Taken In - HushAndEatYourSpinach - 陈情令 (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng felt as if every inch of his back and shoulders was covered with stinging welts, but he set the pain aside. After all, it’s not like any punishment meted out by the placid Lan Sect, governed by three thousand rules of conduct, could hold a candle to his whip-wielding mother when she was riled up; people didn’t call her the Violet Spider for nothing. Besides, he had more immediate priorities – namely, seething at his idiot shixiong, who was draped abjectly over A-Jie’s shoulders and whining as though everything wasn’t all his fault in the first place.

“You and Nie-xiong were breaking curfew and drinking too, Cheng-cheng, how is it fair that you only got fifty blows and I got three hundred,” Wei Wuxian said plaintively.

“Well maybe,” Jiang Cheng replied with arduous patience, “it’s because you’re the one who slapped a f*cking experimental talisman on the second Jade of Lan and made him break his sacred family precept against drinking alcohol, without his f*cking consent.”

“Well, I mean, yes, but…”

“There is no but, Wei Wuxian, now shut up and don’t call me Cheng-cheng,” Jiang Cheng growled.

“I was trying to keep us all out of trouble!” Wei Wuxian replied indignantly.

Jiang Cheng breathed heavily through his nose, but it was too late. His temper had gone from a simmer to a full boil. “Okay, first of all, that genius plan clearly didn’t f*cking work for you or any of us, did it? And second, no you f*cking weren’t or you would have told Lan Wangji to go back to bed and forget he saw anything instead of forcing him to sit down and be your new f*cking drinking buddy, you flirty f*ck. Third, he wouldn’t have come barging into our room at all if you had shut the f*ck up about my non-existent love life when I told you to, instead of running around and screaming about it to Nie Huaisang, and finally, for f*ck’s sake, how do you not understand that weaseling out of a punishment is not an excuse for forcing someone to do something against their f*cking will!”

“Boys,” said Jiang Yanli reprovingly. “Stop fighting. A-Cheng, leave A-Xian alone, he’s been punished enough. You were supposed to be keeping an eye on him, why didn’t you stop him from misbehaving last night?”

“I know, Jiejie, I know,” Jiang Cheng groaned. “Please can we stop talking about it? And keep it a secret from our parents?” Jiang Yanli pressed her lips together disapprovingly, but eventually nodded as Jiang Cheng trusted she would. Jiang Yanli hated witnessing their parents fight as much as Jiang Cheng hated being stuck between them. She knew as well as he did that Mother would want to flay Wei Wuxian alive if she found out about their escapades and subsequent punishment, Father would object, and then the two of them would be at each other’s throats, again.

The only thing they would agree on was that Jiang Cheng was at fault, for allowing Wei Wuxian’s unbridled enthusiasm for Emperor’s Smile and experimental talismans to lose face for the entire Jiang sect.

Jiang Cheng felt his mouth twist bitterly as Jiang Yanli sighed and shifted Wei Wuxian’s weight to lay more comfortably across her shoulders. “Come along,” she coaxed her brothers, “let’s go back to our quarters. You two can lay down, I’ll make soup, and then I’ll put cold compresses on your backs while it simmers.”

Wei Wuxian brightened right up and said, “Shijie! Will you make lotus root and pork rib soup? You know these Lans aren’t feeding us any meat, I’ll never be able to heal without some extra protein!”

“Yes, yes,” she said, laughing.

“Can’t we have Dang Gui soup with lamb instead?” asked Jiang Cheng hopefully, but his siblings weren’t listening to him. They had frozen like rabbits as Zewu-Jun emerged from the library pavilion in front of them, all intimidating height, sweeping robes of sky-blue silk, and a silver guan that looked pointy enough to kill someone. He glanced over in their direction, and Jiang Cheng noticed his grip on Shuoyue tighten ever so slightly as his eyes fell upon Wei Wuxian.

“Shijie,” said Wei Wuxian, blatantly panicking, “I need to go lie down now, I hurt everywhere,” and he hurriedly stumbled off, dragging her in the direction of the visiting disciples’ quarters. Jiang Cheng could hear her murmuring remonstrances, and Wei Wuxian muttering back, “Of course I’m afraid of him! They have three thousand rules, I probably broke another one already without even realizing it!”

And there was Jiang Cheng, left alone to face the consequences as per f*cking usual.

Grumbling inwardly, Jiang Cheng descended a shallow staircase to the courtyard and intercepted Zewu-Jun’s stately progress along the flagstone path. He clasped his hands over Sandu’s hilt and bowed deeply in greeting to the First Jade of Lan, hardly daring to meet his eyes. It was his duty, after all, as the Jiang heir, the very least he could do was save some face for his sect by not running away like a total f*cking ninny.

Still, he thought, the older man no longer looked as upset as he had earlier (and rightfully so, given that his beloved younger brother had been magically coerced). His flawless forehead, bound by the Lan ribbon, was uncreased, and his lips were turned up slightly in the gentle, benevolent expression Zewu-Jun was widely known for.

“Zewu-Jun,” said Jiang Cheng in a voice that did not quaver and thank f*ck for that. “Please allow me to offer my apologies on behalf of my shixiong and myself. Our actions were unconscionable.”

“Yes, last night was definitely a mistake,” replied Zewu-Jun, sounding…amused? “But just between us, I think Uncle may have been a bit too harsh in assigning your punishments. The bastinadoes are heavy, and it might take several days for your bruises to heal.”

What?

Jiang Cheng blinked, confused. Shouldn’t Zewu-Jun be furious? Or had the First Jade somehow been charmed by Wei Wuxian’s incessant teasing and flirting?

(Ugh. He wouldn’t be the first one, if so. Ever since Wei Wuxian arrived at Lotus Pier as a kid, he’d been charming people right and left – except for Jiang Cheng’s mother, of course.)

(Speaking of Yu Ziyuan, had Zewu-Jun had ever even met her? If he had, he wouldn’t be so worried about the Lan bastinadoes. Pfft.)

“That being the case,” Zewu-Jun was saying briskly, “let me direct you to a place that will help you heal up a bit faster, so you won’t fall behind in your studies.”

Unbidden, Jiang Cheng felt a shy smile creep over his face, and his heart swelled with gratitude for Zewu-Jun’s unexpected support. It was true, he did need every spare moment, because he knew that his mother would accept nothing less than perfect scores, perfect attendance, perfect everything from him, even though he always struggled with his lessons and Wei Wuxian breezed through. He bowed again, thanked the First Jade politely, and followed as he glided away towards an unknown part of the Cloud Recesses.

Walking one step behind Zewu-Jun, as was proper, meant that Jiang Cheng missed the man’s small, private smile.

The path winding down the leeward slope of Cloud Recesses followed a chuckling mountain stream, verdant with ferns and evergreens. Jiang Cheng walked along silently after Zewu-Jun opened the wards and let him through, enjoying the sound of falling water and the wind sighing through the leaves. He often missed Yunmeng’s slow-rolling rivers and endless lakes, the evening chorus of waterbirds and frogs, but he could still appreciate the lofty beauty of the mountains, so different from his home in Lotus Pier.

As he got closer to the Cold Pond that Zewu-Jun had described, Jiang Cheng began to feel a tingling surge in his spiritual power. It ran through his body clear and bright as the rushing mountain water. His eyes grew wide as he looked around – the near-constant mist that gave Cloud Recesses its name was quite thick, but from what he could see and feel, the landscape was perfectly formed to collect and concentrate natural qi. The very water was humming with energy. No wonder the Cold Pond promoted health, and no wonder the Lan guarded it so closely! Jiang Cheng felt rather overawed at Zewu-Jun granting him access to such a sacred place; he certainly didn’t think he’d done anything to deserve the honor, especially not after allowing his shixiong to misbehave so egregiously.

Jiang Cheng approached the stony shore of the bathing area with reverence. The air was fragrant with pine and fir, and Jiang Cheng took several deep breaths that left him feeling invigorated down to the tips of his toes. It was far too misty to see everything clearly, but the Cold Pond seemed deep enough for him to fully immerse himself, though maybe not quite large enough for a Yunmeng boy to have a proper swim. Jiang Cheng took off his boots, folded his robes neatly as the Lan rules dictated, and set them aside on a rock before removing the ornaments from his hair and allowing it to tumble down past his waist. He laid his hairpiece and sword carefully on top of his folded clothing before slipping into the water soundlessly. The chill numbed his aching back and shoulders, and his eyes fluttered shut with relief.

Jiang Cheng sank down deeper, letting the water close over his head, and felt his meridians ablaze with power. He pushed off against a rock and propelled himself across the Cold Pond with powerful kicks, twisting and rolling beneath the water, feeling playful as an otter. For a moment, he allowed himself to sense every eddy and current, the waterfall nearby roaring in his ears… and then a strange, discordant sensation sparked briefly at the edge of his consciousness, like a single out-of-tune note in a piece of music.

Peculiar, he thought, and blew through the surface of the Cold Pond with a great huffed exhale. However, as soon as he blinked the water from his eyes, he froze, appalled, and lost sight of everything except for the startled expression on Lan Wangji’s face. The Second Jade was seated in meditation behind a boulder on the far side of the bathing area, wearing not a stitch of clothing.

Well, except for his forehead ribbon.

As they stared at each other in stupefied horror, Jiang Cheng saw Lan Wangji’s eyes sweep up and down his body, and his ears promptly went red as persimmons. A very undignified squeak escaped Jiang Cheng’s throat. He ducked back down until the water reached his chin and flapped back across the Cold Pond to where he had left his clothes.

f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.

Jiang Cheng bolted out of the water and wrestled on his trousers and inner robe without drying off; he could feel the thin fabric sticking to him unpleasantly but there was no way his face was thick enough to confront the Second Jade of Lan while naked. He could hear loud (well, loud for a Lan, he supposed) splashing noises, and peeked over just in time to get a glimpse of Lan Wangji’s long, well-muscled back as he swung his inmost robe hastily over his already-healed (what!) shoulders.

Jiang Cheng felt his own cheeks flush – and his neck – and his chest, just for good measure.

f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.

For the second time that day, Jiang Cheng groaned inwardly, braced himself, and marched forward to grovel before an unreasonably beautiful Lan. These f*cking Twin Jades! Honestly, what was a mere mortal like him supposed to do?

He waded back through the water, clasped his hands together, and bowed deeply. “Lan-er-gongzi, I apologize for disturbing you.”

“How did you get in?” demanded Lan Wangji, pulling on more layers of robes.

Jiang Cheng ground his teeth, but supposed it was a fair question, one he himself would ask – probably even more rudely, if he was honest – if he had been the one to find an outsider disporting themselves in anyplace sacred to the Jiang. (Actually, he would probably just break their legs first and ask questions later.)

Nevertheless, he took enormous and petty satisfaction in being able to reply, “Zewu-Jun let me in.” A distinct expression of irritation flitted across Lan Wangji’s handsome features as he stared off over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder and began to sidle away.

You rigid, pedantic, boring, ungracious, stick-up-your-ass… Jiang Cheng thought, bristling, before he remembered why Lan Xichen had opened the wards for him and sighed. “Look, I’m also sorry about what happened last night. And this morning. It seems very unfair for Lan-laoshi and Zewu-Jun to punish you. You should have told them about the talisman, dumbass, or do they think Wei Wuxian held your nose and poured the liquor down your throat, like giving a tonic to a cat?”

Lan Wangji’s expression contorted oddly, and he kept his eyes averted. The silence grew thicker and more awkward.

“They must know better than to think you chose to break the rules,” Jiang Cheng tried.

Still no response. Jiang Cheng huffed in exasperation, until it suddenly dawned on him that not only had he insulted the Grandmaster and Sect Leader of the Sect in which he was currently a guest, he’d followed up by calling the Second Jade of Lan a dumbass to his face. His entire body flamed with embarrassment once again; his mother’s voice hissed in his head: you utter fool, are you trying to start an inter-sect incident? No son of mine could possibly be this stupid!

He contemplated diving back into the Cold Pond and staying there until he died, but then Lan Wangji finally spoke.

“I didn’t want to get Wei Ying in any more trouble. Uncle would have expelled him if he knew.”

Thank the gods, Mother would have whipped Wei Wuxian’s skin off if he’d been expelled, Jiang Cheng thought, followed immediately by a wave of jealous irritation – who the f*ck do you think you are, calling him Wei Ying – and then, on familiar, leaden feet, the heavy hopelessness of realizing that his shixiong was once again soaring blithely past the restraints that bound and governed everyone else – so, even rules that are literally carved in stone don’t apply to the great Wei Wuxian – and then, as always, his anger, the deadliest of the Three Poisons, which ran through him thicker and hotter than blood.

Jiang Cheng took a few deep breaths to try and master his temper but found venomous words spilling out of his mouth anyway, unattractively bitter even to his own ears. He could tell his face was twisted into an ugly sneer.

“So, he got to you too, huh, Lan-er-gongzi? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Wei Wuxian, so charming, so talented, so incredibly clever at thinking up talismans and inventions that there’s nothing the rest of us can do but chase after him and pick up the wreckage whenever he gets in trouble while attempting the impossible!”

He swallowed down the familiar choking sensation in his throat before plunging recklessly on. “He’s never been made to face the consequences of his actions! My – my father always says, oh, he shouldn’t be disciplined too harshly, he’s naturally free-spirited, think of who his parents were – my sister always coddles him – well, anyway, the point is, he can be a total f*cking idiot when it comes to considering other people!”

What under the heavens had gotten into him? Here he was, half-naked, up to his ass in icy water, shamelessly spilling his guts to the Second Jade of Lan, who would clearly rather be anywhere else than stuck here, listening to another maudlin word! Had Wei Wuxian possessed him or something?

“Mn. Last night Wei Ying spoke of his parents. Rogue cultivators.”

Surprised, Jiang Cheng glanced up, only to find Lan Wangji had deigned to look at him sideways.

“Yes,” said Jiang Cheng, leaping on the change of subject like a starving man. “His mother was Cangse Sanren, a wandering disciple of Baoshan Sanren. She married my father’s best friend and second-in-command, Wei Changze. Even though he left the sect to follow her, my father kept in touch. After they were killed on a night-hunt, my father found Wei Wuxian and brought him to live at Lotus Pier.”

That was the short version of the story. Jiang Cheng saw no reason to go into any further detail about Wei Wuxian’s arrival and every wretched thing that had followed; Lans were forbidden to engage in gossip, after all.

“Mn. Wei Ying has often mentioned Lotus Pier.”

“Oh? Let me guess. He asked you to visit.”

“Mn.”

“And to persuade you to visit, he bragged at great length about how spicy the food is, how fun it is to steal fresh seedpods from the lotus farmers, and how pretty the girls are.”

“Mn.”

Jiang Cheng’s mortification was, as usual, subsumed by the strength of his desire to throttle his oblivious shixiong. He settled for pulling the wet mass of his hair over his shoulder and angrily wringing water from it. “For f*ck’s sake, how long has he spent sitting across from you in the library, copying your Sect rules? A month? More? After all that time, how has he still not managed to realize that you would hate all those things? That they are, in fact, the opposite of what you would enjoy?”

Lan Wangji did not say “mn,” in response to this heated tirade. Instead, he gave Jiang Cheng another sideways look, questioning, and Jiang Cheng felt his cheeks starting to heat up again.

“What?” he grumbled. “I don’t have to be a genius like him to guess that you Lans aren’t big on spices or casual flirting or petty thievery.”

Lan Wangji hummed in a vaguely affirmative way, but Jiang Cheng grew suddenly distracted by the same jangling out-of-tune sensation that he had felt before, in the water. It was stronger than ever. “Hey, do you feel something odd?” he asked, and without waiting for a response, he sent some of his qi to probe the strange currents suddenly rippling through the Cold Pond. The discordant sensation immediately redoubled, and Jiang Cheng winced as the clear, cold feeling of the energy in the water intensified beyond the point of pain; it felt like ice-cold razors were filleting him. Lan Wangji finally looked at him directly, and his amber eyes widened at Jiang Cheng’s agonized expression.

“Wangji!” he gasped, and collapsed into the water, struggling weakly against the overwhelming power that wrapped around him and whirled him away.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji awakened long past dawn. He was conscious of a headache, a sour taste in his mouth, and the sound of someone banging on the door. Loudly, and obnoxiously. Blinking, he took stock of his situation. He was sprawled awkwardly across the floor in a room that was definitely not his. The room was profoundly gross, with clothing draped over all the windows, peanuts scattered across every flat surface, and a pervasive, sweaty, teenage fug in the air. He, the Second Jade of Lan, was tangled in the same robes he’d worn the day before. They were hopelessly wrinkled and stank of stale liquor.

Wei Ying was leaning against the wall opposite with his arms clasped across his belly, laughing so hard that no sound came out.

Lan Wangji sat up and could tell immediately that his forehead ribbon was askew.

Unacceptable!

Lan Wangji got to his feet and walked towards the door with furious precision; running was not permitted but he needed to remove himself from this ghastly room that had Wei Ying in it before he punched the other boy in the face and f*ck the consequences.

“Lan Zhan! Wait, hey, hang on, wait!”

Lan Wangji ignored this and slid the door open with slightly more force than was strictly necessary. He found himself nose to nose with Jiang Wanyin, whose fist was still raised, mid-knock. Jiang Wanyin had a bucket of wash water in his other hand and a broom tucked under his arm.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” he hissed, “what the f*ck are you still doing here? Wei Wuxian! The f*ck did you do to him? Never mind! I don’t even want to know! You both need to get out of here! The lecture begins in less than half a shichen and I still need to clean up all these f*cking peanuts! Get moving or I’ll break your legs!”

“Right you are, shidi!” said Wei Ying, suddenly all businesslike. “Come on, Lan Zhan, let’s go check on Nie Huaisang and make sure he’s not dead.” He breezed past Lan Wangji, seized his arm, and dragged him along towards the pavilion housing the Nie disciples. Lan Wangji was just about to pull himself together, plant his feet, and jerk himself free when they rounded a corner and ran smack into Su Minshan.

Su Minshan had been skulking shamefacedly around Cloud Recesses ever since Lan Wangji had scruffed him like a kitten and plucked him out of the Waterborne Abyss at Biling Lake. However, at this moment, he had an oleaginous smirk that was probably visible from space stretching his thin lips, and Lan Wangji just knew he was mentally jumping up and down, squealing, at the prospect of seeing the Second Jade get taken down a peg.

Do not judge others, Lan Wangji reminded himself, but still. What a greasy little stain of a man.

“Ah, Lan-er-gongzi,” Su Minshan said with poorly concealed glee, “Lan-laoshi and Zewu-jun are looking for you and Wei-gongzi. You’re to report to the Songfeng Shiyue Pavilion immediately.”

“Mn,” replied Lan Wangji with all the disdain he could muster and swept off to the area designated for corporal punishment. It was not long before Wei Ying, Nie Huaisang, and Jiang Wanyin were marched in behind him, with Jiang Wanyin still ludicrously clutching his broom. (He turned very red and cast around for an inconspicuous place to put it.) Lan Wangji refused to even look at Wei Ying, even as the other boy attempted to take the blame on himself.

Too little, too late!

Instead, Lan Wangji focused on keeping his own posture perfectly upright, as the rules demanded, even as the disciplinarians took up their bastinadoes and began raining blows upon their backs and shoulders. Nie Huaisang yowled and wailed at every impact, but Lan Wangji did not hear a sound from either of the Yunmeng pair.

Once it was over, Lan Wangji did not linger to watch a wincing Jiang Wanyin haul his complaining shixiong to his feet, issuing threats all the while. Nor did he care much for the four burly Nie disciples who scraped Nie Huaisang off the ground and carried him away. Instead, he turned his back on his uncle’s frown and his brother’s concerned expression and took himself off to sulk in the Cold Pond. He had some serious thinking to do.

Lan Wangji sat in the Cold Pond with his eyes shut, fruitlessly trying to meditate. Ever since he had first seen Wei Ying grinning at him in the moonlight, breaking curfew and swinging a pair of contraband liquor bottles, he had felt deeply unsettled in his own skin. Wei Ying’s liveliness and quick wit were impossible to ignore, in the classroom or out of it. His talent – in swordsmanship, in cultivation, in archery, in battle against the Waterborne Abyss – was staggering. Wei Ying’s calligraphy was – well, it was atrocious, but he displayed great skill in painting. Lan Wangji had gone so far as to hide Wei Ying’s ink portrait of himself under the loose floorboard in his quarters. Of course, Wei Ying had given it to him only as a distraction, so he could sneak a cut-sleeve spring book into the scripture Lan Wangji had been trying to read…

Lan Wangji’s co*ck twitched, despite the icy chill of the water.

He had initially responded to the very explicit imagery with shock and revulsion, but after shredding the spring book and retreating to the Jingshi to seethe in privacy, he’d been nonplussed to find himself growing aroused instead. He eventually had to play several rounds of Clarity on his guqin before he could stop imagining himself and Wei Ying intimately entwined, like the lovers in the picture, and get himself back under control.

Still! It was one thing for Wei Ying to take him unaware with a bit of cut-sleeve p*rn; it was really beyond all the bounds of propriety to slap a talisman on him while his back was turned and start manipulating him around the room like a puppet on a string. Go here, sit there, drink this… Lan Wangji got angrier and angrier the more he thought of it! Ugh, as if he would ever voluntarily refer to the other boy as Wei-gege…

Lan Wangji tried to refocus. His stubborn heart was torn.

He did not want to judge Wei Ying – handsome, captivating, infuriating Wei Ying – too harshly. (Such things were against the rules.) However, the more he dwelt on the matter, the more he had to acknowledge that this was not an isolated incident, but part of a larger pattern of behavior. In considering the past few weeks, Lan Wangji was forced to admit that there had been several occasions where Wei Ying’s pride in his extraordinary talents had shaded into arrogance – moments where it became all too evident that he was accustomed to being the center of attention, and quite heedless of any consequence. Although Wei Ying’s intentions were usually good, he rarely showed due consideration for others, and it was not just Wei Ying’s behavior to himself that was the problem either, judging from how often Wei Ying went out of his way to antagonize Jiang Yanli’s fiancé, despite his sister’s obvious distress, or badger Jiang Wanyin with nonsense even when the other boy was clearly trying to study.

Lan Wangji heard a loud splash very close by, and his eyes flew open.

Thinking of Jiang Wanyin seemed to have summoned him forth. There he was, emerging from the waters of the Cold Pond like a jiaoren from a story, warm breath streaming from between petal-pink lips, blinking water from storm-gray eyes.

Lan Wangji froze. He had never given much thought to Jiang Wanyin before, being constantly distracted by the antics of his shixiong… but that was before he got a glimpse of what the boy kept hidden beneath his fine robes.

A long, elegant neck – muscular swimmer’s shoulders – delicious golden skin glistening with fine sun-bleached down, like a peach – a distractingly slender waist – and thighs the likes of which…

Jiang Wanyin squeaked and ducked back underwater, from whence he goggled at Lan Wangji like a mortified frog.

Lan Wangji blinked back at him, dazedly realizing that he now had a new reason to play Clarity once he was safely back in the privacy of his rooms. Probably repeatedly, given the way that Jiang Wanyin’s lithe little body seemed to have seared itself into his eyeballs.

By mutual unspoken agreement, the two boys turned their backs to each other and dived for their clothing. Lan Wangji was tugging on his second and third layer by the time Jiang Wanyin came splashing back over to stutter out an awkward apology for disturbing him. Well, Lan Wangji had certainly been disturbed all right! He would like to know why Jiang Wanyin hadn’t bothered put on his outer robes! Lan Wangji could see right through those trousers!

And exactly how had Jiang Wanyin gained access to the Lan Sect’s sacred bathing area in the first place?

“Zewu-Jun let me in,” admitted Jiang Wanyin, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered but sounding just a bit smug about it.

Xiongzhang! What the f*ck!

Lan Wangji simply could not cope with all the emotions he was having at the moment – at least not while Jiang Wanyin was standing right there in his wet, transparent undergarments, his hair loose and clinging around his body in a very distracting fashion – so he began to make his escape. But Jiang Wanyin wasn’t done tormenting him yet, apparently.

“Look, I’m also sorry about what happened last night. And this morning. It seems very unfair of Lan-laoshi and Zewu-Jun to punish you. You should have told them about the talisman, dumbass, or do they think Wei Wuxian held your nose and poured the liquor down your throat, like giving a tonic to a cat?”

Lan Wangji’s mutinous brain promptly supplied him with a vision of Jiang Wanyin trying to tend to a cat, both spitting invective and wearing identical expressions of feline outrage. He came nearer to chuckling than he had for years; fortunately, Jiang Wanyin was still speaking.

“They can’t possibly think you chose to break the rules,” Jiang Wanyin said, queryingly, and Lan Wangji grew instantly sober.

That was exactly what his uncle and his brother feared, their deepest fear, in fact: that one day he would look at someone, and he would choose to break the rules governing his Sect for that person’s sake, and that would be the day his father’s obsessive, destructive path unfurled darkly beneath his feet.

He did not want to think or speak about it, but basic courtesy towards the Sect Heir of Yunmeng Jiang demanded he make some answer, and the rules demanded the truth.

“I did not want to get Wei Ying in any more trouble,” Lan Wangji settled on admitting. “Uncle would have expelled him if he knew about the talisman.”

Jiang Wanyin’s expression darkened. His usual scowl twisted into something genuinely painful to look at, so Lan Wangji tried mightily not to look.

“So, he got to you too, huh, Lan-er-gongzi? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Wei Wuxian, so charming, so talented, so incredibly clever at thinking up talismans and inventions that there’s nothing the rest of us can do but chase after him and pick up the wreckage whenever he gets in trouble, attempting the impossible! He’s never been made to face the consequences of his actions! My father always says, oh, he shouldn’t be disciplined too harshly, he’s naturally free-spirited, think of who his parents were, my sister always coddles him… well, anyway, the point is, he can be a total f*cking idiot when it comes to considering other people!”

As the other boy’s angry words spilled forth, Lan Wangji grew increasingly uncomfortable – he seemed to have poked inadvertently at a deep, deep, festering wound. He winced inwardly. Of course, he could never permit himself to express his opinions as – as forcefully as Jiang Wanyin (do not succumb to rage) but despite the vitriol, Jiang Wanyin’s words captured exactly what Lan Wangji had just been thinking himself.

Jiang Wanyin had clearly earned his reputation as a short-tempered hothead, but apparently underneath all his prickliness he could also be unexpectedly intuitive.

Feeling intrigued despite himself, Lan Wangji stopped edging away and instead made a titanic effort to nudge the conversation forward. He had heard of the legendary Cangse Sanren, of course, but Wei Changze’s name and status had been unknown to him. By adding this new information to the bits of talk he had overheard at various conferences, Lan Wangji could surmise that there was rather more to the story of Wei Ying’s arrival in Lotus Pier than Jiang Wanyin was willing to share.

Admittedly, Lan Wangji then grew very distracted by Jiang Wanyin’s hair – a gorgeous thick skein of ink-black silk that fell midway down those mouthwatering thighs – as the boy wrung it out. Then his ears flushed scarlet again as he absorbed what Jiang Wanyin was saying and realized the implications. Like a good student, Jiang Wanyin had obviously been paying attention to the rules, habits, and preferences of the Lan sect… but had he been observing Lan Wangji particularly?

This was a tantalizing thought.

Lan Wangji peeked at Jiang Wanyin discreetly from the corner of his eye and felt a touch of pique when he saw that the boy was not paying him the slightest bit of attention, instead gazing around the Cold Pond and scowling in a more thoughtful fashion than usual. “Do you feel something odd?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer sent his indigo qi leaping from his fingers. It flashed in the water, fish-like, and Jiang Wanyin’s high cheekbones grew suddenly pale. His expressive mouth twisted in pain and Lan Wangji’s eyes went wide with shock as Jiang Wanyin gasped his name, swayed violently, and went down. A splash, a swirl of waterlogged robes, and the boy was gone, stolen away by some unseen force.

Lan Wangji had just enough time to seize Bichen before he felt his own legs snatched from under him.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

The strange current flung Jiang Cheng headfirst down a steep, rocky waterfall. At the bottom, he splashed into a waist-high pool of water and was just struggling to his feet when Lan Wangji landed heavily on top of him. They writhed around together for a moment, coughing and spluttering and (in Jiang Cheng’s case) furiously swearing. Why can’t the Lan student’s robes be more practical, Jiang Cheng fumed to himself as he unwound their sodden and uselessly voluminous sleeves. At this point I’d f*cking kill somebody for a pair of vambraces.

Jiang Cheng finally got their robes untangled, tugged, patted, and smoothed into some semblance of order, then noticed that Lan Wangji wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to what he was doing. Rather, the older boy was gazing around the cave they had been spirited away to with his eyes shining and lips parted in wonder. Belatedly, Jiang Cheng looked around too, and shivered. The cold had grown even more extreme, somehow, but there was more to it than that. Some power, strange and uncanny, deeply unsettling, seemed to be waiting for them – watching and listening and weighing their worth.

“Lan-er-gongzi, where are we?” he whispered through chattering teeth, taking in the milk-white stone and glittering ice that surrounded them. Lan Wangji kept right on ignoring him, drifting forward as if entranced. Jiang Cheng hastily waded after (certainly not because he was reluctant to be left by himself in a mysterious cave!) and they soon found themselves in a vast cavern, spiked with stalactites and adrift with wisps of icy mist. On the far side of the cave a series of stone steps emerged from the water, leading up to a rocky ledge. It was faintly lit by motes of qi that floated in the air like fireflies and clustered around elegant lanterns carved from the living rock. The lanterns illuminated a slab of crystal where a noble instrument lay at rest. They both gasped when they saw it, glowing softly and brimming with spiritual power: a pure white guqin, inlaid with silver cloud motifs that swirled across the soundboard and marked it as an heirloom of the Lan Sect.

Lan Wangji moved towards the platform in reverent silence, and Jiang Cheng followed warily, trying not to splash too much. However, the instant Lan Wangji’s bare toes touched the first step, the guqin emitted a deep, humming, questioning note. A pulse of ice-blue energy surged from it, and while the energy flowed harmlessly past Lan Wangji it hit Jiang Cheng in the chest with the force of a war hammer, punching the breath from his lungs, and sending him flying across the cavern. Jiang Cheng landed on his back and inhaled a mouthful of freezing water before he could thrash his way to his feet again and gargle, “What the f*ck was that?”

“Chord Assassination,” Wangji murmured in awe. The guqin thrummed again and Jiang Cheng dived back under the water to avoid its next attack.

“Why isn’t it striking you?” he spluttered, resurfacing. “How can it tell you’re a member of the Lan Sect and I’m not? It’s a guqin!”

As if offended, the guqin sent forth a third pulse of killing energy, but Lan Wangji pulled himself together and hurriedly blocked it with Bichen before it could take Jiang Cheng’s head off. Jiang Cheng crouched in the icy water and shrieked, “Isn’t there any way to stop this thing?”

Lan Wangji stood still for a long moment as if thinking, his face perfectly blank, then seemed to arrive at a decision. He turned and leapt over to where Jiang Cheng knelt half-submerged, coughing and shivering, and whipped the ribbon from his forehead as he landed. He tied one end around his own wrist and wrapped the other around Jiang Cheng’s. Their gazes met as the ribbon stretched between them, and Jiang Cheng’s gray eyes grew enormously wide.

He'd read about what it meant to be bound by the Lan forehead ribbon! What the f*ck!

However, before he could even begin to stammer out any of the embarrassing questions Lan Wangji’s actions had just raised, the older boy had already turned away and begun wading back towards the stone platform, towing Jiang Cheng along in his wake. “Do not touch,” he murmured.

“What, the ancient sacred heirloom that attacks anyone who isn’t a member of the Lan Sect? I wasn’t f*cking planning on it!” Jiang Cheng hissed back. “Do you even know which of your ancestors it belonged to?”

“I shall find out,” Lan Wangji replied rather smugly, and seated himself before the guqin. Folding back his sleeves, he closed his eyes and laid his long fingers upon the strings. They glowed bright blue as he infused each note with spiritual power. Who are you?

Jiang Cheng waited, trying mightily not to fidget. He had never heard a Gusu Lan master play Inquiry before, though he had certainly heard of the technique, and he was aflame with curiosity. Would a spirit answer Lan Wangji’s call?

A moment of unbearable silence passed, and then the guqin spilled forth a shivery cascade of notes, unplucked.

Barely audible, Lan Wangji whispered, “It is her…”

Jiang Cheng’s breath caught in his throat as a slender woman materialized in front of them, gently and delicately as frost blossoming across a sheet of still water. Everything about her, from her regal demeanor to her powerful aura, her silver robes and sacred ribbon – which, like Wangji’s, bore the cloud-shaped charm worn only by direct descendants of the Lan Sect founder – signaled her exalted status. In his mind, Jiang Cheng flicked frantically through the Sect histories that he had studied in the Lan library pavilion.

And then he exhaled an awed whisper of his own.

“… Master Lan Yi…”

Next to him, Lan Wangji sank to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor. This tugged at the ribbon binding their wrists together and snapped Jiang Cheng out of his awestruck daze. He hurried to kneel beside Lan Wangji, and bow.

Lan Yi, the one and only female Sect Leader in the long history of Gusu Lan, legendary cultivator, ruthless warrior, and creator of the Chord Assassination Technique!

She wore a gentle, composed smile on her unlined face. It was nearly impossible for Jiang Cheng to reconcile her serene appearance with the centuries-old tale of ancient slaughter and wicked sorcery that she proceeded to unfold before them.

Jiang Cheng tried his best to follow the blood-drenched story of the Yin Iron: how the mighty cultivator Xue Chonghai had been driven mad by his unquenchable thirst for power; how he sacrificed the lives of his own people as he sought to capture resentful energy in a mysterious mass of celestial metal, thereby corrupting it irreversibly; how his territory in Yiling became a mass burial ground when the Five Great Sects finally united to defeat him and the army of soulless monsters under his command; how the Yin Iron had been broken into pieces and hidden.

It was almost too fantastic to believe, but the Yin Iron fragment that Lan Yi then revealed certainly seemed capable of any evil. It was an ugly thing, Jiang Cheng thought. He could hear it muttering and seething with resentful energy, tainting the purity of the Cold Pond Cave.

Lan Yi continued her tale, and Jiang Cheng silently took note as she described her broken relationship with Baoshan Sanren, knowing Wei Wuxian’s deep interest in anything having to do with his long-lost mother and her mysterious, immortal Grand Master. He found himself surprised and rather touched by the deep sadness in Lan Yi’s voice as she related how her naivete and hubris led her to seek out the Yin Iron, crossing swords with her beloved soulmate in the process.

“If you knew the Yin Iron could not be purified or controlled, why did you try to find it?” broke in Lan Wangji, sounding personally offended that any ancestor of his could make such a dreadful error in judgment.

“I persuaded myself that I was doing the right thing for the Sect,” Lan Yi replied, eyes downcast. “I was always seeking ways to advance our cultivation and invent new spiritual tools. However, after many years of reflection, I can admit that I also had my own reasons for seeking the Yin Iron. You see, I’d been struggling for years to revitalize Gusu Lan, but I faced nothing but impediments and obstacles, even after I became the Sect Leader. People never stopped criticizing me – because I am a woman – and I wanted, very badly, to impress them. To make them see past my sex and accept me for who I was.”

Hearing this, Jiang Cheng quivered as if he’d been slapped.

He felt the truth of her words resonate painfully, right down into the marrow of his bones. He knew – he understood – he lived every day with the visceral, exhausting, fathomless frustration of having to do everything right and never being able to measure up – never being good enough, never being considered worthy, never being loved, barely even being tolerated – because of who you were, who you had been born.

Lan Yi was, quite simply, not a man.

And he, Jiang Cheng, was quite simply not Wei Wuxian.

He’d been born to Yu Ziyuan, not Cangse Sanren; his father’s obligation, not his father’s love.

He had not been born with a brilliant mind, a free spirit, a cheerful disposition, a knack for archery, swordsmanship, or any of the other skills that made Wei Wuxian a better son, a better brother, a better cultivator, and better for Yunmeng Jiang than Jiang Cheng could ever f*cking hope to be, no matter how hard he tried.

Jiang Cheng clenched his fists and tried to will away the tears of frustration that sprang to his eyes, but when had he ever had any luck with that? They spilled hotly down his cold cheeks, and he scrubbed them away angrily before they froze. Lan Wangji glanced at him sideways, puzzled.

But Lan Yi raised her eyes to meet his, looking at him as if she could hear every ugly thought scrabbling rat-like through his mind. He dropped his head in shame, but she called him softly, “Jiang-gongzi,” and when he looked up, she gave him a rueful, understanding smile before continuing her tale.

“In any case, it was a terrible mistake,” Lan Yi said with a sigh. “I found a fragment of the Yin Iron and broke the Five Sects’ ancient seal on it, but I could not control it or purify it, no matter how many times I tried. Eventually, greatly exhausted, I brought the Yin Iron here. I spent the last of my spiritual energy creating wards strong enough keep its corruption suppressed within this cave. For the past one hundred years, my debt – my penance – has been to linger here, maintaining those wards.”

Jiang Cheng felt moved to ask, shyly, “Master Lan Yi, is there nothing we can do to assist you?” It did seem a terrible fate to remain trapped alone in a cave for years, after all, no matter what had led to it.

Lan Yi’s smile disappeared, and she replied obliquely, “If it was within my power, I would never pass this burden on to any other. However, in the last decade, this fragment of the Yin Iron has grown more aggressive, and I have grown weaker. My wards are failing, and resentful energy has begun to leach into the water.”

Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji looked at each other; that explained the shui gui and the Waterborne Abyss plaguing Biling Lake.

“If my guess is right,” Lan Yi continued, “this is happening because another shard of the Yin Iron has been found and activated.”

Lan Wangji grew suspiciously still.

“What?” Jiang Cheng demanded. “Lan-er-gongzi! Do you know something about this?”

“Recently, we encountered several cultivators whose spirits had been stolen,” Lan Wangji replied in a very low voice. “They did not live or think or feel, but moved and obeyed orders, like puppets. We have not been able to discover the culprit behind this atrocity.”

“Someone is experimenting with the Yin Iron, then,” Lan Yi said. “Ever since I removed the original seal, it seems that the shards of the Yin Iron have been able to resonate with and amplify each other.”

“Isn’t there any way to stop the Yin Iron from bringing disaster upon the world?” Jiang Cheng squawked, forgetting to show proper deference to the elder as he struggled to digest this appalling information.

Lan Yi sighed again and said, “The only solution is to find all the fragments and suppress them anew. It cannot be done by one cultivator nor even, I think, by one Sect…”

She was fading now, glowing faintly, hardly more substantial than moonlight through the mist.

“If I have learned anything over the years, it is that I could not fix my error by myself,” she said reflectively, “I have lingered on and on, alone, trying to repay my debt, and my final day will come soon. And now you two have appeared…”

She looked at Lan Wangji and smiled, “My young descendant…”

“And you,” she inclined her head towards Jiang Cheng, “true heir to your Sect motto, attempt the impossible…”

Quickly, Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng sank to their knees and bowed to the ground again, their wrists still bound together by the sacred Lan ribbon. “I’ll do my best to find the rest of the Yin Iron and seal it,” Lan Wangji declared.

“Me too,” Jiang Cheng piped up, then blushed. That came out sounding really unimpressive.

“This is a Lan Sect matter,” Lan Wangji grumbled under his breath, “none of your business.”

“Says who?” Jiang Cheng muttered back, deeply affronted. “You? I’d like to see you try to stop me!”

Lan Yi listened to their whispered bickering, and her smile gained a touch of warmth, some true amusem*nt flickering in her face for the first time.

“You are right,” she said calmly to Jiang Cheng, who barely restrained the impulse to put out his tongue at Lan Wangji. Lan Yi’s voice grew fainter and fainter as she continued, “It will be a dangerous task. I hope you will avoid making the same mistakes I did.”

“Be assured we will do our best,” said Jiang Cheng, and with that the spirit of Lan Yi faded away entirely. Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji looked at each other uneasily, then turned to look at the chunk of Yin Iron, left behind on the guqin stand.

“Ugh,” Jiang Cheng said eventually. “It looks like a frozen turd.”

Lan Wangji’s lip curled with distaste as he wrapped the thing up gingerly in his handkerchief and put it away in his sleeve.

“Well, that’s one piece anyway,” said Jiang Cheng, and then blinked. Come to think of it…

“Wait! Master Lan Yi!” Jiang Cheng shouted, jumping up and spinning around, dragging Lan Wangji along with him by their bound wrists. “HEY! Can’t you at least tell us where the other pieces are?”

Silence.

“Well, f*ck.”

“Cursing is forbidden in Cloud Recesses.”

“Shut up, Lan-er-gongzi, can we just find a way out of here?”

It took f*cking forever. Jiang Cheng grew thoroughly sick of blindly wading up and down pitch-black tunnels, climbing around barefoot on ice-covered subterranean rocks, and paddling through flooded caves with his arm still bound to Lan Wangji’s because Lans weren’t taught how to f*cking swim.

“I’m adding another thing to the list of activities you’ll hate when you come to visit Lotus Pier.”

“Mn?”

“You’re going to learn how to swim. So I can push you into the lake without having to fish you out again afterwards.”

“… shut up.”

“Want me to break your legs? You can go ahead and drown! And freeze! And starve to death!”

Lan Wangji scoffed.

“f*ck, now I’m hungry.”

“Cursing is forbidden in Cloud Recesses.”

“YOU! SHUT! UP!”

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

At long last, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji found a concealed exit from Cold Pond Cave, although it would be more accurate to say that they leaned against it accidentally, due to exhaustion. The wards activated promptly and spat them out through what appeared, from the outside, to be a solid stone slab. Once again, they fell hard, tumbling together in an undignified heap.

Jiang Cheng found some small comfort in the fact that at least this time he landed on top of Lan Wangji rather than the other way around.

“CHENG-CHENG!”

Oh, f*ck.

Jiang Cheng jerked up from where he was lying with his face squashed uncomfortably against Lan Wangji’s bony clavicle. To his absolute horror, there stood Wei Wuxian, all agog, and beside him Wen Qing – quite possibly the two people he least wanted to see whilst half-dressed, barefoot, with his hair loose, and still tied to the Second Jade of Lan by his f*cking forehead ribbon.

Lan Wangji felt similarly, judging from the vehement way in which he grunted “Get. Up.”

“You get up,” Jiang Cheng snapped back, hauling Lan Wangji to his feet and picking frantically at the knots in the ribbon. His fingers were numb with cold.

Wei Wuxian bounced over to them and demanded, “What are you guys doing here?”

Wen Qing followed more sedately.

“What are you doing here?” Jiang Cheng responded, rather lamely. (Lan Wangji was busy tying his ribbon back around his forehead and giving no sign that he planned to contribute anything useful to this already-awkward conversation.) “This part of Cloud Recesses is supposed to be warded against outsiders!”

“Pfft,” said Wei Wuxian, waving a dismissive hand. “Those wards were nothing, I broke them this morning on my second try. I’ve been searching around here all day; did you know that there’s a meadow back there that’s full of rabbits? Lovely, plump, delicious-looking rabbits?”

Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji, and Wen Qing sighed in unison and pinched the bridges of their noses.

“That is not the point, Wei Wuxian, now what are you talking about, you’ve been searching all day?”

“What are you talking about?” Wei Wuxian shot back. “Did you somehow forget that you vanished from the Cold Pond yesterday, with your clothes and boots and sword and hair things left behind? You were gone overnight! Shijie’s been too worried to eat or sleep! I was about to send an emergency message to Uncle Jiang! Zewu-Jun and all the disciples have been looking for you nonstop, even the Peaco*ck and his millions of stuck-up Jin cousins! Everyone is worried about you! Where have you been?”

Wei Wuxian was growing increasingly shrill. Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji looked at each other in panic.

“Can’t we talk about it later?” Jiang Cheng said, hedging. “It’s a long story and I’m starving.”

“Wait a moment,” Wen Qing commanded, arching a dainty eyebrow and glancing between the two of them. Her eyes flicked to the frost melting out of their hair, then she looked keenly at the seemingly solid cliff face they had just plunged through; her analytical mind was clearly whirring away. “Before you go, may I ask what, exactly, is inside that mountain?”

“Ice! Rocks!” spat Jiang Cheng. “There’s just ice, and rocks, and rocks with ice on them, and probably some more rabbits for all I f*cking know! It’s dark as f*ck in there, we were stuck for a long f*cking time, and we exhausted ourselves trying to keep warm and find an exit! And did you know Lans can’t f*cking swim? Because I didn’t! I had to f*cking carry this one!”

“What!” said Wei Wuxian, thoroughly distracted. “Shouldn’t such a thing be forbidden in Cloud Recesses?”

Lan Wangji’s stony face conveyed disapproval. Lying is forbidden.

Well, too bad!

Jiang Cheng grumbled and made a show of chafing his hands together until Wei Wuxian threw a warm arm around his shoulder and said, “All right, all right, let’s go back now and tell everyone you’re safe. But put some clothes on first! And then I’d better braid your hair for you, otherwise Lan-laoshi will spit blood.”

Without any more ado, the Yunmeng boys wandered off, elbowing and poking each other, bickering as usual. But Jiang Cheng couldn’t help glancing back, only to see Wen Qing and Lan Wangji standing before the warded rock wall, staring at each other with something approaching open hostility.

Lan Wangji dropped his eyes and stalked away first.

Jiang Cheng could have told him that would happen. Nobody, not even the Second Jade, could beat Wen Qing when it came to being stubborn.

Later, warmed and fed and finally fully clothed, thank f*ck, Jiang Cheng stood in Lan Qiren’s office, watching with mixed admiration and envy as Zewu-Jun played Cleansing on his xiao. It was obvious how the First Jade had earned his number one spot on the list of eligible young cultivators: effortlessly, his spiritual power enfolded the fragment of Yin Iron, quieted its baleful muttering, and finally nestled it gently into a special pouch lined with white lead and embroidered all over with seals for the suppression of evil spirits and resentful energy. Lan Qiren activated the seals with a touch of his qi and scowled down at the pouch.

Jiang Cheng scowled too. It was plain that while Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren had been deeply disturbed by their report of what had transpired in the Cold Pond Cave, neither was at all surprised to hear about the Yin Iron or its growing power. I guess lying by omission isn’t forbidden, he thought sourly, but at least they didn’t deny everything when Lan Wangji, sounding deeply betrayed, asked them to confirm what he and Jiang Cheng had learned. At least the elder Lans weren’t planning to treat them like idiots, or children.

No, the pair of them were unquestionably enmeshed in this long-buried secret, and now the problem was what to do about the Yin Iron before it caused more catastrophes like the Waterborne Abyss or snatched any more unfortunate souls.

Although Jiang Cheng wondered if the Yin Iron could even be properly considered a secret anymore, given everything that had already happened.

As if on cue, an all-too-familiar screech from overhead broke the four cultivators from their thoughts and sent Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji hurrying for the door. Zewu-Jun and Lan Qiren followed close behind, so Jiang Cheng refrained from swearing aloud when he spotted the Dire Owl flapping away above their heads, heading towards Qishan and trailing resentful energy through the sky, like greasy smoke. Jiang Cheng longed for his bow and arrows – it wouldn’t even be a difficult shot! – but Lan Qiren advised him not to pursue the thing.

“What! Why not?” Jiang Cheng asked in total disbelief. The Wen weren’t even being subtle, sending a giant f*cking demonic bird to do their dirty work!

“Because we strongly suspect that Wen Ruohan already has a shard of Yin Iron in his possession,” Zewu-Jun answered quietly.

Oh, we’re good and f*cked now, Jiang Cheng thought.

“So… that is how the Wen Sect became aware of another piece of Yin Iron, and why the Wen disciples are here – to search for it,” Lan Wangji guessed after a short silence. His brother nodded.

“I’ll bet you a jar of Emperor’s Smile that it was Wen Ruohan who activated all the pieces when he started using his own, just like Master Lan Yi said,” Jiang Cheng grumbled.

“Gambling is forbidden in Cloud Recesses,” chorused all three of the Lans.

Jiang Cheng pressed his lips together very firmly, and they all went back inside.

“Xiongzhang. Uncle. What should we do now?”

Lan Qiren stroked his beard but did not answer immediately.

“Lan-laoshi,” Jiang Cheng blurted out, “I remember that Master Lan Yi told us that the fragments of Yin Iron can… sense each other, sort of? What if we use this one that she gave us to track down the others? Maybe we can get to them before Wen Ruohan does!”

Lan Qiren frowned disapprovingly. “Disaster would strike us all should this Yin Iron fragment fall into Wen Ruohan’s hands. We must put it back in the Cold Pond Cave immediately and seal it with a new ward.”

“But Uncle, what if we cannot conceal this fragment from Wen Ruohan? He might attack Gusu to obtain it,” Lan Wangji said, as earnestly as Jiang Cheng had ever heard him speak. However, his uncle’s frown only deepened. “We will discuss this later. For now, say nothing to anyone. You are both dismissed.”

Keeping Wei Wuxian’s curiosity at bay for the rest of the afternoon was very nearly impossible, and Nie Huaisang, insatiable gossip extraordinaire, was just as bad. For the first time since he arrived at Cloud Recesses, Jiang Cheng thanked every deity in heaven for the Lans’ ironclad rule about not speaking during meals. All he had to do was keep his eyes fixed on his bowl and pretend he couldn’t see his shixiong pulling faces at him and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. He noticed Lan Wangji was also keeping his head down, although the hair that curtained his downcast face did nothing to conceal his ears, which were faintly pink.

He also noticed that Wen Qing did not come to dinner at all.

After the meal was over, Jiang Cheng hid behind a book in the library pavilion until Wei Wuxian tracked him down, then dodged his shixiong’s questions by immediately announcing he was in desperate need of a hot bath. While he soaked behind the privacy screen in their room, he successfully distracted Wei Wuxian with a somewhat-exaggerated description of the Cold Pond (it was very cold, certainly, but Jiang Cheng had not actually felt as if his co*ck was in danger of freezing and falling off) and then managed to draw him into a long bout of speculation about what kind of talismans the Lan wove into their impractically gauzy robes. By the time the curfew bell rang, Wei Wuxian was surrounded by pages of scribbled notes, had contrived half-a-dozen experimental talismans to protect clothing from stains and tears and moths (only one of which set their test handkerchief on fire), and appeared to be his usual obnoxiously cheerful, chatterbox self. Jiang Cheng felt rather pleased; he was generally acknowledged to be terrible at telling stories and keeping secrets from anyone, let alone Wei Wuxian.

He should have known better.

Long after Wei Wuxian had snuffled and snored his way to sleep, Jiang Cheng lay awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking about everything that had happened since he woke up hungover the previous morning. His world had blown wide open – how had he ever been worried about something as trivial as a mess of peanuts on the floor and being late for class? Now he was privy to a dangerous, ancient secret that seemed poised to plunge the entire cultivation world into a terrible conflict, and he was engaged to Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng sat bolt upright in bed. OH f*ck! He’d forgotten he was engaged to Lan Wangji!

Before Jiang Cheng’s poor brain could even begin to grapple with this situation, however, he heard a low moan and a sniffling noise from the bed where Wei Wuxian lay. Jiang Cheng was all too familiar with his shixiong’s nightmares; the two had shared a room ever since Wei Wuxian arrived at Lotus Pier as a skinny, half-starved street urchin and even after many years, he was still plagued by fearful dreams of cruelty, hunger, danger, and cold.

It had been a while, but Jiang Cheng remembered what he had to do. He crept out of his own bed, unwound Wei Wuxian from the mess of his blankets, and curled up against his shixiong’s back. Wei Wuxian was shaking and whimpering softly, Jiang Cheng couldn’t tell if he was quite awake or not.

“Shh, shh, A-Xian,” Jiang Cheng whispered in his ear, using the endearment he would only ever let slip in the dead of night. “You’re safe, you’re safe.” He put his arms around Wei Wuxian and rocked him back and forth slightly. “Shh, shh, shh, you’re all right.”

“Didi,” Wei Wuxian said thickly.

“I’m here, I’m right here. Shh.”

“But you were gone.”

Jiang Cheng’s breath stuttered in his throat. Wei Wuxian turned around in his arms, tucked Jiang Cheng’s head under his chin, and made fists in the back of Jiang Cheng’s sleeping robe.

“You went somewhere without me, and I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know how to find you, and I was so afraid you’d never come back.”

Oh, very well done, you’ve reminded him of how it was to lose his parents, said the accusatory voice in Jiang Cheng’s guilty mind, the one that sounded exactly like his mother. Jiang Cheng hugged his brother closer, fiercely close.

“I’m here, Xian-ge, I’m right here. You’re good, everything’s good.”

Wei Wuxian sniffled for a little longer before they fell asleep, clutched in each other’s arms, then woke up the next morning and fought amicably over which of them had been hogging the pillow.

The following evening there was a lantern ceremony. Wei Wuxian was there, babbling away at a totally non-communicative Lan Wangji about rabbits (of all things, he was still stuck on the rabbits) and Jiejie was there, nicely passing her best pieces of rice paper and bamboo to Jin Zixuan while the Peaco*ck just sat there, silent as a stone and ten times as awkward. Jiang Cheng sneered at him, then took a moment to look around and check in on his people. All the Jiang shidis and shimeis were industriously engaged in lantern-making, chatting with the other disciples and behaving themselves, more or less.

Satisfied, Jiang Cheng gathered some supplies and seated himself at a little distance from the crowd; he had a lot to think about while his hands were occupied. He painted his family’s nine-petal lotus sigil in his favorite shades of purple, built a bamboo frame, and pasted the paper around it, all while his mind buzzed like a bee in a jar. He spotted Zewu-Jun and Lan-laoshi watching the disciples from afar; and wondered what they would decide to do about the Yin Iron situation. And how they planned to deal with the Wen Sect. And what they would say if Lan Wangji suddenly announced that he had tied his sacred forehead ribbon to Jiang Cheng, of all people, and then they had proceeded to bow before one of his Sect elders, and therefore they were, to all intents and purposes, betrothed.

f*ck, f*ck, f*ck. Jiang Cheng concentrated very hard on his lantern.

Eventually the sun dipped below the horizon, and the time came to release the lanterns and make their prayers. Jiang Cheng lit his lantern with a spark of qi, but then found himself at a loss.

There were so many things he desired, how was he supposed to pick just one?

He wanted his father to see him, to be proud of him, and not stare blankly past him in search of his shixiong. He wanted his mother to accept him for who he was, not who she expected him to be. He wanted peace and prosperity for his Sect and his people.

All around him, he could hear other disciples whispering as their lanterns rose into the darkening sky, aglow with tiny flames.

He heard Nie Huaisang make a wish to never have to study at Cloud Recesses again, which made him roll his eyes. Lazy, he thought affectionately.

He heard Wei Wuxian wish to live with no regrets, which made him scoff a bit. That was a naïve wish if ever he heard one. If a person didn’t want to have any regrets, wouldn’t they have to go through life without making any mistakes? Jiang Cheng was pretty sure that wasn’t remotely possible for anyone, not even Wei Wuxian, and certainly not for a general f*ck-up like himself.

He heard Wen Qing praying fervently for her younger brother. That seemed more like it. She was certainly a Wen, probably a spy, and intimidating as f*ck, but anyone so protective and devoted to their sibling couldn’t be all that bad, he thought.

So Jiang Cheng clasped his hands together, bowed his head, and whispered, “I wish for my brother and sister to find happiness. May we three remain close in this life and the next.”

He let his lantern go and watched it drifting for a little while, letting his thoughts drift along with it, breathing the cool evening air, in and out, in and out, feeling calmer at last.

The next thing he knew, Wei Wuxian had punched Jin Zixuan in the f*cking face.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

The night before the Sect Leaders of Lanling Jin and Yunmeng Jiang arrived in Cloud Recesses was a sleepless one for all the Yunmeng siblings. Wei Wuxian had been ordered to kneel before the Wall of Discipline, so it was up to Jiang Cheng to sneak over to his sister’s quarters and offer whatever poor comfort he could. Their family lived every day with the consequences of a marriage poisoned by too much pride and not enough affection, and nobody wanted to replicate any part of that sorry situation. If Jin Zixuan did not want to marry Jiang Yanli, Jiang Fengmian would break the marriage contract and that would be that.

As his Jiejie wept in his arms Jiang Cheng silently cursed the fate that conspired to put her destiny and her happiness so totally beyond her own control. To be engaged as a child by their mother without her consent, only to then have her betrothal broken by their father against her will…

Jiang Cheng seethed, feeling extremely unfilial. If he didn’t know that it had been years since his parents agreed on anything, he could have sworn they were cooperating in finding new and creative ways to f*ck up his siblings’ lives!

But once he’d finally tucked his exhausted sister into bed and slipped back to his own room, Jiang Cheng was ashamed to find his mind wandering down familiar, bitter paths. He couldn’t help but wonder – if it had been him in disgrace for fighting with Jin Zixuan, would his father have bothered to come to Cloud Recesses at all? Probably not, he thought, and then scolded himself harshly as he took down his hair and got undressed for bed – Jiejie’s heart was broken because the f*cking peaco*ck had insulted her in front of dozens of disciples from across the cultivation world! This was no time to be dwelling on his own grievances!

Nevertheless, Jiang Cheng lay awake until dawn and went to meet his father feeling as if he had a heavy stone sitting on his chest, and sand in his eyes.

“Father,” he said, bowing at the door of the reception room where Jiang Fengmian was seated. His father raised an eyebrow and gestured silently for Jiang Cheng to sit opposite him. Jiang Cheng sat and tried to dry his sweaty hands on his robes, surreptitiously.

“I am very disappointed, A-Cheng,” Jiang Fengmian said without any preamble. “I expected better of you.”

“I am sorry, Father,” Jiang Cheng whispered. He had anticipated this, but his father’s words still burned sullenly in his chest.

“If you cannot even guide and inspire your own shixiong’s behavior, what kind of Sect Leader will you be?”

“I…”

“Be silent.”

It is forbidden to interrupt when others are speaking, Jiang Cheng thought to himself semi-hysterically. He bowed his head. He would not cry, he could not.

“I will leave first to speak with Sect Leader Jin and Lan-laoshi. While I am thus occupied, you and your siblings will pack your belongings. You will all be leaving Cloud Recesses. We return to Lotus Pier immediately.”

What?

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help the tiny gasp of protest that escaped his lips. Why did he have to leave? He was doing well in his studies, his cultivation was improving – and okay, he was never going to surpass Wei Wuxian, but surely it was something!

Not to mention that he had been tasked, by the spirit of a legendary cultivator in a f*cking enchanted secret cave, with helping Lan Wangji, who was possibly his fiancé, find and destroy a world-threatening evil artifact!

And his father wanted to drag him home in disgrace?

“But, Father,” Jiang Cheng began, and his father cut him off again.

“I will not tolerate any whining or protesting. Do not disappoint me further.”

“Wait – no, please! Have… have you heard stories of – of strange things happening recently?”

Jiang Fengmian raised both eyebrows this time, and replied, “I have heard a few odd tales of traveling cultivators disappearing near Tanzhou, and some attacks on small sects around Yueyang, but I fail to see what any of this has to do with your conduct.”

Jiang Cheng dithered for a moment – yes, he had promised Lan Qiren that he would not speak of the Yin Iron to anyone, but surely an exception could be made for his own father – the leader of another Great Sect?

“There is… a powerful artifact from hundreds of years ago that has just reappeared, and… um … someone with evil intentions is looking for it? And if they find it, it would be catastrophic for everyone?”

Jiang Cheng winced. He sounded very young and unconvincing, even to himself. Jiang Fengmian certainly looked unimpressed.

“Even if this is true, it cannot possibly have anything to do with you. You are scarcely more than a child, and you have just proven yourself incapable of handling even the slightest bit of responsibility. Do not waste any more of my time with such foolishness. Go inform A-Li that she must be ready to leave in one shichen; I will tell A-Xian.”

Jiang Cheng bowed his head, eyes burning, unable to speak further around the painful choking sensation in his throat. He waited for his father to sweep out of the room before he stood up, turned around, and left. Keeping his spine perfectly straight, Jiang Cheng marched off to find Yanli, break the news of their departure, and help her pack her things. He couldn’t breathe, and he could not cry. He would not.

By the time he arrived at Yanli’s room, Jiang Cheng had mastered his breath and his expression. He peeked through the door and saw his sister sadly cradling the golden brocade pouch that contained her first betrothal gift, tracing the beautifully embroidered peonies with one trembling finger. He tapped on the door and went in, pulling her into a hug. “Oh, A-Jie,” he whispered, giving her one of his handkerchiefs as she sniffled. He didn’t know what else to say – why was he so useless? – but after a moment she drew in a huge shaky breath, and he skittered away into the safer terrain of practical matters. “Father is taking us home to Lotus Pier today,” he said. “I’ll help you pack, and then when Wei Wuxian gets here, we should go say farewell to Lan-laoshi.”

“So soon!” she gasped. “A-Cheng, why must you leave? How does it have anything to do with you?”

Jiang Cheng shrugged and avoided her eyes. “It’s like you said before, the whole thing is my fault – I should have been keeping a closer eye on Wei Wuxian and stopped him from doing anything stupid. Don’t worry too much about it, Jiejie, let’s just get your things together. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can have some proper food, anyway.”

Jiang Yanli looked stricken, but managed a small, watery smile.

Jiang Cheng and his siblings filed solemnly into Lan Qiren’s office, where his father and Zewu-Jun were conversing in quiet tones. Bowing low over their swords, they made the proper farewells in perfect unison. Even so, Lan-laoshi looked them over with a rather sour look on his face, causing Wei Wuxian to fidget even more than usual.

However, Zewu-Jun smiled benevolently as ever and said, “One disciple will be rewarded for merit, and one will be punished for fault.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but feel a bit hopeful at that – even if his father wouldn’t listen to him, surely he would listen to the First Jade if Lan Xichen said Jiang Cheng deserved to stay?

“Wei-gongzi, you have been punished for your actions here in Cloud Recesses,” Zewu-Jun went on.

“Yes,” Lan-laoshi put in, “you ought to discipline Wei Wuxian more strictly, Sect Leader Jiang. Ever since he got here, he’s been encouraging the others to carouse all night! And drink wine! Secretly!”

Lan-laoshi looked outraged at the very thought, but Jiang Cheng was not in the least surprised to see his father respond with a small, indulgent smile. Oh, here we f*cking go…

“My thanks for Lan-laoshi’s wisdom, but A-Xian has always been thus – free-spirited and unrestrained, just like his mother,” Jiang Fengmian said. Lan Qiren’s face grew even more sour, and he tugged on his beard. Then they all heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” called Lan Qiren.

Wait, thought Jiang Cheng desperately, Is that all? Aren’t they going to say anything about merit? Aren’t they going to say anything about Jiejie or me?

Lan Wangji entered the room and Jiang Cheng watched everyone’s attention instantly shift from Wei Wuxian to Lan Wangji and wasn’t that just f*cking typical.

Lan Wangji bowed and looked pointedly at the assembled Jiang.

“Ah, we’ll take our leave now,” said Jiang Fengmian, rising briskly to his feet, and another round of polite farewells followed. If Jiang Cheng sounded rather subdued and mechanical, well, it was perfectly clear that nobody would notice or care. He couldn’t help but be distracted by Lan Wangji, who appeared rather tense, and surely since his brother’s arrival Zewu-Jun’s perpetually pleasant expression had begun looking a little bit strained?

As Jiang Fengmian led his children out of the room, Jiang Cheng lingered behind, trying to catch Lan Wangji’s eye, but the Second Jade kept his inscrutable gaze resolutely downcast. Jiang Cheng felt a million questions crowding his lips – what about the Yin Iron? What about the Wen Sect? Are we f*cking engaged or not? – but Wei Wuxian plucked him by the sleeve and dragged him along. Looking back over his shoulder, Jiang Cheng only had time to hear Zewu-Jun’s murmured admonition to his little brother.

“Wangji, take care.”

Jiang Cheng was confused for just a moment, and then his brain flooded with fury.

Lan Wangji, you stubborn f*cker! Are you planning to go search for the Yin Iron by yourself? Not a f*cking chance! Did you even listen to anything Master Lan Yi said?

Jiang Cheng was so preoccupied, he barely noticed Wei Wuxian’s poking and pinching and overall shenanigans as they walked out of Cloud Recesses. He punched back halfheartedly, muttered “Shameless,” and “You’re a disgrace” without too much heat, and allowed his shixiong to congratulate himself on his unparalleled ability to distract his sulky shidi.

That night, Jiang Cheng took a bath in the second-best room the Caiyi inn had to offer, lay down in his bed, and spent another sleepless night tossing and turning.

You are scarcely more than a child, and you have just proven yourself incapable of handling even the slightest bit of responsibility.

Oh, that hurt, that one f*cking hurt, and yet he kept repeating the words over and over in his head. It was like holding his hand over a hot coal, close enough to burn, jerking away from the pain… and then doing it again and again and again, unable to stop.

His father hadn’t believed him, but whyever would he? Jiang Cheng knew he was nothing but a constant source of disappointment to his father.

He didn’t have to imagine what his mother would say when he got home. He knew she was going to be furious, sharp as a whiplash and ten times as painful. Failure. Coward. Childish. Unworthy. Incapable.

But now there was another voice in his mind, a new voice, this one cool and calm as new-fallen snow, soothing as a dive into the lake on a sun-burned summer day:

You are the true heir to your Sect motto: attempt the impossible.

Jiang Cheng rolled over and glared up at the ceiling.

Could he do it?

Could he keep his word to Master Lan Yi and fulfil her confidence in him? Help Lan Wangji find and suppress the other pieces of Yin Iron, save the cultivation world from disaster?

Jiang Cheng sat up, hugging his knees to his chest. His head felt like it might split in two from all the questions surging through his mind, and he rolled his neck from side to side, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. Wei Wuxian snored loudly from the other side of the room, wound into a nest of blankets with only the tangle of hair on top of his head showing.

Jiang Cheng glanced over at him and sighed. He knew that if their positions were reversed, his shixiong would go gallivanting off without a backwards glance, blithely chasing adventure and glory and attempting the impossible right alongside Lan Wangji.

However, that thought alone was enough to make him feel anxious and doubtful, because Jiang Cheng had f*cking years of experience dealing with the aftermath of Wei Wuxian’s more hare-brained schemes, which all too often went awry in particularly dramatic and spectacular ways.

Jiang Cheng had learned to weigh the consequences of failure, because Wei Wuxian had never bothered to, and he did not like to count the cost of failing now.

Going after the Yin Iron meant going up against Wen Ruohan.

Jiang Cheng had never met the Wen Sect Leader, had only ever seen the man from a distance, but he’d heard plenty of fearsome rumors. Wen Ruohan was said to be a sad*st, capable of unspeakable cruelty. He did not keep his torture chambers hidden away in some dungeon but housed them in an entire f*cking palace carved from obsidian and jasper, the infamous Fire Palace of Nightless City, running with blood and ringing with the screams of mutilated prisoners. Wen Ruohan was also a staggeringly powerful cultivator, the top-ranked in his generation, surpassing even Lan-laoshi and his brother, the late Qingheng-jun. His armies were not only enormous, but capably and ruthlessly commanded by his elder son, Wen Xu.

No, Jiang Cheng did not want this man as his enemy. Yunmeng Jiang might be one of the Five Great Sects, but it relied on small, fast-moving, decentralized groups of fighters – an inheritance from Jiang Cheng’s ancestors, who had been free-roaming rangers before ascending to the landed gentry. Such forces were perfect for night-hunting, but if Qishan Wen descended in all its militaristic might, the Jiang Sect would be annihilated, especially now that A-Jie’s broken engagement had put Yunmeng at odds with Lanling Jin.

On the other hand…

Lan Wangji, his classmate and comrade-in-arms (and, possibly, his fiancé) was out there somewhere with a piece of Yin Iron, wandering around all by himself like a complete idiot.

And it seemed likely that, thanks to that same f*cking bit of Yin Iron, Wen Ruohan already had Gusu in his sights – Wangji’s family, his home, could be in danger.

And Gusu Lan might be one of the oldest and wealthiest of the Great Sects, unsurpassed in its knowledge of healing arts and musical cultivation, its library a magnificent repository of ancient wisdom – but the fact remained that most Lan disciples, even the most talented, tended to be scholars first, rather than warriors. No, Jiang Cheng did not think that Gusu Lan would be able to stand against Qishan Wen either, not alone, at least.

He had sworn an oath, in that cave.

He was a cultivator, and it was his duty to eliminate evil and aid the innocent.

Every Sect, including Yunmeng Jiang, would be at risk if Wen Ruohan succeeded in amassing all the pieces of Yin Iron and gaining even more power.

If I have learned anything over the years, it is that I could not fix my error by myself…

Jiang Cheng saw dawn just beginning to brighten the horizon and came to a decision.

Moving silently, he gathered a few necessities and stuffed them into his qiankun pouch. Seizing a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal, he hesitated for just a moment before scribbling, “Gone on a night-hunt. Please don’t worry about me,” and leaving the note on the table. He didn’t think his father would care one way or the other, but he fully expected Wei Wuxian to come haring after him; hopefully the note would be vague enough that he’d have to spend some time searching and wouldn’t catch up immediately.

With his boots in one hand and Sandu in the other, Jiang Cheng crept out of the inn. He had a fiancé to track down.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng caught up to Lan Wangji several li outside Caiyi Town. It had been much less difficult than expected to follow the older boy. He’d merely asked around the marketplace for a Lan cultivator passing through, conspicuous as f*ck in robes of the finest pale blue silk and a ridiculously ornate silver guan.

“OI! Lan-er-gongzi!”

Lan Wangji turned around and gave him a withering look, plainly indicating that he would roll his eyes right out of his head if such a thing wasn’t beneath his dignity.

Jiang Cheng, on the other hand, had eye-rolling down to a f*cking art.

“Oh, you can f*ck right off with that face.”

Lan Wangji sped up his stately pace just a smidge.

“Listen, I’m not here to slow you down or steal your glory or whatever; I made a promise to Master Lan Yi too, you know, and it’s my duty to help, and if you recall, using this piece of Yin Iron to find the others was my idea.”

“…mn.”

“And I brought loquats.”

Lan Wangji still didn’t say anything, but he did, eventually, eat a loquat.

It turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant experience, traveling with Lan Wangji. Despite the urgency of their mission, they agreed it would be best to go on foot rather than fly on their swords, keep to the less-traveled roads, and try to evade the Dire Owl’s surveillance as much as possible.

Jiang Cheng enjoyed the novelty of passing through new places – towns, forests, lakes, rivers, mountains – with enough attention to spare for appreciating them. He was used to going everywhere with Wei Wuxian, which meant listening to the other boy’s constant prattle. (Whenever he tried tuning his shixiong out, Wei Wuxian inevitably got bored within half a shichen and started pinching him, punching him, and otherwise fooling around.)

Jiang Cheng had expected Lan Wangji’s silence to be awkward at best, but it turned out to be companionable, walking along side by side. In fact, Jiang Cheng found himself so relaxed that after a few days he began singing absentmindedly to himself. He loved lullabies and folksongs, but he felt shy about singing in front of other people, and Wei Wuxian was always talking his ear off anyway.

It happened while they were crossing a small lake on their way towards Tanzhou. The rhythmic swaying of the boat made Jiang Cheng think of a fisherman’s love-song he had heard once or twice when he was small. He started humming the tune, trying to remember the words, and forgot his self-consciousness enough to sing through the refrain before he noticed Lan Wangji watching him out of the corner of his eye. Well, so what? The song was ever-so-slightly risqué but surely the Second Jade’s delicate ears could handle a double entendre or two!

Strangely enough, Lan Wangji didn’t object. He just stood there listening, quiet and attentive, which made Jiang Cheng feel oddly confident. He went on with the song in a low voice – a counterpoint to the soft sounds of water lapping and the yuān-yang quacking to each other as they paddled along the shore.

Eventually the two boys landed and found a place to make camp, exchanging only such words as were necessary to build a fire and share out the last of the loquats. As night fell, Jiang Cheng lay back on his bedroll with his arms crossed behind his head, idly searching for Tiānláng among the emerging stars. He heard the rustle of robes as Lan Wangji seated himself and glanced over to see the Second Jade produce his guqin from his sleeve.

(The guqin was also named Wangji. When he’d first learned this, Jiang Cheng suppressed an immediate inclination to snort, reluctant to hurt Lan Wangji’s feelings. He knew exactly how painful it was to have someone ridicule a name you had lovingly picked out.)

(However, he steadfastly refused to consider Jasmine, Princess, and Little Love in the same category as Wangji-the-guqin, because that was just totally f*cking absurd.)

Then Jiang Cheng’s mind came to a screeching halt as Lan Wangji began slowly plucking notes, and it became apparent that he was playing the Yunmeng fisherman’s song.

He sat up rather abruptly, the better to stare in openmouthed astonishment at the other boy. Not being a musical cultivator himself, Jiang Cheng was unsure as to whether it was appropriate for the upstanding Second Jade to play a semi-bawdy love song on his notably powerful spiritual instrument (surely such things were forbidden in Cloud Recesses), but he supposed that was Lan Wangji’s lookout.

Lan Wangji looked remarkably tranquil – peaceful and still as he concentrated on his playing. The moon picked out frets of silver and blue in his long dark hair, while the flickering firelight gilded the suave lines of his face, the robes flowing over his strong, graceful arms, his elegant musician’s fingers hovering over the guqin strings…

Oh, help, thought Jiang Cheng to himself. He’s… really f*cking attractive.

He still had no idea if Lan Wangji considered them engaged or not, and he certainly wasn’t going to f*cking ask, because he had no idea what to do with the thick coil of emotion that twisted in his belly at the idea of being engaged to the Second Jade of Lan.

So Jiang Cheng inhaled deeply to calm himself, then let it out, crooning the first verse of the fisherman’s song under his breath. They accompanied each other, very softly and not quite meeting each other’s eyes, until Lan Wangji’s stupidly early bedtime.

Tanzhou was a bustling market town noted for its fine paper products, incense, and perfumes, so of course the first person they ran into was Nie Huaisang, gnawing away at a stick of barbecued chicken and shirking his responsibilities as usual.

“Nie Huaisang! What are you doing here? Didn’t you promise your brother you weren’t going to skip out on the lectures this year?”

Nie Huaisang fanned himself.

“I could ask you the same thing, Jiang-xiong! I heard that you were supposed to be back at Lotus Pier with Wei-xiong and Sect Leader Jiang by now.”

Jiang Cheng glowered at him and demanded, “How do you even know that?”

Nie Huaisang pretended not to hear the question. Instead, he peeked around Jiang Cheng’s shoulder and gave a theatrical gasp.

“Can it be? You’re traveling with Lan-er-gongzi?”

“Yes, we f*cking eloped, all right?” Jiang Cheng snapped sarcastically, spinning round on his heel to catch up to Lan Wangji, who was marching away fast enough to indicate that he had neither the time nor the patience for Nie Huaisang’s trifling.

(Jiang Cheng hoped the freckles dusting his cheekbones from days spent traveling in the sun would help hide his blush; he was too flustered to notice Lan Wangji’s red ears or the way Nie Huaisang’s bright little eyes looked sharply at them both.)

Nie Huaisang shamelessly tagged along behind them, chattering away, until they came upon a crowd of people gathered around a large notice hung on a board in the marketplace. Even from afar, Jiang Cheng could see that the calligraphy on the poster was extraordinary, and it was decorated with beautifully crafted paper flowers. “Should we go see what that’s all about?” he asked Lan Wangji.

“No,” said Lan Wangji shortly. “Too crowded.”

Jiang Cheng looked at him in surprise, taking in the other boy’s extra-rigid posture and the hand tucked behind his back, clenched into a white-knuckled fist. Oh, he remembered guiltily, that’s right – Lan Wangji doesn’t like it when other people touch him. Crowds must make him feel uncomfortable. “That’s okay,” he said aloud, “we don’t have to.”

“Oh, I’ve read this,” Nie Huaisang piped up. “It’s an invitation from the mysterious Lady Florist. Just recently she opened her mansion to passing cultivators and issued a challenge: anyone who can impress her with an elegant or brilliant verse will receive a flower from her garden.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “A flower from her garden, are you serious? That sounds like a euphemism from one of your trashy romance novels.”

Nie Huaisang hmphed and put his nose in the air.

“Don’t be such a snob, Jiang-xiong,” he said loftily, “I’ll have you know that The Lady Florist and the Flower Phantom is a splendid book!” Flicking his fan open, he quoted, “In a garden outside of Tanzhou lives the Lady Florist, who often recites poems by moonlight. If someone’s poems move her, they will be granted a flower, and its fragrance will linger forever.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes and thought, not for the first time, that if Nie Huaisang put half the effort into his studies that he devoted to his collection of p*rn, he would be known far and wide as Lan-laoshi’s most brilliant student.

“Fine, fine, whatever.”

“Ooh, look how beautiful!”

Nie Huaisang waved his fan and exclaimed in delight as a shower of fragrant petals began drifting down from the clear sky, red and pink and white and lavender. But Nie Huaisang wasn’t looking at the flowers. He elbowed Jiang Cheng in the side and nodded his head.

“Ow! What?”

Nie Huaisang waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“What?”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes and pointed. Oh.

Lan Wangji stood a little way off amid the swirling storm of petals, gazing skyward. Jiang Cheng couldn’t take his eyes off the elongated line of the Second Jade’s throat, his finely cut profile, and the expression – pleasure? Delight, even? – which Jiang Cheng had seen soften his features during the firelit evenings they’d spent quietly making music together. Jiang Cheng’s heart did something complicated.

“f*cking gorgeous, isn’t he?” hummed Nie Huaisang appreciatively. “Think he’d let me paint him like that, if I asked very nicely?”

Jiang Cheng’s heart went from feeling half-painful and half-tender to experiencing some defensive, prickly emotion that was certainly not jealousy or possessiveness or any such nonsense. However, before he could come up with an appropriately caustic reply, Lan Wangji gasped and snatched the spirit-suppressing pouch out of his sleeve. The seals were all alight, and the Yin Iron inside was practically pulsing.

“Oh f*ck!” Jiang Cheng gasped. “Do you think it’s responding to another piece of Yin Iron nearby?”

“Mn.”

Jiang Cheng heard his Clarity bell chiming and knew, he just knew it was that f*cking owl again, even before he followed Lan Wangji’s upturned gaze. Sure enough, there it was, flapping away to the west, trailing a cloud of resentful energy that withered the falling flower petals as it passed over their heads. A dreadful cold feeling settled in the pit of Jiang Cheng’s stomach. Lan Wangji looked perturbed, Nie Huaisang looked mildly curious.

“Nie-gongzi. Where is the Lady Florist’s mansion?”

Nie Huaisang pointed east, in the direction the owl had come from.

“Oh f*ck.”

The three boys stood appalled. Though the Florist’s Mansion appeared untouched from the outside, the moment they pushed through the main gate it became apparent that everything inside had been reduced to a blackened husk. The gardens were burnt down to bare earth, the trees were nothing but smoldering charcoal twigs, ashes choked the little ponds and ornamental fountains.

They spread out and searched, finding delicate silk hangings and curtains all shredded, furniture splintered, sword-marks gouged deeply into the walls – all the tell-tale signs of a desperate struggle.

They were clearly too late.

One room – the most damaged of all – was splattered with ominous stains and stank of resentful energy. Lan Wangji sat down with his guqin and played Cleansing several times, his face grim.

Back out in the courtyard, Nie Huaisang picked up a raptor’s feather and squeaked when it crumbled to dust in his hand. He cleaned his fingers quickly with Jiang Cheng’s handkerchief and announced, “Wen Chao was behind this.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him. He didn’t want to believe it; it was whispered that Wen Chao had inherited very little of his Sect’s traditional cultivation powers or marital discipline, but his appetite for cruelty and the suffering of others was said to equal his father’s. As a result, the Wen Sect Leader openly doted on his younger son and he was accompanied everywhere by Wen Ruohan’s most loyal subject, Wen Zhuliu – dreaded among cultivators as the “Core-Melting Hand.” If the Lady Florist had indeed fallen into Wen Chao’s clutches, Jiang Cheng shuddered to imagine her fate.

“Again, how the f*ck do you even know that?”

Nie Huaisang looked straight into his eyes, showing no sign of his usual scatterbrained frivolity, and replied, “Qinghe and Qishan share a border, Jiang-xiong, how stupid do you think I am? I’ve seen the Dire Owl many times, always spying and carrying messages for Wen Chao.”

Jiang Cheng ducked his head, shamefaced, and muttered, “I’m sorry, Nie-xiong, I should have thought of that before I spoke.”

Nie Huaisang fanned himself haughtily.

“Nie-gongzi,” Lan Wangji said, “Do you remember anything else from your book about the Lady Florist?”

“Lots of things!” said Nie Huaisang. “Is it important?”

“Mn. Did the story mention a treasure or spiritual artifact?”

“Yes, of course,” Nie Huaisang answered promptly. “In the book, the Lady Florist kept something of the sort hidden in her garden, surrounded by hundreds of peonies.”

Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji looked at each other. Peonies were very auspicious flowers that attracted good fortune, especially if they were cultivated with spiritual power. (There was a reason the Jin Sect displayed a peony sigil, after all.) It seemed likely, then, that the despoiled peony garden had been the repository of another fragment of Yin Iron.

“Right. Right. Let’s sort this out,” said Jiang Cheng, beginning to pace back and forth. “Ten years ago or thereabouts, Wen Ruohan finds the first piece of Yin Iron somewhere. He eventually figures out how to use it, tracks the other pieces, and discovers that the Lady Florist kept a second fragment of Yin Iron suppressed in her peony garden. Wen Chao comes, destroys the garden, and takes the second Yin Iron fragment.”

“Mn,” said Lan Wangji.

“What’s a Yin Iron?” inquired Nie Huaisang.

Jiang Cheng waved impatiently at him to shut up. “But then someone puts up posters from a fake Lady Florist inviting passing cultivators to the Florist’s Mansion. Why would anyone bother to do that?”

“Trap,” said Lan Wangji in an especially flat tone.

Jiang Cheng stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around. “Lan Wangji, you’re absolutely f*cking correct!”

Lan Wangji blinked – had Jiang Cheng ever addressed him by name before? – but Jiang Cheng was too agitated to notice.

“The cultivators whose spirits were stolen! My father mentioned that traveling cultivators were vanishing near Tanzhou – the Wen must have used the fake Lady Florist’s invitation as bait to lure them, then used the Yin Iron to steal their spirits and turn them into puppets!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed. “Trap for us, too.”

Jiang Cheng turned pale, remembering how the Dire Owl had flown over their heads just a short while ago. And even if Wen Chao didn’t know exactly where they were already, he might be able to track them anyway, using the piece of Yin Iron he’d stolen. “Oh f*ck.”

The Yin Iron in the pouch throbbed darkly. Jiang Cheng’s Clarity bell chimed again.

Nie Huaisang looked from Jiang Cheng to Lan Wangji and said, “I will freely admit that I really don’t know what’s going on right now, but it sounds like we ought to get out of here immediately.”

“Right,” said Jiang Cheng. “We should get to Qinghe as quickly as possible, don’t you think Lan-er-gongzi? We ought to warn Chifeng-zun about the Wens and the Yin Iron, and at this point I don’t think we should leave Nie Huaisang by himself, it’s too dangerous.”

“Mn.”

“Maybe we can outrun Wen Chao if we fly, at least part of the way. Nie-xiong, where’s your saber?”

“I forgot it at Cloud Recesses.”

“HUAISANG!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed, in a deeply judgmental tone.

“Well, I didn’t know!” wailed Nie Huaisang, scampering after them. “I didn’t know I’d be getting into anything dangerous, I just wanted to go shopping!”

They fled along a little track that skirted the foot of Dafan Mountain, meeting nobody until dusk. Nie Huaisang was loudly claiming to be on the verge of collapse when Jiang Cheng spotted an elderly woman clad in rust-red robes sitting randomly at the side of the road.

The three boys drew near and peered at her doubtfully. She was staring fixedly at nothing, her eyes cloudy and unfocused, muttering softly to herself and rocking back and forth.

“The dancing maiden brings disaster and steals souls.”

She said it over and over and over. Her gnarled, work-roughened fingers twitched in her lap, and a thin miasma of resentful energy swirled around her. Jiang Cheng’s Clarity bell chimed softly in response.

“Madam?” asked Jiang Cheng hesitantly.

“Ask her if she knows a place we can get a bed for the night,” hissed Nie Huaisang.

“Are you f*cking serious!” Jiang Cheng hissed back. “Look at her! This poor granny’s been f*cking possessed!”

“Language.”

“Shut up!”

Without any warning, the old woman got up and tottered away down the road. After a few steps she stopped and beckoned them forward, jerkily.

“Follow her,” said Lan Wangji.

“What!” exclaimed Jiang Cheng. “Are you an idiot? Do you want to stroll right into a trap, because this is obviously a trap, and get your soul devoured? Be my f*cking guest!”

“Jiang Wanyin,” said Lan Wangji in his deep voice, distracting Jiang Cheng very unfairly. (Had his courtesy name ever sounded so alluring? He had no idea, hardly anybody ever used it.) “Defeat evil. Protect the weak.”

Jiang Cheng capitulated instantly but reserved the right to grumble and sulk as he trailed their little group through a nearby village, keeping a paranoid eye on everything. The village was small and impoverished, but clearly not abandoned. The little houses were tidy and in good repair, while the garden plots – many of which, Jiang Cheng noticed, were planted with medicinal herbs – were not wild or overgrown, but carefully tended. Still, he felt a growing sense of unease as they walked along the silent streets. There were no people in sight. No men and women at work, no children playing, not even a dog or cat curled up in a warm corner. There were no signs of life at all, and Jiang Cheng had a very bad feeling about it.

On the far side of the village a path wound towards the summit of Dafan Mountain. The old woman led them up and up before finally pointing them towards the mouth of a cave.

Again with the f*cking caves, Jiang Cheng thought peevishly as they crept forward, noticing how even the softest sounds echoed ominously between the rocky walls. Inside they discovered an abandoned temple with tattered banners hanging from the ceiling and crusts of melted candle-wax dribbling everywhere. At the very back of the cave, lit by an eerie green phosphorescent glow, was the long-neglected altar, the offering bowls bare of anything except dust and leaf litter. Behind the altar loomed a grotesque rock formation which roughly approximated a gigantic human figure, and Jiang Cheng supposed that if he squinted, it looked a bit like a dancer poised on one foot. Some long-ago sculptor had added to the resemblance by carving the uppermost rocky protuberance into a crude head, which sported a smiling woman’s face.

It was covered in bat sh*t and there was a jagged, blackened hole punched straight through the place where the dancing figure’s heart would be.

“Well, this is creepy as f*ck,” Jiang Cheng whispered to his companions.

“It’s the ugliest sculpture I’ve ever seen!” Nie Huaisang whispered back. “But can it really steal souls, do you think?”

“Look. Bindings,” Lan Wangji murmured by way of response, and pointed to the chains dangling loosely from the statue’s limbs. Jiang Cheng crept closer, and saw more chains attached to thick metal staples sunk deep into the cave walls. The chains looked very old and rusty except for some bright, shiny points at the ends, where they must have been broken only recently. He went closer, then nearly jumped out of his skin when a flare of spiritual energy sputtered feebly beneath his feet. There was an array for sealing and suppression painted on the floor in front of the statue, but it was broken and marred by an ugly burn mark. He rubbed his finger over the scorched spot, and it came away blackened with fresh soot.

“Strange,” murmured Lan Wangji, joining him. “Array is in the Wen Sect style. Yet fire-throwing is also a Wen technique.”

“You’re saying that the Wen Sect sealed the dancing maiden, but then destroyed the seal?”

“Mn.”

“What the f*ck.”

Before Lan Wangji could reprimand him for swearing, again, the elderly woman came shuffling in carrying a bundle of sticks. She dumped the sticks on the floor and left without a word or a backwards glance.

There was a moment’s pause.

“Oh good, a bonfire!” said Nie Huaisang. “Did either of you bring any snacks?”

Lan Wangji volunteered to take the first watch, and after giving him the obligatory amount of sass and back-talk about staying up past his usual Lan bedtime, the other boys settled down to rest. Lan Wangji seated himself before their fire and tried to meditate.

Instead, he found himself peeking out at his companions from between his lashes, once he thought they were safely asleep.

Nie Huaisang was to his right, snuffling and twitching with his fan clutched in one hand, and Lan Wangji looked at him with some disfavor. Lan Wangji didn’t usually feel any animosity towards the younger Nie – before Mingjue-ge became Sect Leader, both brothers had spent considerable time in Cloud Recesses, and Wangji tolerated Nie Huaisang for Xichen’s sake – but at present he felt only irritation. Although other boy had been surprisingly informative, Nie Huaisang was, in Lan Wangji’s opinion, second only to Wei Ying in creating noise. He whined constantly about things like mud in the road, as if that would make the road any less muddy, and monopolized Jiang Wanyin’s attention in a way that Lan Wangji resented, despite the rules forbidding covetousness and jealousy. Their evening had been filled with Huaisang complaining about all kinds of nonsense (and Jiang Wanyin’s increasingly sarcastic replies) instead of music.

Lan Wangji found himself thinking longingly of the peaceful days he’d spent traveling with only Jiang Wanyin, listening to the lilting sound of his voice as he hummed or sang softly. Jiang Wanyin was plainly too shy to sing in front of Nie Huaisang, and Lan Wangji missed it.

The Lan devoted themselves to musical cultivation, so Lan Wangji had never learned any of the lullabies, love-songs, or dance tunes that Jiang Wanyin seemed to have an endless supply of, nor had he ever spent time simply playing his guqin for pleasure. There were rules against such frivolity, and Uncle frowned on time-wasting.

Traveling with Jiang Wanyin had afforded Lan Wangji his first opportunity to just… enjoy playing music for the sake of it. Soon after, he had realized that the greater part of his pleasure came from making music with Jiang Wanyin, just the two of them sitting across from each other, bathed in the warm light of a fire.

Lan Wangji peeked to his left, where Jiang Wanyin lay curled on his side with Sandu folded in his arms. Even in sleep he looked anxious, with a little furrow cutting between his sharp black brows. Lan Wangji thought about reaching out to smooth Jiang Wanyin’s forehead with the pad of his thumb, stroking the hair from his face, perhaps even sending a touch of his own cool qi flowing into the younger boy’s meridians, to help relax his body and coax him into more pleasant dreams.

Jiang Cheng whimpered softly, moved his head from side to side, and said “’M sorry,” in a voice still thick and slurred with sleep.

Lan Wangji held his breath for a moment, then whispered, “Wanyin?”

“’M sorry,” said Wanyin, and rolled over. “Sorry,” he murmured a third time, then huddled in on himself a little tighter and shivered all over. Lan Wangji experienced a strong desire to lay down beside Jiang Wanyin, wrap his arms around that lithe purple-clad body, and keep the younger boy safe and warm.

Lan Wangji was pretty sure he could guess what was distressing Jiang Wanyin, even in his sleep. Gossip might be forbidden but Lan Wangji had long ago figured out the advantages of being a very quiet and well-behaved child, one of which was that adults tended to forget he was there whilst talking among themselves. Lan Wangji had a perfectly functional pair of ears, and he might not be terribly interested in inter-Sect politicking but he wasn’t stupid, and after trailing along behind Xichen at a few discussion conferences he had overheard enough to know that the Jiang household was neither tranquil nor happy.

Lan Wangji had overheard awful remarks about Jiang Wanyin’s mother. From one moment to the next, men would go from making crude sport of Madame Yu’s violent temper and overweening pride, to words lascivious enough to make his ears burn – always expressed as a desire to put that woman in her proper place…

Lan Wangji could well remember a Discussion Conference held at Lotus Pier many years ago, when he’d come across Jiang Wanyin clutching a tea-tray just outside the suite of rooms in which Sect Leader Jin and his lackeys had been drunkenly discussing this topic, in very explicit terms. Jiang Wanyin had been frozen in place, still as a stone, with his face paper-white and his gray eyes leaking tears of shame and rage. At a loss for words, Lan Wangji had eventually pried the tray from the child’s shaking fingers and gently nudged him away from the door.

(He had been especially glad to get Jiang Wanyin out of earshot, because those disgusting old goats had been very drunk indeed and went on to discuss Jiang Wanyin’s budding loveliness in a way that still made Lan Wangji nauseous to think of.)

People said that the Violet Spider had been so proud of her beauty and power that she grew dissatisfied with her status as the third daughter of Meishan Yu and set her sights on becoming First Lady of a Great Sect. With Jiang Fengmian the only unwed Great Sect Leader at that time, she had boldly pursued his hand in marriage. Jiang Fengmian, for his part, reportedly heartbroken after losing the much-desired Cangse Sanren to a love-rival, had accepted Yu Ziyuan out of a combination of indifference, duty, and spite.

With such an inauspicious beginning, their union had never been very affectionate, but it had supposedly grown ever more acrimonious after Sect Leader Jiang brought Wei Ying to Lotus Pier. When no Yunmeng disciples were around to overhear, the gossips openly speculated that Wei Ying must be the Sect Leader’s own bastard child, given how obviously Jiang Fengmian favored his ward over his legitimate son.

Whether or not the rumors were true, Wei Ying’s presence served as a constant reminder to Madame Yu that she would never reign supreme in her own husband’s heart. As a result, she hated Wei Ying with a passion and pushed Jiang Wanyin before his father’s eyes almost desperately, refusing to acknowledge that her efforts only served to irritate Jiang Fengmian and alienate him further. In turn, this lead her to raise her expectations of Jiang Wanyin until they were beyond all reason. The wagging tongues of the cultivation world said she punished Wei Ying’s success and Jiang Wanyin’s failure, while Jiang Fengmian did the opposite, caring nothing for Wei Ying’s failure or Jiang Wanyin’s success.

During Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin’s time at Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji had been able to observe the effects of this toxic cycle playing out in the fraught relationship between the pair – a turbulent tug-of-war between loyalty and jealousy, pain and protectiveness, fierce competitiveness, and tender, though unspoken, affection.

Lan Wangji felt his own brow crease in sympathy as Jiang Wanyin whimpered again in his sleep and squirmed against the rocky floor. Then he jumped a bit, startled, when Jiang Wanyin sat up with a gasp. Despite their fire, it had grown cold in the cave, and his breath puffed out in white clouds.

“Wanyin?” said Lan Wangji, and Nie Huaisang stirred groggily.

“I’m sorry – I’m sorry,” panted Jiang Wanyin, wiping his hand over his face, “I just had a nightmare. It’s all right, go back to sleep.”

Nie Huaisang grunted in annoyance and turned his back to them, but the sound that echoed back through the cave was different – deeper, rasping, groaning. They all froze, then turned very slowly towards the dancing maiden statue. Dust and pebbles trickled down as its fingers crooked. Jiang Wanyin’s Clarity bell rang sharply.

The statue turned its head towards them.

Jiang Wanyin cursed. He and Lan Wangji leapt to their feet and drew their swords. With a horrible grinding crunch, the dancing maiden straightened up and began lumbering in their direction.

“Why has it suddenly come to life?” Nie Huaisang shrieked, running away to hide behind a rock.

“How the f*ck do I know?” Jiang Wanyin roared back, flinging himself towards the blocky figure as it made a clumsy swipe at Lan Wangji. The statue swatted him aside almost casually and turned back towards its original target. “Watch it, you idiot!”

Lan Wangji spun out of the statue’s reach and shot Jiang Wanyin a very unimpressed look. The stone maiden kept advancing with thunderous footfalls, aiming a backhand blow towards Lan Wangji that could have flattened an elephant. Lan Wangji dodged again, but the statue was slowly backing him into a corner. With little room to maneuver, Lan Wangji was forced to block its descending fist with Bichen; the sword rang like a gong but held fast, and his whole body quivered with the impact. The statue bore down on Lan Wangji with all its weight; it was trying to crush him.

Cursing furiously, Jiang Wanyin sprinted to the wall of the cave and used Sandu to cut loose a long length of chain. He wielded it as a whip, lashing wildly at the stony figure looming over Lan Wangji until he succeeded in wrapping the chain around one of the statue’s arms. He yanked it off balance, and the statue staggered backwards. They could hear Nie Huaisang screaming from his hiding place, “Quick! Seal it! Seal it!”

“The f*ck does it look like I’m doing?” Jiang Wanyin bellowed as he hurriedly snatched a handful of talismans from his sleeve. As Lan Wangji sent the stone maiden reeling back further with a powerful glare from Bichen, Jiang Wanyin threw talismans at the statue, one after the other until it was sealed once again, frozen in its dancer’s pose.

Their relief was short-lived, however. The instant the statue stopped moving and the awful sound of grinding stone faded away, the boys became aware of other noises coming from beyond the cave – myriad dragging footsteps and confused, wordless moaning.

“Oh, what the f*ck is this now?”

Breathing quickly, the boys dashed to the decrepit temple doors and peeked through. They saw a mob of people staggering unevenly towards them. Probably the men, women, and children who had been missing from the little village they passed through, Jiang Cheng thought, taking in their rough homespun clothing and the farming utensils they brandished. But as the people drew closer, he was appalled to see that they were possessed, every one of them: their eyes clouded over with white, their skin riven with bleeding cracks. Resentful energy coursed through their bodies, poisoning them.

Nie Huaisang began gibbering with terror as the possessed villagers began clawing and hammering at the door. Jiang Cheng’s Clarity bell rang again, even louder this time, and snapped him out of his shock. He dived forward to help Lan Wangji brace the door against the onslaught, cursing in a storm of pity and horror. These were farmers, not cultivators, not one had a golden core to help combat the resentful energy or speed up healing. Even if the three of them somehow managed to escape and break the evil spell enslaving the people, it was more than likely that the villagers would not survive.

Nie Huaisang was praying frantically to all the gods and immortals he could think of.

“Shut up and help us block the door, for f*ck’s sake!”

It was too late – the sheer number of villagers piling up against the door forced it open, despite their efforts. The three boys retreated hastily towards the back of the cavern.

Jiang Cheng drew Sandu, furiously trying to blink away the tears in his eyes as the villagers lurched forward, ungainly and puppet-like, with arms outstretched to seize them and tear them to pieces.

“Wanyin, no, they are not dead yet.”

“Wangji, what else can we do?” Jiang Cheng demanded, his voice breaking in anguish. “Run away? Leave them until they’re burnt alive from the inside out? Look at them! Elders! Maidens! Little kids! They’re suffering!”

The villagers’ cloudy eyes stared, unblinking and unfocused. Tarry black ooze dripped slowly from their gaping mouths as resentful energy boiled in their bellies. Their moaning echoed cacophonously around the cavern, accompanied by Nie Huaisang’s panicked wailing. Lan Wangji winced and put the silencing spell on him.

At that moment, a spiritual net spread across the cave, separating the three boys from the advancing mob. Jiang Cheng looked at Lan Wangji in astonishment, but the Second Jade looked equally confused, staring at the golden web as the villagers tugged and yanked mindlessly at it. Delicate as it looked, the shimmering strands held firm.

“Did you do that?”

“No.”

“What the f*ck is going on, then?”

Abruptly, the clear, high notes of a xun sang in their ears and the possessed villagers stopped trying to tear through the barricade. They turned about-face, precise and obedient as a regiment of soldiers on parade and filed neatly out of the cave as Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji stared. Even Nie Huaisang stopped cowering and peeked out from behind them.

Jiang Cheng felt as if he was rapidly losing his grip on reality.

“If someone doesn’t tell me what the f*ck is going on right f*cking now…”

“DO NOT MOVE,” boomed a voice from behind them – now what? – and they all whirled around so fast that Nie Huaisang nearly fell on his ass. “YOU FOOLS DARED ENTER THE DANCING MAIDEN’S CAVE? NOW YOU MUST PAY THE PRICE.”

How could the dancing maiden statue be acting up again? Jiang Cheng’s heart hammered; he knew he had sealed the statue…

“YOU ARE ESPECIALLY GUILTY, JIANG CHENG, FOR DEPARTING WITHOUT PERMISSION…”

Jiang Cheng exhaled with a whoosh, sucked a huge lungful of air back in through his gritted teeth, and then bellowed at the top of his voice:

“WEI WUXIAN, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE RIGHT f*ckING NOW!”

Cackling madly, Wei Wuxian sauntered nonchalantly from his hiding place behind the dancing maiden statue, giving them a jaunty wave as he peeled a voice-augmenting talisman from his throat. His black robes helped him blend into the gloom, save for the crimson ribbon holding back his hair.

Lan Wangji frowned slightly and laid a restraining hand on Jiang Cheng’s arm; the younger boy was practically incandescent with rage.

“You f*cking – you f*cker – were you seriously just sitting there on your flat ass watching us this whole f*cking time!”

Wei Wuxian hooted with laughter and wiped his eyes.

“Why the f*ck are you even here!”

“I came to watch Lan Zhan flirt with his girlfriend! That dancing maiden statue has it bad for you, Lan Zhan!”

“Shameless,” grunted Lan Wangji, even as his ears turned pink. Jiang Cheng slapped Wei Wuxian upside the head.

“Ow! You’re welcome, by the way! Maybe next time I won’t bother saving your sorry ass with the Golden Silk Barrier talisman I invented yesterday!”

“Get f*cked!” said Jiang Cheng, but he allowed Wei Wuxian to drape an arm over his shoulder.

“Aiyo, Cheng-cheng, don’t pout! You got to come on an adventure, why can’t I?”

“So I can have a shichen of peace without you yowling in my ear?”

“Uh-uh, A-Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said, grabbing Jiang Cheng by the chin and forcing him to look into his shixiong’s eyes. “I’m being serious now. You just left a weird note and disappeared, again. Did you think I wouldn’t come after you? It’s a good thing I did! It’s too dangerous out here for my precious shidi! Shijie was so worried that she even helped me sneak out after Jiang-shushu told everyone not to bother searching because you’d come back on your own eventually, with your tail between your legs.”

Jiang Cheng squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t care if he looked childish, he needed a moment to deal with the icy pain that stabbed through his heart at Wei Wuxian’s blithe words.

Lan Wangji glanced between the two of them, troubled, then lifted the silencing spell so they could all be distracted by Nie Huaisang’s extremely aggrieved fussing: “Wei-xiong, if you want to frighten Jiang-xiong and Lan-er-gongzi, that’s your business, but leave me out of it! I was so scared I thought my soul was about to fly out of my body!”

Jiang Cheng pulled himself together with an effort. Speaking of bodies without souls…

“Yes, fine, whatever, now can we talk about more important things? Wei Wuxian, do you know anything about what happened to the villagers? Who possessed them, who’s controlling them?”

“Oh yeah,” said Wei Wuxian, unwinding himself from Jiang Cheng. “This is all that f*ckwit Wen Chao’s fault. Wen Qing told me; I ran into her while I was tracking you. This is where her branch of the Wen Sect lives, did you know that? Anyway, she had just come from visiting her family, and we bumped into each other at a tavern. She wanted an excuse to lose the soldiers who were following her, so we staged this amazingly epic bar brawl, so they’d think she was chasing me away, you know? Anyway, we ended up in the forest, and I was asking if she’d seen you, and she said no, and then I started trying to catch this chicken that was walking by because we’d thrown our lunches at each other before we had a chance to eat them. Anyway, then we saw Wen Chao’s creepy-ass owl flying by, so we went after it, and it led us back to her village. She got pretty mad when she saw all the people shambling around like fierce corpses, let me tell you!” Wei Wuxian looked deeply impressed. “I’ve never heard anyone curse the way she cursed out Wen Chao, not even you, Cheng-cheng. It was terrifying, but also kind of hot?”

Jiang Cheng glared daggers at him. “Who are you calling Cheng-cheng? Get to the f*cking point, Wei Wuxian.”

“Right right right. Anyway, she told me to go after the villagers and make sure nobody got hurt while she stayed behind to try and get a cure ready. She knows all kinds of things about medicine and poison and healing and stuff, you know. Anyway, the villagers were walking really slowly, so I got bored and ran on ahead of them and got here in time to see you fighting the giant statue.”

“So is Wen-guniang the one playing the xun?” asked Jiang Cheng.

“What xun?”

There was a short silence.

“Oh, f*ck,” said Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian unanimously, and bolted out of the cave.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian sprinted towards Wen Qing, with Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji at his heels and Nie Huaisang puffing along behind. In her crimson robes and gleaming golden ornaments Wen Qing looked like a flame incarnate, standing beside a roaring bonfire and facing down the possessed villagers. She was calmly infusing the fire with her spiritual power and directing the enchanted sparks towards her people, where they burnt through the resentful miasma. The villagers stood in a docile row.

“Wen-guniang!” gasped Wei Wuxian as he skidded to a halt beside her, “Are you all right?”

She raised a disdainful eyebrow but did not bother with a reply. As the other boys drew near, the mob of villagers began to groan and twitch again. Quickly, Wen Qing sent another shower of sparks dancing among her possessed family members, but this time the remedy seemed to fail. Her face grew tense as the aura of resentful energy grew thicker and more oppressive, goading the mob forward, faster and faster until Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng, and Wei Wuxian were forced to knock them back with a wave of sword glares, blue and purple and red.

“We have to get out of here!” Wei Wuxian said and seized her hand.

Wen Qing planted her feet and shook herself loose. “I won’t leave them!”

“Can they be saved? Do you know how to save them?” Jiang Cheng demanded.

Wen Qing pressed her lips together tightly and glanced around.

“The Dire Owl is not around now, Wen-guniang,” Lan Wangji said, low, “so please, tell us quickly, before it comes back.”

“All right, fine,” Wen Qing finally responded. “Wen Chao is somewhere nearby, using the Yin Iron he stole from the peony garden to manipulate the villagers. He does not have enough skill to do it very well, so he must also draw on the power sealed in the Dire Owl by Wen Ruohan. If we can kill the Dire Owl, I think I can take back control of my people from Wen Chao, long enough to purge the resentful energy from their bodies.”

The Dire Owl chose this moment to swoop over their heads, screeching. The possessed villagers screeched too, writhing in torment.

“You should have told me sooner,” said Wei Wuxian, “but it’s okay, I have a plan. Here’s what we’ll do: Lan Zhan, I’ll cast another Golden Silk Barrier around these three and then you and I will go after that f*cking owl. Jiang Cheng, you’ll stay here to protect Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang.”

“The f*ck I will!” “The f*ck you will!” burst from Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing simultaneously; they took a moment to scowl at each other before turning their irate eyes towards Wei Wuxian.

“What?” he demanded. “It’s not like it’s hard, Jiang Cheng, all you have to do is hold them off until Lan Zhan and I get back!”

Jiang Cheng was too angry to speak, and Wen Qing’s narrow glare could have carved through tempered steel. Jiang Cheng wanted to take notes on it. “None of you idiots are going anywhere,” she announced, and quick as a wink she whipped a f*cking enormous needle from her sleeve, sighted along her arm, and flicked it into the air.

Her aim was impeccable. The Dire Owl shrieked and tumbled to the ground in a cloud of feathers and resentful energy. Wen Qing snatched up her skirts, ran over to the paralyzed bird, and stomped on it. Then she stood back and waited composedly whilst the resentful energy locked in its body melted away into greasy black smoke.

The villagers collapsed into heaps where they stood.

Once the resentful energy in the owl had fully dissipated, Wen Qing sifted through the sad little pile of ragged feathers and broken bones remaining, extracted her needle, and walked briskly back to the quartet of speechless boys. She plucked a handkerchief from Lan Wangji’s sleeve, wiped the needle, put it away, and glanced around with a deeply unimpressed expression on her pretty face.

“Your mouths are all open,” she informed them. “Before you start catching flies in them, might I trouble you to play a few rounds of Cleansing for these unfortunate people, Lan-er-gongzi?”

Lan Wangji blinked several times, then produced his guqin and sat down. Wen Qing nodded with satisfaction and went off to check on the villagers, feeling their foreheads and dispensing medicine from a pouch at her belt.

When she was safely out of earshot, Wei Wuxian swallowed several times, leaned towards the other boys, and croaked, “I have never been so hard in my life.”

Jiang Cheng made a revolted noise. Nie Huaisang giggled rather hysterically.

“Seriously,” Wei Wuxian went on, looking dazed, “that was so f*cking competent I think my co*ck is literally about to explode.”

“Ew! Gross! Get the f*ck away from me before I spit blood!”

A short time later, Lan Wangji glided along a forest path, his hand tucked behind his back and his face expressionless as usual. All the while, his mind was churning with unwelcome thoughts.

The incident at Dafan Mountain had gone very badly. True, Lan Wangji and his fellow-cultivators had escaped unscathed, but they had failed to prevent the loss of innocent lives.

Jiang Wanyin had gone among the villagers to assist Wen-guniang and returned carrying the corpse of a young woman. Between wracking sobs, the girl’s mother told them her daughter had suffered from a lung infection as an infant; her weakened body had not been able withstand the onslaught of resentful energy. Shortly thereafter, they’d discovered the corpses of an elderly uncle and aunt whose hearts had stopped, tumbled piteously together at the edge of a clearing like discarded toys. Lan Wangji had played Rest for them all, easing their spirits from the world so they would not return as vengeful ghosts, but he felt sickened, nevertheless.

As the bodies were laid in the village’s ancestral burying ground, Jiang Wanyin turned his face away and they all did him the courtesy of pretending they could not see him wiping furious tears from his cheeks.

After making prayers and offerings for the dead, they rose from their knees and the elderly lady who had met them at the entrance to the village came over and fell upon Wen Qing. Unclouded by resentful energy, her eyes were bright and black as a squirrel’s, and swimming with tears. She wept onto Wen Qing’s shoulder while Wen Qing patted her back, looking rather alarmed.

“There, there, Popo, don’t cry.”

“I failed you! I almost hurt you! I’m no good for anything!”

“Popo, no, please stop crying, I beg you.”

“I’m so sorry,” the lady wailed.

Lan Wangji felt deeply uncomfortable. He looked to the other boys for help, but Nie Huaisang was just standing there, playing with his fan, Jiang Wanyin was still sniffling angrily with his back to everyone, and Wei Ying was distracted, staring around with a keen frown on his handsome face.

“Wen-guniang,” he said, “this may be an impertinent question, but isn’t this graveyard rather grand for a small farming village?”

Wen Qing sighed and rubbed the elderly lady’s arms briskly before sending her off with a murmured word.

“You’re right,” she said, and lowered her voice as the four boys gathered close. “This branch of the Wen Sect used to be much larger and was greatly favored by the main family in Qishan, thanks to our skill in medicine. We lived here peacefully for generations, but ten years ago a terrible disaster befell us. The few people that live in the village are all that remain alive, the rest of my family is buried here.”

“Did this disaster have anything to do with the Yin Iron, by any chance?” asked Jiang Wanyin rather bitterly. His eyes were very red and swollen, Lan Wangji noticed with a pang.

Wen Qing dropped her voice even further.

“Yes. Sect Leader Wen was aware that Dafan Mountain is a powerful source of pure natural qi, and he guessed – correctly, as it turned out – that the dancing maiden statue kept a piece of Yin Iron suppressed. He came here and ripped it out, but after he took it away, the statue awoke. Without her heart, she went on a rampage, crushing many people and devouring their souls. We sent a message to the Sect Leader begging him to come back and help, but by the time he arrived the statue had killed all the other cultivators in my family and was draining the spirit from my brother. A-Ning was eight; he had just formed his golden core. I was twelve.”

Wen Qing spoke in a detached, clinical tone. The boys flinched.

“After Sect Leader Wen bound the statue with an array, he took A-Ning and I back to Nightless City, where he raised us alongside his sons.”

A short silence followed her words. Nobody knew quite what to say.

“Wen-guniang,” said Jiang Wanyin finally, bowing low, “I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

Wen Qing nodded in response.

“What will you do now?” Wei Ying asked, never one to let an uncomfortable pause drag on and on.

“I must return to Nightless City,” she replied. “I will tell Sect Leader Wen the truth, that I returned to Dafan Mountain to save my people from Wen Chao, no thanks to you four.” She narrowed her eyes at Wei Wuxian as he began to splutter indignantly, and he shut up at a glimpse of the needle glinting at the end of her sleeve. “The Sect Leader relies on my medical advice,” she continued calmly, “He won’t be too hard on me, I think.”

Lan Wangji couldn’t help observing, “Wen-guinang, when Wen Ruohan stole the Yin Iron from the dancing maiden statue, it led to the death of your family. Now he is searching for the other Yin Iron shards, and more people will die because of it.”

“I can’t help you, so it’s no use telling me this. I don’t even want to know,” she responded flatly.

“But…”

“Lan-er-gongzi, my brother is in Nightless City. Please, don’t bother saying anything further.”

“Let her be,” Jiang Wanyin interrupted, voice rough. “Wen-guinang has her own priorities, and she’s entitled to her own choices.”

It was Wen Qing’s turn to flinch.

To Lan Wangji’s great annoyance, as they made their way through the forest towards Qinghe, Wei Ying successfully extracted the full story of the Yin Iron from Jiang Wanyin, who mumbled and grumbled reluctantly before spilling absolutely everything; he was clearly incapable of denying his shixiong anything for any length of time.

Afterwards, Wei Ying danced along at Lan Wangji’s side, thinking out loud as he mulled over the problem of the Yin Iron, focused as a hunter hot on the scent. It should have been idyllic, a scene from Lan Wangji’s sweetest fantasies – except that as they walked, Wei Ying seemed to grow increasingly obsessed with the music that Wen Qing had played to call the villagers to her. He talked and gesticulated wildly, failing to notice Lan Wangji’s growing distress.

“It reminds me of that argument I had with Lan-laoshi, remember, Lan Zhan? The first time he threw a paperweight at my head, when all I did was ask why people couldn’t utilize resentful energy, instead of just suppressing or eliminating it!” Wei Ying sounded indignant, as if he hadn’t blithely voiced one of the Jianghu’s greatest heresies. “What if you could use the sound of the xun to control the resentful energy the Yin Iron infused into the villagers, instead of just distracting them? After all, the Lan use musical cultivation to wield spiritual energy, who’s to say that resentful energy can’t also be cultivated with music? I wonder if a dizi would work better than a xun, or maybe a xiao… hey, Lan Zhan, do you think your brother would mind if I…”

Lan Wangji’s mind reeled. How swiftly Wei Ying’s quicksilver thoughts had drifted into dark and dangerous places! And how could he possibly think Xiongzhang, or any Lan Sect member, would have anything to do with demonic cultivation! He had no idea how to reply, what words he could possibly employ to coax Wei Ying safely back onto the righteous path…

Lan Wangji’s palms were beginning to sweat when he heard the soft chime of a Clarity bell, followed immediately by Jiang Wanyin’s waspish tones.

“You asshole, if Lan-er-gongzi had a paperweight handy, he’d probably throw it at your head right now! And if Lan-laoshi or Zewu-Jun could hear you, they’d spit blood! Are you even listening to yourself? Three people just died, why do you sound like you’re practically gagging to test out some more… murder songs!”

“Aw, shidi…”

“No! And don’t you ‘aw, shidi’ me! I don’t want to stand around and watch Jiejie be all sad because you got yourself killed f*cking around with demonic cultivation! And finding a new First Disciple would be a pain in the ass, so shut up!”

Wei Ying pouted and spent the rest of the day chattering pointedly with Nie Huaisang, leaving Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin to proceed in subdued silence.

Wei Ying soon bounced back, unquenchable as ever, and his presence added a certain… intensity to the journey. Indeed, it seemed to Lan Wangji that they traveled through Yueyang in a bewildering blur of colors and sounds and scents and flavors, everything revolving around Wei Ying, the focus of everyone’s attention. Wei Ying was never still, unless he was asleep – always fidgeting, grabbing at things and people, waving his long expressive hands as he talked and talked, a constant stream of jokes, quips, anecdotes, questions, observations, and flirtations pouring from his lips. When he was awake, Wei Ying was impossible to ignore. When he was awake, Wei Ying drew Lan Wangji’s attention almost helplessly, like a flame drew moths.

When Wei Ying was awake, Jiang Wanyin retreated. Wrapped in his usual aura of preoccupation and anxiety, he faded into the background.

Unless Wei Ying was draped around his shoulders, Jiang Wanyin walked alone, scouting ahead or trailing watchfully behind the other three. In the evenings, he would often disappear for a bit while the others made camp, returning with fruits or nuts or mushrooms, a handful of fresh herbs, or a fish to add to their evening meal. After they ate, he would sit to one side with the small piece of wood he had taken to carving, his face bent over his work, focused on the knife in his hands, briefly answering only if spoken to. He did not sing.

A few days after they departed Yueyang, Lan Wangji again volunteered to take the night watch. They were very near the end of their journey – if all went well, they would reach the Unclean Realm early the next day. Nie Huaisang would be safe, ensconced in his brother’s fortress stronghold, and they could lay the problem of the Wen Sect and the Yin Iron on Chifeng-zun’s extremely broad and capable shoulders.

And then what?

Wei Ying was asleep, still and quiet for once. Lan Wangji thought Jiang Wanyin was asleep too, but the younger boy was lying with his back to the fire, curled in on himself, and he couldn’t be entirely sure.

Lan Wangji glanced from beneath his lowered lashes, troubled, his eyes roaming ceaselessly between the two Yunmeng boys. He drew a deep, slow breath, and felt as if he could finally hear himself think.

He breathed, refocused, and sat with the realization that he had been given a glimpse of Jiang Wanyin that few people, if any, had seen before. For the first few days of their journey, at least, the younger boy had lowered his guard before Lan Wangji, united in common purpose and enjoying their unexpected compatibility.

For those few days, Wanyin had let himself drop the brittle façade of the Jiang Sect Heir and simply be himself. He had let Lan Wangji share the treasury of music he kept hidden in his heart, hadn’t cared that Lan Wangji watched him petting every dog he came across. (Lan Wangji had, in fact, only narrowly avoided making audible cooing sounds as he watched the dogs nearly tie themselves into knots of frantic, tail-wagging delight under Jiang Wanyin’s ministrations.) Jiang Wanyin had let his guard down, shared his private pleasures with Lan Wangji, allowed Lan Wangji to witness the tenderness that he usually kept hidden under layers of prickly, defensive ill-temper.

And then, Lan Wangji realized uncomfortably, as soon as Wei Ying showed up, he had disregarded this precious gift without a second thought, distracted as a child with a shiny new toy. In the end, he had acted no differently than any other person who had taken Jiang Wanyin for granted, looking past him to focus on his brightly shining shixiong. And Jiang Wanyin had reacted accordingly, building his walls back up as if such behavior was only to be expected, muting his voice, and hiding himself away again.

He thought of what had happened in the Cold Pond Cave, when he had, with scarcely a moment’s hesitation, bound their wrists with his sacred forehead ribbon before bowing before his esteemed ancestor. In doing so, he had essentially pledged himself to Jiang Wanyin forever. He had done it to save the boy’s life, but even so…

Unbidden, Lan Wangji’s mind summoned up an image of Jiang Wanyin emerging naked from the Cold Springs, eyes wide and guileless, a deep flush sweeping across those high cheekbones, rosy-brown nipples drawn tight and peaked in the icy water, his beautiful hair cascading over the lean muscles of his ass and clinging to his powerful swimmer’s thighs. Lan Wangji shifted uneasily and tried to banish his thickening erection.

He stifled a groan and felt an ache creeping from the back of his head around to his temples as his shoulders tensed and an all-too-familiar series of questions began stampeding through his tired mind.

Did Wanyin know what it meant to receive the sacred forehead ribbon? Did he consider himself engaged, or not? If he did, why didn't he say anything about it? Should Lan Wangji say something? How would Wanyin respond? What would Uncle and Xiongzhang think?

Does Wanyin want to marry me? Do I want to marry Wanyin?

What about the attraction I feel – felt? – towards Wei Ying?

Don’t Lans only love once?

As always, no satisfactory answers came to Lan Wangji, no matter how much he cudgeled his brain. He felt torn between guilt and gratitude when Wei Ying woke up with a snort and began chattering at him nonstop, keeping him safely distracted until dawn.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, Nie Huaisang, and Lan Wangji arrived before the great gates of the Unclean Realm the next day, only to find a flurry of activity. Standing calmly at the center of a bustling crowd of soldiers and disciples stood two cultivators not much older than themselves, escorting a prisoner bound in spirit-suppressing ropes. A steward could be seen hurrying away, presumably to fetch Nie Mingjue.

The shorter of the two had a delicate, fine-boned face, wore white robes trimmed in black, and bore a sword engraved with frost flowers. His taller companion wore the black robes favored by the disciples of Baixue Temple, carried a matching horse-tail whisk, and kept his stern gaze fixed upon their prisoner.

At the sight of these two famous rogue cultivators, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng elbowed each other frantically, wriggling like puppies in wordless excitement. Even Lan Wangji looked nearly impressed.

“Xiao Xingchen, the Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze. Song Zichen, the Distant Snow and Cold Frost. Please forgive my presumption, but your deeds are known to us; it is an honor to greet you,” Jiang Cheng finally managed to say, once again thanking all the gods and immortals he could think of that his voice did not waver or squeak.

“Our thanks, but we are not worthy of such compliments, young masters,” Xiao Xingchen said graciously as he and Song Zichen returned their bows of greeting.

Their prisoner giggled obnoxiously, and Jiang Cheng joined Song Zichen in shooting a glare in his direction. Upon inspection, the captive was surprisingly young and rather handsome – or at least Jiang Cheng thought so until he met the prisoner’s eyes. They were like bottomless pits, cold and cruel as a shark’s, making an uncanny counterpoint to his carefree smile. The prisoner winked at Jiang Cheng and his smile widened suddenly, transforming into a feral, predatory thing, a hiss, brimful of teeth. Jiang Cheng tried not to flinch and shifted his own gaze to the prisoner’s bound hands; he was missing one of his pinky fingers.

The massive gate of the Unclean Realm creaked and groaned as it opened, heralding the arrival of Chifeng-zun. He strode out looking every inch the warrior in steel-grey robes, which enveloped his massive frame, a braided topknot crowning his head, and Baxia, his notorious saber, slung across his back. As he descended the steps, he leveled a particularly unimpressed expression at Nie Huiasang, who grinned back unrepentantly and batted his eyelids.

“Huiasang,” said Chifeng-zun in tones of extreme forbearance. He sized up his little brother, sighed, looked briefly to the heavens, and pinched the bridge of his nose before turning towards the other boys.

“Jiang-gongzi, Wei-gongzi,” Chifeng-zun said, and appraised them with one eyebrow elevated. They hardly dared to move or even breathe for a very long moment, until he had mercy on them and continued, “Zewu-jun has informed me that the two young masters of Yunmeng are a formidable pair. I can tell you deserve your reputation.”

Jiang Cheng felt his face split into a delighted grin, and he basked shamelessly in Chifeng-zun’s praise as Wei Wuxian slung an arm around his shoulders. Chifeng-zun moved on, and his face softened ever so slightly as Lan Wangji bowed. “Ah, Wangji-di. Have you heard from Xichen recently?”

“No, I have not received any message from Xiongzhang since I left Cloud Recesses,” replied Lan Wangji.

“I have news for you, but it can wait. Now, who do we have here?” Chifeng-zun enquired, and Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen introduced themselves.

“We have been tracking this criminal, Xue Yang, along the Qishan border over the past several weeks,” explained Xiao Xingchen, calmly ignoring the prisoner’s rude noises. “We finally caught up to him in the manor of the Yueyang Chang sect. Everyone there was dead, even the servants and the young children. Our examination revealed that they died over the course of several days, and from many different causes – strangulation, stabbing, drowning, poisoning, even qi deviation. The only thing the bodies had in common were red cracks in the skin, and cloudy white eyes. We initially thought they must have been possessed by a powerfully malevolent ghost or demon, but upon questioning, Xue Yang freely confessed to the murders. So far, though, he has refused to tell us how he did it.”

Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng, and Wei Wuxian exchanged looks. That sounds like the effects of the Yin Iron, Jiang Cheng thought, sickened, as his Clarity bell chimed softly. Chifeng-zun growled in outrage.

Thinking of his father’s mention of attacks on minor clans in Yueyang, Jiang Cheng asked, “Has this Xue Yang committed other atrocities nearby?” and Song Zichen nodded grimly.

“You flatter me,” Xue Yang said, with an impertinent smile, “Why, I’m just a street urchin from Kuizhou, nobody such great and honorable cultivators as yourselves need worry about.”

Chifeng-zun’s stare hardened, and he gritted out, “Take him away.”

Chifeng-zun’s administrative assistant, Meng Yao, a small and slim young man whom Jiang Cheng remembered from the presentation ceremony at Cloud Recesses, quickly organized a troop of guards to escort Xue Yang to the dungeon. However, as they moved out, Xue Yang shouted “Hey! Xiao Xingchen! Don’t forget me, Xingxing – we are fated to meet again!” He waved cheerily despite his bound hands.

Then, when Xiao Xingchen glanced at him, Xue Yang’s eyes narrowed hungrily and he let his tongue loll out of his mouth, red and wet and flicking lewdly.

Xiao Xingchen turned his back on Xue Yang without betraying the slightest concern, but Song Zichen grew visibly tense, shot a poisonous f*ck off, he’s mine glare towards Xue Yang, and took a half-step in front of Xiao Xingchen, as if to shield him from Xue Yang’s sight.

“Shameless scoundrel,” Nie Mingjue growled as the guards marched Xue Yang away. Then he calmed himself with an effort and invited the travelers to partake of his Sect’s hospitality. Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen politely declined his offer of lodgings for the night but were persuaded to accept some refreshments. They all sat down together.

Wei Wuxian fidgeted in his seat until the tea was poured, then started to bombard Xiao Xingchen with questions about his master Baoshan Sanren, and her disciple Cangse Sanren – Wei Wuxian’s mother.

Xiao Xingchen listened gravely before he replied, “Wei-gongzi, I’m very sorry to disappoint you. I know that Cangse Sanren was the master’s most beloved student, but I never met her. She left before I was born. As a rule, the master’s disciples never leave her celestial mountain, and those who do choose to depart, as she and I did, are fated never to return.”

Wei Wuxian’s face fell, and Xiao Xingchen continued gently, “I am glad to have met you, though. In such a wide world, I would never have expected to encounter my shijie’s son.”

“Yes,” said Wei Wuxian, collecting himself. “Isn’t it funny? You are my shishu, even though we’re almost the same age.” He sighed and said, “I wonder if I will ever meet the Grand Master?”

“She is hard to find,” responded Xiao Xingchen vaguely, but then added, “However, I think Master would be very happy to meet you someday.” He bestowed a luminous smile upon Wei Wuxian, who grinned back sunnily and turned the conversation to another subject.

Jiang Cheng felt his heart twist within his chest and hastily sipped his tea, hoping to hide the unhappiness that crossed his face.

He had seen Wei Wuxian’s expression as he gazed avidly at Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen. Every cultivator in the Jianghu knew of their plan to start a new Sect based on mutual affinity and shared principles of righteousness and decency, rather than ties of blood. Jiang Cheng could only imagine how intoxicating such a thing would be to Wei Wuxian: freedom from the Sects’ petty politicking, the constant obsession with lineage and etiquette and status. But Jiang Cheng couldn’t help the ache in his selfish heart – what would become of him if his tumultuous shixiong ever left Lotus Pier to join Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen, or even went in search of Baoshan Sanren’s celestial mountain? Who would he even be, without Wei Wuxian at his side?

Nie Mingjue said “Ahem,” clearly wanting to get a word in edgewise, and Jiang Cheng shook himself out of his momentary funk and elbowed Wei Wuxian firmly.

“Ow! Oh! My apologies, Chifeng-zun!”

“Yes, well. I’m afraid I have other news that concerns you four.”

At this, Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen took their leave, unwilling to entangle themselves with inter-Sect politics more than was strictly necessary. They departed with promises to return in the future, if needed.

Once they were gone, Nie Mingjue continued, “Wen Ruohan has sent messages demanding that all the sects send their heirs to Qishan, supposedly for some kind of indoctrination lectures. If the heirs do not come voluntarily, the Wen Sect has threatened to come and take them by force. That means you, A-Sang, and you too, Jiang-gongzi and Wangji-di.”

Huaisang went pale and Wei Wuxian slammed his hand on the table in outrage. “What! They can’t take my shidi hostage!”

“They are certainly going to try,” Chifeng-zun replied grimly. “Wangji-di, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but my scouts report that Wen Xu is already on the move and has been seen on the road to Gusu. Wen Ruohan means business.”

Jiang Cheng looked anxiously at Lan Wangji. The older boy made no response except to tighten his grip on Bichen until his knuckles cracked.

“This being so, you are more than welcome to remain here in Qinghe. I swear that the Nie Sect will keep you hidden, and for what it’s worth, I believe that is what Xichen would want.” Then Nie Mingjue sighed and continued, “However, if you wish to depart and help defend Cloud Recesses, the choice is, of course, yours.”

Lan Wangji bowed silently, an icy look on his face.

“If he goes, we should go with him,” Wei Wuxian whispered to Jiang Cheng. “I bet we could help fight off the Wen.”

“Are you stupid,” Jiang Cheng whispered back, even as his heart hammered fiercely at the thought of Lan Wangji deliberately marching himself back into danger, alone, again. “What are the two of us going to do against Wen Xu and his army? We’d do better to go back to Lotus Pier and persuade my father to summon all the other Sect Leaders for an emergency meeting on how to counter the Wen.”

“Who’s stupid?” Wei Wuxian hissed, digging a bony elbow into Jiang Cheng’s ribs. “The Wen will be in Gusu long before those old prunes get their acts together!”

They debated this point in escalating whisper-shouts until Meng Yao returned and reported that Xue Yang had been thoroughly searched and incarcerated in the dungeon’s most secure cell. “Good,” Chifeng-Zun rumbled, “Tomorrow morning I’ll execute the scum myself!”

Baxia rattled in her stand, purring like a pleased tiger. Jiang Cheng turned around with a start.

“Wait, what? No! Please don’t do that, Chifeng-zun!”

Nie Mingjue stared at Jiang Cheng for a moment, dumbfounded, before his infamous temper caught and flared like a match flicked into a pan of gunpowder.

“You dare plead for this degenerate!”

“No! f*ck, no, of course not!”

Nie Mingjue scowled. Jiang Cheng stared back, wide-eyed and unprepared. Chifeng-zun’s glare grew narrower as he frowned down at Jiang Cheng and said, “Explain yourself, then.”

Jiang Cheng gathered his scattered thoughts as best he could and stammered, “Chifeng-zun, please recall Xiao Xingchen said that Xue Yang had come from Qishan – and then he described the condition of the bodies they found in the Chang Manor? We – I – think that Xue Yang used a fragment of an ancient artifact called Yin Iron to kill the Chang Sect. It can be used to steal people’s souls and turn them into mindless puppets, with red cracks in their skin and white eyes. It seems likely…” and here Jiang Cheng choked slightly, “that Xue Yang used the Yin Iron to make the members of the Chang Sect kill each other, and – or – kill themselves. We know that Qishan Wen has at least two pieces of this Yin Iron in their possession, and they are actively searching for the others.”

Baxia rattled even more violently, and Chifeng-zun roared, “All the more reason to execute the swine at once!”

Meng Yao stood up and bowed deeply.

“Chifeng-zun!” he exclaimed, his fawn-like eyes wide and pleading. “Forgive this unworthy one, but please, calm yourself and consider the situation! We found no such artifact on Xue Yang’s person – and it stands to reason that if he used a piece of this Yin Iron to do evil deeds in Yueyang but does not have it now, he must have hidden it somewhere. If we can find it and secure it before the Wen Sect does, it could prove invaluable. We should hold him and question him on the subject – at the very least until this Indoctrination is over and A-Sang – that is to say, Nie-gongzi – is safely returned to you.”

Jiang Cheng felt absurdly glad to have someone as quick-witted and eloquent as Meng Yao helping argue his case, since Nie Huaisang was hiding behind his fan, Lan Wangji was just f*cking sitting there saying nothing as usual, and to judge from his shixiong’s excited squirming, Wei Wuxian was getting ready to pop out some idiotic half-thought-through plan, like trying to weaponize their own piece of the Yin Iron or whatever. Which, thought Jiang Cheng, was absolutely guaranteed to end in disaster if for no other reason than because Chifeng-zun was known to be as strict as Lan-laoshi when it came to following the righteous path! He would probably be enraged enough to execute them on the spot if he didn’t qi-deviate first!

Luckily, in the end Chifeng-zun only seethed for a short while, breathing heavily in and out, before reluctantly agreeing with Meng Yao’s advice. Xue Yang’s life would be spared until such time as he gave up the Yin Iron fragment or lost his value as a hostage. Meng Yao was dismissed to begin the interrogation.

Then Chifeng-zun fixed Jiang Cheng with a very skeptical stare and demanded, “How is it that Jiang-gongzi and his shixiong know so much about the Yin Iron, eh? My understanding is that it was a secret kept very closely by the Lan.”

Much to Jiang Cheng’s surprise, it was Lan Wangji who bowed and told an abbreviated version of what had happened to them in the Cold Pond Cave (he left out the forehead ribbon situation, thank f*ck) and everything that had transpired afterwards.

“Wait, you mean you have the piece of the Yin Iron here?” Nie Mingjue said, sounding suddenly alarmed.

“Mn,” said Lan Wangji, and reached into his sleeve for the pouch.

“DON’T TAKE IT OUT!” yelled both Nie brothers at the tops of their voices, as Baxia rattled violently and rose into the air. Nie Mingjue grabbed the saber’s hilt hastily, and Lan Wangji froze. For the briefest moment his lips quivered, almost as if he might cry. Jiang Cheng wondered how long it had been since anyone had shouted at Lan Wangji, if anyone ever had, and squashed an insane urge to put a protective arm around the other boy’s shoulder. He settled for scowling fiercely at Chifeng-zun.

“Why not?” he asked, more belligerently than was proper. “You clearly know about it already.”

Chifeng-zun’s scowl shifted from Lan Wangji to Jiang Cheng. “Xichen told me about it, in confidence, after he became Sect Leader,” he said. “He wanted to know if the Nie Sect had any techniques that could be used to destroy the f*cking thing. I had to tell him no.”

“Why’s that?” asked Wei Wuxian, interestedly.

“Wei Wuxian!” hissed Jiang Cheng, horrified, but Nie Huaisang said, “Da-ge, can’t we tell them?”

Chifeng-zun opened his mouth to say absolutely not, then seemed to reconsider as Nie Huaisang looked at him with a plaintive expression. Eventually, he settled back in his seat and said grimly, “This is the Nie Sect's greatest secret, young masters, I want you to understand and swear to me that this information will not leave this room.”

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian swore, and Lan Wangji said “Mn,” so Chifeng-zun told them about the Nie sabers, how they fed upon resentful energy and gradually developed their own murderous will.

“You were fortunate, Wangji-di. If you had opened the pouch and held the Yin Iron in your hands, Baxia would likely have chopped them off, of her own accord,” said Nie Mingjue. “Only the strongest Nie Sect cultivators would be able to control a saber that’s fed off something as powerful as the Yin Iron, and even those who succeeded initially would die of qi deviation soon afterwards, likely within a year. When Xichen heard that I counted myself among that number, he begged me on his knees to forget about the Yin Iron. It goes against all my principles to leave such an abomination in this world, but for now my hands are tied. I cannot leave my Sect leaderless and bereft of its strongest warriors now, when the Wen-dogs’ arrogance knows no bounds.”

And with that, Chifeng-zun pinched the bridge of his nose rather wearily and sent them off to the guest quarters to bathe and prepare for dinner.

At dinner, Wei Wuxian got drunk, wandered off, and disappeared. Chifeng-zun glanced at the empty seat next to Jiang Cheng with his eyebrow raised, and Jiang Cheng squirmed with embarrassment.

What kind of Sect Heir can’t even keep track of his own servants, snarled Yu Ziyuan’s voice in Jiang Cheng’s head. How did you allow yourself to get so distracted? Mooning over Lan Wangji! How pathetic!

As dinner progressed, the Second Jade appeared as stoic as ever, but by now Jiang Cheng knew him well enough to tell that he was wrestling within himself over some decision. Thus, when Lan Wangji rose quietly at nine o’clock and left the hall, Jiang Cheng acted on impulse, excused himself, and slipped out after him.

“Lan-er-gongzi?”

“Mn?”

Jiang Cheng’s throat felt constricted, but by virtue of not looking directly at Lan Wangji, he managed to say, quietly, “You are going to return to Cloud Recesses, aren’t you.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji wasn’t looking directly at him either. “I have to go.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart thumped. Half of him longed to plead with the older boy, to beg him to stay, and the other half knew it wouldn’t make any difference. Lan Wangji had plainly made his choice; his expression promised death to any Wen foolish enough to stand between him and his home. All Jiang Cheng could do was fumble in his sleeve for the stupid little carving he’d made and press it into Lan Wangji’s hand (quickly, before he could think about how broad and warm Lan Wangji’s palm was).

Then he jumped back as if he’d been burnt. Bowing low in farewell, he mumbled, “You’d better travel safely, or else I’ll track you down and break your legs.” Then he ran the f*ck away, back into the banquet hall, leaving Lan Wangji blinking owlishly in surprise.

Lan Wangji turned the carving over and over, examining it in the lantern-light. Jiang Wanyin had made him a little wooden dragonfish, cleverly carved so it could be threaded onto a tassel and hung from his belt.

A courting gift.

Lan Wangji carefully put it away in his sleeve and stood very still for a while, thinking of the first song he’d ever heard Jiang Wanyin sing: the Yunmeng fisherman's song in which the fisherman begged the arowana in his net to bring him riches enough to buy a night, even if it was just one night, with the courtesan he adored.

Jiang Cheng, meanwhile, sat stewing over his own idiocy – a courting gift for Lan Wangji, what the f*ck had he been thinking – before dinner ended and he decided he’d better distract himself by ferreting out his wayward shixiong. Finally, after searching half the night, he discovered the fool passed the f*ck out on some random rooftop. Jiang Cheng took great satisfaction in slapping him awake and dragging him back to the guest quarters.

But Lan Wangji was already long gone.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

The trip back to Lotus Pier was as uneventful as a trip with Wei Wuxian could be, although the boys heard whispers, in every town and village they passed through: cold-eyed, watchful strangers, “merchants” traveling far off the usual trade routes, “cultivators” roaming around in areas where no ghosts or demons had been reported. Spies, Jiang Cheng thought, clutching Sandu’s hilt and running his thumb over the frog-shaped pommel. Scouts. Saboteurs. The boys hurried on, growing ever more distressed as they passed through Yunmeng. The frightening rumors came faster and faster, the closer they got to Lotus Pier.

Still, when Jiang Cheng’s feet finally touched the docks, he could not help heaving a great sigh of relief. He battled valiantly to keep a silly grin off his face – if you can’t act like a proper Sect Heir, Jiang Cheng, at least try to look the part, his mother’s voice hissed in his mind – as the fisherfolk and street vendors greeted him and Wei Wuxian ebulliently. By the time they finally reached the Lotus Gate they were both laden with welcoming gifts: little sacks of spicy peanuts, freshly peeled lotus seeds, skewers of smoked fish, packets of steamed buns.

It was almost like any other homecoming as they stepped into the courtyard where the younger disciples were training and were promptly mobbed by children who clustered around, tugging on their arms and clamoring for a share of the snacks. As usual, Wei Wuxian loudly pretended to be overcome by the smallest shimeis, fell flat on his back, and allowed them to rifle through his sleeves; as usual, Jiang Cheng accused them all of shamelessness and threatened to break everyone’s legs. He could not help smiling, though, especially when Jiang Yanli came running to fight her way through the crowd and embrace them.

“Oh, A-Xian! A-Cheng! You’re home safe!”

“Shijie! Did you miss your favorite brother? Did you make me soup?”

“You – ugh! Ignore him, A-Jie, you look pale, how have you been?”

It was a brief interlude of pure joy, but all too soon he and Wei Wuxian were summoned to kneel side-by-side in Swords Hall, facing the empty Lotus Throne. The whole scene felt unreal to Jiang Cheng, almost like a dream. After stumbling into a frightening new world of necromantic massacre and impending war, he felt so different – so much older – that it was, frankly, disorienting to be kneeling in Swords Hall, just like always, waiting for his father to come scold him as if he was still a naughty child who had put newts in Wei Wuxian’s bed.

Wei Wuxian fidgeted and muttered, “Do you think we’ll get a beating for leaving without permission?”

“Probably.”

“Ugh, what did you have to go running off for? Making me go search for you…”

“Oh, of course it’s all my fault,” Jiang Cheng growled, half-unwilling to believe he was having this ridiculous conversation for the millionth time in their lives. “As if I’m not going to take the punishment alongside you, as usual.”

“Aw, shidi,” Wei Wuxian said affectionately, and bumped their shoulders together.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng hissed, as Jiang Fengmian finally swept into the room, fixing them with a glare as they straightened up.

“Father, please don’t punish Wei Wuxian, he only followed me out of concern for my safety. I apologize for leaving without your permission,” Jiang Cheng began, but Jiang Fengmian’s face grew even colder, and he fell silent.

“Without my permission? You left against my explicit orders, abandoned your duties as Sect Heir, and placed us all in very serious danger. Have you not heard that the Wen Sect demanded your presence at their indoctrination camp? If you had not returned from your frivolous little outing when you did, I would have had to send A-Li in your place, or risk having the Wen sack Lotus Pier! I have only just been able to inform the Wen that you will arrive in Qishan on schedule – unless you plan to disobey me again, you unfilial boy!”

Jiang Cheng’s voice died down to ashes in his throat. At his side, Wei Wuxian shot him an excruciatingly sympathetic look. Jiang Cheng heard a soft, pained sound just beyond the hall doors, and knew Jiang Yanli was fluttering there, distressed. Jiang Fengmian paced back and forth in front of them, his head lowered.

Jiang Cheng blinked back tears, hard, and released his breath carefully – so carefully that only one tiny, tiny, high-pitched whimper escaped along with it. He hoped nobody heard.

Finally, his father said gruffly, “Enough of this. Come and eat.”

Jiang Cheng trailed his siblings to the family’s private dining pavilion and sat down in silence. There was an empty chair to his right. “Will Mother be joining us,” he asked tonelessly.

“No, she is resting,” Jiang Fengmian said.

“Resting? Who says I’m tired?” came the familiar whiplash voice, and crisp steps approached the table. Jiang Cheng closed his eyes and prayed briefly for strength as his mother stalked towards them in a swirl of aquamarine silk and plum-purple brocade, flanked as usual by her twin attendants.

“Mother,” he said, rising with his siblings to salute her. She sniffed and tweaked the collars of his robes by way of greeting before glaring at his father.

“My Lady, the children were hungry, so I told them not to wait. But since you are here now, please sit down and join us,” Jiang Fengmian said rather wearily.

“They might as well get used to being hungry,” Yu Ziyuan replied sharply. “Who knows what there will be to eat in Qishan, or if there will be anything to eat at all!”

Jiang Fengmian sighed and put a slice of ginger-glazed fish into his mouth without making any reply. Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli, and Wei Wuxian looked helplessly at each other and resumed their seats in uncomfortable silence. Jiang Cheng was surprised to find himself thinking nostalgically of the dining hall in Cloud Recesses, where the food might be boring but at least it didn’t turn to ashes in his mouth, and the silence felt natural and expected, not tense and swollen like a boil in need of lancing.

When it became clear that his father was not going to say anything, Jiang Cheng said in the same carefully neutral voice, “You don’t have to explain further. We heard about the indoctrination while we were in Qinghe. When do I leave for Qishan.”

“Ask your father,” his mother snapped back with more than her usual venom. Jiang Fengmian finished chewing before he replied.

“You will set off three days from now.”

Jiang Cheng inclined his head. Jiang Yanli passed Wei Wuxian a dish of lotus seeds. Everyone ate silently as the unbearable moments dragged by, until Yu Ziyuan startled them all by suddenly slapping her hand down on the table and shouting, “How can you be so calm!” Zidian, curled around her finger as a ring, spat purple sparks that flickered over her hand and onto the table.

“Why be so anxious? What’s in the future is in the future,” said Jiang Fengmian, but his mild words did not quite match the tension in his voice and face.

“The Wen said that if we dared disobey their order, we would be accused of committing treason! Treason! You know the consequences! The entire Sect would be wiped out, without mercy!”

“Shame on the Wen!” Jiang Cheng flared hotly.

“Mind your temper,” his father ordered, and Jiang Cheng subsided, grinding his teeth furiously. His mother was not so easily quelled, and ranted on about the arrogance of the Wen Sect.

Jiang Cheng came back to the conversation with a start when his mother asked scathingly, “Well, Fengmian, are you going to answer my question? Do you plan to send this son of a servant with A-Cheng, or not?” Her finger stabbed towards Wei Wuxian, who sat frozen with a lotus seed halfway to his mouth.

“It’s up to him,” his father replied, not meeting anyone’s eyes as he drained his cup of wine. “He can go if he wants.”

“How nice,” Yu Ziyuan sneered. “You’re very thoughtful, aren’t you, Sect Leader Jiang? He can go if he wants or stay if he doesn’t! Such a shame that A-Cheng doesn’t get that choice, but I suppose that’s how you raise that woman’s son!”

Jiang Cheng looked at Wei Wuxian, who was starting to look pale and wild-eyed, braced himself, and said, “Mother, please…”

“Don’t you even speak to me!” Yu Ziyuan exploded, rounding on Jiang Cheng. “Just like your father! You want me to shut up about her, don’t you! Why, why are you so eager to defend her son, sitting there next to you as if he’s part of this family? You should hate him! Unless you’re still too stupid to realize that as far as your father is concerned, you are nothing compared to him, like you always have been and always will be, no matter what you do!”

And there it was, the feeling Jiang Cheng had been dreading since they first sat down – the all-too-familiar draining sensation that started in the pit of his stomach and hungrily sucked away all the warmth and feeling in his body. It left him numbly adrift in his own head, ears ringing, unable to breathe properly.

As if from a long distance away, he could hear his mother’s voice, still raging. “How many times have I told you not to even associate with him? And yet here you are, so happy to kiss his ass that you’ll even contradict your own mother! What have I done to deserve a son as unfilial as you?”

Yu Ziyuan slammed her hand down on the table again, hard enough to make all the dishes leap up and spill. The servants hurried forward anxiously to wipe up the mess as Madame Yu stormed away, her attendants falling in behind her, blank-faced as always. She left a dead, heavy silence in her wake.

“Well,” Jiang Fengmian sighed, “Never mind, it’s fine. At least we can finally finish our meal in peace.”

Jiang Cheng excused himself. He walked away decorously until he was out of sight of everyone, then sprinted to the edge of the lake and threw up.

Later that evening, lying mindlessly in bed, Jiang Cheng heard a knock on his door. He ignored it, except to pull the quilt over his head when whoever it was kept f*cking knocking.

“A-Cheng? Jiang Cheng! Hey! I’m coming in.”

Wei Wuxian slipped into his room, wearing a rare serious expression.

“A-Cheng, come out of there. I’m worried. I sent a talisman message to Lan Zhan when we arrived, but he never responded. Something must be wrong at Cloud Recesses.”

Jiang Cheng poked his head out and gave his shixiong a dull-eyed stare.

“What do you want me to do about it.”

“Come with me to ask Uncle Jiang?”

“Go by yourself.”

Wei Wuxian sat on the edge of his bed. “Hey. A-Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng turned his face to the wall.

“Aw, shidi, you can’t just stay in here sulking, that’s what they’d expect from some kid, not the great and glorious Jiang Sect Heir!”

Jiang Cheng hid under his pillow. As usual, Wei Wuxian was trying just a little too hard to make him feel better.

“Come on, snap out of it and let’s go find out if there’s any news from Gusu! You know you’re curious,” Wei Wuxian went on, in wheedling tones.

Jiang Cheng heaved a sigh that felt as if it came from the soles of his feet and mumbled, “I hate it – I f*cking hate it – when you’re right.”

Wei Wuxian beamed victoriously, stole his quilt, and left it in a heap on the floor. Jiang Cheng chucked the pillow at Wei Wuxian’s head, and then, equilibrium restored, they went off, walking shoulder-to-shoulder as usual.

By the time they reached the Sect Leader’s study, Wei Wuxian had managed to fix Jiang Cheng’s bed-head and smooth down his wrinkled robes. They found Jiang Fengmian seated behind his desk, reading a talisman message. Jiang Cheng looked at it with foreboding; the messy characters suggested that it had been written in haste and disarray.

“What are you two doing here,” said Jiang Fengmian. “It’s getting late. You should be asleep.”

Wei Wuxian explained.

Jiang Fengmian sighed heavily and stood up, beginning to walk about the room. “This message has just arrived from Zewu-jun; I assume copies have been sent to all the other Sects that are allied with the Lan. Zewu-jun reports that Wen Xu has begun an attack on the Cloud Recesses, supposedly because Lan-er-gongzi has not yet been handed over for indoctrination, but it is clear he is really after the Yin Iron. Yes, I know about it. The day I came to bring you home from Gusu, Zewu-jun explained the history of the Yin Iron to me and warned me to beware of the Wen Sect.”

“That’s… that’s good though, isn’t it?” asked Wei Wuxian. “If the Wen don’t have Lan Zhan, then he must have hidden himself and the Yin Iron somewhere!”

“What the f*ck, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said, looking at him incredulously, “How is any of this good? Wen Xu is the best warrior in Qishan and his advance force is full of fire-throwers and poison-masters! There might not be anything left of the Lan Sect or Cloud Recesses by now!”

“Be quiet, A-Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng bit his lip and watched his father pace.

“We shall pray for our allies in the Lan Sect, but we must also assume the worst: that the Wen Sect has, or will soon have, the third piece of Yin Iron. According to Zewu-jun, it is nearly impossible to control the Yin Iron, and although Wen Ruohan seems to have done it, it must take him time and great effort. Zewu-jun also indicated that, if done imperfectly, the Yin Iron may drive its wielder into madness. The Wen Sect is unlikely to launch any further attacks while Wen Ruohan is distracted by the Yin Iron, which gives us some time to maneuver.”

Jiang Fengmian glanced down at the talisman message again.

“Moreover, this assault on Cloud Recesses will have alarmed the other Sects; the Wen are not yet grown so powerful that they can afford to risk the rest of the cultivation world banding together against them. That is likely why they chose this moment to take all the Sect Heirs to Qishan as hostages.”

He turned and faced them.

“A-Xian, do you plan to accompany A-Cheng to Qishan?”

“Yes,” said Wei Wuxian promptly. “My precious shidi isn’t going anywhere without this shixiong to take care of him properly!”

Jiang Cheng blushed and muttered, “You ass.”

“Ah, A-Xian,” said Jiang Fengmian fondly. “I knew I could rely on you. Here are my orders, then: You will set off together in three days. While you are in Qishan, you will keep your heads down and your mouths shut. Yunmeng Jiang is not involved in the matter of the Yin Iron, therefore Wen Ruohan does not have a reason to turn his attention to Lotus Pier. Do not give him any excuse to do so.”

Jiang Fengmian addressed both boys, but his eyes were fixed on Jiang Cheng, and the warmth of knowing that Wei Wuxian wanted to be at his side during the indoctrination ebbed away. He listened to his father’s instructions with growing apprehension. Nobody – not him, not their instructors, not Lan-laoshi, not even Madame Yu – had ever been able to make Wei Wuxian reconsider his course of action, not if he was convinced he was doing the right thing.

You are scarcely more than a child, and you have just proven yourself incapable of handling even the slightest bit of responsibility.

Jiang Cheng clenched his jaw. His father was now entrusting him with more than a bit of responsibility, the safety of his home and his entire Sect now rested heavily on his shoulders. He could not fail.

“Don’t worry Uncle Jiang,” Wei Wuxian’s insouciant voice broke into Jiang Cheng's racing thoughts, “We understand. We’ll take good care of ourselves, and we’ll be sure that we don’t make the Wen mad enough to kill us!”

Jiang Fengmian chuckled and clapped Wei Wuxian on the shoulder while Jiang Cheng screamed internally.

f*cking attempt the impossible, indeed.

Three days later, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian stood on the docks awkwardly as Jiang Yanli sniffled and piled bag after bag of food into their arms. “A-Jie,” said Jiang Cheng helplessly, “please don’t, we couldn’t even eat this much in a year.”

“There, there, A-Li,” said Jiang Fengmian, standing slightly off to one side and looking equally uncomfortable. “The boys are not so delicate, they’ll be fine.”

The ranks of disciples assembled behind him shuffled their feet. Some of the little ones looked even more tearful than Jiang Yanli. The boatmen waited solemnly, ready to cast off.

“Well, Uncle Jiang,” said Wei Wuxian a little too heartily, because he hated goodbyes and was f*cking terrible at them, “before we part, do you have any words of wisdom for us?”

“Keep your swords at hand and our motto in your heart,” said Jiang Fengmian, who was even worse.

“And don’t do any stupid sh*t,” hissed Jiang Cheng for Wei Wuxian’s ears alone. Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes and elbowed him in the ribs.

“It’s getting late, off you go,” said Jiang Fengmian, so the boys bowed, and that was that.

Wei Wuxian waved frantically as their boat sailed away from Lotus Pier. Jiang Yanli and Jiang Fengmian waved back.

Yu Ziyuan was nowhere to be seen. Jiang Cheng kept his eyes resolutely forward.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

The travelers from Yunmeng encountered Nie Huaisang and his cohort of Nie disciples at an inn on the outskirts of Nightless City. The erstwhile classmates greeted each other warmly before retreating with a jar of wine to a table in the corner, keeping their voices down as much as possible. The other Nie surrounded them protectively and glared at the eavesdropping Wen over their cups.

“We will have to be exceptionally careful,” Nie Huaisang murmured, covering his mouth with his fan as Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian leaned in close. “A little bird told me that Wen Ruohan is so preoccupied with mastering the Yin Iron that he has not been seen in public for many days. And Wen Xu is in Gusu, which means that Wen Chao is running amok in Nightless City with no one to restrain him.”

Jiang Cheng curled his lip. Wen Chao, ugh. He’d hated Wen Chao ever since their first encounter at Cloud Recesses, when the man had come rampaging into the lecture hall like a wild pig and interrupted his very painstakingly rehearsed presentation of the Jiang Sect’s ceremonial gifts. Everything Jiang Cheng had seen and heard about Wen-er-gongzi since then had served to confirm every rumor about his cruel, arrogant, and self-indulgent nature.

He wondered who, or what, Huaisang’s little bird was.

“What’s the situation in Gusu?” Wei Wuxian inquired.

“I don’t know, I really don’t,” Nie Huaisang replied, waving his fan. “We didn’t see Wangji-xiong or any Lan disciples on the roads.”

Jiang Cheng scowled, and Nie Huaisang went on, glancing from side to side with his quick, bright eyes. “Now listen up, this is important. I’ve heard that Wen Chao has taken a mistress, a woman named Wang Lingjiao. She’s a member of a subordinate Sect who used to be one of his wife’s chambermaids. The pair of them are said to be flaunting themselves around Nightless City quite shamelessly. Keep out of her way, if you can – if you thought Wen Chao was bad, this trumped-up servant is apparently even worse. It sounds like the two of them deserve each other, but they could certainly make our lives miserable in the meantime.”

Within half a shichen of arriving at Nightless City the next day, Jiang Cheng knew that the indoctrination was going to be as awful Nie Huaisang had warned them, if not worse. The city was swelteringly hot – not necessarily a problem, at least not for a Yunmeng boy – but surrounded as it was with volcanic vents and burbling mud-pots, it also stank of rotten eggs. Even the wash-water carried a sulfurous whiff, and Jiang Cheng came to the horrible realization that the smell would likely linger in his hair and clothes for weeks. The thought made him want to gag.

There was not a tree or a flower in sight to soften the harsh lines of the Palace of Sun and Flames, nor give any speck of shade to the courtyard where guards kept watch over the assembled hostages. Adding insult to injury, the first familiar person Jiang Cheng saw was Jin Zixuan, standing stiffly at the head of a double row of gold-clad disciples. The peaco*ck did not deign to return Jiang Cheng’s polite greeting, instead opting to exchange sneers with Wei Wuxian, so they were clearly off to a smashing start.

Nie Huaisang waved, but there was still no sign of Lan Wangji or anyone from Gusu.

“What do you think?” whispered Wei Wuxian.

“I hope it’s a good thing Lan-er-gongzi isn’t here,” Jiang Cheng whispered back, stuffing down his own worry to add firmly, “But remember, no matter what, we need to think of our Sect first.”

“Aiyo, Jiang Cheng, you keep saying that,” said Wei Wuxian, rolling his eyes.

A guard announced Wen Chao, who arrived sporting his usual oily-looking smirk. There was a woman with him – Wang Lingjiao, he assumed – simpering and clinging to his arm, dressed in very elaborate, low-cut, and clingy robes of fine vermilion silk, embroidered with gold and rubies. She egged Wen Chao on shamelessly as he began boasting of this and that, and tossed off a few coarse insults of her own, confirming Jiang Cheng’s initial impression that Huaisang was right, and they were the f*cking worst.

Jiang Cheng channeled his mother’s most disdainful expression onto his face and did his best to tune it all out until Wen Chao yelled “Bring him up here.” He heard halting footsteps behind him, looked around with a sinking feeling, and f*ck, sure enough, there was Lan Wangji being marched up to the front of the group by a pair of guards. He was limping a bit but otherwise looked every inch the Second Jade of Gusu Lan, dressed with even more than his usual elegance (was that outer robe made of lace? Seriously?) looking as remote and cold as a winter moon.

He stood next to the Yunmeng pair, seeming furiously determined to ignore Wei Wuxian hissing “Psst, psst” at him, as if he was a cat.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng muttered, yanking Wei Wuxian’s sleeve. “If you don’t cause any trouble, maybe we’ll have a chance to talk with him later.”

Having received yet another of Wei Wuxian’s patented yes Sect Heir, whatever you say Sect Heir eye rolls, Jiang Cheng turned his attention back to Wen Chao just in time to hear him announce (in his f*cking awful braying-donkey voice) that all the hostages would have to surrender their swords. A wave of outraged muttering swept the assembled crowd, and for several tense moments it seemed like all hell was about to break loose, but then Lan Wangji surprised everyone by stepping forward to hand over Bichen.

Jiang Cheng admired the way in which Lan Wangji managed to convey his total loathing for everyone and everything in sight with only the slightest flare of his finely chiseled nostrils. Then he caught Wei Wuxian’s eye, and they curled their lips in identical sneers as a pair of Wen disciples rudely snatched Sandu and Suibian from their hands and put them into a trophy case.

Predictably, Nie Huaisang was only too happy to get rid of his saber, and equally predictably, Jin Zixuan proved unwilling to swallow his pride and give up Suihua. He faced off against Wen Chao, the two of them hissing like a pair of angry geese, until Wen Zhuliu came over and stood at Jin Zixuan’s shoulder. Jin Zixuan’s second-in-command, Luo Qingyang, took one look at the Core-Melting Hand’s impassive slab of a face and hurried to apologize on the peaco*ck’s behalf, sounding as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

Jiang Cheng growled inwardly, barely able to keep his disapproval from showing. It was all very well for the peaco*ck to posture and puff himself up in front of Wen Chao, but not at the cost of his First Disciple’s dignity! The poor girl was practically groveling at Wen Chao’s feet – and as Wen Chao leered at Luo Qingyang’s pretty face and willowy figure, Jiang Cheng’s disgust only grew. Jin Zixuan should know better than to expose her to Wen Chao’s notorious lechery.

The quarters assigned to the Yunmeng hostages were spacious, but gloomy and tacky as f*ck, all carved black stone and crimson everywhere – floor coverings, cushions, curtains, everything red, red, red, down to the silk cover of The Quintessence of the Wen Sect. Their “indoctrination” apparently consisted of memorizing this collection of Wen ancestral proverbs, lessons, and teachings, then reciting it three times a day – proving once and for all that the Wen were somehow less imaginative than the Lan when it came to pedagogy.

“Pfft, listen to this,” Wei Wuxian said from the floor where he lay reading with his feet up and deliberately planted on the red brocade sofa. “Those who rely on the power of their Sect to do evil shall be beheaded and reviled by the people as a warning to future generations,” he read aloud, affecting an obnoxious nasal whine.

Jiang Cheng snorted as he unpacked his robes. “If that’s the case, then thick faces are the Wen Sect’s only true inheritance.”

“Yeah,” said Wei Wuxian idly, grinding his heels into the sofa cushions on purpose. “Hey, do you think we’ll be able to see Wen Qing or Wen Ning while we’re here in Nightless City?”

“I suppose we could try,” said Jiang Cheng doubtfully. “But first we should probably go check on Lan Wangji and make sure he’s not running around murdering people. He looked like he was about to start, earlier.”

“Good idea,” said Wei Wuxian, picking his nose and carefully wiping it on the rug. Then he bounced to his feet and careened towards the door, but he had barely slid it open before two swords crossed in front of him. “Wen-er-gongzi says that nobody is allowed to wander around Nightless City during the Indoctrination,” recited one of the guards posted in front of their quarters.

Wei Wuxian summoned his most endearing smile and said, “Aw, I just want to greet my friend.”

“Talking is not allowed either,” said the other guard rudely, and slammed the door in Wei Wuxian’s face before Jiang Cheng, enraged, had even had time to cross the room.

“What the f*ck is this!” Jiang Cheng snarled. “Are we people, or animals in cages!” He was about to storm out of the door himself and start shouting when his father’s words rang clearly in his mind.

You will keep your heads down and your mouths shut. Wen Ruohan does not have a reason to turn his attention to Lotus Pier. Do not give him any excuse to do so.

Do you plan to disobey me again, you unfilial boy?

He stuffed his anger down, though he felt like a pot on the boil, bursting with steam under a too-tight lid. He paced the room, feeling like a caged animal indeed, too distracted to notice Wei Wuxian’s thoughtful look and the way he was tapping his fingers on the side of his nose.

He should have f*cking noticed. When had Wei Wuxian ever made his thoughtful face and not come up with a f*cking disastrous half-baked plan?

This particularly disastrous half-baked plan was put into motion first thing the following morning, while the hostages were still filing into the courtyard and blinking sullenly under the scorching Qishan sun. Wen Chao came in, sat down, pulled Wang Lingjiao into his lap, gave them all his nastiest, most insincere grin, and began calling on people to recite from The Quintessence of the Wen Sect.

“Jin Zixuan.”

“No, I cannot,” said the Peaco*ck in a pissy voice.

“Lan Wangji?” Wen Chao’s smile grew even greasier.

“I cannot either,” said Lan Wangji, in a tone that suggested that if Wen Chao was on fire, he, Lan Wangji, would not deign to spit on him.

“Wei Wuxian!” called Wen Chao, now looking positively gleeful, but Wei Wuxian stepped forward promptly, grinning from ear to ear. Jiang Cheng felt his heart sink down to his f*cking toes.

Looking for all the world like an obsequious teacher’s pet, Wei Wuxian folded his hands primly and began to recite: “Killing is forbidden. Fighting is forbidden. Promiscuity is forbidden…”

Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji exchanged horrified glances; Nie Huaisang, on the other hand, shot Wei Wuxian an almost impressed look from behind his fan.

“Shouting is forbidden. Going outside after curfew is forbidden. Running is forbidden. The strong are forbidden to bully the weak. Telling lies is forbidden. Teasing others is forbidden. It is forbidden to shirk one’s responsibilities. Speaking while eating is forbidden. Sitting improperly is forbidden. Speaking ill of others behind their backs is forbidden…”

Jiang Cheng wildly wondered if he should tackle his shixiong to the ground and throttle him into silence, while Wen Chao’s face cycled through several complicated expressions before settling on red-faced, vein-popping outrage. But before anyone could do anything, Wang Lingjiao leapt up and began screeching, “Wei Wuxian! How dare you recite the Lan principles here!”

Jiang Cheng squeezed his eyes shut and thought Don’t say anything, stop talking, stop talking, please, stop f*cking talking.

“Oh dear,” said Wei Wuxian coyly, batting his eyelashes, the very picture of innocence. “Is that what I did? How very silly of me. Here, let me try again…”

“SHUT UP,” Wen Chao roared. “Do you think you can play me for a fool?”

Wei Wuxian smirked, and everyone could tell the exact moment when it occurred to Wen Chao that the answer was yes, obviously, because his face went from red to purple.

“All three of you will be punished,” Wen Chao bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. “Guards! Take them to the vegetable fields! If they are not fit for indoctrination, they can damn well spread night soil!”

Jin Zixuan blanched, Lan Wangji went rigid, and Wei Wuxian looked mildly chagrined as the guards marched them away.

Later, alone in their quarters, Jiang Cheng paced furiously up and down, gnashing his teeth. He would have kicked everything in the room if it hadn’t all been carved out of f*cking rocks. He wouldn’t be surprised if his feet wore a groove into the f*cking rock floor.

His head was pounding, so he tore the ornaments out of his hair and let it tumble down his back. He gripped it by the roots and tugged, hard, trying to ground himself, distract himself from his spiraling thoughts.

He was not crying with frustration. He was not worried about his idiot shixiong!

Still!

One f*cking day, Wei Wuxian! You promised and promised and promised to behave, and within one f*ckING day you’re running your mouth off and getting Lan Wangji and even the Peaco*ck in trouble along with you! Couldn’t you keep your promises for ONE f*ckING DAY?

A dry sob scraped past the choking sensation in his throat, the painful clench of his jaw. Why couldn’t he do it, why couldn’t he do anything to get Wei Wuxian to listen to him? Where were the magic words that would penetrate the idiot’s thick skull and make him think – actually think – about the consequences of insulting Wen Chao?

At this time, Wen Ruohan does not have a reason to turn his attention to Lotus Pier. Do not give him any excuse to do so.

Jiang Cheng’s head spun with nightmare scenarios – Wen cultivators storming through the Lotus Gate, Wen swords red with Jiang blood, Wen fire-throwers setting the boats and docks and buildings of Lotus Pier aflame – and he sobbed again, furiously, whirling on his heel to go stomping back across the room.

Then he heard muffled voices outside the door. The guards’ heavy boots were marching down the stairs and away. Was Wei Wuxian back? His punishment couldn’t be over already, could it?

Puzzled, Jiang Cheng went to the door to investigate, only to stumble backwards in unalloyed horror when Wen Zhuliu stepped inside and advanced on him, hand outstretched.

Jiang Cheng retreated until his back hit the far wall, then looked around frantically for something, anything he could use to defend himself.

Wen Zhuliu moved fast for such a stocky person. He pinned Jiang Cheng against the wall with one hand, then briskly tapped several of his acupressure points with the other. Jiang Cheng felt his golden core vanish from his consciousness, like a blown-out candle-flame. He groped for it, reached for it desperately, there had to be something, he’d been doing this since he formed his core almost ten years ago, but there was nothing, no power to summon, no way to protect himself or escape.

Jiang Cheng began to hyperventilate, wildly gasping for breath until he sank to the floor, light-headed. He felt like he was drowning, helpless before an oncoming flood of panic. Over the ringing, rushing noise in his ears, he barely registered Wen Zhuliu saying calmly, “Try to slow your breathing, Jiang-gongzi. Your core is sealed, not destroyed, this feeling is temporary. Your spiritual power will return by nightfall.” Then the equally unwelcome voice of Wen Chao drawled, “That’s enough out of you, Wen Zhuliu. I will speak to Jiang-gongzi privately. Go wait outside and put a silencing talisman on the door. Let nobody in.” Wen Zhuliu bowed, impassive as ever, and left.

Once the door slid closed, Wen Chao reached down and sank his fingers into Jiang Cheng’s hair, wrapping it around his fist before jerking Jiang Cheng’s head up. “That’s more like it,” he said, and showed his teeth in a hungry rictus of a smile. “The Jiang Sect Heir, on his knees for me.”

Jiang Cheng’s vision was starting to go blurry around the edges. His quick, panting, shallow breaths did nothing to quell the panic that carried his frozen body along, helpless as a bit of flotsam in a rushing river. Wen Chao’s grin stretched further as he gripped Jiang Cheng’s face with his other hand, digging the thumb painfully hard into his cheekbone, turning him to and fro to examine the tears-tracks down his jaw. “Crying, were you? How pathetic! What a weak little thing you are. What were you crying over, I wonder? Scared of the big bad Core-Melting Hand? Or are you feeling lonely without that loudmouthed shixiong of yours?”

A high, lost whine caught in Jiang Cheng’s teeth, locked within him by the crushing pressure in his chest.

Wen Chao sneered. “When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer.”

He dragged Jiang Cheng to his feet, spun him around, and slammed him face-first against the wall, one hand still fisted in his hair, the other twisting his arms painfully into the small of his back.

“Nothing to say, little songbird? Nothing you want to say in that pretty, pretty voice of yours?”

Wen Chao forced a thigh between his legs, and Jiang Cheng’s entire body went numb with shock.

“I heard you, you know,” Wen Chao hissed, sibilant and damp on the nape of Jiang Cheng’s neck. “When I followed you with the Dire Owl. I was listening, all the way from Caiyi to Dafan Mountain.”

Another yank on his hair wrenched his head back even more.

“I bet I can make you sing.”

Jiang Cheng stared up at the ceiling as random thoughts chased each other in stupid little circles through his useless mind. He should – he needed to – he couldn’t –

“Do you know, after my mother died my honored father used to go on and on about how much he wanted to f*ck your mother?” Wen Chao went on, low and hateful. “I heard him. He’s never had her, but I could have you, any time it pleases me. And you look just like her, don’t you? Such a pretty little thing, pretty hair, pretty face, and the same pretty eyes… in fact, I think you’re too pretty to be a boy, so maybe I’ll just make sure…”

Wen Chao shoved his hips forward. Jiang Cheng could feel Wen Chao’s co*ck grinding stiffly against his ass, Wen Chao’s panting breaths wet against his jaw. The hand pinning his wrists let go, snaked around him, burrowed into his robes. Wen Chao’s fingers clawed at his chest and found his nipples, brutally pinching and twisting. Jiang Cheng tried to squirm away, but Wen Chao only seemed further inflamed by his pitiful struggles.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Wen Chao hissed, and kept rutting against him. “f*ck!” He tore his hand from Jiang Cheng’s hair and pawed at his body instead, gripping his hip, groping his ass, grunting into his ear.

“I think I’ll bend you – ngh! – right over the Fire Throne – hnnngh! – and f*ck you until your belly bursts – gnngh! – I wonder what my dear father – oh, gods – would say about that – huh!”

Meaningless words. Jiang Cheng could barely grasp them, his mind seemed frozen in place, like a rabbit caught in a viper’s thrall. But then, even harsher than Wen Chao’s, another voice suddenly clamored in his head.

Don’t just stand there and take it like a whor*! No son of mine would let some arrogant Wen pig do such a shameful thing!

Before the last of his consciousness could fade out, Jiang Cheng let his head drop forward, then smashed it back into Wen Chao’s nose as hard as he could. Wen Chao bellowed and shoved himself away. Jiang Cheng reeled sideways, stars winking in the corners of his eyes, and then Wen Chao came roaring back and seized him by the throat. Jiang Cheng went limp as Wen Chao choked him furiously, sagging down until his knees hit the floor.

“You – you – f*ck you!” Wen Chao shrieked, looking totally unhinged as blood dribbled down his chin. “I’ll f*cking kill you for that!” He summoned fire to his palm and slapped Jiang Cheng brutally across the face with it, leaving a blistered handprint. Jiang Cheng’s head snapped to the side, and his body listed dizzyingly. He had a moment of relief when Wen Chao let go of his neck, only to go flying halfway across the room when the man backhanded him across his other cheek.

He lay gasping and disoriented as Wen Chao advanced upon him. “You’re no better than your little friends, aren’t you? The ones that all think they’re better than me,” he sneered. “Is that why you look at them like you’re gagging to ride their co*cks? That icicle from Gusu, that starchy little Jin sh*t, even that nobody Wei Wuxian?” Wen Chao kicked him in the side, hard, and Jiang Cheng curled up, retching emptily. “I’ll f*cking split you in half, you scrawny, useless little slu*t, and then I’ll throw what’s left of you into the barracks for my men to fight over.”

Quite suddenly, then, outside noises began pouring into the room as the silencing talisman lifted – soldiers shuffling their feet, Wen Qing’s voice raised sharply, even the sound of Wei Wuxian overdoing it with his fake-careless laugh. The door slid open, and they both froze. Wen Chao wiped the blood from his face hurriedly before glaring over his shoulder.

“What is it now! I gave orders! I’m not to be disturbed!”

“Your pardon, Wen-er-gongzi,” said Wen Zhuliu neutrally, staring across the room at nothing. “Wen-guniang is here with the prisoners, who have completed their work in the garden. Moreover, she informs me that a courier has arrived from MuXi Mountain with a matter that requires your immediate attention.”

Wen Chao stood for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists, scowling down at the shaking heap of Jiang Cheng on the ground. Jiang Cheng looked back, eyes blank, before he rolled over and coughed out a mouthful of blood. Squinting against the brightness streaming through the open door, he could just make out Wen Qing, Wei Wuxian, Jin Zixuan, and Lan Wangji all standing outside, staring in at him.

At the sight of Jiang Cheng’s blistered face and bruised throat, Wei Wuxian drew a furious breath, clearly preparing to rain curses on Wen Chao and all his ancestors. Fortunately, the only thing that actually came out of his mouth was a tiny squeak, such as a mouse might make – Lan Wangji must have put the Silencing Spell on him. Wei Wuxian looked at the Second Jade with an expression of utmost betrayal, but Lan Wangji simply squeezed his wrist and shook his head, ever so slightly. Good call, Lan Wangji, thought Jiang Cheng vaguely, no point in making things worse.

Keep your head down and your mouth shut. You unfilial boy.

“Fine!” Wen Chao snapped and shook back his sleeves before turning away from Jiang Cheng. As he walked out of the door, he paused and struck an impressive pose. “Mark my words, Jiang-gongzi,” he shouted theatrically over his shoulder, “if I ever catch you looking at my Jiaojiao with those filthy dogs’ eyes of yours again, I’ll carve them from your head and make you eat them! Someone like you is not even worthy to lick the ground beneath her boots!”

A babble arose from the soldiers. Jiang Cheng listened, feeling distant and uninterested as they dutifully congratulated their Wen-er-gongzi on successfully defending his lover’s honor and putting the arrogant Jiang heir firmly in his place.

He caught Wen Zhuliu rolling his eyes in exasperation before the older man grabbed Wei Wuxian, shoved him into the room, and slid the door shut behind him.

“Can I talk?” Wei Wuxian demanded of nobody in particular; apparently Lan Wangji had managed to lift the Silencing Spell before being marched off to wherever his room was. “Oh good, I can talk. Jiang Cheng! What the f*ck happened?”

You will keep your head down and your mouth shut.

“It’s nothing.”

Wei Wuxian crouched down and gently turned Jiang Cheng’s face this way and that, examining him. “The f*ck it is, now tell me.”

“Can you. I mean. Can you help with – these.” Jiang Cheng gestured feebly at his burns and bruises, which were beginning to make themselves known. Sensation was starting to trickle back into his numbed body in a most unwelcome way.

Wei Wuxian seated himself and began to direct his qi into Jiang Cheng. “But what’s wrong with you?” Jiang Cheng winced, and Wei Wuxian quickly corrected himself. “I mean, why can’t you fix them yourself?”

“Wen Zhuliu came. And he.”

The flow of Wei Wuxian’s qi stuttered as he looked at Jiang Cheng in wide-eyed horror.

“He sealed my core. He. He said he didn’t. M-melt it.”

Wei Wuxian sighed in relief, and sure enough, Jiang Cheng felt the first tiny flutter of spiritual energy emerge from his own core, which felt weak and wobbly as a newly hatched chick. Wei Wuxian frowned thoughtfully and sent his qi circulating around Jiang Cheng’s lower dantian, which gave his core a little boost.

But Jiang Cheng was still shaking, and his teeth began to chatter. “Would you. Is there – b-bath water?”

“Yeah,” said Wei Wuxian, brushing the hair away from Jiang Cheng’s face, where the red welts across his cheekbones were already fading. “Want me to heat it up for you?”

“Yes p-please.”

Wei Wuxian slapped a profligate number of warming talismans all over the tub, and Jiang Cheng undressed behind the privacy screen, resolutely not looking down at the finger-shaped bruises on his hips and thighs. When he submerged himself gingerly in the steaming water, the heat on his sore, swollen nipples made him hiss softly with pain.

He curled over onto his side, facing the wall, just in case Wei Wuxian decided to come barging in. His shixiong was puttering around on the other side of the room and making tea, to judge from the sound of clinking cups. Warmth sank into his bones, and for a moment he felt very drifty and blank, as if everything had just happened to a different Jiang Cheng.

Then he registered the sulfurous steam filling his lungs, seeping into the pores of his skin, and the tension rose in him again. That smell – it was like his body was absorbing some taint he would never be able to expel, an indelible trace of Wen that would follow him and be inside him forever.

He seized the bath beans and scrubbed feverishly at himself, but all the soap and hot water in Nightless City couldn’t make him feel clean.

No son of mine would let some arrogant Wen pig do such a shameful thing…

Over the sound of splashing, he could Wei Wuxian chattering away on the other side of the privacy screen with the little too-bright edge to his voice that said he knew something was wrong but felt emotionally unequipped to deal with it, so he would feign obliviousness until it went away.

“So Wen Chao had Wen Zhuliu seal your core? To make it easier for him to beat the sh*t out of you for trying to steal his woman? What an asshole! And how is he stupid enough to think you’d even be interested in her anyway? Unlike some people around here, Wang Lingjiao is nowhere near pretty enough to make up for her terrible personality!”

I think you’re too pretty to be a boy, so maybe I’ll just make sure…

“Cough, cough, Jiang Cheng, cough cough, ahem.”

Maybe I’ll just make sure…

“Hello in there? I’m trying to compliment you, shidi!”

“Ha f*cking ha,” Jiang Cheng replied woodenly. “You are so hilarious that I wonder why Lan-er-gongzi doesn’t put the Silencing Spell on you all the time, just on general principles. They could carve it into their wall of discipline. Rule three thousand and one: Wei Wuxian is forbidden to open his giant f*cking mouth.”

Jiang Cheng heard footsteps approaching and curled himself tightly into a ball, sinking further into his bath as Wei Wuxian peered behind the privacy screen.

“Seriously, Jiang Cheng, what’s up with you?”

“It’s nothing, I said. Go away. Throw me a towel. You should wash too, before the evening session starts. You f*cking reek of night soil.”

The concern on Wei Wuxian’s face melted into mischief, and he waved his hands around as if to waft the stink from his own body towards Jiang Cheng, who scoffed and threatened to break his legs.

After all, two could play at that game.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji was furious. He’d been furious for days.

He silently recited all three thousand Lan Sect rules, forward and backward, over and over in his head. It was the only thing that kept him from turning on the Wen cultivators and tearing into them with his teeth.

He had heard the Lan disciples drowning in their own blood, after the Wen slit their throats.

He had caught his uncle in his arms as Lan Qiren collapsed, wounded in a dozen places and vomiting blood.

He had seen flames devouring the Library Pavilion, the legacy of his ancestors, the pride and joy of his Sect for generations past.

He had no idea where his brother was, or if Xichen was even still alive.

He had been laughed at, beaten, humiliated, stripped, and searched.

And it was easier to be furious than terrified.

The Yin Iron fragment was long gone, parceled up and dispatched to Nightless City like the rest of the Lan Sect’s treasures and Lan Wangji himself. Now Wen Ruohan was one step closer to achieving his power-mad goals, and Lan Wangji was being forced to stand around all day on his broken leg, dressed up like a doll in his fanciest formal robes for the amusem*nt of Wen Ruohan’s pig of a son.

And yet it was this – situation – mucking around in the Wen vegetable garden, and yes, he was amidst the only growing green things he’d seen for days, but still! – that made Lan Wangji feel closer to snapping than ever. He was, in fact, about to vibrate out of his own skin with rage but settled for pouring out the noxious contents of his night-soil bucket very close to Wei Ying’s shoes, and with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

Wei Ying leapt away from the disgusting spatter, then looked at him askance and said, “Uh, Lan Zhan? Do you want me to grab you a shovel or something?” His voice came out sounding somewhat nasal, muffled by the ribbon he had tied tightly over his nose.

Irrationally, this did nothing but anger Lan Wangji even further. What was he supposed to do? Take his ribbon, the sacred ribbon that was practically all he had left of his home, and tie it around his nose to block out the stench of Wen sh*t? He glowered at Wei Ying. Jin Zixuan huffed and glowered too, his unlikely comrade in mutual irritation.

Wei Ying had the grace to look a little abashed. Lan Wangji slung his empty buckets over his shoulders and stalked off with all the dignity he could muster while trying not to dry-heave.

Annoyingly, Wei Ying hurried after him, leaving their handful of guards to laze about in the sun and keep a safe distance from the night-soil pit. “Hey, Lan Zhan,” he puffed, “I heard about Wen Xu’s attack on Cloud Recesses. Did they get the bit of Yin Iron you were carrying?”

Lan Wangji stopped in his tracks and stared straight ahead. Fighting is forbidden…

“What happened?”

Do not succumb to rage…

“Lan Zhaaaaaaan! Say something.”

Before Lan Wangji could lose his entire temper at Wei Ying, a soft whisper made them both jump, startled.

“Psssst! W-W-Wei-gongzi! Lan-er-g-g-gongzi!”

Something rustled in the bushes just to the side of the garden path, and Wen Qionglin’s round, mild face peeked out from between the leaves.

“Wen Ning!” Wei Ying hissed back, “What are you doing here?”

“I c-c-came to see you,” the boy whispered. “How are you f-f-faring?”

“Oh, well,” Wei Ying replied airily, gesturing expansively at the night-soil pit and his own pair of horrible buckets. “As you can see, everything is going splendidly! But Lan Zhan is mad at me and won’t tell me anything that’s going on. Do you have any news for me, A-Ning?”

Wei Wuxian batted his eyelashes. Lan Wangji ground his teeth and felt powerfully tempted to fill up his buckets again, just so he’d have something worthwhile to dump over their heads.

“I heard you ask about the Y-Y-Yin Iron,” Wen Qionglin said. “I’m s-sorry to be the one to tell you that it’s here, in Nightless City. Sect Leader Wen has three p-p-p-pieces of it now, there’s only one p-piece missing. He thinks Ch-Ch-Chifeng-zun has it, because he took Xue Yang into c-custody, so he’s ordered Wen Xu to abandon the s-s-sack of Gusu and besiege the Unclean Realm instead.”

“A-NING!”

They all jumped again as Wen Qing came storming down the garden path in a swirl of crimson silk and sisterly fury. She dived into the shrubbery, rustled around violently, and emerged dragging Wen Qionglin by the ear. The poor boy began stammering excuses and apologies, but Wen Qing ran roughshod over him.

“How many times have I told you to stay away from these two idiots? They are nothing but trouble! Do you not listen to your sister anymore?”

“Wen-guniang…” began Wei Ying, but Wen Qing rounded on him fiercely.

“You shut up!”

She seethed for a moment, glaring at them all. “A-Ning, go back to our rooms and stay there this time. And make sure nobody sees you!” He scampered away immediately, looking rather relieved. “Wei Wuxian, Lan-er-gongzi, is Wen Chao here in the gardens with you?”

“Ugh, no. I’d have pushed him into the dung pit if he was.”

She frowned. “That’s odd, I wonder where he could be. A messenger just arrived with news for him, and he’s nowhere to be found.”

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, then squared her slender shoulders. “Right, you two come with me. I’ll tell the guards that I’ve been sent to fetch you and Jin-gongzi so you’ll have time for a wash before the evening indoctrination session begins, so you don’t all smell like sh*t.”

Wei Ying fluttered his eyelashes and flapped his hand like a beauty waving away a compliment.

Wen Qing and Wei Ying sniped and snarked at each other like an old married couple as the soldiers marched them all back to the guest pavilions. Jin Zixuan and Lan Wangji had exchanged many long-suffering looks behind everyone’s backs by the time they arrived at the rooms set aside for the Yunmeng hostages. Then, at the foot of the steps leading to the Jiang Sect’s lodgings, Wen Qing stopped abruptly and scowled.

“That’s peculiar…”

There was only one lone figure, Wen Zhuliu, standing stiffly at the door. Wen Qing went up to him.

“Wen Zhuliu, what are you doing here?”

He blinked at her. “Wen-er-gongzi’s orders.”

She stared back, clearly nonplussed. Wen Zhuliu shifted slightly, and Lan Wangji noticed the man discreetly peeling away a silencing talisman that had been fastened across the door. He felt a sensation of dread take root in the pit of his stomach and moved a few steps closer.

“Is Wen-er-gongzi in there? What on earth is he doing? I need to speak with him! These three have finished their work in the garden, and a messenger from MuXi Mountain has arrived.”

Wen Zhuliu’s face did not change as he slid the door open. The three boys crowded around Wen Qing and peered into the room.

It was difficult to see – the contrast between the harsh sun of the courtyard and the dim interior of the room made Lan Wangji squint – but he could smell, even over the horrible stench that clung to his robes and hair, the coppery tang of fresh blood and the charred stink of something recently burnt.

Wen Chao was yelling from inside. “What is it now! I gave orders! I’m not to be disturbed!”

“Your pardon, Wen-er-gongzi,” replied Wen Zhuliu woodenly. “Wen-guniang is here with the prisoners, who have completed their work in the garden…”

He said something else, but all Lan Wangji could focus on was the sound of harsh, quickly drawn breaths, followed by a cough and a painful gagging noise. Wei Ying and Jin Zixuan both gasped, and they all stared, horrified, as their eyes adjusted.

Jiang Wanyin was lying on the floor of the room, wheezing for breath, gray eyes huge and dark with pain. Blood stained his swollen lips, his delicate high cheekbones were covered with angry red blisters, and five livid bruises – the mark of four fingers and a thumb – darkened on his slender throat.

Lan Wangji’s mind roared. His fingers ached for Bichen, he would make them all pay for this…

But he also felt Wei Ying tensing at the sight of his battered shidi, and in a moment of chilling clarity he realized that Wei Ying was about to explode with rage and start something that would only make matters worse – for Jiang Wanyin and all of them. He seized Wei Ying’s wrist in a punishing grip and hastily cast the Silencing Spell. Wei Ying would probably be angry with him, but a faint expression of relief displaced the vacant blankness on Jiang Wanyin’s face, and Lan Wangji hoped that he had done the right thing.

Wen Chao came out, loudly spouting some outrageous lie about Jiang Wanyin harassing Wang Lingjiao, then Wen Zhuliu bundled Wei Ying into the room and shut the door on the Yunmeng pair. Lan Wangji was unceremoniously marched off to his own rooms, where he sat stewing in his bath, mentally adding another unforgivable sin to the long list that the Wen would eventually have to repay.

By the next morning, rumors of some altercation between Jiang Wanyin and Wen Chao had flown around the Indoctrination Camp and grown out of all proportion. Lan Wangji listened incredulously to a group of Wen guards loudly claiming that Wen Chao had caught Jiang Wanyin in the act of assaulting Wang Lingjiao, and it was only his filial respect for Wen Ruohan, who highly esteemed Yu Ziyuan, that had prevented Wen Chao from outright castrating her son in revenge.

Do not tell lies, Lan Wangji thought angrily. He noticed that Wen Zhuliu, who also overheard this nonsense, appeared faintly disgusted by it as well.

While they stood in rows, sweating and waiting for Wen Chao to start the morning indoctrination session, Nie Huaisang leaned across Lan Wangji and asked the Yunmeng boys what had really happened. Wei Ying glanced sideways at his shidi, who flinched and turned his head. Jiang Wanyin’s burns and bruises had faded, but he was still trying to make himself small and invisible.

Wei Ying shrugged, turned back to Nie Huaisang, and rolled his eyes. “Wen Chao is a creepy, delusional weirdo who knows full well that he could never take my shidi in a fair fight,” he said, not bothering to keep his voice down and not noticing that his words made Jiang Wanyin hunch his shoulders even further up towards his ears. “He had Wen Zhuliu seal A-Cheng’s core, then beat him up while A-Cheng couldn’t defend himself.”

“SILENCE,” bellowed one of the guards.

Wei Ying scoffed and munched on a bun that he had produced from his sleeve. Jiang Wanyin, on the other hand, looked as if he might be sick. He straightened his back and fixed his posture when Wen Chao arrived with Wang Lingjiao draped all over him, but kept his eyes cast down.

Wang Lingjiao smirked at Jiang Wanyin as she seated herself on Wen Chao’s knee, and Wen Chao sneered at him as he sprawled across the throne arrogantly.

“You’re as much of a useless coward as your father, aren’t you, Jiang-gongzi?” said Wen Chao, idly toying with the tassel hanging from Wang Lingjiao’s sash.

Jiang Wanyin quivered and dropped his head lower.

Lan Wangji burned with indignation on his behalf.

“Good. Suck it up. Otherwise, I’ll pay a little visit to Lotus Pier myself.”

Then, instead of beginning the usual recitations, Wen Chao made an announcement. The messenger from MuXi Mountain had reported an unusually strong concentration of resentful energy in the area. Entire teams of cultivators sent to deal with the resultant yaogui had disappeared, so Wen Chao would be attending to the matter himself.

If any of the hostages harbored a faint hope that this would bring them a reprieve from Wen Chao’s odious presence, that hope was quickly dashed when it was announced that they would all accompany him to MuXi Mountain. A few servants were sent off with instructions to prepare horses, tents, and supplies for Wen Chao, Wang Lingjiao, Wen Zhuliu, and the guards, while Wen Chao gleefully informed the hostages that they would be sleeping rough and foraging for themselves.

His pompous braying was dramatically interrupted when Nie Huaisang moaned loudly and collapsed in a heap, eyes rolling back into his head. A concerned babble arose as the Nie disciples hurried forward, clustering around him protectively. Wen Chao grunted and waved a dismissive hand at the guards, who lowered their hands from their swords.

“Send for the healers.”

Wen Qing arrived quickly, trailed by Wen Qionglin, carrying a large wooden chest of medicines and supplies. The siblings knelt next to Nie Huaisang’s crumpled form and carried on a whispered conversation with Chifeng-zun’s burly cousin, Nie Zonghui, who served as his second-in-command.

“Well?” demanded Wen Chao when Wen Qing stood up.

“Nie-gongzi has been overcome by heat and anxiety,” Wen Qing reported. “His second-in-command informs me that Nie-gongzi has a history of such fainting fits that leave him very weak for several days afterwards; his cultivation is not strong enough for him to recover more quickly.”

Lan Wangji huffed slightly to himself – Nie Huaisang’s fainting fits were legendary, that was true, but mostly because of the remarkable way they just happened to coincide with exams, saber training exercises, discussion conferences, and anything else Nie Huaisang found distasteful.

Wen Qionglin had one hand pressed to Nie Huaisang’s forehead, while the other felt at the pulse in Nie Huaisang’s wrist. From his vantage point, Lan Wangji could see Nie Huaisang open his eyelids just a smidge, peeping at Wen Qionglin with great interest.

“Pathetic,” Wen Chao sneered. “Let’s just kill him. Put him out of his misery.”

Before the Nie disciples could start a riot, Wen Qing bowed and replied blandly, “With respect, Wen-er-gongzi, please recall that His Excellency Sect Leader Wen has ordered that all our… guests remain unharmed while they may still be of use. Wen-er-gongzi will recalle that Nie-gongzi is Chifeng-zun’s only brother – surely, we would do better to keep him as leverage against the Nie, at least until Wen-gongzi has breached the Unclean Realm.”

The Nie disciples glared furiously at Wen Qing, as did Wen Chao, who clearly hated to be contradicted in public. Then Wang Lingjiao whispered something in his ear, and an unpleasant smirk spread across his face. Everyone shifted their feet uneasily; that expression never boded well.

“You know, Wen Qing, you’re quite right. By all means, leave Nie-gongzi here in your brother’s care… and you, my dear cousin, can accompany us to MuXi Mountain. With your unparalleled medical skills, you can certainly ensure the wellbeing of all our precious guests during this night-hunt, yes? And if any of them do come to harm, why, I’m afraid I will – very regretfully – have to inform His Excellency my honored father that you failed in your responsibilities.”

Wang Lingjiao cooed at Wen Chao and wriggled disgustingly in his lap. Lan Wangji was forced to admire Wen Qing’s self-control – the woman appeared almost bored, though her fists were tightly clenched as she bowed assent and turned away to direct the stretcher-bearers who had come to collect Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang was carried away with one hand draped artfully over his forehead and the other still clutching Wen Qionglin’s. Wen Qionglin looked bemused. Wen Qing looked homicidal. The servants came back leading horses and pack-ponies. Wen Chao clapped his hands and shouted gleefully, “All right you maggots, let’s go find some monsters!”

The walk to MuXi Mountain was long and slow, and the subsequent days spent wandering aimlessly up and down its steep terrain were even more tiresome. Lan Wangji hated every moment of it. His mind spun in fretful, aggrieved circles, and his injured leg still pained him. Every night he expended as much spiritual energy as he dared trying to ease the bone-deep ache, but every day he spent stumbling over rocky slopes and through dense forests just made it worse again. The constant strain on his cultivation made him feel the bite of hunger and exhaustion, even though he was usually able to ignore his body’s needs for days on end. All in all, Lan Wangji was in a f*cking terrible mood.

Still, as dreadful as he felt, it was clear that there were people who had it even worse – namely Luo Qingyang (whom Wei Ying rudely persisted in calling Mianmian) and Jiang Wanyin.

Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao had selected the unfortunate pair as pawns in the strange game of power and possession they were playing with each other. Wen Chao would let Wang Lingjiao see him ogling Luo Qingyang, and in retaliation, Wang Lingjiao would pout and drift over towards Jiang Wanyin. Wen Chao would follow her with his molten gaze as she simpered at Jiang Wanyin, made eyes at him, even brushed up against him – and then he would come storming over to aim a kick or a blow at Jiang Wanyin, lash him with a horsewhip, and insult him. Then Wen Chao would whisk Wang Lingjiao away as she cooed and clung to him immodestly, and the Wen soldiers would laugh, crowd around Jiang Wanyin, and whisper filthy threats into his ears.

This happened at least once a day. By the fourth day of the farcical “night-hunt,” Jiang Wanyin looked positively haunted.

The Jin disciples were doing their best to keep Luo Qingyang protectively surrounded, but as far as Lan Wangji could discern, Wei Ying was doing his best to inflame the situation with a nonstop stream of remarks about Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao’s shameless behavior. It made Lan Wangji very curt with Wei Ying when the other boy noticed he was still limping and came running over to investigate.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, how’s your leg?”

“It’s fine,” said Lan Wangji.

“Aiya, don’t pretend it’s fine! It’s obviously not! Want me to carry you?”

Lan Wangji stared at Wei Ying, incredulous, and longed to tell him to f*ck off once again. He needed Wei Ying drawing Wen Chao’s attention to his injury about as much as he needed a hole through his head, but he settled for grunting and brushing past Wei Ying rather ungraciously. Wei Ying huffed indignantly and went off to pester Wen Qing instead.

Soon after, Wen Qing called for a break, and Lan Wangji sat down heavily on a large rock, almost ready to cry with relief at the respite from the growing pain in his leg. He settled down to catch his breath and circulate his qi, then startled slightly when he found that Jiang Wanyin had tucked himself behind the same boulder. The spot he had chosen was hidden from the riverbank where most of the others had gathered to fill their water containers. Jiang Wanyin was curled into a ball, with his arms wrapped around his shins and his forehead resting on his knees.

“Jiang Wanyin?” Lan Wangji asked cautiously, producing his own water bottle from his sleeve.

“What.”

“May I – that is, do you need water?”

“No.”

Jiang Wanyin uncurled himself with a gusty sigh and stared off into the distance. “I mean, no thank you, Lan-er-gongzi. But I – I do appreciate the offer.”

Lan Wangji shrugged and drank.

Jiang Wanyin kept his gaze averted, but Lan Wangji felt his hand come to rest discreetly on his injured leg, followed by the cool flow of Jiang Wanyin’s qi. It was Lan Wangji’s turn to sigh, this time with relief.

They sat in silence for a little while.

“You’re a stubborn fool,” Jiang Wanyin informed him eventually. “Stomping around all day like you want to make your leg worse.”

Lan Wangji, familiar by now with the younger boy’s particularly prickly way of expressing concern, snorted and asked if Jiang Wanyin thought Wen Chao would be so kind as to provide him with a palanquin, or perhaps a carriage?

Before Jiang Wanyin could snark back, a commotion from behind caught their attention. Wen Qing was standing beside the deeply unfortunate horse carrying both Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao, and Wang Lingjiao was working herself up to a full rant, screaming directly into Wen Qing’s face. From what she was saying, Lan Wangji gathered that Wen Qing had been tasked with locating a particular cave, supposedly the home of some legendary beast, but the cave had not yet been found.

“Wen-er-gongzi ordered you to find it before dark, you useless piece of trash!”

Lan Wangji was again impressed by Wen Qing’s ability to appear merely bored in the face of such provocation. Perhaps she had learned the trick from Wen Zhuliu? He was standing nearby, looking just as wooden as usual.

Jiang Wanyin, listening to this tirade at Lan Wangji’s side, said, “I’d actually be really pleased to not end up in a mysterious cave for once, how about you?”

“Mn.”

“Oh, f*ck.”

Lan Wangji saw at the same moment Jiang Wanyin swore – there was Wei Ying, marching towards the Wens with a determined look on his face and an unfamiliar talisman between his fingers.

“f*cking stop him,” Jiang Wanyin hissed, scrambling to his feet, but it was too late. Wei Ying had already flicked the talisman towards the mist-shrouded mountain with a very showy flourish. It flew away across the river and zig-zagged into the distance as they watched.

After a moment they all heard a far-off, muffled boom, and the mist cleared away from a sheer cliff-face on the northern slope of MuXi Mountain. Sure enough, near the foot of the cliff, a wide dark hole stood revealed. Wei Ying looked rather pleased with himself.

Everyone else stared at each other with growing apprehension. Jiang Wanyin looked sick. Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang were both glaring at Wei Ying as if they would be happy to skin him alive.

“It’s the cave!” squealed Wang Lingjiao, jumping up and down before plastering herself against Wen Chao. “Congratulations, Wen-er-gongzi!”

“Woo!” Wen Chao bellowed. “Come on, all of you, let’s go! Move it!”

Lan Wangji stifled a groan as he made to get up, but there was Jiang Wanyin, standing before him with his hand out. Lan Wangji took it and was briskly hauled to his feet.

Jiang Wanyin didn’t let go, though. Instead, he tucked his arm under Lan Wangji’s elbow, even when Lan Wangji tried gently to pull away.

“Stubborn fool,” Jiang Wanyin repeated, cheeks pink and not meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes at all. “Too proud to let even your fiancé lend a helping hand? Isn’t such a thing forbidden by your Sect Rules?”

Lan Wangji’s brain came to a screeching halt, then sputtered like a damp squib. He barely had the wherewithal to appreciate the warmth of Jiang Wanyin’s hand, supporting him and discreetly passing him spiritual energy, until they arrived at the cave and ventured apprehensively inside.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

This cave was the worst one yet, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion. It was f*cking massive and would therefore be easy to get lost in; it smelt unpleasantly of stagnant water and resentful energy, which meant there would be yaogui to deal with; and worst of all it had both Wei Wuxian and Wen Chao in it.

“You just had to f*cking show off again,” he hissed furiously at his shixiong, as they crept forward under the light of a few smoking, spitting pitch-pine torches.

“It’s not like I had a choice!” said Wei Wuxian in tones of righteous indignation. “What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and let that… that strumpet insult Wen Qing for no reason?”

“Who even says strumpet anymore? And anyway, did Wen Qing look as if she gave a f*ck? Did you even ask her? ‘Pardon me, Wen Qing, but would you prefer to listen to a strumpet spew a couple of stupid insults, or get stuck in a cave forever?’ Because I know what I would rather do! And the same goes for everyone else that’s stuck in here now thanks to you!”

Lan Wangji hummed affirmatively.

“Stop talking! Hurry up!” barked one of the guards.

They were mincing along a narrow ledge above a very steep cliff. The ledge formed a sort of path, but it was sloping and uneven and littered with pebbles, making their footing precarious. It got darker and darker the further in they went, and Jin Zixuan, who was at the head of the group, nearly went right over when the ledge ended abruptly. Mianmian snatched him back with a gasp. In front of them was nothing but a sheer drop-off, its foot hidden by murk far below.

“Well?” said Jin Zixuan snippily to Wen Chao. “You brought us here, claiming we’re supposed to be hunting some monster. Now what?”

Wen Chao sneered right back at him. “Now what? How many times do I have to repeat it? I give the orders, and you obey them! I don’t have to tell you anything! You’re nothing but my dogs!”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes and noticed Wen Zhuliu doing the same. Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian was peering over the cliff edge. Hurriedly Jiang Cheng grabbed his arm and dragged him back a bit – the rock looked porous and crumbly.

“Well,” said Wei Wuxian. “This sh*t looks bottomless.”

A gleeful expression spread across Wen Chao’s face, and before Jiang Cheng could do anything he’d planted his foot on Wei Wuxian’s ass and kicked him over the side. Wei Wuxian disappeared into the murk, flailing and yelping.

Horrified, Jiang Cheng heard a heavy thump and the rattle of rolling pebbles, followed by a worrying silence. He was about to throw caution to the winds and go leaping blindly after his shixiong when he heard Wei Wuxian’s voice, coming from far below them.

“Ow ow ow ow…”

He could barely wait for the Wen soldiers to toss down some long ropes before he went scrambling over the side. The cliff was sheer rock until about halfway down, when it sank into a jumbled pile of scree that shifted beneath his feet. Distractedly, Jiang Cheng realized that it would be much more difficult to climb up than down, and then he was at the bottom, grabbing frantically for Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji, following more sedately, took Wei Wuxian’s other arm and helped him to his feet while Jiang Cheng dusted him down tenderly, cursing at him all the while.

The Wen soldiers forced the other hostages to climb down the ropes, hand-over-hand, and they stumbled and slid to the foot of the cliff. Wei Wuxian gave them all an airy grin and a jaunty little wave. “Oh hello,” he said, “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Do you ever shut up,” Jiang Cheng muttered. “Anyway, anyone with half a brain would rather be down here getting eaten by cave monsters than up there with those two assholes.”

“HEY,” Wen Chao yelled from the cliff top, right on cue. “WHAT’S GOING ON DOWN THERE? ARE YOU ALL DEAD ALREADY?”

“Go f*ck yourself,” Wei Wuxian replied brightly, Jiang Cheng nodded in fervent agreement, and they all moved out.

As they edged cautiously forward, it became clear that the cave system was even deeper and larger than it first appeared, with blind tunnels, hidden shafts, and shallow subterranean rivers trickling through the sculpted grottoes. Eventually they came to a truly gargantuan cavern where the water had apparently collected over millennia, forming a massive ink-black lake. It smelled awful, stagnant and fetid, and was so wide that their torchlight could not illuminate the whole of it. Before Jiang Cheng could stop him, Wei Wuxian sent a glowing, sparkling talisman sailing across the water, but it winked out before it reached the far side and fortunately no monsters came slavering out of the darkness to investigate. He was still obligated to slap Wei Wuxian upside the head and threaten to break his legs.

Unfortunately, after a short while, they could hear Wen Chao’s braying voice getting closer, and he eventually stormed up to the edge of the pool, trailed by Wen Zhuliu, Wang Lingjiao, Wen Qing, and the guards.

“You insubordinate sh*ts! Why didn’t you answer me? What are you doing, just standing around? Keep searching!”

It was explained to him that they had reached a dead end. Wen Chao pondered this for a moment, then turned to Wen Zhuliu and the soldiers.

“String somebody up and get them bleeding. That will lure the creature out, wherever it is.”

A storm of protest quickly arose from the hostages, with Jin Zixuan’s voice the loudest. “Outrageous!” he shouted. “How dare you use us as bait! We don’t even have any way to defend ourselves, since you took our f*cking swords!”

Wen Chao got right up in his face and shouted back, “What’s that, Jin-gongzi? Are you volunteering?”

Mianmian clapped a hand over Jin Zixuan’s mouth before he could respond, and Wang Lingjiao gave her a narrow, appraising stare. “Why not bleed her instead, Wen-er-gongzi?”

Jiang Cheng felt Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji tense up next to him and firmly grabbed them both by the elbows.

“Mmph!” said Jin Zixuan, with muffled outrage, and stepped in front of Mianmian. They scuffled for a moment, each trying to jump protectively in front of the other while Jin Zixuan kept trying to swat Mianmian’s hand away from his mouth.

“No, not her,” said Wen Chao. “Pick someone else.”

Jiang Cheng got a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh? And why not her?” purred Wang Lingjiao. “Because you think she’s pretty? Prettier than me?”

She tossed her head and sashayed towards Jiang Cheng, swaying her hips and giving Wen Chao a flirtatious look over her shoulder.

Oh no. Oh, f*ck no.

“Mmmm, at least somebody around here thinks I’m the prettiest…”

Jiang Cheng squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to stay still, hands fisted at his sides and his head turned away as Wang Lingjiao reached out and walked her red-lacquered fingernails up his chest. Just as one pointed talon grazed his jaw, Wen Chao bared his teeth and huffed, “Jiaojiao, you little tease, get over here!”

She simpered and went back obediently to nestle in his arms. Wen Chao nuzzled her possessively, then looked up and pointed from Wen Zhuliu to Jiang Cheng. “Him. Tie him up and slit his throat or something. I’ve been putting up with him for days, and I’m sick of looking at his face.”

Wen Zhuliu nodded impassively. His hands began to glow, ominously. His qi was unlike anything Jiang Cheng had ever seen before – it was a fathomless black, like a window into the void, and limned with flickering flame-red. Everyone's eyes widened and they stepped back at the sight of the Core-Melting Hand in action.

Except for Wei Wuxian. Instead, he grew still, tense, like a tiger poised to spring. An ugly grin spread across Wen Chao’s face as one moment passed, two moments, three…

Oh, Wen Chao was practically gagging for a fight, Jiang Cheng could tell, and Wei Wuxian was practically gagging to give him one.

But how the f*ck would they ever win that fight, without their f*cking swords no less, against Wen Zhuliu and a full complement of soldiers? No, Wen Zhuliu would melt their cores, they’d all end up dead, and the Wen army would descend on Lotus Pier with fire and slaughter in retaliation.

So Jiang Cheng did the only thing he could think of. He knelt gracefully, inclined his head, and said, “I accept Wen-er-gongzi’s decision, provided that Luo-guniang is spared.”

Wen Chao blinked, wrong-footed, and Wei Wuxian lurched forward, yelling “JIANG CHENG, WHAT,” but he didn’t get any further. Wen Zhuliu’s hand glowed noticeably redder and Lan Wangji, looking anguished, put the Silencing Spell on him again.

“Wei Wuxian, please, I am begging you, for once in your life to shut the f*ck up and back the f*ck off,” Jiang Cheng hissed over his shoulder, as Wen Zhuliu sealed his core again.

Wen Ruohan does not have a reason to turn his attention to Lotus Pier. Do not give him any excuse to do so, unless you plan to disobey me again, you unfilial boy.

This was the only way out.

Jiang Cheng was petty enough to find one tiny speck of satisfaction in the sour expression on Wang Lingjiao’s face, even as a pair of soldiers dragged him over to a towering stalagmite near the edge of the water and fixed a chain around it, binding his hands above his head. The rest of the guards herded the rest of the hostages away from the underground lake, with Wen Zhuliu frog-marching Wei Wuxian along and Lan Wangji limping reluctantly behind.

Neither one was willing to take their eyes off Jiang Cheng, and their eyes blazed with wrath as Wen Chau sauntered up to him and seized his jaw in a bruising grip. “Any last words, little songbird?”

“Those who rely on the power of their Sect to do evil shall be beheaded and reviled by the people as a warning to future generations, pigface,” Jiang Cheng spat back.

Wen Chao recoiled, then slapped Jiang Cheng once more before stomping off to the corner where the others were already waiting.

“Bleed him!”

It was fortunate that the soldiers Wen Chao brought along turned out to be f*cking terrible archers. The arrow sent flying towards Jiang Wanyin missed his vital organs and pierced the muscle of his upper arm instead.

Unfortunately, the blood that spurted from the wound was more than enough to draw the attention of the hitherto dormant cave monster.

Lan Wangji tore his gaze away from Jiang Wanyin when a rocky islet in the middle of the fetid black lake started to bob up and down. Lan Wangji realized that the “islet” was in fact a turtle shell larger than the Hanshi when the lake water rippled violently and a massive, scaly head on a long snake-like neck emerged from the depths. The turtle demon hissed through teeth longer than a man’s arm, squinted towards their torches with bleary, ancient eyes, and then turned, nostrils flaring, towards the place where Jiang Wanyin was still bound, bleeding and helpless.

“Attack!” screamed Wen Chao, and the Wen soldiers ran forward, pushing the hostages in front of them as they waved swords and launched arrows at the monster. The weapons pinged uselessly off the creature’s rocky shell and scaly hide, but at least it was temporarily distracted from Jiang Wanyin. It roared angrily and turned its attention to the crowd of Wen soldiers.

Lan Wangji disapproved of such clearly counterproductive tactics. The creature was obviously all but blind; it was like the yelling, torch-waving Wen were asking to be eaten. Indeed, it wasn’t long before one of the soldiers (who happened to be using Luo Qingyang as a human shield) failed to dodge as quickly she did and was promptly beheaded. Luo Qingyang snatched the sword from his nerveless hand before his body even hit the ground and plunged it through the spine of the next soldier nearest her. Then she seized his sword and flipped it to Jin Zixuan. Within a few moments, most of the hostages had got their hands on one sort of weapon or another as the Wen soldiers (dead and alive) began to disappear, one by one, into the gullet of the yammering beast.

Lan Wangji made a split-second decision, braced himself against the pain in his bad leg, and kicked Wei Ying in the ass as hard as he could. With a yelp, Wei Ying stumbled forward, and Wen Zhuliu, distracted, lost his grip.

“YOU ASSHOLE,” Wei Ying screamed, and Lan Wangji was pained to see him turn around and barrel straight towards Wen Chao instead of doing anything remotely useful. Wen Qing rolled her eyes, stuck out her foot, and tripped him sprawling on the ground. Then she raised her voice high and clear as a trumpet and called, “RETREAT! Everyone, fall back to the foot of the cliff!”

Lan Wangji could appreciate her sense of self-preservation, at least. They were certainly no match for the monstrous creature and the Wen soldiers would shortly be outnumbered by their now-armed hostages. However, it appeared that while Lan Wangji, Wei Ying, and the Jin, at least, had no intention of leaving Jiang Wanyin behind, the Wen had no compunction about abandoning them one and all. Lan Wangji spared Wen Chao one glance of utmost contempt as the man fled, sprinting ahead of everyone else with the skirts of his robes hiked up to his knees.

Then a piercing shriek from Wei Ying drew his attention.

“JIANG CHENG!”

Deprived of Wen soldiers to devour, the monster had turned back towards Jiang Wanyin, darted its long snake’s neck out, and seized him by the leg. Jiang Wanyin was screaming as the beast tried to drag him into the water.

His hands were still chained to the rock. The monster was about to tear him in half.

Jin Zixuan, who was closest, launched himself high into the air and brought his captured sword down hard across the monster’s nose. The sword clashed loudly against its scales, and it snarled, letting go of Jiang Wanyin. The boy sagged in his bonds, gasping and sobbing in agony as blood poured from his leg.

The creature thrashed about. Lan Wangji hurled a torch at its evil little red eyes, dazzling it, then joined Jin Zixuan in slashing and stabbing at whatever part of the beast came within reach. Then Wei Ying appeared out of nowhere, sprinting across the cave with a talisman in each hand and a knife between his teeth. He fired the first talisman straight into the monster’s face, where it exploded, then went into a rolling dive under its neck. He fetched up next to Jiang Wanyin and slashed through the chains binding his shidi. Quickly he slapped the second talisman across Jiang Wanyin’s chest, then hoisted the boy over his shoulder.

“LET’S GET OUT OF HERE! ATTACK ON MY COUNT,” Jin Zixuan screamed into Lan Wangji’s ear, and on three all the hostages launched their swords, pikes, arrows, and torches towards the monster. It retreated, rumbling like an earthquake, and they all ran for the tunnel that led to the bottom of the cliff.

Of course, by the time they got there, the Wen had cut the ropes. They could hear the retreating Wen’s voices, fading away far above their heads, and then the sound of stones moving. The sole sliver of light faded as the Wen hurriedly piled rocks across the cave entrance.

They had been left to die.

“Those f*ckers,” Jin Zixuan gritted out between his teeth. Luo Qingyang tutted, then she helped Wei Ying lower Jiang Wanyin to the ground and turn him onto his side. The Wen arrow had punched through his arm, the skirts of his robes had been shredded by the monster’s teeth, and he had passed out from blood loss and pain. Luo Qingyang produced a small field medicine kit from her sleeve and nodded at the talisman on Jiang Wanyin’s chest. “What’s that, there?”

“Scent-suppressing talisman,” Wei Ying said proudly. “Like a silencing talisman, but I was able to alter it on the fly and make it so the monster can’t smell the blood.”

“Smart,” Luo Qingyang said absently as she sawed through the arrow shaft with a small, sharp knife and snapped off the barb. “Nice to see your brain finally catching up with the rest of you.” While Wei Ying spluttered indignantly, she yanked the shaft out of Jiang Wanyin’s arm and clasped a little pad of clean linen over the wound with quick, practiced movements.

Jiang Wanyin whimpered but didn’t open his eyes. Wei Ying cradled his shidi’s head, and Luo Qingyang put a pain-relieving pill into his mouth and massaged his throat until he swallowed. She wound a bandage around his arm, sat back on her heels and sighed. “There’s not much else I can do about his arm at the moment. Someone should start passing him qi.”

Both Wei Ying and Lan Wangji were reaching for Jiang Wanyin’s wrists when a Pingyang Yao disciple said, “Wait, hold on, shouldn’t we be trying to conserve our spiritual power? Even if the monster can’t reach us here, there’s no way out and we don’t have any supplies. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I never practiced inedia.”

“Won’t our parents come to save us soon, though?” asked a Baling Ouyang disciple.

“Oh, aren’t you just adorable,” said Wei Ying. “Listen, as far as your parents know, you’re still in Nightless City, and if you think Wen Chao would ever tell the truth about what happened to us, you’re even stupider you look. ‘Oh, sorry, all the Sect Leaders and First Ladies of the entire cultivation world, I’m afraid I left your children behind in a cave to be eaten whilst I sh*t myself and ran screaming from a giant demon murder turtle,’” he warbled.

The Yao and Ouyang disciples looked offended. Jin Zixuan snorted.

“What?” Wei Ying grumbled to Lan Wangji, who was eyeing him judgmentally. “Is sarcasm also forbidden?”

“Mn.”

“Well, they’re pissing me off! Jiang Cheng is my precious shidi and he needs spiritual energy! Lots of it, and right now!”

At this, Jiang Wanyin finally squinted one eye open and said weakly, “You know my father would agree with them.”

“Cheng-cheng!” chirped Wei Ying and squashed him in a hug. “Don’t say things like that, Uncle Jiang would never. You’re delirious.”

Jiang Wanyin grunted but didn’t seem up to arguing.

“How do you feel?” asked Lan Wangji quietly. He half expected Jiang Wanyin to scoff and bluster and insist he was fine, but instead the other boy closed his eyes again and said, “Cold. Dizzy.”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Luo Qingyang said, equally softly, “and I haven’t even had a chance to look at the bite wound on your leg yet.”

“So, let’s fix it,” Wei Ying said impatiently. “Everybody, get in here! My shidi needs spiritual energy!”

“No,” said Jiang Wanyin, and struggled to sit up. Lan Wangji propped him against his side and kept an arm around his shoulders for support. “Yao-gongzi is right. I can’t hog everyone’s qi just to heal myself, you’ll need it to get out of here.”

“It’s true,” Jin Zixuan said, before Wei Ying could argue. “He’s thinking like a Sect Leader, Wei Wuxian, and you know it. The Wen can’t risk us telling the truth and making Wen Chao look like a coward. If they find out we escaped, they’ll kill us all, so we need to fool them into thinking we died in here. Without our swords, our only chance is to get back home, on foot, without being seen. And for that, we’re all going to need our spiritual power.”

“Peaco*ck!” said Wei Ying incredulously. “Are you sensible now? Since when?”

Jin Zixuan looked exasperated but managed to not rise to the bait. “So – first things first, we need to find another way out.”

“There is one,” Lan Wangji said, with some reluctance. “Through the water.”

“What’s that?” said Wei Ying, looking around, and Lan Wangji explained, even more reluctantly, how he had spotted a few crimson maple leaves drifting on the surface of the black water.

“Ha!” said Wei Ying. “You’re right, Lan Zhan – if there are fresh maple leaves in the lake, and no maple trees in the cave, then there must be an underwater hole that connects to the outside.”

Jin Zixuan looked deeply skeptical but agreed to sneak back to the pond with Luo Qingyang. They decided to distract the beast with alternating fire talismans while Wei Ying swam around in search of the hole. This clearly distressed Jiang Wanyin so Lan Wangji laid the boy’s head down in his lap, passed him some qi, and hummed snatches of song to distract him.

Jiang Wanyin’s face, already pale, grew even whiter, and sweat trickled down his temples.

Soon enough, Jin Zixuan and Luo Qingyang came back with pink faces and eyes firmly averted from a soaking wet Wei Ying, who had carelessly stripped down to his thin crimson underrobes. Lan Wangji felt the tips of his ears heat up and looked away too. “There is a way out,” Wei Ying announced as everybody gathered around. “And it’s big enough to fit five or six people at a time, so we don’t have to hang around this sh*tty place any longer. Let’s go, Lan Zhan; Cheng-cheng, up you get.”

Jiang Wanyin didn’t move. Wei Ying frowned and tugged on his wrist.

“Wei Wuxian, you know you have to leave me here,” Jiang Wanyin said.

“I’m sorry, what? The f*ck did you just say?” said Wei Ying, his voice suddenly high and furious.

“I’m serious!” Jiang Wanyin said, opening his eyes enough to glare. “Look at me, there’s no way I can swim anywhere like this.”

“I’ll carry you, obviously!”

“No! You idiot, I’ve watched you half-drown yourself enough times to know that not even you can get talismans to work underwater! That demon turtle would smell the blood straight off and eat us both and that would make Jiejie sad.”

Wei Ying spluttered helplessly.

“Besides,” added Jiang Wanyin crossly, “even if I did make it out, where am I going to go on this leg?”

“Gusu is closest,” said Wei Ying, before wincing and looking awkwardly at Lan Wangji. “Er… I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, I guess we can’t go to Gusu, can we?”

“No. Cloud Recesses was burned,” said Lan Wangji stonily.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Everyone looked down and shuffled their feet. Jiang Wanyin eventually kicked Wei Ying in the ankle and suggested Lanling.

It was Jin Zixuan’s turn to look awkward. “I don’t know if you already heard this but… well. My father has been, um, cooperating with the Wen? I mean, I’m sure he would hide any of us that can reach Koi Tower! But I – I don’t think he would risk angering Sect Leader Wen by sending a rescue party into Qishan territory for Jiang-gongzi. Sorry,” he finished quickly as Wei Ying scowled at him.

“Of course not,” grumbled Jiang Wanyin, and Lan Wangji seethed inwardly. Lanling Jin was the only Great Sect that could challenge the Wen in terms of manpower and exceeded the Wen in wealth; however, it was headed by a smarmy, opportunistic toad who never lifted a finger unless he could reap some benefit for himself.

“Nothing for it, then,” said Wei Ying. “Don’t you worry, Cheng-cheng, I’ll go to Yunmeng, get help, and come back to rescue you.”

“And me,” Lan Wangji said calmly.

“Oh, that’s great, Lan Zhan! I could use some company on the way to Lotus Pier.”

“No, I meant I will stay behind with Jiang Wanyin.”

“What?” said everybody, including Jiang Wanyin, who twitched and winced in Lan Wangji’s lap as he tried to sit up again.

“I cannot swim, even if my leg was fully healed,” said Lan Wangji in tones that brooked no argument. “And on foot, it will take at least six days to reach Yunmeng. If Wei Ying is to return in time, I cannot travel with him. I would only slow him down.”

Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin both seemed inclined to fight him on this, but Lan Wangji ignored them both and continued to pass Wanyin spiritual power while Jin Zixuan looked deeply exasperated, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then went to get everyone else organized.

One pair of disciples went to keep watch at the entrance to the giant cavern; they reported, in whispers, that the giant turtle creature had gone back into the pond and was swimming slowly back and forth, questing about for more prey.

Wei Ying commandeered everyone’s extra paper and Jin Zixuan’s stick of cinnabar, then sat muttering to himself, drawing more scent-blocking talismans and a handful of other enchantments.

Jin Zixuan gathered a few of the hostages to search for untainted streams of water, and set the rest to carefully exploring the cave system’s many narrow, bronchial passages. One or two of these had small holes in the roof high above, which let in just enough rainwater and sun to permit a few scrawny saplings to take root. These were torn up and piled outside the small antechamber where Lan Wangji and Luo Qingyang had carried Jiang Wanyin, the better to preserve his privacy while they examined the wound on his leg.

As he lifted a torch for Luo Qingyang to see by, Lan Wangji was appalled at the look on Wanyin’s face. Pain had sunk his eyes into lightless hollows, his lips were grey-tinged and parted over shallow, ragged breaths. Lan Wangji held the skirts of Wanyin’s robes aside while Luo Qingyang sliced away his trousers with her little knife. The injuries made him hiss through his teeth, aghast. The beast’s incisors had ripped several long gashes in Wanyin’s leg that went down to the bone, and just above his knee was a worrisome puncture wound that looked horribly like a fang-mark, oozing yellow fluid, and giving off a brackish stench like old vinegar.

“Jiang Wanyin? Jiang Wanyin!” Lan Wangji called, but Wanyin didn’t reply. Luo Qingyang sounded frightened as she whispered, “Lan-er-gongzi, what should we do? The monster’s bite was venomous!”

“Hold this,” Lan Wangji whispered back, and passed her the torch. Jiang Wanyin was his fiancé, after all.

Lan Wangji got a firm grip on Wanyin’s thigh, lowered his mouth to the clammy skin, clamped his lips over the wound, and began to suck. He heard a squeak but couldn’t tell if it was Wanyin or Luo Qingyang who had made it, nor did he much care.

Lan Wangji turned his head and spat out his mouthful of tainted blood before lowering his lips back to Jiang Wanyin’s thigh, again and again until the bitter taste of the venom was gone. He rinsed his mouth in silence, assuming Wanyin must have swooned, but when he finally looked up Wanyin’s eyes were wide open and he was staring at Lan Wangji fixedly. Lan Wangji noticed the pale column of Wanyin’s throat moving as he swallowed, the muscles jumping in his tense jaw, and the panic in his storm-gray eyes.

He blinked.

Luo Qingyang cleared her throat and said, quickly, “Um, I’ll just go and see if any of those sticks will work for a splint, excuse me Lan-er-gongzi!”

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng gritted his teeth and felt sweat beading on his face. His whole body felt heavy, and the cave spun aimlessly around him. Numbness seeped through him, almost pleasantly, blunting the pain in his leg and arm. His body remembered this soft, dizzy feeling from drunken nights rambling around Lotus Pier with Wei Wuxian, and that one time at Cloud Recesses…

He was so tired. It seemed absurd to keep his eyes open.

His hands slid away from clutching his leg and dropped to his sides; his fingers curled in and twitched once or twice, weakly.

He could let himself drift away like this… he could let himself sink.

Except Lan Wangij was there. He sounded frightened, had Wangji ever sounded frightened before? Jiang Cheng couldn’t remember. He thought Wangji was calling his name, but his voice sounded like it was coming from very far away…

Suddenly a pair of hands, big and warm and strong, seized his leg. Something hot fell on his thigh, and there was pressure, and the pain spiked again, sharp as a scythe. Jiang Cheng’s eyelids batted – his vision cleared a bit – and he looked down to see Lan Wangji bent over his bare leg, his mouth covering the puncture wound and his cheeks gone slightly hollow from the effort he was making to suck the venom out of Jiang Cheng’s body.

Jiang Cheng’s mind went utterly, horrifyingly blank for a long moment before exploding, like a firework, with sheer mortification. He arched his back and thrashed about weakly, like a fish at the end of a line, but Lan Wangji just dug his long fingers deep into the muscle of his thigh and held him fast.

Jiang Cheng heard himself moan, a thin, lost noise that sounded half ravenous and half like a cry for help. (He vowed to tear his own throat out for making it.)

(In the dim light of the cavern, Jiang Cheng didn’t notice that Lan Wangji’s ears were blushing a furious crimson.)

When Lan Wangji finally let go, Jiang Cheng writhed away and lay gasping for breath as the other boy rinsed his mouth. He vaguely heard Mianmian say something (oh f*ck, had she been there this whole time?) and then she scurried out. There was a whispered conversation just outside the entrance to their little cave, and then Wei Wuxian came in with an armful of sticks.

He busied himself building a small fire and didn’t look Jiang Cheng in the eye.

“Shidi, we are going to leave now. I put scent-suppressing and silencing talismans all around this little cave, so you should be hidden from the giant turtle thing, and Lan Zhan has a couple bottles of fresh water. He’s going to distract the monster with fire talismans until we’ve all escaped through the hole, then he’s going to take good care of you until I get back. He’d better,” added Wei Wuxian darkly, “or I’ll break his f*cking legs.”

“That’s my line.”

“Pfft.” Wei Wuxian gave him an awkward sideways hug, ruffled up his hair, and then he was gone.

Outside, Jiang Cheng heard many shuffling feet as the disciples prepared to make their escape. Jin Zixuan peeked in quickly and tossed him a little pouch. “Here, these are the fever reducing pills from Mianmian’s medical kit, she said you might need them. Take care, Jiang-gongzi.”

“You too, Jin-gongzi, travel safely.”

The feet shuffled away. Jiang Cheng lay waiting in an agony of suspense, until he heard explosions and a particularly loud bellowing shriek from the monster. A few moments later, Lan Wangji’s uneven footsteps hastened towards him. The older boy plunged through the keyhole-shaped slot in the cavern wall and into the little antechamber where he lay, with the monster’s thunderous footfalls following close behind. They two boys huddled together, hardly daring to breathe as the outraged beast smashed against the cave wall; luckily its head was too big to fit through the narrow entrance. Eventually the creature stopped champing and gnawing at the rocks, its roaring diminished to hisses and grumbles, and they heard it stomping away. Lan Wangji peeked around the corner just far enough to watch it sink sulkily back into the water with a titanic splash. He let out a long breath of relief and turned back to Jiang Cheng.

“Do I even want to know what happened?” Jiang Cheng asked, valiantly attempting to make his voice sound normal.

“Wei Ying’s talismans are… very powerful,” Lan Wangji replied judiciously. “The creature tried to catch one in its mouth. Blew off part of its jaw and several teeth. Wei Ying and the others escaped safely.”

Jiang Cheng grinned weakly. “Now all we have to do is wait.”

“Mn. Does your leg still hurt?” asked Lan Wangji, as Jiang Cheng rubbed gingerly at his injuries.

“Does yours?”

Lan Wangji ignored this and tugged Jiang Cheng’s ragged clothes aside to peer closely at his bare thigh, causing him to flush and flail around weakly. “Stop staring! It’s unseemly!”

“Mn,” said Lan Wangji, sounding so grim that Jiang Cheng braced himself up on one arm to look at his own leg. The veins around the puncture wound were swollen and blackened.

“But you sucked the poison out,” Jiang Cheng whispered, “or did I dream that?”

“Not fast enough,” said Lan Wangji, contrite, “and the venom was too strong.”

Jiang Cheng blinked as the older boy whisked the ribbon off his forehead and wrapped it around his thigh, tying it tightly. “Lan Wangji! What are you doing!”

“Tourniquet,” replied Lan Wangji as if this was a perfectly normal and acceptable use for the Lan’s most sacred object.

“The f*ck it is!” protested Jiang Cheng, trying to pick the knot loose. But Lan Wangji captured his hands in his own and squeezed them tight.

“Isn’t your leg more important? Besides, doesn’t my ribbon already belong to you?” This last question was asked very quietly, and Lan Wangji’s ears were very pink, and he was looking at Jiang Cheng sidelong, almost shy, through his long dark eyelashes. Jiang Cheng gaped at him.

“Now you want to talk about whether or not we’re engaged?”

“You already said we were, and yes, I do. We will have several days to ourselves, after all. Privacy.”

Jiang Cheng snorted with laughter and flopped back down. “I suppose that’s true. Nobody else is here, unless you want to count the turtle thing.”

Lan Wangji laid a hand on his forehead. Wangji’s hands usually felt warm, but now they were pleasantly cool, Jiang Cheng thought hazily to himself, and nuzzled into the comforting touch.

“I did say that, didn’t I… so I guess we must be engaged, huh…”

Jiang Cheng giggled again and found that he couldn’t stop.

“So, that’s all settled, then? Good talk. I liked it.”

“Wanyin? You have a fever.”

The next several days were very trying for Lan Wangji.

For a little while, until the fresh water and powdered willow-bark ran out, Wanyin had periods of lucidity. His voice became a cracked and rasping thing, but he still hummed under his breath, and Lan Wangji hummed back. They meditated as best they could. They took a blackened stick from the fire and scratched out a map on the cave wall, bickering quietly over the topography and speculating as to where the escaped disciples might be. They compared the monster in the cave to every mythological creature they had ever read about or heard of and decided it matched Lan Yi’s description of the Xuanwu of Slaughter, the divine being corrupted and commanded by Xue Chonghai.

“f*ck that guy,” said Wanyin muzzily.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed.

Lan Wangji sobbed helplessly. Even from inside the Cold Pond Cave, he could still hear screams and wet-sounding gurgles – the sound of Lan disciples drowning in their own blood, those who had stayed behind cut down by Wen Xu and his soldiers, giving their lives in a desperate rearguard action so he could get his Uncle and the juniors to safety…

He awoke with a start to find Wanyin curled against his back, stroking the sweaty hair away from his forehead, crooning soft words of comfort.

“Shh, shh, shh, you’re safe, I’m here, I’ve got you, you’re safe.” Wanyin put his arms around Lan Wangji and rocked him back and forth slightly. “Shh, shh, shh, it will be all right.”

Lan Wangji dried his eyes and went back to sleep with Wanyin’s arm draped across his waist and his hand, hot as a coal, spread over his belly.

“No, stop it, Bichen is a great name. It’s really suitable!”

“Mn. How did you name Sandu?”

“Oh, I didn’t. My father named my sword for me. He said I would always need a reminder to fight against greed and ignorance and anger – anger especially – and besides that I was terrible at picking names for things.”

There was a little silence. Lan Wangji pictured the careless grin on Wei Ying’s face as the two of them sailed towards the Waterborne Abyss in Biling Lake while he explained how his own sword had come to be named Suibian.

The name? Oh, there’s no special meaning to it. When Sect Leader Jiang gave me this sword, he asked me what I wanted to name it, and I thought of maybe twenty names, but none of them were quite right so I just said, “Whatever.”

For f*ck’s sake, Lan Wangji thought to himself, not for the first time.

“What name did you want for your sword?” he asked.

Jiang Wanyin turned over and hummed sleepily.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t remember anymore.”

“Hey Wangji,” murmured Wanyin softly, “do you like Dang Gui soup? My Jiejie makes the best soup in the whole world…”

Once he got started on the topic, Wanyin would not shut up about it. He rambled on and on about soup until Lan Wangji’s mouth began to water, and he was forced to threaten Wanyin with the Silencing Spell.

As the days passed, Wanyin fell sicker and sicker. His body tried desperately to purge the corrupted Xuanwu’s venom, but it was simply too strong; he drained his golden core just to keep the poison from spreading unchecked. This left him no spiritual power to spare for healing his other wounds, which were growing worryingly red and swollen around the edges. Lan Wangji did his best to help, passing qi to Wanyin as often as Wanyin would allow it, but the days he had spent trying to mend his own leg and suppress his physical pain had left his own golden core sadly depleted as well.

Both boys began succumbing to slow dehydration, hunger, and cold.

However, the worst thing, in Lan Wangji’s opinion, was that when Wanyin was delirious, it made him… chatty. Lan Wangji never knew what he would pop out with. A lot of it was heartbreaking to listen to.

Wanyin often moaned apologies and frantic promises to do better, as he had done in his sleep on the road to Qinghe. He wept for his Jiejie. Once he asked where his puppies were and grew distraught when Lan Wangji couldn’t tell him.

On the fifth day of their imprisonment, Wanyin fixed Lan Wangji with fever-bright eyes and a deeply aggrieved expression before announcing, “You don’t like me, you like Wei Wuxian!”

“I do?”

“Yes!” Wanyin waved a finger at him, from where he was lying with his head in Lan Wangji’s lap. “You were always… looking at him. In classes.”

“That is because he was always babbling nonsense,” Lan Wangji pointed out, quite reasonably, he thought. “And throwing wads of paper at my head.”

“Well, you call him by his birth name,” said Wanyin, sounding a bit sulky. Lan Wangji looked down; Wanyin was pouting, and it was ineffably appealing.

“He calls me by mine, I want to be rude back at him.”

“You know he’s too shameless for that to work!”

“Mn.”

“And!” said Wanyin, as if Lan Wangji was even trying to argue with him, “on the road to Qinghe? You looked at him, again! And. You stopped looking at me.”

Wanyin bit his lip and turned his head away, his eyes suddenly swimming with tears. Lan Wangji felt terribly guilty.

“I am very sorry for doing that. I knew, even at the time, that it was wrong.”

Wanyin turned back and blinked up at him, wide-eyed as a baby owl. “Really?”

“Mn.”

“Huh. People don’t usually apologize. To me.”

“Oh?” said Lan Wangji, petting his head gently. “Why not?”

“’s usually my fault,” said Wanyin, beginning to sound drowsy and burrowing deeper into Lan Wangji’s lap. “’m too angry all the time. So. People don’t like me. They just wanna – hmph. Like Wen Chao.”

“Wen Chao… likes you?” asked Wangji, confused by the sudden turn the conversation had taken. Wanyin’s eyes flew open again, angry.

“NO,” he said, jabbing his finger at Lan Wangji for emphasis. “He doesn’t. He doesn’t like me, or he wouldn’t have done what he did. He did – and he said – he said he was gonna f*ck me ‘til I burst then give me to his soldiers. He said that. To me! You wouldn’t say that to someone you liked.”

Lan Wangji froze as Wanyin kept grumbling, softly, indignantly, incoherently. For a nonsensical moment, Lan Wangji thought that he sounded remarkably like Uncle, chuntering on and on over some slight breach in etiquette, rather than the recipient of the vilest threat Lan Wangji had ever, ever heard.

He pulled Wanyin up into his arms, held him close, and said “I will never let that happen.”

“Tha’s right,” said Wanyin smugly, and closed his eyes. “He said I liked Wang Lingjiao, but he’s stupid and I don’t. I like you, and we’re gonna be husbands.” Then he turned his face into Lan Wangji’s chest and fell asleep, his body burning in Lan Wangji’s possessive grasp.

*

On the sixth day, Wanyin could not be roused.

His eyelids flickered, and he lay shivering uncontrollably. Lan Wangji piled the few remaining sticks onto their fire, curled up beside him, pressed his lips to the hectic flush high on Wanyin’s gaunt cheeks, and passed him the last of his qi. There was only a little left – a fine, glowing, blue filament, thinner than spider silk…

Lan Wangji felt the cold, the hunger, and the thirst take him as his golden core sputtered and spun emptily, and he wondered distantly if either of them would survive long enough to build their reserves of spiritual power back up. With shaking fingers, he undid his sash belt and tugged off his outermost layer. He gathered Wanyin close and spread the robe over them both, even though Wanyin’s feverish heat was almost more than he could bear. He drifted into unconsciousness with Wanyin clasped in his arms, wondering if Wei Ying or any of the others had escaped the Wen, if they had found anyone willing to come back and rescue them.

“Didi. Didi, can you hear me? Wangji!”

Lan Wangji grunted and swatted at the hand shaking his shoulder, irritably. He felt sick, and the rules clearly stated that he was allowed to sleep late, if he was sick.

“Oh, thank the gods. Wei-gongzi, I’ve found them – they’re here, they’re alive!”

“CHENG-CHENG!” The shout made Lan Wangji’s ears ring, and he grimaced. Jiang Wanyin was also sick, he vaguely recalled, and mustn’t be disturbed. He curled protectively around the slender body lying motionless next to him.

“Shh, Wei-gongzi! No, don’t squash him just yet, look at his wounds. Tell the disciples to come down with the stretcher, we must get out of here quickly. Jiang-daifu, is it safe to move them?”

There was a warm hand on his wrist, a bright stream of qi flowing into his starved meridians.

“Yes, Zewu-Jun. They are both very weak, but the sooner we get them out of here, the better.”

Lan Wangji squinted against the brightness of sunlight. He could hear running water and birds singing lustily nearby. He could smell green, growing things.

He found that he was still wrapped firmly around Jiang Wanyin, and he felt his ears heat up when he glanced around and saw several cultivators that he did not recognize standing around a little wooded clearing, looking solemnly back at him. Two more were sitting beside the stretcher he and Wanyin were lying on, passing them spiritual energy.

“Lan Zhan! You’re awake! Good, because you and A-Cheng together are awfully heavy to carry!”

Lan Wangji disentangled himself gently and sat up. There was Wei Ying, beaming and teasing as if they had all just met up for drinks at a tavern, but Lan Wangji felt too disoriented and hungry to respond. Someone was stirring a small pot over a fire nearby; when the man turned around and smiled Lan Wangji was startled to see that it was Nie Huaisang. He was dressed, as they all were, in the unadorned brown robes favored by rogue cultivators, and his hair was done in a simple high tail rather than braided in the Nie Sect style.

An older woman came hurrying over, blowing on the gently steaming cup in her hands.

“Sit and drink this first, Lan-er-gongzi, and then you can have some congee.”

Obediently, Lan Wangji sank down by the fire, drank the cup of energy-restoring tea, and then began devouring a bowl of congee with much less elegance and decorum than usual.

“Wangji!”

Lan Wangji choked slightly over his congee as Xichen and Meng Yao came into the clearing. His brother beamed with joy at the sight of him.

“Wangji, I am so glad you’re safe,” said Xichen, embracing him as they hadn’t since he was very small.

“Xiongzhang, I am glad to see you are also well.”

“Aren’t you dying of curiosity to know how we all came to rescue you?” Wei Ying demanded, bouncing in his seat with excitement.

“Mn,” said Lan Wangji, scraping the last bits of congee into his mouth.

“Well,” Wei Ying began gleefully, “after we swam out of the giant demon murder turtle cave, we all traveled by night to the border of Qishan, then we split up. The peaco*ck took the Jin disciples and everybody else towards Lanling, and I took off on my own for Yunmeng, traveling day and night without rest! By the time I got to Yunping, I was ready to collapse, so I stopped in this brothel – don’t look at me like that, Lan Zhan, it was only because all the inns were full, really, they were! – and you’ll never guess who I ran into while I was there?”

Lan Wangji blinked, then stared over at Xichen, who looked a little sheepish.

“That’s right! The esteemed Zewu-Jun! And Meng Yao too, of course,” said Wei Ying, pointing dramatically towards Xichen and Meng Yao, who glanced at each other and went decidedly pink.

“Xiongzhang,” said Lan Wangji.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, don’t glare at your poor brother. He was in hiding! It was the perfect place! Not even Wen Xu would think to look for Zewu-Jun in a Yunping brothel!”

“You see, Wangji,” Xichen broke in, still rather red in the face, “when Shufu ordered me to take our books and flee the attack on Cloud Recesses, naturally I went to Qinghe. But then, as you have probably heard, Wen Xu broke off his attack on Gusu and turned his attention to the Unclean Realm. A-Yao – that is, Meng Yao – and I came up with a plan to draw off a portion of the Wen forces, and it worked, but I was unfortunately sighted and had to make a quick escape. Meng Yao is – ah – familiar with Yunping and brought me to a place I could safely conceal myself.”

“In the brothel where he grew up,” said Wei Wuxian, in awestruck tones. “Did you know that, Lan Zhan? Because I had no idea that his mother was a…”

“Wei Ying!” “Wei Wuxian,” chorused the Twin Jades reprovingly. Meng Yao fiddled with the ends of his sleeves and looked at the ground.

“Right, right, sorry. Anyway, once I told Zewu-Jun what had happened to you, Lan Zhan, he nearly knocked the brothel down, he was so impatient to come to your rescue! But then I met Jiang-daifu and some of the junior disciples, they were night-hunting near Yunping – and after they almost got into a fight over which of them would get to come with us, we bought some supplies and disguises for ourselves and snuck back to the Qishan border. And that very night, who should come strolling up to our campsite but Nie Huaisang!”

The last time Lan Wangji had seen the younger Nie, he was being carried away on a stretcher in Nightless City so that Wen Qionglin could wait upon him hand and foot while the rest of them fought for their lives against an ancient bloodthirsty monster of legend. Lan Wangji looked at him with one eyebrow raised, and Nie Huaisang batted his eyelashes from behind his fan.

“You’ll never believe how he got there,” added Wei Ying, nearly writhing with delight. “Tell him, Nie-xiong!”

Nie Huaisang fanned himself lazily and said, “Oh, I don’t know, it was nothing special, really. I simply waited a few days, long enough for my guards to get complacent, then I got rid of them by spiking their wine with a flavorless fast-acting poison that I happened to have on me, disguised as face powder. Then I stabbed the last one in the throat with a hairpin and climbed out of my window with a rope made of bedlinens.”

Lan Wangji blinked at him.

“What’s that face for?” said Nie Huaisang, offended. “I learned long ago that one of the many advantages of being infamously useless is that stupid people like the Wens are quick to underestimate me. They see what they expect to see, nothing more.”

Wei Ying, meanwhile, clutched his heart theatrically and fell over backwards. “Oooh, A-Sang,” he moaned, “Every time I hear that story it makes me want to ravish you right here on the forest floor.”

“That is disgusting,” said Nie Huaisang calmly, examining his fingernails. “The forest floor is full of twigs and spiders. If you keep talking nonsense, I’ll tell Da-ge and he’ll cut off your co*ck with his saber.”

“Tell Chifeng-zun there’s a line for that,” croaked a raven-hoarse voice from behind them.

“Cheng-cheng!” cried Wei Ying.

Wei Ying tried to fling himself on his shidi, but the healer caught him and sat him firmly back down. Then she hurried over to Wanyin, who was stirring feebly, and plied him with another cup of the energy-restoring tea. Wanyin’s face remained drawn and very pale as she checked the bandages and healing talismans covering his wounded leg.

Ignoring the surprised looks and raised eyebrows among their companions, Lan Wangji limped over with a fresh bowl of congee, folding his leg awkwardly to sit at Wanyin’s side and bring the spoon to his lips.

Wanyin could only manage a bite or two before he quivered, hastily rolled away from Lan Wangji, and threw up over the side of the stretcher. Lan Wangji dabbed the cold sweat from Wanyin’s forehead with the end of his sleeve, and the healer re-checked his qi with a worried expression on her face.

“What’s wrong with him, Jiang-daifu?” Wei Ying demanded.

“What isn’t?” the healer fired back. “Dehydration, blood loss, fever, infection, inflammation, near-total core depletion, and prolonged exposure to some of the most virulent poison I’ve ever seen! I’ll stabilize him as much as I can, but we need to return to Lotus Pier as soon as possible.”

She flung herself into her work, muttering. Unwilling to leave Wanyin’s side, Lan Wangji found himself holding this and mixing that at her direction, listening with half an ear to the rest of the group.

Lan Xichen, Wei Ying, Meng Yao, and Nie Huaisang put their heads together over a qiankun pouch, from which Nie Huaisang produced one of his own opulent outer robes. Lan Wangji watched, puzzled, as Nie Huaisang pricked his finger on Meng Yao’s sword and dotted some blood onto the olive-gray brocade. Wei Ying applied a talisman – and suddenly, the few drops of blood increased until the cloth was practically dripping with gore. Meng Yao peered at it critically, nodded in satisfaction, and stabbed through the robe a few times with his sword before rolling it up and putting it in his own qiankun pouch. Nie Huaisang whined in a very exaggerated way and Xichen gently put a bandage over the tiny cut on his finger.

“Meng Yao volunteered to go to Nightless City and spy on Wen Ruohan,” explained Wei Ying, coming over and flopping down next to Lan Wangji. “He’s going to say he got kicked out of the Unclean Realm, ran into Nie Huaisang on the border of Qishan, and killed him to get revenge against Chifeng-zun. He’ll have A-Sang’s bloody robe as proof, so he’ll certainly catch Wen Ruohan’s attention.”

“Such dramatics. Waste of a perfectly good blood-replenishing talisman, if you ask me,” grumbled the Jiang healer as she wrapped Wanyin up securely. “There, that should hold you for the flight to Lotus Pier, Jiang-gongzi.”

She was just in time. A very junior disciple came running into the camp to report a Wen patrol less than two li away, and the cultivators sprang into action. One well-muscled youth helped Nie Huaisang onto his sword and whisked him away to seek sanctuary in Lanling. Two capable-looking women quickly rigged up rope slings to carry Wanyin’s stretcher between their swords. The healer jumped on to her own sword, and Wei Ying joined Jiang Ping, the little junior, on his. Xichen stepped gracefully onto Shuoyue and held out his hand to Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji hesitated for a long moment, gazing at the pale oval of Wanyin’s face, turned longingly towards him. If only he had his own Bichen, he would bundle Wanyin into his arms and carry him back to Cloud Recesses for proper treatment – but no, Cloud Recesses had been burned, even the healer’s house…

“Wangji, we must hurry,” Xichen said with a touch of impatience, and hoicked him up onto Shuoyue.

“Travel safely, Lan-er-gongzi, Zewu-Jun,” Wanyin whispered, and the Jiang disciples rose into the air.

“Yes, be well,” added Meng Yao.

“You too, A-Yao,” said Xichen fondly. “Goodbye for now.”

Lan Wangji glanced back, fretting, as Shuoyue flew away towards Gusu. There was Meng Yao, sitting beside the campfire with his thin shoulders squared, waiting for the Wen to arrive and take him into custody. And already far off in the distance, shimmering faintly like a flock of birds wheeling in the sun, he could just make out the Jiang contingent carrying Wanyin beyond his sight, beyond his reach.

The Twin Jades flew for a little while in silence, then Xichen said, “Didi?”

“Mn?”

“What – did anything happen between you and Jiang Wanyin in the cave?”

“Which cave?” inquired Lan Wangji, who required precision in all things. “There have been three so far.”

Shuoyue wavered slightly in midair, Lan Wangji clutched his brother, and they righted themselves.

“This latest one, I suppose.”

Lan Wangji considered the question.

“Your forehead ribbon, Wangji, what have you done with it?”

“Oh, I gave it to Jiang Wanyin,” said Lan Wangji.

Xichen hummed thoughtfully.

“I tied it around his thigh,” Lan Wangji added, in the interests of full disclosure. Shuoyue wobbled again.

“Xiongzhang.”

“I apologize, Wangji, I just wasn’t expecting – that is to say, tying your ribbon around your lover’s wrist is generally considered more appropriate. I mean, traditional.”

“I did that ages ago, in the first cave,” said Lan Wangji, rather dismissively. Lan Xichen made a wheezing sound, and Shuoyue gave a rather violent jolt.

“Xiongzhang.”

“Sorry! My apologies! Sorry!”

Lan Wangji patted his brother’s back, mollified, and they flew on again, gaining speed.

Eventually, the misty mountains of Gusu appeared in the distance. Despite knowing that he would soon have to step up and deal with the messy aftermath of the Wen attack, Lan Wangji felt a deep sense of contentment as he and his brother approached the familiar peaks and valleys of their home.

“Wangji?”

“Mn?”

“How did your – erm – relationship – with Jiang-gongzi come about, exactly?”

Lan Wangji explained. When he finished, Xichen’s expression was complicated.

“Did you – that is to say, have you done anything with Jiang-gongzi besides give him your ribbon? No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Xichen hastened to add, when Lan Wangji looked offended, “of course you would never do anything improper, but – have either of you consulted the matchmakers, for instance? Have you spoken to Uncle? Or Sect Leader Jiang? Has the Violet Spider been informed?”

Xichen sounded rather alarmed at the very idea.

“Wanyin gave me a belt ornament as a courting gift,” said Lan Wangji reassuringly, patting his sleeve to make sure the little wooden dragonfish was still safely tucked away. “He carved it himself, during our journey to Qinghe.”

Xichen sighed deeply and said, “In that case, I will confess – I am reassured to know that not all of your – courtship – has taken place in various caves, under dire circ*mstances of life and death.”

“Should I speak to Uncle when we arrive?” Lan Wangji inquired doubtfully. Xichen pondered this for a moment before replying.

“No, I think now is not the right time. We must focus all our energies on assisting the Sect – healing the wounded and rebuilding and so forth. It will be a long process, and no doubt it will be very difficult and expensive. So long as you truly wish to wed Jiang-gongzi, and he wishes to wed you, I trust you will not mind waiting until the Sect can afford to host the wedding my didi deserves.”

“Mn,” replied Lan Wangji, his ears growing pink. Xichen smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder.

“Beyond that,” Xichen added more soberly, “even if the political situation was not as volatile as it currently is, a marriage between the heirs of two Great Sects would require extensive and very delicate negotiations. Yes, yes, I know, it is hardly the stuff of romance, but I think it is best that your betrothal remains a secret for now.”

Lan Wangji wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng shivered in his cocoon of quilts for most of the trip to Lotus Pier, his spiritual energy still too depleted to keep him warm. Despite Jiang-daifu’s medicines and the spiritual power that the disciples had passed to him, he still felt oddly floaty, as if his head was packed with wool. He twined Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon around his fingers and rubbed his thumb over the cloud-shaped charm to ground himself.

Eventually the earthy scent of lake mud reached his nose, overlaid with the sweetness of lotus flowers. The Jiang disciples began their descent towards Lotus Pier, cloaked in lavender twilight. Their Clarity bells chimed softly as they passed through the wards surrounding the Sect headquarters and family residence, and Jiang Cheng closed his eyes. He breathed the warm, damp air of his home deep into his lungs, smelled the rich, fishy, spicy scents wafting from the kitchens, heard the buzz of insects and frog-song, and let himself imagine – just for a moment – that he was a child again, carried home to be tucked into bed for a dreamless night of sleep.

Instead, as soon as they touched down outside the healers’ building, Jiang-daifu’s assistants hurried to bring Jiang Cheng inside for a thorough examination. As they poked and prodded him, he heard Wei Wuxian dismissing the other disciples with a murmur of thanks, then the light patter of running footsteps followed by Jiang Yanli’s voice, pitched high with anxiety.

“A-Xian! You’re back! Are you all right? Where is A-Cheng?”

“Shijie! Yes, we’re here, we’re fine – well, more or less! I brought A-Cheng back, just for you; he’s with the healers now.”

He heard a gasp, then Jiang Yanli appeared in the doorway and clapped a hand over her mouth at the sight of him.

“A-Cheng! Oh, didi!”

“Now, now, Jiang-guniang,” said Jiang-daifu firmly. “He’ll be all right, just let us do our work and give him some time to rest.”

Jiang Yanli nodded, her horrified expression quickly replaced with a very determined look. “I’ll make some soup,” she said, and marched off with Wei Wuxian tagging along behind her.

Jiang Cheng drifted for a while as the healers fussed around him, then his siblings came back with a bowl of soup on a tray, and they bowed and took their leave.

Lotus root and pork ribs again – simple and comforting. “Ah, Jiejie,” he sighed after the first spoonful, “you know you make the best soup in the world, right? I thought about it every day that I was stuck in that cave. Ask Lan-er-gongzi if you don’t believe me – I talked about your cooking so much that he even threatened to put the Silencing Spell on me.”

“What?” squawked Wei Wuxian, sounding scandalized. “He puts the Silencing Spell on me practically every time he sees me! Does that mean you finally annoyed him as much as I do?”

Jiang Cheng grumbled and ate soup.

“Don’t gobble,” said Jiang Yanli indulgently. “There’s plenty more in the pot.” She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at him.

“Jiejie,” Jiang Cheng twitched away, blushing. “I’m not three, I can wipe my own face.”

“You’re still my didi, and I’ve been very worried about you ever since you left,” she scolded. “Especially after A-Xian’s messenger arrived from Yunping, saying you were trapped in a cave with some monster, and he was gathering reinforcements to rescue you! What happened? How did you escape?”

“Indeed, A-Xian,” said a mild voice from the doorway. “I’d like to hear this story too.”

“Uncle Jiang!” “Father,” the siblings chorused. Jiang Cheng struggled to rise, but his father held up a hand.

“No, don’t get up, A-Cheng, you are still enfeebled, after all. A-Xian can tell me what happened.”

Obligingly, Wei Wuxian began spilling out everything that had happened to them since they left for the indoctrination camp at Nightless City. When he got to the altercation between Wen Chao and Jiang Cheng, his father looked at him sharply. Jiang Cheng lowered his eyes and picked at his quilt.

“A-Cheng, what did you do to make Wen Chao target you in this way? Did you forget my instructions? Were my orders not perfectly clear?”

“I didn’t do anything, Father,” Jiang Cheng replied. “I promise, I didn’t do anything to disobey you or endanger the Sect.”

“It’s true, Uncle Jiang,” Wei Wuxian interjected quickly. “Wang Lingjiao is awful, nobody with any sense would be attracted to her. Wen Chao is just crazy.”

Jiang Fengmian grunted skeptically, and Wei Wuxian hurried on with his story.

Yanli clutched Jiang Cheng’s hand with tears in her eyes when Wei Wuxian described how Jiang Cheng had offered himself as bait in Mianmian’s place, but Jiang Fengmian merely glanced over at him with one eyebrow raised before gesturing to Wei Wuxian to continue.

Well. Now he knew. It was confirmed. He could quite literally put his life on the line, and it wouldn’t merit even a comment from his father. It was just an interruption, a momentary distraction from Wei Wuxian’s heroics.

Jiang Cheng listened dully until Wei Wuxian got to the part where he returned to MuXi Mountain with Zewu-Jun, Meng Yao, Nie Huaisang, and the Jiang disciples, before rousing himself to ask, “How did you defeat the Xuanwu of Slaughter, anyway?”

“Oh, is that what that thing was? Well, it wasn’t all my idea…” said Wei Wuxian, rubbing his nose modestly. “It was something Nie Huaisang said, about using its appetites against it, that got me to thinking. I ended up sending one of the disciples to the butcher to buy a pig, and another one to the armory to get a little keg of gunpowder. Then I made a whole bunch of fire talismans, stuffed everything inside the pig carcass, disguised it in an extra robe, and used a blood-replenishing talisman to make it smell like a fresh human corpse!”

Jiang Yanli hid a gagging noise behind her sleeve.

“Sorry, Shijie! Anyway, then we dumped the pig next to the giant demon murder turtle pond, and while the monster was eating it, I activated the talismans and made its head explode!”

Jiang Fengmian laughed – laughed! – and clapped his hands. “Brilliant, A-Xian! You truly are the exemplar of the Jiang Sect motto. Not only do you attempt the impossible, you achieve it!”

“Well, isn’t that nice for him?”

Yu Ziyuan glided into the room, a sibilant hiss on her lips and a deep scowl drawing down her finely arched eyebrows. She had clearly been listening outside the door for some time and stalked towards them with her burning dark gaze fixed on her husband.

“Aren’t we fortunate? Wei Wuxian is such a paragon that it doesn’t even matter what A-Cheng does! A-Cheng can throw himself away over some random no-name wench from the Jin Sect! A-Cheng can swoon into Lan-er-gongzi’s arms like a dainty maiden! A-Cheng can do any fool thing he wants because Wei Wuxian will be there to save the day!”

Jiang Yanli squeezed Jiang Cheng’s fingers again, but the comforting pressure did nothing to alleviate the feeling that an ice-cold hand had plunged into his guts and was twisting them, slowly and cruelly, into a knot. As he tried to breathe normally, he heard his father say in mildly exasperated tones, “Why, what would you have had A-Cheng do instead, My Lady?”

Just as Jiang Cheng was starting to hope that his father was, for once, speaking up on his behalf, Yu Ziyuan whirled around, stabbed a finger towards Wei Wuxian, and shouted “Isn’t it obvious? A-Cheng should have offered up that boy as a sacrifice! He’s just the son of a servant, who would even miss him! Honestly, Fengmian, do you even remember which of these two is our son?”

Wei Wuxian flinched, Jiang Yanli gasped, and Jiang Cheng took his tiny, newborn hope and smothered it. As always, the argument was not about him, his parents barely even saw him – it was just another skirmish in their endless war against each other, and he was nothing but a weapon for them to try and draw blood with, so he just lay there quietly, trying not to feel as if his very heart had been pierced, as if it had been torn in half.

Faced with Yu Ziyuan’s fury, everyone sat very still and quiet until finally Jiang Fengmian stood and said, “Of course I remember.”

But he turned his back on them all and stared out the window as he said it.

In a flash, Yu Ziyuan was at Jiang Cheng’s bedside, seizing his arm and dragging him up as he tried not to cry out at the pain. Jiang Yanli gasped again and tried to tug him back down, but he was already on his feet, swaying between them.

“Then look at our son, Fengmian,” his mother snarled, shoving him forward and shaking him furiously. “You can hate him all you want, but I’m your wife, I'm the one who gave birth to him, and he’s still your Sect Heir! He’s the one who’s a Jiang by name! He’s your legitimate son! And even if Wei Wuxian is your bastard, like everyone says…”

“ENOUGH,” bellowed Jiang Fengmian, finally whirling to face her, and she roared right back, “WHAT? Do you think raising your voice to me will change the truth?”

Jiang Yanli, pale and weeping, tried to pull Jiang Cheng away from where he stood rooted to the floor, caught between his parents as they screamed at each other, but Yu Ziyuan was far too angry to relinquish her iron grip on his arm. Wei Wuxian stood silently quivering by the door, clearly longing to bolt.

Jiang Cheng felt oddly detached from the whole situation. What a wretched contrast to Lan Wangji’s arms around him, warm and comforting, and the sound of his musical voice.

Overall, he thought, he’d much prefer to be back in the f*cking cave on MuXi Mountain, with or without the Xuanwu of Slaughter.

It was ridiculous enough to make him laugh. He did laugh, an awful sound devoid of humor, quickly shading into hysteria. At least it made his parents stop shouting at each other and start shouting at him instead, but they sounded faint and very far away. Jie and Wei Wuxian sounded alarmed… so did the healers…

Jiang Cheng gave up and collapsed.

He drifted vaguely, catching random bits of conversation.

“Pass me some clean linen, Meilin, would you please? Poor boy, with all of them yanking on him, the wound in his arm opened up again. It’s a disgrace!”

“Shhhh! Jiang Jinjing! You’d better not let Madame Yu hear you say that.”

“Here, Kang’er, take this and grind it very finely – add it to – yes, that bowl there. This is a very tenacious venom, and it’s not responding as I would expect to the usual remedies…”

“But his meridians have stabilized? That’s some good news, at least…”

A few nights later Wei Wuxian snuck in very late, produced a bottle of liquor from his sleeve, and perched at the foot of Jiang Cheng’s bed. They sat like that for a while, side by side, passing the bottle back and forth without looking at each other.

Eventually Wei Wuxian said quietly, “You know, and I know, Uncle Jiang’s not my father. He was friends with my father. I hate it when everyone just – ignores the fact that my parents were real people!”

Jiang Cheng took a swig of the liquor and laid his aching head on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. His shixiong draped an arm around him, stole the bottle back, and snorted. “Anyway, you shouldn’t worry so much about what the stupid gossips say. You’re Uncle Jiang’s son, so of course he’s going to be strict with you, more-so than he is with me.”

“It has f*ck-all to do with being strict or not,” Jiang Cheng said drearily. “He just doesn’t like me. He doesn’t love my mother, he never has, and I’m too much like her. I can tell he doesn’t like me, and anyone with eyes can see that I’m obviously not the one he wants to be his heir.”

“Don’t say things like that!” yelped Wei Wuxian. “Of course Uncle Jiang loves you, he has to, you’re his son! And you’re going to be the Sect Leader, no matter what, and when you are I’ll be your second-in-command, just like my father was for your father. Gusu Lan can have its Twin Jades, and Yunmeng Jiang will have its Twin Prides! If I’m by your side, who will dare to say you don’t deserve to be Sect Leader? Just… don’t think about it now, okay? In fact, don’t think about it ever again!”

Okay, thought Jiang Cheng, and chugged the rest of the liquor. If you don’t want to listen to me, if you’re just going to dismiss me, then I guess I’m better off not saying anything at all.

A few days later, after he’d finally been released by the healers, Jiang Cheng awoke to a commotion in the courtyard outside his window. He shook Wei Wuxian awake from where his shixiong lay snoring away (sprawled over most of Jiang Cheng’s bed; he’d had another nightmare) and they went to investigate. After following the noise to Swords Hall, they found Sect Leader Yao, leader of a smaller Sect affiliated with Yunmeng Jiang and one of Jiang Cheng’s least favorite people in the entire world, lying bloodstained and groaning on a stretcher.

Within moments, Jiang Fengmian hurried in, looking hassled. “Sect Leader Yao! What happened? Who did this to you?”

The older man’s heavyset chest heaved, and he gasped out, “My Sect has been attacked by the Wen!”

Yao Yunru, the man’s son, bowed shakily and did his best to clarify even though he was still bleeding heavily from a slash across his face. “The Wen caught us after we escaped from Qishan, Sect Leader Jiang. A few of us were able to make it back to Pingyang, but the others were captured and tortured into confessing the truth about what happened in MuXi Mountain. Then the Wen came and slaughtered us where we stood! Please, Sect Leader Jiang, we had nowhere else to bring my father after he was wounded! We need your aid!”

Oh f*ck, thought Jiang Cheng, listening. Wen Chao knows that some of his hostages made it out alive after all. If he has ordered attacks on every Sect whose disciples escaped from Qishan…

And if Wen Chao’s army is already in Pingyang…

Is he on his way to Lotus Pier?

“Yunmeng Jiang will assist Sect Leader Yao and Yao-gongzi,” said Jiang Fengmian after a moment, and instructed the healers to carry Sect Leader Yao and his son to a private room.

“What are your orders, Father?” Jiang Cheng asked after they were out of earshot.

Jiang Fengmian paced up and down, thinking aloud. “Well, the Pingyang Yao Sect is – was – isolated and rather weak. Still, if the Wen are now willing to engage in open slaughter, even of smaller Sects… hmmm.”

He paced some more, then spun around. “A-Xian, you said that Jin Zixuan admitted that Jin Guangshan is cooperating with the Wen?”

At Wei Wuxian’s nod, Jiang Fengmian continued grimly, “In that case, Lanling is likely to be the safest place… unless Guangshan is so far gone that he would try to curry favor with Wen Ruohan by turning Sect Leader Yao over to them.”

“Jin Zixuan behaved honorably while we were in Qishan,” Jiang Cheng offered. “He did say that although Sect Leader Jin would not go so far as to send a rescue party to MuXi Mountain, he would offer sanctuary to any hostages who managed to reach Koi Tower.”

Jiang Fengmian brooded on that until Jiang Huiqing came into the throne room and reported that Sect Leader Yao’s condition had been stabilized. “All right. Daifu, please ensure that Sect Leader Yao is able to travel. Tomorrow, I will personally escort him to Lanling. A-Li will come with me, it will make a good cover. We’ll put it about that she is lonely because the two of you haven’t returned, and I am taking her on a visit to Koi Tower to cheer her up. She can help nurse Sect Leader Yao, and Madame Jin will keep her safe until the Wen threat has been resolved. A-Xian, A-Cheng, you two will have to stay here, we cannot risk you being seen.”

“Understood.”

“A-Xian, find A-Li and tell her to begin making the necessary preparations. A-Cheng, you may summon the disciples and have them practice their sword forms, it’s time you started doing something useful now that you’re finally out of bed.”

“Yes, Father. Shall I increase the perimeter guard?”

“Of course not, don’t be foolish. We must act as if nothing is amiss and hope that it will divert the Wen’s suspicions. If they do not know you are here, they will have no reason to attack.”

Jiang Cheng bowed and left without another word.

The next evening, the healers smuggled Sect Leader Yao aboard a specially disguised hospital boat and the porters stowed Jiang Yanli’s luggage. Jiang Fengmian gave his usual speech to the assembled disciples, ordering them to watch over Lotus Pier until he returned from Lanling. The boat began slowly drifting downriver as the rest of the Jiang Sect, except for Yu Ziyuan, watched and waved farewell.

A storm blew in as they stood there, ruffling the curtains on the riverside pavilions, and spattering the wooden walkways with rain.

“They’ll be back soon,” said Wei Wuxian, bumping his shoulder into Jiang Cheng’s as they took their turn standing lookout. “Don’t worry.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t say anything.

Ten days later they were escorting the junior disciples back from the archery range, only to find their smallest shidi pelting towards them with a look of terror on his face.

“Whoa, Xiao-shidi, what’s the matter?” said Wei Wuxian as the child crashed into his legs and clung to him like a limpet.

“There’s Wens!” he gasped, “Lots and lots of soldiers and grumpy man who doesn’t talk and a loud, bossy lady in a fancy dress!”

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian looked at each other in horror. “It’s Wang Lingjiao and Wen Zhuliu, it’s got to be,” said Wei Wuxian.

“We mustn’t panic,” said Jiang Cheng, although he felt close to panic himself. “We can’t let them get the best of us. We can’t give them any excuse to attack.” He gnawed his lip. “Wei Wuxian, you and I should leave first – we’ll get as close as we can without being seen and find out what’s going on. The rest of you, do the best you can to act as if nothing is wrong – but stay together, keep your weapons with you, and wait for our word – don’t do anything stupid! Tell the staff and other noncombatants to stay out of sight as much as possible.”

“Yes, Sect Heir!” they all chorused.

“SHHH!”

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian crept through the back ways of Lotus Pier, familiar to them both from years of sneaking out at night, liberating sweets from the kitchens, and pilfering wine from the storerooms. As they drew closer to Swords Hall, they heard women’s voices raised in a loud confrontation. They glanced nervously at each other and slipped behind the carved wooden screen that formed an elegant backdrop to the Lotus Throne.

Jiang Cheng could feel Wei Wuxian’s tension ratcheting up as they peeked through and beheld Wang Lingjiao lounging on the Lotus Throne as if she owned it, but his own eyes stayed fixed on his mother. Madame Yu was standing in the center of the room, radiating cold fury. Her attendants, Yu Jinzhu and Yu Yinzhu, stood at her shoulders, regarding Wang Lingjiao as if she had tracked in something nasty on the sole of her shoe. Clearly the conversation had started badly and was rapidly getting worse.

“What punishment would the Wen Sect find sufficient, then?” Madame Yu was saying icily. “Should I chop my son’s legs off so he can never come near you again?”

Wang Lingjiao gave that simpering smirk that Jiang Cheng would have paid good money to never have to see again, in this world or the next.

“My goodness, Madame Yu, how brutal you are! Wen-er-gongzi would never ask a mother to do something so terrible to her own son!” She examined her red-lacquered fingernails casually, then added, “No, Wen-er-gongzi will be satisfied if I just bring back Jiang Wanyin’s right hand. Otherwise… well! The punishment for treason is well-known to all.”

The space of one heartbeat passed. Two. Three. Then –

“You are telling me I must sacrifice my son’s sword hand in exchange for the safety of my Sect,” said Madame Yu flatly.

“That’s exactly right,” purred Wang Lingjiao.

Madame Yu’s nostrils flared.

“And suppose I was to tell you that my son never returned from your wretched excuse for an Indoctrination Camp…?”

Wang Lingjiao rolled her eyes and scoffed, but Madame Yu didn't move, holding her in a gaze of steel. Eventually a calculating look spread across the woman's face. She tapped her fingernails against the wood of the Lotus Throne and said, “I suppose, in that case, I could be persuaded to start by taking the sword hand off your loudmouth First Disciple instead…”

Before his mother could agree, before Wei Wuxian could stop him, Jiang Cheng stepped out from behind the screen. His mother stared at him, shocked, before her eyes grew huge and dark with fury, burning in her bone-white face. “What the f*ck are you doing?” she hissed, staring at him with something close to hatred.

In answer, Jiang Cheng sank to his knees and held his right arm out, feeling calm descend on him. I can give up my hand for his. I can give up my hand for the Sect. I can learn to cultivate with my left hand…well, probably.

His mother gnashed her teeth furiously and gritted out, “Jinzhu. Yinzhu. Bar the doors.”

Her attendants leaped to do her bidding as she extended Zidian into its full whip form, crackling with lightning.

Wei Wuxian tried to jump in front of Jiang Cheng but Yu Ziyuan rolled her eyes and whipped his legs right out from under him. He crashed through a table and lay there twitching, temporarily paralyzed by the shock.

Wang Lingjiao cackled and clapped her hands obnoxiously. “Oh Madame Yu, what a delight you are! I do like your temper. I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends after we’ve set up our Supervisory Office here.”

Yu Ziyuan paused, then turned to the other woman very slowly. She began prowling forward, leaving Jiang Cheng kneeling uselessly on the floor.

“I beg your f*cking pardon.”

Her voice was eerily calm.

“Oh, didn’t I mention it?” said Wang Lingjiao airily. “Yes, it’s my second errand here – besides making sure that disrespectful son of yours is punished appropriately. Qishan Wen is setting up Supervisory Offices in every major town, and Lotus Pier will become the Supervisory Office for Yunmeng.” Wang Lingjiao smirked. “So, you see, I think I will be getting some red draperies in here after all.”

Madame Yu took a deep breath, exhaled through her teeth, and then slapped Wang Lingjiao across the face, hard enough to knock her sprawling. A single strike from Zidian electrocuted the dozen Wen soldiers present in the hall before they could even draw their swords. Wei Wuxian crawled over to Jiang Cheng and they huddled together on the floor, bewildered by the sudden turn of events.

“You disgusting – ignorant – slu*t,” said Yu Ziyuan, advancing on Wang Lingjiao as the woman whined and pawed at her broken jaw. “How dare you enter my home with your impudent demands. Who exactly do you think you are?”

She reached down and seized the woman’s face, grinding the bones together. “Impertinent.” Another slap, delivered with no mercy and no expression whatsoever on her porcelain features. “Filthy.” Slap. “Gutter trash.”

“I’m no such thing! I am Wen-er-gongzi’s favorite!” Wang Lingjiao croaked, her words garbled by injuries and Yu Ziyuan’s iron grip. “Qishan Wen won’t stand for this insult!”

“Why would a daughter of Meishan Yu care?” replied Yu Ziyuan with perfect indifference, dropping Wang Lingjiao to the carpet and dusting her fingers together fastidiously. “You were the one who first brought up superiors and inferiors, so I will make this very clear: I am your superior.”

She placed her foot on Wang Lingjiao’s head and pressed down until the woman was writhing and screeching on the rug.

“You are inferior.”

A few of the Wen soldiers were starting to groan and twitch. With a final sneer, Yu Ziyuan ground her heel into Wang Lingjiao’s face and turned to her attendants. At her nod, Yu Jinzhu and Yu Yinzhu produced poison daggers from their sleeves and flew silently around the room, slitting the throat of every soldier present in a trice.

“Wen-gongzi knows I’m here!” Wang Lingjiao hacked. “He’s already on his way! In fact, he’ll be here any moment! None of you will escape him, once he finds out what you did to me!”

“Oh? And what does he have in mind, I wonder,” said Yu Ziyuan, in her silkiest voice. “Invading my home? Maiming my son? Bringing in an army to reduce my Sect to ruination? Setting up a Supervisory Office in its place?”

She leaned down again and fixed Wang Lingjiao with an icy gaze, every inch the Violet Spider with a fly trapped in her web. Almost gently, she said, “You are a very stupid woman, and you cannot hope to threaten me. I would kill you myself, but you are beneath my contempt.”

Yu Jinzhu and Yu Yinzhu moved forward in tandem.

Wang Lingjiao tried to wriggle away, mouth working uselessly, before she suddenly screamed, “WEN ZHULIU! SAVE ME!”

I forgot how fast he can move, for such a big man, Jiang Cheng thought nonsensically as Wen Zhuliu crashed through the nearest window. His mother’s attendants went flying and hit the ground, hard.

Yu Ziyuan looked at Wen Zhuliu and sneered contemptuously as the man brushed splintered fragments of the window-frame from his shoulders.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said.

She extended Zidian again, looking supremely unconcerned even as the Core-Melting Hand squared off against her. “It was Zhao, originally, wasn’t it? Zhao Zhuliu. What did the Wen Sect give you, I wonder, to make you betray your ancestors and change your name?”

“Violet Spider,” he replied, woodenly as always, “I am merely serving my master.”

Wang Lingjiao piped up from behind him, whining, “What are you waiting for? Kill her!”

Yu Ziyuan smirked and inquired, “Would that vulgar little serving-maid be your master, then?”

“Wen Zhuliu! Stop talking and kill her! Look what she did to my face! Is this how you obey Wen-er-gongzi when he told you to protect me? I’ll report you for this!”

Wen Zhuliu’s expression grew slightly pained. He made no reply, only bowing politely to Yu Ziyuan.

“Excuse my offense,” said the Core-Melting Hand.

The Violet Spider scoffed.

“You are such a f*cking hypocrite.”

And with no further ado, they clashed in a maelstrom of violet lightning and ominous, red-rimmed black qi.

“f*cking hurry!”

As the red Wen Sect flare burst in the sky, Jiang Cheng sprinted towards the alarm bells and set them pealing with a pulse of qi. A chain of purple flares lit up Lotus Pier as the bells’ cadence activated the defensive array and signaled the townsfolk and civilians to begin evacuating. Wei Wuxian hobbled to the armory doors and threw them open as the Jiang disciples ran to seize their weapons and take up defensive positions. The lookouts posted to the docks began relaying reports – incoming ships and enemy cultivators approaching.

Another red flare, and thousands of arrows began to rain down on Lotus Pier, each carved from sacred pearwood and laboriously inlaid with spells for flame and corrosion. Such arrows were worth more than their weight in gold, a staggering investment in spiritual weaponry, and the Wen army pissed them away as if it was nothing.

Every one of Jiang Cheng’s nightmares came to life before his eyes as the enchanted arrows riddled the defensive array with fiery holes. Pierced all too soon, it faltered and failed. Flames began to catch in the roofs and piers and boats and bridges. Bodies clad in purple thumped wetly upon the wooden boards as Wen cultivators stormed towards the Lotus Gate, outnumbering the Jiang by at least three to one.

Jiang Cheng looked at Wei Wuxian, and his shixiong looked back, then they nodded at each other and readied their borrowed swords. He would have preferred to die with Sandu in his hand, he thought.

From the direction of Swords Hall came grunts, smashing noises, and over it all, the hissing and crackling of Zidian. Then Jiang Cheng heard Yu Ziyuan utter a high, infuriated shriek.

He didn’t even realize he was running until he was halfway up the steps from the courtyard into the Hall, screaming for his mother.

Jiang Cheng burst through the doors and for a moment could scarcely parse what he was seeing. Wen Zhuliu had caught the tip of Zidian in his hand – Zidian, his mother’s first-class spiritual weapon, the most precious cultivation artifact of Meishan Yu, so powerful that Jiang Cheng had seen it literally explode high-level demons and monsters on contact! – and was using it to haul the Violet Spider towards him, as if she was nothing but an unruly puppy on a leash. With his hand wreathed in fathomless black qi, Wen Zhuliu seemed to be draining Zidian’s energy, sucking it away into some unknown void.

With the other, he was aiming a palm-strike directly at Yu Ziyuan’s lower dantian.

Jiang Cheng threw himself desperately at Wen Zhuliu, who spun with a dancer’s grace and punched him in the throat instead. Jiang Cheng sailed backwards out of the door, thumped down the stairs and landed heavily in the courtyard. He rolled over and heaved for breath as Wei Wuxian ran towards him, yelling his name. He skidded to his knees at Jiang Cheng’s side, barely blocking a Wen sword as it descended towards Jiang Cheng’s neck.

Madam Yu landed lightly nearby in a swirl of purple brocade and arterial spray, slicing the Wen cultivator in half like an apple before scruffing both boys by the necks of their robes. Without a word of explanation, she yanked them up off their feet, and leapt away again, dragging them over the burning roofs of Lotus Pier. Jiang Cheng looked back in anguish only to see Yu Jinzhu and Yu Yinzhu, their own whips unfurled, leading a formation of Jiang disciples into battle against the Core-Melting Hand, who stood staring grimly after them.

Yu Ziyuan whirled Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian from rooftop to rooftop until she reached the most remote and least-used of the docks, whereupon she marched them to a small, shabby boat moored there, wreathed in shadows and smoke.

“Inside!” she snapped, throwing Wei Wuxian to the floor and shoving Jiang Cheng roughly into his lap. Automatically, Wei Wuxian’s arms went around Jiang Cheng, who struggled dumbly against them as his mother seized his wrist. He felt the prickle of her violet qi sweep over him, and then her shoulders sank with relief. “Oh, thank the gods,” she whispered. “You still have your core.”

“Mother?” he croaked, “What should we do? What are your orders?”

“Can you not see, even now?” she said, her eyes boring into his own, as if she was trying to impart some wisdom that he could not grasp. “How did I raise such an impossibly stupid son? The Wen came to annihilate us, do you understand? No matter what we did, no matter what we yielded, no matter what bargain was struck, they were determined to attack. Everything else was a meaningless charade to buy time.”

Yu Ziyuan straightened her back, every inch the Lady of Yunmeng Jiang, and removed Zidian from her hand. With a flash of violet qi, she slipped it over Jiang Cheng’s own cold finger, and he felt its power light him up, sparking through his meridians briefly before it withdrew, leaving him even more chilled and drained than before.

“What are you doing, Mother,” he whispered.

“My orders are to Zidian,” she replied calmly. “To keep you safe, to protect you no matter what. Zidian has accepted you as its new master.”

“No, Mother, no. Please, don’t do this.”

She didn’t deign to reply but tugged him from Wei Wuxian’s arms into her own, tucking his head under her chin and roughly stroking the back of his neck. Jiang Cheng felt like he ought to weep, but he was stiff and shocked in her arms, his eyes dry as salt. He could not remember the last time she had touched him with such tenderness, it had been so many years, but her warmth and the scent of her lotus perfume were somehow still familiar...

She sighed and shoved him away, back into Wei Wuxian’s embrace.

“Mother, please!”

“Oh, don’t act like a child, throwing a tantrum because you’re scared and angry,” she said, though her voice was lacking its customary bite. “What kind of Sect Leader would do such a thing?”

She wiped her eyes, just once, and then resumed speaking with all her usual venom. “You, Wei Wuxian! Same orders! You keep my son safe, even if you have to die for it!”

Wei Wuxian blinked, and suddenly Zidian was active and powerful again, elongating into its whip form, snaking around them, binding them together, keeping them immobilized.

No.

“MOTHER!” Jiang Cheng screamed as she severed the mooring rope and activated the talisman carved into the boat. He kept screaming as it sailed away from the dock. “Don’t f*cking do this! Please! Let us fight alongside you, we can face the Wen together! If we can just hold out until Father gets home…”

For just a moment, Yu Ziyuan looked soft, wistful, like the Third Young Mistress of Meishan who had come to Lotus Pier determined to attempt the impossible and fight her way into her husband’s heart, only to fall into bitterness and acrimony, long before the end.

“Your father…?”

The moment passed, and the Violet Spider fixed her son with the most contemptuous, hateful glare he had ever seen burning in her eyes. “What the f*ck could he do?”

Jiang Cheng stared back, speechless, beseeching.

“No,” she said, quite calm again, and her voice was cold and solid as ice. “Do not ask me to watch my son, my baby, fall to the Wens. Don’t you f*cking dare ask me that. Get out of here. Don’t come back.”

She turned around and walked back into the inferno.

“Jiang Cheng, calm down!”

“How the f*ck am I supposed to calm down, Wei Wuxian? Why won’t this – argh! – this f*cking thing loosen, huh?”

Jiang Cheng kept thrashing, but Zidian held them tight. Wei Wuxian grunted as Jiang Cheng’s elbow jammed into his ribs, then he gasped.

“Look over there! It’s Uncle Jiang! I mean, SECT LEADER! SECT LEADER JIANG!”

The hospital boat drew alongside them, and Jiang Fengmian and his escort hurried aboard. He blinked at them in surprise, then deactivated Zidian with a touch. It slid into his hands and wrapped around his finger as a ring.

“What is going on? Why were you bound with Zidian? What have you done this time?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” blurted Wei Wuxian. “Wang Lingjiao showed up at Lotus Pier and told Madame Yu to chop off A-Cheng’s hand! When she wouldn’t do it, Wen Zhuliu attacked her! Then more Wens started attacking Lotus Pier so she tied us up and sent us away! We have to go back before everything is destroyed! We can help, Uncle Jiang, please!”

Jiang Fengmian stood for a long moment, staring blankly from his son to his ward, while the disciples of his escort shifted their feet uneasily and looked at each other.

“Father,” said Jiang Cheng brokenly, despairing, as the silence stretched on. “Father. Please. Can’t we do this together?”

“No,” Jiang Fengmian decided, and sent Zidian hissing forward, binding them once again.

He stepped back and frowned disapprovingly at his son. “It sounds like you and your mother between the two of you have done quite enough to bring disaster upon Yunmeng Jiang. I will go try to restrain my wife and salvage the situation, and I suppose the least I can do is not subject you to Wen Chao’s wrath. You will not face the consequences of your actions, A-Cheng, just go to your sister. Lie low in Lanling, or even Meishan if you must, and don’t come back to Lotus Pier until I’ve got things under control. A-Xian, try to keep him out of trouble.”

Even Wei Wuxian was rendered speechless by Jiang Fengmian’s words. The Jiang Sect Leader shook his head at his son, gave Wei Wuxian an avuncular clap on the shoulder, and left them there, with the crackle of Zidian drowning out their screams and pleas and desperate warnings.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

The instant Zidian shivered, returned to its ring form, and released them, Wei Wuxian kicked one of the seats to pieces and tossed a plank over to Jiang Cheng. With such inadequate paddles, it took f*cking forever to get the boat to shore, and by the time they had sprinted back to Lotus Pier, it was fully dark. Smoke-tainted clouds obscured the moon, lit from beneath by sullen red embers.

Aside from the crackle of smoldering wood, everything was horribly quiet. The soft footfalls they made as they ran to the outermost storerooms seemed much too loud. They climbed to the roof and froze when a broken tile slid away and plopped into the lake. Though they waited with bated breath for a sentry to raise the alarm, no Wen soldiers appeared, and eventually they crept forward again. Drifting from building to building like wraiths, they finally gained a view of the main courtyard.

Wei Wuxian choked. Jiang Cheng stifled whatever desolate noise was fighting its way out of his throat, feeling bitter tears carve through the layer of sweat and grime on his face.

Everywhere he looked, disciples in Jiang purple lay dead. The Wen soldiers were stacking them like cordwood, stripping them of their silver Clarity bells and pocketing their small valuables. It was not only the disciples, either. There were maids with their lavender robes rucked up and torn open, cooks still wearing their aprons, he even saw – he gripped Wei Wuxian’s wrist until the bones ground together – dozens of the Sect’s children, those too young to form their golden cores, crumpled in their maroon-brown robes.

The color had been specifically chosen to not show dirt when the children played along the muddy lake shores.

It showed the bright red of fresh blood all too well.

Jiang Cheng felt dizzy and sick, waves of furious heat and chill despair coursing through his body.

He saw his mother, lying dead in a pool of blood, sluggishly spreading across the courtyard where she had trained her disciples in the use of the sword, the whip, and the dagger. Wen Zhuliu stood amidst the carnage, expressionless as a wooden post, staring fixedly at the corpse of Yu Ziyuan.

Wen Zhuliu did not so much as glance towards Jiang Fengmian, who was lying near the gate with a surprised look on his face and a single tidy stab wound through his heart.

Jiang Cheng vaguely registered Wang Lingjiao’s fluting, affected voice drifting from Swords Hall. With tears dripping down his chin, Wei Wuxian tapped Jiang Cheng and pointed. They edged around the rooftop until they found a new vantage point and were able to peer inside. There was Wen Chao, slouched on the Lotus Throne with a bottle of liquor in his hand and Wang Lingjiao on his lap. She was whining loudly and clinging to Wen Chao’s neck.

“Ah, a few bruises and cuts won’t matter in the long run,” he said idly. “They’ll fade soon, and then your pretty face will be back to the way I like it.”

“Hmph!” said Wang Lingjiao petulantly. “That Yu woman deserved everything she got! What a bitch! She was so arrogant, even though everybody knows she forced that pathetic man to marry her when he didn’t even want to.”

“Mmhm,” said Wen Chao, getting up and wandering over to Madame Yu’s body. He crouched down and lifted her head by the hair, turning her face from side to side. “She was quite beautiful, though, wasn’t she? I wonder why he didn’t want her.”

“Who would?” snapped Wang Lingjiao. “She was so abrasive and violent!”

Wen Chao laughed and deliberately spat into Madame Yu’s face before dropping her carelessly and turning away. “Nothing like my tender, lovely, and obedient Jiaojiao, eh?”

As Wang Lingjiao wriggled and giggled flirtatiously, Jiang Cheng felt his thoughts freezing, stalling, spinning uselessly in a way they hadn’t since he was a child – when he’d still been too young to storm into rooms where the cultivators who bowed and scraped in his mother’s presence laughed and said such things behind her back, too young to have yet earned his reputation as a volatile, hot-tempered brat who’d fling their crude words back into their faces.

Through the roaring in his ears, he heard Wang Lingjiao complain of Wen Zhuliu not allowing her to mutilate Madame Yu’s body.

“Ah, well, Wen Zhuliu has always been a bit soft where the Violet Spider is concerned. But he melted her core fast enough when I ordered him to. Too bad she slit her own throat afterwards – I’m sure the men would have loved a taste of her, or I could have shipped her off to my honored father as a war prize.”

Jiang Cheng thought, with a sudden burst of lucidity, I cannot listen to another word. It was too much to bear, he was losing his grip.

Even as his vision went black around the edges, he wanted to leap forward, smash Wen Chao’s face in, scoop up his parents’ bodies, save them from this indignity, at least, even if he could never do another f*cking thing for them. But for the first time, Zidian sparked on his finger – a warning, surely – and Wei Wuxian intercepted him. He fought silently and furiously against his shixiong’s grip, until somebody’s foot slipped and they tumbled from the roof.

Wei Wuxian’s arms around him saved him from cracking his head against the ground. His shixiong half-carried him away, stumbling, weeping as they fled, bolting through the night until they collapsed in a field of reeds with tears streaming down their faces and thick, wet breaths tearing through their throats.

“What are we doing,” Jiang Cheng said hysterically, “I need to go back! My parents – my parents’ bodies are still in Lotus Pier! I need to go back!”

“The f*ck are you talking about? There’s nothing you can do,” Wei Wuxian said in a voice harsh with agony, and wounds his arms tighter around Jiang Cheng. “You’ll just die alongside them if you go back!”

“Let me die, then! I don’t care!” Jiang Cheng screamed. He lashed out wildly and knocked Wei Wuxian sprawling. “Let me go! Get out of my way if you’re afraid!”

He scrambled to his feet but Wei Wuxian tackled him to the ground before he could go more than a few steps. “Madame Yu and Uncle Jiang told me to keep you safe,” he grunted as Jiang Cheng thrashed beneath him.

“Shut your f*cking mouth!”

Jiang Cheng heaved Wei Wuxian off and seized his shixiong by the throat, digging his fingers in viciously, choking him to silence.

“I want my parents, do you hear me!” he screamed into Wei Wuxian’s face. “The elders! My shidis and shimeis! But they’re all gone! They’re dead!”

Wei Wuxian’s face went crimson, then purple, but he didn’t push Jiang Cheng off. He let Jiang Cheng curse and rage, wrapped his hands gently around Jiang Cheng’s wrists, and looked at him with tender compassion, even as tears squeezed from the corners of his bloodshot eyes. Finally, Jiang Cheng’s exhausted body could no longer support the burden of his rage and grief. He let go and collapsed onto Wei Wuxian’s chest, sobbing as Wei Wuxian coughed and heaved for breath.

“What am I supposed to do now,” Jiang Cheng moaned brokenly, “where can I even go? What is left for me in this world?”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t speak, but he wrapped his arms around Jiang Cheng again, holding him as he howled and shook, going to pieces in despair. Eventually, wearied beyond endurance, they passed out in their hollow nest of grass, succumbing to oblivion for a blessed hour or so.

My parents, the elders, the seniors, the juniors. The children. My home. My Sect.

My home. My family. My Sect.

My Sect. My people. My home.

Afterwards, Jiang Cheng never remembered exactly how Wei Wuxian got him up on his feet the next morning – he suspected a combination of cajoling, bullying, and shameless allusions to poor Jiejie, stuck in Koi Tower. When he came back to himself somewhat, he was standing in a room in a rather shabby inn, drenched from a rainstorm he had no memory of walking through. He watched abstractly while a sniffling Wei Wuxian filled a small wooden tub and heated the water.

Wei Wuxian came over and croaked at him, but Jiang Cheng let the words flow in one ear and out the other, staring dully into the middle distance.

My home. My family. My Sect. My people.

Where can I go? What can I do?

His mind snarled back at him, You? What can you possibly do for anyone? Just go die alongside them! Failure. Coward. Child. Unworthy. Incapable.

Wei Wuxian made an exasperated noise and tugged on Jiang Cheng’s wrists until he stumbled forward. Wei Wuxian guided Jiang Cheng behind the privacy screen and undressed him like a doll, moving his benumbed arms and legs as necessary to manhandle him into the bath. It was only when the hot water sloshed over his skin that he realized he was shivering uncontrollably. Wei Wuxian remained uncharacteristically silent and gentle as he washed Jiang Cheng’s hair and combed it out with his fingers. Jiang Cheng still couldn’t make himself move, so Wei Wuxian eventually lifted him out of the tub, dried him carefully, wrapped his soft grey-lilac underrobe around him, and sat him down on the edge of a bed.

Failure. Coward. Child. Unworthy. Incapable.

“A-Cheng,” rasped Wei Wuxian eventually, making a valiant effort to sound gentle despite his swollen, bruised throat. “I think you might be in shock? I’ll go to the market and see if I can find us something to eat. I have a few coins left, I think some food will help, and – and then we’ll – we will keep going tomorrow, all right? To Lanling? We’ll find Shijie – and – and she’ll know what to do.”

Jiang Cheng just sat there, running his thumb over Zidian, encircling his finger as a ring. Again and again and again.

“Um. Okay, shidi,” said Wei Wuxian. “Just – just promise you’ll wait here for me?” And with a tremulous attempt at a smile, he was gone.

Not even half a ke later, Jiang Cheng heard heavy boots clomping past the inn. One glance out the window snapped him from his catatonia as if Zidian had shocked him. He was up on his feet, cursing, throwing on his outer robes, and scrambling for his boots before he was even aware of what he was doing.

A Wen patrol had just arrived, half the soldiers entering the marketplace while the others fanned out to cover the town gates.

Where the f*ck is Wei Wuxian?

Jiang Cheng had been slipping through the marketplace for what seemed like forever, ducking in and out of back alleys and slinking between the stalls. It helped, at first, that another sudden squall of rain had swept in – the Wen soldiers had to peer under everyone’s paper umbrellas and straw hats to get a close look at people’s faces, clearly searching for refugees from Lotus Pier.

But as the rain kept pelting down and everyone retreated inside, the crowd in the market grew thin. It became harder and harder for Jiang Cheng to stay out of sight as he searched frantically for Wei Wuxian’s familiar black-clad figure.

Where the f*ck is Wei Wuxian?

Ah – there, he was, f*cking finally, in front of a stall selling sweets. Over the pattering rain, he could hear his shixiong asking for lotus-paste buns, the kind that Jiejie had always made to comfort Jiang Cheng when he was little and feeling sad or overwhelmed.

The pretty vendor handed over the paper-wrapped parcel of buns just as a group of Wen rounded the corner. Their eyes immediately fixed on Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Cheng could see the moment Wei Wuxian froze, debating whether or not to make a run for it.

It was the exact same moment that Jiang Cheng’s hand darted out and struck the stack of crates he was crouched behind, smashing one and knocking the rest over. The vendor yelled with outrage, cabbages rolled everywhere, and Jiang Cheng took off like a shot, letting the Wen see a flash of Yunmeng purple as he skidded around the corner.

“Over there!”

Then it was nothing but a miserable race through the rain, blundering through an obstacle course of unfamiliar streets, splashing through mud and market refuse, the breath coming harsh in his throat as the Wen closed in by the dozens. Finally, they cornered him by a reeking dyeworks.

“Get him!”

Jiang Cheng put up an unlovely fight, with elbows and knees and nails and teeth, gouging eyes and disjointing limbs. The Wen piled on top of him and held him down, twisting and yanking on his arms and legs as he thrashed, spitting blood and defiance into their faces as they punched and kicked him. Finally they wrestled him into a pair of spirit-suppressing shackles, dragged him to a wagon, and dumped him on the floor. He could hear shouted orders as the soldiers formed up around the wagon, the driver climbed aboard, and the patrol began to move out.

As the horses broke into a trot, he rolled over and let a manic, feral grin spread over his bruised and swollen face. Fresh blood leaked from his split lips, but Jiang Cheng didn’t care, there was no one around to see, after all.

Sorry Father, sorry Mother.

They took Lotus Pier. They took you. They took everyone. But I’d rather be slowly sliced to f*cking ribbons than let them take my brother too. He and A-Jie are all I have left.

And A-Xian will be able to keep A-Jie safe. And then A-Xian will resurrect Yunmeng Jiang, because A-Xian is the one who exemplifies the Sect motto, not me, just like you always said, Father.

I’m the failure. I’m the childish one, the unworthy one, the incapable one. Just like you always said, Mother.

I’m expendable.

All I can do is die to keep my brother and sister alive.

Me and Zidian are going home to Lotus Pier, and f*ck the rest of it. f*ck it all.

Thunder rolled in the distance as the wagon moved towards Yunmeng.

I’m sorry, Wangji, Jiang Cheng thought. I hope you find someone better.

Take care.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng thought there couldn’t be anything worse than seeing the bloodied bodies of his Sect laid out amid the charred remains of his home. As it turned out, he was wrong.

Worse was lying chained within the wagon as it rolled through Yunmeng, hearing the screams and desperate pleas of his people, the coarse laughter of Wen soldiers as they smashed and burned and stole and raped and killed, helpless to stop any of it.

Worse was peeking between the wagon’s warped planks and seeing the lakes and rivers choked with bodies floating face-down. Jiang Cheng knew that their spirits could not be at peace, and they would soon become shui gui, leaching resentful energy into the water.

Worse was being dragged from the wagon after it squeaked to a halt in the main courtyard of Lotus Pier and seeing his parents strung up from the Lotus Gate, their corpses bloating in the Yunmeng heat, feeding the flies and carrion crows.

Every nine-petaled lotus sigil had been burned or broken or splattered with filth, and flags bearing the Wen’s two-headed phoenix flapped over everything. He could no longer smell the earthy damp mud, or the sweet flowers. Just bitter smoke, and the reek of death, and a hint of the sulfurous stink he recognized from Nightless City. An involuntary shudder crept up his spine, but he forced himself to dangle limply from the soldiers’ hands, unmoving, unresponsive, carefully banking the flames of his rage and despair, layering ice over his furious, broken heart.

The sentry on duty scurried off to fetch Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao. Jiang Cheng stared fixedly at the dark smear of his mother’s blood which nobody had bothered to clean up as the wretched pair came swaggering out of Swords Hall. Wang Lingjiao was tucking her tit* back into her robes without even trying to be subtle about it.

“Ha!” crowed Wen Chao. “If it isn’t Jiang Wanyin! What a fool you were to think you could escape the might of the Wen Sect!”

Jiang Cheng let his head droop a little further. Wen Chao kept gloating.

“Did you run with your tail between your legs, like the coward you are? Did you cry when your shixiong abandoned you, you useless little good-for-nothing? Caught by a patrol of nobodies, not a single high-ranking cultivator among them! What a joke!”

Jiang Cheng gave a piteous little groan. Maybe he was laying it on a bit thick, but…

One of the many advantages of being infamously useless is that stupid people like the Wens are quick to underestimate you. They see what they expect to see, nothing more…

You can use their appetites against them.

Wen Chao’s braying laugh grated on his ears. “You and you over there, get him stripped and stake him out. Assemble the troops, I want everyone to see the Jiang Sect Heir down on his knees like a whor* for the Wen! But before we get started…”

His piggish little eyes gleamed with cruel delight – “Someone bring me my horsewhip.”

Once, long ago, Jiang Cheng had read a very old and rather fanciful book written by an exceptionally well-traveled rogue cultivator. While journeying a long way from home, the wanderer had recorded a strange story about a little island, so far away to the north that the snow never melted. The island, she wrote, used to be the home of a strange people whose skin and hair were pale as bone. They clothed themselves in furs and lived in a fair city at the foot of the island’s lone mountain, which was made entirely of pure, shimmering ice.

However, the people had no way of knowing that beneath the icy mountain lay a volcano. Little by little, over the years the heat of the volcano melted the heart of the mountain, until there was merely a thin skin of ice holding back a boiling lake. One night, there was a tiny tremor in the earth – too mild to even awaken the sleeping people from their beds – but it was enough to crack the ice. Without a moment’s warning, a towering wall of water burst forth and swept the city from the face of the earth.

As a child in flood-prone Yunmeng, Jiang Cheng had been morbidly fascinated by this story. Now, he kept his mind fixed upon the tale as he knelt in the training courtyard, his arms outstretched on either side and tightly lashed to heavy wooden posts. His captors had torn his robes to rags as they greedily stripped him naked, but Jiang Cheng took some small comfort in knowing that he still had Wangji’s white ribbon wrapped around his wrist, safely hidden from their prying eyes and unworthy fingers – the soldiers had been too impatient to bother unlacing his tough leather vambraces. His hair, torn loose from its knot, swirled around him like a veil as the wind began to rise, except where it stuck to the bloody welts that Wen Chao’s horsewhip had left across his chest.

Ranks of Wen soldiers surrounded him now, leering at him, pawing at their co*cks through their trousers. Wen Chao was sprawled in a chair with Wang Lingjiao in his lap as usual, lewdly toying with the handle of his plaited leather horsewhip. For once, Wen Zhuliu was nowhere in sight.

Clouds boiled above and thunder rolled again. The first drops of rain dotted the earth, and the rich scent of petrichor drove the sulfurous stink of Wens and death and old smoke from Jiang Cheng’s nose.

Then Wen Chao gestured lazily to the captain of his personal guard and said, “You may begin.” An ugly, raucous cheer arose from the soldiers as the man tugged his robes open, unlaced the front of his trousers, and swaggered towards Jiang Cheng, co*ck in hand.

Jiang Cheng closed his eyes.

According to the legend he had read, after the island kingdom was swept away by the flood, a kindly spirit took pity on the drowning people and changed them into a colony of seabirds.

Jiang Cheng had no pity or kindness left in him. What he had was Zidian.

As the Wen Captain’s hand fell heavily on the back of Jiang Cheng’s neck, he opened his eyes and let everything go, his icy facade cracking to unleash the flood. Indigo lightning cracked loudly, and the Wen Captain exploded.

The rest of the Wen froze, their shouts and jeers dying on their lips.

The clouds overhead opened and Jiang Cheng let the cold rain drench him, washing the wet remains of the Wen Captain from his skin. The wind rose, roaring around him, and he let fly the lightning in his grasp. It vaporized the ropes binding his wrists as he stood, Zidian singing triumphantly, uncoiling into a whip longer than a man was tall and eye-searingly bright.

The soldiers who had pushed and fought to be first in line to take him didn’t even have time to do up their trousers before he blasted them all to oblivion.

Thunder crashed and rolled in response to every one of Zidian’s crackling strikes, deafening, drowning out the panicked screams of the Wen troops. Jiang Cheng lashed out again and again, and with every strike the Wen fell to the ground by the dozens, convulsing, spasming, twitching, even the ones that were already dead. Their eyes burst, their blood boiled, the fat in their bellies melted and caught fire. Their belt buckles, weapons, and ornaments glowed white-hot and hissed the driving raindrops into steam.

Jiang Cheng heard a long, high, keening sound and realized that he was screaming too, furious falcon shrieks that streamed from his lips like banners flying in battle, with barely a pause for breath. Arcs of electricity danced between his teeth and skittered erratically over his bare skin. He sobbed, and the howling wind sent fresh sheets of rain stinging over the battlefield. Every time he swung Zidian, lightning flashed down from the purple-bellied storm clouds surging overhead, called to him, lighting him up like a shooting star. His ears rang and the ground heaved under his feet.

One Wen archer, hardier than the rest, managed to sink an arrow into his calf. He howled in wordless rage as he fell, and Zidian slammed into the earth, sending a surge of electricity ripping through the soaked ground and beyond. The few Wen soldiers left standing convulsed and fell, pissing themselves as they died.

Jiang Cheng yanked the arrow out of his leg, heedless of the pain, and stumbled towards Wen Chao. Wen Chao was fighting to get out from under Wang Lingjiao, who was clinging to his neck and squealing with fear.

“Bitch, get off me, get out of my way!”

Jiang Cheng let Zidian fly, and it curled around Wang Lingjiao’s throat. With one yank, he severed her head neatly from her body, the whip’s searing heat cauterizing her neck such that not one drop of blood fell. Wang Lingjiao’s head rolled towards Jiang Cheng as he limped forward, and he kicked it aside without looking.

Wen Chao screamed and flailed at Wang Lingjiao’s corpse, but electricity had seized her muscles and her arms stayed locked around him, rigid in death.

“WEN ZHULIU!” Wen Chao screeched, “SAVE ME!”

And suddenly the man was there, the man who had destroyed his mother when he melted her golden core, standing in the rain with steam rising around him. He stared at Jiang Cheng with his flat, expressionless eyes.

Once again, Jiang Cheng lashed out with Zidian – and once again, Wen Zhuliu caught it.

A hollow roaring built within Jiang Cheng’s ears. Wen Zhuliu’s face didn’t change, but Jiang Cheng saw the flare of his black, red-rimmed qi as it began to drink and drink and drink, draining Zidian’s energy, sucking it away.

Jiang Cheng screamed defiance at him, cursing, summoning the lightning, the thunder, the energy boiling in the storm clouds above them. His ears popped, and he vaguely registered the warmth of his own blood trickling down his jaw.

Jiang Cheng flooded Zidian with all the power he could wring from the storm, and when that wasn’t enough, he bound the whip to his own meridians and began pouring in his own spiritual energy. He made Zidian roar.

Indigo lightning quivered and raced around Wen Zhuliu’s hand where it clutched Zidian, and for the first time that impassive face twitched. The skin of his knuckles charred and split.

But Wen Zhuliu had made himself a void – unplumbable, fathomless, starving. Zidian sputtered as Jiang Cheng’s spiritual energy began to falter, so he dug out his store of poison and added it all.

His greedy desire for love, his delusional hope that he’d ever deserve it, his despair, his anger, his bitterness, the hatred he’d tried so hard to keep hidden, even from himself.

Every wound, every dismissive word, every scrap of humiliation and pain doled out wittingly or unwittingly, by the Wen, his parents, his jie, his shixiong, and, most of all, himself.

Fuel for his self-immolation.

Failure. Coward. Child. Unworthy. Incapable. Failure. Coward. Child. Unworthy. Incapable, the vicious voice in his mind hissed, and flames crept up Wen Zhuliu’s arm, burning away his sleeve.

Jiang Cheng gritted his teeth and sent everything he had singing through Zidian, squeezing his golden core like an over-ripe fruit.

Wen Zhuliu’s arm was bare and burning now – his skin, then the meat, then the bone – in a wet, stinking, spitting, greasy fire. Wen Zhuliu dropped to his knees – his mouth was open, he was crying out in a low tone like a bull gone to slaughter – but still he held grimly on to Zidian, his qi flickering up and down his burning arm, limning the blackened bones and fraying tendons.

Jiang Cheng’s golden core felt thin and friable as a blown-out eggshell. He fell to his knees too, shrieking with frustration. His heart began to stutter with the terrible effort of wringing the last flickering sparks of his energy – his life – from his failing body. His vision began to dim, and his limbs felt heavy and numb, but still he forced the last of himself through Zidian.

His golden core cracked, crumbled, and vanished like blown dust.

Jiang Cheng screamed one final time. The pain was staggering, blinding, but he kept pushing, pushing, pushing. He would scrape his own bones clean of marrow, he would drain the chambers of his heart, he simply could not fail this time…

But no.

Everything faded to black, and as Jiang Cheng collapsed, Zidian’s very last spark was powered by the dull agony of realizing that he hadn’t killed Wen Zhuliu, hadn’t killed Wen Chao, and couldn’t even f*cking die properly, avenging his family and his Sect.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji heard about the annihilation of Yunmeng Jiang whilst waiting with Xichen in the Cloud Recesses’ makeshift clinic. It turned out that being the first and second ranked eligible male cultivators of their generation meant f*ck-all when it came to carpentry, and both the Twin Jades had managed to smash their thumbs with hammers.

Xichen was smiling ruefully at the healer as she clucked and transferred qi, and Lan Wangji was glowering at his bandaged digit, feeling personally offended by it, when a disciple came in great haste and gasped out the appalling news: Wen Chao had attacked, Lotus Pier had burned, and everyone in Jiang purple had been slaughtered, from the smallest child to the most venerable elder. The bodies of Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian swung from the Lotus Gate, and while Jiang Yanli was rumored to be safely with her Yimā in Koi Tower, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin had vanished, and nobody had the faintest idea what had happened to them.

Xichen’s face was pale as milk by the time the disciple completed her message. He didn’t respond straight away, his gaze caught by the expression on his little brother’s face, desolate and colder than snow.

Without a word, Lan Wangji whirled around and strode out of the healer’s rooms, with Xichen hot on his heels.

“Wangji, wait! Where are you going?”

“Yunmeng.”

“Stop for a moment, Wangji – please, we need to discuss this.”

Xichen caught his didi by the wrist and brought him to a halt. Lan Wangji glared at his brother.

“Discuss what, Xiongzhang?”

“Didi. Please. I agree with you, Yunmeng Jiang needs our assistance, we will set off as soon as possible – but let us make a plan, before we do anything rash.”

“I cannot wait,” said Lan Wangji, worrying the ends of his sleeves with his fingers. “Xiongzhang, I must find Jiang Wanyin. When we were in Qishan, Wen Chao threatened him horribly. Threatened his… person.”

He said he was gonna f*ck me ‘til I burst then give me to his soldiers. He said that to me.

He could not bring himself to repeat the awful threat aloud, but he saw Xiongzhang’s eyes grow wide as he grasped what Lan Wangji was trying to convey, because Xichen had always been adept at understanding the things his didi was unable to put into words. His brother’s face lost its usual warmth. The fist he clenched over Shuoyue’s hilt matched Wangji’s white-knuckled grip on the nameless sword he had borrowed from the armory.

“I understand, didi. Yet we must think of the bigger picture too. Wen Ruohan – when his armies destroyed Yunmeng Jiang without any provocation, when they burned our home on the flimsiest of pretexts and besieged the Unclean Realm – he made his plans all too clear; he intends to subjugate us all. The Jianghu must join together before he can do further evil. Give me one day to arrange matters with Uncle and send messages to our contacts among the other Sects, and I will set off with you tomorrow. We will rally the rest of the cultivation world against the Wen, and we will start in Yunmeng, the better to search for Jiang-gongzi and Wei-gongzi.”

Lan Wangji squeezed his brother’s hand, overcome with gratitude and already ashamed of his momentary fit of pique. If anyone could unite the squabbling Sects, it was his eloquent, gifted, diplomatic brother. And if they proved recalcitrant – well, there was always the Chord Assassination Technique.

Several days later, Lan Wangji was hurrying along a narrow hunter’s track, threading a thickly forested area on the border between Yunmeng and Lanling. Xichen had already secured alliances with Baling Ouyang and number of smaller Sects and was on his way to Koi Tower to open negotiations with the Jin. Lan Wangji had, of course, elected to keep combing the Yunmeng back-country in search of his lost fiancé.

Ever since hearing the news of Lotus Pier’s fall, Lan Wangji felt inclined to crawl right out of his own skin. The thought of what Jiang Wanyin might suffer at Wen Chao’s greedy hands set him abuzz with nervous energy that twitched in the tips of his fingers and jerked him awake whenever he tried to sleep.

He said he was gonna f*ck me ‘til I burst then give me to his soldiers. He said that to me.

I will never let that happen.

Lan Wangji gritted his teeth as his mutinous memory recalled Wanyin’s feverish body, safe in his arms, and then the path beneath his feet suddenly crumbled away without the slightest warning.

Years of training kicked in and he flipped himself backwards on instinct. Landing several feet away and hastily drawing the nameless sword, he cursed his own distractedness and scanned the surrounding forest for enemies. Instead, he was greeted by a raucous yawp and a flurry of black robes, red ribbons, and golden leaves as Wei Ying fell out of a nearby tree. He bounced to his feet and seized Lan Wangji by the shoulders, excitedly shrieking into his face by way of greeting.

“Lan Zhan! It’s really you! And you didn’t fall into my trap! What are you doing here? Are you okay? Why are you traveling alone?”

Blinking under the onslaught of Wei Ying’s rapid-fire questions, Lan Wangji gripped the other boy’s arms as they both asked the only question that really mattered:

“Do you know where he is?”

Lan Wangji’s face fell. Wei Ying’s did too. Upon closer examination, he looked terrible – shaky and pale, his limbs quivering with fine tremors that spoke of sleepless nights and days upon days of panic. He looked, in other words, exactly like Lan Wangji.

“I hoped you might have some news, Lan Zhan! Jiang Cheng and I escaped the Wen attack together, but then I lost him near Ezhou! I swear I only left him alone for a few moments while I went to the market for food, but then I had to dodge a Wen patrol and when I got back to the inn we were staying at, he had run off!”

“What? Why?” asked Lan Wangji in disbelief.

“He – he really wanted to retrieve his parents’ bodies from Lotus Pier,” said Wei Ying, and his mouth twisted slightly as he rubbed at his throat (Lan Wangji noticed that his neck was encircled with fading bruises, and produced a pot of arnica from the first-aid pack in his sleeve). “Proper burial and all, you know? I assume he tried to do that? He’s very filial! But with the Wen searching everywhere, who knows where he might have ended up! I’ve been looking all over for him!”

Lan Wangji furrowed his brow, deeply concerned. The rules encouraged familial loyalty and devotion, of course, and Wanyin’s desire to rescue his parents’ corpses from the depredations of the Wen was certainly laudable… but the boy who had insisted on being left behind in the Xuanwu cave was surely capable of thinking up a better strategy than running blindly, straight into Wen Chao’s grasp, alone and unarmed. Had grief overwhelmed his reason?

Well, the question of Wanyin’s motivations could wait. Lan Wangji would scold him thoroughly for his rash behavior once he was located, safe and sound. He let go of Wei Ying and fished his map out of his sleeve. “Show me.”

Putting their heads together, the two boys began poring over the map, marking off the places they had already searched and bickering over where they ought to go next. They were so engrossed in their discussion that they almost missed the sound of approaching feet.

“YAH!”

Wei Wuxian hurled a talisman as the first of their – pursuers? – emerged from the surrounding brush and grabbed Lan Wangji’s hand to make a run for it.

“OI!”

The aggrieved shout sounded familiar enough that both Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian looked back at the troop of people stumbling out of the woods. They were all flapping their hands in front of their faces – Wei Ying’s talisman had conjured a cloud of glittering insects that swarmed distractingly around their heads.

They were all cultivators, clad in subdued ochre robes. The uniforms were unfamiliar, but the people inside them were not. One of them was Luo Qingyang. Behind her was Jin Zixuan himself.

“Peaco*ck? What the f*ck are you doing here,” Wei Ying demanded and crossed his arms over his chest. “f*ck off! Lan Zhan and I have everything under control.”

“Oh really? That’s not what it sounded like,” replied the Jin Sect Heir with a sniff. “It sounded like neither of you heard the latest news from Lotus Pier.”

That shut even Wei Ying up, and Jin Xixuan dusted down the front of his robes fussily as the other boys stared at him impatiently.

“Well?”

“Well, a few days ago, a Nie patrol came to Koi Tower asking to speak with Nie Huaisang. They had captured a couple of mercenaries who’d been hired to guard a silk-merchant’s warehouse near Lotus Pier and had firsthand knowledge of the Wen attack. Nie Huaisang invited A-Li – that is to say, Jiang-guniang – and I – to hear their report, and … well. For what it’s worth, I’m very sorry for your loss, Wei-gongzi.”

Wei Ying’s expressive face worked through a few emotions before he settled on asking roughly, “How is Shijie? You Jins had better be taking the best care of her!”

“Jiang-guniang is deeply grieved, but strong and steady as a rock,” Luo Qingyang put in sweetly, and Jin Zixuan promptly went bright red in the face. “Madame Jin and I have been keeping her company, along with Sect Heir, of course. Jiang-guniang’s many exceptional qualities become more and more apparent the more time one spends in her presence, isn’t that so, Sect Heir?”

“YES, ANYWAY,” said Jin Zixuan hurriedly. “The point is that these mercenaries didn’t run away from Yunmeng during the Wen attack, it was what happened afterwards that made them flee in terror.”

“Do you mean the rape and pillage,” said Wei Ying flatly, “because we’ve heard plenty about that.”

“No,” said Jin Zixuan, “I mean the divine storm.”

“What,” said Lan Wangji.

“That’s what everyone’s been calling it! Nie Huaisang interrogated the mercenaries for ages, but they never changed their story, and they swore to all the gods in heaven that it was true: just a day or two after the Wen attack a gigantic, unnatural storm blew up out of nowhere and hit Lotus Pier dead on. It appeared within minutes, they said – wind strong enough to rip the roofs off the houses, torrential rainfall, lightning, and thunder fit to wake the dead.”

Jin Zixuan sounded almost awestruck. Wei Ying and Lan Wangji stared at each other, then at him.

“People are claiming that Dianmu and Leigong descended in wrath on the Wen forces, and rumor has it that the storm killed most of them, or at least drove them away. The mercenaries were less sure about that part, but Nie Huaisang said he’d heard more than one report claiming that Lotus Pier really had been abandoned. So then A-Li asked me… I mean, Jiang-guniang requested an investigation, I volunteered to go, and we were on our way to Lotus Pier when we heard your voices. Well. Mostly Wei-gongzi’s voice; you’re very loud, you know.”

Lan Wangji looked at Wei Ying and was less than surprised to see the black-clad boy scowling at Jin Zixuan belligerently.

“Really. And where’s your father in all this, Sect Heir?”

Jin Zixuan’s blush returned. The cultivators at his back glanced at each other and shuffled their feet.

“My father doesn’t know I’m here. These disciples,” he went on, waving a hand at them, “are the ones that followed my mother when she married into the Jin Sect. They are loyal to her, and therefore to me,” he added, as an afterthought.

“Oh well, that’s all right then,” said Wei Ying, unbending instantly, and even going so far as to sling an arm around Jin Zixuan’s shoulders; the gold-clad youth looked outraged. “No offense, but I thought Sect Leader Jin sent you to annex Lotus Pier or something like that.”

“We’re not the f*cking Wen,” grumbled Jin Zixuan, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle away from Wei Ying.

No, thought Lan Wangji, watching this exchange very carefully, because Jin Guangshan doesn’t go for outright conquest. It would be more his style to occupy Yunmeng territory under the guise of “protecting” it, and then just never leave – especially if Wanyin can’t be found…

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. Wanyin was out there somewhere, he had to believe it. Meanwhile, Wei Ying gnawed his lip, then nodded decisively. “Well, safety in numbers, right? Lan Zhan and I will head to Lotus Pier with you, Peaco*ck. Maybe A-Cheng heard about the storm, and the Wen running off with their tails between their legs, and we’ll find him there, or meet him along the way.”

The very next night Lan Wangji found himself standing, racked between tension and anticipation, in a small boat packed with Jin cultivators. Wei Ying stood at the stern, steering them across the silent lake towards the darkness of Lotus Pier. No lanterns were lit, no bustling human noises carried across the water. Even the frogs and nightjars were quiet. Everyone on board tensed whenever they heard the hollow sound of the boat-hull bumping up against floating debris. They knew there were corpses in the water, even if it was too dark to see properly.

Gently, skillfully, Wei Ying brought the boat alongside a small out-of-the-way dock and made it fast with a rope. Lan Wangji and the Jin cultivators disembarked silently, then followed Wei Ying as he slipped among the outer buildings of Lotus Pier, darting from shadow to shadow. However, as they searched among the burnt-out storerooms, offices, healer’s rooms, and disciples’ quarters – and then the thoroughly plundered family residence, armory, library, and treasury – it became quite apparent that all their caution had been wasted. Lotus Pier was indeed completely abandoned.

The only Wen soldiers they saw were already very dead, tumbled in untidy heaps in and around the main courtyard. It seemed like someone had started trying to lay the bodies out properly, but whoever that person was, they had clearly given up or been interrupted partway through the grisly task.

Eventually Lan Wangji, Wei Ying, and the Jin cultivators regrouped in front of Swords Hall, exchanging puzzled glances until Wei Ying broke the silence with a huff.

“Now what the f*ck should we do.”

Before anyone could form a response, they heard muffled shouting and thumping from an area that Lan Wangji vaguely remembered housing the stables. Wei Ying bolted towards the source of the noise, and the rest of their group followed with swords drawn.

The sounds were coming from behind a nondescript door, incongruously covered with powerful talismans for binding and sealing. “This is the tack room,” muttered Wei Ying, hastily peeling them away. “Why the f*ck would anyone bother…”

His musings were cut short when the door burst open. A woman stumbled out and collapsed into Wei Ying’s arms. She was covered with spiderwebs and chaff; her eyes were red-rimmed and streaming.

“Wen Qing!” Wei Ying exclaimed, aghast. “What are you doing here? Are you alright? What happened? Don’t cry anymore, you’re safe now!”

Wen Qing slapped her hand over Wei Ying’s mouth and sneezed eleven times.

Then she glared furiously at Wei Ying and snatched Lan Wangji’s handkerchief. “Who’s crying, you idiot,” she said thickly, and blew her nose. “I’m f*cking allergic to horses.”

“Oh,” said Wei Ying. “You’re welcome?”

“Wen-guniang,” interjected Lan Wangji firmly, “What happened here, and do you know where Jiang Wanyin is.”

“I’m not entirely sure what happened,” she said, “but it must have been something quite out of the ordinary.”

She did not answer the second part of his question, instead turning away and beckoning the others, imperiously, to follow.

“As to what I’m doing here, well. After that absolute clusterf*ck in MuXi Mountain, my brother and I were sent to establish a Supervisory Office in Yiling. Then, a few days ago, we received an urgent talisman message summoning us to Lotus Pier. We arrived to find Wen Chao practically foaming at the mouth, Wen Zhuliu on the brink of death, and hundreds of casualties, representing well over ninety percent of the residual force left to occupy Yunmeng. Causes of death variable but simultaneous, with heart failure being by far the most common. Given all the wild rumors flying around about a huge and meteorologically anomalous thunderstorm, I deduced death by electrocution. Oh, except for Wang Lingjiao. She had been decapitated, and quite tidily, too.”

Wei Ying, Jin Zixuan, Luo Qingyang, and Lan Wangji exchanged quizzical looks as they all hurried to keep up with Wen Qing’s swift strides. She was heading back towards the main family residence, it seemed.

“However,” Wen Qing continued crisply, “A-Ning and I had apparently not been summoned to conduct investigations or perform autopsies. Rather, our first task was to amputate what little was left of Wen Zhuliu’s right arm. It was burnt down to the bone, from his fingertips all the way up to his shoulder.”

She wrinkled her nose at the memory, then sighed and stopped abruptly on the little bridge that led to the family residence. Before they could ask any questions, she turned to face Wei Ying, lowered her head and said very quietly, “I’m sorry, Wei Wuxian. I’m truly sorry, but I was then ordered to operate on – on Jiang-gongzi.”

For a moment, all Lan Wangji could hear was the roaring of blood in his own ears, and he watched blankly as Wei Ying seized Wen Qing’s shoulders and shook her like a straw doll. Wei Ying’s mouth shaped furious questions that Lan Wangji’s mind refused to understand. He registered the Jin cultivators, who all seemed to be shouting at once, hauling Wei Ying away from the Wen woman, before he abruptly found his voice and snarled them all to silence.

“What. Happened. To. Jiang. WANYIN!”

Everybody blinked at him, and then Wen Qing gathered her wits and answered in a voice that only shook a little.

“I was not told precisely what was done to Jiang-gongzi before our arrival, but…well, Wen Chao has accompanied his father in the Fire Palace for years. What he learned there… I know you have probably all heard the rumors.”

Lan Wangji ground his teeth. Wen Qing darted an anxious glance at him before continuing, “Jiang-gongzi’s injuries were confined to his right hand and arm, but they were consistent with…” she took a deep breath, “crushing, flaying, burning, dislocation, immersion in a powerful acid, and… and vivisection. I bandaged him up as best I could, but it was very, very bad.”

Jin Zixuan gagged, then retched over the side of the bridge.

Lan Wangji felt as if his heart and mind and body had been encased in ice, but Wei Ying was vibrating with rage. “Wen Qing! What the f*ck did you do to him?”

She would not meet anyone’s eyes when she replied, “I was ordered to cut Jiang-gongzi open and extract his golden core. Wen Chao held his sword to A-Ning’s throat until I agreed.”

The very mention of such an atrocity horrified Lan Wangji to the marrow of his bones, so much so that he failed to react to Wei Ying flying past him. Fortunately, Luo Qingyang caught Wei Ying in a headlock before he could seize Wen Qing again and said, “Wait a moment, Wei-gongzi, wait – let her finish speaking.”

Wen Qing threw Luo Qingyang an appreciative look and continued, “However, even before I made the initial incision, I could tell the operation would be useless. Jiang-gongzi had no golden core. I told Wen Chao as much, but he didn’t believe me.”

“What the f*ck,” gurgled Wei Ying as he thrashed against Luo Qingyang’s grip. “What are you talking about, Wen Qing? My shidi has one of the most powerful golden cores of our generation!”

Lan Wangji still could not say anything, as he was busy fighting down his own nausea at the thought of Wanyin suffering such appalling torture – acid! Vivisection! – without even a golden core to blunt the pain or assist his healing. Vaguely, he heard Wen Qing recover enough composure to shout back at Wei Ying.

“I know that! I know he was ranked fifth on that stupid f*cking list, but even if I wasn’t a damn good doctor, I’d be able to tell his golden core was not there!”

“Wait,” commanded Luo Qingyang again, grappling with Wei Ying. “Wait. None of this makes sense. Everybody knows that Wen Zhuliu only melts golden cores on Wen Chao’s orders, so if Wen Chao ordered Jiang-gongzi’s golden core melted, why would he force you to operate on Jiang-gongzi at all?”

“Thank you,” said Wen Qing, sounding extremely exasperated. “Obviously Wen Chao didn’t tell me anything, but I’ve autopsied Wen Zhuliu’s victims before, and trust me when I say their injuries were very different to Jiang-gongzi’s. The only logical conclusion is that Wen Zhuliu did not melt Jiang-gongzi’s golden core. And since Wen Chao, Wen Zhuliu, and Jiang-gongzi are the only people left alive who know what happened, the next logical conclusion is that we should go find them and ask, instead of standing around here like idiots, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Ying growled but when Luo Qingyang let him go, he followed Wen Qing, albeit sulkily. She marched into the Jiang family residence, turned down the right-hand corridor and ducked under the shattered remains of some very ornate doors. Then he did a double-take and asked, “What are we doing here? These are – these were – Sect Leader Jiang’s rooms.”

“Wen Chao was staying in here, and he left in a hurry,” she replied shortly, rifling through the trunks and bundles piled haphazardly along the walls. “I’m hoping he forgot to pack… aha!” She unearthed a familiar trophy case, and, recognizing it, Wei Ying whooped with glee before ripping the lid off.

Their swords shone up at them, their own swords, missing since Wen Chao confiscated them on the first day of the Indoctrination at Nightless City. Wei Ying crooned with delight as he drew Suibian, and Jin Zixuan’s eyes gleamed in the light reflected from Suihua’s ornate golden hilt. Luo Qingyang grinned brightly as she hoisted Jīngjí, and even Lan Wangji could not resist a deep sigh of satisfaction as he settled his beloved Bichen into her proper place on his hip once again. Then, with a pang, he saw Sandu still lying in the box, sheathed in purple snakeskin and gleaming silver, with the frog-shaped pommel that Wanyin rubbed with his thumb whenever he was feeling anxious. Lan Wangji picked up the forlorn sword and put it through his belt for safekeeping.

Then he saw that Wen Ning and Wen Qing’s swords had been tossed into the treasure chest too. He recognized the golden dragons curving along the sheaths, their eyes inset with little rubies.

Wei Ying noticed too. “Wen Qing,” he said, sounding perilously close to the edge of his temper, “what is your sword doing in this box?”

Wen Qing grimaced and drew Yújìn. The blade’s polished metal reflected her sad, dark eyes.

“Like I said, Wen Chao was already enraged by the time A-Ning and I got here, but when I told him I could not extract Jiang Wanyin’s golden core, he became positively unhinged. He started screaming that everything was Jiang Wanyin’s fault, that he would pay for – whatever it was he’d done, somehow.” She winced again. “Wen Chao confiscated our swords when A-Ning and I tried to prevent him from flogging Jiang-gongzi with the Jiang Sect’s own Discipline Whip.”

She glanced up at the expressions on their faces.

“You don’t all have to look quite so surprised,” she said, with a wry twist to her mouth. “We may be Wen, but we’re also doctors. Jiang-gongzi was in our care; it was a straightforward question of ethics.”

Her mouth twisted further, and she added, “Unfortunately, Wen Chao didn’t see it that way.”

She lifted her hand and put back her hair, showing the neat rows of silver needles tucked in her sleeve.

“And do you know what happened next, Wei Wuxian? Wen Chao took my brother hostage, imprisoned me in the f*cking stables, and carried your brother off. He’s heading for the Fire Palace. We have one day, two at the most, before Jiang-gongzi becomes Wen Ruohan’s newest plaything. So! Shall we mount a rescue effort? Or would you all prefer to stand around and bitch at me some more?”

Lan Wangji paced up and down impatiently, longing to be gone as the others bickered over how best to divide their limited forces. Despite his position as First Disciple, Wei Ying flatly refused to stay in Lotus Pier, loath to leave the search for Jiang Wanyin to anyone else. Eventually it was settled that Luo Qingyang would remain with the rest of Jin Zixuan’s loyal cultivators, working to secure and purify the area. Jiang Yanli would be sent for as soon as possible, to begin drawing together the shattered remnants of Yunmeng Jiang and minimize the chances of some other Sect Leader (nobody said it, but everyone was thinking of Jin Guangshan) moving in to claim the territory.

“Are you done,” snarled Wen Qing, who already had one foot atop her hovering sword. “Can we get a move on already?”

Lan Wangji didn’t bother to respond before he leapt lightly onto Bichen and flew like an arrow towards the Qishan border. Wei Ying and Jin Zixuan quickly rose to flank him.

“I’m surprised you’re even here, Peaco*ck,” called Wei Ying rather unkindly, raising his voice to be heard over the rushing wind as they sailed through the moonlit night. “Since when do you give a sh*t about Jiang Cheng?”

“f*ck off!” Jin Zixuan yelled back. “I promised A-Li I’d find him!”

“Watch your mouth! Who do you think you’re calling A-Li, huh?”

Lan Wangji, mindful of the element of surprise, was preparing to hit them both with the Silencing Spell but Wen Qing beat him to it.

“If the two of you don’t shut the f*ck up,” said Wen Qing in ominous tones, “and A-Ning gets his throat slit or his core melted because of your yapping, I’ll stick your balls so full of needles they’ll look like two pairs of hedgehogs.”

Jin Zixuan and Wei Ying accordingly shut up and they all went back to scanning the roads below, searching for a carriage stolen from the Lotus Pier stables. Wei Ying said it would be easy to recognize thanks to its purple ornaments and its size, large enough to carry four.

Just over a shichen later, Lan Wangji pointed. “There.”

Silently, they circled above the carriage. It was moving slowly along the forest road, drawn by a pair of lathered and exhausted-looking horses. Wen Qing’s eyes glittered dangerously when she glimpsed Wen Qionglin, looking equally tired, sitting in the driver’s seat with the reins dangling limply from his hands. The Core-Melting Hand was seated next to him.

It was the flame-like flickering of the older Wen’s red-rimmed qi that had attracted Lan Wangji’s notice. One of Wen Zhuliu’s arms ended in a neatly bandaged stump just at his shoulder, and his remaining hand rested heavily on the back of Wen Qionglin’s neck, preventing the boy from making any attempt to escape. There was no sign of Wanyin or Wen Chao, which was worrisome. The purple curtains around the carriage were tightly shut.

Wen Qing bared her teeth in a soundless snarl, plunged both hands into her sleeves, and sent a double handful of silver needles – which seemed a bit excessive, but Lan Wangji was not inclined to judge in this case – raining down onto Wen Zhuliu.

As the needles sank into his head, neck, and shoulders, Wen Zhuliu’s black-and-red qi winked out like a snuffed candle, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he toppled gently off the carriage, landing face-first in the road. Wen Qionglin tugged on the reins and brought the carriage to a halt as he looked around, blinking like a baby rabbit. A delighted smile spread over his face as they all swooped down and landed in front of him.

“J-J-Jie!”

“Shh!”

Wen Qionglin’s mouth made a small “o” before he obligingly clapped a hand over it. Wen Qing hauled him down from the carriage seat, hugged him, and brusquely began to pat him all over, checking for injuries.

Lan Wangji paid no attention to any of this. He was staring fixedly at the purple curtains which concealed the interior of the carriage, cold dread coiling deep in his belly.

The curtains were all fastened with silencing talismans.

Lan Wangji’s mind flashed back to Nightless City, to Wen Zhuliu standing in front of a silenced door – behind which Jiang Wanyin lay beaten and bleeding with Wen Chao standing over him, his face flushed red as his robes…

He said he was gonna f*ck me ‘til I burst…

Yanking his guqin from his sleeve, Lan Wangji struck the strings with killing intent, forceful enough to slice deeply into his fingertips. The resulting pulse of energy sheared the roof off the carriage, smashed the carved wooden walls to flinders, and sent the purple silk curtains fluttering down into the dirt.

Wei Ying took one look into the remains of the carriage and roared with wordless fury. Jin Zixuan made a choking noise, and Wen Qing clapped one hand over her mouth and the other over Wen Qionglin’s wide, horrified eyes.

Wen Chao was staring back at them with an expression on his face that might almost have been comical under any other circ*mstances. His robes were disheveled – rucked up and wide open – and his trousers were tangled around his ankles.

And there, pinned beneath him –

Wanyin, blindfolded and face-down on the thin pallet which covered the floor of the carriage, teeth sunk deep into a thick leather gag. His wrists were bound and fastened to the nape of his neck with a rope that bent his arms back at a cruel angle and looped around his throat, cutting off his breath as he tried to struggle.

Wanyin was naked.

Wen Chao was crouched between his long, bare legs.

He was – they had caught him – his hands were on Wanyin, he was touching – there was blood and – and seed – smeared over Wanyin’s thighs – Wen Chao was touching – was – oh, no, no no no –

Heedless of the blood spattering his guqin, Lan Wangji struck the instrument even harder, snapping half the strings as he sent another blast of energy, inexorable and unforgiving as ice, towards the wretched man. Struck square in the chest, Wen Chao went flying, his disordered clothing tangling around him as he landed and went rolling through the dust. Before he could do more than wheeze and fumble with his trousers, Wei Ying threw a talisman that immobilized him where he lay.

“YOU – YOU f*ckING MONSTER! YOU – DOG!” Wei Ying bellowed, nearly incoherent with fury. He stormed over and kicked Wen Chao as hard as he could, sending him flying into a solid tree trunk. “HOW f*ckING DARE YOU!”

Lan Wangji shoved his guqin back into his sleeve; as far as he was concerned, carving Wen Chao up like a winter melon could wait until later. Quickly he scrambled up into the carriage and shrugged off his outermost robe, laying it over Wanyin’s quivering back.

He said he was gonna f*ck me ‘til I burst…

I will never let that happen.

A crushing sense of failure made Lan Wangji’s fingers shake. It was difficult to unpick the knots binding the younger boy’s wrists.

As soon as his arms were free, Wanyin sucked in an enormous breath and scrambled away, tumbling over the edge of the ruined carriage as he clawed at the gag and blindfold. When Lan Wangji came down and around to help, Wanyin panicked and lashed out with his feet. He landed a solid kick to Lan Wangji’s ribs, but with no cultivation power behind it, the blow only caused Lan Wangji to grunt mildly. He backed off all the same, giving Wanyin space until he was able to tear away the blindfold and spit out the gag.

Wanyin stared at him with huge grey eyes and said, “Wangji?” in a painfully uncertain voice.

“Yes,” said Lan Wangji.

Wanyin blinked and shivered uncontrollably, staring wildly around him. He was pallid and sweaty and even his eyes looked a paler gray than usual; Lan Wangji noticed that his pupils were shrunk to tiny dots. However, he was more focused on Wanyin’s chest, which looked like it had been clawed by some wild animal or mauled by a fierce corpse. Wen Chao had clearly been out of his mind with rage – some of the whip-cuts went right down to the bone, and there were loose flaps of skin here and there where they crossed over each other. The edges of Wanyin’s flesh looked torn and ragged; it seemed that some long-ago Jiang had decided to add little metal barbs to the Sect’s Discipline Whip.

(Like everyone else in the cultivation world, Lan Wangji had overheard people sneering at Jiang Fengmian’s softheartedness, his unwillingness to use the Discipline Whip even on criminals and traitors. For the first time ever, Lan Wangji conceded that the man might have had a solid point.)

Wanyin eventually seemed to register Lan Wangji’s appalled staring. His face twisted with shame and misery, and he hugged Lan Wangji’s robe more securely around himself, clutching it tightly to his blood-soaked chest. From the sound of things, Wei Ying was still cursing and kicking Wen Chao, but Jin Zixuan seemed to be remonstrating with him – “We need to capture him, not beat him to death, you oaf!” – and Lan Wangji decided he could probably leave them to their own devices for the moment. He had more important matters to address.

He sat back on his heels and regarded Wanyin gravely. The younger boy hardly seemed to realize where he was or who he was with. He remained huddled in on himself, and began frantically scratching at his heavily bandaged right arm.

Lan Wangji leaned forward and asked, “Wanyin, may I come closer?”

“Wangji?”

“Yes, Wanyin, it’s me, I’m here. You are safe, now.”

Huge tears began to roll down Wanyin’s paper-pale cheeks, and his face crumpled as Lan Wangji inched nearer and nearer until finally, finally, he had Wanyin within his arm’s reach.

“May I hold you?”

Sobs wracked Wanyin’s body as he nodded, unable to speak. Lan Wangji heaved a huge sigh of relief, humming deep in his chest when he was finally able to gather Wanyin up and hold him close, rubbing his back soothingly. Wanyin gasped and hiccupped and hid his face against Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“I didn’t think anyone would come.”

It was said so sadly, so softly, that Lan Wangji knew it was for his ears alone. With his heart torn by sorrow and relief, Lan Wangji could only clasp Wanyin closer and press his face into his hair, overcome.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe evenly.

The sound of yelling stopped abruptly, and then Wei Ying came around the side of the carriage, huffing and tossing a silver ring from one hand to the other.

“Hey, shidi! Don’t cry, look what I found! I may or may not have accidentally broken that asshole’s finger taking it off him. Oh well!”

He crouched down and held out Zidian, but Wanyin flinched away. Wei Ying looked a little hurt, then made an abrupt grab at Wanyin’s uninjured arm. Wanyin flinched again as Wei Ying worked the silver ring onto his finger, and Lan Wangji tightened his grip as Wanyin curled further into himself. Then Wei Ying took Jiang Wanyin’s other hand and stretched his bandaged arm out, gently. Jiang Wanyin whimpered.

“Shidi, aw, shidi, shhh, it’s okay, A-Cheng, it’s just me. Okay? You’re hurt, we need to see your arm. C’mon, stick your arm out for us? Can you do that? Hey, Wen Qing, come over here for a moment.”

At the word Wen, Wanyin went rigid in Lan Wangji’s arms, and when Wen Qing herself came around the side of the carriage, he shrieked at the sight of her flame-colored robes.

“NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!”

And then suddenly Wanyin’s arm was wreathed in hissing, crackling indigo sparks, leaping from his skin, burning away his bandages. Wei Ying yelped and fell over backwards; Lan Wangji blinked, startled, then hurriedly activated the talismans that made Gusu Lan robes fireproof. Wanyin himself was staring in silent astonishment at his own outstretched arm as the sparks grew thicker and more intense, making shivering arcs of dark purple electricity that danced between his fingers.

Lan Wangji had not really known what Wanyin’s arm would look like after Wen Chao finished with it; as a general rule the Lan Sect preferred copying lines and handstands rather than outright torture, when it came to punishment. However, he had seen a fair few night-hunts gone wrong, and like most cultivators was all too familiar with broken bones, torn flesh, and the burns left by the kind of ghastly yaoguai that dripped fire or acid or caustic poison. After hearing what Wen Qing had to say, Lan Wangji had been trying very hard not to imagine what might be left of Jiang Wanyin’s graceful limb during the entire flight from Lotus Pier, and his initial glimpse of Wanyin’s bandages – crusty with dried blood and stinking of pus – had nearly led him to despair.

He was therefore profoundly surprised to see Wanyin’s arm emerge from the charred bandages as lithe and lovely as ever, moving smoothly through a full range of motion as the disoriented boy flapped his hand, trying to shoo the indigo sparks away as if they were bugs.

Jiang Wanyin looked as baffled as Lan Wangji felt, and he could see that Wen Qing, who had quickly backed away, was standing there at a total loss with her mouth open, like a fish.

After a time, the sparks faded, and from the darkness several voices simultaneously asked, “What the f*ck was that?”

(Lan Wangji did not swear out loud very often but felt fully justified in doing so at that moment.)

Jin Zixuan produced a talisman from his sleeve and lit it with a touch of qi. He spared one dispassionate glance at the bloodied heap of Wen Chao on the ground – the man was clearly not going anywhere for a while – before carrying the light over to where Lan Wangji and Wei Ying were crowded around Jiang Wanyin.

“May I?” he asked politely, and Jiang Wanyin nodded absently, still staring down at his own arm. Jin Zixuan came closer and held up the light.

There was a little silence.

“Huh,” said Jiang Wanyin.

From fingertips to shoulder, his arm was covered with finely branching feathery patterns. The color was darker than a bruise; in fact, it matched exactly the indigo-purple of Jiang Wanyin’s qi. Staring down at Wanyin’s skin, Lan Wangji was reminded of the ferns growing lushly around the Cold Pond, or perhaps the alluvial fans of Yunmeng’s river deltas, as seen from a high-flying sword.

So beautiful, he thought.

From a little distance away, Wen Qing said, in a very, very careful tone of voice, “That is not what Jiang-gongzi’s arm looked like when I first bandaged it.”

“And what’s going on with Zidian, shidi? It’s never done anything like that before,” said Wei Ying.

Jiang Wanyin made no reply. Instead, he looked around at their curious stares, flushed miserably, and burrowed into Lan Wangji’s chest again, wrapping his arms around his own torso as if he feared he would simply fall apart otherwise.

Lan Wangji stroked Wanyin’s hair, then took the boy’s chin gently and turned his face towards the talisman light. One slow drop of blood oozed from Wanyin’s nose, and two trickled from the corners of his tight-shut eyes.

First sign of a qi deviation.

“Wanyin,” said Lan Wangji softly, doing his best to keep the fear from his voice, because how the f*ck could a person with no golden core suffer a qi deviation, “your injuries – would you like us to treat your wounds now, or would you prefer to wait until we can bring you to a healer?”

Wanyin’s gray eyes fluttered open again. Wei Ying, peering intently at his shidi, took one look at his tremendously constricted pupils and cursed.

“f*ck, he looks like he’s been drugged or something.”

“Wen Chao did take a b-b-big vial of sleeping syrup from the healers’ stores,” Wen Qionglin piped up from over where he was gentling the nervous horses.

“Oh, of course he f*cking did,” said Wei Ying with enormous disgust, and chewed his lower lip, considering. “Well, we need to start for Koi Tower as soon as possible. Here, Lan Zhan, give A-Cheng to me, I’ll carry him to Lanling.”

“Wait, what?” said everybody.

Wei Ying stared at them as if they were all idiots and said slowly, “LAN. LING. Yes. Did I f*cking stutter?”

Wen Ning winced, Wen Qing shot Wei Ying a poisonous glare, and Jin Zixuan pinched the bridge of his nose before saying, with arduous patience, “Look, ordinarily I would love to agree with this plan, but you were the one who got all worked up about what my father would do if he heard that Lotus Pier was left undefended. What exactly do you think he’ll do if he finds out that Jiang-gongzi – who is, let’s not forget, now Sect Leader Jiang – has lost his golden core?”

“How’s he going to find out, peaco*ck? Are you planning to tell him?”

“Are you serious?” Wen Qing put in, frowning. “I thought everybody knew that little things like privacy and propriety don’t mean sh*t in Koi Tower. I remember the one time I attended a Discussion Conference there, I found five peepholes and three listening talismans in the women’s bathing rooms alone. Any halfway-competent healer in Koi Tower will be able to tell Jiang Wanyin’s got no golden core the instant they examine him, they’ll tell Jin Guangshan within half a shichen, and he’ll eat your shidi for breakfast. No offense,” she added.

“None taken,” said Jin Zixuan.

“That’s all politics and bullsh*t,” Wei Ying said impatiently. “How can it possibly matter now? A-Cheng needs help, just look at him!”

They all looked at Jiang Wanyin, who had begun shivering again. His teeth chattered, and he whimpered softly as Lan Wangji gently dabbed the blood away from his nose and unfocused eyes.

“Gusu,” Lan Wangji suggested.

Wei Ying threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “Lan Zhan! Cloud Recesses was burned! You said so yourself!”

“It’s getting better,” Lan Wangji said rather defensively.

“No!”

“Qinghe?”

“Qinghe’s too f*cking far! And it’s under attack! By the Wen! For f*ck’s sake!”

“Gusu, then.”

“I already said no, Lan Zhan, now quit being weird and stubborn and give me my shidi! I’m taking him to Koi Tower!”

“Jiang Wanyin is right here,” Lan Wangji pointed out snidely, not loosening his possessive grasp on Jiang Wanyin in the slightest. “You could ask.”

Wei Ying paused with his mouth open, then subsided sulkily. “Fine, fine. A-Cheng, can you pull yourself together long enough to tell us whether you want to go to the extremely well-equipped and comfortable healer’s wing at Koi Tower, or lie around a freezing half-burned hovel in Cloud Recesses while the healers quote rules at you all day.”

Wanyin stirred in Lan Wangji’s arms and blinked around at them all.

“Is A-Jie here?” he asked, woozy.

Wei Ying shot a smug look at Lan Wangji and replied, “No, Shijie is at Koi Tower.”

“Can we…? I want A-Jie.”

“Of course, A-Cheng, come here, I’ve got you.”

However, when Wei Ying tried to pluck Jiang Wanyin from Lan Wangji’s arms, he made a distressed sound and clung to Lan Wangji like a limpet. Lan Wangji tried, unsuccessfully, not to shoot a smug look back at Wei Ying. Jin Zixuan rolled his eyes, turned his back on them all, and began sorting out swords and passengers with Wen Qing. Then Wen Qionglin begged them earnestly to not just abandon the poor horses out in the middle of the woods, and they all fell victim to his limpid puppy-dog eyes.

By the time they finally departed, dawn was just beginning to light the sky. Wen Qionglin and Wei Ying (who was sporting an uncharacteristically sour expression) galloped away to find stabling for the horses, with promises to join the others at Koi Tower as soon as possible. Wen Qing lifted off with Wen Zhuliu dangling from her sword, still bristling with needles and deeply unconscious. Jin Zixuan papered Wen Chao with talismans for silence and immobility before grimly hoisting him onto Suihua.

And Lan Wangji followed them slowly towards Lanling, mounted on Bichen with a worryingly silent Jiang Wanyin cradled close to his chest, just trying to savor the warm, living weight of him and put off everything else for another time.

He wished fervently that the day didn’t have to come.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji didn’t necessarily set out to hate everyone and everything in Koi Tower, but by all the gods and immortals, Jin Guangshan just made it so f*cking easy.

Upon arrival, Wanyin had been unceremoniously plucked from Lan Wangji’s arms and whisked away for an examination by the Jin Sect’s head healer. Shortly thereafter, Jin Guangshan came barging into the guest quarters unannounced, just as Wanyin had been disrobed to have a poultice applied to his wounds. Even from where he was sitting quietly in a corner with his guqin, Lan Wangji could see Jin Guangshan’s greedy, piggish eyes traversing Wanyin’s bare skin, thereby earning himself Lan Wangji’s implacable enmity.

Wanyin went pale the moment Jin Guangshan came sailing in and grew even paler as a full retinue of gold-clad courtiers followed along behind him. They stood there, whispering and shamelessly sneaking peeks at the mangled expanse of Wanyin’s chest, while Jin Guangshan consoled him, loudly, on the loss of his parents, home, and Sect.

Even if Jin Guangshan had tried to sound sincere, which he absolutely did not, his words were so plainly intended to poke at Wanyin’s recent traumas and many deep-seated insecurities that it made Lan Wangji seethe. The man went on and on about how tragic it was that Wanyin should be elevated to Sect Leader at such a tender age, wiped a facile tear from his eye, and dwelt at great length upon what a shame it was that Yunmeng Jiang should lack any experienced protectors, guides, and role models during its time of direst need. The mob of toadies murmured agreement at every poisonous word and avidly watched Wanyin grow increasingly distressed.

Lan Wangji glared at the Jin Sect Leader with disgust. At best, Jin Guangshan was an indifferent cultivator with no sense of duty or righteousness, but he was universally acknowledged to be utterly f*cking ruthless when it came to political maneuvering and petty one-upmanship. Everything about the situation, down to the avuncular way he had ordered the healer to keep poulticing Wanyin whilst they spoke – No, no, don’t let us interrupt, Cheng’er has been through a terrible ordeal, after all, poor child – was obviously calculated to throw Wanyin off-kilter.

Keeping Wanyin half-naked and trapped on his back. Putting his wounds on display for everyone to gawk at. Treating him as helpless and weak. And then Jin Guangshan rolled the phrase the rape of Lotus Pier out of his mouth.

Wanyin twisted away from the Jin healer’s hands and was violently sick over the edge of his bed.

“Eugh. How distasteful,” said Jin Guangshan, though he sounded perfectly delighted. One of the groveling lickspittles scurried up and put a perfumed handkerchief into his outstretched hand.

Before he quite realized what he was about, Lan Wangji was on his feet and across the room, taking up a defensive stance in front of Wanyin’s bed with Bichen crossed in front of them. The Jin courtiers let out a chorus of loud exclamations, and a few of them put their hands to their swords.

“Good heavens,” said Jin Guangshan from behind the handkerchief, sounding mild and concerned and reasonable, as if he wasn’t mentally rubbing his nasty little hands together with malicious glee. “Surely the Second Jade of Lan is overreacting? I assure you that the Jin Sect’s intentions towards Cheng’er are nothing but pure and honorable.”

Do not tell lies, Lan Wangji thought furiously. He could hear Wanyin hyperventilating and crying behind him.

He was torn between helping Wanyin breathe through his panic attack and strangling Jin Guangshan with his own intestines when a soft cry of “Oh! A-Cheng!” came from the door and Jiang Yanli ran in. She elbowed through the mob of useless sycophants and flung herself on her knees beside her youngest brother, murmuring softly to him as Madame Jin and Jin Zixuan glided into the room behind her. They both stared at Jin Guangshan with unreadable expressions.

“Father,” said Jin Zixuan, offering a perfectly correct and perfectly dispassionate bow.

“Ah, Xuan’er. Your report?”

“I have had Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu imprisoned in the dungeons. North corridor.”

“Very good, very good,” Jin Guangshan replied. “Now, where’s that snippy little niece of Wen Ruohan’s, the doctor girl? She’s third in line for the Fire Throne, you know, we can’t afford to have her wandering about.”

Madame Jin smiled with all her teeth and said, “I have had Wen Qing installed in the Fragrance Rooms. Yu Liling and Yu Liqin are on guard.”

Lan Wangji happened to know that the Fragrance Rooms were in the East Wing of Koi Tower, where Madame Jin maintained her own residence as far away from Jin Guangshan as was physically possible. Moreover, he recalled that Yu Liling and Yu Liqin were Madame Jin’s own personal attendants, whom Madame Yu had dispatched from Meishan upon her sworn sister’s marriage into the Jin Sect. Lan Wangji put Bichen away and went placidly back to his guqin; clearly Madame Jin had matters well in hand.

As if to drive the point home, a maidservant came in, bowed, and said, “This humble one begs your pardon, Madame, but Wen-guniang reports that there are several talismans of unknown origin in the Fragrance Rooms, as well as a small hole in the wall behind the privacy screen, next to the bathtub.”

“Really,” said Madame Jin, and showed all her teeth again.

“At the moment, Wen-guniang is threatening to set fire to the Fragrance Rooms,” added the maidservant primly.

“Is that so,” said Madame Jin. “Well, I suppose we can’t have that. You may inform Wen-guniang that I shall personally address the issue of the talismans. In the meantime, summon a carpenter to mend the hole in the wall.”

The maidservant bowed again and departed.

“Alas, Guangshan,” sighed Madame Jin theatrically. “Pity you don’t have any other legitimate sons; this Wen Qing seems like my kind of woman. A very useful person to have in the family, wouldn’t you say?”

Before the wretched man could respond, she turned briskly back to Jiang Yanli, who was now combing through Wanyin’s hair with her fingers.

“Now, now, A-Li, you shouldn’t fret overmuch. A-Cheng is your mother’s son, after all.”

Wanyin, huddled under his sister’s soothing hands, still looked rather miserable, but he made a valiant attempt to compose himself until they all heard feet running down the hallway and he froze up again. After a moment, a breathless guardsman popped into the room and bowed.

“My apologies, Sect Leader, but Wen Chao is demanding the attentions of a healer,” the man puffed. “Very loudly.”

Jin Guangshan frowned. “And why, pray tell, does Wen Chao need a healer?”

“As First Disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, Wei Wuxian was naturally very zealous in his efforts to apprehend the person responsible for his Sect’s destruction,” Jin Zixuan put in smoothly.

“The f*ck are you talking about, destroyed,” rasped Wanyin suddenly, struggling to sit up in his bed. His sister hurried to prop him up with an arm around his shoulders, and the poultice slipped down his chest as his wounds began bleeding again.

However, he had a pale and sweaty version of his customary scowl on his face, and he croaked defiantly, “I’m here, and Jiejie’s here, and Wei Wuxian is – well, he’s somewhere – and we’ll raise Yunmeng Jiang back up, you see if we don’t.”

He wheezed for a moment, then made an enormous effort and added, “You peaco*ck.”

Madame Jin cackled and leaned down to pat his shoulder. “There you are. I knew Ziyuan raised you to be tougher than an old boot and stubborn as a brick.” She looked over at her ghastly husband and said, pointedly, “Anyone who doubts that is a short-sighted fool.”

Jin Guangshan tried and failed to wipe the sour expression from his face. Madame Jin straightened up and tsked at Wanyin, who was attempting a shaky sort of seated bow and had curled up like a pillbug, while still leaning heavily against his sister.

“Oh, honestly, A-Cheng, do lie down before you keel over. Also, you’re looking much too skinny. Xuan’er, be a dear and take A-Li down to the kitchens, show her where to find everything she needs, and don’t forget to tell the chefs to get out the good spices.” She patted Jiang Yanli’s hand and added briskly, “The sooner you compose yourself, my girl, the sooner you can run along and cook something tasty for your didi. It will make you both feel better. Lan Wangji will stay here and keep an eye on A-Cheng for us, won’t you, Lan-er-gongzi?”

“Mn,” replied Lan Wangji agreeably.

Another set of footsteps came pattering hurriedly towards them, and Jin Guangshan pinched the bridge of his nose as a different guardsman scuttled into the room.

“What is it now?”

“Wei-gongzi and Wen-san-gongzi have arrived, Sect Leader.”

As if they couldn’t have figured that out from the shouts of “CHENG-CHENG! SHIJIE! IT’S MEEEEEE,” echoing down the hall.

If Lan Wangji harbored any hope that Wei Ying and Wen Ning’s arrival would make Koi Tower even a little bit more bearable, he was very quickly disillusioned.

Wen Ning, at least, might as well not even be present. As soon as her brother arrived, Wen Qing hustled him off to the Fragrance Rooms and slammed the door – jealous and protective as a dragon brooding over a priceless treasure.

Then Lan Wangji, bound by the rules of his Sect, had to stand silently by while Wei Ying and Jin Zixuan gave – not a false report, necessarily, but a highly edited and selective report – on affairs in Yunmeng to Jin Guangshan and the Jin Sect Council of Elders.

Then he had to be very quick with the Silencing Spell when one of the Jin Elders accidentally referred to Lotus Pier as a plum ripe for the picking while Wei Ying was still within earshot.

(Because gloating and swearing were both forbidden by the Lan Sect rules, he refrained from telling Wei Ying we f*cking told you so, but it was a very near thing. It helped that Jin Zixuan and Wen Qing, constrained by no such rules, told this to Wei Ying, repeatedly.)

Upon hearing this, Jiang Yanli quickly and discreetly departed for Lotus Pier to maintain the Jiang presence. Like her siblings, Jiang Yanli had a Wen bounty on her head, but as her newly reinstated fiancé, Jin Zixuan was equally eager to go and serve as her personal bodyguard. Madame Jin sniffed (although she looked vastly pleased), packed an enormous quantity of luggage, and went along to chaperone the happy pair and help organize the reconstruction effort.

As a result, Lan Wangji had to spend the next shichen listening to Wei Ying complain about the disgustingly besotted expression Jin Zixuan made whenever he looked at Jiang Yanli, threatening Jin Zixuan with creatively dire consequences should he do anything improper with Jiang Yanli, and bemoaning the sorry fate that kept everyone else stuck at Koi Tower “while the best Shijie in the world and the only halfway-decent Jins got to go do fun things at Lotus Pier.”

Then Nie Huaisang had come running up to greet them, looking very unlike himself in a set of golden robes that did not fit him very exactly. Wei Ying threw an arm around the younger Nie’s shoulder, put on his biggest sh*t-eating grin, and off they went “to catch up on all the gossip over a jar of wine.”

Yes. Of all these many annoyances, Lan Wangji decided, the boozing was probably the worst.

Within a day or two of his arrival, Wei Ying had already prowled through Koi Tower’s library and pronounced it lacking, sparred with several Jin disciples and knocked them all flat on their asses, flirted outrageously with everyone in sight – and then he started pouring jar after jar of liquor down his throat. (The jars were supplied by a suspiciously constant parade of pretty maids and handsome waiters.)

Lan Wangji frowned as Wei Ying accepted yet another jar of liquor from a beauty dressed in soft, clingy robes the color of spring buttercups, who brushed her breasts against his arm and giggled.

“Wei Ying.”

“Aiyaaaaa, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying groaned theatrically, rolling his eyes and taking a long swig. “Don’t look at me like that. What else am I supposed to do with myself all day? I’m going crazy here, with nothing to do.”

“Mn,” said Lan Wangji, conceding the point. Wei Ying had always chafed at stillness and inaction, and here he was, the First Disciple of a slaughtered Sect, stuck in Koi Tower with no juniors to supervise, no night-hunting, no duties, nothing to do but drown his prodigious energies in alcohol.

Lan Wangji might have refrained from expressing his opinion on this behavior – Do not judge others – except…

“Jiang Wanyin has been asking for you,” said Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying winced and straightaway poured the rest of the liquor in the general vicinity of his mouth.

The same lovely maidservant materialized at his elbow and murmured seductively, “Would Wei-gongzi like this humble one to fetch another jar?”

“Yes, please,” said Wei Ying.

“No, thank you,” said Lan Wangji firmly, and dragged Wei Ying away by his sleeve.

“Lan Zhaaaaan….”

Lan Wangji marched him into the nearest garden, where they could at least see the various myrmidons and sycophants who were deliberately lingering nearby with their ears flapping.

“Wei Ying,” he said quietly, “Jiang Wanyin is in pain, grieving, and overwhelmed. He needs his shixiong by his side. Why are you avoiding him?”

Wei Ying visibly wilted. “Aw, Lan Zhan,” he replied, grinning weakly. “You don’t want me around, you want Shijie. She’s the one who knows how to coddle A-Cheng, I’m f*cking terrible at it. I’d be happy to go get her.”

Lan Wangji gave him a very unimpressed look. He could sympathize, but only slightly. He himself was heartily sick of Koi Tower but acknowledged that it was his duty to remain. He was no diplomat, but he could at least offer Lan Xichen comfort and support as his poor Xiongzhang spent hours on end arguing, cajoling, persuading, and inveigling weaselly Jin Elders and lesser Sect Leaders into joining the united fight against the Wen Sect.

(Someone had dubbed it “The Sunshot Campaign,” and the grandiose name stuck. He rather suspected Nie Huaisang.)

Anyway, when he couldn’t stand the politicking any longer, Lan Wangji could at least slip away to the guest rooms with his guqin and play for Jiang Wanyin.

He sighed and brought his mind back to the issue at hand.

“Wei Ying,” he said, lowering his voice. “Since Jiang-guniang departed, Jiang Wanyin has been unwilling to eat or drink.”

A pair of gardeners drifted closer, seemingly engrossed in picking wilted petals from among the sprawling beds of peonies. Wei Ying stared off into the distance and gave no sign that he had heard or understood a word.

“This morning, he became distraught when the head healer threatened to force-feed him,” Lan Wangji went on doggedly. “Judging from his reaction, I believe Wen Chao must have either tricked him or coerced him into drinking the sleeping syrup he was drugged with.”

“Lan Zhan,” said Wei Ying, sounding perfectly polite but strangely devoid of emotion, “Would you be so kind as to not mention that name in my presence ever again.”

Lan Wangji wrinkled his brow in confusion. Wei Ying seemed to be missing the point of their conversation entirely.

“I cannot hear that f*cking name,” said Wei Ying, still in that flat, affectless tone, “because then I picture that f*cking person, and then all I can think of is everything else we saw when you smashed that f*cking carriage.”

Wei Ying yanked Suibian from his belt and started swiping blindly at the giant white peonies.

“Remember? The stupid look on his ugly face?” Paf. The blossom exploded on impact, in a puff of snowy petals.

“That pasty ass of his, up in the air?” Paf.

“His – his co*ck was out, and it was wet with Jiang Cheng’s blood!” Paf, paf, paf.

The gardeners had abandoned all pretense of working and were now gawking at them openly.

“I can’t even stand to be in the same room as my own shidi because it just reminds me… the last thing, the only thing Madame Yu ever asked me to do was to keep Jiang Cheng safe, and I failed. Uncle Jiang gave me everything, he saved my life, and I couldn’t even save Jiang Cheng in return!”

Lan Wangji gripped Wei Ying’s arm and debated using the Silencing Spell – again – but Wei Ying was still waving Suibian about, and Lan Wangji assumed that the Jin would object to the two of them destroying Lanling’s second-best peony garden in an all-out duel.

“Wei Ying, stop. You can still help Jiang Wanyin. You could – you could make him a meal.”

Wei Ying stopped whacking at the flowers and squinted at him incredulously. “You think I should cook for him?”

Lan Wangji sighed and lowered his voice as much as he could, knowing that the gardeners were probably plastered with listening talismans anyway. “Wei Ying, Jiang Wanyin trusts you. He will eat something if you have prepared it.”

“Oh. Well… okay, I guess,” said Wei Ying, and without any further ado he stumbled off in the direction of the kitchens.

Lan Wangji pinched the bridge of his nose and went to Jiang Wanyin’s room.

He was extremely vexed, when he arrived, to see the head healer looming over Wanyin, roughly wiping down his chest with something that stung, judging from the pained clench in the boy’s jaw. The Jin head healer was a cousin of Jin Guangshan’s and apparently cut from the same odious cloth, given the malicious glee with which he smothered any sign that Wanyin’s formerly fiery spirit was trying to re-emerge.

Lan Wangji glared at the man, recalling the evenings he had successfully lulled Wanyin to sleep with music, only for the head healer to come bustling in and wake him for a spurious examination; the needless frequency with which he dwelt on how Wanyin’s chest would be permanently disfigured by scars from the Discipline Whip; the way the man had bullied Wanyin to frantic tears, only hours before, by saying that if he didn’t stop refusing his food like a spoilt child he would be restrained and force-fed through a bamboo tube stuffed down his throat.

Lan Wangji was so occupied with glowering at the head healer that for a moment he didn’t notice Nie Huaisang was also standing in a corner of Wanyin’s room, watching everything with bright eyes half-hidden behind his fan.

Finally, the head healer left, and Nie Huaisang came over to greet Lan Wangji.

“Ah, Lan-er-gongzi! I was just telling Jiang-xiong how glad I was to see you both safe, although obviously we could wish the circ*mstances were quite different.”

Lan Wangji hummed noncommittally, which did not discomfit Nie Huaisang in the slightest. He turned back to Jiang Wanyin and went on chattering away like a greenfinch.

“Now honestly, Jiang-xiong, I really don’t know how you can possibly stand to have that prune-faced old man dithering at you every day when some of the other healers are so much nicer to be around. Have you met Ma Chenguang, for example? She’s delightful company and can tell you all the best places to buy anything you might need.”

“It’s not like I’ll be able to go out shopping anytime soon, Huaisang,” Jiang Wanyin grumbled. “I’m f*cking stuck in here. Healer’s orders.”

“Oh, no, whatever shall we do,” wailed Nie Huaisang theatrically, and then co*cked his head to one side. A soft knock sounded at the door, and he grinned. “Ah, that will be Guang-jie, right on cue! Come in, come in please!”

A young woman in healers’ robes came in and bowed. She had a pleasant, tanned face, a capable, no-nonsense expression, and carried a gently steaming paper parcel that smelled amazing. “Good morning, Young Masters,” she said. “Nie-gongzi, I’ve brought the lotus-paste buns you requested.”

“Ooh,” said Nie Huaisang happily, plucking a bun from the parcel and devouring it in three enormous bites. “Jiang-xiong, Lan-er-gongzi, you have to try one of these,” he said through a mouthful of crumbs, “Guang-jie has convinced me that Auntie Wu makes the best buns in Lanling.”

“Mn,” said Lan Wangji, accepting a bun and nibbling on it. There was a rule against wasting food, after all, and the bun was very delicious.

Jiang Wanyin took a bun and turned it over and over in his hands, Zidian gleaming dully on his finger. (Wei Ying insisted that Wanyin wear the ring to keep up appearances, even though nobody could sense the marital spirit inside.)

“It’s true, Young Masters,” said Ma Chenguang, smiling. She turned to Jiang Wanyin and added softly, “Auntie Wu was born and raised just outside the gates of Lotus Pier before she married a Lanling man. She asked me to extend her sincere condolences on the tragedy that recently befell her natal home and made me promise to tell Sect Leader Jiang that when he is well, he should come by her stall in person, and she will give him a dozen buns on the house.”

“What!” exclaimed Nie Huaisang, affronted. “Auntie Wu never gives me a free bun!”

“She also said,” continued Ma Chenguang, still speaking gently but with her eyes now sparkling with mischief, “that if Sect Leader Jiang is still as good-looking as he was when he was a little boy, she might not be able to resist pinching his cheeks like she used to. Don’t tell her I repeated that part, though.”

Jiang Wanyin snorted, wiped his eyes surreptitiously, and tucked into his bun. A little color came back into his pale cheeks.

Ma Chenguang looked at them all and said, very slowly and distinctly, “If you have need of anything, Young Masters, please do not hesitate to call on me.”

Jiang Wanyin looked back at her, his expression suddenly growing sharp.

Nie Huaisang met his eyes knowingly, then turned back to the healer and said with equal deliberation, “Thank you, Guang-jie. And may I offer my compliments on the lovely new hairpin you are wearing?”

Lan Wangji was puzzled by the sudden turn the conversation had taken. He looked at the hairpin in question. It really was quite surprisingly nice, made of ivory and delicately carved to resemble a bird in flight. If he had to guess, he would say it probably cost more than a mid-ranked healer could easily afford, even one who worked in Koi Tower.

The woman’s whole demeanor changed briefly. She grinned with all her teeth and said, “Why, Nie-gongzi, I don’t know what you mean, I really don’t.”

Then she bowed, demure as anything, and went out just as Wei Ying came in. He was carrying a bowl on a tray and accompanied by Lan Xichen.

“Hello Wangji, hello Huaisang,” Xichen greeted them, then bowed. “Sect Leader Jiang.”

Wanyin winced and turned his head away. “I wish everyone would keep calling me by my name,” he mumbled. “It still sounds all wrong to be called… that.”

“I understand,” Lan Xichen said gravely. “Both Mingjue and I felt the same when our own fathers died, and we ascended to our positions. Nevertheless, in my experience, at least, it is best for you to begin using the Sect Leader’s title as soon as possible.” He cleared his throat delicately and added, “If I may make the suggestion, young as you are, you should insist on being addressed and respected as such.”

“Right,” said Wanyin hollowly.

“Ugh, so stodgy,” said Wei Ying, just a bit too brightly. “I have something that will liven you right up, A-Cheng! Look, I made you some congee.”

(Even from halfway across the room Lan Wangji could tell that the congee was an alarming brick-red color, unnervingly lumpy, and smelt powerful enough to make his nostrils twitch in self-defense.)

“Yes, I can tell you made this,” said Wanyin, peering into the bowl with an extremely dubious expression. “It’s swimming in chili oil, looks to be made of solid paprika, has whole peppercorns floating in it, and reeks of garlic.” Wei Ying looked at his shidi with large, tragic eyes, and Wanyin capitulated instantly. Long-suffering, he put a spoonful of congee in his mouth.

Lan Wangji hustled over and hovered anxiously as Wanyin coughed and wheezed and mopped his streaming eyes, not wanting to pound him on the back and possibly aggravate his injuries. Nie Huaisang, on the other hand, jumped right up and chirped, “Ooh, it looks simply revolting! I want to try!”

One bite later and Nie Huaisang was flopping around on the floor like a fish, shrieking that his entire face was on fire while Wei Ying cackled and even Lan Xichen had to put his sleeve over his mouth to muffle his laughter. Lan Wangji glanced over and was surprised, and pleased, to see that even Wanyin was snickering at Nie Huaisang’s histrionics.

When they had all calmed down, Nie Huaisang handed the rest of the steamed buns around, and then Lan Wangji plucked his guqin while Lan Xichen played a soft accompaniment upon his xiao. Nie Huaisang sat with his back braced against Wanyin’s bed, fanning himself and gazing thoughtfully out the window, while Wei Wuxian lay sprawled across Wanyin’s legs, spread out like a starfish.

If he squinted, Lan Wangji could imagine, just for a moment, that everything was as it should be.

Their pleasant, peaceful bubble lasted well into the evening, long after Lan Xichen had regretfully departed to attend another meeting with Sect Leader Jin and Nie Huaisang had gone to send a message to his brother. Wei Ying wandered off, claiming he needed to pee, and then disappeared. Lan Wangji could not find it within himself to be too bothered. He had long since finished Clarity and Healing and Rest, so he gently withdrew his spiritual energy from his guqin and just kept on playing and playing and playing, happily wandering through the repertoire of love-songs and lullabies that Wanyin had taught him during their journey to Qinghe.

As Lan Wangji played, Wanyin slowly relaxed. When other people were around, he generally lay in bed stiff as a plank, but now he seemed to be resting peacefully, curled up on his side with his eyes closed. Lan Wangji took the opportunity to gaze greedily at his fiancé. As his fingers drifted lovingly over the guqin strings, he imagined stroking the suave lines and smooth planes of Wanyin’s face, his sharp cheekbones and jaw, the stubborn sweep of his brow, the alluring divot at the center of his full upper lip.

Then Lan Wangji felt a stab of guilt pierce him. After all, the lips he’d just been thirsting over remained colorless and chapped from anxious gnawing; Wanyin was still very pale and drawn despite eating the bun and congee. He was still the loveliest thing Lan Wangji had ever seen, and his heart ached.

He hoped that one day Wanyin would want to sing with him again.

Lan Wangji kept playing his guqin until it was nearly his bedtime. The candles were lit and the moon was shining brightly when Wanyin finally opened his eyes.

“Wangji?”

“Mn?”

Very quietly, Wanyin said, “I wish I could go back to how I was before.”

Lan Wangji laid his hands over the guqin strings, lulling them to silence.

Even more quietly, Wanyin asked, “Do you think I will ever be the same again?”

Lan Wangji, who could not lie, looked at him, troubled, and Wanyin pulled the quilt up to his ears. He drew a deep breath, which hitched in the middle. Lan Wangji went over and sat down on the edge of his bed.

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Wanyin’s mood – and health – improved markedly over the next few days. Lan Wangji secretly liked to flatter himself that his kisses had something to do with it but acknowledged that the Jin head healer’s sudden and unexpected absence likely also played a role.

It was enormously gratifying to see Wanyin attended by Ma Chenguang instead, aided by a small rotation of other young women healers who shared her cheerful no-nonsense practicality, addressed Wanyin as “Sect Leader Jiang” without any simpering or fuss, and obligingly tested his meals with a silver needle when asked. They brought paper and ink and Wanyin plunged into a flurry of letter-writing. He issued orders recalling far-ranging Jiang disciples, sent invitations to rogue cultivators and his maternal relatives in Meishan, inventoried various merchants and artisans, and sought out anyone who could help him build back his shattered Sect.

Lan Wangji, who liked to sit and play his guqin while Wanyin muttered and grumbled through his correspondence, noticed that the women who now came in and out of Wanyin’s room sported exceptionally fine ornaments. Oddly, it was not only the healers, but the maids who brought fresh linens and delivered food wearing hairpins, bracelets, pendants, earrings, and belt tassels made of precious materials and decorated with exquisitely tasteful avian motifs.

He tucked this observation away for further consideration.

On the third day after Lan Wangji’s confession, he was sitting in Wanyin’s room when Nie Huaisang swept in, with a glittering smile hidden behind his fan, to inform them that the head healer’s absence was due to Jin Zixun (Jin Guangshan’s nephew, spare heir to the Peony Throne, and absolute waste of a human being) suddenly, and most unfortunately, falling afoul of the Hundred Holes Curse.

Do not judge others, Lan Wangji reminded himself for what seemed like the millionth time. Jiang Wanyin, who had no such compunction, scoffed and inquired what Jin Zixun had done to be cursed by what was colloquially known as the Brothel’s Revenge, and whether his dick had rotted off yet.

“That’s what the head healer is supposed to be preventing. Jin Guangshan is beside himself,” said Nie Huaisang, waving his fan. Then he added offhandedly, “What’s your problem with Jin Zixun anyway, Jiang-xiong?”

Wanyin scowled. “Where do you want me to start? I’ve hated him for years. He’s always been an asshole, making these nasty little digs at Wei Wuxian for being an orphan and not a blood relative of any of the gentry families.”

“Really?” said Nie Huaisang, sounding genuinely surprised. “From what I’ve noticed since Wei-xiong arrived, the two of them are getting along well enough. I often see them sitting together and talking over a jar of liquor or two.”

This information activated clangorous alarm bells in Lan Wangji’s mind, but Wanyin just looked disgruntled and muttered, “Wei Wuxian thinks f*cking Jin Zixun is better company than me?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged, looking at Wanyin with fond amusem*nt, though a keen and calculating look hovered in his eyes. “Ah, Jiang-xiong,” he said, “you needn’t work yourself into a jealous snit. You know better than anyone that that Wei-xiong doesn’t care about being related to the gentry, and if he doesn’t care about something, he just forgets immediately! He’s just bored, and fidgety, and he can’t hold a grudge to save his life; he has you to do it for him, after all.”

Wanyin pouted at this, and then they were suddenly interrupted by a maidservant rushing in. “Nie-gongzi! Oh! Nie-gongzi!” she gasped, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“What is it, Bicao?” asked Nie Huaisang sharply.

“A messenger just arrived from the border! Chifeng-zun’s banners have been sighted!”

“Da-ge? He’s on his way? He’s coming here?” Nie Huaisang demanded, leaping to his feet.

“Yes, Nie-gongzi!”

Nie Huaisang took a coin from his money pouch and slipped it into her hand. “Thank you, Bicao. Please, continue to keep me informed.”

She bowed and left. “Well,” said Nie Huaisang, snapping his fan wide open as he began to pace up and down the room. “Wen Xu is dead as f*ck.”

“How do you know?” asked Wanyin, though he sounded hopeful rather than challenging. Nie Huaisang snorted.

“Because I know my brother? Honestly, Jiang-xiong. Da-ge and Wen Xu are like two peas in a pod when it comes to being stubborn, pigheaded assholes; they would both rather be minced into baozi filling than turn tail and run from a fight. If Da-ge is here, then the siege on the Unclean Realm has been broken. And if the siege is broken, it means Wen Xu is either dead or his father ordered him home. And given Wen Ruohan’s obsession with the Yin Iron, I think that is very unlikely.”

“Mn,” said Lan Wangji, who thought so too.

They could hear a growing commotion as the news spread throughout Koi Tower.

Nie Huaisang was so excited to see his Da-Ge that Lan Wangji practically had to sit on him as they watched Chifeng-zun climb Koi Tower’s stupidly long staircase and stride into Pageant Hall not even slightly out of breath. He was carrying a waterproof pouch.

Nie Mingjue bowed to Jin Guangshan, seated on the Peony Throne, and said without further preamble, “Wen Xu is dead.”

He opened the pouch and produced Wen Xu’s head.

“Ah,” said Jin Guangshan, faintly. “Yes, indeed he is.”

Nie Mingjue smiled, showing all his teeth, and allowed an underling to scurry up and take the head away.

“We shall hold a great banquet to celebrate your victory, Chifeng-zun,” said Jin Guangshan.

“Sect Leader Jin is most hospitable, and generous to his allies,” replied Nie Mingjue, dry as parchment. “However, I would suggest that we use this time more profitably, in discussing what must be done next to confront the Wen threat. Happily, there is no need to delay – I can see that the esteemed Zewu-Jun is already present, and Huaisang has written that Jiang Wanyin is currently recuperating at Koi Tower. It is a fortunate coincidence indeed, that all the leaders of the Great Sects should be here on this momentous occasion.”

“Yes, most fortunate,” agreed Jin Guangshan, sounding rather reluctant, and Nie Mingjue went on relentlessly, “I am told that you also hold Wen Chao, Wen Qing, and Wen Qionglin in custody. Have I been rightly informed?”

Jin Guangshan nodded, looking even more reluctant.

“The strategic acumen of Sect Leader Jin shall be spoken of for generations,” Lan Xichen interjected, somehow contriving to keep his face perfectly straight. “To secure Wen Ruohan’s surviving son, as well as his only other living relatives and heirs, is a masterful stroke. Wen Ruohan will surely be forced to negotiate.”

“Xichen,” complained Nie Mingjue under his breath, “I don’t want to negotiate with him, I want to cut his f*cking head off.”

“Language, Da-ge,” replied Lan Xichen, also under his breath. He pitched his voice louder and continued, “At the moment, Sect Leader Jiang is indisposed, but his First Disciple should be available. If someone could run and fetch Wei-gongzi for us?”

Another of Jin Guangshan’s lackeys bowed and scurried away. There was a little silence. Lan Wangji fervently hoped that Wei Ying would, at the very least, be sober.

Not sober enough, Lan Wangji thought despairingly, and seized the back of Wei Ying’s black-and-red robes to stop him launching himself across the table. “We can’t send Wen Zhuliu back to Qishan, Zewu-Jun, are you crazy?” Wei Ying shouted, sounding rather strangled. “He’s Wen Ruohan’s attack dog!”

Lan Xichen’s beatific expression was starting to look a bit fixed. “Wei-gongzi, it is because Wen Zhuliu’s loyalty is unquestioned that I suggest employing him as our emissary. Wen Ruohan will believe Wen Zhuliu when he delivers our ultimatum. I have taken the liberty of interviewing Wen Zhuliu, and he has said as much, himself.”

“Because he wants to escape, obviously!”

“No,” said Lan Xichen, and took a calming sip of tea. “Because he knows it is what his loyalty demands of him. Wen Ruohan ordered him to keep Wen Chao safe, and this is the only way for him to do so – by returning to Qishan and convincing Wen Ruohan to abdicate in favor of Wen Qing.”

“And explain to me, again, why we want to elevate Wen Qing instead of wiping the Wen scum from the face of the earth?” This was from Nie Mingjue, who had his arms folded across his chest and an exceptionally forbidding scowl on his face. (From experience, Lan Wangji knew that this was Nie Mingjue’s version of pouting.)

“Because of what my loyalty requires of me,” said the lady herself, sweeping into the room as if she owned it.

“How did you escape! Where are my guards!” shrieked Jin Guangshan.

“Your useless guards are stuck full of needles and temporarily paralyzed,” said Wen Qing, and her dark eyes glittered. “The one who tried to grab my ass got the special needles; you should tell your healers they’ll need to make some ointment for the pustules he’s going to wake up with tomorrow.”

She seated herself and Nie Huaisang blithely poured her a cup of tea. Wei Ying was staring at her with a ridiculous expression on his face. Lan Wangji made a mental note to never look at Wanyin in such a soppy way; he was reasonably certain Wanyin would break his legs.

“I’ll only say this once: my loyalty is to my family and the Wen Sect, and my loyalty therefore demands that I not enable Wen f*cking Ruohan for another moment. I have been treating his maladies for years now, and I will tell you for free that he is rapidly going mad. His mind and his qi were disordered enough when he only had one piece of the Yin Iron to poison himself with. Now that he has three, he is indulging his every wretched impulse, and is leading our entire Sect down a path to destruction, fast.”

“How very convenient,” Nie Mingjue sneered. “Your scruples have emerged just in time for you to become a viable candidate for the Fire Throne.”

“My scruples, as you call them, have nothing to do with this absurd plan of yours and everything to do with the fact that my didi is no longer under Wen Ruohan’s thumb, and cannot be used as a halter around my neck,” replied Wen Qing frostily.

She sipped her tea and continued, “Ten years ago Wen Ruohan’s thirst for the Yin Iron led to the slaughter of my entire family, save for A-Ning. Afterwards I bit my tongue and served him faithfully and yet the first and only time I contravened his wishes he threatened to turn A-Ning into one of his undead puppets, using the very same piece of Yin Iron that he sacrificed my family to gain. I will gladly help you bring him down. You must be aware that I have unparalleled knowledge of his health and his habits; I know the layout of his personal quarters inside and out. In exchange for my assistance, however, I will expect you all to spare the subordinate families and noncombatants. It would be unjust to make them suffer just because their surname happens to be Wen. Act like the righteous cultivators you so loudly claim to be.”

She cast a look of freezing scorn at Jin Guangshan and added, “On a related note, Sect Leader Jin, imagine my surprise when I learned that you’re planning to commit war crimes! By putting civilians in a prison-labor camp, you know, the one you’re building near Qiongqi Path?”

Jin Guangshan spluttered indignantly.

“What?” Wen Qing asked, taking another sip of tea. “It’s hardly my fault that the locks and wards on your office are, to put it mildly, a f*cking joke. Next time, maybe don’t put your evil schemes down on paper and leave them out on your desk, uncyphered, for anyone who happens to pass by. And just so we are all clear: if anyone else thinks I’m going to allow people like my Popo or my little tángdì to be worked to death in a quarry or some such, I’d strongly suggest they think again.”

“Duly noted,” said Lan Xichen hurriedly, as an outraged growl built in Nie Mingjue’s chest. “Shall we have Wen Zhuliu brought up from the dungeons, then?”

As Lan Wangji made his way back to the guest wing that evening, he heard raised voices coming from Jiang Wanyin’s room. He burst through the door in alarm, but Wanyin was merely sitting on his bed looking grouchy, and receiving a thorough scolding from Ma Chenguang as she wrapped fresh bandages around his chest.

“Oh, Lan-er-gongzi,” she said in tones of great exasperation, “Do help me talk some sense into Sect Leader Jiang! Tell him he’s not to get out of bed and practice sword forms, for heavens’ sake, he’s nowhere near healed yet! I came in and found him all in a heap on the floor just now!”

Wanyin, sounding equally frustrated, shot back, “Wangji, tell her that if I stay stuck in here for another day with nothing to do, I’m going to lose my f*cking mind!”

Lan Wangji looked between the two of them and weighed strategies.

“Mn,” he said eventually, as neutrally as possible.

“You see!” said Ma Chenguang, sounding triumphant for no reason that Lan Wangji could discern. “Now relax, Sect Leader Jiang, it’s time for your infusion of spiritual energy!” Wanyin grumbled and lay down as directed, but when Ma Chenguang went to take his wrist, Lan Wangji held up a hand to forestall her. Instead, he seated himself by the bed and began channeling his own qi into Wanyin’s meridians. It was a strange sensation – like pouring a bucket of water into a dry riverbed or trying to shop at a deserted marketplace, where the streets and stalls were intact, but life, color, motion, and all were missing.

The welts from Wen Chao’s horsewhip, the fogginess and nausea left by the excessive draught of sleeping syrup, the bruises, and – and the bloody tears he’d left inside Wanyin’s body – all of these had resolved with a speed that confounded the healers. Regardless, they continued to transfer spiritual energy (with frequent assistance from Lan Wangji and his powerful golden core) because the bone-deep slashes left by the Discipline Whip were purposely resistant to healing through cultivation, and Wanyin’s habitual restlessness pulled them open distressingly often.

“What does Chifeng-zun report?” Wanyin asked eventually, sounding a bit hazy around the edges.

“Mn? Oh, Nie Huaisang was quite right,” Lan Wangji replied, a little distracted as he tried to focus on circulating his qi, rather than the velvety warmth of Wanyin’s skin. “Chifeng-zun beheaded Wen Xu. He and the other Sect Leaders have decided to use Wen Chao as leverage against Wen Ruohan. He will have to abdicate and allow Wen Qing to take the Fire Throne if he ever wants to see his son alive again. Wen Zhuliu has been released to carry this message to Qishan.”

“Oh,” said Wanyin in a very different tone of voice.

“Chifeng-zun also mentioned that Xue Yang escaped from the Unclean Realm at some point during the battle, but he only smashed one table about it.”

Wanyin hummed quietly in response to this remark. He didn’t say much else as Lan Wangji finished transferring qi and played his guqin until Ma Chenguang came to shoo him away again. It was only after Lan Wangji had sneaked Wanyin a goodnight kiss and gone to prepare for bed, that it occurred to him to wonder what Wanyin might have felt upon hearing that Wen Ruohan was confidently expected to give up the most powerful seat in the cultivation world out of devotion to his son.

For the next few days, Lan Wangji fretted through the gilded halls of Koi Tower feeling like an anxious mother hen. Although Wanyin’s health continued to improve, he remained worryingly quiet and withdrawn, Wei Ying grew increasingly rowdy and reckless, and all any of them could do was wait on tenterhooks for Wen Ruohan’s reply to the other Sects’ ultimatum.

When the response came, it was almost anticlimactic – a single scroll hand-carried by none other than Meng Yao, who had apparently risen rapidly through the Wen Sect’s ranks, thanks to his supposed revenge-killing of Nie Huaisang and his unnervingly effective interrogation skills.

“Wen Ruohan agreed,” reported Nie Huaisang, coming into Jiang Wanyin’s room slightly breathless from hurry, causing Lan Wangji to look up from his guqin and Wanyin to roll over and open his eyes. “He’s agreed to the terms, signed them with his own blood, sealed everything with an unbreakable array – he’s sworn to give up the Fire Throne and bound to never seek it again. Wen Chao is already being escorted back to Qishan, even as we speak.”

Lan Wangji met Jiang Wanyin’s eyes. This was Xiongzhang’s own idea, the other Sect Leaders had agreed to it, everything was going according to plan – so why did he feel so ill-at-ease?

“This has got to be a trap of some kind,” Wanyin said, and Lan Wangji felt only relief – it was not just him who could sense that something about the situation was off.

“Well of course it is, Jiang-xiong, f*ck,” said Nie Huaisang impatiently, fanning himself. “The only question is, how is it going to come back and bite us all in the ass?”

After Nie Huaisang departed, Wanyin retreated into silence, staring blankly at nothing with his grey eyes unfocused and a pinched expression on his face. When Lan Wangji coaxed him to speak, Wanyin turned towards the wall and curled in on himself before confessing, unsteadily, to feeling overcome by a maelstrom of conflicting emotions: relief that he no longer had to reside under the same roof as his rapist, anxiety at the thought of Wen Chao on the loose again, furious jealousy that Wen Chao got to return to his home and his father while Jiang Wanyin’s own father lay dead and his home in ruins – all compounded by Wanyin’s own crushing sense of guilt for disappointing his parents and leaving Wen Chao unpunished, thereby failing to avenge the atrocities he had committed against Lotus Pier, the Jiang Sect, and the people of Yunmeng.

“It isn’t fair!” Wanyin finally cried out, like a frustrated child, and then burst into tears. Lan Wangji bent down to wipe them away and was horrified to hear Wanyin cursing himself furiously under his breath, between heaving sobs, trying again to smother his sadness with rage.

“Weak, childish, unfit, unworthy, mediocre, failure…”

“Wanyin is none of these things,” he said, but this time Wanyin refused to be comforted. All Lan Wangji could do was sit beside him and hold him as he wept, helplessly trying to shelter him from himself, with nothing more than love and the diaphanous silk of his sleeves.

As the next few days dragged by, Lan Wangji felt as if he was being stretched thin by anxiety, tugged in many different directions. As if he didn’t have concerns enough, he was starting to worry about his brother.

In his head, Lan Wangji understood that Meng Yao was smart, capable, and brave. After all, the man had hidden Xiongzhang from the Wens, and that alone should have earned him Lan Wangji’s unstinting gratitude. And he had volunteered to serve as a spy within Wen Ruohan’s palace, right under the enemy’s nose! Nevertheless, Lan Wangji’s heart was full of misgivings, and despite the rule against judging others, he simply could not bring himself to trust the dimpled, smiling (simpering, his mind insisted) man.

Lan Wangji knew his brother better than anyone, and he could tell that Meng Yao had triumphed where all the beauties of the cultivation world had previously failed: Lan Xichen was quite thoroughly smitten.

It was as if Meng Yao had cracked Lan Xichen wide open and read him like a book. He’d shed the ruthlessness and cunning that had caught Wen Ruohan’s eye as easily as he shed the Wen robes he arrived in. Instead, he’d assumed a dutiful, shy, modest air, revealing his talents as bashfully as a bride lifting her red veil.

Indeed, on the night following Meng Yao’s arrival Lan Wangji had gone back to the rooms he shared with his brother and discovered Mingjue-ge lounging on the couch, his eyes heavy-lidded and a wine-cup in his hand, while Xiongzhang taught Meng Yao the basics of musical cultivation. Meng Yao had been sitting very close to Xiongzhang, staring up at him flatteringly with wide, shining eyes, the very image of a worshipful student. Lan Wangji had been forced to listen to “A-Yao’s” playing, and then Xichen’s effusive delight in the young man’s perfect pitch and eidetic memory, for nearly half a shichen afterwards.

(Later, when Lan Wangji ventured to question the propriety of the Lan Sect Leader teaching the secrets of musical cultivation to a non-Sect member, Xiongzhang had scoffed at him – scoffed! – and said it was just Clarity, and how could there possibly be any harm in Meng Yao learning Clarity?)

Eventually, the conversation had changed topics, and Lan Wangji grew increasingly uneasy as Meng Yao put forward excuse after plausible excuse regarding the actions he had taken at Wen Ruohan’s behest. Although nobody discussed it openly, somehow everyone at Koi Tower seemed to be aware that Meng Yao had tortured several Nie prisoners to death – yet to hear Meng Yao tell it, somehow he was the real victim.

Lan Xichen had chimed in, at great length, and with feeling, about how an exceptional young man like Meng Yao shouldn’t be put down or denigrated due to circ*mstances beyond his control, from his birth in a brothel to his stint as a torturer in the Fire Palace. As Xichen spoke, Mingjue-ge’s expression gradually hardened, and he made an excuse and went away shortly afterwards. Xiongzhang seemed not to notice anything amiss, but Lan Wangji felt uncharacteristically awkward about the whole exchange.

When Lan Wangji thought back upon the conversation he’d overheard after their escape from MuXi Mountain, he remembered assuming that Meng Yao’s defection from the Nie Sect had been temporary, a strategy mutually agreed-on with Chifeng-zun, meant to help Meng Yao infiltrate Nightless City. However, while at Koi Tower, Meng Yao consistently failed to appear wearing Nie colors, or weave his hair into Nie braids. After a while, some of the smaller Sects began to approach him cautiously, and it seemed there might soon be an all-out bidding war for the young man’s services.

Lan Xichen could often be found at Meng Yao’s side after such encounters with other Sect Leaders, and while they put their heads together over Xichen’s favorite tea (which Meng Yao always seemed to have on hand, freshly brewed) Nie Mingjue would retreat to the Koi Tower training grounds where he could be seen, from a safe distance, hacking the training dummies into tiny pieces with his saber.

All in all, Lan Wangji was quite thoroughly distracted as he sat behind Xichen in Pageant Hall, slogging through yet another meeting with the Jin Elders and allied Sects. He was therefore startled when the doors burst open and Wen Zhuliu, of all people, marched in.

Wen Zhuliu was carrying a young Jin disciple – one of the group sent to escort Wen Chao – slung over his good shoulder like a sack of turnips. He left a trail of bloody footprints as he advanced towards the Peony Throne.

“What is the meaning of this!” demanded Jin Guangyao shrilly, as the other Sect Leaders clamored and drew their swords.

Wen Zhuliu propped the Jin disciple on his feet. “We were ambushed,” the boy wheezed, and fell to his knees. “On Qiongqi Path… Wen Ruohan… and Xue Yang… commanding a horde of fierce corpses… they took Wen Chao away with them… left us to die.” He sagged forward and lay on his face as the babble filling Pageant Hall grew even louder.

“This can’t be happening!” screamed Jin Guangshan over the noise. “Wen Ruohan swore to abandon the Fire Throne! He sealed the unbreakable array with his own blood! It was supposed to end his life if he failed to follow the terms of the agreement!”

“Wen Ruohan kept the terms,” said Wen Zhuliu, with unshakeable calm. “He does not intend to re-take the Fire Throne, the leadership of the Wen Sect, or command of the army. Instead, he made a bargain with Xue Yang in exchange for the fourth and final piece of the Yin Iron. They are currently on their way to Yiling, where they intend to raise the ancient dead from the Burial Mounds. Their plan is to conquer all you lesser Sects, over whom Wen Ruohan will reign as the sun, supreme leader of the cultivation world.”

Into the dead silence that followed this statement, Lan Wangji could just barely hear Lan Xichen whisper fervently, “Oh, f*ck me sideways.”

And then Pageant Hall exploded.

Sect Leaders, Elders, disciples – cultivators of all ranks – shouted and screamed, asking useless questions, hurling blame and heedless accusations. The racket brought other people running to add their voices to the incredible din. Lan Wangji saw Nie Huaisang come flying into the Hall, followed closely by Wen Qionglin, at whom Wen Qing hissed like an angry cat until he slunk away again.

Nie Mingjue bellowed for quiet. When that had no effect whatsoever, he smashed the nearest table to smithereens with his saber, making himself quite clear.

Lan Xichen nimbly filled the ensuing silence with the music of Liebing, soothing tempers, calming minds, and returning weapons to their scabbards. When order had been restored, Nie Mingjue turned to Wen Zhuliu, glowering. “What’s your purpose here? Have you come to threaten us?”

“No,” Wen Zhuliu replied, looking dispassionately towards the wreckage of the table where Nie Mingjue was sitting with Lan Xichen, as Xichen tucked Meng Yao protectively behind his broad shoulder. “I am merely passing along the information. Do with it as you will. Should you decide to lay siege to the Burial Mounds, you will find me there. My duty to protect Wen Chao remains.” And with that, he bowed courteously enough and flew away on his sword.

“Siege the Burial Mounds…” Nie Mingjue repeated, thoughtfully.

“Are you mad, Chifeng-zun?” shouted Sect Leader Qin, with more heat than discretion. “We cannot listen to the blandishments of this Wen dog! And how could we possibly hope to eliminate an entire mountain of corpses? The resentful energy of the Burial Mounds cannot be suppressed! Entire generations of cultivators have tried and failed to even breach the perimeter!”

“I know that,” rumbled Nie Mingjue, greatly annoyed.

“Well, then, instead of babbling nonsense you should be thinking of ways we can appease Wen Ruohan!” chimed in Jin Guangshan, who was visibly sweating from atop the Peony Throne.

“Appease him! You want to fob him off with…! Of all the unrighteous…!”

Before the situation could regress back into more shouting, Lan Xichen rose to his feet, pale and resolute. “Sect Leaders – gentries – this threat now touches the entire Jianghu. We must summon representatives of all the Sects, large and small, rogue cultivators, daozhangs… now, more than ever before, we must unify if we are to have any hope of countering Wen Ruohan successfully. Sect Leader Jin, please, send out all the messages and couriers you can spare. Ask every cultivator who can come to meet here in three days’ time, we cannot afford to wait any longer.”

“Yes, yes, fine. But I’ll be dispatching my own men as well, Xichen,” said Nie Mingjue. “I will authorize them to summon the rest of my armies to Yiling. The Nie, at least, will be ready to fight to our last breath.”

“A moment,” said Sect Leader Yao slowly, after Jin Guangshan begrudgingly passed the orders. “Is it so certain that such a battle would be futile? Have we not all heard the rumors surrounding the recovery of Lotus Pier? Rumors of a miraculous storm, a manifestation of divine wrath that slew hundreds of Wen-dogs in an instant? Could we not call on such power again?”

Every eye in the Hall went to Wei Ying, who rubbed at the side of his nose.

“Well, you’d have to ask my shidi – I mean, Sect Leader Jiang – about that, honored Sect Leaders.”

“That’s right, you weren’t present during the storm, were you?” asked Jin Guangshan, who had stopped sweating and was starting to get his usual expression back: like a cat eyeing a plump canary.

As if you didn’t already know, thought Lan Wangji, gripping Bichen’s hilt anxiously. What are you up to now, you viper?

“No, I arrived in Lotus Pier several days afterwards, as you are aware,” replied Wei Ying, looking surprised, then suspicious. “When we rescued Wen Qing, who was imprisoned there, she said that the only surviving witnesses that she knew of were Wen Chao, Wen Zhuliu, and Jiang Cheng himself.”

“Where is Jiang Wanyin?” chimed in Sect Leader Qin. “He should be here, explaining himself.”

Wei Ying looked round indignantly, and Jin Guangshan said, in his most unctuous voice, “Ah, poor Cheng’er is still recovering from the dreadful injuries he sustained in Wen captivity. He is in my infirmary, safe and sound.”

“Indeed?” said Sect Leader Yao. “A testament to the bonds of friendship between yourself and the late, lamented Jiang Fengmian, no doubt. Your generosity and benevolence truly know no bounds, Sect Leader Jin.”

Lan Wangji fumed inwardly as Jin Guangshan smiled condescendingly from his throne.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Over the next three days, a steady stream of Sect Leaders, monks, daozhangs, and renowned rogue cultivators flooded into Koi Tower in response to Jin Guangshan's summons. Lan Wangji recognized several of them as former students of his uncle’s. He was able to greet Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen briefly when the pair arrived from Baixue Temple, but had little time for anything else, what with following Xiongzhang from meeting to meeting, pouring tea and taking notes from morning until night.

Privately, Lan Wangji thought that he had never seen the rules against gossip broken quite so flagrantly before. Every meeting, every meal, every passing encounter in the gilded hallways and peony-scented pavilions of Koi Tower was full of whispers and rumormongering.

Lan Wangji grew increasingly concerned when he realized most of the wild tales centered on Jiang Wanyin. He had not had time to visit the younger man’s room in several days.

“Don’t even try,” Nie Huaisang muttered to him as they sat behind their brothers during yet another interminable discussion. “Jin Guangshan’s posted guards at the entrance to Jiang-xiong’s quarters and they’re turning everyone away. Even me!”

Lan Wangji looked sideways at Nie Huaisang, who fanned himself and added, even more quietly, “He is being kept isolated but not mistreated. As Jiang-xiong’s healer, Ma Chenguang still has access to him. She’s told me he is frustrated and angry – no surprises there – but she says his recovery is still progressing.”

“Huaisang?” Meng Yao broke in, sweetly. “Did you have anything you wanted to add to this discussion?”

“A-Yao! Why ask me? I don’t know anything, really, I don’t!”

Nie Mingjue harrumphed, Meng Yao and Lan Xichen smiled at each other indulgently, and then everyone turned their attention back to the discussion.

As soon as the others were safely distracted, Nie Huaisang whispered, “If you want to help Jiang-xiong, Lan-er-gongzi, you’d be best off keeping a lid on Wei Wuxian.”

Easier said than done, thought Lan Wangji, disgruntled. In the absence of Jiang Wanyin, Wei Ying was easily the most sought-after person at Koi Tower. Every time Lan Wangji caught a glimpse of him, he was at the center of a fascinated group of cultivators or huddled with one or another of the newly arrived Sect Leaders. Lan Wangji counted the number of wine jars that the servants provided for these little chats with dismay. He grew further distressed with every snippet of conversation he was able to overhear as he passed by, going here and there in Xichen’s wake as he swept from one meeting to the next:

“… and the last thing Madame Yu did before she sent us away was make Jiang Cheng the new master of Zidian…”

“… well, you would think so, right, but Wen Qing swore that there were no other prisoners, just Jiang Cheng, so somehow he must have killed all those soldiers…”

“… no, Wen Qing ran a few tests, and I did some research in the Jin library, which is rubbish, by the way, and the only conclusion that makes sense is that Jiang Cheng created the storm somehow – yes, it does seem impossible, doesn’t it, but you never know, I’m not sure even Meishan Yu ever fully understood the extent of Zidian’s powers…”

Lan Wangji chewed the inside of his cheek anxiously.

Then the day of the official conference arrived, and Pageant Hall was packed to bursting. Lan Wangji, having slept poorly the night before, sat morosely between Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang with his head swimming from the volume of noise.

As soon as Jin Guangshan opened the proceedings, arguments began sailing back and forth. Nobody wanted to come right out and suggest a cowardly capitulation to Wen Ruohan, but the alternative – facing an army of fierce corpses, powered by an unplumbed well of resentful energy – seemed to promise only annihilation. The cultivation world watched uneasily as the two factions, headed by Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangshan, edged towards open hostility.

Lan Wangji, who had been silently and judgmentally counting the number of wine cups that Wei Ying drained as the discussion raged on, tensed when Sect Leader Yao got up and repeated his crowd-pleasing line about the elimination of the Wen forces at Lotus Pier. An interested murmur went around the room, and an elder from Meishan Yu spoke up.

“Respectfully, Sect Leader Jin, where is Jiang Wanyin? How is it that he cannot appear before us himself? Sect Leader Yu has been most anxious for news of her grandchildren, but the Lotus Gate remains locked! Completely barricaded! And there are rumors of cultivators in Jin colors roaming about all over the place! The recent events in Yunmeng are certainly intriguing, but I am sure I speak for us all when I find myself questioning the Jiang Sect’s future status in the cultivation world!”

Wei Ying fidgeted angrily; Lan Wangji grabbed him by the elbow to steady him.

“Why, these are all excellent points, Yu-qianbei,” replied Jin Guangshan in a silky voice, and signaled to Jin Zixun, who was seated by his side. “Perhaps it would be best if I send my nephew, here, to fetch Cheng’er from his rooms. His injuries are still grievous, but he can certainly speak for himself.”

“Who are you calling Cheng’er,” growled Wei Ying under his breath as Jin Zixun bowed and left the Hall in a flurry of zeal.

As they waited, the Yu elder continued to grumble querulously. “What kind of injuries could possibly incapacitate Jiang Wanyin for so many days, anyway? He is supposed to be a capable cultivator!”

“Oh, didn’t I mention it?” said Jin Guangshan, leaning down from the Peony Throne as if to impart a great secret. “He’s not a cultivator anymore, poor child. He lost his golden core.”

Many of those assembled gasped in shock, but others did not bother to hide the calculating, speculative looks that spread across their faces.

Jin Guangshan, meanwhile, was still talking, and Lan Wangji was exerting quite a bit of his much-vaunted arm strength to keep Wei Ying in his seat. “Then – ah, how it pains me to say it! – he was held down and flogged with the Jiang Sect’s own Discipline Whip.”

Lan Wangji heard a susurrus of tsks and tuts from around the hall. “Shameful!” exclaimed Sect Leader Ouyang. “Such a punishment is reserved for the meanest of criminals! Traitors and oath-breakers! How could Jiang Wanyin allow himself to be disgraced in such a fashion!”

“Alas, alas,” said Jin Guangshan, shaking his head in a pantomime of sorrow, even as his voice dripped innuendo, “I fear that is not the only way in which little Cheng’er allowed himself to be disgraced…”

Lan Wangji lost his grip on Wei Ying.

“SHUT UP,” Wei Ying roared, surging to his feet. “Mind your words, Sect Leader Jin! My shidi didn’t allow anything! Wen Chao raped him!”

Everyone present flinched and stared – Wei Ying was so angry that his eyes looked red, like an enraged bull’s, and he kept bellowing. “Instead of gossiping about him like a bunch of old fishwives, you should all be grateful! Jiang Cheng brought down an entire Wen army!”

“How, though?” yelled a rogue cultivator whom Lan Wangji didn’t recognize.

“With Zidian, obviously!”

“Well, then, can’t he do it again?” demanded Sect Leader Qin, piling into the fray. “He could save us all from Wen Ruohan!”

“Not if he's lost his core, haven’t you been listening?” yelled Sect Leader He.

“Indeed! We have been sorely misled!” Sect Leader Yao bellowed. “Why, if he’s grown so weak without his core that he could be whipped and – and penetrated, then he’s more like a whor* than a man, let alone a Sect Leader!”

Wei Ying clenched his fists and snarled between his gritted teeth, “Don’t you dare talk about my shidi like that! He’s not a whor*, and he’s certainly not weak! Do you know of anyone else who’s survived losing their core?”

Before anyone could form a response to Wei Ying’s words, the doors to Pageant Hall swung open again and every eye went to the two figures that appeared in the frame.

Lan Wangji felt as if the breath had been punched from his lungs. To judge from Wei Ying’s strangled wheezing noises, he was experiencing the same sensation.

Jin Zixun, looking insufferably smug, stood in the doorway with Jiang Wanyin tucked close to his side, one hand spread possessively over Wanyin’s hip, where his fingers were idly stroking, intimate little circles. (The small corner of Lan Wangji’s mind that was still functioning marked down that hand for later dismemberment.) Wanyin’s hair was unbound, a silken cascade flowing over his shoulders and down his back. He was dressed only in a single, soft inner robe, and as Jin Zixun half-carried Wanyin over the threshold, Lan Wangji was shocked to see the boy’s delicate bare toes and even a glimpse of his long golden legs as the loosely tied garment fluttered around him.

For just one moment, Lan Wangji was completely distracted by the undeniably alluring sight of Wanyin looking flushed and soft, pliant and disheveled, as if he had just risen from a lover’s bed. His ears warmed, but the desire kindling in his belly abruptly turned to ice as he realized the implications of Jin Zixun bringing Wanyin before the entire Jianghu without even allowing him to dress.

He stared desperately into Wanyin’s wide gray eyes, which were – they – they were vacant. The thing Jin Zixun was manhandling was little more than a mindless doll wearing Wanyin’s face, an automaton awaiting instructions.

Lan Wangji glanced around wildly, searching for answers, desperate for this to not be happening, but Wei Ying stood frozen and Xichen was pale and silent with shock. Nie Huaisang and Chifeng-zun wore identical expressions of dawning outrage and a few other cultivators seemed to share their distress and disapproval, but the vast majority… did not.

An ugly noise rose in the Hall as the boldest among the assembled cultivators began to sneer. Lan Wangji heard crude words and snickering, much of it not even hidden behind the perpetrators’ sleeves, and his mind buzzed with fury at the sight of these supposedly righteous men openly leering at Jiang Wanyin, more beautiful than ever but looking so vulnerable and young as he gazed around the room with that oddly blank, lost expression, blinking unfocused gray eyes.

Jin Guangshan sat back on his throne, satisfaction in every line of his oleaginous smirk as he listened to Jiang Wanyin’s reputation crumbling around him, drowning beneath the rolling tide of whispers. The more sympathetic said such a pity, so young, so tragic; the harshest weak, childish, unfit, unworthy, coreless, mediocre, failure, incapable, worthless.

“What the f*ck!” Wei Ying snarled, snapping out of his shock and flying to his shidi’s side. “Jin Zixun! You’ve gone too f*cking far!”

“Mind your words, Wei Wuxian,” said Jin Zixun with a most unpleasant sneer. He put his other arm around Jiang Wanyin’s waist and pulled him closer, even as Wei Ying began trying to pry his shidi loose. “He wanted to come, didn’t you, A-Cheng?”

Jiang Wanyin swayed between them, still strangely passive. “I… wanted to,” he said, but his voice sounded vague and uncertain.

“You don’t get to call him that! Let go,” Wei Ying growled, tugging Wanyin by the arm.

“No! You heard what he said,” Jin Zixun hissed, tugging back.

“One moment!” broke in Elder Yu, barging into the scuffle and pulling up Wanyin’s sleeve. He peered closely at Wanyin’s hand, at the branching indigo lightning covering his outstretched arm, then tapped the silver ring on his finger before turning indignantly to Wei Ying. “Young Master Wei! You’ve claimed that Jiang Wanyin used Zidian to defeat an entire Wen army, but now it’s completely unresponsive! What on earth has this boy done to our Sect’s treasure?”

Wei Ying didn’t answer – he was breathing hard and glaring daggers at Jin Zixun – but Elder Yu soldiered on. “It hardly matters anyway! If Jiang Wanyin no longer has a golden core, he cannot wield Zidian, and it should by rights be returned to Meishan Yu!”

Lan Wangji could practically hear the ping of Wei Ying’s temper snapping.

“I should have known that Zidian is all any of you care about,” he flared, and tore Jiang Wanyin bodily from Jin Zixun’s grasp. “You want it so you can be the ones to reap the glory and honor of defeating Qishan Wen! You think you’ll get all the spoils! You think you’ll have your pick of the war prizes and conquered territory!”

Well, everyone is certainly thinking that NOW, thought Lan Wangji in despair.

“Well, you can all f*ck right off!” Wei Ying raged, glaring around the room. “Zidian belongs to Jiang Cheng, even if he can’t cultivate anymore! It’s his birthright!”

“Do you suggest we just let all that power go to waste, then?” retorted the Meishan Yu elder, who had somehow retained his wiry grip on Jiang Wanyin’s wrist. “There’s no-one left alive in the Jiang Sect with Yu blood except Jiang Yanli, and everyone knows that her golden core is too fragile to control Zidian!”

“So what?” flared Wei Ying. “Zidian obeyed Uncle Jiang too, the day Lotus Pier fell! I saw it happen! I’m part of Jiang Cheng’s family, so I could probably wield Zidian if I had to!”

“Hah!” shouted Jin Zixun, who was now trying to pull Jiang Wanyin away from Wei Ying again. “You just want to claim Zidian’s power for yourself and take over as Sect Leader of Yunmeng Jiang!”

“Like that’s not what you’re trying to do!” Wei Ying shouted back, pushing his shidi behind him, defensively. “You and your f*cking uncle, I bet you’re just gagging to get your hands on A-Cheng so you can make the Jiang Sect into a Jin subsidiary!”

“That’s right! Jiang Yanli is already betrothed to Jin Zixuan! Lanling Jin can’t have them both!” yelled a voice from the back row.

“Well! If the inheritance of Zidian and the succession of Yunmeng Jiang is under discussion, I must put forward a claim from the Pingyang Yao Sect! As a valued ally of the late Jiang Fengmian, I am willing to marry his son into my family, even though his honor has been sullied,” Sect Leader Yao said pompously, as he sailed over to clamp a meaty hand heavily on Wanyin’s shoulder.

(Despite everything, Lan Wangji had to take a moment to be flabbergasted at the sheer thickness of the man’s face.)

“Wait a moment, the Baling Ouyang Sect should also be considered,” yelled Sect Leader Ouyang, coming up from behind them and grabbing Wanyin’s other shoulder.

“As should Laoling Qin!”

“What about Tingshan He!”

“How dare you disregard Moling Su!”

As the shouting went on, Lan Wangji rose to his feet, slow and inexorable as one of Gusu’s mighty avalanches. He felt as if he was drifting outside of his own body, watching the horrible tableau from afar.

Lan Xichen, with his head in his hands, despairing. Wen Qing, with a disbelieving grimace curling her lip. Song Zichen, Xiao Xingchen, and the other rogue cultivators, sitting frozen in their places, staring openmouthed and appalled at the center of the room, where half a dozen respected and highly-ranked cultivators – Sect Leaders and members of the gentry one and all – fought over Jiang Wanyin like a pack of dogs with a juicy bone, each trying to snatch him away from the others.

Lan Wangji drew his guqin from his sleeve.

A single furious chord infused with spiritual power was enough to throw the brawlers off their feet, bowling them over like so many mùshè pins. Lan Wangji went to Silence them all, only to find that Xichen had beat him to it. The room filled with indignant grunts and mutterings, but these were instantly quelled by the distinctive shhhhing that was the sound of Nie Mingjue drawing Baxia. He sighted down the blade and ran his thumb along the cutting edge quite casually, before laying the massive saber across his knees and crooking a disdainful eyebrow at the disgraceful scene.

Lan Wangji dismissed everyone else from his notice and hurried towards Jiang Wanyin. He had been left standing alone in the middle of Pageant Hall, shivering, disoriented, and confused, his robe torn and hanging halfway off his shoulders. Even his bandages were in disarray, and the ragged, bloodstained edges of his wounds were visible for all to see. Lan Wangji’s stomach churned.

Lan Wangji drew near and reached for Wanyin, but the boy shrank away from him.

“Jiang Wanyin?” Lan Wangji said cautiously. “Are you all right? Do you – can you recognize me?”

“Lan…er…ge…?”

The syrup-slow response caused a vague memory to take root in Lan Wangji’s belly, and from there a dreadful suspicion grew.

Forgetting to be careful, Lan Wangji pounced on Wanyin and spun him around. He parted the curtain of Wanyin’s lustrous hair and tugged the back of his collar down.

As he feared, there was a tell-tale slip of yellow talisman paper peeking out.

In the silence, everyone could hear Lan Wangji grinding his teeth furiously as he peeled the talisman away from the nape of Wanyin’s neck. At the sight of it, Wei Ying’s face went white, and then brick-red with anger.

Lan Xichen, looking grim, canceled the Silencing Spell with a wave of his hand.

“Jin Zixun. You – f*cking – swine,” said Wei Ying in an awful voice. “You dared to put a compulsion talisman on my shidi and brought him here like this, in nothing but his sleeping robe? Did you take advantage of him while you were at it? Stake a claim on him before anyone else could?”

“Don’t you even start with that self-righteous bullsh*t,” Jin Zixun blustered. “That talisman was your creation! You told me how to make it over a jar of wine, like it was nothing! You were laughing when you told me about the time you tested it on Lan-er-gongzi and compelled him to drink liquor in Cloud Recesses!”

“WHAT!” roared Chifeng-zun. “A talisman that robs people of their free will? Wei Wuxian, such a thing is unheard-of! It’s an abomination!”

“It was an experiment! I invented it to make Jiang Cheng do my chores for me when I was twelve, for f*ck’s sake! I didn’t mean for anyone to use it to – to rape people’s minds!” Wei Ying bellowed back.

Jiang Wanyin gave a sudden gasp, as if a bucket of ice water had just splashed over him. Lan Wangji’s heart ached on his behalf as the hazy look faded from his grey eyes and he registered the screaming argument raging over him, the chill of the marble floor against his bare feet, and the weight of hundreds of staring eyes. Wanyin looked down at his disheveled state and the blood showing through his robe, and Lan Wangji could see comprehension dawning in his face, followed immediately by humiliation, shame, horror. His hands shook as he tried to wrap his arms around himself, to pull the collar of his robe tighter, to hide the wounds on his chest and conceal the fact that his whole body was trembling.

Wanyin’s breathing grew fast and shallow – a panic attack in the offing, Lan Wangji thought with concern – but the boy suddenly began laughing instead, high, hysterical, humorless, and cold. Indigo sparks snapped around him, and the assembled cultivators looked uneasily amongst themselves, muttering warily; a few put their hands on their swords. Wanyin sank to his knees, still laughing horribly as he curled in on himself. His unbound hair fell over his face and pooled around him.

The sparks surged, growing thick, growing into flickering, branching webs of electricity, as if the purple figures on his arm were leaping from his skin, ravenous and angry.

“Oh, f*ck,” Wanyin wheezed harshly, and Lan Wangji felt a chill wind blowing through his robes.

(The doors and windows of Pageant Hall were shut and sealed.)

The fine hairs on Lan Wangji’s arms and the back of his neck stood on end, and the atmosphere in the room grew heavy and ominous.

“f*ck,” Wanyin said again, and something dangerous crackled in his voice. Arcs of lightning flared around his hands when he braced them against the floor, and the marble tile spiderwebbed into fragments under his fingers.

The lamps flared, and Pageant Hall began to smell strongly of ozone. When Wanyin finally looked up at them all, Lan Wangji saw he was weeping tears of blood. He pointed around the room scornfully and the sweeping gesture lingered as an afterimage, seared into everyone’s eyes by the bright lightning wreathing his hand.

“I would rather have been f*cked to death by half the Wen Army than let any of you lay a finger on me!”

He coughed thickly and rubbed the back of his hand across his nose, smearing blood over his face.

Pageant Hall filled with rustles and flaps, as the rising wind toyed with the golden hangings and draperies. Papers blew around the room, skittering into corners and under tables. A dainty porcelain vase filled with peonies tipped over and smashed. The cultivators edged back from their seats as the flying sparks began catching here and there, tiny flames blooming around the Hall.

“Wanyin,” said Lan Wangji, holding out his hands in supplication, but now Wanyin’s ears were pouring blood, down his jaw, down his neck, and he did not hear.

“I would rather have let Wen Ruohan use the Yin Iron on me! It would have been better, even if he turned me into his mindless co*cksleeve! At least he’s not a filthy f*cking hypocrite!”

The wind moaned in agreement and whipped up the loose papers. At Jin Guangshan’s side, a delicate filigree table flipped end-over-end, and the ghastly man blanched and cringed away.

“Jiang Wanyin! Stop this at once!” he shouted.

“No,” Wanyin said, and showed his bloodstained teeth.

“Wanyin, please,” Lan Wangji begged. He was leaning into the wind now, trying to ignore the way it tugged him backwards by his billowing robes. “It is hurting you.”

“I can’t,” Wanyin said, giggling maniacally. “I can’t! I don’t know how!”

His clothing was burning, now, and his eyes flickered with uncanny light before rolling back in his head. He convulsed, and a bolt of indigo lightning cracked from one end of the Hall to another. It struck one of the peaco*ck statues atop the Peony Throne and the golden thing exploded. Fragments went whining through the air and Jin Guanshan dived under his table, yowling with fear. Many of the other cultivators present did the same.

Lines of fire crept towards Wanyin’s skin as his hems and sleeves burned away –

The patterns on his skin were glowing, too bright to look at directly –

Xichen was on his feet with Liebing set to his lips, and Wei Ying was swinging his Clarity bell, but –

“This is not resentful energy!” Lan Wangji called over the sound of the howling wind and the rolling thunder and Wanyin’s sobbing. “Please! He’s not…”

“STOP HIM!” shrieked Jin Gungshan, and the Jin Sect guardsmen and disciples drew their weapons uncertainly.

Lan Wangji sternly pushed his panic aside and reached for Wanyin again. “Go away,” the boy wept, “I’ll hurt you! I don’t want to hurt you!”

The wind dragged Lan Wangji back several steps as Wanyin vomited blood and started to choke. More flames caught and flared in the thin cotton of his robe.

“DO SOMETHING,” Wei Ying screamed.

Three silver needles flew past Lan Wangji and sank into the back of Wanyin’s neck. Wanyin collapsed, and the wind died so abruptly that Lan Wangji went stumbling forward and landed on his hands and knees. Uncaring of his dignity, he scrambled to Wanyin’s side, tore off his outer robe, and used the thick, be-spelled fabric to smother the flames licking over him. When he was sure they were extinguished, he began patting frantically at the boy’s chilled, unresponsive face.

“Turn him on his side. Keep his nose and throat clear,” snapped Wen Qing, skidding to her knees beside him and sticking more needles into Wanyin’s various acupoints. She stared at him while she checked his heartbeat and vital signs, frowning with concentration and dismay.

“GUARDS! SEIZE HIM!” ordered Jin Guangshan, from under his table.

“No,” said Lan Wangji very calmly, as he stood and drew Bichen. “Jiang Wanyin is mine, my betrothed, and I will not allow anyone to touch him without his consent or treat him with further disrespect.”

Another round of shocked murmurs and whispers buzzed around the Hall.

“Who – what do you think you are doing, claiming to be engaged to Jiang Wanyin,” croaked Jin Zixun, who was still trying to get his feet under him. “Since when?”

“Indeed,” said Jin Guangshan indignantly. “This announcement is highly irregular, and the timing is most suspicious!”

“They’re not wrong, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying hissed into Lan Wangji’s ear. “Why must you make me agree with the f*cking Jins?”

Lan Wangji ignored them all. Lan Xichen stepped up to his side, elegant as ever, but Liebing had disappeared into his sleeve and he held Shuoyue, unsheathed, in his hand. “I hope nobody means to suggest that my didi is lying,” Xichen said, very gently, and everyone shut up. “It is quite simple: Wangji and Jiang Wanyin were thrown together a good deal during the last lectures held at Cloud Recesses before the Wen attack, and they unexpectedly developed a mutual affection. During that time, Jiang Wanyin received Wangji’s forehead ribbon, and they bowed before one of the Lan ancestors. Given everything that happened immediately afterwards, their betrothal was not made public.”

Faced with the Twin Jades standing shoulder to shoulder, nobody dared to object except for Jin Guangshan, who looked extremely sour but pressed on. “Well – that is all very romantic, Zewu-Jun, but the fact remains that Jiang Wanyin just attacked me in my own hall!”

“Sect Leader Jiang recently saw his parents and entire Sect slaughtered before his eyes,” replied Lan Xichen, raising one eyebrow and allowing a hint of steel to creep into his voice. “He was then captured, tortured, drugged, abducted, and assaulted. Knowing this, Sect Leader Jin, I cannot help but wonder what you expected to happen when your nephew brought him here against his will and paraded him, unclothed, before the entire Jianghu.”

Jin Guangshan hemmed and hawed, and Lan Wangji groaned inwardly. Would the man never shut up? Jiang Wanyin was still face-down on the floor! And now Wei Ying had joined Wen Qing, kneeling next to his unconscious shidi; the two conducted a furious debate in hissing whispers even as the Jin Sect Leader blurted out, “His actions were uncontrolled! Indiscriminate! He should be confined for his own safety and the safety of the other Sect Leaders present!”

“That’s true, that’s very true!” said Sect Leader Yao, and many of the other Sect Leaders – even those who had not already been eyeing Wanyin like they wanted to devour him whole – nodded in agreement. Vultures, thought Lan Wangji in disgust. Cowards. He turned his stoniest glare upon the Jin guardsmen edging nearer and allowed a few inches of Bichen’s blade to slide from the scabbard.

Fortunately, before anyone could make a move, Wen Qing’s voice rose clearly above the noise in the hall. “This discussion will have to be postponed. Sect Leader Jiang is displaying all the symptoms of a serious qi deviation – and no, don’t ask me how a man with no golden core can possibly be suffering from a qi deviation, because I don’t know yet, but I can tell you that he is barely capable of breathing right now, let alone carrying out any kind of attack. If you stick him in a dungeon, untreated, he will be dead by sunrise tomorrow, beyond the shadow of a doubt.”

“Sect Leader Jiang is under the protection of Gusu Lan,” said Lan Xichen promptly, to Lan Wangji’s immense gratitude and relief. “We will care for him at Cloud Recesses, if Sect Leader Jin feels incapable of guaranteeing his own safety and the safety of his other honored guests.”

Tiger-like, Nie Mingjue prowled up to Xichen’s side and showed all his teeth as he grinned at Jin Guangshan, openly reveling in the other’s discomfort. “Indeed. If Sect Leader Jin is unable to host Sect Leader Jiang properly, my Nie Sect’s healers are very well-versed in treating qi deviations.”

Jin Guangshan scowled, but at that moment the door to Pageant Hall burst open again and bevy of Jin healers, led by Ma Chenguang, came bustling in. They budged past the guards and swarmed around Jiang Wanyin, hiding him from sight as Ma Chenguang knelt before the Peony Throne.

“This one begs your forgiveness, Sect Leader Jin, respected Sect Leaders,” she said in a clear, carrying voice, as the other Healers carefully arranged Jiang Wanyin on a stretcher and covered him with Lan Wangji’s robe and a soft, heavy quilt. “Please be assured we will bring Sect Leader Jiang back to his quarters without delay.”

“Erm. Hem. Yes, do so, Ma-daifu,” said Jin Guangshan, affecting great hauteur. “See to it that he doesn’t – ah, wander off again.”

“Of course, Sect Leader,” said Ma Chenguang obligingly, touching her forehead to the floor before rising. “We will redouble our watch over Sect Leader Jiang’s well-being.”

Lan Wangji looked past her demure figure only to see Nie Huaisang lift his fan, not in quite enough time to hide his very satisfied expression, or the small, subtle nod that Ma Chenguang gave him in return.

Feeling obscurely comforted, Lan Wangji made to follow the healers as they carried Jiang Wanyin out of the Hall. Wei Ying and Wen Qing also stood.

“And where do you three think you are going?” Jin Guangshan asked peevishly.

“My betrothed may need me,” said Lan Wangji in his iciest tones.

“My shidi might need me,” said Wei Ying, frowning at Lan Wangji reprovingly

“I need my f*cking needles back,” Wen Qing announced, and stomped out of the door in a huff.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

Barely controlled chaos reigned in Wanyin’s room as Ma Chenguang directed her assistants in cleaning and re-wrapping his chest wounds, salving his burns, and soothing his inflamed meridians. Lan Wangji sat in an out-of-the-way corner and played more rounds of Healing and Clarity on his guqin, trying to tune out Wei Ying and Wen Qing as they sat on either side of Wanyin, holding his wrists, sweeping him with their qi, and bickering. With his robes unfastened, it was clear to everyone that the purple lightning figures had branched out from Wanyin’s arm, spreading up his neck and across his ribs.

“There’s no other explanation I can think of,” said Wei Wuxian, when the healers finally finished their work, bowed, and left the room. “There’s no curse on him, and as Lan Zhan said, it’s clearly not resentful energy…”

“Well, something repaired his arm,” Wen Qing muttered in reply. “Which looked like something dragged out of the Burial Mounds at first, I still have nightmares about it… and whatever it is, it does seem to be trying to protect him still.”

“What,” asked Lan Wangji, stilling his guqin strings and looking anxiously between them and Wanyin’s pale, slack face.

Wen Qing hummed and said, “We are pretty sure that Zidian now occupies Sect Leader Jiang’s lower dantian. I would imagine that was the only way that Zidian could fulfil its competing directives – Madame Yu’s dying wish to keep Jiang Wanyin alive at any cost, and Jiang Wanyin’s own desire to avenge his Sect, again, at any cost. Zidian honored Wanyin’s decision to sacrifice his golden core while he was trying to take down Wen Zhuliu, but then shifted its form and locus, moving from the ring into his body because it couldn’t let him outright die. Zidian has essentially made itself into something like a new core. That would explain why Elder Yu couldn’t sense anything when he touched the ring, it’s no more than a piece of jewelry, now.”

Lan Wangji blinked several times as he tried to absorb this information. “If it is safe to do so, Jiang Wanyin should be awakened for this conversation,” he said eventually. “It is forbidden to talk about others behind their back.” Wen Qing rolled her eyes at this remark but plucked the needles from Wanyin’s acupoints obligingly.

“So stubborn,” said Wei Ying with fond exasperation, and flicked his unconscious shidi on the forehead. “Can you imagine anyone but A-Cheng being stubborn enough to burn out their own golden core? Hey, do you suppose the new one is purple instead of gold?”

“No. Yes. Wait a moment,” Lan Wangji said, as their words finally registered in his whirling mind. “How did you know that Wanyin burned out his own core? Did he tell you?”

“What? No,” said Wei Ying. “I think it was Wen Ning, maybe?”

“Mhm,” said Wen Qing absently, as she cleaned the needles and put them away in her sleeve. “Yes, A-Ning told us both, quite a few days ago actually. I assumed it was common knowledge.”

No, Lan Wangji thought, with a growing sense of unease as Wanyin began to stir and moan. The two of us were alone in the room when Wanyin spoke of how he lost his core – or at least I thought we were.

He made a great effort to put these thoughts aside as Wanyin gasped and sat up, looking around wildly and clutching his hands to his chest. “What happened!” he demanded, struggling to breathe against the bandages tightly encircling his torso.

“You need to calm down, shidi, you had a qi deviation or something,” said Wei Ying and reached for him, but Wanyin shuffled hastily back into the farthest corner of his bed.

“You – no. Get away from me. And her too!”

“Jiang Cheng!” said Wei Ying indignantly. “We’re just trying to help!”

Wanyin shook his head vehemently, panting, and clawed at the nape of his neck.

“Is that f*cking talisman gone? Is it off me?”

“Yes,” said Lan Wangji softly, and Wei Ying looked guilty as Jiang Cheng closed his eyes and hissed a relieved breath between his teeth.

“Wei. Wuxian,” he said eventually, in a most foreboding voice. “It was bad enough that you made that talisman in the first place, but to go blathering about it to Jin Zixun of all people…!”

“I know, shidi, I know, and I promise I won’t tell anyone else,” interrupted Wei Ying, holding up three fingers earnestly.

“But it’s too late now, don’t you understand? If he knows, then Jin Guangshan knows, and how will anyone ever be able to trust…”

“Oop! Is that a knock on the door I hear,” said Wei Ying quickly, and he scampered to open it, looking deeply relieved. Wanyin rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

They were all surprised to see Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue come into the room, trailed by Nie Huaisang, all three of them wearing grim expressions.

“Xiongzhang. What’s wrong?” asked Lan Wangji with trepidation.

“What isn’t?” Chifeng-zun answered, pinning Wei Ying with a glare. “We’ll have to set aside the issue of that wretched talisman of yours for now, Wei-gongzi, because Jin Guangshan has finally agreed to join the rest of the Sects in sieging the Burial Mounds. However, he’s put a price on his cooperation.”

“Oh, of course he f*cking has. What price,” said Jiang Wanyin in flat disgust.

“Zidian, of course,” replied Nie Huaisang, and closed his fan with an angry snap. “After the fireworks you put on in Pageant Hall, Jiang-xiong, do you even have to ask? There’s no way Jin Guangshan would ever be willing to let that kind of power slip out of his hands.”

“Well, that’s going to be a problem,” said Wei Ying, before Wanyin could respond. He was scratching his nose again, and not looking anyone in the eye. “Because Wen Qing and I have determined that Zidian is, um, inside A-Cheng now?”

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake,” said Wanyin, and hid his face in his hands.

“Yes,” said Wen Qing. “I assume either Wen Zhuliu or Wen Chao figured this out, which is why Wen Chao went digging through your arm, then your lower dantian, before resorting to rape.” Wanyin’s shoulders hunched in further, but she kept right on talking in her dry clinician’s voice, staring avidly at Wanyin as if he was an exotic animal in a menagerie. “It’s probably also why you’ve got all the symptoms of qi deviation now. Zidian is a famously aggressive martial spirit; it only knows one way to respond to an attack. You’ll have to train it to circulate through your meridians when your body is not in full-on fight-or-flight mode, otherwise its energy will keep overriding and overwhelming you. Eventually it will be fatal, probably sooner rather than later.”

Lan Wangji looked at Wen Qing with deep disfavor and wondered if he had ever met anyone less comforting, besides possibly his Uncle.

“Shut up, Wen Qing,” hissed Wei Ying, elbowing her in the ribs before turning back to his shidi with a bright, optimistic expression plastered across his face. “Look at it this way, A-Cheng – if you pull it off you’ll become the Jianghu’s very first lightning cultivator! The Grandmaster of Lightning Cultivation!”

“Great,” said Wanyin bitterly, and buried himself in the corner of his bed. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind the next time I get drugged and abducted and – and f*cked, because I assume that’s what Jin Guangshan will do once he hears about this and realizes he can only access Zidian’s power now by turning me into a human cauldron.”

Wei Ying’s smile vanished, and Lan Wangji felt his own body react with shock at the mere mention of the horrible sacrilege. To use a person as a human cauldron was to forcibly siphon energy from their core during sex; a twisted perversion of dual cultivation, which was intended to strengthen the bond between equal partners who freely chose to share their qi in the most intimate of ways.

He saw his own horror mirrored in the expressions of everyone around him.

“Oh, f*ck,” Lan Xichen whispered.

“Aiya, A-Cheng, always so direful,” said Wei Ying hurriedly. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet, all right? I’ll – I’ll go make you some soup! Okay? I’ll make soup, and once you eat it, you’ll feel better. Come give me a hand Wen Qing.” He seized her arm, dragged her out the door, and left them all staring in confusion.

“Neither of them can cook for sh*t,” said Nie Huaisang, after a little silence.

“Focus, A-Sang,” said Nie Mingjue, and poked his brother in the back of the head. “We need to think of how best to proceed.”

“There’s not much of a choice, is there, though,” said Wanyin, and the bitterness in his voice was now fading into an awful, lifeless resignation that Lan Wangji hated to hear. “Jin Guangshan has me backed into a corner and he knows it. If I say no, the Jin Sect won’t march, the siege of the Burial Mounds will fail, Wen Ruohan will have us at his mercy, and it will all be my fault.”

“But if you say yes,” said Lan Xichen, very quietly, “the best you can hope for is to become a subordinate spouse, since you cannot bear heirs. You are far more likely to end up as a concubine. I doubt that Madame Jin would suffer her husband to have you, her sworn sister’s son, so he will probably try to consolidate his influence within the Jin Sect by giving you to a high-ranking branch family. Indeed, after what happened today, I would not be surprised to learn that he has already promised you to Jin Zixun. Ever since Jin Zixuan openly aligned with his mother by resuming his betrothal with Jiang Yanli, I have observed Jin Guangshan empowering his nephew as a counterbalance to his wife and son. Regardless, whoever your master is, I doubt they would allow you to return to Lotus Pier, let alone lead Yunmeng Jiang. And they would surely insist on breaking your engagement with Wangji.”

“No,” said Lan Wangji, offended to the core of his soul at hearing Wanyin described so, like a pretty toy to be passed around in exchange for power and prestige.

A bone-deep shudder ran through Jiang Wanyin’s whole body, and he kept his face turned away from them all as he roughly scrubbed a hand across his eyes, making only a partial response. “Well. Who would accept me as a Sect Leader after today, anyway? Between Jin Guangshan and Jin Zixun, I’ll be seen as either a helpless, pathetic victim or an unpredictable, dangerous, unorthodox freak.”

“Not true,” said Lan Wangji staunchly, and the bleak line of Jiang Wanyin’s mouth softened slightly.

At the sound of another knock, they all turned towards the door, and Lan Wangji was surprised to see Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen come into the room looking as pale and upset as everyone else.

“Daozhang Xiao, Daozhang Song! Is everything all right?” asked Xichen anxiously.

“What else has gone awry?” groaned Nie Mingjue.

Xiao Xingchen clasped his trembling hands together, bowed, and said, “My apologies for intruding, esteemed Sect Leaders, but I may be able to offer an alternative to a full-scale attack on the Burial Mounds.”

“What’s that?” said Jiang Wanyin, staring from one to the other with a faint look of hope kindling in his eyes.

Song Zichen’s expression deepened to anguish, but he didn’t say anything as Xiao Xingchen took a shaky breath and began to speak.

“You will all remember Xue Yang, the murderer whom we captured and brought to the Unclean Realm shortly before the Wen assault began.”

Everyone nodded, and Xiao Xingchen continued. “I believe – Xue Yang would allow me to enter the Burial Mounds if I went there alone and offered to – to give myself to him. Once past the barrier, I could attempt to assassinate him and Wen Ruohan.”

“What?” said Nie Mingjue, aghast. “That sounds like a suicide mission! Daozhang Xiao, with all due respect, what makes you think this plan would even work?”

Xiao Xingchen twisted his fingers together, looking even unhappier, and Song Zichen captured his hands in his own gentle grip.

“During our pursuit of Xue Yang, he grew – obsessed – with Xingchen. After we captured him, he kept making comments about Xingchen’s beauty – very explicit comments – and often speculated openly on how he might – possess – what he would do if – well, it doesn’t bear repeating,” said Song Zichen, grimacing, and Xiao Xingchen made an unhappy noise. Song Zichen pressed his lover’s hands comfortingly before he continued. “After Xue Yang escaped from the Unclean Realm, he began sending us talisman messages – disturbing – obscene. Once he even sent a paperman that wormed its way into our bed while we slept.”

Xiao Xingchen shuddered and added quietly, “It crept into my robes,” and one of Song Zichen’s hands went to the hilt of f*ckue and gripped it, white-knuckled.

Nie Mingjue cleared his throat after a moment’s appalled silence and said, “Well. It sounds like the first part of this plan might work, at least. But we cannot request it of you, it would be unrighteous to ask you to sacrifice yourself as bait to that twisted little monster.”

“It would be equally unrighteous to ask the same of Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji pointed out sharply, and when Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen glanced at him inquiringly, he explained Jin Guangshan’s demand.

Do not succumb to rage.

Song Zichen curled an expressive lip when Lan Wangji had finished speaking. “Power. Status. Territory. Riches. These are their concerns, meanwhile the threat of Wen Ruohan hangs over us all. Tell me, is the Jianghu even worth saving?”

“Qīn'ài de,” said Xiao Xingchen, laying a hand on his beloved’s arm. Song Zichen turned and buried his head in Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder as the white-robed man embraced him tightly. “You know it is the right thing to do, A-Lan,” Xiao Xingchen said softly, “Not for men like Jin Guangshan, but on behalf of the foot soldiers and low-level cultivators and civilians who always suffer the most during a war. Would you truly want thousands to die? To be torn apart by fierce corpses and defiled by resentful energy?”

“If one of them was Jin Guangshan, then maybe,” Song Zichen muttered, with his face pressed against Xiao Xingchen’s neck.

“Oh, my dearest, my darling,” said Xiao Xingchen with a wet-sounding laugh, not caring a whit about his increasingly red-faced audience. “But then you would not be the honorable man I fell in love with, would you.”

Song Zichen sighed heavily, and said, “You know I will respect your decision, beloved, just… please. At least allow me to walk beside you every step of the way.” Lan Wangji’s ears burned as Xiao Xingchen drew his lover’s face down to his own and kissed him sweetly on the brow. He found himself looking over at Wanyin instead.

Wanyin was watching the two rogue cultivators with silent tears pouring down his face.

Jiang Cheng was just so f*cking tired. He was honestly surprised that he had any tears left to shed.

He and the others had talked around and around in circles for ages, even after Wei Wuxian had returned bearing another bowl of outlandishly spicy soup and started throwing around equally outlandish suggestions. (When Wei Wuxian proposed sneaking into the Burial Mounds, stealing the Yin Iron, and raising their own army of corpses, Lan Wangji reached the limits of his patience and deployed the Silencing Spell.) Eventually, with nothing resolved and night advancing fast, Jiang Cheng had begged for a few hours’ solitude to think everything over. The Nie brothers accordingly frog-marched Wei Wuxian out of the room, despite his outraged mumbles, followed by Lan Xichen. Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen departed with absentminded goodbyes, lost in their own inner landscape of sorrow and love. At Jiang Cheng’s request, even Lan Wangji left, after carefully checking Jiang Cheng’s temperature, adjusting his pillows, and dropping a soft kiss on his mouth.

The searching, unhappy look that Lan Wangji gave him on his way out the door tugged at Jiang Cheng’s heart, and he was sorely tempted to call the other boy back and seek just a little comfort in his quiet company, in his strong arms. But he ruthlessly pushed the desire aside – weak, his mother’s voice sneered in his head, weak, weak – because he needed to consider his duty, consider it carefully and objectively, and duty was just too cold and hard to contemplate when Lan Wangji was in front of him, distractingly beautiful with his long fingers playing music just for him, all his attention and quiet regard focused on Jiang Cheng, as if he was someone worthy, something precious.

It made Jiang Cheng’s greedy, selfish heart hunger for everything he knew he shouldn’t want, everything he knew he didn’t deserve.

Weak. Weak. Failure. Coward. Child. Unworthy. Incapable.

Instead, Jiang Cheng huddled into his bed, alone, and watched the candlelight flicker over the walls of his room through a scrim of falling tears.

Even though he’d been prepared to die at the hands of the Wens, when all was said and done Jiang Cheng had made up his mind to live. His parents were dead, but A-Jie and Wei Wuxian were safe. His sacrifice had saved his brother. He’d lost his golden core, he’d been hurt and violated and… and despite everything, he’d survived, the true-born son of Lotus Pier, rising in defiance even after the Wen had done their best to stamp him down into the muck. He had a responsibility to help the people of Yunmeng rise again, his people, now.

And, simmering hotly beneath everything else, he felt a dark, all-consuming need to pay the Wen Sect back tenfold for every wretched thing they’d done to his home, his people, his family, and himself – even if he had no idea how to go about it.

Not to mention, the greedy, grasping little corner of his mind whispered selfishly, Lan Wangji still wanted him…

I fell in love with you, not your wealth, your status, or your cultivation.

He couldn’t – he couldn’t – just hand himself over to the Jin. But on the other hand, could he live with himself if he didn’t? With their wealth and manpower, the Jin Sect would be essential to any successful war effort – and the consequences of failing were dire.

Would you truly want thousands to die? To be torn apart by fierce corpses and defiled by resentful energy?

How could he wish, even for a moment, for Xiao Xingchen to sacrifice himself to Xue Yang, to buy their safety with his own body, with Song Zichen’s suffering?

It seemed like every path forward ended in agony, and Jiang Cheng was so tired, and he didn’t know what the right thing to do was, and in the end, nobody could help him make this decision. With his head throbbing, Jiang Cheng tossed restlessly from side to side despite the dull, ever-burning ache in his lower dantian and the sharper pain that the Discipline Whip had slashed across his torso.

Weak. Failure. Coward. Child. Unworthy. Incapable.

Finally, unable to bear his own spiraling thoughts for another moment, Jiang Cheng forced himself to his feet, wrapped his arms protectively across his chest and belly, and inched across his room to the appalling gold-plated sword-stand where Sandu lay neglected. He carried the sword back to his bed and sat down again gingerly, wincing at the pull of muscle and skin under his bandages. He rubbed the frog on the pommel with his thumb, then got out a clean polishing cloth and a little bottle of oil. If he couldn’t practice his forms, he could at least wipe down the blade, over and over, in the hopes that the familiar, repetitive motions would help calm his mind. It had often been so, in the past.

However, almost as soon as he began, Jiang Cheng’s gut twisted miserably. Like all cultivators, he was accustomed to reinforcing the bond between his golden core and his spiritual weapon every time he tended to his sword. Now, all Jiang Cheng could feel was the absence of his connection to Sandu, like the feeling of a missing arm or leg, one more phantom pain within the larger agony of his burned-out core.

He was torn between the desire to pitch his sword across the room, or clasp it to his chest and sob, the way he used to hug his puppies when he was small and his parents were fighting. He settled for slumping despondently across the bed and fiddling with the ring that used to house Zidian’s spirit, now just a plain silver circlet.

You must train Zidian to circulate through your meridians when your body is not in full-on fight-or-flight mode…

Well.

Right at that moment his body felt slow and heavy as lead. And given a choice between thinking further about his situation and trying to channel lightning inside his body, Jiang Cheng knew perfectly f*cking well what he’d prefer. He sighed, dragged himself into the proper meditation position, laid Sandu gently across his thighs, and settled himself, reaching within as he’d learned to do when he was still a child.

He sank into the pain of his lost core as if it was a vat of fire, nearly making him keen out loud. He forced himself to breathe through it, in and out, in and out, until he grew aware that there was something else there, just at the edge of his consciousness, something sharp and unchancy, something that hissed and squirmed about, restless and vigilant and wary.

With absolutely no idea of how to proceed, Jiang Cheng did the best he could and visualized a skinny feral cat – the belligerent kind of cat that lurked around the marketplace with its crooked stump of a tail bristled up, raggedy ears pinned back, and single eye glaring balefully as it hissed and screamed at anyone who came near.

He imagined himself coaxing it forward, holding still, still, still. Murmuring softly, gentle encouragements. Holding a trustful hand out, waiting so patiently for a response…

Tzzzzt

Jiang Cheng opened one eye and peeked down. The indigo figures patterning his skin were glowing faintly, and a single purple spark skipped up and down the length of Sandu.

He’d done something.

It had been so long since he truly smiled that it felt quite strange to have a huge grin spread across his face. He was so elated that it was hard to settle back down and try it again.

And again.

And again.

Hours later, exhausted down to the marrow of his bones, Jiang Cheng finally laid Sandu aside. He had successfully kindled a slender arc of electricity in his sword, no more than a bright indigo thread – baby steps, but at least he hadn’t set anything on fire or bled from his eyeballs in the process! He felt nearly giddy with satisfaction, and even found himself looking forward to the morning so he could show off to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. He wondered if he could pull out the tried-and-true “But I’m a Sect Leader” card and persuade Ma Chenguang to let him go practice in the training grounds…

Let Jin Guangshan try to whor* him out now! Hah!

He noticed the bowl of soup that Wei Wuxian had left on the table and felt suddenly ravenous. He plucked the warming talisman off and began gobbling it down, managing several spoonfuls before the spiciness fully assaulted his senses and he had to stop, cough, and clear his nose.

What was that strange, sweet flavor underneath all the chili and garlic?

Jiang Cheng took another mouthful, musing. The taste was oddly familiar – pleasant enough, but…

Recollection hit, and he threw the bowl and spoon away, shattering them on the floor as icy horror spread through his body. He tried to put his fingers down his throat and bring the soup back up, but they felt thick and uncoordinated as sausages, and his arms flopped uselessly at his sides.

Even as he struggled to stay upright, Jiang Cheng sagged bonelessly back down onto his mattress. The candlelight dimmed, then flared as the door opened soundlessly.

Wei Wuxian slid into his room, dark eyes glittering and his expression unfathomable. All Jiang Cheng could do was stare at him, speechless with betrayal, as darkness closed in on him.

The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was a sibilant whisper, “Don’t worry, A-Cheng, shixiong will take care of everything for you.”

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Following yet another restless night spent fretting over his infuriating, absurd, self-sacrificing idiot of a fiancé, who didn’t have enough sense to fill an eggcup, Lan Wangji was uncharacteristically reluctant to haul himself out of bed the following morning. When he finally emerged, even more stone-faced than usual, Lan Xichen was already up and about. He gave his didi a rueful smile as Lan Wangji tied his forehead ribbon properly and rubbed at the purple shadows under his eyes.

Lan Wangji allowed himself to slouch slightly as he drank his morning tea, but he straightened up quickly when he heard the slap-slap-slap of feet sprinting down the hallway towards the Lan guest quarters. Neither of the Twin Jades were prepared to see Nie Huaisang, who regularly slept until midmorning and spent at least half a shichen of every day grooming himself to immaculate spruceness, come bursting into their chambers with his robes fastened haphazardly and his hair all in snarls.

He hung off the doorframe and gasped, "Jiang Cheng is missing! He vanished during the night!”

Smash went Lan Wangji’s teacup as he leapt to his feet, aghast. Xichen swore, and they both snatched up their weapons before following Nie Huaisang breathlessly down the hall. As they hurried along, they passed healers, cultivators, and servants alike running about in enormous disarray, rumors and hearsay flying here and there at random as the news spread like wildfire throughout Koi Tower.

Within an incense stick of time, Pageant Hall was once again packed with infuriated cultivators shouting back and forth, everyone focused on assigning blame, pushing their opinions, covering their asses – with the question of what had happened, where Wanyin was, whether he was safe, completely lost in the noise. Lan Wangji quickly found himself absolutely out of patience with the whole self-interested lot of them.

His expression darkened as the Yu delegation accused the Jin of being poor custodians of both Jiang Wanyin and Zidian and demanded both be immediately returned to Meishan. Jin Guangshan listened, as propriety demanded, before countering with the suggestion that, like a child who doesn’t want to share his toys, Jiang Wanyin had simply run away with Zidian. A well-rehearsed chorus of his cronies, among them the men who had been first to denounce Jiang Wanyin’s youth and inexperience on the previous day, promptly chimed in to accuse him of further cowardice, f*cklessness, and dereliction of duty.

“Surely, after losing control of himself so completely…”

“Now that everyone knows the shameful things Jiang Wanyin allowed the enemy to do to him…”

Lan Wangji looked around at the well-fed old men, swaddled in brocade, gorging themselves on fine tea and roast peanuts, passing judgement on his Wanyin, and audibly ground his teeth. If Wei Ying was here (and where was he, anyway? Still asleep, most likely) he would have exploded in defense of his shidi long ago – but as Wanyin’s intended, who better than he to take that duty upon himself? Lan Wangji accordingly stood up - right in the middle of Sect Leader Su's very polite and very longwinded rebuttal to the Yu Sect - and it was so very unexpected that everyone fell silent at once.

“The esteemed Sect Leaders should recall that the last time Sect Leader Jiang lost control, he left hundreds of electrocuted corpses in his wake,” Lan Wangji reminded them all in clipped tones. “The esteemed Sect Leaders should, perhaps, consider themselves fortunate that Sect Leader Jiang does not number them among his enemies – yet.”

And then he walked out without further ado, ignoring the expressions of shock and offense on the Sect Leaders left in his wake. Even Xiongzhang’s mouth was agape.

The Second Jade himself, the very picture of the ideal Lan Sect cultivator, interrupting his elders? Speaking out of turn? Showing disrespect? How scandalous! So disappointing!

Lan Wangji heard all this, as no doubt he was meant to, but found that he simply could not bring himself to care. Instead, he prowled restlessly around the gardens for a short while, seething, before giving up and going to Wanyin’s empty room. He glowered at the useless Jin guards still on duty, and they quailed visibly as they let him pass. Not knowing what else to do with himself, he sat on Wanyin’s forsaken bed and smoothed the rumpled quilts, hoping for a lingering whiff of his lotus scent.

Then he heard an unexpected shuffling sound from behind the wall. A section of the paneling slid silently aside, and Nie Huaisang, of all people, emerged from a hidden door. He dusted off his robes, then nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed Lan Wangji sitting there, eyes wide with surprise.

“Lan-er-gongzi!” exclaimed Nie Huaisang. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Pageant Hall.”

Lan Wangji fixed the smaller man with one of his most skeptical stares. Nie Huaisang whipped out his fan and hid behind it, as expected.

“No, no, no, no, don’t look at me like that. I’m really not doing anything!”

Lan Wangji continued to stare at him, saying nothing, pointedly.

“Oh all right,” Nie Huaisang said, long-suffering. “Fine. If you must know, I’ve been looking for anything that will explain what happened to Jiang-xiong. He might have been feeling upset and overwhelmed by everything that happened yesterday, but I refuse to believe he would just run off without a word to anybody.”

Jin Guangshan had first put forth that very argument less than a quarter of a shichen ago, and Nie Huaisang had not even been in Pageant Hall at the time. Lan Wangji raised his eyebrows, impressed despite himself, and Nie Huaisang waved his fan modestly.

“That is the entrance to servants’ corridors, which connect everything – from Pageant Hall and the bedrooms to the kitchen and laundry,” said Nie Huaisang, gesturing to the hidden door he had just emerged from. “I didn’t really expect to overhear anything useful, but it never hurts to be thorough in these kinds of situations.” He began pacing around the room, muttering to himself and looking at everything with his bright, bird-like eyes while Lan Wangji re-evaluated every opinion he had ever held about Nie Huaisang, who usually cultivated nothing but his reputation as the laziest person in Qinghe.

“Ohohoho, would you look at this,” Nie Huaisang said abruptly, dropping to his haunches and peering closely at one of the many fussy little tables standing around the room, each holding precisely one ornament. Lan Wangji looked at him doubtfully, then went over to where Nie Huaisang was pointing with his furled fan. Like everything else in the room, the table was a terrible eyesore, all whorls and flourishes and ornate scrollwork buried under a thick layer of gilt. Then he saw a few smudges of dark red liquid, hidden deep within the carving, and grew very tense. Nie Huaisang, however, merely licked the tip of his finger, rubbed at one of the drops, and sniffed daintily.

Then he sneezed. “Chili oil,” he mused. “Well, we both saw Wei-xiong bring in a bowl of very spicy-looking soup last night, did we not? And Jiang-xiong didn't eat any of it while we were with him, did he?”

“No?” said Lan Wangji.

“Well then, it seems that at some point after we all left, that soup got spilled, and then someone tried to clean it up – but missed a spot or two, it seems. I must say, I never thought I’d find myself grateful for Jin Guangshan’s atrocious taste in furnishings! In any case, that means another person has been in here – unless Jiang-xiong did it himself, I suppose. But let’s see what we can find out.”

Nie Huaisang produced a talisman from his sleeve that Lan Wangji did not recognize. After activating it with a spark of qi – Lan Wangji noted absently that Nie Huaisang’s qi was the beautiful blue-green of old, weathered copper – he touched a corner of the talisman to one of the droplets of soup. It produced a silvery glow that slowly brightened to white and made an urgent buzzing noise.

“Adulterated,” said Nie Huaisang grimly, and stood up. “I’ll bet you anything you like that the soup had another dose of that f*cking sleeping syrup in it. We need to find Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian as soon as possible.”

“Wen Qing? Wei Ying?” said Lan Wangji, who had not had his second cup of tea that morning and was feeling hopelessly unmoored by the ongoing rush of events. Nie Huaisang shot him a glare.

“Yes, them, Lan-er-gongzi, do try to keep up,” he said, and began marching up and down the room again, slapping his furled fan into his palm. “They left the room together to make the soup, yes? Well, think about it! With her knowledge of medicinal herbs, Wen Qing could probably whip up a batch of sleeping syrup with her eyes closed. And with the amount of spice Wei Wuxian uses, who would be able to taste it? Meanwhile, nobody has seen either of them yet this morning…”

At this juncture, Nie Huisang was interrupted by a scuffling noise from within the wall, like a pair of possums wrestling with each other. He spun around, swore, and pressed his ear to the wall before running quick fingers over the ostentatiously carved and gilded paneling. “Hah,” he said softly, and pressed.

With a click, yet another section of wall slid aside, and there stood Wen Qionglin, blinking in the sudden light and clad in cast-off Jin robes that were rather too short for him. Next to Wen Qionglin stood a very disheveled and gangly-looking child whom Lan Wangji recognized as Mo Xuanyu, who was supposedly one of the Jin cousins, though gossips whispered that he was one of Jin Guangshan’s by-blows. Pinned between them, with Wen Qionglin’s broad palm clamped over his mouth and Mo Xuanyu’s little dagger pricking his throat, was the Jin Sect’s head healer.

Lan Wangji leapt to his feet with Bichen unsheathed in his hand.

“Hello, A-Sang,” said Wen Qionglin. “I win.”

“A-Ning!” said Nie Huaisang, managing to sound both reproachful and flirtatious. “You had help.”

“Yes, thank you very m-much, A-Yu,” said Wen Qionglin, and the boy beamed.

“What are they doing here!” demanded Lan Wangji.

“Well, Lan-er-gongzi, if you would be so good as to put the Silencing Spell on that f*cker,” said Nie Huaisang, pointing his fan at the head healer, “we can explain everything over a cup of tea.”

There was no tea in the room, but Lan Wangji lowered Bichen and obliged anyway.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and Ma Chenguang entered, carrying a tray. “Oh good, you caught him,” she said casually, looking over her shoulder at the senior healer. “Let me know how you’d like us to proceed, Nie-gongzi.”

“Thank you, Guang-jie, I’ll find you later and pass my orders.”

Ma Chenguang put the tea on the table, bowed, and went out again. Lan Wangji rubbed a hand over his eyes and pinched his own thigh, very hard. “What is happening? Am I dreaming? Did you dose me with some of that sleeping syrup?”

“Lan-er-gongzi!” said Nie Huaisang, affronted, and whacked him lightly with his folded fan. “I would never. We’re all on Jiang-xiong’s side; A-Ning and I just had a friendly little competition going to see who could get this asshole away from him, that’s all.” (Here he whacked the head healer with his fan, not lightly.) “I thought I’d won when I got him reassigned to treating Jin Zixun’s ever-so-convenient co*ck-rot, but A-Ning said it didn’t count because he was able to keep reporting on Jiang-xiong somehow. So A-Ning began staking out these hidden passages – he’s been at it for days now – and as you can see, today he was fortunate enough to catch the viper in action. With help!”

Mo Xuanyu looked even more delighted, Wen Qionglin smiled demurely, and Nie Huaisang pouted performatively before counting out three pieces of silver for each of them. Meanwhile, Lan Wangji’s head continued to spin. Not knowing what else to do, he sat down again and accepted a cup of tea from Mo Xuanyu, who goggled at him worshipfully.

“I knew the healer was relaying information about Wanyin’s health to Jin Guangshan,” Lan Wangji said, clutching his teacup anxiously, “but are you saying that he has also been spying on Wanyin this whole time? Watching him in secret and listening in on his private conversations?”

“Yes, but you needn’t take my word for it,” said Nie Huaisang, showing all his teeth in a grin. “A-Yu, be a dear and loan me your dagger for a moment? And then you should probably run along, you’re much too young for this sort of thing.”

Mo Xuanyu pouted a little but handed over the dagger readily enough before pattering away down the hidden passage.

“All right then! You wretched little smear of frogsh*t,” said Nie Huaisang. He twirled the dagger around his fingers with the ease borne of long practice as he advanced on the Jin healer, and for the first time in their long acquaintance Lan Wangji thought that if he squinted, he might finally make out the family resemblance between Huaisang and Chifeng-zun.

The Jin healer grunted and wriggled frantically, but Wen Qionglin’s grip proved exceedingly strong.

“You heard Lan-er-gongzi. He’d like you to tell us exactly what you’ve learned and exactly who you’ve been squealing to.”

Not long afterwards, Lan Wangji found himself accompanying a silent Wen Qionglin down the hidden corridor at speed, while Nie Huaisang stormed ahead, snarling furious curses non-stop.

“Meng f*cking Yao! Jin f*cking Guangyao! I can’t f*cking believe it!”

As he ran Nie Huaisang snapped out sparks of his viridian qi, lighting up the oil lamps that hung at intervals along the walls of the corridor. “That – that snake! Viper! Betrayer! How dare he! He was Da-ge’s confidant, and he was reporting back to Jin f*cking Guangshan the whole time! Right under my nose!”

“Hush, A-Sang,” said Wen Qionglin, in his mild voice.

“What? Hush? f*ck no! I won’t do any such thing! I’m going to find him and beat him to death with his own shoes!”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” said Wen Qionglin. “Listen, there’s something going on up ahead. It sounds like J-jie is yelling at someone.”

And indeed, as the three of them rounded a corner, the sound of muffled shouting echoed down the hallway. Wen Qionglin put a finger to his lips and crept towards a narrow door set into the wall. Lan Wangji assumed this was another hidden entrance to somebody’s rooms and dithered for a moment – eavesdropping is forbidden – but then he caught Wen Qing’s words and crowded closer to the door, suddenly desperate to hear clearly.

“The best odds I can give you is fifty percent! Do you understand that? This procedure is totally f*cking theoretical!”

“I keep telling you, a fifty percent chance of success is acceptable! Half a chance is better than nothing at all! I’ll take it!”

“And I keep telling you, you’re just as likely to die as you are to survive!”

“I know what fifty percent means, okay!”

Wei Ying? thought Lan Wangji anxiously and wet his suddenly dry lips with the tip of his tongue as Wen Qing continued bellowing at the top of her lungs.

“Even if you both live through the procedure, have you even thought about what will happen if Jiang Cheng finds out what we’ve done?”

Wei Ying made a scoffing noise. “How’s he going to find out? It’ll never happen.”

Wen Qing scoffed back, and there was a short, charged silence. Finally, she spoke again.

“I must have been out of my f*cking mind, agreeing to do this.”

Wei Ying replied immediately, his voice low and urgent, persuasive.

“Listen, Wen Qing, what would you do if it was your brother in A-Cheng’s place? Don’t even bother telling me you wouldn’t do anything, try anything, no matter what, if it meant you could save him.”

She hesitated for a long moment before replying.

“No, but… you should at least ask him, Wei Wuxian.”

“He’d just say no!”

“Well, maybe you should respect that!”

There was a clattering noise and a series of thumps, then Wei Ying’s voice rose again. “Jiang Cheng needs a golden core, and he’s going to get one whether he likes it or not! You already promised, Wen Qing, don’t back out on me now, there’s nobody else I can trust to perform this operation!”

BANG!

Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang both jumped back, startled. Wen Qionglin withdrew the foot he had used to kick the door out of its frame and stepped into the room.

“A-Ning! Where did you come from? What are you doing?” Wen Qing demanded. “Wei Wuxian, you said you were going to seal this room!”

“I did! But that only works if I put talismans on all the doors and windows! I didn’t even know about this thing!” Wei Wuxian replied defensively.

As he followed Wen Qionglin into the rooms shared by the Wen siblings, Lan Wangji noticed that for once the younger boy was not trying to make himself small and unnoticeable. In his fury Wen Qionglin stood nearly as tall as Lan Wangji himself, and the corded archer’s muscles in his forearms would probably give even Mingjue-ge pause.

Lan Wangji saw a great number of medical books and scrolls scattered across the floor; it looked as if Wei Ying had swept them off the table in frustration. Wen Qionglin swooped down upon one of the scrolls, and his sister moved as if to snatch it from his hand – but the look he leveled at her stopped Wen Qing in her tracks. “J-jie,” he said, disillusionment limning every word, “t-tell me you w-w-weren’t about to – to – to d-d-do…”

Wen Qionglin clenched his jaw, his throat working as he tried to force the words out. To Lan Wangji’s surprise, Nie Huaisang stepped forward and took his shaking hand. Gently, he worked Wen Qionglin’s fist open, then pressed the acupoint between his first finger and thumb. The boy heaved a great breath and squeezed Nie Huaisang’s hand in return.

“You always said – we were healers – w-we helped people instead of hurting them, and that’s what m-m-made us different than W-Wen Ruohan – made us b-better.”

Wen Qing cast her eyes down and made no reply.

Lan Wangji co*cked his head to one side, trying to see the scroll Wen Qionglin clutched. He glimpsed an anatomical diagram drawn in close detail: two nude men lying side-by-side, with their bellies pinned wide open and all their viscera on display. A myriad dotted lines connecting their lower dantians. The entire diagram was thickly annotated with Wen Qing’s tiny, precise handwriting.

On the Theory and Principles of Transferring a Golden Core…

Lan Wangji felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him dizzy and sick.

“A-Ning, you don’t have to worry!” said Wei Ying brightly, papering a thin, fragile smile over his panicked expression. “We’re going to make Jiang Cheng better, and nobody’s going to get hurt! Trust us!”

“But a g-g-g-golden core transfer requires a donor, Wei-g-gongzi,” said Wen Qionglin, in tones of deepest dismay.

“I’m sorry, a what?” demanded Nie Huaisang.

“I volunteered!” said Wei Ying, flapping a hand at Nie Huaisang to make him shut up. “That means it doesn’t count! No harm done!”

Wen Qionglin, Lan Wangji, and Nie Huaisang just stood there, staring at him.

“Did you even read this, Wei-gongzi?” asked Wen Qionglin eventually. “The operation t-takes two full days and nights. The donor can’t take any medicine to numb the p-pain. If – if you did it – you w-would have to be awake the entire t-t-time, feeling your spiritual energy d-d-drain away. It – it – it’s the worst kind of agony. There’s a reason the C-core Melting Hand’s victims don’t usually survive for very long.”

“I can handle it!”

Nie Huaisang’s fan snapped shut, and when he spoke, his voice was unusually agitated. “Even assuming this barbaric procedure was a success, Wei-xiong, you are seriously underestimating your shidi! What lies were you planning to tell him? Do you think he somehow wouldn’t notice that he lost two days and nights and then woke up with a new golden core at the exact same moment you suddenly and inexplicably stopped practicing cultivation? He’s not stupid!”

“I’d come up with something! I’m his shixiong, Jiang Cheng believes anything I tell him!”

“Wei Ying,” said Lan Wangji, so heavy with anguish that he wondered if he would ever be able to get out from under it. “You know that Jiang Wanyin thinks of you as more than his shixiong. You know that he would never want you to risk yourself like this, especially not on his behalf. If you died – he loves you as a brother, like blood, like family. Even if you succeeded – to take advantage of that love, to – to force your golden core into his body without his knowledge – against his will – it – it would be the grossest kind of violation. Either way, it would destroy him.”

(For a moment the specter of Wen Chao hung between them, almost palpable.)

Wei Ying clenched his fists and turned away. A cracked sound emerged from his throat, and he swallowed hard before trying again to laugh off Lan Wangji’s words.

“Aiyo, Lan Zhan, listen to you, talking as if you know my shidi better than I do! Don’t you know what his cultivation means to him? Ever since we were young, all he’s ever wanted was to be the best at everything. Being the perfect Sect Heir has always been Jiang Cheng’s top priority, certainly not little old me.”

“Rubbish,” said Lan Wangji, his voice shaking. “Who told you that? Was it Jiang Fengmian? Or Yu Ziyuan? Neither of them knew Wanyin’s heart, when did they ever even look at him, except to pit the two of you against each other? Better to look at Wanyin’s own actions, and judge for yourself how he loves you! He gave himself to the Wens to save your life!”

Wei Ying recoiled, going pale.

“What?” he whispered.

“Lan Zhan,” he croaked, “tell me he didn’t – please, please, tell me you’re lying.”

“I cannot,” said Lan Wangji softly, truthful to the bitter end. “Wanyin told me himself, a few days before Chifeng-zun arrived at Koi Tower. He said – he said you had gone to the market, you were buying him some sweets – when a Wen patrol spotted you. He ran out and – and let them catch him instead.”

“It’s true, Wei-g-gongzi” said Wen Qionglin, even more quietly. “I was there, standing watch in the servants’ p-p-passageway, the night he told Lan-er-gongzi how he lost his g-golden core.”

Wei Ying’s voice was a frayed thread when he whispered, “Wen Ning. Lan Zhan. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because he would never want you to react like this, thought Lan Wangji, silently despairing of them both. When this was all over, he was going to lock the pair of them in a room until they got it through their stubborn Yunmeng heads that there was more to brotherhood than nobly and tragically dying for each other, for f*ck’s sake.

“It wasn’t my story to tell,” said Wen Qionglin. “I shouldn’t even have told you and J-jie that Jiang Wanyin burned out his own golden c-c-core, but I thought – I thought it might be relevant as you searched for some way for him to form a n-new one.”

“Well, you’re certainly not giving him yours, Wei-xiong,” said Nie Huaisang flatly. “That is by far the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard you come up with.”

“You don’t understand, none of you do,” said Wei Wuxian dully, slouched down on the floor in defeat. “Before Uncle Jiang found me, I was all alone and starving in the streets. It was so cold at night, and I was always scared, because there were feral dogs, and creeps who would try to corner me in dark alleys. He b-brought me to his home and treated me like… well, he treated me better than his own son. He taught me everything I wanted to know about cultivation, he gave me my sword, he helped me form my golden core… and now my core is the only thing I have that could possibly repay that debt.”

“There is no debt between family,” said Lan Wangji firmly.

“But A-Cheng, my d-didi – he’s my – I’m the elder, I have to fix him, I should…”

“Speaking as someone who also has a nonsensically overprotective older sibling, I can absolutely say that you should not even think about finishing that sentence,” Nie Huaisang cut in. “Jiang Cheng may be younger than you are, but he’s still his own man, it’s his body, and you do not have the right to make these kinds of decisions for him. He’s not yours to fix.”

Wen Qionglin nodded vigorously and added, “What you should do is t-t-trust him.”

Wei Ying sat silently for a long time, hardly seeming to notice the tears pouring down his cheeks. Finally, he snuffled wetly and wiped his nose with his sleeve. Lan Wangji winced and gave him a handkerchief.

“All right, A-Ning. All right, Huaisang. All right, Lan Zhan. You win. I’ll – we’ll talk to Jiang Cheng. Wen Qing, would you – wake him up, please?”

Wen Qing nodded, shaking herself out of her frozen stance and vanishing through another door.

There was a long pause.

“Uh, Wen Qing? Is everything okay?”

Even from the other room, they could tell something was wrong. Wen Qing’s voice sounded stiff and strange.

“Wei Wuxian? Jiang Cheng is – not here.”

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

Wei Ying shot to his feet at once and lurched across the room.

“That’s impossible,” said Wei Ying, strident in his panic, pushing past everyone else as they all crowded through the door. “The sleeping syrup – the dosage – no, he was still completely out of it the last time I checked, he can’t be gone!”

“Well, he is!” snapped Wen Qing, caught equally wrong-footed and plainly infuriated by it.

Lan Wangji elbowed his way forward and stared around, unwilling to believe that Wanyin had vanished from his grasp, again. He found himself in a pretty bedroom, which had a large round window looking out over one of the peony gardens. The window was open, and filmy curtains swayed in the breeze. Pale green silk covered the walls, a creamy mat was spread on the floor, and, like all the rooms in Madame Jin’s wing, the amount of gold-plated furniture was tolerable – at least, in comparison to the rest of Koi Tower.

From behind him, he heard Nie Huaisang say, “A-Ning, I’m going to send for Mo Xuanyu again, unless you have any of your mice at hand?”

“I d-d-do have some mice,” said Wen Qionglin, “but we’d better call A-Yu anyway.” Nie Huaisang nodded and dispatched a talisman message.

“Mice?” said Wen Qing. “A-Ning, for heavens’ sake, what do those silly little pets of yours have to do with anything? I told you to stop playing with them ages ago, they’re dirty.”

Wen Qionglin gave his sister a pained look. “J-j-jie,” he said, “whyever would I get rid of my mice? What other company did I even have, sitting around in our rooms all d-day waiting for you to come back?”

Judging from the blank look on her face, Wen Qing had never given the matter a moment’s thought. Wen Qionglin turned his back to her and began searching through his sleeves, until he eventually produced a small carton made of thick, laminated paper. He set it down on the table, and tapped it four times before opening it carefully.

Lan Wangji was not really sure what he had been expecting to emerge from the box, but it had not been actual mice. That is precisely what happened, however: four snow-white mice with bright ruby-red eyes, filing out one after the other. He was further astonished to see them line up, sit back on their hind paws, and curl their pink tails neatly around themselves.

“Aww,” said Wei Wuxian, and Wen Qionglin shot him an exasperated look before digging back into his sleeve. He took out a handful of talismans and laid one in front of each mouse. Then he snapped his fingers, and the mice stepped obediently onto the talismans, which glowed briefly. When the talismans faded, the mice retained a faint magical iridescence. For a moment, they looked like four little pearls, and then the color of their fur darkened until they were the same rich gold as the tabletop.

Wen Qionglin snapped his fingers again and put out his hand. The mice hopped fearlessly into his palm, and he carried them over to the bed. When he placed them on the pillow, they sniffed about busily, whiskers quivering, then turned white again to match the linen.

“Ready?” said Wen Qionglin to the mice.

“I love this part,” whispered Nie Huaisang.

“Seek!” Wen Qionglin commanded, and the mice ran down the bedpost and scurried across the floor, changing from white to mahogany-brown as they scampered across the wood. They skirted the edge of the wall before disappearing, one after the other, into a tiny crack that even Lan Wangji could barely see with his heightened cultivator’s vision.

“What is even happening right now,” said Wei Ying, enchanted. “Wen Ning! Let me see those talismans! They are f*cking amazing! I can’t believe you invented a whole new area of cultivation! With mice!”

Wen Qionglin went all red in the face and ducked his head down bashfully.

“Oh, it works on most small animals,” said Nie Huaisang airily. “A-Ning taught me, and I’ve started trying it out on some of my birds. All you have to do is push a little bit of spiritual power into their food every time you feed them or train them, and then over time they get smarter and smarter, and more and more loyal, and eventually they can help you with all sorts of tricky things.”

“Like searching Jin Guangshan’s desk?” asked Wen Qing, with one eyebrow raised. “I was wondering how you pulled that one off, didi.”

“And like searching for Jiang-xiong without anyone in Koi Tower being the wiser,” said Nie Huaisang primly, and fanned himself.

“What about Mo Xuanyu?” asked Lan Wangji, who wanted desperately to get on with the searching, but felt rather conflicted about involving a child in anything potentially dangerous.

“A-Yu knows the back p-p-passageways of Koi Tower better than anyone, and he’s very, um, eager to please,” Wen Qionglin said. “I met him before I’d been here for a full d-day. He popped out of that hidden door over there, asked who I was, if I was being kept p-p-prisoner, and if I needed help to escape.”

“He’s very dramatic, you mean,” Nie Huaisang corrected, with an affectionate snort. “He reads a lot of novels. It’s a thing we have in common, although he prefers epic adventures to romances.”

“A-Yu thought he was g-g-going to become a hero like in the stories when he first came to Koi Tower,” Wen Qionglin added softly. “He was so excited. But everyone j-just laughed at him, and they hardly ever let him t-train. They say he’s too weak and effeminate to practice the sword path, and they make fun of the way he talks, and the way he d-d-dresses, and wears cosmetics, and does his hair. He tries so hard, but his golden core is t-tiny and he’ll never look like an ideal J-j-jin Sect cultivator, so people bully him. If he’s lucky, everyone just ignores him, as if he d-doesn’t exist.”

Lan Wangji shifted guiltily. This rang uncomfortably true – the few times he’d even noticed Mo Xuanyu, even in passing, it was only to look askance at the boy’s odd mannerisms. He felt even more awkward when he realized he had treated shy, nervous Wen Qionglin, with his stutter and his awful posture, in much the same way.

As if he’d read Lan Wangji’s mind, Wen Qionglin added, “There are a few of us in the W-w-wen Sect who are like that too. Nobody ever had much use for me after the d-dancing maiden statue stole most of my spiritual power, so when I was little, sometimes I’d get the other shy or untalented kids together and we’d p-play at being mice – sneaking around, trying to be invisible, and stealing snacks from the k-k-kitchen. When we got older, we k-k-kept the game but started collecting information instead. I told Mo Xuanyu he could be an honorary Mouse.”

“A-Ning!” exclaimed Wen Qing, aghast. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? How could you do something like that? If Wen Ruohan ever caught wind of it, he’d have tortured you to death in the Fire Palace! If I’d known you were doing something so foolish, I would never have let you leave your room!”

“That’s why I d-d-didn’t tell you,” Wen Qionglin replied.

“A-Ning!” she said, sounding angrier than ever, though her eyes were now brimming with tears. “You’re the only family I have left!”

“I know, J-j-jie,” he said gently, “but that d-doesn’t mean you get to make my decisions for me, either.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, then Wei Ying coughed and asked, “Nie-xiong, are you an honorary Mouse too?”

“Me, a Mouse!” said Nie Huaisang, affronted. “Wei-xiong, really, how drab!” He swirled his brocade robes around him as gracefully as any dancer and snapped his fan open to its fullest, showing a beautifully painted mischief of magpies shimmering on the opalescent silk. “I have my own spy network, thank you very much, called the Songbirds.”

“Made up of women?” Lan Wangji guessed, thinking of the healers, maids, and servants he had seen wearing bird-shaped ornaments around Koi Tower.

Nie Huaisang inclined his head gracefully. “Indeed. I must say, it’s remarkably easy to recruit here in Lanling! Ever since I arrived, I’ve had no trouble at all getting information from the market jiejies, the brothel workers, the chambermaids, the laundresses…”

“He bribes them with jewelry,” Lan Wangji informed the others, flatly.

“Lan-er-gongzi!” said Nie Huaisang, sounding hurt. “That’s not it – well, not all of it,” he amended, when Lan Wangji looked at him with extreme skepticism. “Look, I know you’re forbidden to gossip, but even you must know what Jin Guangshan is like.”

“He’s disgusting,” said Wen Qing and Wei Ying at the same moment, and Wei Ying added, “Uncle Jiang once told me that whenever there’s a Discussion Conference, Jin Guangshan visits a different brothel every night and buys prostitutes by the dozen.”

“And everyone knows the Jin Sect is a terrible place for female cultivators, no matter how talented they are,” said Wen Qing. “Look at how they treat Luo Qingyang.”

“Mn,” said Lan Wangji, neither confirming nor denying the gossip thing.

“Well, Jin Guangshan is even more notorious among the servants, musicians, dancers, and market-folk,” Nie Huaisang went on, as a hard edge crept into his voice. “I’ve been told many times that he’s not above taking what he wants by force. He doesn’t care about family or status or sex – he’s raped widows, wives, virgins – girls and boys…”

“That’s what he did to my mother,” a small voice piped up, and they all whipped around to see Mo Xuanyu sidling into the room. He kept his head down and his eyes averted, away from their appalled faces. “I heard the servants say so. I heard them say he did the same thing to Madame Qin, and her daughter isn’t really Sect Leader Qin’s at all. That makes A-Su my sister – and his daughter – but he still pinches her and tries to put his hands in her robes, whenever he sees her.”

Lan Wangji had absolutely no idea how to respond to this, but Nie Huaisang put an arm around Mo Xuanyu’s shoulders and said, “There’s really isn’t anything that dreadful man wouldn’t do, is there?” The boy shook his wispy head and burrowed gratefully into Nie Huaisang’s side. “The point I’m trying to make, Lan-er-gongzi, is that there are plenty of women in Lanling who have very good reasons to loathe Jin Guangshan. I just listen to what they have to say, that’s all, and sometimes offer – well, call it a token of my appreciation for their time.”

Lan Wangji bowed his head, by way of apology. His chest was too tight for speech; his mind had flashed back to the conversation he’d overheard at the Discussion Conference at Lotus Pier so many years ago:

Really, Sect Leader Jin, we’re guests in Jiang Fengmian’s home! Isn’t it disrespectful to talk about his son this way? He’s only a child!

Ah, don’t be so fussy! You’re acting like a prim old woman, this is how real men talk! Are you saying that you’ve never wondered what it would be like to put that proud little beauty in his proper place? Imagine having him choke on your co*ck, those pretty eyes full of tears, putting that sharp tongue to better use…

Lan Wangji shuddered and swallowed bile.

Oh, he knew what Jin Guangshan was like, all right, and his need to find Wanyin blazed in his belly like a coal, heated and urgent.

Meanwhile, Nie Huaisang ushered Mo Xuanyu over to the table where Wen Qionglin had already seated himself, bent over the talismans that had activated the mice. “Hello A-Yu,” he said gently. “I’m sorry to c-c-call you back so soon, but we need your help. Did you bring your map?”

Mo Xuanyu produced a large roll of parchment from his sleeve.

“Thank you, A-Yu, I don’t know what we’d d-d-do without you. Would you like to monitor ZhenZhen?”

“Yes, thank you Wen-qianbei,” said the boy happily, seating himself and leaning heavily into Wen Qionglin’s side, like a puppy. Immediately his little tics and twitches stilled, and he stared down at the talisman with ferocious, single-minded concentration. Lan Wangji succumbed to curiosity and peeked over his shoulder.

Instead of looking at a paper talisman, it seemed as if he was staring through a tiny window set into the tabletop – but the scene in the window was moving. After a moment, a giant pair of boots tromped into view, and Lan Wangji realized he was looking through the mouse’s eyes as it ran down what seemed to be a long stone corridor, lined with iron-bound doors and patrolled by guards. His respect for Wen Qionglin increased by leaps and bounds.

He was further impressed when Wen Qionglin and Nie Huaisang unrolled the large parchment between them and put paperweights on all the corners, revealing a map of Koi Tower. Parts of it were drawn in fantastic detail, with more corridors and doors marked than Lan Wangji could even count at a glance. Other parts, perhaps yet to be explored, were more roughly sketched.

Mo Xuanyu said, “ZhenZhen,” and a tiny light flared on a part of the map marked Dungeons. When Wen Qionglin said “Jun,” a second dot appeared, moving down a corridor tucked behind Pageant Hall. Nie Huaisang seated himself and shook back his sleeves elegantly before saying “Jie-Rui,” causing a third pinprick of light to appear on the map. This mouse appeared to be in one of the second-floor guest rooms. The view through the talisman showed that the room was strewn with discarded robes, balled up and left on the floor, and it echoed with snoring noises, interspersed with loud knocks on the door.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” said Wen Qionglin, as he peered intently down at his mouse’s-eye-view talisman, “would you be so k-k-kind as to observe Qiao?”

“BUT I WANT ONE,” said Wei Ying, nearly moaning with delight.

“No. You, Wei-xiong, are still asleep,” Nie Huaisang, very firmly and not shifting his gaze at all. “In fact, you are very deeply asleep, having stayed up very late because the events of yesterday upset you so. Oh, and you were drinking heavily, too. As a result, you did not hear this morning’s commotion, and at present you have no idea that your shidi mysteriously vanished from his rooms last night. You are about to wake up with a dreadful hangover and get very angry with whoever it is that is currently knocking on your door, which will be a lovely distraction, so go out by the window, quickly, don’t let anyone see you, and for the love of heaven, don’t forget to dispel the snoring talisman I put in your bed! If Da-ge finds out about it, I’ll never be able to sneak out ever again!”

Wei Ying blinked, nodded, and left without another word, perhaps for the first time in his life. Lan Wangji felt burgeoning respect for Nie Huaisang as well, as the smaller man turned his piercing eyes to Wen Qing.

“Wen-guniang…”

“I also stayed up very late last night,” she said, and inclined her head deferentially. “I was searching my medical texts for a solution to the problem of Sect Leader Jiang’s core. I am currently asleep at my desk, entirely unaware of the situation – should anybody ask.”

Nie Huaisang nodded back, satisfied, and she swept out of the room without a backwards glance.

“Qiao,” said Lan Wangji, and bent his head to his task as the fourth pinpoint of light sprang to life on the map.

Chapter 24: Interlude - Ten Years Ago...

Chapter Text

Meng Shi was a good woman. She had lived a hard life without ever becoming hard-hearted, and she loved her son with everything she had.

All of which, of course, counted for exactly f*ck-all in the brothel that she’d been sold to, the brothel where Meng Yao was born, and where he grew up.

In her last wretched year, as illness devoured her flowing curves and drained the color from her cheeks, even her longest-standing, most regular clients turned away to seek fresh meat. If it hadn’t been for Aunt Sisi’s stubborn generosity, Meng Yao had no doubt whatsoever that he would have been added to the brothel’s nightly offerings once their money ran out. Instead, the Madam grudgingly left him alone, to care for Meng Shi as best he could in the privacy of their tiny room. Whenever he closed his eyes, it was as if she was still there before him, her eyes ablaze with pain and determination as she taught him everything she’d learned about the ways of the gentry, down to the proper way to wear one’s hat.

Yes, Meng Shi had been a good woman – but by all the gods and immortals, she had been naïve as a child, Meng Yao thought bitterly as he stood in the long, cold shadow of Koi Tower. His posture might be impeccable, his manners flawless, and his demeanor genteel as could be, but nothing in the world could hide the fact that he was dressed in cheap, plain, coarse cloth that was barely one step up from a sack. Meanwhile anyone with eyes could see that even the Jin Sect servants were clad in shimmering silks, from head to toe. He watched as a pair of golden maids sauntered by, laden with baskets of fresh fish and vegetables. Both girls had their hair in braids, looped up and pinned with pearl ornaments.

Pearl ornaments identical to the one he was currently clutching.

Meng Yao looked down at the pearl hairpin digging into his palm. His mother had pressed it into his hand on the day she died and whispered, keep it with you always, when your father gave it to me, he told me it was a treasure of his Sect. Show it to him and he will recognize you. He promised me he’d acknowledge you as his son, he swore to me that he’d care for you as you deserve, my Yao’er.

His mother’s last words to him, the last scrap of comfort she’d had to cling to in this life, and every bit of it had been a lie.

Meng Yao turned his back on Koi Tower and went in search of a reputable pawnshop.

“Ah, good morning, good morning,” said the proprietor. “How may I help you… oh dear, not another one. How did you come by this hairpin, gongzi?”

Meng Yao blinked down at the hairpin, lying on the pawnbroker’s counter. Nothing to be gained by lying, he thought.

“It belonged to my mother, auntie, but she died not long ago.”

The pawnbroker clicked her tongue sympathetically. Encouraged, Meng Yao went on, broadening his Yunmeng accent and allowing his eyes to grow faintly misty. “She treasured it dearly. Her dying wish was that one day I would travel to Lanling to seek my father…”

The woman looked at him pityingly, and Meng Yao could almost hear the thought passing through her mind: oh, you poor innocent little country bumpkin. Out loud, she said, “Well, we will give you a good price for it, gongzi. Yes indeed! Although the pearls are not very big, they are from the finest quality mussels, harvested right around Lotus Pier!”

Meng Yao allowed an awestruck note to slip into his voice (there was nothing to equal it when flattering simple people). “You can tell just by looking at it?”

“Of course, of course,” said the woman, then muttered under her breath, “Nothing but the best for Sect Leader Jin.”

Got you, thought Meng Yao.

“Sect Leader Jin?” he said, wrinkling his brow and contriving to sound hopelessly confused. “What’s he got to do with my mother’s hairpin?” The pawnbroker hemmed and hawed and tried to dodge the inquiry, but Meng Yao went on relentlessly, making a shield of his wide-eyed innocence and a sword of his guileless questions. The woman began to look flustered, and he could tell that her discretion was losing out against her desire to impart some truly spectacular gossip. Go on, he thought. Spill your guts for me.

“Ah – well. As you are not from Lanling, gongzi, you may not know that Jin Guangshan, the esteemed leader of the Jin Sect, has quite – quite a complicated personal life. All I can safely say is that we pawnbrokers have had quite a few young women bring us hairpins identical to this one, over the years. The last was not even ten days ago, as a matter of fact. The lady – a very young lady, she hardly looked any older than you, gongzi – anyway, she came in to sell the pearl hairpin she’d been given by Sect Leader Jin. She said she needed the money for a doctor, and I believed it, the poor thing was very heavy with child and simply covered with bruises! I heard afterwards that she was a young mistress of the Mo family, and that she had walked right into Koi Tower and asked Sect Leader Jin to take responsibility for the baby in her belly! Well, that didn’t sit well with the Sect Leader, and Madam Jin was very angry, and she’d had the bad luck to arrive during the young Sect Heir’s birthday party…” The woman dropped her voice and looked around dramatically before whispering, “And so he had her thrown down the stairs! Such a scandal it caused!”

Meng Yao dutifully made a shocked and horrified expression, but inside, his mind was whirring away. The Mo family – hmmm. They were not cultivators, of that he was sure, but they were certainly respectable and very well-to-do. In fact, casting his memory back, he remembered a Mo Ziyuan making a minor nuisance of himself in the brothel a year or two ago, drinking too much of the cheap liquor that the Madam decanted into expensive-looking jars, and bragging about the size of his manor. And while Meng Yao was all too horribly aware that “I’ve got a really big manor” was almost always a euphemism with men like him, this Mo Ziyuan had, in fact, been boasting about hosting an entire party of Lan cultivators, who had passed through Mo Village during Lan-er-gongzi’s first night-hunt.

So, Jin Guangshan wouldn’t acknowledge the child of a young mistress of good family, even a wealthy and well-connected family… hmm. It seems that if I’m to claim the place my mother wanted for me, I’m going to have to do more than show up at Koi Tower with a rubbishy pearl hairpin and ask for it; he’d just call me a son of a whor* and probably do worse than have me thrown down the stairs.

The pawnbroker was looking at him uncertainly, and he realized he had been silent just a moment too long, and his shocked-and-horrified expression had started to slip.

“Oh, dear, listen to me,” she said with an awkward little laugh. “What must you think of me, gongzi, rambling on and on about things that aren’t any of my business! Let me write out a receipt for you, and here is your silver, thank you for your business, very much appreciated, have a nice day,” and with that Meng Yao found himself whisked back out on the street. The pawnbroker bowed hastily from the doorway and ducked back into her shop, dropping the curtain across the doorway.

He tucked the coins away in his money pouch and stood there for a moment, considering his next steps. He was already formulating a new plan, but he’d need some additional information. It was time to gamble a bit, to bait his hook and drop it into unknown waters.

Meng Yao walked through the market until he found a shop selling secondhand clothes. Life at the brothel had taught him how to recognize high-quality fabric at a single glance, and after a few minutes of browsing, he unearthed a promising robe – it was quite old-fashioned, big enough to fit two of him, and had been treated rather carelessly, but the fine dark green silk was still thick and lustrous. The shopkeeper looked down his nose at Meng Yao initially, but after he’d finished pointing out the robe’s myriad grease spots and moth-holes, the man bundled it up for half the original price, looking as sour as if he’d bitten into a lemon. Nursing this small triumph, Meng Yao took his purchase, requested a small room at an out-of-the-way inn, and sat down to work.

Sewing for the Madame and the other women had been one way for Meng Shi to diminish her debt to the brothel, a way to chip away at it, to stop it growing large enough to swallow down her son. Over time, she had become an exquisite seamstress, and Meng Yao remembered everything he’d learned at her knee.

The next morning, he emerged from his room transformed. He had picked apart the seams of the old robe, then pieced it back together until not a stain or hole could be seen. It now fit him flawlessly, and he was pleased to see how well the color suited him. He looked slim and upright as a young pine sapling, graceful without being too eye-catching or flashy. He left the cheap little inn without a backwards glance, made his way to the pricier precincts of the city, and sat down at an elegant restaurant, the kind where cultivators from the Great Sects might gather. Out of habit, Meng Yao ordered the cheapest dish on the menu before catching himself and splurging on a fine tea blend.

He lingered as long as he dared, savoring his congee and boiled egg, taking tiny sips of the tea, and listening. Afterwards, he spent the day wandering the market in seeming idleness, keeping his ears pricked all the while. That evening, he got a room at one of Lanling’s fancier inns and sat over his evening meal for a whole shichen, enjoying the kind of wine he used to pour for the brothel’s richest patrons, and soaking up the other diners’ gossip as it ebbed and flowed around him.

He was draining his money-pouch at an alarming rate – the price of the pearl hairpin wouldn’t cover more than another day or two of such lavish spending – but that night, sunk deep into the softest mattress he’d ever laid on, Meng Yao organized the information he’d gleaned in his head, and concluded it was well worthwhile.

First: according to the marketplace gossip, Jin Guangshan did indeed bestow his favors (ugh) far and wide.

Second: trying to move the man to pity or righteousness was a fool’s errand. Meng Yao was no fool.

Conclusion: it would not do to approach Jin Guangshan as a supplicant, an extraneous, bastard son. No, he would return to Koi Tower on his own terms, as a useful, valuable ally.

And he would start by planting himself as a spy in a rival Great Sect.

His day in Lanling had largely been spent in trying to select the most advantageous target. Spying on the Jiang was probably redundant, given the close ties between the First Ladies of the two sects, but Meng Yao had heard enough gossip about the unhappiness of both the Jin and Jiang marriages to give the matter serious consideration regardless. In the end, however, he decided against it. Yunping was simply too close to Lotus Pier, and he had waited on quite a few Jiang disciples in the brothel, any of whom might recognize him. They had been cheerful and easygoing, living up to the overall reputation of the Jiang Sect, but surely the Sect Leader (or, more likely, his fearsome wife) would balk at accepting a known son of a whor* in the inner precincts of their precious Lotus Pier.

The Lan Sect represented the other side of the coin; certainly, no Lan cultivators had ever visited the brothel. Meng Yao was aware that the Lan were a musical Sect, which was somewhat appealing – he was fairly skilled on the erhu, and he liked it well enough if he set aside the fact that Meng Shi had taught him to play it in the desperate hope that if all else failed, he could sell his musical talent rather than his body. But aside from their reputation for scholarship and the number of rules that governed their conduct, Meng Yao had very little first-hand knowledge of the Lan, and without reliable information he felt reluctant to go as far as Gusu. That left the Wen and the Nie.

Lying in his bed, Meng Yao felt a surge of gratitude towards the table of cultivators who’d sat behind him at dinner, drinking freely and forgetting to keep their voices down.

Did you hear that old Sect Leader Nie finally succumbed to qi deviation?

Oh, don’t you know better than to repeat such nonsense? He’s been dying bit by bit for ages, ever since that cursed night-hunt when his saber shattered. If I’ve heard news of his death once, I’ve heard it a dozen times.

No, no, this time it’s true! I saw it myself. The gates of the Unclean Realm are shut and all Qinghe is mourning.

I heard the ceremony for Nie Mingjue’s ascension has already taken place.

Really? My goodness, isn’t he just a boy? He can’t be more than a year or two past his majority!

Well, he certainly looks like a grown man! His mustache is thicker than yours, ha ha!

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji was growing impatient with his mouse. The silly creature was faffing about in some random out-of-the-way office, running back and forth along one of the interior walls repeatedly.

He huffed with displeasure and Mo Xuanyu leaned into his space suddenly; Lan Wangji squashed his immediate instinct to lean away.

“Is something wrong, Lan-er-gongzi?” Mo Xuanyu said in his piping, birdlike voice. “Is Qiao confused?” He peered at Lan Wangji’s talisman, and then at the map, then back again and said, “Oh! Perhaps Qiao has found a new hidden passage!”

Nie Huaisang and Wen Qionglin looked up quickly at this. “Let me see,” said Wen Qionglin. With a muttered spell and a complicated hand seal, he transmitted instructions to his own mouse and sent it skittering through Koi Tower at top speed, to judge from its rapid movement across the map. Soon enough, Wen Qionglin’s mouse was in the room next to Lan Wangji’s, also running back and forth along the wall – which proved to be unusually thick, judging from the distance between their two dots on the map. It seemed there was indeed a sizable space tucked away within the walls. Mo Xuanyu produced a stick of charcoal and filled in the hidden room on his map.

“Where is the entrance to this room, I wonder,” said Nie Huaisang. “If neither Qiao nor Jun can find it, A-Ning, perhaps it’s time to recall the mice and go investigate for ourselves.”

Before Wen Qionglin could respond, Qiao froze, and three pairs of boots hit the floor right in front of her whiffling nose. One pair was richly embroidered in gold, the other two were plain black. They seemed to have emerged from the solid stone wall.

“You’ve done well, Chengmei,” said a familiar, plummy voice.

“This humble disciple thanks his honored Sect Leader,” a younger man’s voice replied.

The fancy boots minced out of Qiao’s sight, followed by the smaller, neater pair of black boots. Wen Ning carefully nudged his own mouse towards the door, and through Jun’s beady eyes, they watched the two pairs of boots pass by, gold and black. Then Jun crept out into the hallway and peeped around the doorframe of the mysterious room.

“Stupid old goat,” the younger voice hissed scornfully, echoing from both Jun and Qiao’s talismans. Qiao was pressed flat to the floor, trembling, focused only on the speaker’s boots, so Lan Wangji leaned over Wen Ning’s shoulder to look for the source of this second voice. It was also familiar. He felt a chill when he recognized the insouciant figure clad in rusty black, his flat, dead, dark eyes forming such an uncanny contrast to his feral, unhinged grin…

There was a pause, then the scuffed, patched black boots turned towards Qiao.

Without warning, the talisman in front of Lan Wangji flashed once, bright red, and went out. The view through Wen Ning’s talisman began to jump about wildly as Jun squeaked and panicked, but they glimpsed, nevertheless, a razor-sharp throwing dagger – it was an enchanted weapon, surely – that had gone straight through poor Qiao and pinned the little creature to the floor.

“Qiao!” shrieked Mo Xuanyu, and began to keen in a high, ear-piercing monotone. He rocked back and forth, distraught, and clawed at his face and hair, drawing blood.

“Make him hush,” said Lan Wangji angrily, for Jun was still running frantically this way and that, the black boots were stomping down around him, and it was very difficult to make out what was going on.

“That’s not how it works, Lan-er-gongzi!” hissed Nie Huaisang. “A-Ning! Can you and Wen Qing stay with A-Yu, calm him down and keep him safe?”

“Yes, of course,” said Wen Qionglin. He made a quick hand-seal to recall the three surviving mice, then drew the boy into a tight embrace, rocking him back and forth as he sobbed, with his arms carefully folded into his chest. “There, there,” he hummed softly, “It’s not your fault, A-Yu, don’t hurt yourself anymore.”

Meanwhile, Nie Huaisang yanked Lan Wangji to his feet and hauled him out the door at a rapid clip.

“Did you see? Did you see? That was Xue f*cking Yang! And he’s got the Assassin’s Dagger, for f*ck’s sake! That little sh*t, he must have been granted his pick of the Jin Sect treasury! I’ll bet you anything you like that he got it in exchange for Jiang-xiong, and if you say anything about gambling being prohibited, Lan-er-gongzi, I’ll scream!”

He shoved Lan Wangji, hard, around a corner. “I’m going to find Da-ge! You go get Xichen-ge and meet us in that office as soon as you can! We’ve got to move fast, he must suspect someone is on to him if he’s using the f*cking Assassin’s Dagger on a mouse!”

Lan Wangji nodded, but Nie Huaisang was already gone.

Where was Xiongzhang?

Lan Wangji whipped through the halls and chambers and corridors of Koi Tower like the wind, flew through the pavilions and gardens, leaving clumps of startled cultivators staring after him – but he could not find any trace of his brother. No-one had seen Lan Xichen since the meeting in Pageant Hall had broken up, inconclusively and acrimoniously, over a shichen ago.

Could Xiongzhang have gone back to their rooms to rest? Even though the rules forbid lazing about at mid-day?

It seemed unlikely, but Lan Wangji was out of ideas, and he needed his brother. He had just witnessed a Great Sect Leader conspiring with a fugitive mass-murderer (the gold boots could only have belonged to Jin Guangshan; no-one else would have the authority to give away a treasure like the Assassin’s Dagger, and no-one else would be fool enough to give the Assassin’s Dagger to someone like Xue Yang) and this was exactly the kind of fraught political situation that Lan Wangji would rather bite off his own tongue than confront.

He flung open the door to their shared quarters, then froze, appalled.

Lan Xichen was indeed seated within, but Meng Yao – no, Jin Guangyao – was there too, straddling his thighs, grinding hungrily against him. The golden tea-table had been knocked askew, and steaming liquid dripped to the floor from a dainty pair of overturned cups. Xichen was kneading the smaller man’s ass frantically, and Jin Guangyao’s hands were buried deep in Xichen’s hair, gripping his head, tugging it back, making it all the easier for Jin Guangyao to plunder his mouth.

“Xiongzhang!” Lan Wangji shouted, and Lan Xichen looked over, his usual pleasant expression on his face. “Ah, Wangji,” he said vaguely.

“Your brother is not welcome,” said Jin Guangyao, stroking Xichen’s face. He pushed on Xichen’s jaw, gently, to turn him back towards their kiss. “He’s in our way.”

“Not welcome,” Xichen murmured against Jin Guangyao’s lips, and then he gently lifted Jin Guangyao off his lap. Lan Wangji stood there speechless with outrage and confusion as his xiongzhang stood up, casually adjusted his jutting erection, brushed the creases out of his robes, and then drove his fist into Lan Wangji’s face with every bit of his strength.

Taken totally unaware, Lan Wangji’s flew backward until his head cracked against the wall. He crumpled like wet paper and slid down to sprawl inelegantly on the floor, dazed from the pain. Dimly, he registered Jin Guangyao coming over to stand next to Xichen, and the pair of them looked down at him dispassionately.

“I think you’d better seal your didi’s spiritual power, Huan-ge,” said Jin Guangyao, and Xichen leaned over and struck Lan Wangji’s acupoints, humming as he did so. The pain in his face redoubled. Lan Wangji could only stare, tears leaking from his eyes, painfully bewildered, breath hitching in his lungs.

“Good, very good. Now you’re going to come with me,” Jin Guangyao murmured, and slipped his hand through the crook of Xichen’s elbow.

“Yes, A-Yao,” Xichen murmured back, as he tenderly escorted Jin Guangyao out of the room and slid the door closed soundlessly behind them.

f*ck, thought Lan Wangji woozily, and lay there for awhile. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet, propping himself up with Bichen. Emotions surged and piled up within him, clotted and thick, such that he couldn’t speak, couldn’t even whisper, couldn’t make a single sound to lament this monstrous betrayal.

But he didn’t need to talk, he needed to move. He needed to get to that f*cking office and warn the Nie brothers that the Lan curse had come for Xichen and, just like their wretched father, his beloved older brother had thrown away a lifetime of restraint and righteousness to pursue his fated one.

Lan Wangji staggered grimly down the hallway, snuffling through his broken nose, blood dribbling down his chin, and prayed fervently to all the gods and immortals he could think of that his brother’s infatuation would not end in any deaths.

“What the f*ck’s happened to your face?” Chifeng-Zun demanded as Lan Wangji finally lurched through the door of the mysterious office. He was standing in front of a massive bronze mirror, glaring balefully at his own reflection while Nie Huaisang gently folded Qiao’s tiny corpse up in a handkerchief. “And where the f*ck is Xichen? There’s something behind this f*cking mirror that reeks of resentful energy, and it’s obviously some kind of passageway but it has a really fiddly spell on it that we could use his help decrypting.”

Lan Wangji choked out his explanation. By the end of it, Nie Huaisang looked revolted and Nie Mingjue looked dazed, as if he’d been struck heavily over the head. Then the blood rushed to his face, and a vein began to pulse furiously in his temple.

Baxia made a horrible screeching sound and twitched eagerly in her scabbard.

“STAND BACK,” Nie Mingjue roared, unsheathing the saber, “I’M GONNA SMASH THIS f*ckING THING.”

Before Nie Mingjue’s strike could connect with the mirror, however, an ice-blue sword glare plunged out of it, clashing against Baxia and shoving him back several paces. It was followed by Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen, who stepped out of the mirror’s rippling surface side by side. Nie Mingjue bellowed with rage and swung Baxia again, a staggering blow that would have cut Jin Guangyao in half where he stood had Shuoyue not risen to block it with a harsh, plangent clang. Nie Mingjue reeled backwards again.

“Xichen, what are you doing?” Nie Mingjue asked, sounding almost plaintive.

“What A-Yao wants,” replied Lan Xichen, with perfect serenity.

“A-Yao,” croaked Lan Wangji, in a tone that could only convey the smallest fraction of his disgust.

“So rude, Lan-er-gongzi,” said Jin Guangyao in his sweetest, most mild voice, and with no further ado he flicked out his right hand. So fine was the golden wire he threw that Lan Wangji could barely see it, but he could hear the thin, high whine it made as it whipped through the air. Whirling like a dancer, Jin Guangyao caught the other end of the wire in his left hand and Nie Huaisang froze, eyes wide, as he found himself encircled in Jin Guangyao’s arms with the wire snapped taut across the tender flesh of his throat. A fine crimson line appeared, beading his skin with drops of blood.

“I advise Chifeng-zun and Lan-er-gongzi not to move,” said Jin Guangyao as Lan Xichen stepped back and sheathed Shuoyue. “Since we all know that poor little A-Sang’s golden core is not robust enough to heal any… serious injury. It would be such a shame if he should suffer one!”

Lan Wangji, well-practiced in stillness, laid a cautious hand on Nie Mingjue’s arm. He could feel the tiny tremors running through Mingjue-ge’s muscles as the man quivered, torn between blind rage and blind panic.

“You make – an excellent point,” said Nie Huaisang after a moment, sounding rather short of breath. “So – what does A-Yao want?”

“Huan-ge knows,” said Jin Guangyao serenely, and flashed his dimples at Lan Xichen. Obligingly, Xichen lifted Liebing to his lips, looked his oldest, dearest friend dead in the eyes, and began playing with all his spiritual power.

It was no song Lan Wangji had ever heard (though he thought it sounded a bit like Clarity) and even though he was not Xichen’s primary target, he could still feel its effects. With his spiritual power already suppressed, Lan Wangji’s eyelids grew heavy, his body and mind became sluggish and slow. Nie Mingjue was even more affected. He struggled and snarled, but Lan Xichen had not been named the First Jade of Gusu for nothing. He bent all his will upon Nie Mingjue and eventually Baxia slipped from Chifeng-zun’s nerveless hand. He slumped to the ground, his eyes gone dull and vacant. Lan Wangji blinked at him slowly; he was also prone, he suddenly realized, when had he ended up back on the floor?

“Very, very good,” said Jin Guangyao, and kicked Baxia away to the far corner of the room. “Now, Huan-ge, I’ll need you to carry Chifeng-zun.”

Lan Xichen obligingly got a shoulder under Nie Mingjue’s arm and hauled him to his feet with a grunt – all the handstands in the world wouldn’t make it easy to carry Chifeng-zun, but Xichen managed it somehow – and Nie Huaisang, the very picture of terrified helplessness, whimpered, “What are you going to do with my da-ge?”

“Whyever do you ask, A-Sang, don’t you know?” said Jin Guangyao in a sincere-yet-sneering tone that made Lan Wangji want to punch him repeatedly, it sounded so exactly like Jin Guangshan.

“I don’t know! I really don’t! I thought… I thought we were friends.”

Jin Guangyao smiled dangerously and tugged on the golden garotte slightly. Huaisang gurgled and stopped talking. “Oh, well, out of respect for our great friendship… I suppose I could tell you that my honored father intends to offer Chifeng-zun to Wen Ruohan. He can take his revenge upon his son’s killer, in exchange for a promise to spare Lanling. Such a noble Sect Leader, isn’t he? Always thinking of the good of his people.”

Everyone in the room knew for a fact that Jin Guangshan would turn the entire population of Lanling into sausages and feed them to the Wen Army rather than suffer any material inconvenience to himself, so there was really no need for Jin Guangyao to speak with such thick and cloying sarcasm. It was, frankly, very irritating. Lan Wangji gritted his teeth and shot his steeliest glare at the man, but it did not produce its intended effect from his place on the floor. He tried to force his limbs to cooperate in pushing himself upright, but ended up writhing around weakly, like a bug on a pin.

“And what about Jiang Wanyin,” rasped Lan Wangji, with difficulty.

“Oh, him? Just a little something extra, to sweeten Wen Ruohan’s mood,” said Jin Guangyao, casually vicious. “I’m told he’ll be delighted to have a younger version of Yu Ziyuan that he can f*ck, especially if he can gain mastery of Zidian at the same time. Of course, that’s assuming I can persuade Chengmei to give him up; he’s been gagging to get a taste of Sect Leader Jiang. It was very kind of Wei-gongzi to leave him lying around, drugged out of his mind. Please, pass along my compliments when you see him next, it was most convenient and thoughtful.”

Lan Wangji grunted furiously and made stupid, useless little swimming motions, trying to get at Jin Guangyao. The man gave a beautiful, lilting laugh and kicked Lan Wangji low in the belly, cruelly digging his toes into the younger man’s groin. It made Lan Wangji curl up, breathless and retching, and Jin Guangyao turned away contemptuously. He tutted with impatience and called through the mirror, “Chengmei, aren’t you ready yet? We’ve got to leave now if we’re to make it back to the Burial Mounds on schedule.”

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng tried to gather his scattered, hazy memories.

The drugged soup confused his mind, fogged his vision, weighed his limbs with lead. For a moment, everything spun around him, and Jiang Cheng panicked, thinking he was back in his family’s stolen carriage – swaying along the rutted road towards Qishan, helpless and incapacitated, unable to command his own body while Wen Chao pinned him down from behind.

No. No! I don’t want this, I don’t! Make it stop! Make it stop, please!

Somewhere in the dull ache of his lower dantian, something obligingly sparked – like striking a flint in a windowless dungeon – and started to hum. Zidian had awakened, albeit sluggishly, and was trying to purge the drug from his system. A quick series of miniscule shocks ran through him, and his mind abruptly became a bit clearer.

He was not in the carriage. That was the first and most important thing, because it meant he could draw breath again.

Jiang Cheng inhaled gratefully, and concentrated as hard as he could. He snatched at scraps of sensation, bits of memory, as if they were fireflies he was trying to catch in a jar.

Think. Think.

He’d been in his room in Koi Tower. The last thing he could fully remember was Wei Wuxian sliding through the door, promising to take care of him… he’d been lifted, jostled… the arms around him felt warm, so his shixiong must have been carrying him; Wei Wuxian always ran hot.

Wei Wuxian, that absolute jackass.

Wei Wuxian had taken him – somewhere – and laid him on something soft. He’d smelled the bitterness of medicinal herbs, and heard voices raised in an argument. Two people. Fighting. Something to do with him.

(Jiang Cheng was grown very, very, very tired of people fighting over him.)

But then there had been more jostling, the stuffy feeling of blood rushing to his head – he’d been slung over somebody’s bony shoulder – and – oh, now he was aware of a different sensation stirring in his lower dantian – uneasy – hostile.

What the f*ck had Wei Wuxian done? Where was he, that Zidian would be reacting to resentful energy so close by?

Jiang Cheng could feel that he was lying on something hard, now, and when he lifted his head groggily to try and look around, it made a hollow-sounding wooden thunk when he gave up and dropped it back down again. The brief survey of his surroundings showed that he was confined in a narrow, airless space that reeked of blood, bile, rot, and resentful energy. It looked like a workshop or laboratory; there were shelves along one wall and a large, sturdy table, which he was lying upon. The table had metal rings affixed to all four corners, and his arms and legs were shackled to chains that attached to the rings. The table itself was sticky, covered in reddish-brown stains, and strewn with saws, knives, awls, and alarmingly large nails. This was worrisome.

In one corner, indifferently covered with a splotchy, stiffened sheet of canvas, lay a pile of corpses buzzing with flies. Most of the corpses wore the coarse gray clothing and close-cropped hair of prisoners, though he thought some might be low-level rogue cultivators. They had all been dead for several days and bore the marks of torture; in fact, they were so mangled and disfigured that Jiang Cheng could not immediately tell how many there were. At least seven, judging from the number of severed hands and feet that were heaped up separately; a horrible, meaningless cruelty – unless, of course, one was deliberately attempting to generate dangerous amounts of resentful energy. Jiang Cheng almost gagged when he saw a crooked row of human tongues pinned to the wall by more of those massive nails, longer than his hand, which had been poorly wrought from some sort of dull black metal.

Probably not the Fire Palace, then, but a smaller, cheaper imitation. Still effective, though. From deep within Jiang Cheng’s belly, Zidian thrummed with displeasure, sensing the thick miasma of resentful energy that clung around the piteous corpses.

There were no windows or doors visible, but the wall opposite was hung with a massive bronze mirror that had been etched with sigils, transforming it into some kind of portal to let people pass in and out. Jiang Cheng didn’t recognize the sigils, but Wei Wuxian probably would.

Wei Wuxian…

Jiang Cheng’s shixiong did a lot of stupid things – and when they’d all stopped lurching from one crisis to the next, the two of them would be having words about drugging his f*cking soup, and then Jiang Cheng would break his f*cking legs – but Wei Wuxian would never, never have left Jiang Cheng locked up in some grubby little knock-off torture chamber. What the f*ck had happened?

Think. Think!

First things first: he had to escape. He had to see the perpetrator of these abominations brought to justice; the Jianghu would surely raze this demonic laboratory down to the ground, once the other Sects found out about it.

Abruptly, the mirror rippled, like a round golden pond that somebody had cast a stone into, and a figure appeared in the middle of it. As the person passed through the mirror and stepped into the workroom, Jiang Cheng quickly closed his eyes and slowed his breathing to the rhythm and cadence of someone deeply unconscious, something that any river-born Jiang worth the name was well able to do.

Footsteps approached, and Jiang Cheng risked opening his eyes an infinitesimal amount. As the person reached for something above Jiang Cheng’s head, a swatch of coarse fabric rubbed against his cheek and a hand passed before his face.

That hand was missing a pinky finger.

For just a moment, Jiang Cheng froze, the involuntary response of a prey animal with a predator in sight; luckily Xue Yang – Xue Yang, f*ck! – wasn’t paying him any mind. From the sound of things, he was busy extracting one of the bodies from the mangled pile and pounding some of the giant nails into it.

The wet smacking sound of the hammer and the cloying smell of decay overwhelmed Jiang Cheng’s senses and he couldn’t help but twist his head to the side, gagging weakly.

“Hey, if you puke on me, I’ll shove a live rat down your throat and stitch your mouth shut!”

Oh, he remembered that obnoxious giggle, all right. f*ck.

Think! f*cking think!

As Xue Yang hummed tunelessly under his breath and ran his fingers over the other torture instruments on the table, one of the sigils engraved in the mirror flared. New characters appeared on the mirror’s surface, spelling out a name that Jiang Cheng didn’t recognize. Xue Yang glanced over and made a gesture of unsealing. The mirror rippled again, and a shorter, slender figure slipped through.

What?

Jiang Cheng knew that figure.

Meng Yao?

What under the heavens was Meng Yao doing in Xue Yang’s workshop, and why did the mirror say his name was “Jin Guangyao”?

“Yaoyao, what’s up,” said Xue Yang, leaning against the table with his arms crossed over his chest.

(Risking another peek through his eyelashes, Jiang Cheng thought he saw a momentary flash of annoyance cross Meng Yao’s face at the casual address. Had he imagined it? Perhaps – the man’s face was back to being smooth and pleasant as ever…)

“Ah, Chengmei, Chengmei, Chengmei,” said Meng Yao, smiling beatifically, though his voice sounded deeply disappointed. “My father’s on his way. He was very upset when he learned you’d disobeyed his orders – again. You know you’re not supposed to go wandering around where people might see you.”

“Oh, dear, whatever shall I do,” said Xue Yang, with a smirk.

“But then I was able to assure him that while you were out exploring, you managed to retrieve Sect Leader Jiang! And now he’s perfectly delighted; in fact, I do believe you are about to receive a lovely reward from the treasury! I assume cursed daggers are suited to your taste? I told him you liked them, but even if you don’t, remember to act grateful.”

There was a moment of crackling tension as the two men made very intense eye contact, all while Jiang Cheng lay there trying to regulate his breathing and speculate frantically as to who Meng Yao’s father might be.

A Jin cultivator, to judge from the name in the mirror. A rich man, someone with a treasury. Unprincipled and unscrupulous too, if he can tolerate Xue Yang and his demonic cultivation…

Oh. OH, f*ck.

Jiang Cheng nearly betrayed himself by startling when both the other men suddenly snorted, and then broke out into peals of mirth.

“Like either one of us gives half of a rat’s ass about your father’s opinion,” said Xue Yang, chortling. Meng Yao smiled.

Jiang Cheng had never had occasion to notice it before, but Meng Yao’s true smile – not the dimpled smile he wore when he was being charming and useful to important people, but the smile he was wearing right now – was actually quite akin to Xue Yang’s.

A feral, predatory thing, a hiss, brimful of teeth…

f*ck. f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*cking f*ck.

“Ah, not even a quarter of one,” said Meng Yao, and dabbed at the corners of his eyes with his sleeves. “I simply couldn’t help myself, it was just too funny to watch the illustrious Sect Leader Jin stomping around his chambers like a child with its new toy taken away, and all because somebody’d managed to snatch Sect Leader Jiang out from under his nose! You should have seen him smashing up the furniture and throwing vases at the walls.”

Oh f*ck. Just breathe. Breathe. Keep your breathing slow.

Xue Yang giggled, but when he stopped, his lip was curled most unpleasantly. “And I’d wager that every single thing he broke probably cost more than you and your mother combined, yeah?”

“Oh, exactly,” said Meng Yao, drawing out the word like it was a strip of skin he was slowly peeling off a wriggling victim. Every trace of amusem*nt had been wiped from his face as if it had never existed at all. “So keep to the plan: you can tell him whatever he wants to hear, but he’s not getting his greasy, stubby fingers on Sect Leader Jiang or his powers. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take after hearing what happened at Lotus Pier, and that was against an army of the living. Speaking of which, have you been able to determine how effective the lightning is, as a weapon against the dead?”

Xue Yang rolled his eyes. “I’m not Sect Leader Jiang, Yaoyao, I can’t just summon up a lightning storm whenever it suits me.” He paused and leaned over Jiang Cheng (breathe, breathe, breathe like you’re still unconscious, breathe) before adding, “However…”

Oh, Jiang Cheng did not want to hear anything that might come out of Xue Yang’s mouth in that sickening, suggestive tone of voice.

“If you were to let me f*ck him…”

No. Never.

“Then I could test out the human cauldron spell and the effect of lightning on Fierce Corpses at the same time.”

A slow, perilous smile spread over Meng Yao’s face.

NO! f*ck off! NO!

“A brilliant idea, Chengmei. I applaud your sense of efficiency. And while I’m sure you’d just love to get started with that immediately, unfortunately my father really is on his way.” Meng Yao’s smirk grew, showing all his white teeth as he added, “He’s feeling quite skittish after the unfortunate events in Pageant Hall yesterday, so we need to make sure Sect Leader Jiang is well-secured.”

“Hm,” said Xue Yang, and tapped his fingernails against the table in rapid succession, rat tat tat tat. “That could be a problem. I can’t be sure how much longer he’ll be out, and you told me not to hit him.”

“Not unless you want to be electrocuted. But don’t worry, I came prepared. It’s a bit of an improvisation, but that’s never bothered you before, has it?”

With that, Meng Yao produced a spool of silk ribbon from his sleeve and tossed it to Xue Yang. Jiang Cheng ruthlessly suppressed a full-body shudder of disgust as Xue Yang caught it, bent over him, and began winding the silk around his head, rolling it this way and that, after the fashion of a spider wrapping up an insect caught in its web, saving its meal for later consumption.

Jiang Cheng refused to dwell on the implications.

The mirror sigil activated again, and before Xue Yang finished wrapping the ribbon over his eyes, Jiang Cheng was just able to glimpse the name that briefly appeared in the bronze: Jin Guangshan.

f*ck.

“All right,” said Xue Yang, clapping his hands gleefully. “Time to play good little minions of the great and glorious Jin-zongzhu!” And he made the hand-sign for unsealing the mirror again.

Well. This was going to be an enlightening conversation, Jiang Cheng thought. He kept breathing slowly, playing possum, as Jin Guangshan sailed through the mirror.

Xue Yang had raised a corpse, and Jin Guangshan was busy commanding it to stagger around the room on its severed stumps of legs, which meant that Jin Guangshan was no longer standing next to the wooden worktable with his pale, sweaty hand spread over Jiang Cheng’s thigh. Thank f*ck.

Meng Yao – no, Jin Guangyao – leaned over to Xue Yang and hissed, “Why does your stupid mirror think Wen Ning is right outside?”

(Jiang Cheng couldn’t see, but he was listening desperately.)

“How the f*ck do I know?” Xue Yang hissed back. “The alarm talisman is set to detect trace amounts of spiritual energy, does Wen Ning know how to use a paperman?”

Jin Guangyao and Xue Yang both scanned the workshop for a paperman, discreetly, as Jin Guangshan snickered and made the corpse do a little swaying dance.

“f*ck,” Meng Yao whispered eventually. “I don’t know, and I don’t like it. Once my father’s out of our hair, I’ll go secure Xichen. You get Huaisang – I don’t care how – and then we’ll need to start drawing the transportation array. I want us out of here as soon as possible.”

As Xue Yang followed Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao out through the enchanted mirror, Jiang Cheng’s breath sped up until he was panting, quick panicky gulps of the stale, fetid air. It was even worse than Lanling Jin funding secret laboratories of demonic cultivation, so much worse than he could have ever imagined.

Jin Guangyao and Xue Yang, working together…

If the Jin were compromised – the Jiang decimated – Huaisang and Xichen taken as hostages against the Nie and Lan…

Who would be left to stand against Wen Ruohan?

His head spun.

Get it together. Slow your breathing. Think.

Okay. Okay.

Jin Guangyao might be scheming fit to join the ranks of evil f*cking masterminds and Xue Yang might know his way around the insides of a corpse, but f*ck them both anyway, because nobody with half a brain would have tried to bind the master of Zidian with silk and metal.

Jiang Cheng concentrated harder than he ever had in his life, until the tell-tale sounds of hissing and crackling reached his ears, until he could feel Zidian’s power straining for release. He let it surge from his body, and the chains conducted it to the rings anchored in the table. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the metal grew heated, and Jiang Cheng began to wriggle rhythmically, trying to work the rings loose from the wood without setting the table on fire and burning himself to death. The muscles in his stomach began to ache, and he was pretty sure he’d pulled open his chest wounds again, but it was working, it was working…

The silk ribbon over his eyes shifted just enough for him to see when the mirror flared with magic and Xue Yang came back through, carelessly wiping a smear of blood off the nasty-looking dagger in his hand. Jiang Cheng froze, then forced himself to go limp again and slow his breath, but Xue Yang’s attention was otherwise occupied. He snatched a large pot from one of the shelves, and Jiang Cheng could tell when he opened it by the new smell of copper and salt, the smell of freshly-drawn blood.

Xue Yang lacked his usual indolent ease – his movements seemed tense and urgent as he dipped a brush into the pot and crouched down to begin marking out a large array on the floor.

Jiang Cheng pulled at the chain binding his hands as discreetly as he could – yes, it was definitely loose, f*cking finally, but before he could do anything about it, the names Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen appeared in the mirror. As Xue Yang let them into the workroom, Jiang Cheng peeked out from under the ribbon blindfold and felt his heart sink – Zewu-jun wasn’t incapacitated, or even restrained. What under the heavens had happened to Wangji’s upstanding, righteous brother?

Had Zewu-Jun been persuaded to join the conspiracy?

Oh sh*t, oh sh*t, oh sh*t.

“Where’s Huaisang, Chengmei?” said Jin Guangyao, sharply.

“Who the f*ck knows?” replied Xue Yang, still dabbing at the array. “I couldn’t find him, Yaoyao, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Xue Chengmei! We’ve talked about this.”

Interesting, thought Jiang Cheng. This was not the playful banter of their earlier conversation; the two conspirators now seemed genuinely irritated with each other. The saccharine note that usually made Jin Guangyao’s voice sound meek and deferential now had just enough edge to it to make it sound like he was trying to hold himself back from scolding a naughty, sulky child, and Jiang Cheng was willing to bet that it would act on Xue Yang as a bucket of oil would act on a raging bonfire.

Sure enough, Xue Yang stood up and turned on Jin Guangyao with a sneer. “You know what, Yaoyao, you keep saying you don’t give a sh*t for your honored father’s opinion, but he wasn’t the only one bitching at me nonstop about keeping my head down and staying out of sight! Explain it to this lowly one, how the f*ck am I supposed to do that when this whole f*cking tower is full of people searching for Sect Leader Jiang! Anyway, you’re the one who’s always saying Huaisang is as useless as the tit* on a boar hog.”

“He is, but right now we need a hostage against Chifeng-zun!”

“What we need is for you to help with this f*cking array, so get another f*cking paintbrush and stop being such a little c*nt!”

Well. At least they didn’t get hold of Huaisang, and fortunately for me, they’re too annoyed and distracted to notice the smell of burning.

Jiang Cheng didn’t want to draw attention to himself by turning to look at what the two were doing, not when he could still hear perfectly well. Jin Guangyao and Xue Yang were presumably still drawing their bloody array as they quarreled over how best to execute their plan despite not having Nie Huaisang in their power.

Because their plan was to let the Nie march to their deaths at the Burial Mounds; to let the Jin take over Qinghe while it was undefended.

To dispose of Jin Guangshan on Wen Ruohan’s behalf, and rule Lanling as Wen Ruohan’s vassals.

And then – stab Wen Ruohan in the back – take control of the Yin Iron and the undead army – and have the entire Jianghu at their mercy.

And all the while, Lan Xichen just stood there, smiling gently and emptily at nothing as Jin Guangshan and Xue Yang plotted patricide, treason, and mass necromantic slaughter. Jiang Cheng peered desperately at him from under the ribbon still wound around his face.

I don’t know Jin Guangyao’s combat capabilities, I don’t know Xue Yang’s either, but I do know that I never won a spar against Lan Xichen, not once in all my time at Cloud Recesses.

He had the element of surprise on his side, plus Zidian, but would it be enough to make up for the fact that he was outnumbered, three to one, with one of those three being the First f*cking Jade? And how on earth could he live with himself if he hurt Wangji’s beloved brother?

But before he could come up with any kind of plan, the mirror flashed again, showing another pair of names: Nie Mingjue. Nie Huaisang.

Xue Yang and Jin Guangyao leapt to their feet, abandoning their half-drawn array and cursing. Xue Yang made a slightly different hand seal, and sound began to seep through the mirror from whatever lay on the other side.

They were just in time to hear Chifeng-zun’s gruff voice saying, “Huaisang, please tell me you didn’t drag me all the way to the ass-end of Koi Tower just to pick up a dead mouse.”

Halfway through Huaisang’s frankly baffling response (“Chengmei,” said Jin Guangyao at one point, in a poisonously sweet voice, “did you somehow forget to mention that Wen Ning was here? Possibly occupying the body of a mouse?”) the mirror talisman flashed again and announced the arrival of Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng found himself hard-pressed to keep his breathing slow and deep as he listened intently to the Nie brothers questioning him, fretting over what could have happened to choke off the flow of Lan Wangji’s deep, musical voice.

Wait, Lan Xichen had punched him? Actually punched his beloved didi?

Well. That settled things, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion. Something was deeply wrong with Zewu-jun; there was no way he was acting of his own accord. Even if he had lost his heart and head to Jin Guangyao, he would never, ever willingly hurt his little brother.

(“Yaoyao,” Xue Yang said meanwhile, mimicking the other man’s dulcet tones like a total dick, “did you somehow forget to mention that Lan Wangji walked in on you and Zewu-Jun while he was balls deep in your ass?)

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose under the ribbon, then he twitched in surprise as Nie Mingjue’s heart-stoppingly loud voice roared from beyond the mirror: “STAND BACK, I’M GONNA SMASH THIS f*ckING THING.”

“A-Huan! Stop him! Bring him down!” shouted Jin Guangyao, and Lan Xichen sprang into action, drawing Shuoyue and sending an explosively powerful sword glare through the mirror with one fluid sweep of his arm. There was a loud clang from outside, and more cursing, and Lan Xichen plunged towards the mirror without a backwards look.

“Finish the array!” Jin Guangyao hissed over his shoulder to Xue Yang, and dived through the mirror alongside him.

Now or never, Jiang Cheng thought, and wrenched at his chains, tearing the metal rings loose from the table. Xue Yang stared at him in surprise for a moment, looking wide-eyed and foolish, and Jiang Cheng rolled sideways off the table and kicked it over to shield himself, just as Xue Yang recovered his wits and threw the Assassin’s Dagger. The cursed thing was so sharp that it sank into the thick wooden tabletop as if it was no more than a block of lard; a curl of resentful energy snaked out from the point of impact and tried to whisper in Jiang Cheng’s ear, but he was having none of it.

He clawed the silk from his face and came out swinging, whipping the chains on his wrists towards Xue Yang. The man summoned a black-bladed sword and managed to catch the chains on its weird, serrated edge, just in the nick of time.

“What the f*ck is that,” Jiang Cheng panted, wrestling the chains away.

“It’s my Jiàngzāi. Why, don’t you like it?” said Xue Yang, with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Are you serious,” said Jiang Cheng, revolted. “That is the most pretentious f*cking thing I have ever heard.”

Xue Yang was a dirty fighter, a street brawler, a demonic cultivator – but Jiang Cheng had been sparring nonstop against the top cultivators of his generation for months, and he was, abruptly, furious.

It was as if all the fear and horror of the last few days had transmuted from lead to shining steel. He blazed with it, his anger at being tossed around like a shuttleco*ck, snatched from one person to another, like he didn’t have the right to his own opinion, his own body.

Jiang Cheng would burn Xue Yang to ashes rather than let the man take another f*cking thing from him without consent – not a single finger’s touch, not one more second of his life, not by Xue Yang, not by anybody.

He wasn’t going to give Xue Yang any quarter, not even an instant to catch his breath. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was vaguely aware that he was doing something impossible, he’d been bedridden just the day before, for f*ck’s sake, but now? Now Zidian’s power was building and building inside of him until he felt as if he could burst with battle-joy, like a skyrocket, fierce and bright and euphoric and destructive. The purple figures on his skin lit up vividly, the lightning was running through his meridians, his veins, his nerves, like he'd been reborn from it.

Xue Yang wheezed out a shallow whistle, and a risen corpse lurched at Jiang Cheng, going for his throat with a mouthful of broken teeth. Jiang Cheng didn’t even have to think before he whirled around, aiming a spear-hand thrust at it – and even as he moved, his fingers wreathed themselves with indigo lightning, a gauntlet of devouring flame, spitting white-hot sparks. The corpse’s head disintegrated on contact, and the rest of its body hit the floor with a sound like a wet sandbag.

Jiang Cheng made his voice as co*cky as possible and said, “So, you wanted to know how lightning would affect the dead?”

“Shut up,” snarled Xue Yang, hastily wiping the sweat off his face with his sleeve and falling into a guard position.

He’s so proud of his sword, thought Jiang Cheng, but he hasn’t realized that it puts him at a disadvantage in a narrow space like this. And now he’s too pissed off to notice. Hah! Dumbass!

He went on the attack again, and suddenly it felt as if time, and everything around him, had slowed to a snail’s pace. Xue Yang lunged forward, but it was like he was moving underwater. Jiang Cheng stepped back from his strike, kicked off from the wall, and somersaulted over his sword – and it was so simple now, almost laughably easy! He swung one chain down in midair, and when it wrapped around Xue Yang’s sword, he let it channel a staggering bolt of electricity. Xue Yang dropped Jiàngzāi, yelling and shaking out his hand as the hilt glowed sullenly, red-hot.

Jiang Cheng spun out of his landing crouch and whipped the second chain around Xue Yang’s knees, letting Zidian bite deep and turn the man’s leg muscles to quivering jelly. Xue Yang collapsed and lay twitching alongside his pet corpses, with his eyes bugging out and his teeth locked together. Jiang Cheng looped the chain around his neck and let a few more shocks course through the metal, just to make himself quite clear.

Xue Yang’s entire body jolted and went limp. He pissed himself and looked at Jiang Cheng with flat-out fury.

Jiang Cheng grinned widely, right back at him, knowing and not caring one bit that lightning was still arcing between his teeth and he probably looked totally f*cking unhinged.

They both became aware that Jin Guyangyao’s voice was drifting into the workroom from beyond the mirror; he was calling Xue Yang’s courtesy name in a strained voice that suggested he’d been calling it for some time.

Jiang Cheng grinned again, picked up Xue Yang’s flaccid, black-gloved hand, and moved it through the hand-seal for opening the mirror.

Chapter 27

Chapter Text

Jin Guangyao was starting to sweat, and Lan Wangji was rather enjoying the sight, inasmuch as he could enjoy anything from where he was still lying on the f*cking floor.

“Chengmei! What on earth are you doing in there? Answer me!”

There was no response. The mirror-portal remained still and solid, reflecting Jin Guangyao’s strained face back at him.

“It’s just so hard to find good help these days, isn’t it, A-Yao?” said Nie Huaisang, as sympathetically as possible given the fine wire digging cruelly into his throat. “Well, you would know better than anyone, I suppose.”

Jin Guangyao’s mouth pursed sourly, and he made to tug on the garrote again.

At that moment the bronze finally rippled, and two figures emerged.

Jiang Wanyin, striding into the room with his head high as if he was in his own Swords Hall. Xue Yang, dragged behind him by a length of chain wound around his neck, half-conscious and snarling. The chain buzzed with power like an angry wasps’ nest and flared with indigo lightning where Jiang Wanyin had it in a white-knuckled grip.

Lan Wangji, who’d somehow convinced himself that he couldn’t love the boy in front of him any more than he already did, promptly discovered his error. With all the strength he could wring from his muscles, he managed to push himself up onto his knees and reach for Wanyin, drawn to him as inexorably as a compass needle drawn to true north.

Wanyin’s eyes lit up soft and warm, and a tiny smile curved his lips before the reality of their situation rudely intruded. His gaze swept over Lan Wangji, whose arms were trembling from even this small exertion, before darting to Nie Huaisang, who gurgled unhappily as Jin Guangyao retreated, twisting the wire even tighter across his throat.

“Wangji!” said Jiang Wanyin, and then, “Jin Guangyao! f*cking release Huaisang, at once!”

“Wait, no!” said Nie Huaisang, even as Jin Guangyao took another step back and gave the garrote another warning yank. More blood trickled down Huaisang’s neck but still he rasped weakly, “Tell Xichen-ge to let my da-ge go instead?”

Lan Xichen stood with Nie Mingjue dangling from his shoulder, his face vacant, and gave no indication that he’d heard a single word.

“Xiongzhang,” croaked Lan Wangji beseechingly, struggling to get his feet under him. “Don’t do this. Do not follow Jin Guangyao down this crooked path.”

Jin Guangyao’s dimples appeared, though his smile had never had less warmth in it.

“But A-Huan wants to come with me, don’t you, A-Huan?”

“Yes… A-Yao.”

He wanted to come, didn’t you, A-Cheng?

I…wanted…to…

“Don’t even bother, Wangji, he’s being controlled, it’s one of those f*cking talismans,” Wanyin snarled, and Lan Wangji nearly collapsed again, this time with relief. Thank the gods.

Xichen had not thrown aside their uncle’s teachings like a pair of old worn-out shoes, nor their Sect rules. His life-long practice of restraint and righteousness still held true. He was not following in their father’s wretched footsteps; the brother that Lan Wangji knew, respected, loved, was still there. Trapped within himself by the power of the talisman, yes, but Xiongzhang could still be redeemed, and that was the most important thing.

If he could only get the talisman off Xiongzhang’s neck…!

Lan Wangji braced himself, preparing to hurl himself at his brother, wrestle him to the floor, and claw the talisman away, but then he saw sudden fear flickering in Wanyin’s eyes.

Don’t play the hero, Wanyin begged Lan Wangji silently, don’t put yourself in danger, I couldn’t bear to have you taken from me now, with a wire around your neck.

And Lan Wangji was forced to admit to himself that discretion might be the better part of valor, at least while his spiritual power was sealed and he was feeling weak as a kitten.

Wanyin, staring at him with dark, pleading eyes, took a deep, relieved breath when Lan Wangji sat back, shifting his weight onto his heels, an acknowledgement that he would, begrudgingly, bide his time.

Then he turned on Jin Guangyao with a look of sheer hatred.

“We should have expected a snake like you to use that f*cking talisman. How else would you get someone like Zewu-Jun to look at you twice,” Wanyin said contemptuously.

“Jiang-xiong,” rasped Nie Huaisang, “don’t – don’t speak. A-Yao – he’ll just talk you around in circles – get you angry and distracted – hurk.”

Jin Guangyao tugged savagely on the garotte, choking his words off. “Oh, A-Sang, A-Sang,” he murmured, sounding regretful, almost tender, even as he sawed the wire deeper into the flesh of Nie Huaisang’s throat. “You know me too well.”

Then he raised both eyebrows and looked at Wanyin.

“You, on the other hand, Jiang-gongzi… or no, my deepest apologies, I must call you Sect Leader Jiang now, mustn’t I?”

Jin Guangyao pushed his lips out in a sad little moue, his face an exaggerated caricature of sympathy, like someone humoring a tearful, fretful child. Lan Wangji could practically see Wanyin’s hackles rise, and his heart filled with foreboding.

“It’s just that… well, you don’t seem to know anything, do you? You don’t know how to be any kind of Sect Leader, that’s certain,” said Jin Guangyao, making his eyes big and tragic as he went on, sounding as if the very subject pained him deeply. “Doesn’t it seem shameful that the leader of the Jiang Sect is not even a match for his own shixiong? You let him wander around, saying and doing whatever he pleases, usurping your authority without a speck of regard for you, or Sect Leader Jin, or anyone else for that matter! How much face has Wei-gongzi lost for the Jiang Sect, do you suppose, just over the last few days?”

Wanyin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, hard.

Jin Guangyao, watching him avidly, co*cked his head to one side like a curious bird and let his face assume an air of innocent confusion. “But now that I think on it, I wonder… should we even speak of the Jiang Sect, anymore? With his big talk and his arrogant attitude, perhaps we will all be bowing to Sect Leader Wei, in the future! Isn’t that what your father wanted? Are you sure Wei-gongzi didn’t just drug you… to get you out of his way?”

“Jin Guangyao,” Wanyin gritted out between his teeth, voice trembling, “you – vicious – son of a…”

Jin Guangyao cut him off mercilessly.

“You needn’t say anything further, I’ve heard again and again that all your tongue is good for is saying rude and uncouth words. Just another way in which Sect Leader Jiang is, sadly, too young – too inexperienced – to be of much use to anyone.”

Wanyin reared back as if the words were a physical blow.

“I should warn you, though, if your Lan-er-gongzi is as hot-blooded as my A-Huan, he’ll soon grow quite thoroughly bored with you and your mingy little kisses. I’ve heard you were barely good enough for Wen Chao, so I really can’t imagine that you’ll ever be able to satisfy the Second Jade.”

Jin Guangyao’s demure mask had slipped; even Lan Wangji could tell that the sight of Wanyin’s face twisting in misery palpably delighted him.

“Shut up,” Lan Wangji hissed from his spot on the floor. Even now, Wanyin’s hands were steady on the chain looped around Xue Yang’s neck, but the heaving of his chest and the tension in his face showed that the barbed words had landed heavily.

“Why, Lan-er-gongzi,” said Jin Guangyao, turning and bending down, the better to drip his poison into Lan Wangji’s ears now, “are you really implying that you’d be satisfied with such a frigid, harsh, ungenerous lover? And here I thought Do not tell lies is one of the sacred rules of the Lan Sect!”

“Do not succumb to rage is another,” Lan Wangji spat back at him, goaded beyond endurance at this wanton cruelty. “Do you wish to see me break it?”

He forced his legs to straighten and lurched to his feet, driven half-mad by fury and a desperate desire to shield Wanyin from the honeyed malice in Jin Guangyao’s voice – but the man still wasn’t finished toying with them.

“Ah, well, I suppose even the best of us may fail to live up to expectations. Your uncle would certainly agree, wouldn’t he, Lan-er-gongzi? And I’m quite sure I’ve heard it said that both the Violet Spider and the former Sect Leader Jiang went to their deaths lamenting the fact that their son had never once, in all his life, met their standards…”

A cracked laugh interrupted the vile flow of Jin Guangyao’s words. They both looked up to see the angry flush on Wanyin’s cheeks and the indigo sparks beginning to snap around him, just as they had done in Pageant Hall.

Jin Guangyao stepped back again, looking wary. As you should, Lan Wangji thought vindictively. You’ve sowed, and now you’ll reap. He braced himself, hoping against hope that if Wanyin began to qi deviate again, he would find the strength to do something, anything, to reel him back from the brink.

But Wanyin stilled his shaking body, mastering himself through the sheer force of his will. The indigo sparks remained, but Lan Wangji could tell that Wanyin had wrapped his anger around him like a heavy winter cloak, every other emotion muffled and smothered ruthlessly beneath it.

Wanyin drew himself up to his full height, unbowed, steely as his own sword. He swept Jin Guangyao with a look of icy disdain, regal, remote, and untouchable.

“I wonder, then,” he said, his voice thin but sharp and cutting as a razor’s blade, “which of your parents’ expectations you strive to fulfill? The whor*? Or the whor*monger?”

Several things happened at once.

All the saccharine-sweetness in Jin Guangyao’s face turned to vinegar, and his white-knuckled grip on the garrote grew tight enough to bloody his hands to the bone. Huiasang’s whimper was cut off by a cough, short and wet, as his face went from red to purple.

Xue Yang, dangling from his chains and almost forgotten in the heat of the moment, stole his chance and plunged a jittery hand into his own tatty black sleeves. With a mad, maniacal look on his face, he pulled out a nondescript qiankun pouch and tore it open. The light in the room faded, dim and gray, and a muttering, seething sound seeped venomously into their ears. Fat coils of resentful energy poured from the pouch, and Lan Wangji knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it contained the fourth chunk of Yin Iron. Dark, smoky tendrils snaked purposefully around the room as Xue Yang scrabbled to his feet, with the Yin Iron in his hand and triumph blazing in his eyes.

Wanyin took a half-step back and stared at the Yin Iron in wide-eyed horror. Jin Guangyao’s gaze, in contrast, fixed upon it with a ravenous, terrible hunger, greedy in a way that could never be satiated.

But Lan Wangji wasn’t focused on Jin Guangyao.

He was looking into the corner of the room where Jin Guangyao had kicked Baxia. He could see, and the others could not, that the saber was rising from the ground, glowing scarlet as it vibrated with silent fury at the presence of the Yin Iron. It hovered for a split second, assuming an offensive position.

For the space of that one heartbeat Lan Wangji stared, stupefied, then he threw himself forward. Using his weight for momentum, he forced his useless legs to move and plowed into Wanyin gracelessly, knocking him to the floor – and out of Baxia’s path.

He was only just in time. With a shriek like a stooping falcon, Baxia shot through the air and punched straight through Xue Yang’s spine.

Xue Yang made a surprised choking noise and looked down, unbelievingly, at the blade protruding from his chest and his heart’s blood pumping out onto the floor in thick spatters. As his eyes grew unfocused and his body toppled forward, Jin Guangyao shoved Huaisang roughly aside, snatched the Yin Iron from Xue Yang’s slack fingers, and jammed it back into the pouch.

“A-Huan, get on your sword, we’re leaving,” he shouted, and whipped his oddly thin, bendable blade from beneath his sash belt. Lan Xichen was already mounting Shuoyue, with Nie Mingjue still grey-faced and inert in his arms. As he leaped on Hensheng, Jin Guangyao threw a talisman that blasted a sizable hole in the wall, and he soared through the gap with Lan Xichen on his heels, abandoning his co-conspirator without a backward glance.

Baxia detached itself from Xue Yang’s ribcage with a wet-sounding schlick, then turned itself around. It hung in the air, seeming to consider its next move, before decisively smashing through the bronze mirror. The mirror shivered and crashed to the ground, with a noise like a gong falling downstairs. Lan Wangji winced at the horrible clangor and Wanyin, lying pinned beneath his body, put his hands over Lan Wangji’s sensitive ears, his brow furrowed sympathetically.

Once the ringing echoes faded, Lan Wangji grunted with frustration and grappled with his uncooperative arms, trying to make them wrap around Wanyin. After a moment he conceded defeat and settled for lying heavily on top of his fiancé, like a blanket, trying to press himself so close that no-one could slip between them, so close that they would never be parted again. He nuzzled his face into the sweet-scented shadow of Wanyin’s jaw, nosed at his throat, rejoiced in the pulse that he could feel, quick and soft as a hummingbird’s wing, fluttering against his cheek.

“Nothing he said was true, not a single word,” Lan Wangji said quietly into the warmth of Wanyin’s hair, and pressed himself down a little harder. “Losing you hurt like having my heart carved from my chest.”

He could feel the responsive heat of Wanyin’s blush on his own face.

Wanyin’s hands slid from his ears to his neck, over his shoulders, down his back and sides, checking for injuries on every bit of Lan Wangji that Wanyin could reach. Finally, he let his hands come to rest on Lan Wangji’s waist. It made Lan Wangji shiver deliciously, despite everything, and Wanyin tightened his grip, turned his head, and took Lan Wangji’s mouth with his own, kissing him deeply.

For just a moment, Lan Wangji let himself set everything aside, his brother, his duties, his fears and anxieties, and went limp with sheer relief. Wanyin was here, unhurt, his body a long line of warmth shifting beneath Lan Wangji’s own, from the press of his lips to the cradle of his thighs, down to where their feet were tangled together.

Wanyin breathed an equally relieved sigh over Lan Wangji. He swept one warm, callused hand firmly up the length of Lan Wangji’s spine, cupped the back of his head, and crushed their lips together again.

“You’re hurt,” Wanyin murmured into Lan Wangji’s mouth. “They did something to you.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong, even if Lan Wangji’s lolling head and heavy-lidded eyes were no longer entirely due to the wretched song Xichen had been made to play on his xiao.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji mustered himself to reply. “Xiongzhang sealed my core. Then he played strange music that drained my energy, and Mingjue-ge’s, and possibly Huaisang’s as well?”

“Nice of you to remember me,” hacked Nie Huaisang from the other side of the room. “It’s not like I mind lying here, on the floor, bleeding to death, while the two of you reunite!”

“I was nearly beheaded just now,” puffed Nie Huaisang as he pushed open the paneling and lurched into the servants’ corridor, with Lan Wangji’s left arm draped over his shoulder.

“And I qi deviated yesterday, what’s your point?” Jiang Cheng retorted, adjusting Lan Wangji’s right arm over his own shoulder. “Hurry up!”

The din emanating from Xue Yang’s laboratory was incredible, even though the wall. The strident ringing sound of metal on metal had faded (Baxia had made quick work of the bronze mirror-portal) but the rhythmic, meaty chop-chop-chop of Chifeng-zun’s saber going about its bloody business continued without pause. At least destroying the resentful corpses had quieted Baxia’s furious shrieking to a grim, purposeful, tiger-like rumbling. The sound followed them down the hidden passage as they staggered along three abreast, quite eager to be gone before the Jin arrived to investigate the source of the explosion and discovered Xue Yang’s body and Nie Mingjue’s saber instead.

Lan Wangji’s feet were dragging behind them. They looked ridiculous. Everything was ridiculous. Jiang Cheng felt semi-hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest.

“Doesn’t this remind you of our days at Cloud Recesses,” said Nie Huaisang. “That time Wei-xiong got Lan-er-gongzi drunk on a single cup of Emperor’s Smile?”

Jiang Cheng craned his neck over Lan Wangji’s downcast head and did his best to stare at Nie Huaisang incredulously.

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Nie Huaisaing, completely unrepentant. “This is not the time to reminisce, Huaisang, do you ever focus, Huaisang, are you even capable of saying anything that’s not complete nonsense, Huaisang. Go ahead and yell at me for just a little bit, Jiang-xiong, please? It’ll make me feel better, you sound just like my da-ge.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at this remark, then peered cautiously around a corner. “It’s clear. Where are we going, anyway?”

Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang were both panting by the time they wrestled Lan Wangji through the door of his own guest room and deposited him on his bed. Nie Huaisang immediately dispatched a talisman message, then went to the mirrored dressing area and began to fix his disheveled robes. Jiang Cheng sat on the edge of the bed and took Lan Wangji’s hands in his own, fretting at his enervated state.

“We need to escape from Koi Tower as soon as possible, but how?” Jiang Cheng wondered aloud. “There’s not a single member of the Jin Sect that we can trust.” He refrained from stating the obvious – that Lan Wangji was currently in no shape to do anything, let alone make a run for it – and stroked Lan Wangji’s forehead gently instead. He made no move to release the older boy from his grasp.

Nie Huaisang snorted derisively and began tidying his hair.

“Who said anything about relying on the Jin Sect?”

Nie Huaisang had just finished sprucing himself up when they heard a knock, and a familiar maidservant slipped into the room. Her belt was woven with a subtle pattern of flying herons, and she was carrying a stack of towels.

“Ah, thank you, Bicao,” said Nie Huaisang. He relieved her of the towels, plopped them into Jiang Cheng’s lap, produced a fan from his sleeve, and began firing off orders.

Messages to be dispatched – to Wen Ning, to Ma Chenguang, to high-ranking Nie Sect disciples, to half-a-dozen other people whose names Jiang Cheng didn’t recognize. Caches of money to be retrieved, supplies to be gathered. Rosters of guards to be tricked or bribed. Vital information to be disseminated in whispers – the presence of demonic cultivation in Koi Tower, the truth behind the disappearance of Chifeng-zun and Zewu-jun, the secret of Jin Guangyao’s parentage.

(Jiang Cheng expected Nie Huaisang to pace up and down the room, but he did not. Somehow, he’d become their stable fulcrum, even as the entire world seemed to be tilting off its axis.)

“I want every single one of the Songbirds singing within a shichen,” Nie Huaisang concluded, in a tone that any front-line general might be proud of. “Whatever happens, whatever lies Jin Guangshan tries to spin, I am relying on all of you to make sure the truth comes out.”

(Nie Huaisang gestured vehemently with his fan, and Jiang Cheng noted that underneath the prettily painted silk, the thing was ribbed with sharpened steel.)

The woman – Bicao – nodded fiercely.

“Good.”

With that, Nie Huaisang turned towards the bed where Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng were watching him and pointed at the towels.

“As for you, Jiang-xiong, you look like you just dragged yourself backwards out of the Burial Mounds! And you smell like it, too! I’ll give you one ke to take a bath and put some proper clothes on, not a moment longer!”

Then he flapped his hand at Lan Wangji’s prone form, adding, “And for the love of all the gods and immortals, do something about – that – if you can!”

And with no further ado, he put his nose in the air haughtily and swept out of the room before either of them could make any reply. Bicao bowed, looking rather amused despite everything, and followed.

Jiang Cheng blinked, then looked down and took stock of himself.

One thin sleeping robe and a pair of nondescript trousers, both much the worse for wear after his sojourn in the secret workshop. Bare feet, filthy, spattered with whatever unspeakable effluvia was left over from Xue Yang’s demonic cultivation, which he absolutely did not want to think about. Hair in a single, sloppy braid, with flyaway strands sticking out all over the place.

Jiang Cheng’s cheeks flamed.

If you stood before me now, barefoot and in rags, I would still cherish you, even if you were shorn of all else…

Clutching the towels to his chest like a bashful maiden, Jiang Cheng leapt up as if he had been stung, squeaked, “I’ll just go rinse off quickly!” and fled.

Lan Wangji’s ears felt as if they were melting.

Wanyin was in a state of total dishabille, sitting on Lan Wangji’s bed, and to cap it all off, the two of them had been left alone together.

In Lan Wangji’s bed.

He was extremely irked to find that the effects of Xichen’s cursed music did not seem to be diminishing with time; if anything, he could feel himself becoming weaker. Of all the times to be stuck flat on his back!

Lan Wangji could do nothing but watch Wanyin’s entire face go bright red (he was, plainly, following a similar train of thought) before the boy scurried away with his armful of towels. He lay there listening to the hasty splashing sounds coming from behind the privacy screen, and tried to think about literally anything other than the fact that Wanyin was currently naked and would shortly be wearing his spare robes. His colors. Lan blue and white.

Be strict with yourself, Lan Wangji thought. Do not exult excessively.

He heard fabric rustling – he pictured Wanyin drying himself off with quick, rough swipes – and then the creak of the cupboard door, followed by the soft swish, swish of silk.

Morality is the priority!

But then Wanyin came shyly out from behind the screen, and Lan Wangji hummed deep in his chest, nearly purring with pleasure. It was one thing to fling his robe over Wanyin in extremis, and it was quite another to have an opportunity to appreciate the pleasing contrast of white brocade against his golden skin and rippling ink-black hair; how the bright blue trim at the collar showed off his dark grey eyes to advantage. Best of all, in Lan Wangji’s opinion, was the way the heavy fabric kept slipping down off his shoulders in an impossibly enticing fashion.

“I think these are a little big for me,” said Wanyin, blushing furiously and fiddling with the ends of the sleeves.

“Mn,” said Lan Wangji, entranced, and struggled to sit up.

“Hey, no, stop that,” said Wanyin. He hastened across the room and pushed Lan Wangji back down again. His troubled gaze roamed over Lan Wangji’s body, as if the lingering effects of the baneful music were palpable, like a stain that could be discovered and eradicated.

Then Wanyin’s eyes settled on his lower dantian, and his face grew very still. Lan Wangji lay there quietly, watching him think.

“Wangji, may I – try something?” Wanyin asked.

At Lan Wangji’s nod, he closed his eyes and braced himself, rubbing his hands together. At first Lan Wangji thought he was nervous, but then he saw the tell-tale indigo sparks snapping brightly from the space between Wanyin’s palms. Without further warning, Wanyin planted both hands on Lan Wangji’s belly and unleashed Zidian.

Power burst from the point of contact and roared through Lan Wangji in an irresistible flood. A guttural, unidentifiable noise tore from his teeth as every muscle spasmed, jerking his chest up towards the ceiling, his whole body locked in a clenched, quivering curve. He could not control himself, his heart was hammering fiercely in his ribs.

Lan Wangji crashed back down onto the bed as Zidian’s power receded as fast as it had come, leaving his body suffused with molten warmth and tingling in every cùn. His ears rang with the sound of his own blood singing through his veins.

Wanyin was leaning over him, patting him all over, looking horrified. His voice was frantic with worry.

“Wangji! Wangji, did I hurt you? I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, how could I be so stupid, what have I done to you…”

Lan Wangji twitched under his hands. As the simmering buzz of Zidian faded, he became aware that his cultivation had returned in full force. It was as if Xiongzhang’s music had never withered it. He could feel his spiritual power going to work on his broken nose and bruises.

He could also feel that he was suddenly hard as a rock in his trousers, achingly hard, and when had he managed to flip Wanyin over and pin him to the mattress?

Wanyin was staring up at him with wide, surprised eyes. His mouth opened, probably to ask all kinds of pertinent questions…

Lan Wangji ground his hips forward helplessly, swooped down, and kissed him breathless instead.

Jiang Cheng blinked, and his eyelashes brushed against Lan Wangji’s face, they were pressed so close together. Lan Wangji was gripping him, squeezing the breath from him and kissing him over and over; clearly the famous Lan arm strength was back in force and whatever he’d done with Zidian had worked, thank f*ck.

But this was an… unexpected development.

Of course Lan Wangji had kissed Jiang Cheng before – their kisses had gotten a little heated, even – but he’d always kept himself in check, he’d always been careful, gentle, all-too-conscious of Jiang Cheng’s physical injuries and deep emotional wounds.

This, this was something new, and it was very exciting to have Lan Wangji suddenly writhing atop him, powerful muscles undulating, hands roaming hungrily over Jiang Cheng’s body. On instinct Jiang Cheng let his legs fall open and come up to encircle Lan Wangji’s frantically rolling hips.

Lan Wangji drew a huge, gasping, sobbing breath and shoved his face into the fiery blush heating Jiang Cheng’s neck. Jiang Cheng could feel the hard length of him pressed firmly against his ass, even through the layers of their clothes, and a jolt of shivery warm desire stirred his own co*ck.

Lan Wangji was starting to lose his much-vaunted composure, losing it over him, as if Jiang Cheng was strong enough, desirable enough, good enough…

(Unbidden, a voice jeered in his mind, he’ll soon grow quite thoroughly bored with you and your mingy little kisses…)

No, Jiang Cheng thought, and banished the unworthy thought.

He’d awakened Lan Wangji’s passion; it was a heady feeling, like strong wine, and like strong wine he let it wash away Jin Guangyao’s venomous words, he let it make him bold. Hooking his ankles together, Jiang Cheng pressed his heels into the back of Lan Wangji’s thighs, urging him to grind even harder, even closer, like…

Like he wanted to be inside Jiang Cheng.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji groaned into his ear, sounding almost pained.

(He might have said that out loud.)

“You want to be inside me?” Wanyin whispered.

His eyes were very bright, and he sounded almost dumbfounded by the idea. As if Lan Wangji hadn’t almost climaxed on the spot, just from imagining himself buried deep in Wanyin’s body, filling him to the brim, never wanting to come out again.

“Yes,” said Lan Wangji heatedly.

It was all he could manage to say, squeezing the words out around the enormity of his emotions. There was more, so much more, he just couldn’t speak it aloud. You are mine. I want to hear you say it, I want you to feel it, I never want you to have a moment’s doubt. You are mine, as I am yours.

Wanyin returned his gaze, steadfast and trusting, braver and more beautiful than Lan Wangji could ever have imagined, and he thought that perhaps Wanyin understood what he was feeling anyway.

Naturally, Nie Huaisang chose this precise moment to bang open the door to the servant’s corridor and come storming into the room.

And, of course, Wei Ying was hot on his heels.

Chapter 28

Chapter Text

All things considered, Lan Wangji would not call this the most awkward conversation he had ever been part of, but it was certainly a strong contender. Wei Ying kicked off the proceedings by screaming “LAN ZHAN, UNHAND MY SHIDI,” and things devolved rapidly from there.

Elbowing Nie Huaisang aside, Wei Ying launched himself across the room, radiating murderous intent. Wanyin, squirming indignantly out from under Lan Wangji, met him in midair with an arc of indigo lightning that knocked him flat on his ass and sent him skidding backwards across the floor. Nie Huaisang, peering down at Wei Ying over the edge of his fan, gave a long-suffering sigh and began sticking silencing talismans on every available surface.

This turned out to be a wise precaution, given the subsequent shrieking about Wanyin’s blue-and-white attire (“You drugged me and abducted me, you asshole, it’s not like I had time to pack a bag!”) which was followed by the issuance of various threats and challenges (“For f*ck’s sake, you are not dueling Lan Wangji for my honor!”)

“Look at me, Wei Wuxian!” Wanyin finally snapped, red-faced and furious. “Stop yelling at Lan Wangji about me and actually look at me!”

“An excellent suggestion, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang interjected. “Because, truth be told, we simply do not have the luxury of talking past each other for ages, with everyone trying to spare the others’ tender feelings. I’m afraid we’re just going to have to get this over with, so!”

He snapped his fan shut and began pointing with it.

“Jiang-xiong, you threw yourself into the Wens’ path to save Wei-xiong’s life, which everyone knows because you, Lan-er-gongzi, broke Jiang-xiong’s confidence by speaking of it. Wei-xiong, your idiotic stunt with the soup left Jiang-xiong at Xue Yang’s mercy, and the only good thing that will ever be said of Xue Yang is that his intervention stopped you from transferring your golden core to Jiang-xiong’s body without his knowledge or consent. Have I forgotten anything?” Nie Huaisang inquired of Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji shook his head minutely.

“Good,” said Nie Huaisang. “The last couple of days have been very eventful, and I wouldn’t want to leave anything out.”

He went back to fanning himself as Wanyin stared speechlessly between all three of them, open-mouthed, before he assayed an uncertain smile.

“You – you can’t transfer a golden core, Huaisang, don’t talk nonsense.”

Nie Huaisang did not say anything. Wanyin’s expression grew shakier with every passing moment.

“Wei Wuxian?” he asked hesitantly. “You – you can’t – it’s impossible – isn’t it?”

Wei Ying stared fixedly at the floor.

“Wangji?” said Wanyin finally, sounding very young and tremulous. “Is – is this true?”

“According to Wen Qing, such a transfer is, theoretically, possible,” said Lan Wangji quietly, finding solace in brevity and verity, as always. “She estimated a fifty percent chance of survival.”

Speak meagerly. Do not tell lies.

Wanyin’s face grew very pale. He folded his arms tightly across his belly, like a shield.

“Wei Wuxian – you weren’t really going to do that, w-were you? You wouldn’t – would you?”

Wei Ying was silent.

Wanyin’s desperate, pleading gaze slowly lost focus, drifting into an expression of blank horror. His grey eyes were huge in his bloodless face, his shoulders hunched over, and he clutched at Lan Wangji’s robe as he curled in on himself, looking gutted. A low, agonized, sound slipped from his throat, such as a wounded animal might make, and Wei Ying’s eyes flicked helplessly towards Wanyin, anguished. A muscle ticked in Wei Ying’s jaw, and for all he tried to conceal his hands in the folds of his robe, his fists were shaking, clenched white-knuckle tight.

Do not fight with family, Lan Wangji thought sadly, for there can be no victory.

“How dare you,” whispered Wanyin. He blinked and shook his head, disbelieving, as tears gathered in his eyes. “How dare you even think about gambling with your life like that.”

“How dare you,” Wei Ying gritted back, though his own tears were also beginning to show themselves. “I was supposed to protect you! I was supposed to keep you safe, and you just threw yourself away – and for me? How could I ever accept that? Knowing that you were – what Wen Chao did – everything that happened to you – it was my fault! How was I supposed to live with that? I had to fix it!”

“Not everything is about you, Wei Wuxian!” Wanyin shouted, and began to cry, awful, racking sobs. “And it’s not something you can just fix! It happened! I was the one it happened to, and I don’t even know how to live with it! But it happened because I made a choice! I made my decision, to save you! How f*cking dare you throw it back in my face!”

“But you looked like were about to give up,” Wei Ying replied in a thick, wet voice, and Wanyin froze. “You were just going to roll over and let Jin Guangshan have you, and I couldn’t let that happen!”

“For f*ck’s sake, Wei Wuxian, I wasn’t going to let it happen either! You saw Lotus Pier, you were in Pageant Hall, do you really think I’m so useless that I can’t even defend myself? I beat Xue Yang in a fight! I made him piss himself! And I did it without qi deviating, even a little bit! I’m getting better! I just needed some time!”

For a brief moment, Wanyin’s expression bloomed, wide-open and hopeful, with even a little bit of pride shining through – still so eager to please, Lan Wangji thought with a pang – then Wei Ying said “Shidi, come on, if you’d just let us put my golden core in…” and his face fell, all hurt and misery and heartbreak once more.

“No,” said Wanyin, and backed away with one hand flung up in front of him, crackling dangerously with agitation. “No, never. I will never consent to that. I don’t want your f*cking golden core!”

“Shidi!” yelled Wei Ying. “Don’t be so f*cking stubborn! You might not want it, but you need it!”

“But – but you encouraged me, you told me that I could be the Jianghu’s first lightning cultivator,” Wanyin said, bewildered, and oh, now he was beginning to look betrayed on top of everything else. “Were you – just saying that? Lying to me – to – to make me feel better?”

Wei Ying glanced sideways at Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji, looking for help. They looked back at him and kept their silence.

Wanyin took another step back, slowly, like he no longer believed in the stability of the ground beneath his feet.

“You – you don’t trust me at all,” Wanyin whispered. “Wei Wuxian. You don’t think I can do it. You wouldn’t even – let me try.”

“A-Cheng! That’s not true,” Wei Ying said quickly, but Wanyin kept talking as if he hadn’t heard a word. “You know – when I let the Wen see me – when I led them away from you – the first thought in my head was that I wasn’t going to let them get my brother, not on top of everything else they’d already taken.”

Wei Ying looked stricken, as if the breath had been punched from his lungs.

“But the second thought – was – was that I trusted you. I trusted you with A-Jie, I knew you’d be able to keep her safe – if – if I didn’t make it – and I trusted you to do right by the Sect, the way my – my father would have wanted. But you – have no faith in me. Wei Wuxian, you don’t trust me to know my own mind – you didn’t even trust me with my own body. You took it all out of my hands without even asking, and now you have the gall to tell me it’s for my own good?”

“A-Cheng, no…”

“That’s what your prayer meant, the night of the lantern ceremony at Cloud Recesses,” Wanyin said, speaking in a remote, inflectionless tone of voice that made the hairs on the back of Lan Wangji’s neck stand on end. “I thought it meant you were hoping to live your life without making any mistakes. How stupid I was…”

This is the calm before the storm, Lan Wangji thought. He could feel the tension in the room, ratcheting up. It wound tight in his own body, and he worried the ends of his sleeves with his fingers.

“Shidi…”

“You think you’re doing the right thing. You tell yourself it’s all to protect me. But the truth is – you just don’t want to feel guilty. You don’t want to live with any regrets.”

“Jiang Cheng!”

“Am I anything to you, other than an obligation?” Wanyin wondered softly, staring off into the middle distance. “A debt you have to repay so you can be free to live without any regrets?”

Wei Ying made a shrill noise of frustration, seized Wanyin by the collars of Lan Wangji’s robe, and shook him hard. “JIANG WANYIN! DID I OR DID I NOT PROMISE TO BE YOUR RIGHT-HAND MAN WHEN YOU BECAME SECT LEADER?” he screamed into Wanyin’s face.

Wanyin’s mood broke, raging like a sudden thunderstorm, and he tore himself free of his shixiong’s grip.

“THAT MEANS NOTHING IF YOU DON’T TRUST ME!” Wanyin screamed in return.

(“This was not a good idea,” Lan Wangji hissed to Nie Huaisang.

“We have elder brothers to save and a world-ending plot to thwart!” Nie Huaisang hissed back. “They’ll be fine! As soon as they start punching each other, we’ll be good to go.”)

Jiang Cheng snarled at Wei Wuxian like a wildcat, teeth bared, eyes narrowed with fury. Wei Wuxian looked equally enraged, and they circled each other, crouching, guarded, opponents looking for an advantage. Then, abruptly, Jiang Cheng straightened his spine and folded his arms against the small of his back.

“Sect Leader Ouyang,” Jiang Cheng said, flat and hard as a salt pan, and put his chin up.

“What?” said Wei Wuxian, nonplussed.

“You know him,” Jiang Cheng said impatiently. “Older, tufty beard, it kind of makes him look like a goat. He was one of the Sect Leaders who grabbed me the other day in Pageant Hall; between him and Sect Leader Yao, I nearly had my arms ripped off.” Wei Wuxian made an expressive face at that, nostrils flaring with disgust even as he wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

“I’ll cut his arms off, for touching you,” Wei Wuxian said, low and dark and threatening.

“As your Sect Leader, I’m ordering you not to,” Jiang Cheng replied, coldly.

“And why would you do a stupid thing like that?” flared Wei Wuxian.

Jiang Cheng glared down his nose and said, “Madame Ouyang is back in Baling, running their sect and provisioning it for war even though she just birthed her ninth baby. She hasn’t even finished sitting the month yet.”

The apparent non sequitur seemed to put a slight damper on Wei Wuxian’s simmering outrage; he still looked puzzled.

“Thirteen years ago, my mother sent a gift of freshwater pearls for their eldest daughter’s one-month celebration,” Jiang Cheng went on. “It made Madame Ouyang so happy that she named their second daughter Zhuli. Our sect gifted more pearls to every daughter born afterwards. Madame Ouyang has eight daughters now; do you know how many of them have the pearl character in their name?”

“What does…”

“Seven! Why do I care, Wei Wuxian, and more to the point, why should you also care?”

“I was literally in the middle of asking that question,” muttered Wei Wuxian.

“Because Madame Ouyang’s natal family owns the silver mines in Baling!” Jiang Cheng exploded. “The mines that Yunmeng Jiang relies on to get the silver for our Clarity Bells! So you go right ahead and chop her husband’s arms off, Wei Wuxian, since you’ve decided that’s the right thing to do, and we’ll just kiss that aspect of our cultivation farewell forever! Or, you know what else you could do? You could accept my decision as your Sect Leader, which was to write to Jiejie, ask her to scrape together whatever the pearl farmers are willing to sell us on credit, and send it to little Ouyang Zizhen with a nice note asking if Madame Ouyang might be so kind as to consider giving us a discount on silver for the next few years! And that way, maybe, just f*cking maybe, we’ll be able to afford Clarity Bells for the next generation of Jiang disciples!”

By the end of this rant, Jiang Cheng realized he was roaring at the top of his voice. He subsided, breathing heavily through his nose and glaring daggers at his speechless shixiong.

Nie Huaisang applauded. Jiang Cheng felt his face go all red.

Mind your temper, A-Cheng, said his father’s voice in his head. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times; must I say it again? You must do a better job of controlling your anger.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, shamefaced. “It’s not like – I just meant – it’s not worth it, blowing up our relationship with Baling Ouyang, over such a stupid thing.”

“I disagree,” Lan Wangji put in, gently. “I cannot consider it a trivial matter, Sect Leader Ouyang laying unwanted hands on you. But it is as you say: any decision about how to respond is yours to make.”

Jiang Cheng blushed even redder before catching himself and scowling at Lan Wangji. “Don’t think I missed the part where you were the one who blabbed to Wei Wuxian about how I got caught by the Wen! I ought to break your legs!”

“I know,” Lan Wangji responded, and bowed his head, contrite. “Speak meagerly, for too many words may cause harm. I apologize to Wanyin for the harm I caused with my words.” He straightened up and looked earnestly into Jiang Cheng’s eyes, adding, “Going forward, I will strive to become worthy of your confidence once more.”

Hearing this, Jiang Cheng thought he might cry, again. His chest felt tight but oddly buoyant, like a soap-bubble, and his mouth seemed to be curving into a soft smile despite his best efforts to keep frowning.

People don’t usually apologize. To me.

“Thank you, Wangji,” he managed, and turned back to his shixiong.

“That was it?” demanded Wei Wuxian.

“When Lan Wangji apologizes to me, I trust him to mean it,” retorted Jiang Cheng. “He’s thought about his past behavior, regrets his actions, and will do better in the future. You should f*cking try it sometime!”

“What did Lan Wangji do, that he had to apologize to you?” asked Wei Wuxian sharply, looking at Lan Wangji with great suspicion.

On the road to Qinghe, you looked at him, again! And. You stopped looking at me.

“None of your business!” Jiang Cheng said hastily, blushing furiously at the memory of that whiny, pouting, loose-lipped version of himself, delirious with jealousy and Xuanwu venom.

He shook himself sternly and returned to the issue at hand, refusing to be distracted.

“Listen, if we are going to do this, if you really mean to keep your promise, I need you to trust me. I’m not asking you to follow me blindly, but I can’t always stop and justify myself to you whenever I make a decision.”

Wei Wuxian nodded and started to hold up three fingers, but Jiang Cheng measured out his moment like a swordsman and struck the glib words from his lips.

“More importantly, I need to know that I can trust you. That’s not something you can just promise with a few words. You need to show me with your actions that you respect me – not just the decisions I make as Sect Leader, but me. If I don’t want your golden core, you don’t get to put it in me. If I want to lie right here in this bed and make out with my fiancé, you can either give us some f*cking privacy or scold me about it, but you don’t get to yell at him as if I’m not even here and don’t have any say in the matter.”

He took a deep breath and turned away, staring out the window and flexing his purple-patterned fingers on the sill.

Weak, said the vicious voice in his mind. Can’t stand on your own? Can’t bear to cut him loose? It’s because you’re hopelessly sentimental. Childish. Unfit. Unworthy. Failure.

“I’m not weak,” Jiang Cheng said, testing the words in his mouth. “And I’m not a coward. I’m not unfit, or unworthy. I’m no longer a child. And I refuse to be a f*cking failure.”

“Shidi,” said Wei Wuxian, whose tears were now falling thick and fast. “Shidi, no. I never thought those things about you.”

Jiang Cheng said nothing.

You might not have, but I did. I thought those things about myself. Well, no more.

He gazed out at the overcast sky, at the clouds rolling across the horizon, and registered none of it.

“You – you aren’t going to kick me out of the sect, are you?” Wei Wuxian whispered, and Jiang Cheng shook himself loose of his preoccupation. Wei Wuxian’s eyes were huge, and his bottom lip wobbled, and for a moment, Jiang Cheng saw in him the shadow of a skinny, starving child who’d already lost everything once. “Shidi?”

“Never,” he said at once, and reached for Wei Wuxian, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and pressed their foreheads together. Wei Wuxian snuffled and pressed back, harder, hard enough to be just shy of painful, and took him by the shoulders again. This time it was gentle, a single back-and-forth shake and a huff of fond exasperation that blew softly over Jiang Cheng’s face. Jiang Cheng stood there for a moment, eyes closed, bathing in his brother’s warmth and the scent of tea and chilis that lingered on his breath. He felt as if something had been knocked horribly out of alignment but was now slowly settling; as if a wound dealt deep within him, deep as his heart and soul, had started gradually knitting back together.

“I’d never kick you out. I’d just break your f*cking legs.”

He put his brother in a headlock and aimed a punch at his kidney.

Wei Wuxian yelped and pinched his thigh.

“See, I told you they’d be fine,” said Nie Huaisang to Lan Wangji from across the room. “f*cking finally. That was excruciating, let’s never speak of it again.”

“Mn,” agreed Lan Wangji.

Things happened very quickly after that.

The door to the servant’s corridors slid open and shut, open and shut, and Lan Wangji’s room gradually filled with people.

Bicao returned with another maidservant, who was wearing a pair of earrings in the shape of hummingbirds. They carried a large wicker laundry-hamper between them, which turned out to be packed with various garments. Lan Wangji, Wen Qionglin, and Wei Wuxian were equipped with plain gray trousers, bulky tunics, and straw hats, then sent to mix discreetly with the carpenters and stonemasons swarming about the northernmost wing of Koi Tower, patching up the hole Jin Guangyao had blasted in the wall.

“We’ll rendezvous at Auntie Wu’s stall in the marketplace,” Nie Huaisang instructed them as they slipped out. “Tell her your friend was given a dozen lotus-paste buns on the house, and you’ve come to try them for yourself. Her stall is at the opposite end of the street from the Fusang Tea House, you can’t miss it.”

Meanwhile, Wen Qing, Nie Huaisang, and Jiang Cheng outfitted themselves in the uniforms worn by junior Jin Sect healers, supervised by Ma Chenguang. She shook her head and tutted over Jiang Cheng’s insistence that he accompany the others, but a quick examination of his chest showed that his wounds had finally closed, thank f*ck. The scars were no longer red, but a deep bruise-purple, and the branching figures left by Zidian’s power had spread further, zig-zagging across his skin as if they were stitches holding him together.

“I would still strongly prefer you stay here,” Ma Chenguang said, fixing him with a gimlet eye. “Even if you’re not currently in danger of bleeding to death, I won’t be able to do a thing for you if you go haring off to the Burial Mounds and qi deviate.”

“I’m fine,” Jiang Cheng insisted.

“How about a test?” Nie Huaisang proposed, and pulled a hooded cape from the basket. “It will be easier for us to slip away from Koi Tower unnoticed if we have a good reason to cover our heads and faces. Jiang-xiong, see if you can whip up another storm. If you can do it without qi deviating, I’m sure even Guang-jie could be persuaded to stop chasing you around like a mother hen with one chick.”

Jiang Cheng and Ma Chenguang both glared at Nie Huaisang, who fanned himself and assumed an innocent air.

Never one to back down from a dare, Jiang Cheng stood up and strode to the window.

“Where are you all going again?” yelled the guard on duty, over the howling of the wind.

“The marketplace!” Ma Chenguang replied at the top of her voice, as she wrestled with her paper umbrella. “That spoiled young Master Nie keeps drinking up all my tonics for hangovers and indigestion! We’ve got to go visit the herbalist on Xinwei Road!”

Everyone hunched their shoulders up to their ears as lightning cracked across the sky and thunder rolled. Jiang Cheng’s straw hat threatened to blow off his head, and he clutched at it hastily. Rain dripped from the end of his nose. Under the circ*mstances, he felt quite extraordinarily pleased with himself.

“This is all your fault, A-Cheng,” said Wei Ying, shivering. “I look like a drowned rat!”

They were all packed into the tiny kitchen at the back of Auntie Wu’s stall, shuffling around amid clouds of smoke and sweet-scented steam, trying not to bump into each other as they changed back into their regular robes and checked over their weapons. Auntie Wu had just pulled a bamboo steamer filled with fresh lotus-paste buns from the pot bubbling over the fire, and Wei Ying's fingers were creeping steadily towards it.

Auntie Wu dotted the back of his hand sharply with a wooden spoon, and Wei Ying yelped, then gave her his most pleading puppy-dog eyes.

“Shouldn’t that be Sect Leader Jiang, to you, First Disciple Wei?” she said severely.

“It’s all right, Auntie,” said Wanyin, looking horribly embarrassed. (Two bright red pinch-marks glowed on his cheeks, and he tried to scrub them away discreetly.) The woman tsked and shook her head.

“The loyal daughters and sons of Yunmeng know how to treat our Sect Leader,” she said loftily, “even here in Lanling.”

And with that, she went to a large storage chest in the corner and pulled out an enormous parcel, which she presented to Wanyin with a flawless bow. He turned it over, curiously, and pulled open a corner of the paper.

His face did something complicated, and his eyes filled with tears.

“Go and change, Zongzhu,” Auntie Wu said softly, and gestured him towards the narrow pantry door. “Show them all what Yunmeng is capable of. Show them all that the Jiang should never be discounted.”

Wanyin nodded, too overcome for speech, and vanished for a short while.

When he came back in, he took Lan Wangji’s breath away.

He was wearing an outer robe of purple, so dark it was almost black. The brocade rippled with a pattern like river-water, and reflected the light with a fine pearly sheen, like the bloom on the skin of a plum or an eggplant. An inner robe of lighter purple, with tiny lotuses embroidered on the collar. An under-robe of fine white silk, so thin and translucent that Lan Wangji could just make out the elegant curve of Wanyin’s clavicle. Silver-studded leather encircled his slim waist and slender wrists, and Lan Wangji’s mouth grew very dry.

Every citizen in Lanling with any connection to Yunmeng Jiang must have contributed a coin or a stitch, to clothe their new Sect Leader in a manner befitting his station.

“The jeweler just completed this piece yesterday,” Ma Chenguang said into the awed silence, and produced a silver guan in the shape of a nine-petal lotus. She turned and placed it in Lan Wangji’s hand, and it was suddenly his turn to be horribly embarrassed.

Can everyone please stop looking at me while I do this.

He held the guan out stiffly, and Wanyin took it, turned it over and over in his hands, wonderingly.

“A courting gift?”

“Mn.”

“For me?”

“Mn.”

Wanyin smiled, and his smile grew brilliant, and he handed the guan back to Lan Wangji before turning around, indicating that Lan Wangji should put the ornament in his hair.

Wei Ying coughed meaningfully. Wen Qionglin stepped on his foot. Nie Huaisang kicked him in the ankle.

“Many days ago, not long after he first arrived at Koi Tower, Lan-er-gongzi sketched the design for this guan and requested that I take the commission to Lanling’s finest silversmith,” Ma Chenguang said, when it became apparent that neither Lan Wangji nor Wanyin was going to spare a jot of attention to anyone else in the room. “I am glad he finished the work to Lan-er-gongzi’s satisfaction; such a piece would usually take more time.”

“Yes, speaking of time,” said Nie Huaisang. “Reluctant though I may be to break up this extremely romantic and picturesque moment, we should really be on our way to the Burial Mounds before it’s too late. You’ll just have to pose for me later, Jiang-xiong, Lan-er-gongzi.”

Wanyin disengaged himself reluctantly from Lan Wangji’s hands and began to thank Ma Chenguang and Auntie Wu.

“If there is any way I can ever repay your care and kindness, you have only to say the word.”

The two women looked at each other. Then Ma Chenguang reached deep into her sleeve; at the same time Auntie Wu went back to her storage chest and rummaged in the farthest corner. Both women emerged with hairpins clutched in their hands.

Pearl hairpins. Identical.

“If you wish to repay us, Sect Leader Jiang, please take these hairpins and stab them through Sect Leader Jin’s heart.”

“What a marvelous idea,” said Nie Huaisang. His voice was very casual, and his eyes were very hard, hard and dark as onyx. He put his hand into his sleeve, and said “Here, you can have mine too.”

Chapter 29

Chapter Text

Their flight from Koi Tower proceeded uneventfully enough, at first.

They had reached the periphery of Yiling, where the prosperous farms and pleasant scenery of Lanling gradually gave way to an arid, remote waste traversed only by the Qiongqi Path. The wide, gravelly road wandered among tapped-out old quarries and stony hills, occasionally overlooked by patches of stunted trees. High aloft on Bichen, Lan Wangji peered down at the sullen prospect with great distaste, recalling that Jin Guangshan had planned to imprison the Dafan Wen – elders, children, non-cultivators, all of them – in this inhospitable place.

From the grim expressions on their faces, Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing were thinking along the same lines.

Despite the grayness of the landscape and the urgency of their mission, Lan Wangji found himself appreciating the journey – mostly because he had been quicker than Wei Ying to offer his sword to Wanyin. Wanyin had stepped onto Bichen with alacrity and ease, which spoke of his continued trust in Lan Wangji, and Lan Wangji hugged this knowledge close to his heart.

Flying two to a sword meant that he could also hug Wanyin close to his heart, for safety reasons, obviously, and Lan Wangji took flagrant advantage of this fact. He wanted his hands to memorize the span of Wanyin’s lovely waist, he wanted to steep the folds of his sleeves in the sweet-scented warmth of the younger man’s body.

Wanyin nudged him, and Lan Wangji recalled himself with a start. Glancing around, he saw that Wen Qionglin was starting to flag somewhat, and Wen Qing had signaled for the group to descend. Well, a moment of rest and a drink of water would be most welcome, thought Lan Wangji, and brought Bichen smoothly down to the ground. He busied himself with his water-flask and hoped that nobody would look too closely at the state of his ears.

(Wanyin’s cheeks were also rather red, but that could plausibly be attributed to wind-chill, given the speed of their flight.)

Wen Qing and Wen Qionglin landed neatly, then Suibian came swooping down with a flourish, accompanied by Nie Huaisang’s panicked shrieks. Wei Ying came to a laughing halt as Nie Huaisang detached himself one finger at a time, then teetered over to a nearby boulder and sat down heavily, eyes shut and lips pressed firmly together.

“Don’t be such a ninny, A-Sang,” Wei Ying warbled blithely after him, wiping trickles of water off his chin. “I’m not actually allowed to do loop-the-loops unless we’re flying over the lakes at home, otherwise A-Cheng will yell at me and break my legs.”

Nie Huaisang gurgled unhappily. Wen Qionglin hurried over immediately, gave him a drink, and rubbed circles on his back in a comforting manner.

Wen Qing rolled out her shoulders and neck, then looked around with a grimace.

“What a dump,” she said, and scuffed at the patch of weeds growing near her foot.

Lan Wangji glanced around too, frowning. It was… oddly quiet. He tightened his grip on Bichen’s hilt and looked at the sheer slabs of dark stone looming over them, on both sides of the path. If there was any sound nearby, the rock should be amplifying it, bouncing it back and forth for all to hear, but there was nothing – not a bird, not a bug, not the tiniest rustle of a dry leaf blowing.

“I don’t like this,” Wanyin said at the same moment, and put his hand on Sandu. “There’s something wrong.”

Hearing the uneasy note in his shidi’s voice, Wei Ying looked up, ears pricked. He, too, listened, then shifted into position almost unconsciously, guarding Wanyin’s left flank as Lan Wangji moved to cover his right. They scanned the area, squinting against the thin afternoon sun.

A single pebble bounced down the cliff face.

They all turned toward it, but it was only Lan Wangji, with his finely-honed musician’s ears, who caught a tiny high-pitched thwip and recognized it for the sound of an arrow being released from a bow. Without an instant’s hesitation, he responded with an ice-blue sword glare that shattered the slender shaft in midflight.

From his spot by the boulder where he was hovering over Nie Huaisang, Wen Qionglin shouted and pointed, up to where Jin Zixun was emerging from the scrubby undergrowth. The gold-clad man lowered his bow and glowered down at them all from the rocky lip of the cliff.

“Lan Wangji, there you are!” Jin Zixun yelled, his unpleasant voice booming and echoing down the rocky valley. “How dare you place your Silencing Spell on my father!”

Lan Wangji blinked. He had put the Silencing Spell on rather a lot of people, and he could not remember the last time anyone had kicked up such a fuss about it. Then again, this was Jin Zixun.

“Who is his father, again?” said Lan Wangji to Wanyin, not quite sotto voice.

Jin Zixun looked apoplectic.

“Stop pretending! You know who my father is!”

This was not, in fact, the case. Lan Wangji waited for edification.

“Jin Guangli,” Wanyin told him, out of the corner of his mouth. Lan Wangji looked at him inquisitively. “The head healer at Koi Tower?”

Oh, him. Lan Wangji nodded, and Wanyin glanced at him sidelong.

“You put the Silencing Spell on that f*cker?”

“Mn.”

Wanyin didn’t respond with words, but the glowing look of approbation he sent Lan Wangji’s way caused Lan Wangji’s ears to heat up afresh.

Meanwhile, Jin Zixun was still bellowing from the top of the cliff.

“Not only did you treat him in such a disrespectful way, then you even had the arrogance to threaten him with a knife!”

“No, that was Nie Huaisang,” corrected Lan Wangji, vexed by the inaccuracy. Wen Qionglin threw Lan Wangji an exasperated look from where he was standing staunchly in front of Nie Huaisang with his own bow drawn and arrow nocked. (Lan Wangji could tell from Nie Huaisang’s expression that he found this extremely dashing.)

“Can we just – ignore him and leave now?” Wen Qing whispered from the other side of Wei Ying, as Jin Zixun snapped and snarled and ranted on. “We are in a hurry, and he is just one person…”

This statement, alas, was also erroneous.

Without breaking eye contact, Jin Zixun gestured with both hands, and Lan Wangji was perturbed to see a sizable host of armed Jin Sect disciples come streaming out of the underbrush, lining up along the cliff edge and taking aim at his small party.

His dismay deepened to unalloyed horror as more and more cultivators joined the line of archers, and he saw white-robed members of the Lan Sect among them.

“Er-gongzi,” one of the Lan called down to him, looking deeply uncomfortable. “Please, you must come with us and accept punishment for your misdeeds. To show such discourtesy to an elder, and one who is a member of an allied Sect at that…”

“Lan Wangji is not going anywhere with you,” Wanyin said at once, his tone ringing with the authority of a Great Sect Leader. He could not glare down his nose at the disciple standing high above him, but he raised his chin regardless, straightened his spine, and stepped forward, putting himself in front of Lan Wangji. “Who said anything about a punishment? Who gave you the authority? Why are you Lan cultivators even here?”

The Lan disciples looked at each other, uncertain. Many of them were very young, Lan Wangji realized, scanning the line rapidly, juniors, in fact; the very ones he had herded into the Cold Pond Cave during the Wen attack. They should be at their studies in Gusu, not running around this odd corner of the world, toting swords that they were barely old enough to wield.

“We – we got a talisman message from Zewu-jun, this morning?” quavered one reedy boy. “It said – um, we should rendezvous with a group of Jin stationed south of Yiling?”

“And?” put in Wei Ying, peering keenly at the row of archers along the cliff top. “That alone doesn’t explain why Gusu Lan disciples are out and about with this nincompoop. It’s not like he’s even leading a night-hunt or anything, he’s just out for a bit of petty revenge.”

“Hah! What do you know? I also received a message from Zewu-jun earlier today, putting these disciples under my command,” Jin Zixun butted in, with a boastful, jeering note in his voice.

Lan Wangji felt his entire body go cold.

“Do not follow this man’s orders,” Lan Wangji said urgently. (Shouting was not permitted, but he had ways of making sure his voice rang out clearly.) “Xiongzhang was not in command of himself when he sent either of those messages – Jin Guangshan’s illegitimate son placed him under a compulsion talisman.”

Jin Zixun blinked, then scoffed.

“A likely story! Mo Xuanyu doesn’t have the ability to pull off such a trick!”

“I’m not talking about Mo Xuanyu,” said Lan Wangji irritably. “I’m talking about Jin Guangyao.”

“Formerly known as Meng Yao,” added Nie Huaisang helpfully, from behind his boulder.

Jin Zixun reeled back in shock, then his face creased with an ugly sneer.

“Uncle went and acknowledged that scrawny son of a whor*? What lies are you spouting now?”

“Er-gongzi would never tell a lie!” squeaked a tiny Lan disciple indignantly, clutching at a sword that was nearly as long as she was. A murmur of agreement traveled up and down the line of white-clad cultivators, a ripple of thoughtfully nodding heads, and Lan Wangji released a deeply held, deeply relieved breath as the Lan lowered their weapons.

The Jin did not.

Wen Qionglin’s bowstring creaked with tension as the moment stretched on and on, unbearably. Wei Ying and Wen Qing had their own swords in their hands, and dry, menacing hiss told Lan Wangji that Wanyin had ignited Sandu. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the silver blade shivering with arcs of indigo lightning.

Lan Wangji’s lips drew back from his teeth in a soundless snarl as he watched the row of Jin archers shift their eyes – and their weapons – towards Wanyin.

Do not fear, he told himself, and readied his guqin. Have a strong will, and anything can be achieved.

However, before Jin Zixun could give the order to shoot, another of the little Lans shrieked and pointed down the barren valley, where two cultivators – one clad in white, one in black – were flying towards them at reckless, breakneck speeds.

“Is that…?”

“It is!”

“Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen? What are they doing here?”

As the two flew nearer, they could all see that both men had their horsetail whisks out, and both whisks bristled with red-fletched arrows.

Wen arrows.

Jiang Cheng and his comrades gasped as Shuānghuá wobbled dangerously in midair. With a muttered curse, Wen Qing leapt on Yújìn and took off rapidly, with Wei Wuxian hot on her heels. Wei Wuxian managed to reach Xiao Xingchen just in the nick of time, though the white-clad cultivator scarcely seemed to notice his martial nephew’s outstretched arm. His attention was desperately fixed on Song Zichen, whose flowing black robes shone wetly with fresh blood.

Wen Qing reached out and gripped Song Zichen’s wrist, stabilizing him with a burst of qi and slowing his descent. They landed heavily, but at least the man didn’t aggravate his injuries by plowing straight into the rocky ground. She helped Song Zichen stagger off Fúxuě, pushed him into Lan Wangji’s arms, and whipped a roll of bandages from her small field medicine kit.

“Fold his sleeves out of the way – yes, like that,” Wen Qing ordered Lan Wangji, and went to work cleaning the bone-deep slash across Song Zichen’s forearms as the man slumped to the ground, his face drawn and pale with exhaustion and pain. Trusting that Wen Qing had things under control, Jiang Cheng quickly returned his attention to the row of Jin archers. They were distracted now, a little unsure of themselves, but they had not lowered their weapons when the Lan disciples did. He let a little more of Zidian’s power flow into Sandu and wondered if he would still be able to form a functional shield-ward.

Meanwhile, Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian hovered overhead, and the rogue cultivator cried out a warning for all to hear:

“There is a Wen Army less than five li away! Hundreds of soldiers, on the move!”

“Which way are they marching?” Jiang Cheng bellowed up at him.

Xiao Xingchen pointed, and Nie Huaisang swore vehemently.

“They’re heading for the Nie position!”

Jiang Cheng stood still for a long moment, his mind spinning wildly. Chifeng-zun had ordered the Nie armies to Yiling, to prevent any incursions from the Burial Mounds while awaiting reinforcements from the other cultivation Sects…

He met Lan Wangji’s wide-eyed, appalled gaze from where the older boy knelt at Song Zichen’s side, frozen with horror and his hands full of bandages.

“That is why Jin Zixun is here, with my juniors,” Lan Wangji breathed, confirming Jiang Cheng’s worst suspicions. “To cover the Wen advance, to conceal them from the Nie.”

It was plausible, all too plausible. Jiang Cheng felt a chill crawl up his spine as he stared up at the gold-clad archers and saw that none of them looked in the least surprised by Xiao Xingchen’s dire words.

If the Nie saw what appeared to be an allied army approaching, they would remain focused on the frontline threat of the Burial Mounds.

If the Nie should be taken unaware from the rear, they would be crushed between Wen Ruohan’s two armies, the living and the dead, like a bone between a tiger’s teeth.

And even once they grasped the situation, even once they understood the Jins’ treachery – the Lan children would still be there, caught in the middle, as hostages, as human shields.

It would be a slaughter. A bloodbath. The Unclean Realm, all of Qinghe, would be left wide open, vulnerable as an oyster with no shell.

Oh, f*ck.

Jiang Cheng whirled around and shouted up to his shixiong through cupped hands: “Wei Wuxian! Get Huaisang, get out of here, get to the Nie and warn them, before the Wen do!”

In answer, Wei Wuxian peeled away from Xiao Xingchen and flung Suibian into a steep dive, with his hand out to grab Nie Huaisang and haul him aboard.

The Jin archers swung towards Wei Wuxian and took aim at his unprotected back.

“Look out!” screamed Jiang Cheng, as Jin Zixun gave the order to shoot.

Hundreds of bowstrings twanged in unison, and a myriad of arrows darkened the overcast sky.

Time slowed to a sticky crawl as Jiang Cheng saw Wei Wuxian half-turn, balanced on his sword, saw his brother’s eyes grow wide with shock, saw his empty hands come up in an instinctive effort to shield himself…

Please, Madame Yu! I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again, I promise!

Mother, stop! A-Xian didn’t mean it, don’t hurt him!

Every single thought of the necessary characters and elegant tracery needed for a proper shield-ward flew straight out of Jiang Cheng’s head. He swung Sandu in a huge, sweeping circle and shoved power through it, brutally, with both hands.

A bolus of indigo lightning manifested in front of him. It hung motionless for a split second before blasting outward – huge, all-encompassing, explosively fast and crackling furiously. The roar and rush of it made Jiang Cheng’s ears ring tinnily for a moment.

The lightning incinerated the arrows on contact. Only a few curls of smoke lingered in the air, reeking of burnt feathers, and hundreds of metal barbs pattered harmlessly down onto the stones of the Qiongqi Path, sounding like a sudden storm of hail.

This was followed by a short silence.

“Nice one, shidi!” said Wei Wuxian, poking his head out from the boulder he’d dived behind.

“Keep – keep shooting!” yelled Jin Zixun (though his voice was noticeably higher-pitched than it had been previously) and the arrows began to fly again – erratic, less concentrated, but none the less deadly.

Jiang Cheng was readying another ball of lightning when he heard the deep thrumming note of a guqin from just behind him. Without pausing for thought, he threw himself backwards as Lan Wangji spun forwards, passing him in a whirlwind of white sleeves and dark hair. He struck chord upon surging chord, pulsing with spiritual power, one after another after another. The Jin archers were hurled off their feet and sent flying back into the prickly undergrowth.

Yújìn’s crimson sword glares flashed from where Wen Qing crouched over Song Zichen, looking outraged that her ministrations should be interrupted by anything so pedestrian as a sneak attack. Pained screams echoed Wen Ning’s thrumming bowshots, as each arrow found a joint in the Jin’s armor, piercing shoulders, elbows, wrists, necks. Xiao Xingchen dropped from above, brandishing his horsetail whisk and sweeping the weapons right out of the Jin archers’ hands. Not to be outdone, Jiang Cheng flung bolts of lightning at any Jin who showed signs of getting up again, and Wei Wuxian followed with immobilizing talismans.

When every Jin cultivator had been felled, Jiang Cheng looked around, panting.

“I will get my juniors out of danger,” said Lan Wangji darkly, and Jiang Cheng nodded, moving forward to cover Wen Qing as she sniffed disdainfully and turned back to bandaging Song Zichen.

Lan Wangji flew up to the lip of the cliff and performed a headcount.

Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine…

He looked around and spotted young Lan Guiren, finally, extracting himself from a nearby thornbush. The boy was sniffling over the rips in his robes and Lan Wangji tried not to let his overwhelming relief (and exasperation) show on his face.

Fifty. None of his juniors had been injured or killed, for which he fervently gave thanks to all the gods and immortals. However, that did mean all fifty of them were now free to cluster around him like a flock of starlings, grabbing at his sleeves and jabbering noisily, overflowing with fear and relief.

“You saved us, Er-gongzi!”

“What are you doing here, Er-gongzi?”

“What happened to Zewu-Jun, Er-gongzi?”

“Who are those cultivators with you, Er-gongzi?”

“Excessive noise is forbidden,” said Lan Wangji quellingly, and all the little Lans promptly shut up. Finally able to hear himself think, Lan Wangji scanned the area quickly. He spotted a bowl-shaped hill about two li away, and pointed to it.

“You are to withdraw to the foot of that hill and await further instructions,” he told the junior disciples in his steadiest, most Lan Qiren-sounding voice, and they all nodded eagerly. “Travel stealthily and avoid contact with the Wen and Jin at all costs. If you encounter the Nie, you are to inform them of what transpired here.” He mustered them into two straight lines and sent them marching off in parade-ground order, with their arms tucked neatly behind their backs.

Once they were safely out of range, he allowed relief to wash through him for a moment before turning his attention to the argument raging behind him.

“How dare you,” Jiang Cheng was shouting up at Jin Zixun. “This could be considered an act of war against Gusu Lan and Yunmeng Jiang!”

“Oh, such big talk from my future concubine!” Jin Zixun shouted back. “My uncle promised…”

Lan Wangji hit him from behind with the Silencing Spell, then kicked him in the ass for good measure. Jin Zixun went tumbling down the cliff-face and ended up at the bottom in a cloud of grey dust and a tangle of dirtied golden robes. As the others gathered around, Lan Wangji flew down in his stateliest manner, and took quiet, vicious pleasure in the fact that Jin Zixun could neither sneeze nor cough. The man’s eyes and nose were streaming, and he looked red and sweaty as if he’d been freshly boiled.

“Oh, I don’t know, I really don’t know about that,” said Nie Huaisang, as if nothing untoward had happened, and fanned the dust away from his face. “Your uncle’s promises don’t mean much, you see. He made me a lot of promises too, and to be fair, he kept some of them – the artworks and the nice robes and such. All those things he has, piled up in his treasure rooms, that he could give away ten times over and never notice the difference… no, I’m talking about his other promises, the ones that make you feel so special and so important to him, until you’re willing to do anything he asks – whether it’s suck his poxy co*ck, or be his nice, convenient little scapegoat.”

Jin Zixun made indignant, guttural sounds. When he tried to get up, Nie Huaisang planted a foot between his shoulder blades and shoved him back down into the dirt before he went on speaking, in that same mild tone which was now giving Lan Wangji the creeps.

“Those promises? He breaks them. Easy as blinking. As soon as you inconvenience him. Or bore him, really. Believe me, I’d know.”

Nie Huaisang gave an airy toss of his head, but he was breathing rather quickly and shallowly. Wen Qionglin shifted his weight and brushed their shoulders together. Nie Huaisang didn’t look over at him, but he hooked his pinky finger around Wen Qionglin’s.

“The instant this little excursion of yours becomes known, you become a huge political liability,” Wanyin mused aloud. (He sounded relatively calm, but Zidian was still flickering under his skin, Lan Wangji noticed.) “The Lan will fillet you for putting their juniors in danger. The Nie will be baying for your blood. Jin Guangshan will say you acted without his knowledge and toss you out like dirty bathwater to save his own skin. I’m sure Jin Guangyao is counting on it. I'm sure he'd be delighted to knock you out of the line of succession.”

Jin Zixun grunted again and gesticulated wildly, encompassing the earth and sky and, to Lan Wangji’s immense disgust, Wanyin.

I bet you’re just gagging to get your hands on A-Cheng, you want to be the one to reap the glory and honor of defeating Qishan Wen! You think you’ll get all the spoils! You think you’ll have your pick of the war prizes and conquered territory!

They had all been there, in Pageant Hall, listening to Wei Ying rage. It seemed so long ago, now, but they all remembered.

Wanyin narrowed his eyes and sneered.

“That’s not going to happen. You don’t get to have me.”

There was a snick, and then a wet plop. Lan Wangji wiped Bichen with his handkerchief and sheathed her again.

For several seconds, they were all forced to listen to Jin Zixun making shrill sounds, like an overheated teakettle, before Wen Qing winced and flicked a needle into his neck. He collapsed as if poleaxed; none of them bothered to catch him on his way down.

“Jiang Cheng, that’s so unfair!” Wei Wuxian eventually whined. “How come Lan Zhan is allowed to cut people’s arms off for you, and I’m not!”

Chapter 30

Chapter Text

It went against every single one of Jiang Cheng’s instincts – in another life, he might have been a herding-dog, driven to distraction by a deep-seated need to keep his wandering flock together – but eventually, even he was forced to accept the necessity of splitting up.

Of all people, it was Wen Ning who derailed his protests, using a document that he produced from his sleeve. (The paper was slightly worse for wear, scuffed on one side as if it had been dragged across the floor, and punctured along the edges by multiple sets of tiny, pointy teeth.) Jiang Cheng read this document rapidly and blanched at the signature, done in coppery-brown fluid. He handed it on to Wen Qing, who scanned it as well, this time using her cultivation. Her eyebrows rose almost to her hairline as everyone else crowded around, curiously.

“This is the contract that bound Wen Ruohan to abdicate his leadership of the Wen Sect,” she said neutrally to her brother. “The original contract, signed in his blood. How did you get your hands on it, A-Ning?”

Wen Ning shrugged. “J-J-Jin Guangshan may have upgraded the wards on his office, b-but he never found all the m-m-mouse holes.”

“Nobody expects Wen Ning’s mice!” crowed Wei Wuxian, whereupon Wen Ning blushed brightly and ducked his head down.

“The p-p-point is, according to this d-document, you are next in line for the Fire Throne, J-J-Jie,” he said. “If you take this to the front-line c-c-commanders, won’t they have to accept your orders?”

Wen Qing’s expression said clearly that she had no such sanguine expectations. Nevertheless, she put the contract into her own sleeve and squared her slender shoulders. “Well, at the very least, it will sow confusion and dissent in the ranks,” she said, and set her sword hovering. “Are you coming, A-Ning?”

“No,” replied her brother softly. He straightened up and reached out to draw Nie Huaisang to his side. “I won’t leave A-Sang alone.”

It turned out that when Wen Ning was standing fully erect, he was tall enough to tuck Nie Huaisang under his arm, and Nie Huaisang went gladly. Jiang Cheng could see the weary flutter of the shorter boy’s eyelids as he lowered his head and pressed his temple briefly to Wen Ning’s shoulder. The gesture made Wen Ning stand just a little bit taller, and his arm tightened around Nie Huaisang.

“You’ll get him to the Nie line,” said Jiang Cheng, and it wasn’t a question. “You’ll keep him safe.”

“With my life,” said Wen Ning, and with that he helped Nie Huaisang onto his sword and flew away (rather slowly, keeping low to the ground). Wen Qing shook her head after them, then turned grimly towards the approaching Wen army, in the direction that Xiao Xingchen had indicated.

For his own part, the white-clad daozhang was thoroughly preoccupied with Song Zichen, bent low over the other man’s slashed-open forearms and directing a stream of bright, silvery qi into his meridians. Song Zichen’s pale skin glowed with it, like snow under the moonlight, and the flow of blood gradually slowed. But Wen Qing’s frown only deepened.

“Daozhang Song,” said Wen Qing, though she already had one foot on her sword, “I regret that, under the circ*mstances, I cannot spend more time tending to your injuries. The damage is extensive, and it will require careful attention if you are to retain anything of your grip strength or fine muscle control. All I can recommend for now is that you refrain from using your hands as much as possible…”

At this, Song Zichen stiffened and reared his head up fiercely – and Jiang Cheng suddenly realized that the pair of rogue cultivators were probably unaware of what had transpired earlier, in the bowels of Koi Tower.

“Xue Yang is dead,” he said abruptly, before Song Zichen could start to raise objections. “He can pose no further threat to you or Daozhang Xiao.”

Both men whipped around to stare at him for a moment, wide-eyed, then they both released enormous, gusty sighs of relief. The brittle tension in Song Zichen’s body ebbed away in an instant, becoming obvious only in its sudden absence: he closed his eyes and folded bonelessly forward, burying his face in Xiao Xingchen’s lap, his bandaged hands grasping at the crumpled white robes.

“Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang,” said Xiao Xinchen fervently, and laid one hand over his husband’s hair.

“Don’t thank me,” said Jiang Cheng, feeling very self-conscious and speaking rather brusquely because of it. “It was Sect Leader Nie’s Baxia that delivered the killing blow.”

“Aiyo, Jiang Cheng, don’t be so modest,” said Wei Wuxian, flinging an arm around his shoulder. “You said it yourself; you beat Xue Yang like a sack of dirty laundry.”

Xiao Xingchen didn’t say anything more, but he looked immensely gratified by this remark.

“Daozhang Xiao,” said Wen Qing, who was now hovering above them. “If Lan-er-gongzi agrees, I would suggest that you supervise the evacuation of the Lan juniors back to the Cloud Recesses. They will be safe, they can request reinforcements from among the senior disciples, and Daozhang Song will receive proper treatment there, I am sure.”

Lan Wangji considered this sound advice and nodded. Wen Qing nodded back as Yújìn flew off, and Wei Wuxian helped his shishu to his feet. It took both of their efforts to get Song Zichen upright. Lan Wangji gave them directions to the hill where the Lan juniors were congregated, and the pair sailed away on Shuānghuá.

And with that, Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji were left standing on the Qiongqi Path, staring down the valley towards the shadows of the Burial Mounds.

“A-Cheng, what – ? What the f*ck?”

Lan Wangji was having flashbacks to the Xuanwu cave on MuXi Mountain. He gritted his teeth against the shrill, panicky note in Wei Ying’s voice and pushed them aside firmly.

“Do you even realize what the f*ck you’re asking me to do?”

Wanyin was pacing, pacing, pacing, back and forth, with tight, anxious steps that stirred the gray dust around his feet. His hands were buried in his hair, clutching at his head as if to stop it from splitting in half.

“Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop yelling,” he said, and whirled around again. His neck was bowed with tension, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. “I need to think! I can’t hear myself think!”

Gently, Lan Wangji caught Wanyin by the arms and turned him back around, enveloping him in his flowing white sleeves as he did so. He disentangled Wanyin’s hands and kissed the purple-patterned knuckles, humming softly all the while. Wanyin’s shoulders came down a bit.

“Right. You’re right, Wangji. We’ve got to sort this out calmly.”

Wanyin soon resumed his pacing, but it was less frantic pacing. Lan Wangji counted this as a win.

“First, we’ve got Wen Ruohan sitting in the Burial Mounds with Jin Guangyao, Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and all four pieces of the Yin Iron.”

“Which is an excellent reason for me to come with you,” said Wei Ying mulishly.

“But second, the Jin are somewhere out there,” Wanyin fired back. “Even the ones we just took out could still be a threat! Not all of them are dead! We don’t know where the other Jin armies are, or what they’ve been ordered to do, and there’s hardly any point in trying to defeat Wen Ruohan if Jin Guangshan is just going to step in and replace him! We need information, and we’re going to need allies.”

“Fine!” Wei Ying replied, exasperated, and threw his hands up in the air. “But at least send Lan Zhan to Lotus Pier instead of me! I bet the peaco*ck would listen to him; Lan Zhan never punched him in the face!”

“That’s true. Wangji probably could convince Jin Zixuan,” said Wanyin steadily. “But it would take time, and we don’t have time. Jin Zixuan will listen to Jiejie without question because he loves her. And Jiejie will listen to you because you’re our brother and she loves you. No matter how crazy you sound, she’ll believe what you have to say.”

Wanyin shook Wei Ying by the shoulders, hugged him briefly, and then shoved him. And that, thought Lan Wangji to himself, encompasses their entire relationship in a nutshell.

“Aren’t you always boasting that you’re the fastest flyer the Jiang Sect has ever had? Get your ass to Yunmeng, then, and tell Jiejie what’s been happening. She’ll get Zixuan and Madame Jin on your side, and that will give you fifty loyal Jin cultivators, plus however many Jiang disciples Jiejie has managed to gather. Send everyone to seach for the other Jin troops, send Zixuan to take command, f*ck, see if Madame Jin is willing to go to Lanling and stage a coup! Just come up with something. You’ve pulled a million pranks in your life, A-Xian, so I know you can find a cat to put among Jin Guangshan’s pigeons.”

Lan Wangji, who was watching this exchange very keenly, could see the exact moment when the little nickname zinged directly into Wei Ying’s heart and brought all his defenses tumbling down. Finally rendered speechless, he looked at his shidi with huge, watery eyes, hugged him fiercely, and nodded assent.

Not even half a kè later, Wei Ying was a tiny speck in the distant sky, and the two of them were alone.

Wanyin huffed when Lan Wangji made to pull him back into his arms, but he willingly rested his aching head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. After a moment he wrapped his arms around Lan Wangji’s waist and sighed heavily into the hollow of his throat.

Softly, he whispered, “Did I do the right thing, Wangji, sending him away?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji murmured into Wanyin’s hair.

“It’s just that…we don’t know what will happen, in the Burial Mounds. It might not…go well. For us.”

Wordlessly, Lan Wangji tightened his grip.

“No matter what, though – I think – I think everyone needs to work together on this,” Wanyin went on hesitantly, thinking aloud. “Do you remember what Master Lan Yi said? In the Cold Pond Cave? She said the Yin Iron couldn’t be eliminated by one cultivator, or even one Sect – but maybe it could, if we can bring all five of the Great Sects together again, like when Wen Mao defeated Xue Chonghai.”

“Mn.”

“And if we can get at least some of the Jin to help, hopefully Jijie won’t be marrying into a Sect that’s completely disgraced.”

“Mn.”

“And. Even if things go badly. Nobody will be able to say that Yunmeng Jiang stood idly by, that we have nothing worth contributing to the cultivation world anymore. I – I can’t let the other Sects make us into a scapegoat or a laughingstock. And this way – people will see that Wei Wuxian can take command. That he can – lead. They’ll remember what – what my father wanted – and – that might make all the difference if – if I don’t make it.”

“Mn.”

Wanyin kept his head hidden in the shadow of Lan Wangji’s throat, and said, even more quietly, “But – it’s not the same as it was before. I’m not throwing my life away for him, not this time. I wouldn’t do that again – not to you.”

There were many, many Lan Sect rules addressing righteousness and moral behavior that Lan Wangji could have quoted in response, but instead he said softly, “I know,” and pressed a lingering kiss to Wanyin’s forehead, right on the anxious furrow between his sharp black brows. The worried line eased, just slightly, and they stood quietly like that for a moment.

Then they heard the flutter of tiny wings. Wanyin stirred in Lan Wangji’s arms and squinted skeptically over his shoulder.

“What the – is that a bird? Is it carrying something?”

Lan Wangji turned his head and saw a glossy black myna perched on a nearby rock. It did indeed have a small white bundle clamped in its bright yellow beak. The bird put down its burden, preened itself once or twice, and then, to their great amazement, began speaking in Nie Huaisang’s voice:

“Lan-er-gongzi! I meant to tell you, A-Ning’s mice retrieved this from the head healer’s office in Koi Tower, but with everything that’s been going on, we forgot to return it to you until now. We only touched it a little bit, so you can tell Jiang-xiong he needn’t be too jealous.”

The myna bird proceeded to wink one beady black eye at them, and then it flew away again, leaving the white bundle behind. When Lan Wangji went over to investigate, he was astonished to see his own forehead ribbon – the very one he had first given to Wanyin all the way back in the Cold Pond Cave – unfurling between his fingers.

“Tch. I can’t believe Nie Huaisang used cultivation to teach a bird how to wink,” Wanyin said, sounding rather amused despite everything. (He blushed slightly as he watched Lan Wangji roll up his sleeve and wrap the ribbon around his arm, just above the elbow.)

“I can,” said Lan Wangji, tying the ribbon off neatly. He stood back and regarded his work with great satisfaction. Even knowing that he and Wanyin were about to walk into the Burial Mounds, alone, to face almost certain death, he felt surprisingly fortified by the sight of his white ribbon, dauntlessly bright and unmistakably his, gleaming against Wanyin’s tanned skin and purple robes.

“Ah,” said Wanyin with a fleeting but lovely smile. “How I’ve missed having your favor to carry with me into battle.” Then his face hardened as he rolled his sleeve back down and held out his hand to Lan Wangji.

“Shall we?”

They kept walking hand-in-hand as they approached the perimeter of the Burial Mounds, where for once Xue Yang’s arrogance proved a blessing in disguise: the man had carved a narrow way in and made no effort to conceal it. The path led through a thicket of charred, stunted trees, blazed with ragged, half-familiar talismans flapping from the thorny branches. The talismans were written in blood and rank with resentful energy, though the death of their maker had sapped them of much of their power. As Zidian made quick work of the talismans, Bichen cut back the encroaching undergrowth; neither Jiang Cheng nor Lan Wangji was willing to let the cursed thorn-trees taste even a drop of their blood. Who could tell what would grow from it?

Jiang Cheng tried to focus on the warmth of Lan Wangji’s hand. It helped to stave off the growing chill and the whispers of the starveling ghosts, which echoed from Jiang Cheng’s ears to the marrow of his bones. Nevertheless, he began to feel nauseous as Zidian rumbled displeasure, low in his belly, reacting to the excess of resentful energy. Cold sweat rolled down his temples and viscous saliva slicked across his tongue. He swallowed, gagging briefly, and Lan Wangji’s golden gaze flickered concernedly over his face.

Jiang Cheng shook his head, squeezed Lan Wangji’s hand, and they kept going, blindly following Xue Yang’s track. It led them to a flight of broken stone steps that climbed precipitously up and up, carrying them deeper and deeper into perpetual gray twilight of the Burial Mounds. The path wound through a maze of steep canyons and jagged karst; it was like passing through a giant set of teeth. Periodically, hot, damp, and musty-smelling air gusted among the rocks, adding to the sense that they were walking into a gaping maw, set to devour them alive.

The talisman path ended abruptly at the edge of a parched and ashy field, studded with tufts of dead grass. As they ventured across this field, ghastly shadows began to appear, flitting about in the wind, rattling through the sere, dry blades. Strange voices whispered to them, over and over: Lan-er-gongzi. Young Master Jiang. Lan Wangji. Jiang Wanyin. Jiang-zongzhu. The farther they went, the bolder the ghosts became, ever more tempting and seductive – Jiang Cheng heard one calling A-Cheng, A-Cheng, in a sweet voice that sounded like Yanli’s, and another wraith cruelly pantomimed Lan Wangji’s mother, heart-stoppingly close to the pale curve of his ear: A-Zhan, my love.

(Lan Wangji sobbed once, wanting to hear it again, and sobbed once again, knowing he never would.)

Lan Wangji began to run, dragging Jiang Cheng behind him as he retched again. Blue sword glares flashed in every direction as Lan Wangji tried desperately to swat away the ghosts now surging towards them. Every dried-up tussock and clod that crumbled beneath their feet revealed livid chips of bone; when Jiang Cheng tripped and fell, a yellowing femur turned up beneath his scrabbling fingers. A ghost swept across the nape of his neck, near enough to feel like cold fingers brushing his skin.

“Get away!” Jiang Cheng cried, thin and shrill, as Lan Wangji yanked him to his feet. “Don’t touch me! Don’t come any closer!” But still the ghosts thronged about them in endless multitudes, boiling up from beneath the barren dirt, screams upon screams echoing in their heads. Hundreds of voices, thousands of voices, shrieking and howling, male and female, old and desperately young. They were not fearful screams. The voices sang of starvation; they were famished, driven beyond the threshold of madness by their insatiable hatred, their hunger for revenge, for vengeance, for blood. It was overwhelming, but Lan Wangji staggered grimly forward, half-carrying Jiang Cheng.

His vision blurred out of focus. His mouth tasted of salt and old iron.

And then they were across the benighted field, finally, finally, and Lan Wangji stumbled as he barked his shins sharply on the next flight of stone steps, but he never let Jiang Cheng fall. For a moment, they stood still, just breathing and leaning heavily on each other.

Then, moving like old, old men, they began to climb again. The blood on Jiang Cheng’s chin dried to rusty brown and flaked away as they went doggedly on.

Lan Wangji had not expected to find a palace in the heart of the Burial Mounds, but there it was, clinging to the foot of a crumbling cliff and half-hidden by another grove of those blighted, gnarly thorn-trees. He and Wanyin approached it warily, picking their way across an expansive flagstone courtyard. They went carefully, still hand-in-hand, for the massive stone slabs were all cracked and askew, as if something unquiet had been pinned beneath the stones and tried to break through them from below.

The palace itself was a ruin, barely standing. It must have been exquisite, once, but over countless years the gracefully carved wood had bleached and cracked like old, dry bones, the paint faded to a deadened gray, the gilt blackened and swallowed by creeping mold. It put Lan Wangji in mind of a ghost story he had once overheard among the other juniors, about a beautiful but evil woman who sought to retain her youth by bathing in the blood of other maidens. Upon discovery, she had been walled up in a cave alive, unable to cross the bridge of death until she dried up into a mummified, shriveled horror. (Lan Wangji, aged five, had gone into screaming hysterics and slept in Xichen’s room for a week.)

At his side, Wanyin went rigid, and his grip on Lan Wangji’s hand tightened to the point of pain.

He turned his head to follow Wanyin’s burning gaze and stiffened with shock himself, beholding Wen Zhuliu sitting calmly nearby. The man was perched on the wreckage of a collapsed stone pillar, looking for all the world as if he was at a rather tedious garden-party. His expression was as blank as ever, the empty sleeve of his flame-patterned robe was pinned neatly out of the way, and Nie Mingjue lay motionless at his feet.

Wen Zhuliu looked up, and Lan Wangji put himself in front of Wanyin, wanting to shield him from the very touch of that fathomless gaze. But Wanyin had already darted forward and was dragging Nie Mingjue hastily out of Wen Zhuliu’s reach. The Core Melting Hand made no move to stop him, however, simply watching with steady eyes.

Lan Wangji kept his sword at the ready while Wanyin knelt by Chifeng-zun, waving a hand before his blank, unresponsive eyes and patting at his bloodless, gray-tinged cheeks. “He’s alive,” said Wanyin eventually, sounding very surprised. “And – as far as I can tell, his golden core is still intact?”

Lan Wangji wrinkled his brow and turned back to the Core Melting Hand. “What is going on?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

The older man shifted his stare to Lan Wangji, who shifted uncomfortably under the weight of those dark eyes. “Nothing,” the older man eventually replied, in an especially flat tone of voice. “Wen Ruohan has indicated that my services are no longer required,”

Lan Wangji blinked.

“But are they still here, then? Wen Ruohan? And – and Wen Chao?” said Wanyin, striving to sound calm and resolute as he stared down at Nie Mingjue, once again gathering Zidian’s power carefully in his hands.

Wen Zhuliu simply pointed towards the crumbling palace, where they espied a massive, elaborately carved door overgrown with veiny, bulging roots. Some of the roots were freshly torn, and the door was ajar, gaping to reveal a pitch-dark interior.

As they stared, a figure clad in palest blue emerged from the heavy gloom, sword unsheathed.

With an elegant, almost careless motion, Lan Xichen sent Shuòyuè winging towards Wanyin.

Jiang Cheng didn’t have time to think anything other than oh, f*ck before Lan Wangji leapt forward with his own sword raised. Bichen squealed horribly, steel against steel, as she blocked Shuòyuè’s blow.

Birdlike, Lan Xichen’s sword swooped back to his hand, and the First Jade of Lan advanced to meet the Second.

Jiang Cheng watched with eyes saucer-wide. He had sparred with both Xichen and Wangji during the lectures at Cloud Recesses, but he had never seen them fight like this, had never seen anyone fight like this.

Sparks flew as their swords clashed. Each strike flowed seamlessly into the next, their momentum building and building until they were simply enveloped in a maelstrom of flying silk and flashing steel, attacking so fast and with such ferocity that Jiang Cheng could no longer make out the individual sword-strokes, almost faster than Jiang Cheng’s eyes could follow. They were perfect, and merciless, and oh, they were almost evenly matched; they must have sparred together almost daily since they were very young. But Lan Xichen was still Wangji’s elder, just that last little bit taller, more heavily muscled, more experienced, and now he was also the puppet of an utterly ruthless puppet-master…

You’re going to have to hang on just a little while longer, Chifeng-zun, thought Jiang Cheng grimly, and channeled Zidian’s power to his feet.

It was Lan Wangji’s eyes that betrayed him, filling with tears of despair at the sheer, gut-wrenching wrongness of dueling his brother to the death. He began to retreat, attempting to keep his footing on the uneven flagstones of the courtyard.

Yet even as Lan Wangji was forced back under a relentless hailstorm of strikes and stabs, he was fully aware that Xichen was fighting like a man trapped in a nightmare. His swordsmanship would still make a weapons-master weep for joy, his whirling steps were parade-ground perfect, even his robes floated around him in elegant clouds – but his face was blank and strange and terrible, as if the real battle was raging deep inside himself.

Trying to gain some space to maneuver, Lan Wangji flipped himself backwards across the shattered courtyard, only to see Shuòyuè gleaming before his eyes, ice-cold and much too close.

Xiongzhang is going to kill me.

Lan Wangji’s mind strove to reject the thought, even as every nerve in his body sang with terror. Lan Xichen lunged forward, smashing Bichen aside – and as he did so, his face twisted with such anguish that Lan Wangji could not bear the sight of it. He squeezed his eyes shut, and felt the tears run down his cheeks.

For one long moment, Shuòyuè’s needle-sharp tip rested at the base of Lan Wangji’s throat, so flawlessly controlled that not even a drop of blood welled up from the tender flesh. Then something flew past Lan Wangji, fast enough to waft the hair away from his sweat-soaked neck. He heard the ring of steel and a heavy thud, then Xichen cried out – but not in pain. He sounded relieved, as if salvation had arrived beyond hope, beyond belief.

Lan Wangji opened his eyes.

Wanyin was perched atop Xichen, pinning him to the ground with one knee planted in the small of his back. Shuòyuè was stuck point-down halfway across the courtyard; Sāndú was still vibrating angrily from the blow that had knocked the sword from Xichen’s hand.

And the cursed talisman was between Wanyin’s fingers, already crackling with blue flame and burning away to harmless ash.

“Xiongzhang,” said Lan Wangji, sounding rather strangled as Lan Xichen wept copiously onto his shoulder. Lan Xichen simply squeezed him tighter, and cried harder.

“Zewu-jun, please don’t,” said Jiang Cheng helplessly. He tugged at Lan Xichen’s arms, but the man refused to budge. “Please, you – you must consider the situation! Think of your Sect!”

Zewu-jun remained on his knees, his forehead pressed to the ground in contrition.

“Say something,” Jiang Cheng hissed at Lan Wangji over his brother’s head.

Lan Wangji pondered for a moment.

“After the attacks on Cloud Recesses and Lotus Pier, Xiongzhang was an inspiration to all,” he offered. “Xiongzhang led the other Sects to unify against the Wen threat. That threat remains. We still need Xiongzhang’s help.”

This finally got a response from Lan Xichen, but it was not what either of them was hoping for. A cracked laugh emerged from his throat as he finally sat up, grave-dirt staining his silken skirts.

“My help?” he exclaimed harshly, with his customary smile stretching horribly into a maniacal, self-flagellating grin. “What can I do, except make everything worse? Why should I lead, when it was my actions that carried us all to the brink of disaster in the first place? How can I possibly inspire anyone, having been duped so thoroughly? How can I even presume to show my face before the Jianghu ever again? I am no leader, I am the worst kind of fool.”

“Oh, for the love of – would you stop that,” said Jiang Cheng testily, and Lan Xichen’s mouth snapped shut in surprise. “We haven’t the time! Listen, did Jin Guangyao ever openly move against you or your Sect? No. Did he ever do anything but support you and assist you in any way he could? No. Could you have known that he was an evil, manipulative snake? No. You couldn’t. He deceived all of us!”

(Standing beside him, Lan Wangji made a very faint sound that was not quite a sound of agreement; Jiang Cheng elbowed him discreetly in the ribs.)

Lan Xichen wrung his hands in distress. The breath was beginning to hitch in his chest, alarmingly quickly.

“You don’t even know the whole of it – it was – it was A-Yao – Jin Guangyao – he – he wrote to me, secretly, from Qishan, he suggested the binding agreement with Wen Ruohan,” Lan Xichen babbled. “He insisted I take the credit because – he said that if the other Sect Leaders knew the idea had come from the son of a whor* – they would reject it out of hand. And then – when he was chosen to bring the agreement back to Koi Tower – that was the first night – the first time he – he and I – he was so grateful, you see, that I’d been willing to listen to him, that – that I wasn’t disgusted by him, even though I knew about his background…”

Well, sh*t, thought Jiang Cheng. If Jin Guangyao encouraged Lan Xichen to send the contract, then he must have been the one who convinced Wen Ruohan to sign it, by pointing out the loopholes in the terms that he’d set in the first place. The man has balls of steel, I’ll give him that.

Meanwhile, Lan Xichen gasped for breath, still on his knees.

“And then – when it all went wrong – he pleaded with me not to tell – he said if the other cultivators knew, they would kill him – I promised to protect him, to defend him…”

Lan Xichen stopped, and hiccupped wetly.

“And then to find out that he – that it was all – that everything was a lie, all of it – the whole time – A-Yao – he was just using me, as a tool against Mingjue – even against my own Sect…!”

Jiang Cheng grimaced, and repeated emphatically, “He. Deceived. All of us.”

“But Jin Guangyao deceived no-one more cruelly than Xiongzhang,” added Lan Wangji fiercely. “Exploited all of Xiongzhang’s best qualities in his quest for power.”

At this, Lan Xichen looked up – still with tears pouring from his eyes, but there was a sort of pleading, desperate hope there, too.

“That’s true,” said Jiang Cheng, and stole his chance to haul the stunned Lan Sect Leader upright. “Jin Guangyao targeted you for the exact same reasons that the people adore you, Zewu-jun. It’s because you’re kind and selfless and open-minded. It’s because you’re known to defend the weak and oppressed, to sympathize with people who’ve had a rough time in life… because you always try to see the best in everyone.”

He dusted at Lan Xichen's dirtied robes so as to not have to look the man in the eyes.

“That doesn’t make it a bad thing to put your trust in another person,” he went on, much more softly now, and carefully looking anywhere but at Lan Wangji. “Having a kind heart – and loving somebody – it’s not a weakness. And yes, perhaps you run the risk of betrayal – but even so – it doesn’t make you a fool, Lan Xichen, or unfit to lead. It just makes you human, like the rest of us, no better and no worse.”

All this earnestness was sticking in Jiang Cheng’s craw, so he coughed uncomfortably and hurriedly retreated into sarcasm. “And here I thought you Lans had a rule against arrogance. Unless the esteemed Zewu-jun ascended to immortality sometime recently, when nobody was looking?”

Lan Wangji made a face at him, then squeezed his brother’s shoulder and said, “The rules also say, Do not grieve in excess. Do not give up. If Xiongzhang has erred, he should do his best to rectify the error.”

“Yes,” said Jiang Cheng, his face growing grim. “There are three monsters in that cave, Zewu-jun. Are you ready to face them?”

Chapter 31

Chapter Text

Though deeply reluctant to do so, Jiang Cheng and the Twin Jades were forced to leave Nie Mingjue behind. When Jiang Cheng went to shock him back to consciousness, as he had done to Lan Wangji, Wen Zhuliu (still sitting on the collapsed stone pillar) had coughed mildly and advised against it.

“Chifeng-zun’s qi is deeply destabilized,” Wen Zhului said, “and Zidian’s power is known to be extremely volatile. I do not think the two would be… compatible.”

Lan Xichen’s face paled at the implication, and they compromised by drawing a powerful protective ward around the unconscious man. (Nobody considered Wen Zhuliu’s quiet offer to stay and watch over Nie Mingjue sufficiently reassuring.) Nevertheless, Lan Xichen cast many anxious looks back over his shoulder as they advanced towards the derelict palace, pushed the clinging roots aside, and slipped between the sagging, half-rotted doors. There was no sound, save for their soft footfalls and the imperceptible swish of their robes.

Lan Wangji nodded once to Lan Xichen, and talisman lights leapt up in the Twin Jades’ hands.

The palace itself was utterly deserted, but Lan Xichen led them down a hallway that ended at the very foot of the cliff, a place where the living rock looked as if it had been ripped asunder by massive claws. The hallway gave onto a narrow tunnel that plunged into a twisted warren of interconnected caves, all rank with resentful energy.

“Jin Guangyao left me here,” Lan Xichen murmured, and it only cost him a minor pang to shape the man’s name with his lips. “He directed me to bar the way against anyone who approached, and then he went onward.”

They drew their swords and ventured into the mountain.

They should have been chilled to the bone as they crept deeper and deeper into the sunless void at the very center of the Burial Mounds – but instead it was warm as blood, and Jiang Cheng soon found himself drenched in sweat. Now the slow drip-drip of liquid could be heard, echoing from all around. When Jiang Cheng touched one of the rocky walls, his hand came away wet with something red and sticky.

He bit back an exclamation of disgust just as Lan Wangji stopped short, tilting his head to one side.

“Listen.”

“The moon is bright, the wind is calm…” sang a rich bass voice faintly, from deep within the bowels of the mountain.

The Twin Jades extinguished their lights in unison, and they all snuck forward in silence. Jiang Cheng could feel Zidian coiling and agitated within him, more than ready to lash out and attack. He drew a few steps ahead of the Twin Jades as he realized that Zidian’s sense of resentful energy had shifted – from all-pervasive and smothering to something sharper and more focused, like a compass-needle pointing him towards a single, powerful, concentrated evil.

He turned down a long, sloping tunnel. They were getting close.

As their eyes adjusted to the dark, they became aware of a sullen red glow emanating from a wide crack in the tunnel wall ahead of them. When they heard the voice again, it sounded much nearer than before.

“My little one, close your eyes,” it sang, echoing and haunting, before breaking off into mad, high-pitched laughter.

Lan Xichen put his mouth close to Jiang Cheng’s ear. “That is Wen Ruohan’s voice,” he whispered, softer than a breath. “I’m quite sure of it.”

Cautiously, Jiang Cheng edged up to the crack, pressed himself flat against the tunnel wall, and peeked through.

It was like staring into the deepest court of hell.

He saw a wide cavern, the walls and floor of which were layered with jagged slabs of glassy black stone. Every razor-sharp edge caught and held the red light that gleamed dully throughout the cave; it was as if the chamber was filled with poorly-banked fire, smoldering, biding its time, ready to erupt when fed.

An ominous blood-red pool lay towards the rear wall of the cave. There was no wind, but the surface of the pool rippled and bubbled, nevertheless. Jiang Cheng tried very hard not to imagine whatever horrors might lie hidden beneath its surface.

The lurid red light reflecting off the pool reeled and flickered around the cave chamber, giving the illusion of movement – so it took a moment for Jiang Cheng to realize that one of the staggering shadows belonged to Wen Ruohan. He was standing before the pool with his back to Jiang Cheng, and three pieces of the Yin Iron floated around his head, muttering and tumbling slowly through a seething cloud of resentful energy.

Jiang Cheng knew Wen Ruohan to be a tall, solidly built man, but for a moment his silhouette looked positively monstrous – a grotesquely bulky torso with too many long, jiggling limbs. Then, as the play of light across the cave shifted, Jiang Cheng saw that he was actually cradling a second, slightly smaller body in his arms. He swayed back and forth erratically, bouncing as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, almost like he was rocking a fretful child.

And then, with a jolt of sickening recognition, Jiang Cheng realized exactly what Wen Ruohan was doing: the body belonged to Wen Chao.

Wen Chao’s head rolled limply back and forth in the crook of his father’s arm, his eyes were wide and unblinking. Jiang Cheng couldn’t tell if the man was even alive or not, but from what he could see, it seemed unlikely. Wen Ruohan’s sleeves were so saturated with blood that they shone black in the harsh red light of the cavern.

"Sleep, sleep,” sang Wen Ruohan to Wen Chao, before his lullaby once again petered out into crazed, uneven giggling. The Yin Iron fragments hissed in response, louder than before.

Wen Ruohan bent his head down, like he was going to nuzzle affectionately into his son’s belly.

For one insane moment, Jiang Cheng fully expected to hear the playful pblpblpbltttpft sound of lips blowing loudly against skin, because isn’t that what parents do with their kids? Tickle them, and then blow on their bellies? Jiang Yanli had always made that sound against his belly when he was very small, after tickling him into breathlessness.

Instead, he heard a horrid squelch, a rending noise, and a faint, agonized gurgle, followed by – chewing.

Jiang Cheng’s hands flew to cover his mouth as he retched, feeling as if his entire body was trying to violently reject the knowledge that Wen Ruohan was standing there, inside that cavern, eating his son alive.

Lan Wangji caught Wanyin as he wrenched himself away from the crack in the wall and stumbled backwards, both hands clamped over his mouth. He was alarmed to feel Wanyin’s slender frame shuddering in his arms as he silently fought back wave upon wave of nausea.

Is it worth the risk of being seen…?

Yes, Lan Wangji decided, and touched a finger to his own forehead, right below the cloud-shaped charm on his ribbon. He withdrew a tiny glowing filament of his spiritual energy, then gently laid it against Wanyin’s temple, forming a temporary bond between their minds.

A torrent of horror poured into his head, loudly, making him wince.

Wanyin, Wanyin, can you hear me? Shh, shh, I’ve got you. Shhh. You’re okay, just try to breathe.

He felt a cool finger alight between his own eyebrows – another connection forming.

Lan Xichen’s voice: What is it? What did you see?

Wordlessly, Wanyin screamed his answer into both of their heads. Lan Wangji could feel his own gorge rising as the appalling image of Wen Ruohan eating his own son flared before his mind’s eye. Wanyin, in his arms, was still heaving and fighting for breath.

Xichen squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head aside, but his fist was clenched on the hilt of Shuòyuè. Through the bond, Lan Wangji could sense Xichen’s steely determination to master himself.

You saw only those two? No sign of – of Jin Guangyao? And what of the Yin Iron?

It took a moment, but Wanyin eventually grew coherent enough to reply.

No – no, I didn’t see Jin Guangyao – and – although Wen Ruohan has the Yin Iron – I only saw three pieces, not four.

Three pieces seems to be more than enough, Lan Xichen thought grimly, if this is the consequence of his madness. But I know Jin Guangyao is here, somewhere.

What do we do? What the f*ck should we do?

Wanyin’s agitation was beginning to show itself in the purple shimmer manifesting along the lightning-branch figures patterning his skin, in the smell of ozone.

At that moment, Wen Ruohan’s mad laughter stopped abruptly, and his deep voice called out almost pleasantly from within the cave.

“Yu Ziyuan? Is that you, my dear?”

Silence.

“Now, now, Ziyuan, you needn’t play coy with me,” said Wen Ruohan. “I’d recognize the light of your Zidian anywhere. Come in, come in, it’s been far too long since I’ve seen your lovely face.”

Answer, snapped a stern, authoritative voice in Jiang Cheng’s mind – the same tone that had conditioned him to instant obedience ever since he was a small child, the tone that promised consequences for even a moment’s defiance or hesitation.

Automatically, he stepped forward into the red light, and opened his lips to reply –

Only to realize, half a moment too late, that the voice in his mind had not belonged to either Wangji or Lan Xichen.

Ha, ha. Gullible little fool.

The Yin Iron fragments snarled and snickered at him, growing ever louder in volume.

“Ah, Ziyuan, there you are,” said Wen Ruohan affably. He shifted Wen Chao’s body around, just enough to free one of his hands. When he stuck it out and crooked all four of his fingers, Jiang Cheng felt a yank right behind his sternum. Wen Ruohan’s cultivation lifted him right off his feet and carried him forward, into the cave.

WANYIN, WHAT THE f*ck ARE YOU –

Lan Wangji’s connection to Wanyin’s mind vanished as Wen Ruohan snatched him away.

And before Lan Wangji could charge forward in pursuit of his fiancé, he found himself clamped in Lan Xichen’s iron grip. He wriggled, but Xichen’s arms were locked around his chest and over his mouth.

Wangji, stop. Didi. Wait. You must wait, came Xichen’s voice in his mind, attempting to project calm.

XIONGZHANG – GET THE f*ck OFF –

WANGJI.

… what.

Wen Ruohan will snuff out Jiang Wanyin’s life as easy as blowing out a candle, if he decides Jiang Wanyin poses a threat. His only chance now is to play upon Wen Ruohan’s madness.

…mn.

Not wanting to acknowledge this point, Lan Wangji instead peered desperately into the red-lit chamber.

He saw Wanyin’s body hanging in midair, held motionless, his toes not quite touching the floor.

Wen Ruohan spread his arms wide in a gesture of welcome, allowing Wen Chao’s body to flop carelessly down to the floor. Another of those horrible, pained gurgling sounds dribbled from Wen Chao’s torn-open throat.

“It’s always a joy to see you, Ziyuan,” Wen Ruohan said. The man was turned towards the entrance, now, and Lan Wangji could see his face. It chilled him to his core.

Wen Ruohan’s hair hung in loose hanks over his shoulders, greasy at the roots, matted and snarled at the ends. His collars were askew – Wen Chao must have tried to fight, or to flee – and he was soaked with blood and bile, from his chin to the hems of his robes. His teeth were bared in a too-wide grin, and his eyes – his eyes – were rolling, red, crimson irises bleeding into crimson sclera, flickering madly in the light of the blood pool.

Wanyin was a slim black shadow, suspended helplessly before a devouring flame. Nevertheless, he brought his hands up respectfully, and inclined his head, playing his desperate part as best he could.

“Sect Leader Wen.”

“Ah, Ziyuan, Ziyuan. Still stuck on the formalities, I see.”

Wen Ruohan’s voice still sounded jovial, the smile on his face never faltered – but his crooked fingers tightened incrementally, and Wanyin made a strangled noise, hands flying up to pry at his throat, as if he was trying to tear away an invisible rope.

“Have you come at the head of your armies to attack me, my sweet?”

Wanyin’s feet kicked futilely at the air, seeking purchase, and Lan Wangji struggled wildly against his Xiongzhang’s grip.

“I – I came alone,” Wanyin managed to choke out.

“Ah, that’s all right, then,” said Wen Ruohan. He dropped his hand, and Wanyin fell to the ground. He remained on his knees for a moment, red-faced and wheezing.

“You are here to bear witness to my triumph?”

Wanyin could not reply, but Wen Ruohan seemed to take it for granted that he agreed.

“You acted rightly, Ziyuan, mark my words. Soon all those insignificant, lesser Sects will be little more than dust beneath my feet. They will learn who their proper master is, and they will pay dearly for their ridiculous defiance. The Nie Sect, especially… once I’ve brought them to their knees, they will have ample cause to regret what they did to my poor Xu’er…”

His scarlet eyes caught the light and gleamed cruelly for a moment. The Yin Iron rotated a little faster, chuckled a little louder. Wen Ruohan chuckled too, as if in agreement.

“Yes, yes,” the man said, indulgently. “I won’t make that mistake again… now I know the perfect way to keep my little Chao’er safe…”

Wen Ruohan patted his thickset abdomen as the Yin Iron pulsed and throbbed above his head.

“That’s right, that’s right. Nice and safe in here.”

Wanyin, crouched trembling on the ground, stared up at Wen Ruohan with an expression somewhere long past fear and beyond horror. Lan Wangji could see his throat bobbing as he swallowed, hard. Then, as the man went back to rambling on about his coming victory, Wanyin glanced just beyond him and froze.

Wen Chao was crawling towards him.

Somehow, he had managed to roll himself over and was dragging his ragged body across the rocky floor, leaving behind a thick smear of blood and a tangle of quivering pink viscera. He panted loudly, high-pitched whines of pain stuttering in the back of his mangled throat. Wanyin gasped and scrambled to his feet, but Wen Chao seized the hem of his robes before he could back away.

“Jiang-gongzi, Jiang-gongzi – forgive me – I was wrong – wrong,” the man said, mangled words dragging from his mangled throat. “Show me mercy – save me – save me – mercy, please, Jiang-gongzi, forgive me, and show me mercy.”

Lan Wangji watched as Wanyin’s expression shifted, quicksilver-fast, between shock, abhorrence, disgust, revulsion – and then – most unwillingly – a dawning spark of pity for the abject figure dying slowly at his feet.

With that spark of pity came a look of resolution. Wanyin drew himself up to his full height. His chin rose, proud and regal.

Sandu flashed in one hand, Zidian flared in the other, and Wanyin severed Wen Chao’s head at the same moment he burst Wen Chao’s heart.

Wen Ruohan turned around.

“Ziyuan? What are you – what have you done, you stupid bitch!”

Red flames suddenly roared to life around the chamber. This time, Jiang Cheng wasn’t as surprised by the breathless feeling of Wen Ruohan’s cultivation yanking him off his feet – but now he was flying forward, thrown right into the man’s hands, and Wen Ruohan tore Sandu from his grip and cast it aside, he was screaming his stinking breath right into Jiang Cheng’s face, his steely fingers were crushing Jiang Cheng’s throat…

Jiang Cheng scrabbled and kicked at Wen Ruohan, Zidian arcing frantically around him.

At such close quarters, the rage and resentment boiling off of Wen Ruohan burned hotter than a brand. Jiang Cheng aimed a palm-strike directly into his face, bristling with indigo lightning. It was like punching a granite slab, but Wen Ruohan nevertheless snarled with pain at the touch of Jiang Cheng’s hand.

And then a spark of lucidity lit in his maddened red eyes.

“No… no, you’re not her…”

He peered closely at Jiang Cheng.

“You’re – you’re Fengmian’s whelp!”

Wen Ruohan bellowed with rage and the flames in the chamber roared, rising even higher, licking greedily towards Jiang Cheng’s body even as Zidian lashed them away. Wen Ruohan shook Jiang Cheng by the neck, like he weighed no more a straw doll.

“You worthless, sniveling little brat! You did this to my son! You killed him! I’ll melt the flesh from your bones for this!”

He raised one hand, fingers curling into claws, summoning a fistful of fire – only to have it quenched by a surge of blue-and-silver qi that blasted into the room, bright and chilling and strong as a howling winter wind, or a mountain creek bursting with snowmelt.

Wen Ruohan gaped foolishly at his empty palm for a moment, before whirling to see the Twin Jades of Gusu Lan bearing down on him, identical expressions of resolve on their faces and spiritual instruments aglow with power in their hands.

Lan Wangji struck his guqin with deadly intent and the killing chords rang out, echoing around the cave. They smashed into Wen Ruohan, flinging him violently away from Jiang Cheng and hurling him backwards across the chamber, where he landed heavily and went rolling across the rocky floor. Silvery light blossomed around him where he lay, lines of power flowing together to form an intricate array. Lan Xichen’s brow furrowed in concentration as his fingers flew over Lièbīng, suppressing and sealing the resentful energy that burned within Wen Ruohan.

Jiang Cheng, left coughing and rubbing his throat, felt immeasurably grateful to Lan Wangji for the white ribbon tied around his arm. He clutched at his upper arm, comforted by the feel of the sturdy knot hidden under the fabric of his sleeve, and then Lan Wangji was there beside him, patting him down for injuries before sweeping him into a sandalwood-scented embrace. It chased the smell of fresh blood and old smoke from Jiang Cheng’s nose, and Jiang Cheng let himself melt into those strong Lan arms, nearly lightheaded with relief.

“Idiot Wanyin, reckless Wanyin, foolhardy Wanyin,” Lan Wangji growled, with his nose pressed into Jiang Cheng’s hair, but he sounded like a devotee at prayer, pouring out fervent thanks at the feet of his most cherished and beloved deity. When he’d gotten it all out of his system, Lan Wangji released a shaky sigh and clutched Jiang Cheng even tighter, practically squeezing the breath from his lungs.

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng squeaked.

“Don’t need an apology,” Lan Wangji grunted. “Need Wanyin to show a speck of sense, for once.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, and let his head rest on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

Meanwhile, Lan Xichen paused his playing long enough to lay a purifying talisman on what little remained of Wen Chao. He activated it, grim-faced, and watched white-hot flames burst forth to consume the body, ensuring that it would never be able to rise again.

“Chao’er…?”

Wen Ruohan was stirring. Quickly, Lan Xichen resumed his music. Wen Ruohan sounded groggy, as if he’d just woken up from a long, long sleep. As he struggled to get up, he shook his head dumbly, looking for all the world like a broken-down old horse pestered by flies.

“Chao’er, where are you…?”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes were now dark and clear, Jiang Cheng noticed, with no trace of red.

But it still took him a moment to parse the merrily burning corpse of his younger son.

“CHAO’ER! MY BOY, MY BOY!”

He beat his hands furiously against the floor of the cave, bellowing curses, but Lan Xichen played louder and the array held strong.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? I’LL KILL ALL OF YOU!”

“Look to your own conduct, Former Sect Leader Wen,” replied Lan Wangji, with razor-sharp precision (the hand not wrapped around Jiang Cheng’s waist was now poised above his guqin strings; he had recovered his composure with admirable speed). “Former Sect Leader Wen should be on his knees thanking Sect Leader Jiang for showing great mercy to Wen-er-gongzi, though he deserved none.”

Wen Ruohan howled again and raised his hands, but a single chord from Wangji and a dart-like strike from Zidian whipped away the fire even before he could finish summoning it. Lan Xichen pursed his lips and changed his tune slightly, causing additional threads of silver qi to spring up. They wrapped around Wen Ruohan’s limbs and pinioned him fast to the ground.

Wen Ruohan struggled for a moment, then slumped back down.

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Wen Ruohan’s spiritual energy is exhausted already? Had he grown so dependent on the power of the Yin Iron?

“Wen-er-gongzi has been threatening and attacking Jiang Wanyin since the very first day of the lectures at Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji went on icily, as if there had been no interruption. His grip on Jiang Cheng tightened as he raised his voice inexorably over Wen Ruohan’s wordless snarls. “Wen-er-gongzi’s behavior towards Jiang Wanyin during the indoctrination camp in Qishan was reprehensible, yet somehow managed to grow worse during the night-hunt on MuXi Mountain. Wen-er-gongzi sacked Lotus Pier under false pretenses; the attack was entirely unprovoked, and he knew it.”

Wen Ruohan scoffed at this, and Jiang Cheng’s vision went red.

“You thought I was my mother, but he killed her!” Jiang Cheng snarled. “Wen Chao knew you wanted her, so he killed her, for spite, the moment he had Wen Zhuliu melt her core!”

“You stupid, insignificant little worm!” Wen Ruohan roared back. “So you admit it, you killed my son for revenge!”

“No!” Jiang Cheng screamed. “That’s what I should have done! That’s what my mother would have wanted, she deserved that much at least! She deserved to be avenged, and so did my father, and all my shidis and shimeis, and the elders, and the servants, and the children, and everyone else your f*cking son slaughtered for no f*cking reason! But you know what? Even after everything he did, I killed Wen Chao because I f*cking felt sorry for him!”

Jiang Cheng’s fists were clenched and Zidian crackled up and down both of his arms. Wen Ruohan looked completely taken aback.

“I killed him because I didn’t think even f*cking Wen Chao deserved to be eaten alive by his own f*cking father!”

Wen Ruohan’s face went white.

Jiang Cheng was vaguely aware that he was panting, beginning to feel slightly lightheaded… a familiar roaring sound in his ears, familiar black spots flickering at the edge of his vision…

“Wanyin,” said Lan Wangji into his ear, low and calm and infinitely soft. “Breathe with me.”

Jiang Cheng tried to focus on the feeling of Lan Wangji’s big, warm hands holding him, pressed against him, firm and comforting. He tried to match the even rise and fall, rise and fall, of Lan Wangji’s chest. He managed one huge, sobbing breath, then another, then another.

“He begged me for mercy,” Jiang Cheng hissed at last, dashing furious tears from his eyes. “He drugged me and tortured me and raped me and then he had the f*cking gall to grovel at my feet and f*cking beg me to save him – from you.”

The level of vitriol in Wanyin’s words could have stripped lacquer; Lan Wangji had never been more impressed. He watched Wen Ruohan go pale, watched the man stagger backwards, watched him open his bloody mouth to accuse Wanyin of falsehood…

“Sect Leader Jiang speaks only the truth,” Lan Wangji put in, sturdy as bedrock, and met Wen Ruohan’s appalled eyes squarely. “Former Sect Leader Wen did devour Wen-er-gongzi.”

And you know full f*cking well that Lans are forbidden to lie, so f*ck you.

Then, because Wen Ruohan had laid violent hands on Wanyin and that was completely unacceptable, he added, “Former Sect Leader Wen still has bits of Wen-er-gongzi stuck between his teeth,” and pointed.

Mechanically, Wen Ruohan raised a shaking hand to his mouth. For the first time, he seemed to register the sheer volume of blood soaking his hands, his robes, the tips of his hair…

A keening wail tore from Wen Ruohan’s throat, sounding as if it had been dug up from somewhere deep inside of him, and despite himself Wanyin shrank a little deeper into Lan Wangji’s arms, flinching away from the raw anguish of it.

And as the desolate sound echoed around the chamber, the shards of Yin Iron circling overhead seemed to sigh with satisfaction. The cloud of resentful energy around them seethed, swelling grotesquely, bloating up like a tick – and as it did so, Lan Wangji could now hear words, distinct words, in that whispering, muttering, maddening voice.

Guilt…

Mmm…regret…

Hatred… oh, delicious… and self-hatred too…

So delightful…

Give us more…

More, more…

Xiongzhang was playing again, Lièbīng glowing brighter than ever, but now the smoky tendrils of resentful energy resisted his efforts to combat them, almost as if the Yin Iron was toying with him.

Arrogant little fools, all of you.

Master Lan Yi failed to f*cking mention that the Yin Iron was sentient, thought Lan Wangji, feeling perilously close to hysteria. His stomach twisted when he realized that, having poisoned Wen Ruohan’s mind, the Yin Iron had likely allowed him to be purified – loosened its grip long enough for him to regain his sanity, just in time for him to become fully aware of the dreadful things he had done in the depths of his madness. Like a cat playing with a mouse and letting it slip away, cruelly fooling it with a taste of freedom before the final, fatal pounce.

Now, the Yin Iron was fattening itself upon his anguish.

Lan Wangji laid his hands upon his guqin strings. Beside him, Wanyin hurriedly snatched up Sandu and ignited Zidian.

But before they could join Xiongzhang’s attack, Wen Ruohan made an odd choking noise and spat out a mouthful of blood. It dribbled down his chin and over the thin ribbon of steel jutting from between his fourth and fifth ribs.

Wen Ruohan collapsed face-first upon the ground, there to finish bleeding out across the floor of the cave, and Lan Wangji thought he saw an expression of profound relief wash over the man’s features.

Then Lan Wangji had to turn his attention urgently elsewhere, because Jin Guangyao was emerging from his hiding-place among the shadows. Having stabbed Wen Ruohan in the back, he withdrew Hensheng, kicked Wen Ruohan’s corpse to one side, and stared up at the three pieces of Yin Iron hovering above them, with that insatiable, greedy look back on his face.

Xiongzhang’s xiao screeched as he missed a note and broke off his song.

“A-Yao…” he said, sounding lost.

“You!” snarled Wanyin.

Jin Guangyao ignored them both. Instead, he removed the fourth fragment of Yin Iron from his qiankun pouch. He held it out on his palm, watching in reverent silence as it slowly rose to join the other three, complete at long last.

“Oh, yes,” Jin Guangyao said, the avid hunger in his expression giving way to a sickening, triumphant smile. “Yes.”

Lan Wangji stared at Jin Guangyao, hating everything about him, even his dimples. Especially his dimples. Cast in the harsh red light of the cave, they looked like little blackened pits in his cheeks – so appropriate, for a f*cking pit viper. The man was visibly, obviously drunk off the power surging within the cave, the sheer presence of the Yin Iron in its entirety causing his control to slip; further, and then a little further. His smile grew wider by degrees, his eyes glittered avariciously.

And then the four pieces of the Yin Iron abruptly shot away from each other, dispersing to the four corners of the chamber as if repulsed by an irresistible force.

Jin Guangyao’s smile vanished. Lan Wangji raised his eyebrows incrementally.

That was – apparently not what he was expecting, Jiang Cheng realized, as Jin Guangyao spun in a circle, staring from one to another of the Yin Iron fragments, clearly nonplussed.

The atmosphere in the cave changed palpably, becoming colder and more hostile.

The Yin Iron pieces – they – they hate each other.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t explain how he suddenly knew this, except that it was like feeling a certain shift of the wind in his face, seeing a certain haziness in the sky, and knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that it would rain within the hour. The muttering, seething voices started up again, sounding somehow darker and more vicious than before.

This is our body. Get your own.

No.

That body killed our other body.

You owe it to us.

It was like – it was like sitting with his parents on their absolute worst days, Jiang Cheng realized. What he’d recognized was the feeling it gave him, twisting deep in his gut: the feeling of being a small, cowering thing caught between them, knowing that a vicious fight was inevitable and yet powerless to predict it, or avert it, or escape it.

Give us the body.

No.

We want it.

It’s ours.

Give it to us.

The voices rose and rose, and then thick, ropy tendrils of resentful energy abruptly spun forward, seizing Jin Guangyao. More of them sprouted and coiled around him, grabbing at his arms and legs, as each piece of the Yin Iron tried to yank him toward itself.

Let go.

Give it to us.

Us too, we want it.

No, it’s ours.

Suddenly drawn taut as a bowstring, Jin Guangyao could only wheeze out a wordless squeal of pain, his eyes near to bulging out of his head. The tendrils of resentful energy split and multiplied endlessly, growing hundreds of little grasping fingers that ripped at his hair and fastened upon his robes; they tore the thick silk to shreds between them, as if it was no stronger than tissue paper.

So the resentful energy sank itself into Jin Guangyao’s skin, into his flesh, and pulled harder. The skin of Jin Guangyao’s belly strained, bulging and shifting unnaturally, as the resentful energy burrowed down deep and laid hold of his viscera. Standing there petrified, Jiang Cheng heard straining, creaking noises, then a series of gruesome pops, as Jin Guangyao’s bones and tendons began to give way.

As each fragment fought to possess him, the Yin Iron succeeded only in stretching Jin Guangyao’s last smile into a thing of nightmares, a demon’s grinning mask.

“A-Yao!” screamed Lan Xichen, his face gray, and started forward.

“No, Xiongzhang!” shouted Lan Wangji, and grappled with his brother. “The backlash – we must run!”

“f*ck, he’s right!” Jiang Cheng yelled. “Lan Xichen! We’ve got to get out of here, we’ve got to go now, please!”

“A-Yao!”

“Xiongzhang, there’s nothing we can do for him!”

This also was truly spoken. With a final, hideous noise, Jin Guangyao’s body tore apart.

And then the roaring tide of the resentful energy backlash began to rise.

There was no way they’d be able to run fast enough.

Fortunately, Lan Xichen recovered his senses at the first sign of resentful energy reaching out towards Lan Wangji. Between the two of them, the Twin Jades were just strong enough to keep the backlash bottled up inside the cavern. Playing in well-rehearsed synchrony, they backed slowly along the dark tunnels and crumbling hallways, sowing every chi with more arrays for purification and suppression. Jiang Cheng forged ahead, calling out directions and throwing down talisman after talisman, for all the good it might do them. How long could one xiao, one guqin, and a handful of talismans hold out against the combined resentment of the Yin Iron and the Burial Mounds?

Still, Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but feel a feeble spark of hope when he saw the cracked-open doors looming ahead of him, admitting a pale stripe of gray twilight – if they could grab Nie Mingjue and take to the air on swords…

They burst through the door, and Jiang Cheng’s hope vanished. He cursed himself for a fool to keep from weeping in despair, because the courtyard was thick with risen corpses, drawn to the power of the Yin Iron.

Some were dry and mummified, clad in the moldering uniforms and rusted-out armor of centuries past. Some bore ancient battle-wounds, still dripping tarry black sludge. Some were mere skeletons, picked clean of flesh but staggering forward regardless, reaching for them with broken finger-bones. A steady stream of corpses emerged from the grove of thorn-trees, and the violent rustling of distant branches told Jiang Cheng that even more were on their way, mindlessly tearing through the undergrowth, inexorably driven by madness and hunger.

At the sight of live prey, the most eager corpses surged forward across the flagstones, like a plague of rats descending upon a sack of spilt grain. Jiang Cheng stabbed the fastest directly between its empty eye-sockets with Sandu, then channeled Zidian’s power to make its head explode.

But is there any point in fighting, he thought hopelessly, even as he pulled Sandu free of the first corpse and slashed grimly at the next. A horde of corpses in front of us, the Yin Iron behind us… we’re doomed to die, either way.

Over the noise of guttural moans and clacking teeth, he heard Lan Wangji grunt, heard him strike a false note on his guqin. Jiang Cheng knew that he too had realized what their fate was going to be.

It was not in Jiang Cheng’s nature to make flowery statements or romantic speeches, but he turned towards Lan Wangji anyway, wanting to look in his eyes. He groped for a few last words that might somehow convey his affection, his gratitude for the other boy’s steady presence in his life, his regret that their time together should be so horribly foreshortened.

Instead, he was startled by Wen Zhuliu, who came bulling through the horde towards them, dragging Nie Mingjue by the collars. He was more startled to see that even the most decayed and mindless corpses flinched away from Wen Zhuliu’s approach, clawing at each other to get distance from the man. Any that were too slow or clumsy fell to the ground and disintegrated utterly, like piles of wet ash, if they so much as brushed against the Core Melting Hand’s robes.

“Here,” Wen Zhuliu barked. Before any of them could react, he had unceremoniously dropped Nie Mingjue, reached out, clamped his remaining hand onto Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, and pushed.

Jiang Cheng felt power on a level that he could barely comprehend flooding into him, felt Zidian roar louder than it ever had, felt his mouth falling open to scream out a hurricane’s worth of lightning – it was blazing from his hands, too, crackling from every fingertip, and even from his eyes, jagged bolts shooting forth every time he blinked…

He hadn’t experienced anything like this since he stood in the training ground, Lotus Pier in ruins around him, and annihilated half the Wen Army. It should have hurt. It should have burned him down to cinders.

Instead, the power felt – familiar. Maybe not warm and welcoming, but – familiar.

Stunned and confused, Jiang Cheng didn’t register the moment when Wen Zhuliu let him go.

Lan Wangji did not care one whit that Wen Zhuliu had voluntarily released his grip on Wanyin’s shoulder and was now backing a safe distance away, keeping his hand raised in surrender. He snarled – audibly, with teeth showing – and aimed a killing chord.

Wen Zhuliu caught it, and, with a flick of his wrist, the chord’s energy vanished.

The lines of Lan Wangji’s mouth tightened, and he shot Wen Zhuliu a look that promised, if not instant death, the immediate loss of his remaining arm. Wen Zhuliu, for his part, resumed his usual expression of woodenness.

Before Lan Wangji could attempt to make good on his threat, however, Wanyin staggered forward to seize him by the wrist. (Lan Wangji put his guqin aside hastily to catch Wanyin, prevent him from tripping over Nie Mingjue, and thereby planting himself face-first on the ground; he appeared rather dazed.)

“Hey, wait – don’t fight him just yet – look,” Wanyin croaked, gesturing wildly around them.

“f*ck me,” Xiongzhang whispered, also sounding somewhat disoriented.

The courtyard was empty. The flagstones were as clean and bare as if they had been scoured right down with sand and boiling water. The closest row of thorn-trees now lay at a little distance, smashed to flinders and heaped up like yarrow straws.

There was not a corpse to be seen – only a few fragments of metal and bone, a few streaks of greasy soot – and, just for a moment, they had room to breathe. A moment to think.

Blessed silence.

Just this once, Lan Wangji decided he would be the one to break it.

“Wen Zhuliu,” said Lan Wangji with ominous calm. “What the f*ck was that?”

Chapter 32

Chapter Text

Wen Zhuliu had lived for a long time – too long – far too long – but he would always remember the day he formed his core.

It was, and would always be, the worst day of his life.

He had passed most of it seated in meditation next to his twin brother in the silent courtyard of their long-since-forgotten home. Hours upon hours the two of them spent quietly breathing together, side by side as they always were.

He had been Zhao Zhuliu, then.

As the sun sailed across the sky, as it dropped towards the horizon, thick and slow and golden as honey, he’d become aware of a slight sensation in his lower dantian, a pull. It grew stronger and stronger, faster and faster, collecting and coalescing like a magnet gathering iron filings unto itself. Deep within his body, he could feel something spark into existence and began to spin. It called to mind his mother’s hand-spindle, drawing together a filmy cloud of silk and twisting it together, rendering a strong, usable thread. It pulled, and pulled, and pulled, growing larger and more robust with every passing moment.

He opened his eyes and turned to his brother, rejoicing, just as a heavy thud reached his ears.

Zhao Yunru had collapsed. His face was gray and slack, and he clutched at his belly as if it was a poorly-sewn sack that had suddenly burst its seams.

Zhao Zhuliu’s eyes went wide with shock, and he reached for his brother on instinct.

The instant Zhao Zhuliu’s hands touched his brother’s skin, Zhao Yunru began to scream.

By the time Zhao Zhuliu arrived in Qishan, desperate for guidance, he was feral and more than half-mad. He struck down anyone who stood in his way: the city watch, the palace guards, the servants at the door to the reception hall, the elders gathered at the foot of the throne.

Everyone that he touched died screaming, and as they died, their spiritual energy was sucked into his insatiable, abominable core.

Just like his brother – and his parents – and his kin, who’d tried to help – and the friends and neighbors who’d tried to kill him – and the thieves who sought to waylay him on the road – and – and –

They joined the howling multitude already trapped inside him.

There, scowling down from his throne, sat Wen Mao – the greatest hero of their age, the champion who’d led five armies against the madman Xue Chonghai, the leader who’d brought the cultivation world out of the wreckage of Yiling and then rearranged it to suit himself. Zhao Zhuliu stared back at him and found himself unable to bow, unable to speak, unable to form a single plea. All he could do was bellow like a beast, hearing myriad voices shrieking in unison from his cracked and bleeding lips. Archers gathered hurriedly at the foot of the dais, staring at him fearfully. They drew back their bowstrings in unison.

Wen Mao simply swept him with an appraising gaze, then raised one hand and ordered his men to stand down. He examined Zhao Zhuliu (from a safe distance), watched him as he twitched and growled and grimaced, then told him there was nothing to be done.

Zhao Zhuliu stared, uncomprehending, as Wen Mao kept pacing around him in a neat, orderly circuit, staring at him with narrowed, calculating eyes.

Imagine that a golden core is like the sun, Wen Mao said, a source of life and energy.

Zhao Zhuliu was nowhere near finished with his education, and he was also in tremendous pain, but he was really trying to follow along, so he nodded.

Well, said Wen Mao. Yours is the very opposite. For whatever reason, it has pleased Fate to form your core into a devouring void, that swallows everything it touches.

Kill me, Zhao Zhuliu said, crumpling to his knees, but Wen Mao shook his head.

I do not make a habit of destroying precious things. Though it may not seem so to you, your core is a treasure, strange and unique. It must have been given to you for a reason; until you discover that reason, all you can do is strive for clarity and perspective. You must sever every earthly attachment, renounce every feeling and every emotion. It is the only way for you to control this – this gift – keep your sanity and survive.

You must cut yourself off, Wen Mao told him, from everything.

And then he’d had Zhao Zhuliu imprisoned, alone, deep underground. It will help, he was told. It’s for your own good.

So Zhao Zhuliu breathed around the turmoil churning inside of him, and focused – for hours upon hours, days upon days, months upon months – on methodically eradicating his emotions, like pulling weeds in the fields at home, a never-ending task. Years passed, and the sun progressed across the sky, though he did not see its passage.

You’ve done very well, Wen Mao told Zhao Zhuliu, the first time he was allowed to emerge and demonstrate his hard-won control. Very well indeed.

Wen Mao looked older, despite his high level of cultivation, older and a little harder, with sour lines graven around his eyes and mouth. He stared at Zhao Zhuliu speculatively and ran his fingers idly over the carved arm of his throne.

Now, I wonder – would you perhaps be interested in trying a little experiment?

Another prisoner was carried in and dumped at Zhao Zhuliu’s feet. Not a common man, this one, but a low-level rogue cultivator, his skin pale and dirty, his hair close-cropped and matted. The man squirmed a little in his bindings, whimpering softly.

The years passed. The sun traveled through the sky. Generations of Wen Sect Leaders came and went. After awhile, Zhao Zhuliu stopped bothering to remember all their names.

Some were interested in performing “little experiments,” as Wen Mao had been. Others were not.

One of the less-interested Wen Sect Leaders fancied himself a bit of a poet. He wrote a verse comparing Zhao Zhuliu to a leafless stump, unmoved by even the strongest hurricane. Zhao Zhuliu put it away in a drawer.

One of the more interested Sect Leaders fancied himself a medical genius. He spent countless hours poking and prodding at Zhao Zhuliu, then fashioned a pair of gloves that would help suppress his gift and allow him to go out and mingle with the populace, if he so desired. Zhao Zhuliu put the gloves away next to the scroll of poetry. By this point, his control over his “gift” was absolute, he just found it annoying to be around people who flinched and looked anywhere other than at him.

The medically-inclined Sect Leader was overthrown and banished to Dafan. The new Sect Leader proved even more interested in Zhao Zhuliu’s gift than his predecessor, at which point Zhao Zhuliu officially became Wen Zhuliu and received his rather grandiose (and not strictly accurate) title.

He accepted blankly, wordlessly bowing, much as he’d accepted every other mark of favor. He could not put a name and a title away in a drawer with the poem and the gloves, but it hardly mattered. He’d long since succeeded in emptying himself of ambition and initiative and imagination, as ordered. His duties were whatever the Wen Sect Leader said they were. He weighed no options, ranked no priorities, made no decisions, grappled with no dilemmas, felt no scruples. He kept his mind empty and unclouded. He thought as little as possible.

His senses, however, were in no way dulled. He heard some people call him the Core Melting Hand, and he heard other people call him the Sect Leader’s attack dog – a well-trained and mindlessly loyal killing machine.

Since one of his duties was to enforce proper respect and deference within the Wen Sect hierarchy, he killed those other people. They joined the tormented ranks that raged and swirled within his cursed core.

One day Wen Zhuliu was called upon to bestow his “gift” on some overconfident young disciple who had summoned fire in the great library of Nightless City, then promptly lost control of his summons.

Do it slow, he was told. Make an example of him. Wen Zhuliu fulfilled his duty with his face perfectly expressionless, as always. The other young disciples watched the display with varying degrees of horrified fascination and went even more out of their way to avoid him, afterwards.

Much of the knowledge that had been lost to the fire remained lost as the years rolled on. Some of it passed into legend, and then into fable – but most was forgotten.

Forgotten by everyone except Wen Zhuliu, that is, but nobody thought to ask him.

The Sect Leader’s tame monster. Probably not much better than a dumb brute. An animal.

He did not volunteer any information.

He had not been ordered to do so, and so it was not his duty.

Occasionally, when his gift wasn’t urgently needed, Wen Zhuliu would leave Nightless City and wander the Jianghu, drifting aimlessly from the humid flatlands of Yunmeng to the snowy peaks of Gusu. One day, he found himself traversing the northern border of Meishan and stopped to rest upon a convenient stone, the thick forest shading his back and a rolling meadow stretched out before him. He sat there for a while, watching the play of sun and shadow as the wind rippled through the tall grass.

Then, from far away within the forest, he heard a great commotion – trees crashing to the ground, reverberating footfalls heavy enough to send the birds fleeing into the sky.

The forest must be home to some sort of yao. Which seems to be coming this way. With some rapidity. How tiresome. Wen Zhuliu sighed and got to his feet.

At that moment, a young woman – no, a girl – shot out of the forest to his left, faster than an arrow from a bow. She was tall, slim, and clad in the shimmering aquamarine silks favored by Yu Sect gentrywomen. She was also extraordinarily well-armed and even more extraordinarily well-trained in combat, as became apparent when the yao smashed through the tree-line in hot pursuit.

Having gained enough room to maneuver, she whirled to face the beast, a silver sword in one hand and a whip in the other. As the creature bore down upon her, the whip ignited, crackling with violet lightning. She flung herself into battle headfirst and Wen Zhuliu, finding himself entirely superfluous, sat back down on his rock to observe.

The girl’s opponent was one of the more disgusting yao he had ever come across. It was a massive thing that might once have been a boar – it had heavy boar-like shoulders and a snout, in any case – but which had also cultivated aspects of the spider and the leech. It had contrived to grow a great many additional legs, which stretched and moved with uncanny liquidity by virtue of having an excessive number of joints. The beast’s compound eyes glowed red, and its hide was covered with slimy purplish tendrils, rather than fur. Each tendril had a sucking mouth at the end, ringed with rows of serrated teeth, that gnashed hungrily at the girl.

The girl dodged them all, gracefully spinning, leaping, and striking with incredible speed and power. With every swing of her sword, blackened tendrils thumped wetly to the earth and dissipated. Her whip snarled the thing’s many legs, snapping its bones and scorching its hide. Eventually, the monster bellowed and rolled to the ground, whereupon the girl beheaded it triumphantly.

She was laughing with unfettered glee, the entire time.

Wen Zhuliu had spent long years carefully smothering his appreciation for physical beauty. Some of the recipients of his “gift” had been consumed by lust, and whenever he felt his flesh stirring, their frenzy reached a feverish, screaming pitch that cost him some pains to suppress. So he made a point of not noticing the girl’s loveliness, her lithe figure, her nacreous complexion, the shape of her face, the color of her eyes.

(They were gray eyes, dark, but very clear.)

However, he could not escape the realization that she was dazzlingly, utterly fearless, bursting with vitality and glowing with confidence. She only noticed him once she’d wiped her sword down and recalled her spiritual whip, but then she smiled, a carefree, co*cky smile, and came over to inquire his name.

He told her his name was Zhao Zhuliu before he took his leave. He saw her again as the years passed, at conferences and tournaments and night-hunts, but he never spoke to her – except for once, at the very end.

He never knew exactly when she learned that he had lied.

But when Wen Zhuliu finally laid his hand on Yu Ziyuan and absorbed her qi, her energy, her essence, into the abomination that was his own core – he found out what had become of the girl he remembered, who had been so wild and alive.

What a waste, he thought to himself, as he went about executing the few Jiang Sect cultivators who’d survived their initial attack.

What a stupid, stupid waste.

If he’d given the matter any consideration, Wen Zhuliu might have assumed that the highest, most heralded virtues (benevolence, righteousness, integrity, courage…) would be the most difficult to uproot. In fact, they were among the first to go, fading quietly away into the shapeless gray nothingness of his existence. As the years ground on, the shallow, slow-moving currents of his life were ruffled only by simpler emotions, like momentary disgust and low-grade exasperation. The kind that might be prompted by the whine of a mosquito in his ear. The scurrying of a co*ckroach. The squirming of a maggot.

Wen Zhuliu sat in the damp, musty dungeon of Koi Tower, breathing and trying to focus.

Mosquitoes whined in his ear. A co*ckroach scurried over his foot. Maggots squirmed through whatever bowl of porridge-adjacent slop had been pushed into his cell.

But worse than all of this, by far, was the sound of Wen Chao in the next cell over, bleating for a healer.

Finding himself unable to concentrate, Wen Zhuliu could only roll his eyes and reflect on the irony of Wen Chao serving as his last remaining link to human emotion – simply by virtue of being the worst, most annoying person he had ever encountered during the long, dragging ages of his existence.

Spoiled, careless, arrogant, greedy, opportunistic, cruel, boastful, stupid, selfish, unprincipled, lecherous, loudmouthed, entitled, tacky (having to watch him grope Wang Lingjiao had regularly made Wen Zhuliu’s gorge rise) and by all the gods above, such a liar…

Wen Zhuliu breathed – but could not focus.

Because for the first time in a century, he found himself confounded, overwhelmed, defied, defeated, by the spiritual power stolen by his cursed core – or, rather, one particular person’s spiritual power…

The last Jiang to fall among the ashes of Lotus Pier.

He’d been sifting through the stacks of plunder, listening to the rising wind and resolutely not thinking about Yu Ziyuan’s corpse swinging from the Lotus Gate. When he heard Wen Chao bellowing his name, he’d sighed and gone to investigate, as was his duty.

The moment he stepped outside, cold rain blew into his eyes. He blinked – and when his vision cleared, there was the boy, naked and screaming in the eye of his own personal hurricane, lashing out with Yu Ziyuan’s whip.

He already knew that the boy had Yu Ziyuan’s eyes. He’d seen them in Nightless City, wide with fear and hooded with pain. He’d seen them glittering defiantly through the murk of the Xuanwu Cave – gray eyes, dark, but very clear, staring out at him from her son’s face, lit by darker lightning but fearless and wild, gloriously and furiously alive just as she had been, all those years ago.

That hadn’t prevented Wen Zhuliu from draining the boy’s core – he didn’t know if he could have stopped, honestly; the boy had been so hellbent on killing him, he’d been shoving power through Zidian faster than Wen Zhuliu could absorb it – and now, alone in his cell, Wen Zhuliu was paying the price.

That price was not the throbbing ache of his burned-off, amputated arm, of course. That was nothing. The recipients of his gift died in agony, one and all, so he refused to let himself feel physical pain. Acknowledging it just encouraged them to scream louder.

But now – alone – sitting in his cell – Wen Zhuliu found himself utterly unable to tame the storm that Jiang Wanyin had carried within him.

How had the boy survived it?

Emotions long forgotten boiled within Wen Zhuliu, just as the thunderclouds had boiled in the sky above Lotus Pier. His heart thumped around in his chest, like a tiger trapped in a canary cage, beating out a rhythm of despair, fury, bitterness, jealousy, humiliation, guilt, grief – yes – but also hope, determination, and love, solid enough to outlast the end of the world and very nearly bright enough to vanquish the dark, ravenous thing that had squatted inside of Wen Zhuliu for years beyond counting.

If the boy hadn’t collapsed when he did…

At this juncture, Wen Zhuliu’s thoughts were once again interrupted by Wen Chao’s voice – nasal, braying, just like a damn donkey – and his irritation and disgust flared stronger than ever.

Wen Zhuliu breathed and tried once again to refocus, but now all he could think of was Wen Chao stampeding into the boy's life and laying waste to it, over, and over, and over again. From the altercation in Nightless City to the night-hunt on MuXi Mountain, all of it leading step by step to the irredeemable crime committed during their hasty retreat from Lotus Pier.

It was Wen Chao’s crime, but he, Wen Zhuliu, had aided and abetted – and not just with his damned gift, but with his silence, his passivity, his complicity…

He kept breathing and refocused on the proposal that Zewu-jun and the other Sect Leaders had just laid before him.

Wen Zhuliu was long out of practice with wrestling his own thoughts. He had grown unfamiliar with initiative. For innumerable years he’d simply followed the Wen Sect Leader’s orders, no matter how cruel or how mad. But now he was faced with a quandary: Wen Ruohan had commanded him to protect Wen Chao – did that still apply if the person Wen Chao needed to be protected from was Wen Ruohan?

He pondered this as Xue Yang’s army of corpses marched into the Burial Mounds and delivered a cowering Wen Chao to his father.

Wen Ruohan’s eyes were red and bright, sharp-edged with insanity. Three pieces of Yin Iron revolved over his head, trailing dark clouds of resentful energy. Wen Ruohan did not speak to his most loyal servant (indeed, he did not seem to notice Wen Zhuliu’s presence at all).

No good ever came of contradicting Wen Ruohan, he reminded himself, and remained silent as the man dragged his struggling son deep into the bowels of Xue Chonghai’s crumbling palace. Wen Zhuliu had never contravened the wishes of any Wen Sect Leader, and, he concluded, now was probably not the best time to start. Especially since Wen Chao was not the Wen Sect Leader, nor, it seemed, would he ever be.

“Save me,” Wen Chao screamed. “Wen Zhuliu!”

Wen Zhuliu shrugged and sat down to wait on a convenient bit of rubble.

He didn’t have to wait for very long.

Seeing Yu Ziyuan’s child dressed in fine purple robes reminded Wen Zhuliu that he was, in fact, a Jiang, the Jiang Sect Heir – or no, in all probability he was now the Jiang Sect Leader. Jiang something-or-another – Wanyin, that was it. Poor little thing, burdened with the legacy of his useless father and saddled with a woefully poetic courtesy name. No wonder he looked at the Lan boy standing steadfast by his side as if he’d hung the stars in the sky; Lans were famously romantic underneath all those prim layers of blue-and-white silk. He’d probably been swept right off his feet.

Indeed, if Wen Zhuliu was being honest, it was quite charming to watch the young Lan hold Jiang Wanyin’s hand as they picked their way through the Burial Mounds.

While observing his duel against Zewu-jun, whom Xue Yang’s smiley little sidekick had dragged along from somewhere, Wen Zhuliu even found himself admiring the boy’s formidable swordsmanship. Very skilled indeed, Wen Zhuliu judged, at least until he lets his emotions run away with him.

Wen Zhuliu felt an inclination to laugh for the first time in a handful of centuries, standing there in the doorway of Xue Chonghai’s horrible old wreck of a palace, and it was all because the weird little Lan boy thought he was being intimidating.

Granted, he was demonstrably fond of Yu Ziyuan’s son. Very protective of the boy. (Lans were also known to be quite possessive of their lovers, and Wen Zhuliu had just grabbed young Jiang Wanyin without so much as a by-your-leave, so allowances could be made.)

But really, if he thought he could threaten Wen Zhuliu with the Chord Assassination technique, he must be an idiot.

Actually, they might all three be idiots, thought Wen Zhuliu, now squashing no small amount of irritation as both Lans and the little Jiang stood there gawping at the corpse-free courtyard instead of doing anything useful.

“Wen Zhuliu! What the f*ck was that?” the younger Lan eventually demanded.

This was not the most pressing question at hand, so Wen Zhuliu opted for succinctness.

“I used Zidian to channel the spiritual power that I removed from Sect Leader Jiang on the night he returned to Lotus Pier,” he replied. “Augmented by the natural power of the storm that Sect Leader Jiang called down, it was enough to cleanse this area of resentful energy and repel the fierce corpses, temporarily.”

The Jiang boy said nothing, but his eyes grew wide and his lips parted slightly with shock. It must have been a peculiar feeling, Wen Zhuliu thought, having his own spiritual power fed back into him. I wonder if he recognized it. He watched the boy curl forward slightly and lay a tentative hand over his lower dantian, his ever-present scowl turning inward, contemplative and a bit lost.

The Lan boy, on the other hand, was nearly quivering with outrage.

“The Core Melting technique allows you to steal and hoard the spiritual energy of other cultivators?”

“What did you think happened?” asked Wen Zhuliu, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “You can’t just destroy spiritual energy, any more than you can create it from nothing. All you can do is change it from one form to another, or, in my case, move it from one being to another.”

“Sacrilegious,” spluttered the Lan.

“I assure you, it wasn’t my idea,” Wen Zhuliu said shortly.

Meanwhile, Zewu-jun peered at him narrowly. Then he said, “Forgive my presumption, Master Wen, but how is it that we are only now learning about this – this particular aspect of your ability? You have claimed dozens, if not hundreds of victims, and I find it difficult to imagine that the late Sect Leader Wen would not have made use of such a store of power as you claim to possess.”

The man's voice was pitched low and musical, and his words were polite enough for a conference-table, because apparently that’s what they were doing now – diplomacy, for f*ck’s sake – even though all four of the Yin Iron shards were currently active and they were standing in the heart of the Yiling Burial Mounds. Wen Zhuliu gave in and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“The former Sect Leader Wen did not know about this particular aspect of my ability,” he replied, “because he never asked.”

The Lans both stared at him, incredulous, and Wen Zhuliu huffed. It was as if they’d never even met anyone from the Wen Sect before, had never experienced the sheer arrogance that seemed bred into the bones of the main branch family, even Wen Chao, who was as useless as it was possible for one man to be. Had Wen Ruohan not proved, many times over, his unshakeable assumption that whatever he did not possess was not worth possessing, that whatever he did not know was not worth knowing? Had the Indoctrination Camp not been a perfect example of his expectations for unquestioning, unspeaking obedience? Wen Ruohan would never have condescended to ask his subordinate, his servant, for the particulars of the Core-Melting technique. Indeed, he would probably have cut Wen Zhuliu’s tongue from his head if he had presumed to volunteer any such information.

Neither Lan broke the silence, which was starting to extend awkwardly.

“Can you put it back,” the Jiang boy asked abruptly. “My spiritual power – my golden core – can you return it to me?”

Well, they were still focused on all the wrong things, but this at least was a step in the right direction.

“I cannot,” said Wen Zhuliu, and for Yu Ziyuan’s son he was able to make his voice steady, if not gentle. “As I said, Zidian acts as a channel, not a receptacle. But what I can do is help eliminate the Yin Iron once and for all, if Sect Leader Jiang will allow me to assist him.”

Now the Lan boy looked livid.

“You are not worthy to speak to him,” he spat, and wrenched Jiang Wanyin to his side.

Wen Zhuliu’s proposal had, apparently, breached the threshold of Lan Wangji’s famous composure. Jiang Cheng felt himself yanked backwards, enveloped in a flurry of white silk sleeves, held in place by fingers that bruised with the tightness of their grip. He was shocked to hear to Lan Wangji snarling in a voice that hardly sounded like his own:

“You are not worthy to speak to him!”

A look of exasperation crossed Wen Zhuliu’s stoic features, and he made to reach for Jiang Cheng again.

Lan Wangji had Bichen unsheathed faster than Jiang Cheng could blink, the sword an unwavering extension of his long arm, aimed straight at Wen Zhuliu’s throat.

“Lay so much as a finger on him, and you will regret it.”

Wide-eyed, Jiang Cheng looked up. Lan Wangji’s face could have been set in stone, his scowl was thunderous enough to rival any of Jiang Cheng’s own, but he could feel the fine tremors threading Lan Wangji’s rigid muscles, and he realized that his fiancé was equal parts furious and terrified.

Jiang Cheng was familiar with the feeling, so he squeezed Lan Wangji’s arm and hoped it was some small comfort.

“We do not have time to indulge in histrionics,” Wen Zhuliu said flatly. “As Zewu-jun surmised, over the years I have taken hundreds of golden cores, hundreds of lives, and as a result I contain an unmatched reservoir of spiritual power. I believe it would be enough to destroy the Yin Iron, if it was first channeled through Zidian.”

“Why?” demanded Jiang Cheng. “Why do you need Zidian?”

Wen Zhuliu fixed him with his flat, black stare, and said, “The recipients of my gift were – unwilling.”

Jiang Cheng flinched. Lan Wangji’s arm tightened around him.

“They were your victims,” Lan Wangji corrected him, icily, and Jiang Cheng felt sick. He knew, better than most, that the touch of the Core Melting Hand was excruciatingly painful. If he had died in that kind of agony – and then been trapped – unable to cross the bridge, unable to taste Meng Po’s soup, unable to forget his suffering…

“The energy has grown resentful over time, and no wonder,” added Lan Xichen, nearly as cold. “You need Zidian to purify the energy as you transfer it.”

Wen Zhuliu hesitated, then nodded – a quick, sharp jerk of his head. f*cking marvelous, Jiang Cheng thought. Just my f*cking luck.

He thought vaguely that perhaps he should feel angry. Or put-upon. Or frightened. Instead, he just felt impossibly tired.

Once again, he was face to face with someone who looked at him and saw only the parts that they thought they could use, or wanted to take. Like he was nothing more than a fragile vessel for Zidian’s power, or the young and unready leader of a vulnerable Sect, or – how had Jin Guangyao described him? – oh yes, “a younger version of Yu Ziyuan.”

A little something extra to sweeten the deal for anyone wanting to f*ck him, and also f*ck him over, while jockeying for power and position.

For a moment, he closed his eyes and wished he could just drift away into the sky, unmoored and untethered as the lotus-painted lantern he’d released at Cloud Recesses. It felt like a lifetime ago.

I was so stupid, he thought dully. All I wanted was for the people I loved to be safe and happy. I had no idea what it would cost, and now I have to give even more, because there’s no one else who’s able to pay.

Among all his numb desolation, he felt a reluctant spark of sympathy for the stocky Wen standing in front of him. Like Wen Zhuliu, Jiang Cheng had received a “gift,” several, in fact, and everyone had assumed that he, too, would just live with it, accept it and be grateful, regardless of the duties and expectations and burdens that followed along.

His mother’s looks, her spiritual weapon, his father’s Sect – these inheritances had shaped his entire life, and he’d never really had a say in any of it.

(Jiang Cheng shivered, once, recalling just how close he’d come to having his shixiong’s golden core forced upon him, another unasked-for gift that could have changed everything…)

Fortunately, Lan Wangji’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts before he could spiral any further.

“f*ck off,” Lan Wangji was saying rudely to Wen Zhuliu.

Jiang Cheng could hear the note of fear running through Lan Wangji’s voice, though.

Jiang Cheng buried his face beneath Lan Wangji’s jaw, hiding away in the dark cascade of his hair. Not everyone wants to pick you apart until there’s nothing left, he reminded himself. Lan Wangji fell in love with you, he doesn’t care about your wealth, your status, or your cultivation. He said so himself, and he doesn’t lie. That’s why he sounds scared – it’s because he cares about what happens to you.

And somehow that was the only thing that helped Jiang Cheng steel himself, one more f*cking time, to attempt the impossible.

Jiang Cheng let himself cling to Lan Wangji for a few moments longer. Then he inhaled one last deep, fortifying, sandalwood-scented breath and gently drew himself out of Lan Wangji’s arms.

From high above, the Burial Mounds looked dim and gray and featureless, the peaks wrapped in thin mist, the valleys hidden under a deeper layer of gloom. But if Jiang Cheng looked closely, he could see movement on the mountainsides. There were long-buried armies of corpses fighting their way up to the surface, dragging their shredded flesh across the barren landscape like an army of ants crawling towards a feast, lurching forward on shattered bones. Some had already reached the vault that covered the blood pool cave, and started digging - the Yin Iron summoned them, and they responded.

Jiang Cheng looked around anxiously. Big dark clouds were forming around him and above him, surging and seething. There was a storm building, quickly, and that was good, but…

There. Far in the distance, far enough to capture the last rays of the setting sun in the pale silk of their robes – Wangji and Lan Xichen had made it beyond the perimeter of the Burial Mounds. Even carrying Chifeng-zun they were flying faster than a pair of falcons.

Jiang Cheng allowed a sigh of relief to escape his lips.

“Pay attention,” Wen Zhuliu intoned, so close to his ear that it stirred the loose strands of his hair. Jiang Cheng could not suppress a full-body shudder.

This was not ideal, given that they were both trying to keep their balance on Wen Zhuliu’s sword. And it was all very well for Wen Zhuliu to tell him to pay attention, but how the f*ck was Jiang Cheng meant to do that when the Core-Melting Hand was pressed alongside him, too close, his arm encircling Jiang Cheng’s waist as they flew higher and higher? The man’s touch made him feel sick with nerves, it made Zidian writhe with unease deep in his belly.

This man led the attack on Lotus Pier, his mind hissed sharply. This man melted your mother’s golden core. You should have f*cking pushed him off this sword already.

Jiang Cheng stuffed the feeling down and tried to concentrate on the storm he was summoning. The clouds billowed up, thicker and thicker, larger and darker, until they were like mountains looming over the Burial Mounds far below. Zidian sparked in affinity as the first flashes of lightning lit in their rolling bellies, and Wen Zhuliu tightened his grip on Jiang Cheng as the wind began to pick up.

This man just stood by while Wen Chao burned you and whipped you, bound you and forced your legs apart and…

He shuddered again, and now he was picturing Lan Wangji’s pale, tense face staring up at him as he flew away with Wen Zhuliu. He’d recognized that expression, it was the same one that Lan Wangji wore after he blasted that damned carriage to ruins and flung Wen Chao away from him, the same subtle blend of fear and fury and concern. Jiang Cheng had seen that expression by the light of Zidian when it leapt from his skin for the very first time – indigo sparks limning Lan Wangji’s elegant features, an odd contrast to Wei Wuxian raining curses on Wen Chao in the background…

“Why are you doing this,” Jiang Cheng burst out, desperate to think of anything else. “Why now?”

Wen Zhuliu was silent for a long moment.

“My core has been absorbing energy – all kinds of energies – for longer than I care to contemplate,” he finally replied. “After the sack of Lotus Pier – I found that I could no longer hold them in check.”

“Them?”

Wen Zhuliu stilled, a long line of tension down Jiang Cheng’s back.

“You said them.”

Jiang Cheng twisted around to stare at the man, heedless of the way his sword wobbled in midair. For the first time, Wen Zhuliu wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Are you talking about all the people whose cores you’ve stolen? Are – oh, f*ck, are they still conscious?”

Zidian hissed, wreathing Jiang Cheng’s fist in a gauntlet of indigo lightning as Wen Zhuliu remained silent. The very thought of Yu Ziyuan’s fiery spirit forced into awareness of her plight – trapped inside Wen Zhuliu’s core, only to be carted around like a pretty trophy in a pickpocket’s sleeve – that would be agonizing to her, humiliating, a pain worse than defeat, worse than death. He could feel his own rage building up in the storm all around; a bolt of lightning snapped past them and thunder rolled.

Then an even more sickening thought occurred to him, and his eyes widened.

“Does the Core-Melting technique allow you to f*cking steal people’s thoughts and memories, on top of their spiritual power?”

If the answer was yes – if Wen Zhuliu had invaded the private precincts of his mother’s mind – he would throw the man from his sword and f*ck the consequences.

“No,” came the leaden reply. “It does not. I am not privy to the specifics of their lives; their thoughts and memories remain their own.” He thought for a moment, then added, “At most, absorbing someone’s qi allows me to intuit their – their essence, and, to a lesser extent, their emotions.”

Wen Zhuliu clearly anticipated Jiang Cheng’s next question, for he sighed heavily and continued to speak.

“I cannot communicate with them, nor they with me.”

Jiang Cheng turned to face front again, trying to hide the tears flooding his eyes. They were so high by now that the air was growing thin, which was obviously the only reason why his chest ached so fiercely.

They flew higher, in stilted silence. He knew that the boy was dying to hear about his mother but would sooner throw himself from the sword than come out and ask him directly.

“I could tell that she was lonely,” Wen Zhuliu said eventually, reluctantly, without needing to specify who she was. “She had many disappointments in life, and she let them turn her spiteful and cold. She could not come to terms with all the things that were beyond her control, which made her lash out.”

“Yeah, no sh*t,” said the boy bitterly, and snuffled.

Thunder echoed around them forebodingly, and the clouds grew even thicker.

“She was very sad, and very frightened,” added Wen Zhuliu quietly, and the boy scoffed.

“That’s bullsh*t, my mother was never frightened a day in her life.”

“She hid her fear well, with anger,” Wen Zhuliu countered. “But since the day you were born, she feared for you.”

The boy swiveled around again, precariously, and gave him another disbelieving scowl.

“She feared that you would grow up unloved and unhappy, as she felt herself to be. She feared her own failings as a parent, and it saddened her to realize that she wouldn’t have the opportunity to improve her relationship with you. She regretted that she wouldn’t live long enough to see you come into your own.”

The boy turned away and managed a laugh that was probably meant to sound very harsh and world-weary, but ended up coming out miserably wet.

“She would have been sorrier if she’d lived to see me lose my core to you, especially if she ever found out I got caught on purpose to save Wei Wuxian. She’d have drowned me in the lake herself.”

Wen Zhuliu blinked at the back of the boy’s head.

“She would have been a fool, in that case,” said Wen Zhuliu, at which point the little Jiang whipped round to stare at him again, now looking deeply affronted. It would have been funny if it weren’t so desperately sad.

“I thought you admired her!”

“I did,” replied Wen Zhuliu, “but that doesn’t mean she was a good person, or an adequate parent. She ought to have been proud of you; you’ve accomplished something no Sect Leader has done since the days of Wen Mao.”

“Pfft. Now you’re just babbling nonsense,” the boy said stiffly.

“Am I? Look down,” said Wen Zhuliu, and pointed.

The boy peered over the edge of the sword. He was just in time to see the first great gouts of red flame erupt from the southern slope of the Burial Mounds, blasting apart the mindlessly marching columns of fierce corpses. More and more explosions followed in quick succession, timed and placed with deadly precision that only the best of the Wen fire-throwers could achieve. Each explosion sent dozens of burning corpses cartwheeling through the air, sent rockslides thundering down to entomb hundreds more.

Smoke and dust billowed over the flank of the Burial Mounds, obscuring the view. Nevertheless, here and there they could catch glimpses of many silver blades darting about. Although they were high above the battlefield, they could still hear the eerie ululations of Nie cultivators singing to their sabers as they advanced from the west. The sabers sang back to their masters, even as they sliced through corpse-meat and resentful energy without pause.

The clear sound of a xiao rang out above the growing cacophony as the Lan Sect flew in from the north, white-clad disciples following Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and Lan Wangji as neatly as a formation of geese. The first notes of Rest settled over the Burial Mounds like gently-falling snow, and a whole phalanx of fierce corpses laid themselves back down in the earth.

Finally, off to the east, they could just make out a group of cultivators on swords, approaching at speed. The Jin archers stuck together like a swarm of golden bees, while the handful of purple-clad Jiang resembled nothing so much as dragonflies. Wen Zhuliu squinted and saw that each Jiang disciple was absolutely festooned with Clarity Bells, garlands and bandoliers of silver bells that rang out brightly as they swooped around with dizzying skill. He watched one especially agile Jiang disciple (the noisy one who dressed in black, rather than the usual purple) as he flew in close to the Burial Mounds, threw himself into a sharp, banking turn, and went screaming straight up a sheer rock wall. Tendrils of resentful energy groped stupidly after him, only to be dissolved by the Clarity Bells chiming in his wake. The Jiang boy hissed with displeasure.

“Stop showing off, A-Xian, and watch where you’re going for f*ck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath.

“You see?” said Wen Zhuliu. “All five of the Great Sects are here, united in common purpose, a phenomenon that nobody has achieved since Wen Mao sat on the Fire Throne and decreed that the cultivation sects would be based on blood heritage rather than affinity.”

“Well. It’s not like I achieved it either,” the boy said, and Wen Zhuliu watched the blush on the back of his neck deepening. “Not by myself, at least, we all did something. Honestly, if anyone around here deserves to be compared to Wen Mao, it should be Nie Huaisang, even though he’d probably hate that.”

Wen Zhuliu dismissed this as nervous rambling, responding with little more than a neutral hum. He brought his sword to a standstill.

“We are high enough now, Sect Leader Jiang. Are you ready to do what even Wen Mao could not, and bring an end to the curse of the Yin Iron?”

He was right in assuming that Yu Ziyuan’s son would rise to meet any challenge. The boy straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and nodded.

Wen Zhuliu pressed his hand to the boy’s back and opened the floodgates wide.

Afterwards, Wen Zhuliu couldn’t remember how long it took. The energies inside of him came roaring out in a flood, howling and shrieking with resentment – a clamorous chorus of fury, hunger, betrayal, bereavement, envy, guilt, shame, rage, grief, despair – every tone and note of human anguish. They clawed at him as they went, mad for revenge, trying to rip his own spirit to shreds as he brought down all his carefully constructed walls.

Dimly, he registered that some of the muddiest, ugliest energies – the ones that had belonged to criminals, rapists, murderers, traitors, and the like – went relatively quietly, as if on some level, they had found their punishment just. Some belonged to honorable opponents who had fallen to him in battle; they went briskly, having accepted their lot as warriors. But others stormed through him with bright-burning agony: the people he had killed because some Wen Sect Leader or another had disagreed with their opinions or their beliefs, found them insufficiently respectful, or considered them just plain annoying. Some had worked hard, performing to the best of their abilities, but failed in their tasks nevertheless, and died for it. And of course, towards the end he had killed people for no reason at all. Plenty of people with bad fortune, in the wrong place at the wrong time, who’d died merely to assuage Wen Ruohan’s paranoid suspicions. They were the most resentful of all – well, almost.

The fury of two lovers who had been sentenced to death for eloping without permission nearly brought him to his knees.

The first mighty crack of thunder had burst both of Wen Zhuliu’s eardrums, but he assumed the boy was screaming – every cord on his neck and throat stood out in sharp relief, and his muscles were locked in place, so rigid that he might have been carved from stone. Wen Zhuliu had little attention to spare, but he was pretty sure the boy was barely able to draw breath.

Wen Zhuliu kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut, but bolt after bolt after bolt of too-bright, too-constant lightning dazzled him nevertheless, searing right through the skin of the lids. It leapt from the clouds to the boy, lighting him up like a flare, before pouring down upon the Burial Mounds in a blazing, roaring torrent. Wen Zhuliu could no longer hear anything, but the force of it shook his bones, his gut; it rattled his teeth and scrambled his thoughts. It went on and on and on.

And then – it all stopped.

Wen Zhuliu risked a glance.

He could just discern a jagged, glowing mass – the heart of the Burial Mounds, reflecting the sullen redness of cooling slag up into the towering clouds. Beneath that lay the Yin Iron, the blood pool cave, and the scorched remains of Wen Ruohan, Wen Chao, and Jin Guangyao – now and forever entombed within a mountain of obsidian glass.

Then Wen Zhuliu’s watery gaze cleared slightly, and he spotted a scrap of purple fluttering in the sky far below.

Oh, he thought vaguely, disoriented by the ringing in his head and the high, tinny whine in his ears. He stretched out a trembling arm, reaching for that little purple scrap, but it was already too small, too far away, he was much too late.

His sword tilted catastrophically forward, then abruptly plummeted away, out from beneath his feet. He could feel himself starting to fall.

The last thing he saw before he shut his eyes again was a single blue-white spark, rising from the Burial Mounds like the morning star and shooting towards Jiang Wanyin’s falling body, arms outstretched in desperation.

Ah, he thought, and allowed himself to let go completely, feeling the last remnant of many lifetimes slip away, almost comfortably. In the rushing of the wind and the echo of his own heart, he let himself remember his brother’s voice saying farewell.