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They sounded their war horns and raised their flags high. Then marched in with their Lan noses upturned high, evil smirks playing across all of their faces.
It had been a sudden ambush—there wouldn’t have been a chance to escape. Not even a hope of survival. They didn’t even stand a fighting chance.
It’s all over now.
Wei Ying felt his heart crippling with the realisation before he even emerged from his tent. Grimacing, he pressed a hand to his throbbing side, feeling pain flare with each hesitant step he took toward the front lines—where his worst fears awaited him. His dark, loose robes hung open wide in the front, revealing the paleness of his chest and the unmistakable etchings of the Wen sun branded into his skin.
Behind him, he heard Lan Zhan’s footsteps quicken, a quiet urgency threading through his voice: “Wei Ying.”
He drew closer, clutching Wei Ying’s arm firmly with a gentle touch, as though still hoping to offer him some sort of solace.
But it was too late for anything now.
They’ve found us.
Time stretched on, as the world around him moved in a hauntingly slow-motion. The Lan soldiers rushed forward, their armour glinting menacingly in the waning light. Even then, Wei Ying’s heart began to race—with an odd sense of defiance.
At least now, the nightmare was finally over, he thought, though it tasted bitter on his tongue. Or perhaps, he realised with a chilling clarity: hadn’t it just begun?
A wild laughter bubbled up from deep within his chest, a desperate, almost insane reaction to the hopelessness of it all.
All around him, the Wens slowly came out of their tents. Some had been in the middle of chores—hanging laundry that fluttered gently in the breeze, others stirring pots over small fires, diligently preparing for dinner. But now, everything had come to a sudden halt. The life Wei Ying had forged for them, the fleeting happiness they had managed to snatch from the shadows in this godforsaken world... was about to all disappear.
They stood frozen, eyes wide, faces draining of colour as soldiers swarmed their camp in all four directions. Horror washing over them at what was to come.
Wei Ying couldn’t bear to meet their gazes. He thought he might cry.
All my promises to them are for naught now.
The sea of soldiers parted like a wave, allowing their commanders and the crown prince to advance to the front. They rode in on their horses with authoritative strides, the clatter of hooves striking against the ground like thunder.
Lan Xichen led the way, his face a mask of haughty righteousness that Wei Ying recognised all too well from their last encounter on the battlefield. The white and blue of his battle robes flowed all around him, like silk woven from the very clouds. The royal crest of the Lan clan shone brightly on his chest, while the high crown perched atop his head seemed almost to mock his newly attained captors.
As Lan Xichen’s gaze settled on the pair standing before him, a glimmer of renewed interest sparked in his eyes. The coldness in his expression… seemingly accompanied a hint of misplaced affection, that sent a shiver down Wei Ying’s spine.
What was that for?
Wei Ying straightened, forcing himself to meet Lan Xichen’s piercing stare. Lan Zhan continued to stand firm beside him—his sweet, silent anchor. His hand fell to take Wei Ying’s, fingers intertwining as he squeezed him gently, offering up strength that Wei Ying so desperately needed in this moment.
Just enough for a spark of courage to ignite inside of him.
“Crown Prince,” Wei Ying called out with his head held high and his long tresses of hair sweeping behind him, determined to keep his voice steady despite the tremor of fear beneath. He knew the answer, but he still asked anyway: “What brings you here?”
Lan Xichen’s lips curved into a small, condescending smile, as though he were amused by Wei Ying’s boldness to still challenge him.
“What a nice, lovely place you’ve got here,” Lan Xichen replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he lazily scanned the camp. “What a shame this little sanctuary is wasted on a bunch of war criminals.”
Wei Ying felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks, anger building in response to the words. How easily Lan Xichen dismissed the lives they had built, the fragile peace they had fought so hard to create. The Wens behind him stiffened, a collective tension rippling through their ranks at the horrid accusation.
“We are not criminals,” Wei Ying shot back, his voice rising with indignation. “My people are the young, the old, the sick. We’ve sought refuge from the very violence that has torn our lives apart. We are just trying to survive.”
At that, Lan Xichen raised an eyebrow, suppressing his laughter. Leaning forward in his saddle, he continued to question, “Do you think yourself a martyr, fighting to death for a hopeless cause? Why do you defend those who are not your flesh and blood? Us Lans have always treated the Jiangs very well. Because of your actions, they are now spurned in the capital. How ever do you live with yourself, trading your very kin for our enemies?”
Wei Ying stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated. Even if the words had stung, cutting deeper than he expected… Jiejie… A-Cheng…
The crown prince had the audacity to look bored. “Whatever this is,” he gestured about rather nonchalantly. “You’ve made your bed, Wei Wuxian. Now you, and your people, must lie in it. The Lan kingdom does not take kindly to those who defy the laws of the land and run from their punishment.”
“Laws?” Wei Ying scoffed, his anger boiling over. “What laws protect the innocent? What laws justify the pain you inflict on those who have done nothing wrong?”
Lan Xichen’s expression darkened, and for a moment, the amusement in his gaze faded, replaced by a glint of something so…perilous. “The innocent?” he argued. “You claim innocence while harbouring those who have wreaked havoc across the land. You may see yourselves as victims, but the world sees you lot rather differently.”
“You don’t know them,” Wei Ying sneered at him. “You don’t understand the choices they’ve had to make to survive. They’ve lost everything—families, homes, dreams. Now they’re doomed to live the rest of their lives out on the run, never again to find peace. Survival is not a crime!”
Behind him, Lan Zhan remained as quiet as a mouse. Wei Ying sensed he might even fear the crown prince a little. After all, Lan Zhan was merely a rogue soldier, one who had risked everything and turned his back on the empire, likely with family still in the capital. Wei Ying couldn’t blame him for his apprehension. The stakes were high, and they had much to lose.
But they were still here, standing resolutely, side by side.
This time, it was Wei Ying’s turn to squeeze Lan Zhan’s hand. Lan Zhan must have been scared stiff, because he didn’t react at all, much less say a word. Wei Ying was worried enough to turn around and check on him, when Lan Xichen’s voice rudely snapped his attention back to the front.
“I admire your bravery, Yiling Patriarch, but it is misplaced. You are not as strong as you think.” Muttering under his breath, Lan Xichen lamented to himself: “What a waste of valiant honour…”
Wei Ying took a deep breath, knowing the inevitable end was near. “Fighting for what is right will never be a waste. Your royal highness, let us no longer beat around the bush. Name me your price, and let the Wens go. I will serve their sentences tenfold, if it means you’ll spare them.”
This, Lan Zhan actually reacted to.
“Wei Ying!” His alarmed cry pierced through the air, his beautiful golden eyes flaring wide with fear. “Do not offer up yourself as a sacrifice!”
Wei Ying’s heart ached at the panic in Lan Zhan’s voice. “It is not a sacrifice if it protects them,” Wei Ying assured him, with a sorry smile.
A trace of sympathy flickered across Lan Xichen’s face at this point, although it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
“I will be needing no such sacrifice,” Lan Xichen flippantly answered. And then, his smile turned sly: “You have won the ice-cold heart of my brother, who has relentlessly begged me for your pardon. For this awe-inspiring feat of yours, you will be spared.”
For a moment, Wei Ying felt confusion wash over him, his heart wildly pounding in his chest. “I do not know your brother,” he said. “I…I do not even know his name.” He knew of the Second Prince, the infamous war god, but he could hardly recall his birth name.
Never expecting that to be his very downfall.
A bemused expression crossed the crown prince’s face as he turned his gaze towards Lan Zhan, who stood rigid right next to Wei Ying. “Wangji,” he called. “Were you ever planning to tell him?”
All at once, Wei Ying felt his entire world shatter.
.
.
.
Wei Ying’s voice was unbearably soft when it left him. “But Lan Zhan’s on our side,” he whispered out, and it took everything in him not to say mine.
The word lingered on the tip of his tongue, as though everything was finally clicking into place, as if the truth had long already made itself clear. He’d simply ignored all of the signs.
And Lan Zhan had to hide his heartbroken gaze as he revealed, all the while squeezing Wei Ying’s hand in his own, his voice thick with unspoken sorrow, “No, I am not.”
Somewhere in the dizzy haze of endless nights filled with pleasure and laughter, Wei Ying realised he’d been betrayed.
The man standing before him was not “Lan Zhan”, the poor, humble, quiet soldier Wei Ying had shared so many nights of warmth with. He’d never merely been a rogue soldier, one that had defected from the army in times of war. No, standing in his place was warrior prince “Lan Wangji” who was as cold as ice, with hands trained for killing and the ability to harden his heart to pretend as though the last month with Wei Ying and the Wens hadn’t mattered at all—not one bit.
Lan Zhan had fooled them all.
But most of all, Wei Ying.
Wei Ying ripped his hand away as his blood immediately ran hot, eyes burning with the crimson flare of rage and disbelief. All around him, the Wens watched on in shock, their breath caught in their throats. Wen Ning’s face had completely paled, and Wen Qing had grown hostile with anger. Wen-popo briefly lost consciousness from the shock, and had to be supported by the others who scrambled to help her back on her feet right before she hit the ground.
Suddenly, the dirt and grime A-Yuan had smeared into Lan Zhan’s hair earlier in the day no longer made the man look as beguiling. As Lan Zhan wiped the soot from his forehead, the illusion fell away, and Wei Ying finally saw him for what he truly was:
The greatest warrior of their lands, his features sharp and perfect like polished jade, his skin flawless, the bearing of royalty unmistakable. His true nature oozed power, and Wei Ying’s stomach churned at the sight of it.
Lan Zhan’s startling likeness to the crown prince finally made sense.
Moments ago, he was still his cute little fuddy-duddy of a lover. Now… he’d turned into a complete stranger.
How had Wei Ying been so blind? How could he have believed it was mere coincidence that a poor soldier had stumbled into his safe refuge for the Wens? And how could he have missed the truth—the way Lan Zhan’s quiet elegance had so easily charmed him, sweeping him off his feet like it was all part of some masterful design?
“When this is all over,” Lan Zhan had told him back then, his voice gentle in the quiet of the fields, as they dug into the soft earth to plant A-Yuan’s latest radish seed, “I will take you to a place far away from here, safe and full of comfort. I promise you will never want for anything in your life.”
Wei Ying had laughed it off, thinking them nothing more than empty promises and bittersweet dreams as he bounced A-Yuan in his arms. “What a bold proposal, Lan Zhan. Making such a daring promise to the Yiling Patriarch—do you really believe you can live up to it?”
But Lan Zhan never faltered. He met Wei Ying’s smile with that steady, determined force of a gaze, the one that Wei Ying had long grown used to but never fully understood. “Whatever Wei Ying wants, I will provide.”
He’d been so sure then. Wei Ying had no idea that behind those words lay the resolve of a prince’s vow, a promise made not just from the heart… but from the frightening power and status Wei Ying never realised Lan Zhan already possessed.
It all made sense, now.
Why nothing ever fazed the so-called peasant soldier, why no amount of bloodshed or violence ever frightened the man. Even when Wei Ying had shown him the scar across his abdomen, the place where he’d been so brutally sliced open from before, Lan Zhan hadn’t flinched. He had only bent down to kiss the long scar softly, with a tenderness that felt out of place for someone who’d seen so much death.
A normal peasant soldier would have had no stake in this war, and ran the first chance they got, back to their wives, their children, and their homes. But Lan Zhan—Lan Wangji—had no such ties. He had no simple life to return to. Only a kingdom waiting for him to fulfil his duty, to carry out his brother’s bloodthirsty demands.
This was a man who had single-handedly massacred armies, and fought for his kingdom’s gain with cold, unfeeling precision and a startlingly high kill count. A prince of unimaginable strength, bound by duty and loyalty only to his own people.
So why would Lan Wangji ever make such an exception for him?
“You… you,” Wei Ying’s voice shook, horror spreading through his chest as he turned to the man he had embraced to sleep far too many nights for his own good. Finger harshly pointing at Lan Zhan, he felt his heart cave in painfully as the enormity of his mistake finally dawned unto him. “You came here to slaughter all of us. And I, like a blind fool, welcomed you into our camp—with open arms!”
His mistake was no longer just his to bear. Now, everyone would also pay the price. One by one, the Wens—Wen Qing, Wen Ning, even Wen-popo—were seized by the Lan soldiers, their struggling, malnourished forms helpless against the overpowering forces. A-Yuan cried out in fear, his small arms outstretched as he, too, was taken away.
Wei Ying’s breath came out in shallow gasps, on the verge of a panic attack; barely hearing the heavy footsteps approaching as the crown prince disembarked from his horse and strode toward him. “You are what is left of our opposing forces. We’ve scoured the lands just to find you, Wei Wuxian.”
Wei Ying squeezed his fists until his knuckles turned white, every fibre of his being rejecting the truth that stared him in the face.
“You sent your best soldier to hunt me down,” he spat, blinking back the hot tears that threatened to flow. “Everything was a lie. The happiness, the laughter, the…”
—nights spent in the tent, blowing out candles and tangling their limbs together under the sheets. Memories flooded in, vivid and cruel. The intimacy, the affection, the promises whispered into the silence of night.
How was Wei Ying supposed to discern the truth, from the lie?
At that, Lan Zhan found the strength to speak.
“Not that,” he murmured, eyes full of raw, harrowing emotion that cut through his cold facade. “Anything but that. Every night I spent with you, Wei Ying—it was true…”
Lan Xichen’s tone was tight with disapproval, though he clearly spoke in defence of his brother. “Wangji begged me for your pardon, above all else. I rejected it, but he was persistent. If you cannot believe even this much, of his affections for you, you insult our grace and kindness toward you.”
Wei Ying no longer believed in anything. He hissed out, in a spurned, rather feline-like manner, “I do not need your stupid pardon. Do not even attempt to humour me with this—it’s pathetic.”
Now, Lan Xichen took this personally. In a flash, he’d drawn his sword, the blade glinting in the evening darkness. “Wangji is not pathetic! Do you even know—how much he fought me, how much he was willing to risk—just for you?”
“Brother.” Lan Zhan stopped him, in a plea that was quiet but firm. It was enough to halt Lan Xichen, and have him lower his sword.
Wei Ying snapped his head back toward Lan Zhan, the blood in his veins now the one turning ice-cold. “I’d rather your brother run me through with his sword right now,” he snarled. “Than receive your pardon and be subject to you. Tell me, what must I do in exchange for your so-called pardon? It surely comes at a hefty cost to me.”
“You are the foolish one, Wei Wuxian, for looking a gift horse in the mouth!” Lan Xichen boomed, with the full authority of a crown prince.
But Wei Ying remained eerily calm as he held his ground. “Tell me, Crown Prince,” he implored, “what does your sickening brother want with me?”
Lan Zhan will not let his brother speak for him.
“Marriage,” he quietly said. “You will marry me.”
The words hit Wei Ying like a punch to the gut. Lan Zhan had stolen his innocence—and now he sought to steal the rest of his life by binding him to himself, forever.
Lan Xichen already had his sword raised, poised and ready to strike. It would be so easy for Wei Ying to take that one final step, and walk right into it.
Moving forward, Wei Ying met the edge of the blade head-on, his eyes locked with the crown prince’s.
“Kill me,” he said with grim finality, his voice like steel. “I choose death instead.”
Better to strike him down, and end it here and now. Better that than to live a life shackled to a man who had deceived him, betrayed him; even if that man had once been the only one who truly made him feel alive.
The tip of the sword pressed against Wei Ying’s cheek, just hard enough to produce a shallow cut, but not enough to draw blood.
Before the sword could inflict any further damage, Lan Zhan leapt to defend Wei Ying, slapping his brother’s weapon aside.
“Wei Ying, do not be foolish!” he urgently exclaimed.
Wei Ying’s chest heaved, in fury and in pain. “You are the foolish one,” he snapped back. “If you think I am willing to go back with you like I’m some—common whore, a war prize! I am no one’s prize in this war. I am—” and Wei Ying was panting at this point, blood trickling from his lips from how hard he was biting them. The long silken strands of his hair flew wildly in the electrifying tension of the moment, as if charged with the raw energy swirling around them. “—I am the Yiling Patriarch!”
Even the ground seemed to shake with the ferocity of his energy, vibrating with every pulse of defiance from him that could not be contained.
“You are not a whore,” Lan Zhan’s face was aghast with horror at the thought. “Wei Ying, you will be afforded all of the privileges of—the consort of a royal prince. Wei Ying, I can give you everything…”
“—Then unhand the Wens right now!” Wei Ying barked, fury blazing in his eyes. “All of them, right now! You say you… love me, Lan Zhan? So why can’t you do this for me? Spare the Wens and prove your love for me. Didn’t you say you wanted to give me the world? Prove it, or you’re a liar!”
Wei Ying was going off the rails, his emotions spiralling, at his very wit’s end.
Lan Xichen simply stood there, a knowing look in his eyes. He knew he had them right where he wanted.
Lan Zhan looked like he was caught between a rock and a hard place. “Wei Ying,” he began, his voice strained, “it’s not that simple—”
“It is that simple!” Wei Ying interrupted, in an anguished cry. “If you truly love me, if you truly care for what I want, then you have to make this right! Prove to me that you’re more than just a soldier obeying orders. Prove that you’re the man I thought you were! Otherwise, how can I believe any word you say? How can I ever trust you again?”
And yet Lan Zhan could not bring himself to utter anything in return. The guilt splashed across his face spoke volumes, but his inaction conveyed even more.
Wei Ying felt utterly sickened by it.
Turning his back on them, Lan Xichen bellowed orders at the rest of his soldiers. “Chain the Wens, and take them back to the capital.”
One of the soldiers stepped forward to ask, uncertainty creeping into his voice, “…And the Yiling Patriarch, sir?”
“My brother will handle him,” Lan Xichen said, casting a snide glance at Lan Zhan. “He is most adept at managing the Patriarch, aren’t you, Wangji?”
“…Mn,” Lan Zhan murmured.
Wei Ying was unwilling to go down without a fight. He kicked and thrashed, refusing to be subdued. But as much as he struggled against Lan Zhan’s hold, he was no match for the warrior prince. Months of starvation at the burial mounds had rendered him weak—far weaker than he had ever been.
Fit to become the warrior prince’s consort.
They passed by a wide-eyed A-Yuan, being manhandled in the hands of a soldier, confusion and fear written across his small face.
“Gege?” A-Yuan asked timidly of Lan Zhan. “Why are you with the bad guys? Are you a bad guy?”
Lan Zhan’s heart sank at the innocent question, as he struggled to find the right words. “A-Yuan, we are not bad people,” he began.
“But you’re making Wei-gege cry,” A-Yuan whispered, his big eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Somewhere along the way, Wei Ying had covered his face with one hand, desperately trying to hide his red eyes from the child who looked up to him.
Months of being on the run, of securing a place of refuge for the Wens, of convincing them that they had a future, that they would finally be safe—all down the drain now.
All because he had fallen in love.
“Please, don’t cry, Wei-gege,” A-Yuan pleaded softly, his voice growing fainter in the distance as Lan Zhan carried Wei Ying away. “Please be strong… If not… The rest of us…”
He didn’t need to complete his sentence. Wei Ying knew what he meant.
“I’m sorry, A-Yuan, everyone,” he hiccupped into his hands clamped over his mouth, the words breaking free from him in muffled sobs. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I’ll never love again.
.
.
.
He still remembered the day Lan Zhan had stumbled into their camp, a limp in his step and blood seeping from a deep gash in his leg. Wei Ying hadn’t thought anyone capable of injuring themselves so heavily just to gain entry into their little sanctuary. He’d assumed Lan Zhan was yet another casualty of the never-ending war, a desperate soldier seeking shelter.
But the warrior prince had faced far worse horrors in battle; a self-inflicted wound was a small price to pay for the chance to finally lay eyes on the Yiling Patriarch for the very first time.
Lan Zhan had heard the rumours, seen the sketches; and he had thought Wei Wuxian to be a repulsive, ugly man.
He could not have been more mistaken.
“Wow,” Lan Zhan had softly uttered then, the small noise of surprise slipping from his lips before he could stop it. The pain in his leg had long dulled, paling in comparison to the grief he knew lay in his future.
The Yiling Patriarch. Wei Wuxian, who he would come to affectionately know as Wei Ying.
“Oh god, you’re delirious,” Wei Ying had said then, rushing to his aid.
He tended to Lan Zhan’s leg, wrapping it with the best materials he could find, without even a hint of doubt about whether he was friend or foe. He simply didn’t care. Wei Ying was like that; kindness came as naturally to him as breathing.
The gash in Lan Zhan’s leg wasn’t particularly grave; still, he found himself wondering if he was on the brink of death because he was definitely seeing an angel.
“Do you need a place to stay?” Wei Ying asked gently, brushing the hair from Lan Zhan’s awestruck eyes.
Lan Zhan couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from those pretty silver orbs gracing his sight.
“Forever, please,” he replied, almost absentmindedly, without even registering what Wei Ying was really asking. He grasped the Yiling Patriarch’s thin wrist, and found himself needily begging, “I would like to stay forever.”
Wei Ying laughed so delightfully, a melodious sound that tickled Lan Zhan’s heart, “We’d all like to stay here forever.”
But who really knew what the future would bring? Who could say when the Lans would pounce on them again?
Wei Ying eventually took Lan Zhan in like a wounded baby bird in need of tending, showing him around their makeshift camp without prying into his past. They were all prisoners of war who had narrowly escaped the brutal clutches of the Lan kingdom, after all. Every one of them bore a story of their own, many dark and painful, and not very pleasant to recount.
“You’ll have to lay low, like the rest of us here,” Wei Ying said. “The Lans are merciless and have been hunting us down. They leave no survivors. I gathered what was left of us and brought them away. With me, you’ll be safe from the Lans. No matter what your story is, I’ll protect you, okay?”
The one you really need protection from, Lan Zhan thought quietly to himself then, is me.
“You will need another soldier here,” Lan Zhan told him, eyeing the old, the frail, and the needy around them. “I can help defend you all… from the rest of them.”
My brother… my armies… my men.
“Whoa, take it easy,” Wei Ying laughed, shaking his head at the bold suggestion. “You’re still hurt!”
“I can be of use,” Lan Zhan insisted stubbornly, pushing himself off the ground despite the pain throbbing in his leg. “I can fight. I will patrol the area while you sleep.”
“Hey, hey, listen to me,” Wei Ying smiled at him so gently, his sweet, sweet angel. “I don’t need anything from you. I never will. I just want you to recover.”
Lan Zhan hesitated. “You… do not want anything?” he asked, surprised by the sincerity he saw in Wei Ying’s eyes.
“I do not,” Wei Ying replied, helping him to his feet, seeing as Lan Zhan refused to remain resting on the ground. “I will never ask anything of you. Just calm down—you’re safe here. Come on, I’ll take you to meet the others. And little A-Yuan! You’ll love the boy.”
Lan Zhan did, in fact, adore the boy.
He sipped the broth that they later served him—nothing but bland water mixed with wild mushrooms. Yet as he sat in this cold, dreary place, he came to a startling realisation that he had never felt this much warmth before.
Not in the palace, not even with his own men.
How tragic it is, he thought then and there, with a heart that had never felt so heavy; that his duty was to massacre them all.
.
.
.
They ransacked and looted the camp, ultimately taking nothing with them—for there is nothing worth taking. The Wens did not have a lot, but they had true happiness, love, and family. The guards chained the prisoners, forcing them to walk barefoot and trail behind the horses as the soldiers jeered and taunted them the entire way back to the capital.
Wei Ying was the only exception. He was made to sit beside Lan Zhan in the sedan, as Lan Zhan did not trust that Wei Ying would not attempt anything murderous should he take him back on his horse.
He did not chain Wei Ying up, unlike the others. If he did, he’d truly be treating him like a war prisoner. And Wei Ying was the furthest from such a thing. He was to be his imperial consort.
In the cramped confines of the sedan, Wei Ying positioned himself at the farthest end, adamant in his refusal to touch Lan Zhan; not even the brush of a stray hair. His hand remained pressed over his eyes as he murmured softly to himself, “I’ve failed them all.”
But Lan Zhan thought to himself, it is I who have failed all of you.
Neither spoke for the rest of the journey, both too heartbroken to utter a single word.
Amid the thick silence, Wei Ying only asked one thing. “What… will become of them? Will your brother slaughter them all?”
Lan Zhan’s voice emerged strained, burdened by the truth he could hardly bear to voice, “The boy will live.”
Wei Ying could laugh, but the bitterness in his voice eclipsed it. “How noble of you to spare the child.”
“He’s almost ours,” Lan Zhan confessed, looking away. Whether out of shame or something else, Wei Ying didn’t care to find out.
In that moment, Wei Ying only saw red.
“That’s the only reason you spared him,” he shouted, words sharp with accusation. “You see him as ours!”
The sheer audacity!
“Wei Ying—”
This time, his laughter was maniacal. “You think we’re going to be a happy family, you, me, and him?”
Wei Ying’s voice rose with challenge, “Do you really think you’re fit to be a father, Lan Wangji? After everything you’ve told me? Your sick mother, your insane father? Or were all those stories lies too?”
“No,” Lan Zhan protested quickly, his eyes going wide with desperation. “No, those were all true. I did not lie about any of it.”
“So, knowing what your father did to your mother—having lived to tell the tale, and show the scars from it, even—you wish to repeat history?”
“I am not my father,” Lan Zhan insisted, horrified. “A-Yuan knows that. A-Yuan sees me as something different.”
Wei Ying’s gaze hardened. “After today, he’ll never trust you again.”
Lan Zhan had nothing to say to that.
He knew Wei Ying was simply lashing out, from the anger and betrayal.
In time to come, he’d come to see things very differently.
“And what about you,” Lan Zhan softly asked of him. “Will you not see reason, Wei Ying? Will you not remember our nights together…”
Wei Ying’s face turned sombre as he answered in a hoarse whisper, “You reached into my chest and ripped my heart out right before my eyes, Lan Wangji.” His breath trembled, and his eyes slid shut, as though closing them would somehow block out the weight of his pain. The ache in his chest was unbearable, suffocating, but the words spilled out anyway, each one more venomous than the last. “You’ve betrayed everything I ever stood for. I will never forgive you.”
.
.
.
Many nights ago, Wei Ying had already suspected something was amiss. He had been on edge for days, watching the way shadows seemed to stretch longer, and the way the camp felt quieter than normal, as though danger was lurking just beyond the trees.
That night, he returned to the tent he shared with Lan Zhan and drew the flaps close behind him.
“There’s a spy among us,” Wei Ying confided in his lover. “A traitor. Or someone desperate enough to have made a deal with the Wens, I’m not sure.”
Lan Zhan paused in the middle of his sewing, his needle hovering over a fraying seam in Wei Ying’s robes. He didn’t look up immediately, but his hands stilled, and his heart beat a little faster, though he kept his voice even.
“What makes you think that?” Lan Zhan asked carefully, his eyes lifting to meet Wei Ying’s.
Wei Ying began pacing in the small tent, running a hand through his hair, visibly troubled. “I was patrolling outside just now,” he furiously vented. “I saw tracks in the soil again—big ones. Too big to be ours. They looked to be from military boots.”
Lan Zhan stiffened. He had buried the evidence from last night, he was sure of it. Had something been left behind? Had he made a mistake, in his rush to return to Wei Ying’s bedside?
Wei Ying didn’t notice the brief flicker of panic in Lan Zhan’s eyes as he continued, growing more agitated, “This isn’t the first time, either. They’ve been getting closer, tracking us down wherever we go. Someone’s feeding them information, Lan Zhan, I’m sure of it. Someone in our camp.”
Lan Zhan knew it was inevitable that Wei Ying would piece things together sooner or later, but still, it was far too early for that. He still had to tread carefully, or risk losing everything.
“Are you sure they were from the Lans?” Lan Zhan asked, feigning scepticism.
Wei Ying paused, kneading his temples in frustration. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But I can’t shake the feeling. I don’t feel safe here anymore, Lan Zhan. Tomorrow morning, we’re moving camp.”
“That’s the third time this month,” Lan Zhan pointed out softly, trying to keep his tone neutral.
“We have to go,” Wei Ying insisted.
Lan Zhan quietly set the robe aside and rose to his feet, moving toward Wei Ying. His hands, so calloused from the many years of training and battle, were gentle as he cupped Wei Ying’s face, his thumbs brushing lightly against his cheeks. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead, trying to offer him comfort in the only way he knew how.
“Alright,” Lan Zhan murmured in reply. “We will move if that’s what you want. I will get the camp ready at first light.”
Wei Ying let out a heavy sigh, some of the tension in his shoulders easing at Lan Zhan’s words. “Thank you, Lan Zhan,” he said, leaning into the touch for just a moment. “I know I’m being paranoid, but I can’t lose this. I can’t lose them. I made a promise.”
Lan Zhan’s heart tugged. Wei Ying had given everything to protect these people, and yet here he stood, unknowingly beside the one who had been putting them in danger this whole while.
But Lan Zhan couldn’t let him know that. Not yet.
“You are not paranoid, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispered. “We will get far away from them. I will help you. We will keep everyone safe. I will keep you safe. A-Yuan, safe.”
Wei Ying managed a small, tired smile at that, his thoughts drifting to the boy. “He’s our little ray of sunshine. We can’t let anything happen to him.”
Lan Zhan hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I promise,” he vowed, “as long as I live, no harm will come to A-Yuan.”
When Wei Ying finally fell asleep that night, Lan Zhan slipped quietly out of their tent. The night was silent, save for the distant chirping of crickets. He made his way to the backhills of the camp, where Wei Ying had noticed the unfamiliar tracks earlier.
There, hidden among the trees, were two soldiers—Lan soldiers, fresh from Gusu. They’d set up their camp a short distance from the Wen’s, readying themselves for an attack. Lan Zhan caught them just as they were preparing to fire arrows toward Wei Ying’s tent.
Without a word, Lan Zhan stepped forward, his presence immediately drawing their attention.
“Hanguang-jun!” one of the soldiers exclaimed, hastily lowering his bow in shock. The other followed suit, both standing at attention. “We didn’t expect you here. The crown prince told us you might join us.”
They dared to aim their weapons at Wei Ying. His Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan had no intention of letting either of them leave here alive.
“The crown prince and I did not agree on this,” he said coldly, his hand resting on the hilt of his own sword. “Now is not the time to strike.”
The two soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, more daring than the other, spoke again. “The crown prince has grown impatient.”
Lan Zhan’s jaw clenched at the reminder. He knew his brother very well. He’d been carefully biding his time, to wait before striking, but he knew the crown prince would soon grow restless at the lack of movement on his end. Lan Zhan didn’t usually take this long with his kills. He was never one to take the time to fatten up his prey; he usually swept in for the kill.
But this—this brash and reckless order from the crown prince—had almost jeopardised everything.
He looked down at the two soldiers who stood before him, his grip tightening on his sword. The temptation to strike them down on the spot was growing stronger with each second.
“I see,” Lan Zhan said, in a rather measured tone. He easily towered over them, his imposing height casting a large shadow that seemed to swallow the two soldiers whole. “Did the crown prince instruct both of you to act on this? Knowing very well that I am more than capable of handling this task myself?”
The two soldiers’ eyes shifted nervously. “It’s not that you’re incapable, Hanguang-jun!” one of them stammered. “The crown prince is concerned for your safety. He wishes for you to return home once the mission is complete.”
“Maiming the Yiling Patriarch now is not only premature,” Lan Zhan growled, “it is foolish. I will lose everything that I’ve worked so hard for.”
A family. A son.
One of the soldiers spoke up again. “We could not disobey the crown prince’s orders, Hanguang-jun.”
Lan Zhan’s gaze darkened coldly. “Then your only mistake was obeying the wrong prince.”
Neither of them even saw it coming—his hands was quick, his violence striking them like a blade. In an instant, both men were lying lifeless at his feet, their necks broken, their lives already forgotten.
They had meant nothing to him. Not when Wei Ying’s life was at stake.
From the soldiers’ uniforms, Lan Zhan retrieved a parchment and an inked feather, and began to write to his brother.
Wei Ying and A-Yuan, he pleaded with his brother. That is all I ask for.
Time was slipping away, and he knew his brother was already on his way. Lan Zhan understood his brother’s heart well and the lessons imparted by their uncle: in war, bloodshed was unavoidable. To leave even a single Wen soul unharmed could spell disaster for the Gusu Lan empire, opening the door to future uprisings.
No one was to be trusted.
But for his dear Wei Ying and his innocent A-Yuan, he would go to any lengths to protect them. It felt selfish to turn his back on the rest of the Wens; remembering moments such as Wen-popo’s easygoing laughter, Wen Qing’s fierce determination, and Wen Ning’s quiet kindness.
But his brother wanted blood, no matter what, and the Wens have always been their enemies, by birth. From a young age, Lan Zhan had been taught that this was the way of their world.
When their mother passed, his heart had hardened, for what he believed was for the best. He thought it incapable of feeling again until Wei Ying…so unexpectedly reintroduced warmth back into his life.
Years spent as a mindless war instrument of great destruction for his kingdom had now come to an end—all because he had fallen in love.
To even request for the sparing of Wei Ying’s life was too much an ask. Wei Ying was far too dangerous to let go, having single-handedly led a rebellion against the Lans; if it could even be called one. All he had wanted was to shield the Wen people, to lead them to safety, to ensure their survival.
Wei Ying is not dangerous, Lan Zhan wrote, trying to reason with his brother. He will listen to me. We are in love.
The thought of what would really happen when Wei Ying discovered the truth of his identity was a whole other matter.
But their love would pull them through it all.
Lan Zhan was sure of it.
(By hook, or by crook.)
.
.
.
The sedan jolted while passing through the gates of the capital, as a grim spectacle unfolded before the people of the kingdom. The Wens trudged forward, shackled and weary, their feet dragging along the ground like defeated prisoners of war. Only A-Yuan was granted the privilege of sitting on a soldier’s lap, perched high atop a horse.
Inside the sedan, Wei Ying fought to stifle his tears. Each low sob felt like a dagger in his heart as they drew nearer to the centre of the capital, where Lan Xichen had arranged for their execution.
When the sedan continued on its journey, even though the Wens had long been forced to a halt, panic clawed at Wei Ying’s chest at not being privy to the happenings outside. He lunged at the red silk curtains, his long nails scraping against the fabric.
“No… no… NO!” he cried out, screeching in pain as he fought to leave the sedan.
Lan Zhan instinctively held him back, desperate to prevent him from tearing the very carriage apart. “I will take you somewhere safe,” he murmured, pulling Wei Ying close. “You need not watch.”
“You’re as cruel as every one of them!” Wei Ying sobbed, collapsing to his very knees. “You’re a Gusu Lan, through and through.”
“Wei Ying—”
“Do you still not understand?” Wei Ying yelled, his hands gripping Lan Zhan’s shoulders with a recklessness born of great despair. “If you even have a heart left, if you truly wish to repair what has been broken between us, you must go out there and save the family that took you in unconditionally! You have to go—now!”
Lan Zhan was too shell-shocked to respond right away.
“Save them for me,” Wei Ying pleaded with him, begging with all of his might. Those beautiful silver eyes of him, shimmering with the brilliance of a thousand suns. “I will marry you. I will give you anything you want. Please, just save my family.”
Wei Ying’s love for him now hung in the very balance.
The warrior prince heard what he could be so handsomely rewarded with, and felt a fire finally ignite from within.
He would fight.
He would not be his father.
This would not be a hostage situation.
Wei Ying would choose to come to him freely, willingly.
He would choose to love him again, just as he once had.
There would be no Gentian Palace, no living apart.
A-Yuan would only know of loving parents.
.
.
.
Lan Zhan had always known of his brother’s most fatal weakness: himself. Lan Xichen loved his younger brother more than anything in the world. He loved him with an intensity that transcended duty, overcompensating for the absence of their parents, who had been taken from them at such an early age.
And so, even as Lan Zhan raised his sword against him, Lan Xichen fell readily to his knees, disbelief spelled out on his face. For how could he bring himself to fight his own flesh and blood?
(For Lan Zhan, he held no such reservations. He shared no similar affections.)
“For a boy,” Lan Xichen whispered out, incredulous. “You raise your sword against me… for a boy.”
“I am sorry,” Lan Zhan said, his voice low and heavy with regret. “But I am finally doing what I should have done from the very start.”
Now, he could only try to salvage what was left between him and Wei Ying.
Wei Ying charged inside the chaos the first chance he got, urgently reaching for the Wens he so deeply cherished and held so dear to his heart. They had been lined up on the podium like lambs to the slaughter, and his heart ached at the very sight.
“You’re safe now. You’re safe with me,” he whispered, enveloping, amongst all of them, Wen Ning, Wen Qing, and Wen-popo, into a tight embrace. He wiped the dirt from their cheeks, and gently kissed all of their foreheads.
Turning his head, he cast a slow, reluctant nod toward Lan Zhan, as though affording him a silent acknowledgment of thanks—in spite of his very actions that had led them here.
Lan Zhan met his gaze, nodding back with pursed lips, an unspoken apology hanging in the air.
With his sword pointed at his brother’s neck, Lan Zhan now stood as the most powerful man in the kingdom.
As Wei Ying embraced the Wens closer, the damning realisation soon struck him: in order to save this country, he needed Lan Zhan to ascend to the throne and become emperor. He needed his prince, to conquer an entire kingdom for him.
Lan Zhan might not harbour such ambitions, but if it came as a request from his beloved consort…?
Perhaps he could be swayed.
With that thought in his mind, Wei Ying firmed up his resolve.
No matter what, he had to try.
.
.
.
With the Wens now freed, Wei Ying upheld the other end of his bargain and limply returned to the sedan, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in his bones. Lan Zhan was already standing next to it, patiently waiting for him. Spotting his consort, his golden eyes brightened as he lifted the curtains, beckoning Wei Ying inside.
Now that Wei Ying had seen that Lan Zhan was…amenable to the things he asked for, he no longer was as avoidant. He did not seek to distance himself from the prince, unlike before. He wasn’t immediately cosying up to the prince, of course; but he also wasn’t scooting to the very corner of the seat.
As the sedan began to move again, continuing their journey to the palace, Wei Ying couldn’t help but begin to dream of a better life, for all of them. The tears that had once stained his cheeks had long since dried.
After some time, he found the courage to speak. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Lan Zhan’s heart skipped a beat, as he met his gaze. “Anything,” he rushed to answer, swallowing tightly. “Anything for you.”
If Wei Ying closed his eyes, it almost felt as if nothing had changed. They were back in their small shabby tent, savouring what little time they had left together, never knowing what tomorrow might bring; or whether the war would come crashing down upon them again.
Little did they know that Lan Zhan would be the very reason they would lose everything.
But not anymore.
Wei Ying was determined to change their very fates.
“You’re better than your brother,” Wei Ying said to him, pointedly at that. “You still have a heart, even after all that’s happened.”
Lan Zhan hesitated. He carefully responded with a, “My brother has different motivations.”
Wei Ying loudly scoffed, “At the expense of the elderly and children… he would do anything just to win.”
“He does not know the Wens like we do,” Lan Zhan heaved a low sigh.
Was that some defensiveness Wei Ying was detecting?
Wei Ying deliberately pressed on. “His plans won’t stop here. There are more clans out there that he wishes to conquer.”
When his words were met with silence, he knew he had struck a nerve; a spark just enough to offer him the chance to forge a new path forward.
“You would make a better emperor,” he continued, slowly setting his plans into motion. “You would be kinder… sweeter.”
He could almost hear the gears turning in Lan Zhan’s head, a silent struggle waging within him.
“I do not hold such ambitions,” Lan Zhan finally replied. The furrow of his brow deepened, and Wei Ying could see wariness clouding his usually reserved gaze.
Wei Ying had anticipated such a response. If Lan Zhan were the sort to crave power, he likely wouldn’t have captured Wei Ying’s heart in the first place. Beneath his stern exterior, there was a kind gentleness, an inherent desire to protect rather than dominate. Plus, at his core, Wei Ying was a simple man. Given the choice, he would prefer a quiet life in a cottage in the countryside, perhaps with a little garden and a farm out front… and the laughter of children ringing through the air.
He didn’t want to have to scheme to overthrow a centuries-old empire by seducing a lovesick second prince.
But this was for his people.
“Did you not see the look on everyone’s faces back there?” Wei Ying rather anxiously asked, “To see you bring the crown prince to his knees so easily—do you not realise that you’ve begun to plant doubts in the hearts of everyone in this kingdom? You hold power; far more than you even know, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan’s face remained stoic, but inside he felt the inner workings of Wei Ying’s words, pressing down on him. “I did it out of necessity,” he said.
“Necessity or not, that was an act of defiance,” Wei Ying continued, leaning in closer, his eyes bright with conviction. “And if you demanded the throne, he would simply give it to you.”
Now that chilled Lan Zhan to the bone.
“It would not be right,” Lan Zhan sputtered out, saying. “My brother is the rightful heir. And I…” He paused, looking away for a moment, wrestling with the implications of Wei Ying’s suggestion. “I do not wish for power. I only want you.”
Wei Ying wished his heart could still be so easily moved.
If Lan Zhan would not think of the people, then Wei Ying would have to use his love as bait.
“I want the throne,” he flat-out declared, forcing the words out even as they felt foreign on his tongue, even as it went against every fibre of his being to ask for such a thing. “And if you truly wish for me to love you, perhaps it is something you should consider.”
Lan Zhan looked at him, bewildered. “Wei Ying? You would… covet the throne?”
The surprise in his voice cut deeper than any blade. The Wei Ying he knew would never, in a million years, demand for such a pompous thing.
In a gentler tone, Wei Ying said to him with a sickeningly sweet edge, “I simply wish to see my husband live out his fullest potential.”
Lan Zhan didn’t answer, but Wei Ying knew he had done just enough to plant a seed. Now, he just needed to wait for the poison to set.
To break the tension, Wei Ying turned the conversation back to lighter matters. “I hope A-Yuan isn’t hungry yet.”
Lan Zhan was eager to respond, this time.
“We’ll have a meal at the palace, just us three,” Lan Zhan said softly, reaching out to take Wei Ying’s hand. His fingers wrapped around Wei Ying’s with a warmth that vaguely reminded Wei Ying of better times.
“…Mn,” Wei Ying murmured.
Just for today, he would pretend that everything was okay.
For come tomorrow, they’d have an empire to conquer.