birds are chirping. The meadow is sunny.

One direction leads toward Cloud Recesses, toward home and relative safety. Back to his brother.
To his family, his clan.

The other way leads toward Nightless City.

As Lan Wangji walks, he assesses himself. He isn’t afraid. He feels…at peace. What he is doing is
right.
For most of his life, he had not felt at peace. He had felt like a storm inside: chaos, confusion, and
secret terror.

But now he feels calm.

He knows there will be pain to come.

He understands the depths of the sacrifice he just made.

But when he pictures Wei Ying’s fading figure: black-clad, laughing, hair flowing in the sea
breeze, Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to feel regret.

He travels all day, until he is deep in Qishan Wen territory. Until Wen Ruohan’s guards surround
him, until the red of their garments clash against the blue sky. Until a ring of Wen swords point at
his throat.

Until he finds himself in a crimson throne room, kneeling, supplicant, before Wen Chao. He does
not fight. He is willing. He is here.

Wen Chao looks astonished, shifting on the throne. “You actually came. Hanguang Jun actually
bows.”

Wen Sect disciples throng around them, staring and disbelieving. On the walls, blood-red banners
sway.

“It is as we discussed.” Lan Wangji’s voice doesn’t tremble, though he’s on his knees, surrounded
by enemies. His gaze is fixed on the ground before him. “Wei Wuxian is gone. I am here in his
place.”

Wen Chao smiles. It’s an ugly, cruel sight.

Lan Wangji doesn’t falter. He holds out Bichen in surrender.

“I offer myself, in Wei Ying’s stead. Take me for the full measure of his punishment.”

It had only been three years ago, when Lan Wangji had first come face to face with Wei Wuxian.
But it felt like a lifetime.

So much had changed since then.

The cultivation world had changed.

The sects had changed.

The rules had changed.

And his heart…

Three years ago. On that night, Lan Wangji had recently turned nineteen. Everything seemed
silvery and silent in Cloud Recesses. The pathways were still. A velvet blue darkness.

The moon seemed like a ghost in the night.

He had been keeping watch over the gates, one hand tucked in the small of his back, when he
heard movement. Someone clambering over a rooftop. A soft curse, under their breath.

An intruder.

Good.

Lan Wangji’s grip tightened on Bichen. He was tense. Raring for a fight. Tonight, he would relish
it.

Today had marked the beginning of the guest lectures at Cloud Recesses, and disciples from all the
major clans had been filtering into Lan Clan’s territory.

Such a mingling would always be fraught. The words and the meetings of powerful young
disciples would have ramifications in coming alliances, trades, battles…

But this year, especially, with the way Wen Clan was pushing the others…with the way Wen Chao
was doggedly, obsessively seeking to assert his father’s dominance…Uncle and Lan Xichen were
worried.

Already, Cloud Recesses was filled with strain.

Lan Wangji felt the tension acutely. A few months ago, Wen Ruohan had ordered two smaller sects
razed. The Wen Sect leader had also subsumed several family clans, taking hostages, desecrating
treaties, enforcing punishing taxes. Always pushing his territory outward, with far more violence
and aggression than they’d ever seen from a major cultivation clan, even one as powerful and vast
as the Wens.

Even more, the Nie Sect leader, Nie Mingjue’s father, had recently died of an unexplained illness.
He’d been in the midst of a heated land dispute with Wen Ruohan.

There were rumors Wen Ruohan had used dark arts to assassinate him.

That the Wen Sect leader had murdered his peer. Nothing proven. Nothing tangible.

Still, Lan Wangji was on edge.

He hated injustice. Hated tyrants, hated disregard and exploitation. Hated the kind of arrogance that
was blunt, that tried to run its will straight over others.

There had been much of all these things today. With every veiled insult and strategic interruption,
Wen Chao had made his clan’s strength clear, as well as their ambition to subjugate those they
deemed weak.

Lan Wangji, for the good of his family, had stayed polite and impassive.

So now, it was almost a relief to watch an intruder crest the roof and stand up, stretching boldly. A
shadowy figure. Dark lacquered sword. Two bottles of Emperor’s Smile dangling from fingertips.
Movements graceful, but wild. Possibly tipsy.

Breaking curfew. Breaking the wards. Trespassing. Illegal substances.

Someone truant, someone disrespectful. This kind of disobedience was easy, unlike the Wen Clan’s
tangled show of force and diplomacy. This would be straightforward. Skill against skill.

Someone was trodding their will over Lan Clan, and Lan Wangji would show them they could not.
He stepped out of the darkness, revealing himself.

The intruder stiffened, but didn’t face him immediately. There was pride to that decision.
Stubbornness.

Interesting.

Most people, even Wens, were almost painfully deferential to Lan Wangji. They could tell
immediately he was a Lan of high status. Could tell his capabilities.

Still facing away, the stranger lifted his chin.

Lan Wangji leapt closer.

Usually he liked to take his time, to observe his foe with care before they got a chance to see him.
But today he felt reckless, maybe over-confident. Ready.

That simmering tension had built up in him all day, as the strain increased. Already he felt energy
humming beneath his skin. And by the way the stranger moved, his easy fluidity…Lan Wangji
could tell…

This might be a good fight.

He landed lightly right beside him, drawing Bichen in a challenge.

The stranger grinned.

He was lanky, attractive, long hair rustling—

And then he turned.

Faced Lan Wangji.

Oh.

Something in Lan Zhan shifted. He didn’t know then, what it was.

His chest clenched. A spark down his body.

The stranger was boyish and slender, no older than Lan Wangji. Gaze sparkling. Smile.

That look. Those eyes.

Lan Wangji’s heart was suddenly racing.

“Alcohol is forbidden in Cloud Recesses.” Somehow Lan Wangji was speaking, voice low and
assured, as if his feelings weren’t spinning for absolutely no reason. As if his inner state had not
been tilted upside down by an intriguing smirk. What was this reaction? He had seen beautiful
people before…

“Breaking through the wards is forbidden,” he continued. “Those who arrive late shall not be
admitted until 7am the next morning.”

“I see. Lan Clan is privileged to have such a diligent guard.” The boy spoke easily.

Lan Wangji’s ears went warm. He was being mocked.

The stranger twirled the jars of alcohol over his wrist—a careless, competent motion, and then
extended one toward Lan Wangji. He moved with confidence, as if expecting the world to be
charmed by him.

“Diligence must be wearing. If I spare you one jar, will you forget you caught me?”

Lan Wangji could barely believe his ears. To attempt such petty bribery was absurd on numerous
levels.

But this boy’s gaze was…lively. Intelligent. And there was something else. A lack of fear, yes. But
also a lack of cruelty.

Lan Wangji had witnessed cruelty in people’s faces, plenty of it, by this time. It usually went hand-
in-hand with this kind of carefree assurance, with people lucky enough to hold power.

But this seemed different. Despite his mocking tone, this boy did not seem malicious. Nor was he
frightened. Instead, he seemed playful. Daring and delighted. Open.

Beneath his mocking behavior he seemed…good. Like a good person. To Lan Zhan.

Is that it? Lan Wangji wondered. Is that why I’m reacting this way?

Ridiculous. Outrageous and baseless. He didn’t even know this person’s name.

The boy blushed, withdrawing his outstretched hand, seeing that his offer had not been well
received. Flash of a frown.

Dark robes, purple accents. A silver bell engraved with a nine-petaled lotus.

Ah.

Jiang Clan.

Pieces clicked into place.

The Jiang were a much smaller sect, fiercely independent, descended from rangers. For most of
Lan Wangji’s life they’d been a minor presence to the west. Excellent archers. Decent cultivators.
Mostly irrelevant.

But in recent years that had changed.

Jiang Sect had grown rapidly, so much so that Jin Guangshan planned to formally ally with them
through his son Jin Zixuan. For as the Wen Clan grew more aggressive, pushing into their lands,
many of the small clans near Jiang Fengmian had merged and rallied under him, seeking his
leadership and protection.

Now, the Yunmeng Jiang Clan held enough economic and diplomatic power that they were here.
Invited, for the first time, to the Gusu Lan lectures. The Four Major Clans had become Five.

Attempt the impossible.

That was the Jiang Sect motto.

And this stranger appeared to embody it.

“It will be impossible for you to bring that further into Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji said.
The boy’s eyes flickered. “Is that a challenge?”

“An order.”

“I was going to concede, but now you’re tempting me.”

“Ridiculous.”

The boy’s grin widened. His hair swung in the night breeze. Red ribbon fluttering.

“Lan Zhan. I like challenges.”

They held eyes. Lan Wangji’s face remained unchanged.

Something seemed to shiver in the breeze between them.

Bichen arced through the night—

Zrriing!

Fast as lightning, the Jiang boy blocked with his scabbard.

And they were off.

Light as dancers, they raced and leapt across the rooftops. Trading blows, a swift exchange of skill.
Then the stranger dashed onward. Lan Wangji pursued, coolly confident. His sword glinted in
moonlight. Almost had him—

Always just out of reach.

The boy leapt, landed on a buttress, and spun, glancing back at Lan Wangji with a devilish grin.

Exhilaration rushed through Lan Wangji. He felt a thrill. Frustration. Admiration. No one his age
had ever matched his sword.

And this boy hadn’t even drawn yet.

And there was something on the other boy’s face, assessing Lan Wangji in the respite. Narrowed
eyes, chin tilted. Surprised.

This stranger, too, was shocked.

This boy wasn’t used to being matched.

At that thought, something silken and confident flashed through Lan Zhan. He moved like water,
streaming forward, all speed and grace.

No time to think. Blades and bodies. The alcohol like treasure, flashing in the night, lightly tossed.
Two white jars spinning on their blue binding thread.

There.

Lan Wangji saw an opening. Knew what he had to do.

Flicking his blade upward, he nicked the thread. The jars went flying.

Shock flashed across the boy’s face. He faltered, one small misstep—
And Lan Wangji was there.

Forcing him backward, knocking his weapon aside. The boy gasped as his defenses went down.

Lan Wangji pushed his advantage, drove into personal space. And then—

It was like electricity, the sudden charge between them. Breaths mingling. Crackle of want.

A surprised meeting of their eyes.

Lan Wangji recovered first, jumping backward.

The boy spun off the roof like a cyclone. Landed in a crouch on the ground. Eyes shot up—

Dismay—

“No!”

One of the jars of liquor smashed to the ground.

The boy’s yell was tortured. He sprang up, entire body straining—

And managed to catch the second bottle before it crashed.

He caught it right on the tip of his scabbard. The bottle tilted. The boy swayed, limbs flailing,
trying to hold—

Lan Wangji watched from above, feeling smug.

The boy’s tongue stuck out. Totally focused. Utter concentration.

No luck. The bottle tipped—

And shattered on the ground.

“Lan Zhan! You pay for my Emperor’s Smile! You owe me!”

“I do not. You violated our rules.”

“You destroyed my property.”

“You forfeited the property when you entered our grounds.”

“Is everyone here so stuffy? Humorless. Horrible. Fuddy duddy. Lan Zhan—”

Third time. “My courtesy name is Lan Wangji.”

“But Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. You’ve done me discourtesy.”

Lan Wangji’s lips snapped shut. He wouldn’t honor that with a response.

“And yes, of course I know who you are.” The boy put his hands on his hips. “One of the famed
Jades of Gusu. Ranked second of your generation. I must say I expected more.”

“More what?” Lan Wangji growled, despite himself.

“What do you think.”

Lan Wangji waited. More skill? More strength? He was genuinely curious. He’d won this
encounter, yes. Still, the boy had not drawn his sword.

“Can you believe it?” the boy said softly. “More stuffiness.”

Lan Wangji blinked. Then his breath hissed. “Who are you?”

The boy smiled. A knowing glint to his eyes. “I guess it’s rude. You don't know me, but I saw you
on the path this morning, bringing that corpse with your disciples into Cloud Recesses. It wasn’t
completely dead, was it? It was more like a puppet. Wen Ruohan’s work?”

Lan Wangji ignored the boy’s attempt to pump him for Lan Clan information. “Who are you?” he
repeated. “What’s your name?”

There was a sinking feeling in Lan Wangji’s chest. He thought…he already knew the answer.

The boy tapped his scabbard against his chest. “I’m nobody.”

“Impossible.”

“Nobody. Nothing. I’m a blank.”

He wore Jiang Sect’s style, yes, so functional it was almost plain. But his robes were black. Not
rich, not opulent. And that red ribbon was not typical of the clan.

Nobody.

Lan Wangji shook his head. He was suddenly fed up with the games.

“Come.”

“Where?”

“I’ll take you to the Jiang Sect heir. Your master will address the misdemeanors.”

The boy’s voice was flat. “Just add it to the list of our clan’s infractions. Trust me. Jiang Cheng
doesn’t care.”

He spoke flippantly, but his face turned almost wistful. Lan Wangji followed his gaze down, to the
shards of broken porcelain on the ground.

White and blue shards, glinting in the moonlight.

Breeze sliding around them. Wind through trees.

“Hmm.” The boy’s voice was gentle. “I guess it was impossible after all.”

Lan Wangji opened his mouth, about to say something cold, and then paused.

For the moment had changed.

There was a strange look on the other’s face. He looked preoccupied, almost afraid, suddenly.
Small.

The smell of liquor surrounded them, sharp and pungent.

“I’ve never fought with someone like you before,” the Jiang boy said finally. He ran his hand over
the back of his neck. “You might be good enough to beat me.”

“We plan to fight again?”

Little huff in response. Then a chuckle. “You never know, right, Lan Zhan?”

The boy lifted his gaze, and the full force of it hit Lan Wangji like a punch in the gut. Conflict.
Pain.

“Who are you?” Lan Wangji’s voice was hoarse.

Then, the moment broke.

The boy rushed forward and slapped a hand on Lan Wangji’s chest, using him as a vaulting board
to leap back into the air. Over the wall.

Irritation flooded Lan Wangji.

He wasn’t sure why he’d allowed the touch. He wasn’t sure why he was letting him escape now.

“Just add it to our list. Jiang Cheng doesn’t care.”

“Spare me one more night of freedom, at least!” The boy shouted, dashing away in the night.
“Please, oh please, Lan Zhan! Before I’m caged by your three thousand rules!”

A toss of the head, a wink over the shoulder. Disappearing in darkness.

It was only later that night, when Lan Wangji returned to his room, that he truly understood the
skill that he’d witnessed.

It was when he removed his money pouch, intending to store it, and discovered it felt…lighter. He
spilled the contents on the table.

Gone. A precise amount of money. Enough for two bottles of Emperor’s Smile.

And in it’s place, a scrap of talisman paper. Scrawled handwriting.

Lan Zhan, you could call me Wei Ying.

That night, Lan Wangji couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling, thoughts whirling inside of him.

That messy handwriting, the scrap of paper on the table. The glimpse of pain.

Wei Ying.

It was as he guessed. The boy must be Wei Wuxian.

The Jiang Clan whipping boy.

“I’m nobody.”

Lan Wangji frowned. That description was true in terms of status, but not in terms of reputation.
Wei Wuxian was infamous.

The son of a servant. The son of Cangse Sangren. A commoner who had gotten himself embroiled
in sect politics.

Uncle and Lan Xichen had been bracing for his arrival.

Lan Wangji reached for the scrap of paper. Watched moonlight filter through the ink.

“I’m nobody.”

To be a whipping boy was, according to some, a role of high honor within a cultivation clan. To
grow up side-by-side with a sect heir, to be their symbolic representative, to take on every single
one of their punishments.

A role of honor and prestige, yes, but deeply humiliating.

Whipping boys, especially in the most elaborate sects like Wen and Jin, were punished publically
and often.

And you could never rise in the ranks. People treated you differently. You carried the taint of
embarrassment, of shame.

It was an archaic practice and Lan Wangji didn’t care for it, had done his best to make sure he
never did anything that forced his own whipping boy’s punishment. But with all his best efforts, he
couldn’t avoid it entirely.

The last time had been when he was fourteen. He’d fought and growled at the sidelines, trying to
get free as Su She was flogged by the clan elders. Flogged, for something Lan Wangji had done.

An insult he’d made to Wen Xu of Wen Clan.

That insult, at least, had been real. But sometimes the pretexts were flimsier. Sometimes, the
pretext for punishments barely existed at all.

Because whipping boys, for hundreds of years now, had been a tool to help maintain stability
between the major clans.

Even at the best of times, relations between Wen, Jin, Lan, and Nie had been subtle and fragile.
Conflicts, inevitable. There were differences in philosophy, in cultivation styles, in boundaries and
values. Money, power, and land. The balance could always tip so easily into violent conflict.

Which is why each sect invested heavily in gestures, symbolic lines in the sand, assertions of
power and claim. So that the boundaries could be drawn metaphorically. So that everyone knew
where they stood.

In many ways, the Lan's three thousand rules were such a symbolic gesture. It was a statement of
power, to force outsiders who entered Cloud Recesses to follow these rules. And it was also a
statement of power when Lan Sect disciples kept to these elaborate rules, abroad.

Each time Lan Wangji refused alcohol at Jin Clan events, for instance, he was making a statement.

And each time Jin Guangshan witnessed it, he was acknowledging Lan power.

Whipping boys were another such acknowledgement.

When one sect demanded or deserved a concession from another, the whipping boy often bore the
fallout. Because the whipping boy stood for the sect heir, the act held significance. Was a
statement to the entire cultivation world.

A huge amount of sect battles—the aggressions and the surrenders—were enacted on whipping
boys’ backs.

When Su She was flogged, he represented Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji represented the Lan Clan
culmination; he was currently the next in line. Still young enough to be punished, for the
humiliation to be deemed appropriate.

Of course, the actual Lan Wangji would never be treated so. That would be an outrage.

Thankfully, these incidents were usually not too painful. No lasting physical harm was done, and
for the most part whipping boys lived privileged, pleasant lives at the fringes of high society. Only
occasional shocks of humiliation—

Of brutality—

By default, sects tried to avoid such incidents.

That is, until Wen Clan decided to up the ante.

It was part of today’s tension. In the last year, as Wen Ruohan pushed harder and harder to
dominate the cultivation world, the Wen Clan had become incessant and exacting in their demands
for punishments. The other sects had had to follow suit, trying not to lose face, and now there was
an elaborate tally, every possible insult weighed and argued. It had been stressing the other sect
heirs out.

Lan Wangji had come through mostly unscathed, but Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixuan were not used
to lives of unfailing discipline, moderation, and obedience.

So punishments were happening often.

Today, as the lectures began, there had been a whole levy of accusations, lists of harsh discipline to
come in the morning.

The whipping boys: Meng Yao, Mian Mian, and both of the Wen Clan proxies, Wen Ning and
Wen Qing—

All were looking haggard.

The only entourage that seemed completely unconcerned was that of Jiang Clan. Jiang Cheng and
Jiang Yanli acted resigned, even amused at the other clans’ tension.

This resignation was an act.

In truth, Jiang Clan was the only clan that was overtly resisting.

“The Jiang Clan has been refusing punishments?” Lan Wangji had asked, confused. It was right
after he’d returned to Cloud Recesses this morning, when Uncle and Lan XIchen had beckoned him
to a private conference for a quick briefing.

“No. Even worse,” Lan Xichen sighed. “They’ve been provoking it.”

“I don’t understand.”
“Welcoming the punishments. Embracing them.”

Lan Wangji did not consider himself an adept at politics. Until now, he’d made it his life mission
to stay as out of it all as possible. His cultivation skills and battle prowess were needed elsewhere,
on countless night hunts and investigations for his sect. He was endlessly thankful that it was his
brother, and not he, tasked with leading Lan Clan.

He’d managed to make himself so removed, in fact, that he’d only heard faintly of the drama that
had happened earlier this year the annual cultivation conference, held at Carp Tower. It had been
one of Jiang Clan’s first outings as a new acknowledged major power.

Apparently, Jiang Cheng and his whipping boy had caused trouble. The two of them were arrogant
and shameless. They laughed in the face of punishment. They mocked Wen Clan’s attempts to
tame them.

“They’re growing more and more popular,” Lan Xichen said in the meeting.

The Twin Heroes of Yunmeng. The common people of all clans seemed to love them. Loved the
idea of them. When they weren’t provoking punishment at sect conferences, they were roaming
the western countryside, making a name for themselves in night hunts. Saving villages. Defeating
monsters.

Defying Wen disciples.

The two boys fought side by side. The prince and his underling.

“It’s a rebellion against orthodoxy,” Uncle sneered. “And Madam Yu is behind it.”

“You’ve met her, Wangji,” Lan Xichen said. “The Violet Spider of Meishan. She’s fierce, strong-
willed, and used to be one of the most formidable cultivators in any of the clans, before she gave up
the path for Jiang Fengmian. Now, she wants Jiang Sect to stake their claim. She’s not afraid to
gamble.”

“Not with a whipping boy’s life, at least,” Lan Qiren said.

Lan Wangji was starting to understand. Out of all the big sects, Yunmeng Jiang was geographically
closest to Wen Sect. They were constantly bullied and dominated by Wen Ruohan. Even though
they’d managed to become a major power, they were still the weakest, the poorest, and the most
vulnerable. The more they grew, the more they became a target, in the eyes of the Wen Clan.

Snuffing out Jiang Clan would be costly but doable, for a clan of the Wen’s power. Lotus Pier was
always on the edge of danger, about to be swallowed.

It was clear to everyone, as Wen Sect was pushed and destroyed the smaller clans, that Jiang Clan
could very likely be next.

“So this is…bluster.” Lan Wangji said. “They’re calling Wen Sect’s bluff. They’re trying to assert
their power by subverting Wen Ruohan’s moves.”

“Lan Clan is stable. We try not to disturb the balance.” Lan Xichen said, helpfully. “Jiang Clan is
not stable. Nor can they risk open defiance; they don’t have the forces to win a war alone. So they
bark and provoke, and they have just enough backing to get away with it. Each time Wen Clan does
not retaliate, Wen Ruohan looks weaker. And each time he does retaliate, but Jiang Clan seems not
to care, seems strong enough to simply take it, even to laugh at it—to laugh at the punishment—”
“People love it,” Lan Qiren says. “People from their sect. People from the other sects. People
who’ve been made, all their lives, to feel afraid because of the Wen Sect's invasions. Now, this
makes Wen Ruohan look weak in a different way. Everyone is watching.”

Lan Wangji looks between them. “We are watching,” he guesses. “We, the Lan Clan.”

Lan Xichen shrugged. The picture of perfect neutrality. “Every clan is watching. It’s a dangerous
game, that Madam Yu is playing.”

“Wangji, keep a close eye on Wei Wuxian.” Lan Qiren stroked his goatee.

“The whipping boy?” Lan Wangji asked. “Not Jiang Cheng?”

“He’s no ordinary whipping boy,” Lan Xichen said. “Apparently he’s intelligent and impressively
skilled. Madam Yu personally oversaw his training. We don’t know where he would rank among
the official cultivators, but the rumors are that his cultivation level is…high. High, and
unpredictable.”

“They say he’s the son of Cangse Sangren,” Lan Qiren said darkly. “She was also unpredictable:
shameless and wild.”

“Do you hear me, Wangji?” Lan Xichen asked. “It’s likely that the full scope of Jiang Clan’s
resources have been put toward making this boy as fierce and unshakeable as possible.”

“Why?” Lan Wangji asked. “Why train a whipping boy to do all that?”

“For this kind of moment. For the performance. For the disobedience, the rebellion, the
punishment. You think they want Jiang Cheng to be the one who hurts and gets hurt in turn? No.
They needed a different kind of tool.”

“A tool?”

“Yes, I think they see him as a tool,” Lan Xichen said simply. “Maybe even a weapon. His whole
job is to push boundaries.”

Lan Qiren sighed, rubbing his brows. “Climbers. Ugh.”

True to form, when the Jiang Clan entourage had arrived in Cloud Recesses today, they had been
incredibly late. Later, even then Wen Clan. So late they’d upstaged the Wen Chao’s introduction,
Jiang Cheng coolly striding into the Orchard Room just as Wen Ning was presenting gifts on Wen
Chao’s behalf. The entire room, representatives of every clan, had held their breath.

Undoubtedly, it was disrespect.

Quickly, Lan XIchen had reprimanded them. He’d prescribed punishment on the spot: Jiang
Chen’s proxy must kneel and beg forgiveness from Wen Chao. Then he must kneel at the front of
the room for the rest of the day, holding bamboo rods.

These instructions were quickly prescribed, with no hesitation. Lan Xichen wanted the altercation
over, Lan Wangji guessed, with little fuss. Before Wen Chao could make a bigger ceremony of it.

But Jiang Cheng had just shrugged at Lan Xichen.

“Okay. Punish Wei Wuxian when he arrives. He’s even later we are.”

Everyone had stared.

“Your whipping boy is not here?” Lan Xichen asked. “He’s not with you?”

“I can’t control him.” Jiang Cheng sounded annoyed. “He wandered off. He’s delinquent.”

Beside him, his sister Jiang Yanli had smiled sweetly. She’d even lowered her head, as if ashamed
of their whipping boy’s actions. It seemed almost genuine.

Lan Wangji stared at her, disconcerted.

“Of course, he’ll come along eventually, when he get’s hungry,” Jiang Cheng continued. “He’ll
come crashing in, demanding spicy food. He’ll complain if he doesn’t get what he wants. It’s really
obnoxious.”

“Jiang Cheng,” Jiang Yanli chided gently.

“But what about your punishment?” Nie Huaisang asked. He was fluttering his fan on the side,
watching the proceedings with interest. Wen Chao was growing more and furious. But he hadn’t
yet called foul play.

“Forgive the offense,” Jiang Cheng bowed deeply. “When Wei Wuxian arrives, I beg that you
punish him double.”

Now, in his room, with the night breeze cool through the window, Lan Wangji continued to stare
at the note in his hand.

Wei Ying.

He swallowed. For some reason, his mind kept returning to that image. Wei Wuxian straining, with
his whole body, to balance the white bottle of Emperor’s Smile on his scabbard.

Then—

The bottle breaking.

That moment of wistfulness. Teasing tone gone. Something like bitterness. Broken shards.

Pain. Even anger.

“I guess it was impossible after all.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth felt dry. His skin felt almost feverish.

This…this was playing with fire. In his heart, he was reading certain signs.

Lan Wangji was not inexperienced. He knew what he liked. Whom he liked.

Flashes appeared in his mind. Past encounters. Tender skin of the wrists. His fist tangled in hair.
The press of lips to his cock. A few boys in Caiyi Town. One or two Lan Sect disciples. Always
lovers who admired him. Deferential, contained, mindful.

Wei Wuxian was none of those.

He was not contained. He was all slack.

All slack, but all beauty. Wild lines and untamed movements. Huge grin. You’ve done me
discourtesy.
The arrogance in those lines. The playfulness.

Lan Zhan, you can call me Wei Ying…

Lan Wangji looked down. His fist was clenched on the paper. He felt constricted and filled with
conviction. He knew what he wished for. They’d seemed to share a moment of want.

But there would be no way.

Not with their roles. Not with Wei Wuxian’s position.

Lan Wangji could not imagine dignity in a relationship between them. Not for either of them.

And—

Already, he wanted to fiercely guard Wei Ying’s dignity.

It was strange for him. This feeling of tenderness. With something like awe, Lan Wangji inspected
the feelings inside of him. He’d never felt this before. Was this how Lans loved? Did it happen so
suddenly? One turning—

Face to face. A swordfight on a rooftop. That was all it took, for him to know:

This was a person who could set his whole soul afire.

But fire was the wrong metaphor. Lan Wangji felt like deep snowfall. He felt muffled, sinking,
strangely calm. Buried deeper and deeper.

Is this how a love starts…

Is this how devotion starts?

One by one, he made his resolutions.

He would never impose. Never say a word. Not in the midst of these sect games, these stakes. The
nets already surrounding them. Not with Wei Wuxian’s freedom impeded. A whipping boy. The
gulf between them was too wide. How could Wei Wuxian ever have the same feelings for Lan
Zhan?

And so, perhaps this was how Lans loved. Perhaps his passion was really that simple and certain. It
felt final.

For Lan Wangji knew his own temperament. Knew that if this were real, he would go his whole
life, gladly, in quiet, hidden devotion. He would never act. Simply…help. When he could. Try to
keep the other safe. Try to understand him, to smooth the path toward whatever he needed.

For Wei Wuxian was his own person. Not a Jiang weapon. Not Lan Wangji’s soulmate. Lan
Wangji’s love should be inconsequential to him. After all, it was heavy and ridiculous. To fall in
love at one glance. To want with such certainty. At that time, Lan Wangji believed in the purity
and righteousness of his feelings.

And he didn’t know, back then.

The lengths to which his love would grow deeper and wider.
Chapter End Notes

EDIT 1/5/21 Changed WWX's parting remark to better match his farewell line on the
mountain in CQL.
--

Thanks for reading! Title from Eurydice

And I dream of a different soul

Dressed in other clothes:
Burning as it runs
From timidity to hope,
Spiritous and shadowless
Like fire it travels the earth,
Leaves lilac behind on the table
To be remembered by.

Run along then, child, don’t fret

Over poor Eurydice,
Bowl your copper hoop along
Whip it through the world,
So long as even quarter pitch
With cheerful tone and cold
In answer to each step you take
The earth rings in your ears.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The next morning, Cloud Recesses was filled with uproar. At 5:10am, Lan disciples were already
rushing through the campus, perilously close to breaking the rules by running.

The first lecture was supposed to start at 7am. It was supposed to begin with the ceremony of
punishment, an accounting for all the misdemeanors of the day before.

But immediately this morning, the Jiangs had put forth an official claim:

They’d claimed that every single misdemeanor that had happened yesterday, all faults of the Wen,
Jin, and Nie sect heirs combined—

Were Jiang Cheng’s fault. Every single incident.

The Jiang Clan sect heir took responsibility for them all.

“Every infraction?” Lan Xichen was pale. The morning tea was growing cold in the Hanshi.

“Every infraction,” a senior disciple confirmed to Lan Xichen, Uncle, and Lan Wangji. “Jiang Clan
insists that they bear the punishments for all of it. Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixuan have already both
agreed that Jiang Cheng manipulated them into all of their bad behavior. That he was the
troublemaker.”

Lan Xichen and Uncle traded glances.

“And Wen Chao?”

“He’s neither confirmed or denied. He seems frankly confused.”

An hour later, when everyone gathered in the courtyard, Lan Wangji witnessed Wen Chao’s
confusion and irritation for himself. This morning had been meant to be his show of Wen
dominance: a careful balance of sect politics.

Jiang Clan had stolen Wen Clan’s thunder.

Now, the two sect heirs were locked in a heated argument, Jiang Cheng’s arms crossed as he spun
elaborate tales of how he’d manipulated everyone into their faults. Wen Chao was sputtering,
trying to figure out how to save face.

Lan Wangji had to admit, seeing Wen Chao’s angry, flustered face, that there was a certain
satisfaction to this approach.

For Wen Chao was a bully. What he wanted, more than anything, was to see people crack. Lan
Wangji remembered his own lesson well, after the flogging Su She had suffered at the demand of
the Wen Sect. Lan Xichen, all those years ago, had pulled Lan Wangji aside, had forced him to
calm his rage and the tears threatening to spill. To hold to convention, to turn into ice.

“Never forget, Wangji, that the higher we rise, the more people like the Wens want to see us fall.
They want to see us brought down. Reduced by their control. We cannot ever give them that
satisfaction.”
And Lan Wangji had stayed aware of that. Was aware of it even now, as Wen Chao’s eyes flicked
constantly to him and his brother, where they stood with the other representatives of Lan Clan.
Everyone knew that the Wens held a particular derision for the Twin Jades of Gusu, and vice
versa.

Everyone knew that Wen Chao would love, more than anything, to punish Lan Wangji. To see the
proud Lans forced to bow.

Now, part of Lan Wangji wanted to laugh. But part of him was concerned.

The second son of Wen Ruohan was stupid, but he held power.

Wen Ning, Wen Chao’s whipping boy, cowered at his master’s side. He kept casting anxious
glances at the raised platform in the middle of the courtyard. The situation seemed likely to
escalate.

On the sidelines, Jin Zixuan looked sympathetic and bored. He met Lan Wangji’s eye and gave a
slight smile. This was exactly the kind of mess Jiang Cheng had caused earlier this year at Carp
Tower.

“Fine,” Wen Chao snarled suddenly. “I admit it. Yesterday when I insulted the other clans using
rude words, and when I unjustly struck a few disciples of the Nie Clan, and when our Wen
disciples set that fire in Caiyi Town, we all did it because Jiang Cheng tricked us. Our punishment
must go to Jiang.”

Jiang Cheng grinned and turned to Lan Xichen. “So the full tally comes to five hundred strikes by
the rod, correct?”

Wen Chao cut him off. “I’m not finished. It is a grave crime to trick a son of Wen Ruohan. Wen
Sect law demands anyone who does so must be hit with two strikes of the discipline whip.”

Everyone gasped. Lan Wangji went rigid.

The discipline whip was a much, much harsher punishment.

Reserved only for the most serious of crimes. After two strikes, Wei Wuxian would be
incapacitated. Those scars would never fade.

“That…is not one of the official laws we have recorded,” Lan Xichen said softly.

Wen Chao shrugged. “It’s new. Why don’t you send a messenger to ask my father?”

Jiang Cheng spoke up, unexpectedly. “No need. We accept. Wei Wuxian can take it.”

Jiang Yanli tilted her head at her brother. The two siblings seemed to have an unspoken
conversation. And then she looked down, nodding slightly.

“Wei Wuxian will take it, as soon as he gets here.” Jiang Chen smirked at the surrounding crowd.
“I told him to be on time, I swear. He seems to have gotten lost.” He bowed to Wen Chao, so deep
it was mocking. “I’m afraid your highness will have to stand around waiting.”

Wen Chao’s eyes widened. Lan Xichen traded glances with Uncle.

A titter went through the crowd.

And this was what they wanted, of course. Lan Wangji felt suddenly angry. Madam Yu and the
Jiang Clan. They wanted to embarrass the Wens. To throw chaos into the system.

But at what cost?

“I will not wait,” Wen Chao said tightly. “Maybe, if we can’t procure a whipping boy, we’ll need
to punish the source—”

“Sorry, Jiang Cheng!” A cheerful voice rang out.

Lan Wangji’s head snapped up.

That voice.

Bold and loud from across the yard.

Wei Wuxian sat on the rooftop, waving his sword. Suibian.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he called breathlessly. He leapt down to join the crowd. “Yes, yes. I’ll take the
discipline whip.”

Wei Wuxian strode across the courtyard, gravel crunching beneath his feet. He headed straight
toward Wen Chao, fearlessly, as if he were about to challenge him.

He didn’t cower or hesitate. He moved like a general.

Wen Chao, forgetting himself, took a step back.

“I’ll take it, as long as we’re all clear on what’s happening here.” Wei Wuxian spoke loud.
“There’s no such Wen Sect law. This is a farce. You’re punishing me as a show of power. Because
the Wen Clan likes to hurt people. Because they think they can get away with anything—”

His voice was drowned in the immediate uproar. People were repeating Wei Wuxian’s words.
Laughing and booing. The courtyard had become crowded with disciples of every sect. Word of
this incident would spread—

Was already spreading. Paper butterflies and messenger talismans left the courtyard in every
direction.

Jiang Cheng spoke steadily into the chaos.

“Apologies. I cannot control my whipping boy. I ask that you punish him for my lack of
competence.”

They were a well-oiled machine. Lan Wangji had never seen something like this. Jin Zixuan’s
advisors were speaking frantically in his ear. Nie Huaisang was doubled over, laughing.

Wei Wuxian looked at Jiang Yanli and winked.

The punishments were an elaborate game, and Lan Wangji had learned since youth how to play it.
They were a miniature of the conflicts playing out over the wider land. The Wens, under Wen
Ruohan’s leadership, were the shark, the lion, the predator. It had been that way for as long as Lan
Wangji could remember. You had to evade them, outsmart them, guard against them—

But the Jiangs were doing something completely different.

It was intoxicating to witness.

And it was dangerous.

“What about Lan Clan?” Nie Huaisang asked Lan Wangji in a low voice. He'd sidled up to Lan
Wangji's side. “Wasn’t Su She also supposed to be punished?”

“No need. I have done nothing that warrants it.”

“But Wen Chao accused you yesterday of arrogant and insolent behavior. You wouldn’t look him
in the eye when he greeted you.”

“No. I countered with a Lan precept. There was no maliciousness in my action.” Lan Wangji had
been utterly cool and unrattled, when extricating himself from that situation. Nie Huaisang gave
him a significant look.

“Let’s get on with it!” Wen Chao yelled now. His disciples rushed forward to grab Wei Wuxian.
Hands outstretched—

Fast as lightning, Wei Wuxian dodged.

“Sorry, reflex!” He laughed, skipping backward. Laughed again as the Wens still failed to catch
him.

“Enough!” Wen Chao growled. He unsheathed his sword. In unison, his Wen disciples also drew.

Jiang Cheng didn’t hesitate, unsheathing his own sword to answer the challenge. The tiny Jiang
entourage faced down the Wens—

Just as Lan Xichen blew a few notes on his xiao.

Immediately, Wen Clan lost hold of their swords. The blades floated upward.

A defusion. Lan Clan interference.

But the courtyard went silent.

For in the last hundred years, no one had ever managed to find an easy way to block Lan Clan's
musical cultivation.

But Jiang Clan, unlike the Wen Clan, had not lost their swords.

A protective talisman shimmered around the Jiangs. Something unfamiliar. A golden net.

“Sorry.” Wei Wuxian said softly. Staring at Lan Xichen. “Reflex.”

Lan Xichen's eyes narrowed.

Lan Wangji’s grip tightened on Bichen. Across the courtyard, Lan disciples were looking in
dismay between Wei Wuxian and their sect leader. Ready to spring to action, to tear down the
strange, unexpected spellwork. One by one, guqins were materializing in Lan hands.

Energies surging, questing, assessing—

Wei Wuxian smiled and deactivated the talisman. The golden shimmer vanished as seamlessly as it
had appeared.

“Oh, apologies. I can’t control my whipping boy.” Jiang Cheng’s voice was idle. “He’s an
inventor.”

For a moment, no one moved.

The Jiang Clan entourage had tightened into a huddle in the center of the courtyard. Rich purples
and blues in their clothes. Narrow sleeves, rugged bodies. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng stood side
by side. Wei Wuxian grinning. Jiang Cheng’s arms crossed.

They were tilted slightly toward each other. They looked like a perfect team. Two young lords.
Swords gleaming. Arrogant expressions.

They looked like they if they wanted to, they might protest against the coming treatment.

They might fight.

But suddenly Jiang Cheng squeezed Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. They exchanged tight smiles.

And then Wei Wuxian handed his sword to a lower Jiang disciple. He shrugged his outer robe off.
Then his tunic. Sudden expanse of bare chest.

Each movement crisp and shameless. No hesitation.

Wen disciples stepped forward and grabbed Wei Wuxian. They shoved him roughly toward the
platform.

Jiang Cheng stepped aside, letting it happen.

“It was impossible after all.”

The words were ringing in Lan Wangji’s head.

Wei Wuxian was forced to his knees, looking small and alone on the platform in the courtyard's
center. An awkward silence had fallen over the crowd.

Jin Zixuan scowled at his robes, brushing a speck of dust from his ornate sleeve. Lan Xichen
nodded toward some Lan Sect disciples on the side. Ever since the Jiangs had showed their
talisman, his face had turned indecipherable.

Lan Wangji’s mouth was dry. He kept his gaze lowered. One fist pressed to the small of his back.
He remembered his feelings last night. His own shock, that this boy could match him—

“It was impossible after all.”

“The rod first.” Lan Xichen said.

“Five hundred blows,” Wen Chao reminded.

“And then the two strikes of the discipline whip.”

“Wei Wuxian—” Jiang Cheng said suddenly. He’d joined his whipping boy on the platform, as
two Lans came forward with rods. Jiang Cheng lowered to a crouch beside Wei Wuxian.

“Jiang Cheng.” Wei Wuxian gave a slight grunt, as the first rod descended.

Jiang Cheng said nothing. He watched, eyes hard, as the blows continued to fall. His gaze was
fixed with total concentration on Wei Wuxian.
Five hundred was…not good, but not unbearable. Lan Wangji had suffered the equivalent several
times himself. When they were growing up, both he and Lan Xichen had been punished directly as
long as it was an internal clan matter. Uncle did not like the whipping boy practice.

But from what Lan Wangji understood, the same had not been true for Jiang Cheng. Madam Yu
had forced all punishments to fall on Wei Wuxian.

But there was something understood and intimate, about the way Jiang Cheng was watching Wei
Wuxian right now. Lan Wangj sensed no resentment or discomfort between the two of them.

Instead, Jiang Cheng watched carefully. Almost…as if guarding. As if he were looking for some
sign on Wei Wuxian’s face.

Wei Wuxian kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. Impassive, except for the occasional wince or
smirk. Now and then, he would give a sharp gasp of pain, and then his eyes slid to Jiang Cheng’s.
Seeking something.

They were supporting each other, Lan Wangji realized.

Somehow, the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng had come to an understanding about this process.

“Three hundred!”

Wei Wuxian gave a mewling cry.

Jiang Cheng didn’t flinch. “Continue.”

The blows rained down.

By now, Wei Wuxian’s back was a mess. He’d fallen forward, still kneeling, braced on his hands.
Sweat dripped of his forehead. But he didn’t falter.

The strikes of the rod continued. Sharp gasps. Wen Chao was smirking, obviously enjoying the
pain.

It had all seemed easy and intoxicating, when the Jiangs were joking around. But now a familiar
heaviness had descended on the crowd. The other whipping boys were looking at the ground. Mian
Mian and Meng Yao looked miserable, next to their sect heirs. They were both well aware Wei
Wuxian was taking their blows.

It was supposed to be all of them on the platform, humiliated in tandem.

Instead, Wei Wuxian was braced alone. Muscles tensed. His breaths were coming in short, quick
gasps.

“Four hundred!” The caller cried.

Lan Wangji sucked in his breath. Fought for calm.

Wei Wuxian spit blood from his mouth, and he was laughing, as the awful minutes ran on. His
long lashes fluttered, he braced himself on his arms. The lean lines of his body, somehow, were
still elegant. Blood was running into his trousers.

He twisted to face Wen Chao, and gave a harsh laugh.

“Harder!” Wen Chao snapped.

Lan Wangji felt an indescribable anger, at that moment, directed not only at Wen Clan but at Wei
Wuxian himself. At the provocation, at the defiance. What kind of game did he think he was
playing? Where did he think this was going to end?

Finally, the blow stopped raining down. Only then did Wei Wuxian completely collapse, kneeling
almost double on the platform. He breathed softly, as if resting. Gathering his strength. The wind
ruffled his hair. The ends of the black strands were soaked in blood.

“Bring the discipline whip,” Wen Chao said.

“Is this too much?” Nie Huaisang’s voice was doubtful. He snuck a glance at Lan Xichen, who
stood impassive next to Lan Wangji.

“It’s not too much.” Jiang Cheng was still crouched on the platform. His voice had gone deadly
quiet. “Wei Wuxian can take it.”

There was something in his expression, staring down at his whipping boy. It was almost…pride.

As the whip was brought out, gleaming and sharp, Lan Wangji’s entire body tensed. His heart was
racing. He was watching Wei Wuxian desperately, looking for some indication of action—

Some request.

He felt the urge to protect.

But it was not his place. He had no connection with Wei Wuxian. No right to interfere, under the
bounds of inter-sect law. But was this…?

What did Wei Wuxian want?

Lan Wangji shot a glance toward Lan Xichen. Realized too late that he couldn’t hide his feelings.
Not from his brother—

Shock filled Lan Xichen's face.

And then there was an awful swish through the air.

The whip came down.

Wei Wuxian screamed. His entire body convulsed.

Lan Wangji looked at his own hand in surprise. He had drawn Bichen, the unsheathed sword ready
to attack—

But luckily, most people were not looking at him. Their eyes were fixed on the platform, at the
spectacle of the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng.

“Wei Wuxian.” Jiang Cheng’s head was bowed close to his whipping boy, who had fallen limp to
the ground. “Wei Wuxian?”

Slowly, Wei Wuxian moved. His movements were languid.

Then he twisted, sinuous, facing Wen Chao. His face was totally flushed.

“One more lash, right?” Wei Wuxian asked. Trace of a smile. “Please.”
At that, Jiang Cheng stood up and laughed. He addressed the gathered crowd.

“That’s the secret of my whipping boy. You can’t break him. He likes it.”

Lan Clan leadership held an emergency meeting right after the debacle. The “punishment” had
swirled into parody and chaos. Everyone was talking about it.

In secret, Jin Zixuan and Nie Huaisang were invited to the Hanshi, representing their sects. The
strongest cloaking wards put over the walls.

“This is all Madam Yu’s doing,” Jin Zixuan shrugged. “That’s what she told my mother.” His lips
quirked. “My parents like her.”

“It’s political theater,” Lan Qiren barked.

“It’s strategy.” Jin Zixuan looked around at the Lan Clan representatives. “Isn’t it? Jiang Clan is
declaring they won’t play by Wen Clan rules.”

“And you will still be married to the daughter, Jiang Yanli?” Lan Xichen asked.

Jin Zixuan stared back placidly, his gaze a little vacant. Next to him, his cousin Jin Zixun showed
no such remove. Jin Zixun scowled openly, letting his contempt and derision show as they
discussed the Jiangs.

“This marriage wasn’t Jin Zixuan’s idea—” Jin Zixun said.

“But I’ll follow my father’s wishes,” Jin Zixuan interjected.

Lan Xichen looked between them. “Jin Guangshan still wants the marriage?”

Jin Zixuan sighed. “In all honesty, after today, I expect there will be escalation. It depends on how
well the rest of these lectures go.”

Reading between the lines: it depended, in no small part, on how the Lan and Nie clans reacted to
Jiang Clan.

“Our people love the boys,” Nie Huaisang said suddenly, from the other side. He tapped his fingers
together, and then smoothed his gray robes. “They’re popular with the commoners and even
among most of our cultivation elite. The story of their friendship is legendary. It’s said they have
an unbreakable bond. By all accounts Jiang Cheng really respects his whipping boy. It’s like
nothing we’ve seen before. They eat together, share quarters together. Wei Wuxian gets the same
treatment as the Jiang sect heir.”

Jin ZIxun cut in. “Oh yes. It’s ludicrous. I’m sure they even share pleasures with the same
women.”

“Obscene,” Lan Qiren groaned.

“Not all Jin disciples like them.” Jin Zixun said. “Many of us think they are too arrogant,
considering they’re mediocre riffraff. Who do the Jiangs think they are?”

“But that’s the point. The commoners seem to feel Wei Wuxian represents something,” Nie
Huaisang countered. “He's an underdog, a nobody, and yet he dares to stand up to power. Many of
our people bear resentment toward Wen Ruohan. Performances like the one we saw today…news
has been spreading far and wide. Jiang Clan is taking a Wen Clan symbol and twisting it.”

Nie Huaisang’s voice took on a calculating tone.

“And we’ve noticed that many of the Wen Sect populace,” he continued. “The non-cultivators,
especially the younger generation…they also like the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng. Wen Ruohan
can’t quash it. He can’t control his own sect. For those Wens who are oppressed by their leader.
Those who dream of an uprising…well. Wei Wuxian is also meaningful to them.”

Lan Xichen stared at Nie Huaisang. “You’re saying…” he swallowed. “This is your brother’s
position?”

Nie Huaisang fanned himself, making no commitments yet. Jin Zixun stared daggers at him.

“Political theater…” Lan Xichen reflected. “So we have our audience. But the performer…can he
really take it?”

“He’s been taking it,” Jin Zixuan shrugged. “They just keep asking and asking for more
punishment. Like today, the worse it gets, the more they’ll insist that they like it.”

Lan Wangji spoke for the first time. “Is Wei Wuxian willing to be used in this manner?”

They all glanced at him. Lan Wangji sat at the end of the table, hands in his lap. Gaze downward.

Nie Huaisang answered, glancing at Lan Xichen. “Our spies report that Wei Wuxian is incredibly
loyal to the Jiang Clan. That he would do all this for them, and even more.”

“Why.”

“They took him in when he was a child. A waif wandering the streets, an orphan. Jiang Fengmian
found him fighting with dogs over garbage.”

Lan Wangji frowned.

“And they’ve treated him well,” Jin Zixuan added. “For whatever reason, the Jiang Clan thinks
extremely highly of him. Jiang Cheng told me about it when they were in Lanling. They don’t
seem to think of him as just a whipping boy.”

“Hmm. Lan Wangji asks a good question.” Lan Xichen leaned back, studying the elite group
around him. “Jiang Clan is playing a dangerous game, goading and embarrassing the Wen Clan.
But it all hinges on the whipping boy’s performance.”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren agrees. “What happens if Wei Wuxian stops playing along?”

“Then it’s easy. Jiang Fengmian will disavow him,” Jin Zixuan said. “Isn’t it perfect for them,
actually? Wei Wuxian takes the brunt. He’s the one speaking. He’s the one actually defying. The
Jiang Clan, meanwhile, always has a way out. If things go too far, they can simply cut Wei Wuxian
off.”

“Can they?” Lan Wangji asked. “It’s obvious he’s acting with their encouragement—”

“It’s obvious, but it’s not the truth, technically speaking,” Nie Huaisang said thoughtfully. “Jiang
Clan retains deniability. You saw, today. Jiang Cheng never failed to place the blame on his
whipping boy. Claimed that Wei Wuxian was acting on his own.”

“Yes. My parents approve of the strategy,” Jin Zixuan said. “It’s simple. Even elegant. If they have
to, Jiang Clan can execute Wei Wuxian to make a statement. Or simply abandon him. Leave him to
be punished by other clans.” He nodded, looking around at all of them. “Madam Yu always has
that option. If the game goes too far, they can end it.”

La Xichen’s voice was considered. “Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian follows her hidden commands.”

Lan Wangji returned to his silence. The tea in his cup a perfect amber sheen.

“Lan Clan must stay neutral,” Lan Qiren declared. “At least for now. Wen Ruohan might be losing
face, but he still has the most resources and the biggest militia. Jiang Sect is barely a third of the
size of Lan Sect. And we are barely a third of the size of the Wens.”

He frowned at the young heirs.

“Tell that to your sect leaders. Remind them Wei Wuxian is only one small person.”

“But what to make of that talisman…” Lan Xichen said, musingly. “An inventor.”

Jin Zixuan sighed. “I wouldn’t worry on it. Everyone knows the limitations of talisman
cultivation.”

The Cold Spring that night, after Wei Wuxian’s punishment, is blue, blue, blue. Shiver of
windswept trees. The just-set sun. Everything is shimmering, tinted in silvery shadows. Jewel-
toned.

Lan Wangji is alone. He sits in the water, steadying his thoughts. Clear mind. An inner balance.

Then he sees Wei Wuxian hobbling down the path toward the spring. A jade token clutched in his
hand. Lan Xichen must have told him to come here to heal.

Wei Wuxian should not be moving. Not so soon after his ordeal. To be able to even walk right
now, he must have an exceptionally developed golden core.

It’s surprise, mostly, that keeps Lan Wangji silent as the other boy approaches.

Wei Wuxian is limping badly, breathing hard, shivering with pain. His face is frozen in a worried
expression, and he holds his limbs awkwardly. Gone is the confident laughter from earlier. Gone is
the feral smile as he spat out blood, the brilliant red of his teeth—

This Wei Wuxian is hurt.

He halts by the water, sitting awkwardly, and struggles to remove his outer robe. It falls away,
revealing a thin tunic. He doesn’t know he’s not alone.

Immediately, Lan Wangji stands. He wraps himself in his robes. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian freezes. A deer in the headlights.

Then, under Lan Wangji’s eyes, a transformation takes place.

Smoothly, Wei Wuxian’s spine straightens. Chin lifts. His eyes take on a gleam.

The weakness, buried. He rolls his shoulders. All sign of pain gone. This Wei Wuxian is
provocative, careless, strong.
“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji amends softly.

A beat. “Lan Zhan.”

He did not imagine it, Lan Wangji realizes. That sense of intimacy from yesterday. Something is
passing between the two of them. It’s a sense of recognition.

The atmosphere. It’s charged.

“You’re wounded,” Lan Wangji says finally. “You shouldn’t be unattended.”

Knife-edged smile. “I’m fine on my own, Lan Zhan. Who could possibly want to harm me in
Cloud Recesses?”

Is it naivety? Needling? Lan Wangji doesn’t know. He’s not sure how to read the other boy’s
humor.

“Where is Jiang Cheng?” he asks.

For a long time, he watches Wei Wuxian decide how to respond. Then, finally, Wei Wuxian’s
shoulders come down. The smile fades from his face. “I just wanted to bathe. I…don’t like for him
to see me like this. I don’t like either him or Shijie to see me like this.”

Lan Wangji considers. Even as he’s watching, the back of Wei Wuxian’s tunic is spreading with
fresh blood. He recalls the awkward steps. The naked discomfort. The pain Wei Wuxian is
struggling to keep from his voice.

“Because Wei Wuxian should not look like this,” Lan Wangji says finally.

“Exactly.” Wei Wuxian’s eyes are serious. They are keen and intelligent.

Lan Wangji regards him.

This area of the spring is completely closed off. Only the highest Lan Clan representatives can
enter without explicit permission. No one will disturb Wei Wuxian here.

“I will go,” Lan Wangji says. “The water will be good for you. I’ll leave you in privacy.”

As he walks by on the path, smoothing his wet hair over one shoulder, he comes within a few feet
of Wei Wuxian. The other boy's voice is so low he almost misses it. “You don’t have to.”

Lan Wangji halts.

Wei Wuxian isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at the tree line, that lush place of blue shadows.
Ferns like webs. Crickets chirping. A scent of damp earth.

Against this backdrop, Wei Wuxian is a slim shadow. Dim and growing dimmer. His jawline
sharp, figure ghost-like.

“You know…I wanted to meet you, Lan Zhan. I’ve heard of you for many years. Jiang Cheng and
I travel around. We try to help people. And wherever I go, I meet those who are grateful to you.
People you’ve helped long before I arrived.”

Lan Wangji shifts to face him. They stand just a few feet apart.

“While the other sect heirs stayed home, you’ve been wandering.” Wei Wuxian murmurs.
“Volunteering for night hunts, lending your sword to those who need it. Facing the most deadly
threats. I’ve met many people, from every clan, who feel they owe their lives to you. Rich and
poor alike. Who feel that you are good. That’s what they all say. They speak about you as if you’re
something shining.”

Lan Wangji is not sure how to respond. It’s true. Part of the reason that he has little exposure to
sect politics, to the current strains of Cloud Recesses, is that when he was fifteen he left home. He
had felt called. There was much to do in the world, directly. Much resentment to calm, much
injustice to fight. Little by little, as much as he could, with Bichen, with Wangji. With his name.
With his money.

When Lan Xichen had assignments for him he took those, usually complex investigations or the
quelling of demonic forces. When he wasn’t needed for that work he went from town to town on
his own. He didn’t stay only in Gusu. People requested aid everywhere. People had needs, had
monsters.

Lately, people loved the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng, yes. But for many years, before those heroes
started their work, rumors and admiration had been swirling around Lan Wangji, the one they
called Hanguang Jun.

“I should have told you that last night.” Wei Wuxian says. “I don’t know why I didn’t. Actually, I
do know. My plan was never to tell you. So I don’t know what I’m doing right now.”

Lan Wangji frowns.

“I’d been a little excited to meet you.” Wei Wuxian finishes. “I know you’re not like me. You’re
not flashy. You don’t call attention to yourself. But people remember. I thought maybe you’d want
to know that. Some of these people I’ve met in the last few years, you’re the only cultivator who’s
helped them in their whole lives. And you saved their families, their homes, their crops. You saved
them from hauntings. Even if they had nothing to offer. Even at cost to yourself. Everyone who
mentions you, they hope you know what that meant to them.”

“Enough.” Lan Wangji halts Wei Wuxian’s flow of words. He doesn’t think he can listen to any
more of this.

He doesn’t understand it. Why Wei Wuxian would say these things, why they are causing this
swirl of feelings inside. There’s something conflicted and terrible in him, even as it feels exquisite,
and it’s tied to those images again—

Wei Wuxian straining to balance that Emperor’s Smile. Doomed quest.

Wei Wuxian under the lash. Muscles straining. Blood on his teeth.

Lan Wangji always watching.

“Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan?”

This time, the name is not an affront. It’s a question. Delicately placed. A reaching out, a hope for
understanding. Lan Wangji thinks he does. There is a way that Wei Wuxian is looking at him. It is
frank.

It’s undisguised. His blood feels hot.

“When I fought you last night, I felt steady.” Wei Wuxian says finally.
“Steady?”

“I felt like you made me steady.”

Lan Wangji assesses.

He says, carefully. “Wei Ying.”

A flash of a smile. The blood, on that shirt, is still spreading. “No, Lan Zhan. Now, I’d rather be
nobody.”

“As you were last night.”

“You understand,” Wei Wuxian says immediately. Lan Wangji’s never seen someone so smart.

“Right now, I want more than anything to be nothing.” Wei Wuxian’s words are quick. He seems
unapologetic about them. But at the same time…bashful. He seems small, suddenly, a little
shivering. There’s a trace of vulnerability, and an obvious weariness.

Lan Wangji stares. He’s deciding.

And then he speaks. " You wish me to stay?”

Wei Wuxian’s gaze is knowing. A river flows beneath the intonation of this question. A deep river.
A dark one.

Slowly, firmly, Wei Wuxian nods.

Lan Wangji feels his ears redden. Consults his mind. Consults what he knows, and his desire to do
right. Ever so slowly, he lifts a hand. Wei Wuxian tracks it, his pupils darkening as Lan Wangji
brushes the side of Wei Wuxian’s neck. Sharp inhale of breath. The scent of blood everywhere.

“I can see it?” Lan Wangji asks.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. He know what Lan Wangji is referring to:

“I don’t like them to see me like this. Jiang Cheng. Shijie.”

“I think…I would like you to,” Wei Wuxian says. His breath hitches as Lan Wangji’s hand, at the
side of his neck, presses harder.

“Wei Ying. Strip.”

A full body shiver.

Lan Wangj’s resolutions from last night rush through him. Never to declare, never to burden. He
examines them, examines his decisions now. Oh, how he wants.

Yes, he thinks, of the jagged pieces of his determinations and desires, the ways they slot together
for his conscience. This moment, at least makes sense to him. He thinks he knows how to move
through it, knows what it means to Wei Wuxian, the boundaries of what Wei Wuxian is asking of
him.

Lan Wangji is nothing if not disciplined, if not mindful of boundaries.

And then his thoughts fade, as Wei Wuxian’s clothes come away, and he’s standing naked before
Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji hums, desire rippling through him. “I can touch you?”

“Yes.”

He traces the lines of pain. Old scars. So many. Fingers dancing around the newest lacerations. His
body feels taut and overflowing.

“Come here.”

Wei Wuxian gasps as Lan Wangji scoops him up. Cradling Wei Wuxian to his chest, still clothed
in his white robes, Lan Wangji maneuvers them both into the waters of the Cold Spring. Wei
Wuxian curls against Lan Wangji’s chest. Shivering. Lan Wangji uses a simple talisman to heat the
water.

What are they doing? he wonders. It is surprising, for the two of them to act like this, so fast.
Unquestionably. They barely know one another.

And yet. None of that seems important now. Wei Wuxian presses his cheek to Lan Wangji’s chest.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes are squeezed closed, as if he’s overwhelmed and needs a place to hide. Lan
Wangji settles them against a rock. He cradles the other boy between his legs, still pressed to his
chest, careful not to touch his exposed back. Water flows at their waists. Wei Wuxian’s breathing
is soft.

Lan Wangji assesses the body, wet and slippery against him. Scars, skin, lean muscle. The dip of
his waist. Silky skin of his cock, half-hard.

I’ll never move on from this, Lan Wangji thinks grimly. But that is his business, and his alone.
There are secrets he can keep pressed to his heart.

He assesses, and then starts with Wei Wuxian’s hair. Matted bloody tangles. Sweat in the layers.
Lan Wangji works soap through the dark strands. He lets his fingers move down, find the nape of
Wei Wuxian’s neck. Feels the shiver at the touch.

He asks, “Can I—”

“Yes.”

Lan Wangji sends a current of his own spiritual energy into the other boy’s body.

Wei Wuxian shudders. Lan Wangji feels the vibration in his skin. He has never done that before,
shared so freely of his own power.

But it seemed like something he should do. It seemed the right action.

Wei Wuxian sighs. Lan Wangji works steadily, hands moving lower, trying to ease Wei Wuxian’s
pain and coax the healing faster. A blue glow suffuses them both. The lines of light reflect,
shattering, in rippling water.

As he channels energy, Lan Wangji whispers short, soft commands. Move. Turn. Other side. Lift
your hand. Sit. Up on this rock.

Wei Wuxian follows every order, melting into him. Each time he obeys, he sinks a little deeper.
And Lan Wangji can feel it in the other’s body, where his spiritual power meets the other’s pools.
It’s soft, a surrender. Wei Wuxian’s own power, letting go.

Wei Wuxian had managed to do most of the healing on his own. Lan Wangji understands a little
better now, the reason Jiang Clan feels so confident in Wei Wuxian’s ability to take punishment.
Wei Wuxian’s cultivation is strong. The power in him is blazing and contained, the clear result of
discipline, training, and incredible talent. Already, the worst work of the discipline whip has run its
course. Wei Wuxian has absorbed it, the pain and the damages. He got more than halfway to repair
on his own. Needed no doctor.

But, perhaps, he was reaching his limit. Muscles trembling. A little groan, his lips pressed soft
against Lan Wangji’s arm. Lan Wangji can track Wei Wuxian’s relief, as Lan Wangji’s energy fills
the gaps in Wei Wuxian’s body.

“Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian pulls back suddenly, blinking through wet lashes. He’s mostly out of the water now,
leaning back on a rock. His body open and limp. He looks completely stripped down.

Heat blazes through Lan Zhan.

“How do you feel?”

“Better,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. “I feel good.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Slowly, almost dazedly, Wei Wuxian shakes his head. But then, as if waking up, a spark of
intelligence flashes through his eyes. “But you can stop if you want to.” He amends. “If you need.
This isn’t…You don’t owe me explanations. You’ll owe me nothing regardless. I don’t want you
to think that I…” He looks confused, but pushes on regardless. “It’s a tangle, Lan Zhan. I’m aware
of that.”

Lan Wangji considers him carefully, and then lowers his gaze. Parses Wei Wuxian’s words. The
warnings. The offerings.

He draws his legs under him, sitting cross-legged in the water. It could be said this moment is a
trap: Jiang for Lan. But to what end? Lan Wangji already knows his own boundaries, and his own
heart.

More importantly, it could be said that Wei Wuxian’s will is compromised. But Lan Wangji feels
he cannot know.He tastes it with anger, a bitter sourness. In this moment, he cannot untangle it.

What he does know, right now, is this:

Wei Wuxian has looked into his eyes, expressed a need, and made of Lan Wangji a request.

“We owe each other nothing,” Lan Wangji says. A summary of Wei Wuxian’s words. An
affirmation. Question. “This is just for tonight.”

“Yes.” Wei Wuxian sounds relieved. “You understand.”

“Then tonight, what do you want from me?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. There had been no hesitation in Lan Wangji’s voice. Only promise.

“I…um.”

Lan Wangji waits, as Wei Wuxian struggles. With others Wei Wuxian speaks fluently, laughing
and striking with well-placed words. But several times now, he’s been reduced to incoherence.
Piles of sentences. Awkward fragments.

Lan Wangji lifts to his knees, facing Wei Wuxian on the rock. He runs one thumb over Wei
Wuxian’s temple. Asks again. Voice softer. “Presuming I’m willing, what do you want?”

Wei Wuxian stutters. His face, shockingly, is red. “Can I…leave everything to you…”

A shudder goes through Lan Wangji. An exquisite surge of responsibility. “Mn.”

“For tonight.”

Lan Wangji nods. “For tonight.”

And then he kneels and presses his lips to Wei Wuxian’s cock.

Wei Wuxian bucks and cries out.

“You are not to move,” Lan Wangji whispers. Lips against silken, hot skin.

Wei Wuxian gasps. Water ripples around them.

Lan Wangji turns his head and licks a warm stripe up Wei Wuxian’s thigh.

“Ah. Lan Zhan.”

“Yesterday. Why did you steal the money from me?”

“To show you I could.”

“Hm.”

“And maybe I had hoped.”

“Hoped what?”

“If I was taking from you, maybe you’d take back.”

Lan Wangji reaches up, wraps his hand in the hair at the other boy’s scalp, and holds his head
down against the rough rock. “Wei Ying. Stop moving.”

Wei Wuxian goes completely still. His pulse hammers in Lan Wangji’s hands.

“I thought, maybe we were both the type.” Wei Wuxian’s voice is high. “To know what we want.”

“You are so beautiful,” Lan Wangji confesses. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
What I want…”

“What?” Wei Wuxian’s voice is strangled. Face totally flushed.

 “To make you cry.”

Wei Wuxian’s body jerks. He arches up, a moan ripped from his mouth.

Lan Wangji kneels and swallows Wei Ying’s jutting cock. In one fast motion, taking it to the hilt,
sucking hard. He can focus just on that. Velvet colors surround them. Night deepening. Blue,
glassy sky. The ferns. The undergrowth. Insect wings in the darkness.

As Wei Ying writhes above him, Lan Zhan imagines what is to come. The ways he can withhold,
the slow stripes of his touch. He knows the other boy’s strength, can feel it vibrant beneath his
hands. He knows his own strength, more than a match. More than enough to wreck Wei Ying, to
break him to shards, about to shatter, to drive him out of his mind.

“Do it, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying gasps. “Please. I’m begging you. I'm begging. I'm begging. I need
that.”

Chapter End Notes

Hope you liked! Thank you so much to those who left positive feedback on the first
chapter.
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

CW: Non Con / Dub Con

MIND TAGS

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Grand Master, spiritual energy is energy. It can split mountains and fill oceans for human use.
Resentful energy is also energy. Why should it not be the same?”

“Wei Wuxian!” Lan Qiren’s face was a grimace of rage. “That is unacceptable.”

Wei Wuxian sat sprawled in the classroom at the desk next to Jiang Cheng’s, his posture slouched
and languid compared to everyone else’s careful kneels. His smile, as always, was carefree and
devastating. Lan Qiren looked like he was about to have a conniption.

It had been two weeks since Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s encounter in the Cold Spring. Lan
Wangji had not been alone with Wei Wuxian since that time.

The lectures had proceeded, thankfully, with no more conflicts of the extreme nature of the first
day. It was mostly because Wen Chao, after the discipline whip incident, had retreated to his
quarters and refused to come out. He said he felt ill and needed rest. He sent Wen Ning in his place
to the classes. Perhaps he was angry. Perhaps he was unsure how to play the new game, afraid of
once more losing face in front of the other clans. Perhaps he was conniving, setting new pieces in
motion—

Whatever the reason, his quarters at Cloud Recesses had become utterly quiet. Lan Wangji and his
family didn’t trust it.

But what could they do? They sent a message to Wen Ruohan, informing the sovereign of his son’s
indisposition, and received instructions back in no uncertain terms to keep Wen Chao comfortable,
to let him do what he wanted.

Meanwhile, there were classes, banquets, a litany of trivial punishments and arguments. In other
words, the Gusu Lan lecture was proceeding like almost any other year.

Through this time, Lan Wangji had found Wei Wuxian to be maddening. He was a ball of energy.
Flirtatious. Rambunctious. He never stopped talking and meddling. He was undisciplined and
constantly pushed the rules. Caused headaches and messes that took Lan Wangji and the Lan Sect
disciples hours to clean up.

Most of the other students at the lecture had come to adore him.

Like now, as Wei Wuxian blithely spoke blasphemy regarding the use of resentful energy, titters
and outright laughter filled the classroom. The disciples of the Nie Sect, especially, seemed to
approve of him. Since Nie Sect embraced a kind of rugged unconventionally in their own
teachings, this was no surprise to Lan Wangji. But it wasn’t just Nie Clan. Wei Wuxian had made
fast friends with disciples of every sect—even a few of the Wens. It was incredible really. He
didn’t act like a whipping boy, didn’t keep out of the spotlight in the way they were traditionally
supposed to, didn’t hesitate to push back when someone tried to disregard him for his position.
And Jiang Cheng never stopped Wei Wuxian from doing what he wanted.

For example, right now the other sect whipping boys knelt meekly at the edge of the room. Gazes
lowered. Speaking only if called on for a matter of punishment.

But Wei Wuxian, starting on the first day of class, had arrived even earlier than Jiang Cheng and
taken a seat near the head of Jiang Sect’s section. Right among the sect heirs. Everyone had been
scandalized.

Until Jiang Cheng arrived, yawning and grumbling, and simply kicked Wei Wuxian’s leg out of
the way so he could sit next to him.

What was Lan Clan supposed to do at this point? Prescribe more punishments?

And…was it really a problem?

No one seemed certain.

But what was certain, two weeks into the lecture, was that Wei Wuxian was not going to stop
pushing boundaries. He quickly established himself as a brilliant, student, innovative in his
solutions and in possession of a vast pool of knowledge. In their studies, he came second only to
Lan Wangji.

In behavior, he constantly fell asleep in class, chatted disruptively, and played pranks. Lan Wangji
felt a spark of rage as he noticed Wei Wuxian had set yet another drawing of a turtle on Lan
Qiren’s rear. With a furious glare at the boy, Lan Wangji swiped his hand and removed the
offense. Wei Wuxian seemed to enjoy tormenting the Lan Clan Grand Master in particular.
Challenging him at every lecture. Once, memorably, putting chili oil in Lan Qiren’s food.
Chattering as if they were old friends. Treating Lan Qiren with a casual, unimpressed presumption
that no Lan disciple would ever have dared.

“Wei Wuxian must have a death wish,” Jin Zixuan had murmured in passing a few days ago, to
Lan Wangji. The two of them often found themselves together, aligned naturally, in unspoken
understanding as peers: Both were reserved and aloof. Both were the heirs of the most elaborate,
powerful sects after the Wen Clan.

A death wish? Maybe, Lan Wangji had thought idly. Or maybe Madam Yu had instructed Wei
Wuxian to back off the Wens for a little bit. To mollify Wen Ruohan by targeting Lan Clan with
ridiculous antics.

If so, Lan Wangji thought the strategy somewhat doubtful. Lan Qiren loathed the boy. Seemed
almost ready to let Wen Clan attack Jiang Clan just to get Wei Wuxian out of his hair.

Still, no one these last two weeks ever went too far. It had been surprisingly lighthearted.
Surprisingly quiet. Lan Wangji was glad of that.

Overall, about Wei Wuxian he felt conflicting emotions.

He felt a strange concoction of jealousy, worry, irritation, and pride regarding Wei Wuxian’s
behavior. These intensified ten-fold whenever Wei Wuxian ran up to him like a giddy puppy.
When he pressed to Lan Wangji’s side in front of everyone and said something shameless. When
he called him Lan Zhan at meals and plucked food right off of Lan Wangji’s plate, before taking
his next bite from Jiang Cheng’s or Nie Huaisang’s.
These flirtations didn’t mean anything. That’s what Lan Wangji had come to realize. Wei Wuxian
treated everyone this way. If he seemed a tad more…enthusiastic, in his familiarity and jokes to
Lan Wangji, it was simply because he’d fixed on Lan Wangji as an extension of Lan Clan
leadership. The Wei Ying that Lan Zhan had clasped close at the Cold Spring. The Wei Ying of
that early, charged intimacy. That Wei Ying was completely gone.

But Lan Wangji had expected no less.

So he was cold and reserved, even harsh, in response to Wei Wuxian’s advances. As would be
expected for something so uncouth and ridiculous.

Meanwhile, he kept busy with urgent matters. More and more puppets—foul and resentful—were
cropping up daily in Gusu Lan territory. Screams in the night. Terrible violence. Signal flares had
become so constant that the Lan guard had doubled, and Lan Wangji had to leave constantly to
help quell the random outbreaks. There was no clear cause to the puppets, no source to the
resentful energy swirling in unquiet shrouds over the lands.

But Lan Wangji had a building suspicion. Based on what he knew of history, based on what he
knew of power, based on the signs he was discovering on the puppets’ bodies—

He suspected Wen Clan. He suspected…the Yin Iron. He knew Lan Xichen and Uncle did too.

Very few people in the cultivation world knew of The Yin Iron. Even fewer knew that a shard of
the metal was hidden in Gusu.

But if events were taking a turn for the worse…

Lan Wangji was interrupted from his dire thoughts by an itch at his ear. A little red paperman was
tugging at his earlobe.

He glanced over to Wei Wuxian, who was still chattering blasphemies in the classroom.

Wei Wuxian’s ability to multitask was onerous and impressive.

The paperman pattered across Lan Wangji’s shoulders and up his scalp. Came close to touching his
forehead ribbon.

Lan Wangji hissed and flicked the paperman off of his head.

In revenge the paperman kicked ink over Lan Wangji’s notes.

Lan Wangji pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Counted to ten.

“Wei Wuxian!” Lan Qiren’s voice was thunderous.

“I’ll go even further!” Wei Wuxian raised one finger in the air. “Why should we play by your
precious rules, refusing to even contemplate resentful energy, when Wen Ruohan does not!”

Lan Wangji went still.

At the head of the room, Lan Qiren’s eyes widened.

All of the students in the class stirred and looked at one another.

Almost as if Lan Wangji’s dire thoughts had summoned the subject, Wei Wuxian had chosen now
to make a statement.
Unease curled in Lan Wangji’s stomach.

This was different than Wei Wuxian’s lighthearted provocation of the last two weeks.

This was direct accusation against Wen Sect.

“Wei-xiong.” Nie Huaisang’s brows were drawn together. “What are you talking about?”

“I suspect that somehow Wen Ruohan is marshaling resentful energy.” Wei Wuxian’s voice rang
clear and unmistakable. He chattered faster, as if coming up with his conclusion on the spot.
“Haven’t undead people, strange puppets, been rising throughout the five realms? Haven’t
malicious energies been amplified?”

Jin Zixuan shifted uncomfortably.

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said quietly. “Stop spreading rumors.”

“I won’t, Jiang Cheng.” Wei Wuxian looked around at the gathered students. “Think about it.
Don’t these movements of resentful energy show a pattern? Think about it on a map.”

Lan Wangji looked around. He knew some of the students, the most highly ranked, already knew
of this possibility. No official communications had occurred between sects. Just whispered
concerns and veiled allusions, at the highest levels of sect leadership.

But no one until now had dared to publically say Wen Ruohan’s name.

And for most of the students in this room, the people who were going to spread this rumor to their
friends, their families, the idea was completely new. Practically unthinkable.

Wen Ruohan? Demonic cultivation?

Wen Ning on the sidelines was pale.

A Jin disciple spoke up. “But the malicious spirits target Wen Sect too. Why would Wen Ruohan
attack his own lands?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged impatiently. “Look in comparison. And look at the patterns over time.” He
nicked his thumb with his teeth and drew a quick talisman, an effortless few moves. Instantly, a
shimmering approximation hovered in the air. Figures and illustrations reflecting Wei Wuxian’s
mind.

“You see?” he asked. “Of course Wen Ruohan would target himself a little, to avoid suspicion. But
it looks like he’s testing some kind of technique with these puppets. He’s not content with just
killing. This is desecration.”

Jiang Cheng looked at Lan Qiren and shrugged.

“At least consider it as a hypothetical.” Wei Wuxian’s voice was smooth and unconcerned. “If
someone as powerful as the venerable Wen Ruohan were to learn demonic cultivation, if he
planned to use it to dominate and master all of the other sects, what could stand in his way?”

“Upright cultivators,” a Lan disciple said. “Even if what you say is true, the noble path will always
prevail.”

Wei Wuxian’s lips twitched. “Sure.”

“It’s not worth the cost,” Lan Wangji said.

Everyone turned to look at him. He had spoken unexpectedly. Quietly. Firmly.

“It’s not worth the cost,” Lan Wangji repeated. “Demonic cultivation warps the practitioner. It
harms the body, and the temperament even more. There’s no way to control it. There’s no
exception throughout history. If you use it, you will inevitably lose yourself.”

“That’s correct,” Lan Qiren said immediately. He was eyeing Wei Wuxian with worry, with a new
appraisal.

Wei Wuxian laughed. “That’s a good point. But worth is relative, isn’t it? I suppose it’s a question
of highest value. How far can something go before it’s cut down? What’s worth that cost? Why
shouldn’t we try?”

Had Madam Yu told Wei Wuxian to say these things? Or was the boy acting on his own? That’s
what everyone was wondering. The Jiang siblings were silent.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren’s voice was brisk. “It is up to the master to decide what topics are and
are not appropriate for this lecture. You will be—”

“Punished, I know.” Wei Wuxian stood, cutting Lan Qiren off, and headed for the door. “Don’t
bother, I’m going.”

“It will not be corporal,” Lan Qiren shouted after him. “Let’s see how you feel about something
else.”

Wei Wuxian was sentenced to copy the Lan rules and code of conduct in the library, at least two
thousand times. It would keep him away from the others for at least a week.

Lan Wangji guessed some frantic missives were about to be sent to Jiang Clan.

“Wangji.” Lan Qiren caught Lan Wangji’s eye and jerked his chin. See that he obeys. See that he’s
contained.

Quietly, Lan Wangji stood and went in search of Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t gone to the library, as he’d been told.

Instead, Lan Wangji finds Wei Wuxian at the back hill, his hands on his hips, studying the wards
around Cold Spring Cave. He cannot see the hidden cave, but Lan Wangji is sure he senses the
presence of strong enchantments.

Lan Wangji lands soundlessly behind him.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t hear. His head still tilted, in obvious concentration, as if he is working out
some grave problem. His hair sways in the wind.

Lan Wangji approaches. Opens his mouth to call his name—

And then suddenly Wei Wuxian stiffens.

He whirls, unsheathing Suibian.

And it’s a deadly blow.

Lan Wangji reacts on pure instinct, parrying with Bichen and sliding into a defensive posture. Two,
three exchanges—

Lethal, unforgiving, furious—

And then Wei Wuxian blinks. He jerks his sword back.

They stare at one another, panting.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian says finally. “You surprised me.”

Lan Wangji considers. “You thought I was Wen.”

Wei Wuxian bites his lip. Slight nod.

There’s a sharpness to him, in this moment, that is completely different than his bright cheer of the
last two weeks. There’s an edge.

You thought I was Wen.

Suddenly, a dark humor shines in Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “Yes, I thought you were Wen, and for good
reason, too. Did you know that Wen Ning has been scouting in this area behind Cloud Recesses?
I’ve seen him several times since the lecture started. He’s been trespassing.”

“So were you, if you observed him here.”

“Lan Zhan."

“Wei Ying.”

“I think the Wens are looking for something here in Gusu. I think that’s why Wen Chao hasn’t left
yet, even though he hates the lecture.”

Lan Wangji keeps his face impassive. He and Lan Xichen had drawn the same conclusion almost a
week ago.

“And of course they’d send Wen Ning to search,” Wei Wuxian says. “They can keep their hands
clean and let their whipping boy take all the risk.” His tone turns bitter. “Did you know, Lan Zhan,
that Wen Ning is a good archer? Not as good as a Jiang, obviously, but he has talent if only
someone would foster it. And he loves his sister: Wen Xu's whipping boy. He misses her terribly.
Would do anything to keep her safe. The two of them come from a sub-clan that fell under Wen
Ruohan’s rule many years ago. Their specialty is healing and medicine.”

Lan Wangji holds his silence.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes on Lan Wangji are watchful. Finally, he sighs. “You think I was foolish today,
to alert everyone to Wen Ruohan.”

“I would have kept the knowledge to myself.”

“For the element of surprise.”

“Mn. Now Wen Clan knows you know.”

“Lan Zhan. It was one time between us?”

Lan Wangji blinks.

And then a flush warms his ears.

This is the first time Wei Wuxian has alluded to what happened between them.

He surveys the other boy, trying to work out why he’s asking. Is it reassurance? Invitation?

“We agreed it would be one time,” Lan Wangji says cautiously. “I intend to honor that.”

Wei Wuxian nods immediately, as if satisfied. There’s still that edge to him, eyes hard. Teeth
prodding his lips as he stares at the wards.

The Yin Iron, Lan Wangji realizes.

Somehow, he already knows of it. He’s seeking to ask me if there’s a shard of it here, hidden
behind these wards.

A sinking feeling fills Lan Wangji’s chest. It’s all too tangled. He feels tired and cold.

If Wei Wuxian wants to bring up the Yin Iron, Lan Wangji wishes he would just ask. Lan Wangji
won’t tell him, of course. He would never give up the Lan Clan’s deepest secrets. Lan Yi had
given her life to seal the shard in Cold Spring Cave. To keep it sealed and hidden. To undo her
mistake.

And Lan Wangji understands, with every fiber of his being, that her descendents must carry on that
task.

The Yin Iron shard must never be used. Resentful energy can only bring horror.

So this is how it is, then. The two of them in awkward silence. They both know Lan Wangji holds
a key. Wei Wuxian wants an open door.

When Wei Wuxian speaks, his voice is falsely light.

“You don’t know the way Wen Sect pushes Jiang Sect, do you? Lan Zhan. You have no idea. The
constant threats. The attacks. They’re breathing down our necks. Weapons always pointed.”

Lan Wangji sucks in his breath.

“I do know,” he says urgently. “I do, Wei Ying. They push us too. They push everyone.”

“Wen Ruohan's soldiers killed my birth parents.”

“So you would do anything to bring him down.”

“No, it’s not just that.” Wei Wuxian’s brow furrows. “Jiang Clan took me in when I had no one,
Lan Zhan. They raised me. Gave me a home. Gave me a life.”

“Did you volunteer to be their whipping boy?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. Then he smiles, weirdly jovial. “Lan Zhan, you surprise me. I knew I
was right to make you my friend. Not everyone gets to be, you know.”
Lan Wangji keeps his gaze steady. Stubborn.

“Oh, so you want a serious answer.” Wei Wuxian stretches his arms above his head. Looks off to
the side. Grass is rippling around them; a green so saturated it seems otherworldly. “If it weren’t
me, wouldn’t it be someone else? And if I can take it, isn’t that best?”

Lan Wangji shifts. He feels he does not have the vocabulary for this conversation. He’s on the edge
of articulating something, but it can’t be thought cleanly without pulling up a whole messy root
system. Not the least of which is the tangle of his feelings. Abrupt and too assumptive. Not yet
known to be healthy. Always, he’s cautious.

Is this how Lans love?

Wei Wuxian’s hands flex by his side. “I do what I do, I take it as far as I do…because the Jiang
Clan is my family. I know you’d do the same for your family. I owe them everything, Lan Zhan.
I’d do anything to protect them.”

“You do feel you have a choice.”

A muscle jerks in Wei Wuxian’s jaw. Then he rubs his forehead, dramatically sighing.

“Lan Zhan. I think of Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian as my parents. Get it?”

“Mn. People say my parents killed one another.”

Wei Wuxian freezes. He peeks at Lan Wangji from beneath the hand on his brow. His Adam’s
apple bobs as he swallows.

Lan Wangji stares back at him.

“My father’s love brought isolation and betrayal,” he says quietly. “They both died of despair. It
was a love of…no compromises.”

Lan Wangji has no idea what possessed him to say that.

Except—

It had seemed important, suddenly. To lay clear one of the deepest burdens and confusions of his
heart.

Wei Wuxian is looking at him as if something’s clicked into place.

“I’d heard a little,” he says, very softly.

Lan Wangji speaks. “I think I should say. I’ve considered the possibility that Jiang Clan asked you
to target me.”

Wei Wuxian goes still. “To target you,” he repeats softly.

Not a flinch, not exactly. Wei Wuxian is too cool for that. He looks past Lan Wangji, at the green
mountain, at the waters.

Voice like a dead thing. “Of course. And I suppose there is no way to prove they have not.”

Wei Wuxian’s tone is hard.

“But they did not, Lan Zhan. And they have not.”

Lan Wangji waits.

“They have not, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian repeats. He is looking extremely grave. His coolness
unraveling. Something close to desperation—

And then—

A shock of silver as Suibian flies through the air.

Wei Wuxian leaps forward, spinning, pressing his attack.

Lan Wangji retaliates.

They’re sword to sword now. Like they never were on the moonlight rooftop. Like they haven’t
been until this moment.

This sparring can cut. Can wound. Can draw blood—

But.

It’s not an attack.

It’s a conversation.

As the two of them move, the full force of their expressions seems to unfurl between them,
unimpeded. Ah. So Wei Wuxian defends himself like this, Lan Wangji studies. That leap. Ferocity.

Lan Wangji answers.

He can meet Wei Wuxian, thrust for thrust, blade for blade, his movements more reserved, his own
desires plain. What he wants, in a fight. How he tries to get it.

Their own ideal expressions. How they sculpted their temperaments.

Avoiding earthly matters. Whatever.

Two sides of the same declaration.

And when they clash—

Lan Wangji pauses suddenly. Lifts his chin up. Leaves his defenses open.

Wei Wuxian stops himself just in time.

His sword centimeters from Lan Wangji’s throat.

They stand together like that, for a long, long moment. The tip of the blade brushes Lan Wangji’s
neck.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes are burning bright.

Almost distantly, Lan Wangji feels danger. Threat. He knows that lowering his sword was
madness.

But he’s thinking of a moment in the Cold Spring.

He’s thinking of how Wei Wuxian looked, after the sex. Drowsy and languorous. Covered in mud.
By the time it was through, Lan Wangji had had him three different ways. Had finished by pushing
him face down in the wet earth of the bank.

After, Wei Wuxian rolled onto his back. Heavy. Languid. There was rain coming, thick in the air.
Browns and charcoals. Navy-blue darkness. Droplets of mist on his skin.

“Will you remember me like this, Lan Zhan?”

The words were flirtatious, but there was something beneath them. Throb of feeling. It had started
to rain. The air had been sticky and swollen. Lan Wangji had reached out, very gently, and brushed
a strand of Wei Ying’s hair.

“Leave me, Lan Zhan. It’s all right. It’s best.”

That’s what Wei Wuxian had said. At that time.

And it had seemed wrong to do so. Wrong, wrong. A thud in Lan Wangji’s heart.

He remembers Wei Wuxian’s face tilted backward, neck exposed. He should not be left. Lan
Wangji had known. Not like this, not uncradled, not alone—

But that murmuring whisper:

“Leave me, Lan Zhan.”

So Lan Wangji had.

Now, in one fluid, precise motion, Wei Wuxian lowers his sword.

Lan Wangji touches his neck. Not even a scratch.

Never before, had Lan Wangji let someone touch him like that. Hold him hostage in that way.

For one final, trembling moment they stare at each other.

And then, slowly, the serious expression leaves Wei Wuxian’s face. He breaks into a soft laugh.

He sheathes Suibian. Dark hilt, rugged etching.

“Lan Zhan, you’ve forgotten yourself! You’re supposed to be my jailer.” Wei Wuxian backs away,
moving faster and faster, and then he takes off running toward Cloud Recesses. The kind of
headlong sprint that reminds Lan Wangji of childhood. The sheer joy of moving because one can.

“Come on, Lan Zhan! Let me play tricks on you in the library!”

The fight that seemed promised, their fight over the Yin Iron, is not going to happen on this day.

The encounter changes something between them. It’s undeniable. A new kind of heat simmering, a
new kind of unspoken current, a new way their eyes are drawn to one another.

It’s like some veil got stripped away. Some spark ignited when Lan Zhan let Wei Ying hold a knife
to his throat.
When Wei Wuxian didn’t push that.

But they don’t cross any lines. Wei Wuxian continues to flirt shamelessly. Lan Wangji stays
himself, reticent and huffing. An unspoken current, but there is nothing resembling an explicit
declaration or invitation. Neither make any moves.

Always, they are watched.

Lan Clan disciples, Wen Clan spies, Jin Clan emissaries. These observers flit and move in the
background of almost every passageway in Cloud Recesses. They’re in the library, observing the
punishment. Secret reports made of every session. Both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, with their
reputations, have eyes drawn to them like magnets.

During the week of that punishment, Wei Wuxian is insufferable. Chattering endlessly, making
mistakes on purposes, complaining of boredom and hand cramps. Outrageously, on the third day,
he claims he forgot how to read. Says Lan Wangji must dictate the rules to him in a low, sultry
voice. When Lan Wangji refuses, Wei Wuxian puts on a show. He stalks around the library
reciting in his own low, sultry voice. He seems utterly bored.

“You’ve memorized them?” Lan Wangji is shocked. It’s the fourth day, and Wei Wuxian has just
rattled off a hundred obscure Lan precepts to win an argument.

Wei Wuxian drapes himself over the desk. “Lan Zhan. After this torture, how could I not?”

Lips thinning, Lan Wangji plucks Wei Wuxian’s arms out of his calligraphy station. He’s besotted,
and he also feels overwhelmed. With every passing hour, he feels more and more pressure.

For it is worse than he thought—his feelings. How they twist him into knots. Wei Wuxian—

Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is kind. Lan Wangji has noticed this in a million ways. A talisman for health that the
sickly Wen Ning has started wearing on his belt. A blanket pressed over Mian Mian’s shoulders.
Teaching a younger Nie disciple how to improve his footwork. A smile at a struggling Lan guard.

Wei Wuxian is just. Always, always, he’ll speak out when someone strong tries to put down
someone weaker. When he sees unfairness he will leap to amend it, with barely a thought for the
cost to himself.

Wei Wuxian is smart. His mind amazes Lan Zhan, the way he absorbs, the way he moves like
quicksilver from topic to topic. Nothing ever seems to throw him. He can laugh, he can think, in the
face of insult, cruelty, horror. No matter what happens. Blood in his smile.

Wei Wuxian is bright, and Lan Wangji is caught up in the light of him.

He tries his best to hide it. He meditates, ponders, focus with complete forthrightness on his other
tasks, the ideals that he’d thought he always wanted in life. In some ways, Wei Wuxian is truly
irritating. Lan Wangji is used to order and discipline. Sometimes, Wei Ying’s disobedience grates.

Other times, he’s filled with so much admiration he feels like a cup overflowing.

And Wei Ying’s wish to protect?

How deeply, how deeply, Lan Wangji understands and admires that.
“I, Wei Wuxian, wish that I can always stand with justice and live with no regrets.”

It’s a whispered vow during the lighting of lanterns, on the fourth night of Wei Wuxian’s week of
punishment.

At that moment, Wei Wuxian soft as a shadow by him, Lan Wangji realizes almost wildly that he
cannot school his expression.

He stalks away before the warmth in his eyes, the blush on his face, can give up the game to
everyone around them. It would be terrible, embarrassing, to be so known, to have his feelings so
exposed.

And in this case, it would also be dangerous.

It would always be dangerous.

The realization hits Lan Wangji as he leaves the lanterns. Hits him with so much force he almost
starts shaking.

For even in the best case, even if they were lovers, they would always have to school their
expressions, watch their words, watch their acts.

Even in the best case, if relations were sanctioned. They would still be watched.

It’s a thought he can’t bear. Which is maybe why he scowls, perhaps a little harsher than
necessary, in Wei Wuxian’s direction as he leaves the gathering.

In the generations before Lan Wangji’s, it was not uncommon for whipping boys to become
consorts.

Sometimes with one noble. Sometimes with multiple. Usually fluid arrangements. Always on the
understanding that it was a loan, so to speak, as the whipping boy’s first allegiance was to his
home sect, his master. In the old days whipping boys had been often traded, for pleasure, for
companionship, as a way of currying favors between sects.

If Lan Wangji asked, he could likely have Wei Wuxian in that way. It might be tricky to arrange,
because the practice was less common now, and because Wei Wuxian was of such high standing in
Jiang Clan’s eyes. But Lan Wangji is of a supremely high rank himself. There would be no
disrespect in the invitation.

Excepting the political ramification of such an alliance, none of the sects would be likely to bat an
eye. Even Lan Clan, for all its uprightness, has never been prudish about sex, provided it stays
within agreed upon roles and behind closed doors.

If Lan Wangji asked and Wei Wuxian were willing, he would simply be invited to Lan Wangji’s
quarters. No covert glances, no secret to their relations.

Just an affair, out in the open.

Jiang Clan, if Wei Wuxian were willing, would probably leap at the chance.

And if Wei Wuxian desired it, he could encourage such a relationship on his end. And sometimes,
Lan Wangji catches a glimpse of something in Wei Wuxian’s eye that means he’s considering it.
When they are saying farewell, at the doorway of the library. When they pass one another in the
pathways, evening under magnolias.
When their hands, like right now on the fifth day in the library, are brushing over the page.

They are both aware that a certain route is open to them.

But there would be distance, Lan Wangji thinks. He just feels it. In such an arrangement, even if
they both wanted it, there would be distance. There would be intrusions. There would be more than
themselves. Always watched. Lan Wangji’s love a question with nothing but impossible answers.
So he never says anything. Neither does Wei Ying.

They let their understanding remain unspoken, built on a memory: trees arching overhead, the air
warm and heavy. Blue, blue. Moans in the water.

Lan Wangji will always remember. Every touch between them like a secret, wild offering.

That secrecy, that wildness, it seems important to whatever is charged and precious between them.
The silent current that lends spark to the look behind Wei Wuxian’s laugh.

They don’t touch it. It grows hotter and hotter.

Another day passes. Lan Wangji turns the page. Finds pornography. “Wei Ying!”

“I’ll say sorry on my knees.”

“Wei Ying.”

After torn pages have fluttered, after the scolding, after Wei Wuxian’s sparkling laughter is gone
from the air—

After the punishment is over and they have no reason to continue meeting—

Lan Wangji turns another page, finds a portrait of himself. Soft, clean flowing lines. A flower in
his hair.

A pain and a sweetness so sharp he is gasping.

One week later. Biling Lake. Wei Wuxian leaping over to Lan Wangji’s boat. The sudden crest of
the waves, Lan Wangji’s own heart leaping.

They fight well together, against the water ghouls. They both seem a little shocked. To find
themselves as a team. To find their actions so seamless.

When Su She gets stuck, it is Wei Wuxian who jumps off his sword. Who leaps right into the
swirling terror of the waterborne abyss, and risks his own life to save a member of the Lan Sect.

And when Wen Ning stumbles, his eyes going blank, Wen Ning who is timid—who had asked Lan
Xichen to include him on this mission because he’s taken to following Wei Wuxian everywhere,
like a duckling—

Lan Wangji shifts his priorities. Expends his energy for the Wen whipping boy. To save him. Heal
him. It’s a close fight.

After it’s over, everyone is laughing: Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng, and Wei Wuxian especially. It’s
like a brief respite. They feel friendly and triumphant. They had come together, all of them of
different sects, to subdue the mysterious threat against Caiyi Town. It had been marvelous.
That afternoon in the bustling town, Wei Ying tosses a loquat to Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji throws it
back. Lan Xichen’s lifted brow.

“If you want loquats, I could buy you a basket.”

Lan Wangji does want loquats. Returns twenty minutes later to the riverside, alone, to buy the fruit
from the vendor. Lan Xichen and the others are checking in to the inn, but Lan Wangji is aware of
the footsteps behind him. After buying the fruit he steps off the street to an alcove—nothing more
than a shadowy awning, too exposed, but he wants—

“Lan Zhan—“

And Wei Wuxian’s there.

Hissed whisper in the alcove. “Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan—”

“Yes. Later.”

Lan Wangji hooks his finger into Wei Ying’s mouth, forces his lips open, and spits in his mouth.
Then he turns and strides back into the light.

That night, Wei Wuxian shows up at Lan Wangji’s door.

“Fuck,” he groans, as Lan Wangji sinks his teeth under Wei Wuxian jaw. Moonlight sifts across
the inn room’s floor.

They’d only just managed to make it inside, to bolt the deadlock and fumble out some silencing
talismans.

“Jiang Cheng’s asleep,” Wei Wuxian says. “What about your brother?”

“He has his own room.” Lan Wangji presses his fingers, hard, into the dip of Wei Wuxian’s waist.
Delights in the shudder. “We both prefer privacy.”

“You rich and mighty Lan lords,” Wei Wuxian grouses. Lan Wangji hums agreement, sucks a
bruise lower down.

Then Wei Wuxian pushes Lan Wangji back. Breathing ragged. Eyes still sharp. “You rich and
mighty Lan lords,” he repeats.

Lan Wangji slows.

This is dangerous. That’s what Wei Wuxian is saying. He is asking for thoughtful consent.

A single incident is easily explained. An accident. Foolish indiscretion. But two times constitutes a
pattern.

Carefully, deliberately, Lan Wangji steps away.

“Who are you tonight?” he asks finally.

“I would like to be yours.”

Lan Wangji’s chest thuds. But he doesn’t move yet. Wei Wuxian in the doorway, a lean silhouette.
Waiting.

“Do you resent the Lan Clan?” Lan Wangji asks. Tests the waters.

“Yes. Sometimes.”

“Of course. Would you hurt my family?”

A muscle jerks in Wei Wuxian’s jaw. “If they were hurting mine.”

“If I think you’ll hurt my family—”

“You’ll punish me?”

“I’ll kill you.”

The words are simple. Sharp intake of Wei Wuxian’s breath.

And then he cocks his head. “You Lans.”

“Wei Ying. I’m trying to tell you how I feel. Every part of it.”

“Heavens. Save some mystery, Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying places his hands behind his back.

“I’ve wanted this so much, Lan Zhan. Wanted you, Lan Zhan.” His voice drops lower. “If I have to
fight them, I’d rather fight you.”

Lan Wangji strides forward.

Wei Wuxian throws his hands out, blocking him—

And then one hand reaches up and touches Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon.

Lan Wangji flinches. He can’t help it. A gleam in Wei Ying’s eye. As Lan Wangji firmly catches
his hand and pulls it away from the sacred ribbon, Wei Wuxian waggles his captured hand.

“I do dare, Lan Zhan. I’ll dare anything. Haven’t you heard? And what else could you expect from
me, when you looked at me like that? When you made it so clear you wanted ruthless honesty.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji growls. He searches Wei Wuxian’s face, tries to suss it for sincerity.

Hundreds of hours copying Lan rules in the library. Wei Wuxian knows what the forehead ribbon
means to Lan Wangji. Of course he does.

Almost absentmindedly, Lan Wangji presses Wei Wuxian back. Pins the hand to the wall over Wei
Ying’s head. Forces his knee between Wei Wuxian’s legs, spreading them apart. Wei Ying’s body
half in shadow. A slight arc to his spine.

Always such sharpness to him, Lan Zhan thinks. He has seen it even in the throes of Wei Ying’s
surrender.

Wei Wuxian looks teasing. Not unkind, but certainly not completely genuine. There’s a hint of
mockery to his expression, but Lan Wangji can’t tell who is the intended target. Lan Wangji? He
doesn’t think so. That would be cruel, and cruel Wei Ying is not. But maybe—

Self-mockery is different. A form of self-defense. Wei Wuxian preparing himself to be denied.

A declaration of feeling its own form of barrier.

For he had said those words—I do dare—ruthless honesty—as if they were obviously ridiculous.

Lan Wangji holds himself still. Searches for his truest answer. “If you are being sincere,” he says
finally, “Then my answer is yes.”

“Yes, what.”

“Yes, I likely feel the same.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t miss a beat. “You feel the same tonight.”

Lan Wangji huffs a short, incredulous breath. Simply stares.

Slowly, Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. It seems to take a beat, for the message to shine from Lan
Wangji’s eyes. No need for mockery. Not ridiculous, necessarily.

An offering.

And Wei Wuxian understands. A flush to his cheeks, suddenly, out of nowhere. Teeth prodding his
lip, almost shy.

And then it fades, as quickly as it came. Wei Wuxian seems suddenly, terribly tired.

“No. I’m not sincere, Lan Zhan. Don’t believe a word from me. Because I’m not my own person.
And I don’t want to be.”

The last words said with biting vehemence.

“I exist to be used,” Wei Ying presses the attack, seeing Lan Wangji’s reaction. Voice cold and
cutting. Lifting his chin, exposing his neck. “So use me, Lan Zhan.”

It hurts, but it hurts good. A clean burn swooping through Lan Wangji’s body. So this is the
boundary. This is what I’m being offered. He’s furious and blazing with admiration at the same
time. He’s never met anyone in his life so strong.

He grabs Wei Ying roughly, shoves him toward the bed. Pushes him down.

“Lan Zhan.”

Tears are gathering in Wei Wuxian’s eyes. There are layers of play here, and layers of truth. Could
Lan Wangji kill Wei Wuxian? Impossible. Growing more unbelievable every day. What he wants
to say is that he’d give Wei Ying everything.

“Maybe they’re right. Maybe I love to be humiliated.” Wei Wuxian is babbling. “It’s humiliating to
feel this way, isn’t it, Lan Zhan? To be like this? Oh please oh please, make me stop talking—”
+

Everyone knows Wei Wuxian will be punished.

That’s what Lan Wangji realizes when he awakens hours later, after he and Wei Ying have slept,
twined with one another. Bodies warm and damp, skin to skin and too close, under the blankets.
Unwilling to move away. It’s dawn now. Blue light is sifting through the windows. Morning in
Caiyi Town.

Everyone knows that something is coming. A blade hovering over Wei Ying’s head. An answer to
insurrection. Inevitable sacrifice. It’s the dread that hangs like fog over Cloud Recesses, even in the
happiests of moments. Even yesterday, when they were laughing together, they were still divided
by uniforms, divisions discernible to any onlooker’s eye. Lan White, Wen Red. Jiang Cheng in his
purple. Wei Wuxian—black.

But this blade, for now, is yet to fall.

In the cold light of dawn, Lan Wangji extricates himself from the bed. Smooths his hair back,
staring out the window. Goosebumps up his arm.

He finds peace in the guqin. Sitting on the floor by the bed. Notes rising from his fingers. A
melody rising from his heart.

This is the first time he’s played it, but it isn’t the first time he’s thought of it. He can’t remember
exactly when this song began to fill his mind. It’s mixed with the memories of moonlight, water.
The green of the mountain. Flushed skin, crossed swords.

“How pleasant, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whispers. His hair is tangled, sleep-mussed. He nestles
closer, pressing his forehead to Lan Wangji’s back.

Pure joy, Lan Wangji thinks. To touch you.

“How pleasant. Lan Zhan, what’s the name of this song?”

Slowly, Wei Wuxian falls back asleep, cradled against him. Lan Wangji tilts his head up, watching
the sky lighten outside. He stays silent. Wei Wuxian had told him not to speak, and he’ll respect
that.

A few weeks later, the blade finally falls on Wei Wuxian.

But not from the expected direction.

When Lan Wangji hears the shouting, his blood curdles. He vanishes his guqin and strides out
from the library, blinking in the sudden sun. By this point, they’ve been together many times. He
knows Wei Ying’s voice in joy and tension, knows many shades of it, knows Wei Ying well
enough to sense that something is wrong—

Fear. Rage. Threat.

Angry voices. Nothing like the lighter play-fighting that has rung through Gusu in the past few
weeks.

As he walks closer he separates the voices into Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Jin Zixun. More
hoarse shouts. Jin Zixuan too. Some kind of argument.

He connects the dots immediately. Something to do with Jiang Yanli.

It’s the only thing that could break through the Twin Heroes’ veneer of playfulness like this.

He rounds the corner and finds a group of mostly Jiang and Jin disciples, almost at blows in the
Underworld Chamber. Jin Zixuan’s face is bright red. From the sidelines, Nie Huaisang runs up to
Lan Wangji. “Tell them to calm down!” he wails.

“Where’s Jiang Yanli?”

“She left. She was crying.”

“Why should I want to marry her?” Jin Zixuan demands loudly to the room. “I wasn’t given a
choice! If I could choose, why would I wish to wed a—”

“Jin Zixuan!” Wei Wuxian’s voice is deadly. “Watch your words.”

“Watch your words, whipping boy. I’ll say what I want. I won’t be manipulated by someone as low
as Jiang Yanli.”

Wei Wuxian pales. Beside him, Jiang Cheng snarls, his hand going to Sandu. But neither of the
Twin Heroes move.

For Jiang Clan cannot afford to make an enemy of Jin Clan, the second most powerful of all the
great sects.

For Jin Guangshan’s favor—his alliance with Jiang Fengmian—

It’s the only reason the Wens haven’t already razed Jiang Clan to the ground.

Without the Jin’s tacit backing, Jiang Clan has no chance against the Wens. None at all. Jin Sect
may be smaller than Wen Sect, but they are hugely significant. In wealth they are almost equal to
the Lan and Nie sects combined.

Lan Wangji reads all of this in Wei Wuxian’s face. Quick as lightning, the calculation. The stakes.
Wei Wuxian knows that he should not act.

And yet, it is exceedingly clear—

It has always has been clear—

How much Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng love Jiang Yanli. How much they adore and look up to
her.

Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli, and Wei Wuxian are always together, chattering and teasing, as close as
blood siblings to any eye. Lan Wangji has seen both boys light up when they see Jiang Yanli’s
smile, has seen all of the siblings go out of their ways countless times to make sure the others are
happy. Wei Wuxian has chattered endlessly to anyone who will listen, probably for hours at this
point to Lan Wangji, of Jiang Yanli’s merits: her kindness, her intelligence, her goodness, her skill.

Lan Wangji has no doubt—Jiang Yanli is more important to Wei Wuxian then anything.

He has no doubt the Twin Heroes won’t see her insulted.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flutter closed. His voice is strained. “Why don’t we start over,” he says to Jin
Zixuan. “Explain exactly what you think she did, and I’ll help figure out—”

Jin Zixuan scoffs. “It’s not even worth my time.”

Jiang Cheng goes purple with rage. Jin Zixuan shrugs.

Jiang Cheng strides forward and punches him.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian cries as Jin Zixuan goes flying. The Jin disciples leap to catch Jin
Zixuan. Wei Wuxian jumps in front of Jiang Cheng, holding him back from another attack.

Then, Jiang Cheng yells:

“Why should my sister want an ugly, frivolous, corrupt peacock? Someone who’s going to grow
into his father, disgusting, immoral, obscenely rich from the labor of others, an utter waste of
space, a cheater, a predator, an evil leech—”

“Jiang Wanyin.” Lan Wangji’s voice cuts the room.

Jin Zixuan’s mouth has fallen open.

Everyone is silent. Utterly silent.

Ugly, corrupt, disgusting, immoral. Obscene. Cheater. Predator. Evil leech—

The words seem to echo throughout the room.

Veiled insults against Wen Clan are nothing new. Jiang Clan at this point has made an art of them.

But Jiang Clan has never, never, insulted Jin Clan. No one has insulted Jin Guangshan like that in
recent memory. To his son’s face. In front of his elite disciples. No one would dare.

The Jin disciples’ faces harden. One by one, they draw their swords.

Those were effectively words of war.

Jiang Cheng blinks. He seems to come awake. Meets Wei Wuxian’s horrified eyes.

This was clearly not part of a plan.

Jin Zixuan has picked himself up and dusted off his robes. He is pale and enraged. Staring at Jiang
Cheng with cold eyes.

Jin Zixuan is his father’s son. Meaning ruthless, if it comes to it. Meaning proud and horrifically
powerful.

He opens his mouth, about to make some declaration—

“Jin Zixuan.” Lan Wangji’s voice is low. Jin Zixuan looks at him as if startled.

Lotus Pier burning. The Jiang family murdered. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian dead, all the
disciples scattered. That is what Lan Wangji is desperately trying to telegraph with his quiet stare.
That is what could happen, Lan Wangji tries to get across to Jin Zixuan. That’s what Wen Ruohan
could almost surely do to Jiang Clan. Depending on what happens next.
There is the sound of a door clanging shut.

Meng Yao has shut the chamber door, obeying a nervous head jerk from Nie Huaisang. Nie
Huaisang flutters his fan, biting his lip and looking at Lan Wangji. The meaning is clear.

It’s not too late. We can stop this news from spreading.

Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji look at Jin Zixuan.

They are all of the same rank. They understand these machinations.

Being so close to such power, all their lives, they have an understanding of consequences.

They know that as their sect’s representatives, every weakness that they show bears cost.

And they know that any word that reaches the public will have weight. And once that door opens,
news will start reaching the public.

In the room’s center, Jiang Cheng drops to his knees and salutes. “I went too far,” he says. “I beg
forgiveness.”

Wei Wuxian, beside him, also drops to his knees.

Lan Wangji, still standing next to Jin Zixuan, tries to bore his will into the Jin sect heir’s head.
Accept their apology. Find some way to neutralize this.

“Surely you can understand,” Jiang Cheng continues. He seems overwhelmed. “I love my sister
very much, so I said angry, untruthful things about your father. Whether the marriage continues or
not, that is for others to discuss and decide. But I rescind my words about Jin Guangshan. I declare
them unfounded. Reprehensible.”

Jin Zixuan looks unconvinced.

Lan Wangji’s heart sinks, for he knows what Jin Zixuan is thinking. Yes. Weakness brings cost—
there is a reason punishment is so heavily regulated and ritualized. There is a reason the elaborate
practice of whipping boys keeps the actual clan leaders far, far from insult.

Every sect leader knows they can never look weak. The instant they look weak, they become weak,
in the eyes of all onlookers.

Jin Clan cannot, will not, let something as serious as this slide. Not with the balance of the sects so
delicate. Everyone taut. They would never let it be known they met insult with weakness. They
have killed for far less.

And although the eyewitnesses are only those currently in this room, it is not an insignificant
number. Twenty-two people. Rumors can and will spread. Ridicule can spread. Every second the
insult goes unmatched, it grows more and more serious for Jin Sect.

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath.

“Let’s fix this. I insulted you. Name your punishment.”

Lan Wangji keeps his face utterly still. His expression unreadable. He can feel the slight tensing
around his eyes.

Next to Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian’s jaw has tightened. But he says nothing. His expression is
fierce and his eyes are fixed on the ground.

“A punishment could work,” Nie Huaisang says nervously. “Only Meng Yao and I are here from
our sect. Nie Clan will witness that the punishment was grave, fitting a grave offense. That’s all
we’ll say. Matter resolved.”

“My whipping boy is here.” Jiang Cheng’s speaks through gritted teeth, head bowed. “We are
ready. Do what you want.”

Jin Zixuan rubs his jaw. “Yes,” he says finally.

His eyes are like steel. It is clear he is still furious.

“Perhaps that’s the way to best handle this,” Jin Zixuan says. “For it’s not just your transgression
we’re dealing with, Jiang Cheng. Isn’t your whipping boy getting too arrogant? Acting above his
station?”

Next to Jin Zixuan, Jin Zixun nods. His face is smug.

Jiang Cheng swallows. Flash of anger. But he stays bowing.

“And isn’t that symptomatic of his clan leadership,” Jin Zixuan says sourly. Jiang Cheng and Wei
Wuxian glance at one another. They appear to be having a wordless conversation. Shadows are
deepening on the wall behind him.

This is off script, Lan Wangji realizes. This whole situation. It feels unstable, slippery, no clear
course of action.

Jiang Cheng stands, leaving Wei Wuxian kneeling. “Do your worst. He will take it.”

Lan Wangji’s gut plummets. He feels nauseous, unsure. He has no formal relationship with Wei
Wuxian. He has no way to interfere, isn’t sure if he should interfere. And if he were sure, what
would he do?

“Punish him as you please,” Jiang Cheng says.

A strange pleasure lights up Jin Zixun’s face. It’s ugly. Excited.

“Don’t hurt him,” Lan Wangji bursts out.

A beat of surprise. Jin Zixuan turns to Lan Wangji, eyes narrowing. Not good, not good. Lan
Wangji looks away, to find the Nie Sect whipping boy, Meng Yao, also regarding him with a
discerning look in his eye.

Lan Wangji keeps his face impassive. “Don’t excessively hurt him. It is against Lan Clan’s
principles.”

“With all due respect, this matter is between Jiang Clan and Jin Clan,” Jiang Cheng says coldly.
“We would ask no interference from other sects.”

Wei Wuxian is staring at Lan Wangji. Brow furrowed. Clear shake of his head. Lan Zhan, stay out
of this.

“And isn’t hurting him the point?” Jin Zixun snaps.

Wei Wuxian ignores Jin Zixun, speaking to Jin Zixuan. “Do it. I’ll take it. Anything. Whatever.”
But now, a smile has spreads across Jin Zixun’s face, as if an idea had just occurred to him. “But
Hanguang Jun is right. After all, we’ve witnessed that pain doesn’t have the desired effect on Wei
Wuxian, haven’t we?”

“What are you suggesting,” Jiang Cheng growls.

“If we truly want the punishment to stick, we’ll have to try something different.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Get on with it.”

“On all fours.” Jin Zixun shoves Wei Wuxian toward the floor. Wei Wuxian shifts to his hands and
knees, obedient. The tension in the room deepens. Wei Wuxian swallows. Vulnerable.

“Now touch yourself,” Jin Zixun says. “Show everyone here how you take your pleasure.”

Wei Wuxian stutters. “Wh-what?”

“Bring yourself to climax.”

The blood pounds in Lan Wangji’s head. Before he can speak, Jiang Cheng is shaking his head.
“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Jin Zixun says. “Isn’t the point humiliation? And is this so unheard of?”

“I can’t, I won’t allow it—” Jiang Cheng says.

Jin Zixuan speaks then, frowning. “You won’t allow it?”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth falls closed. He looks at Wei Wuxian wildly.

For Jin Zixun is right. Such an idea, such a humiliation…is not completely unheard of in the
cultivation world. In Jin Sect’s court, Jin Guangshan has been known to leverage sex as
punishment and reward, up to even some of the lesser nobles of Carp Tower. And among the
seedier nobles of Jin Sect to their underlings, it is regular albeit unsavory practice. Jin Zixun would
not blink an eye at such a public degradation.

But for Wei Wuxian’s rank. Among those gathered here.

It feels impossible.

Lan Wangji starts to speak, and then hears a swoosh beside him.

Jiang Cheng, incredibly, is drawing his sword—

“Jiang Cheng, wait.”

Wei Wuxian’s voice rings out. Wei Wuxian stares at Jiang Cheng, until the other loosens his grip
on his sword. Jaw set. Confusion and dilemma on his face.

Without speaking, Wei Wuxian appears to be communicating something. He nods at the purple
lotus token that dangles at Jiang Cheng’s waist. The token is dark purple, gleaming, clearly a
symbol of something to the Jiang boys.

Jiang Cheng frowns at the token. Brings his eyes back to Wei Wuxian.

Pain shoots through Lan Wangji. Almost physical. Every instinct screams for him to protect.
Wei Wuxian looks uncertain but brave, still on his hands and knees, looking around at all of them.
He chews his lip, and Lan Wangji can almost hear his thoughts churning:

Twenty-two people. Twenty-two people to see this situation. One me. All of Jiang Clan to protect.
Two Jin nobles with wounded pride. A new way of lashing out at me.

That lotus symbol spinning at Jiang Cheng’s waist. Dark metal gleaming. Rich purple.

Finally, a slow smile spreads across Wei Wuxian’s face. “Ah, Jin Zixun, don’t act so proud. Do
you think you’re the first person to have such shameless wishes?”

Jin Zixun sneers.

“So basic, Jin Zixun.” Wei Wuxian cheerfully works at the ties of his outer robes. “For a moment
there, I was worried.”

Jiang Cheng speaks. “Wei Ying…”

Wei Wuxian ignores him. “But this really is something else.” His voice goes a little quieter. “If I
make it good for you. If I am very good, you will drop the hard feelings against Jiang Cheng,
right?”

Lan Wangji feels himself disassociating. The world is taking on a muffled, unclear quality.

“Show us you believe it,” Jin Zixun says.

Wei Wuxian is murmuring to himself. The outer robe has come off, leaving a tunic and pants. He
runs his palm over his thigh, and Lan Wangji sees that his hands are sweating.

“I don’t believe you,” Jin Zixun says. “I don’t believe you want it.”

Wei Wuxian huffs out a cheery breath. But Lan Wangji can read the discomfort, under the faked
confidence. He knows Wei Wuxian well enough, by now. Has seen him in many different states.
But never a state like this.

Veiled anxiety. Fighting not to come apart.

Jiang Cheng looks away from Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian bites his lip.

“You’ve done this before?” Jin Zixun says. “It’s not so hard, you boast?”

“Of course!” Wei Wuxian snaps. He closes his eyes and inches his hand toward his crotch. But the
strain is apparent. He can’t seem to work up the nerve to proceed. Jiang Cheng still won’t look at
Wei Ying. The Jiang sect heir is clearly distressed, veins bulging from clenched fists. But he isn’t
stopping it.

Jin Zixuan has retreated to a wall at the side of the room. His arms are crossed and he looks aloof.
Looking a little away, as if he finds it distasteful to watch the proceedings head on.

But he also isn’t stopping it. He has agreed. This must be how the Jiang Clan pays penance.

The others have accepted it too. Nie Huaisang has slouched to a seat on the floor, fanning himself,
his expression revealing nothing. The others find seats as well or relax by leaning against the wall.
Distancing themselves. Settling. As if about to enjoy a show.

“You forgot yourself, didn’t you,” Jin Zixun crows. “You forgot what you are. What you exist
for.”

“Believe me.” Wei Wuxian’s voice is ice. “I did not forget.”

Jiang Cheng speaks suddenly. “Call me when it’s over.”

And then he whirls, turns on his heel, and walks away.

Everyone watches, shocked, as he strides toward the exit. As he leaves Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian seems the most shocked of all.

“Jiang Cheng?” His voice is suddenly small. “What—”

Dazed, Lan Wangji watches Jiang Cheng go. There’s a sickening feeling, surging up in him. When
he saw Jiang Cheng turn to leave, his own heart had leapt.

Because, Lan Wangji realized, he also wanted to leave. To escape.

Fury rushes through him. His dazedness vanishes.

How dare Jiang Cheng abandon Wei Wuxian. How dare he leave him here, alone in this situation,
in a pit of enemies—

Jin Zixun’s harsh laugh cuts through his thoughts. The Jins are delighted.

For the strategy has already proved successful. Jiang Cheng feels humiliated, degraded. He
crumpled under pressure. He could not keep up the act.

The Twin Heroes, the famed duo—

Weak after all.

“What are you, nervous?” Jin Zixun barks to Wei Wuxian, who has frozen, completely wide-eyed.
He is still on all fours, his robes undone, staring at the door through which Jiang Cheng has
vanished.

“What’s taking so long?” Jin Zixun asks Wei Wuxian. “Are you trying to back out?”

“No!” Wei Wuxian’s eyes squeeze shut. “I’m not. I’m going to do it. I want to. Just give me a
minute.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes slide open, and now he is looking straight at Lan Zhan.

He looks desperate. A little lost. Lan Wangji has seen such a look on his face before. When Wei
Wuxian wanted to submit, when he wanted the reins passed to another—

But never like this, between them. Never in such circumstances.

The control is starting to break on Wei Wuxian’s face. He is starting to look afraid. Without Jiang
Cheng, without his support, he is floundering.

Jin Zixun leans forward. He’s like a vulture circling—

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji’s voice is sharp as a whip crack. Wei Wuxian startles, kneeling
straighter.
Everyone turns to Lan Wangji, confused as to why he is talking.

“You will allow it?” Lan Wangji asks.

Wei Wuxian blinks. His eyes grow clearer. He knows exactly what Lan Wangji is asking.

If you don’t allow it, Lan Wangji thinks, tell me.

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what he would do then, but he knows he would do something. He feels
uncontrollable suddenly, on the verge of losing all thought—

But then Wei Wuxian relaxes. An almost blissful look crosses his face. “I will allow it,” he repeats.
“Yes. Hanguang Jun.”

And underneath that. Familiar language.

Request.

For a moment they simply stare at one another.

Everything in Lan Wangji comes to a deep focus.

He clears his head. Brings his thoughts to a pinpoint. No more muffling, no more cloudiness. Just
Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian who wants him to—

Who is begging—

Lan Wangji speaks. “Good boy. Good dog. I want you to crawl to me.”

Wei Wuxian gives a full body shudder. And as he obeys, Lan Wangji sees the same sheer,
desperate focus. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan. Listening to Lan Wangji’s voice. Looking only at him,
peering up through dark lashes. Pupils dilating. Breaths slowing.

Focused completely on Lan Zhan.

“Good. Right there. Stop.” Lan Wangji’s voice is impassive. “Open your trousers. Let them all see
you.”

Step by step, Lan Wangji walks him through it.

The air in the room has gone heavy and tense. People looking straight at them, people looking
away. Jin Zixun’s face is red, and Lan Wangji hates him.

But he has no energy to spare for such thoughts. Wei Wuxian is still looking at him, always
looking at him, waiting for the next instruction. Ever more limp, ever more pliant. Each command
building. Until Wei Ying is sucking in breaths, trembling, eyes fluttering open and closed.

“Keep your eyes open,” Lan Wangji says. “Focus on me.”

“Hanguang Jun…Hanguang Jun...” Wei Wuxian’s voice is trembling. Tears have gathered in his
eyes. He’s on the cusp now, Lan Wangji thinks. But he’ll need to go farther.

“Not good enough,” Lan Wangji says. “You’re boring me.”

Wei Wuxian gasps. Little hiccups of pleasure, and then his whole body shakes and he’s sobbing.
Through it all, he continues to stroke himself, listening to Lan Wangji’s commands. The others are
like shadows in the room, silhouettes that never fade completely into the background. An
audience. A jury. Unkind and exploitative. Witnessing everything.

Lan Wangji cannot afford to think of them. He cannot afford to focus on anything but Wei
Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian curled over himself, his cock red and hard in his hand, finally, losing himself in
pleasure—

“Hanguang Jun, I’m going to…”

“Yes.”

But just as he is about to come, Jin Zixun stalks up to Wei Wuxian and yanks his hand away.

Wei Wuxian cries out. Lan Wangji goes rigid, shocked from his deeply focused state.

Fear. Bald fear, for the first time goes over Wei Wuxian’s face. He gapes up at Jin Zixun, terrified.
Fear shattering his dazed remove, his haze—

“Look at me,” Lan Wangji barks.

Wei Wuxian does, focusing completely on Lan Wangji. He looks utterly vulnerable, face tear-
streaked, lips trembling, eyes glassy—

He’s still painfully hard. Still under.

“So arrogant,” Jin Zixun laughs. “Not so arrogant now, right?”

Wei Wuxian whimpers.

“You will allow it?” Lan Wangji asks. His heart is beating fast.

The question again.

“I’ll allow it,” Wei Wuxian says. Slowly, the fear leaves his face. He angles toward Jin Zixun,
stroking himself again, more hesitantly. All the time he is looking at Lan Wangji, staring at him
like an anchor, the flush on his face rising.

Again, tortuously, he climbs to the peak—

Again, Jin Zixun stops him.

“Lan Zhan.” It’s a groan. Wei Wuxian is too far gone to care if others hear the naked plea. “Can I
— May I—”

“No,” Lan Wangji says ruthlessly. He’s watching Jin Zixun’s face.

The man wants to see Wei Wuxian brought low. It’s not enough yet. For some reason, it’s not
enough. The situation feels like it’s on the cusp of spiraling completely out of control, Lan
Wangji’s own hand inching toward Bichen. Hard gazes, everywhere he looks, he’s on the verge of
panic—

All that holds him, all that keeps him furiously, desperately, steady, is the thought that if he
stumbles, if he falls and shatters, then Wei Wuxian will fall too.

He can’t afford to falter.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian’s voice is growing panicked. He’s close. So close. Needs it to be over.
“Lan Zhan, please—”

“Say Lan er gege,” Lan Wangji says.

“Lan er gege.”

Lan Wangji is watching Jin Zixun’s face.

“Say Jin gege.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t hesitate. “Jin gege.”

It’s enough. Surprise and pleasure spreads across Jin Zixun’s face.

“Wei Ying, come,” Lan Wangji commands.

“Enough,” he says finally. When it is over.

Wei Wuxian is a heap on the floor. Lan Wangji raises his brows to Jin Zixuan. Satisfied?

Looking bored and above it all, Jin Zixuan gives a tight nod.

“Wei Wuxian, you’re dismissed.” Lan Wangji barely stops his voice from cracking. “Go. Clean
yourself up. Stay away from here.”

His tone sounds completely steady and unmoved.

Slowly, Wei Wuxian pulls his robes closed and picks himself up. His tears are drying on his face.
He gives a deep, perfect bow to Jin Zixuan. He doesn’t look at Lan Wangji.

As he leaves, Lan Wangji feels like all air is completely sucked out of him.

As soon as the door is shut, Lan Wangji rounds on Jin Zixuan.

“That was distasteful, pointless, and poorly managed. Never again will you do something like that
on Gusu Lan territory. Never again.” He is laying down a boundary. Letting the full force of Cloud
Recesses’ authority fill his voice.

A muscle jerks in Jin Zixuan’s jaw. “I agree,” he says finally. “I don’t regret the punishment. But I
don’t care for the method.”

Lan Wangji stares at him. Dumbfounded. Anger. Jin Zixuan regrets it? Now?

“Anyway, thank you for managing it,” Jin Zixuan says.

Time slows. Footsteps fading. The click of that door shutting, again and again and again. He feels a
numbness creeping through his golden core, creeping through his body. Body dissassociating. He’s
having trouble connecting what just happened to those words.

“You were satisfied,” he asks through numb lips.

“Jin Clan is satisfied. Jiang Clan has fully paid for their crime.”
Jin Zixun opens his mouth, and Lan Wangji cuts him off with the Silencing Spell. He stares
daggers at Jin Zixuan, who finally gives a firm nod to Lan Wangji’s unspoken question. “When the
matter reaches my father’s ears, I will handle it with him.”

As Lan Wangji leaves, he hears a voice whispering something to the others.

He can’t tell who is speaking. Maybe Jin Zixun, or even Nie Huaisang. It sounds a little like Meng
Yao.

“Lan Wangji must really hate Wei Wuxian, to have done that,” the voice says. “He’s furious and
embarrassed because he saw his own ugly side.”

Wind whirls and rages around Lan Wangji as he flies through the darkness on Bichen toward Caiyi
Town. Shaking, overwhelmed, barely able to hold his balance. It’s less than an hour since he left
the others.

Where is he going? Why? He’s not sure. Rain streaks down around him. Thunderstorm. He’s not in
the right state of mind to be flying. This is dangerous. He’s too high. The air is biting. Lightning
streaks the sky.

His focus, which had held so carefully for Wei Wuxian, has completely shattered.

His thoughts spin in every direction. He wants to comfort Wei Wuxian, find him, protect him, lash
Jin Zixuan to pieces. Burn Jin Zixun. Kill all Jins. Lash and burn himself. Kill all Lans.

He finds himself on a rainy cobbled street, gasping, staring at a shuttered merchant’s shop. Finds
himself breaking the lock, stalking inside. Rows and rows of white, gleaming Emperor’s Smile. He
is going to fall apart. He’s never felt this before. His insides churning, his mind lightheaded. His
body feels like a stranger to him, uncontrolled. Why is he taking this bottle? He doesn’t know, but
it feels important. The most important mission in the entire world.

Jerkily, he leaves his money pouch on the counter, then grabs two more jars of Emperor’s Smile.
Not enough. Two more. And two more. He wonders distantly if he is about to pass out.

He needs…to apologize. To talk to Wei Wuxian. Right now. He doesn’t know if he hurt. If he
helped. At the time it had seemed the right thing to do, the only way he could protect Wei Wuxian.
One wrong step and his life would be forfeit. Those people could hurt him. Were going to hurt
Wei Ying. Had hurt. But he’d asked—

Lan Zhan is shuddering.

What if he was wrong? What if he’d misstepped—

Betrayed—

He feels acutely his own lack of knowledge, his own ignorance, his horrible gaps. Had he been
backed up to an edge and failed to imagine other choices? Would it have been better to try and
interfere with the punishment? Better to do nothing?

Stop. This is useless. Conjecture. All he can do now is look Wei Wuxian in the eye.
He lands soundlessly outside the dorm where Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are living. He rushes
up the steps, pulling bottles of Emperor’s Smile from his Qiankun bag. The door is slightly open.
He hears voices.

Through the slightly open door, Lan Wangji glimpses the scene.

Golden, lit by firelight. Devastating.

Wei Wuxian collapsed on the floor, crying in Jiang Yanli’s arms.

Pure pain on his face.

Pure humiliation.

The bottom falls out of Lan Wangji’s stomach.

He loses his grip on the bottles—

He had done that—

He had hurt—

Then someone steps out from the dark porch and catches the bottles.

Jiang Cheng. Face pale in the darkness.

“What are you doing here?” Jiang Cheng hisses. He yanks Lan Wangji away from the door, hiding
them before the two inside can see them. Rain driving down all around. Wind howls. His eyes are
red-rimmed. “Answer me. What are your intentions toward Jiang Clan?”

Lan Wangji stares. His mind works frantically, trying to find answers to the question, to understand
the frantic tone in Jiang Cheng’s voice.

Then it clicks. Lan Wangji’s interference. His blunt meddling into the punishment. The fact he’s
showed up here now. Jiang Cheng is interpreting it as some kind political language. Some kind of
ploy, some kind of request or trap—

Lan Wangji’s panic spirals further—

He’s put Lan Clan at risk. He’s exposed his family, pushed them into the spotlight. Wen Ruohan
will hear—

Then Jiang Cheng blinks. His gaze travels from the Emperor’s Smile, then back at Lan Wangji, as
if searching for something in his expression. “You didn’t do it for Jiang Clan, did you,” Jiang
Cheng says slowly. “And you didn’t do it for Lan Clan.”

A slight look of awe fills his face. His voice drops even lower. “You did it for…”

Jiang Yanli calls from inside. “Jiang Cheng? Are you outside?”

“Coming.” Jiang Cheng’s voice is gruff.

He and Lan Wangji stare at each other.

“He’s like a brother to me,” Jiang Cheng hisses quietly. “Know that. I love him as if he’s my own
brother…”
 Then, Jiang Cheng’s voice breaks.

“But I bet you’re wondering how I can say that. How I’ve ever felt the right to say that.”

A pain like lightning in Lan Wangji’s head. He's drowning in the rush of the storm.

“I knew he liked you.” Jiang Cheng is still talking. He’s breathing quickly. “He didn’t tell me that,
I could just sense it. And I know you helped him. Tonight. When I didn't. I don’t know. I don’t
know.”

“Jiang Cheng?” Jiang Yanli calls again.

Jiang Cheng shudders. He presses his hand to his eyes.

And Lan Wangji suddenly feels they are in the same place. The sheer impossibility of their
situation—

The fucked up—

Helped him?

“Tell him to stay away from me,” Lan Wangji snarls. Loud.

He does not see Wei Wuxian again for another eight months.

~End of Part I~

Chapter End Notes

Hope you liked! And happy 2021. Thanks so much to those who've left feedback and
discussion on the story so far.

It should be clear, I'm remixing much of the logistics and chronology of CQL events
for the plot. If anything is confusing, pls feel free to ask. The next part will pick up
'eight months later' at the Phoenix Mountain Hunt..

- WWX's parents were killed by Wen soldiers during a night hunt in Qishan. Wen
soldiers ordered them to stop hunting bc defeating the monster would damage crop
yield. WWX's parents refused to stop, bc residents were screaming and being killed by
the monster.
- LWJ's parents' death is the same as CQL.
 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Eight months after that rain-drenched moment—

“Stay away from me—”

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian finally meet again.

They are in Gusu. A few leagues from Cloud Recesses, at the base of a misty, green mountain.
White tents and raised platforms surround them. Almost a thousand people of the elite cultivation
world have gathered here. Eerie calls and resentful energy swirl through the mountain.

Lan Sect private hunting grounds.

The occasion is a lavish tournament. The biannual meeting of the major cultivation sects. It’s
meant to be a gesture of harmony and good will, and every two years the sects draw lots to see who
will have the honor of hosting.

Gusu Lan won the honor this year. Every sect leader is supposed to attend, with their top
representatives.

Throughout a week of activities and banquets, the eyes of all people would be on the best fighters
and politicians of every sect. Everyone measured in unspoken terms.

Part of Lan Wangi wished that Jin Clan had won the right to host this tournament instead. Wished
this were a hunt on the Jin grounds at Phoenix Mountain. A place distant from himself, from the
complicated feelings rising in him now.

“Welcome, Jiang Clan.” Lan Xichen bowed gracefully, and Lan Wangji followed.

Jiang Fengmian, Jiang Yanli, and the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng saluted their Lan hosts, where they
all stood at the entrance to the tournament grounds. A wind stirred through the trees.

Lan Xichen gestured Jiang Fengmian and Jiang Yanli toward a dais, where the sect leaders and
their highest guests were seated to watch the opening ceremonies. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian
moved the other way, to join the contestants for the archery competition.

He is different, Lan Wangji thought.

Wei Wuxian had smiled at him respectfully, but it was with complete formality and containment.
He and Jiang Cheng moved with matching strides. They didn’t seem like master and whipping boy
now. No, not at all.

If anything, Wei Wuxian looked like the one leading Jiang Cheng.

Wei Wuxian seemed taller, leaner, more guarded. The same black robes as always—efficient and
minimal—although a subtle patterning on his outer robe spoke of money and lavishness. A social
statement that had not been part of his appearance before.

He does well to be guarded, Lan Wangji thought. The five major clans had not gathered in such
close quarters for a long time. Tensions were at an all time high.
This tension could already be seen on the sect leader dais: at the very center, in the highest seat,
there was a glaring absence.

Wen Ruohan, for the first time, had chosen not to attend.

And it was a slap in the face to all the other sect leaders on the dais.

But Wen Ruohan had sent someone to attend in his place, someone chatting easily with the sect
leaders now. Smug and confident as a cat toying with mice.

It was Wen Xu. Wen Ruohan’s first son. The man Lan Wangji had not spoken to in several years.

Wen Xu looked magnificent. He leaned on the steps of the dais, laughing with Jin Guangshan,
dangling a goblet of wine from his fingers. Everything about his posture screamed ease and power.
Strong, fierce, and extremely arrogant.

The difference between Wen Xu and Wen Chao was night and day. Wen Xu was sharp as a razor
and utterly confident. Clothed in gleaming red armor. Rubies glittering on his wrists.

As Jiang Fengmian and Jiang Yanli entered the dais, Lan Wangji saw Wen Xu’s eyes pass over
them. Sudden flicker of interest. For there was another empty seat.

Like Wen Ruohan, Madam Yu had not deigned to attend this meeting.

Wen Qing, Wen Xu’s whipping boy, walked up to him then and whispered something in his ear.
Her stare was downcast and her expression was blank. The sect leaders frowned. She made them
uneasy.

For like Wei Wuxian, Wen Qing didn’t act like a whipping boy. Her spine was ramrod straight and
she wore valuable jewels and armor. Apparently, Wen Ruohan and his son trusted her judgment
and relied on her skills. It was said she had been known to give commands in Wen Xu’s absence.

“Lan Zhan, did you know Wen Ning would do anything to protect his sister? They come from a
sub-clan of healers. Wen Ruohan took them over long ago.”

The voice a ghost in Lan Wangji’s memory.

Wen Xu was watching Jiang Fengmian. The look was hostile. Calculating. Malicious.

Lan Wangji felt his hackles rise.

And then Wen Xu’s eyes moved to Lan Wangji.

Today, Lan Wangji felt no compunction about staring back with insolence and challenge.

How Wei Wuxian had changed, in these eight months, yes.

How they both had.

Eight months ago, during that rain-drenched night, the Jiangs had quietly, immediately left Cloud
Recesses. They were simply gone in the morning. They gave no apology or explanation to the
public about why they had left in the middle of the lectures.

Jin Sect, for their part, made no announcement of a break in Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan’s
betrothal. Jin Zixuan had kept his promise.
After Wei Wuxian left, Lan Wangji had knelt outside the Hanshi for eighteen hours straight. But
neither Lan Xichen nor Lan Qiren would consider making a show of support to the Jiang Clan.

Not with Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu so clearly intent on angering Wen Clan.

Not when Gusu, truthfully, was also vulnerable to Wen Ruohan.

For the next three months, there had been no sign of Wei Wuxian or Jiang Cheng, of the Twin
Heroes of Yunmeng. They had sequestered themselves in Lotus Pier as, outside, things grew
grimmer.

It was a violent, brutal winter.

Puppets were running rampant over the cultivation world, thousands of corpses rising, with no
apparent cause to the resentful forces. They hit Jiang Clan worst of all. They had ravaged Jiang
fields and forests, overrushing their defenses, sowing fear and death. And it wasn’t just puppets.
Seeing the weakness, bandits and rogue, mercenary cultivators had begun to heckle and provoke
Yunmeng relentlessly. Meanwhile, Wen soldiers pushed at their borders, making every demand
with trade disputes and border claims, arguing with swords if their claims were not sufficiently
answered. Jiang Sect lost a huge amount of territory.

But the response, instead of fighting, was for the Lotus Pier leadership to pull its people back. Reel
as much of the population as possible into a tight, defensive ball. Suffering the losses. They didn’t
lash out. There was no sign of Jiang Sect forces. The earth was quiet, no sign of Wei Wuxian’s
footsteps. No laughter from the Twin Heroes, none of their blazing night hunts. No defiance.

It grew so desperate that Lan Wangji heard whispers that Jiang Clan was over, they were about to
topple. Not even Jin Sect would interfere if they were this weak. Lan Wangji was on the verge of
going himself to Lotus Pier, he’d sat desperately with message in hand, he’d considered just flying
there, trying to do something—

And then—

The snow broke. Blossoms blooming.

And in that green blooming, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian seemed to spring alive.

Suddenly the Twin Heroes were striding the countryside, swords blazing, a flawless team once
again.

Now, for the past five months they had been laughing their way through night hunts, they were
challenging bandits and Wen soldiers at every turn. No puppets could make them falter. They were
a cheerful duo, precise as a needle, slipping through the cultivation world in search of the deadliest
hunts.

They were marvelous. Impossible to defeat. Closer than ever.

Almost single-handledy, the Twin Heroes pushed back the shrinking Jiang borders. They pushed
them to greater than before.

The rumors were that Wei Wuxian had invented something, in those months of silence.

Lan Wangji could not find a clear witness. But apparently, there was something different to the
whipping boy now. A new style, a reliance on talismans—
And a kind of cultivation no one in the realm had seen before.

Whatever it was, it was effective. An air of mystery and secrecy surrounded Wei Wuxian. The
Twin Heroes fought alone—they let no one else come near when they battled, not even their own
disciples. Only Jiang Cheng was allowed close enough to witness Wei Wuxian’s new cultivation.
Their enemies did not live to tell tales. The Jiangs were stubbornly silent and refused to reveal Wei
Wuxian’s methods, insistently denying any charge of unorthodoxy.

But the rumor was that Wei Wuxian now carried a flute as black as midnight.

Lan Wangji, too, had changed.

Unlike the Twin Heroes, he didn’t fight alone. No. Not anymore.

Lan Wangji, in these eight months, had learned to lead armies.

He was a commander now. A blaze on the battlefield. He’d learned to translate the clean lines of
his individual movements to the movements of masses.

He’d taught himself how to meet large force with large force. He’d studied maps, absorbed
histories, tracked the placement of resources, endlessly trained with and traveled with disciples.

For he’d realized something.

After he’d watched Wei Wuxian leave. After he’d knelt for eighteen hours outside the Hanshi and
it hadn’t mattered.

If war was coming, if conflict was inevitable, than he needed to be ready to meet it. To shape it.

Gusu Lan would be ready.

Lan Wangji would be ready.

He hadn’t waited until the lectures finished, instead he had taken his leave of Cloud Recesses only
a few days after Wei Wuxian. At that time, the puppets were multiplying, resentful forces cropping
up in new numbers all over the realm. And the whole time, as they did now, Wen forces denied any
involvement. It was chaos.

So Lan Wangji, with Lan Xichen’s permission, had gathered five hundred skilled Lan sect
cultivators and led them to Unclean Realm to meet with Red Blade Master.

To help Nie Mingjue, who was at a loss, suppressing wave after wave of fierce corpses.

Lan Wangji offered Lan forces to shore up the Nie Sect line against the assault. He placed his self
in alliance with the powerful leader, himself in command of the armies, as Lan Xichen’s ranging
arm.

Took the Lan Clan from defense to offense.

The alliance and the training proved valuable. When those puppets were finally felled, and the
Unclean Realm secure, Nie Mingjue and Lan Wangji were trusted friends and Nie Clan was firmly
in Lan Clan’s debt. They then turned their combined attentions to Jin Sect, where Jin Guangshan
was dealing with invasions of his own.

Hanguang Jun, now highly ranked in the allied forces, had swept the puppets back and executed a
surprise defense of Carp Tower. His strategies were brilliant, ruthless. His success became
renowned.

While rumors were flying that Wei Wuxian had learned demonic cultivation, Hanguang Jun was
establishing himself as a light bearer—

As a potential hero of the allied clans.

He had not led a force against the Wen Sect, not yet. But every day that conflict seemed to inch
closer. It was a series of balancings, and he was in it now. Had stood toe to toe with almost every
sect leader on that dais. He could avert entire battles by changing the placement of a front line.
Could issue ultimatums by disrupting supplies.

If Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng had become a needle, precise and deadly, Hanguang Jun had
shaped himself into a hammer.

Someone whom at this point, even Jin Guangshan was loathe to offend.

Someone who could look Wen Xu in the eye in challenge.

All this went through Lan Wangji’s mind, in the space of a breath, as he took his place in line for
the archery competition next to Wei Wuxian. He knew they were being watched. Both of their
reputations were too huge now. Too many curious onlookers. Someone would listen if they so
much as whispered.

They did not whisper. Instead they held themselves completely still, not meeting eyes. But Lan
Wangji was aware of him.

Knew Wei Wuxian was aware too. Knew it by the careful concentration with which Wei Ying kept
himself held, contained, slightly angled away.

Except for once. After Wen Xu announced they’d spice up the competition. After a line of Wen
dissidents in chains were dragged out, made to stand in front of the targets.

After Wei Wuxian scoffed, fearless as always, and made a mockery of the attempted
demonstration. Five arrows to the string—

Blindfolded. Laughing.

When Wei Ying slipped the blindfold off, surrounded by praise, he looked immediately, first, to
Lan Zhan.

An hour later, Lan Wangji walks the mountain alone. Wind rustling through trees, the green of the
forest so saturated, so living. One hand clasped on Bichen. The sounds of hunting in the distance.

He’d left the main trails behind. Drifting, Sun-warm. In this glade, the clamor of battle and the
headache of politics seem distant and hazy. Calls of birds on the breeze. Mourning doves—

If he is honest, he is waiting for a sign.

And then, sinuous and haunting, he hears it.

How could he not know it. How could he not recognize. His pulse pounding in his ears.
The sound of a flute, light and skillful, haunting, melodic—

The song that exists only between the two of them.

The glade is shifting pale grass, white flowers sparkling, slim tree trunks with shivering leaves.
Wei Wuxian has his back turned. Flute lifted. The grace of his arms. The breeze catches his hair.
Red ribbon twisting.

“Wei Ying.”

In the time of their separation, Lan Wangji has been thinking. He has thought through their parting
from a thousand angles, and trusts that Wei Wuxian, if he cares, has done the same. Lan Wangji is
no longer dizzy and panicked, no longer stunned by the horror.

He understands the choices he made, and his reasons for them. He understands his reactions to
those choices, both physical and mental. He knows that when he told Wei Ying to stay away, it
was because he couldn’t bear the thought of Wei Wuxian near someone who’d betrayed him.

But perhaps, Lan Wangji has slowly come to realize in the last few months. Perhaps it was really
best for him. There were things he didn’t know then, about how to be with the other. There were
things he’d had to learn how to recognize, be prepared to protect.

When Wei Wuxian finally turns, it is with eyes assessing, chin raised. Sharp. At first Lan Wangji’s
gut plummets, sure that this is a mistake.

But Wei Wuxian looks hopeful, he realizes after a moment.

Still guarded, but hopeful. Lan Wangji has seen him in postures of defense, in postures of
performance. This is neither.

Wei Wuxian is simply quiet and open. Waiting.

Yes. He does look different. Paler, Lan Wangji notices immediately. Strange shadows under his
eyes, cheekbones sharper, a simmering anger to his expression that Lan Wangji does not remember
from before. But it’s nothing like what people have been saying, the rumors swirling that Wei
Wuxian is tainted, indecent, uncontrollable.

It’s just Wei Ying. The same Wei Ying he recognizes.

They stare at each other from across the glade. The echo of their song in the air.

Lan Wangji speaks first. “If you don’t wish to see me again, I would understand.”

A hiss through the teeth. “Did I ever say that.”

“I felt like you did not have to.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen, only fractionally, but it’s enough. Lan Wangji can see the truth there. At
least a glimmer of agreement.

And then Wei Wuxian blinks, and another look crosses his face, something cannier. It’s…
satisfaction. Lan Wangji takes a second to track it. It’s relief.

“It is fucked up, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian cocks his head.

“You have burdens. I don’t want to add to them.”

Wei Wuxian does not immediately reply. Teeth prod at his lip. Thinking.

“I should have helped you,” Lan Wangji says. “I should have—”

“You did help me. Perhaps your memory is clouded.” Wei Wuxian’s voice brooks no argument. “I
was speaking to you and you were listening.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan. You aren't hearing me. That was my fight. I’d chosen it.”

“When Jin Zixun touched you—”

“I don’t give a fuck about Jin Zixun. But I think that I hurt you.”

Lan Wangji’s lips snap shut. And then he exhales. Little whuff of air, blowing his hair from his
face. “And how did I hurt you?”

That gives Wei Wuxian pause, finally. The black flute gleams in his hand. Twirling onyx in the
sunlight.

“Well, the exercise succeeded, didn’t it."

Lan Wangji shifts. He does not understand.

“I thought I would be less to you,” Wei Wuxian says simply. “I’ve yet to be proven wrong.”

Lan Wangji feels a jolt. And then—

“No.” His voice almost a growl. “Never.”

Something shivers between them.

“Wei Ying. I want to prove you wrong. I’ll prove it in a thousand ways, if you will let me.”

Wei Wuxian’s breath catches. They’re still standing several feet apart. They still haven’t touched.
Wind lilting, glass rippling. The sky clear and reflective as a mirror.

Lan Wangji thinks he understands Wei Wuxian’s hesitation. How did I hurt you. They are like two
knives. Sharpened for different purposes, pointed toward one another. There is almost no way this
can end well. It will never be easy.

Lan Wangji waits and waits. Wei Wuxian doesn’t speak again.

Finally, Lan Wangji gives a deep salute. He does it with every grace, giving every honor. He turns
to walk away.

And then something catches him. He’s jerked back by the wrist.

A blue string between them.

“Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian’s voice is silken and playful. “I haven’t got a name for
this yet. Shall I call it binding? Bonding?”

He yanks, forcing Lan Wangji a few steps forward.

“Wei Ying.”
“Shall it share the same name as your secret song?”

“Shall it?”

Wei Wuxian stutters at Lan Wangji's look. Then he smiles.

It's like the sun coming out, a shy warmth between them. Lan Wangji feels his own lips twitch in
response.

He stares at the blue thread shimmering between them. Sex was one thing, to use Wei Wuxian, to
be used in turn.

But this. He thinks of blue thread on a moonlight moment, blue thread snipped between two jars—

A white ribbon, in certain lights. Pale blue, in others.

How Wei Ying had teased him about it, relentlessly—

Something they can see, something they can give a name. This line is blue gossamer, tenuous but
holding. Real.

Almost idly, Lan Wangji flicks his wrist. Watches the tremors ripple down the thread, to where
Wei Wuxian is waiting.

Zrring! They are interrupted.

A whine in the air is the only warning.

Wei Wuxian vanishes the blue thread—

Fast as a dart, something strikes them.

“What is this?” Wei Wuxian scowls and lifts a talisman from his chest.

Lan Wangji peels the talisman off of his own body. It’s completely unfamiliar. And he hadn't
sensed it coming.

Strange notes, strange melody, ringing in his head.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji draws his sword.

Someone else has stepped into the clearing. Blurry, indistinct. Trees rustling—

It’s Wen Xu.

Wide shoulders. Gleaming red garments. Well-defined muscles and a powerful stance. Although
he’s completely alone, Wen Xu does not act afraid or remotely vulnerable. He strides toward them,
loud voice carrying.

“Greetings! I’ve heard you two are the only real competition on this godforsaken mountain. Lan
Wangji, how is Su She these days?”

The last time they’d met. The crack of that lash—

“And Wei Wuxian, you I do not know," says Wen Xu. "It’s a shame. Something I want to
remedy.”

He is almost upon them now. Not pausing, not breaking stride. Closing in like an automaton.

“What would the two of you say to a friendly duel?”

“What are you talking about?” Wei Wuxian spits the words. “Did I give you reason to think we’d
be friendly?”

“Indulge me!” Wen Xu draws his sword and he’s on them.

He’s fast, with all the vigor and power of the Wens—

Bichen arcing—

Suibian flashing—

And then Wei Wuxian stumbles. Gasping, a look of confusion on his face. Eyes fly to Lan
Wangji’s—

And Lan Wangji knows.

Knows even as he tries regardless. Knows with the first sick pull in his body, strange draining,
sudden terror—

Lan Wangji manages to hold for three swift blows before he, too, staggers.

Blood rising up like vomit.

They’ve been sealed.

Somehow those talismans sealed their spiritual power. Against their will. Without even their
knowledge—

Wen Xu is grinning like a maniac.

He took away their ability to cultivate spiritual energy.

Lan Wangji dodges, horror rising in him like bile. There has been nothing like this in the
cultivation world before. If there were, every cultivator in the realm would fear and lust after this
ability.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have been rendered spiritually powerless.

“A friendly duel!” Wen Xu pushes forward, weapon blazing. “I like to take measure, to know what
I’m dealing with. And I had heard so much about the two of you. But I’m starting to think this
wasn’t worth the journey—“

Each word punctuated by a deadly swing of his sword—

Lan Wangji has had dreams before, where he cannot move.

Where he needs to run, to take action, but his body is frozen.

That is what this duel feels like.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian barely hold on, only managing to keep Wen Xu at bay because they
move seamlessly together. Muscle memory, each of them picking up the defense when the other
one slackens. They’re skilled warriors, they use every trick they know. But they cannot go on like
this. Not against this level.

Lan Wangji grabs Wei Wuxian’s wrist and runs.

As they sprint, they both try to set off signal shells, but they can’t even muster the energy to
activate the cry. Lan Wangji searches inside himself. Throws his will like a battering ram—

At pure emptiness. A blank, huge wall inside.

A block. A block—

Trees crash around them. Wen Xu is like a storm behind them, a force of nature, ripping up
branches and clods of dirt.

Trapping, laughing, toying—

Whirl of leaves, whirl of wind—

Would Wen Xu actually hurt them? Kill them? Lan Wangji's mind whirls. Here? On this
mountain?

Maybe not him, Lan Wangji thinks. It’s doubtful, still a possibility—

But Wei Wuxian—?

Never. A throb of fury fills him like fire.

“Enough!” Wei Wuxian growls. He spins on his heel and turns to look back.

“Don’t,” Lan Wangji says. “Let me distract him—”

“I won’t leave you—”

“You can escape—”

Lan Wangji's words are ripped off, as Wen Xu attacks—

And Wei Wuxian brings his flute to his mouth.

Something light. Something graceful at first. Sweat breaking out on Lan Wangji’s neck and arms.

There are dreams of stillness, and then there are dreams of horror, and as Wei Wuxian calls on
darkness that happens.

As a power answers Wei Ying's song.

A power that makes Lan Wangji’s skin crawl.

Wen Xu goes flying, limbs knocked gracelessly. He crashes and rolls into the trees. He staggers up,
red garments torn. Blood gushing from his mouth.

“Uh huh,” Wen Xu says. Like he understands something.

"Do you want to keep pushing?" Wei Wuxian demands.

"By all means!" Wen Xu shouts.

And it's a new kind of play, and Lan Wangji feels a terrifying, strange sense of calm.

He has never seen or heard of anything like what Wei Wuxian is doing now. This isn't just
releasing resentment or waking puppets, letting them roam and work out their own malevolence.

This is channeling, this is commands, this is Wei Wuxian bending malevolence to his will—

This is Wei Wuxian with the ability to toy and torture in his own way.

Some of it seems intentional. Some posturing. Some carelessness.

Music juddering louder. Green things grow black. Wei Wuxian responding like a typhoon to Wen
Xu’s attacks—

He’s not completely good at it yet, Lan Wangji thinks with an icy clarity.

The forest is now as dark as night. Like servants heeding the call of their master, all of the evil
spirits on the mountain have rushed to Wei Wuxian. Wind rising, trails of dark energy, eerie
moans, claws—

And it’s not easy—

A sense of knowledge settling in Lan Wangji’s heart.

Wei Wuxian's control taut. Wei Wuxian completely rigid, completely concentrated in a way he's
never had to be before. Like containing an explosion. A deadly discipline—

And it hurts him.

Lan Wangji sees it in the way Wei Wuxian pulls his punches, the way that, even with all this
power, he is holding back. Wei Wuxian is trying to end this duel as quickly as possible, to escape,
to extricate himself, to simply disarm the foe.

He doesn't want to kill Wen Xu—

But he doesn’t trust his self, he doesn’t trust his abilities—

He’s having trouble thinking, Lan Wangji realizes with horror.

Wei Wuxian seems competent, fluid, easy as always. But Lan Wangji recognizes pain, the way his
limbs tremble with effort. Resentful energy coiling around him as he parries Wen Xu’s strikes, each
of them fast as lightning. Suibian is like a black torchlight.

And it’s trying to take him over.

The resentment is trying to possess Wei Wuxian. And Wei Wuxian is fighting it, fighting a battle
on two fronts, both inside and outside. Using everything to stay himself in this moment—

To try and control it—

More and more evil pours into the clearing. Dark wings. Screams. The air gets thick and
smothering as wet fog. The resentment scrapes at Lan Wangji, bruising and overwhelming him in
his unprotected state—
But he keeps his eyes fixed on Wei Wuxian, the two figures whirling and fighting in the darkness.
Feels himself pull to utter focus.

Sinks deeps. Deeper. Deeper.

Seeking the golden core that he knows is there.

His eyes slip half closed. Seeking the boundaries. Pushing. Pushing.

Pushing.

Seeking a route back to his own spiritual power.

There is something that fuels him and it’s not just fear, not just horror…

It’s wrath.

Because he’s not stupid. He knows the power demonic cultivation could bring. He knows it could
save lives, protect them, fight the Wens—he’s always known that—

But he does not care.

Watching Wei Ying, he does not care.

Wei Ying’s face clenched in pain. Like a thousand ghouls in his head.

Pushing. Pushing.

Something snaps into place.

Golden heat surging. Meridians opened—

There.

Lan Wangji snarls.

He vaults into the battle and lands in front of Wei Wuxian. Bichen sings out to meet Wen Xu’s
sword. Wen Xu gasps.

Full strength meets full strength. The earth shakes around them. Resentful energy screaming—

And then—

Lan Wangji claims Wen Xu’s pulse line.

Bichen at Wen Xu’s throat.

A sword at the neck of the son of Wen Ruohan.

Steel, centimeters from delicate skin. Lan Wangji’s heart is racing. He’s terrified.

But he keeps his voice steady. "Hands off.”

The clearing goes utterly silent.

The raging evil energy dissipates as fast as it came, spirits whooshing back into hiding. Suddenly
the sun is shining again. Green leaves in wind. Lan Wangji doesn’t move. Wen Xu’s eyes are
gleaming, the sword still at his throat.

Then he shifts—

In one clean move Lan Wangji summons Wangji, thrums an attack on the strings, and sends Wen
Xu flying across the clearing.

Wen Xu lands flat on his back, gasping like a fish out of water. His sword falls out of his hand.

“Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji turns to find Wei Wuxian shivering, shaking, eyelids fluttering like he’s going to pass
out.

Gritted teeth. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. “I can’t. I need—”

Lan Wangji covers Wei Wuxian’s eyes with the palm of his hand.

It’s a subtle movement, Wei Ying leaning into it. His eyelids fluttering against Lan Wangji’s palm.

Too much, he's saying. Too much. Overwhelmed. Wei Ying drags his cheek against Lan Wangji's
palm, trying to hide closer—

Wen Xu jumps back to his feet.

Lan Wangji removes his hand. He and Wei Wuxian step apart from one another.

Wei Wuxian is calmer now, the noise in him calmer. He stares at Wen Xu with a neutral
expression.

Tree trunks toppled. Trampled grass. The air is heady with the scent of crushed flowers.

“Well,” Wen Xu says softly, finally.

Wen Xu wipes blood from his chin. A light in his eyes. Voice sardonic.

“I don’t think Wen Chao gave me a very accurate report of the people he met at Cloud Recesses.
Perception is not his strong point.”

Wen Xu’s eyes drag up Wei Wuxian. The black flute dangling at his fingers. Resentful energy
lingering, like a shroud.

“I must say, it would be nice to have a brother like you.”

A jolt of pure adrenaline goes through Lan Zhan.

Wen Xu smirks, looking between the two of them. As if he sees blue thread. As if he sees
everything.

Then, a crowd of cultivators rush into the glade.

People of every sect run up to them. Angry voices all around.

Jiang Cheng arrives first and grabs Wei Wuxian. “I told you not to overdo it.” He hisses in a
whisper, glancing at Lan Wangji. “We said thirty percent!”

“I had to improvise,” Wei Wuxian says sourly.

Lan Wangji is forced to step aside as Jiang disciples surround Wei Wuxian.

Lan Clan disciples gather around Lan Wangji too. Concern on their faces. Weapons unsheathed.

“It’s wicked tricks!” A Yao disciple yells.

“Dark magic is forbidden!” Someone else cries.

The crowd grows bigger and bigger. Demanding an explanation for the unprecedented events.

What had happened was this:

A few minutes ago, at the height of the duel, the forest had gone dark. The sounds of a flute,
screeching and terrifying, had resounded over the entire mountain.

And every malevolent being on the mountain, every ghost, demon, and monster, had suddenly
snapped to attention.

They had taken off, streaming like a river, in the middle of the hunt.

And now, every evil being that had followed that spell, was entrapped inside Jiang Clan nets.

Ninety percent of the prey.

In a matter of minutes.

Ninety percent.

Lan Wangji feels himself go pale. The Lan disciples today had been aiming for ten percent. Not
too much. Not too little.

Ninety is…

“Impossible!” Someone cries.

Wen Xu laughs, voice rising above the fray. “I’ll explain it. Jiang Clan can no longer deny.”

His voice is vicious. He points with his sword at Wei Wuxian.

“What we have here, is a whipping boy on the path of demonic cultivation.”

People shout and scream at Wei Wuxian the whole way down the mountain. It is total chaos, the
tournament overturned in a mess of confusion, fear, and rage.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t defend himself against the accusations hurled his way like stones and
garbage. His face has shuttered, eyes cold, spine straight and chin raised. Jiang Cheng sticks to him
grimly. The Jiang Clan disciples keep Wei Wuxian in their middle, shielding him as best they can.

The chaos rages even louder once Wei Wuxian is standing before the highest dais. The clan leaders
are stone-faced.

Wei Wuxian stands proud and tall, in his black clothes, wearing an expression of bemused
disinterest. Lan Wangji is not sure where his uncharacteristic silence is coming from.

Perhaps Wei Wuxian is still affected by the effort of channeling resentful energy. Perhaps it's
taking all his effort just to hold on.

Or perhaps he knows it is useless for him to argue.

For Wen Xu has played his cards well. Jiang Clan was always an unknown factor, smaller and
rougher, a wild card among the major sects. They have many detractors.

And even if rumors are swirling that Wen Clan, too, is utilizing resentful energy, until now it has
remained just that—

Baseless rumors. No matter how they try, neither Lan Wangji or anyone else can find hard proof
that Wen Ruohan is behind the puppets. Wen Clan is too clever and powerful. His official
reputation stays spotless.

But Wei Wuxian’s, in this moment, is dirty as mud.

“Filth!” Someone cries. “Son of a servant!”

The taboo against the use of resentful energy stretches back almost a thousand years.

Ninety percent. Almost all of the prey on the mountain. A degree of control and command that had
never been seen—

And, of all people, for it to be a whipping boy wielding this terrifying power—

It is an insult and a challenge almost beyond belief. It is an overturning of everything the

cultivation sects stand for. Discipline. Goodness. Righteousness. Order. Hierarchy.

So Jin Zixun argues…

Among all the voices risen in rage, his is among the loudest. Jin Zixun stalks back and forth in
front of the sect leaders, gesticulating wildly, disdain dripping from his voice

“He’s trash and he’s proven it. Only a nobody could bear to stoop so low. He broke the rules, he
cheated using wicked and deceitful tricks. It’s abomination, it's wrong, how can anyone stomach it
—”

“Come now,” Jiang Cheng snaps suddenly. “No one got hurt. Did they?” He looks around. “Did
they?”

“No one got hurt this time,” Jin Zixun shudders. He has captured the crowd’s attention. “What an
upstart. Creating a mess, disturbing our leaders with these indecent tricks. Taking more than his
share. I’m sure I stand for Jin Clan when I demand that his actions be punished.”

Lan Wangji starts to move forward. He weaves through the crowd, trying to get close enough to
protect Wei Wuxian. Heart racing. Little shocks of adrenaline, up and down his spine.

For Jiang Fengmian is silent.

The Jiang Sect leader is frowning, looking at his feet, as if he is not sure how to handle this turn of
events. Most of the crowd seems confused and quiet, and the loudest people are winning, the
people that hate Wei Wuxian. If Wei Wuxian’s win is punished, if the Jiangs are disgraced by all
sects, then they’re effectively done. Chastised with their consent or without it. A laughingstock or a
danger.

For most sects have stayed neutral, in the face of Jiang Clans’ troubles. But if that changes, if they
turn hostile…

This could be the moment when Jiang Clan loses everything.

Or, this could be the moment when they cut their losses.

When they leave Wei Ying—

It is happening again, Lan Wangji thinks dizzily.

He get to the front, opens his mouth to speak—

And then blinks. For his words will not come.

At first he doesn't understand. And then he does. Lan Clan Silencing Spell.

He looks up to find his brother staring straight at him.

Lan Xichen sits on the dais, with the other sect leaders. His eyes are hard and clear.

No. He is telling Lan Wangji.

No. Stand down.

Lan Wangji stares and Lan Xichen looks back. Neither of them ruffled. Both the Twin Jades
expressionless—

No one on the outside can see their furious argument—

No, Wangji. No.

This order is coming from the highest leader of the Lan Clan.

For a wild, wild moment, Lan Wangji thinks he won’t obey.

Then, with excruciating slowness, he relaxes his hold on Bichen.

Suddenly, a clear, feminine voice sounds from the dais.

“You keep speaking of rules. But I’ve heard of no such rule.”

Everyone turns to to the speaker.

It is Jiang Yanli.

All this time she has sat on the dais between her father and Madam Jin. Her voice wavers a little, as
if she is nervous. But she keeps speaking, looking straight at Jin Zixun.

“You keep saying that A-Xian has broken the rules. So I must ask, what rules are these?”

She stands. Lavender robes rustling. Opal and pearl drops dangle at her ears.

“Granted, I am not a huntress.” Her voice is growing stronger. “But I have spent my life around the
fiercest of them. I have never heard a rule about winning too much prey or glory. It sounds to me
like the wishful thinking of a poor hunter.”

Jin Zixun’s eyes widen. Nie Mingjue, on the side, barks a laugh.
And Lan Wangji feels the first stirrings of something. Hope.

“Perhaps we Jiangs are foolish and unrefined.” Jiang Yanli nods her head toward Jin Guangshan
and his wife. “Perhaps it is our first time at such an esteemed tournament, and we are not familiar
with your conventions. And you’re not familiar with ours. If so, I must beg all sects’ forgiveness.”

She bows, low and deep, almost prostrating herself.

And then she lifts her head, voice turning to steel.

“For I must tell you, when you inform a member of Jiang Sect that there is prey to be caught, an
enemy to hunt...when you tell them of a prize for the taking, then a Jiang will not stop until they’ve
taken it all.”

Jin Guangshan goes pale.

For Jiang Yanli is looking directly into his eyes.

And the crowd is alive now. Alert. Understanding.

For her tone is unmistakable. Challenge.

“But I forgive you for not knowing this about us,” Jiang Yanli smiles. “You may call our attitude
uncouth. Lacking in sophistication. Low.”

Jin Zixuan glances at his father. Jin Zixun goes bright red. None of the sect leaders move even a
hair.

“Next, you say that Wei Wuxian has stooped to a cheater's tricks.” Jiang Yanli continues
methodically. “That there is no honor or skill in his cultivation. But I contend that his method
shows brilliance. After all, he had to invent it. And could you do it?” She points at Jin Zixun. “Do
you have the skill to take 90 percent of the prey on this mountain? Without lifting your sword? Do
you have that strength?”

Standing in the dirt before the dais, Wei Wuxian suddenly smiles.

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Yanli says.

“Shijie.”

“I bid you gift Chenqing to this person, whose name I don’t even know. I want to see him astonish
me.”

“Gladly.” Wei Wuxian spins his flute on his fingers. He's easy and confident now. All casual
defiance—

“You’ve made your point,” Jin Guangshan snaps.

Jiang Yanli doesn’t even look at him. “Wei Wuxian.”

“Shijie,” he answers again.

“I wonder what’s wrong. Are you sick? Growing lazy?”

Slight frown. “Shijie?”

“You’ve brought us ninety percent, with all these sects as witness. But I ask, why didn’t you bring
us one hundred?”

At that, the crowd leaps to life. Hisses, approval, murmurs. Breathless.

For something is happening here. Jiang Sect is not just challenging Jin Sect.

They are challenging everyone.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. And then he laughs. “Shijie! This humble one begs your forgiveness.”

Jiang Yanli turns her back on him. She is now speaking directly, and only, to the sect leaders.

“As for the last claim, the most important one…it was said Wei Wuxian’s way is wicked. I fear I
cannot prove that it is not. All I can say is within today’s competition, no rules of "wickedness"
constrain a sect victory. As for outside of this tournament…it is for better minds, higher minds,
than mine to decide.”

She is speaking to the sect leaders, but she is really speaking to everyone.

Everyone can read between the lines.

If there is to be war against the Wen Clan, and the Jiang Clan whipping boy has become a symbol
of defiance against Wen Ruohan…well.

Jiang Yanli speaks methodically. “There has been no evil consequence to our supposedly evil
action. If something is new, it does not mean it is wrong. And great threat must be met with great
strength. The founders of each major sect, the earliest cultivators…the people who shaped and
invented our spiritual paths…they are the ones who knew this.”

Her voice has gone deadly soft. And now the sect leaders are stirring. Jin Guangshan looking at
Lan Xichen. Nie Mingjue tapping Baxia.

This is no longer just about this tournament. Everyone can see it.

Jiang Yanli is issuing a challenge to the absent Wen Ruohan.

Ninety percent.

And behind her on the dais, Jiang Fengmian is not stopping her.

The terms have been set.

“So I dare ask you,” Jiang Yanli says. “Who is right? Who is wrong? What is black and what’s
white? If we, the Jiang Clan, have been unjust, then we shall pay the price. But if this Jin Zixun,
and those who repeat his poison words, have been shown by my argument to be hateful and
hasty…then I demand, right now, that Jin Zixun beg apology. For he calls A-Xian low. But the
lowest servant of the Jiang Clan is higher than the unjust of any sect. And Wei Wuxian is our
whipping boy, but that is a position of unimaginable skill and strength. Wei Wuxian is not a
stranger to me. He is our greatest fighter. He is like my brother. He is the Hero of the Jiang. So I
demand that Jin Zixun bow down to Wei Wuxian and beg his forgiveness.”

Jiang Yanli’s voice rings out over utter silence. Total shock.

She lifts her chin. “That is the position of Jiang Clan.”

For a long, tense moment, no one moves.

There are almost a thousand people gathered here. The highest elite of every cultivation clan.

Jin Guangshan’s face has gone tight—

It’s happening.

Jiang Clan is attempting the impossible.

Banners sway in the breeze. Each sect leader sits like a statue. Lan Wangji feels almost shuddering,
feels joy, feels nausea—

And then Nie Mingjue slams Baxia on the ground and stands.

“I agree! I applaud Jiang Clan.”

The impossible happened.

It’s like dominoes after that. Jin Guangshan is next. He smiles placidly and nods his approval.

“I concur. This has never been achieved before, in the entire history of the sects.” Jin Guangshan
turns to Jin Zixun. “Kneel and apologize. You do not speak for me. You have brought shame upon
Jin Clan.”

“Exactly,” Nie Mingjue growls. “The boy did not harm anyone! Imagine his potential. Imagine the
next time he hunts.”

Ninety percent. It’s rippling like a wave through the crowd. The alliances. The possibilities. Ninety
percent without a trace of a battle.

In one single turn, Jiang Fengmian has gone from the weakest man on the dais to one of the
strongest.

“Kneel,” Jin Guangshan barks at Jin Zixun.

Jin Zixun stutters, caught off-guard. He gives a pathetic kneel to Jiang Fengmian, who shakes his
head.

“Not to me,” Jiang Fengmian says mildly. “To my whipping boy. To Wei Wuxian, the Hero of the
Jiang Sect.”

“The Hero of the Jiang Sect!”

People are taking up the cry, as Jin Zixun bows, red-faced. News is rippling, already rushing,
throughout the realms. It will be bigger than today. People who were silent before. Excitement
building, a wind of change—

“Lan Clan does not condone the use of resentful energy,” Lan Xichen cuts in.

Everyone stiffens. Lan Wangji pulse picks up.

“We have always made our position clear.” Lan Xichen looks firm and extremely serious. “We will
never condone the use of demonic cultivation. No matter the good intent. We cannot condone it,
for its use will bring horror. We are the Lan Clan. We know this.”
Lan Wangji clenches Bichen. His clan has the highest authority on matters of cultivation. Their
will has weight.

He schools his expression, giving nothing away.

So he is quiet, completely expressionless, as Lan Xichen continues.

“But…for the purpose of resolving today's hunt, we concede that no harm was done, and we
concede that no explicit competition or intersect rule was broken.”

Lan Xichen looks at Jin Guangshan and Nie Mingjue. His expression is fierce.

“We must discuss those rules. But for now, Lan Clan congratulates Jiang Clan on their victory.”

Lan Xichen bows gracefully to Jiang Fengmian.

Then, he turns and gives a bow to Wei Wuxian.

“To the Hero of the Jiang Sect.”

A look of utter delight crosses Wei Wuxian’s face. Lan Wangji’s chest goes warm.

On the dais, Jiang Fengmian looks equally delighted.

The power has shifted among sects. Shifted undeniably and swiftly. No longer at the mercy of the
whims of the larger clans. Attempt the impossible.

There is only one sect left, which has not joined in the cheering. Which does not share in Jiang
Clan’s delight.

Wen Xu stands at the edge of the commotion. He is sneering, looking bored.

Throughout the altercation, he had not attempted to share his opinion. He snaps his fingers, calling
for wine, and drinks with relish as the cheers and excitement rise louder.

Finally, Wen Xu smacks his lips and gives a deep, deep bow to Wei Wuxian. “Congratulations to
the Hero of the Jiang,” he says thoughtfully.

He looks at Lan Wangji next.

And it is to Lan Wangji that Wen Xu smiles and raises his glass.

“Wei Ying, what do you like?” Lan Wangji asks, chin clasped in one hand.

It’s hours later. Deep night. Lan Wangji is uncharacteristically slouched over a low table, in the
guest quarters at Cloud Recesses. They’re alone in Wei Ying’s room. Lan Wangji’s body syrupy
and loose. His pulse is pounding in his skin. Drunk.

Drunk. Never had he thought he would be with Wei Ying like this.

Wei Wuxian gives him a sideways look, face flushed from the alcohol. “You know.”

“I do not.” Lan Wangji insists. “Your favorite colors, your favorite foods, your favorite memories.
I want to know everything.”
Wei Wuxian sputters. “Lan Zhan. Warn me.”

“I feel like we barely know one another,” Lan Wangji says earnestly, trying to scoot closer and
tipping forward in the attempt.

Wei Ying catches him, steadying Lan Wangji’s elbows as Lan Wangji keeps talking. “I feel like we
are so close and yet..."

A flicker of understanding crosses Wei Wuxian’s face. Something cynical, as he takes another
swig from the jar of Emperor’s Smile.

“And yet in some ways we’re practically strangers,” Wei Wuxian finishes.

“Mn.”

It had been a bit of a surprise, to end up in this situation.

About an hour earlier, as Lan Wangji walked his perimeter through Cloud Recesses he had heard a
commotion. He’d burst into the guest quarters to find Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang
drinking merrily. Peanut shells everywhere. Wrestling and shouting.

“There is no alcohol allowed in Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji had said automatically.

“But Lan Wangji, we’re celebrating the victory!” Jiang Cheng had called. “Come, drink to Jiang
Clan! Ninety percent!”

“Shameless. Boring.”

“Lan Zhan, join us,” Wei Wuxian grinned. “They’re drinking to me! They said I was good!”

Lan Wangji’s expression softened. “Yes, you were good. You were brave.”

Wei Wuxian flushed bright pink. “I was brave.”

Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang traded glances.

“Lan Zhan said I was good.” Wei Wuxian’s smile is blinding.

He is drunker than Lan Wangji has ever seen him. And he looks incredibly, incandescently, happy.

“Would you drink for me too, Lan Zhan?” Wide, earnest eyes. “Would you do it if I asked you?”

It was in that moment, in the golden lamps of the room, that something tender and knowing had
shivered through Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian was drunk and uninhibited, but he did not seem in any way dulled. If anything, he was
brighter than ever. The alcohol seemed to have released him from something…that fog of anger,
the resentment. The shadows seemed lessened from beneath his eyes.

And the scene before this one, before Lan Wangji had walked his perimeter and discovered this
celebration…it had not been a happy one.

The hush of the Hanshi. Lan Xichen’s careful words. “Wangji. If you think it is going to get easier
for him...It is not. It is going to get harder.”

Lan Wangji, in that moment, had swallowed pain. Looked his brother in the eye. Pulled out the
talisman that Wen Xu had used to seal his spiritual power.

Lan Xichen hadn’t pushed the topic of Wei Wuxian. Instead he’d turned his attention, as Lan
Wangji had silently asked, to the talisman.

Sometimes, they knew each other too well. They could not pretend there was no tension.

Lan Xichen touched the talisman carefully. “You were able to break it?”

“It was difficult. We’ll need to train our people. It will take time.”

“This doesn’t seem like Wen Sect work.”

“Mn. The melody was based on Lan Clan’s Clarity.”

Lan Xichen’s face was grave. “All right. Rest. I understand.”

Lan Wangji had saluted and risen soundlessly.

“I understand,” Lan Xichen had repeated suddenly. “Wangji. I know this weapon was likely crafted
using evil energies.”

Lan Wangji had waited. Bamboo swaying in the night outside. Finally he said, simply, “I never
doubted that.”

This conversation replayed in Lan Wangji’s head now, as he stared at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian who was looking at him as if he’d hung the moon. Looking at Lan Zhan with hope
and desire.

“It’s not going to get easier for him. It’s going to get harder.”

Lan Wangji remembered how Wen Xu had looked at Lan Wangji, and smiled.

“Lan Zhan, would you drink if I asked?”

This was a request, Lan Wangji had realized then.

It was a question. Tentative, a little shy.

Delicately placed. A reaching out for understanding. Lan Wangji knew, suddenly, what Wei Ying
wanted from it. He knew Wei Ying knew all the same factors.

And at the realization, a resolve bloomed in Lan Wangji. Resolve and nerves. He felt vulnerable,
but certain. He did not miss the way Wei Wuxian’s hand dipped into his belt, drawing out a
talisman. Nor, he knew, was he meant to.

As Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang tiptoed out of the room, Lan Wangji saw the slight raise of Wei
Wuxian’s brows.

Lan Wangji turned away, granting the smallest of openings.

The door slammed shut, leaving them alone. Wei Wuxian took the offering—

“A-ha!”

A talisman pinned to Lan Wangji's shoulder.

It had been…strange.

Lan Wangji bound, suddenly, to Wei Wuxian’s intentions. His body under Wei Ying's control.

Wei Wuxian was watching him with the widest of eyes. Waiting for a reaction.

He snapped his fingers in front of Lan Wangji's face.

Lan Wangji startled. Petulant tone. "Don't do that."

It was like a dam released—Wei Wuxian's sparkling laughter. His eyes crinkled into crescents.
Huge grin. Skin dusky in the gold light, face flushed, bright eyes.

“All right! I want you to drink for me, Lan er gege.”

“Say Lan er gege.”

“Lan er gege.”

“Say Jin gege.”

“Jin gege.”

This was about checking their balance.

This was the two of them, alone, reconfiguring as needed. After their upset, after the stain of what
happened. Would you be weak for me? Yes. Do you think less of me? No.

This was Wei Wuxian asking Lan Wangji questions.

And when he accepted the talisman, Lan Wangji answered.

Answered by drinking when Wei Ying put a cup in hand. By sitting when Wei Ying commanded.
At first his heartbeat had hammered. How scared he had been. How scared. He felt fragile. But it
went on and on, every minute flowing smoother, until Lan Wangji felt almost languorous,
stretched out, syrupy and unmoored. Wei Ying fussed over him. Wei Ying serving him water.
Wiping his chin. Teasing and scolding as Lan Wangji grew drowsier. Still vulnerable. Easier now.
The talisman wore off half an hour ago. But it does not matter.

And now, here is Wei Wuxian’s hand reaching out.

“Your headband's crooked.”

Wei Wuxian has a cute pout on his face, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He’s nothing like
the way he was today at the dais, jaded and cynical. When his smile had been as cutting as a scowl.

Now, he seems gentle and thoughtful, reaching for Lan Wangji’s ribbon. He pauses. Tilts his head
at Lan Zhan. “Hold still?”

Lan Wangji waits, obedient.

He's drunk, he's having trouble thinking straight, but he thinks…? He should do this.

Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Wangji, blushes deeply, then pulls his hand back. Does not touch.

And Lan Wangji likes him more for this, suddenly. For how his trust has been treasured.
“Wei Ying, what are your favorites? What do you like?” Lan Wangji asks then, chin clasped in his
hand. He feels almost giddy with the joy and ease of it. To be near, to be close.

“Hm, ok, ok. I like chili oil.”

“Boring. Everyone knows that.” Lan Wangji is concentrating. He needs to commit what Wei
Wuxian says to memory.

“So mean to me, Lan Zhan. I like lotus. I love Shijie's lotus root and rib soup. She makes the best
but, please don’t advertise. I refuse to share it.”

“Mn. I’ll remember.”

“I like to protect my family. I must protect my family. I like reading. Except for boring Lan rule
books.”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’ll tease if I want. I like you, but you knew that. Lan Zhan. I like a specific, secret thing about
you.”

The tips of Lan Wangji’s ears go hot. His head is still swimming a little. He lifts up where he was
slouching, and straightens his posture.

Wei Wuxian seems delighted. “Just try to guess! On the night we met. Ah…Lan Zhan, don’t look
at me like that. I hope you won’t remember any of this in the morning.”

Lan Wangji thinks hard. “On..the night we met?”

“Oh, it’s so disciplined. Powerful. And yet…” Wei Wuxian buries his face in his hands, smiling.
“I’m too embarrassed. I’m hot. Lan Zhan, don’t make me say it!”

“You can say whatever you want,” Lan Zhan says steadily. “You should only say what you want.”

Wei Wuxian goes still. He peeks up through his hands.

“Or…if you don’t want to say anything, that’s fine too,” Lan Wangji says. His world is still
spinning. But this is very important.

Something flickers in Wei Wuxian’s eyes. He sits up, suddenly graceful. Suddenly sharp.

“All right, Lan Zhan. What if I wanted to say something bad?”

“Impossible. Wei Ying is good.”

“Lan Zhan.”

“It’s true.” It’s hard to think, but he thinks that he knows this.

“You’re a bold drunk.” Wei Wuxian shoves his shoulder. “But I’ll be bolder and drunker.”

There’s a flurry of activity, Wei Wuxian drinking and dashing around, and suddenly Lan Wangji
finds himself smothered beneath a blanket. Total darkness, little curl of anxiety.

And then Wei Ying whispers a spell. A silver light blooms, the color of the moon.
Slowly, Lan Wangji pulls the sensations to order. They are in…a blanket fort? Wei Wuxian has
surrounded them in it, like a tent.

Wei Ying's voice is soft in the hush. “Ok. I don’t think you understand what you just said, but it
doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because in here it doesn’t matter.”

"Wei gege, you're incoherent."

Wei Wuxian gasps. And then he giggles, hair fluttering as he shakes his head. “What I mean…”
He pulls out blank slip of paper. “I am good at talismans. I’m so good at them, Lan Zhaaan. So I'll
make one now. The triumph of my abilities.”

Wei Wuxian nicks his thumb with his tooth, drawing blood, and then holds up his work to Lan
Wangji with a cocky smile.

It’s an extremely basic talisman.

So simple even the smallest Lan Sect disciple could make it. It muffles sounds.

Wei Ying attaches it to the wall of the blanket fort. “Now, no one can hear us out there, Lan Zhan.
You can spout any foolishness you like.”

“I see.” Lan Wangji says seriously. “You are very good. You are brilliant.”

A blush.

Wei Wuxian flutters his hands. "They’re all out there, Lan Zhan. You get it? But we're alone in
here. They can't hear us.”

A slight stutter. A deeper blush.

“Lan Zhan, we’re alone in our home.”

Lan Wangji goes utterly still.

The words like a shock in his spine.

Wei Wuxian sees the shock—

Bites his lip, flustered, scared.

"Oh, hahaha. Just for tonight, Lan Zhan."

"Wei Ying."

"We're alone in our home for tonight."

And suddenly, Lan Wangji is swallowing a lump in his throat. Carefully, deliberately, he takes Wei
Ying's hand. Draws slow, comforting circles on his wrist.

"I understand," Lan Wangji says. "Thank you." He pauses. "It's wonderful."

He feels the pulse jump in Wei Wuxian's wrist.

“Oh, Lan Zhan, I hate “thank you's." Especially yours…it makes no sense.” Wei Wuxian hesitates.
“No thank you's, between us, right? And no sorries.”
They stare at one another in the silver, dim light.

“The Hero of the Jiang Clan,” Wei Wuxian says softly.

And then he slides forward, soft as a kitten, and drops his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

This is the first time, in eight months, that they have come together.

“Lan Zhan."

“Mn. Speak.”

“Do you believe in me.”

Oh. So they are having this conversation. Now.

Wei Wuxian grabs Lan Wangji’s hand, places it on his own body. It’s clear what he wants, so Lan
Wangji opens up his pathways. Tentatively, their energies brush against one another. There. Wei
Wuxian. Bright. Burning golden.

“My golden core is strong enough to handle the demonic cultivation,” Wei Wuxian whispers. “I
can control it. I promise. It's strong enough. I'll stay strong enough. So you don't have to worry.”

“Wei Ying…I do believe in you. But resentful energy harms your body and spirit. Eventually, it’s
going to affect you—”

“I don’t need to make it to “eventually.””

“Wei Ying.”

“Yeah?”

“What is she like?”

Wei Wuxian pulls up off of Lan Wangji’s shoulder. His eyes are deadly serious.

He does not have to ask who Lan Wangji is talking about. He does not have to ask why.

For Lan Wangji is drunk, but not drunk enough.

Not drunk enough to hide how furious and afraid Wei Wuxian’s declaration had made him.

“I don’t need to make it to “eventually.””

I don't need to make it.

“She’s intelligent.” Wei Wuxian says finally. “She’s ruthless. She’s the strongest and most fearless
person I know. I owe her everything, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji flips the position of their hands, so that Wei Wuxian can trace Lan Wangji's own pulse
line. So he can feel the way it's thundering.

“She didn’t have to take me in," Wei Wuxian continues. "There are a lot of rumors that Jiang
Fengmian is my birth father. It's made her life ugly. It’s completely right if she wants to hate me.
But she overlooks those things, she provides for me, and she helps me to…”

His voice trails off. His eyes meet Lan Zhan’s. There is a moment of silence.
“None of that is important," Wei Wuxian says finally. "What’s important is, she’s the person who
knows my every nightmare. I've told her all of them. She is the one who understands.”

“What does she understand, Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks, very softly.

Wei Wuxian hesitates. A façade on his face is starting to tremble.

And then the blanket falls off.

Bright light streams through the room. Robes like splashes and shadows on the wall behind them.

“You can’t say it,” Lan Wangji realizes. “That’s all right. We owe each other no words.”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth and Lan Wangji puts his finger there. “Wei Ying, I've already told
you. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Lan Zhan. I like the way you fight.”

Lan Wangji startles. It’s like another drink, the way those words fill him. The bubbling joy, the
confusion, the haze.

“I like it so much,” Wei Wuxian repeats, but it’s not joy how he says it. He is almost crying now.
Trembling. His face is starting to crumble.

"And it kills me to like that,” Wei Wuxian gasps. “Because…because…”

“Shh.” Lan Wangji scoops him up. “You’re exhausted.”

Wei Wuxian is shuddering in his arms, curling in toward him, breaths coming now in short, sharp
gasps. And Lan Wangji can barely walk straight, but he can think enough for this—

Instinct. How to be for Wei Ying. He lays him out on the bed.

Pulls the covers up. Tucks him in carefully as Wei Wuxian continues to shake and tremble.

“And then I dream of you fighting, and I dream of us—”

“Silence.” As he did in the glade, Lan Wangji puts his hand over Wei Wuxian’s eyes.

Lashes fluttering against his palms. Cold. So cold. Lan Wangji gives him currents of his spiritual
energy.

It’s not enough. Lan Wangji finds himself pulling his sacred forehead ribbon off. Finds himself
wrapping it around Wei Ying’s eyes. Cool white silk—

“Lan Zhan—”

“Hush. It means nothing. Close your eyes.”

“My eyes are closed.”

“You are not to move. I forbid you to move. Not even in your mind.”

He will stay here all night. He will keep the ribbon wrapped, secure, over Wei Wuxian’s eyes. He
will not touch him except to keep holding him down.

Hard enough to bruise.

 Hard so Wei Ying can feel it. In the golden lamplight, with these discarded robes, the spill of
snacks and peanuts and empty white jars—

Wei Wuxian shaking under him, desperate for the touch, pliant and gasping. Finally going slack.
Lan Wangji whispers orders. No movement. Arms by your sides. Deep breaths. Even deeper.
Deeper now. The Hero of the Jiang. You protected them. You did it. You’re good. I’m still here.
I’m still here, Wei Ying. I'm still here. I am.

Chapter End Notes

Hope you liked! Thanks so very much to those who've left positive feedback and
comments on the story so far.

- I think Wen Xu only appears in CQL for maybe two moments, but those two
moments made a big impression on me ha. So I've given him a personality that in my
head I attribute to the Tortoise of Slaughter. Who also made a big impression on me
but won't be here sadly. They have similar functions..
 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Snow falling. Little crystal shards, inches from his face. Nighttime. Moonlight.

Cold. Lan Wangji’s lips feel dry, his skin feels dry. Bichen a heavy weight in his hand.

Where is he?

Nightless City.

A place he’s only seen a few times—

Lan Wangji stands alone on the highest rooftop, looking out. Black parapets. Howling wind. Huge
city of flames and stone beneath him. Eerie red torchlights. Yawning drop of a cliff—

“They’re all waiting for us, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji startles. Turns to find Wei Ying standing on the rooftop beside him.

Wei Wuxian’s hair whips wildly in the wind. He’s dressed head to toe in black. He’s all lean
fierceness; he looks different, incredible—

This Wei Wuxian is no longer a boy. He’s older, filled out, weathered. Harder.

Utterly beautiful. Pale, high cheekbones. Completely composed.

Raw power.

“I’m ready,” Wei Wuxian’s voice is easy, almost mocking. Devoid of feeling, as if he’s talking to a
stranger. “Lan Zhan, are you ready?”

A shock like lightning as Wei Wuxian draws Suibian. Crack of resentment as he swivels it
playfully, a knife through the sky—

The most intimidating, formidable cultivator Lan Wangji has ever seen—

What happened to you? Lan Wangji thinks. When did it happen? How did you get like this?

Wei Wuxian smirks and points toward the ground. “You see?”

It’s people, gathered in the city below. Tens of thousands of them. People of every sect, all the
colors of the uniforms mingled. Lan Xichen is down there. All of the sect leaders. Wen Clan. Jiang
Clan.

Everyone is staring up at him and Wei Wuxian.

Dread pools in Lan Wangji’s stomach. “What are they waiting for, Wei Ying?”

“Lan Zhan, to see us fight one another! They don’t know who would win. No one knows, I surely
don’t. It’s a momentous occasion and we can’t disappoint. Are you ready?”

The wind howls and screams.

But it’s not just wind. It’s resentful energy, and it’s cruel—already scraping and burning. Black
shrouds of it twist and surround Lan Wangji. Jagged sounds of a flute in the air, nightmarish echoes
—

In all the times Lan Wangji has seen Wei Ying wield a sword, he has never seen him graceless,
never seen him falter.

Wei Ying doesn’t falter now.

He points his sword at Lan Wangji.

Cruel, cruel.

He does it with no regrets. No hesitation.

“And it’s a fight to the death, Lan Zhan. It’s a fight for everything. Of course it is. Lan Zhan, I like
the way you fight. I like it so much, remember? I always knew one day we’d fight for real. It’s
fated. It’s sad—”

Voice mocking.

“Wei Ying—”

Lan Wangji jolts from the dream, heart thundering.

He wakes confusedly. It’s well past 5am.

Not cold. Not cold. Not winter. Home. It’s springtime. He’s in Gusu—

The air is moist on his skin.

It’s past 5am and someone is banging at the door—

Lan Wangji rubs his sticky eyes and finds himself sprawled on the floor of the guest room. His
robes wrinkled, his hairpiece digging into his scalp. It reeks of Emperor’s Smile.

And he is staring up at the shocked face of a Lan Sect disciple.

Lan Wangji jerks up. “Wait—”

Too late. They are gone.

A dull pain throbs through his head. Mouth cotton and filthy. The room is a mess of tossed robes
and empty bottles. Wei Wuxian is sitting up in the bed.

Lan Wangji's memory is hazy. But he remembers enough—

He puts the picture together: he’s been caught, drinking together through the night with Wei
Wuxian. With Wei Wuxian. Whipping boy. Demonic cultivator. Hero of the Jiang.

The clan that Wen Sect is trying to crush.

No Lan lips have officially touched alcohol in the last two hundred years. It is one of their most
sacred, most defended precepts. It is a tradition set clear and reliably as the morning sunrise. It
represents Lan rule. Lan boundaries.

There is no way this doesn’t have consequences.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s voice is panicked.

He leaps to Lan Wangji, helping him stand.

“Shit. Shit. It’s my fault. You were drunk. Gods, Lan Zhan, you were drunk. I was stupid, I didn’t
get you back to your room. I didn't take care—“

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan grabs his wrist.

“Lan Zhan, I failed—"

“Wei Ying!"

Wei Wuxian's lips snap closed.

Lan Wangji looks down to their joined hands. Not cold. Not there. Here.

“I don’t regret it,” Lan Wangji says quietly. “I feel glad that I stayed.”

Wei Wuxian follows his gaze.

Looks down to where his own fingers, unconsciously, had tightened on silk. On the silk of Lan
Wangji’s sacred forehead ribbon.

Wei Ying blushes.

Then he’s mumbling, unwinding it from his wrist, holding it back out to Lan Wangji. “Take it
back, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji still feels the liquor. Head pounding, the light splintering through the window. He can
barely think—

Wei Wuxian thrusts the ribbon in his hand.

“Take it back. There's no time.”

“I have done wrong, and I must be punished,” Lan Wangji says, striding up to the pavilion where
everyone waits.

Then his steps falter.

Shock floods him. At first he thinks he’s still drunk. He feels like he is dreaming, like he is looking
at his home through a distorted lens, through the ripples of deep water.

But he is not dreaming now. This is reality.

Cloud Recesses is crawling with Wen disciples.

Wen forces are everywhere.

Scarlet gemstones. Gleaming armor. Their red robes stand out brilliantly against Lan whites, blues,
grays.

Wen Sect disciples posted at every pavilion.

In the walkways and terraces. In the shadows of every chamber—

At least five times as many the amount of Wen people that had been here yesterday.

There are almost as many armed Wen disciples as armed Lan disciples, now, in the compound.
There are definitely more Wens than any disciples of the other visiting sects.

And all of them are dressed lavishly, brilliantly, luxuriously—for war.

Wen Ruohan could not make a clearer statement.

Lan Wangji forces his faltering stride to grow strong again. He approaches the punishment
pavilion, calming his emotions and mind.

Uncle and Lan Xichen are already there. Their expressions equally calm, equally grave. But Lan
Wangji sees something his brother is usually so careful to mask—

Anger.

Lan Xichen is furious.

Lan Wangji can read it. His brother is furious and also—

On guard.

Jiang Fengmian is there too, looking concerned and grave as he assesses Lan Wangji. The other
sect leaders stand near them, with the Lan elders gathered behind them. Whipping rods and
bastinados already ready. A small crowd has gathered in the courtyard. Growing larger every
moment.

Lan Wangji feels a chill.

How had news of this infraction spread among all the sects so fast?

“Wait!” Wei Wuxian is running behind Lan Wangji, staggering as he pulls on his shoes and ties
his robes. “It was all my fault! I forced Lan Zhan to drink the Emperor’s Smile! I used a talisman
—”

Lan Wangji hears the exact moment when Wei Wuxian’s footsteps falter. When he takes in the
same sight as Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji goes to center of the courtyard, where everyone is waiting.

“I have done wrong,” he repeats serenely. “And I will pay the price.”

“But it wasn’t just you, was it?” Wen Xu steps out. He looks somehow even stronger and mightier
than he did yesterday. A slightly insane, glimmering intelligence in his eyes.

“It wasn’t just you. Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang were also secretly drinking in the night with
Wei Wuxian. Wen Ning saw it last night.”

Standing near Wen Xu and Wen Chao, Wen Ning looks miserable.
“And there were at least two other witnesses," Wen Xu says. "Do you deny it?”

Lan Wangji keeps his eyes fixed on Wen Xu. “I do not deny.”

Wen Xu smiles.

“So what we have here is a least three major sect heirs breaking a sacred Lan rule. And we also
have the Hero of the Jiang. And the sect heir who apparently enjoyed himself the most, who forgot
all of his principals and had to be dragged from drunken, lazy stupor at almost the height of
noon… is the Lan Sect heir himself. So much for the famed decorum and discipline of the Twin
Jades.”

Lan Qiren’s lips go white.

“Or is this favoritism?” Wen Xu’s voice is casual, but there is steel and danger beneath his tone.
“Is that what this is? Was this a deliberate gathering of sects?”

Ninety percent.

Wen Xu’s silence yesterday. His almost cheerful apathy. As he was lying in wait.

He appears to have decided, now, how he wants to handle it.

Wen Xu purrs. “I’d hate to tell my father that a Wen Sect heir was not invited to such a gathering.
This party hosted by a Lan.”

Lan Xichen’s head snaps up.

“After all,” Wen Xu continues. “We’ve waited so long to drink with Lan Clan. All these years we
have treated their wishes, their boundaries and their needs, with such respect.”

Wen Xu looks around at all the gathered sects. Lan Xichen has gone still as a statue.

Then Jiang Cheng speaks, voice cold. “Let the record show that Wei Wuxian forced me and Nie
Huaisang to drink. There was no such planned gathering. Wei Wuxian used a talisman on us,
trapping us all together just for fun. My whipping boy meant no harm, but he is mischievous,
foolish, aggressive, and must be severely punished for this act.”

Lan Wangji’s body flushes hot, then cold.

“Jiang Clan thanks Wen Clan for calling attention to this matter,” Jiang Cheng continues. "We will
accept the punishment Lan Clan deems appropriate.”

Beside him, Nie Huaisang nods vigorously. He hides his face behind his fan. “Wei Wuxian also
tricked me into drinking. I would never do so in Cloud Recesses of my own volition.”

Both of them look toward Wei Wuxian, who nods.

“Very well,” Lan Xichen says wearily. “Then Wei Wuxian will bear a punishment for the grave
insult Jiang and Nie Clans have made to Lan.”

Lan Wangji’s hand clenches on Bichen.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen says.

“Sir.”
“Did you also force Lan Wangji?”

“Yes, I told you, I used a mind control talisman. This one was really powerful! One of my own,
new inventions.” He grins at the crowd. “Poor Lan Wangji could not resist it.”

He glances at Jiang Cheng, who picks up the cue.

“Yes, apologies, again. Everyone knows how much Wei Wuxian likes to hassle and torture Lan
Wangji. It’s because Lan Wangji can’t stand him. So Wei Wuxian likes to play, to try at every
opportunity to get a rise.”

“Look, you can still see a trace on him.” Wei Wuxian points gleefully at the paper on Lan Wangj’s
sleeve. “My work is too great!”

Lan Xichen and the elders are visibly relieved. This absolves Lan Clan of any blame, and places
the burden of the act squarely on Wei Wuxian.

“Our Wei Wuxian is fast and wily.” Jiang Fengmian scrubs a hand over his eyes. “Often we can’t
control him. We count ourselves lucky that no further harm was done, and ask you punish him to
the full extent for the insult born to Lan Clan, and also to Wen Clan. Make sure he learns his
lesson.”

There is an anger curling inside Lan Wangji’s belly.

After yesterday’s boastings. Yesterday’s victories.

To see all of those sect leaders standing there, safe on the sidelines. Wei Wuxian being led out to
kneel now. Eyes blazing. Ready.

Wen Xu standing boldly on the other side of the courtyard, hand resting easily on the hilt of his
spiritual sword. Shall I tell my father…

Lan Xichen starts to speak. “All right. Wei Wuxian will bear six hundred strikes of the rod—”

“No. Eight lashes of the discipline whip,” Wen Xu cuts Lan Xichen off. “Two lashes to represent
each person involved.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen. Lan Wangji feels his stomach drop.

Eight lashes is impossibly harsh.

Last time Wei Wuxian had taken two, and it had been agony. Agony for Wei Ying. Agony to
witness. Eight lashes should be for a crime of huge magnitude. Treason. Murder. Betrayal—

“It was a meeting of youth," Lan Xichen says slowly. "It was an ill-advised prank.”

“I’m aware,” Wen Xu answers.

“The insult was made to Lan Clan. We should set the punishment. Wei Wuxian broke our laws."

“Let me be clear.” Wen Xu crosses his arms and smiles devilishly. “I am Wen Xu, the heir of Wen
Ruohan, whose power is as great as the sun. I am aware this punishment does not fit the crime. But
I still want it. I’d like to punish the Hero of the Jiang in this way, just because I feel like it.”

At that, the entire courtyard falls silent.

Wen Xu smirks. “You all seem dumbstruck.”

Then he goes up to Wei Wuxian where he kneels on the platform, sticks his hand in Wei Wuxian’s
hair, and ruffles his red ribbon.

“This one understands me, though you’re all taking time to catch on. But I like to think he knew
immediately.”

The sect leaders’ faces are grim. What they understand, what everyone understands…is that this is
not just about drinking in the night.

This is about yesterday. Hero of the Jiang.The unspoken insult to Wen Clan.

This is about Jiang Cheng and Jiang Fengmian stepping forward slightly, to shield Jiang Yanli.

Wen Xu jerks his chin toward Lan Xichen. “Will you bring out the discipline whip? Will you agree
that such chastisement is needed?”

Lan Xichen hesitates.

Then Lan Wangji steps up to his side. “Yes.” He commands the Lan disciples. “Prepare the
discipline whip.”

Lan Xichen frowns. “Wangji?”

Lan Wangji nods his head to his brother, then gestures to the Lan disciples. “Yes. We agree to the
scale of the punishment. But Lan Clan will take the whip instead of Jiang Clan.”

Everyone looks at him.

At Hanguang Jun, a commander of armies, still serene, one hand tucked in the small of his back. “I
was not fast enough," he says. "My guard was down. I entered into the situation without proper
vigilance and failed to take proper action. I let Wei Wuxian exploit weakness, and thus caused this
insult all clans. This happened on my territory. Under my watch.”

Lan Wangji stands tall, ignoring the fearful mutters. Ignores Wei Wuxian’s stare, which he can feel
on the back of his neck.

The only person he has eyes for is Wen Xu.

“So it is only right that Lan Clan pay the demanded price," Lan Wangji continues. "We are
mortified. We want to demonstrate our complete submission.”

Wen Xu goes pale. The crowd around them has gone silent.

Lan Wangji is thinking about the effectiveness of Wei Wuxian twisting up, in the face of the whip,
and saying more.

Of Jiang Cheng’s smile: My whipping boy likes it.

He is thinking about Lan Xichen’s anger, how Wen Clan dared to invite themselves into Lan
Clan’s home, dared to direct their punishments.

He is thinking about how to neutralize insult. How to be defiant in the action of subservience.

Political theater.
Lan Wangji stares Wen Xu straight in the eye.

Issues the last piece of his challenge.

“Do not call for Su She. This was my personal failing. If Wen Clan is so generous as to chastise,
then Lan Clan wishes to demonstrate their understanding. I must take the punishment myself, to
learn better. Wen Clan is not going to punish my whipping boy. It would not be enough. It has to be
me.”

Wen Xu snaps, “Wen Clan makes no such demand.”

Lan Wangji’s voice is mild. “Do you suggest Lan Clan is so weak we must rely on the Jiang to
take our punishments?”

He keeps his gaze steady. Continues speaking.

“Do you suggest the Twin Jades of Lan have fear and must rely on whipping boys to take their
lashes?”

It’s directly between the two of them now.

Lan Wangji speaks. "In fact, Lan Clan feels so overcome we request the strikes be increased to ten.
Two strikes to represent each person involved. Four strikes to represent me.”

Wen Xu’s eyes narrow.

Lan Wangji can read the calculation in his eyes.

This punishment…the scale of it, to enforce it of all people on Hanguang Jun—

Everyone will hate it. The image of Hanguang Jun kneeling and taking such a punishment will
rock the cultivation world to its core.

Already, whispers fill the courtyard. This level of punishment for a sect heir is absolutely unheard
of. News will spread far and wide: Wen Clan forced Lan Clan to take such a harsh punishment, for
an offense that involved nothing more than drinking alcohol.

And it's not just status. It's who he is. Hanguang Jun…

Hanguang Jun, who, in the last eight months, has become exceedingly beloved and powerful.
Hanguang Jun who has saved thousands of lives.

Hanguang Jun, who has countless allies. Who is unquestionably righteous. Respected by both the
elite and commoners.

Hanguang Jun, who, if forced to take punishment, could represent any of them.

And Hanguang Jun who, by demanding the punishment, by demonstrating his complete
submission, is wordlessly spitting in the face of Wen Clan.

“I concur with Lan Wangji.”

Lan Xichen speaks behind him. Voice equally mild. Equally calm.

“If these must be the terms of the punishment, then it is right that Lan Wangji take it. A whipping
boy could not represent the severity of today’s transgression.”
HIs voice strikes with an icy finality.

“We both speak for Lan Clan.”

And now, Wen Xu is cornered. Now that Lan Clan has responded so strongly, with such force and
pointedness in front of everyone, he cannot lower the punishment or rescind his statements.

Not without looking weak. Not without looking like Wen Clan is afraid of Lan Clan.

Calculations flying through everyone’s minds. Movements of masses, the strength of alliances, the
strength of fear and the possibility of rebellions. The very real possibility.

To strike at Wei Wuxian? Easy. He exists to be flayed. But to strike at Hanguang Jun would
cause…complications.

This is about calling Wen’s Sect bluff, Lan Wangji thinks.

And then forcing them to take those complications.

“Ridiculous,” Wei Wuxian speaks suddenly. “You can’t punish Lan Wangji. It doesn’t make
sense. I’m the one who—”

“Respectfully, this matter is between Wen Clan and Lan Clan.” Lan Xichen cuts him off. He
glances at Wei Wuxian. “You’ve done enough.”

Wei Wuxian pales.

Lan Xichen turns back to Wen Xu. “Lan Clan awaits Wen Clan’s response.”

“Never forget, Wangji, that the higher we rise, the more people like the Wens want to see us fall.
Reduced by their control. We cannot ever give them that satisfaction.”

Lan Xichen’s warning, from the past, rings in Lan Wangji’s ears. Everyone knows that Wen Clan
holds a particular derision for Lan Clan. A particular fear.

Jiang Clan is new. Their rebellion is new.

But Wen and Lan are two of the oldest, most prevailing sect powers.

Twined together since the beginning of cultivation’s history, in a delicate balance.

Nightless City and Cloud Recesses. Venerable, ancient seats of knowledge and resources.

The seats of the cultivation worlds’ most distinguished, impactful heroes. As sects were forged, as
territory was marked throughout time, as power was distributed...

Wen Clan, in all of this history, has never succeeded in bringing Lan Clan to heel.

No Wen has ever made a Lan really bow.

And they are not doing so now.

Wen Xu speaks through gritted teeth. “Fine. If Hanguang Jun is so gracious to accept our concerns,
than we consider ourselves honored to accept his contrition. Let the record show Wen Clan did not
ask for such a response. We never would have dreamed of asking.”
Everyone is watching the negotiation, aghast.

“But we are not afraid to accept it.” Wen Xu’s eyes gleam. “Now or in the future.”

Lan Xichen nods. The pavilion is silent.

This action, Lan Wangji thinks. Today. It has changed things.

He has shifted the balance, for better or for worse. Opened a new type of play into the game of
strategy. After this day, the sects will not be the same. The old powers, the old rules…tipped from
stability.

“Remove Wei Wuxian from the platform.” Lan Xichen speaks. “Put Wangji in his place. Bring the
discipline whip.”

If he had predicted how he might feel, in such a moment, Lan Wangji always thought he would be
unsure.

But the opposite is true, he is discovering. Gratefully. As he moves into place. With the eyes of all
on him.

He feels…strong.

So strong he is almost arrogant with it, as he kneels and presents his back. The world feels surreal
and irrelevant, almost like it can't touch him. As if nothing can touch him. Even though he still
feels it—

When it happens.

Even though it’s excruciating.

He concentrates on his golden core and feels it humming inside.

There. There. There.

Ignores the world outside. Sinks deep into himself. Holds himself upright, keeps his body strong.
Uses every single scrap of his training, all these years of his discipline and forebearance.

And he finds that he can.

He is firm enough to do this. The whip is about to come down again, but it was already in line with
his state of mind. This moment does not turn his world upside down. Does not disturb him. He was
already disturbed. There is pain, and it hurts, but there is also a...pleasure. There is a relief that
comes from something closer to a clear conscience.

He grits his teeth. Feels the spurt of blood in his mouth. Blood dripping down his back. If anything,
he is ready to move past this now. He’s cast his mind ahead to the next action. For there is
something else inside of him to think about, something that seems urgent and overwhelming and
powerful.

He has realized, to his surprise, that he had two dreams last night.

The first one was less vivid than the second, and he did not remember it until just now. It was
fleeting, sensations and images—

But he can remember glimpses. And the glimpses shock him.

In this dream, he remembers looking beyond Cloud Recesses, beyond any people that lived there,
past the roofs and the gates of his childhood home. And he had been looking toward the mountains
and the grassy plains of Gusu back country. Those knolls, where, in the dream, rabbits had taken to
nosing their way through the brushes. He had no idea where they came from. Rabbits? Did he still
have opinions on them? In his childhood, he’d wanted rabbits. Ridiculous. For some reason they
had been his favorite animals. Soft white fur, ears that quivered. Delight—

Pets were forbidden in the Cloud Recesses. Rabbits were forbidden. Yes, he had always known
that.

Part of him is shaking, somewhere. Biting down cries. Blood is slippery beneath his bent knees.

But in this dream he had felt happy and at ease, because he had also known that these rabbits were
right.

Five days later, blearily, Lan Wangji awakens.

Morning light streams through the window. Curtains fluttering. Jingshi.

Pain in his body but it is a muffled pain. It still feels very far away.

Slowly, it all comes back, and he does not think he lost consciousness until after the punishment
was over. He remembers walking off the platform without help. He remembers rejoining his
people in the courtyard, remembers the quiet way they closed around him, blocking him from the
crowd. Remembers his brother, jaw flexed. Clean, white robes surrounding him. The healer’s
voice, soft.

“Rest, you must rest.”

Cool fingers on his brow.

Now, he is in his own bed, and he can tell within a few seconds of assessment that an incredible
amount of spiritual energy and healing skill have gone toward mending him as fast as possible.

He sits up soundlessly, flexes his back experimentally—

Pain. So wrenching and overwhelming that it leaves him breathless.

He fights past sensation. Forces his gaze around—

There is someone else in the room with him.

A silhouetted figure, next to the far window. The person is leaning on a blue pillow, looking out at
the wind through the trees in the yard. One hand propped on their chin. Graceful and dreamy.

He stirs. The figure turns to face him.

“Oh,” she says. “You’re awake.”

It's Jiang Yanli.

She moves to his bedside, smiling gently. “How do you feel?”

Lan Wangji regards her. He has always thought she has a reserve, a delicacy to her expression that
seems familiar and even comfortable to him. Like the downcast eyes of Lans.

But she is not Lan. She is Jiang. He looks to the door and for the first time processes…it has been
left open. Just outside, out of earshot but within clear reach if there is any stir of trouble, he sees
two Lan senior disciples. His people are guarding him.

Jiang Yanli follows his gaze. “I can imagine you’re disoriented,” she says. “You’ve been sleeping
for almost five days. The healers thought you would recover most quickly, and most cleanly, if you
were kept sedated.” She smiles. “But even they have been surprised at your rate of recovery. You
have an extremely strong golden core. I heard them say it’s unprecedented.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t answer. He feels wary, still sleep-bruised and confused. He pulls his robes
closer around his chest and straightens his spine.

Jiang Yanli tracks this motion. She’s still standing next to his bed, one hand hovering just over his
shoulder, as if to touch him. Then she drops the hand. “I am here, and my job is to watch over you,
because it was the only way I could convince A-Xian to go get some rest. He hasn't left your
bedside.”

A slight twitch of his lips. Ears go hot. Jiang Yanli, seeing his expression, smiles. She kneels at his
bedside and props her elbows next to his leg. As if they are old friends, confiding.

“He refused to leave,” she says. “He was dead on his feet, but he said he had to protect you at all
costs. I've never seen him so possessive. So finally I swore I would stay here and watch over you. I
wouldn’t let you leave my sight. And even then, he only agreed because I promised I’d bring you
some lotus root and rib soup.”

Clack of jars as she goes to the low table. She uncovers ceramics. Ladling broth into a bowl.

“And that convinced him. He said he couldn’t deny you the soup.”

Lan Wangji…likes her. He realizes. It is a low, dull shock. He likes Jiang Yanli a lot. He likes the
careful way she moves, her careful words. He likes her kindness. He likes her strength.

This is the first time he’s ever been alone with her, the first time they’ve even talked outside of
classroom discussions. But Wei Wuxian trusts her unreservedly, and Wei Wuxian trusts very few
people.

And, apparently, Wei Wuxian is not the only one to feel she has earned a distinguished trust.

Lan Wangji is surprised that Lan Xichen let the Jiangs visit him here.

That Lan Xichen let them be near Lan Wangji, after what had happened. To let Jiang Yanli sit
unaccompanied in the Jingshi. In Lan Wangji’s private, sacred space.

Jiang Yanli seems to understand his unspoken question, as she hands him a bowl of steaming soup.

“No one outside of Lan and Jiang Clans knows that I am here,” she says. “Granted, Zewu Jun was
reluctant to leave, he has also been watching over you night and day. I think he only left when I
bribed him with some of your soup!”

Lan Wangji pauses, the spoon halfway to his lips. “Lan Xichen let you send him away?”

“Yes. We spoke a little.”

“Hm.” Lan Wangji takes a small sip. Broth swirls on his tongue. “It’s very good. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” For a moment, she falls silent. Then she lifts her own bowl to her face, breathing in
steam. “Your brother, my father, and Jiang Cheng are currently at the closing tournament banquet.
I convinced Zewu Jun that he could protect you better there. Since your punishment, there has been
no further escalation. Everything is quiet and tense. Each sect leader has declared their good will.”

Lan Wangji understands.

Especially in times of tension, it is important to show your face, to be alert to every shift.

“They’re feasting and laughing,” Jiang Yanli picks up the trail of his thought. “But if I had to
guess, everyone at the banquet is in some ways here, in this room. They are thinking of you,
relentlessly. What you did. What it meant. What you are going to do next.”

And there it is. He sees it cross her face. That same swift calculation, that same sharpness.

“No one knows what to think,” she says.

“What do you think?”

“It’s never been my role to think, frankly. I am loyal to the Jiang Clan. But I am not a hero. Perhaps
you’ve heard, but I am not very fierce.”

Lan Wangji has heard a little. Heard she is frail, compared to her brother. Heard that she never
developed a core strong enough to cultivate. “But your address to the sect leaders, how you
defended Wei Wuxian…”

“That was not part of any plan. My family was shocked. And I...was terrified.”

Jiang Yanli’s voice has fallen to almost a whisper. Both of them have set their soup down.

“And Hanguang Jun, you will notice I’m not at that banquet now.”

Lan Wangji looks away. Finds himself standing, moving past her stiffly, pulling on a more formal
outer robe. Every motion brings pain, his body responding jerkily. He can feel the lash line, the
tight, swollen welts. It will take time to build back to full strength. But he has the urge to move, all
of a sudden. He feels like the next steps of this conversation will need him at his most composed.
At his best.

For some reason, his heart is beating very fast.

“Hanguang Jun.” Jiang Yanli says behind him. “I would like to be blunt because I think you care
for Wei Wuxian. I’m not speaking for my clan. I’m speaking for myself. I am not privy to the
strategies of the Jiang. I am sheltered, I am protected, and I'm expected to do what I'm told is best.
But I want to tell you something, because I think it’s important. The deepest strategies of Jiang
Clan are devised by my mother. And no one, no one, in our family is closer to my mother, in terms
of understanding those strategies, than Wei Wuxian.”

Lan Wangji turns to face her. She is still sitting demurely near the bed, all lavender, soft drapes.
Those delicate features. That downward gaze.

“I believe my mother views myself and Jiang Cheng as the future of our sect,” Jiang Yanli
continues. “And she views herself, and Wei Wuxian, as the guardians of that future. The two of
them are close in a way that might not make sense to outsiders. Especially because…it was always
her idea for him to be our whipping boy. She made that clear even when we were children.”

Jiang Yanli raises her eyes.

“From the very beginning, my mother demanded A-Xian’s punishment. As a payment for great,
great debt."

A pang goes through Lan Wangji.

“It was like that, from the very beginning,” Jiang Yanli repeats after a moment. “And these were
not easy punishments.”

She is speaking with all of the same force and gravity with which she had addressed one thousand
people after the mountain hunt.

But it is only to him, right now. He is the only audience.

“I’ve heard that she trained him,” Lan Wangji says.

“Not just in combat. In everything.”

“What do you want from me? Why are you telling me this?”

Jiang Yanli takes a deep breath. “I want to know…”

When she finally speaks, it is all in a rush. “I want to know if it’s really true, that resentful energy
will destroy Wei Wuxian. Lan Clan is peerless when it comes to matters of the supernatural. Your
library is unmatched. Your disciples are of a caliber that is in another league entirely from the
other clans. So. Is it really impossible for him to be a demonic cultivator and remain unscathed?”

Lan Wangji feels a rush. “You love him outside of this debt.”

Jiang Yanli stands. “There is something I know about A-Xian. He does not lose his smile or his
laugh. You could rip his heart out in front of him, you could mangle it, you could crush it beneath
your feet, and he would never lose his brightness.”

“I’ve searched,” Lan Wangji grits out. “Of course I’ve searched. Ever since I heard the rumors,
I’ve been looking for a way. Trying to find some exception in history, some evidence, some
method. A hope, in all of recorded time…”

Jiang Yanli is holding very, very still.

Finally she speaks. “You love him too, regardless of debt.”

They stand there, looking at one another. Wind streams outside of the Jingshi. Cerulean teacups.
Sandalwood.

“Love is tangled,” she says. “In our family. In these days. You are a sect heir. I’m sure you know
better than anyone what it’s like, for your fate to be twined with your clan’s.”

Lan Wangji takes a shuddering breath. There are feelings rising up in him that he had thought
would never come out, that he’d thought he could always hide.

“Do you wish to marry Jin Zixuan?” he asks.

Very slightly, her earrings tremble. “I already told you. Love is tangled. Do you know…he came to
Lotus Pier after we left Gusu. After that night. He showed up a week later, unannounced, at our
gates. Without Jin Zixun. Into hostile territory. He came completely alone.”

Jiang Yanli does not offer any more information about that meeting. Lan Wangji does not ask.

“But even after everything, it doesn’t really matter what my wishes are…” Her voice is a breath on
the wind.

Footsteps are approaching. They can hear them coming from the yard. Someone is hurrying up the
gravel. Someone is coming up the porch steps toward the Jingshi.

“But wishes are important,” Lan Wangji says. Low. Urgent.

“Yes.” She replies. “They are.”

Wei Wuxian’s voice sounds, just as he’d known it would. Soft knock at the door.

“Shijie?” Wei Wuxian asks. A hesitation. Then his voice snaps. Anger. “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji and Jiang Yanli share one last look.

They both understand, Lan Wangji realizes suddenly. He feels almost dizzy with it. Wishes are
important.

They both know what is about to happen. Because they both know Wei Wuxian.

“Do you want to see him now?” Jiang Yanli asks Lan Wangji. Her eyes are like steel. “Do you
wish?”

“Yes.”

Creak of a floorboard. Red ribbon in his hair. Morning light has given way, somehow, to midday,
and it is harsh.

Harsh bright white light fills the Jingshi. No softness, no shadows. Everything blinding.

Creak of a floorboard and Wei Ying is there, right there, in Lan Wangji’s doorway. They’re alone
in the room now.

“Leave us,” Lan Wangji calls to the guards outside. In a voice that brooks no argument.

Wei Wuxian is sharp, sharp, sharp, like a sword in the doorway. Sharp as a blade. Anger. Fear.
Traces of malevolence, like a shroud around him. He’s been cultivating with demonic energy, Lan
Wangji notes. He can barely hide it.

But as the guards outside leave the Jingshi, Wei Wuxian says nothing. Doesn’t survey the room,
although it’s the first time they have stood in this precious place, awake, together. He doesn’t look
at the soup Jiang Yanli made Lan Wangji, the soup that Wei Wuxian had once claimed he would
never share.

Wei Wuxian does nothing but stare at the bandages on Lan Wangji’s back.

He is staring, with an overwhelmed expression, at Lan Wangji’s blood.

Wei Wuxian steps into the Jingshi and slides the door shut behind him. The sunlight filters blue
through the screen. Blue shadows. The air feels colder now.

“What is that stunt you pulled,” Wei Ying says finally. There are layers and layers to the hostility
in his voice: concern, guilt, a shocking amount of pride.

“Did you think you were the only one who could do this?” Lan Wangji asks.

No answer, for a long time. And in this silence, Lan Wangji realizes about himself—

He is still very weak.

He needs to sit. He cannot stay standing for even one second longer. He is going to fall.

And it feels like a fall in his heart, as he sits down heavily, stiffly dignified, before his guqin.
Hands on the strings. How funny, he thinks. Chord assassination. Lan Yi looked at these strings
and thought, lashes.

He shifts the guqin toward that familiar melody.

Wei Wuxian lets him play, for a few long moments. Leans his head on the doorjamb. Eyes
glittering. Neck exposed. Adam’s apple bobbing.

Then:

“Did you think I would not protest?”

Lan Wangji feels the slide of his hair, like a silk cloth, rustling over the burning scours on his back.

It feels strange, this way, to be seen in pain, without his ornaments, bleeding from these wounds.
How to tell Wei Wuxian the things he needs to tell him? How to speak of his own needs, in this
moment? It’s not that his own blood doesn’t matter. It does. It’s not that he doesn’t understand the
pain of seeing others hurt. He knows anger when they put themselves at risk. Of course, he
understands that.

“This house is called Silence,” Lan Wangji says finally. “This is the room where my mother died.
My father was protecting her. She was his prisoner.”

A beat.

“I believe that you respect my choices,” Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Wangji’s hands stutter.

Of course I do, he thinks. Of course I do.

And then Wei Wuxian is on hands and knees before him, sinuous. Wei Wuxian is crawling over
the guqin and into his lap. He grabs Lan Wangji’s hand and places it on his neck. On the side, at
that specific dip of collarbone that sends a rush like fire through Lan Zhan. Pulse fluttering.
Muscles flexing, hot skin—

Lan Wangji is still weak but it’s the work of an instant, to flip them over, to pin Wei Wuxian to the
floor. He knocks him backward, pins his legs down with his knees, wrists bound in one large hand
—

The other is still at Wei Wuxian’s neck.

Wei Wuxian’s pulse quivers beneath his thumb. Very gently, Lan Wangji presses.

They hold like that, panting, for a long time. Lan Wangji curled over Wei Wuxian.

Then Lan Wangji feels Wei Ying’s voice in his hand, in his throat.

“If I asked you to bite me?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Mouth in the warm nook. Shudders. Teeth break skin—

Jolt.

Wei Wuxian gasps beneath him. “Lan Zhan—”

For a moment, they just stay like that. They stay clinging to one another.

Then, Wei Wuxian's whispered murmur.

“And if I asked, if I said, that I no longer wanted…this.”

“This?”

“All of it. You know.”

Lan Wangji sits up in one fluid motion, pulling his hand back, but Wei Wuxian follows, keeping
only a few inches between them.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian grabs Lan Wangji’s hand and yanks it back to his neck. But
it’s not kind, this motion. It’s not invitation.

“You don’t have to,” Lan Wangji says. “You never had to.”

“That wasn’t the question."

But it’s important. “Wei Ying. You never had to submit to me.”

“I always knew I didn’t have to,” Wei Wuxian snaps. “Now it’s a matter of what I can afford.”

“Speak clearly.”

“Is that an order?” Wei Wuxian laughs at that, and finally releases Lan Zhan’s hand. He settles
back on his heels, putting space between them.

“All right. I’ll speak clear. I can’t afford to be weak.”

Lan Wangji wills himself to wait. He stares at the bite on Wei Wuxian's neck. Little red mark.

“I knew it when I watched you take the punishment, Lan Zhan, but if I'm honest I knew it even
before. Maybe I’ve always known, but I kept denying. I've kept indulging. And I realized it too,
eight months ago. It was a shock then, like it is now.”

“You cannot afford…”

“To need other people. To rely on them for support. To need anchors.”

“Because you can’t trust them?” Lan Wangji asks finally.

“In most cases. Probably 90%.”

“And the exceptions?”

“Then it’s even worse.”

“Why is it worse.”

“After all, we never talked about it. But those eight months ago, in that room with the Jins, how
did I hurt you, Lan Zhan?”

Wei Wuxian is repeating Lan Wangji’s question to him, from when they had finally reunited in the
glade. And it’s no longer just about the whipping that Lan Wangji took this week.

This argument is about what happened eight months ago, when Wei Ying had called out
desparately to Lan Zhan. That tension. That danger. That drop. Surrounded by enemies. It’s about
what is still to happen. What is to escalate.

“I must not depend on the support of others,” Wei Wuxian says. “I can’t entangle them. I can’t
expose them to—”

“Stop.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at Lan Wangji’s interruption.

“Wei Ying. I do not think that is the lesson you should take from this.”

“I’m not here anymore for Lan instruction, Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Hanguang Jun. How do you think I feel, to watch your blood dripping down?”

Lan Wangji’s lips snap shut. He does not think he needs to honor that with a response.

And to his credit, Wei Wuxian flushes.

Because he can read Lan Wangji’s anger. Knows what he’s thinking. It’s clear.

Lan Wangji is thinking, how dare you ask me that?

Ringing silence. Wei Wuxian looks grave. His next words are as soft as a sigh.

“I don’t think you understand what kind of person I am, Lan Zhan. You still don’t understand.”

Lan Wangji's voice is rough.

"You cannot receive help from others. You must not be supported. If that’s what you believe, then
you are going to lose the war.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes fly open. Shock.

“Very well.“ His eyes narrow. “I amend my position. I can receive help from some. But from
others, Lan Zhan, I refuse support.”

Blue light through the window. Wind moves through magnolias.

Lan Wangji speaks. "This is the first time I've seen you take a selfish action."

Wei Wuxian gasps—

Then, suddenly, they’re interrupted. A shout rings from the yard.

“Wei gongzi! Lan gongzi!”

Wen Ning, of all people, is running up the path. Still some distance away, Lan guards stop him—

“No! I have to speak to them! Right now!”

“Let him enter.” Lan Wangji strides into the yard.

Wen Ning runs the rest of the way and drops to a bow. He looks nervous and frantic. About to fall
apart.

“What do you want?” Lan Wangji asks, bristling with hostility.

Wei Wuxian grabs his shoulder, gently pushing him aside.

“Wen Ning, what is it?” Wei Wuxian crouches before the shaking boy. “What’s wrong?”

“My sister sent me to you two—Because you once saved my life—

Everyone’s at the banquet—”

“Yes, yes. Breathe. Start from the beginning.”

“She sent me in secret.”

A chill rolls down Lan Wangji’s spine.

He and Wei Ying trade glances. With a jerk of his head, Lan Wangji sends the Lan guards farther
off.

Wen Ning has calmed down enough to give his message in a coherent manner. He addresses Lan
Wangji first, as if delivering repeated words:

“You and Master Wei know what it’s like to be the Wen Clan’s enemy. But my sister and I know
what it’s like to be their subjects. It is a fate we don't wish on anyone. And if we do nothing...”

“Continue,” Lan Wangji says, heart racing.

“She sent me to warn you: Wen Xu is making her steal the Lan's Yin Iron shard.”

Lan Wangji goes rigid—

“How many pieces does Wen Ruohan already have?” asks Wei Wuxian.

“Three. He needs one more,” Wen Ning says.

“When are they stealing it?”

“Right now. It’s happening right now. While Wen Xu distracts everyone at the banquet—”

“Impossible,” Wei Wuxian cuts him off. “The defenses will hold. Cold Spring Cave is
impenetrable to outsiders—I checked.”
“But it’s not outsiders.”

Wen Ning flushes bright red. He looks at Lan Wangji.

“Su She has a sacred Lan ribbon. He’s taking Wen Qing to the cave. Wen Ruohan promised Su
She his own clan.”

Lan Wangji cannot remember the last time he moved so fast. A signal flare sent to Lan Xichen,
then the wind rushing around him. He’s on Bichen, flying toward Cold Spring Cave. Everything in
him pushing faster, faster.

Wen Ning’s final words ringing in his ears—

Wen Ruohan is mastering demonic cultivation in order to gain dominion over all the other sects—”

This is the final piece Wen Clan needs. The last power—

This is an act of war.

But it’s a smart one, Lan Wangji thinks furiously.

By using Wen Qing and Su She, Wen Clan has still given themselves an escape route.

No matter what happens, Wen Clan can pretend they had nothing to do with it—

Can say it was just two whipping boys. Two disgruntled, rebellious servants, acting in a desperate
grab for power. All the blame placed elsewhere, if things don't go smoothly. Enough ambiguity to
keep the other sects from finally joining arms, taking the risk, rallying against them—

And if the Yin Iron shard ends up in Wen Ruohan’s hands…well. He will have no reason to give it
back.

And that is the best case scenario.

That is if Wen Ruohan chooses to forego an immediate conflict, if he isn’t able to use his
completed Yin Iron to send a brutal wave of violence over all the sects—

Force them to capitulate. Declare himself ruler.

He’s practicing. That’s what Wei Wuxian had speculated to Lan Wangji long ago, about Wen
Ruohan’s use of the shards for demonic cultivation. His puppets are mighty but sloppy. He’s not
able to go far enough. He still lacks something. The proper tool. The proper strength…

Focus.

What Lan Wangji must do is stop them. Keep Wen Qing from taking the Yin Iron shard. Keep Lan
Clan from losing their most valuable key. Close up the defense.

If he can do that, then the fragile peace between the five major clans will hold, at least for another
week, another day, another hour—

Now he’s here, outside the cave. The wards are shivering, clear damage. Rocky outcrop, the roar
of water everywhere—
Cold. So cold, as he enters the place they hid the Yin Iron shard.

And there is Wen Qing. Red robes, striking frown. She stands on the icy platform placing the Yin
Iron shard in a Qiankun pouch. Her arms lacerated with chord assasination attacks.

Su She is beside her. His face twists in horror as he sees Lan Wangji.

And with Su She and Wen Qing, there is a small army of puppets.

Lan Wangji draws Bichen. “Return it. Right now.” He advances.

Wen Qing freezes. She holds a small xiao. Demonic cultivation. She controls the puppets.

But she doesn’t immediately send the puppets toward Hanguang Jun.

“Do it! Attack him!” Su She says to her. “What are you waiting for?”

“Wen Qing.” Lan Wangji’s voice echoes. Bichen like ice in his hand. He assesses the cave, the
broken wards, the puppets, his own strength—

No problem. He's ready. Thrumming. Confident. He can stop this—

But then—

A familiar voice rings through the cave. “Wait.”

Everything in Lan Wangji comes to a frozen, focused point.

Wisps of frost in the air. Freezing water.

Cold.

Wen Qing, who had been about to hand over the Yin Iron shard, pauses.

She is looking at someone behind Lan Wangji. Someone who has just entered the cave.

“Wait,” The voice is hoarse. Almost hesitant. “Wen Qing. Don’t…don’t give the shard to Lan
Wangji.”

Lan Wangji swallows.

It is simple. Wei Wuxian has followed him here.

Lan Wangji turns and looks at him in the cave light.

It is not like his dream. Not exactly. This Wei Wuxian is still young, still gangly. He looks almost
scared. His face is pale and sharp, lit by the wreckage of the shattered blue Lan wards.

But he is quick, so quick. The quickest person Lan Wangji has ever known. Looking around,
seeing the damage.

Lan Wangji’s voice is rough. Like pebbles in his throat. “This shard belongs to Lan Clan. It is
unquestionably ours.”

As he watches, Wei Wuxian moves almost casually. Testing his step in the water. Assessing the
puppets.
The shape of the cave. Su She. Wen Qing.

Bob of the throat as he swallows. Eyes finally rising, to meet Lan Zhan’s.

And he looks conflicted.

He looks heartbroken.

He rests one hand on Suibian. Then, it moves toward his black flute.

He offers no explanation. He doesn’t have to.

“I don’t think you understand what kind of person I am, Lan Zhan. You still don’t understand.”

The logic is as clean and shocking as a strike of lightning.

An unspoken sentence.

Lan Zhan. I have to do this.

“You do not,” Lan Wangji says. It comes out a growl. “It is not yours to take.”

“You already lost it, didn’t you? Now, I’m stealing from the Wens.”

Lan Wangji could laugh. Instead he arcs up Bichen. Cold song of that steel. Little shocks of
adrenaline.

“You’re right,” Wei Wuxian says. “You don’t deserve stupidity. Lan Zhan, I’m tired. That thing is
a weapon, and I need it. I can’t afford to wait. In my hands, that shard can change everything—"

“Wei Ying.”

“I know it belongs to Lan Clan. I know it’s yours to defend. I know it’s not mine to take, but I’m
going to take it.”

“Wei Ying.”

“So I’m going to fight you, Lan Zhan. I'm going to rip it from your hands. I might die in the
attempt. I don’t underestimate you. But I don’t underestimate myself either.”

“Wei Ying!”

“Lan Zhan!” Suibian unsheathes with a loud ring, but it’s not Suibian as Lan Wangji has ever seen
it wielded against him. Streams like oil and smoke. Black mist hissing. Resentment whirling and
building—

The cave rings with Wei Wuxian's power—

Memories, in Lan Wangji.

Crossed swords in that velvet blue darkness. Crossed swords by a waterfall. Always a perfect
match—

I always knew one day we’d fight for real.

Wei Wuxian looks utterly beautiful. Utterly blazing.

 Raw.

“You already knew this,” Wei Wuxian says, and attacks.

Chapter End Notes

Hi! Hope you liked! Thank you thank you to those who have left positive feedback
and discussion so far.

So this was supposed to be the ending of the last chapter, but it got so long I felt it was
stronger to split them. But, I don't like the last chapter as a stopping point, so I've
pushed to post this as fast as I could.

-Whenever I'm writing or thinking about their dynamic, I keep coming back to this
Adrienne Rich poem. It's my touchstone for their relationship.
- Everytime they fought each other with swords in CQL I had to be scraped off the
floor. I was so moved. And I think a lot of this fic comes from that.
-Hm, I'm not completely sure that 10 discipline whip strikes is feasible with canon, but
it seemed to me the right escalation from 2...
 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes

CW: Violence, blood and gore

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Instinct drives Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian is on him.

And it’s almost sexual, a release. The frenzy. Lan Wangji keyed-up, unmoored—

He is weak. He is the weaker person here, he can’t deny it, and the knowledge makes him
furious—

Bichen up, parrying the blows, his body twisting and receding from Wei Wuxian’s assault. He’s
weak but he’s not helpless. He feels it almost distantly—the two of them have become stunning.
Blades fast as lightning. Droplets dancing. Water driving up around them as they whirl and fight.

“I have to do this,” Wei Wuxian growls.

The stab of steel in flesh.

Pain. Red pain. Lan Wangji stumbles. Blood spurting from his mouth. Heart pounding.

Not a fatal wound, but a real one—

Lan Wangji snarls. He hurls himself after Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian reaches Wen Qing and takes
the Yin Iron shard—

No.

Cold, cold. Blue ice, frost fragments, freezing water—

Lan Wangji attacks—

Bichen tastes blood.

Wei Wuxian staggers. Lan Wangji holds up the shard.

They are both thinking of their first fight on the rooftop, Lan Wangji knows. Moonlit, blue,
teasing. Another crime, another halting. They are both in turmoil. Lan Wangji knows why Wei
Wuxian feels he must take the Yin Iron shard. But the knowing doesn’t make it better, doesn’t
make it right. He feels a deep betrayal, deeper anger. He has never in his life felt so caught—

So confused, unsure, and pulled apart—

As when Wei Wuxian raises Chenqing to his lips, eyes burning.

Every puppet in the cave responds.

Lan Wangji moves whip-fast, dodging the attacks that suddenly come his way from every
direction. And there are swirls like black smoke, resentful energy whirling—

All around him. Powerful, so powerful. Bruising, scraping, overwhelming.

It’s an enormous attack.

The resentful energy wounds Lan Wangji brutally. His core vibrating, meridians mis-aligned. He’s
frantic, fading, hurting—

And Wei Ying is on him again, and he doesn’t stop. Will not stop. Won’t ever stop, he would offer
his own life—

There is a moment where Lan Zhan almost lets it happen.

Where it would feel something like joy to just give in. To pretend he has no options. To pretend he
did not make a choice—

But he makes one last calculation.

He has a split second to decide. The weight of all he holds dear, every last thing, colliding—

Lan Wangji acts, with deadly precision.

Swivels his sword down.

Drops his defenses.

A blade of seething black energy hurtles toward his throat.

But Lan Wangji does not block it.

Instead he waits, throat bared, trusting and open.

He doesn’t move.

Insanity.

Knowledge.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. Flash of confusion—

He might do it, Lan Wangji thinks. This might be the end—

At the last second, Wei Wuxian swivels raggedly, pulling his own attack back—

The effort is huge. It’s a graceless movement, awkward, exposing his defenses—

And Lan Wangji takes advantage.

He slams Wei Wuxian.

It's a huge blow. Devastating.

It's every last bit of Lan Wangji's power, breaking into Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian goes flying, graceless, stunned. He crashes into the creek bed. Limbs tangled. Roar of
water.
Lan Wangji, still holding the Yin shard, sways on his feet.

He can barely think. He can barely register.

His heart is in his throat. Nausea—

And when Wei Wuxian staggers up, his gaze is tortured.

For Wei Wuxian lost.

He lost, when he should have won. Because he’d had a weakness, and that weakness had been
known. He would have given his own life in a heartbeat.

But he did not give Lan Zhan's.

They stare at one another.

“There!” says a harsh voice. A new voice.

Lan Wangji blinks, confused. Red, everywhere. Red streaming into the cave. Red moving through
water.

It’s not just his blood. It’s—

Wen Sect.

Wen Xu. Wen Xu with a full retinue of Wen disciples.

Wen Xu attacking Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian staggers, trying to meet the foe. Blood is streaming from his mouth. He’s pale, his
breaths ragged, still utterly defiant—

Wen Xu laughs.

There is a confusing moment of vertigo where Lan Wangji tries to do something. He tries to launch
out of the water and defend Wei Wuxian.

He does not. He cannot. He makes it one step and falls.

A thicket of puppets descending. Chaos. Yells. Screams.

Vision fading.

In flashes, he sees Wen Xu cut Wei Ying down.

Everything comes to a point—

Wei Ying. Wei Ying.

Wen Xu’s blade through Wei Wuxian’s body.

And that’s when Lan Wangji feels it. With his whole soul.

He had made a choice, and it had been the wrong one.

+
And now. Seconds later. Lan Wangji’s body wracked with pain, limbs gummy. His vision is
clouded and he finds it hard to move. He’s hurt. Bad.

But he sees Wen Xu standing knee dip in the spring. With one hand, Wen Xu holds his red-stained
sword. With the other, he holds a sagging, blood-soaked Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is still breathing, barely, holding his hands to his heart. Eyelashes fluttering.

Adrenaline surges through Lan Wangji. He rolls to his feet and leaps onto a rock. Appears his
guqin—

Looks down at Wen Xu with fury. “Let him go.”

Wen Xu glances up at him.

Puppets run rampant through the cave. Wen soldiers hold them off. Su She and Wen Qing have
vanished.

The moment feels exceedingly dangerous.

Wen Xu stares at Lan Wangji, expression unreadable. Wen Xu is not sure, Lan Wangji realizes,
how much Lan Wangji knows.

Lan Wangji is a wild card, and he is still holding the Yin Iron shard.

And he is weak, and he is utterly alone.

“Let him go!” Lan Wangji’s voice echoes.

Wen Xu makes no move. He tilts his head, thinking.

Then, a group of Lan disciples rush onto the scene. Lan Wangji almost sags with relief. The Lan
disciples rush to his side, taking a battle formation behind him.

“What happened?” One of them asks Lan Wangji. “What’s going on?”

Staring at the Lan disciples, Wen Xu’s look turns calculating. There are about thirty Lan disciples
and thirty Wen disciples in the cave.

“Wei Wuxian attacked Lan Clan,” Wen Xu says loudly.

Lan Wangji struggles to think.

He knows he must step through the next moments extremely carefully.

Thirty Lan disciples. Thirty Wen.

Everyone’s lives, in this cave, hang in the balance.

Wen Xu’s original plan has clearly failed. But, if he chooses, Wen Xu can still seize this
opportunity. He can seize or steal the Yin Iron shard for himself. He can say that it was Wei
Wuxian's doing.

To do so, Wen Xu will need to slaughter every Lan witness in this cave. He will need to kill Lan
Wangji, to take the Yin Iron shard.
And he will probably be able to do it. Lan Wangji can barely stand.

And Lan Wangji too, has a choice: If he calls out Wen Xu right now, if he publicly declares, in
front of all these Lan witnesses, that it was Wen Clan who first attacked the Lan—

Then Wen Xu will attack him. Lan Wangji is sure of it, suddenly.

This could be the moment, when the fragile peace snaps.

Wei Wuxian speaks quickly. He croaks from blood-stained lips. “It was all me. I admit it. I broke
the wards of Cold Spring Cave. I woke these puppets. I tried to steal Lan Clan’s Yin Iron shard.”

Lan Wangji stares at Wei Wuxian wordlessly.

Wen Xu still does not move or speak. He stares at the shard in Lan Wangji’s hand. He licks his lips
and Lan Wangji stiffens, sees it coming, prepares himself—

Bloodbath.

And then, in a bustle of movement, Lan Xichen and the other sect leaders arrive in the cave. A
huge crowd of disciples behind them. Witnesses from every single clan, outnumbering the Wen
Sect.

And the moment passes.

Wen Xu smiles brightly to all around. He nudges Wei Wuxian with his boot, explaining to
everyone his version of what happened. “I’m glad I could assist Lan Clan against this Jiang Clan
insubordinance. We high sects must all look out for another, against such scum.”

Lan Wangji sees red. Body clenched with fury. Opens his mouth to protest—

But then he’s falling, falling. Body fading. Qi giving out.

When Lan Wangji wakes, it is to a clear, cool morning. He’s in the Jingshi. Lan Xichen sits at his
side.

“You are very ill,” Lan Xichen murmurs. “Your fever is still high.”

“He did this to you,” Lan Qiren says darkly. Uncle sits at the table in the middle of the Jingshi. He
sips tea and scowls.

Lan Wangji sits up in bed, looking for Bichen, ignoring the wave of pain and confusion that comes
with motion. “Where is he?”

“Wangji—”

Lan Wangji stumbles up then crashes down again, gripping the bed frame, white-knuckled, for
support. Oh. So this is how it feels, to be attacked by Wei Ying—

That moment of swirling resentful energy, black strands choking, bruising, cutting him to pieces—

Other people’s voices ring through his mind—

Wicked tricks. Immoral. Crafty. Evil.

Lan Wangji scrabbles for his strength. He needs to get up, find Wei Ying, find out what happened.
The Jingshi fades in his vision. He feels himself falling again. Everything around him turns to
black.

There’s a conversation that keeps happening in his dreams. He is not sure if it happens, in reality,
one time or many. Lan Wangji is lying in bed, sweat-drenched and fever addled. Lan Xichen wipes
a cool cloth over his brow.

“It wasn’t Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji is explaining again and again. How it was Wen Sect who
had made the first move to steal the Yin Iron shard. How it was Wen Sect who had attacked the
Lan.

“It doesn’t matter who actually did it,” Lan Xichen’s voice a whisper. “What matters is who was
caught.”

“No. What matters is what our lies buy us. Right, brother?”

“If we accuse Wen Sect of that action, we force their attack.”

“Why are we all so afraid of Wen Sect!” Lan Wangji snaps. But he already knows the answer. He
has studied the maps, tracked the movements of armies. Wen Sect is strong. If they attack, they
will likely win.

No single sect has the power to fight them.

He licks his lips, speaks urgently to his brother. Syrupy pain in his mind. “There’s a chance. It’s
slim, but it’s real. If all of the sects ban together, we might defeat Wen Ruohan. We might be
strong enough.”

“No one wishes to shoot at the sun, Wangji.” Lan Xichen’s voice is soothing and sad. “No one
wants to join a losing side.”

Lan Wangji wakes, for good this time, three days later. The Jingshi is empty and neat, all trace of
his brother gone. Lan Wangji is still weak, his power not completely recovered. Wei Wuxian’s
attack on his spirit had been devastating.

Cloud Recesses seems deathly, unnaturally quiet.

Lan Wangji rushes outside, not even bothering to dress himself properly, and heads straight to the
main pavilion where he is met with a sight:

Wei Wuxian has not been cared for, in these past three days.

Wei Wuxian is bound on the punishment platform. Blindfolded. Bloody, scarred, and unconscious.
Clothes lashed to shreds. Right leg broken. One arm twisted from its socket. In a puddle of urine.

Lan Wangji stands rooted to the ground, in utter shock and horror.

Magnolias rustle. Wind moves through the trees.

Thrum of a distant guqin.

Blue glinting gravel.

I will remember this moment forever, he thinks.

He feels...calm. A chilling calm.

Deadly.

I made the wrong choice, he’s thinking, again and again.

I made the wrong choice.

And I will never forget it.

The Wen soldiers are everywhere. They have tripled in Cloud Recesses, huge crowds of them just
in his immediate vision. Almost two hundred guards around Wei Wuxian. Garish red uniforms,
ugly scowls, flashing armor and swords. The scarlet sun insignia.

Cloud Recesses has been, essentially, overrun.

Lan Wangji prays Wei Ying is unconscious, that he’s not awake in this moment. In pain. Afraid.
It’s only Wei Wuxian’s restraints, the binds on his arms and legs, that make it clear to Lan Wangji
he is still alive. His two stab wounds have been treated, but only at the bare minimum. Only
enough to stop the blood and prevent infection, so he won’t immediately die.

He has been beaten and abused within an inch of his life.

“Wen Clan is making an example of him.” The voice comes from behind Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji turns around to find Nie Huaisang.

“This is what happens when you grab for power.” Nie Huaisang flutters his fan, hiding most of his
face. “This is what happens when you seek to supplant Wen Ruohan. The Jiang finally went too
far.”

“Where’s the rest of his clan?” Lan Wangji asks.

“Jiang Fengmian fled,” Nie Huaisang’s voice is a whisper. “He made it out just in time. But Wen
Xu has taken Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli prisoner. They are being held as hostages.”

“Wen Sect is going to crush Jiang Sect, then.” Lan Wangij’s voice is dead.

“Yes. They want the clan disgraced. Stripped of all lands and privileges. They finally have their
excuse. It’s clear what happened. The Jiang tried to take a shard of the Yin Iron for themselves.
Tried to steal a powerful, evil weapon in order to overthrow the Wen. The Wens are calling it
outright treason. They are calling for blood. Wei Wuxian’s blood, for starters.”

“And the other clans?”

“No one is protesting. Wen Ruohan sent almost a third of his army here. Essentially, we are all
hostages.”

“So what happens next.”

“Madam Yu is on her way to Cloud Recesses. Officially, she plans to make the Jiang Clan case
before the sect leaders and negotiate for the lives of her children. Beg penance for the incident with
the Yin Iron shard.”

“Unofficially?”

“She will likely negotiate the terms of Jiang Clan surrender," Nie Huaisang says. "They are going
to be subsumed under Wen Sect. It's the end for the Jiang."

There is a mountain painted on Nie Huaisang's fan. Nie Huaisang gazes as it wistfully, with anger.

That evening, when Madam Yu arrives, her entrance is serene, violet, striking.

Mist curls through Cloud Recesses. Her procession is twinkling lights up the path.

About twenty people. They bear a palanquin, richly embroidered. Emerald. Sapphire. Dream-like.

“Don’t underestimate her.” Lan Qiren speaks softly next to Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, his eyes
fixed on the approaching palanquin. “Once, it seemed she would be the best cultivator of her
generation. She was the pride of Meishan Yu.”

“You knew her?” Lan Wangji asks.

“Yes. And I knew the young Jiang Fengmian, as well as Cangse Sangren, all of the players in those
sordid rumors."

Lan Qiren's voice takes an odd tone.

"Some people think Wei Wuxian represents Madam Yu’s failure. Maybe that rumor is true. Maybe
not. Long ago, she gave up her cultivation and sequestered herself from the rest of us. No one
understands why. But a very few of us do know…Wen Ruohan once favored her.”

Lan Wangji blinks. Lan Xichen, too, looks surprised.

“When she was young, she was offered a place in the Wen Clan household,” Lan Qiren says
steadily. “Repeat this to no one. But the rumors were, that it was Wen Ruohan himself who wished
to marry her. She refused him. And almost immediately after, news spread of a betrothal between
her and Jiang Fengmian.”

The procession arrives.

Lan Wangji stands outside the meeting hall, next to Lan Xichen, waiting to greet her before they
all walk in together. The sect leaders are waiting inside.

The face that emerges from the palanquin is stately and proud.

Zidian like a serpent around her wrist. Robes of rich purple velvet. Scorn shines from her eyes. The
Jiang Clan procession is silent and uniform behind her. Handmaidens glowing purple, lit by
lamplight. The sound of crickets, serene, under moonlight—

She doesn’t move like a criminal, ready to beg for her family. She moves like a queen.

And Lan Wangji is stunned.

Because he understands for the first time—really witnesses—where Jiang Clan gained so much of
their arrogance and pride. It wasn’t coming from Jiang Fengmian. It was coming from this leader.

The Violet Spider. A genius cultivator. Steely-eyed tactician. Supposedly ruthless.

She reminds him so, so much, of Wei Wuxian.

It is obvious now, where Wei Wuxian had gained his fluidity, his charisma, his easy confidence.
His movements are clearly sourced in her movements. His glance, in her glance on them now. It is
undeniable that the Violet Spider trained Wei Wuxian, as she had trained no one else in the world.

And yet…there is a difference. Something about her sends a chill through Lan Wangji’s spine. It
makes his skin prickle, even as she bows and he bows back.

This person uses Wei Wuxian. Uses Wei Ying relentlessly. It sets Lan Wangji on alert and it
makes his skin crawl.

She seems to sense it. Her gaze flicks to his. Lan Wangji stares back.

And when she tries to step around him, he does not move.

The rest of the Lan have stepped aside to allow her entrance, but Lan Wangji remains quiet.
Waiting.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said questioningly.

“Who are you?” Madam Yu’s voice is blunt. “Should I know you?”

It’s bluster and performance, Lan Wangji thinks. For of course she already knows who he is. And
this, too, is just like Wei Ying. The aggressive disrespect, the cocky pretense. The ways he tilts
people off balance—

Lan Xichen clears his throat. “Madam Yu, this is my younger brother, the Lan sect heir, Lan
Wangji.” A pause. Then Lan Xichen’s voice gentles. “My brother considers Wei Wuxian a good
friend.”

Madam Yu doesn’t even glance at Lan Xichen. She stares at Lan Wangji, eyes narrowing.

Her stare is intelligent, sneering. Iron. It's like a kind of lightning, blazing—

And Lan Wangji understands. This is the force behind Wei Wuxian’s sacrifices.

She smirks and her gaze turns knowing, as if she can read Lan Wangji’s thoughts. Perhaps she can.
And maybe he can read hers. Because they are both attuned to a certain language.

Madam Yu knows all of Lan Wangji’s silent accusations. She assures him, with her stare, that she
knows.

She finally speaks. "If you think he does not make his own choices, then you don’t really know
him.”

“I’ve heard the stories,” Lan Wangji says. “You ply him with guilt. Then you give him
opportunities to sacrifice himself to pay your family back. To earn your love.”

A soft hiss in reply. Zidian crackling subtly, at her wrist.

And then her gaze travels slowly, disrespectfully over Lan Wangji. Over his Lan finery, over his
Lan tokens, his many ornaments, signs of his wealth and power. The security that surrounds him.
The privilege. The safety. The blind spots.

She is saying, You are not qualified to speak to me.

She steps deliberately around Lan Wangji, head lifted high, and proceeds into the meeting hall. Lan
Wangji and Lan Xichen follow. It is a somber, elite gathering. Wen Xu sits at the head of the
room, with a force of powerful Wen Sect fighters behind him. The other clan leaders sit along the
side of the room, each with their own smaller retinues.

Next to Wen Xu, Wei Wuxian has been tied to a hook, arms stretched up uncomfortably, revealing
his wounded, abused body. He is still blindfolded, but clearly awake now. Clearly in pain. His
muscles are trembling with exertion of staying upright.

On the other side of Wen Xu, Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli sit gravely. They are not bound. Jiang
Cheng’s face is stormy, even stormier when his mother strides into the room. Jiang Yanli looks
quiet and watchful, but her face is full of anguish.

Madam Yu marches up to the front of the room, her eyes fixed like a laser on Wen Xu. She shows
no fear, but she does show awareness. She is in the hornet’s nest. Her enemies have the upper hand.

As Lan Wangji goes to stand on the sidelines, he feels acutely his own powerlessness—everyone’s
powerlessness—in this situation. The Wen army is simply too strong. He can see the maps in his
head. Even if Jiang Sect wanted to attempt rescue, they could be easily blocked. The Wen Empire
is too vast. They are too wealthy, have too many resources, too many alliances. Every clan's well
being has been tangled with Wen Clan's, and with the Yin Iron shards they are growing more
terrifyingly powerful. There is no way to easily defy them.

Not without something equally terrifying. Not without overturning the cultivation world.

Wen Xu speaks first. “Violet Spider. You have been a thorn in my father’s side.”

“A whetting edge keeps the knife sharp,” she says easily. “He should thank us.”

And then she drops to her knees and fully prostrates herself to Wen Xu, in front of everyone.

The entire Jiang retinue, everyone behind her, follows her action.

“I have heard what our servant has done,” Madam Yu says. “You have punished him. I will punish
him further. Let that be the end.”

“You think anything you could do to Wei Wuxian would be enough? After this insult to Lan Clan?
And the insult to us?”

Slowly, Madam Yu lifts her gaze. She stares Wen Xu up and down. Studying.

Her gaze shifts to the armored man right behind him. Wen Zhuliu. The Core Melting Hand stands
disturbingly close to Jiang Cheng.

Sighing, Madam Yu stands. Everyone holds their breath as she approaches Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Wuxian,” she says sharply. “How is it?”

Blindfolded, Wei Wuxian tilts his head. Whole body alert. A matching sharp, dry tone: “Been
better.”

Even with Wei Wuxian blindfolded and tied up, the familiarity and similarity between these two
people is striking.

Wen Xu starts speaking. “Simply put—”

“Simply put,” Madam Yu cuts him off, her eyes still fixed on her sect’s whipping boy. “Wei
Wuxian failed. In a task I had given him.”

Gasps fill the room.

Wen Xu looks surprised. “That is…blunt. You admit to wanting to steal a Yin Iron shard, a piece
of evil magic, in order to overthrow the Wen Clan?”

“I admit it,” Madam Yu says brusquely. “But it’s nothing personal, right? Can we discuss this like
grown sect leaders instead of playground bullies. Maybe someday you’ll admit your father has
already collected three shards of this evil magic. These puppets, terrifying the cultivation world,
they are clearly Wen Ruohan’s. Yet we all pretend they are not. Jinzhu, Yinzhu, cut him down.”

This last line is directed to her handmaidens, who immediately move to Wei Wuxian to undo his
binds.

The handmaidens follow her command without question, cutting the ties with their daggers, and no
one moves to stop them. Madam Yu watches as if she expected nothing less. As if she is
completely in control of the room.

But she is sweating. Lan Wangji can see the faint traces of anxiety. This moment is a punishment
and strain to her as well.

No sooner have they released him then Wei Wuxian falls to his knees with a heavy thud. He rubs
his wrists, not attempting to remove the blindfold. The ends of his hair are stiff with his blood.

No warning. None at all—

Zidian crackles—

Wei Wuxian cries out. Blood spurts from his mouth. He crashes to the ground.

Madam Yu stands over Wei Wuxian. She raises the whip again.

“No!” Jiang Cheng leaps up from where he was sitting. He puts himself in front of Wei Wuxian.
“You’re going to kill him.”

“Jiang Cheng, move.” Madam Yu throws him aside.

Immediately, she strikes Wei Wuxian again.

Zidian tears into flesh.

Wei Wuxian moans. Purple lightning crackles up and down his body.

“Mother,” Jiang Yanli says.

Madam Yu looks at Wen Xu. The Wen sect heir is leaned forward. His eyes gleam as he surveys
the wreckage of Wei Wuxian.

There’s a slow ripple of movement, as Wei Wuxian rights himself. He braces himself up on hands
and knees, still blindfolded. Zidian’s crackles slowly fade from his body.

He rolls his shoulders. Then he lifts his chin. Looks Madam Yu in the eye. “Again.”

Madam Yu doesn’t hesitate.

She strikes him again, with Zidian. And then once more. The force sends Wei Wuxian flying. The
gathered sect leaders and elite of the cultivation world…everyone is holding their breath. It seems
impossible that Wei Wuxian can still hold on.

Finally, finally, Madam Yu stops.

She’s breathing hard. Zidian crackling. She growls at Wen Xu. “Enough. What will satisfy you?
Do you want me to cut off his hands?”

Wen Xu’s face is impassive.

Madam Yu gestures at Wen Zhuliu. “Do you want to crush his core?”

Wen Xu smirks.

“Do you want me to kill him?” Madam Yu asks.

Wen Xu answers immediately. “Yes.”

Lan Wangji’s vision starts to tunnel. No.

He looks to Lan Xichen, but his brother won’t look at him.

At the front of the room, Madam Yu swallows.

“You want me to kill Wei Wuxian. Here. Now. In front of everyone.”

“Yes." For the first time, a smoldering anger shows in Wen Xu. "He represents a grave, grave
treason against Wen Clan. You said yourself, this is nothing personal. We're not children on a
playground. What else could I do? I’m asking you, as one grown leader to another.”

“You could grant mercy.” Madam Yu's tone is merciless.

Wen Xu barks a laugh.

Grimly, Lan Wangji gathers energy.

Madam Yu's tone is sharp. “Jiang Cheng. Take your sister and leave the hall.”

“Mother, no.”

“It’s all right, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian is saying. He’s speaking from the floor, fighting to lift
up again to his hands and knees. Beneath the blindfold, he gives a bloody scowl. “It’s for the best.
Take Shijie and go.”

“Nie Huaisang, you go too.” Nie Mingjue barks from the side. The Red Blade Master’s face is
troubled. “I don’t want you to see this.”
“Jin Zixuan,” Jin Guangshan jerks his head toward the door.

And it's really happening. Lan Wangji feels dizzy with it. The sect leaders are ready to watch. In
cold blood, they will watch Madam Yu kill Wei Wuxian. And if he is honest, part of Lan Wangji
saw this coming from a long way off.

He had seen it coming, but he didn't know what to do. And now it's here. It's come. And he finally
knows. It's so obvious it's laughable. He feels almost arrogant. He'll fight.

Lan Xichen whispers, “Wangji, I want you to leave.”

“No.”

Lan Xichen's eyes widen.

“I ask you one last time for mercy,” Madam Yu says to Wen Xu. “You want me to kill this boy to
make up for our faults. But that would be a waste, Wen Xu. You have no idea. When I found him,
he was barely three years old. And he was fighting with wild dogs.”

“Get on it with it.” Wen Xu gestures.

“I thought…here is a boy who can attempt the impossible.” Madam Yu’s voice is icy cold. “I had
no room for hangers on in my household. No room for weaklings. No time for charity. I don’t give
kindness to strangers.”

“What’s your point?” Wen Xu barks.

“I’ve put a lot of work into him. I’ve watched him grow. And if I kill him, we’ll never see what
will happen. And isn’t that a shame?”

Wen Xu stands, suddenly enraged at Madam Yu. “You will kill him. Right now. Then you will
take his body back to Lotus Pier and display it on the gates, under the new heading: Yunmeng
Supervisory Office. Wen Chao will take over the management and rule of your sect. In this way, I
will spare the other lives of your household.”

The room has gone completely still. Madam Yu turned to stone. Unmoving and cold.

She says, “And here you’ve made my choice easy, haven’t you? One life, a whipping boy’s, in
exchange for my family’s.”

And then she lets anger come into her tone.

“But you should know, we are descended from rangers. We don’t die easily in the wilds, we don’t
run easily from wild dogs. I told you. Wei Wuxian failed in a task I had given him. I have punished
him. But what are these other marks?”

Wen Xu frowns. Beneath the blindfold, Wei Wuxian’s head tilts. Listening intently.

Madam Yu is pointing at Wei Wuxian’s injuries. The beatings and broken limbs. The stab wounds.

“Who dared to mistreat my servant, without my permission,” Madam Yu says. “Who dares to
threaten my home now?”

Wen Xu’s face twists in sudden understanding. Wen Zhuliu leaps up, too late—

Madam Yu takes two fluid steps forward—

And strikes Wen Xu, full force—

With Zidian.

And none of the other sect leaders make a move to stop her.

At the doorway of the room, there’s a flash of movement—the Jiang siblings leaping to action.

Jiang Yanli ducks, just as her brother throws his sword. Shendu sings out and blocks Wen Zhuliu’s
blade.

The Wens leap into action, running toward Madam Yu. Jinzhu and Yinzhu jump to her defense.

Jiang Cheng tackles Wen Zhuliu, wrestling with the Core Melting Hand—

And, incredibly, Jin Zixuan is fighting too. He has appeared out of nowhere, rushing back into the
room, and pushed Jiang Yanli behind him, sword drawn.

“Attempt the impossible,” Madam Yu says. Wen Xu is on his knees before her, coughing up
blood.

Purple wards have surged up around the two of them. The wards trap Wen Xu alone with Madam
Yu.

The Wens throw themselves at these wards, only to be incinerated, instantly—

Blood drips from Madam Yu’s nostrils.

Her voice rings through the whole room, as she shouts at Wen Xu and his guards.

“Your father has spread his army over the lands. But while you were torturing my whipping boy,
while you were watching the show, 500 vessels from Lotus Pier sailed in secret to Gusu down the
River. My husband at their head. Wei Wuxian’s talismans masked their approach. And now here
we are in Cloud Recesses, an army of ravenous Jiang Sect cultivators, at your throat.”

Beside Lan Wangji, Lan Xichen gasps.

“And we have landed in this harbor,” Madam Yu continues. “And we have poisoned your supplies,
and we have slit the throats of your spies, and now, as I speak, we are killing your soldiers and we
have done all this here, far from our home, because who dares to threaten our family.”

Wen Xu leaps toward her, snarling—

Madam Yu unfurls Zidian—

And kills Wen Xu. The direct heir of Wen Ruohan.

Blood flies everywhere.

Time seems to slow down—

Every sect leader in the room has drawn their sword. They push and panic, desperate to flee the
room and get to safety in their own lands.

The balance—
Reconfigured. This changes everything.

The five sects are officially at war.

Wei Wuxian staggers up off the floor, tearing the blindfold from his eyes. A Wen Sect disciple
attacks him, sword coming down. Wei Wuxian dodges just in time.

Lan Wangji knocks Lan Xichen’s wrist away from himself. Tries to get to Wei Ying—

But he’s too far. A wave of Lans push him back—

“Jiang Cheng!” Jiang Yanli screams.

Wen Zhuliu has Jiang Cheng by the neck.

Immediately, Madam Yu is there. Zidian flashing.

“Core Melting Hand!”

“Violet Spider.”

“Quarrel with me!”

Wen Zhuliu does. And Madam Yu answers, and it is incredible.

“Lan Wangji!” Lan Xichen calls. He has gathered the Lan Clan into a tight group, Lan Qiren at
their center. “Leave! Send out signals! Call every Lan back home.”

“Get out,” Madam Yu calls to her children. “Now! Find your father!”

She grunts as she kicks backward, pushing away two more Wen attackers. She’s outnumbered. Her
handmaidens are dead, bodies strewn on the ground. Almost all of the Jiang in the room are dead.

Madam Yu’s concentration wavers—

And that’s all it takes. Wen Zhuliu plunges through the weakness in her defense.

“No!” Wei Wuxian is struggling toward her. Panting. Wide-eyed. He can't even lift a sword.

Blood streaking down the purple robes. A light dying. Agony. As Wen Zhuliu crushes the Violet
Spider’s core.

And it’s Wei Wuxian that she looks at, in her dying moments. Wei Wuxian who is blood-soaked
and staggering. Barely conscious. Still reaching toward her.

“Protect them,” she tells him. “You must always protect them.”

With her last energy she flings Zidian across the room. The whip wraps around Jiang Cheng’s arm.

Eyes still fixed on Wei Wuxian, Madam Yu starts a spell.

A talisman drawn in her blood. Her final work.

Determination goes through Wei Ying’s eyes.

Dipping into his own blood, he answers her talisman—

Their two energies meet—

And from the middle of the room, Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli vanish.

Portal talisman.

The air seems to explode.

When the air clears, the Jiang siblings are gone, Madam Yu is dead in Wen Zhuliu’s arms, and
every Wen in the room is attacking Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian, who has gone feral. Smoke and dazzling lights. Torchlights plunge into darkness.
Everything goes chaotic, obscured.

Shadows in the darkness. Lan Wangji can barely make them out.

But he sees Wei Wuxian, sees him sprint from the room—

Lan Wangji follows.

He races out of the meeting hall and stops short in the courtyard.

Cloud Recesses has become a battleground.

Wen and Jiang forces grapple everywhere, the ground covered in purple and red bodies. Signal
flares and swords. The people from the other sects are fleeing back to their own lands. Smoke rises
from the library. He smells fire.

“Get your people out,” Lan Xichen snarls at Wen Xu, behind him. “Get all Wen forces off our
land! Wangji!” Lan Xichen grabs Lan Wangji. He’s yelling instructions. But Lan Wangji is not
listening.

Wei Wuxian is still somewhere near.

Wounded. Desperate. Hunted.

“Wangji?”

Lan Wangji flies upward on Bichen. He looks down from a bird’s eye view, making sense of the
chaos. There. Faraway, down the mountain, the main Jiang sect force is retreating. The Jiang
family is rushing back to Lotus Pier.

But Wei Wuxian is not with them.

Wei Wuxian is too weak to have made it. He can’t ride the sword. He has no strength left to
cultivate. He’s somewhere nearby. He’s been left behind.

Leave me, Lan Zhan.

Again that memory. Wei Ying languid, leaning back in the mud. Mist on his skin. Neck exposed.

And the other image. Wei Ying straining toward the Emperor’s Smile on the end of his scabbard.
Attempt the impossible.

Something whooshes overhead. Wen Chao's dire owl.

“Lan Wangji!” Lan Xichen races toward him.

Lan Wangji chooses. He leaves his brother behind.

He rushes toward the stables. He makes it to the closest yard, just in time for the doors to burst
open—

Wei Wuxian comes storming out.

He’s hunched low on a furiously galloping black horse. Mad grace. Trail of blood. Face contorted
in pain.

Wens race after him, in hot pursuit on their swords—

Seconds later, Lan Wangji races out of the stable on a huge white horse.

He’s pulled a purple Jiang Sect cloak over his Lan robes, in disguise.

Wen soldiers attack him and he cuts them down.

He gallops out of Cloud Recesses and heads toward the back country. He guesses Wei Wuxian is
trying to make it to the northwest road, trying to lose his pursuers in the forest, and loop back alone
toward Lotus Pier.

Lan Wangji knows hidden trails. He gallops along a ridge. Rushing toward a shortcut that only
Lans know.

Wei Wuxian is in danger. Wei Wuxian could be slain.

Lan Wangij will not let that happen.

Inside, he feels strangely quiet. That same arrogance simmering, although he recognizes what it is
now. Joy. The joy to know where he stands. He must strive for no regrets. No more waiting,
biding, lying to himself. No more sickening compromise.

He's realized "no regrets" translates to high cost.

He knows that "no regrets" will have to cut him.

Wei Wuxian can be water. Lan Wangji will be rock. Eroded, lacerated, reshaped, fine. It is a matter
of trust. In some way, the rock’s core is trust. The rock’s role, in the face of turmoil, is to hold
steady.

Ten minutes later. Waterfalls. Grassy knolls, as Lan Wangji breaks out of the forest onto the spine
of a mountain. Still galloping furiously. Blood in his ears. Faster. Faster.

He’s alone, about ten miles from Cloud Recesses now.

The main road is down below, parallel to him.

There. Wei Wuxian is dark dot. Racing along the road. He’s in trouble. He’s seriously flagging.

Fifty Wen pursuers are red dots right behind him.

On the high path, Lan Wangji gallops parallel to them. The horse hooves resounding. Mane
streaming. The moon casts white light, turns the grassland eerie—

Just as the Wen reach Wei Wuxian, their hands stretching out—

Lan Wangji crashes out onto the road in front of them.

Wei Wuxian whirls on the horse, hair flying. His eyelids are fluttering. He’s barely conscience.
“Lan Zhan…Lan, Lan…Zhan?” He’s stuttering. Weak.

“Rest, Wei Ying.”

After the fight, Lan Wangji gathers Wei Wuxian up on his horse, cradling him to his chest. Wei
Wuxian is in a bad state. Barely clinging to life. Blood everywhere. Bones broken. Energy drained
past the point of possibility.

Lan Wangji sets a course away from the rising smoke of Gusu. Away from the Lan alarms
screaming through the air. Away from the Wen hunting calls. Just one thought in his head.

Hide him.

He finds a cave. Dark, damp, in the middle of nowhere. He covers the entrance with branches, sets
the horses loose.

Quiet.

He has precious little water. Almost no medicine. Wei Wuxian is delirious. Incoherent. Sweating.
Pale as a corpse. He thrashes as Lan Wangji makes splints for his broken limbs. He’s biting,
snarling, pliant, sighing. He calls Lan Wangji Wen Xu. He calls him Jiang Cheng, Shijie, Madam
Yu, Jiang Fengmian. A few times, Wei Wuxian calls him Lan Zhan.

Lan Wangji grits his teeth as he ties his forehead ribbon to Wei Wuxian’s shin, around the mess of
Wei Wuxian’s flesh. Feels desperate and grim, but only that it’s not enough, as blood and grime
soil the sacred fabric.

He holds him close as Wei Ying slips through layers of consciousness. He holds him close when
Wei Ying jolts with nightmares. He holds him close as Wei Ying cries, sobs wracking his body.
Hundreds of half-formed regrets. “I should have done—

“I should have been—"

He holds him close as Wei Ying dreams.

As Wei Wuxian floats. Eventually, even the shivers cease. Eventually he is completely limp.
Lapsed. Empty. Drained.

After the fighting, the torture. After the stab wounds. After the cost to his body and mind from
using demonic cultivation—

His energy has dwindled to almost nothing.

Lan Wangji gathers him close, gathers all of the power he can muster—
 And gives.

He gives for two nights and three days.

He gives everything he has, scrapes the full extent of his spiritual energy, pushing all of it, every
last reserve, toward Wei Wuxian.

Farther than he’s ever gone. Farther than he thought he could.

Until he’s dizzy with it. A strain almost excruciating. He loses all sense of time. Hours surround
him, weaving and blurring. Light loses its meaning. But he cannot falter.

He’ll give until there's nothing left. He’ll give until it’s all gone.

And just when he’s finally reached that point—

Finally, finally. In Wei Wuxian, he feels an answering spark.

Wei Ying’s core warming, golden energy spreading. Revitalizing. Stabilizing. Spreading energy
through his body.

Wei Ying stirs in his arms. Eyes slowly opening. “Lan Zhan?”

“I’m here.” Nothing more than a whisper.

A pause.

Wei Wuxian breathes. Minutes build upon minutes.

And then he finally speaks.

"I am...also here."

I am also here.

At that, Lan Wangji pulls him closer. They cling together. A little hesitant. Weak. Wei Wuxian
buries his face in Lan Wangji’s chest. For a while they breathe. The drip of cave water. Maple
leaves.

The scent of blood everywhere.

Just like the first time they'd touched. When they'd said, "Just tonight."

Wei Ying's voice is low, hot on Lan Zhan's neck. Ferocious. "You can try from now on. See if I'll
deny you anything.”

Chapter End Notes

Hope you liked . Heartfelt thanks to those who've left positive feedback so far.

The inestimable byproducts made art for this fic! For the cold spring scene between
LWJ and WWX in Ch 2. I'm thrilled. Check it out.

-The random appearance of a horse chase, in this chapter, is brought to you by a

someone who internalized flight to the ford..
 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

In the dark of the cave, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian rest together. Limbs entwined. They're
exhausted.

While Wei Ying sleeps, Lan Wangji thinks.

He thinks about the two of them.

He’s replayed the entire, awful, heartbreaking conflict in his head, again and again. The wounds
they gave one another. The painful outcomes.

Each time, he’s looking for some other choice they could have made.

Some choice that would have not betrayed their commitments. Some choice that would have
allowed them to not cross blades.

He can’t find one. Lan Wangji would have never let the Yin Iron shard go. Wei Wuxian would
have always fought for it.

With their current paths, their current priorities, their conflict had been inevitable. And if he wants
that to change …

One of them will have to take a leap of faith.

Close to morning, Lan Wangji extricates himself from Wei Ying’s grasp. He does it gently,
tenderly, careful not to disturb the other’s slumber. He removes the branches from the cave
entrance, blinks into cool dawn light. Pale green grass. Blue sky. Empty. Quiet.

Again that image, Wei Ying straining toward the Emperor’s Smile on the end of his scabbard.
Attempt the impossible.

Another image: Wei Ying languid, leaning back in the mud. Leave me, Lan Zhan.

Lan Wangji writes out a message. Between us, no thanks and no sorries.

Leaves the note tucked in Wei Ying’s sleeping hand.

Leaves his forehead ribbon tied to Wei Ying’s injured leg.

Then he walks out of the hidden cave, back into the light.

Lan Wangji knows it will be a long time before they can meet again. Now that his energy has been
replenished, Wei Wuxian can handle his own injuries. Stealthily, Wei Wuxian will return to Lotus
Pier. He’ll return to the Jiang Clan, to his family who need him.

Just as Gusu needs Lan Wangji.

It is time for decisions to be made.

As he walks down the path, Lan Wangji feels strangely elated. He remembers his resolutions, feels
as confident in them as ever:

Never to burden Wei Ying with his feelings. Never to push. Wei Ying owes him nothing. In Lan
Wangji’s mind, Wei Ying may do whatever he feels is best. Wei Ying may do what he wishes.

But Lan Wangji has his own conscience to mind. He understands it better now, and it makes him
feel proud. Never to burden, never to push, but it is time for all his actions to match all of his heart.
And his heart says, he is someone madly, wholeheartedly, in love with Wei Wuxian of Jiang Clan.

“This is how we can do it,” Lan Wangji says that afternoon to Lan Xichen. He spreads out a map
of the realms on the table, dips his brush into ink, and draws formations. “This is how we can
defeat Wen Ruohan.”

Lan Wangji had returned to Cloud Recesses and found mournful, tense silence.

All the outsiders had fled back to their homes.

Lan Wangji wasted no words with the Lan guards at the gate, or with the disciples who stopped
and stared as he walked by. He made straight for the Hanshi, where Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren had
sequestered themselves to figure out the Lan Sect’s next move.

Wen forces were mobilizing with brutal swiftness across the realm, moving into position to take
out Jiang Sect and any other sect that dared to stand with them.

The Jin Sect, terrified, had already cut their alliance with Jiang Sect. Jin Guangshan, in a slimy
dispatch to all major sect leaders, had pleaded neutral. He declared his family would no longer
have anything to do with Jiang Clan.

But, shockingly, Nie Clan had done the opposite.

Red Blade Master declared his support for Jiang Fengmian and the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng. He
said Nie Sect must side with Wei Wuxian. With justice against injustice. With heroism and talent.
The commoners were in an uproar, delirious with excitement.

Nie Clan had joined the so called Sunshot Campaign.

That was the state of affairs when Lan Wangji reached the Hanshi. Lan Xichen held a message.

“It’s from Nie Mingjue,” Lan Xichen said to Lan Qiren. “He wants us as allies. He says it’s now or
never.”

Lan Qiren didn’t even glance at it. He stood by the window on the far side of the room, hands
clasped behind his back. “Still no word from Wangji?”

“I’m here, Uncle,” Lan Wangji said from the doorway.

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren whirled to face him.

Emotions passed on their faces—

Shock. Joy. Relief.

And then anger.

Strain and anger.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Lan Wangji dropped to his knees before them.

He lowered his eyes. Held his hands in salute.

His heart was beating very fast.

Slowly, Lan Qiren turned around again to face the window.

Lan Xichen spoke into the heavy silence.

“You're back. I assume Wei Wuxian is safe, if you returned to us.”

“He is safe for now.” Lan Wangji did not let his voice falter. "I disobeyed you."

“Hm.” When Lan Xichen’s voice came again, it sounded strange. “That night, you didn’t listen to
me, Wangji. I ordered you to try and help Wei Wuxian."

Lan Wangji’s head jerked up.

“But I knew you weren’t listening.” Lan Xichen’s eyes were hard. “You didn’t trust me. You
barely even saw me."

“We feared you were dead,” Lan Qiren cut in, his back still turned. “No message. Nothing. Three
days.”

“I am not dead,” Lan Wangji said softly. “I am here.”

He was still on his knees. He looked between them.

“I’m here,” he said again.

The Hanshi was silent.

Lan Wangji had wondered, as he'd approached, how much he would need to say out loud. Now he
realized…not as much he’d thought.

Because he realized they already knew. These two people who had raised him.

They were his family. His blood.

They could already tell the feelings that burned in him.

They already knew of the ways Lans loved.

Knew of precedent and consequences...

Without wasting time, Lan Wangji rose. He went to the low table and drew his diagrams over the
maps. “This is how we can do it. If Lan Sect joins Nie and Jiang, this is how we can defeat Wen
Ruohan. It will be difficult. But not impossible.”

“You want to try and overthrow the most powerful empire in our history,” Lan Xichen said.
“The alternative is to join with the Wen. Lan Sect cannot stand by or stay separate any longer. Jin
Guangshan is deluded to believe he can stay neutral. That time is over.” Lan Wangji nodded
toward the messenger butterfly. “Didn’t Nie Mingjue say the same?”

“It is Nie Mingjue who is deluded.” Lan Xichen said evenly. “He made a reckless move, too fast.
He’s put his people at risk. He acted dangerously." Lan Xichen looked straight at Lan Wangji. "If
he were my subordinate, I would demote him and punish him."

Lan Wangji steeled himself.

To his left, Lan Qiren was still staring out the window at the sunset gardens of Cloud Recesses.
The grounds looked placid, pristine and beautiful.

“Su She defected," Lan Wangji said finally. "I do not wish to take another whipping boy.”

At the window, Lan Qiren shifted.

“The practice causes pain and is deeply immoral, according to our supposed Lan values,” Lan
Wangji continued. “The benefit is irrelevant.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes narrowed.

“I know you both feel the same,” Lan Wangji spoke faster. “I’ve heard you speak against the
practice many times. And yet still we hold to it, even if it is just a symbol. You would let the
Jiang, a tiny, powerless sect, be the ones to take the lead in challenging it?”

“Do they challenge it?” Lan Xichen argued. “It seems to me, they have mostly made a mess.”

“They did what they could. We could do more.”

They are no longer talking only about whipping boys.

“You would let the Jiang be the ones to defy the Wen Sect.” Lan Wangji spoke to Lan Xichen
boldly. “You would have Lan Clan stand by, keeping silent, teaching rules of righteousness. As
Wen Clan tramples people. As they have been trampling people—”

“It is not your place to make these decisions.”

“I’m not making them. I’m asking you to make them.”

“Wangji, your map does not even make sense!”

Lan Xichen pointed at the map. He was truly angry now, eyes blazing.

“Your plan requires a much larger force than our three sects combined have at our disposal," he
said. "You have Nie and Lan driving the eastern front, while Jiang is supposed to hold the west,
somehow, alone.”

“Wei Wuxian will cover the western front,” Lan Wangji said.

“The entire front? How? Wen Ruohan has more than his army. He also has these puppets—”

“Wei Wuxian can hold it—”

“He cannot.”
“If we give him our Yin Iron shard.”

Lan Xichen’s mouth snapped closed.

Comprehension flashed through his eyes.

Doubt. Calculation.

He looked Lan Wangji up and down.

And then he looked at Lan Qiren.

“His golden core is strong.” Lan Wangji leaned forward, speaking to both of them. “His
temperament unique. He says he can practice demonic cultivation without losing control. Can use
it for good. I believe him." He paused. "I believe him so firmly that, if we do not take this
chance...then I will officially cut my ties with the Lan Clan."

Ringing silence.

Lan Wangji spoke again.

"I will renounce my position. I will give up my name.”

Lan Xichen drew back, stunned.

The blood had drained from his face.

Something showed in his expression.

Baldly. Bleakly—

It was pain.

“I would have to leave my place here," Lan Wangji said softly. "I would have to renounce it. I must
do this and face it, whatever the consequences. In order to hold fast to the deepest, truest principles
of the Lan.”

He felt dizzy.

Heat bloomed through him. He kept his hands steady in his lap.

He said, “That is the strength of my conviction in this matter."

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren did not answer.

Wind moved through the ornaments in the Hanshi. Teal and blue in the windows.

Lan Wangji, now that he'd done it, could only wait.

He felt empty.

He'd gone as far as he could.

He had nothing left.

A memory came to him in the sound of the breeze...

Magnolias rustling outside...

“I, Wei Wuxian, wish that I can always stand with justice and live with no regrets.”

Lan Qiren spoke. “I concur with Wangji's position. The Lan must take this stand against the Wen.”

Lan Wangji blinked.

At first he thought he'd heard wrong.

And then something in his heart unclenched—

“I agree with Wangji totally.” Lan Qiren turned from the window, to face him. “But, nephew, I'm
not sure you understand."

Lan Wangji stood and bowed. “Uncle.”

Lan Qiren made an impatient gesture. “Lan Sect. Wen Sect. These are just words. But they were
formed in a span of deep history. And I ask you, if you really mean your challenge, do you
understand its full impact? Jiang Sect is young. They've caused trouble. But to Wen Ruohan,
against this vast span, Jiang Clan is merely a fly in the ointment.”

Lan Qiren's voice was steel.

“But Lan Sect is old. Lan Sect has been alongside Wen since almost the beginning. If we join this
war, this war becomes more. To Wen Ruohan, this war becomes more. If we join, this becomes a
fight that will shape the entire cultivation world. Regardless of the victor it reshapes the future.
And regardless of the victor it reshapes our clan. I can guarantee it.”

Lan Qiren gave a sharp smile.

“For if you think this is the first time, in our long history, that something like this has happened,
then you are wrong. Chord assassination. Clarity. Evocation. Inquiry. Where do you think they
came from? These are Lan tools and they did not come from peace. They did not come from a
people who felt certainty and quiet. Our weapons, the most important Lan weapons, came from a
place of need. They were created by our leaders, in times of the greatest confusion and violence.”

Lan Qiren looked between Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen.

“How do you think Lan Sect has survived this long? When so many others faltered? How did we
grow from that same deep past as the Wens, face to face, without yielding to them? We didn't do it
like Wen and Jin. We did not grow into vast sweeping empires. Instead, everyone knows Lan Sect
has the most intense cultivators. In matters of the supernatural we draw from unparalleled
knowledge and power. Lan Wangji, don't you see, we have been walking with the dead and the
restless all of the while. We sing to resentment like no other sect. To invent Cleansing, a Lan had to
let evil wash over him. Lan Yi released a Yin Iron herself. Lans imprison themselves. Lans go
mad. The very heart of Cloud Recesses has always been the Forbidden Library.”

Lan Qiren spoke directly to Lan Wangji.

“The Lan Clan, more than any other, has always been on the edge of unravelling.”

Lan Qiren took a deep breath.

“That’s why our discipline and vigilance must far outpace the other sects. That's why we have
thousands of restraints. We have learned that we need them. It's why we hold as serene and still as
possible. For when we wield our full power, when we use our full force, when we give in to our
passions and go as far as we can…we provoke forces of antagonism both outside and within
ourselves far beyond anything you have ever dreamed. You know well what Wen Ruohan is like,
when faced with the Jiang Clan. But Lan Wangji, you have not seen what he is like when faced
with the Lan. When these two mighty forces crash into each other, they will react. Wen Sect will
react in ways you never thought of. And the same is true of the Lan.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes glittered.

“The greatest Lan leaders, the ones whose names are graven on our heartlines, the ones who
shaped the very precepts we hold most dear…they also faced moments like this, Lan Wangji. Just
like you, they faced a moment when they defied their whole sect. When they stared down danger
and made new Lan weapons. When there was no path forward, none at all, they moved anyway.
And they moved the sect as a whole, along those cliffsides of madness. And we are not easily
moved. We are not a weak, thoughtless people. Our footsteps ring with strength and power and the
whole of our history blazes around us. To attempt to lead the Lan Sect into battle is to attempt to
lead a cyclone. Xichen?”

Lan Qiren turned to Lan Xichen, pausing his speech.

Lan Xichen considered for a long, tense moment. And then he nodded.

“Yes."

Lan Qiren turned back to Lan Wangji.

“Your brother is our sect leader. But he is not our war leader. He knows that is not his strength. So
who can now lead the Lans, the greatest, fiercest cultivators of our era, into battle? Most Lans, if
they tried it, would break. I would break. Our ways are too strong. Our current is strong. To try
and redirect such a force, most Lans would shatter. And the sect itself would shatter as they tried
foolishly to grasp it. It is only one of us in many generations, who can blaze a new, clean path.
Who can forge us, as a people, into a good kind of weapon. It calls for great will, Lan Wangji. It
takes unbearable capacity for sight. When the sky grows darker than anything you’ve ever
dreamed. And it will. I swear to you it will. Lan Clan does not enter wars lightly.”

Lan Qiren’s gaze, on him, was furious.

“So who is going to do it?” he asked. “Who is going to take responsibility? Is it going to be you?
Who is going to find the path? Hanguang Jun?”

This conversation ended with the Gusu Lan being the third, and the greatest, of the major clans to
join the alliance against the Wens.

To join the Sunshot Campaign.

This amounted to all Lan, Nie, and Jiang resources being brought to bear against Wen Ruohan.
With Jin Clan still neutral, this was an astonishing amount of power. This was hope.

This amounted to Lan Xichen, as the Lan Sect Leader, personally going to Lotus Pier to deliver the
Yin Iron shard to Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji stayed in Cloud Recesses to swiftly organize the Lan for war. But he’d written a note
for Lan Xichen to deliver to Wei Ying.

He’d paused when writing it, wondering how best to express his feelings: his concern for Wei
Wuxian’s health, his overwhelming worry that his wellbeing and temperament would be hurt by
the demonic cultivation. The amount of trust Lan Clan was placing in him. The circumstances of
their last meeting, when they had shed each other’s blood over this thing.

Finally, he wrote, only:

Wei Ying,
You can’t keep it.

The response was curt. Lan Xichen raised his brow when he gave it. But it made Lan Wangji
smile.

Lan Zhan—
So stingy.

Lan Zhan threw himself into the war.

About half of the smaller clans joined the Sunshot Campaign, while most stayed neutral or, even
worse, with the Wen.

The next eight months were a whirlwind of motion, of action—

Armies moving across the cultivation realm. Dispatches. Ambushes. Battles. Disciples flying—

Endless clashes. Lan Wangji began to see Wen red in his dreams. In his dreams he’d see that
burning sun on their banner. In his dreams he gave commands—

As he did in life. Appearing in chaos. Wielding Bichen and Wangji. Always appearing where the
line was faltering, always building it back up, sometimes barely, but never failing. He led the siege
and capture of the great Eastern Fort of Qishan, a stronghold that was supposed to never fall—

Hanguang Jun felled it. Pulled the burning sun banners off the sheer white walls and released three
thousand prisoners from Wen dungeons.

By now, Wen Ruohan had given up all pretenses that he had nothing to do with the puppets.
Instead, he used foul magic to slaughter and raise masses of the dead. An unimaginably large force,
greater than anything the cultivator realm had ever faced before.

Hanguang Jun didn’t falter.

Along with the Nie Clan, he pushed their eastern front towards victory in the cultivation realm,
driving the Wen lines ever backward, backward, always toward Wen Ruohan and Nightless City.
And in the west—

Wei Ying was doing the same.

And he was doing it without large-scale Lan and Nie armies.

He had a moderate force of Jiang Sect cultivators whom he trusted. Jiang Cheng at his side.

And he had a weapon he’d created from the Lan’s Yin Iron shard. The Stygian Tiger Amulet.
With this weapon, he was raising the wrath of demons. With this weapon, he was a match for Wen
armies.

The two halves worked together, east and west, flawlessly—

They never met in person.

Just as Lan Xichen had predicted, the Wen forces soon divided them. The Yunmeng Jiang to the
southwest. The Nie and Lan in the northeast. Wen Ruohan’s red banners were a huge swathe across
the middle of the map—

But the eastern and western fronts were united in one intention. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian as
the two effortless, fearless, leaders.

Truth be told, for a while it was glorious.

To Lan Wangji it felt strangely like a return to old times, like an echo of their encounters in the first
summer at Cloud Recesses. An echo of their sparring, their teasing, each conversation they’d had.
Every touch. Each exploration. Every challenge.

It was like every encounter they’d had, had led them to the ability to do this…

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji barely needed messengers between the two of them. They didn’t
need to fumble or double check. They could adapt smoothly, marshaling large forces across the
cultivation world, they could react each time Wen Clan made a surprise change in attacks. Lan
Wangji and Wei Wuxian could anticipate each other. They could read intentions by a glance at the
map…

Because they knew. One of them only had to start the beginning of an action, and the other half
would pick it up from across the realm. They kept the Wen Clan reacting, contained, distracted. It
was like a conversation played out over the five great territories, an easy back and forth, a secret
laugh—

Lan Wangji would move an army—

And Wei Wuxian would support, forcing the Wen right where Lan Wangji wanted them.

Wei Wuxian would leap with his people from city to city, and Lan Wangji would pave the way for
him. He guessed Wei Wuxian's needs and intentions...

And such needs weren't clear and obvious to everyone. Only to the two of them.

Early on in the battles, Lan Wangji had realized this.

He had realized that what he had with Wei Wuxian was unique.

And he had realized that he needed to protect it.

It had happened through an incident very early in the warfare, when the alliance was fresh and all
of the players still unsure. Wei Ying’s Tiger Amulet had still been untested. Everyone was on edge
and afraid for their lives.

Wen Ruohan had made an unexpected move, the first of many. He came out strong. The Wens sent
a huge force barreling straight toward Unclean Realm. They swept through a whole line of defense
and coordination and halted, completely, all messages between Yunmeng Jiang and the other sects.
It had left Wei Ying vulnerable in a rural region, with a small force and Jiang Cheng. No one could
break through to them, and Wens surrounded them on all sides. Everyone expected Wei Wuxian to
run west but instead he’d pushed north.

There was no way to talk to Wei Wuxian.

And Lan Wangji had taken one look at the map, and the way forces were moving across it, and had
known in his soul what Wei Ying needed for his next step. How he wanted, not just to
outmaneuver these Wen, but to demolish them.

But Nie Mingjue had not agreed with Lan Wangji’s assessment.

His Nie generals also did not agree. And neither had the Lan counselors, the oldest disciples and
the authorities of the knowledge of Cloud Recesses. The leaders of the eastern front had gathered in
the Nie lands at a temporary base, as Red Blade Master laid out a plan Lan Wangji had known
would fail.

This plan, although it made sense on the surface, although it was more prudent and followed
classic principals, would confuse Wei Wuxian. It wouldn’t set Wei Ying up for success, nor make
use of his powers. It was not what Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji would do if they were fighting
together, against a foe, back to back.

Haltingly, Lan Wangji had tried to explain a superficial version of this logic to Nie Mingjue. The
entire war counsel had frowned at him.

“Your plan will confuse Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji kept repeating. “He won’t know what to do
with that, or who it’s coming from. He won’t know if we need him to go right or left, soft or strong
—”

“But this is conventional practice,” someone said. “This is the wisest course—”

“He’s not conventional. What you are viewing as weakness, he views as his strength.”

Around him, people looked uncertain.

“Someday this will make sense, when you have more experience,” Nie Mingjue had dismissed
him. “But for now, second young master Lan, you must step aside, and let older and wiser—”

“I will not,” Lan Wangji said.

Red Blade Master raised his brows. Everyone traded glances.

When Lan Wangji spoke again, his voice was icy.

“The command chain of this campaign has not been addressed," he said. "Our side has won three
battles so far, and in each of those cases I made the judgments. The Lans have offered their full
armies, their full coffers, their full knowledge. In this campaign, Lan Clan has the highest rank. I
am the war general of the Lan Sect. I am demanding the final say.”

Gasps filled the room.

An entire hall of cultivators, the best disciples of major and minor clans.

Lan Wangji had just pronounced himself the highest leader of the whole campaign.

Red Blade Master narrowed his eyes. “And if I refuse you?”

“Then Lan Sect will withdraw their support,” Lan Wangji said.

“Are you not too arrogant?”

“Without this guarantee, we can't participate.”

Lan Wangji's voice was steady and firm. He was not backing down.

He locked eyes with Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue scowled and gripped Baxia.

And then Lan Xichen, sitting at a seat of honor behind Lan Wangji, spoke next.

“Hanguang Jun speaks for Lan Clan. We are united in this. Hanguang Jun makes our decisions for
battle.”

Nie Mingjue looked between Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji. Neither brother wavered.

“If you are wrong, Nie Sect could pay the price,” Nie Mingjue said.

“And if Nie falls, then so will Jiang, and Lan thereafter,” Lan Xichen answered coolly.

Nie Mingjue was hot-blooded and battle-worn. He assessed Lan Wangji, wheels turning in his
head. He would not step aside for almost anyone.

And for a moment, Lan Wangji thought he would not step aside at all. Lan Wangji thought the
whole campaign was about to crumble.

But he had looked into his conscience, in the moment before his declaration, and known that if he
did not push he would bear regret.

The risk of his assertion was great, but the risk of his hesitating was even stronger.

Because his brother could die.

Wei Wuxian could die.

Not in the future, not in the abstract, but in the next few days. If Lan Wangji did not follow what he
thought to be true, then the entire cultivation world could fall to Wen Ruohan.

And if he was wrong? If he was ignorant? Foolish? Blinded? Then he was going to have to live
with his actions.

He waited. Everyone waited.

And then finally, Nie Mingjue gave a gruff little bow.

The movement rippled through the whole room. People backed up, giving Lan Wangji new space.
The dynamic was changing.

“To Hanguang Jun,” Nie Mingjue said, and raised his cup.

Other voices joined.

“To Hanguang Jun.”

“Hanguang Jun.”

“To Hanguang Jun."

The highest commander of the Sunshot Campaign.

And the gamble worked.

Wei Wuxian picked up his side of the engagement effortlessly. He acted exactly as Lan Wangji had
predicted, with the competence Lan Wangji had expected, and with the unconventionality. Lan
Wangji positioned the Wen, and Wei Wuxian took the prize. He smashed through the enemy with
his Stygian Tiger Amulet.

Even though he and Lan Wangji had never discussed the plan. Even though no formal messages
passed between them.

And it was like that for the next month, and the next.

With every day that went by, both Hanguang Jun and the Hero of the Jiang grew more and more
ferocious—

More unbeatable.

Wen fortresses falling. New cities gained. The lines morphing and changing, always to Lan Wangji
and Wei Wuxian's advantage—

And when Wei Wuxian overthrew the Wen's Yiling stronghold almost singlehandedly, and when
Hanguang Jun marched upon the great Eastern Fort of Qishan, and felled it—

When there were flowers in the streets, when their names were on everyone's lips—

Then, quietly, Lan Wangji began to imagine a day when he'd see Wei Wuxian again.

If they met again, in victory.

After they'd passed through all of these events.

Lan Wangji felt shy, but he also felt bold.

For this campaign seemed, to him, like a secret undercurrent rising and prevailing. It seemed not
dissimilar to the secret conversations, the secret tension between the two of them, that had throbbed
beneath the surface during the lecture at Cloud Recesses.

It reminded Lan Wangji of the feeling, when he would meet Wei Wuxian’s eye across the
classroom, and Wei Wuxian would smile—

Questions. Possibility.

The clasp of a wrist, as they ducked through a shadowy walkway—

The brush of their eyes—

“Lan Zhan. I like challenges.”

He remembered those words every now and then. Felt the thrill of them. A kind of fruitful edge.

For Wei Wuxian, despite the good work he was doing, was not tame—

Stories of red-rimmed eyes, blazing temper.

Stories of a nightmare melody, jagged evil from Chenqing—

Stories of Wei Wuxian like a black storm raging over the lands.

A demonic cultivator. Some people still shuddered to hear it.

Even within the Sunshot Campaign, some people were still uneasy about Wei Wuxian and afraid
of him...

A demonic cultivator, a whipping boy, a blasphemer. The lowest of the low. The son of a servant,
with a knife-edged smile—

But a demonic cultivator who was going to win the war.

Wei Wuxian was emerging triumphant. The tide was turning. There was going to be a change—

It went this way for eight months.

Until—

Until. It all went wrong.

The Jiangs lost Lotus Pier.

It was an unforeseen weakness.

At the last second, during a decisive battle, the whipping boy Meng Yao of the Nie Sect betrayed
the whole Sunshot Campaign.

Meng Yao switched allegiances and provided extensive, vital information to Wen Ruohan. It
seemed Meng Yao knew everything. He had been deep in the confidence of Nie Mingjue. He was
devastatingly observant and intelligent.

He knew battle formations, he knew codes and spells, he knew exactly who trusted whom. He
knew the entire structure of communications and strategy, all that Lan Wangji had built—

And he also knew the Jiang Clan. He knew how to catch them, somehow, at a time when Wei
Wuxian was vulnerable.

He helped Wen Ruohan craft dark magic attacks—

The Jiang Clan was completely caught off guard.

It was total chaos.

Like dominos, the allies lost their territory all along both fronts. Lan Wangji woke to news of
ambush and destruction, fires all down the lines. Beacons, screams—

For a heartstopping week, Lan Wangji’s forces became totally dysfunctional.

Meanwhile Wen Sect forces swept through Yunmeng—

No one on Lan Wangji's eastern side knew exactly what was going on.

Only rumors and fragments—

Yunmeng had been overwhelmed.

Wei Wuxian rendered helpless—

And Lotus Pier burned.

Reports solidified.

Wen Zhuliu had led the assault. He had crushed Jiang Fengmian’s golden core. He had slaughtered
him.

And the entire Yunmeng region was lost. It was like an invisible barrier went up around its
borders. Absolutely no messages could get through to the whole territory. No spies could report the
sights. Total silence.

And the rumors….

It was said that almost all of the Jiang people had been slain.

Only Jiang Cheng was officially confirmed to have escaped, with a bare handful of Jiang Sect
disciples. Reports said he was terribly wounded. Retreating in secret, hunted by the Wen, working
his way north to meet up with Lan Wangji—

So Lan Wangji heard, from hundreds of miles away.

He had no time to question further. He had to throw himself immediately into combat, shoring up
the defenses and holding fast the faltering line. Lan Sect cultivators worked around the clock to
understand and undo new dark magic attacks. For three straight weeks he never slept, barely ate,
barely stopped—

Bichen an extension of his arm. Countless decisions. Redeploying forces to the west and south,
reshaping the entire defense, before it crumpled in the face of the Yunmeng defeat.

Endless sea of trees below, as he raced from battle to battle on Bichen. Each time he landed, the
first words he asked—

Has Wei Wuxian been found? Is he with Jiang Cheng?

Finally, weeks later, the firm answer came. No.

Both Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian had disappeared.

The two of them were not confirmed to be in Yunmeng.

They had not been killed with Jiang Fengmian.

And they were not with Jiang Cheng.

There was simply no sign of them.

They had vanished.

Wei Wuxian was assumed dead or captured.

Lan Wangji felt pure shock when he heard this news. It translated into his body as distance, a
muffled remove. He was on the eve of a battle, tent flaps whispering in the wind, maps swimming
before his eyes. Lan Xichen’s concerned gaze.

By this point, Lan Wangji had proven himself. He was the only reason their side still managed to
hold after Meng Yao's betrayal. Lan Wangji had gone into overdrive, when their backs were up
against the wall. He stretched their thin, thin resources.

If he faltered, they were doomed. Tens of thousands of disciples, waiting on him—

With his choices, he could send them to death. Or he could lead them to live another day.

The whole war on a balance. Ready to fall.

He pulled himself together.

Did what he needed to, robotically. But in his body, he felt muffled and shocked. And he felt the
same distance a few days later when Jiang Cheng finally made it, blood-spattered and frantic, to
Lan Wangji’s encampment.

“He saved me,” Jiang Cheng told Lan Wangji. Eyes burning. “I don't know where he is, if he's
even alive. I only managed to get away because he sacrificed himself, like always—”

Jiang Cheng held something out, in a trembling hand.

It was Lan Wangji's own sacred forehead ribbon.

"He said to give you this."

That night, in the quiet of his own tent, Lan Wangji lifted his ribbon to the moonlight. Felt a
strange surge in his fingertips. A whisper of energy.

Lightly, hardly daring to hope, he sent a pulse of his spiritual power into the fabric.

One by one, thin blue strands appeared.

Shimmering. Vibrant.

Unseen to almost all.

Wei Wuxian had done far more than touch Lan Zhan's ribbon.

“Shall I call it binding? Bonding?”

Lan Wangji's ears went hot.

Wei Wuxian, with his shimmering blue thread, had woven spells of protection into the headband.

Strategy meeting.
“We are going to do what?”

Lan Wangji spoke. “We are going to retake Lotus Pier.”

“That is impossible. We do not have the forces.”

Lan Wangji sat serenely, gaze lowered, hands in his lap. Large tent, crowded bodies. Everyone
stared him. Nie Huaisang looked alarmed. Nie Mingjue, the person who had spoken, looked sick.
Jiang Cheng, sitting next to Lan Wangji, shifted nervously.

Lan Xichen, too, looked concerned.

Lan Wangji knew what they were all wondering: if his judgment had been impaired.

If this decision, rather than strategy, was coming from reckless emotion.

For it had now been three months since Yunmeng fell, and there was still nothing from Wei
Wuxian. No sign, no trace, no word. He had vanished with Jiang Yanli. As much as he could, Lan
Wangji had searched directly. He and his allies had used countless spies and the best disciples.
Combed the whole realm for the two missing Jiangs. And they had come up with….nothing.

There was no word on the subject from Wen Ruohan.

No word, except that everywhere Wen soldiers were gloating, Wen banners were flying, as the
Wens captured more and more territory across the realm. The Hero of the Jiang had failed. Wei
Wuxian had fallen. The rest of the cultivation world was soon to follow.

It was still almost impossible to get into Yunmeng, to confirm what had happened to all of the
people in that region.

Lotus Pier, by all accounts, was draped in blood red Wen signs. Wen Zhuliu held it now, as a major
Wen fortress. The Jiang people had been supposedly slaughtered, their remnants scattered. Even if
there were survivors, they had gone into hiding, in the most remote forests and mountains of
Yunmeng.

There was talk that Jin Guangshan had entered meetings with Wen Chao.

There was talk that Wen Zhuliu would aim for Cloud Recesses next.

There was talk that hope was lost.

“I understand the strategic importance of retaking Yunmeng…” Lan Xichen said slowly. “Morale
is low. Amongst the commoners, amongst our own armies...”

“And we need to convince the Jin Sect,” Nie Huaisang chimed in. “I think Hanguang Jun is right.
We must retake that lost territory.”

“But if you send an army south to Lotus Pier, then you leave us exposed here.” Nie Mingjue said
what everyone was thinking.

“I’m not going to take an army,” Lan Wangji said. “We have no army to spare. I will go myself."

They all blinked at him.

“In support of Sect Leader Jiang," Lan Wangji said. "I am going with Jiang Cheng. We will take
only a battalion of my handpicked, best disciples."
At his side, Jiang Cheng nodded. “And we'll force our way in. We'll drive in up the river, straight
to Lotus Pier.”

Straight into the heart of what was now fortified Wen territory.

“That is madness.” Nie Mingjue’s voice was rough and brittle.

Outraged chatter filled the tent.

“Wangji…” Lan Xichen spoke uneasily.

Jiang Cheng stood up. “The Wens are telling everyone that the Yunmeng population is suppressed
and destroyed. They say that everyone loyal to Jiang Clan has been rooted out. That if there are
survivors, somehow, they have fled and will never come back.” Jiang Cheng raised his chin. “But I
don't believe that is true. I cannot believe it."

Silence met his assertion.

Jiang Cheng spoke fervently.

“We’re a hardier people than that. When the attack happened, our city was caught by surprise.
Everyone scattered to survive. Our disciples had to flee in all directions. And it’s true, there has
been no word from them…but I believe they are still alive. They know Yunmeng far better than
the Wen do. They know the lands. They can outwit any occupiers.”

Nie Huaisang spoke into the silence. “You believe that if you go there…”

“My people will come out of hiding and rally around us. When I get there, I will send out the Jiang
signal. There must be at least several thousand Jiang followers, biding their time in wait, ready to
rise up and fight.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” Nie Huaisang frowned at Jiang Cheng. “What if there is no one?”

“I can guarantee at least one thousand skilled, bloodthirsty fighters.”

Everyone turned, for a new voice had spoken.

Lan Wangji, too, was surprised.

It was a stranger.

A woman.

She looked young, tough, athletic. Clad in a large, dark blue cloak. She had been standing silent in
the back of the room, unnoticed among some of the lower Jiang retinue.

Now, she stepped into the light and threw her hood back, revealing her face.

Her face looked…strangely familiar.

She bowed to Lan Wangji. She bowed to Jiang Cheng and the sect leaders.

“I am Yu Zidie. I am the second lady of the Meishan Yu Clan.”

Her words caused a stir. This was the first time any Yu had come to a meeting.
At the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign, both Jiang Fengmian and Lan Xichen had tried the
recruit the Yu Clan. Both had been refused.

Now, Yu Zidie’s voice was clear and defiant. One hand rested easily on the pommel of her sword.

“I am here on behalf of our Grand Matriarch, whom the late Madam Yu and I shared as our
mother.”

Yu Zidie tossed her head.

“Everyone knows that when Jiang Fengmian asked our clan for aid...we turned him down. We
have never wanted to be ensnared in your politics.” The young Yu leader sneered. “Even when Yu
Ziyuan of our homeland asked for help, for fortification, we said she could no longer hold us to
obligation by her old name. But we have been watching.”

She took a deep breath.

“And we have been watching, now, for long enough, to deeply regret our inaction.”

Yu Zidie's fists clenched.

“Before she was Madam of the Jiang Clan, before she became the Violet Spider, Yu Ziyuan was,
first and foremost, a daughter of Meishan Yu. We raised her for glory and honor. To be respected
and esteemed. But we have now seen her bones desecrated, her husband slain, her children
scattered. Her household has been taken over by interlopers. Her daughter, who holds a place in
our bloodline, has been vanished. Our Matriarch bid me to tell you, the Meishan Yu will not stand
for it. We must drive the Wen abusers out of Yu Ziyuan’s resting place, out of her Lotus Pier. I
have one thousand swords to offer you. I have information and pathways into Yunmeng. We
disciples of the Meishan Yu Clan are ready to join you and show Wen Clan our anger.”

Lan Wangji had wondered if he was being reckless.

Wondered if his judgment was impaired.

For Wei Wuxian’s disappearance had changed something in him.

He could not deny that.

After the first, jolting horror, as each week stretched on, he felt like he was becoming colder,
slower, separated.

The world around him seemed distant, growing farther and farther away. He struggled to stay alert
in it.

He often felt like there was a shroud over his eyes.

His heart grew heavy. His limbs dragged. He had to fight to focus on what happened in front of
him.

He would wake in the middle of the night, gasping, terrified, his pulse racing—

Dreaming of Wei Ying calling out for him—

Wei Ying bleeding, Wei Ying thrashing in darkness. Wei Ying lost, Wei Ying totally alone—
But he couldn’t find him. Lan Wangji did not know where to find him.

In his dreams, he called for Wei Wuxian until he went hoarse.

And in waking life, Wen forces surrounded them at all sides. And he could not tear his focus away
for even one second. From the constant attacks, from the endless Wen soldiers and the sea of fierce
corpses.

Sunshot Campaign.

It didn’t seem like a campaign anymore. They weren’t gaining ground. He was using everything he
had, fighting with every last breath, simply not to lose anything more.

Not to lose more people, although they still lost people. Not to lose more land, although lands and
homes burned. Not to lose…himself.

When that distance between himself and the rest of the world, the people talking, became so surreal
and disjointed he felt he was viewing them through a tunnel.

He’d look down at his body and feel that it must be elsewhere. He’d look into his heart and feel
like he was experiencing someone else’s emotions.

He started to dissociate, to have to remind himself that a conversation was real, that a battle was
real—

Hanguang Jun was severe and efficient. Ice cold. Cutting. People said he never smiled.

It was a winter in him.

Three months into Wei Wuxian’s disappearance.

It was an extremely bad time.

Did he feel he could trust himself?

No.

Because he’d lost a most vital counterbalance.

It felt like he scaled cliffs with no rope. There was no easy call and answer. No cheerful
maneuvering between two separate styles, no cheerful force back.

He’d lost the knowledge that someone was fighting elsewhere too. That someone equally strong,
on a distant front, also had his back.

He felt awkward, flailing into empty space with no response. Not even the possibility of a response
now—

Total silence.

It was limbo.

He felt suspended.
He was grieving and furious.

Cornered.

Scared.

What if…?

What if.

But he could not afford to shrink.

That was his state, when he decided to throw in with Jiang Cheng to retake Lotus Pier.

Yes, he felt reckless. Others could call him arrogant.

Yes, he was not sure he could trust himself.

But he had ruthlessly taken stock of his options.

He and his allies were slipping now, they were being ground slowly into submission. If they
stopped action altogether, their whole movement would die. The candle was flickering out. And he
would not let it.

If there was someone else whom Lan Wangji totally trusted, then at this point he might have
stopped insisting. With relief, he would have simply followed orders. Do this. Go there.

But at this point, there was no one.

And everyone involved seemed to sense it. They were waiting on him. He was tired, and he still
must live with no regrets.

They could not strike at Nightless City now. They could not make headway into Qishan. They had
tried and failed to find Wei Wuxian. The Jin Clan refused an alliance.

But they could retake Lotus Pier.

It was a huge risk. But he could see the glimmerings of that pathway.

It was the first step. After that step, the next one.

“Don’t lose Cloud Recesses," Lan Wangji said to Lan Xichen. "Don’t lose the Unclean Realm.
Don’t lose the eastern fort of Qishan. And don’t lose Yiling. As long as you keep those four, the
campaign can flip back to strength.”

Lan Xichen's voice was almost a growl. “Lan Wangji. You're speaking as if you're not coming
back.”

Lan Wangji hesitated.

It was early morning, and the two of them stood together on a bridge in Caiyi Town. Shopkeepers
and vendors around them. Lan Wangji was about to leave for the battle of Lotus Pier.

Jiang Cheng was already waiting for Lan Wangji, a little down the river.
They would travel to Yunmeng by boat, where Yu Zidie and her fighters were waiting to meet
them.

Wen Clan was waiting for them too. There was no hidden pathway to Hanguang Jun's approach,
only raw strength to meet raw strength—

If Jiang Cheng was wrong about his people, then the math was simple.

This could be goodbye.

A breeze swirled around. A fragrant scent of fruit—

Loquats.

“If you want loquats, I could buy you a basket.”

Lan Xichen stared at the water.

Lan Xichen leaned over the railing, clasping his fists. His hair fell over one shoulder.

“I’m sorry," Lan Wangji murmured. "That I didn’t trust you before.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you a reason to trust me.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened.

Lan Xichen looked at him.

There was the sense that it was too late. That they now had no time…

But there was also the sense that they both understood.

“Don't you dare speak with resignation. You need to win and come back.” Lan Xichen’s voice was
low and intense. “We’re the Twin Jades of Lan. There must be two of us.”

“Carved of the same stone,” Lan Wangji muttered. Just as their mother had whispered to them,
long ago.

“Carved of the same stone.” Lan Xichen hesitated, then put his hand on Lan Wangji's shoulder.
“Always.”

Years later, when asked about the battle of Lotus Pier, Lan Wangji always has trouble
remembering.

It's only fragments.

He remembers Wen banners, red armor: red, red, red. He remembers the clang of swords. He
remembers an army of corpses, thick as a carpet sludging toward him. Stench.

He doesn’t remember the passage of time, although he knows they fought for days on end. He
doesn’t remember the choices, he barely remembers giving orders, barely remembers their final
fight with Wen Zhuliu, when he and Jiang Cheng finally reached him together.

He does remember Jiang Cheng and Yu Zidie throughout, he remembers how fiercely they fought.
He remembers that Jiang Cheng, finally, was the one who brought Wen Zhuliu down. He
remembers Zidian—

The earth shaking beneath them.

And he remembers, at the very beginning of the battle, the glimpses of Jiang purple and blue signs
in the thick trees. The glimpses of Jiang swords, banners, armor:

Jiang disciples emerging from forests.

For it had turned out that Jiang Cheng was right.

When the news spread that Jiang Cheng was back in Yunmeng, when Jiang Cheng son of Jiang
Fengmian called—

The call was answered. The people were there, when they were desperately needed.

They showed up, in huge numbers, at the appointed time.

The most important image: right before the battle started.

Lan Wangji was crouched low in a boat. Arrows flew above his head. He and Jiang Cheng sped
down the river toward their goal. The river was wide. It was sparkling and surrounded by low, lush
mountains. Wen forces attacked them, trying to cut them off before they could reach their
destination.

And the Meishan Yu disciples were like a distant, fierce cloud in the sky, he could see them
rushing toward him from the west, and then he fixed his eyes forward and he got his first glimpse
of this place—

His first time to see it—

Lotus Pier.

A city like an island. Like a jewel on the river.

Pastels, light wood, purple, green—

A home of arches and waves, of a sweet smelling water—

Water dancing with light—

Wei Ying, he had thought.

Wen signs were like gouges on the buildings. Wen banners were like slashes, like wounds.

A Wen army, huge and brutal, ready to meet them.

But Jiang people were pouring in from every side.

They were coming by boat, they were rising up from grass, they were sounding out horns, calling
to Jiang Cheng from trees.

They were sprinting toward them from everywhere—.

And then Jiang Cheng grabbed Lan Zhan. He was breathless, something blazing in his eyes—

“I want you to lead them in this attack. Not me.”

Lan Wangji's eyes widened. That had not been their plan—

For these were Jiang disciples, loyal to the Jiang family. Jiang Cheng should be the one directly in
charge of them. Before this moment Jiang Cheng had been aggressive and even rude about this
hierarchy, clearly nervous that Lan Wangji would try to butt in ...

Jiang Cheng, who in these last three months had also been frantic, sullen, irritable, mourning...

Their disciples drew swords around them. Fires were starting to rain down—

Jiang Cheng spoke through the clamor. “It should be you, because they are used to combat orders
from Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji, they will know you best.”

Jiang Cheng pointed at the Jiang commanders racing toward them. Makeshift banners were being
raised up. Jiang signals were exploding in the sky.

“Because they know him.” Jiang Cheng said. There was an epiphany burning in his eyes. “I don’t
have him now and I need him desperately, and I'd hoped I might find him here. And he's not. But
somehow I have you, and that's astonishing. It's important. I think I finally understand that."

As the fighting raged through Lotus Pier, for one brilliant, exhilarating moment…

He was counterbalanced again. He was not by himself. He was with the ghost of someone else.
Back to back, side by side.

It wasn’t silence.

These people of the Jiang were different from his own. They fought differently. Moved differently.
Made unexpected swerves.

But they heard him. Mightily. Ferociously.

These people Wei Wuxian had trained.

They heard Lan Wangji effortlessly, and they responded back.

After the battle, after the fight, after the deaths, after they'd won…

Lan Wangji walked, with Jiang Cheng, through Lotus Pier.

It had been five full days of fighting.

Now it was late afternoon. They both seemed dizzy and and a little dazed, startled to find
themselves in this victorious aftermath. Lan Wangji followed Jiang Cheng, as if through a dream.
Through corridors and across decks, all through the Jiang residence.

They were both dead on their feet. But they did not stop walking.
The water was lapping. The sun was warm on their backs.

Emptiness. Stillness. A quiet so different from the clamor of battle. Buildings were half-collapsed.
Wood burned, boats broken. Ash and blood. Ceramic shards.

All through this aftermath, people were moving solemnly. Tending to the wounded. Clearing
bodies.

And by some strange, unspoken understanding, Jiang Cheng drew Lan Wangji from room to room.
Showing him the Jiang Clan home. Look at this. Look at this.

Here is the place…

Jiang Cheng spoke softly, and Lan Wangji followed.

Here was the main room, Jiang Cheng showed him, where Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian had
always sat. Here was the place where Jiang Yanli served them soup. Little stone table where the
whole family gathered. There were the training grounds, where Jiang Cheng had spent at least half
of his childhood. Here were the waters, beloved to him and Wei Wuxian. Summers spent
swimming in ponds, weaving through rivers…

Here, Wei Wuxian’s room…

Jiang Cheng looked at him. They were both still mud-splattered, bloody. Worn. They hadn’t
paused to rest or wash. They’d fought side by side together, all these days, winning this place back.
They’d fought side by side long enough that Lan Wangji knew Jiang Cheng’s expressions now,
knew different qualities of his pain, knew what it was like, too, to be supported by Jiang Cheng.
For Jiang Cheng to look at him and understand…

Lan Wangji stepped inside the bedroom, heart thrumming strangely. The room was surprisingly
intact. It was cheerful and clean. There was a window over the bed, and the water outside was
bright. Lotus swayed and rippled. Huge sky, soft with pink and green. Sunset.

He set his hand on one post of the bed, to ground himself. Stick figures scrawled in a childish hand.
Lan Wangji felt unsteady.

So this was Wei Wuxian’s home. The sunsets, the mornings. The white tree on the deck and the
rooms tinged with violet. He could imagine Wei Wuxian growing up here, this place that had made
him. Here were the surfaces Wei Ying daily walked, often touched…

For a moment, looking at this soft, unremarkable room, Lan Wangji felt so close that he felt
vertigo. As if Wei Wuxian might bound in, at any moment, as if Wei Wuxian would tease him for
going straight to his bed. As if Wei Ying was going to emerge suddenly in this place, unwounded,
unhurt, miraculously untouched from the silent nightmare months—

Pain stabbed through Lan Zhan and he gripped the bedpost harder. He kept his mind determinedly,
firmly fixed on the fantasy, because it kept him from drowning.

Wei Wuxian smiling, Wei Wuxian sharp, Wei Wuxian equally delighted to come across Lan
Wangji in this place...

“Lan Zhan! If you ever come visit me in Lotus Pier, I’ll pick lotus for you! The seedpod, the water
chestnuts. How about it?”

“I will not go.”

In the Cold Spring after class. Wei Ying teasing Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan dismissing him...

And now he wonders, how had that been possible?

“If I think you’ll hurt my family…”

“You’ll punish me?”

“I’ll kill you.”

He stares at Wei Wuxian’s stick figure drawing.

“There’s one last place I haven’t shown you,” Jiang Cheng says.

Dread curls in Lan Wangji's stomach.

They leave the bright, airy bedroom and move through two more courtyards, until they’re far away
from the main section of the residence. They descend. A stairway. A locked door. He has the
impression this a lower level then any other place Jiang Cheng’s shown him. Closer to the mud in
the water, the roots of the lotus. The murky thickness beneath the surface.

Slowly, they enter.

It’s a large, cavernous space.

Lan Wangji's eyes adjust to the dimness.

He sees chains. Table. Bonds. Dried blood. Books and books. A whip. All kinds of rods.

A cage on the side—for dogs, he realizes, dazedly. Madam Yu’s boast to Wen Xu—

“Wei Wuxian won't run easily from wild dogs—“

“She trained me. She’s genius. I owe her everything, Lan Zhan.”

Fluttering talismans. Lan Wangji recognizes words for bondage, silence, pain—

Dust on the room. Emptiness. Quiet.

“Only my mother and Wei Wuxian were allowed here,” Jiang Cheng says.

His voice seems muffled. Like there is no air in this room.

He toes the dust in the corner.

Lan Wangji feels lightheaded.

“How long?” His own voice is weirdly calm. “When was this room built?”

“Since as soon he came to us.”

Jiang Cheng keeps toeing the dust, and then he stops.

Looks at Lan Zhan. His expression is strained.

"There's a lot I don't know," he says haltingly. "But I do know this. Once, he told me that if it were
ever possible, he would destroy this room. He would set it on fire.”
“Wei Ying told you that?”

“He only said it once. It was just the two of us. We were completely alone.”

Jiang Cheng's voice falters. He looks away, stares around in the darkness. Lan Wangji feels cold.
Then—

“Sect Leader Jiang,” he says.

Jiang Cheng meets his eye.

He doesn't hesitate.

He gives a firm nod.

That night, huge bonfires blaze throughout Lotus Pier.

Fire stretches toward the stars.

Reflections of red in the water. Spires and smoke. All through different parts of the city—

Crumbling buildings, splintered wood, pieces of the Jiang home. Burning Wen banners, Wen
weapons, the remains of fierce corpses.

Jiang Cheng, Yu Zidie, and Lan Wangji are all somber in the firelight. Their followers are quiet.
The victory had been hard-won.

But they have done it. Lan Wangji almost can’t believe it.

They have really won.

They’ve clawed Yunmeng back from Wen Ruohan. They’re in a position of strength again. The
news is spreading throughout the realm. Joy is spreading.

They have clawed it back snarling—

Wei Ying, he thinks.

He stares at the fire.

Wei Ying, where on earth are you?

Wen Zhuliu is to be executed. He stands, bound, before the biggest fire. He had killed both Jiang
Fengmian and Madam Yu. It is fitting that he dies by Jiang hands.

Everyone listens as a Jiang disciple read out his crimes and his rites. Wen Zhuliu is expressionless
in the red glow.

He seems calm. There is no trace of fury or speed, of the whirlwind of destruction that he is during
battles.

But just as Jiang Cheng steps forward, Shandu raised—

Wen Zhuliu changes.

A hidden talisman attack. He’s suddenly fast as a tiger, strong as a mountain. He fights—

He knocks the guards aside, grabbing one of their swords. He pushes past Jiang Cheng—

He breaks out.

Shouts. Chaos in the darkness. Everyone leaps to pursuit. Swords unsheathe. Torchlights—

Wen Zhuliu sprints away from the main path. He leaps over shadowed carts, runs down an
alleyway—

Lan Wangji crashes to a stop right in front of him.

Immediately, Wen Zhuliu throws his sword aside. "I'm not trying to escape. I'm resigned to die. I
came out here for you."

It's just the two of them here, in one strange, suspended moment...

Shouts in the distance, people coming closer.

“Wei Wuxian means something to you," Wen Zhuliu says.

He tosses a red ribbon at Lan Wangji's feet.

“I’m not saying this for your sake. Not for anyone living. It's the end. I owe no one allegiance."

Wen Zhuliu is a shadow in the night.

His eyes glitter—

"But when I see Wei Wuxian, I see echoes of Violet Spider. Yu Ziyuan," he says. "And when I see
you, I see echoes of myself."

Wen Zhuliu growls.

“You don't understand me. I don't care. But I want you to know something, as the last choice of my
life. Three months ago when Lotus Pier fell, I crushed Jiang Cheng's golden core. I left him
powerless. But now Jiang Cheng is back, and he has defeated me in battle."

Lan Wangji’s world...slows.

Heartbeat.

Like an ocean in his ears.

"Whose core is that?" Wen Zhuliu watches Lan Wangji's face for a moment, then he nods. "I'd
wager Jiang Cheng himself doesn't know. If Wei Wuxian is similar to Madam Yu, then he would
save his brother...and he would keep it a secret."

Lan Wangji grabbed him. “Where is Wei Ying now?"

“I have no idea."

Jiang Cheng appears at the end of the alley.

He runs toward them, sword flashing, face twisted in rage. He yells, “Wen Zhuliu!”

Wen Zhuliu speaks fast to Lan Wangji.

“I told you this because if I didn't, you wouldn't even know what questions to ask.”

Jiang Cheng is upon them.

Wen Zhuliu doesn’t even turn, doesn’t defend himself from the sword—

His last words to Lan Zhan—

“If I could be in your place, if I could go back in time, what I would want is to know what questions
to ask—"

The next morning, Lan Wangji rises early. It's an eerie red dawn.

He walk out on the farthest dock, to the edge of the water.

“He sacrificed himself for me, like always...”

“Wei Wuxian’s golden core is strong. He will not lose control.”

“If the Lan Sect joins this fight, it will provoke forces of antagonism…”

Lan Wangji looks down at the two ribbons twined in hand.

The one of white Lan silk, the invisible blue thread...

And the red.

"Leave me, Lan Zhan."

He looks at patterns of red in the water. Some of it is sunlight. Some of it is spilled blood.

And in the distance, he can see the tiny figures of people arriving.

They are messengers, running in haste, arriving at the Lotus Pier gate and calling for Hanguang
Jun. Two messengers. Three, now. Five. Eight. Twenty.

A frenzy on the docks. Disciples running in every direction.

And now people are sprinting toward Lan Wangji—

It will provoke forces of antagonism—

You have provoked forces of antagonism—

The first disciple reaches Lan Wangji. Gasps, out of breath—

“Hanguang Jun! We just lost Guangling! And Anping!”

“And Yiling!” Someone else runs up.

Yiling? Lan Wangji frowns. Yiling had been well defended.

“They couldn’t stand against him," the messenger gasps. "No one can stand against him. They are
calling him the Yiling Patriarch…”

“Who do they call…” Lan Wangji's voice is quiet.

The messenger opens his mouth to answer, but he is cut off.

Waves of darkness, suddenly—

The sky above them grows black as midnight.

It's dire owls.

Hundreds of thousands of them. Darkening the sky.

Wings like nightmares, inky smoke. The sun has been completely blocked out.

The news crashed through the whole realm at once.

The dire owls spread the message, straight from Wen Ruohan.

The message was this:

Wei Wuxian had returned.

But he was no longer Wei Wuxian of the Jiang Clan.

And he was no longer a whipping boy.

He was the son of Wen Ruohan.

Wen Ruohan had adopted Wei Wuxian. Had named him as his second son, to replace Wen Xu who
had died. And Wei Wuxian was worthy of this honor, Wen Ruohan told the shocked cultivation
world. For Wei Wuxian was a diamond in the rough. Wei Wuxian’s talents had been wasted. As
prince of the Wen Sect, he would be wasted no more.

For now…Wei Wuxian was leading the Wen Clan armies, a position that Wen Chao had shown no
talent or discretion for. Wei Wuxian was raising the dead to fight on behalf of his new father. Wei
Wuxian was the highest general of the Wen Sect, second in might only to Wen Ruohan—

Wei Wuxian had declared war on Nie Clan and Lan Clan. Would not stop until those clans were
razed to the ground.

He had already re-won Yiling, that stronghold he’d once taken for the Jiang.

He had taken it back.

By order of Wen Ruohan: the people of all sects, all clans, from the lowest commoner to the
highest leader, must respect a new hierarchy. They must get down on their hands and knees and
show total submission to Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, the mightiest prince, the Hero of the
Wen.

End of Part II
 Chapter End Notes

Hope you liked! Thanks for reading, and thanks sooo much to those who have left
positive feedback and notes so far .

Huge shoutout to byproducts for helping me name Yu Zidie - 虞紫蝶.

I am excited to delve into this new wangxian power differential.

Works inspired by this [Art]

one the scent of blood by byproducts

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